#kinds breakfast bars healthy

[khulkarjiyo]

Are kind breakfast bars healthy?

Kind breakfast bars are ensuring that they are healthy for your body and made with the best non-genetically produced materials,also have a delicious taste. These bars, which have a soft filling and crispy outer layer, are excellent for a breakfast on-the-go. At least one complete meal of whole wheat will be found in it. Are kind breakfast bars healthy? It made by 5 healthy grains those are…

[celestialprincesse]

💍🎀

More domestic hubby Simon cause I'm yearning💕

His wife is some bigshot in her field, fully wears the pants when he's not away on deployment. The moment he met her fiery attitude and quick wit he was whipped.

The guys (except Price, who is also fucking obsessed with his wife) make fun of him for how down bad he is.

When they're at home though? When there's no one around to judge or stare? They're fun as fuck.

He brings her coffee in bed every morning, gives her little kisses all over the forehead and nose and cheeks to wake her, fingers digging slightly into her sides so that she wakes with that hazy, giggly smile that makes him go actually weak.

Even after two years, she still looks at the small boulder on her ring finger after tough meetings or bad days, to remind herself of all the love and devotion that awaits her as soon as she crosses over the threshold of their cozy house.

When they first bought it, they scoured antiques markets and second hand shops for cool things to decorate with, spent days in the bright sunshine poring through posters and lampshades and things that slowly made the bare bones of their house into a home.

She sits curled up on the stools of their breakfast bar every morning in one of his shirts and some little panties (a combo which still gets him hard after years together) browsing through her emails, tongue poked out the side of her mouth in concentration whilst he makes some kind of healthy smoothie breakfast bowl thing.

Calls her 'the wife' and 'Mrs Riley' just to see the way she smiles and wiggles her ring finger so the stones on her wedding and engagement band twinkle in the light.

Maybe (Definitely) bought her the biggest ring that he could find so that everyone knows she's spoken for, even when he's not there beside her.

He wears his wedding band when he's not deployed, and keeps it on a chain looped around his neck when he is. Probably has one of her other favourite rings nestled beside it too, kisses it when he goes to sleep and imagines he's kissing her instead.

He has her initial tattooed on his ring finger for when he can't wear his ring because he can't stand the thought of people not knowing he's hers.

[illyrianbitch]

What Lies Between Us

Pairing: Reader x Modern Detective! Azriel

Summary: Azriel has spent years trying to escape the ghosts of his past, retiring into a self-imposed exile despite a promising career as a talented detective. When you turn up at his door asking for help on a recent case, his world is disrupted.

Warnings: angst, outrunning memories, brief allusions to crime, details of injury, horrible yearning and longing tbh

Word Count: 3.4k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel let out a sigh as he fumbled for his keys, juggling a bag of groceries in one hand. The weight of it grew heavy, and he clenched his jaw in focus as he finally pushed his door open, blindly reaching for the lightswitch on his wall. 

A soft meow greeted him at his feet. Azriel glanced down to see Shadow, his black sleek fur gleaming under the light, weaving affectionately between his legs. Shadow's green eyes flicked up briefly before he leapt gracefully onto a bar stool and then the counter, nose twitching as he inspected the grocery bags Azriel placed down. He pulled back, seemingly unimpressed.

Azriel’s therapist was insistent that more greens would be beneficial in easing his anxiety. He said nothing about its relation to his nightmares, but Azriel didn’t have high hopes regarding whether broccoli could treat years of insomnia. Slowly, he pulled groceries from the bags, one by one. He almost snickered at the contents of his fridge— a few shelves now stocked with freshly bought produce, a carton of eggs, orange juice, butter, and a pack of beer. He shut the door. 

There were a few birthday cards on his fridge, held on by various traveling magnets he’d collected over the years. One card was from his mother, the words “sweet boy” staring back at him, written with a heavy hand and adorned with hearts she delicately drew. The others were from his friends, a stupid one from Cassian, a sweet one from Mor, even Elain had gifted him one— and an invitation to her wedding. 

He hadn’t gone. 

But you had. He knew this from the pictures Feyre had posted on Instagram.

Not that he was checking. He deleted Instagram soon after.

Azriel's gaze lingered on the cards. There was one missing, and his fingers traced the place it used to be, where he had stuck it for a week before he realized he couldn’t handle looking at it every morning as he made breakfast. That card was tucked away in his bedside drawer now. He saw it every night, instead. 

He let out a deep sigh, running his hands along his face, fingers brushing against the stubble that had begun to grow already. 

He had planned to cook a healthy meal tonight, to take his new prescription and finally attempt to get a good night's sleep. But the thought of chopping vegetables and cooking felt exhausting. He pulled out a beer.

The cap nicked his thumb as he twisted it off, but he barely registered the sensation, quickly drawing the neck of the bottle to his mouth. He greedily swallowed down the cheap contents and moved towards the living room. Shadow padded after him, tail flicking in curiosity, a step behind every move Azriel made.

His apartment was empty, save for a few decorations and his heavily decorated bookshelves. Two of the chairs in his living room were still new, and the smell of brand new leather clung to them heavily, making the entire room reek of a department store. Azriel’s apartment wasn’t a home. It was a place filled with furniture. Besides those cards on his fridge, not much hinted at any sign of a life well lived. 

Except the vinyl collection he now stood before. 

His collection was meticulously organized, spanning decades of music. Some were torn, tattered at the edges where he’d picked them up at vintage shops, others brand new from gifts he’d been given. 

Azriel selected a record. Its cover was worn and bent at the edges from drunken nights trying to carefully shove it back into its place. A classic rock album, the kind that filled the silence with powerful guitar riffs and soulful vocals— one of his favorites.He slid it from its sleeve, handling it with the care it properly deserved, and placed it on the turntable

Azriel wasn’t a flashy man, never one for fancy possessions, but this collection was his pride. The turntable itself was one of the nicest things he owned, if not the nicest. He cherished it, admired it every time he came into the living room. As the needle found its place, the familiar crackle precluded the strong, evocative notes of the electric guitar, filling the room with a warmth and soul that pulled a deep,weary sigh from his gut. 

Shadow brushed against Azriel’s legs again, and his eyes fell at the touch, gaze falling on his guitar propped against the wall.  A wave of sadness ran through him. Azriel approached it, running his fingers along its neck, along the dust that had gathered on top of it. The strings resisted against the scars on his fingertips.

He took a step back, grabbed his beer, and made his way towards the balcony. 

The rush of cold night air offered a welcoming reprieve from the stifling stillness of his apartment. The chill bit at his skin, but he didn’t mind. It reminded him that he was still alive, still capable of feeling something other than biting numbness, suffocating guilt.

The city buzzed below. Azriel was never a fan of New York. The city was loud, crowded, and full of distractions that made it hard for him to find the quiet he craved. He felt disconnected from it all, from the hums of life and sounds of cars. He’d never felt as lonely as he did recently, surrounded by hundreds of people. Taking another sip of his beer, he let the music wash over him, the rich melody pouring out into the open air. 

Azriel was only two songs in before there was a sudden knock on his door. 

He frowned and waited a minute for them to go away. Another knock followed, more insistent this time. Grumbling, he turned around and headed to the door, placing his beer on the counter.

"Damnit, Rhys,” Azriel called out, hand reaching out to pull his apartment door open, “I told you I didn't want to—" 

Azriel’s words died in his mouth as he opened the door, feeling a rush of emotions flood him all at once—relief, shock, and a hint of something else he couldn't quite name.

You were as beautiful as the last time he’d seen you, at that family dinner where he’d done his best to avoid you. Your skin was tan now, a sun-kissed glow that Azriel quickly deduced was from the recent trip you’d taken with Mor and Feyre. You’d gone to Belize, and while Feyre was gone, he and Rhysand had taken a trip upstate, stayed at a small place Rhys owned. Rhys was smart enough to not bring you up throughout the week, but Az still saw all the pictures Feyre had sent him— pictures that included you beaming at the camera, drink in hand and those pink vintage sunglasses you’d bought at a flea market three years ago.

"Y/N," he breathed out, voice barely above a whisper.

“Hi, Azriel,” you said, voice steady and soft, sweet like honey. It dripped down his skin and made him melt. His hand fell lax against the door handle. You gave him a small, almost unsure, smile. “I need your help.” 

Azriel’s brows furrowed, gaze scanning your features for a moment. There were dark circles under your eyes— and your eyes, your eyes themselves seemed sad. Troubled. His stomach twisted into itself. You held his gaze for a moment before you were clearing your throat, shaking your head as if breaking the connection. 

“Can I come in?”

Azriel blinked. “Of course,” he finally replied, pulling the words from deep out of his chest. He gave a smile as he stepped aside and gestured for you to come in. “Please.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

It was strange to be so close to you, to watch as you gingerly took off your coat and draped it over one of his barstools. Azriel’s eyes traced your form before him— the bend of your spine as you leaned over, the jewelry on your wrist, the boots that you wore.Even with your back turned to him, Azriel knew you. Something was deeply troubling you. There was an evident tension in your body, in the way your shoulders moved, in your shallow breaths. 

His gaze lingered on your waist for a moment, on the way your body curved below your hips. He shook himself out of the daze, suddenly embarrassed and shameful. 

His eyes fell to the ground, where Shadow now mewed and rubbed against your legs. You looked down at the contact, letting out a small laugh. Shadow wasted no time before jumping onto the kitchen island, nudging against your arms affectionately.

Azriel moved quickly, scooping Shadow up and setting him back on the ground. “Sorry about that,” he murmured.

“It’s okay,” you replied, a soft smile still playing on your lips. It was unsure— wary, even. The realization made Azriel’s stomach sink. He looked down at where Shadow was pressed against you once more.

Azriel’s eyes met yours, a flicker of something tender passing between you as he quietly said, “He missed you.”

Your gaze softened. A silence followed. It was heavy, but no longer uncomfortable. “I did too.”

The words hung in the air, filling the space between you with a warmth that neither of you dared to acknowledge fully. Azriel pushed away the thoughts in his mind that began to wonder if your words were meant for him, if you had missed him. He cleared his throat.

“What brings you by?”

You blinked, breaking the stare you were holding. “Right,” you said. You quickly turned back to your bag, fumbling slightly as you pulled out some papers and folders, gently placing them on the counter. 

You flipped one of the folders open, saying nothing as you glanced at Azriel before casting your eyes down at the papers before you. You took a deep breath.  “I need your help with a case.”

Azriel took a step forward, eyes glossing over the papers before him. He tightened his jaw. “You’re not supposed to be showing me these.”

He could get in trouble for being exposed to such sensitive information— and you, you were risking your career being here. 

“I know,” you replied. 

Azriel leaned forward, setting into a stance next to you. He ignored the way his skin prickled at the close proximity, instead placing a finger on the papers, pulling them closer to him. He frowned, brows furrowing as he took in the details. He casted a side glance at you.

You were already looking at him, a crease between your brows as you pressed your lips into a thin line.  

“Y/n,” Azriel murmured, “I’m not sure how I can be of any use.”

“Just hear me out,” you pleaded, moving closer to tap a finger on the papers. “They’re following a pattern. I need to get ahead of it. I’m stumped and you used to be great at these cases.”

Azriel’s frown deepened. “Is it a copycat?”

You paused. Azriel missed the flicker of hesitation in your eyes before you nodded. “Yeah, a copycat.”

He let out a contemplative hum. “Who?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, taking a step back as you remained quiet. Your silence was pronounced enough for Azriel to stiffen. He turned around slowly. His eyes gave away the question that was seated on the tip of his tongue. You nodded. 

Azriel stood still, his face hardening, but there was something in his eyes that looked awfully like fear, something in his gut that felt awfully like shame— like regret. He took a deep breath.

“I can't help you.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Azriel-”

“Y/n, I can’t help you,” He repeated, the words falling from his mouth like a practiced mantra of self-denial. “Request the files you need, talk to Cassian. He knows it just as well as I do.”

Azriel curled his hands into fists. He attempted to ignore the stone that sank in his stomach at the name of his friend, of his brother. Cassian. As if sensing his distress, Shadow mewed softly, weaving between Azriel’s legs.

“That is not true and you know it,” you retorted. There was a heavy sense of frustration that seeped into your voice, one that dripped from every word you said. You could feel the tension thickening the air, suffocating the space between you and Azriel. 

He remained silent, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond your shoulder. The stubborn set of his jaw made you falter further. You took a deep breath, lowering your voice to one much softer, much smoother. Azriel nearly melted at it, nearly found himself apologizing for everything he had done.

“I’ve requested access, I can talk to Cassian. But we both know you know things even I don’t. You kept meticulous records.”

“I-”

"Please," you interrupted, your voice pleading. "Az.”

Azriel’s expression softened, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sorrow and resolve. He let out a small sigh and then he offered you a nod. His steps were measured, deliberate, as he turned and made his way down the small hallway, the echoes of his footfalls filling the quiet space. 

His bedroom was just as empty as the rest of the apartment, and his gaze flickered to the bedside table as he passed. He stilled for a moment, feeling another heavy wave of sadness wash through him. Another second passed before he pulled his mind away, forcing himself to walk into his closet. 

It took a few moments of pushing aside boxes and clothing before he found it, running his hands along the small safe tucked away in the back wall. With a practiced hand, he dialed the combination, the soft click of the lock releasing echoing in the room. The door opened gently, revealing its contents—a sleek handgun nestled among a jumble of items, including a worn leather journal and a stack of notes. Brushing his hand over the cold metal of the gun, Azriel reached for the journal, its worn cover familiar beneath his touch. Tucking it under his arm, he closed the safe with a sense of finality.

Returning to where you stood, Azriel found it difficult to meet your gaze again, opting to keep his eyes trained on the journal in his hand and Shadow at his feet. He wasn’t sure if it was just him that suddenly felt so smothering, or if there was something in the air that made it hard for him to breathe. 

He offered you the journal with an extended hand. For a brief moment, your fingers brushed against each other. A familiar warmth ran through Azriel’s body and he resisted the urge to recoil from the intensity of it alone. 

His hand stayed in the air for a moment, suspended in the moment of your touch. You glanced down at his palm, eyes drifting to his bare ring finger. Your eyes softened and Azriel followed your gaze, immediately pulling his hand back and shoving it into his pocket.

“Thanks,” you murmured, turning around to place it on top of your bag. You kept your back to him for a moment, and Azriel traced the curve of your spine with his eyes, watched how you placed two hands to brace yourself on the counter as you sighed. You slowly turned around.

“Azriel-”

The glint in your eyes told him where the conversation was bound to lead. He cut you off as fast as he noticed. “I can’t.”

You deflated, shoulders falling slightly as your gaze danced across his face. “You didn’t even let me speak.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said softly. He shifted on his heels, shoving his hands further into his pockets. “I can’t get involved. This is all I can do.”

“Alright,” you finally replied, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth as you absentmindedly nodded your head. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no.” He took an instant step forward, hand naturally flying out to touch your arm. He realized his movement before he made contact, letting his hand fall awkwardly at his side. “Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I better get going.”

Please don’t.

“Yeah.”

Please stay. 

As you started to gather your belongings, slipping the journal into your bag and pulling your jacket on, Azriel's gaze remained fixed on you. His heart lurched painfully in his chest as you reached for your jacket and pulled it on, your shirt hiking up to reveal the beginning of a jagged scar along your abdomen. He deflated, casting his eyes to the ground. A wave of self-loathing washed over him and he clenched his hands at his sides, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

It wasn’t until you were opening his front door that Azriel found the courage to look up, mustered the strength to meet your eyes.

“Y/n-” Azriel paused. His heart thudded loudly in his eardrums. He felt a faint tugging sensation in his chest, as if his body itself was screaming at him to get closer to you, to not let you leave. He swallowed down the selfish words he wanted to say, and instead offered you a wary, but warm, smile. “Be careful. This might just be a copycat, but they’re still as dangerous. I want you to be safe.”

“I know.” Something in your face softened, and you offered him a half smile. His eyes darted to the small dimple on your cheek. “I will be.”

You turned to leave, but no movement followed. Instead, you stilled, hand tapping on the handle before you turned around again. “It was nice to see you, Az.” 

He gave you a small, curt nod. His chest tightened. “You too, Y/n.”

“Take care of yourself.”

And then you were gone. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Azriel sat on the couch, the soft hum of his chosen record filling the otherwise quiet apartment. His hand absentmindedly rubbed Shadow's head as he closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to drift.

Weeks had passed since he last saw you, but you were never far from his mind. He had toyed with the idea of reaching out to you, of asking how things were going, but the thought was quickly dismissed. It was inappropriate on multiple levels. You weren't in each other's lives anymore, and he shouldn't have known about the case in the first place. So he resigned himself to living in his mind, replaying that night over and over, wondering if he should have asked you to stay, if he should have offered more help.

There was a knock at the door. 

Azriel jumped at it, head twisting over his couch to look at his entrance. He pushed himself up, lifting Shadow from his lap as he made his way to the door. The cat emitted a discontented sound as he settled back into a lying position.

His heart fluttered with anticipation as he made his way to the door, a small glimmer of hope now flickering in his chest. Could it be that his prayers had been answered? That you were here again, unable to stop thinking about him just like he couldn't stop thinking about you?

Azriel took a deep breath as he reached for the doorknob.

He prepared to muster up a smile, running greetings through his mind, knowing himself well enough that he’d stumble at seeing your face once more. But as he swung the door open, his face fell flat.

"Rhys.”

Rhysand offered him a smile, but it lacked its usual warmth, troubled lines etched into his features. His posture was tense, his shoulders squared. There was a stiffness to his stance, a subtle rigidity that made Azriel’s stomach drop. 

"What is it?" Azriel asked.

Rhys met his gaze, eyes filled with a darkened sense of worry. There was a glint of apprehension in his eyes, as if he were hesitant to speak. He swallowed.

"It's Y/n," Rhys finally said, "She's missing."

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

this idea appeared to me in a dream and i had to write it... will it ever come to fruition? who knows??? but i do love a good haunting of the narrative.... az finding us....az being thrown back into a world he thought he left behind...... lord its such yummy angst

so lmk if you’re interested in being tagged in a part 2 :)

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin @serrendiipty

[vyrsgore]

boothill x jessica rabbit! reader

inspired by this amazing work by @hihellomy

oh this mf definitely comes to watch your shows every night

not obviously though (very obviously actually), he’ll sit in the corner of the bar or lean against a wall, smoking a cigarette as he watches you sing in your soft voice to the jazz.

he’s so in love but he won’t admit it

you notice after a while and decide to toy with him

sometimes if he’s sitting you’ll come over and sit on his lap as you sing, (like in the movie :3) and take off his hat, leaning in almost as if for a kiss, only to press his hat back into his face with a coy smile.

he overheats whenever you do that btw

he loves your voice

like he would kiss the air around your face if he could this man literally WORSHIPS the ground beneath your feet

very much the bozo who eats shit and the ethereal and godly girlfriend vibes

so ‘he makes me laugh coded’

acheron: he’s your boyfriend..? are you sure you have the right guy?

y/n: yepp :3

acheron: he eats bullets for breakfast

y/n: cute

acheron: and lunch

y/n: sounds healthy

acheron: and dinner

y/n: he likes his schedule!!!

would introduce you to acheron by bringing her to one of your shows in his regular bars (he makes her pay for her own drink lmao)

she def hits him with the ‘i’m going to sleep with ur girlfriend’ as a joke (he thinks…. he hopes…)

 buys you flowers!! after your show he goes backstage and gives them to you with a big smile :)

y/n: did you buy me flowers?

boothill: maybe.

y/n: i’ll take that as an i love you and a yes.

after you guys get together this man will sit at the back of the bar with a loaded rifle in his hand as he watches you perform and woo all the men who are head over heels for you

definitely has not, on multiple occasions, threatened them with his gun :3

when you guys weren’t dating it was kind of like a cat chase where he’s chasing after you and you know he likes you so you kind of play with him

IN CONCLUSION I LOVE THIS BOZO GIVE HIM LOVE <333

[datauthorress]

If you don’t mind me asking, what was the process of Logan sleeping in the reader’s bed? And Laura, too, I think?

Did he (they) just follow her in there immediately upon meeting? Did she wake up hot, just to find him (them) suffocating her?

I also think Logan, feral!Logan especially, would be very particular with food. Making sure his partner/person of interest, as well as Laura is eating well. No sugary cereals for breakfast, no granola bars for lunch, etc.

It would take a couple of days for Logan to feel completely comfortable to be able to sleep with the Reader. He and his daughter are in a completely different place, with several other mutants and one mutant in particular who has treated Logan with nothing but kindness and respect. Logan would have most likely slept on the Reader's giant bean bag chair with Laura and as they became more comfortable, they would have slipped into Reader's bed during the night. Cue to the Reader waking up sweating because Logan is a literal furnace and he's pushing 500 pounds, so Reader can literally not move unless they force him off of her.

I also agree with the fact that feral! Logan would be very particular about what he, Laura and the Reader eat. Reader would definitely have to sneak in sugary foods, i.e. chocolate, gummies, etc. Logan has a habit of knocking said food out of her hands and then rummaging through the fridge until he finds something healthy and then forces it towards Reader.

Laura would also have to sneak in sugary foods as well, much to Logan's chagrin.

[qdbs-writes]

RE bois with Zombie!Reader that just wants to live in their tiny house in peace? Please?

RE Lads Reacting to Chill-Zombie!Reader

Leon Kennedy

You could have all the warning signs and barbed wire in the world around your little zombie house and Leon would still manage to bumble his way through your front door, yelling at you like you're the reason he's there.

He'll see that you're a zombie and instinctively round-house kick you into your tiny makeshift kitchen. He's about to rip the basil you were growing out of its pot when he notices how nice your little zombie house is. It was definitely better than his ratty apartment. Leon will have a small crisis of faith as he finally considers getting a bed frame.

Chris Redfield

Sees the words 'DON'T OPEN, DEAD INSIDE' on your little house and takes that as some kind of challenge. Surely whoever wrote that warning didn't mean him, what's the worse that could happen if he kicked in the door?

Off the door comes from its hinges, while Chris sweeps your one-room home with the barrel of his gun. He can't help but think to himself that this is a suspiciously nice zombie house. As his gaze reaches the last corner of your house, he spots you perched on your neatly made zombie bed, crocheting a little zombie blanket (even dead people need hobbies). When you continue to crochet awkwardly, albeit a bit slower than before, Chris decides he's made a terrible mistake, and backs out nervously, attempting to put the broken door back in its place as he leaves.

Carlos Olivera

He'd read the warning on your house as 'DON'T DEAD, OPEN INSIDE' and would still be like "This sign can't stop me; because I can't read!".

Deciding that the door would be too obvious of an entryway, Carlos instead sails through your window, knocking something over in the process. When he gets up, he sees you, a little zombie, sitting at a small breakfast table, watching the news on a grainy, antique TV. Carlos follows your gaze to his feet, where he sees the now-destroyed pie you had left to cool on the windowsill. Carlos is heartbroken as he remembers the pies his Abuela used to bake. Saddened at seeing your hard work go to waste, Carlos jumps into action. "Don't worry," he says "I can fix this!". He gets to work in your little kitchen and in no time at all, a new pie is in the oven. Afraid of breaking anything else, Carlos apologises one last time before he leaves, and you smile delightedly back at him.

Albert Wesker

For whatever bullshit reason he has to hide somewhere and decides the little, highly-defended cottage you live in would be perfect.

He slams your front door shut behind him, huffy and sweaty before he notices a surprisingly well-kept zombie nestled in an armchair, reading a book. Enjoy a healthy dose of silent, prolonged eye contact, until Wesker takes a look around the quaint, bombed-out hovel that you've made for yourself. Assuming you can speak, he's gonna have a lot of questions. They mostly center around if you would like to kindly enter this luxurious iron-barred box he keeps at all times... No, it's not a cage, it just looks like a cage! And no, the armed men with tranquilizer darts aren't here to hurt you, he promises!

Ethan Winters

Considering this man's luck, he'd probably come crashing in through your ceiling, groaning and cussing as he lands in a heap on your threadbare carpet.

Ethan sees that he's just fallen into your zombie house and wonders for a moment why bad things only seem to happen to him. But he struggles to get up after landing on his ankle. Steadily, you pull up a chair for him and make him a coffee, which was probably the most appetizing thing Ethan has had shoved in his face lately, so he drinks it. And it's not bad coffee either, maybe you used to work in a Starbucks. You and Ethan sit in amicable silence while he finishes his drink, thanking you quietly before hobbling out the door. He turns back as he leaves your garden and you send him off with a little wave. You were definitely a nice zombie.

[crabsnpersimmons]

Crabs this is Noa you need to help me I'm in love with your restaurant AU I need more I love food and you combined it with the dca I can't I ca

Uhh what's in the menu? :D

HEHE ME TOO NOA!!

legit every meal i have is inspiration for this AU 😂

as for the menu, welllll most of it is based on Hong Kong style cafe foods (because that's what inspired me at first), but the specials change regularly and go into many different cuisines.

the boys also specialize in different things too:

Sun specializes in healthy, nutritious meals. he’s also the most interested in learning all about food, from farms to cooking methods. if you ask him to surprise you, he’ll discretely scan you and determine what your body needs and will cook something accordingly.

You are surprised as a bowl of soup appears in front of you, held by a gold hand. You follow that hand to it’s owner—meeting Sun’s blank eyes staring down at you.

“I… didn’t order a soup,” you stutter.

“You appear to be low in iron today,” Sun responds in his monotone voice before turning away, then adding, “There is more if you need it. It's on the house.”

Without a further word, Sun returns to the kitchen.

The smell of the soup wafts to your nose and you decide to dig in. It’s a fairly clear broth yet surprisingly flavourful—the kind of soup that takes more than a day to properly steep and simmer to extract all the flavours from it’s ingredients. Despite that, the soup was clear of any dregs at the bottom—just the way you like it.

You feel your face warm—from the soup or from the attention, you’re not entirely sure.

You might take his offer for seconds.

Moon specializes in everything indulgent! juicy fried chicken? the cutest pastries? he loves them all and he’s always experimenting with new recipes. sure he recognizes the importance of a healthy meal, but sometimes you just need a boost, yknow? food is more than fuel, it can be something to be enjoyed.

When you stepped into the restaurant that morning, Moon could already tell you were off to a rough start. He watched from the kitchen window as you ate your breakfast, staring dryly at your phone.

And then he had an idea. Ooooohoohoohoo, clever Moon!

“Gooooood morning, starlight,” Moon walks over to your seat at the bar table. “How’s your breakfast? Would you like some dessert with it?”

You groggily look up from your phone, and nod, barely registering what he said. Then before you know it, Moon is gone and back again with a warm plate of french toast.

Moon wasn’t kidding when he said dessert—the toast is thick enough to be a cake! When you cut off a manageable bite, you realize it’s actually two slices of toast, sandwiching a gooey filling.

You take a bite and you’re surprised by how delicate and rich it is. The toast melts in your mouth and leaves behind the aroma of butter and eggs and the delightfully chilled sweetness of condensed milk coats your tongue.

Your expression must betray your reaction, because you see Moon smiling back at you so sweetly.

Eclipse is the main front of house, waiting tables and charming customers. and he’s also the barista, preparing a variety of drinks (and sometimes putting on a bit of a show while doing so). he can cook as well, but he leaves it mostly to Sun and Moon.

You have no idea how you got here. You decided to stop by the restaurant, only you forgot that today was their day off. However, you’ve learned that the chefs live in the apartment above the restaurant, which explains why Eclipse found you and let you in.

Now you were seated at the empty bar table, while the charming barista prepared you a drink.

“Here we are,” Eclipse gently places a glass in front of you.

Based on the colour, the ice, and the straw, you take a guess, “Iced coffee?”

“Half correct,” Eclipse chuckles and pours himself a glass as well. “It’s one of my old boss’s favourites. It’s called ‘yuenyeung’, a mixture of milk tea and coffee.”

“Oh, so ‘yuenyeung’,” you grimace at your butchered pronunciation, “means ‘tea-coffee’, I guess?”

Eclipse smiles. For the short while you’ve known him, you have learned you do not trust that smile. “No, ‘yuenyeung’ refers to a pair of mandarin ducks that look very different, male and female. They’re a symbol of conjugal love—a pair of two different elements coming together as one.”

You freeze as Eclipse chuckles and clinks your glass with his. “It’s more fragrant when it’s served warm, but it’s too hot for that today. I’ll save that treat for a day you need the warmth.”

He’s right. It is too hot for this today. You take your glass and sip on the straw, Even chilled, the aroma of black tea, coffee, and smooth milk is strong on your tongue.

Even after downing your entire glass, you still feel too hot.

[drdemonprince]

When other people say that they do not have enough time to get something done, they (often, if they're quite healthy) mean they are taking into account the time it takes to do the laundry and arrange new pieces of furniture and cook dinner and meet up with friends to see a movie and run to the post office or the hair dresser and take the dog for walks and do the dishes and paint their nails and drive to the store and go to their cousin's wedding and go to the barbecue their friend is throwing on the weekend

they don't winnow their life down to just spending time at the computer, working from when they wake up until they cannot focus their eyes anymore, granola bars, coffee, and bottles of water all around them because of course they did not take time to have lunch or breakfast, only dragging themselves away from work when they are truly too exhausted to do any of it anymore, and then lacking the energy to do much of anything that remains of life but to eat a tiny bit more, sponge themselves off, and go to sleep.

i just saw a video of a fursuiter on their bed, legs kicked back, head propped on their hands, delightedly announcing that after many years of hard work they had finally finished their Master's degree. And some part of me, some sick withered part, thought really? you had time to do a Master's degree while also getting a fursuit done? and going to conventions, presumably? you had time in the day to research fursuit makers, have a sona designed and drawn by someone else (or to draw it yourself), to contact a maker to make a duck tape dummy of yourself, and to have a friend over to help you make it and to cut it off of you, to send it in the mail to the maker, to then get it and make videos? you had time to set up this beautiful bedroom that i see in your video, with a soft pink sham on the bed and LED lights behind your bookshelf and lamps and all kinds of stuffed toys? you had a life? you were out playing, and dancing, and pursuing your hobbies, and you did a master's degree?

because when i was working on my doctorate, there was nothing. three layers of foam on the floor with a fitted sheet over it. a folding card table from aldi that had cost $40 that my grandparents got me. no food in the fridge. no time to even get the internet installed, just stolen wi-fi when my laptop could pick it up. i woke up, got dressed, and slunk into the office. i sat alone in the dark working until my hunger made me furious and i could not write another word. and then i walked to the grocery store, got something to subsist on, went home, ate, kickboxing video, went to sleep. every day. with almost nothing breaking the routine.

and ive gotten better, so much better, but my brain still kind of works that way. i feel like i have to quit my job and stop being a writer if i want to have hobbies. to paint my bedroom. to marinate a meat for longer than fifteen minutes. to get a driver's license again. to take a trip. but i dont want to be like that any more. how do people know when to stop? i feel like i have to give everything my absolute all until there is nothing left or else i have done nothing. i feel that i would have to treat a hobby like a job to get it done. I feel that anything that takes more than two minutes is a huge waste of time i must feel guilty for. i am working on all these things. jesus i have been working on them for years at this point. but because i have been so successful at telling people to do less, i get pulled in. interview. workshop invitation. email. urgent in the subject line. call from my agent. meeting request from my boss. new book idea, better sell it now while my sales figures still look good. recording studio session. deadline. writing. can you talk about this. can you talk about that. tag. email. book idea. deadline. long heartfelt email. still so often i have to take my own damn advice.

and this is why i am getting a fursuit made!! and going to cons! and going to leather and latex events! and making socials that are separate for these things!! i am going to let myself be silly and soft and do frivolous things. i am so sick of what i do to myself, all the pursuit of seeming like a strong mature adult.

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

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Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.  

A senseless daydream.  

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it.  Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape.  This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place.  It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.  

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt.  Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life.  And last week he was suddenly dead.  It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie.  All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor.  Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.  

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s.  Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste.  Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.  

Whatever you wanted. 

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke.  His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you.  He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him.  He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place.  Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick.  He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible.  Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible.  And for what?  For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions.  Pathetic, he knew.  But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.  

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man.  Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything.  He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come.  A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind.  And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver.  The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him.  He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better.  It was a lie.  He never had the flu.  He didn’t feel better.  He wanted to die.  And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive.  Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon.  His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones.  There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did.  A flaw in the system.  And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?  

Several.

He thought to himself.  

You could have gone to school, shown up.  

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no.  So.  Many.  Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death.  He couldn’t stop making excuses.  Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse.  For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together.  Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had.  It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision.  He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid.  Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed.  And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues.  Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies.  Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum.  Dancing in the living room.  Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees.  Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin.  Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense.  Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer.  That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised.  Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights.  Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in.  Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home.  Only he rarely did.  Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time.  Years and years of push back.  A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.  

“My dad has a ton of jobs.”  He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.  

The kids would snicker.  Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness.  And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day.  Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them.  Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature.  At least that’s how dad described it.  It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse.  They called his dad a drunk.  They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged.  “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie.  Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time.  Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt.  And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up.  Closure in some kind of fucked up way.  Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with.  Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes.  Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability.  No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door.  He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it.  This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions.  He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world.  They shouldn’t have to worry about me.  With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana.  A life he’d always longed for anyway.  

Be careful what you wish for.  

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away.  “One slip up…”  They had said.  It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him.  Literally anyone.  As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.  

Cause he was nothing if not a problem.  First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.  

“Eddie?!”  

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry.  The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.”  His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime.  “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear.  Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen.  With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made.  You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“Shh.”  You soothe. 

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose.  A wordless commitment.  Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere.  You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure.  Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had.  Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at.  He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.  

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house.  Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred.  If either spoke it would make it real.  Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him.  There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind.  Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip.  It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.  

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him.  In the standard of fight or flight, he froze.  Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together.  His croaking voice made that hard.  But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability.  And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime.  Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him.  Maybe that was dare you even think it, love.  But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions.  Conclusions you backtracked on immediately.  It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.      

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–”  A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.”  His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior.  “I shouldn’t–”  There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath.  “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn.  Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet.  Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.  

“How’d you know?”  He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.  

“Wayne called me.”  You sigh.  “Said he got my number from Steve.  Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?”  At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it.  “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in.  Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.”  You assure, taking care to relax your features.  “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out.  He wanted me to check in.  I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.”  You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again.  You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick.  The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor.  There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better.  You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again.  It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.  When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage.  In his eyes.

“But I will be.  Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses.  Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble.  A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.”  You demand.

“No, Bambi.  Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key.  Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself.  And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses.  His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness.  Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in.  He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!”  Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow.  “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down.  I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it.  My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.”  Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze.  A plea.  “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in.  I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal.  It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him.  The room turned colder, more vacant.  Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart?  His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall.  The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.  

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended.  Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness.  Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what?  Stormed off?  Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat.  He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other.  And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness.  The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut.  An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.”  You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth.   “And I did.  You didn’t say how long or—or where to go.  But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake.  Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.  

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips.  Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you.  Your boy.  

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense.  Bambi and Eddie.  There is not one without the other, not anymore.  Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”  

It just fell from his tongue.  A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious?  Is that what you’re gonna ask?”  He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping.  Not because you’re afraid, no, never.  You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts.  “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.  

“Bad.”  He reiterates.  “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.”  Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip.  “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it.  And I’ll run with it.  Far.  Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.” 

“I’m a pathetic man.  Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”  

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.”  You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.”  He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.  

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.”  You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow!  Jesus fuck.”  Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek.  “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of.  Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.  

“Can you…can you do that again?”  He whispers.  Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck.  His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest  wet dreams.  

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail.  And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

 He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.  

“Like that, baby?”  You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.”  A whisper that tells you everything.  “I-I never—no one’s ever—“  He tries to warn you.

“What?”  You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe.  “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”  

“Just my hand.”  Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap.  Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his.  Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.  

“We can stop.”  You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.”  His voice shakes, chest heaving.  “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”  

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him.  But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable.  Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.”  You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him.  “Let me take care of you.”  

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles.  You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you.  His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.  

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far.  His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.”  You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.”  He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria.  “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.  

“Please, baby.  Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.  

“You bought condoms?  Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.  

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!”  You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back.  You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?”  You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.  

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care.  Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed.  You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you.  Purely Eddie.  Woodsy and minty.  A tad smoky.  And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room.  And then it plays.  A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love.  A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.  

“Well alright, cowboy.”  You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.  

“Shut up.”  He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.  

“C’mere.”  You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you.  “Wanna see you.” 

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach.  Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago.  The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined.  While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side.  Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him.  Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants.  Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.  

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet.  But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.  

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side.  His eyes grow, lips parted in awe.  And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.  

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control.  And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.  

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval.  That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it.  Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red.  Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.”  While grinding into nothing, poor boy.  “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands.  You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth.  Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps.  Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair. 

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot.  Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned.  Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone.  The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom.  The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.  

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm.  Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.  

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting.  The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

 Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds.  Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what.  Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime.  Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm.  His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted.  You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark.  All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you.  He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.  

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless.  Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit.  Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”.  That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close.  Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.  

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart.  Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.  

It could help though.  And that’s all that mattered.  If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing.  If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.  

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree.  Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar.  Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works.  Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.  

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did.  Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste.  Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.  

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes.  While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet.  Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity.  Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips.  A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”  You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.  

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth.  It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.  

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?”  He laughs, voice husky with sleep.  

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”  

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created.  Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow.  He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”  

Eddie just stared. 

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!”  You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you.  When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.  

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse.  I just didn’t.  I’m sorry.”  His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck.  And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you.  I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.”  You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table.  Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you.  Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute.  He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing. 

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I.  Love.  You.”  You enunciate each word with a peck.  “Point blank.  No exceptions.  You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man?  We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records.  A huge stack of them.  All genres.  Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal.  It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling.  That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?”  You scoff.  “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school.  You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach.  He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.  

And he was blushing. 

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me.  I picked some out that I knew you’d like.  Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them.  Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him.  Like Pandora’s box or something.  Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper.  A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold.  His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper.  It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head.  Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture.  At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said. 

“No fucking way.”  He smiles, half laughs.  Then repeats himself.  Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around.  Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.  

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table.  The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other.  Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between.  His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three.  Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled.  Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere.  You miss it.  But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything.  Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi.  Makes small talk with mom and grandma.  Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day.  No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her.  He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang.  Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual.  Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background.  Something about a broken sled.  Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either.  This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on.  Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default.  She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially.  Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house.  Beautiful in the summertime.  Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays.  One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

[rowlfthedog]

I’m kind of surprised no one’s ever been in my inbox like “you are SEVERELY misinterpreting Rowlf the Dog. For this you will PAY.” Because I’ve felt that way (in private) about people’s wildly inaccurate headcanons for various fandoms before. To be entirely fair Rowlf is rather simple, but I love to make shit up based on how I think his various media appearances would connect to each other if this was ever acknowledged in canon. Random headcanon post I’m writing up instead of eating breakfast.

Guy who says “penny for your thoughts?” To his patrons at the bar and is kind to all, except he not-so-secretly thinks that One Guy he was in commercials with (Baskerville) is super irritating and wishes he could get away from him. Guy who is kind to all and very passionate about positive healthy children’s media (Jim used Rowlf to pitch Sesame Street)! Even if he does NOT want his own kids. Maybe you’ve seen how he interacts with his Nephew on Jimmy Dean. Appreciates the youth even if they get him irritated. Guy who swears about washed up celebrities on late night tv while he treats himself to a beer or a cigar before bed going to bed at 9 pm. Guy who used to be a lot more eager to be a film star when he was younger and tv was in black and white. Guy who was pretty ready to settle down and quit auditioning at the beginning of the muppet movie, but figured oh what the hell, these guys seem like they need the help of someone seasoned in this area. Everyone thinks he’s one of the most talented people they’ve met. He doesn’t talk about his past in the entertainment business much.

Even though I could not care less about shipping, I think piano duet is really cute. I’ve also seen Rowlf/Kermit since those two have appeared together in media forever since they’re some of Jim’s earliest characters. I appreciate the intent behind these, but I honestly do not see anyone being close enough to Rowlf to even know his exact age or family life. They’re all friends, sure, but I think that once it’s time to clock out he kinda just slinks away to go take a walk and head to sleep. His house smells like beer, smoke, dog, and Old Man. It is somehow kind of pleasant. It gets stuck in your clothes if you visit him. He does not get a lot of visitors. Rowlf is a lot more “dog” than everyone assumes just by interacting with him casually in a work setting. He still takes his long walks. If you ask first he really does love being scratched behind the ears.

[emepe]

— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers

— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?

— Chapter summary: A perfect morning with the perfect guy with plans for the perfect life together.

— Content warnings: slightly nsfw, mention of unprotected sex.

— Notes: Welcome back to TV Friday! Please read the notes at the end for an important notice. Don’t be shy to stop by my ask box <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!

Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist

the thing about perfection

Eren Jaeger has always had a perfect life. He was born to two loving parents with high-paying jobs that provided him with a lovely home, delicious food, fun trips, and any education he craved. 

He had the perfect mix of genes, too. He grew up to be handsome, smart, and kind. He bagged a job he loved straight out of graduating and his parents helped him get his first apartment, one that others could only dream of living in had they not been born into a life of penny-pinching.

Everything was laid out for him to take as he pleased. It's a good thing he was never overly ambitious. 

The only time things were rough was when his father passed, but even then he coped in healthy ways and barely felt the stumble, thanks to his loving mother and tight-knit friends.

Everything had always been perfect, even now as he wakes up in his spacious apartment, to the sleeping face of his beautiful girlfriend, who only has a few minutes before her alarm begs her to wake. 

“Good morning, baby,” he murmurs when you start stirring under the sheets at the first ring of your alarm. 

He smiles when your hold on his waist only tightens, his daily reminder of how much you struggle with being pulled away from his perfect, warm self. He chuckles softly, granting you your usual ten minutes of extra bed time as his hand gently massages your scalp and he presses a kiss to your forehead.

When you finally look up at him, you're wearing a lazy smile, that beautiful lazy smile that only makes him fall deeper in love and drives his heart into a craze.

He kisses you once, twice, then again, and again, and again. Until soon enough, you're fully naked under the sheets, making love and voicing each other's names in breathless saccharine tones. 

It's enough to make you run a few minutes behind on your schedule. But it doesn't matter, you figure you can be late to work at least once. So while Eren heads to the kitchen to make you breakfast after wiping you clean of his cum, you get changed and take your daily pill. 

“What's all this?” you ask once you take a seat at the bar.

There's a spread of fruit, pancakes, hash browns, eggs, bacon, bread and jams. It's a lot, even for the two of you.

He shrugs.

“I just wanna make this day special from start to finish.”

You give him a weird look as you slowly chew on a strawberry.

“What?” he innocently asks. “Five months is a big deal to me.” 

You smile. 

“Every month is a big deal to you,” you tease.

He laughs.

“Okay, fine. Make fun of me all you want. But can you blame me?” he asks as he rounds the bar. You instinctively let him settle between your thighs, ignoring the creases it inflicts on the skirt of your dress. “I'm a man in love.”

You giggle as he brushes his nose against yours and he mirrors your smile before pressing his lips to yours.

“You're so cheesy,” you grin as he pulls back. 

“Maybe so, but you're never getting rid of me.”

You laugh as you help yourself to a hash brown. 

“I never said I wanted to.” 

You take a bite of your hash brown, your face instantly lighting up at the crispy texture and flavor. You give Eren an enthusiastic thumbs-up before sampling everything in front of you.

Eren adores watching you. It fills a cavity in his chest he hadn't known was there until he met you, and it swells him with pride to know he's had a hand in making you happy.

His smile slowly fades into a more serious expression as he watches your delighted reactions to the scrambled eggs cooked to perfection. 

He brings a hand to your hair, playing with the locks between two fingers. 

“I'm so fucking in love with you,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?” you smile.

He nods as you turn to him once more, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer.

“No doubt about it. I'm crazy about you.”

“How much?” you tease. 

He pecks the corner of your mouth.

“I'd die for you.”

Your life has never been perfect. You were born into a broken home with a father who wiped his memory of your existence and a mother who would've preferred you'd never been at all. You struggled and suffered, hurt and stumbled many times. You were deceived and tossed away, beaten in more ways than one by life and the people in it.

The only times things were alright have no place in your memory, except for those that happened after meeting your friends and the first real love of your life in your mid-twenties. A bit of a late start for good things to occur in your life, but well appreciated. 

Now, everything is perfect — as perfect as it's ever gotten for you. Your perfect boyfriend holds your hand as he expertly switches lanes and cruises down the highway to take you to your steady job where you get to gossip with your best friend.

The universe can have favorites sometimes, and it's clear to you that Eren is one of them, as he manages to catch every green light on the way to your office building to get you on time. 

It's a popular theory that you attract what you need, so perhaps it's a good thing you found Eren. It's thanks to him that you get to stand in the glow of his good fortune. 

The late March air is crisp and fresh on your face, complemented by the warmth and sweet smell of spring that swoops in through the open windows of Eren's car. 

When he pulls up to your office, you bid him goodbye with a kiss and a promise to see each other that evening to celebrate your five months together over dinner.

“And I have a surprise for you,” he murmurs against your lips, causing you to pull back and raise a suspicious eyebrow. “Well, it's more like news, and of course, I want your opinion, but…” he trails off with a shrug.

“Are you pregnant or something?”

He chuckles, shaking his head.

“No, not that. But it's really good stuff. You'll love it, I swear.” 

You hum in contemplation before pressing a kiss to his cheek and hooking your bag in the crook of your elbow.

“I'll see you later, then. I love you.”

He smiles as he watches you get out of the car and shut the door. 

“I love you. I'll be back at six.”

He spares a moment to watch you leave, waving goodbye when you look back after walking a few steps, as you always do, with a big smile on your face and your eyes crinkled in joy.

After you disappear through the revolving doors, he leaves.

The coffee shop is quieter than usual as the early afternoon weather wavers between cool and warm, making loyal customers debate between picking from the cold menu or the hot one. 

You sip on your iced tea enthusiastically, much so that Armin watches you with amusement through the long pauses in your conversation for you to satiate your thirst. 

“Oh, wow,” you sigh after finishing off your drink with a loud slurp. “That's the best iced tea I've ever had.”

You feel the tea refreshing your stomach as you lean back into your chair.

“I can tell,” Armin chuckles as he stirs the ice of his coffee with the straw. 

“What were you saying?” you ask, simultaneously trying to recall where your conversation left off. 

“We were talking about your plans for tonight. Congratulations on your five months, by the way.” 

You smile appreciatively. 

“Oh, right. And thank you. Eren's making dinner for me and, apparently, he has some news to share that he wants my opinion on.”

“Sounds fishy,” Armin murmurs, to which you giggle. 

“He said it's good,” you reply with a shrug. “I'm excited either way.” 

“I can see that, too,” Armin smiles. “You're practically glowing.”

Your face warms as a nervous giggle sputters from your lips. 

“It's just… gosh, he's so great.”

You smile to yourself, your happy expression finding itself mirrored across Armin's features, as well.

“Would it be cheesy if I tell you how in love I am?” 

“It'd be cruel considering I don't have a girlfriend of my own to be cheesy about,” Armin mutters with feigned annoyance. 

“Aw,” you pout. “So much for being Cupid.”

He laughs.

“I know, right?”

“Don't worry, you'll find someone.”

“That's what people who date always tell their single friends so they don't kill themselves,” he deadpans, to which you laugh in return. 

He sighs dramatically.

“It's my own fault for focusing my romantic abilities on getting other people together. I could've been married by now.”

A sympathetic smile finds its way to your face.

“Well, you're a total catch. Maybe you'll meet someone at the big Jeankasa wedding.”

His face lights up with renewed optimism.

“Or yours and Eren's, even.” 

He grins slyly when he notices your efforts to suppress a smile.

“Oh, I don't know if we're there yet. There's still a lot more to experience, I think.”

Armin's brow furrows slightly.

If there's one thing he knows about his best friend, it's that he's not one to date for fun. And considering how adamant you were about not getting involved with someone, to now being the most thrilled when it comes to the mere mention of Eren's name, it's hard to imagine formalities haven't been discussed.

“You guys haven't talked about it?” 

You shrug.

“A couple times,” you bashfully reply. “I mean, not a wedding, specifically. Just… the future, you know? Moving in together has been on the table before. I try not to get too excited but… it's hard. And I don't really want to picture myself with anyone else. They just wouldn't compare to him.”

Armin nods, his lips perked into a small smile at your shyness as he takes a sip of his coffee. 

“I guess,” you murmur pensively. Armin lowers his glass and raises his eyebrows in attention. “If Eren wants to… I'd say yes to anything.”

The walk back to the office is littered with jokes and cheerful banter, as well as the usual bitter remarks from having to return to work. 

But it's odd. It's been a while since you've felt genuine dread for anything. It's as if the past few months have converted you into a more accurate portrait of the girl with a colorful apartment, and you're almost certain you can pinpoint the start of these refreshing times. It's been about five months. 

Armin treads to his side of the floor once outside of the elevator, raising his palm as a goodbye before turning on his heel.

You smile to yourself as you head back to your desk, quietly humming a cheerful tune without any real structure.

It's not until a coworker sitting at their cubicle a few feet away opens the Tupperware container to have lunch at their desk while continuing to juggle their workload that the light drains from your face. 

The smell of their food wafts in your direction, spurring an unpleasant feeling that bubbles from your stomach and crawls up your throat. 

Strange, you think. 

It's not as if there are rotten tones to your coworker’s lunch, or that it's especially pungent, and yet you're having a hard time trying to ignore it. 

You stand from your desk, walking with as much composure as you can manage to the restroom. But once you're in the privacy of a stall, you've no power to stop your stomach from turning inside out.

“Now, just cover with the lid and let it simmer,” Carla's voice echoes in the kitchen from where Eren's phone is propped against the toaster. 

“Should I do the asparagus next?” Eren calls out as he follows his mother's instructions for her bolognese recipe. 

He could've easily looked one up on the internet, but he's been adamant about using the exact recipes for your favorite dishes from the time you've been together, or at least the best he can manage to recreate on his own. Perhaps he was going a bit overboard, but it's not like he cares. Five might not seem as much of a milestone as other numbers, and it's true Eren made a big deal of every month you've spent together, but this one had to be perfect.

At the risk of having time claw at his feet, he left the grocery shopping for this morning, so you couldn't figure out his plans. He made sure to carefully stash the evidence of his big surprise; wiped the relevant search history on his computer, and tucked the pictures and messages with the real estate agent behind a code. 

He's been sneaking looks at the photos all day. An apartment that perfectly matches the cozy vibes from your place and the space and luxury from his. A place he can clearly imagine being decorated with pastel colors, ceramic figurines, books, and hand-made blankets with little effort.

He knows you'll say yes this time, and he knows you'll be especially thrilled to find out he found the perfect pink bathtub to switch out the plain white ceramic one that comes with the place he's been secretly viewing for two weeks. 

Living with you has been on his mind for months. It wasn't until he found the very apartment he's planning to show you in a few hours that he felt overwhelmed with relief — as if things were falling into place. His willpower has been working overtime to make sure he doesn't jump the gun before tonight. And yet he couldn't help from acting extra giddy for the past two weeks. It's a miracle you haven't caught on.

“I think you can leave those until the end. Those are done in twenty, hon.” 

Eren nods along to his mother's instructions as he tackles on another load of dirty dishes. He glances at the time on his screen while scrubbing, exchanging a smile with Carla as he scrubs a pan. 

“Did you see the photos I sent you?” Eren grins.

“The place is incredible,” Carla gushes. “She'll be over the moon.”

“Thanks for calling about the bathtub, by the way,” Eren blushes. Had it not been for Carla and her connections, he wouldn't have gotten his hands on the last standing unit of the discontinued pink bathtub model from the poolhouse. 

“No problem, hon. Keith owed me one.” 

She watches her son as he gingerly stacks a pot on the drying rack beside him before patting his hands dry with a tea towel. 

“Can I see the ring?” Carla asks.

“What?” 

Eren's eyes widen, though it's hard to tell if it's in surprise or confusion. His reaction causes Carla to nervously laugh.

“You're proposing, right?” she asks, though her voice wavers the slightest bit, reflecting her nerves from possibly speaking out of line. 

In any case, Eren is always open to share parts of his life with his mother, but she's never been one to speak out on her suspicions first, always granting him the opportunity to come forward on his own.

Eren knows how much Carla adores you. Their weekly call time has been sliced by half to chat with you, too. So perhaps it's her excitement over Eren's meticulous planning for a special night with the girl he's called the first real love of his life that's driven her to imagine bigger plans behind the scenes. 

He knows his mother well, so he can only shyly laugh at her assumptions before clarifying.

“I'm not proposing yet, mom. I'm just asking her to move in with me,” he smiles. 

Carla could've reacted in embarrassment had her ears not zeroed in on the word ‘yet’. 

So she only nods, her mouth forming an ‘ah’ shape. 

“Okay, okay. I get it now. My god, I thought tonight was the night… but not tonight… not yet… I see.”

She slyly eyes Eren through the screen, to which he sputters an embarrassed laugh.

“Mom,” he partially whines. 

The corners of her eyes crinkle in amusement. 

“Oh, come on! She's an amazing girl and anyone can see how much you love each other. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.” 

She narrows her eyes, prepared to scold him if he says anything that doesn't align with her wish to have you join the family. 

“We've talked about… stuff.” Eren blushes profusely at the end, which only causes Carla's giddiness to skyrocket. Her image on the screen is more of a girl friend squealing over crushes than that of a mother conversing with her son. 

“Mom,” Eren whines again, though his lips curve into a grin. “Relax. We've got a long way to go. Moving in is just… it makes sense for us, right now.” He smiles. “And we're taking things slow, okay? Give me a few more months and I'll call you from Vegas.”

“Eren Jaeger, if you elope, I swear–”

She's cut off by Eren's laughter. 

“Relax,” he repeats, holding his hands up in defense as if Carla could slap him through the screen. “But to keep you at ease… it's in our plans. Just give us time.” 

It's been seven minutes since you've stepped back into your office building, and ten since you stepped out of it the first time, only to not spot Eren's car waiting for you. 

It's unlike him to be late unless he's behind on work. But as far as you know, he asked for a couple days off, so it wouldn't make sense to say that's it. 

The building is empty, save for the security guard who's doing a final sweep of the floors before locking up. It's only a matter of minutes before they return to find you back inside the lobby. 

You pull out your phone from your jacket pocket. No missed calls, no new messages. 

It's been twelve minutes now.

You press the call button beside Eren's name and press the phone to your ear. 

The line is busy. 

Frowning, you try again. 

He picks up on the first ring. A breath of relief escapes your lips when you hear his voice.

“I know, I know. I lost track of time. I'm on my way, don't worry,” Eren's strained voice comes through your phone's speaker as you can only assume he's rushing around his apartment in search of his essentials for going out. 

You smile sympathetically as you adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. With a quick glance at the time, and seeing that the security guard is already stepping into the lobby once more, twirling the keys around on finger, you decide to relieve Eren of his self-imposed duty.

“Relax, it's okay. Just stay there, I'll take the bus,” you reply with nonchalance.

You sense a bit of hesitation on his end. On the other side of the line, Eren is torn between finishing up dinner or going to pick you up. He still hasn't showered, and it would break the flow of the evening if he disappeared to do so after bringing you home to the spread he's so close to completing. The oven timer still has a handful of minutes to go and it's messing with his rationality. 

“Eren?” 

Your voice grounds him.

“I can be there in fifteen. I just gotta… um… finish something here and…” 

You smile. He can't see it, but he hears it in your voice when you reply.

“It's fine, really. I can catch the next bus,” you reassure him, glancing at your watch and mentally calculating the minutes you have to reach the bus stop. “Just stay there.”

A few seconds go by before Eren speaks again, still in limbo for his decision. 

“You got your taser on you?” 

You smile, already knowing he would ask that, and you pat the device over your jacket pocket as if he could see you. 

“Of course.”

He sighs, but gives in. 

“Okay, but call me when you're close, yeah?”

You agree as you begin walking in direction to the bus stop. 

Your hand fiddles nervously with the strap of your bag as you hear more rustling on his end, likely made by his jacket which you can imagine being thrown back onto the sofa before he returns to whatever it was that kept him busy before your call. 

“Eren?” 

“Yeah?”

“Remember this morning? When you said you had news?”

You can hear Eren's smile in his hummed reply as a timer goes off faintly in the background, which he hurries to stop. The beeping ceases and you giggle to yourself as you start to piece together what's going on.

You decide to play the oblivious card anyway as you finish walking the first of four blocks to the bus stop. 

“Sorry,” Eren murmurs. “You were saying?”

A fluttering sensation stirs in your stomach as you take a deep breath. Your voice comes out as soft as always, but with a tinge of shyness that only Eren can pick up on. 

“Just… I have something I want to tell you, too.” 

Eren doesn't know why, but your measured words cause his entire body to warm. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, gently chewing on your bottom lip as you hug your jacket tighter around your stomach. “I'll tell you when I get there okay?” 

He smiles.

“Okay.”

“I love you. I really, really love you, Eren Jaeger.”

An airy laugh comes through the speaker as he voices your full name in the same loving manner.

“I love you more. I really, really love you.”

“I'll see you soon.”

It's been fifteen minutes since Eren got out of the shower, twenty-five since he finished fixing dinner, and thirty-three since your call ended. 

You should be walking through the door any minute. 

Eren lights the candles at the center of the table, humming a nonsensical tune to himself as his giddiness only amplifies and he can practically hear you jiggling your key in the door, swinging it open to his carefully crafted romantic view. 

There's a low, square gift box at your end of the table, tied with a satin ribbon, guarding print copies of the photos from an apartment you'll meet the next day. He can picture you looking up at him in confusion and he'll be wearing the biggest smile on his face and the sweatiest hands when he asks you to live together.

He sits down, pulling out his phone to swipe through the copies of the photos on his phone one last time. With each picture of an empty space, he can vividly imagine where your books would go, where he'll place the sofa that he'll tackle you with kisses on, the kitchen where you'll watch him cook and he'll watch you bake, the window where you'll sit, curled into a blanket in the winter with a mug of tea nursed in your hands. 

His heart beats erratically at his own imagination. 

He taps on his messages, checking for any indication that you might be close. But perhaps it's better if you don't get distracted by texting or calling him. And it makes for the most pleasant butterflies to stir even wilder in his stomach at the anticipation. 

He sets his phone down, tapping anxiously on the table. 

Any minute, you'll be there. Any minute, you'll see the photos. Any minute, he'll kiss you and tell you how much he loves you. Any minute, you'll be over the moon, jumping up to join his daydreams on how to fill the place you'll share. Any minute now, things will fall into place and life will be perfect.

Any minute now. Any minute.

On a relatively quiet alley, at the half point between an office building and a bus stop, where nobody has shown concern to surveil, a broken angel wing cast in silver lays on the ground.

It's too small and too far to catch the light from the street lamp on the main street, but it lies there, hidden in shadows, broken and dirty, its original perfectly crafted form lost forever. 

But the thing about perfection is that it doesn’t truly exist.

Previous chapter | Next chapter (tba) 

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Notes: Tunnel Vision will be going on a brief hiatus. If you are a strings fan thinking history is repeating itself, worry not! I WILL be coming back to this series in a couple weeks. I’m afraid I burned myself out by pumping out so many chapters in such a short time and I don’t want to half-ass this series. Tunnel Vision will be back! I’ll add a tba date to the chapter guide once I start writing for this series again. In the meantime, thank you for the support and feel free to slip into my ask box :)

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[dutiful-wildcraft]

TW: disordered eating, food insecurity

Soap grew up as a chubby boy, his whole family was really, stalky with healthy layers of fat over there bones, a combination of lifestyle and just plain ole genetics. It was a point of pride from his mam, who fed them potatoes and rice and pastas, easy and cheap carbs to keep her babies bellies full despite their struggling income.

Johnny, who'd never felt bad about it until school, where his peers teased him for his soft rolls and clothes that fit him just shy of too tight. Johnny who scarfed down all the food on his tray at lunch and never wasted a bite.

It broke his heart more to see it aimed at his sisters. His beautiful sisters, with their sweet round faces and kind smiles. The same sisters who shared his bulky shoulders and soft tummy, who gave the warmest cuddles and best advice.

Soap who started to bulk up and become leaner to beat anyone's ass who dare insult them again.

Soap who still has stretch marks on his thighs and belly well into his career, stripes he still wears with pride.

Gaz who has a food aversion from a childhood filled with obsessions over carbs and calories and sugars. His gran and mum, who were viciously concerned about their own figures when he was just a boy.

Gaz who lived in an “ingredient household.” Gaz who had to sneak food in the night for fear of punishment. Gaz who's snacks were nasty protein bars or meal replacement shakes. Gaz who was trained to look at every food label and compare nutrition facts, who cut his food into tiny pieces, or ate only in a certain order. (Chugging water makes you feel full he'd learned) Gaz who started checking his body and weight multiple times a day.

Gaz who still struggles despite trying to repair his relationship with food well into adulthood. On base, chugging an energy drink and eating a granola bar for breakfast isn't blinked at. Not eating at all doesn't look suspicious when out in dangerous operations.

Soap learns to refuse Gaz when he innocently tries to offer up the rest of his dinner in the mess. Ghost who peels off all the nutrition labels on the food when he grocery shops for the team. Price who makes sure they both stay fed when together on ops.

Ghost who had been scrawny his whole life. Little Simon who's ribs were visible, who's skin bruised like a peach. Who ate what little they could scrounge up but still saved some for his mum and Tommy.

Simon who is averse to food textures, who struggled to choke down whatever meager meal that was put in front of him.

Simon who's stress and anxiety chronically made his stomach hurt, made putting on weight nearly impossible, made eating what was put in front of him miserable when he knew his father would beat him if he refused to eat the broccoli that made his stomach churn.

Simon who got a job at the butcher shop as soon as he could. Who packed home the trash cuts so he and his family could have something of substance.

Simon who was turned away from the military the first time because he couldn't meet weight requirements.

Simon who gorged himself on meat and rice until he wanted to vomit, just to force some weight on.

Simon who learned to chew fast and swallow quickly with the disgusting textures of military gruel.

Simon who now eats the same meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday on base without fail. Simon who still cant bring himself to waste a single thing put in front of him, regardless of if it pains him to do so.

[readerswritings]

In the Damn Kitchen - Poolverine 1/2

Smut will come in next chapter I promise, just needed to get this part out into the world first to see if people like it. (AO3)

Warnings/tags: roommates, first Kiss, idiots in love, eventual smut, canon-typical behavior

Wordcount: 1224

Summary: Logan and Wade are some weird kind of roomates, and one morning Logan tries to figure out how to make Wade shut the fuck up without getting blood in his breakfast.

Logan has been staying with Wade on his shitty pull-out couch for three months. Something that was meant to be somewhat temporary is feeling less and less like that these days.

They still fight physically, stabbing each other and making a mess (that Al complains about later), but they also just hang out.

Which Logan isn’t used to.

Not anymore.

Haven’t been for a good while.

Wade has grown on him, even with all the touching. And talking.

All the goddamn talking.

It rarely stops.

Wade talks on the inhale and exhale.

Not even when he eats is Wade quiet, talking with his mouth full of food. He has been doing it less lately, after Logan stabbed him with a fork a few times so he wouldn’t have to see that shit.

Wade is only quiet when he’s sleeping.

Logan has returned late from a bar or late-night walks a few times to Wade asleep on the pullout. Seeing him quiet and still had been odd. Wade’s ADHD filled ass never being still when he’s awake. 

Wade also sleeps like he’s dead. Logan had discovered this when he tried to wake him so he would move the first time. It was legitimately difficult to wake him up. So after that first time where it took an eternity to get him conscious enough to move, Logan either goes to sleep in the armchair he had gotten off the street the first week he was here, or tips Wade onto the floor with a pillow if he is in a bad mood. 

When he doesn’t give a shit, he’ll just crawl onto the pullout with Wade. He tends to wake up before him anyway. The few times he doesn’t, a few claws to the guts makes Wade shut up, or at least talk about something else.

Another thing he hasn’t quite gotten used to, is how casual Wade is about touch.

Sure, Wade had been touching him a bunch when they first met. But that had been to rile Logan up, to get a reaction, even if it was all negative. (The Honda doesn’t count in any positive way, the intent behind all of that had been hate and adrenaline. Even if the end result had been good.)

Now though, it’s a hand patting his shoulder as they pass in the kitchen. A thigh bumping against his own as they watch shitty reality tv. Feet kicking him under the dinner table if he says something too blunt or rude. A shoulder bumping against his as they walk that damn ugly dog together.

It makes his skin crawl, mostly with how used to it he has become. And how he kinda, not that he will admit this to anyone but his own thoughts, likes it.

It’s all become routine, a weird kind of domestic, (Logan hates that word), that works for them.

Speaking of routine, Logan often makes breakfast for them. Wade can barely cook, Al is blind, and Logan doesn’t mind that much most of the time. He needs to eat a lot anyway, and getting something into Wade that is somewhat healthy and not just all sugar makes him a little less irritating to deal with during the day.

Wade of course likes to tease him when he cooks. Stealing bites before it’s ready. Logan has become quite adept at fighting just with a spatula, smacking hands away with a grunted ‘fuck off.’

He’s off his game this morning though, as Wade manages to snatch a piece of bacon, straight from the pan where it was almost finished. Logan knows it must be burning his mouth and tongue, but Wade crunches on his price with a grin on his face. 

He’s wearing Deadpool pajama pants, bunny slippers, and a pink long sleeve with Hello Kitty on it, and frankly looks ridiculous leaning on the counter, extra so next to Logan who is fully dressed for the day in his flannel, t-shirt, jeans, and boots.

“Haven’t had enough coffee yet peanut?” Logan grunts, smacking Wade’s hand as it tries to go for another piece. 

“Fuck off.”

“Oh you know I love it when you talk dirty to me, even this early in the morning.”

“It’s 10 am dipshit.”

“Oh you know the saying, it’s always 5 am somewhere.” Logan snorts, shaking his head. He grabs a plate to put the finished bacon on, putting some more in the pan. He lets Wade take a piece from the plate.

“Besides, I kept waking up because my dreams were being haunted by this sexy lumberjack looking figure, and I woke up with a raging hard-on that I had to take care of every-” Logan tunes him out, a necessary and learned skill by now. He flips the bacon, then stirs the eggs in the other pan where he’s keeping them warm on low heat.

There’s a hand in his hair, and that makes his focus snap back to Wade and his yapping. 

“You know, I always wonder if you roll out of bed with these little tufts.” Logan pushes his hand away, letting the claws out just enough so he knicks Wade’s skin. 

“Ouchie, someone’s a grump this morning. You’ve clearly not gotten enough caffeine in your hot bod yet. We should get that coffee that has a fuckton of it, the one with the skull or whatever, that lethal shit. Wonder if that would actually kill you, do you think your heart could give out on you? I think they even make you sign a wai-” Logan tunes him out again and wonders what it will take to shut Wade up. He is right, Logan has not had enough coffee for this. (Or booze, but he’s trying to do a little less of that.) 

Logan absentmindedly notices one of Wade’s scars on his cheek looks kinda almost like an H, and his mind drifts to the Honda. Unintentional, though not unwelcome

He’d rather not get blood on his bacon right now, so he goes for another component of all that shit.

He steps to the side and turns, leaning forward, pressing his lips against Wade’s. It’s a brief kiss, but Wade doesn’t immediately say anything as Logan leans back just enough to gauge his reaction. He's enjoying the silence as Wade's eyes are flickering all over his face.

Wade’s mouth is gaping like a fish, opening and closing before his brain is booting back up. It makes Logan snort as he leans back all the way back.

The silence lasts for maybe thirty seconds.

“What the fuck peanut? You interupted me mid-monologue, that was fucking rude you-”

“Thought it would shut you up, but I see that didn’t work.” Logan takes a step back, but is hauled back by hands twisted in the collar of his flannel.

“Oh no, you are not going anywhere until I get an explanation, or more.” Logan arches a brow, hands at his side, not touching Wade. The urge to punch or stab him is rising. 

And the urge to kiss him. 

Again. 

He knows all of the options would work for Wade.

“I gave you an explanation.” 

“Grew tired of the claws old man? Don’t wanna stab this supple fle-”

“God you are desperate.” Logan doesn’t know if he means it as an insult or a compliment, but kisses Wade again anyway.

[makethatelevenrings]

Angel by the Wing - Twenty Six

Chapter Warnings: smut 18+ ONLY, swearing, bar fight, pregnant reader, minor injury and mention of blood

Series Masterlist (mobile masterlist)

It was a new kind of peace that you felt, waking up like this. Music played softly in the distance as you came back to the world of the living. The soft cotton of Jake’s shirt rode up to rest below your chest and the soft yet scratchy hair of your boyfriend brushed against your stomach. He hummed along to the music, the occasional phrase or lyric slipping out and dancing across your skin.

“Frankie Valli, hmm?” you said in greeting. Bradley lifted his head so his chin rested on your hip and grinned. You reached out, fingers brushing along his cheek, and hummed. Bradley ducked his head down and peppered kisses against the slight rounding of your stomach. Pushing your fingers through his hair, you smiled at the mesmerized look in his eyes.

“Can’t wait till she starts moving,” he admitted.

“She? Jake is pretty sure it’s a boy.”

He pressed a kiss to your navel and then moved back up to lay face to face with you. The haze of sleep still clung to his eyes and he needed to shave and trim his mustache, but he was very much your Bradley.

“I really can’t give a shit if she’s a girl or a boy. I only care that you, and the baby, are healthy. Okay?” He cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking delicate lines across your cheeks. You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Anything feels wrong or weird and you tell us, yeah? I did some reading and there’s…god, angel, so much is going to change.”

“I know. I’m kinda fucking terrified. But we’re all in this together, right?”

He grinned, easy and calming and confident. “Yeah, sweetheart. You, me, and Hangman. We’ve got this.”

“He making breakfast?”

“Oh yeah. Something about how he would be a terrible boyfriend if he left us to starve and an even worse father if he let baby eat only cereal.”

The title of “father” burned through your chest and ignited some sort of primal reaction in you. Grasping Bradley’s wandering hand, you moved it down the length of your body until it rested at the part of you that ached for him.

Jake entered the bedroom with three plates balanced in his arms and paused to take in and appreciate the sight before him. You were splayed out in bed, small gasps and desperate whines escaping you, with both hands tugging at Bradley’s curls. The brunet rested between your spread legs and ate you out like this was the only meal he needed to sustain himself.

“You better make sure she comes, Bradshaw,” Jake drawled as he moved further into the room. He set the plates down on the nightstand and then kneeled on the side of the bed so he could see your face. “He making you feel good, darlin’?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes glazed with pleasure, and Jake grinned. God, he loved the fact that he could see you like this. The cocky and composed woman falling apart at the touch of him and Bradley satisfied every want in his life.

He craved feeling wanted. He craved the knowledge that you let your walls down around him. Jacob Seresin had been many things in his life. A son, a teammate, a brother, a friend, an enemy, a one night stand, a fuck buddy. But a lover. A partner. A father. These were things he hadn’t considered he would ever get to be. He was always so sure he would be like his father and based on the things he said to Bradley in the past, he was sure he would never be able to step out of the shadow of Daniel Seresin.

He knew that if he voiced these thoughts, Bradley and you would tell him that he was wrong. That he was good and kind, even when he was being a dick. But he didn’t want to burden the two of you with his problems.

Your breathing hitched and you made that little delighted hum in the back of your throat that signaled you were close. Jake turned his attention back to you and watched as your eyes rolled back, lips parted, and your stomach flexed as your orgasm washed over you.

“What a fucking beauty,” he murmured as you relaxed. Bradley sat back, revealing the slick shine of his chin and his damp mustache. Before Jake could stop himself, he surged forward and captured Bradley’s face between his hands. He licked and sucked and kissed the taste of you off of his boyfriend's face.

“Is that waffles?” you croaked from your splayed out position. Jake grinned and looked back at your blissed out expression.

“With chocolate chips, whipped cream, and strawberries.”

You let out a satisfied hum. “I could get used to this.”

What you still weren’t used to was keeping this secret. Every time you saw Sofia and Phoenix at the Hard Deck, you had to bite your tongue in an effort to not tell them. You hadn’t even told Sarah yet in your visits since Tom’s death. You were quickly nearing the twelve week mark, but you desperately wanted to tell your friends.

Some jackass did it for you.

There were always the nights when some drunken fool came into the bar, three sheets to the wind and stumbling over his own feet. You had been doing this long enough to know when to cut someone off or to refuse service, but tonight was busier than normal and you were still trying to figure out how to maneuver around the bar with your new sense of balance and hidden bump under the baggy shirt Penny had acquired for you.

So you nearly missed the fight brewing until you called it out too late.

“Bethany!” You shouted. The assistant manager spotted the two men shouting in each other's faces, chest to chest, and she grimaced. You looked towards the table in the corner where your aviators sat and you wished they were closer.

Voices got louder and then suddenly, one of the guys' wives tossed her drink into the other guy's face and the fight was on.

“Fuck,” you swore. You hesitated. You couldn’t get in between them, not with the risk of getting hurt, but you certainly wouldn’t tell Bethany to break them up.

“Hey!” you shouted. “Take that shit outside!”

At least they could bloody each other up with minimal damage to the bar while you waited for the police to show up. But of course they weren’t listening to you. Fuck. The crowd around you was too deep and you could barely see either of your men.

“You fucking trash whore!” Great, now the other wife was involved. You turned to look at Bethany and saw she was already on the phone.

And then the sound of glass shattering mingled with the shock of ice cold liquid seeping down your back. Fuck, they had thrown a broken bottle directly at you. You grabbed a towel and pressed it down on your bicep where blood had started streaking towards your elbow.

Panic gripped you, free hand instinctively going towards your stomach as you hunched over your bump. The bar was packed since it was a weekend, so you pushed past the pain that was starting to flare up in your arm and inhaled deeply.

“Rooster! Hangman!” you hollered over the crowd. The two men were brawling on the ground at this point and you saw Chelsea start to make her way towards them but you waved her off. It was your job to keep your team safe.

Bethany rushed towards you and she started talking on the phone faster to the dispatcher. The tall, muscular form of your partner shoved in behind the bar and immediately moved to your side. Jake was close on his heels and he stationed himself at the entrance to the bar, his gaze tracking the bodies battling it out on the other side.

“What’s going on?” Rooster demanded.

“Those fucking idiots got her with a broken bottle,” Bethany explained before she turned her attention back to the phone.

You had heard about Rooster’s infamous anger. Never once had it made an appearance in front of you and you knew he made sure to keep himself in check around you and Jake, despite their past tension. Jake’s barbs had taken on a softer edge that Bradley could laugh at instead of flaring up his rage.

But now, you saw him switch from worried Bradley to controlled Lieutenant Bradshaw to Rooster the famed fighter pilot in mere seconds. Glancing over at Jake, you saw him in a similar position. Gone were the charming smiles and winks. His face was impassive as stone and fury coated every inch of his body.

“Are you okay? Both of you?” You nodded and he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and then stepped back, his eyes fixed on the brawling couples. “Keep pressure on your arm. I’ll be right back.”

“Be careful, please,” you murmured to your boys. Jake nodded in response and then turned sharply on his heels. Chelsea quickly joined your side as Bradley slipped out from behind the bar and moved to stand next to Jake.

“How soon are the police going to get here?” you asked Bethany.

“Five minutes out. Paramedics are also coming.”

“It’s not that deep of a cut. I can get someone to drive me to the ER.”

Bethany grinned. “Oh, it’s not for you.” A loud crash sounded behind you and you turned in time to see Rooster hauling up one of the men by the back of his shirt, much like a cat and its kitten, and quite literally threw him out the front door onto the sand. He stalked out the door after the guy as you watched in complete shock.

“What the fuck is your problem?” one of the wives shrieked as Jake started to yank the other man towards the front door. He stood up straight, his blue eyes flashing with some kind of emotion that you had never witnessed before. Pure rage.

“You put our girl and our baby in harm's way,” Jake snarled before directing his attention at the guy under him. He had him in some sort of headlock that had the guy completely limp and he effortlessly hauled him out.

“Get the fuck out of my bar,” you shouted at the remaining people in their group. “Cops are coming and we will put you on the no trespassing list, I swear to fucking god.” By the time you were done talking, they were all hurrying outside. Phoenix and Coyote followed them out, probably for crowd control, as Sofia approached the counter.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

“Probably need stitches,” you admitted. “But I’ll be fine.”

Sofia let out a deep breath and then glanced down at where your hand cradled your stomach protectively. The big softy blinked up at you and you noticed the tears growing in her eyes.

“No, don’t cry,” you whined. “Because then I’ll cry.”

“Oh my god,” Sofia sobbed. “You’re pregnant.”

These fucking hormones mixed with the burning in your arm brought tears to your eyes and you nodded. “Yeah, I’m pregnant. We aren’t sure on who the father is but we don’t really care.”

Sofia rushed around the bar and pulled you into a gentle hug. “I’m so fucking happy for you three. Oh, it’s the first Dagger baby.”

“You’re pregnant?” Chelsea yelped. “Oh my god!”

Three women crowded around you with hugs and tearful exclamations of joy. The weight of holding the secret in started to slip off your shoulders and you leaned into Sofia’s side. “We should go outside and check on the others.”

“Yeah and then we’re getting you stitched up and you’re going home,” Bethany ordered. “We can handle the rest of the night on our own.”

“Can we plan your baby shower?” Sofia asked. She seemed so excited that you had to agree. She wrapped her arm around your shoulder on the good side and walked with you outside. Cops were already taking statements and one of the men was sitting on the end of an ambulance, blood dripping from a cut from his hairline.

Jake and Bradley were being interviewed separately, but they both looked up when you and Sofia emerged from the doors. Bradley excused himself for a moment and made a beeline towards you.

“I’m fine. It’s a bit deep and I’ll definitely need stitches, but I’m fine. We’re both fine.”

“And I thought we were supposed to have the dangerous job,” he grumbled. His dark eyes traced every line and feature of your face until you couldn’t stand it anymore. You extracted yourself from Sofia’s grip and fell into Bradley’s embrace. He cradled the back of your head and made sure to not bump your injured arm. A shaky exhale escaped you just as a large, calloused hand settled on your back. You shifted your body so you were half leaning on Bradley and half on Jake.

“You came,” you blurted out. “You came when I called.”

“Of course,” Jake murmured. “Though I don’t know if I like you calling me Hangman.”

A surprised laugh bubbled out of you and you tilted your head to rest on Bradley’s chest while giving you a chance to look up at Jake. “Yeah, it felt weird. I like tex and bear more.”

Bradley kissed your forehead, the scratch of his mustache becoming a comfort more than an annoyance, and squeezed Jake’s hand.

“You’re getting a full checkup when we get to the ER. Stress isn’t good for you two.”

“I’m fine, bear.”

“Humor us.”

You let Jake lead the way towards his truck and nudged him with your foot. He glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Nice job keeping the secret, Tex,” you teased. He frowned, mulling over his words from the night until it dawned on him.

“Well, the cat was bound to come out of the bag at some point, right?”

“Coyote and Phoenix are already arguing over who is going to be the godparents,” Bradley replied dryly. “My money’s on Sofia winning for her and Phe. Those goddamn puppy eyes break Javy every time.”

Warmth suffused your soul as Bradley helped you into the back before he climbed in after you so he could hold the towel down on your arm. So much of your life was changing, but you were surrounded by people who you trusted to be there for every step of the way.

Your baby was going to be so loved.

Tag List: @mizzzpink​ @xoxabs88xox​ @dreaminglandsworld​ @khaylin27​ @loveforaugust​ @phoenixssugarbaby​ @atarmychick007​ @mak-32​ @itsmytimetoodream​ @krismdavis​ @emma8895eb​ @startrekfangirl​ @hangmandruigandmav​ @lunamoonbby​ @startrekfangirl2233​ @football1921 @sihtricswife​ @jstarr86​ @drakelover78​

[winslowat3am]

-poke with stick- you alive? where’s the spooky szn music stuff?? i sent requests twice but you ignore. #feelsbadman #imannoying T_T.

I'm back (not really)! Sowwie. Hiatus, kind of. On vacation with friends/fam for my birthday (it's Oct 23rd but I celebrate the entire month cause it's the only time I get to be self centered, lol), so yeah. You're not annoying me. We've been on vacation since the 12th. My set up is back at home, so I couldn't take requests for or make any music right now even if I wanted to. Quick update (wanted to share this since I never make personal posts anymore):

The ocean sunset here is so beautiful, I love simple things like this. It looks like the sky is hand painted every day. My favorite thing here is the view (& this bathroom). As soon as you walk through the lobby it's like boom - vacation. The best thing about traveling, for me, is feeling like I'm on a high. The rooms overlook the pool & beach, the suite is a full apartment. Also obsessed with this shower & tub.

The location is so convenient cause there's tons of restaurants not far from the island & onsite. We had a poolside lunch delivered yesterday from one of the restaurants nearby & there were different healthy options available (shrimp salad, veggie rolls, sandwiches, fruit, ceviche, etc) which I love. The executive chef at the the resort has a passion for farming & local cooking so pretty much all the herbs & the greens used on-property are grown right here, in a huge greenhouse. It's so cool. New plants are springing up!

They also have a spa, golf course that was fun, gym, breakfast cafe, indoor pool, onsite activities like nature tours, fitness classes & a kids' club. We visited the spa, which was fun, I had a hot stone massage & facial while Yas had a deep tissue massage. & every night we've been bar hopping like drunks, lmao. We had scallops, steak & potatoes, bruschetta-watermelon & feta pizza with cucumber - a new favorite of mine, & cake for dessert.

It was my idea to roast marshies & make s'mores, trying to get into the fall spirit. 😏 Also, we did some fall shopping earlier in the month & let me tell you I think I have a candle problem. We bought a lot of scents. Sunrise Woods, Cinnamon Vanilla, Pumpkin Pecan Waffles, Caramel Pumpkin Swirl, Cinnamon Irish Cream & Vampire Blood. Vampire Blood.

I digress. We're leaving tomorrow & are going to spend the rest of the month at Disney Paris for Halloween. So I'll probably be back home sometime November & then I can do music requests (& post a really funny Pumpkin Spice video that I've been wanting to). I'm just taking a break/focusing on my life & my family. Don't wait up. 🖤

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can arrange reader make a friend pls I need her to have an ounce of happiness

"It's nice to see you up and about this morning, ma'am," Alfred said. It was a relief honestly. You'd been barely eating and he suspected drinking very little. Your skin looks dry and you look wan. A little sallow.

"I'm sorry I-"

He waved your apology away and pulled out your chair, "You were missed but it was understood," he assured you. "You've had... a very hard few days."

You nod and took a deep breath, taking your seat. You'd alternated between crying and staring. Once you'd started you hadn't seemed to be able to stop. And barring Lizzie from your rooms had helped. She scolded and cajoled in addition to spying for your parents.

Alfred didn't press. Right now his main concern was getting something in your stomach and getting you to take some kind of fluid. And then so far as he was concerned, you needed to go back to bed. It's clear that you've had very little sleep and you look dazed.

So he set about putting food on your plate. Anything he thought you might eat. The sweet and the savory. Anything that might tempt you. And he's satisfied when you take a nibble of the sweet pastry he'd put down and some fruit. Healthy, no. But you were eating.

"I'll be going out today," you tell him. "I'm not sure when I'll be back."

Alfred nodded, "Is Lizzie-"

"I'm sure she'll be preoccupied by my mother and father most of the day," you tell him, taking another bite of breakfast. "They're less than pleased with her."

"I'm sure," he said, frowning.

"It's rather hard to report on someone when they do nothing to report on... not that they care about that."

"I'll wait dinner until-"

"There's no need," you tell him. "I'm not sure I could sit through dinner." With Bruce, you add silently.