#he just wants that rice krispie
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bookwyrminspiration · 1 year ago
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THE RICE KRISPY CURSE HAS FINALLY ENDED IM FREE MAYBE HAPPINESS DOES EXIST
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driaswrld · 1 year ago
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city boys! — gojo satoru and geto suguru.
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wc : 1.4k
summary : you go grocery shopping with satoru and suguru and they're just idiots tbvh (gn! reader)
part of : the star paradox collection.
notes : i have shamelessly brought my calculator to a kfc drive thru and yes i do it at the grocery store bcus i have dyscalculia math sucks don't @ me. also i have so much satosugu brainrot i can't breathe. yay to the satoru themed era of the blog :))
other : this can be read as platonic or poly just however you wanna see it! (like three curse words i think - mentions of cunnilingus) I SWEAR ITS NOT WHAT U THINK
current casette : city boys - burna boy
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There’s something about summer that makes Satoru and Suguru hang off your shoulders more than they ought to. In the most mundane situations too.
“—and it’s not even that serious!” Satoru groans, dragging his feet on the floor, reluctantly marching behind where you’re pushing the trolley. “Who cares what kind of curry it is? Curry is curry.” He reasons with a huff.
Suguru nudges you in the middle of the supermarket aisle from time to time, pointing out things you usually buy, brands you usually prefer over most, and you grab whatever you find remotely necessary and toss in the cart, both of you collectively ignoring Satoru’s whines.
“C’monnn… Listen to me!”
You pick up a can of diced pineapple and look at Suguru. “Nah, that one’s too sour,” he murmurs and you put it back instantly. Afterall, Suguru’s the best taste tester you could ever ask for. Satoru just scarfs down everything in a forty mile radius.
“The design on the can was pretty though, ‘s a shame.” You sigh.
Satoru’s groans fall on deaf ears.
You turn a corner and head into the fruit aisle. Suguru’s eyes flick to something over your head and his steps falter for a moment. While you’re pushing the trolley ahead, a soft smack! noise comes from behind you and before you can turn your head—
“No! I wanted the other one—”
“This one’s better—”
You ignore them, albeit barely with all the commotion both boys are causing in the supermarket. Leaning over an array of cherries on display, you hum to yourself, carefully picking the pretty ones to add to the cart, perusing at the other assortment of fruit and if even possible, Satoru and Suguru’s bickering gets louder.
“That tastes like shit—” “You look like shit—”
“You kiss your mom with that mouth?”
“You eat pussy with that mouth?”
You strain your head forward as an old lady strolls past, her eyes a little wide and eyebrows knitted with a look of utter shock and you shrink. With a stiff, humorless giggle you turn your back to her, suddenly finding a bunch of grapes oddly interesting.
Embarrassing.
And when you breathe a breath of relief as the old lady passes by, Satoru swings his arm over your shoulder, pouting. “Suguru’s a dumbass—” He’s cut off by a smack to the back of his head, and despite yourself you can’t help but laugh a little.
“Will you two just behave and,” you shift out of Satoru’s hold to take the mini package of ridiculously sweet m&m infused rice krispies he has in his other hand.
You toss it into the cart. “—help me pick some stuff for my fruit salad?” Satoru shrugs with a sigh, he hates shopping. It’s so boring—
You laugh and pull up the list you typed up on your phone : Raspberries, check. Kiwi, check. Watermelon, check. Grapes…
“What else do you need?” Suguru asks, and he sidesteps Satoru, leaning casually on the trolley, one foot pushing it forward and backward as you look through the fruits. “Grapes—” you murmur, suddenly feeling indecisive as you look through the different bunches. Green or Purple. Purple or Green.
Satoru pushes his sunglasses down to the curve of his nose. “Green, ‘s prettier,” he says and you turn to grab a bunch of the green grapes as Suguru straightens his body, pretending to look over your shoulder as he sneakily drops a package of plain marshmallow rice krispies into the cart. “Yeah, green would make it look way more appealing, wouldn’t it?” You whisper to yourself.
“I saw that—” Satoru begins to say.
“Purple’s better, healthier than the green ones.” Suguru says with a straight face. Behind your back he flips Satoru off.
You shrug your shoulders and grab a small bunch of both. If anything, it’ll be shared well between you and Shoko in the bentos you make. Hopefully she appreciates the struggle.
Sliding your phone unlocked, you glance at the list again as you step off. Grapes, check. Suguru pushes the trolley, following close behind you as Satoru trudges behind him. “Wait—” You halt immediately, and Suguru has to steer the trolley left so he doesn’t run into you, but Satoru steps on the back of Suguru's shoes, and looks away with a bashful whistle.
“Other aisle, we need to turn around.” You say, sliding your phone back into your back pocket. Canned Pineapples. You forgot you put back the last one. “How many damn aisles are there?” Satoru mumbles as you turn and make a beeline for the next corner, going back where the three of you came. Suguru chuckles.
Kneeling, you grab the canned pineapples opposite to the ones Suguru said were sour. Hopefully that much distance in the store is enough of a difference between the two brands.
You check the list one more time. Pineapples, check.
“Right, that should be it.” You mumble and both boys internally celebrate — well, Satoru makes a show of letting out a long dramatic sigh of relief while Suguru nods.
Taking a look into the cart, Satoru pettily moves his package of rice krispies on the other side of the cart, away from Suguru’s and when Suguru looks at him incredulously, he sticks a tongue out, “Your flavor’s trash.”
Suguru rolls his eyes and is about to push the trolley forward to run him over when he sees you pull out a scientific calculator from your tote.
A scientific calculator. The same one you use for school. “The fu—” Satoru is about to say, and Suguru glances at him, both of them trying to at least read each other’s minds about what the hell is going on.
You however, are so hyper focused on your little task, pushing the buttons of your calculator, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Satoru and Suguru watch you for all of two minutes. One minute spent with expressions morphing from confused, to even more confused, to utterly amused. The second minute spent snickering quietly and snapping silent pictures for the groupchat.
“Huh, I went over a little.” You hum and though they haven’t wiped the sheer amusement off their faces, they both find themselves intrigued. “By how much?” Suguru asks, quickly sending off the pictures to the groupchat.
“Seven hundred yen.” You reply as you step forward to peer into the cart, willing and ready to discard one unnecessary item to drop the price.
Three of your phones chime. Satoru checks his own notification.
[Gojo Fanclub]
Nanaminn <3 : who added me to this???
Nanaminn <3 : delete my number gojo.
“Bet it’s the curry.” Satoru mumbles absentmindedly, typing at his phone screen. “The curry’s like—” he pauses, shoves his phone in his hoodie pocket and counts silently on his fingers. “A thousand yen or something — they must’ve put the god of curry in there or something.”
“It’s not the curry,” you reason scouring the cart for any discrepancies. And there’s quite a few of them. Including but not limited to some Sakura tarts, sour candies, an extra package of rice krispies—
“The curry powder we picked is five hundred yen, it’s not the curry.” Suguru shrugs, and Satoru leans against one of the shelves of seasoning, letting out a quiet sneeze.
“Bless you— I need to recheck these.” The calculator comes out again as you murmur to yourself, the click clacking of the buttons drowning out your own thoughts.
“I’m just saying— maybe it was the rice krispie Suguru snuck into the cart—” Satoru mumbles, all while he bends his body at the end of the aisle, reaching blindly around to the shelves on the other side.
“You put one in, I was only balancing the trolley weight.” Suguru interrupts, and he turns his head away when you look up from your calculator at him accusingly.
“See?” Satoru grins, almost victoriously as he grasps a package of baumkuchen, wheeling his hand back as he sidesteps Suguru, moving to slide the pastry into the trolley. “Who knows what else’ll just drop into the cart?” And your calculator is forgotten as you snatch the pastry from Satoru’s hand. “Nothing else is dropping into the cart—”
But something else catches your attention as you’re about to scold him.
Two bright green bags, hidden at the bottom of the cart, stuffed under the packaging of Sakura tarts.
“Who the hell put Kenpi chips in here?”
Satoru and Suguru both freeze, and suddenly their accusing fingers are pointed at each other. But instead of scolding them like they expect—
“Should’ve at least put one for me.”
You're never going to the grocery store with them again.
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Bonus :
“Satoru’s paying for the extra snacks—”
“Not fair! Suguru shouldn’t get to just stuff his face—”
“Only two of those snacks are mine. Two. Out of ten.”
A notification sounds on the three of your phones.
[Gojo Fanclub]
Nanaminn <3 : is that my calculator that you borrowed???
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@todorokies gets the privilege tag cs i told knives ab this first😭
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spicycinnabun · 10 months ago
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“Steve, something is wrong with Christofern!” Eddie entered Steve’s room, cradling the potted plant in his arms.
He’d come home after work, ready to greet his bud-dy, but one look at him had made Eddie gasp. His leaves were shriveled up like sad little green raisins. Usually, they were puffed up like oversized Rice Krispies.
Christofern had been Robin’s, originally. It had been in a very sorry state on her windowsill before she’d left for college—a lot worse than it looked now, under Eddie’s care, thank you—and she’d told him, “I honestly can’t stand the thing. You keep it. It sheds worse than my aunt’s Great Pyrenees, and I’m tired of vacuuming. Just don’t throw it out, or Steve might murder you.”
And that had been that.
Christofern didn’t look like a typical house plant. He wasn’t a fern, which Steve kept reminding him. Steve was more practical. He didn’t give his plants names but called them by their designated labels.
Christofern was a Donkey’s Tail, or sedum morganianum, part of the succulent family. That term meant absolutely nothing to Eddie unless it was referring to a big bowl of pasta—he had no idea there was a whole plant category called delicious.
“But maybe he wants to be a fern, Steven,” he’d argued. “Ever thought of that? He doesn’t have to be a succulent just because he was assigned so at birth.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” had been Steve’s reply.
At first, Eddie had enlisted Steve’s help purely because he’d wanted his attention, and talking about plants was an easy as hell way to get Steve’s attention. Steve was a very passionate plant dad. But later, Eddie grew to love Christofern, and the trials and tribulations of learning how to care for him were almost like raising his own child.
Christofern had not just one but seven long, thickly spiked green tails. Seven tails. He reminded Eddie of a mutated dragon. He was adorable but occasionally grumpy and high-maintenance, like a certain someone Eddie knew. (Perhaps Christofern was more of a prince than a dragon—a dragon prince?)
If he didn’t get enough sunlight, his leaves shed, and he wilted. If he wasn’t rotated daily, he got yellow and sunburnt. And if he didn’t get enough water…
“I swear I watered him... uh, recently.” When had Eddie last watered him? Not the day before, but maybe Wednesday? Or had it been Tuesday? Shit. Eddie pouted. “I just gave him a drink now, anyway. It’s not too late, is it, Doctor Steve?”
He clasped his hands and watched Steve’s attentive eyes rove over his plant, waiting for the diagnosis.
“Eddie, how could you neglect Christofern like this? I should call Plant Protective Services.” Steve grabbed his hand, startling Eddie and his overactive heartbeat.
He took Eddie’s index finger and pushed it into Christofern’s soil right down to his second knuckle. It felt inappropriate. Eddie made a noise, appalled. “Steven, why are you making me violate Christofern?”
Steve ignored him. “What do you feel? The soil is soaked down there, isn’t it?”
Eddie wiggled his finger. It felt goopy. “Yes,” he admitted.
“You’ve overwatered it,” Steve chastised. “Now, the leaves might rot instead of rehydrating themselves. You’ve got to make sure you don’t drown it. Christofern only needs a moderate amount of water every two weeks, okay?”
“Okay,” Eddie said meekly. “I’m sorry, Christofern.”
Steve pulled his finger out of the soil and gave him a look bordering on amusement. “Leave him with me for a few days, and I’ll get him back to where he should be.”
“Thank you, Doctor Steve. How can I ever repay you?” Eddie imagined repaying Steve with his mouth, his tongue, his hands (after he washed the soil off)…
“You can clean the bathroom,” Steve said.
Eddie’s fantasy shattered. He whined. “Does it have to be that?”
“Yup.”
“Damn it, Steve, just make me suck your dick next time,” Eddie grumbled on his way out.
He missed the way Steve’s jaw dropped.
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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months ago
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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 2: I’m The Son Of Rage And Love]
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Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍
Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.
Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.
Chapter title is a lyric from: “Jesus Of Suburbia” by Green Day.
Word count: 6.2k
💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜
Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰
On the shores of the Susquehanna River, just north of Harrisburg, you find a Wawa with no gas: bags on all the pumps, cars with their fuel caps unscrewed and dangling. This is a common courtesy adopted en masse, like rationing during the World Wars or flying American flags after 9/11. It signals that a car has already been siphoned, no gasoline to be found here, no transparent flammable gold made of eons-past decomposition. You wonder if in a few million years, some unfathomable new apex species will be drilling your liquefied remains from the lightless layers of the earth to power their spaceships.
“Then we got sent to Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling,” Rio continues, gnawing on a piece of beef jerky, Jack Link’s in a red bag, teriyaki. Mercifully, whoever took the gas left some of the food. You are sitting in the parking lot, a quaint zombie apocalypse picnic, trail mix and Rice Krispies Treats, Herr’s potato chips and Tastykakes, warm soda sipped from plastic bottles. Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the Tahoe. Jace is tearing the convenience store apart; he is convinced the employees must have kept a gun somewhere in case of robberies. You know he’s fine. You can hear him banging around and swearing in there.
“Then we built some schools and a hospital in Djibouti,” you say.
Aegon is baffled yet intrigued. “Djibouti…?”
“It’s on the Horn of Africa, near Ethiopia and Somalia.”
Luke snorts. “It’s nice of you to assume he knows where Africa is.”
“Huh.” Aegon tosses a green M&M into his mouth. “Djibouti is horny.”
Rio says: “And after that we spent like six months in Key West, and then we got shipped to Corpus Christi, where Chips very narrowly avoided getting impregnated by, marrying, and inevitably acrimoniously divorcing a Marine.”
Everyone laughs except Aemond, who gives you a teasing smirk. “Did you really?”
“Uh, no. He asked me out, I ghosted him, that’s as far as it went.”
“Why’d you ghost him?” Baela says, crunching on Utz Cheese Balls.
Aegon turns to Rio. “You want a Honey Bun?”
“You’re my Honey Bun,” Rio replies. Aegon smiles, his sunburn flushing darker.
You shrug, eat a handful of candied almonds, tell a half-truth. “I just didn’t like him enough.”
Rhaena yelps and points: a snake, black and maybe five feet long, is slithering across the parking lot. It passes beneath the shade of the Tahoe and then continues towards the bushes. A moderate amount of panic erupts.
Helaena glances up from her notebook. “Rat snake. Not venomous.”
Rhaena shudders. “Well, I still don’t like it.”
“Where were you stationed next?” Daeron asks Rio.
“Chinhae, South Korea. Wicked cool place. The people love Americans, the food is incredible. We were there to rebuild a pier that got wrecked in a typhoon. They have these cute dolphin-looking things, they’d swim right up to the edge of the water with fish in their mouths to try to give to us. Like cats bringing home mice for their owners.”
“Finless porpoises,” you say.
“Yeah, those. And after Korea, it was Diego Garcia.”
“Diego…what?” Rhaena says.
Aegon turns to Luke. “Try to act like I’m stupid for not knowing where that is.”
“Diego Garcia is a tiny little island in the middle of the Indian Ocean,” you say, a bit wistfully. “It’s technically owned by the British, but we share a base there, we use it for airfields and to refuel submarines, things like that. We were renovating the housing facilities for Camp Thunder Cove. At night we’d go to the beach, have a few beers, look out into the ocean and it was just…nothing. Wide open dark nothingness for as far as you could imagine.”
“That’s what we need now,” Helaena murmurs as she makes elegant cursive annotations in her notebook, the cover picturing different species of spiders, a pinktoe tarantula, a green lynx spider, a black widow. “Someplace to go where no one will find us.”
“So you’ve known each other since basic training.” Aemond’s remaining blue eye shifts between you and Rio, like he’s still trying to puzzle it out. There’s really no mystery. You’re friends, and you’ve always been friends, and you’ve never been more than friends, despite many of your fellow seamen’s jokes to the contrary.
You tear open a Slim Jim. Aemond rebandaged your hands this morning, though they barely hurt anymore; he touches you with a clinical, focused restraint. “Not quite that long. Rio enlisted a few months before I did, so we weren’t at Great Lakes together, and then carpenters do technical school in Gulfport, Mississippi near Biloxi, and electricians train at Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. We met after we were both assigned to Naval Mobile Construction Battalion 1.”
“The First and The Finest,” Rio quotes the motto, grinning. “The original Seabees, founded during World War II. People called our battalion the Pioneers, which…is kind of ironic now.”
Aegon says, munching noisily on trail mix: “It’ll be so appropriate when you end up dying of a broken leg or the flu or in some other totally preventable way.”
“It’s so crazy, people died of anything back then,” Luke marvels gravely. “Tuberculosis, pneumonia, infections, starving, freezing, poisoning, getting kicked by a horse, giving birth…”
Rhaena shoots him a fearsome look and Luke shuts up, but of course he can’t take it back. There is a long uncomfortable silence punctuated only by birdsong and Jace’s muffled outbursts from inside the Wawa. Everyone looks at Baela, concerned, pitying, entirely unable to do anything to improve her situation. She is still eating Cheese Balls with one orange-stained hand, but the other rests on her belly.
“Clearly, the timing is less than ideal,” Baela says after a while, and if she’s terrified she doesn’t sound like it. “It wasn’t planned to begin with, but I was determined to make the best of things. I figured that I could still finish up my master’s degree with a baby, and Rhaena and our parents could help, and Jace would be done with law school soon, and it might be stressful for a while but we’d all get through it. And now…” She shrugs wryly. “Now all those plans are gone. Just gone.”
“You’re going to be okay,” Aemond says; a fierce low determination, a promise, a vow.
Baela smiles at Rio. “How old is your baby?”
He is caught off-guard, clears his throat, averts his gaze. Aegon looks over at him, alarmed. “Oh, he, uh…he’s little. Really little. He…” And Rio, so rarely at a loss for words, can’t continue. He eats his beef jerky instead.
You explain for him. “Sophie’s due date was right around the time the phones and internet went down. The last we heard, she was headed to Odessa to stay with Rio’s parents.” Aemond and his companions nod and don’t say what they’re thinking, but it’s swimming in their eyes: Sophie could have died, the baby could have died, they both could have died, you and Rio might be risking your lives to cross the continental United States for nothing. “Rio’s parents live in this…well, I joke around and call it a doomsday prepper cult, but that’s not really what it is, it’s just a farming community out in the middle of nowhere. People who have their own chickens and gardens, churn their own butter, don’t wear deodorant, make medicine out of tree bark…and a lot of them have kind of a survivalist mentality, they stock pantries and collect guns. So we figure we can reunite Rio with his family and then carve out lives for ourselves in relative peace.”
Rio reaches over to bump his fist against your shoulder. He is grateful. You punch him back, fairly forcefully; it’s like hitting a brick wall. Rio is as tall as Aemond but probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds.
You ask Aemond: “What’s in the Bay Area?”
“Our parents have a beach house. It’s up on a cliff by itself, pretty isolated, and surrounded by state parks. That’s where they were when everything shut down. I assume they’re still there.”
“Beach house?” Rio raises his eyebrows. “On a cliff?”
Rich kids. REALLY rich kids. “Your parents couldn’t just fly you to California in a private jet or something?” you say.
“Our pilots stole the jets,” Aemond replies, not realizing you were joking.
“Oh.”
“Jace and Luke’s parents were home in London, so getting there isn’t really an option, and then Baela and Rhaena…”
“Mum and Dad were on a business trip to Moscow,” Baela says. “I’d like to think they weren’t eaten, but…they were probably eaten.”
“I am so sorry,” you manage awkwardly.
A single zombie goes shuffling past the Wawa on the main street, a woman in a floral church dress, hair falling out of its curls, one pink high heel that clicks on the pavement, blood all over her mouth and chin. She notices the nine of you and begins to hiss, lurching closer. Daeron shoots her down and then trots over to retrieve his arrows, yanking them out of her cheek and eye socket. Rhaena winces. Aemond, distracted, bites into a Nature Valley granola bar. Aegon opens a can of Pringles, pizza-flavored.
Luke is peering through his binoculars, looking south towards Harrisburg. Faintly, you can see sunlight glinting off the gilded statue of a woman—the Spirit of the Commonwealth—that tops the green clay tile dome of the state capitol building. “What is that?”
“The sculpture?” you say.
“No. Farther away. Those big concrete towers, right on the water.”
Now you know exactly what he means…and you’d forgotten all about it. It’s an oversight you hope doesn’t cost too much. “That’s Three Mile Island. And we should leave so we can put more space between it and us.”
“Oh, fuck me…” Rio mutters.
Now everyone else is squinting to see the facility, barely visible from the Wawa. “Why?” Aemond asks you.
“Because it’s a nuclear power plant. And since the electricity is out everywhere, as soon as its backup generators fail, it will melt down and the whole area around it will become radioactive.”
Aegon puts two Pringles into his mouth so they look like a duck bill. “How do you know?”
“Did no one else go through a Chernobyl obsession phase in high school?”
“The professor mentioned it in one of my chemistry classes,” Aemond says, but he sounds doubtful; this must have been years ago, when he was consumed by med school prerequisites and had no space left in his brain for mere curiosity.
“Okay, listen up.” Rio knows the key points; he’s had to study different sources of electrical power. He demonstrates with dramatic hand gestures. “You have super radioactive reactor fuel, usually uranium or plutonium. You have a pool of water around it that circulates continuously. The heat of the fuel evaporates the water, which makes steam, which spins turbines, thus creating power. But if the external electricity fails, the water stops circulating, and the heat vaporizes all of it, and when there’s no more water the reactor fuel overheats and melts through the floor and poisons the earth, air, and groundwater. Any questions?”
There is a chorus of distressed chattering as people swiftly rise to their feet, clutching armfuls of snacks for the road. Jace comes trudging out of the Wawa, conspicuously not in possession of a firearm.
“No luck?” Daeron asks.
“Obviously not.” Then Jace snaps at Aemond: “Why were you stomping around all pissed off in the medicine aisle earlier? What were you looking for?”
“Nothing,” Aemond says quickly.
“Seriously, dude, what was it?”
“Nothing!”
“Damn, Plankton, calm down.” Jace shields his face from the sun, following Luke’s nervous eyeline towards the concrete cooling towers to the south. “What’s that?”
“Three Mile Island,” you say. “And we’re leaving now.”
Aegon yawns loudly. “I’m so full! Rio, can you carry me to the car?” And before anyone can tell Aegon to shut up, Rio has crouched down to let him scramble onto his back. Aegon cackles and waves his can of Pringles around as Rio sprints to the Tahoe. Now there are a few more zombies stumbling up the street, but you don’t waste arrows or bullets on them. Baela runs them down as she swerves out of the parking lot and drives northwest, heading towards Clarks Ferry Bridge where you will cross the Susquehanna River in a less populated area and commence the long slog to the Ohio border. She turns up the volume on the CD player: London Bridge by Fergie. Immediately, Rio, Aegon, Daeron, Rhaena, and Luke are singing along.
Baela checks the fuel gauge and looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “We have half a tank left.”
“We’ll find gas somewhere.”
“Aemond, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re not going to be able to walk to California.”
Baela can’t think of a response. He’s right. Outside, the miles roll by in a blur of radiant, reptilian, early-summer green.
~~~~~~~~~~
Each time the interstate is blocked by a snarl of crashed vehicles or a backup too thick to navigate through—both common occurrences—Aegon digs the folded map out of his shorts and charts a new course for Baela to follow. This particular divergence might prove fortunate. The Tahoe has rolled into Distant, Pennsylvania, an Appalachian speck of a town, churches, coal mines, dilapidated old sheds. On the outskirts, perched on a hill and surrounded by oak trees, you find a small single-story brick house with a myriad of banners on the flagpole: an American flag, a Confederate flag, a black POW/MIA flag, Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024.
“Yeah,” Aegon says, scratching his scruffy chin as he peers up through the windshield. “I feel like they probably owned guns.”
“How do we know they’re not still home?” Baela asks warily.
“No car in the driveway,” Aemond observes. “No windows boarded up. They probably ran into trouble while they were out somewhere and never made it back.” Then he waits, the question upspoken. Are we going to risk it?
“We’re down,” Rio says after exchanging a glance with you.
Aemond turns to Jace. Jace—curly dark hair down to his shoulders, eyes on the house, chewing his full bottom lip apprehensively—doesn’t reply at first.
“You said you wanted a gun, Jace. All the Walmarts are cleaned out. This is what shopping looks like now.”
“Fine. Okay. Let’s go.”
Baela parks the Tahoe in the gravel driveway and tells Rhaena and Luke to stay inside with Helaena until the property has been cleared. The rest of you climb out, afternoon sun and mountain wind, dandelions crushed under your shoes. There’s a barn behind the house, you see now, gaps between the wooden boards and flaking red paint.
Luke is standing up through the open sunroof, inspecting the scene with his binoculars. “No movement.”
“We’ll take the house, if you want,” Rio tells Aemond. You’re clutching your borrowed baseball bat with bandaged hands, though it still feels unnatural; your M9 is in its holster in case of emergencies. Jace, Baela, and Daeron start plodding across the yard towards the barn. The grass is tall and mostly shaded, the oak trees decades old, massive, weaving a patchwork canopy of leaves.
Aegon trots over and slaps Aemond on his left shoulder, his blind side. Aemond says without looking at him: “I’ll go with them. You wait out here.”
Aegon drives an imaginary ball with his golf club. “I’m very sensitive to rejection, you know.”
“You’ll survive.” Then Aemond follows you and Rio to the house.
Rio tries the knob, locked. He doesn’t waste a bullet by trying to shoot the lock off the door, something that is far less reliable than movies would have you believe. He kicks it open instead, three tries and then the screws that secure the latch give way and the door swings ajar. You wait, counting seconds in your head, listening for growls or footsteps. There are no sounds except the breeze sighing through the trees, the warbles and wing flaps of birds. You steal a glimpse of the barn. Jace, Baela, and Daeron have unhooked the rusted iron latch and are venturing inside, Daeron last and glancing around watchfully, his compound bow already drawn. Rio steps into the house.
It’s hot, stifling, all the windows shut. But this has its advantages. You inhale deeply: no trace of decomposition, no black swampy nauseating rot, just dust and lemon Pledge and old-people staleness.
“Smells fine,” Rio says. And then, loudly: “Anyone home? We’re just looking for supplies. We don’t want to hurt you. If anybody is here, just let us know and we’d be happy to leave. And, uh, sorry about the door.”
You stay close to Rio as he sweeps through the living room—floral couch, television turned off, crosses on the walls—and then the kitchen, where bananas are turning black on the counter. Aemond is to your right; he’s placed you on his blind side. He trusts me, you think. When did that happen? You haven’t heard anything from Aegon or the barn. That must be going well.
In the bedroom, Aemond pulls the curtains open to let some light in. You search the drawers, the closet, under the bed. No weapons. The bathroom has 1950s-style pink porcelain, the dining room table is set for a meal that never happened. There is a deer head mounted on the wall, ten points, not bad.
“I can’t believe these fuckers didn’t have guns,” Rio says. “But where the hell are they?!”
You have always watched more than you’ve spoken. That’s why you’re good at shooting things, and why you’re still alive. Rio talks and you listen; Rio acts and you reflect. “Wait.” You turn to Aemond. “Did you see a cellar outside?”
“A what?” He is perplexed. “Like…a wine cellar…?”
“No. A regular cellar.” You walk back into the midday heat and circle the house, Aemond and Rio hurrying to keep up. Over by the barn, everyone else is stretched out across the grass, joking, relaxing, Baela with her hammer on the ground and her hands laced over her belly, Helaena cradling a praying mantis in her palms and showing it to Rhaena. Aegon is teaching Luke how to smoke with a pack of Marlboro Golds he found at the Wawa. Luke, game yet somewhat anxious, takes a puff and then immediately coughs until he starts retching.
“I want to try too,” Daeron says.
Aegon shakes his head, taking a nonchalant drag off his own cigarette. “Nope. Not for you. Illegal. You’re under eighteen.”
“I want to try!”
“Shut up, you can’t even vote.”
“Nobody can vote, the government has collapsed!”
You find it at the back of the house: a pair of large metal doors leading down into the underground cellar. The weeds have begun to encroach on them, wild violets and black nightshade.
“Awesome!” Rio says, lifting the doors open one at a time, the hinges shrieking. They’re heavy, but they cause him no trouble. Underneath is a staircase and a room dark with shadows; you can see a light switch that won’t work, the electricity long gone. Rio unclips the flashlight from his  belt—taken from Saratoga Springs, waterproof with a 90-degree head so it doesn’t roll, known as a Moonbeam—and ducks down into the cellar. It’s a small room, easy to clear, and then you can start inventorying your findings. Rio is laughing, ecstatic. There is a workbench, a coil of thick rope, an array of tools—screwdrivers, wrenches, hammers, saws—some homemade leather wallets and holsters, cans of Brillo color spray…and then a treasure trove of weapons mounted on the walls.
You scan the collection. “We got Marlin .22s, we got Ruger Magnums, we got Remington 12 gauges, we got hunting knives…and one Glock 20.”
“A lot of ammo under here, Chips,” Rio says, yanking boxes out from beneath the workbench and stacking them on the floor, organized by caliber.
“No scopes?”
“Not that I’ve seen yet.”
You lift one of the Remingtons off its hooks and examine it: dusty, unloaded, vines of rust on the receiver. “We’ll have to go through and sight all of them. I don’t think they’ve been used in a while.”
“That’ll be a lot of noise. But here’s the place to do it, I guess. Low population, and we’re not staying.”
“Exactly.”
“Sight them for close range, like ten yards?”
“Yeah, that should work.”
Aemond says, eyebrow raised: “I didn’t know the Navy used shotguns.”
“Everyone hunts where I’m from.” You put the Remington down on the workbench then pick up the Glock, a box of 10mm ammo, and a can of Brillo. “Come on. Grab one of those hammers. I’ll show you how to shoot.”
You bound up the cellar steps and out into the shade of the oak trees, not stopping until you are at the edge of the property. Across the backyard where he lounges on the grass, Aegon gestures to the barn and asks Luke: “What’s in there anyway?”
“Nothing. Saddles and a few dead horses.”
“Oh, dynamite, I gotta see the dead horses.”
Jace says: “Aegon, man, what is your diagnosis?”
You use the can of Brillo to spray a large chocolate-colored circle onto a tree trunk, then make another two feet above that. You count your steps as you walk back towards Aemond: approximately ten yards. You load a single bullet in the Glock, aim for the bottom circle, and fire. A hole appears at the very edge of the circle. You take the hammer from Aemond and give the rear sight a few knocks. “This isn’t recommended, but it usually works.”
Aemond is smiling. “Okay.”
You load the full magazine and try again. The bullet hits closer to the middle this time. “Here. Both hands.”
Aemond takes the Glock but hesitates. “Is…my eye…?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. A lot of people close one eye anyway when they’re aiming. I always do.”
He is relieved. “Oh. Good.”
You tap the underside of the Glock. Aemond obediently lifts it. “The line of sight is slightly higher than the barrel, so you have to account for that. And then gravity will pull the bullet lower, and the longer the range of the shot, the more it will drop. So when you fire, the barrel should be angled upwards just the tiniest bit, not horizontal.”
“Like throwing a football.”
“Yeah, exactly. It’s an arc, not a straight line. At first it’ll feel like you’re trying to do all these calculations in your head, and it will be overwhelming, but then it becomes muscle memory and you don’t even have to think about it.” Jace, Baela, and Daeron are now eagerly crossing the yard to help Rio carry the guns out of the cellar and receive their own lessons. “Alright, we’re going to start with a really terrifying enemy. I want you to shoot that tree.”
“What a formidable tree.”
“Aim for the top circle. And if you hit it, then you can practice on Jace.”
Aemond laughs, butter-yellow sunlight filtering down through the trees, the shadows of leaves flickering over his skin, a mosaic of flesh and earth. You ghost your open hand down the length of his arm as if adjusting the angle. Really, you just want to touch him, to feel his warmth and his stillness, the tension of his muscles, the rhythm of his pulse. He’s watching you, lips parted, goosebumps rising beneath your fingertips. Birds are chirping, sparrows and blue jays. High above, squirrels leap and scrabble through the branches. You pull your hand away.
“Look through the sights. The rear sight at the back of the barrel is shaped like a U, and the one at the front is an I. Is the I in the middle of the U?”
“I have no idea.” A pause as he reconsiders. “Yes.”
“Right, it is, and the bullet should go exactly where you want it to because I already sighted that Glock. I’ll show you how to do it later. Now shoot the tree.”
Aemond aims but doesn’t pull the trigger. He’s nervous; he doesn’t want to seem incompetent, pathetic. You imagine it is rare that he isn’t the one with the solutions.
“Hey,” you say softly, and he looks over at you. “You don’t judge me for not knowing how to cure people. I won’t judge you for not knowing how to kill them. Deal?”
Now he’s smiling again. “Deal.” He returns his attention to the tree, lets a few more seconds tick by, and fires. He hits one of the branches. “Oh, that is…embarrassing.”
“It’s not that bad. You hit something. Try again.”
More seconds, more birdsong, more wind through the grass and the leaves. Aemond’s second bullet pierces the trunk about six inches above the top circle. “Yes!” he cheers, boyish triumph on his scarred face.
You resist touching him. It is startlingly difficult. “That was really good.”
He lowers the Glock, and you click the safety on for him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” you say.
“Why’d you ghost that Marine at Corpus Christi?”
“I told you. I didn’t like him enough.”
“Okay, sure, but actually. What was wrong with him?”
“I’ve known you for like twenty-four hours. You think you’ve earned all my secrets?”
“Well, not all of them,” Aemond says, grinning. Rio is showing Jace, Baela, and Daeron how to load the .22s. Aegon is swinging his golf club in circles as he follows Luke into the barn. Helaena and Rhaena are giggling as butterflies land on their outstretched fingers. “But our time together could be very finite. It seems unwise to waste it by trying to preserve some amount of mystery.”
“You’ve convinced me.” You want to be known by him, you want to be understood. That is a frightening thing to realize. It’s like handing a stranger the keys to your home. Will they visit graciously, or will they rob you, ruin you, burn you down? “I haven’t seen many examples of love working out for people. I’ve seen couples who hated each other, and couples who split up, and a lot of women having to raise kids all on their own and turning into these…bitter, exhausted, hollowed-out versions of themselves. I never wanted that to be me. And for as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like that was just one wrong choice away from becoming my life. I don’t want men to disappoint me. So I don’t give them the chance.”
You think Aemond is going to say something cheap, flirtatious, awful: Give me a chance, baby. I won’t disappoint you. Instead he says: “I haven’t known many happy couples either. I mean…Luke and Rhaena would be the closest, I guess. But they’re so young. I’m not sure if they count.”
“Rio and Sophie seem happy. But they’ve also barely seen each other in five years.”
“It does things to you, when you start to believe love might be doomed to end or tear you apart or turn to hatred. If it’s just an evolutionary mirage to trick us into reproducing, what’s the point of giving someone that power over you?”
“Exactly.”
“I feel like one of us should be trying to talk the other out of being so fatalistically cynical.”
“Yeah, totally. Okay. You talk me out of it.”
He chuckles. “No, I don’t think I can. You talk me out of it.”
You’re watching Aemond, realizing you like everything about him—his smirk, his height, his hands, the clear direct blue of his eye—and wondering what the hell you’re going to do about it. Then there is a scream from the barn.
What?? Who??
“Luke!” Aemond shouts, and takes off across the yard. Now you’re all running, even Rhaena and Helaena who don’t have anything to fight with. Everyone is yelling, their lungs heaving in wild June air, their shoes pounding against the earth.
Inside the barn, on a wooden floor strewn with hay, Luke is shrieking as he tries to push a zombie off of him with his bare hands. She’s an older woman, grey hair in rollers, yellow nightgown stained with gore. Something has happened to her feet. Both of her legs end in exposed tibias and flapping strips of purplish, rotting skin. Aegon is beating her with his golf club, but he can’t get a good shot at her head. If he accidentally hits Luke, he could make it worse, he could stun him or even knock him out, and he’ll be bitten in the few seconds it takes anyone to remove his undead assailant. Rio lunges to grab the zombie. She snaps at him with bared teeth and he retreats, drawing his M9.
“Don’t shoot!” Jace is saying. The air is putrid: dead horses, dead people. “You’ll hit Luke!”
Your own M9 is suddenly in your hands, the safety clicked off, one eye closed. “Luke, don’t move.”
“Kill it, kill it!” he pleads hysterically, pushing the zombie as far from him as he can, his palms sinking into the decomposing bruise-colored tissue of her chest and throat.
“Don’t shoot!” Jace orders, but you ignore him. He fades into the background with all the other frenzied voices. Your finger on the trigger, a boom like thunder, bits of bone and brains against the wall. Luke shoves the corpse away, trembling, sobbing. Rhaena flies to him.
Aegon spots the fresh blood on Luke’s right hand and panics. “Is that a bite?!”
Luke notices the wound for the first time. “I don’t know!”
“What do you mean you don’t know?!”
“I don’t know!” Luke wails, tears flooding down his pink face.
“I thought you cleared the barn!” Aemond roars at Aegon.
“It fell out of the loft, we didn’t think anything was up there!”
Luke is blubbering: “I hit my hand against one of the stalls, I think that’s how I cut myself, I was just…I was pushing it away…I didn’t think it bit me…oh my God, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t want to die…”
“It only takes once, kid,” Rio says grimly, fidgeting with his M9, looking at Aemond as if for permission.
“Don’t touch him!” Jace hisses, stepping in front of his brother and clutching his bat. “No one is going to hurt him, it’s not a bite, you can’t prove it’s a bite!”
You reach for Luke’s bleeding hand. “Can I see—?”
“Get away from him!” Jace swings his bat. The tip of it connects with your skull, just a graze fortunately, but still enough to rattle you. Rio charges Jace, tackles him to the floor, starts throwing punches. Baela has apparently forgotten she’s heavily pregnant and is trying to pull them apart. You join her.
He’s going to demolish Jace. He’s going to break his nose or jaw or something. “Rio stop, I’m fine, stop!”
There is another gunshot, a cataclysmic earth-shaking explosion that makes the pain in your head surge from a ripple to a wave. Aemond is aiming his Glock skywards; a hole has appeared in the roof of the barn. “Stand up!” he commands. Rio and Jace reluctantly comply. You help Baela to her feet.
“Aemond,” Jace says. “You have to stop them, they’re going to kill Luke—”
“No one is killing anybody.” Aemond lowers his Glock. “Maybe he’s been bitten. Maybe he hasn’t been. And even if we knew for sure that he was going to turn, we don’t just execute people like this, threatening them when they’re terrified. We have humanity. We have compassion.”
There is a silence that strikes you as heavy, laden, holding meaning that escapes you. Aegon points at Luke. “So what the fuck are we going to do about him?”
“We’ll tie him up,” Aemond decides.
“What?!” Luke exclaims.
“There’s rope in the cellar. We’ll tie his arms and legs so he can’t do anything and keep him like that for a few days until either his hand heals up or he turns into a zombie. Someone will always have to be with him to help him eat and take a piss and also…you know. Deal with it if he turns.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says immediately.
Aemond’s voice is now gentle, sympathetic. “I don’t think you want this.”
“If Luke has to die, I should be the person with him.”
“You’ve never had to put someone down before.” And in this statement lives another: Aemond knows what that feels like. Aemond has had to kill someone when they turned.
“I’ll stay with him,” Rhaena says again, this frail harmless doe-eyed girl, and you see a steeliness in her that you hadn’t thought existed.
“Okay,” Aemond relents. “When you’re asleep, Jace or I will take over.”
“It’s not a bite,” Jace murmurs, like he’s trying to convince himself.
“We’ll all find out soon enough,” Rio says, casting him a glare, then goes to fetch the coil of rope from the cellar.
Aemond cleans and bandages the wound on Luke’s hand. Then the weapons, ammo, and newly immobilized Luke are loaded into the Tahoe. Aemond asks you once everyone else is inside: “How’s your head?”
“Fine, I think.”
“Hurts?”
“Just a little.”
“Dizzy? Double vision?”
“No, nothing like that.”
He takes a quick look, parting your hair with his fingertips, feeling gingerly for blood and swelling. And this is becoming a serious problem: every time he touches you, you want more.
“Aemond…who did you have to kill?”
He doesn’t answer. For another moment his hand lingers by your temple, then Aemond turns away and climbs into the Tahoe. This time, no one sings along to the next song on the mixtape. Heads rest on windows, eyes are vacant and misty. Baela steers the Tahoe westbound on Route 1004, the Chainsmokers drifting through the speakers: All We Know.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Pick a card, any card,” Aegon says when he’s done shuffling. He fans out the entire Uno deck face-down and offers it to Rio, Aemond, and Jace. They each select a card, then Aegon picks one for himself. Finally, he holds out the deck to Luke, who stares up incredulously from where he’s still bound with rope and sitting on a curb in the parking lot of a Burger King just outside of Yarnell, Pennsylvania.
“Are you serious?”
“You’re an adult male, aren’t you? You think being in the middle of transforming into an undead murder machine exempts you from gasoline siphoning duty?”
“I’m fine!” Luke insists.
“Great. Then pick a card.”
“I can’t move my hands, you idiot.”
“Pick it with your mouth.”
“I hate you.” Luke bites his card of choice and waits with it clasped between his teeth, glowering.
“I want to pick a card,” Daeron says cheerfully.
Aegon refuses. “No. Too young. A baby.”
“Aegon, I’m seventeen!”
“Can’t enlist, can’t do jury duty, can’t buy lottery tickets, can’t sign up to drink gasoline. Okay, everybody show their cards.”
“I got a three,” Jace says, then yanks Luke’s card out of his mouth and reads it. “He got a skip.”
Aemond’s card is a nine, Rio’s a five, Aegon’s a reverse. “That means you lose, Jace,” Aegon announces, admittedly rather gleeful. “You had the lowest number.”
“This is bullshit, I had to siphon last time!”
“Then stop picking bad cards.”
“Jace, I can do it,” Aemond says.
“And get to be the martyr, as usual? No thanks. Give me the damn hose.”
Aegon roots around under the Tahoe seats and produces a long, semitransparent siphoning hose. “All the ones with the little pump attachments were sold out everywhere by the time we thought that might be useful,” he explains to you and Rio.
“That sucks, Jace,” Rio says. “I mean, literally, it sucks.”
“Next time we cross a bridge, I’m pushing you off it.” Jace takes the hose from Aegon, pops open the gas cap of the Dodge Ram 3500 you’ve found, and threads the hose down into the tank. He sucks on the other end and then shoves it into the Tahoe once the gasoline starts flowing. The fuel gauge was hovering just above E. Hopefully you can get at least a few gallons out of the Ram, another fifty or a hundred miles, maybe even two hundred, enough to get you across the Ohio border.
Jace is bent over and vomiting gasoline onto the pavement. Rhaena and Baela sit with Luke as Aemond feels his forehead and peers into his eyes. Daeron accompanies Helaena as she goes to scavenge inside the Burger King, her burlap messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Rio is now holding the siphoning hose and watching the liquid gold pour into the Tahoe, his smile growing with each passing second. Your eyes fall on Aemond and stay there, his careful hands, his brow knitted with concentration.
A whisper from behind you: “We could fake date to make him jealous.”
You whirl to see Aegon, mischievous smirk, neon green plastic sunglasses. “That is a super generous offer and I appreciate the thought you put into it, but no.”
“Why not?”
“It’s dishonest. It’s manipulative. If something is going to happen with Aemond, I want it to be real.”
Aegon sighs. “No, you’re right, it was a dumb idea. I just figured I have a lot of experience.”
“Experience with what?”
“People pretending to love me.” He flashes a strange, sad smile, then follows Daeron and Helaena into the Burger King.
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roosterforme · 2 years ago
Text
The Younger Kind Part 19 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: You and Bradley have resorted to planning accidental run-ins as an excuse to see each other. When Penny insists that Bradley joins her and Maverick for dinner on Thursday night, you agree to watch Noah. But dinner doesn't turn out the way he thought it would.
Warnings: Angst, fluff, swearing, and age gap (18+)
Length: 4100 words
Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader
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After Meredith managed to throw off Bradley's entire week, he was really antsy to see you, and he could tell Noah was, too. He really couldn't fathom how Meredith got the hearing postponed, and every time Bradley thought he was prepared, she threw him for a loop. 
He couldn't stand the thought of Noah worried and upset, being forced to answer questions about his home and his life in the courtroom. Even the idea of Meredith being allowed in the same room as Noah had Bradley clenching and unclenching his fists as he left work on Wednesday. He could tell Maverick was getting a bit annoyed that he kept asking to use his time off and then changing the schedule. 
When he checked his phone as he climbed into the Bronco, Bradley saw a text from you.
Babysitter: I'm going grocery shopping tonight. I thought maybe there was a chance I could "bump into" you boys at the store?
Bradley could always groceries anyway, and he knew that spending a little bit of time with you was just what he needed. He asked you which store and what time, and then he picked up Noah and took a few minutes to get changed and fix his hair. 
More than anything, he wanted to be able to invite you back to his place, do the bare minimum to help you make a perfect dinner, and then clean up while you and Noah played with the blocks. The option to make that a routine was in Bradley's brain now, and he knew it wasn't going to go away. You should be here with him.
"Let's go shopping, bub," he told Noah. "I'll get stuff to make ants on logs."
"Just like my babysitter?" 
"Just like Princess," Bradley agreed, and soon they were on their way to the store. 
Bradley had Noah buckled in a shopping car, strolling aimlessly through the produce area, looking around for you. He tossed some bananas and carrots in along with some apples, and then Noah was smiling and trying to climb out of the cart. Bradley looked over his shoulder and saw you pushing your own cart toward them. Then you let go of it and rushed over to them.
"Hi," you said to Bradley, barely glancing at him before you wrapped Noah in a tight hug. "Can I help you shop? Make sure your dad buys you all the good stuff?"
"Yes!" Noah cheered, and Bradley just shook his head. He really wanted to kiss you, but he kept his lips to himself. After running into Meredith at the coffee shop, he was a little hesitant.
"Hi, Princess," he whispered in his Daddy voice, and you finally looked up at him with a smirk. 
Then you and he pushed your carts along slowly, adding groceries and sharing some subtle touches. When you reached for him in the cereal aisle, Bradley didn't stop you. He let your hand come to rest on his chest, and when your lips met his in the softest kiss while Noah picked out some Cheerios, he pulled you a little closer. 
"I can't stay away from you," he whispered as you took a small step backwards out of his arms. 
You looked between him and Noah, and Bradley could see longing and sadness in your eyes. "I don't want you to. I miss being at your house. Do you think you'll be able to come to my graduation?" you asked, and Bradley would have done anything you wanted. 
"Of course," he promised, hoping like hell he could make that happen. He wanted to be there to make you happy. And because he was so proud of you. And because Noah loved you. "We'll be there."
You slipped your hand in his and kissed Noah's rosy cheek. "You should get some Rice Krispies too."
Bradley added a box to this cart and followed you around the store, soaking up your presence and attention and hoping he'd get more of you soon.
------------------------
Bradley was at home, unpacking bag after bag of groceries. You didn't let them leave the store until he had plenty of food, and he told you he wanted to take you home and unload you from his car, too. You laughed, but he was pretty fucking serious about it.
Noah was coloring as Bradley put away some pasta sauce when his phone started blowing up. He got texts from Nat and Penny at the same time, but before he could respond to either one of them, Tracy called him.
"Apparently Meredith was in breach of contract with her lawyer," she told him immediately. 
Bradley held onto the jar of sauce and asked, "What does that mean?"
"Could mean a number of things, but the bottom line is, her lawyer walked out because of something Meredith did intentionally. And apparently she found new representation, and the judge is adamantly refusing any further postponements. So please, be ready for next week. You and Noah both."
Bradley swallowed hard and nearly dropped the jar as his eyes landed on his son. "We're ready."
He finished with the groceries and made two sandwiches. Nat was already bugging him about Thursday night, trying to get him to stop by her place for a drink. And Penny was asking if he was free to have dinner with her and Mav. Apparently she wanted to chat with him about his future.
Bradley sighed and bit into his sandwich, watching Noah eat his as well. He knew everyone was concerned about how he was dealing with everything, but he just wanted them all to fuck off. A movie night with you and Noah was the only thing he really wanted. The three of you could watch a Disney movie before Noah's bedtime, and then Bradley would take you to his bed and spend hours making you cum with his lips all over your body.
He leaned back and sighed. Nat wasn't going to leave him alone until he texted her back. And Penny was likely to get Mav to side with her until Bradley agreed to meet them for dinner. So he texted you.
Princess, any chance you can watch Noah tomorrow night? Penny wants me to have dinner with them.
Your nearly instant response of "I would love to" had him smiling. 
"Hey, bub, wanna play with your babysitter again this week?"
Noah had jelly all over his cheek which made Bradley smile. "She can cook the food so you don't do it," he said innocently. And Bradley thought he made a very good point. If Bradley tried to cook half of the groceries he just bought, he and Noah would be starving in no time. 
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Bradley told his son. And now he could look forward to tomorrow, knowing he'd see you then.
----------------------------
You dressed for the evening with Noah like you were going on a date. Because you were hoping Bradley would take one look at you and rush back home after dinner to spend some time with you. Having a sleepover was probably out of the question, but you were definitely interested in recreating some of your dirty moments on the living room couch with him.
You moaned as you applied some eyeliner. You already packed up your bag with some new coloring books, and you made a playlist of kid friendly songs for Noah. He loved singing with you, and you knew Bradley was a bit of a music buff. With a little luck, Meredith would be out of the picture soon, and you could spend more time with your boys, listening to music and hanging out. 
When you checked the time, you dashed downstairs to slip your shoes on. Bradley asked if you could be there by 5:30 which seemed pretty early for dinner. But you promised him you would be. You grabbed some skittles to share with Noah and ran out to your car. When you caught your reflection in the window, you smiled. You looked good. You couldn't wait to see Bradley.
The front door was unlocked when you arrived. "Hi! It's me!" you called out, and Noah came running right for you. "Noah! I missed babysitting you!" you laughed, scooping him up as your tote bag slipped down your arm. "I brought songs and stuff to color and a snack."
"What kind of snack?" he asked, and you smiled.
"I'll show you after I make you dinner."
And then Bradley was in the living room doorway, looking so good, your mouth was watering. Snug jeans, fitted dress shirt, slightly messy hair. Fuck.
"Princess," he rasped, walking toward you with a smile on his handsome face. He leaned down and kissed your cheek while Noah was in your arms, and that thrilled you. Then he held up a key. The house key you practically threw at him when you stormed out in tears after he was so mean to you. "Will you take this back? Please?"
When you nodded, he slipped it inside your tote bag and then slipped the straps down your arm and set it down for you. He was examining your face, his eyes trailing down your neck and body while Noah rambled about a cartoon he had seen. The subtle flush of Bradley's cheeks as his eyes returned to your face had you squeezing your thighs together. 
Somehow he could tell. He knew what he did to you. The little grin on his lips as he kissed your neck made you want to roll your eyes. "I'll see you later, Princess," he whispered, running his fingers along your arm as he kissed the top of Noah's head. 
And then he was gone, and you were left with Noah. "Mac and cheese? Or spaghetti?" you asked.
Noah yawned as you set him down on the carpet next to the snag. Next to where you and Bradley had sex the very first time. You sighed, already counting down the time until he'd be back home. 
"Ummm, mac and cheese."
"You got it!"
You taught Noah some new songs while you cooked the pasta, and he colored a spaceship purple. But you noticed he was a little quiet, and he was yawning a lot. 
"You okay?" you asked him softly when you set his dinner down in front of him. He just nodded as you poured him some milk. "You wish your dad was home?" He nodded some more, but at least he was eating and drinking. But when he was done, he was reaching for you with his cheesy hands. You cleaned him up a bit and tried to play with blocks on the floor. You even offered to get the paper crowns. But he only seemed interested in watching a cartoon on the couch.
So you let Noah curl up on your lap, but soon he was asleep. And when you pushed your fingers through his soft, curly hair, you noticed his forehead felt warm. You let your palm rest softly against his skin. He definitely had a fever. 
You managed to slide out from beneath him, letting him rest on the couch while you went in search of a thermometer. After tearing apart the bathroom and the drawers in Noah's dresser, you were getting frustrated. You backtracked to the bathroom and then checked the first aid kit in the kitchen. Nothing. 
Before you dug around in Bradley's bedroom, you thought you ought to text him. 
Hey Daddy, I think Noah has a fever. Where's your thermometer? 
But you got no response from him. And when Noah woke up a little while later, crying for you, he had very rosy cheeks and a runny nose.
"It's okay, sweet Noah. I'm right here," you promised, picking him up and carrying him around with you. "You don't feel well, do you? Do you know where your daddy keeps the thermometer?"
"No," he whined, crying a little harder. His forehead felt even warmer now as he rested his face against your neck, so you decided to run a bath to help him cool down. 
You checked the time on your phone again. It was pretty late, and you wished Bradley would answer your text or just come home. You poured out a dose of the children's Tylenol you found in the bathroom and knelt down next to the tub. 
"Drink this up. It tastes like cherries," you promised, coaxing the liquid into his mouth. Then you brushed your fingers through his hair as you ran a washcloth all over his skin. 
At this point, you had sent several unanswered texts, so you decided to call Bradley and interrupt his dinner with Penny and Pete. He might even be on his way home. You weren't worried, exactly; you were studying pediatric nursing. But you really wanted to know exactly what Noah's temperature was, and you wanted to care for him the way Bradley always did when he was sick. You figured that would make Noah feel better. 
"It's okay," you whispered to Noah. "I'm sure your dad will be home soon." 
You wiped tears away from his eyes while you called Bradley. But when someone else answered his phone, your heart sank, and you could feel tears in your own eyes. 
-------------------------
Bradley lounged on Nat's couch and sipped a beer. He had about an hour until he was supposed to meet Penny and Mav, and it was so nice to just spend some time with her here. 
She plopped down on the couch next to him. "So your babysitter is with Noah tonight?"
Bradley snorted as he peeled away the label from the bottle. "I wouldn't call her that."
Nat rolled her eyes and asked, "So would you call her your girlfriend then?"
"Nope," he murmured. "Not allowed to do that yet."
"Yet?"
"Yet," he replied, taking another long sip. "But as soon as I can get Meredith out of the picture, I'm asking her to move in with us."
Nat whistled. "Wow. Skipping right to the point, I guess? No more dating apps ever again?"
"Nope," he said with a smile. And then he did absolutely nothing for a full hour except bullshit with his best friend. 
"Have a nice dinner with Penny," Nat said as Bradley stood to leave. "You know she worries about you, right? Kind of wants to be a stand-in mom and grandma to you and Noah?"
"Yeah," Bradley grunted. She meant well. Penny always meant well. And she was a huge help with Noah, even going so far as to keep him when Bradley was deployed. "She just wants to be helpful. I gotta get to dinner with her. See you at work tomorrow."
"Yeah, you should be in a great mood after Penny buys you an overpriced steak and you go home to your dream girl."
"Goodnight, Nat," he said with a grin before he walked out to his Bronco. 
He was really looking forward to the overpriced steak now. He knew was running a little late as he left Nat's place, but when he passed a flower shop that was still open, he quickly stopped to get you a bouquet of flowers. Wildflowers. They smelled just like you. He set them on his passenger seat, and he couldn't wait to get home after he ate dinner and give them to you. 
He found a parking space right in front of the restaurant, and after he hopped out, he jogged inside, ready to apologize for being a few minutes late. "Hi," he said when the hostess smiled at him. But before he could say anything else, he heard someone calling his name.
"Bradley."
He spun to see Helen stand up from a table and make her way over to him. She was wearing a very short dress and some high heels, and it struck Bradley that he had never seen her in anything other than a Hard Deck shirt. He'd also never seen her anywhere except the Hard Deck. It was kind of surreal. 
"Helen," he said with a nod, but she strolled right up to him and wrapped her hands around his forearm. Her nails were a boring shade of pink, and he started to imagine your purple nails and soft skin. 
"Come on, Bradley," she said with a laugh, trying to pull him away from the hostess. "I already have a table."
He cocked his head to one side slightly and then glanced down at her hands still on him. "I'm actually here to meet Penny for dinner."
She was shaking her head and biting her lip as she tugged on his arm until he started following her. "You're not here to have dinner with Penny."
"I'm not?" he asked with a laugh, looking around and seeing no signs of her or Maverick. 
"No," she said, planting her palm on his chest and guiding him toward an empty chair. She patted his chest as he sat, and she took the seat next to him. "I got Penny to get you to agree to come here so we could have dinner together." Bradley's heart was pounding as she put her hand on his knee, but he was completely frozen now. "After she told Missy and I that you were dating again, I told her I've had a thing for you for years, Rooster."
"Oh," he managed, still thoroughly confused as to how this had happened exactly. "Okay."
She laughed and sipped a martini as she rubbed his leg. "I just thought you and I could definitely have a lot of fun together. Either dating or just... you know."
He knew. He knew exactly what she meant. And right now he was absolutely livid with Penny. But he was also livid with himself, because he had never taken the time he should have with you. Because even in spite of Meredith, he should have been in a real relationship with you by now.
"Uh, Helen," he murmured, pulling his phone out of his pocket as a means to get her to move her hand. He set his phone down on the table and said, "I'm kind of seeing someone."
"Oh," she said softly. "Penny told me you weren't. She said you were too focused on Noah and your ex."
Bradley cradled his head in his hand. "I mean, I am. But I'm also seeing someone else. It's new. Penny didn't know."
Helen looked dejected, but she shrugged and said, "If you're just kind of seeing someone and it's new, staying for dinner wouldn't hurt anything. I already ordered you a beer. I know exactly what you like." He couldn't help but notice the way she leaned toward him and pressed her breasts together. And then he saw his favorite kind of beer sitting on the table next to her martini. 
Suddenly an overpriced steak was the last thing he wanted. "Just the drinks, okay? Then we'll call it a night. Excuse me for a minute." 
He stood and headed to the restroom as she nodded at him. But he made it all the way to the men's room before he realized he left his phone on the table and couldn't even text you to check in. All he wanted was to get back home to you and Noah as soon as possible, but he was going to have to have a drink first. He really hoped Helen could finish that fucking martini quickly. 
After he splashed some water on his face, he rolled his shoulders back and sighed. He would need to have a discussion with Penny about this. But when he saw Helen talking on his phone as he approached the table again, he started walking faster. 
----------------------------
A woman had answered Bradley's phone. And it definitely wasn't Penny. It wasn't even Natasha. You were frozen, one hand on Noah's forehead and the other gripping your phone to your ear. 
"Hello?" came the woman's voice again. "Hello?" She sounded annoyed now.
"Where's Bradley?" you asked, your voice breaking pitifully. 
"He just ran to the restroom."
You swallowed hard and managed to ask, "Who are you?"
"Helen," she replied, and you nearly dropped your phone into the bathtub. Why was he with Helen? 
"Where are you?"
"We're out to dinner," she replied, and you could practically hear the smirk in her voice. "Shouldn't you know that if you're the babysitter?"
He lied to you. He lied to you again. He told you he was going out with Penny and Pete. He told you that you meant something to him. That he was waiting to be in a relationship with you. That you were the only one. 
"Put him on the phone. Now," you said with as much force as you could muster. Noah was crying again, and now your eyes were filled with tears, too.
"I'll have him call you back when he comes back to the table." 
The sound of her voice was grating on your nerves as you abruptly stood. Noah was looking up at you, his pink cheeks streaked with tears. "Tell him his son is sick, and I don't appreciate any of this!" you shouted. 
Helen said something about having Bradley call you back, but you were too busy trying to end the call before you burst into tears. 
"I'm cold," Noah whined. You looked at him and then dropped back to your knees to fill the tub up with some warmer water.
"Sorry," you whispered, swiping at your tears before you pushed his hair away from his damp forehead. "I'll fix it for you."
And then your phone started ringing. Bradley was calling you back.
---------------------------
"Okay, well, I'll have him call you back, but we're still in the middle of dinner," Helen said, and then she ended the call and set his phone down.
"Who was that?" Bradley asked, startling Helen as he loomed over her. 
"Your babysitter," she said with an eye roll. "I saw that's who it was on the caller ID, so I thought I'd answer it for you. She said your son is sick, but it's probably just a tummy ache."
"Noah's sick?" he asked, sinking down into his chair and fumbling with his phone. If you were calling to tell him there was something wrong with Noah, then it was definitely more than just a tummy ache. Then he noticed that he had somehow missed some texts from you as well. 
"I'm sure he's fine," Helen said smoothly. "Are you sure you don't want to order dinner? I'm starving, and I've heard the steaks here are excellent."
But Bradley barely heard her as he tried to call you back, listening to it ring and ring before you picked up. 
"Hi," you muttered without emotion. 
"Is Noah okay? What's wrong?" he asked. He was met with silence. "Princess, what's going on?"
He heard your humorless laugh before you said, "That's what I should be asking you. And Helen."
Fuck. Bradley knew what you must be thinking right now as he stood and glared at Helen across the table. "Baby, I'm on my way home. What's wrong with Noah?"
"He has a fever, and he's miserable. And I can't find your thermometer. And don't call me baby," you spat, and Bradley quickly tossed some cash onto the table and started heading for the exit.
"I'm on my way home right now, okay? I'll take care of everything. I'll explain everything." 
But you had hung up on him. And now he was panicking. About Noah and about you.
"Bradley!" Helen called, running after him. "Can you at least give me a ride home? I took an Uber to get here."
"Fine," he growled, barely listening as he stormed out to the sidewalk. When he opened his door and climbed in, the Bronco smelled like the flowers he had purchased for you on his way to the restaurant. 
"Fuck!" he nearly shouted as he drove away. He was vaguely aware that Helen was with him. He'd worry about that later. You and Noah were his primary concerns right now, and he'd figure that out first.
"Your babysitter is the girl you're kind of seeing?" she asked as he neared his neighborhood.
"Yeah," he grunted. "And it's actually not that new. And it's not casual at all." 
She remained quiet as he pulled in and parked next to your car. He left her in the Bronco. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he closed the driver's side door as he ran up his sidewalk and unlocked his front door.
"Princess? Noah?" he called out, frantically looking around the kitchen and Noah's bedroom before he saw the bathroom light was on. "Baby, what's going on?" he asked when he saw you kneeling on the mat next to the tub while Noah sat in the bath.
Slowly, you rose to your feet and turned to face him, and Bradley had never seen your beautiful face so angry before. Tears were dripping from your eyes as you took a step closer to him.
"Daddy!" Noah called out. And between the look on your face and his son sobbing in the bath, Bradley had no idea how he was going to fix any of this.
"I can't believe you lied to me again," you gasped. "I can't believe I let you lie to me again." 
And when he reached for you, trying to explain what happened, you pushed his hand out of the way.
-----------------------------
Oh, shit. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !
PART 20
@hotch-meeeeeuppppp
@swthxrry
@chassy21
@yaboid19
@solacestyles
@avoirlecoupdefoudre
@daisyhollyxox
@callsigndiamond
@harper1666
@throwinsauce
@beebslebobs
@awesomebooklover17
@wintercap89
@whosyourgnomie4
@rosesinmars
@blog-name6996
@bcon24
@wishfulwithwine
@backinwonderl4nd
@monte-carlando
@tetragonia
@gingerbreadandpaper
@emptyloverofmine
@apparently-sunshine
@chaoticassidy
@missmirandafe
@topgunbb
@changlingkhat
@sugarcoated-lame
@callsign-jupiter
@avada-kedavra-bitch-187
@katiebby04
@marantha
@averyhotchner
@abaker74
@andycanbeemotional
@heli991113
@k-k0129
@noz4a2
@tallyovie
@shanimallina87
@starlightstories
@teddyluvs2sing
@little-wiseone
@ccbb2222
@lilyevanswhore
@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o
@xoxabs88xox
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fairlyang · 10 months ago
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dad!miguel headcanons 🕷️
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dad!miguel who always prepared gabi’s lunch in a hello kitty thermo (if he made her sopa de letras, her fav) or a hello kitty sandwich box because he knew how excited his little girl would be when she’d see how her lunch was packaged
dad!miguel who would write cute little messages or corny dad jokes on little post it notes with whatever sweet treat he’d leave her
“How does a penguin build its house?” he wrote on one side then flips it over to write the answer
“Igloos it together.” he signs it with “te amo<3” then rereads his joke to laugh at it before sticking it to a rice krispie
dad!miguel would definitely know how to do gabi’s hair (because he would do absolutely anything for her) so when she asked if he could do elsa’s braid you can bet your ass he searched up easy tutorials on youtube
dad!miguel who will make or buy whatever snack gabi may crave, have it be chicharrones, brownies, or a popsicle de gansitos, he will make sure she gets whatever she asks for
dad!miguel who would sing gabi to sleep, songs ranging from lullabies to boleros to vicente fernadez’s whole discography
dad!miguel that signs her up to whatever her little heart desires. an art class? say less. ballet? he’ll sprint to buy the shoes
dad!miguel who accidentally falls asleep on the couch after watching barbie movies with gabi
extra points knowing he’d be sitting legs spread, head against the cushion with his mouth wide open letting out the loudest of snores imaginable which would just make gabi giggle in shock
dad!miguel who’d get drunk at the neighbor’s kid’s birthday party and be one of those mexican dads to be singing so obnoxiously but somehow sounding not so bad
“le dedicó esta para mi niña hermosa.”
cue piel canela playing and dad!miguel snatching the mic from one of the tios
he tries to find gabi through drunken eyes but once he spots her in her bright pink dress he sings to her, pointing to her when the lyrics say “me importas tu y tu y tu y solamente tu.”
gabi with wide, glossy eyes watching her papi give her yet another serenata because she was spoiled rotten in all aspects, this being one of them because she loved his singing
dad!miguel who would call up his friend’s mariachi early in the morning on gabi’s birthday but ask the favor that he can sing for her instead because he always wants her day to extra special
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"Gingerbread Houses" -HCs
Finals did not, in fact, kill me. Anyways, depending on how things go this may be my last real post of this year, so happy holidays and happy New Years if I don't see y'all til January ^^ --------------------------------------------------------
Heartslaybul
Riddle
He's never made a gingerbread house before OTL and his perfectionism will be his biggest pitfall. At least he's using Trey's cookies and icing so that it's not a matter of the quality of materials, but it's still something he's going to spend HOURS on, making sure every line is perfect and sharp. He's seen the sets before in stores, so he will pull up a reference photo on his phone to try and match the box as closely as possible. By the time he's finished, he's a mess. There is icing everywhere. He is ready to pass out. His hands hurt from piping. And he realizes too late he could have decorated the inside just for fun. He still enjoyed it, but he's going to aim for an easier design in coming years. He also only takes a few pieces of candy and a gingerbread man, before letting the first years eat it. (He got a picture before it was devoured though).
Trey
Oh he's so tired of baking. Are you kidding me. This time of year COULD be fun but he has finals on top of being resident big brother AND BAKER to a dorm just to go home and be Big Brother with his siblings. He's so tired. He will bake everything off for people after they submit what shapes they want/need for their creations and then while everyone is making their gingerbread creations he's going to his room and taking a fucking nap. Good for him. He'll munch on left overs if he feels like it, but he knows there's going to be mom and dad's baking at home so he'll just wait. Once he does go home though, it's a competition, half the family against the other half to make the largest, most impressive gingerbread creation. They may involve the community to vote on which one is better, and then they just let the elementary school kids in the area eat them both.
Cater
He buys one of the boxed ones just to put it together for the sake of social media. Makes it all cute and near perfect, it takes significantly less effort for him to do so than Riddle, mostly because he has some artistic background. He knows between that and Trey's baking, nobody is really going to want to eat it so he brings it to PMC for Lilia lmao. He already knows he's going to do the same thing again when he goes home, so his mom has something to post on social media.
Deuce
He's also never made a gingerbread house! His mom didn't have the means to buy all those ingredients or to buy a set she knew he wouldn't eat, so they always made stuff out of rice krispy treats. They're easier to mold into the shape you want anyways, especially when they're warm, so it prevented tantrums when he was younger too. He still does it, not just for traditions sake but because gingerbread just...isn't his favourite flavour.
Ace
Growing up, his mom was the only one really capable of cooking or baking, so when she passed (HC), his brother would just take him out to the dollarstore to buy a SHIT TON of different wafers and candies. They would make a candy wonderland of sorts before gorging themselves on their creations. Ace doesn't mind gingerbread all that much, but he likes how stable the wafers are in comparison when it comes to attaching them with icing. Sometimes he'll build a foundation with wafers and then attach the gingerbread to the wafers so it has something stable to lean against. It's really just an excuse to eat more candy. He also decorates the inside of his builds, usually using gummy bears as people. When he was a kid he used to bite off their heads and then scatter them around the build 💀
The rest are under the cut!!
Savannaclaw Leona
Could not give a flying rat's ass about gingerbread creations. The closest he gets is Cheka spamming his texts with pictures of his creation. Leona ends up paying Ruggie to make one so that he can send one pic back and the rugrat will stop bothering him 💀
Ruggie
They never really made anything like sculptures. Latino Ruggie is real in my heart, so Christmas time is when they would have saved up as much as they could to have a massive feast with the community. That being said, he can't exactly build with them but empanadas, you know the plantain ones with custard filling and a sugar coated outside??? Those ones? FUCK ton of those. Sometimes though, when Sam has leftovers in January of the kits, he'll take the kits back to the kiddos to enjoy.
Jack
Oh his family loooooves making gingerbread houses, the only rule is, no rectangles are allowed >:) (squares are technically a form of rectangle too) so every year his mom heads up the competition. Jack tries to help his younger siblings but he tends to break things by accident and they get mad at him lmao. He never makes a house himself, he just grazes on the candy, and eats his siblings houses after they've picked them clean of candy, leaving him with plenty of cookies to eat. His siblings also use a lot of coloured icing to decorate the "lawns" outside of their houses. (His mom always includes "ducks" on hers)
Octavinelle
Azul
Having been from under the sea, he hasn't made them before either, nor does he really want to. To me, he does not like the texture of icing. I think that would be gross to him. And why would he want to eat all that candy? He would rather go home and eat a dessert Nonna's whipped up, or even attempt to make cannoli's on his own. He may host a competition at the mostro lounge with a bring your own supplies event and whoever wins a competition gets free meal vouchers for a week.
Jade + Floyd
They also have not made gingerbread anything before, but wHEN they do. Jade meticulously puts his together, every detail, every drop of icing, everything is planned. He has a sketch he did in a planner next to him and he's GOING to replicate it. He's grumpy at Floyd because he's eating gingerbread over his shoulder and it's crumbling and falling onto his work space and into his shirt but if he acknowledges it he knows it's going to get worse. Floyd does not have the patience to put his together. He essentially makes it one giant cookie/poptart thing and layers candy on top. He does ask if he's allowed to break Jade's when he's done (they will brawl after when Jade says no and Azul has to rescue Jade's creation for the sake of keeping what little semblance of peace he has.)
Scarabia
Kalim
The concept is new to him but once he's introduced to it - he loves it. And not a surface is safe from flying icing. He wants icing in every single colour and all the candies from all over the world. He'll try dipping gingerbread in eggnog. These traditions aren't widely celebrated back home, so he's going to make the most of it while he's with friends! He ends up eating so much candy he throws up rainbows. Sorry.
Jamil
He has no interest. You thought Leona was disinterested? No, Jamil is. He'd rather be doing nearly anything else.
Pomefiore
Vil
When he was a kid, it was tradition for him and his dad to decorate lebkuchen together. He looks forward to it more than he'd care to admit, because it's the one constant date he knows both he and his dad work to ensure they have free. Neither of them are very GOOD at decorating, but it's more of an excuse to catch up with each other. The nostalgia also just generally helps Vil show a little more holiday spirit and loosen up a little bit.
Rook
:) He and his sister never really got those kinds of things, but they loved making paper snowflakes together.
Epel
He never had the patience for gingerbread houses when he was a kid, so his meemaw would only make gingerbread men for him while his parents built a house. He would squeeze icing bags so hard they popped, and layer on the subsequent icing in a thick, uneven swab to the point when he went to go eat it it made him sick. He loved it though. Nowadays he tries a lot harder to make them pretty just because he thinks it's a fun activity, like apple carving, where every little detail can make a huge difference on the overall composition. Meemaw's baking is peak, and not even Trey can beat it.
Ignihyde
Idia + Ortho
When they were kids, they loved the pomegranate smashing tradition their dad used to do. Their dad would also make kourabiedes - while not exactly ideal for building with, they were delicious. Instead of building things out of food, they would build a "karavaki" (wooden boat) out of scrap metal as a family instead and decorate it instead of a tree. It's been a long time since Mama and Papa Shroud have managed to convince Idia to celebrate...anything with them, but this year they started a new tradition with Ortho, with high hopes for years to come. This year, they designed and built a cat cafe gingerbread house, just for the fun of it, but there were still plenty of kourabiedes to go around. (Mama Shroud is NOT allowed in the kitchen but she would make little reindeer button cookies if she could. However, that is one field of chemistry she just can't seem to handle OTL)
Diasomnia
...uh
Diasomily
Because of Lilia's many travels, he picked up on different traditions and cultures over the years. As a result, every year (that they've all been together), they celebrate a different tradition from around the world. Yes they've made gingerbread houses before. Malleus has gargoyles on his. Lilia's is completely inedible. Silver has icing on half his face bc he passed out. Sebek essentially made a giant cookie-face of Malleus and got pissy when he ran out of black licorice to make his horns. They're so sillayyyy
------------- LMAO I lost the plot about half way through but we bring it back
anyways
@nemisisnemi @fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain @distant-velleity @elenauaurs @lumdays @starry-night-rose @theleechyskrunkly
lmk if you want to be added/removed
happy holidays and please take a fat nap on my behalf at some point lmao
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punkeropercyjackson · 1 month ago
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I want legit Batfam rep.None of that 'Core Four Batboys ft.Girlboss Babs™️' nonesense,i want:
Afrolatino/third gen dominican inmigrant on both parents' side Jason who went to Ethiopia to find his 'real mom' because he discovered he had ethiopian ancestry and that black diaspora trauma took over even with all the connections to his dominicano roots his guardians made sure to give him
5th Robin Duke who gets officially adopted by Bruce at 11 due to Elaine and Doug's Jokerization happening way earlier and is autistic as the cause of his troubled kid status and fem/punk presenting just naturally and runs away from home post a Year One run and ends up getting taken in by The Outlaws as their Robin,most of all Jason(who is also autistic)'s and Jason's Duke's Robin right back
(And a complete overhaul of Rhato 2011 and Rebirth Rhato except Artemis as a member since everything about it except her was layer after layer of bigotry and just poor writing choices)
Blasian/jamaicain-korean Stephanie with a silk press in her early Spoiler days but starting to wear her hair natural as Robin which escalates into butterfly locs and purple hair dye and who's fat because fat black girls deserve to be confident and pastel and fun and smart and punk without masculinization and seen as beautiful without her love interests having to 'learn to love her beyond skin deep' first and also has an addiction to bubble waffles specifically
Butch comphet lesbian Cass with a deeply complicated relathionship to femininity and girlhood she can't even begin to put into words a good deal after she learns how to talk but has a gender journey of learning she dosen't need men to be a woman nor white western femininity or white western masculininty to be a valid lesbian.Also,her employing her tradgoth subculture with her chinese roots too and befriending other easian/woc tradgoths
Transfem4transfem Stephcass consisting of Cass and Stephanie falling in love with eachother's girlhood as much as they do eachother as people and Stephanie as an early egg crack that diy's her own estrogen and gender affirming clothes guiding Cass in transfeminism as both best friendship and a flirting/seduction tactic.Them growing to start a big biofamily too as Cass didn't want bottom surgery
Cherokee on Janet's side Tim and not malicious but white ass ignorant dad Jack that didn't teach him his culture so Tim takes it into his own hands and ends up a long haired skapunk urban eco-activist with a huge collection of shirts with messages/memes that make white people uncomfortable and doning the mantle 'Hawk' as an adult and visiting his mom's reservation in her hometown during Red Robin 2009
Sindhi romani Dick who's Discowing fit takes both Disco and Bollywood influences and talks with his hands all the time and carries around homemade puffed rice candies out of habit of feeding them to his siblings as they grew up and tweaking whenever somebody calls them rice krispie treats and was gifted a rroma flag by Bruce as a 'welcome to the family gift' and jewish/romani solidarity
Kory as an official Batfam member through marriage to Dick and bonding with The Batkids,including Robin!Jason as a massive Starfire fanboy(platonically + not of Wonder Woman.Jason's black,he wouldn't view a white woman as the ultimate form of 'women i look up to'),and Mar'i and Jake as extended Batfam members too
Damian not actually being unknown to Bruce,just a surprisingly by Batfam standards well-kept secret as Bruce and Talia had him unambigiously consensually and it adding juicy angst to their relathionship as it broke Bruce's heart he could not only never see Damian but that Damian couldn't even know he existed for his own childhood safety
Talia as a stepmom who's sort not really dating Batdad but nonetheless treated Jason as her own son in his Robin days and extends it to Robin!Stephanie as an older woc and earns her the title of 'Bird Mom' by the Dead Robins Club.In the meantime,she also took over Lexcorp to turn it into an international solarpunk organization and renamed it 'Taliacorp'
Damian's team aka the All New Teen Titans consisting of an afrolatino Jon,a 6th Robin Maps,Maya,Surren,Colin,Nell,Kathy,Irey,Bobby,Nika,Keli,a transfem Laurel and Tai and mentored by Jason,Adult!Signal!Duke,an even older adult Batwoman!Stephanie and Wonder!Cassie(and even more queer heroes of color!!!)ft.T4T autistic4autistic Damimaps
Black biracial natural redhead Babs who's found siblings with Dick from the get-go and keeps trying to deny her feelings for Dinah not out of internalized lesbophobia but out of emotional constipation and refusal to let her win after all the shameless deliberately embarrasingly flirting she put her through
Bear Jason,midsized Duke and Tim,dad bod Dick,scrawny flatchested narrow-hipped Babs,stocky Damian,boft(buff but soft)Cass
Batgyal Tam given the mantle by Luke post-waking up from her comma and joining the Rhato lineup as an Honorary Outlaw
I just love the Batfam so much,okay?But DC clearly dosen't so they're mine now
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jayflrt · 1 year ago
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𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐒 28. 12th date’s the charm
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YOU COULDN’T STAY CALM.
You were waiting for Saw X’s stupid post-credit scene to wrap up while your foot was tapping against the carpet floor anxiously. After you slipped up in the group chat, calling Heeseung your boyfriend, you could only wait and face the consequences after the movie. It was clear it was weighing on the others’ minds; you could see the corner of Sunoo’s mouth fighting to stay down, and although Sunghoon and Jungwon were high, you noticed them stealing a glance and playfully nudging each other.
But it was Heeseung you were the most concerned about.
His reaction was the most important one to you and, as if the world hated you, his reaction was the only one you couldn’t read. He sat completely still, staring ahead at the theater screen with his lips pressed together. 
The screen went dark and the end-credits started rolling. Now, you had to deal with the aftermath of your text. It was one thing to let the word out loud, but over text? If you were able to unsend that message without anyone reading it before it went through, you would’ve. 
Then, a horrifying realization struck you. 
After you and Heeseung parted ways with Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Sunoo, you two would have to sit in a car together. Alone. 
You felt your heart drop to your stomach. 
It was clear that Heeseung had feelings for you. He was the one pining after you from the beginning, after all—having the entire workplace be aware of his (initially delusional) crush on you. 
For some reason, though, you were still restless. 
“I think I would just let my life end if John Kramer put me in one of those traps,” Sunoo blurted out as soon as your group exited the theater. You and Heeseung were finishing the last of your popcorn behind him.
“I’d survive it,” Sunghoon said. “I’m built different.”
Heeseung nudged you with his elbow, taking you by surprise. “Did you like the movie?”
You scrunched up your nose. “I don’t usually like gore, but I liked the story before they all started dying.”
Everyone turned their attention to Jungwon, who was strangely quiet. The guy was fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater, eyes cast down to the floor. 
Sunoo asked, “You good?”
“He’s gonna get me,” Jungwon mumbled. 
“Oh my god.” Sunghoon groaned. “For the last time, Jungwon, John Kramer’s a fictional character.” 
“He’s real in my head.”
Heeseung let out a snicker. For every single date following your first failed one, Heeseung swore to stay completely sober so that his high wouldn’t interfere with your dates. You thought it was cute that he committed to it for you, but part of you also wanted to take care of him for once. 
“Yeah, get this guy home. He’s gone,” Heeseung said, patting Jungwon’s back firmly. “Hoon, you’ve gotta stop spiking him.”
Sunghoon frowned. “Why do you think I spiked him?”
“Motherfucker,” Jungwon spoke up, raising his head with a sudden fire in his eyes, “I wouldn’t be this high right now if you didn’t leave your stupid cannabis-infused pretzels out on your table.”
“You also wouldn’t be this high if you didn’t steal my pretzels, so I don’t get why you’re complaining.”
“Didn’t he also accidentally drink your cannabis-infused coffee the other week?” Sunoo recalled, grimacing as he remembered Jungwon walking into Starbucks and attempting to order a cheese burger.
“Before that was the cannabis-infused Rice Krispy,” Heeseung mentioned. 
“You’ve seriously gotta stop trusting whatever’s in Hoon’s fridge,” you told him, “or just anything that’s remotely edible around him.”
After some more commentary on the movie was shared, Heeseung made up some excuse about needing to get you home before it got too dark. The two of you had gone on dates that lasted well into the night, so your heart fluttered pathetically at the thought of him wanting to be alone with you. 
You said your goodbyes to the three boys, reminding them to get home safe, and you and Heeseung parted ways with the group. It was cool outside, but you felt like your entire body was hot and buzzing as you remembered that being alone with Heeseung meant that he could potentially interrogate you about your accidental ‘boyfriend’ text. 
He did nothing of the sort on the walk to his car. You and him cracked jokes about John Kramer all the way to the parking garage, and you started to feel the tightness in your chest unravel slowly. 
That was, until you reached Heeseung’s car. 
Instead of unlocking the doors, Heeseung’s hands slid into the pockets of his gray sweatpants as he leaned against the exterior of the car—right in front of the passenger door. You blinked at him, wondering if he was going to move, but he just held direct eye contact with you as the corner of his lip curled in amusement. 
He cut straight to the point, saying, “So, your text…” 
“My typo,” you corrected with an awkward grin. 
He hummed. “No, you clearly typed ‘my boyfriend’ in the group chat.” 
Your heart was racing. You could feel your pulse in your neck, your arms—every body part that was buzzing uncontrollably. This wasn’t how you wanted to confess to him. Not in a damn group chat, at least. 
“Well, you’re not my boyfriend yet. You’re gonna be my passenger princess if you don’t hurry up and get in the car,” you started rambling faster than you could think, words spilling out before you were even able to properly filter your thoughts. “I’m gonna drive us home, then.”
As soon as you turned to walk around to the other side of his car, Heeseung reached forward to grab your wrist. With a firm tug, he had you stumbling right into his chest. 
And, oh, you never realized just how big he was. 
“H-hey,” you stuttered out, looking up to catch the smirk playing on his lips. “You’re not playing fair.”
“We never decided on any rules.”
Then, your back was pressed against the frame of the car, the cool metal chilling your flushed skin. You swallowed hard as Heeseung towered over you, his hands gripping your waist to hold you in place. Your heart was beating erratically at this point, but you didn’t want to budge and let him win just yet. 
Heeseung dropped his head so that his lips were by your ear. You swore he could pick up on the way your breathing hitched because of his low chuckle. 
“Come on.” His voice was silky and velvet as he murmured against the shell of your ear. “Just let me ask you out already.” 
Although his words were irresistibly tempting, you were firm when you said, “No. I need to be the one to ask you out, and I didn’t wanna do it like this.” Your hand moved up to play with the loose strands of his hair at his neck. “Just wait a tiny bit longer for me. Please?” 
Heeseung sighed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Well, I couldn’t ever say no to you, anyway.” 
He pulled back to look down at you, still keeping his hands firm on your waist. 
You held up your hand, making a pinching gesture with your pointer and thumb finger. “Just a little longer.”
“Mmhm,” he agreed. “Can I kiss you, though?”
Your face burned with the heat of a thousand suns. “K-kiss?” 
“Like”—he poked your cheek—“right here.”
“Oh.” Still blushing furiously, you beamed and turned your cheek for him. “Go ahead, sir.”
With a soft giggle bubbling from his lips, Heeseung cupped your jaw gently so that he could press a chaste kiss to your cheek. He was dangerously close to your lips, and you knew that he intended on teasing you as much as possible.
Afterward, he pulled away and fished his keys out of his pockets. “I plan on kissing you for real once we’re dating, though.”
With that, he unlocked the car for you and walked over to the driver’s side. You had to catch your breath to regain your composure before you were able to get into the passenger’s seat. 
On the way home, all you could think about were how pretty the stars were and how much prettier Heeseung was. 
And, man, you really, really liked him.
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prev | masterlist | next
SUMMARY ▸ in which you work at the starbucks where heeseung is a regular at (and considered a public enemy). also he only goes when he’s stoned off his ass.
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trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago
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eddie x fem! reader
masterlist
w/c 7.8k
summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.
warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder
a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.
again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.
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“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”
The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.
She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.
When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.
“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”
“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”
“Yes I’m su—,”
Goddamn him.
Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”
“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.
“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”
Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.
“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.
“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”
“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”
Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”
Type A, that’s how she was.
“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”
Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”
-
The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.
“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.
Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”
“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”
Dating.
Dating Eddie Munson.
Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—
You’re sweating.
Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.
“W-we’re not dating, just—”
How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?
“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.
“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”
Friends.
Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.
-
[Two weeks prior]
The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.
Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.
“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.
The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.
“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.
An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.
He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.
Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.
“Ed—”
“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”
Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.
Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.
Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.
He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.
“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.
Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”
He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.
Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.
“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”
“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”
When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.
Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”
He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”
Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”
His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.
“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”
He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.
The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.
“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.
Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.
Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.
“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”
“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.
“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”
He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”
“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.
Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”
He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”
“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.
“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”
“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”
Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.
-
“Tooty, are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.
You definitely were not fine.
Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.
At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.
Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.
By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.
Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.
Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.
-
[Thanksgiving Day]
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”
Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”
Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.
Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”
[2 Weeks prior]
🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day
I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay
Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.
He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.
“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”
Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.
His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”
Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”
“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”
“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.
“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.
“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”
Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.
Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.
Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.
Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.
Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.
With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.
-
The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.
Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.
[Thanksgiving]
“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.
“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”
Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.
The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.
Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.
Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”
“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.
Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.
Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”
“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.
The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.
And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.
How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.
It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.
He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”
-
[2 weeks prior]
His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.
The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.
He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.
He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.
A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.
Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.
A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.
-
A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.
The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.
“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”
His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.
He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.
Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.
“They’re broke,’’ Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”
Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.
Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”
“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.
“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.
“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”
A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?
Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”
A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.
“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”
And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.
Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.
His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.
You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.
He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.
He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.
-
[Thanksgiving]
A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”
Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.
The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.
“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”
Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.
“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.
Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”
Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”
Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.
“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.
He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”
-
The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.
It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.
Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.
Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”
Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.
“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”
His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.
“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.
Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.
“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”
Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.
“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.
Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.
Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.
Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.
To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.
In this moment, nothing else matters.
It’s just you and him.
Him and you.
The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.
Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.
Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.
He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.
But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.
Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.
No.
You were much more than that, to him.
More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.
He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.
You were it for him.
The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.
Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.
Yup.
You were it for him.
And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.
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hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥
@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷
READ MORE
This is for you
*sacrifices 🖕🏼
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intimidating-fettuccine · 8 months ago
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Toby's hoarding habit
Sometimes you look at your relationship with Toby and wonder if he must be part squirrel the way he hoards things in secret. He was never allowed to have anything at all growing up, and so it’s given him insecurities that anything he gets will be taken away from him, but even as he starts to recover from said insecurities over the many years he’s been at the mansion he can’t seem to break the habit. The habit started with food items but has progressed to random things that make him happy. The following is a list of items that you and other creeps have found hoarded by Toby.
7 unopened boxes of Fruit Gushers, hidden at the very back of his closet where he keeps his empty shoe boxes. 
20 different single-wrapped Rice Krispies treats that were hidden at the very bottom of his sock drawer. 
3 (thankfully sealed) boxes of chocolates hidden underneath your bed around Valentine's Day that he forgot to tell you about until you found them several weeks after. In addition to the chocolate he bought you that he had just handed to you.
About 40 different rocks that he had found outside and thought were cool stashed at the top of the downstairs coat closet in the mansion.
38 more rocks that were hidden under the sink in one of the downstairs mansion bathrooms.
And, if you'd believe it, 56 more rocks hidden in the back of Tim's closet. Why specifically Tim's closet? Toby didn't have a good answer to that question.
A collection of about 150 very tiny ducks he ordered online that he thought to stash in your own sock drawer for safekeeping. The ducks are still there.
20 unopened Gatorade bottles hidden at the very back of the kitchen sink. He had to relocate these pretty soon because Tim thought they were somehow misplaced during a grocery unloading and put them in the pantry. Toby moved them to his pants drawer to later be found by you when you were looking for a pair of his comfy pajama pants.
2 giant lollipops that he hid behind your cups and promptly forgot about until you discovered them one day while he was over. He began to eat one of them and offered the second one to you, and of course, you accepted it.
10 copies of the movie Cars that were hidden under your bathroom sink. Toby couldn't remember purchasing them or why he put them there but he thinks once he was really tired and wanted to do a funny joke with them at some point so he hid them, but he cannot remember what the joke was.
127 differently sized and colored shirt buttons that were discovered in the top drawer of Toby's desk. None of the buttons go with any of the shirts he owns.
16 different opal stones hidden in an old box you don't use anymore. You only discovered this because you caught him in the act of trying to hide the 17th stone. However, you allowed him to keep doing this, and the last time you counted the updated stash it was up to 33.
And, finally, his most recently discovered stash, 58 uniquely colored marbles, hidden in the bottom drawer of Slender's desk in his office that he had been keeping empty in case he needed to use it for something. Toby decided it should be used for marbles. 
Of course, these are just the stashes that have been discovered. There could be many, many more yet to be uncovered.
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mischiefwife · 1 year ago
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BG3 characters having a 'these edibles aint shit' moment:
Halsin is lying on his back in the garden and has been for like an hour straight saying nothing, he probably cultivated the weed and its like super strong through druid powers
Wyll spends the entire high fastidiously cleaning the entire camp, and sweeps the dirt under Halsin several times just to be thorough
Shadowheart is in a corner playing an entire Evanesence album and pausing it to explain how good it is and how good the lyrics are (she will move on to other similar music too)
Gale is somewhere by himself casting the simplest cantrips over and over and just being Amazed at the Amazing Properties of the Weave and how it contains Untold Power while he summons like one tiny candle sized flame
Lae'zel has the owlbear cub in her lap by like hour two and is holding up his claws saying stuff like 'murderous. fearsome. beast' and the cub is just going hoot
Karlach keeps forgetting she's put a hot pocket in the microwave and so ends up with like 7 and is trying to hard to relieve the munchies but she can't stop laughing
Astarion keeps panicking about his hair being messed up and going to find a mirror and then saying fuck everytime he realizes he has no reflection Aylin is convinced she can sober up through rigorous exercise and so is doing sets of one hundred unbroken air squats with Isobel on her back
Volo was vociferously booed for dropping the lasagna and they sent him out to pick up pizza but he doesn't get back til like 5am
Minthara is probably the most normal and is just like hanging out reading a book and from time to time looking up judgingly at everyone else who is losing their shit
Jaheira has made rice krispy treats
Minsc is having a very very troubling and extremely intense existential debate with Boo and is on the verge of tears and wants to give everyone a hug Withers what are you doing over there bone man
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 1 year ago
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The Hand That Feeds
Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader (physical attributes such as large breasts and alternative appearance described) Warnings: DEAD DOVE; DO NOT EAT. Mentions of child neglect, prostitution, substance abuse, death, murder. Dark and obsessive behaviour, attempted sexual assault, sub/dom dynamics, male masturbation, smut. Word count: ~3.7k
Summary: Ettore is used to having to take women by force - it's how he ended up on death row, and now a suicide mission in outer space. However, when a fellow crew member catches his eye and becomes the object of his twisted fantasies, he soon learns that the touch of a woman feels more satisfying when he's made to work for it. Based on this request.
Author's note: No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
Ettore screws his eyes shut. Strapped into the seat of the spaceship as it hurtles upwards, plunged suddenly into darkness when the lights fail, he feels trapped. It must have been twenty years, at least, since he has felt so vulnerable.
His earliest memory is sobbing as he is shut in the cupboard, the pitch blackness terrifying and too much to bear, but the sight of what he sees when he bursts out is so much worse.
The man on top of his mother, the noises they’re making, he feels strange, a combination of wanting to watch but also a churning in his tummy that makes him feel unwell. He retreats back into the dark, closing the door and hugs his knees to his chest until it all goes quiet again. 
Ettore soon learns it is better to enter a room head first - if he is able to see exactly what is happening then he knows quickly whether it’s safe to come out, or whether he needs to retreat. Not placing his entire body in the way reduces the likelihood of being grabbed, hit, shouted at.
There’s a different man each time, and every time they leave there’s always money on the bedside table of the small studio flat, and his mother is asleep. It’s then that he crawls into bed beside her, cuddling into her warmth, tracing his fingers over the marks that litter her inner elbow creases.
He doesn’t recall his mother ever having hugged him, when she is still like this is the only time he is able to get close to her, and he wraps his arms around her until the rumbling in his stomach gets too much to bear. He is always hungry.
His bare feet crunch against spilled Rice Krispies on the dirty kitchenette floor. Sometimes there is bread to eat, if he picks around the mold, sometimes there isn’t. He sees through the window that there is a place across the road that his mother goes to every few days. She always comes back with glass bottles that clink against each other in the plastic bag, but sometimes there is bread, and less often there are Rice Krispies. He likes those, though he often spills them.
The hunger pangs in his stomach grow so bad he begins to cry. His mother no longer feels warm when he cuddles against her. He is not sure when she last woke up, why she won’t wake up now. Maybe she is just really tired.
He can see the place where she goes to get food from the window, it is not very far, perhaps she’ll wake up by the time he gets back, and so he wanders out of the flat, not closing the door behind him, and walks across the road.
Ettore’s eyes light up the moment he sees the familiar blue box of Rice Krispies, clutching it tightly in both hands. It’s only then that he looks up into the horrified face of the woman standing over him, unable to comprehend why she’s looking at him like that, as she takes in the sight of the malnourished, barefoot child before her, wearing only a t-shirt and a dirty nappy.
There are a flurry of adults around him after that, and he’s taken to live somewhere else. He never sees his mother again. He hears the phrase “non verbal” used a lot, and learns that someone of his age should be able to speak. He doesn’t know how to, and so slowly he is taught how to communicate with words.
Even when Ettore has mastered the power of speech, he prefers not to use it. He finds watching people is far better than talking to them. Most people tend to talk a lot even when they have nothing to say. He prefers the quiet.
There are lots of other children his age at the facility he’s placed in, but slowly they leave, one by one, when adults come to look around. He never leaves though, he supposes it has something to do with the way he has overheard the staff describe his eyes as “haunted” and how strange it is that he has no interest in playing. Grown ups don’t want to share their homes with children that aren’t happy. Ettore doesn’t feel he has much at all to be happy about, when he curls his lips into a smile it feels strange against his face.
As Ettore grows older, he learns of what actually happened to him. His mother had been a heroin addict, she had prostituted herself to fund her habit, and he had been a victim of her extreme neglect. She had died of an overdose and he had laid beside her body for days, until his own hunger had gotten the better of him and he’d wandered into the local corner shop in search of food. He feels nothing upon finding this out, if anything he yearns for the simpler time of huddling against the warmth of his mother as she’d slept off her fix. No one will touch him now, he craves physical contact but doesn’t know how to ask for it.
He’s placed into a foster home when he’s a teenager, though it is a placement that’s short lived. The woman has a daughter, she’s a similar age to Ettore and he longs for her touch. He knows all too well from the way that she squirms under the intensity of his gaze and leaves the room whenever they are alone together that the feeling is not reciprocated.
To Ettore it does not matter. He always waited until his mother was asleep before cuddling her, he reasons that he can simply do the same here. And he does just that; waiting until night falls and the house is quiet, he sneaks into her room, laying down upon the bed beside her.
He breathes in deeply, a delicate floral scent filling his nostrils as he runs the tip of his nose over the softness of her hair. His fingertips creep beneath her pyjama top, and he exhales a shaky breath at how silky smooth her skin feels to touch.
It’s then that she wakes up and lets out a loud scream, he topples from the bed, startled by her outburst and her mother rushes into the room. That is Ettore’s first and only foster care placement, another term is now used to describe him; “maladaptive”.
But he takes away a valuable lesson from the situation - if he wishes to touch a woman then he needs to ensure she stays asleep.
He watches couples with resentment, knowing that no woman will ever kiss or caress him with any semblance of love, not willingly anyway. Women don’t want men that are haunted and maladaptive, but that’s fine with Ettore. If it’s not freely given then he knows precisely how to take it.
Ettore preys upon those that are fumbling with their keys in the lock as they try to return home, women under the influence who spend just a little too long on their phones while trying to get a cab, and the ones that walk hurriedly towards their cars in empty, darkened parking garages.
He moves slowly, carefully, his body only moving in sync with where his head is looking once he’s certain of the target he’s selected. He is unhurried in his movements, and so he goes utterly undetected until it’s too late.
It starts as simply knocking them out and then using their bodies however he sees fit, but it  rapidly escalates when he accidentally kills one of them, it happens twice more before he’s finally apprehended.
He doesn’t try to fight it, pleads guilty in court and is sent to prison. Even with good behaviour, his sentence is such that he’ll be elderly before he’s ever free. But any opportunity for eventual freedom is snuffed out when he gets into a scuffle with another prisoner.
Threats of solitary confinement hang heavily over him as he’s dragged away, and something inside of him snaps. He won’t go back to being locked away in the dark, he can’t. So he lashes out, and as he’s stomping upon the guard’s head he is reminded of the crunching of Rice Krispies beneath his feet from when he was a child.
The death penalty doesn’t exist within the United Kingdom’s judicial system, but he knows he’s being served a death sentence when he is given the news that he has been assigned to board a spaceship with other prisoners on a mission to extract alternative energy from a black hole. There is no coming back from that, he’s not foolish enough to believe otherwise, yet he readily accepts it. There is no other alternative for him, truthfully, there never has been.
When the lights eventually flicker back on and they are alerted they can unfasten their seatbelts, Ettore finally opens his eyes, looking at the prisoners that are seated around him. He’s surprised and intrigued to find there are women as well as men on board. He hasn’t encountered a woman since being sent to prison.
The scrubs they are given to wear are baggy and conceal much of their bodies, so to his disappointment he is unable to admire the feminine curves of the women on board - except one. She is shorter than he is, the remnants of a long since faded colour adorns the ends of her hair. Both her arms are full sleeved with tattoos. He wants to tear away her uniform and see what other artwork decorates her flesh. If he were a normal person, he’d strike up a conversation and ask, but Ettore is not one for words, so he simply stares, watching her every movement as a silent storm builds inside of him.
Though she is slenderly built, he can clearly see the way the baggy top half of her clothing curves over the ample swell of her breasts. His eyes linger there whenever he passes her in the corridor, picturing what it would be like to run his hands over them and squeeze their softness.
It’s these thoughts that are the cause of his every visit to The Box, the ship’s masturbatory aid. It’s used gratuitously by all crew mates, as sexual conduct between prisoners is prohibited on board, so he spills over his knuckles every chance he gets, imagining it’s inside of her. Would she claw at his shoulders and slap at him to get away, or simply lay still and take it?
Occasionally he deposits a sample into a plastic cup, taken away by Dibs, a supposed doctor on board who seems to be the main authority figure. She never fully explains what is to be done with his specimens, but once he has taken the reward he’s provided afterwards - usually a sedative - he cannot find it in himself to care.
He has heard whispers that she is conducting fertility experiments on the ship, attempting to artificially inseminate the female inmates. If that’s the case, he is thankful that his involvement is far less invasive than theirs must be, but ultimately it’s not his problem. He keeps to himself, ever watchful of those around him.
At least there is structure and routine; he goes to sleep and wakes up at the same time each day, participates in mandatory exercise regimes, eats regular meals and is assigned maintenance work duty.
Getting to know his own schedule means becoming familiar with other people’s, and that includes her’s. There is a sense of both excitement and comfort in knowing exactly where she is and exactly what she’s doing at all times.
The first time he encounters her coming out of the Box, he’s struck by how beautiful she is, pupils dilated, skin glowing with a light sheen of perspiration, her lips slightly parted as she attempts to calm her breathing. The heady aroma of her arousal lingers faintly as he goes in after her and he has never come harder in his life than he does on that day. He makes a point to go in after her every day after that.
If she were any other woman and these were any other circumstances, he’d have forced himself upon her by now, but they are in a confined space together and there’s no way for him to act upon his urges without there being almost immediate consequences for it. Every day it feels as though a coil inside of him is wound tighter, and every day he is left wondering if that will be the day when it finally snaps and he brings everything crashing down for both of them.
Despite his internalised conflict, she seems utterly unperplexed by him, which is confusing for Ettore. He is used to women regarding him with unease and disgust, so for her to be completely unphased by his presence is disarming. She is a criminal too though, he reasons, and for her to have been served what is effectively a death sentence she must have done something terrible. The thought makes her all the more alluring to him.
He is on cleaning duty today, tasked with scrubbing down the shower tiles. He enters the showers slowly, deliberately, unable to hear water running, so assumes that there’s no one in there.
But then he spots her, her hair wet and sticking to her bare shoulders, the tops of her breasts just about visible. She hasn’t seen him, yet. His eyes roam slowly over the greyscale body art that adorns her arms and thighs, wondering if there's more hidden beneath the towel that clings to her svelte figure. 
Absent-mindedly his fingers move over the triangular motif that's tattooed on his right forearm; though the scar is no longer visible he still feels the indentations of teeth. If he closes his eyes he still remembers the way that girl had fought, biting into his flesh as he'd wrapped his arm around her throat. He can never recall their faces, but he remembers the marks they left upon him - each one now covered by the same tattoo - a target so that he never forgets - a slash of a broken bottle against his bicep, acrylic nails gouging into his neck. They're never quite strong enough, though they fight to the end. He wonders if her ink serves the purpose of covering or reminding, what sinister deeds have led her down a path of such finality. He intends to find out.
Her head snaps up to look at him and he sucks in a harsh breath as she makes eye contact with him. She doesn’t scream or shy away, simply returns his unblinking stare and his fingers flex at his sides, mouth running dry as he considers whether he’ll need to silence her or not.
“Like what you see?” She whispers, letting the towel fall slowly away.
Ettore remains unblinking, though he feels shaken to his core on the inside. He drinks in the sight of her bare flesh, her full rounded breasts, the dip of her waist, her curvaceous hips, feeling his cock twitch in his scrubs.
What the fuck is she playing at?
“Fuckin’ cock tease,” he spits out, before turning and walking away to the Box.
He reaches his peak embarrassingly quickly, brow furrowed and jaw slack as sweat rolls down his temples.
Once the feeling of euphoria has worn off it is replaced by anger and confusion. Had she been trying to get him into trouble? Did she actually want him? Was she making a mockery of him?
His mood darkens at the thought and as his mind races after lights out that night, unable to find sleep. He slips out of his bunk and walks slowly, silently, along the corridor towards her cell.
He can see the outline of her body beneath the covers, and is suddenly unsure of what he came here to do. Torn between wanting to lunge for her, grab her by the throat and make her pay for her earlier indiscretion, or simply slip beneath the covers beside her and allow his hands to roam freely, he stands and does nothing, watching her.
“Come inside, if you want,” she calls out quietly to him in the darkness, making him startle, “bunkmates are all sleeping.”
Ettore hesitates, remaining rooted to the spot, unable to believe that a woman is actually inviting him into her space, that she wants to be near him.
“You gonna pussy out again like you did earlier?” She questions playfully.
He feels embarrassment flush his cheeks and allows it to propel him forward, over the threshold, into her space. He won’t let a woman get the better of him.
She shuffles back against the wall, lifting the blanket and patting the space beside her.
He hasn’t laid beside a woman since the night he was kicked out of his foster placement for getting into bed with the host’s teenage daughter, the only other times before that were when he huddled beside his passed out mother.
Ettore swallows thickly, not wanting to show weakness and quickly slips in beside her.
She smells of the ship’s standard issue soap, yet somehow on her flesh it has an utterly different scent, it’s sweet and intoxicating and has him longing to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He inhales deeply, feeling himself grow hard from her proximity and the warmth of her soft skin against his bare torso.
Apparently she feels it too, as she eagerly snakes a hand between them, palming at him through his shorts. 
A woman has never touched him like that before, not willingly. Usually he’s the one in control. It feels too much, too fast, bile rises in his throat and he jerks away from her, stalking silently back to his own cell, shame blooming hot and heavy in his chest as he feels tears burn beneath his eyelids.
What the fuck was that?
For the first time in Ettore’s life a woman had wanted to touch him, and he’d freaked out and run away. Does she not realise what he could do to her, what he’s capable of? He is supposed to inspire fear, not lust.
He wants to storm back to her cell and smash her head against the wall. She’s made him feel weak, inferior, yet despite that he can’t shake the feeling of her hand between his legs.
Unable to help himself, he waits for her as she exits the Box the next day, the telltale signs of her having just climaxed etched all over her features as she steps out. Her expression hardens when she sees him, rolling her eyes and side stepping him, until he grabs her wrist, stopping her from going anywhere.
“Let go of me, Ettore,” she says threateningly.
“How d’you know my name?” He asks, pulling her close so he can stare down into her eyes.
She smirks. “You’re not the only one that can skulk around the ship finding things out. Dibs left your file out the last time she had me up on the table, so I snooped. I know your name, your blood type, your sperm count–”
“Do you know what I’m serving time for?” He narrows his eyes as he asks this.
“No, I figure if we’re gonna explore whatever this is,” she gestures between them, “it’s better we don’t know that about each other.”
Ettore scoffs, quirking his lips as he eyes her carefully. “And what is this?”
She shrugs. “I dunno. Clearly you’re not comfortable letting me touch you…yet. So how about you touch me instead?”
He keeps a neutral expression, despite the surprise he feels once again that a woman would willingly let him touch her. “How would that work?”
“You’re about to use the Box, right? Take me in. Touch me while you touch yourself.”
Her words send an aching pulse straight to his balls and he nods, walking into the Box, not checking to see if she’s following. He knows she will be.
“Take it off, take it all off,” he orders quietly, gesturing to her clothes.
She pulls off her top and slips off her bottoms and his gaze rakes appreciatively over her form, only this time his hand slides into his trousers as he does so, his hand wrapping around his steadily hardening length.
Her lips are parted, eyes wide as she stares up at him, her breathing almost matching the intensity of his. Tentatively he leans down, inhaling her scent. The sweetness fills his nostrils and something inside of him snaps.
Pulling his erection free, he moves his fist over it in quick, aggressive strokes, biting at her pulsepoint, before moving his lips downwards towards her tits, pressing his face into their soft warmth, mouthing at them without restraint.
True to her word, she doesn’t touch him, keeping her hands balled into tight fists at her sides, though he can tell she is desperate to reach for him, her breaths erratic as she arches into his touch.
His stomach muscles contract, pressure building at the base of his spine as droplets of pre-cum help to guide his rapid, successive jerks of his cock.
Reaching between her legs, he groans at feeling how wet she is, a combination of her previous orgasm and how aroused she is from what’s currently happening between them.
He buries his face in her chest, sinking two fingers inside of her. There is no scratching, no slapping, no disassociating. She is soft and pliant against him, willing, and as often as he has fantasised about taking her by force, this feels better than anything he has ever experienced previously, better than anything he could have imagined.
As the pressure reaches its apex and he finally climaxes with a groan and a shudder, releasing white hot ropes of his seed across her lower belly, she reaches up with shaky, tentative hands to gently run her fingers through his hair.
“Good boy,” she coos, “did so well for me.”
He sighs, leaning over her, resting his head against the wall behind her. Next time he wants to sink inside of her, to feel what it’s like to be touched, wanted, needed. Because as haunted and maladapted as he is, as he opens his eyes and stares into hers he sees that she is too. Her darkness plays well with his, and in a cold and sterile environment Ettore has finally found the warmth he’s always craved.
Chapter two || Series masterlist
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sxfterhearts · 8 months ago
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neighbourly visits
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⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ idol!jiung x non-idol!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
♡ genre/warnings: fluff inspired by recent events, childhood-neighbours!au
♡ word count: 2,422 words
♡ author’s note: ah choi jiung i wish you only good things. >_< i hope you get better soon and no longer feel any pain... i'm sure it was hard for you to stop activities, but i hope you take the time to rest and relax!!! i have not known you for long, but i want to know you for a long time ♡ also pics cred to the lovely tumblr owners!!!
♡ sequel: backstage visits
//
“Hey stranger,” You called out from behind the sliding door that was left ajar, your head peeking through the gap to peer inside the hospital room.
“Hey yourself.” Jiung replied with a light chuckle.
You walked in. Walls covered in flowery 90’s wallpaper greeted you warmly, along with a mounted television playing news silently in the background, a small sofa and coffee table set in the corner and a large window with views of skyscrapers dotted along the side of the Han River. And of course, a single hospital bed with your ex-neighbour-turned-idol lying right on top of it.
“It’s a nice room.” You commented, curious eyes scanning your surroundings.
He scoffed. “Yeah, except now there’s a stain at the bottom of the walls from yesterday.” Jiung admitted sheepishly, hands coming up to rub the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.
“Ah…” You trailed off, setting down the two plastic bags you brought with you on his overbed table. “From when you flooded the bathroom?” You questioned, gentle and careful, nose scrunching up adorably.
“Don’t remind me…” He looked away. “I was so embarrassed! Oh my goodness… The head nurse laughed right in my face! I mean, it sounds like she thought it was funny, but I felt so bad.”
“I’m sure it’s fine, plus, who doesn’t like Krispy Kreme donuts?” “I hope so…”
“Anyways, I brought the goods, like you asked.” Your eyebrows cocked towards the bags, while you dragged a fold-up chair closer to his bedside.
Jiung’s eyes lit up at the mention of this. “You did?”
“Of course, who do you think I am?” You laughed, fingers moving to unpack the food. “Half and half wings, gold king and bburinkle flavoured, one pack of bburinkle cheese balls, and a large tteokbokki.” As you announced the order, you brought out the takeaway boxes one by one – soy sauce, sweet honey and garlic flavoured, then cheese powder flavoured wings; the mozzarella cheese balls that you both enjoyed and the large container filled with spicy rice cakes. “Oh, and Cass beer!”
“Y/N…” Jiung uttered, his mouth quickly salivating at the mention of his favourite meal: chicken and beer. “Are you an angel?”
You laughed out loud, cheeks turning a light shade of pink. You turned around, heading to the adjoined bathroom, hoping to hide your flustered expression. Too late, though, Jiung thought that shade of pink looked the cutest on you. “I think you’re just hallucinating from all the drugs they’ve put you under.” You replied. 
“I have been dreaming about this meal since I got admitted last week. You’re really saving my life, neighbour.” Jiung breathed out, still amazed at the generous spread of food. 
As you walked out, you saw Jiung swinging his legs to the edge of the bed. “Woah, hold on soldier, where do you think you’re going?”
He stopped, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “To wash my hands.”
“No need for that. Sit down and rest – doctor’s orders, remember?” You reached into your handbag and pulled out a hand sanitiser, passing it over to him. “Use this instead. Plus, it’s BHC. They’re professionals. There’s gloves.”
At that, Jiung rolled his eyes at you. “I’m fine,” He drawled out, yet accepting your offer and sanitising his hands. “It’s not like I’m severely injured or anything.”
You gave him a pointed look, fully sceptical. “Right.” 
“I’m serious!”
“A ruptured thigh muscle, Jiung. You ruptured your thigh muscle.” You deadpanned, your motherly instincts firing up. “That’s a big deal! Just sit down and eat your chicken, okay?”
“Fine…” He grumbled, pouting as he pulled on his gloves. 
“So, how are you feeling about it?”
“About the leg? It’s fine. Honestly, it doesn’t even hurt that much.” Jiung paused to take a bite of the cheese ball, eyes closing in pure bliss as he did so. “So good. This always hits.”
“Okay, but that’s not what I meant.”
“What do you mean?”
You sighed, reaching for a can of beer and opening it for him. “You know what I mean…”
He accepted it, taking a big gulp as he thought through his response. “It’s… fine.” Jiung looked down, suddenly taking a lot of interest in the box of fried chicken in front of him.
“Are you really okay? You were preparing for such a long time. Your mum even told me that you were practising non-stop, even on Seollal, and most of Christmas through to New Years. She said she could only send you banchan this year and was really sad about not seeing you back home.”
“Hey,” He looked up. “Are you here to visit your sick neighbour or to guilt trip him for not visiting his family?” Jiung said before biting into a bburinkle flavoured wing.
“Firstly, ex-neighbour. You moved out years and years ago. Secondly, I’m not trying to guilt trip you. I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”
“Well, why do you care if you’re just my ex-neighbour?” Jiung countered in a quiet voice.
“That’s not what I - ” You stopped, sighing. “Okay, we both know you’re not just my ex-neighbour.”
“What am I then?” He looked you straight  in the eye.
The two of you engaged in a tense staring contest before the eye contact and the intensity behind his lids freaked you out. “My… My friend, okay? Geez, that’s not the point. Stop deflecting, Choi Jiung. I’ve known you for over a decade and you’re still the same. Always trying to avoid talking about your feelings.” You huffed, passing a pair of chopsticks to him and sliding over the container of tteokbokki. 
Jiung nodded his thanks, accepting the cutlery and digging in.
Silence ensued as the words hung over the pair of you. You ate quietly while Jiung slurped up his rice cakes like a starved man. He set down his chopsticks once he took a big bite, sighing. “Okay, fine. You got me. I’m not okay.”
“See! Jiung, you have to talk about your feelings.” You stopped, hands coming up to make vague gestures in the air to emphasise your point. “It’s important! You can’t just keep everything inside. Like,” You picked up a can of unopened beer. “Like this. If you keep it bottled inside and shake it too much, it’ll explode completely and make a mess. Please, just talk to me about it. How are you feeling, Choi Jiung?”
He grimaced internally at the use of his full name, the name his mother would use whenever she got mad at him. “Yeah, I’m not okay. I’m so not okay, Y/N.” He sighed again. At this point, you grew slightly concerned that he would then hurt his nostrils from heavy sighing. You shook the silly thought away to focus. “I’m not okay, because, you know what, yeah. You’re right. We have been practising for so long, and so hard. And I was so excited, and had so many sleepless nights trying to figure out how to do my solo, and what lyrics would go well for the song, and how to set up the stages, and what outfits would go together, and, and…” He took a deep breath to calm himself. Jiung could feel his eyes heat up and the corner of his lids prickling, tears beginning to gather slowly but surely. “And for all that to be taken away from me, it just feels so, so unfair.” His voice sounded so small and vulnerable, your heart cracked a little bit for him. A stray tear escaped, rolling down his cheeks.
Immediately, you use the ends of your sleeves to dab away at his tears. Nodding, you encouraged him to go on.
“And… And I really wanted to visit Japan. Shota was gonna bring us to all these places, we were gonna have dinner with his family, and I was really looking forward to being back in America. I really wanted to walk around LA again, and see the huge trees, and…” Jiung paused again, trying to compose himself. “And I’m just really sad I can’t see the fans. I feel so bad, like I let them down, and I know that for some of them this is a once-in-a-lifetime thing to see us and I let them down and - ”
You didn’t allow him to continue - you simply stood up from your seat and sat next to him on the bed, enveloping him in a hug. “And that’s enough, I’m not gonna let you continue talking down to yourself like that.” You said in a hushed voice. You weren’t too sure why you were whispering, but it felt like the right thing to do.
Jiung shut up promptly, closing his wet eyes, and burying his face in your sweater. He breathed in your scent, a mixture of your fabric softener and jasmine, and felt at ease. He was transported back to simpler times - growing up in a high-rise apartment in the outskirts of Seoul, catching cicadas by the stream next to your house, and running around the parks until the sun went down.
You stayed like this for awhile, and it was like time stopped for you. You could barely breathe from how close you were to Jiung, someone you had admired for a long time now - initially from up close, close enough to count the eyelashes on his pretty face. And now from afar, through a screen. Initially, you wrapped him in a hug to stop him from talking about how he let his fans down, but now, you were just enjoying his warmth. Jiung hugged you back tighter, and you could feel the ends of his orange hair tickling your neck.
It was Jiung who broke the silence. “You feel the same - smell the same, even.” He mumbled, lips too close to your skin for you to maintain a healthy heartbeat.
“Yeah, well…” You hated yourself for pulling away, but you had to do it to check up on him; make sure he was okay.  “Moving out to the big city made me crave familiarity. So I had to ask Mum to send me a picture of the softener she used for our clothes when we were growing up.”
Jiung smiled at that. “That’s nice.”  He liked the idea of you calling your mum about something as simple as laundry. Often, he felt like his calls back home were the opposite of mundane - his mother would ask him where he was flying to that weekend; he would reply with the destination and tell her that he was working on a few new songs. She would tell him to eat well and not sleep too late; he would reply in the affirmative, hiding the fact that most of the time they were recording in the wee hours of the morning. It seemed like you were worlds apart. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel more than grateful to have a friend like you in his life to keep him grounded. Someone from his previous life, as a child, before he was P1Harmony’s Jiung - when he was just himself, just plain old Choi Jiung. A boy from Anyang. A boy with big dreams. Just a regular boy.
“Also, I’m sure your fans understand. And they’d want you to rest! Trust me,” You paused, “Everyone on SNS has been commenting to wish you a speedy recovery but also saying that this is a great opportunity for you to get some well-deserved rest. You guys never seem to rest these days. A comeback and a tour? You must’ve been so busy..”
Jiung laughed, amused. “You read the fan comments?”
“What? Of course! Why are you surprised?”
“Wow…” Jiung replied. “You know, we kinda lost contact when we were in high school but when you reached out again a few years ago I really did think it was because you suddenly missed me. Now I know why…”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you reach out because you were a fan? I always believed your story - I thought it really was because you bumped into my mum back in Anyang and she passed you my new number.”
“I mean…” You fumbled. Now it was your turn to be embarrassed. “That happened! I swear!”
“But…?”
“No buts! That is definitely what happened.”
“Right… So who’s your P1Harmony bias? Tell me.” Jiung teased, lips curling into a cheeky grin. He passed you the beer, urging you to drink. “Drink up and tell me. Don’t worry, I can set you up with them. Just tell me.”
You took a huge gulp as you whacked him on the arm.
“Hey! That hurt!”
“You deserved it.” You mumbled.
“So, who is it?” Jiung still wouldn’t let it go. 
“You don’t need to know.” The tips of your ears were warming up now. You distracted yourself by munching on some wings, hoping he would just drop the topic already.
“C’mon, I deserve to know, at least.”
Just then, your phone, which was on top of the table, lit up with a Kakao notification. Your eyes widened in alarm, suddenly remembering that you had just recently changed your wallpaper to a (very cute) photo of Jiung from their most recent music video. With your clean hand, you reached over to grab it before Jiung could see it.
But alas, you were too slow. “Oh…” Jiung mused, getting all cocky. “I get it now.”
“What do you get? There’s nothing to get.” You forced out a laugh, flipping your phone the other way and burying it under your seat.
“Y/N…” Jiung drawled out the syllabus of your name in a teasing yet slightly dangerous way, as if he had an evil master plan. “Tell me something, and be honest.”
“Nope, I refuse.” You said, shaking your head vigorously.
“Do you like me?”
You continued shaking your head no and chewing in silence.
“Be honest, I’m not gonna judge you. Am I your bias?”
“Shut up, I refuse to answer.”
“Ah, so I am right.”
“That’s not what I said!”
“You didn’t have to say it, Y/N. I can tell… Just admit it. You like me.”
“No! This is so embarrassing…”
//
{ epilogue }
The nurses filling out their charts at the station giggled and gossiped over their dinners. 
“So, what do you think is gonna happen?”
“Gosh, watching them is so frustrating. Like, just confess already!”
“I know right! I almost want to do something about it. Like slip them a note or push them into each other or something.”
“Ah, the beauty of young love…”
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thewritetofreespeech · 1 month ago
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KnB Thanksgiving
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today is Thanksgiving in the states! Here's an extra treat with our favorite basketball idiots for when you need a break.
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“How far out are we on the turkey?”
“It’ll be a few more hours.” Kagami answered while inspecting the meat thermometer and taking a few extra seconds to give the turkey another baste. “It’s a big bird.”
“Where did you even get a turkey that size here?” You ask out of curiosity. You loved being in Japan for school, but there were a few things from America you missed. Like genuine Rice Krispie treats, football Sundays (even though you were never really a fan of the sport), and Thanksgiving.
Since your current home country did not celebrate it, you had been feeling nostalgic all November about missing out. Luckily, Kagami was there to commiserate. Being an American, and also a big eater, it was one of his favorite holidays. You both tried to explain to your friends what the holiday was all about, but no one seemed to get it. Finally you just broke down and said ‘lets just do one!’. Which brought you to the present and co-host of the first ever Japan-American-Thanksgiving.
“I didn’t get it. It just showed up here one day. I thought you ordered it?”
“I ordered it.” Akashi announced as he came into the kitchen to inspect what was going on. “When Kuroko told me about the festivities, and that we would need a turkey to have a proper Thanksgiving, which was causing challenges, I had one flown in.”
“Nice to know people with connections.” You tease. Or just people with money.
“If it was going to take so long to cook, why didn’t you put it in sooner Baka-gami?” Aomine asked. Helping himself to the chips he had brought as his contribution. “I’m hungry!”
“Shut up Aho-mine!” Kagami snapped back. “You’re not even doing anything. If you want to complain, you need to help.”
“But you just look so cute in your little apron, Baka-gami.” The red head growled at the blunette who just grinned maliciously at him.
“Why don’t you help with the potatoes, Aomine?” You interject to stop the fight. “I need them peeled before I can boil and mash them.”
“I already did them.” You jump a little as Kuroko suddenly appeared beside you, as was his way, with a bowl of freshly peeled and diced potatoes. “Here you go.”
“How did you get these done so fast?? When did you get these done so fast??”
“A while ago.” Kuroko told you. “They seemed like they needed to get done so I just did them.”
“[Y/N]-chin….” Your attention turned to Murasakibara now, who was staring longingly at the pies & desserts. “If dinner is going to be a while, can I eat some pie?”
“No. Those are for after dinner.”
Murasakibara frowned and slumped down to sit on his butt by the kitchen island in protest. You were surprised he didn’t just crawl under the table, assuming he could fit….
“Why don’t you boys go play basketball or something?” You suggested. Exasperated at this point and just needing them all out of the kitchen. Too many cooks and all that, except none of them (except Kagami) were cooking and just annoying you.
“Are you sure [Y/N]?” Kagami asked. Hopeful, but clearly very torn about leaving you to do all the work.
“Yes. I’m sure. We’re at a good holding point right now. It’s just watching, and stirring, and covering a few things. I can manage.”
“Awwww~!” Kise whined. “But I wanted to help [Y/N] make the cranberry sauce. I don’t think I’ll like it, but it always looks so pretty in pictures.”
“I’ll let you help me put it into bowls when you get back.” You compromise. “Go on now. There are too many of you here right now, and I’ll have Himuro help when he shows up before I send him you’re way too. Plus the others.” Most of the Serin team would be showing up shortly. Not everyone could get free time from their families, as they already had plans with the short notice, but a lot didn’t and were just excited to hang out.
“Well….if you’re sure…” Kagami said again, but this time already taking off his apron to go.
“Physical exercise is essential before a big meal.” Midorima chimed in. “It will honestly make the dinner that more enjoyable. Not that you need any help I’m sure, [Y/N].” You smile at his semi-compliment.
“Go on! You boys go play and by the time you get back it’ll all be done.”
“Yeah. Let’s go Baka-gami.” Aomine already getting up and getting his sneakers. “Free food and I get to trounce you in basketball? I can see why you like this holiday so much.”
“The only one getting trounced is you Aho-mine!”
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable though, Aomine.” The boys all look up from putting on their shoes to look at you. “This isn’t pure altruism. Second that dinner hits the table, I’m not lifting another finger for the rest of the day. So, you better save some energy in those hands for all the dishes you’ll be washing.”
Aomine’s face turned bleak as he thought on the mountain likely waiting for him upon return, while Kise laughed at him. Clearly thinking of escape, but he wouldn’t miss out on all the food that was promised. So muttered something about them being back later while the rest of the boys gave more enthusiastic goodbyes on the way out.
“Psst! Murasaki-kun.” The giant turned around, with his typical bland expression, which instantly brightened when you handed him a white chocolate cranberry cookie, along with a quite ‘ssh’ as your finger pressed to your lips. He scarfed it down in one go and then went to go play with the others.
You chuckle a little. Happy to see them all so happy, but also for the peace & quiet for a moment. “Now where did Kagami put that baster?”
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bomberqueen17 · 27 days ago
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ow
lol so. i'm at home after the farm season right. i have so much writing i have been wanting to do, and i have succeeded at doing some of it! i had a brief "ah chicken season is over" hiatus before The Dread Deturkening, and spent that whole thing writing frantically, hence the solarpunk tall ships idea which is still in progress btw-- I did finally start a for real draft version to solicit feedback and now I realize a bunch of people's tumblr handles is not a great way to actually connect so i need to figure out how to do that-- which is beside the point of this post--
anyway. now that it's For Real Hiatus From Farm Season I'm trying to actually get my life in order and not succeeding very well.
Dude's company laid off a bunch of his team and therefore shut down the local office, so he, being the last man standing, had to go in and clear the space out. As part of that, his former desk is sitting in our garage, and I'm trying to clear out space for it in the basement. The basement is a black hole of fuckery because one year ago, some of you may remember, we had our kitchen remodeled, and we had contracted to do it in February but they called us the last week of November and said can we do it now instead, which sure but it meant I had to haul seventeen years' worth of stuff out of the kitchen into Literally Anywhere Else and then they needed me to clear out part of the basement erroneously believing they were putting in a new support pillar, which they weren't, but then they needed me to clear out a path to the back wall of the basement because the electricians needed to install a whole new panel there, so like, ok cool but it just meant a lot of things got haphazardly hauled from one corner of the basement to another in tremendous hurry with no time for keeping track of what's what. So that's a disaster and now's the time to fix it.
I have also been hauling some of it to the attic. I had been using the desk in the spare room for sewing on the days when Dude was working from his office. Since those days no longer happen, I have no access to those machines now, which are stacked in a corner. The basement is now too crowded for me to resume using the little space I'd carved out down there, so I have put some sewing stuff into the attic, which isn't insulated and is rather drafty now. But anyway. I'm rearranging a lot of things and can't make progress on any projects while that's happening.
I got a ton of reorganizing done on Monday evening in the basement (having spent the whole morning hauling shit out of dude's former office, which is now surrendered and locked and all set), and yet more Tuesday, and was hoping to finish it yesterday but Tuesday evening I fucked up my back, it felt all crunchy, and I was really worried until I woke up Wednesday in just torrents of gore, which I realized is my new perimenopausal normal-- I've started to realize that menstruation does fucky shit to all my connective tissues, so I shouldn't actually worry about my lower back destroying itself if it's also Cramp Time. So I spent yesterday absolutely immobile, dosed up on ibuprofen and just like that scene out of the Shining except wrapped in blankets and drinking herbal tea.
I also spent much of yesterday just. Unconscious? Which was weird. I don't know why I'm so fatigued but at least I'm sleeping.
(I also cleaned the oven. Do not recommend, especially not when one's lower back is doing mysterious rice krispie impressions.)
So today I was hoping to get back to work but I do feel like I've been beaten with sticks. Maybe instead I will finish working out how to get people who've expressed interest in beta-reading into a google doc.
A not so hilarious side note is that if I do not have a desk to sit at I have trouble organizing my thoughts?? IDK it's very weird but there are several tasks I need to do where I'll need to have my laptop and a sheet of paper in front of me I think, and my brain is like "illegal unless At Desk" and that's tough shit since I don't have a desk. I had started noticing it over the summer in the cabin where I also don't have a desk. How do I organize my thoughts if I can't Sit At A Desk to do it????? One would think I'd figure it out since i've spent most of my life without a desk of my very own, but. Not so far!!! Not currently.
Also a major thing my brain is Not Allowing me to do is finish preparing for Christmas. I'm not seeing family for Christmas, for the like tenth year in a row because every year we arrange to do it together my older sister fucking flakes out, and this year it was the off year but she flaked out of thanksgiving instead-- i'm not saying she doesn't flake out for good reasons, one of her kids was real sick and i'm not mad, but the fact remains, we're not seeing that bit of the family and she's not letting us make any contingency plans, so my brain is like Fine No Christmas Then and won't let me figure out what to get people for gifts and it is actually a problem because some of those people are kids and are expecting me to figure it out anyway.
argh.
my beloved godfather, my Type A mom's little underachieving alcoholic gay probably ADHD depressed college dropout brother, never was good at christmas presents for us kids either, and still managed to hold it together better than I am despite being in a relationship with a man who wouldn't allow him to tell us nieces about him and so he just showed up to all our family events and was my uncle's "friend" and we all figured it out anyway so there was no point hiding it from us but ugh they still did and i remember us at some point in the 90s, all us sisters sitting together ranging in age from high school down to elementary school and my older sister being like "we all know they're gay right" and us all being like "yeah why can't we just say it" and the oldest sister looking at me, who even then everybody knew was the gay one, and i was like "man i don't know" and we all just solemnly agreed to not mention it...
anyway
he did better than this but he died of lung cancer in '08 so I can't ask him how he managed it. (what i have in my favor is that my dad's side of the family gave me asthma so i never could have taken up smoking, so at least that won't kill me.)
He never got an ADHD diagnosis tho so I can't find out what meds he took. Well, he took whiskey, we know that. It didn't work though. and he wasn't really a loser, i've met so many people who knew and loved him now that i'm an adult and sometimes go around in the city where he lived. even now so many people remember him so fondly. and he bragged about us, his nieces, all the time, all these people know who i am as soon as i mention him. boy i miss him!!!
this is the miracle of the ADHD brain I was fretting about house cleaning and now i'm grieving my long-dead uncle, who of course I knew mostly through the lens of my mother who literally never understood him in the slightest.
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