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munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

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Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana.

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds.

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen.

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks.

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him.

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds.

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright.

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too.

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there.

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age.

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs.

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk.

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?”

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?”

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion.

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday.

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table.

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?”

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better.

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!”

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle.

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water.

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher.

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass.

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed.

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself.

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days.

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you.

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track.

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons:

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you.

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace.

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words.

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back.

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt.

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern.

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head.

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them.

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room.

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie.

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same.

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side.

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore.

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had.

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot. “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss.

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

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cinemastyles-backup · 1 year ago

Text

Summary: After drunk texting Harry, your brother's best friend, to come pick you up from a party, things start to get a little harder to resist for Harry and y/n

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, road head, fingering, masterbation, slight sexting, etc. general filth

My original CinemaStyles-blog has been terminated, so I created a new one.

I slip on my dress and turn in the mirror, inspecting myself.

"Isn't that a little short?"

I jump and turn quickly, letting out a relieving sigh when I see it's just Harry, my brothers friend, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.

"You're annoying." I roll my eyes and pull my dress down more.

"We'll now you're just showing the goods on the top half." He snorts and laughs. I turn to him, "If you have such a problem with my dress, why don't you dress me? Hmm?" I hold my arms out to my sides.

He shakes his head, "I'd rather undress you than anything."

"What?" I ask shocked. He winks, "You heard me." He pushes himself off the frame and turns around, "Derek, your sister is so annoying."

Derek laughs and agree with him, "You don't have to tell me."

"Screw both of you." I yell out the door. My phone dings and it's Macie letting me know she's pulling up to my house.

I grab my purse and give myself one last look over. I walk into the hall, "Derek I'll be back, Macie is here."

"Be safe. Have fun. Call if you need a ride." He yells from his room. Harry pokes his head out and looks me up and down again while biting his lip.

I roll my eyes and pull my dress up a little as I walk away. I look back over my shoulder before I walk down the steps and he's shaking his head.

Harry has been around for a while, we grew up together. We'll, he grew up with my brother, I was just here because I live here too.

Have I thought about Harry in certain ways, uh yeah I have. I mean look at him, he's so pretty. Like a perfectly chiseled statue from the gods themselves.

I open the car door and get in, "Hey!" She looks me over, "You got out of the house in this?" I give her a weird look, "What do you mean?"

She smirks, "Harry's in there with Derek, isn't he?"

I smile and shake my head, "Yeah." She whistles, "You and Harry just need to get it over with." I look over at her as she starts to drive, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Really?" She asks, "You could cut the sexual tension between you two with a knife."

I bite my lip and shrug, "I've thought about it, sure. But what if it goes bad and then it's all awkward between us for the rest of our lives."

"I really don't think you'll have to worry about that. Just, okay." She blows air, "Just have a few drinks tonight, loosen up, and text him. See where it goes."

I gasp, "Oh god, Macie, no. I can't do that." She nods, "Yeah, you can actually. Trust me. You'll want to text him once you're drunk. I know how you are."

"I'm not like that.." I look over at her, "Am I?"

She smiles, "It's okay. It's cute. You like him and he most definitely likes you back, so I say go for it."

"We'll see I guess."

———

... And you want a triple X throwdown, dial 1-900-MIXALOT, and kick them nasty thoughts, baby got back...

I walk over to grab another drink as the song ends, laughing with Macie.

"How do you feel?" She asks handing me a cup. I smile big, "Great."

"Did you text Harry?" She giggles, "You should totally text Harry."

My smile is instantly wiped away and I shake my head, "Oh fuck. No." I start to chug my drink before the anxiety hits me.

"Oh come on! Let loose tonight, girl. Have fun!" She pours more alcohol into my cup. "Okay." I finish my drink and tilt my head, staring at my empty cup, "I'll text him."

"That's my girl." Macie cheers and nods, "I'll be over there if you need me, but please don't need me because that guy is super fine."

She runs away and I bring my phone up. I stare at the screen for a few moments before I finally remember what I was doing.

"Oh right." I giggle. I pour myself another cup and walk over to the empty couch. I sit down and tap on Harry's contact.

Me: How's hanfing wirh my beother?

I stare at my screen waiting for a response.

Harry: Boring since I have no one to pick on now.

I smile and sip my drink before setting it back down. I slowly tap the screen, trying my best to concentrate on what I'm trying to type out.

Me: Oh boo shouls have came eith me

This liquor has me feeling bold. Might as well roll with it, right?

Harry: I didn't get an invite. How is the party?

I pick up my cup and send him a selfie, making sure my cleavage is on full display.

Me: Prety boring avually

Macie comes over and leans over the couch, wrapping her arms around my neck from behind, "Ahh! I love you!" She yells, "Let's take a picture!!"

I go into my camera and start taking snaps when Harry's text appears at the top of the screen.

Harry: Fuck. You look so hot.

"Oooh! It's going well I see." She giggles and hugs me, "Go get him tiger."

I look back at her as she stands up, "You're drunk."

"So are you!" She yells back as she is pull away by some guy.

I go back into our messages and bite my lip.

Me: Inwiah you were here

I pout slightly at the fact that he really isn't here.

Harry: I wish I was there too, sweetheart. Believe me.

Me: Why? So you cam make sureim all safe and sound?

I laugh slightly and lean back, finishing my drink.

Harry: To make sure no other guys touch what I want to be mine.

I stare at his text for what seems like forever before I remember that I need to respond.

Me: yourw so hot Harry. Like reallu really hott.

Harry: where are you at?

I look around.

Me: sittig on a coucg alone. Drunk hahaha

I furrow my brows and bite my lip.

Me: please come geg me

Harry: send me your location. I'm on my way.

I manage to figure out how to send him my location.

Me: im here. Cant wait to fuck you

I blink as I stare at my text, did I really just fucking send that? I smirk, yea I did.

Harry: Oh darling. You better be careful what you wish for.

Me: I willl be outside. Waitin for ya.

I shove my phone into my purse and stand up. I feel semi dizzy from sitting for a while. I shake my head slightly and look for Macie.

I spot her across the room making out with some guy. I walk over to her and tap her on the shoulder. She turns around and her eyes go wide, "Well?"

I smirk, "He is on his way. Will you be okay? Don't drive please." She hugs me, "I'll be fine. You just worry about getting your sexy on with Mr. Harry."

I laugh and nods, "Oh, i plan to." I turn and make my way outside. The cool air starts to sober me up as it snaps against my bare skin.

"I should have brought a coat." I mumble as I wrap my arms around myself. I walk back and fourth, my heels clicking against the sidewalk with each step.

There's a bright pair of headlights that shine on me. I squint and look away until they pass. The car is stopped in front of me and Harry gets out, looking over the top of it at me with a smirk.

"Hey!" I say in a super happy tone. He walks around and opens the door for me, "Hey." He says as I climb in.

He shuts the door and I look around, waiting for him to get back in. He gets in and reaches in the back, pulling a blanket up from the back seat, "Here."

I smile as he lays the blanket over my legs. My breathe suddenly catches in my throat as his hand brushes against my skin.

"Not much coverage on that dress I noticed." He says with a chuckle. I look over at him, "Are you complaining about it?"

He licks his lips, "Oh fuck no."

I smirk and lean down to take my heels off, "Just so you know. I'm not as drunk as I was."

"Oh yeah? So what you're saying is, you'll remember this tomorrow?" He glances over at me. I nod and bring my lower lip between my teeth, looking him up and down.

"Harry." I whisper, "Can I- uh. Never mind." I shake my head and sink down in my seat a little, the nervousness of being in his presence alone starts to settle in.

No, no. Do it. Just do it.

"You can do anything you want to me." He reaches over and gently runs his thumb over my chin and lips.

My drunk confidence returns and I unbuckle my seat belt. I move up so I'm sitting on my knees and I lean over. I place a hand on his chest and slowly slide it down as I kiss his neck.

A low groan escapes from his lips I suck his skin between my lips and bite down gently.

I slide my hand over his bulge, letting it sit on top for a few seconds before I slip my hand between the band of his sweats, "You're so hard for me already."

"As soon as I seen you in this dress.. I couldn't make it go away." He mumbles with a gasp, "I've thought about this. A lot."

I lean back and pull my hair over my shoulder. I lean over and he lifts his hips up so I can pulls his sweats and boxers down to his mid thigh.

I bite my lip and pump his cock a few times, earning low moans from him. I lean down and place my lips around the tip, sucking gently.

"Fuck." He groans low, "Shit."

I take more of him in, working my way down slowly. He places one of his hands on the top of my head, pushing down as he lifts his hips up.

I moan at the feeling of him being in my throat. I slowly pull back and slowly sink my mouth down into him again. I do that a few more times before he starts to tap my arm.

"O-okay, love. You're going to me make me cum and I don't want that yet." His breathing is heavy.

"Awe, why not?" I fake pout.

He reaches over and lays a hand on my thigh, "I want to feel your pussy around my cock before I do that."

I smirk at his words and lean back, bringing my one leg up and spreading them both. I slowly slip my panties off and throw them in his back seat.

"That was so hot. Are you going to play with your pussy for me while I find a spot for us to park?" He asks placing his hand back on my thigh, "You're such a bad girl."

I pull my dress up so it's bunching around my stomach, exposing myself to Harry. I bring two fingers up to my mouth and slowly suck on them. I look over at Harry and pull them out, playing them onto my clit.

I gasp at the sudden feeling of pleasure and whimper as I circle it, "Oh fuck."

He squeezes my thigh, "Oh shit."

I close my eyes and tilt my head back as I slip two fingers in, slowly scissoring my fingers in and out of my pussy, repeatedly moaning his name.

He keeps his focus on the road, hands tight around the steering wheel as he glances over.

He pulls off the road and parks, "Get over here." He unbuckles his seat belt as I climb over into his lap. His lips immediately find mine and it takes my breathe away.

It's so much better than I imagined.

"Are you sober?" He asks between kissing me.

I nod.

"I need to hear you say it."

I lean back and look at him, "I'm sober. I want you." I lean in and kiss his neck up to his ear, "I want you so fucking bad."

He moans lowly at my words and grips my hips, assisting me as I slide down onto him.

I grab his biceps and tilt my head back, "Oh fuck." He lets out a groan and rests his head against my chest, "Shit."

I start to move my hips, sitting gets to be too much. I gasp, "Harry."

"You feel so fucking good." He grabs my face and kisses me, "So much better than I thought."

The seat belt buckle is digging into my knee but I don't care, I lean back against the steering wheel and beep the horn, immediately bursting into laughter.

He laughs and wraps an arm around my waist.

"Sorry." I shake my head laughing. I bite my lip and look down at him. I trace my thumb over his bottom lip as I move my hips.

He closes his eyes and his lips part slightly. I lean down and rest my forehead against his.

"Are you close?" He whispers, "Feels like you are."

I nod, "Yes." I start to move my hips faster, getting into a rhythm that feels incredible.

"Cum for me." He whispers lowly, "I want to feel you cum all over my cock."

His words have a pull on me that's bringing me closer and closer.

I whimper as my knees start to hurt, the feeling of my orgasm rising fast. I claw at the headrest and push down onto him, rocking my hips slowly as I cum.

He holds me to his chest, talking to me gentle as I come down from my high, "Good girl. You did so good."

I slowly lean up, "Your turn."

I climb off of him and lean over the arm rest again, taking him into my mouth.

I pump his cock and suck on the tip, working him up to his orgasm, "Hmm, fuck." He bucks his hips slightly and places a hand on my back. His fingertips dig into my skin.

I take more of him in, swirling my tongue, sucking, moaning at the feeling of him in my mouth.

"D-Don't stop." He gasps, "Fuck, fuck."

He thrusts his hips up and holds my head still as his cum coat my mouth and throat. I lick him clean and sit up slowly, the pain of my legs starting to set in.

I look over at him and he looks back at me with a huge smile on his face, "You're so bad."

I scoff, "You started this, Mr I'd rather take your clothes off."

He shrugs, "I like you, what can I say?"

"You- you like me?" I smile slightly.

"I thought it was obvious. Your brother picks on me all the time for it." He pulls his pants up and looks over at me, "I mean, it really was just a matter of time before anything happened." He winks and I laugh, "Take me home, Styles."

"Your place or mine?"

"Yours."

——

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jerzwriter · 8 months ago

Text

Tobias took his friend Casey to his hometown of Washington, DC, to show her how they did the holidays. She was impressed, but now it was time to show him how it was really done in her hometown of Philadelphia. As they spend time surrounded by Christmas magic, will they be able to keep their promise to be "just friends?"

Book: Open Heart Characters: Tobias Carrick & Casey MacTavish (F!MC) Rating: Teen Words: 1,700 A/N: This is an altered version of a fic I wrote in 2022... but as I'm finally filling in the gaps of my Tobias/Casey headcanon, I needed to make some changes. If you're following the HC, this story would take place after Part Two: With a Capitol T. Part three will be about the last leg of their trip, and the epilogue will follow. I originally posted these as one ridiculously long fic... crazy town. lol I'm also in the process of updating my Tobias/Casey masterlist to make this a little less confusing... for me, more than you! lol. Thanks to anyone who checks this out!

Series Masterlist | Tobias x Casey Masterlist Masterlist

The day after their DC adventure, they slept in a bit. Casey had assured Tobias that while there was plenty to see during the day, the real Christmas magic in Philly took place at night, so a little more sleep wasn't just doable—she encouraged it!

When they arrived, she immetiately treated him to her favorite bagels to start the day, then it was time for a daylight stroll through Christmas Village. Tobias was duly impressed. The tiny shops had an old-world charm, right in the middle of a bustling city, but Casey told him...

“You haven’t seen anything yet! Just wait until tonight!"

Philadelphia’s City Hall was a grand structure that was breathtaking no matter the time of year, but like everything else, during the holidays, it was spectacular. Surrounded by a cornucopia of holiday treats, it couldn't help but bring out the child in them. Casey was eager to ice skate, but Tobias passed. Still, he was happy to watch her twirl. He had no problem joining her on the Ferris wheel, taking in the sights of the City from high above, before they headed to Macy’s for the Christmas Light Show. Not one to pass up a chance to shop, Tobias spent a little more time there than Casey had budgeted for, but the good thing? By the time they left, darkness had fallen upon the City of Brotherly Love, and Tobias stood in awe in the center of it. Casey was one hundred percent right. As beautiful as it had been during the day, nothing could compare to now.

It felt like they had stepped into a Christmas movie, with the aroma of roasted chestnuts filling the air as carolers sang Christmas songs nearby. There were plenty of harried shoppers pushing through the crowds, but for every one of them, there seemed to be a dozen others who were casually strolling around, soaking in the wonders of the season. Laughing families with tired toddlers in strollers or sitting atop their father’s shoulders, coworkers giggling over mulled cider, and couples – couples of every age strolled by hand in hand, often stopping to take a picture in front of the iconic LOVE sculpture. Tobias closed his eyes and took in a long breath - it truly was Christmastime. This was a feeling he was certain was only a part of his past. Sure, he had enjoyed holiday parties, happy hours with friends, and the like, but this... this was different, and he wanted to commit every second to memory.

“Excuse me,” a young woman's voice interrupted Tobias from his reverie. “Would you mind taking our picture?" She asked, motioning to the gentleman by her side. "Selfies are great and all, but they only go so far.”

“'I'd be delighted,” he smiled, removing a gove to better grasp her phone. He took one picture, then another, and egged them on a bit before snapping the third. "Oh, come on, give her a little kiss! On the count of three! One, two...” Snap!

The couple thanked him profusely before walking away, and he found himself unsettled by the emotion welling up inside him... was that... envy? His mind began to wander, and he could almost picture walking through the city clutching Casey’s hand; she'd stop them in their tracks to reach up and kiss his cheek, walking arm in arm; an older couple would stop them to declare how they remind them of themselves when they were younger. It was a picture that was as enticing as it was terrifying, but he couldn't shake the image if he wanted to, and in reality, he didn't want to. But a tap on his shoulder from none other than the subject daydream brought him back to reality, and he only hoped she couldn't read his mind.

“Ready to head to City Hall again?” she asked, handing him a pretzel purchased from a street vendor. "You’ll see; it’s a different world once the sun goes down.”

“Lead the way, princess,” he smiled, fighting the visceral urge to take her hand. “Lead the way.”

~~~~~

“OK,” he admitted as the imposing historic building awash in colorful lights came into their view, “and it is not easy for me to do... but you win. Christmas in Philly is pretty amazing.”

“Yey!!” she squealed, jumping up and down like a child who had just won a treasured prize. She had Tobias mesmerized, and her eyes landed on him; he was smiling. Not any smile, but that smile that made his dimples stand out, where his eyes crinkled, and then she'd just melt. She quickly looked away. She had to. She may have been loathe to admit it, but she was well aware of the effect that smile had on her, and no. There was no way she was going there. “And you haven’t even seen the tree lit up at night yet,” she said, attempting self-distraction. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it!”

“Wait, you’re not gonna gloat?”

“No,” she smiled. “I’m just so happy to see you experiencing this all for the first time... to share it with you. I wanted you to feel the magic, too.”

“Oh, trust me, Casey, I feel it. This is something I'll never forget."

They arrived at the Town Hall tree, and once again, Tobias was forced to surrender. “Wow! OK. I’m giving up completely... your tree wins.”

“Ha!” she yelled, nudging his shoulder with hers. “I told you so!”

“Hey, what happened to no gloating!”

She looked up at him with a devilish glint. “Can you just give me this, Carrick?"

He hoped his eyes would not betray him. I would give you anything, he thought but settled with saying, "Sure. You can have this."

“Thank you! I mean, it is the greatest Christmas tree in the world, so..."

“Yeah, no,” a booming voice shouted out from behind, bursting the little bubble they had created

Casey turned around with a cocked brow and hand on her hip. Her Philly attitude is on full display. “Excuse me?” she challenged.

“I mean, this is nice and all, but if you want to see the best in the world, ya gonna have to head to New York."

Crossing her arms in defiance, she glared at the entirely too-tall stranger. "I don’t believe you.”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“Uhm, no... not in person.”

“Then you can’t judge, can you?" The man smirked. "I’m a New Yorker. TRUST me on this.”

“Well, if it’s so great... what are you doing here?”

“Ehh… my wife is from Philly,” he shrugged. “I have to indulge her every now and again.”

“Well, how kind of you,” Casey replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hey,” the man chuckled jovially, “Happy wife, happy life. And, while New York may have the best Christmas tree, I will concede Philly has the best women!” He slapped Tobias on the shoulder with such force he had to stop himself from stumbling forward. “Isn’t that right, buddy?”

Casey and Tobias turned to each other, deer caught in the headlights. Casey’s wit seemed to drain from her, along with the color on her face, as Tobias turned back to the man, trying to recover.

“While I don’t disagree with you, she’s not my wife... not even my girlfriend... we’re just friends.”

Casey didn't understand the way her throat clenched or why her eyes filled with water at his words, but the man took a long look at her, then Tobias, and smiled. "“Well, I’d get to work on that if I were you, pal. Capiche? Happy Holidays, you two.”

Casey’s cheeks were redder than the bows adorning the massive tree, and it had nothing to do with the cold. Unable to look at Tobias, she peered down at her Uggs as if they had an answer. Wiggling her toes in the soft fleece, she struggled for something to say. But as she looked away, Tobias's eyes never left her. He could have been honest about his feelings, or he could have uttered any of the dozen bad jokes he had at the ready to defuse the situation, but he couldn't do either. Honesty wasn't an option, but neither was lying about his true feelings. There was a wall of fire burning between them, but neither would risk getting burned.

“I have an idea,” he said, attempting to put them both at ease.

“What’s that?” Casey asked gratefully.

“Let’s put this ‘greatest Christmas tree of all’ thing to rest once and for all. What do you say we swing by New York on the way home tomorrow.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t joke about things like this.”

Casey bit her lip as she smiled. “I’d love to!”

“So we have a plan for tomorrow! But what do you want for the rest of the night?”

“Let’s take a ride down 13th Street. You have to see those lights! They don't call it the Miracle on 13th Street for nothing! Then... cookies and a movie at the hotel? If we’re adding New York to the itinerary, we should probably rest up.”

“If medicine doesn’t work out for you, you have a career as a cruise director, kid,” he grinned. “Let’s go.”

An hour later, they sat on the couch in their hotel room, a bowl of popcorn and a plateful of cookies within reach as they watched “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Exhausted, Casey had to lie down, placing her feet on Tobias’s lap. Unsure how to react, he rested his hand atop her ankle and exhaled when she didn't balk.

Look, Daddy. Teacher says, every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. That's right, that's right!

The movie concluded and delivered a lump the size of coal in TObias's throat. “You know, I am man enough to admit... that damn line gets me every time.”

But Casey didn’t answer; she had fallen fast asleep. With a tender smile, Tobias slipped off the couch to retrieve a blanket. There was no sense waking her. After tucking it around her, he leaned over to place the most delicate kiss atop her head.

“Sweet dreams, princess,” he whispered before heading to bed. "Sweet dreams."

~~~~~

Casey was absolutely giddy when she hopped into Tobias’s car the next morning.

“I can’t believe we’re going to New York, too! This has been the greatest trip,” she enthused. “It really feels like Christmas, doesn’t it, T?”

“It sure does,” he softly smiled.

“How long is the drive?” She asked

“Once we’re on the NJ Turnpike, we’re looking about two hours.”

“Great!” she beamed. “That gives us plenty of time for holiday music!”

They made it ten minutes before Mariah Carey belted out of the surround sound in Tobias's car. (Can one really go longer than that without hearing Mariah during this season?) Casey amped up the volume, and then it happened! Her voice may have been off-key; her “seat dancing” technique was nothing anyone would ever wish to emulate, but she grabbed her empty coffee cup as an improvised microphone and gave one hell of a performance for her imaginary crowd. Meanwhile, her live audience of one was grinning from ear to ear.

“I don’t want a lot for Christmas There is just one thing I need Don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree I don’t need to hang my stocking there upon the fireplace Santa Claus won’t make me happy with a toy on Christmas Day I just want you for my own More than you could ever know Make my wish come true All I want for Christmas is yoooooooooouuuuuuuuuuu.”

“You’re gonna give Mariah a run for her money,” Tobias chuckled.

“Really,” Casey winced. “I’m pretty sure she’d tell me to keep my day job…. Well, once I’m back at my day job."

“Hey! You’re getting closer every day,” he reassured. “You’ll be back to Ethan driving you bonkers in no time.”

“Hmm. When you put it that way it sounds odd to say I hope so, but I do hope so. Still, until then, I have a gig in this car and I take my obligations very seriously!"

She looked up at him with an endearing smile. "Don't worry! I promise to buy you a huge bottle of Advil as soon as we hit the City!”

“No need,” he laughed, pointing to his glove compartment. “There are some in there, but I don’t need them.”

“Good,” Casey smiled. “Next up, Santa Claus is Coming to Town!”

She began singing the song, a la Bruce Springsteen, but she had no idea how much Tobias agreed. Seeing Casey this happy? Santa was not coming to town, he had already arrived and delivered the greatest gift he had ever received.

Final stop coming up: New York! 🍎

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging Tobias Stans only - @alj4890 @kyra75 @coffeeheartaddict2 @brycesgirl @icecoffee90 @storyofmychoices

#choices fanfic #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #holiday fics #tobias x casey #playchoices

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bifairywife · 1 year ago

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(contains tvd and charmed 2018 spoilers)

if i have a dime every time my ship:

has character A as a mentor/someone that guides character B through their supernatural world (and also protects character B) and character B is one of the most disciplined individuals of her kind when it comes to their powers/supernatural nature (and a close and loyal friend to character A)

has friendship as the foundation of the relationship 🫶🫶🫶🫶

has involved character B in an all-girl trio

has given character A an evil counterpart that is the spitting image of him

has "the other woman" trope that put a major strain on their friendship and delayed a confession 🥹

gave character A temporary amnesia (bonus: it led to moments that really fed the shippers)

gave character B's mom a death scene (the death greatly impacted the trajectory of her life)

has [screaming at a distance] A WEDDING SCENEEEE

has dance scenes that cemented their bond that shippers all know by heart

character A's immortality was taken away and wasn't able to live a full and happy life with character B

and one of them dies 🥹🥹

i'd have two dimes which isn't a lot but you can bet your ass i have gone through the stages of grief multiple times

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dd122004dd · 6 months ago

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The Forgotten, The Forgiven

Request: Hi! I saw your requests were open and that you write for the Charmed Reboot! If I could, can I send in a request for a Maggie x sibling reader (or sister or other pronouns if you prefer!) who is adopted and has had a bad life, but Maggie slowly helps them with self love?

A/N: Hey! Thanks for the request, I hope I did the promt justice!

Warnings: Potion abuse, mentions of child abuse

A spell. A simple spell she’d found in her mother’s diary hidden in the attic. It was supposed to reveal the hidden, the invisible, the forgotten. Macy read through the spell. The ingredients were simple and easy to gather. Rosemary, thyme and lavender, a few candles, crystals and chalk.

She read through the grimoire once more, wondering what her mother hid, perhaps it was the answer they’d been looking for, perhaps it was the chest to which the mysterious key fit. Sniffing, she continued drawing the runes as directed, sprinkling the herbs as she went. Once they were done, she chanted,

“Omnum revelare, omnum revelare, omnum revelare.

Memorias occultas, res perditas,

quaere veritatem,

suscipe sumptus.

Pretium solvit. Revelare!”

As the last word slipped from her lips, the magic surrounding her clicked into place, flowing from her through the house, revealing the hidden. Her magic pulsed as it pulled layers of protective enchantments, battering against shields till she heard a scream in the distance.

She rushed out of the attic, following the cries of pain through the house till she climbed down the stairs, rounding the corners to find the source of the tearful sobs. Their sister, the youngest, lay crouched in a ball along the stairs as she cried, her heart wrenching sobs echoed through the house as Macy moved towards her sister in an attempt to comfort her, yet her sister screamed louder every time she tried to comfort her or get closer to her. The third time she tried, a wave of magic echoed through her sister as it pushed Macy back before solidifying into a shield around the young witch’s body.

Macy, unsure of what to do, frantically called Harry and her sisters home as she stood guard outside the shield, watching to make sure her sister hadn’t harmed herself.

White light flashed in the living room as the white lighter and the two charmed sisters appeared, rushing towards Macy and their sister.

“What happened?” asked Harry.

“I-I don’t know, I was upstairs, doing a revealing spell and I finished and after that I-I head her scream and rushed down. What happened to her?” Macy asked quickly.

A moment later Mel approached the shield, trying to touch it, “No! Don’t!” Macy screamed as Mel was pushed back. “Her magic created an impenetrable shield around her, it’s defensive magic, it responds to her emotions and right now she’s in fight-or-flight mode,” said Harry, observing the shield.

“So, what do we do?” Mel asked, wanting to get her sister out of her self-made shield.

“There’s nothing we CAN do. She has to feel calm and safe; only then will the shield recede. And before you ask, Mel, we can’t force her out without damaging her magic,” Harry sighed, glancing worriedly at the witch, worrying about what caused the young girl such strife.

“Can I try something?” Maggie asked slowly.

Harry stared at her apprehensively, “What are you gonna do?”

“You said she needs to feel safe, right? Well, I’m gonna make her feel that way,” Maggie said confidently.

She slowly walked towards the glowing shield, humming softly as she wove magic within the familiar tune. Slowly her lips parted as she sang, projecting calm through every word as the sound of her lilting voice echoed through the room. It was an old lullaby their mother used to sing to them on stormy nights.

The shield slowly crackled, almost responding to the slow notes of the song as it slowly faded from existence. Her sister was calm once more, her frame curled around her knees, almost shielding herself from the world.

Harry walked forward, gently scooping up the sleeping girl and taking her to her room. He laid her on the bed before exiting the room and turning to her sisters, “She’ll be out for a while. Her magic is no doubt drained after creating that shield.”

“What do we do, then?” Macy asked, feeling guilty. Perhaps she botched the spell and caused her sister so much pain.

“We wait. And when she wakes up, we will be there to support her, as always,” Maggie said, determined not to leave her sister alone.

Hours passed before she finally awoke, gasping for breath as memories flooded her, painful forgotten memories that she’d begged Marisol to hide. Dark secrets of her past that lingered in her subconscious, whispering maliciously in her ear, venomous and demeaning.

She was broken from her thoughts as the door opened, Maggie walked in with a tray of sweet-smelling mug and her favourite snacks. “You’re awake!” Maggie exclaimed in excitement as she quickly placed the tray beside her bed before tightly embracing her sister

“Are you okay?! What happened to you?” Maggie asked frantically after pulling away.

“I remember…chanting and then a flood of memories and then pain. What happened?” she asked Maggie.

After briefly explaining what had happened, Maggie asked, “What do you remember?”

“You know how mom adopted me when I was younger?”

“Yeah? What about it?” Maggie asked.

“Well, I remember my mother, not Marisol, my birth-mother. I can remember her screaming at me, calling me worthless when I couldn’t cast a spell properly or-or quickly enough. Her voice echoes in my head, calling me unworthy,” she stuttered as she tried making sense of the memories, “I-I could hear all these voices- it was too much,” she exclaimed, tears in her eyes.

“Shh, it’ll be okay little sister, we’re here for you. All of us. We love you,” Maggie reassured as she slowly rocked the younger woman back and forth through her sobs.

Getting back to normal took time. Her memories have been blocked by Marisol for a reason but now that they were back, she had no choice but to try and navigate through the voices, through the abuse. She tried to ignore it, the nagging thoughts as she tried to function, yet everyday was an arduous journey with seemingly no end. She’d tried to bury her pain, but when that didn’t work, she turned her gaze to magic. Though Maggie had tried the same solution and failed, she saw no other choice, anything to numb her feelings of pain and rejection.

The potion was quick to grind as she smothered the green paste on her arm, whispering the incantation as she felt her pain recede, the numbness setting in as she breathed slowly. Finally, she could focus on her work, on her research.

The rest was a blur, her over-working herself, living on caffeine and the potion as she kept herself huddled in her room. Her sisters were none the wiser, each busy with their own lives until one day Maggie stumbled in on her mixing the potion, the ingredients were familiar to the young witch.

“What’re you making, sis?” Maggie asked nonchalantly.

“Just a paste, a new potion I was trying,” she replied monotonously, trying to hide the ingredients from the older witch.

“Oh really? I think I recognize the ingredients, dear sister,” Maggie said as she pulled the bowl from her hands, “Why are you trying to block out your emotions?”

“I-I just can’t anymore, Maggie. I can’t pretend that everything is normal,” she said, her voice breaking down as the potions effects wore off. It had been hours since her last dose. She could feel her emotions trickling in, the pain she’d been running away from slowly flooded her.

Maggie placed the bowl on the counter and hugged her sister, slowly comforting the younger woman as she led her to her room. “You’re not gonna use that potion anymore, it can be addicting, to not feel pain. I should know. But this just hurts you. You’ll have to face it, and I’ll be there by your side.”

“Okay,” she said softly. Maggie sat on her bed, “Now, what’s gonna happen is first, you’re gonna talk about it, we’re gonna talk about your past and then I’m gonna order some takeout and maybe a movie, one of your favourites. Any time you feel bad, you’re gonna come find me, okay?”

“Okay Maggie,” she said as she snuggled in her blankets, sighing as she recounted her memories to her sister. The older woman listened, holding her as she broke down, offering comfort.

It was hours before her sobs stopped. She felt better, she wasn’t okay, but she felt better now. In that moment as she nuzzled deeper into her sister’s comforting arms, breathing her familiar comforting scent, she realized, no matter what, her family would be by her side.

#maggie vera & reader #maggie vera x reader #charmed 2018 #charmedmagic #charmed reboot

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lovesosweeet · 1 year ago

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better left unsaid // cth

chapter thirty two

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

october 7, 2018 los angeles, california orion

After several hours on the phone with Dr. Harris and her team, we successfully have transferred my leukemia chemo plan to a hospital in San Diego — the Barnhart Cancer Center. I am moving back in with my moms officially, but I don’t think anyone is happy about it. They’re happy to have me home, but they’re unhappy about the circumstances.

Nobody is happy with me right now, and I don’t blame them. I’m not happy with myself. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep since I made Calum leave. I’ve managed maybe three hours of sleep in the past five days. I have eaten a single slice of cold and stale cheese pizza, but that’s it. I’m just not hungry.

Today, my moms and Macy are helping me pack up what few things are truly mine from the apartment in LA. Most of the things there are Calum’s, even if I picked them out, he paid for most of them. A few things we split costs on, but it doesn’t feel right for me to take them. I plan on just getting my clothes, makeup, and a handful of mugs that heave sentimental value to me.

We pull into the parking garage at the apartment for what might be the last time I ever do and park right by the doors in the Uhaul van that we rented. Even though we aren’t getting that much stuff, it won’t fit in any of our small sedans or my Mama’s hatchback. Macy is waiting for us in the lobby, chatting with Ron, when we walk in.

“Hi,” I breathe when I see her. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the shitshow that was in San Diego a few days ago. I had to fill her in over text to ask her to help me move out, and she was just as shocked as everyone else by the news.

Macy doesn’t say anything, she just pulls me into a hug. “How are you doing?” She asks.

I hold back tears while I step back from her. I don’t say anything, knowing I’ll just cry if I start talking about it. “Macy, you remember my moms?” I motion to them, and Macy nods.

“Nice to see you again,” Mom says.

Macy smiles a sad smile. I know we all wish this reunion was under different circumstances.

“Shall we get started?” Mama asks, looking between everyone’s faces.

I nod and walk to the elevator, not bothering to make sure people are following me. I’m sure they are.

The apartment feels eerily empty when we walk in. Duke isn’t here anymore, which makes me sad. I didn’t get to say goodbye to him. The band took him to the hotel that night in San Diego so he could hang out with Michael and Crystal’s dogs, and then I broke up with Calum the next morning. I think he’s joining the band for the rest of the tour.

I head straight for the bedroom, knowing that most of my things that I’m taking with me are in the closet. Without a rhyme or reason, I just start throwing clothes into garbage bags. I also put all of Calum’s things back on his side of the closet. I’ll miss wearing his cozy clothes, but they’re his, so he deserves to have them.

“Will you take these down for me?” I ask whoever followed me into the closet. I motion to the garbage bags I’ve already filled and tied off. Hands reach out and take them away, leaving me alone in the closet to keep throwing my clothes into plastic bags. I’ll have to refold everything when I get back to my moms’.

Within just a few minutes, my side of the closet is bare. Really, it’s two thirds of the closet, since Calum has far less than I do in terms of clothes. I ignore the ache in my chest before I grab the remaining two bags to take with me to the kitchen, where Macy is boxing up my mugs.

“I have the Madrid mug, the vegetable soup one, the one you thrifted with the gold flowers, and all the little crystal espresso cups. Am I missing any?” She asks without looking up from her work. She’s wrapping each of the mugs individually in newspaper, putting far more care into it than I think is necessary. These mugs will only be mine for a few more months, maybe a year, and then they’ll be trash or thrift store donations unless someone in my life decides they want them.

“If you are, it’s fine.”

She nods and gives me a half smile.

“Thanks for helping out, Mace. I appreciate it.”

Macy halts her actions then, and before I know it, she’s hugging me. “You’d be here for me if I needed. I’m just giving you the same love you give to the world.”

I want to make a sarcastic comment about the negativity I put into the world breaking up with Calum, but I bite my tongue.

“Still, thank you.”

She lets me go and then reaches up to push my hair out of my eyes. “Anytime.”

Packing up doesn’t really take much time. I also clean out the fridge of anything that will expire before Calum comes home, and most of it Macy takes down to her parents’ place, but a few things go in the trash. Everyone helps me clean the apartment so that Cal can come home to an apartment free of my messes. I’m sure it will be hard for him to come back to the home we built together, so I just want to make myself as scarce as possible.

I leave most of the framed photos of us, because only one of us will need to look back on memories, and it’s not me. I do take a framed polaroid that we took backstage in Amsterdam two years ago and one of the two of us last Christmas. Backstage in Amsterdam, we were both goofing off. He’s holding me upside down while we both laugh uncontrollably, and Ashton is in the background giving a thumbs up. The one from last Christmas is at his grandparents’ house in Australia. We’re both wearing plain white button ups, which was unintentional but we decided it was cute and both wore them, mine with a mini skirt underneath and his with a pair of black jeans. We’re sitting on the floor in front of the Christmas tree with the lights behind us, huge smiles on our faces and our cheeks red from a few too many beers. Mali took it.

I put the frames in my purse and hope that none of the other people here with me saw me tearing up at them.

“Macy, would you like to join us for a quick lunch? We were thinking of going to the bagel place nearby.” My moms are helping tie up the rest of the garbage and recycling, placing it outside of the door for the trash valet service when they come by later today.

“Oh, sure, that would be nice.”

We load the rest of my things into the van and then move it to a visitor’s space before we walk down to Rosie’s. As always, there’s a line. I don’t plan on eating anything, but I don’t mind waiting with my moms and Macy. I think I’ll get a coffee while we’re here since I’m so tired, even though I’m sure it will make me nauseous to drink caffeine on an empty stomach. I deserve it — both the caffeine and the sickness.

While we’re waiting in line, Macy and my moms get to know each other a little better. They even offer to host Macy for family dinners whenever she’d like once she’s back at UCSD next year so she can eat a home-cooked meal instead of shitty dining hall food. I try not to think about how they’ll essentially be replacing me with her.

“Orion?” An unfamiliar voice says, and I perk up from being zoned out to find whoever spoke to me in this line.

My eyes meet blue ones, still unfamiliar.

“Uh, hi? Do I know you?”

“No, sorry to bother you,” the girl says. “But, did you and Cal break up?”

I’m stunned by the question, so stunned I can’t even speak.

“What the hell?” Macy says, stepping halfway in front of me to be between me and the girl. “You’d never ask that shit to someone you actually know, so why do you feel like you can ask someone that just because one of the involved parties is famous? She’s a fucking person, not a character in some fantasy storyline.”

“Macy, it’s fine,” I tell her, placing my hand on her shoulder. She’s fuming. I look at the girl, who’s practically shaking with embarrassment, as several other people in line are now watching us. “Yeah, we did.”

I knew people would be speculating instantly. Between the canceled shows, photos of both of us crying at beaches, and me unfollowing Calum on Instagram, as well as removing him as a follower on my own page, the breakup would be evident to anyone who was looking for signs of it. I didn’t imagine getting approached on the street about it, but I’d seen the Tweets and videos talking about it, rehashing all the painfully public facts.

The girl nods. “Okay, thank you. Have a good day.”

What the fuck? Thank you?

“God, I hate people sometimes,” Macy fumes. She’s staring daggers at the girl’s back as she walks away. “That shit’s about to be all over Twitter.”

I agree with her, but I just quietly reply. “It already is.”

—

@5SOSLuver: A fan confirmed with Orion in LA today. #Orilum is over!

@Fan1: Replying to @5SOSLuver: omg fuck yes @Fan2: Replying to @5SOSLuver: STOP WHO THE HELL JUST WALKS UP TO SOMEONE AND ASKS IF THEY BROKE UP WITH THEIR BF. I feel bad for Orion. That’s such an invasion of privacy and so disrespectful. @Fan3: Replying to @5SOSLuver: nooo 💔 i actually loved them together. hope they’re both doing okay. @Fan4: Replying to @Fan3: me too. someone said they’d seen orion on an oncology ward at ucla hospital. wonder what that means???

@5SOSUpdates: #Orilum is over y’all! Praise the LORD our boy is free!

@MacyLacy123: Replying to @5SOSUpdates: orion and calum loved each other very much. he is not “free.” they are both hurting and you’re being very disrespectful toward two very wonderful humans. @5SOSUpdates: Replying to @MacyLacy123: omg get off her dick. she’s a bitch and an attention seeker. go find someone else to bitch at with your dumb opinions. @MacyLacy123: Replying to @5SOSUpdates: find someone worthy of your hate. orion isn’t that person. i hope karma bites you in the ass. also, cal’s not gonna fuck you just bc you hate his ex. just FYI. @Calum5SOS: Replying to @MacyLacy123: @5SOSUpdates she’s right, about all of it. orion is a wonderful person. please respect our privacy and while you’re at it, respect strangers on the internet, too.

@Calum5SOS: Hating doesn’t get you anywhere. Kindly respect our privacy. Thanks.

- Cal

@Fan4: Replying to @Calum5SOS: we love you Cal!! anyone hating is just jealous. take all the time you need to heal @Fan5: Replying to @Calum5SOS: glad you finally got away from that leech. we love you! @Fan4: Replying to @Fan5: did you even read his tweet? hating doesn’t get you anywhere! @Fan6: Replying to @Calum5SOS: so sorry about your breakup calum. anyone could see how much you two loved each other. sending you love!!! @Fan7: Replying to @Calum5SOS: we love you!!! @Ashton5SOS: Replying to @Calum5SOS: Love you, brother. I’m here for you. @Fan4: Replying to @Ashton5SOS: omg my cashton heart. sobbing. @MacyLacy123: Replying to @Ashton5SOS: cal’s lucky to have a friend like you. here for all of you. ❤️ @Ashton5SOS: Replying to @MacyLacy123: ❤️ The support system is out of this world. Here for you guys too if you need us, got it? @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: Replying to @Ashton5SOS: @MacyLacy123 omg y’all got me crying on twitter. love you all sm. we’re in this together. @5SOSUpdates: Replying to @EmeliaBoDeliaSmelia: @Ashton5SOS @MacyLacy123 who tf are y’all @Fan3: Replying to @5SOSUpdates: bruh clearly they know orion and calum. y’all fr don’t know anything about them and their breakup. further proof to stOP HATING oml