#because it's sure as hell not any other kind of cookie

[airandangels]

Of course the outsides of a standard ice cream sandwich are a kind of cookie, but I've never seen them independent of the ice cream. I'm thinking that the controversial one should probably be called a chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich, for clarity (and because it's also studded with chocolate chips on the sides of the puck of ice cream).

So.

Chocolate chip cookie ice cream sandwich. It's a mouthful, but that seems appropriate.

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie II

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: sloooooowwwwww burrrrrrrnnnnnnnn

Warnings: angsty, fluffy, douchey ex-boyfriend, a little violent

Summary: Harry is one of the most annoying people she's ever met. It's unfair he's talented, hot, and way nicer than her ex.

“So getting to the side of the ice before the puck is there is offsides?” Marc asked.

She nodded watching the Warriors center faceoff against the Bears on her TV screen. They were in the third period with only five minutes to go and the defenseman from the Bears was in the penalty box for a foul against the center. She thought it was a death sentence. “Correct.”

“They have that in other sports,” he sounded like a child remembering a fact from preschool. She smirked.

“Yes,” she laughed. “Are you sure you want to date this guy?”

“I want to date his dick,” Marc shrugged. She snorted and shook her head.

“Fair enough.”

Her phone lit with a message from Kael. He wanted to see her when she was in town with The Chargers. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but it would have been nice to get some of her stuff back. If he kept it.

“Are you speaking to Harry again?” Marc asked.

It was impossible to keep the smile from growing on her face. She rubbed a hand over her mouth to hide it. “Yeah...” she nodded. “It’s kind of hard not to talk to anyone on the team.”

“The fact you went a whole week without talking to that hot as hell man is beyond me. You’re a better woman than me.”

She snorted. They were coming down to the final two minutes and the goalie skated to the bench and another player glided across the ice. “So, when the team is down by a goal or two, they send the goalie off the ice so they can get another scorer in position. But it leaves the goal open. It’s risky.”

“You are seriously doing that team a disservice by not dating them,” he murmured. “If I was into women I wouldn’t let you out in public. You’re so perfect.”

She laughed. “I am not perfect.”

“Babe, you are stunning, you know hockey, and you make the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s not enough,” she told him sipping her water and standing up. But sure enough, The Warriors scored without their goalie in the next. She had to get to the rink for the night game. She smirked, wiggled eyebrows at Marc, and turned off her TV.

“You should bet money on these things.”

She put on her regular outfit for a night of taking pictures at the rink. Her hands had to be free (and yes, they would freeze) but she wore a thick sweatshirt below the jersey. It had Niall’s name on the back. She figured he was the least likely to make a big deal of wearing someone’s name on her back. She honestly hoped no one noticed that she picked it. She didn’t want to make it seem like she had a favorite on the team. Because she didn’t. And it definitely wasn’t Harry Styles.  

Truthfully, she stole Niall’s old jersey out of the bin in the locker room. It got ripped in a game where someone got a little too irritated with Niall’s good goal tending. There was a significant tear along the seam because Harry was the first one to get to Niall when the incident occurred. Harry accidentally tore at it while trying to get his hands on the opponent and wound up in the penalty box for two minutes because of it.

She spent part of the following evening sewing it carefully back together while watching a movie on Netflix.

Once her winter boots were on, she slipped her camera bag and press pass over her shoulder and neck respectively. She was ready for the evening. Marc walked her down to her car. They both waved at Michael who was pacing outside while smoking a cigarette. “Hey Sweetheart,” he called. Michael was about five years younger than her and way too grumpy for his own good. But he often perked up on her behalf. “Good luck to the team.”

“Thanks!” She smiled as if she had any responsibility for how well they did.

Marc made sure she got in the car safely and winced when her car took two turns to start because of the cold. Once assured her car would remain running, Marc went to Michael’s side and bummed a cigarette from him as she pulled out of the lot in front of the building. What a weird little family she was creating in a weird part of town.

Her car seemed angry that it was being asked to do its job, and she worried that one day it was going to die on her way there. If it did, she was nervous it would be a thing and Uncle Charlie would be pissed. She could see it now. But instead, she listened to her music, stopped to splurge for a coffee made by someone else, and headed to the rink.

At the very least, she was happier than she had been in a very long time. There was no weight around her worrying she wasn’t the perfect girlfriend, the perfect arm candy for her hockey boyfriend. She didn’t worry about looking weird or awkward. She felt more like herself behind the lens, at the rink, and at The Locker Room, and at her apartment with her new friends than she had in years.

Maybe she didn’t need any of her stuff back from Kael. If she never spoke to him again, then she would be okay.

*

“Niall you lucky motherfucker!” Asher yelled.

She wasn’t paying much attention as the boys finally arrived for their game. She was in the middle of a conversation with Uncle Charlie as she went over the pictures she was planning to submit to the news outlets, looking over the tiny screen in her hands. She showed off her non-athletic photography skills. This included the senior pictures she took of her cousin (Charlie’s daughter), and she told him which ones she thought were best. This naturally led to discussing the holidays. Her hope was he was willing to carpool to her parents’ house. It was selfish, mainly because she didn’t think her car would make it the three-hour drive out of the city. Not that she was going to tell him that.

But the boys interrupted before she could get that far. She turned, smiled brightly at her team of restless twenty-something-year-old puppies. She set her coffee on the ledge of the window of an office for one of the team assistants and gave the boys a proper wave. “Are you all ready for gameday?” She asked.

But no one was paying any attention to her greeting. Instead, their gazes were focused on the number on her body. The black-and-silver-lettering and logo was riveting it seemed even though it was on all their own jerseys as well.

So much for it not being a thing. “Sweetheart, I’m honored,” Niall chuckled. Were his cheeks pink in embarrassment? That was cute—he looked so nervous. Niall was adorable. She could see why Harry was so protective of him. In the time she had gotten to know him, she seriously didn’t know how someone so sweet and nice could be roped into a rough and tumble sport like hockey.

“What?” She asked curiously, hoping that if she acted confused, they wouldn’t make it a bigger deal than it needed to be.

It seemed there was little chance of such a thing. “You’re wearing my jersey,” his grin remained shy and so, so adorable.

Well, maybe she could use it to her advantage. “Well, don’t tell the others but you’re my favorite,” she winked.

But it wasn’t quiet and everyone heard it. The gasps and scoffs of disbelief echoed loudly as they entered the locker room to drop some of their stuff. First there would be game day entrance photos, the boys looking dressed in not quite formal but not so casual attire. The stuff that made hearts throb to look at them (and other organs throb if she was honest). They would pose as if they hadn’t already walked in, and no one would know except for them.

Niall turned a shade redder and headed in. “Don’t break my goalie,” Charlie warned.

“I would never break Niall!” She pouted petulantly at her uncle. “Why are they all up and arms about the jersey? It was free and I fixed it. Is it not allowed?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Sweetheart,” he chuckled. “It’s just a dumb hockey-guy thing,” he patted her on the back and headed into the locker room.

“Harry’s running late,” Lang said as he returned with just a duffle bag and an overpriced water bottle that was part of his sponsorship deal. “Hit some traffic or something. So, you might not get his game day entrance,” he told her with a shrug.

She nodded. “That’s fine,” she shrugged and snapped a picture of him while he wasn’t really focused, testing the lighting and frame once more now that she had a subject. “There’s enough of you guys to suffice as eye candy for the day we probably won’t need everyone’s picture.”

Lang laughed, covering his mouth. “Sweetheart, please say that in front of Harry while I’m around and you’re wearing that jersey,” he begged. She frowned unsure what he meant by that specifically. Instead, she shook her head and began ordering the captain and his teammates around to get the first part of her evening’s tasks done.

*

Harry showed up just as she took the last shot of the team walking into the locker room. He was pouring the last bit of his protein shake into his mouth while she examined her camera once more and sipped her coffee that she left on the ledge of the window. There was so much more activity back by the locker room as game time approached. There were team doctors, athletic trainers, assistants, and more milling around.

Harry hated being late. It messed with his pre-game rituals. But there wasn’t anything he could do about traffic. Plus, Hayden lived on the exact opposite side of the city. He really shouldn’t have bothered with trying to sneak a quick hook-up in before the game. But he needed something to take the edge off and nothing was working.

Granted the hook-up left him feeling unsatisfied as well. Although it wasn’t Hayden’s fault. She was lovely, truly. It was all Harry’s brain. Something was off and he couldn’t quite place it.

But one look at the pretty photographer wearing the number thirty-one on her body reminded him that he was much more aware of the issue than he was willing to admit. He blinked hoping his eyes were mistaken. But no, the name Horan was on her back.

“Rookie!” He called.

What the fuck was he going to say? It didn’t even make sense for him to be mad. She didn’t do anything wrong. God, Harry was an idiot. She was off limits. For all he knew she had one of everyone’s jersey and was going to rotate through.

It was probably not a good sign that she looked up when she heard that nickname, right? It wasn’t good to get used to knowing it was Harry calling her the moment she heard his teasing. But right then, Harry didn’t look teasing. His gaze was laser-focused on her torso (and not the way she would expect him to be focused on her chest). “Hi Harry,” she smiled, sweetly; hoping vehemently that this wasn’t about the jersey. “Do you want a game day photo?” She asked gently holding her camera up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” He snapped.

This hoping thing ain’t shit. She thought. Glancing down at her outfit once more, she frowned. “I thought I looked cute,” she pouted.

Harry was all but half a foot in front of her. “You’re wearing Niall’s jersey.”

“It’s from the locker room, it was going to get thrown out, so I just sewed it,” she shrugged. “Is that not allowed? No one said anything.”

He seemed to bristle but settled at the same time. She really didn’t get what the big deal was. “S’fine,” he grumbled. “Y’do look cute. You always look cute,” he rolled his eyes and pushed the locker room door open with a little too much power. She shook her head and heard laughter from behind the door.

“Boys are weird,” she sighed and headed for the tunnel to get to the ice.

*

She texted Michael from her car when she got back to the apartment at one in the morning. It was dark, cold, and she had a weird feeling as she pulled into the small lot. He hurried out yawning as he did. He was wearing only shorts, a t-shirt, and slippers. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she frowned and hurried to the front of the building. He waited patiently for her to lock her car.

“S’fine, Sweetheart,” he shrugged and yawned.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully. She really needed to find a new place, so she didn’t have to bother them. But she swore she could feel someone’s eyes following her as she closed the entry door to her building. Michael headed down the first-floor hall to his place without another word. She stopped at her small little mailbox, locked on the inside. Only a slit in the wall from the outside to get in. It was all junk and bills. She didn’t give her address to anyone. Not even Uncle Charlie had her real address. She mentioned some apartment complex on the good side of town. But when pressed, she immediately diverted and asked if he would be okay with shipping her Amazon packages to his house. It did the trick, fortunately. Her parents didn’t think much of it either because they knew Charlie was keeping an eye on her.

It was all she could afford after not working much because of Kael and his weird obsession with making sure she played the proper part of picture-perfect hockey girlfriend. This was a sketchy part of town, and she knew it and didn’t like living here either. But what could she really do? Making friends with Michael and Marc was easy and she was lucky. So very lucky to have people keep an eye out for her when she got home late and felt like she was being followed.

So, when she turned to the stairwell behind the little mail room and saw the very angry hockey player outside the door of her building peering through the glass, she practically jumped back a foot and immediately and nearly screamed.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and pressed the other one to her heart, dropping her mail in the process. “What the fuck are you doing?!” She whisper-screamed opening the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harry hissed stepping inside. He gathered up her mail handing it to her. He continued glaring as he took in the run-down place. “Do you live here?”

“Yes!”

“Rookie, this is not a safe area. Why are y’living here?”

“Because I can afford it? What kind of fucking question is that?”

Harry looked so good having just played a grueling game that included overtime and a shootout. His hair was still damp from his shower. His face glowing that way he managed to do in the dead of winter that was so unfair to her. He smelled good—too good. He wore a black hoodie, black pants, and black sneakers. Like he was trying to blend in with the night. The only not good-looking thing about him at the moment was the sour expression on his otherwise extremely pretty features. The furrow between his eyebrows looked angry. The green of his eyes appeared darker, almost black to match his clothes. His mouth was pressed in a flat line.

But even angry, Harry looked hot. He had been angry all evening. Since he set foot in the arena. He didn’t relax when they all went to The Locker Room either. He hardly spoke to Niall and barely acknowledged his good goal tending. “Does coach know you live here?”

She shook her head. “Harry, shut the fuck up. Why did you follow me home like a creep!?”

“Because s’one in the morning and y’said y’were exhausted and that your car was a piece of shit! I was making sure y’made it home. I didn’t know home was even scarier!”

“Hey babe, everything alright? Michael texted you would be on your way up and to keep an ear out.” Marc called as he approached them descending the stairs.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she whispered and rubbed her temples.

“Holy shit,” Marc gaped.

“Harry, this is Marc,” she introduced the pair, but lacked any enthusiasm. “He’s my neighbor.”

Harry glared at him—even though he didn’t deserve it. “Hi,” he said curtly.

“I’m fine,” she told Marc. “Harry followed me home.”

“Great game today, man,” he looked awestruck; no longer concerned about her well-being at all and entirely concerned about the beautiful man in front of him. “That was a bogus penalty in the second period.”

“I said the same thing,” she nodded in agreement hoping it would remind Harry that she made her own little place here and he didn’t need to worry. That he was her friend.

Harry softened just a little. His shoulders untensed ever so slightly. “Thanks,” he nodded curtly, trying to remain polite to a fan when he wanted to shake the sweet photographer. “Rookie, show me your place,” he ordered.

“Michael and I keep an eye on her,” Marc offered sensing there was a deeper issue.

Harry eyed him up and down and then turned back to her. “Show me your place,” he repeated.

“No!”

“Jesus, babe, show the hot man your apartment!”

She pressed her fingers to her forehead and slid them down her nose and over her lips as she spoke. “Marc,” she sighed. “Go away.”

“Huge fan,” he held his hands up in surrender and made his way upstairs.

Harry was staring at her in disbelief. “You’re not living here.”

“Harry,” she sighed.

“I’ve had a shit day, Rookie. Don’t fucking test it,” he snapped and headed up the stairs figuring he would find it on his own because he would just know? She shook her head.

“Third floor,” she mumbled following behind him. He sighed with relief from ahead of her.

“Take that stupid fucking shirt off,” he said once the door was shut.

“Why are you so angry today?” She shed her camera carefully setting it on the small table. Then her badge. She dropped her keys on the table too. Quickly, before he could get angrier, she rid herself of the jersey and her hoodie.

Harry sighed again, relieved it seemed of what she didn’t know. Without broiling in irritation over his friend’s name all over the girl he had a massive crush on, he was able to focus a little more. Glancing around he inspected the small place. It was cute, adorable even. Just like her.

She bent to take her shoes off. “Do you want water or something? You’re so keyed up... Maybe you want a sedative?” She rolled her eyes at him.

He snorted. “Pass,” he continued looking around. “S’nice, really,” he murmured

“It is,” she agreed. “I don’t plan on staying here forever, but it’s what’s affordable right now. Not all of us make seven figures a year for their talent.”

He ignored her and wandered around the little rooms she had. On all of her walls were more photos she had clearly taken. It didn’t take much for him to figure out her style. It was natural and lovely. “S’cold in here.”

“Heat’s expensive,” she remarked. “Do you want some tea?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No, thank you, Rookie,” he mumbled relaxing more as he inhaled deeply. Everything was so intoxicatingly her in this room. It smelled so good. She smelled so good. “Is Marc in love with you?” He asked offhandedly.

“Not unless I identify as a man, which I don’t.”

He smirked, unable to hide the amusement. She was so funny, it was unfair. Beautiful, talented, kind, and funny. She was made in a lab and meant to tempt every one of Harry’s desires. “What ‘bout the guy that walked y’in?” He picked up the book that was on her coffee table and read the back of it, wondering what kind of books she was into and if she liked the same things as him. He set the book down carefully.

“Michael? No. He’s a baby.”

“He’s taller than you,” he murmured.

“He’s not in love with me. Well, actually, I do make him cookies. So maybe,” she shrugged.

He shook his head wishing he could focus on his own questions. But she was too quick and Harry was too tired.

On the wall of her living room was an array of small frames. Probably fifteen or so four by six photos that his mom would have put in a photo album. He recognized Charlie and Ray. A man he could only assume was Charlie’s brother and her dad as they looked like twins with different hair and eye coloring. Girls in their teens, a dog that never seemed to age even though the family around it did, and her gorgeous smile.

There was also a stupid fucking picture of Niall on her wall beside a team photo which made him want to yank it down and stomp on it like a psychopath.

Poor Niall did nothing to deserve Harry’s wrath. The team teased him the moment he went into the locker room telling him all about how she said Niall was his favorite. It wasn’t surprising. Niall was nice and sweet. He didn’t hook up with a bunch of girls nor did he go from city to city hoping to be entertained by a different girl. He was a nice guy. Probably the kind of guy she did deserve. Especially after whatever it was that Kael did to arguably ruin his life by losing her. He barely congratulated him on his saves in the game. Didn’t even buy him a drink at the bar either. To Niall’s credit, he didn’t take it too harshly. Merely smirked at him as he glared. Knowing it really had nothing to do with him at the heart of it.

But the picture of his best friend on her wall just made him grumpier all over again. It didn’t help that Harry was exhausted. He dreaded having to drive home this late. Especially when he was mad on top of everything else. But having seen where she lived, he was glad he followed her home. Didn’t care that it was creepy. It would have made him insane to know she wasn’t safe.

There wasn’t much he could do but turn his attention to her kitchen so he could avoid the stupid picture of his stupid friend who he didn’t like very much at present.

Right there on the fridge door was one of her family photos—clearly taken at a wedding or something. A quick glance showed she wasn’t in it which made him sad. How often was she left out of pictures because she was always the one taking them? Beside her family was the side-by-side duo picture of herself that he saw on her website. A photo of her parents’ dog next to that. A couple landscapes of the ocean and sun.

Right in the middle of all her photos was a picture of Harry.

He swore time stopped. All his anger towards Niall disappeared. Why was he on her fridge? It was the picture of when he scored a goal, from one of the first games she photographed this year. The one she sent him the first time she texted him. “Why’s this on the fridge?” He asked, straightening it alongside the others it. There was a magnet on the back and Harry felt his chest constrict a bit knowing he wasn’t on the wall, but he was in her house. She cared in some way enough to put him among her pictures of family and friends.

She shrugged. “I put all of my favorite pictures on the fridge,” she said it so simply. It wasn’t a big deal to her. The pictures belonged there and that was it. It just was.

His heart sincerely skipped a beat. Like if he were a cartoon, a graphic of a little heart monitor would appear in a cloud bubble, and it would show an irregular rhythm representing the way she made him feel. His gaze flickered to her briefly, but he was worried he would stare and never look away. He cleared his throat and looked toward her wall of photos. “What ‘bout the wall over there?”

“Those are nice pictures too, but I don’t really look at the wall much. It’s behind me when I sit on the couch, you know...? The fridge however,” she had a smile in her voice. “I love snacks and cooking and baking. So, I’m in the kitchen a lot. So, I like to look at my favorites.”

Harry felt softer. Relieved. Less mad and annoyed than he’d been in hours. Maybe even days if he was honest. Harry was one of her favorites. Even if she didn’t mean he was her favorite and merely the photo.

“Bunny?” He asked softly staring at the other half dozen or so of her favorites.

She didn’t miss a beat answering to the nickname that she didn’t really like. But she did really like the way it sounded when Harry said it. “Yeah?”

“Would y’ever wear my jersey?” His voice was quiet, he felt stupid for asking. The question wouldn’t leave his brain until he said it. Whatever the answer was, he had to ask it.

She frowned and sighed. Harry hated that. It seemed like a terrible question, and he was dreading her answer immediately. “I hate to say it, Harry, but I can’t afford a Styles jersey.”

He rolled his eyes. “Would y’wear it?”

“Of course I would, Harry. You’re my friend just like Niall is. And Asher, Callie, and Lang. I really only wore it because you guys were throwing it out.”

Harry rubbed a hand on the side of his face. He could live with that. “Alright.”

“Did I miss something?” She asked. But he knew how perceptive she was. She had to know how much it bothered him that she wore his friend’s name and number on her body today and not his. She had to know he had a crush on her. Even if he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Nope,” he shook his head not wanting to get into it further.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?” She asked again. “You seem really out of sorts...maybe you need something without alcohol?”

“Sure,” he sighed. She could give him whatever she wanted. She wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was relieved now. He didn’t need anything else. “Tea would be nice...” She nodded, gently nudging him out of the way to get a pitcher of water from her fridge. “Can I stay here?”

“You want to stay in my crappy little apartment? After you went on and on about how unsafe it is?” She questioned filling the kettle on her stove.

Fair point, Bunny. “M’exhausted, Rookie. I told you I had a bad day.”

“I see that,” she pouted and scanned him up and down. “Of course you can. You have to take my bed though; the couch is too small for you.”

He shook his head. “M’not kicking y’out of your bed when I barged in.”

“Well... it was... kind of nice that you made sure I got home safely. I’m glad it was you, but I was pretty nervous... so if it wasn’t you...” she shook her head and looked at her hands wringing them awkwardly. “I’m sorry you got stuck here,” she pouted.

More of him softened somehow. It seemed impossible that she could make him feel any softer. He was certain he never felt softer than when she said that his picture was one of her favorites. The way she spoke was so gentle.

“I fall asleep most nights on the sofa anyway,” she shrugged, unaware of the thoughts rolling through Harry’s head. She probably hadn’t a clue how she made him imagine her adorable body curled into the small sofa with a blanket around her. What it would be like for him to come home from a game and find her snuggled into a sweatshirt with his cologne on it, the TV playing the post-game highlights, and her hands tucked under her cheek. Did she snore? Harry ached to know.

God he was fucked. How did she walk into the arena and do that? Harry thought of nothing but hockey and hookups. Now he wondered if she snored at night.

She carefully poured the hot water into a mug with The Charger’s logo on the outside and dipped the tea bag in and out a few times letting the water do its thing. She slid it across the small counter before she poured her own mug. They stood silently for a moment, sipping tea.

“I might have something of Kael’s for you to sleep in.”

“I’d rather die than sleep in that piece of shit’s clothes.”

She smirked around the edge of her mug and shook her head. “Are you cold?” She asked.

He shook his head. It was cold but he wasn’t cold. He would be fine with a few blankets. A warm body beside him would be good too, but he wasn’t sure he could convince her.

She put her mug in the sink and went to the bathroom without warning. After a few minutes, she returned. Her face was washed of makeup, her hair pulled back, and she wore a pair of sweatpants instead. She grabbed a pillow off her bed. “Normally I’d change your sheets, but... It’s too late. I hope you don’t mind.”

Wrapped up in sheets, blankets, and pillows that smelled like her? Fine by him. “S’fine, Rookie. Thank you.”

She grabbed more blankets from under her sofa cushion; a space for storage hiding in plain sight. She placed them at the end of her bed and then went to the sofa. “Make yourself at home,” she offered. “Night, Harry,” she yawned and settled into her pillow and blanket, nuzzling into the warmth just as he imagined, her hands tucked under her cheek.

“Night, Rookie,” he mumbled and climbed into her bed. He was practically asleep before he was fully settled.

*

It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours later—it was still very dark out. Her bed was warm, soft, and smelled so fucking good he thought he might sew himself into the sheets just so he never had to leave. But it was undeniably cold. Even in his hoodie and sweats.

He glanced across the room and could barely make out the shadow of his pretty crush curled into the sofa. She looked chilled and Harry felt so immensely guilty. He got out of bed, his feet nearly stinging on the cold floor. Without more thought he scooped her up. His arms looping around the back of her knees and the other around her waist. He tried to move her without jostling her too much. Her head fell toward him, pressing into his chest as he carried her back to the bed. He settled her under her sheets and blankets. He wanted nothing more than to cozy up to her, but he wasn’t going to ruin the progress he made that night. Instead, he slipped between the sheet and blanket, draped the pair of them in the other blankets.

She sighed loudly in her sleep. Like she was comfortable.

Harry didn’t think there was anyone cuter than her.

*

Harry woke up to her burrowed into his side. He didn’t dare move. If she wanted out, she would have to make the move. There wasn’t anything that would get Harry to remove himself from her warm body in the same bed as him. It was almost too warm, but well worth it.

“Jesus,” she whispered suddenly and scooched back in the bed. “Harry!” She hissed.

He smirked. “Good morning, Rookie,” he yawned. “Sleep well?”

“How did I get here?”

“Y’must have tucked yourself in with me,” he smiled.

She rolled her eyes, shook her head. “Shut up,” she mumbled.

“Y’jus’ looked cold,” he shrugged. “S’plenty of room.”

She sighed. “Well thanks, it was cozy,” her cheeks turned red. “Do you want something to eat?” She asked, immediately pivoting from their little late-night cuddle.

“Y’make breakfast too?”

“It’s actually my favorite meal...” she trailed off pushing the covers off. “I love going out to breakfast,” she got out of bed and grabbed a sweatshirt from her dresser. Harry sensed there was more to that, but as soon as he saw her sweatshirt, all previous thoughts left his mind.

Niall’s number and name on her body made him mad.

The words Glacier Wolves across the front in it’s hideous font was going to send him to an early grave.

“No,” he shook his head immediately. “Take it off.”

“You’re awfully bossy about my outfits, Harry,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s cold. I need a sweatshirt.”

Harry pulled the one he was wearing off. “Here.”

For a moment she eyed it. Harry couldn’t figure out her expression or the pause that lasted as she examined it. “Harry it’s like ten degrees out,” she pulled the hem down and walked toward her bathroom again.

He pouted, grumbling to himself as he put his clothing back on. “M’burning that,” he mumbled.

“I heard that!”

*

Harry left after breakfast. He didn’t bug her about her sweatshirt. But he did beg her to turn the heat on for a little bit. He helped her with dishes and not once did the conversation feel forced, awkward, or like there was a lull that lasted too long. He watched her take pictures of her food, then the way the light streamed in through the window, so it hit her coffee table just so. She adjusted her book to an open page and set a hot cup of tea beside it.

With a couple of snaps, Harry watched her while biting into his toast. “Can I see?” He asked.

“It’s nothing special. I just take random pictures sometimes for practice,” she explained.

He wiped his hand on his leg and held it out expectantly for the priceless equipment. It felt weird, awkward. Tentatively, she handed it to him. Not only had she captured the beauty of the early morning in her little place, she took another picture of Harry drinking tea in between bites.

He smiled. “Aw, Rookie, me?” He teased. She didn’t say anything, looked anywhere but him while her pink cheeks spoke for the emotions she was feeling. “M’not sure why but m’still really impressed,” he tabbed through the pictures she took on the little screen.

She must have faced the camera backwards because her pretty smiling face with the ice rink as back drop behind her illuminated the screen. Harry loved everything about the photo. It had her and his beloved hockey rink. “Can I have this one?” He asked.

“I was going to delete that,” she blushed. Harry frowned.

“No way, Rookie, y’look adorable. Let me have it, y’got me on your fridge.”

She looked away shyly, nodded silently. “I’ll text it to you.”

Harry was unbelievably talented and attractive. He could outthink his opponents on the ice and he was sweet enough to make sure she got home safe. Carried her to bed in the middle of the night to keep her warm.

It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t have him. Even if it was her own doing.

Around ten or so, Harry had to head out and she hated to admit it, but she really missed him almost the moment he left.

*

The following day she headed to practice taking pictures for the team’s social media posts. Ray and Charlie were at the center of the ice waiting for the team to file out of the locker room. She took a picture of her uncle and surrogate uncle. Then she setup for some detail shots while waiting. The score book and pen on the bench. A stick propped up behind the bench. She laid flat on the ice and got a shot of the coach’s shoes on the center of the ice.

“Hey Sweetheart!” Callie called from across the rink—first one on the ice. Ray threw a puck at him, and he shot it into the net. Charlie threw another and he pushed the puck back and forth near him. “Laying down on the job?”

She snorted, shook her head with a smile. “Come here!” He glided over and stopped in front of her without getting ice all over her and her equipment. “Put your stick flat on the ground,” she ordered. She reached out and touched the puck and pushed it in front of the slight bend at the end of his stick. “Take your helmet off, and your gloves.”

“You gonna tell me to take more of my uniform off, Sweetheart?” He teased but followed her directions.

“You wish.”

“I do wish, Sweetheart, I do.”

She shook her head while centering her view on the shot she wanted. “Don’t move.”

“Yes ma’am,” he sighed dreamily. He was enjoying her bossing him around too much and she couldn’t help but smile while she clicked the shutter taking several of the same photo.

“Okay, thank you,” she carefully maneuvered so she would flop awkwardly back on the ice. Callie immediately grabbed her camera and then took hold of her arm to help her up. Once righted, she brushed the ice off the front of her body. She was quite chilled from lying on the ground for so long. Plus her apartment was cold, naturally her car’s heater was chilly, and it felt like she never quite got out of the cold ever because of it.

“Can I see?” He said excitedly.

She turned the camera to show him. Her teeth chattered a little more than usual. Callie put an arm around her shoulders to add some warmth. He was tall and lean like most other hockey players. And undoubtedly attractive too. “You’re pushing it, Kian,” she shook her head but didn’t mind how warm he felt.

“No one calls me Kian except my mother, Sweetheart,” he reminded her. “You’re cold. Don’t read into it,” he took the camera from her and thumbed through the photos pressing the buttons beside the screen to view them. “Wow,” he murmured. “That’s so cool, Sweetheart. It looks really beautiful.”

She blushed with pride and ducked her face. “Thank you.”

“You know... I’m not sure what he did, but Kael is an idiot to lose you,” he affirmed clicking through more of the photos. “Can we take one?” He asked.

“Yeah, sure,” she turned the camera around and pointed where Callie needed to look. He squeezed around her a little tighter as she clicked the shutter. He immediately took the camera back and examined the photo. “Cute, Sweetheart,” he grinned and continued flipping through all her photos. Including the ones from her breakfast with Harry the day before. “Ooh... what’s this?” He cooed. “Did you and Styles have a sleepover?!” He gaped.

She took her camera back. “No,” she didn’t even blush. It wasn’t his business. She didn’t want Charlie to hear.

And she definitely didn’t want Harry to hear.

Harry slid onto the ice his eyes zeroing in on his teammate’s arm wrapped around her almost immediately. She felt a little awkward knowing that he seemed to be a bit territorial about her even though it wasn’t really within his right. He glowered at the puck that Charlie tossed to him, and it sailed almost immediately into the net from where he stood. “I can’t compete with him, Sweetheart,” Callie frowned. “Please tell me you don’t actually like Styles.”

“I like all of you, Kian,” she rolled her eyes, tearing her eyes away from his broody skating.

“But you like me most, right?” Asher appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

“She likes you least,” Lang said assuredly skating by just as quick. She laughed and shook her head.

“I like you all equally,” she promised.

“Bull shit, you can’t sell a twenty-way-tie!” Asher frowned.

She loved her little family away from her real one. This team made her feel more loved and appreciated than Kael ever did. It was eye-opening in so many ways. Was it just because she took pictures on the team? Would they behave this way if she was just a girlfriend? Or the coach’s niece without special treatment? She got special treatment from the other girlfriends and wives of the Glacier Wolves simply because she was Kael’s girlfriend.

At about the same time she started to feel drained by her relationship (the last six months before it ended), she overheard two of the significant others talking about her in the bathroom. While she was using the bathroom... They said Kael was an idiot to stay with her. She was a leech and nothing more. For three years she had been nothing but a good girlfriend. She attended every game, catered to Kael’s workout schedules, practice schedules. She monitored his calendar and made sure his stunning, penthouse apartment was cleaned. She hosted parties for his teammates. For three years post-graduation she didn’t take photography gigs, skipped family parties, and let her degree sit on a shelf unused to it’s full potential.

Maybe The Chargers boys were just being kind because she was the coach’s niece. Maybe her skill really was subpar. Wasn’t she really just a leech in a new way now? Her uncle got her this job and they didn’t really need her.

Kael fucked her up good. Made her feel worthless. He didn’t value her skill and made her believe she wasn’t good enough in any part of her life. “Hey Sweetheart?” Callie asked, giving her a squeeze, bringing her mind back to the present. “You good?”

She nodded. “Sorry, just daydreaming.”

“About me?!” Asher grinned. She smiled. At least for now, this family she had was sweet. She wanted to believe they valued her for her and savor it for however long she could.

*

While the boys practiced, she went to the locker room and tidied up, brought the dirty uniform hamper to the laundry room, and brought the clean laundry back. She took more detail shots without the boys around. It was fun to get them in the shots, like the ones she took with Callie. But ever-like puppies, it was easier to get pictures without them milling around eagerly. She took some really nice shots of their locker space. With the right lighting, it would look like they were ready for battle—she could see it in her head, and she couldn’t wait to get the shots of their numbers alongside equipment on her computer to play with the settings.

But after about an hour of that, she ran out of things to do. She sauntered back to the rink and watched from the bench. Ray and Charlie stood at the center dictating where they should go and what to do next. It was mesmerizing. The beauty and graceful agility these tall, lean, padded men exuded was incredible.

“Take a picture it will last longer!”

The team burst into laughter as Callie called out to her. She shook her head but certainly did just that.

“Hey Sweetheart,” Niall grinned coming over during another break. “Heard you had Harry over. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

She smiled. “No, he was good,” she assured him. “It was nice he followed me home. To make sure I was safe.”

“Yeah, he’s decent like that. His sister Gemma made him a real gentleman,” he agreed. “He didn’t like you wearing my jersey,” he told her.

“I’m well aware.”

“I won’t say no if you wear it again.”

She laughed. “Will do.”

“Want to make him madder taking a picture?”

“Maybe tomorrow, Kian made him pretty mad today with that one already.”

“Who?” Niall furrowed his eyebrows. She shook her head and silently laughed. “Is that what the silent treatment was for?” Niall asked with a laugh and skated off to rejoin his team.

*

At the end of practice, she took shots of them leaving the ice, the empty net. In her head she had a series of photos. The sequence of a hockey game and maybe she would put it into motion one day. She sat on the bench looking at her camera screen and sifted through some of the multiples she didn’t need.

“Hey Rookie,” Harry said softly.

She looked up and smiled. “Hi, Harry.”

Dangling from his fingers were a pair of figure skates. All white, pink guards, pink anterior cushioning, and pink laces.

“I got you these.”

She blinked. “Why?”

“To practice.”

“Harry, I cannot accept that. I know how much ice skates cost. Those have to be close to 400 dollars.”

He shrugged. “That’s what a good pair cost.”

“Harry, I can’t even stand on the ice. Return them. I’m not taking a 400-dollar pair to ruin because I can’t even stand still while wearing them... And they’re practically giving me blisters from just looking at them. I don’t have the right socks..." Harry looked disappointed and he frowned. "But... that... that was very sweet of you,” she added. Because she hadn’t said thank you yet, and it was sweet. It was extremely thoughtful of him. “Thank you,” she added gratefully. “That was so nice of you.”

“Do you like Callie?” He blurted.

“Do you think I’m in love with every man I meet?” She countered.

“You two looked cozy,” he mumbled.

“I was cold,” she admitted. “He offered his jersey, but I didn’t want a repeat of the other night,” she quipped. Harry smirked and looked away from her. “I’m not dating hockey players, remember?” She grabbed her camera and bag ready to leave the rink.

“Yeah...” he sighed, rubbed the back of his head. “I know, Rookie.”

*

There was a knock on her door later that evening. She assumed it was Michael asking if she had baked anything after feeling a bit on the munchier side of life. It probably wasn’t Marc because he had a date with the hockey lover. But maybe it was an early night for them, so who knew.

Instead, Harry was there. A pair of skates dangling from his fingers once more. The guards were still pink, there were scuffs on the toes and heels. The interior was cushioning was a light brown. “They’re a good brand. Used, so they didn’t cost a lot. But full disclosure, they were the most expensive used pair I could find because m’not gonna let y’skirt on the quality because of the cost. They won’t hurt your feet with blisters being brand new.”

Harry, with used ice skates, was the last person she expected to see. There was a tug in her chest where her heart would have melted for Kael to do something as kind as that. But she couldn’t fall in love with Harry. It was just a bad idea. He was a celebrity. There were millions of women he could choose from.

“Have you had it with dragging me around the ice or something?” She asked.

He chuckled and shook his head. “No, but... I want t’help you, Rookie. Y’should know how t’skate. Think of the pictures y’could take even if y’jus’ learn t’skate a little,” he shrugged.

That tug in her chest felt an awful lot like Harry worming his way into the center of her universe. But she didn’t want to do that again. Not really. She didn’t want to dote on Harry the way she did only for it to backfire on her. She still had a lot of time, but she felt behind. Kael made it so she didn’t have tons of money. She ‘didn’t have to worry about it’ because he made plenty. But it wasn’t about money. It was about her independence and now she felt like she literally paid the price. “I got y’some socks too,” Harry added.

Goddammit.

She was going to fall in love with him.

--

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[juniperskye]

Why are you in my head?

Sneak Peek: Eddie and you are soulmates. The legend of soulmates is that you start to hear one another’s thoughts around age 16 – not all the time, but when you’re feeling a strong emotion. It simply flows out of you and into the other, the legend also states that the closer you are, the more you can hear them. **The events of season 4 did NOT happen** I did also use some of the dialogue

Bold are Eddie’s thoughts; Italics are reader’s thoughts. (mind you, they are essentially hearing both sets of thoughts)

Eddie Munson x Fem Sunshine! Reader (Soulmate AU)

Fluff - Part 2 Part 3 Part 4** Part 5

Word count: 1364

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, explicit language, let me know if I missed any!

That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

You had known all about soulmates, your mom had told you bedtime stories about soulmates and how she and your dad met throughout your entire childhood. They had been hearing one another’s thoughts for quite a while before your dad saved your mom from being run over by a biker as she stepped off the curb. She’d tell you how when their eyes met she could hear him thinking about how beautiful her eyes were and he heard her thinking about how handsome he was. You have hoped and dreamed of meeting your soulmate since you were four years old.

You had a soulmate, that much you knew. You had been hearing his thoughts for the last few years, they were few and far between which frustrated you. Your mom had explained it just meant he wasn’t close by, which sucked. You were hoping that the distance would decrease, given your family’s plans to move.

Hawkins, Indiana wasn’t exactly a town that people were flocking to…but here you were. Your mom had been offered a job at their hospital there as the supervising nurse and your parents had decided it was too good an offer to pass up. Your dad had contacted the local police department to see if they had any openings, to which they asked for a letter of recommendation and pretty much offered him the job.

Things were working out well for your parents. You hadn’t really been sure about the move. Your soulmate’s thoughts had been pretty quiet the last few days but, a part of you knew it was because your anxiety of this move was clearly drowning out his thoughts.

The car finally came to a stop, and you glance up for the first time since you’d gotten in the car that morning, too focused on the music playing from your Walkman and rereading The Hobbit, again. You looked up to see a modest home in a cookie cutter neighborhood, you were grateful for your parents and their ability to provide you with the things you need, but some days you wished your family wasn’t so…average.

“Sweetie, why don’t you head in and pick your room?” Your mom suggested.

“Really? I get to choose?” You asked.

“You have your pick, other than the master bedroom. You and I will organize the remaining rooms.” Your mom explained.

Damnit, if I could just get the chords right.

You quickly jogged up to the door, letting yourself in. You made your way upstairs first, checking out the two small bedrooms up there that were situated opposite the master bedroom, separated by a full bathroom. While both rooms were nice, they didn’t give you nearly enough room to “express your creative freedom” as your mom had encouraged. On the main level there was a kitchen, dining room, sitting room, powder room, and living room. There had been a door leading under the stairs, you were pleased to see it led down into a fully finished basement that had a full bathroom.

“MOMMMMM! I chose my room!” You called as you ran up the stairs.

There we go.

*Eddie’s POV*

Hell yeah! This is fucking perfect!

The thoughts had rung out like an alarm in his head. Her thoughts had never been this loud and clear. What had changed?

She better let me make the basement my room!

Had she finally moved? He had been hearing all her nervous thoughts about packing up and moving across the country. She must be closer now if her thoughts were coming in like this now.

YES! YES! YES! Now…how to decorate?

He smiled to himself. She seems sweet based off what he knows. He had asked Wayne about soulmates when he was growing up. He’d asked questions like “why can’t I just think of my address, so she could find me?” and Wayne had explained that it didn’t work like that. Thoughts were passed back and forth at moments it was needed – in times of excitement, or when we needed comfort, or to vent. There was some sort of neurological algorithm as to what thoughts were sent when.

*End Eddie’s POV*

You had started unpacking pretty much the second your parents agreed to let you make the basement your room. Your dad had even agreed to take you to the hardware store to pick up paint this weekend.

“You’ll start at the high school on Monday. The principal confirmed that he received your transcripts and all your credit hours transferred, so you’re right on track.” Your dad explained.

“Oh, awesome! Did he happen to send my schedule or anything so I could familiarize myself with it beforehand?” You asked.

Oh fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck! I am so late. O’Donnell is gonna kill me!

Your hand flew to your head, the volume of his thoughts brought forth a pounding in your head. They had never been this loud before.

“Bug? You okay?” Your dad looked concerned.

“Yeah, I’m okay! Just a headache. Too many thoughts in there I guess.” You chuckled lowly.

“Honey, was it his thought?” Your mom questioned.

You hadn’t told your parents much about your soulmate, only that you had been able to hear him and that he was, in fact, a him.  They had also been aware that you hadn’t been able to hear him lately – that was when your mom explained that your thought can sometimes drown out theirs.

“Yeah, it was and uh, I don’t know, I guess it was kinda loud.” You shrugged.

“How loud?” Your mom asked.

“I don’t know, loud enough to give me a headache. It was like he was in the room with me.” You looked at your parents, a knowing grin making its way onto each of their faces. “What?”

“Nothing bug. Let’s go see if your principle sent that schedule over.” Your dad wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side.

Monday morning had come way too soon, though you’d had an incredibly productive weekend. Your room was painted and decorated, you’d finished rereading The Hobbit and had begun rereading Pet Cemetery, you’d also memorized your class schedule.

Your dad dropped you off at school, he also told you he was planning to go and check out a car for you after his shift – that had left you pretty excited.

Finally! My own car!

The day was dragging on pretty slowly…truthfully you were ready for lunch.

Then Vecna will make a surprise return.

What the hell?

This campaign is going to be epic!

His thoughts had come and gone like this since you’d arrived in Hawkins. Just back and forth with random tidbits that left you more confused than anything.

The bell ringing had been your saving grace. It was finally time for lunch, and now you were feeling anxious again…where were you meant to sit?

You looked around and before you could take a step, a voice stopped you dead in your tracks.

Here we fucking go.

“We're the freaks because we like to play a fantasy game. But as long as you're into band or science ...or parties or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets...”

God he’s hot.

“It's forced conforming. That's what's...killing the kids!”

Assholes.

Kids were either laughing at his outburst or calling him horrible names, but you just stood there. Could this really be him? This super-hot guy who just caused an entire scene in the cafeteria.

“Me, I am army-crawling my way toward a D in Ms. O'Donnell's. If I don't blow her final, I'm gonna walk that stage next month, I'm gonna look Principal Higgins dead in the eye, I'm gonna flip him the bird, I'm gonna snatch that diploma. I'm gonna run like hell outta here…This year is different. This year is my year.”

He took a step back and bumped right into you, but before you could fall to the ground, he grabbed your arm and pulled you up and against his chest.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You both let out a quiet chuckle.

All at once, colors were brighter, smells were sweeter, touches were softer. Everything came together in that moment; you couldn’t believe it. Here he was.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I fell in love with an emo… BOY???

Tags: itafushi, megumi x itadori, bl, aged up characters, modern!au, side of SatoSugu, crack, NO SMUT, unserious joke about suicide, maybe some tension and suggestion though, megumi wants that cookie so damn bad, hey what’s junpei doing here???

Synopsis: There should only be ONE emo boy in Itadori’s heart, and it damn well wasn’t going to be the one who died in season one.

An: If you don’t ship itafushi, don’t read this LOL. This was so fun to write honestly. I didn’t take it too seriously. You shouldn’t either. The idea just popped up, and I wanted to write it as a palette cleanser from all the dark shit I’ve been conjuring up.

Megumi was going to need a dentist.

Yep, he was surely going to need to take Gojo’s precious black card and pay for all new veneers because his teeth were practically going to be dust by the time this visit was over.

It shouldn’t bother him this badly. His best friend and long-term crush was only visiting with his childhood best friend.

Itadori was a fucking saint. A ray of sunshine and pretty pink flowers on a rainy day. He exuded kindness and thoughtfulness in everything he did. He was unapologetically himself, even if he was a total dork. He was charming as all hell. It was no wonder how he was so popular.

Megumi wasn’t the only one that was blessed enough to feel his warmth, and that thought was sickening enough.

Usually, the black-haired male didn’t necessarily care about all the attention Itadori received. He didn’t bat an eye when Todo would unabashedly sling his arm across Itadori’s shoulders. He couldn’t care less when Nobara would sit on Itadori’s knees and apply skin care to his face, and he definitely never cared whenever Hana would run up to Itadori and give him one of the biggest hugs ever.

So, why was it bothering him so bad that Junpei was simply sitting next to Itadori… laughing at his god awful jokes? They were clearly close… Their knees casually leaned up against each others as they weren’t afraid of touching.

Maybe it was because Junpei laughed really hard at Itadori’s shitty jokes? Everyone loved Itadori, but it wasn’t because of his sense of humor. That was for certain.

Maybe he hated Junpei because he just sprung up out of thin air? Gojo had just shown up with Junpei with basically no forewarning. He knew how much Megumi hated when he did that.

Maybe it was because they had history together? History that didn’t involve Megumi. Maybe he felt some weird claim and ownership over Itadori because he was the first one out of the group of students to meet him. They had known each other the longest… even if it was only by a couple of days.

Or maybe it was because Junpei had that fuck ass haircut. The 2009 emo boy look was so stupid, and it didn’t help that he was wearing a My Chemical Romance t-shirt… It was an exact carbon copy of the one in Megumi’s closet.

“What about you, Megs?” Yuji voice snapped Megumi out of his train of thought. He looked up at the two pairs of eyes that were waiting for his response. Shit. He had been so focused on trying to deduce the status of their relationship that he hadn’t been listening for the past ten minutes.

“Hm? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.” He responded casual enough. It wasn’t unlike him to mentally check out of conversations… especially whenever Itadori brought up that godforsaken human earthworm movie.

“I was just trying to see if you wanted to go see a movie with Junpei and I?” Itadori asked without even skipping a beat.

Junpei and I?

Junpei and I!?

They were like some fucking package deal or something. No, he’d rather drop dead than go hangout with them. He couldn’t stand to see them together for any longer.

“I don’t have anything else better to do.” Megumi sighed in agreement. He couldn’t stand to see them together, but he also couldn’t stand the thought of them going on a date alone! Sorry Junpei, Megs was definitely going to tag along and be a complete cockblock for him.

“Really? Hell yeah!” Itadori grinned as he quickly sat up from the couch, exuding excited puppy energy. Megumi never wanted to go to the movies with him, so this was a treat. His two best friends going with him to see a movie! What could be better?

“Kugisaki!! Come with us!” Itadori shouted towards the short brunette, who was currently sitting at the table with Hana, painting her nails.

“I’d rather kill myself. Thanks!” Kugisaki called back to him, causing for him to pout in response. That’s fine. It was good enough that Megumi and Junpei were tagging along.

Yuji knew how much they had in common with each orher. He at least hoped they’d finally talk on the way to the movie theatre.

Megumi leaned his head back against the couch, and he started to dial Ijichi’s number for a ride. Despite being legal adults, none of them had their license yet. Why get a license when Gojo’s money and staff supported all of them?

It was a little while later when Ijichi pulled the car up. Megumi’s stomach flipped as he thought about the seating arrangement for the car. It was something he hadn’t considered yet.

The three of them could pile into the backseat, except that would be three tall men piled into the backseat. That would be far too uncomfortable. Itadori was the tallest. He could sit up front, but… that would leave Megumi and Junpei in the back seat.. no thanks.

They could have Junpei sit up front. Then, Megumi could sit in the back with Itadori and…

Oh look, Itadori was already opening the backdoor for Junpei and ushering him in before sliding in beside him… how nice.

Megumi was left brooding in the front seat, internally cursing himself for coming along. Being a cockblock required getting and keeping Itadori’s attention, but he had no fucking idea how to do that.

Their relationship had always been Itadori reaching out to Megumi, and the brunette acting indifferent towards him. Megumi envied him for being able to reach out to others so confidently.

“Gojo said he’d be home later tonight, Fushiguro.” Ijichi informed meekly, sensing the other’s frustration. He was just trying to make small talk, but Megumi really wasn’t in the mood today. He actually was never in the mood, but today was worse.

“I already told you to call me Megumi. You’ve known me since I was a kid.” He rolled his eyes at Ijichi, never understanding why the man insisted on using his last name.

“Right… right.” Ijichi fumbled over his words as he continued to drive. Megumi was grateful yet also hated the silence between them. Now, he could hear Yuji yapping to Junpei about the latest horror movie release.

They hadn’t stopped fucking talking since Junpei showed up. It was unnerving. Unnatural. No one had that much to say, did they?

“God, I wish you would’ve been there, Junpei. Megs hated that movie. You would’ve enjoyed it though.” Itadori said with a small laugh.

It was like a knife to Megumi’s gut. All this time they spent together… had Yuji been comparing him to Junpei? Had he secretly wished the Junpei was there instead of Megumi?

Aaaannd his teeth were grinding together again. He propped his head up with his hand, glaring out the car window. He wasn’t a cockblock at all. Fuck, he was a third wheel.

He debated on faking some sort of illness to stay behind in the car, but he knew Ijichi would’ve taken any opportunity to take him to see Shoko. Shoko would’ve found out quickly that nothing was wrong with him, and she would’ve forced him to explain why he faked being sick.

He trailed behind the two as they walked into the movie theatre. They were constantly bumping their arms together as they walked in perfect sync.

Junpei was a little smaller than Megumi, so he came up just to Itadori’s shoulder. Did Itadori prefer shorter men? He liked tall girls… Did that translate to men as well?

He knew Itadori didn’t care about gender. He had revealed such over a game of truth or dare. Kugisaki had asked if Itadori would ever date a guy. Megumi’s ears subtly perked up with the pink-haired male said he really didn’t care what gender someone was. He only looked for personality. With a bit more digging, Kugisaki had taken the honor of labeling Itadori as pansexual, and the young man agreed with such.

Megumi was glad that no one had pressed about his sexuality. It’s not that he was ashamed of being gay. Hell, shame wasn’t a thing when you had Gojo as a parent. He just didn’t want there to be that weird awkward tension that always happens between two friends when they find out each of them like the same sex.

It happened in middle school once. He was finally coming to terms with his sexual identity with the help of Geto. He came out of the closet to his closest (and only) friend in middle school, and there was a pregnant pause when his friend replied, “Wait really? I also like guys.”

He honestly preferred coming out to straight men. Sure, they’d make the common mistake of saying, “Well, as long as you don’t hit on me. We’re cool, dude.” but at least there was no complicated feelings when Megumi would always reply with them not being his type.

Lost in thought, he had completely been acting on autopilot this entire time. He didn’t even realize that they were already in the movie theatre until he sat next to Itadori. Junpei sat on the other side.

Itadori held a large bowl of popcorn on his lap. It was more than enough for the three of them to share, especially because Megumi despised popcorn. There was too many times when Gojo would try to serve popcorn as a meal to him as a young kid.

Granted, Gojo was a teen dad who ran off of sugar and desserts, so he really didn’t know any better either. Geto would always come by and save the day with his cooking.

A small tap on his thigh had Megumi tensing. He slightly flinched before snapping his gaze at Itadori.

“Sorry- I didn’t mean to scare you.” He whispered with a soft laugh. Even though it was dark, Megumi could still see how bright his smile was. It made his heart skip a beat. Christ, he was whipped. “Here. I know you don’t like popcorn.”

Itadori gently nudged Megumi’s thigh once again with a bag of American salty chips. It was one of his favorite kinds. Did Itadori by chance know that was his favorite..? If he did, was that something that friends did for each other?

It’s better not to read too deeply into it. He slowly took the chips from his friend’s hand. “Thanks.” He muttered as he just stared at the chip bag. Something about the small token kindness made his heart swell. Itadori didn’t get Junpei his own special snack.

“Don’t mention it.” His friend replied, immediately shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Megumi took a deep breath, and he tried to relax in his seat. Finally, rational thought was beginning to come back to him.

Junpei was only visiting for today and tomorrow. If there was some weird tension between him and Itadori, it’s probably just lingering feelings of their past. Megumi really had no right to be jealous. It’s not like he had ever expressed his feelings to him. He had no claim on Itadori.

Junpei would be leaving soon and flying back off to wherever the hell he lived now. This would be a funny memory in the future.

All was well… until Megumi caught a glimpse of the two men whispering to each other and laughing. Their hands kept bumping together in the popcorn bucket. Itadori was leaned against Junpei so they could hear each other better.

Fuck this. This was torture to witness. Junpei could get fucked for all Megumi cared. Who needs to visit their childhood best friend for a full two days, and who cared if Megumi had no claim over Itadori!? He was still his best friend. That had to count for something.

The movie Itadori had chosen, Human Tarantula, was nothing like Human Earthworm. It took a horror twist upon the movie, and there was little to no romance.

If Megumi wanted his attention, he was going to have to fight for it.

Even though the jump scares were pretty predictable, the next one that happened, Megumi sharply inhaled, and his hand latched onto Itadori’s thigh, feigning terror from the movie.

The pink-haired male straightened, and he looked away from Junpei for once as he looked over at Megumi. He never usually got scared during these films. Did… did Megumi have a secret fear of spiders?

Itadori leaned into Megumi, his mouth next to his friend’s ear as he softly whispered a, “You alright?” to him.

The brunette was thankful it was too dark in the movie theatre for Itadori to see how much that affected him. His cheeks flushed a soft red, and he carefully removed his hand from his friend’s thigh. “I’m fine..” He responded, not risking a glance in Itadori’s direction.

Itadori softly laughed. It was totally like Megumi to act like he wasn’t scared. The pink-haired male just didn’t expect him to be so afraid of spiders. It was cute though. He made a mental note of it. He would be the designated person to take care of spiders if they ever crawled their way into the house.

It wasn’t five minutes later until Itadori and Junpei were all huddled up together once again. They weren’t even talking. They were just leaned against each other, enjoying the movie together… like a couple.

It made Megumi’s stomach turn. He had to act scared to get Itadori’s attention even for just a minute. Meanwhile the emo with the fucked ass haircut can manage to keep his attention the entire day.

Junpei was getting to experience Itadori whispering into his ear constantly throughout the entire movie — something that Megumi only got to experience once, and it was something he craved again.

He was about to just excuse himself to the bathroom to go hide in self-deprecation. He was tired of third wheeling, and he was certainly fucking tired of hearing Junpei giggle at Itadori’s comments.

A scene played on the giant movie screen of a whole nest of baby spiders crawling around. It was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl with disgust. The sound alone made Megumi’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. He wasn’t actually afraid of spiders, but he also didn’t fuck with them either.

A hand rested on his knee, and Megumi tensed. Itadori casually had his palm on the brunette’s knee. He focused on his breathing — trying to not appear as if he was about to die over such a simple touch.

Itadori was clearly just trying to soothe him. It’s not like this is a romantic gesture. No, this is just what friends did for each other, right..?

His thumb gently stroked the outer part of his knee, and Megumi gripped onto the arm rest of the chair like he was fighting for his life. His heart was racing in his chest. Butterflies swarmed his stomach. Itadori and him were close, but they had never even shared a hug before. They weren’t the type of friends to casually share touches… like him and Junpei were.

Of course, on the outside, Megumi looked terrified. Itadori genuinely pitied his friend. He would’ve chosen a different movie if he knew about Megumi’s aversion to spiders.

His hand continued to caress his friend’s knee, thinking this would be a soothing motion to ease his terror, but Megumi was nearly shaking.

Itadori leaned over against him once more. “We can go if you’re not having a good time.” His breath brushed against the shell of his ear, causing Megumi to shudder.

“I’m fine.” He managed to get out in a low, steady tone.

Itadori gave his knee one good squeeze before continuing to rub circles around his knee. Megumi swallowed harshly as he tried to keep his breath slow and steady.

The rest of the movie went by painfully fast. Megumi couldn’t focus with Itadori’s hand on his knee, and he couldn’t get enough of the feeling. His hand itched to just reach down and hold it, but he was too nervous. He kept trying to remind himself that Itadori was likely only doing this so he could be a good friend.

The loss of contact had Mugumi’s heart sinking down into his stomach. Itadori was right back to being all up Junpei’s ass. Were they in some weird ass throuple situation? Is that what people thought about them as they saw them in passing? Two emos sharing a golden retriever?

Returning home, Gojo was sitting at the dining room table, playing on his Nintendo Switch before he looked up at the three with starry eyes. Megumi had forgotten Ijichi mentioned Gojo would be home this afternoon.

During the school semesters, Megumi, Itadori, and Nobara would all go live on the college campus they all went to. However, it was summer time, so they all stayed at Megumi’s since Nobara and Itadori really didn’t have any family.

Megumi’s house was expansive thanks to Gojo’s handsome check from being the clan head. Geto’s income also helped a bit, but he mainly ran a nonprofit for disadvantaged children.

Hell, their home was like a nonprofit for disadvantaged children. It felt like the collected orphans like pokemon cards. First Megumi when he was seven, now several college students found refuge in Gojo’s house.

Hell, Junpei was probably an orphan too. They were really trying to catch ‘em all.

“Gumiii~!” Gojo called out to his child by that god awful nickname that Megumi hated. He was eternally grateful that Itadori had landed on calling him ‘Megs’ instead. “How was the movie?” He asked.

Junpei and Itadori had already settled right back on the couch right next to each other, going back and forth about the voice actors for the movie they just watched.

“Outside.” Megumi grumbled as he grabbed his adoptive dad by the collar of his shirt and comedically dragged him backwards until they were in the backyard.

“Why the fuck did you bring him here, and when the fuck is he leaving exactly?” Megumi asked as soon as the door shut behind them.

“Grouchy.” Gojo laughed, scratching the back of his neck once his son released him. “I guess the movie wasn’t that good, was it?” He asked, clearly just trying to egg the brunette on.

“Gojo.” Megumi’s tone was low and threatening. His fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides. Small crescent shapes were likely indented into his skin from how tight his grip was.

“Okay, okay- No need for the government name, Gumi.” Gojo responded with his hands up in a dramatic surrendering expression. “Itadori had mentioned having only one close childhood best friend one time, and I decided that a reunion was very much needed.”

Megumi’s jaw tightened. He had really filled out his frame since he was a teenager. He still wasn’t as tall as Gojo, lanky bastard, but he wasn’t as defenseless as he use to be. And he honestly debated fighting his adoptive dad.

“So, anyone can just mention to you about a previous friend, and you’ll go dig them up and fly them out?” He asked in a careful tone. His voice was low and filled with misplaced anger.

Gojo pretended to contemplate Megumi’s question before finally giving a response. “If they give me pretty puppy dog eyes, yes.”

“He begged..?” Megumi’s anger was swiftly forgotten, replaced with shell-shock. Itadori had been so desperate to reconnect with Junpei that he begged Gojo to find him and fly him out..? His stomach coiled from the news, and his face paled.

Gojo chose his next words very carefully. “He said he wondered how Junpei had been getting along, and he missed their long talks about movies.”

It was enough to send Megumi straight to his room, locking the door behind him. He knew he had just been mindlessly jealous thus far today, but this level of self pity was unprecedented.

His long-term crush wasn’t fulfilled enough in his friendship with him. He had to go search out his old childhood best friend likely to rekindle old nostalgic feelings. They got along great. There hadn’t been a moment of silence in the house since Junpei had arrived.

Fuck. The memory of Gojo showing up with Junpei flooded Megumi’s mind. Gojo’s stupid ass had shoved Junpei into a box to make a grand reveal. Megumi was too surprised to notice how Itadori’s eyes gleamed and how he ran straight up to Junpei to envelop his body into a tight hug.

Even now, Gojo was sitting downstairs with Junpei and Itadori as they played a board game. It was sickening to think about.

Maybe… maybe he should just move on from Itadori. There was clearly nothing between them on Itadori’s side. He should take on a few more classes during the fall semester and bury himself in his studies to forget about his crush.

A soft knock at his door had him wiping his face, making sure no residue tears were left behind. “What?” He called out in an unamused tone.

“Don’t what me.” Geto’s calm voice filled the room, and Megumi immediately moved to unlock the door for his other adoptive dad.

Megumi knew better than to pick a fight with Geto as he was the lawmaker in the house, and Gojo would back him all the way to the moon over anything.

“Sorry…” He muttered as he sat back down on his bed, avoiding eye contact with the other male.

“Why are you up here moping? Nanako and Mimiko are even downstairs socializing, and you know how hard it is to get those girls to do anything besides stare at their phones and laugh at each other.” Geto said as he took a seat down on the bed next to Megumi.

Megumi shrugged his shoulders. There was no way he was about to vent out his frustrations right now. He already felt too vulnerable and raw. He didn’t need anyone else knowing what was going on.

Too bad for him, Geto was perceptive as hell. He was always the first to notice when Megumi would go on downward spirals like this… probably because he went through the same thing.

Geto’s episodes were far and few between nowadays, but he still had his days. Gojo had luckily gotten better at picking up on Geto’s warning signs, and he’d always do whatever was necessary to bring his husband back to life.

“You know… I remember I use to hate this girl back in college. She was brash, strong, and had long dark hair that rivaled my own.” Geto said as he looked at his son. He knew without even having to ask. Megumi was clearly stricken with jealousy and grief.

“So?” The brunette asked, giving Geto a raised eyebrow.

“So, Satoru was too touchy with her. He always use to tease her until she went red in the face, and they way he said her name had me plotting her demise. Uttaahimmee~” Geto mocked Gojo’s teasing tone of voice, earning a faint smile out of Megumi.

“We weren’t dating at the time, and I’d say we barely even had a situationship going. I felt like I had no right to be so jealous. I usually tried to play along, until I found myself retracting from what Satoru and I had been building.” He went on, recounting their teenage years fondly.

“I almost let him go, but I decided to give a last ditch effort. Can you imagine what would’ve happened if I had retracted completely instead of just telling him how I felt? He admitted that he was only acting that way so I’d feel jealous. He thought it’d make me want him more. What an idiot.” He laughed, and Megumi joined in with his own soft laughs.

“Thanks. I know what you’re trying to do..” Megumi said with a soft smile planted on his face. “But I don’t think Itadori is doing this to get a rise out of me.”

“Certainly not. That boy doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t perhaps like seeing that jealous side of you.” Geto said, raising his eyebrows with suggestion that had Megumi shoving him out of his room with embarrassment. His dads were too cool joking about that stuff with him, even if he was grown now.

After a few moments of reflection, he set forth a plan in his mind before collecting himself mentally. He was going to allow himself to feel jealous without any judgment.

He walked downstairs, and he lingered around the back of the couch as he watched his sisters, Itadori, Junpei, and Gojo all playing some sort of board game.

Itadori and Junpei were nearly on fucking top of each other. It was disgusting. He let out a disgruntled noise of dissatisfaction as he climbed over the couch to sit on Itadori’s other side.

“Hey Megs. I was going to go check on you after this round.” He said as he freed himself away from Junpei.

“It’s fine.” He said as he placed a firm hand over Itadori’s knee. Butterflies once again swarmed his stomach. He really couldn’t touch the other without getting all flustered. He tried to control his breathing, and he forced his voice to be steady. “What are you playing?” He asked.

Itadori noticed the sudden hand on his knee, but he didn’t dare to comment on it. “We’re playing Life.”

“Speaking of which, it’s your turn, Yuji.” Junpei spoke up, interrupting their small interaction.

Megumi glared at Junpei unapologetically until every person in that room felt uncomfortable.

“Actually, I completely forgot. I have a livestream to go watch!” Mimiko said as she hurried out of the living room.

“Me too-“ Nanako added as she chased after her twin sister up the stairs.

“I think I hear Suguru calling for me.” Gojo said with a knowing grin as he leisurely left the living room as well.

“Well…” Junpei muttered lowly as he looked around. “Maybe we can watch another movie, Yuji..?”

Megumi didn’t miss how Junpei clearly didn’t intend on inviting him to their plans. His teeth ground together, but he stayed silent, waiting to see what Itadori’s response would be.

“I… actually need to shower. It’s getting late, and Todo expects me to be in the gym every morning at 5 o’clock sharp.” Itadori said as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

Good boy. Megumi thought to himself.

“I’ll bring you down some blankets and pillows. Hana’s currently taking up the guest room, but you and I can camp-“ A disapproving growl from Megumi had Itadori quickly rethinking what he was saying. He felt the brunette’s hand tighten around his knee. “You and I can… catch up tomorrow.” He quickly adjusted his words.

“Yeah, sure.. That’s fine.” Junpei nodded as he got comfortable on the couch. Yuji stood up, and Megumi followed along right behind him. It took work to keep the smug expression off his face. He finally fucking won. He was officially a cockblock.

His smug victory was cut short when he was swiftly jerked into the bathroom, and his back was pressed against a wall. The door shut, and the lock clicked into place. Itadori’s hands trapped him in, and he looked up at his tall friend with wide eyes.

“Mind telling me what’s going on with you?” Itadori spoke in a voice that was not at all intimidating, but it was more concerning than anything.

“I don’t know what you’re-“ A hand placed firmly under his jaw had Megumi’s heart nearly leaping out of his chest. He secretly hoped Itadori couldn’t hear it.

This was straight out of his fantasies. His friend keeping him still against a wall, forcing his gaze up into his big brown eyes. He had the face of an angel, but his actions spoke to a hidden darkness underneath.

“Don’t lie to me, Megs.” Itadori spoke with a frown. It looked like disappointment on his face, making Megumi feel slightly remorseful for the bold display of jealousy. Though, he wouldn’t have had to do that if Yuji and Junpei weren’t so annoyingly close.

“You’ve been up Junpei’s ass since he got here. It’s like you forgot you have other friends around.” Megumi finally fessed up as he tried to jerk his jaw away from Itadori’s grasp. He only tightened more around his jaw.

“That’s what your mood has been about?” Itadori asked with a laugh. A laugh. Megumi could feel his anger boiling over as if he wanted to explode right then, feeling so invalidated by the guy he had longed for-

His train of thought completely stopped as he felt a pair of lips upon his own. No way was this happening right now. He literally had to look down and check. Yep, Itadori was kissing him right now.

After the smallest moment of hesitancy, Megumi instantly melted into the kiss, looping his arms around Yuji’s neck and swallowing down each and every small noise he made.

The kiss was short, but it was lust-filled on both sides. Itadori was gently panting with a dumb grin on his face as he eyed his best friend. Megumi face had a subtle blush to it, and he was avoiding his gaze.

“Does that make you feel better? I didn’t take you for such a brat, Fushiguro.” Yuji gently teased, squeezing onto Megumi harder as he tried to get out of his grasp.

“What did you just call me?” Megumi asked as he was trying to fight Yuji’s hulking figure. The pink-haired male had supernatural strength that rendered Megumi completely useless against him.

“I’ll let you mark me up if you stop fighting me and forget that I called you a brat.” Yuji bribed with a laugh, and Megumi went completely still in his arms.

“Wherever I want.” He negotiated with a narrow stare.

“Wherever you want and however many it takes for you not to be such a jealous recluse.” Yuji offered.

“Deal.”

*** *** ***

Todo was a loss for words when Yuji walked into the gym the next morning littered in bruises along his neck and collarbones.

Also, no one dared to mention to Megumi that Junpei was actually straight… There was never a battle of the emo boys in Yuji’s heart after all.

[dilf-docs]

Hello! I love what you write it’s amazing! ✨

Can I request an Eddie Brock one where the reader is her neighbor and they are pretty close and she’s in love with him but he’s still obsessed with Anne, and one day she sees him really sad (about Anne) and invites him to see her band and she starts playing (The one- The Warning) and idk something interesting happens:0

Take A Chance On Me

eddie brock x younger fem!reader

summary: being in a relationship with eddie is a bliss! except for when he mourns his ex relationship with anne, which unfortunately, seems to be pretty much all the time. in the middle of all that sulking, you come up with an idea. will you be able to make him choose you this time?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, situationship lol, so angst!!, sunshine!reader x grumpy!eddie (he's still mopping around), hurt/comfort, exhibition kink, fingering, oral (f. receiving), p. in v., riding, creampie, you can tell i've been listening to ABBA ijbol, no venom :(

word count: 4,394 words

side note: hi, tysm for requesting! since this request is very specific lol but has similar themes to my previous eddie work i decided to make it as a follow-up in the neighbours au; not a series yet but it was an interesting idea to add to their dynamic!!! hope you like it <3 in case you wanna read the previous part for context as to where this two are it's here

Ever since that night, your relationship with Eddie has grown. Hell, you may say you're a day away from being official any time.

And there are time's when you're so sure of it, like when he stops by your apartment and kisses you like there's no one else in the world; to later make you come hard with the lights off (hey! you gotta start a tradition or two).

But there are other times when you knock on his door and he doesn't open, only for you to use your spare key, finding the room scented with empty bottles, your neighbor mumbling something like Anne through his sad pouty lips.

Yes, Anne. A name that makes you seethe like it burns; a ghost that haunts the spaces of silence where Eddie seems to doubt what the hell is he doing: why is he there―with you.

Your heart feels heavy, and it feels sort of pathetic that it's his hurting what hurts you the most. In the end, things are like this: you love helping people, your empathy may be infinite and you're sure you've never loved anyone like you love Eddie Brock before.

So it's this combination of things that makes you take the following decision, hoping to make him pass the page, so whenever he gets drunk again, all his lips will ever whisper is your name over and over again; that his sadness belongs to him, and not the only person that seems to be keeping you away from your happy ending, even if they don't know about it.

To Eddie, you're the sweetest thing in the world. Nobody kisses like you do, hugs with the tightness you do, loves as much as you do, fucks as good as you do or bakes killer cookies like yours.

That list does nothing but grow, as he is constantly mesmerized by every new little thing he learns about you: your favorite movies, the new recipes you try (he's more than happy to beta taste them for you), the way you sing (you do have a good voice that made him squirm at the other secret talent you had) and your kindness, which has done more hurt than good lately: because Eddie can't fathom the idea of you, taking care of him during his sad drunken mopping nights, while listening to everything about Anne on repeat.

He knows it hurts you, that he's starting to create creaks in your relationship, the hope slowly fading away from your eyes each passing day, doubts creeping up your smile, erasing that shiny beautiful light of yours; it's the only thing stopping him from calling you his girlfriend, and still, he can't stop.

It's like a vice at this point, and he wonders if he'll ever sober out of it.

So today he knocks on your door, hoping to set things straight even if a part of his heart still beats for Anne. It may be selfish, but after you came in his life, he can't imagine it without you.

But when you open up, he's at loss for words.

"Why are you wearing that?"

You scoff. "Hope it's not an offense, judging by your tone"

His eyes roam over your body, and even if you tend to be more on the confident side, you can't help but feel shy. After all, he's never seen you like this before: all glam.

It's a jacket, well his jacket, a small black top and black very short shorts. You surely are playing the part tonight, switching your usual pink and sunflower bubbly style to something more... rock.

"Why?" is all he asks, and you feel obligued to answer. Besides, you were going to knock on his door after getting out, not expecting he did it first. The surprise is ruined, but his incredulous eyes suffice for now.

"So, my friend has this band" you explain, "and they just got sick. The thing is, they had a gig today in a bar where they're regulars, so naturally, cancelling at last minute is not an option"

"And?" you love how oblivious he can be sometimes.

"And, I found a replacement" his face remains blank, so you sigh a little dissapointed but deliver with chirp, "me!"

"You?"

You roll your eyes, "is there a problem?"

"No!" he corrects hastily, "I'm just surprised, that's all. I know you like to sing, and have a good voice! But there's a huge gap between that and well, playing in a gig"

"I know, but I used to have a band when I was in highschool; I'm used to this things"

His mouth falls a bit, and maybe his head starts to cloud with ideas of your clashing new style and angel like voice; or maybe it's you wearing his jacket, a garment of his for you to bear in public: a first. It's a bit stupid and too daydream-ish for his liking, so he blurts:

"I didn't know that"

Your laugh is so light, it feels like wind blowing across a field.

"Oh, Eddie baby" he blushes at the pet name and endearing tone, your voice dropping like it does whenever you want something he's more than willing to give you, "there's a lot you don't know about me"

In the end, you convinced Eddie to join you, who, if you're being honest, didn't need that much convincing.

He was sold just with the idea of seeing you sing, which intrigued him. There's a huge difference in your drunk karaoke nights that annoyed your neighbors and playing live in a gig. Eddie wants to see what you have to offer, and as for you? Well, this is your plan: your plan to make him forget about Anne once and for all.

It may be silly and immature but hey, you're young! It's okay to be wrong and possessive sometimes, and your friend just did you the favor of faking an illness to give you a spot to shine and put that voice of yours to use, that's a bit rusty since your highschool days. So, no pressure! Your potential boyfriend is on the crowd and ruining this would cost your kind friend their job. Good thing your optimism doesn't seem to expire, because Lord! Your hands are trembling and sweaty when you hold a microphone again for the first time in a little more than a decade.

"Hey" you exit out of the curtain, and the dim lights now bright up a little, directing themselves towards you, "good evening"

You hear a bit of muffled voices that sound confused, asking for your friend, and you can tell the crowd are regulars. Yikes.

"I'm here on behalf of Isha. They're sick, so I'm covering just for tonight" you decide to go for a little jokey joke to light up the otherwise judgemental room, that seems to be testing you―like they know all your weak spots; smell your nerves. "So don't like me too much, as I'm a one time thing"

Eddie laughs, but covers it with a cough when he realizes the room is awfully quiet.

"Okay, uh, for tonight's set, I've got a few things prepared" you fumble a bit with the papers where the lyrics are (you've always liked to be a bit old fashioned), like you're clumsy and it's your first time, not reflecting the fact that this idea has been simmering for a while―every song rehearsed and planned. "Songs, I mean, I've got a few songs prepared"

You start with something smooth, which makes people divert their attention back to whatever they were doing. To you, that's a bit dissapointing, but as long as they don't judge and Eddie keeps his eyes on you, you think you can make it.

But what where you really thinking? Being optimistic means you're often let down, as your pink bright ideas end up crushed by the real gray world. And you can handle it―as you're no weak, but resorting to singing a song that feels oddly specific about the situationship you're currently living in hopes of making Eddie forget his ex fiancée and get whooped by your mesmerizing voice is actually kind of crazy!

But yeah, now you're nearing the end of the set list and almost everyone's eyes are on you. Of course, Eddie is the most attentive, taking every word that pours out of your melodic mouth like if he's thirsty, and your voice is the only thing that can help him. He never leaves your silhouette, and it may be you dreaming, but there's something like guilt and love behind his eyes; torn. Yeah, you do feel like you're dreaming, and it's been so long since you felt this alive; you kind of forgot how happy singing made you.

As the crowd is engaged, you find it fitting to make a pause and announce the next song. You know your voice comes out as shaky, but hope people think it's about tiredness and not nerves. Why are you nervous, thought? People love you! It's because this is the final part of your plan: singing this song you used to be obssesed long ago, but now seems to perfectly sum up those raw, angry and vulnerable feelings fo yours you're simply not used to; they say music helps us put a name to that we can't, and that has never been more true.

"For the next song, well, our last song" a few booing echos in the crowd, and you can't believe you made it this far. Maybe Isha did lost their job, "it's called The One, by The Warning. Hope you enjoy"

Eddie's had such a blast tonight, he hasn't noticed the past of time, completely lost when you announce the last song. Among other things he's forgotten, is the fact he was supposed to talk today with you about the future of your relationship.

It's kind of your fault: how can he remain focused with such display in front of him?

The band begins playing, and soon, your voice fills the air:

I'll do anything to make it happen

Tell me your secrets, what are you hiding?

Some people sing along the lyrics, while others just listen attentively. You make it to a part of the song that sounds like:

Can you explain to me what's this feeling?Love it or hate it, it's never leaving. Want to believe, that you feel it too.

Oh, Eddie feels nauseous. The lyrics hit a bit too close to home, and he fills called out in the room of oblivious people.

He can hear your vocals breaking a bit, as raw as he's never heard before. He feels so bad, he's about to make the most ridiculous thing of his life and jump onto the stage to hug you, but he can't interrupt you. So he sits there, palms sweaty and nerves tense.

He's been dumb, but like, really dumb. Of course you know it: how can you not? He swears every morning after, his hangover unbearable, your kindness hurts more than his headache―because there's pain behind your eyes, and he knows you remember more what happened than he did. He feels undeserving of your compassion and all the care you give him, even if you know Eddie's still hung up on Anne.

There is no reason to even doubt it. Please, understand that I am not lying. My heart is true, it beats for you.

How can you still love him? Still root for him? How can you give him your heart knowing a part of his still beats for Anne?

Fantasizing that something might happen, always wishing that I was the one.

He feels torn, because he knows it's you he wants to be with. You're the reason his days have been brighter ever since he lost everything, the reason he smiles whenever his door knocks and why he isn't alone in this sulking anymore. So he hates the fact that he can't heal faster and move on, because that's all that's really stopping him from just being him and you.

Give me something I can feel, I'm too afraid to ask. What is it I need to change, for you to love me back?

He's done mourning but he knows grief doesn't pass in the blink of an eye. But he's sure of it already.

Say that you will really never hurt or leave me. Say it and it will come true. Hold me like you really love me: tell me that you do.

Those three words he's been holding back: afraid of feeling too much in such little time; afraid of thinking he would ever feel his heart beat for anyone else, the confession dripping from his eyes but not past through his sealed mouth.

And I know that I'm not the one on your mind. But still, I will be the one.

The song ends before he's registered, and amid the applauses, you leave the stage, almost running behind the courtain. The band bids goodbye and Eddie finds himself leaving his table and moving onto where the small improvised dressing room is.

He's done pondering. You will be the one.

You didn't plan to rush backstage like that, but tears started to burn in your eyes and it was getting harder to contain them infront of the crowd.

They loved your show, but you feel empty, even if a little relieved. There was a pressure before and now it's gone, but there's a thing that hasn't gone: the doubt.

You wonder if Eddie understood the words you feel like a coward for not voicing, the feelings that threaten to spill like a hot cauldron, the rage burning your throat when he talks about her, like she's all there is in his mind. Then comes the sadness; you can't help but wonder if he will ever choose you.

Tonight, perhaps, is the day all those what-if's will be answered, and their possible answers won't hunt you anymore.

It's like he read your mind, because there's a knock in your door and it's like you have memorized a bit too much of Eddie: the traces of his face―with wrinkles that mark the gaps in your relationship, the loud way in which he eats, the sounds he makes when he rides his bike, especially those when you wrap your arms around his; even the way his knuckles call for you through the door.

You clear your throat, trying to hide your broken voice. "Come in"

Eddie's face pops up, and all you can offer him is a weak smile. "Did you like the show?"

He tries to measure what he's about to say, because he doesn't know where to start, but the glow in his eyes betrays him, so he excitedly says: "It was great! I didn't know you had that in you, baby"

Even the pet name doesn't make the smile reach your eyes. Oh, he's screwed up for sure.

"Thanks" you mutter, small. You hate feeling like this: the last time you did, you were still in middle school. Your kindness was taken for weakness, and you promised yourself you would never let your heart be taken and used again. Yet here you are, hope planting a seed inside of you that's grown into a rose with thorns that pierce your sweet heart whenever it beats for Eddie. But you can't stop: the roots are too deep in you, and you can't find yourself to kill the flower that's bloomed out of this one-sided love.

"Listen, y/n" oh, he's serious. No petname or nothing. Maybe he's finally opened his eyes and realise this fooling-around-thing you've got going on isn't going nowhere; that your new isn't as exciting as it was before, and his heart will never be yours. You'll never be the one.

"Y-yes?" you can't fake it. Your voice cracks, so you avoid looking at him, "tell me, Eddie".

He shouldn't start with that, seeing the way your face fell and body shakes, even though you're sitting.

"Fuck. Baby, no" he coos, getting closer and dropping on his knees, forcing you to look at him by taking your face softly by the chin, "look at me".

When you meet his eyes and they're already glossy, he feels like he deserves a higher punishment than what any physical one could ever accomplish.

"No, no. Shit, I'm sorry" he tries wiping your tears with his thumb, but you keep on crying more. "Ah, fuck"

"Are you done with me?" you ask on a shaky whisper.

Funny saying that when you weren't even a thing. But you can't help and yearn for it; said what first came onto your mind.

"No!" he corrects, so quick and loud it startles you. "What made you think that?"

"The song-" you start blabbering, "No, I'm sorry Eddie, it's my fault. I shouldn't put on a show that's m-more like a tantrum if we're being honest. We're adults and we can talk, for God's sake! That was so immature of me. Let's just forget this and- I don't even know what to do or what to say, just, spare me from walking out or taking the elevator at the same time I do because it's just gonna be so embarrasing- please, if you're gonna break up with me, do it quick-"

He didn't want to, but he feels the need to interrupt your little rant by now.

"Y/n, stop" you feel even more embarrased now. You start to drift a little and begin considering to move out of the country and change your name. "Who said anything about breaking up?"

Ah, you feel stupid. Stupid, but hey! How can you not come to that conclusion? It's both of yours fault.

"Y-you didn't" you whisper, "but-" you try to reason yet the anger and embarrasment is a bit too much.

"I didn't yet I can understand why you'd feel that way" he sighs, "but let me explain, please"

With a nod, you motion him to continue.

"I'm the only one who should be saying sorry. You did nothing wrong, baby; in fact, your little solution to talk out your feelings surprised me a lot. In a good way! You know I love your voice. But anyways, as I was saying, I'm sorry about everything. It's just... it's not fair to you: you've been nothing but sweet, loving and the best girl I've met ever. I feel like I don't deserve you, and after tonight, if you choose not to stay with me, I'll get it. You're worth of much more than a sad, older and bitter nobody" he ends his sad little man speech, and you can't help it but leave your sit and wrap your arms around him, burying your face on his shoulder as you whisper lovingly on his ear:

"I know, Eddie" you stroke his hair gently, "but I'm not leaving you. Never"

He lets himself sink into your embrace, the perfume and sweat such an intoxicating smell, he's drowning in your scent already.

"Good" his voice turns husky, dropping an octave. The hard on his jeans doesn't go unnoticed, "because I wanted to give my rockstar a reward"

You laugh, and he feels better seeing you smile.

"Seriously, Eddie? How can you go from vulnerable to horny?"

"Both are states of vulnerable!" he defends, "besides, tell me that you don't want it" he motions for you to stand against the dresser, your back against the mirror, goosebumps in your skin when it touches the cool surface.

Eddie grips the flesh of exposed skin your shorts show, leaving a trail of kisses against the bare tights. He pulls them off, and you gasp out a contained moan.

"Someone c-could find us, Eddie"

He growls, his head in between your legs, the panties blocking him from your pulsating cunt. "Let them" he pronounces it so deliciously, you find it hard to resist the panic of being found; Isha will kill you if they found out, but hey, the plan was to get back with Eddie so in the end, it worked, right? Can't get mad at that.

The panties come off with a yank, and you can barely ask if he locked the door before his tongue gives the exposed dripping folds a generous lick. You arch your back at the pleasure that runs through you.

"Mpmh, Eddie" you groan, feeling his slow but steady movements. Your breathe comes out ragged, more when he uses his thumb to caresses the sensible zone with fast circles, making you cum with a cry, yet it muffles inside his mouth that captures your lips in a kiss.

You can taste yourself in his lips, but let him devour your mouth.

"Want more?" Eddie groans against your mouth, his fingers going inside you, softly touching the entrance. You moan against his lips, moving your hips greedily in response.

"Yes" you moan out, making him chuckle.

"Seems I'm not the only horny one here, baby" he mocks, "are you that needy?"

You huff out, annoyed at the accusation.

"Don't worry, you and I both know we love to help each other out" his voice is soft, "besides, it's been a stressful day for us, hasn't it. Let me make you feel better, baby"

His hand travels inside you, his middle and forefinger sliding lazily into you. You tense up, feeling him touch your clit, his fingertips stroking over sensitive tissues. He can see the mirror fogging, and if he didn't have his head in between your legs, he'd probably see his face full of your juices.

"Shit" his voice comes out of his chest, sounding rather gutural and animalistic. "God, how wet you feel, baby"

You mewl. But it's not enough, his fingers falling short: you need to feel all of him. Now.

"Eddie" you beg in need, "please".

"Please what?"

Your hands travel to his pants, undoing his jeans. His large palm stops you before you can reach his underwear.

"Say your words, baby" he taunts, and you hate the way your neediness leaks from in between your tights.

"Just... I need you, Eddie"

He gets rid of the jeans by himself, and you stroke his member covered by the fabric. You get rid of it too, and the next thing is your mouth saying: "I want to ride you"

Even in his haze, he reacts a bit, looking around the room.

"There" you point the chair you were sitting previously on.

He sits down, obeying without a word. You come close, gripping his member firmly in your hand. You pump from the bottom to the top, making him roll his eyes and throw his body back from the pleasure.

His eyes go blank as you sit over his dick, already leaking with pre-cum. Eddie grabs you by the hips, the veins on his arms more notorious, some tattoos popping up like they are 3D.

"You're beautiful" he mutters, and you feel like giving him a reward: so you grab his dick with your hand as his grip gets tighter.

He presses his tip against your fold, side to side, like if he was painting your tight walls with his juices.

He pushes the first centimeter inside, and as soon as you stretch out for him, he starts thrusting, getting a whimper out of you.

"Fuck" he curses, deep inside you. His body shakes, and you feel every single vibration provoked by the friction. You feel dizzy as you go up and down, the rhythm delicious. He keeps moving, his hips doing a circle, all to feel more of you.

"You feel so good, baby" he praises, in ecstasy. You keep moving up and down, covering his long. You bite back a moan, "might end up helping me more than I was going to help you"

He's fucking you silly, and your mind goes blank, so after the thrusts and his confession from before, you dizzy out:

"Everything is for you, Eddie; just for you. You're the only one who can make me feel like this"

"How does it feel?" he asks in a whisper against your ear, his thrusting getting sloppier.

"Feels so good"

"As good as you feel" he moans out, his breathe whistling through his gritted teeth. Your ads bounces against his tights, the sound of skin clapping in the tiny room a very obscene echo. "C'mon, baby. Make me cum"

You tighten with the plea: tights, stomach and ass. Your core is swollen, burning with each new thrust. Eddie keeps you tight as profound as his strong arms can; there'll be a bruise tomorrow.

He pushes all his length inside, keeping you open so he can bury himself deep in you, with strong thrusts against your shaky cunt. His jawline tenses, painfully close to his orgasm.

Your voice comes out muffled, "Harder".

It's funny how no one has even checked the room. No knock, nothing. You suppose they all went out their way when they saw you about to burst in tears, to give you space, a space you're pretty thankful for now.

"You're mine" he rests his forehead against yours, "say it"

His hips shake as you pronounce, "only yours, Eddie"

You can't contain it any longer. There's relief after the intense orgasm that shakes every bone in your body, overestimulation when you feel him cum inside of you, thick shots painting your swollen walls.

You let yourself fall into his arms, the chair creaking with all the weight. Sweat glistens as you try to get your breathe back, your heart beating so fast you fear you'll have a heart attack.

"Tell you a secret?" you hum tiredly against his shoulder, resting your head in it as his long thick fingers comb through your damp hair. You can't believe your plan made it this far, but since you're still in the haze, you can only nod and hum.

He gets closer to you, his hot breathe tickling your ear.

"You're the one, y/n" your heart beats even faster, and you hide your face against his hot skin so he doesn't see the new tears that are forming in your eyes: they're happy tears. "I love you"

Is this is a signal to sing and not voice out your problems? Who knows, maybe next time, if you sing Money Money Money by ABBA, you won't be so broke.

[strawberrynightmare]

Mikey, Baji & Inupi getting whacked while they're trying to wake you up

Content warning: These take place during/after a sleepover! Tickling, something awful happens in Mikey's fic

Mikey

~Modern problems require modern solutions 🤠

~Late, late in the night, you were playing all kinds of games. Cards, truth or dare, illuminati, board games, video games, fire boy and water girl, you name it. Mikey was reaching the peak of competitiveness and you were not far behind.  

~And you would have been long knocked out had it not been for the sugar rush the two of you were on. Needless to say… the two of you were more than a bit hyperactive. 

~It was good after two am that a blood-curling crisis made its way into your blissful playtime. 

The two of you looked at each other in horror, as if to make sure you were not imagining things. But this dreadful situation went beyond human imagination. After a few minutes of deadly silence, your lover spoke in a quiet, shaky voice. 

“We ran out of snacks.”

~Even though the two of you stocked up so well beforehand, it was all gone now. After some good 15 minutes of crying about it, a rock paper scissors match began. Of course, the loser had to go through the hardships of getting their ass up, dressing up, going to the nearest 24/7 convenience store and buying some more food. 

~And he lost.

~As he dragged himself through the room, you could swear it looked like he was going to his own execution. He mumbled under his breath but the two of you were so out of it, you didn’t care and he didn’t even know what he was mumbling in the first place.

~He was back pretty soon but still found you passed out on the floor of his room. Your boyfriend didn’t think much about it when he began to gently kick your side. 

“Wake up, y/n I’ve got your favourite cookies.” ~Guy who looked and sounded like a zombie

~He knelt down to unpack the two bags of snacks while continuing to nudge you with his hand. And next thing he knew was a kick to his jaw as you shifted from laying on your back to your side. 

~He blinked a few times, instinctively touched his chin, sat there for a while, then stood up to turn off the light and fell asleep next to you. 

~Via the two of you trying to figure out how he got a bruise on his jaw after you woke up. 

Baji

~Aaand he took that personally 🙄

~It was definitely not a great idea to have a sleepover at his house on a Wednesday, but he got a bit impatient. For three whole days, you listened to him complaining about not sleeping well and insisting that the cure would be you sleeping over. 

~”What is it? I’m telling you, my mom likes you anyways. And if I sleep well, my grades will be better too!”

You’ve slept well for so many years, and the good grades were never in sight.”

”That’s foul, y/n!”

~In the end you settled for a study sleepover. Instead of messing around, the plan was to study together for some time and then go to sleep at a reasonable hour. Yeah, the plan was all it was.

~You were able to go through two pages of your textbooks before getting utterly distracted and doing whatever the hell you wanted. You ended up sneaking out even before the clock struck midnight and enjoyed the city basked in the night to your heart’s content. It was heavily past 2am when you came back and it was only because it started raining.

~Soon afterwards you fell asleep cuddling into his chest with his arm around your shoulder.

~And he recklessly followed you into the land of dreams without any awareness of what was going to happen in the morning. 

~He was woken up by his mother at the usual hour. Mrs. Baji brought you two breakfast straight into his room and as he was half awake, she urged him to wake you up as well. In a half-awake state, he barely began to complain and tell her to wake you up herself before she cut him off with “I tried”.

~In his defence, he thought that shaking your arms lightly and calling out your name would be enough to wake you up. Jokes on him, you didn’t even budge. He tried everything his mother ever used on him, taking away your blanket, rubbing your back, hell, he even tried to wake you up with a kiss - nothing worked.

~He was absentmindedly poking your cheek while trying to come up with something else. All he could think of was a glass of cold water or calling his friends. It was then that he suddenly got smacked in the face with a pillow. The force of the hit was enough to have him rolling out of the bed. His traitor pillow was dropped right next to him. All you did was roll onto your side. Still asleep. 

~If his loud ‘HAA????’ didn’t manage to wake you up, you might as well have been dead. Anyways, prepare because he took that as a declaration of war. How does a sleeping person prepare for anything

~He climbed back, pushed you onto your back and began to mercilessly tickle you in all the weak spots he was aware of. He even took a feather out of his pillow and began tickling your feet and that was the final straw, for you to wake up completely disoriented, fall from the bed and instinctively kick your boyfriend off the bed. Both of you ended up on the floor, but Baji didn’t even notice that. He was too busy patting himself on the back and praising his genius for managing to wake you up.

~All while he existed there in a half-conscious state, trying to comprehend the whole situation. 

~And then he dragged you to school. You were late because waking you up almost took him a whole hour. 

~Surprisingly, he managed to take the test and actually answer enough questions for you to consider him passing it. 

~So now he has an excuse to invite you in more often. Although he did learn to only do this on weekends so that you can sleep for as long as you wish, Sleeping y/n is the one person he’s too afraid to face again.

Inupi

~Bro gave up 💀

~It happened during a sleepover. The two of you were on the couch and watching a movie late in the night. He excused himself for a while when he noticed someone koko calling him. The call lasted longer than expected and when he came back, you were already asleep.

~All he wanted was to gently wake you up by rubbing your cheek so that you could move to his bigger and more comfortable bed. Totally not because he wanted to cuddle you. Not at all. 

~But then he got smacked with a pillow you  were clutching to your chest so hard, the force made him fall backwards and land on his ass. You were still asleep as he sat there, trying to comprehend what just happened. 

~He wasn’t even sure whether you were just pretending to sleep to take the sofa or it was really just you reacting to unwanted stimuli. 

~He sighed and simply went back to his room to gather the blankets and cushions. Then, he slipped a cushion under your head, gently fixed it into a more comfortable position and wrapped you up in a blanket. After that, he just made some adjustments for himself and sat next to you, leaning his body on yours.

~This fixed the issue the two of you always had. The issue was called ‘Who takes the bed?!’. While he insisted that you should take it, you insisted that it was his bed and you were fine with the couch. But he was also fine with the couch and he couldn’t just- sleep comfortably in his warm bed and make you sleep out there. Sharing the bed felt so intimate that none of you dared to suggest it although i know some of ya simps would jump at the first gotten chance to share a bed with him

~...So the two of you are now sharing a couch, but he swore that the next time, you’re taking the bed even if he has to drag you in there himself.

[heygirltimeformorning]

wrote some tooth-rotting Buddie fluff chatfic for @playinginthunderstorms & @theflatman last night and I thought yall might enjoy!

this is VERY rough chatfic, and I cleaned it up a bit, but it’s chatfic, so please don’t be harsh with me!! & enjoy.

*

Eddie moves Chris back to LA very unexpectedly three days before Christmas, which causes chaos for Buck, because obviously he had gifts for Eddie and Chris, but he’d expected to go to El Paso to Eddie’s rental house a couple days after Christmas to see the Diaz boys. Christmas itself he planned to spend with Maddie and Chimney, and he doesn’t really bother decorating his loft beyond the tree and a wreath on the front door. Maybe he’s not in the Christmas spirit this year. Maybe he doesn’t particularly want to examine why. Maybe it has to do with Eddie and Chris.

So Buck is at home, December 22, glaring at his pitiful little tree and the neatly wrapped packages, and his cell phone buzzes.

second favorite Diaz: any chance your available for an airport pickup in 3 hours and 45 mins?

And Eddie’s used the wrong form of “you’re,” and LAX three days before Christmas is genuinely one of the innermost circles of hell, but —

are you and Chris coming back to LA

And Eddie confirms, yes, he and Chris are enroute, and Buck has two thoughts: one, he’s going to have to leave soon for LAX, traffic is that bad and two, Chris and Eddie will be coming home to a house that isn’t decorated for Christmas, and that will not do.

If the sudden return of his usually indomitable Christmas spirit is tied to Eddie and Chris and their return to LA, well, Buck has decorating to do. He doesn’t have time to sit and think about his feelings. And that’s how Buck Buckley does things: all in. He’s never half-assed anything in his entire life, so he loads up every Christmas decoration he can find, takes it over to Eddie’s still-uninhabited house, and gets to work.

Buck never thought he’d be grateful for flight delays, but through the magic of Christmas and the sudden return of Buck’s Christmas spirit, Eddie and Chris’ flight is delayed long enough that Buck can actually do a decent job decorating for Christmas, including the Christmas-themed sheets he had given Eddie and Chris one year, complete with matching Christmas pajamas. He sets a plate of cookies on the counter right as his phone alarms, reminding him it’s time to head to LAX, so he does, going to get his boys. He doesn’t think about anything other than the fact that he managed to pull off kind of a Christmas miracle. He doesn’t think about the way he’d wanted to beg Eddie not to go, the way he’d wanted to beg Eddie to come back — come home every day since he left. He doesn’t think about any of that. It’s Christmas, and his boys are going to be back in LA.

But the truth is, ever since he’d found out that Eddie intended to move to El Paso, there’s been a pit in his stomach. He’d chalked it up to his own personal abandonment issues, had told himself he didn’t like change. He could admit he’d miss Eddie — he already missed Chris, and it’s normal to be sad your best friend is moving away. Even when it was for a good reason. Normal to be sad, yes. But Buck didn’t really half-ass things, and while he thinks he’s disguised it well, the truth is he’s devastated that, once again, he wasn’t enough for anyone to fight for. And he knows. He knows that Eddie will pick Chris every time — that’s how Buck wants it. Chris is (rightfully) Eddie’s priority. But it had hurt that Buck wasn’t even on the list.

LAX is a zoo. Usually, Buck would park and go in to the airport to get his boys — he has no idea if this is a permanent move, if they’re just visiting, what kind of luggage they’ll have, and he doesn’t want to put pressure on Chris to be anything other than what he was, and he’s not sure he can keep himself from crying when he sees them in the airport. Buck cries at those soldier reunion videos. He doesn’t trust himself with his very own reunion video. So he waits in the jeep, texts Eddie that he’s here, and then he watches the sliding glass doors.

Buck’s heart jumps into his throat when he sees Eddie with a luggage cart, piled high with — with suitcases. With multiple suitcases, because that means, at the very least, an extended stay, and maybe even —

He’s out of the car before he can think it through, before he can think about trotting his heart out again. This is Eddie and Chris— there is no trotting his heart out again. They already own it — all of it.

They share a reunion-video worthy hug, all three of them, and Buck takes a step back, taking them both in. He’s scared to ask, because having Eddie and Chris back — but he has to know.

“Is this…?” he asks, and Chris rolls his eyes.

“El Paso is boring,” he says in that dry, measured way of his. “I miss actual fro-yo places, and Trader Joe’s.”

And Buck looks at Eddie who has this look on his face, a kind of helpless, hapless joy, like, can you believe this? And then Chris rolls his eyes.

“Dad made things more complicated than they needed to be,” Chris says, “so now we have a whole house we have to figure out how to break the rental agreement on.”

“I’ve been researching it,” Buck says, can’t help it. It isn’t a lie - not even close. Just in case. Just in case all his dreams came true.

And Buck knows that they can’t exactly set the precedent that the second Chris gets back from his self-imposed exile (like father like son) he gets whatever he wants, but when they get the bags loaded in the car, and when Chris and Eddie are in Buck’s jeep, and when Buck’s heart is Shirley Temple-ing up and down the steps of his brain, and Chris says “can we stop for fro-yo,” Buck says yes without hesitation, even though the place Chris wants to go is going to be packed, because they do a fro-yo and caroling event that’s tonight. Buck’s boys are back. They’re back, and Buck will take Chris for fro-yo every single night for the rest of his life if it means he gets to have Eddie and Chris back in his life.

All told, it’s late— or, well, early, depending on how you look at it— when they get to the Diaz house, and Buck can’t help but look over at Eddie when they pull up, the Christmas tree lights on and glowing through the window.

“Have you been living here?” Eddie asks, and there’s something Buck can’t quite identify in his voice.

And Buck realizes that it’s actually probably weird that he’s decorated the Diaz house for Christmas, especially considering that no one is officially living here. And has Buck thought about it? Yes. When they’d set things up with Ravi to rent it out, Buck had thought — maybe. But the truth was, it would be too … painful. Buck has lived with ghosts before. He spent his whole childhood with Daniel’s ghost (even if he hadn’t known that’s what it was at the time ) and he couldn’t move into the Diaz house without the Diazes. It would be like living in a mausoleum.

“Uh,” he says in response to Eddie’s question. Chris had finished his fro-yo and passed out, and was currently snoring quietly, head leaned against the window of the Jeep. “N-no. Nobody’s living here, I just thought… it might be nice to come home to something… homey.”

“You decorated?” Eddie asks. “Tonight? You decorated the house tonight before you picked us up?”

Buck turns a little pink, glancing down at his hands. “Guess your flight getting delayed had a silver lining,” he says, and then he looks up at Eddie.

Eddie, who’s looking at Buck with look on his face that’s half-heartbroken, half-something else. Something Buck can almost but not quite identify. “I missed you too, Buck,” he says finally, reaching out to give Buck’s shoulder a squeeze, his thumb fitting into that place just under his collarbone.

Buck feels the weight of it, and the air is suddenly charged between them. Buck’s looking at Eddie. Eddie’s looking at Buck. Chris is asleep in the backseat.

Eddie is home. Buck feels it like a rush, something that sweeps in and washes through him. Eddie is back where he belongs, and Buck’s world rights itself on its axis.

They get the bags inside, and Chris, and get Chris in his bed and then Eddie comes down the hall, raising his eyebrows in surprise when Buck presents him with their brand of beer.

“I had some groceries delivered while I was decorating,” he admits, a little bashful. “Not much, I just didn’t want you to come home to an empty fridge.”

Eddie cracks his beer open and takes a long drink. It’s going on three in the morning, and he’s tired, yes, but he nods to the couch, and Buck meets him there, settling down next to him, their thighs pressed together, their shoulders touching, both of them watching the gentle glow of the Christmas tree. “So,” Eddie says, “guess I should explain.”

And Buck wants to say that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need an explanation. That having them home is all he needs, that as long as they’re back and safe and here, then Buck is happy. And all of that is true, but Buck also wants to know — he wants to understand. What happened — what changed. “Well,” Buck says carefully, and Eddie looks up from his beer. “I am a little curious, yeah.”

So Eddie explains, talks about how Chris had taken one look at the rental house in El Paso and thrown the holiest of fits. How Chris had said some things that made a lot of sense, actually (Eddie admits this with a slightly chagrined look) and had demanded to know why Eddie was moving back to El Paso when he’d made it pretty fucking obvious (Chris’ exact words, apparently, which Eddie looks a little pained and a little proud and a little amused over) that El Paso didn’t make him happy. Eddie explains that Chris had just been waiting for Eddie to ask him to come home, and Eddie hadn’t wanted to uproot Chris (again) from his clubs, and they’d initially decided to wait until the new year to move back. But then, Eddie says, they’d been sitting in the living room of the rental house, and Chris had asked about Buck, and then Eddie stops talking.

Buck and Eddie never really have awkward silences. Even when Buck had shown up at Eddie’s house to find Eddie in his underwear, dancing to “Old Time Rock n Roll,” it hadn’t been awkward.

But this… this is a little bit awkward. Eddie is picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“Chris asked about me?” Buck asks, and Eddie nods. It feels like a half-truth, like Eddie’s holding something back, and Buck frowns at the Christmas tree, at the gifts he’d picked out for Chris and Eddie, had cried while he wrapped them, because he missed them, even if he wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself.

“He did,” Eddie says, carefully, guarded. Eddie’s eyes are on the tree, and Buck looks over at Eddie, and the thing that Buck couldn’t stand to think about, the thing he’d realized too late was that he loves Eddie, that the second he’d realized Eddie planned to go to El Paso, a little piece of Buck’s heart had broken off, and then another and then another until he was in LA, bleeding out, all the pieces of his heart in El Paso.

Eddie shifts, suddenly, almost abruptly, so he’s turned to face Buck, and Buck turns to face Eddie, like he can’t help but echo his movements. “Chris said something,” he says, carefully. “And. I think… I think he might be right.”

“He’s the smartest person I know,” Buck points out, but the joke is a little stiff, doesn’t quite fit this conversation. There’s a pause. And then Buck asks, “what did he say?”

Eddie takes a deep breath, like he’s about to say something he can’t take back. Like things were about to change. “He asked,” Eddie says carefully, “if I had told you I was in love with you.”

Buck’s not sure he’s breathing. He’s not sure Eddie’s breathing.

“If I had considered,” Eddie says, “that leaving you in LA was cruel.” He folds his hands in his lap.

Buck can’t make his mouth work. His throat sticks, clicks around the words. “Eddie—“ he manages, finally, because he’d never thought cruel. “He’s your baby, Eds, I — I never —“

Because Buck had thought all kinds of things when Eddie had left for El Paso — none of them had been that Eddie was cruel. Eddie wasn’t cruel. Eddie was kind and funny and he felt things deeply and he knew the best pancake recipe, and he was Buck’s steady — when Buck didn’t know what to do, there was always Eddie, just waiting. Buck’s loved him for a long time, even if he hadn’t realized it until he’d been confronted with Eddie leaving, with losing both of his boys.

“You aren’t cruel, Eddie,” Buck says finally, and Eddie huffs out a little laugh.

“Well,” Eddie says, eyes on the Christmas tree, but then they flicker back to Buck. “He wasn’t — wrong. About. About me being in love with you.”

It’s quiet, the admission, something soft and gentle and a little painful, a little vulnerable, and Buck isn’t sure what to do with that.

“You know,” Eddie says after a long moment. “There’s one thing missing.”

And Buck frowns, because what could be missing? He’d tried to think of everything. He’d decorated for Christmas in a few hours and then he’d driven to LAX, and something was missing? What could it possibly —

But then Buck’s train of thought ends abruptly, smashing into the side of a cliff. No survivors, because Eddie says there’s only one thing missing and then he closes the distance between them and kisses Buck.

Buck doesn’t kiss Eddie back. He’s too stunned to speak or kiss back or do anything, because this is the second time someone has kissed Buck and helped something click into place. And what had clicked into place wasn’t that he loves Eddie — he knew that already — but that he gets to have this, if he wants it, precious and perfect. That Eddie had left, yes, but he’d come back. That he’d seen the house decorated for Christmas and understood it as Buck’s abundance of joy — as an expression of love — instead of something silly and stupid.

To be loved, Buck knows, is to be known, and Eddie knows him, knows all of him, and isn’t flinching.

Eddie pulls back after the one sided kiss and looks a little panicked, and then the gears in Buck’s brain start to turn again and he shakes his head, reaching for Eddie as he starts to pull back, pulling him back into a kiss, and this one, Buck is an active participant in.

“I love you,” Buck says, when the kiss breaks, their foreheads pressed together, panting into each other’s mouths. “I love you, I love you. Thank you.” He swallows, heavily. “Thank you for coming home,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“Merry Christmas,” Eddie says with a little smile. “I love you, too.”

[setmeatopthepyre]

Fuck It Friday Suck It Sunday?

was tagged by the amazing @rcmclachlan but I saw it a little late & have forgotten what the sunday version of this is. so. here's some antarct-fic!

“Evan? Come over here, please.”

Buck arranges his last slice of prefab cookie dough on the baking sheet, then leaves Brooke with the rest. Sure, when Lucy told him he'd be baking, he'd hoped for a little more creative freedom, but he does suppose this is more efficient.

He quickly washes his hands, then heads to the front of the galley kitchen, to where Katie is leafing through her clipboard. She gives him what he's quickly learning passes for a smile – a slight lifting of the corners of her mouth, a squeezing together of her eyes. Now that he knows what it means, it reminds him of a cat's slow blink. Except a lot less warm and cuddly.

He likes her, he does. She's just a little terrifying, is all.

“I'm going to need you to do a lunch run to helo ops,” Katie tells him. She unclips a sheet of paper and hands it to him. “This is a list of the special requests. For the other three, just get a bit of everything. Make sure to get plenty of carbs and to hit the major food groups.”

Buck takes the list, looks it over. Okay, this'll be simple enough. He can grab most of the things from the buffet and ask the galley crew up front for the rest. “Copy that. Who do I give it to?”

“Helo ops. The heliport. It's down the hill, just past Crary lab.”

“Wait, I-I need to go there?”

Katie gives him a sharp look. “That's the idea of a lunch run, kid.”

Buck is pretty sure he's sweating. “I—I can't do that.”

She turns fully towards him now, frowning. “And why is that?”

“I-- My--” He fumbles for some kind of excuse that isn't the truth, won't reveal his actual motivations for being here, but he's got nothing. Even better, the rest of the galley crew has caught wind of their conversation, and they're not even trying to hide it. Entertainment can be hard to come by in these parts, and any interpersonal drama definitely qualifies as entertainment.

He guesses he owes them that much.

“I—uh. My ex works there.”

Katie's eyebrows raise. Says, slowly, "That's a hell of a coincidence.”

“It's not.” He swallows. Meets her eyes. “I-I'm here because of him. Because he's here. He sort of. Ran away?”

There's definitely some whispering going on behind him now.

Katie looks unimpressed, and once again she reminds him a little too much of Athena. “So you ran after him?”

“Y-yeah.” He grimaces.

“But you don't want to see him?”

“Well, I mean, that's not--”

“Hm. You don't want him to see you.” It's not a question. “Why not?”

“I do want him to-- to see me. Just. Not yet. Not until I-- I know what to say to him, you know?”

Katie hums, looks down at her clipboard. “Only new helo pilot this season is Kinard. That him?”

He swallows. “Yeah. Yes. That's-- That's him.”

“Well, he's on a supply run to the dry valleys. Won't be back for another--" she glances up at the clock, "--forty-five minutes.” She jabs a pen at the paper Buck is still clutching tightly. “And that's his lunch order. Better make sure it's waiting for him.”

Relief floods through his veins and he huffs a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

He heads out towards the galley, but turns before he exits the kitchen. “Hey, Katie? Thanks.”

The corners of her eyes crinkle in a smile.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy what I do, please consider donating to my Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Everyone has their favorite cousin; for you, it's Sabrina.

A year younger than you, she shines brighter than any star. Whenever Aunt came to visit, the two of you would escape to worlds of your own creation.

In the comfort of your childhood backyard, two pink napkins were laid out, creating the perfect setting for a whimsical tea party. Cookies and toy cups waited on the makeshift tables. She would always wear her little crown that she never forgot to bring, and you would eagerly gather your beloved stuffed animals to join the celebration as additional guests.

Born to a single teenage mother—who, in Mother's eyes, was the height of irresponsibility, “unfit” for motherhood—Sabrina was forever shrouded in your mother's harsh judgment that "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." That she would follow in her mother's footsteps, and it wouldn't be so surprising.

But Sabrina was far from the “troubled child,” grew into a girl warmer than the summer sun, kinder than the gentle grace of spring.

Sabrina was your favorite cousin, the one you wished could maintain the kind of closeness you shared during your youth. However, just as everything good in your life, fate always had a way of destroying it.

When Sabrina’s mother married a kind, steady man after years, it was as if a switch flipped inside Mother. Gone was any goodness she had shown to her sister and Sabrina. Any invitation from Sabrina’s mom was met with excuses—"we were too busy,” “it wasn’t a good time.” Lies, more lies. The real reason was far more simple: it was the bitter, green-eyed jealousy.

Mother always did crave pity and attention from others. But the pity she received from family after Father left wasn’t the kind she wanted.

It symbolizes her failure—now, a single mother struggling when her sister thrived with her loving husband and another baby on the way. And when Sabrina’s stepfather agreed to pay for Sabrina to start taking ballet classes like you, Mother took it as competition.

She had made ballet your personal hell.

While Mother brags about your ballet success, flaunting ribbons and reviews, her pride has a price behind closed doors. Nothing is enough to satisfy her, and the standards she holds for you reach for the impossible. Every competition is followed by a barrage of criticism—you could have placed higher, pointed your toes more.

Third place? "You’re wasting my money, girl." Second place earns you a dismissive "Second only means you’re second best." Even first place yields her saying, "Don’t get a big head over a stupid ribbon. It doesn't mean you're the best; it just means everyone else was worse."

Just as everything is good in your life, fate always has a way of destroying it.

(Or is it your mother?)

The old, naïve part of your mind argues that she's doing this for your own good. After all, diamonds aren’t made without pressure—a familiar refrain she repeats every time you beg her to stop, every time you sob so intensely that you struggle to breathe, feeling like a sacrificial lamb. And every time, she just watches in detached observation, with the slight upturn of her lips like a scientist admiring the results of her own making. Like a woodcarver appreciating the strokes of her knife.

Like a mother to her daughter.

(Because she's my mother, she should want the best for me, right?)

And that old, naïve part of your brain is still alive, apparently, even after you’ve left home and settled miles away. She's your mother; she must have your best interests at heart, even though the harshest words often come from her mouth.

She only has your future in mind, even if sometimes you wonder if she loves you at all.

The subtle thump of the car against the window jolted you out of your memories, and you opened your heavy eyelids, groggily regaining your bearings. You wiped your dry lips, relieved no drool dripping your chin in your nap. Looking out the window, you could see the trees whizzing by. Beside you, Simon's eyes fixed intently on the empty, straight road ahead.

At first, you had firmly convinced yourself that you wouldn't attend Sabrina's wedding, giving Simon excuses of work obligations and other lies to justify your absence. Then, Henri happens: he decreed the entire week mandatory rest for all dancers—prompted by the high stress level, but it's likely a more... specific case of frustration that pushed him over the edge: a certain ballerina who still danced her Black Swan coda like a flailing, drunken mess.

Finding yourself with an open schedule due to the unexpected break, emptiness now filled your time, leaving ample room for unwanted negative feelings—specifically, guilt. You end up reconsidering everything, even taking a Barbie out of your worn cardboard box from the closet. The doll bore the results of your and Sabrina's "artistic" minds, its hair chopped off and skin adorned with Sharpie tattoos. He responds to the doll's rough state with a sarcastic compliment.

That’s how you ended up on a short road trip with Simon. The man’s long leg stepped on the accelerator as the car continued to speed through the English countryside. Glancing up, the tiny skeleton charm swung gently where it hung, its hollow sockets seeming to stare back at you.

“Are we almost there?” you asked Simon.

At your question, he turns to you, eyes lingering for a moment before redirecting his focus on the road. “Reckon another five minutes, and we’ll be pulling up.” 

You look out the window. More trees; the dense forest seems to go on forever. Finally, a break appears, and up ahead looms the sturdy building you assume is the venue listed on the wedding invitation.

It was a manor, with solid brown brick walls and a three-story structure topped by a roof spanning each wing. Double-paneled doors were flanked by columns and arched windows. All around, emerald grass was cut to perfection, not a single blade out of place. In the center stood a two-tiered fountain, adorned with carvings of little angels spouting water into a circular pool. It was a heartwarming, romantic storybook vision.

Tearing your eyes from the scene, you glance over at Simon in amazement. “You certainly seem to know your way without GPS.” You comment.

He gave a noncommittal grunt, one-handedly turning the steering wheel as he maneuvered the car into an open spot behind a row of others. “Got a good sense o' direction, is all.”

As the rumble of the engine fell silent, you unbuckled your seatbelt but lingered in your seat, not quite ready to exit the safety of the vehicle. Through the window, you searched for distractions to ignore the uneasy flips in your stomach.

Simon reached out to reach the dashboard; you moved back slightly to give him more room. He grabbed for his plain black surgical mask, but your curious gaze landed on something else. A pair of black gloves—each finger had a contrasting white skeleton bone. You leaned in without thinking, drawing them out to inspect closely.

“I see you have a thing for skeleton.”

Simon glanced sideways at you as he hooked his mask over his ears. “Keep things interestin’,” he said lightly, voice muffled by the material. He pressed the wire along the bridge to mold it to the shape of his nose.

Pulling his keys from the ignition switch, he pocketed them with a jingle. Simon pushed open the door and stepped out in one smooth movement. He rounded the front of the car, walking to reach for your door. Pulling the handle to assist your exit, you took a deep breath before accepting his offer and slipping out of the vehicle.

A loud gasp pierced the air, followed by rapid footsteps rushing towards you. You turned your head from the sound of your name being called, finding a familiar face staring back at you. Sabrina. Now, a grown woman, changed from the girl you once knew. She stretched out her arms as she pulled you into a tight hug, blonde curls bouncing with her joyful smile.

“You came!” She cried happily, pulling back to look at you. “I’m so glad you made it!”

You returned her smile, your nerves melting away from her presence alone—the magic Sabrina had on everyone. “I wouldn’t miss your big day,” you told her.

She swept her eyes over you from head to toe appraisingly. “And look at you! So beautiful!” she said, and you were sure it was just the dress you had bought two days ago doing its job.

Sabrina shifted her gaze, and you remembered the companion standing patiently beside you. Her eyes swept over him assessingly, mixed with curiosity and wariness. Same old Sabrina. She glances at you briefly, and you know an introduction is in order.

Drawing a breath, you begin, “Sabrina, this is Simon. He, uh…” Your voice faltered, unsure of what label to use to describe him.

Simon reached out with nonchalant confidence to Sabrina. “Pleasure.”

With a hint of skepticism, Sabrina's lips tested the unfamiliar name, "Simon." Her face contorted as if it tasted bitter. She narrowed her eyes as she noted, “Funny, she has never mentioned you before.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and a chill ran down your spine as you replied, “There just… hasn’t been a good time to bring it up.”

You hoped that your explanation would be enough to divert the attention away from Simon, but it seemed futile. Sabrina was infamous for her stubbornness and overly protective nature, especially when it came to those she cared about. Like a tigress, she fixated a calculating gaze on him, as if preparing to pummel him on the spot if he gave her the slightest reason.

“Right,” she mumbled.

Sabrina made a show of dropping the conversation but felt compelled to ask one more question. “Any particular reason for the mask?” Her tone was sharper now, as if daring Simon to answer her.

Hastily, you jumped in. “He’s just feeling under the weather, doesn’t want to spread his cold.” It was a stupid lie, and you knew it, but Sabrina tilted her head in faux consideration.

“How thoughtful.” She commented, suspicion lingering at the edges. Hardening her eyes once more, she gave Simon a subtle threat. “You better take good care of this one.”

“Always.” Simon replied, calm and sure.

Satisfied, Sabrina’s expression switched like flickering sunlight. Clapping her hands in excitement, she announced, “Alright, time to meet Andrew and the others! And I’ll show you to your room!”

With that, she spun on her heels and marched toward the door, her long skirt swirling. Simon and you followed after her at a more sedate pace. Your heart rate slowed in relief that the confrontation was over.

Glancing at Simon, you grimaced, muttering a hushed “Sorry about her.”

Simon says nothing, depriving you of the answer, and you thought this was his way of punishing you for the excessive protectiveness of your cousin. He had driven a considerable distance to accompany you to a wedding of someone he didn’t even know, only to be met with suspicion and unwarranted scrutiny by Sabrina, then tasked with the responsibility of "taking care" of you, despite not even being your boyfriend.

However, in stark contrast to your feelings, Simon seemed to brush off the situation with nonchalance. The slight lift of his black mask and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes clearly indicated a smile hidden beneath it. There was no offense taken.

As you emerged outside the back of the manor, bright sunlight made you blink to adjust. When your blurry eyes cleared, a beautiful scene was laid out before you.

In the wide green field stood a picturesque wedding arch, still bare of the decorations that would soon adorn it. Nearby, tables draped in crisp white linens were set where groups mingled, laughing. Some were busy gossiping and enjoying the buffet; some were occupied in a croquet match.

Sabrina chuckled beside you. “They’re trying to recreate a Bridgerton scene but clearly failing miserably.” At her comment, you smiled too, admiring the carefree warmth pervading the atmosphere.

Gesturing wide, Sabrina said, “Help yourself to the buffet over there, and tea or coffee if you’d like. Oh, and this is Andrew, my fiancé!”

A tall, handsome man approached and pressed a kiss to Sabrina’s cheek. She bloomed with a rosy blush as she beamed up at him. “Babe, this is (Y/N) – you know, the cousin I’ve always told you about, my sister from another mother!” She gushed.

Her sweet description of you stirred a smile in your heart. You turned to Andrew, accepting his handshake. “It's wonderful to meet you. Sabrina talks about you all the time,” he says.

“And this is Simon. He came with (Y/N).”

Andrew reached out to offer a new handshake with Simon. “We're glad to have you both. Please, make yourselves at home.”

Giving a nod, Simon took his hand. “Appreciate the welcome, mate.” He replied.

“Oh my God!”

A high-pitched, sharp voice pierces the air, shattering the calm. Your head pivots, and you see your aunt making her way towards you, her arms stretched out in a gesture much like how Sabrina had welcomed you earlier. The embrace she gives you is as warm and smothering as you remember. Drawing back, she sweeps her teary eyes over you. “Look at you! You’ve grown into such a beauty!”

"Definitely," Sabrina chimes in, seconding her mother.

“It’s lovely to see you too, Auntie Joyce.” You replied, smiling at her.

Joyce pinched your cheek lightly before directing her attention past you, eyes widening in surprise. “And who is this?” she asked, gaze landing on Simon with curiosity. Before you could introduce him, she gasped even louder and glared at you as if she had just realized something big. “Why, he must be your boyfriend!”

Your heart leapt at your aunt's bold insinuation. Joyce didn't bother waiting for your confirmation before enveloping Simon in a tight hug. His shoulders tensed, and he looked confused—his hands hovering awkwardly, unsure of how to reciprocate.

Luckily, the ordeal wasn't prolonged, and your aunt finally retreated, not forgetting, of course, to give his bicep an extra appreciative squeeze. 

“Oh,” she chuckled, “you're quite the fit one, aren't you?”

“Mom, please!” Sabrina groaned, shaking her head at her mother’s antics.

Joyce dismissed her daughter's protests with a playful wave of her hand, saying, "Oh, come now, relax! It's a wedding, not a funeral." She positioned herself between you and Simon, slipping her arms through each of yours to guide you both forward.

“Just look at this place,” Joyce continued, her voice filled with admiration. “Isn’t it stunning? Sabrina had such brilliant ideas, she has a real eye for these things. Just wanted everything perfect for her and Andrew, they deserve the best.”

The older woman stopped in her tracks. She turned to the two of you, looking at you both in turn, hazel eyes filled with sincerity. Grasping each of your hands in hers, she hosted a warm, meaningful smile on her face.

“Mark my words, it’ll be your turn before you know it.”

The well-intentioned tone in your aunt's words was apparent. Auntie Joyce had always been sentimental, wearing her heart on her sleeve and never hesitating to express her thoughts. Yet you couldn't help but think that now, her words seemed misplaced—directed at the wrong people. After all, you and Simon weren't even dating, but rather just two people seeking each other's benefits and comfort. The concept of love seemed incredibly distant, and her trying to cling it to you felt like staining purity with sin.

Instead of imagining your own wedding, you feel panic building in your fingertips. You can hear your heartbeat—the ringing in your ears.

What does Simon think of the implications? He’s only here to accompany you, to make the anxiety easier to handle. But now, it’s as if you’ve brought him here for another purpose—a scheming opportunist trying to trap him with suggestions of commitment he’s never agreed to.

Before your thoughts could spiral further, a voice cuts through the chatter—an awfully familiar one, sending your body into instant shock.

“Joyce, where did you run off to?” It called out, tone softer, but your brain is only capable of recalling the rougher version of it.

Joyce waved at the newcomer, ushering her over. “Your daughter’s here with her boyfriend! Can you believe it? Why didn’t you say?”

Boyfriend. She had said it.

In that moment, horror washed over you. Your pulse quickened, racing like a frightened animal. Palms grew slick with perspiration. The world seems tilting off its axis. Something very sour stirred in your stomach, almost triggering you to retch onto the lush, green grass.

Then came the chuckle, low and mocking—and you're already aware of the person who now stands before you.

Slowly, you lift your gaze to meet the eyes so reminiscent of your own, settled in a face that still bears resemblance to the features you’ve inherited from her. She looks the same as the last time you saw her in San Francisco, except for the absence of anger, now replaced by a smile that graces her red lipsticked lips. It's a familiar expression, the exact one she uses whenever she detects hints of your defiance.

(The ghost haunting my dreams, the monster under the bed.)

The woman who had drilled into you time and again: A man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing! Her vengeance against Dad had warped her into keeping the wound wet and bleeding so that it would not have time to heal, so neither of you forgot.

And here you are, betraying everything she had taught you by daring to bring a man into her world. Something crawled up your throat—heavier this time. This wasn’t panic; this was guilt.

When she saw it written on your face—the shame of your transgression—her eyes gleamed with cruel triumph at catching you out.

Auntie Joyce’s question was almost forgotten, but she never forgot. You watched her lips part, and her gaze changed to the one she always wore when she was watching your every move. Ever the watchful one.

“There just hasn’t been an opportunity yet.” She replied smoothly.

In that moment, with her lie not much different from yours for Sabrina, you realized something – that for all the distance between you, mother and daughter were never truly separate. Her poison still coursed through your veins, flowing in every pump of your blood. Every one of your thoughts and actions was controlled by her, whether she was in front of you or not.

Just as everything is good in your life, fate always has a way of destroying it. No, you disagreed.

It was my mother.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23

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[witches-dream]

The trailer is just. Gorgeous. In every way. The feeling of dizziness, infinity and confusion it gives is impeccable, i love the way everything flows together, i love the gorgeous 3d models and the horror of not really knowing what's real and what's fake. And ofc Japanese Shmilk is ohhhh my god 😳😳😳

Ok so pv doesn't appear to be going alone, he's accompanied by GingerBrave, Strawberry and Wizard who appear a bunch of times, and White Lily, who in pretty sure only appears in the beginning. But in a lot of scenes pv is alone, making me think that he's gonna get separated from the rest after some point.

With the epic releases we've had accompanying the beast and awakened ancient releases, there's been a pattern of the first epic being someone who's on the beasts side and second being someone who's on the ancients side. It's only happened twice though so both of Shmilks epics might be on his side tho. The cookie with dark hair gives me butler vibes. The one with white hair looks like the type of character who appears cute and sweet, but it's secretly fucked up, sorta like Haetae. That's all i can say about them for now

Other than that, the rest of my thoughts are pretty scattered, so let's see

1. Love the music

2. Love the chess and the taro cards and the circus and the eyes theming. Not enough mirrors tho

3. Love whatever the hell this thing is

I really really hope we get some answers about either Blueberry Yogurt Academy or Dark Moon Magic, ideally both, which is what i think this is about

4. This Cookie reminds me of Crimson Moon Acolyte but i may be tripping lol

5. If anyone still had doubts about whether we were gonna get glimpses of pre corrupt Shmilk, i think it's pretty obvious now that we are

6. If this update doesn't make pv's character any more interesting to me I'm gonna be sad (i think he's boring)

7. Again. Where the heck White Lily gone

She appears at the start a couple of times, but the very next scene after the puppeteer one, she's gone. She also doesn't appear in later instances of the rest of the gang appearing, then running up the stairs, getting sucked into the nefarious vortex and on the chess scene. I wonder if Shmilks gonna gaslight pv about that, knowing how important she is to him. Plus Blueberry Yogurt Academy connection again

8. THE STAIRS. I've been listening to Stairwell by Nick Lutsko religiously waiting for this update you don't know how happy i am to see the goddamn stairs. This song to me is from Shmilks pov, singing about pv and "she" is Lily

9. Since when is Shmilk snake-coded. I'm living for it tho

10. I just realized i think the reflection is showing a Shmilkified version of pv. New costume anybody? (Don't have too many hopes for this tho lol)

11. The title screen, again, is gorgeous, probably one of my all-time favorites

So what can we see here? Once again, like with the other beast updates, the presence of the beast is overwhelming, and the hero appears small and insignificant. We can expect this turning the other way around in the second half of the update, though i imagine it will be a bigger change than with Mystic Flour/Dark Cacao and Burning Spice/Golden Cheese. Simply because i can't see pv being in the same position as sm here tbh

We only see one of the new cookies? Where's the second one?

There's cutouts of the other ancients in the picture (and they appear elsewhere in the trailer too) which makes me think that, just like Shmilk compares pv to his past self, he's gonna do that shit about the other ancients too. Just to say like ohhh you have this potential to become evil too you know, all of you.

My theory from a while ago was that Shmilk was gonna show pv the past of the beasts, showing that they too were good and driven by a desire to help others and spread kindness, which could make pv sympathize, because he's a softie like that. Which would then either corrupt pv or make him want to try to "redeem" the beasts and want to help them, which the beasts could obviously abuse. From The devs pov, that's a good way to hype the fans and tease pre-corruption costumes, which i think are 100% coming at some point. (Btw i don't think the coty costume Mystic is gonna get will be her pre-corrupt one, simply because i think that's planned regardless. She's gonna get a different, unique one. Plus, coty costumes are legendaries I'm pretty sure, and i think pre-corrupt costumes are gonna be epics, maybe specials, but deffo not legendaries. Watch me be wrong tho). Similarly to how Dark Cacao got so miserably helpless in his story and Golden Cheese was so physically and mentally drained in hers, i think Vanilla will be in a similar state before awakening too, but he's gonna have to break out of the illusions Shmilk feeds him, so maybe like. He's gonna get very very close to corrupting as a result of Shmilks influence. I hope I'm making sense here lol

12. Last thing i think. The decor set is gonna be sick

[rambleonwaywardson]

First Christmas

A Clegan Astronaut AU One Shot

Summary: Takes place ~15 years before To the Moon and Back, at the very start of Gale and John's life together. It's the end of their first semester of college, and they're leaving for winter break. John takes Gale home with him for Christmas.

Author's Note: I have no concept of if I'll ever write a prequel or if anything pre-TTMAB will be confined to little one shots like this. But here's a small something. Happy holidays ❤

---

“Fuckin’ finally!” Bucky sighs dramatically as he tosses a suitcase onto the bed. Gale’s bed, actually, since his is the lower bunk in their too-small-for-two-grown-men dorm room. With little to no rhyme or reason, Bucky starts pulling clothes out of his small dresser and even smaller closet – jeans and sweatshirts and sweaters and mismatched socks. He tosses them into or around the suitcase in a haphazard way that would never lead a single person to believe that he was in ROTC. 

It’s the end of their very first finals week, and John and Gale both have just stumbled back into their dorm room after a hell of a physics exam. No final, they have decided, under any circumstances, should be scheduled for 4-6pm. Especially not one as hard hitting as fucking physics. First year engineering students are exhausted enough as it is – it’s cruel and unusual punishment to expect them to perform well under these circumstances.

They don’t call it a weed-out class for nothing.

“My brain is mush,” Bucky complains. “I don’t think I was even readin’ right by the end of that exam. None of the numbers made sense anymore. Hell, I could barely remember the kinematics equations. I’m sure you were just fine. Me? Let’s just… hope and pray I even make a passing grade.”

Bucky pauses long enough to glance over at Gale, who’s sitting casually in his desk chair, twisted around with his elbow propped on the back and his chin in his hand as he watches the spectacle that is his roommate. He kind of smiles tiredly at Bucky and shrugs, and that’s all Bucky needs to go on. He knows he’s right. No doubt Gale barely batted an eye at the questions that had Bucky drumming his fingers on the too-small lecture hall desk in a panic. 

“What’s done is done,” Bucky says, shoving clothes into the suitcase with zero organization. It almost makes Gale physically wince. Like most teenage boys, he’s not always the most organized guy in the world himself, but there’s something to be said for keeping some semblance of tidiness. That, and his father raised him like a military man. Clean room, neat corners, smooth fabrics… He has half a mind to shove Bucky over and pack for him, save his nicer shirts from the criss-crossed creases that are sure to form the way they are now. He also wonders if he should bother telling Bucky that he actually found the exam hard, too. Would that comfort him or would he think Gale was just trying to make him feel better?

Bucky doesn’t notice Gale’s general air of consternation. He’s too busy trying to move on, move forward with his life, get away from here. Gale tries not to take it personally. Just because he has nowhere to go doesn’t mean Bucky can’t be eager to leave for break, like every other student on campus. 

“God, I can’t wait to get outta here,” Bucky says, like he’s read Gale’s mind. He really should’ve packed last night like Gale urged him to, instead of waiting until the very last minute and just hoping he remembers everything he needs, but he was too hyper-focused on trying not to fail the exam today. “Gonna see my dog, my family. Eat a real home-cooked meal.” He stops his frantic packing and looks up at the ceiling, inhaling as if he can smell Christmas dinner or a batch of snickerdoodle cookies. “Five weeks of not having to think about any of this. Can’t fuckin’ wait, Buck.”

Bucky steps back over to his dresser and grabs some underwear, which he dumps into the suitcase, and then his hands freeze. He looks over at Gale, squinting. His roommate is still sitting at his desk, which is adorned with books and notes, a model plane, a small model of the solar system. He’s a little more slumped now, eyes trained on the floor. Bucky stares at him for a while without him noticing. 

Bucky realizes that, even though he urged Bucky to pack, Gale hasn’t made any move to pull out a suitcase of his own. Hasn’t set out any neatly folded clothes to stow away for a trip home. He hasn’t expressed any relief to be leaving this college town, to be heading back to his family, or to anyone at all. 

He thinks about the very little Gale has ever talked about his family. Small anecdotes here and there. His mother is gone, Bucky knows. No siblings, just his best friend Marge. He doesn’t talk much about his dad. He wonders if Gale even has a dog. 

“Hey.”

Gale looks up, blinking away some deep thought that he masks behind an arched eyebrow and tired but curious eyes. He motions to Bucky’s suitcase. “Your clothes are gonna get all wrinkled like that.”

Bucky glances at his scrambled luggage, scrunches his brow, decides it doesn’t matter, and he looks back at Gale. He doesn’t really know how to ask this delicately. Delicacy has never been part of the John Egan repertoire of charm. Neither has subtlety. He frowns and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“You, uh… you’re not goin’ home are ya Buck?”

Gale shakes his head quietly. “Don’t got much of a home to go to.” His voice shakes a little, like he doesn’t want to be saying this, like he’s embarrassed to admit it. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wry smile as he looks at the floor again, and Bucky catches the incorrect grammar, the little slip into a western drawl that he’s learning only comes out when Gale is stressed or upset or really fuckin’ tired.

“Why didn’t ya say?”

Gale shrugs and kicks his shoes off, leaving him in socked feet, a final, decisive move that confirms it: he’s not going anywhere. 

Bucky leans against the post of their bunk bed, crossing his arms. “So, what? You’re stayin’ here? Alone?” Bucky can’t stand the idea of staying on this campus when it’s a ghost town, none of their friends around and limited access to the dining halls. He can’t stand the idea of staying here for any longer than he has to.

But he has somewhere to go.

Gale nods. “Yep. Got the approval and all.”

“No,” Bucky finds himself saying. He doesn’t even take a second to think about it.

Gale almost scoffs. “Don’t got much choice, John.”

Bucky shakes his head. “You can’t stay here alone, Gale. I won’t let you do that.”

“S’not a big deal.” Gale turns away, towards his desk. Too deliberately, he starts peeling sticky notes of definitions and physics diagrams off the wall. The result of hours and hours of studying. 

“What do you mean it’s not a big deal?” Bucky pushes. He marches across the room – two whole steps across their tiny dorm – so he’s standing beside Gale’s desk, close enough to be in his line of sight again. He reaches out and puts a hand on Gale’s, stopping him from unnecessarily shuffling his notebooks around his desk.

Gale freezes. “I’ll be fine,” he whispers, his eyes locked on their hands. He doesn’t really mind the idea of being alone on campus. It’ll be quiet, peaceful. He can catch a bus to the grocery store or the movie theater or head downtown. He can read and study and keep up with his exercise regimen. Go for walks around campus. Really, it’s fine… He’d rather be here, after all, than spend five weeks in the same house as his father. He’ll miss Marge, sure. But she’ll forgive him. She wouldn’t want him to go home either. 

“Gale.”

“It’s fine, John.”

They sit in a tense silence, Bucky hardly aware he’s still holding Gale’s hand and Gale hyper-aware of it. Bucky’s fingers are warm compared to his. They’re softer than he’d expect. He likes the contact. It sends something fluttery through him. 

“Come with me.”

Gale’s eyes shoot up to Bucky’s. “What?”

Bucky nods, squeezing Gale’s hand tighter. “Come with me! You can- you can just come home with me. Mom will take good care of you, and we can just relax and have fun for a few weeks. Buck…” Bucky sighs. He smiles, and Gale doesn’t quite like the look of sad pity hidden behind it, but it’s sweet enough to make his heart beat too fast anyway. “You can’t be alone for Christmas. Please.”

“I-I couldn’t.”

“No one will mind. They’ll love you more than me, even. Adopt you like another son.”

Gale looks again at Bucky’s suitcase. His chest swells with the idea of spending Christmas with a family. With John. With people who don’t smack him around if he burns the pancakes or asks the wrong questions or sleeps in too long. 

Bucky grins and ruffles Gale’s hair. “Yep. You’re comin’. Come on, we leave in an hour. Get your suitcase out.”

— 

Gale doesn’t cry the first time he walks through the front door of the Egan household. It’s a stereotypical farmhouse, with a simple but lovely exterior, a stone front walk, and a fresh Christmas wreath hanging on the front door. There’s a dog watching them through the window, and, not for the first time, Gale wonders about the difference between a house and a home. He shuffles in, shy and awkward, behind a boisterous Bucky, who flings the door open and loudly calls out “we’re here!” with such a lack of decorum that it makes Gale flinch, his brain still wired to the house in Wyoming. 

“Hi honey!” A light voice drifts through the house, and it’s not unlike Gale’s mother’s voice. The way he remembers it, at least. 

That, combined with the smell of cookies baking in the kitchen, shoves a lost memory to the surface of tugging on his mother’s skirt until she offered him a spoon of raw cookie dough. It has him so taken aback that he doesn’t notice the dog running at him until it’s too late. He nearly gets knocked off his feet by the force of two big golden paws colliding with his torso, causing him to stumble back a step, wide eyed. 

“Down boy!” Bucky reprimands, but he’s laughing, his commands futile. “That’s Buzz. He likes people.”

Gale can’t help but smile despite his nerves, and he kneels down to the dog’s level, scratching his ears and letting Buzz lick his face. He manages to just barely keep his balance against the way the golden retriever surges toward him. “Buzz Aldrin?” He asks, trying to avoid the dog’s tongue as he glances at Bucky, and he can’t quite understand the look in his roommate’s eye. 

“Finally!” Bucky says. “Someone who understands that it isn’t Buzz Lightyear.” Then he yells out, “Ma?”

A short middle-aged woman comes frantically around the corner, and Gale shoots to his feet, trying to smooth out his sweater and jeans again. He tries to remind himself to hold his head high, shoulders straight, make a good impression.

Without even a second thought, though, the woman bypasses her own son, her eyes landing right on Gale. No appraisal, no critical eye toward what he’s wearing or if his hair is too shaggy. She just beams at him, reaching her hands out to immediately pull him into a hug. “You must be Gale.”

Gale awkwardly returns the hug. “Yes ma’am.”

He does not cry at the feeling of a warm, motherly figure who smells like cookies wrapping him in her arms. 

When she steps back, she rests her hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm's length. It seems a little awkward with how tall Gale is, even if Bucky won’t let him forget the small size difference between them. He finds it amusing how, with Bucky being even two inches taller than he is, his mother can’t surpass 5 foot 4. But Mrs. Egan doesn’t seem to mind, and Gale wonders how often she does this to her own son.

She looks him up and down, studying him, and Gale tries not to feel too embarrassed or nervous. Stand up straight, he reminds himself. He’s military after all. It shouldn’t be hard. He braces for some critique, some conclusion that he isn’t good enough. For what, he isn’t sure. To be here, perhaps. But it doesn’t come. 

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing,” Mrs. Egan gushes instead, shaking her head fondly. She lifts one hand even higher to cup his cheek, and Gale raises an eyebrow, letting himself smile back at her. 

“Thank you?”

“Ma, you’re embarrassing him,” Bucky groans. He’s never seen Gale blush so much.

She shoots a glare over at him before looking back at Gale. She squeezes his shoulder gently. “We are just thrilled to have you,” she says. “John talks about you all the time, you know.”

“Oh,” Gale says. He looks over at Bucky, who is rubbing a hand over his eyes in exasperation. Gale’s smile gets a little wider, a little less meek. “Thank you so much for letting me join you for the holidays,” he tells Mrs. Egan. “It means a lot.”

Bucky’s mom gives him another quick hug before turning her attention to her son, hugging him tight and bombarding him with questions about school that Bucky insistently avoids, saying they can talk about everything later, after he helps Gale settle in.

—

Gale doesn’t cry over the way the Egans move mountains to make sure he feels comfortable and welcome in their home. 

They set him up in the guest bedroom, which is just one door down from Bucky’s room, which is not unlike his half of their dorm room with the exception of several more remnants of a happy childhood. Bucky’s bedroom is adorned with space travel posters and baseball posters, and Gale can even see where some are missing – the ones Bucky chose to take with him to college. There are little gold baseball trophies lining a bookshelf in the corner, and a photo of him and a couple of his teammates in high school, boyish grins on their faces and sweat soaking through their hats, fresh off a championship win. 

Gale wanders around the room when Bucky leads him inside, inspecting the trophies and the photographs. There’s a lego set of the Saturn V rocket, glow in the dark stars pasted to the ceiling, stacks of books about history and science and adventure strewn around the bed and the desk. All the little pieces of John Clarence Egan, a whirlwind force of nature with his eyes on the unknown. 

There’s a dog bed on the floor for Buzz, but the dog takes to jumping up on the bed in the guest room instead, keeping Gale company every night. 

Bucky wonders what it is about dogs that help them know which people need a little extra love.

Gale marvels at the fact that even the guest bedroom feels homey and cared about. The queen sized bed is the biggest bed he’s ever slept in, with a nice mattress, a selection of pillows, and warm blankets. There are original paintings hung along the walls, beautiful images of the forest and the lake and countryside done by some mysterious artist. There are family photos framed on a bookshelf which is filled with an assortment of books, from science to romance and everything in between. There’s even a string of Christmas lights strung around the room, which Bucky turns on for Gale, looking all giddy about it.

Gale doesn’t cry over how Bucky is patient and kind in a way that isn’t exactly unexpected but also isn’t exactly expected. He lets Gale cling to him, whether it’s sitting down for dinner with the family or hiking through a snow-dusted countryside to watch the sun set or sitting sprawled out on the living room couch with a couple of good books and mugs of hot chocolate. Bucky asks Gale if he needs any extra blankets, and he’s gathering them up from the closet before Gale can even answer. He asks Gale what he likes to eat for breakfast, and the next morning Gale’s favorite cereal is in the pantry and there’s even some fresh pastries – which Gale never would have dreamed of asking for – sitting on the counter. Bucky asks Gale if there’s anything he wants to read, and the next day the book he sheepishly mentioned has appeared on the coffee table. 

He brags about Gale to his parents, telling them all about how smart he is and how much he’s helped Bucky this semester. He tells them about how Gale is already excelling in the toughest major in the school all while impressing everyone in ROTC, keeping Bucky in line, and being a humble, easy going guy to boot. 

Gale doesn’t cry when Mr. Egan expresses genuine interest in all of his astronomy and physics knowledge at the dinner table. Gale’s own father always wanted him to be a pilot. He never cared much for the rest of it.

He thought academics made his son too soft. 

Mr. Egan tells Gale it’ll make him unstoppable. 

—

Gale doesn’t cry when he accidentally drops a glass of water in the Egans’ kitchen, sending it shattering across the tile floor in a splash of crystal constellations. He comes damn close, a hot wave of panic rising in his chest at the same time that biting pain blossoms across his skin. His cheeks heat up as he blinks rapidly and tries to figure out how to go about cleaning up this mess all the while bracing for some kind of punishment. And those tears sure come close to actually falling when Mrs. Egan whisks into the kitchen with worry all over her face, wanting to know what the racket was. When she sees the mess, she reaches for Gale. Gale winces, closing his eyes, but all he gets is a firm, guiding hand on his shoulder, accompanied by a gentle voice. “Oh honey, you’re bleeding.”

Gale blinks his eyes open, the tension on his face beginning to drop away as he looks down and realizes all of a sudden that his feet are bare. He doesn’t remember his feet being bare. He vaguely wonders if the red on his pale skin is associated with the stinging feeling in his foot, radiating up to his ankle. 

“Don’t move quite yet,” Mrs. Egan says. Her hands are still on the sides of his arms, keeping him standing in one place. “Don’t want you stepping on any sharp bits.” She turns as John comes rushing around the corner. “Johnny, can you get Gale some shoes to-“

Before she can even finish, Bucky, clad in old ragged Converse himself, marches right up to Gale, flakes of glass crunching under foot, and plucks him out of the center of the debris. Just picks him up in the air like he weighs no more than a feather before marching him to the kitchen entryway and plopping him down. Gale stares at him in shock, his brain not quite catching up with everything that just happened. 

“I’ll get the vacuum,” Bucky says to his mother, but he’s looking at Gale as he says it, some sort of mischievous little smile on his face, and Gale feels his cheeks turning pink again. 

When Bucky leaves the kitchen in search of the vacuum, Gale tries to step away from the wall he’s been placed next to, holding a hand out toward Bucky’s mother. “Mrs. Egan, I can clean-”

“Nonsense.” She waves her hand dismissively, then looks down at his feet, still bare. “You stay right there until John comes back with the vacuum.”

“I’m so sorry about the glass. I didn’t mean-”

“Gale, darling. I don’t give a damn about the glass.” She steps over to him and clasps one of his hands between both of hers. He doesn’t cry at how genuine and concerned she looks. “Let’s get your foot cleaned up and make sure you don’t need any stitches.”

—

Gale doesn’t cry when, on Christmas morning, as all the presents under the tree are being handed out, there’s a few with his name on them. He, John, and Mr. and Mrs. Egan are gathered in the living room, all still in their pajamas. Even Buzz, who can’t seem to sit still and has been making rounds around the room with his tail wagging, has a green and red Christmas bandana around his neck. He keeps stopping to look at the stockings above the fireplace, where he has his very own, filled with dog treats that he has to wait until the end to get. 

Bucky, who is passing out the gifts from under the tree, is wearing a Santa hat along with his gray sweatpants and blue Yankees sweatshirt. Gale laughs a little bit every time Bucky makes any sudden move and causes the pom pom on the end of the hat to whip around. Bucky tried to put it on Gale, but was adamantly shoved away. It looks far better on him anyway.

Gale, in green and gray flannel pants and a dark gray university sweatshirt, is sitting on the floor beside the Christmas tree, where Bucky said he himself usually sits. He tries not to ask for the third time if Bucky is sure he doesn’t want any help. Having found himself increasingly comfortable with the Egans over the last week, he instead scratches Buzz behind the ears and laughs as Mr. Egan sings along to the Christmas music playing on the radio. He doesn’t really know what he expected out of this morning – being included is enough; being with a family on the biggest holiday of the year is enough.

So when, once all of the gifts have been passed out, Bucky stands in front of Gale with a stack of wrapped boxes, Gale just blinks dumbly up at him. When Bucky insistently shoves the collection of gifts at him, Gale looks around the room, then starts to shake his head in confusion as his hand falls away from Buzz’s soft fur. “A-Are these for me?” he asks, genuinely confused as he takes the small stack from Bucky and stares down at the name tag on the top package. 

“That’s your name ain’t it?” Bucky teases. He takes his seat between Gale and the tree, where he’s amassed his own collection of presents.

Gale nods and looks over at him, eyebrow raised. Bucky tilts his head toward his parents, who are sitting cuddled up on the couch, watching with kind smiles on their faces.

“Couldn’t leave you with nothin’ to open on Christmas morning,” Mr. Egan insists. “You’re family, now.”

Gale swallows thickly, tracing his finger over his name, written in neat script. “Thank you,” he says quietly, and he’s worried it didn’t come out at all.

“Well you better open one,” Bucky laughs. He’s sitting so close their shoulders nearly brush. “Youngest goes first.”

Gale tears into the pretty red and white wrapping paper of the first gift. He feels his heart beat too fast in a terrifying but exhilarating way as he peels back the paper, revealing a beautiful, hardcover edition of A Brief History of Time, complete with illustrations. It’s the exact type of book that he would have stared at longingly in a bookstore, knowing he’d probably never have it. He looks up at John’s parents, who are watching him eagerly, and he doesn’t cry at the joy on their faces or the kindness of the gesture. “This is amazing,” he tells them. “Thank you so much.”

He’s so taken with the book, staring down at it and running his fingers gently along its spine, that he barely registers the new video game John gets, or Mr. Egan’s new sweater, or Mrs. Egan’s new romance book. It’s only when they circle back to him, Bucky shoving another gift into his hands, that he really comes back to himself, and he wonders what he did to deserve such kindness.

By the time they’re on their final gifts – Gale had been told to save a specific one for last – Mrs. Egan stops him and Bucky before they can start unwrapping. “Now, Gale, we have a tradition,” she explains. She points to the Christmas tree. “Every year, we each get a new Christmas ornament, and we hang them on the tree. There are ornaments up there from almost every year of John’s life.”

Gale looks at John, then back at the tree. This piece of knowledge runs through his head again, and again, and his eyes fall back to the last little box, wrapped in silver snowflakes. He blinks at it. “Is this-”

Gale almost flinches when Bucky’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder, but he doesn’t. The touch has become familiar. He knows it’s safe. “We got you one, too,” Bucky whispers, and Gale nods.

Bucky slowly unwraps his own ornament, and Gale starts to follow his lead. He watches Bucky pull out a little astronaut with a gold visor, sitting on a crescent moon. And oh so carefully, Gale’s fingers loop through a gold string, and he lifts out a matching astronaut, this one with a blue visor, sitting on a crescent moon of its own.

“Would you look at that.” Bucky grins, and he bumps Gale’s shoulder as they hold their ornaments up beside each other.

“Thank you,” Gale finds himself saying again, and he wonders if his voice sounds thick to anyone else. He doesn’t even comprehend the fact that he’s standing up, stepping over to Mrs. Egan. She readily accepts his hug, though, and she lets him cling on, the astronaut resting against the back of her shoulder where it’s clutched in his hand. 

He and Bucky hang their ornaments side by side, two little astronauts shooting for the moon.

—

Gale doesn’t cry later that morning, when Mrs. Egan places a stack of blueberry pancakes in front of him and tells him that John mentioned those were his favorite.

He doesn’t cry that afternoon, when Mr. Egan asks to take a look at that book, or when Mrs. Egan asks if he wants to help her with the final batch of Christmas cookies, or when Bucky tries to teach him how to play his new video game.

He doesn’t cry when they ask if he wants to watch a Christmas movie with them, and he finds himself curled up on the couch munching on a cookie with Bucky’s head on his shoulder and Buzz splayed across his lap.

He doesn’t cry at dinner, when Mr. Egan includes him in his prayer, asking the lord to watch out for both of “their” boys.

He doesn’t cry when Mrs. Egan says goodnight to them both late on December 25th, gently kissing the top of Bucky’s head, and then doing the same to Gale.

He holds it together pretty well, he thinks. He laughs, and he finds himself smiling, a warm feeling trying its best to settle in his chest as the good and the bad memories go to war with the perfect reality he’s been met with today. He pushes down the lump in his throat and lets himself, just for a little bit, feel loved and cared for and protected. He loves them all back. He lets himself act like he could be a part of the family, even if he doesn’t quite believe it.

—

Late on Christmas night, after his parents have gone to bed, Bucky steps quietly into the hall and creeps toward the guest room like a child up past his bedtime. He knocks on the door with one knuckle, listening closely.

“Come in.” Gale’s soft voice sounds off, a little uneven. Bucky frowns as he turns the knob and pushes the door open.

Gale is curled up at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard with his knees pulled to his chest, his pillow laid neatly on top of the one beside him. Buzz, having officially traded Bucky in for Buck, is sprawled on his side with his head resting on Gale’s bare foot, right over the bandage from the water glass incident yesterday. The lights are off, and Gale is staring up at the colorful Christmas lights lining the room, as if it’s a sky full of stars.

“Buck?”

“Mmm?”

Bucky walks around to the side of the bed. It’s only when he gets close that he really notices: Gale’s been crying. His eyes are red, his cheeks flushed, his hair messy. When he lifts a hand to rub at his face, Bucky notices that he has the sleeves of his shirt wrapped around his fists, wet spots marking the fabric. 

What’s wrong? Bucky wants to ask. Are you okay? Why are you crying? Did I do something? Do you need anything?

He doesn’t ask any of those questions. 

He shoves the pillows down next to the dog and climbs into the bed, settling back against the headboard so close to Gale that their shoulders touch, his legs crossed in front of him. Buzz stretches his head forward to lick his knee, and he reaches out to stroke the dog’s head in return. 

“He reminds me of my dog,” Gale says. “He was a mutt, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Dunno if I’ll ever see him again.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. Neither of them are looking at each other, both of their eyes trained on Buzz. “Why not?”

Gale takes a deep, sharp breath as his whole body tenses, and Bucky worries it was the wrong thing to say. They sit in silence as the seconds tick by. “I haven’t had a Christmas this nice since Mama died…” Gale finally says, something like nostalgia, or maybe resignation twisting through his voice. Sometimes, the line between those two is quite thin. “Well. I’m not sure I’ve ever had a Christmas this nice.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, closes it again. What is he supposed to say? He thinks he’s put enough pieces together over the last few months to understand a bit about his roommate’s home life since his mom died, but Gale’s never said a thing about it out loud. 

Gale shrugs uncomfortably in response to Bucky’s silent question, which hangs in the air between them without any words being spoken at all. “Dad wasn’t a… well… I-I guess…” His breath shakes. Bucky presses closer against Gale’s side, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. Gale sinks his weight into the hold, and Bucky finally looks directly at him when he hears quiet sniffling, feels Gale’s fingers latch onto the front of his shirt. 

“I don’t plan to ever go home again,” Gale says quietly. His face twists into something angry and sad, but he fights against the expression like he doesn’t want Bucky to see how he’s feeling at all. Bucky wonders if it’s the first time Gale’s ever said this out loud, the first time he’s let such an idea be heard by the world. He wonders how long Gale’s been thinking about it in silence. Days? Weeks? Months? Maybe since the moment he closed the door behind him when he left for college. 

“I’m not goin’ home,” Gale says more firmly. “I… I don’t think I’d mind never seein’ him again.”

Gale’s shoulders tremble almost imperceptibly with rattled, unregulated breath, and when he goes still, it takes Bucky a moment to realize that he’s not breathing at all anymore. He’s holding everything in to keep himself from shaking, from crying, from feeling. 

Bucky wraps both arms more fully around him, holding him tight like he’s trying to hold him together, trying to hold some invisible weight so Gale doesn’t have to. Like maybe if he takes the burden of keeping Gale in one piece right now, then there will be enough space to breathe again. “You need to breathe, Buck,” he whispers.

Gale turns toward Bucky and wraps his arms around him, and his fingers curl into the back of Bucky’s shirt like he’s grasping for something steady but half expecting it to vanish. His breath hitches when Bucky stays, and his fingers curl tighter into the fabric. Buzz whines and crawls further up the bed, pressing his nose against Gale’s thigh.

“Breathe,” Bucky says again. He rubs Gale’s back in what he really hopes is a soothing way. He hasn’t often found himself in this type of situation, having to find a way to make the world keep turning for someone else. He didn’t know he ever could be that person. “Just breathe.”

It takes a few minutes, but Gale’s breathing evens out, his grip on Bucky’s shirt loosens, and the silent, stubborn tears that he so obviously didn’t want Bucky to see clear out of his eyes. By then, he and Bucky have slid down so that they’re laying on the bed, Gale’s face buried in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky finds that he doesn’t mind, not one bit. When Gale shifts away, no longer trying to hide, Bucky grabs the pillows and puts them back under their heads where they belong. And they stay there, just them and the dog, staring up at the Christmas lights. 

“I’m sorry,” Gale says eventually. The sound of his voice is clear again, but still quiet. Bucky looks at the clock on the wall and sees that it’s officially December 26th, no longer Christmas day.

Bucky shifts so his arm is behind his head, and he glances over at Gale. “For what?”

Gale isn’t looking at him. “It’s not your job to-“

“That’s ridiculous, Gale.” Because it is. Ridiculous. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

Bucky frowns and squints up at the lights. He wonders how he’s supposed to say that he doesn’t care without it sounding weird. He wants to see Gale in every mood, every condition, every emotion. He doesn’t care. He wants to help Gale through everything. He wants to make him feel better when he’s sick or tired or scared or putting himself down. He wants to take away any pain he ever feels. He wants to protect him from everything bad that’s ever come his way even though he knows full well how strong and capable he is on his own. 

It’s a lot for a college freshman to feel about a person. It’s more than Bucky’s ever felt about anyone before, and he doesn’t really even know what he’s supposed to do about it. So he reaches out and puts his hand over Gale’s, and he fights back a smile when Gale turns over his palm and lets Bucky rub his thumb across his fingers in reassurance. “I’m glad I came to check on you.”

He hopes that says enough. 

“Thank you for… everything.” Gale finally looks over at Bucky, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“This really has been the best Christmas I’ve ever had I think. I- I can’t… thank you for including me.”

“You’re family now.”

Gale’s face goes blank, and Bucky knows he has no idea what to say. So he squeezes Gale’s hand once, and he looks back up at the ceiling. “Merry Christmas, Buck.”

They fall asleep like that, laying on the bed and looking up at colorful, LED stars that reflect off the ceiling and the walls, the light bathing their faces in red and green. Gale’s head rests over Bucky’s chest, where he can hear his heartbeat, steady and calming.

That’s how Bucky’s mom will find them in the morning. She’ll knock softly on the door after realizing her son isn’t in his own bedroom, and then she’ll quietly push it open. She’ll see Bucky, asleep on his back with Gale curled against his side. Bucky will open his eyes tiredly, looking at his mom in confusion as he realizes where he is. His mom will nod, closing the door quietly once again, and then she’ll lean against the wall outside the guest room. She’ll smile to herself, and she’ll thank the universe for bringing her boy someone good, someone to love and to love him. 

Bucky will look at Gale beside him, and he won’t even be able to imagine everything that comes next. He’ll hope, and he’ll wonder, and he’ll give it his all, but he won’t know for sure that this was only the beginning. Their first perfect Christmas.

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

December Fic Day 5 ~ Party

Summary: You and Logan chaperone for the school's annual Christmas Party.

Warnings: none that I'm aware of but please correct me if I'm wrong

Pairings: pretty sure this is suitable for everyone (fem!reader/male!reader/gn!reader) but I am still new to writing anything other than fem!reader so any pointers are greatly appreciated.

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

December Masterlist

“It’s not even the second week of December! Can someone please explain why we’ve decided, well no actually I had no input in this, why you’ve all decided that today is the day to throw a Christmas Party? Huh?” Logan had been ranting about the annual Christmas party for the last hour and a half. His complaint was that he didn’t have enough time to mentally prepare but you knew that the only reason he was so annoyed was because every other year he’d managed to escape it by, coincidentally, being on a mission that day. 

“Because in case you forgot, jackass, most of the kids go home for winter break on Sunday so we decided to involve them all this year. Isn’t it exciting?” You teased, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh and guess what? I signed us both up for chaperoning! You get to experience it this year, baby. Isn’t it exciting?!” Logan just stared at you, his mouth slightly open as Storm failed to stifle her laugh and Scott just clapped Logan on the shoulder. 

“Yeah baby. Exciting.” Scott mocked and Logan growled, his claws starting to slide from his knuckles before you slapped his arm and shot him a glare. “Party starts at 5. Don’t be late or you're on detention duty till New Years.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Trying to fight Logan into a suit was impossible. The man was almost 200 years old and yet it felt like you were trying to convince one of the younger students that wearing their pyjamas to class wasn’t acceptable. “You are not wearing jeans and a flannel to this damn party, Logan. I swear to god, put the suit on or I am moving back into my room for the rest of the month.” You threatened and Logan looked betrayed, scowling at you from where he stood in the corner of the room, ‘not sulking’. “3…2…-”

“Alright, fine! I’ll wear the fuckin’ suit. Jesus!” He pulled on the slacks, shirt and jacket, doing up his buttons and belt before glaring at you. 

“And the tie.” You added, holding out the black material for him. He put it round his neck as you took it upon yourself to tie it for him, knowing he'd get impatient and probably rip it to shreds. “There we go, don’t you look handsome.” 

He met your gaze and grumbled. “Ever threaten me with something that serious again and we will have problems.” He said, sternly with a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “What does chaperoning entail exactly?” 

“Logan, your responsibilities as a chaperone are the same as they are every other day of the bloody week. Keep them out of trouble, keep them safe and for the older ones-.” 

“Hands to their bloody selves.” He muttered and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Well I was going to say make sure they don’t get into our alcohol store but I suppose yours works too.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

The festivities had been underway for a grand total of 23 minutes and 47 seconds before Logan stormed over, his signature scowl on his face and his breathing heavy. “Woah Mr Grinch… calm the hell down. What’s wrong? Why do you look like you’ve just caught Scott fucking your mother?” You teased but Logan just growled, pointing over to Jean who was standing laughing with Storm. 

“Santa Claus! Fucking Santa Claus. Did you sign me up for this shit too? Huh?” 

“Oh… no that was not my doing but… you are kind of the best fit, babe.” 

“You think I look like some holly jolly fat bastard who mopes around eating cookies and drinking milk? Thanks bub, real affectionate!” 

“Look, Scott doesn’t have the facial hair and we don’t have a fake beard, Beast has too much facial hair and Kurt is blue for fucks sake. C’mon Logan… for the kids? For Pippa?” 

Pippa was one of the only students Logan had actually taken to in the years he had been working at the school. The 7 year old treated him normally, didn’t try to push his buttons and did nothing but sing his praises to everyone else, so much so that you and the rest of your colleagues were convinced she had a slight crush on him. 

“You’re cruel.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

That was how Logan found himself sitting on the most uncomfortable chair known to mankind, in the corner of the hall, one of the older kids using their power to dye his beard and hair white, in the itchiest red Santa suit and a pillow shoved underneath it, courtesy of Scott. 

The kids took turns sitting on Santa’s lap, telling him the present they wanted for Christmas, which Logan then had to report back to Jean who was dressed as an elf so that Charles could buy each of the children a Christmas present, and then they would collect a bar of chocolate from Storm and go back to dancing their little hearts out to whatever Christmas song Scott played. It didn’t take long to get through all the kids and Logan was quick to wave goodbye to them all and disappear back to your room to change back into his suit. 

When he finally returned, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips in thanks but were rudely interrupted by Pippa tugging on Logan’s sleeve. “Professor Howlett? Professor Howlett.” 

Logan took a deep breath, calming himself down so as not to snap at the poor child. “Pippa. Everything alrigh’?” The young girl nodded eagerly and it was then that you saw Jean and Storm giggling again like teenagers. You excused yourself to walk over to them, leaving Logan talking to Pippa who was animatedly retelling the story of meeting Santa Claus and telling him what she wanted for Christmas. 

“What are you two giggling about? We are meant to be the responsible ones here.” You accused but Storm quickly shushed you, Jean pointing towards the direction you had just come from and you gasped. 

There was your husband, carefully dancing in a small section of the hall with Pippa standing on his feet, laughing loudly as her favourite person in the world tried to teach her how to dance. “Poor girl was riddled with nerves. Wanted us to ask him for her.” Storm said and your heart melted at the sight of the man you loved most being so sweet. “I’d be careful, love. Another few years and you’re gonna have some competition for your man.” 

“Nah… pretty sure only I am strong enough to handle Logan Howlett’s infamous temper and stubbornness but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

[laswells-ashtray]

KATE LASWELL AND CO BOARDGAME NIGHT. POSSIBLY DRINKING. MAYBE MARIJUANNA.

I'm saying Kate, her wife, John and Nik because Kate and John would never let the lads see them high.

Sarah insists that they play Game of Life because no one is getting through Monopoly if her stash is involved. They don't go your typical route and share a joint. No, Sarah likes baking so they have brownies.

It starts off fine, they're still a bit stiff around the shoulders. A little too professional for a board game. Nikolai and Sarah use their critical thinking skills and bring out a selection of various snacks before ordering pizza.

And then Kate starts smiling when she's reading out a card, she's flashing her pearly white teeth and Nikolai is half sure she doesn't know she's doing it. "Your pet goat wins a ribbon. Collect 120K from the bank."

It's a ridiculously unfunny card but the way John snickers makes Nikolai laugh and in the back of his mind Nikolai quickly realises that the brownies are kicking in. Sarah is still content and happy, no change in her.

"Pet goat?" John asks with far too much glee for something so simple.

"What kind of lesbian doesn't have a pet goat?" Sarah remarks, feigning offence.

Nikolai rolls his eyes and points to the board on the table. "She isn't a lesbian, she started off as a blue figure."

John had immediately claimed the blue car, Nik had taken the pink while no one was looking and it'd left the women to fight over who got the green car. Kate had won and coincidentally, Nikolai had pretended not to see how Sarah had offered her chest a feel.

"Lesbians can be blue, John. You English bigot." Kate retorts, barely biting back a laugh. The relaxed, almost giggly aura looks good on her. Nikolai has seen her during the hardest days of her career and he thinks she deserves as much happiness as she's feeling now. John might be his partner but Kate is one of his closest friends and he'd be lying if he said it didn't warm his heart to see the both of them so happy. Even if they're high as shit.

John only lets out a loud bark of laughter in response, sinking back into the couch cushions.

He watches as Sarah leans over and snatches a pack of Chips Ahoy from the table, tearing it open carelessly and shoving one in her mouth with a quite frankly pornographic moan that is hysterically funny to him. He briefly considers stealing one but John is slumped against his side and there's no way in Hell he can escape out from under him.

Kate looks back to her wife and then at the arrangement of snacks on the table before looking back to Sarah. "Hand me the Doritos."

Sarah does not have the grace to swallow the cookie before answering and it makes Nikolai chuckle. "Get them yourself."

"Give me the Doritos or I'll pinch you."

Sarah grabs the bag with a dramatic look of irritation. "Only because you'd pinch my tit."

Nikolai thinks John is half asleep with how quiet the other man is until someone knocks on the Laswell's front door, the undeniable joy on John's face is something he wishes he could photograph if he could remember where he sat his fucking phone.

The other man drags himself off of the couch and towards the front door with a pep in his step that Nikolai swears he's never seen before.

"Even walks like a gayboy." He hears Sarah mutter between cookies.

Kate breaks into a fit of giggles in response, pointing at John with a Dorito in hand as she tries to form words that just can't quite break through her laughter.

Nikolai would laugh if he wasn't too busy trying to kick off his boots without having to reach down and untie them.

The pizza boxes hit the table with a loud thud and before any of the three have a chance to react, John has already pinched the top one. "Dig in, arseholes."

[theweepingangelofcas]

Hello ~

I've been following for a long time , but it's my first time requesting 🤧

May I request Moriarty bros with a childish fem!reader please ?

Thank you and take care ~

p.s : I Love YOUR WRITINGS ♡

Hi there! You make sure to take care as well please! p.s: STAY HYDRATED <3

*********

Childish - Moriarty Bros x Reader

William Moriarty

As a person who wants to see a kind, fair society, he adores your childlike innocence.

How could he not? The sparkle in your eyes when you see a particularly colorful bug, the cutesy gestures and habits you had... How could he not love it all?

However, loving your pure soul came with a price. He had to protect it. And there were so, so many things that could shatter it.

You had come home early to surprise him. Normally, he would have loved this. Treasured it. You were both often so busy it was difficult to get an evening together. But why, just why did it have to be this evening? He had just come back from another noble's house. And, par for the course of his plans, his clothes were covered in crimson red. You couldn't see this. You didn't even know it was happening. He only ever told you he was going to business meetings. If you saw him like this, he knew your sweet, childlike self might be ruined, "William?" You called, giggling as you dragged in a few boxes, "It's almost Christmas! I bought a few ornaments to decorate the tree and the house. Where are you, dear?" He was hiding in the guest suite bathroom, back pressed tightly to the door. "In the bathroom, dear!" He called back, fiddling to make sure the door was locked, "I'm feeling quite ill, but I'll join you in a few minutes!"

He could hear you stop outside the guest room, a worried tone betraying your calm words, "Are you alright, love? Do you need my help?" A spike of adrenaline coursed through his veins, "No, y/n. I'll be fine. I'm feeling much better now. Just washing up. Why don't you get a head start on unpacking those ornaments, and I'll be right there?" He could just imagine your elated face. You loved decorating for Christmas. When you walked away, he felt his heart slow to a more reasonable pace.

He came out of the bathroom 30 minutes later, dressed in simple pajamas and his hair freshly washed. You were organizing the ornaments by color, a giddy smile on your face. It made his own heart warm.

"I'm here, my love."

Louis Moriarty

He is a practical man. Even during his youth, he never acted particularly child like.

If it was any other person, he would find it dreadfully annoying. After all, he hated that Holmes man, and he was a walking example for 'immature'.

But you know how to act yourself around him, in a way he finds more endearing than troublesome.

"Y/n? What are you doing?" That, indeed, was a good question. He had walked in to get started on preparing lunch, when he found you, covered in flour on the floor. You grinned at him, "Cookies!" You tried to swipe the flour off your face, "I did spill the flour, though." Again, if it were anyone else, he would be livid. But something about your goofy self just made him shake his head. "Come along, let's get the broom. Then we can make cookies together." **************** You two settled on sugar cookies, after Louis chose a recipe that everyone in the manor would enjoy. He watched as you pulled a bit of cookie dough off of the sheet tray, popping it into your mouth like it was candy. Once again, if it were anyone else... Ah, hell. He ate a piece himself.

Albert Moriarty

Albert works hard. And, he works often.

So when he comes home to your laid back, fun self, he's more than happy.

"Albert!" You practically leaped into his arms, "How was your day?" All he could do in response was sigh, "It was quite long. But nothing an evening with you can't fix." You nodded, "Well, that's good! Because...." You backed up, revealing a few wooden boards and sets of cards, "It's game night! Now, help me round up your brothers." Once William and Louis got settled beside the two of you, it was on. Scrabble was, undeniably, a poor choice of games against a literal prodigy. But even though Albert and you were loosing quite terribly, neither of you really minded. No, in fact, you were both laughing. Jokes were being passed around like cigarettes, and by the end of the night, he could hardly tell what had made him so exhausted earlier in the day.

[somerandomdudelmao]

ok wait hold up can we actually just like talk for a second about Donnie's behavior in these last few pages??

Before he found out about the infection, Donnie was still very nonchalant about a lot of situations, but he always had a sense of care and compassion for certain things, like for example, his family and friends. He used a lot of sarcasm and was overall just the snarky autistic tech dude who had more love than he could even imagine giving. He had a relentless grip on his bad-boy image, was stubborn as all hell, but was a well-rounded, lovely guy!

And then the realization hit that he was going to die sooner than expected. Then...

Poof!

Now he's just a shell (Hahaahahahahaha) of who he used to be. Now all he has for himself is a bunch of self-deprecating jokes, responsibilities to pass on to others, and a lack of hope that is just so incredibly unlike him. He still has the sarcasm, sure, but this time it's a lot more dry and emotionless. There's no brevity or lightheartedness to his words anymore, it's all just a monotone mess of half-assed goodbyes and thrown out dreams for the future. Any method of survival has seemingly been lost to time for Donnie, so now he's just kinda... Accepting the fact he's gonna die soon, which only leaves him with his own decaying body and a voice he doesn't even want anymore. And judging by the way he just ignores or shrugs aside everyone's concern, it's all basically just him saying, "Welp, guess I'll die. Here's my shit, no will required."

Also another thing I noticed is that Donnie is basically not allowed to really do anything anymore because he's at risk of dying sooner than he already thinks he will. If he gets more rest and works less, his death come significantly slower.

Meaning he must feel incredibly useless right now.

I think I've also pinpointed the time when this all started happening to Donnie btw. It's a very small moment and I don't have the screenshot on me rn but I think it was in the robo-Raph comic, specifically the moment when Donnie was zooming over to Casey and went "Past" that Kraang alien dude on the way. I imagine he didn't really go past and instead went through, because u know, he's Donatello. If given the chance to commit murder, he will commit, and he very much had the chance right there. I think he went through that Kraang alien, (Very plausible given how fast he was going like jesus- ) got its blood inside a cut or something, and it infected him via his veins or something. Kind of a stretch to assume this since it literally could've been something that took place before the time of this comic series, but this was the earliest instance of foreshadowing/possible infection that I can think of.

I also want to apologize for making all those jokes about like taking you to court and throwing you in jail and stuff because maybe they came off as mean or rude at some points. And for constantly flooding your inbox lol-

Thanks for existing and for making this comic, and congrats on beating the deadline at work! I think you deserve a cookie for that! *Gives a million more cookies* oh yeah and those are for you being you

Oh my fuckiNG GoD...

I don't even know what to say to that

I guess I just want everyone else to be able to read it too because..oh shit...oh wow.

[lunaekalenda]

paternal figure

warnings: fem!reader, melusines call neuvillette "dad" (idk anymore what i'm doing), reader is referred as "partner" and some petnames by neuvi, purely selfish tbh.

The melusines think Neuvillette is the perfect dad. He cares for all of them, it's kind, soft and plays with them on his days off. He always pays visits and brings gifts to all of them, forgetting none, even the ones that already work in different points of Fontaine. The melusines love him as much as he loves them, that's why he's nervous when you both walk towards the little cave where they live. What if you don't like them? If they don't like you? If you get scared? If they get scared? Although they're kind by nature, he's afraid they have bad experience with humans and they reflect it towards you.

"Where are we going?" you ask again, smiling towards the man that walks in front of you, with a hand tangled on yours. He stops walking before taking air and your other hand, shiny eyes directly on yours. He's taking you there by surprise because he, the Iudex, the implacable man that looks for justice on Fontaine, was nervous as hell to tell you. It's such an important moment for him, to let you meet his family. After all, that's the best word to describe the bond that connects him, they'r their only parental figure, and all the little creatures that live a couple steps ahead.

"We're.... meeting my family today." He clears his throat, and you can't hide your surprise. Today? You didn't choose an special outfit or brought any gifts. You're about to scold your man when he keeps going. "They're a ton, and they're curious. They'll ask a ton of questions and the littlest ones will want to play with you all day long." he murmurs, taking his gaze to the entrance of the cave, too afraid to look at you. "Please, be patient with them, as much as you were with me." You catch his words easily, because he was a man that showed no feelings. It was hard at first, to get over the façade of confidence and seriousness to meet the warmest heart you could ever think of. "I'm sure they'll like you as much as I do"

Any scold words you had break down when he looks again at you. Sincerity, nervousness and a tony bit of anxiety mix on his eyes, the ones that never show anything more than confidence and love. You smile widely at him, excited by meeting his family, but afraid you won't be enough. Getting on your tip toes, you kiss his jaw before speaking.

"I really wanna meet them, Neuv. I'm sure they're amazing." he smiles sweetly, releasing one of your hands before walking again with the other still caged on his. "They are." he whispers, more for himself than for you.

You have only put a step inside the cave before you listen to tiny and quick steps. In front of you, a lot of little creatures run towards your man before hugging his legs. Their puffy hands and their little horns buried on his coat. You stay behind him smiling, looking at how all the little creatures surround him lovingly, without even noticing anything more than him. He kneels and they speak all at once.

"Can I show you my latest paint?"

"I baked cookies, do you want some?"

"Are you gonna play a little with us?"

"Can I remake your ponytail?"

He takes his gaze back to you, as he takes a second of silence to let all the melusines get his attention on him. He takes air.

"I wanna introduce someone to you." He says. Their tails move quickly, you wonder if excitedly or nervously, as Neuvillette stands up and walks towards you, taking your hand on his again and making you walk in between all the creatures. The closer you are, the more beautiful you think they are. Their big eyes scan you from head to toes, curious, and Neuvillette presses your waist softly, indicating you to crouch near them. You can hear his tiny voices speaking between them. "She's so pretty." "She seems so kind." "She looks like a princess." "Her smile is beautiful." You can only hear good words from their mouths, all of them still looking at you with adoration, when Neuvillette kneels near you. "She's my partner. Please, treat her kindly, although you always do." One of the melusines takes a couple steps ahead, smiling sweetly towards you. "Welcome to our village! Are you gonna stay to have dinner with dad?" you look back at Neuvillette, who nods with a smile, and you accept the invitation with a wide enthusiasm. The melusine takes your hand. "Come with me, I can cook something more if you don't like it." She takes you around the village, when other melusine follows. "Later can you come to my home? I can show you my coral collection!" Another one pops from behind her. "I also have marine makeup, I'm sure you would love to try it!"

The melusines take you home by home, showing you all types of things and curiosities, sharing everything they have with you and, although they're a tiny village, you feel so loved and accepted by everyone that you feel as if it was the most special place of all Teyvat. Sèdenne takes you back to her home, where the dinner will be hosted, and there you find Neuvillette, sitting on a near chair as a couple melusines take his hair on the characteristic low ponytail he has. He smiles widely when you arrive back, and once he's sure they're done, he stands up to meet you on the corridor. "How was it?" he whispers, softly, taking your chin on his hands. You smile towards him before he takes your lips on his, making all the melusians take their gazes away and blush. "It was amazing." You whisper back, and it's true. The melusines made you feel at home. "Should we take a seat?"

Sitting by his side on the table, with his hand on your thigh and the memory of his lips still on yours, all the melusines sit on the rest, while some of them chat with Neuvillette, excited and happy to be able to share their days with their favorite person in the world.

His smile while he listens shows how much he cares for all of them and the gesture alone makes you fall in love way more with him. With his softness, his respect, his love towards them. You could get used to this.

Once the dinner is done and you help them clean, Neuvillette takes your waist, as a signal to leave. Some of the melusines yawn, but they don't want to stop talking with both of you yet. Neuvillette hugs every single one of them, and they run towards your arms right after. "Don't leave, please" "At you coming with him every day?" "Please, visit us more!" were some of the words shared with you. When you left, the tiny melusines share how happy their dad looks and how perfect you seem as the mom role they'll always missed.