#o and maybe i’ll try my hand at other fandoms as well

[oonajaeadira]

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 3: Autumn

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Angst. Canon-typical tragedy (not main characters). Childbirth. A few names that may twist a knife.

Summary: You give Joel a lot to think about.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

It takes a lot to gain Joel's trust, and even longer to tame him. Thanks for sticking it out this long. We're finally shifting into acceptance mode.

“No, they do not make you look old. They make you look like Joel Miller in glasses. Just like the last five pairs. These are distinguished.”

“Looks like something my old man would have worn.”

“Your dad must have been a stunner. Assume the position. Bottom line.”

Turning him by his shoulders, you square Joel up to the line on the floor across from the eye chart at the back of the Jackson commissary.

“P…E Z O L C…F…T D.”

You pass him a handwritten note. “Good. Now use the bottom half of the lenses to read this one. Do it without squinting.”

Taking the paper, he squints. You pull on his arm to distance it correctly and he stops. He stares at the paper for a while. You might be concerned at the pause if he wasn’t taking a comically elongated time, breathing out hard through his nose, his jaw ticking left to right, feigning decisions, trying not to laugh. “Gimme a pencil.”

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach over to the counter and snag a pencil out of a cup and hand it to him, watch his eyebrows lift, his head shake, and give another dramatic sigh as he marks the paper before handing both the note and the pencil back over to you.

Joel Miller, will you go to the harvest dance with me? [x] yes or [ ] no.

“I don’t think these are gonna work,” he points to the black frames on his face. “Can’t read a damn thing. Not one damn word–” He can’t even make it through the sentence without cracking a smile, and only fully laughs when you playfully punch him in the arm.

“I’ll have you know this is a binding contract whether you can see it or not,” you join him in the tease, fanning the note in his face. “Just how blind are you???”

“Well, maybe I was working up to asking you the same question so…I guess not as blind as you seem to think.”

This slowly melts your laughter down to a smile. “Working up to it? What’s there to work up to? You mean… Did you…not want to?”

When his own smile fades, you realize too late that maybe he didn’t.

While you and Joel have fallen into a close friendship over the past few months, sometimes that’s all it really seems to be. There are moments that come close to something more–an arm draped over the back of your chair–or perhaps across your shoulders–as you stand in the back yard watching the fireflies, always a ready hand to help you up from a chair or the ground. If the two of you are ever in the same room, he’s always near, keeping you on his left where he can hear you. It took a while, but both Joel and Ellie have just stopped knocking when they come by, treating your house as they do Maria and Tommy’s–like family.

There are times he smiles in that way where his eyes shimmer and you think he’s coming around to falling for you. But he never pushes for more and you are beginning to wonder if he even wants that. After all, you’d learned from Tommy what life in a QZ can do to a person….and that’s on top of all the years the brothers spent surviving in some of the most violent and criminal ways possible.

Sometimes when you all sit out on Maria’s porch after dinner and watch the sunset together, he might take your hand in one of his–big, warm, roughened but gentle. And it’s at those times you almost forget about how he’d used it in the past. Almost.

With his bare hands, Tommy had said. Just come up behind ‘em and squeeze.

It takes time to become someone else. You always knew you’d need patience.

You just never braced yourself for something….a little less than affection.

“Listen, Songbird,” he sighs, his jaw shifting hard to one side. “I don’t want you to think–”

“Oh yeah, lookin’ goooooood,” Ellie’s opinion precedes your notice of her entrance. “Hey there, professor. I was looking for a book on relativity. Any suggestions?”

Pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose, he ignores her sass and turns instead to the commissary register to mark down the inventory he’s taking. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Maria?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, picking up an earthenware mug from a shelf and admiring the owl painted on it. “Her water broke. Baby’s coming. Can I claim this mug?”

“What??” Your body jerks, ready to run, but just barely holding back, shifting all the dismay you were just collecting and using it to power a new anxiety.

Joel’s head whips around, the glasses staying mercifully in place. “What are you doin’ looking for us? Go get Dr. Johnson!”

“Unclench yourself, my good sir. I already did. Went to her–” she says to him and then winks to you,”-- and Willa, thank you very much. You two didn’t tell me where you were going, you think I’m dumb enough to spend time hunting you down first? I’d be looking up and down Main forever. Have been. Almost went out back to see if you were eating spaghetti in the alley with one long noodle between you. Baby’s probably already here by now, jeez.” She spins on her heel, tapping the mug with a finger. “I’m taking this, thanks.”

Joel exchanges a look with you, the former conversation shoved roughly aside for a new concern. “I’ll register it and grab a few other necessaries. You go.”

This is no time to pick up the dropped dialogue but… maybe…should you stay and help? Oh. It takes a second to click that you can leave it to him. You don’t have to tell the man what’s needed for a new baby…after all, he knows more than you. Even if it was a whole other life or two ago.

And with a nod, you shelve your feelings for one more day and jog out the door to catch up with Ellie.

_____

Willa’s just walking out the door by the time you get to Maria and Tommy’s.

“You’re going?”

“For now,” she nods, working her shoes back onto her feet. “She’s got a while to go. It looks like it will be a pretty straightforward labor.”

“Did Dr. Johnson have anything to say?”

Her exhale tests high for irritation. “She’s upstairs. Why not go ask her yourself.”

“Wait. Willa. Did she send you away? I didn’t want to call her, but Joel thought–”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m going to go take a nap so I can get through the night. But she’s using up all the air in the room and what Maria needs is to rest as much as she can and let it come. A good midwife would know that. Too bad the medical authority in this town is a gastroenterologist and not an obstetrician. It’s a baby and she’s treating it like an obstructed bowel.” Muttering something further about obstructions and matters of the bowel in regards to Dr. Johnson, Willa pats you on the shoulder before making her exit. “Maria can have water for a couple more hours, then sips only. Make sure she eats something.”

Upstairs you find your old friend in full concentration mode–laying on her bed, eyes closed, breathing hard, forehead smooth but glistening–as she awaits the next contraction. Tommy’s curled up next to her, holding one of her hands, his forehead to her temple, matching her breath for breath.

Her other hand is being held aloft as the good Doctor checks her pulse. “Family only,” she condescends as you enter the room.

“Good idea,” you say, plonking down at the end of the bed with enough of a bounce that Maria opens her eyes and glares from behind her belly. When you point to her swollen feet and let your eyebrows request consent, she nods, shuts her eyes, and focuses back on the process as you take a foot onto your lap and start to massage.

Maria groans in contentment and Dr. Johnson takes it for discomfort. Turning to you, her silvery hair pulled back into a tight braid, her frown causes her jowls to deepen. “I really must insist that you clear the room. The fewer distractions she has, the better things are going to go for her.”

You pull your stockinged feet up onto the bed. “Is that how it was when you had kids?”

“I never had children,” the doctor snaps.

“I see. Well, Maria said she was gonna freak out if I wasn’t here, so it seems now we’ve got ourselves a conundrum between what the doctor says and the patient wants. But, seeing as how this is her second child and she is very much my family, I think I’m going with her wishes on this. I never got to meet the first one; I’m sure as hell not gonna miss a minute of my new godchild.”

“Who said you were going to be the godmother?” Maria grumbles.

“I did. It’s your own fault. You left the position open and nature abhors a vacuum, so I’m gonna plug my old ass into that hole.”

“You are mixing so many metaphors there. Where’s–nnnnn,” her face becomes a wall of teeth as the contraction hits, her body a live wire as you and Tommy move to soothe. It takes a good minute for her breathing to slow enough to ask, “Where’s…Willa?”

“She says she’ll check back in tonight. You’ll probably be at this awhile.”

“Well, then, if you’ve got your magic healing woman then I’m not really needed here,” Dr. Johnson’s smile only travels halfway up her face. “Blood pressure’s doing well, no signs of abnormality. I’m sure you’ll be just fine. If you need me, you know where to find me. Just send the foul-mouthed girl again. Certainly with a set of lungs like that, she can easily wake me up in a matter of minutes.”

Nobody stops the good doctor on her way out and the train of her passive-aggressive, attention-seeking attitude trails behind her.

“She means well,” Tommy answers your scathing look.

“Your wife didn’t ask for her.”

“My wife’s never been through labor without drugs before. And she’s older now. I just…” his eyes soften on her with concern as he leans in and presses a kiss to Maria’s forehead, “I just want her to be okay.”

“She’s Maria. Of course she will be.”

The subject groans with a minor cramp. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here and go make me a taco. I’m starving.”

She’s less than thrilled with the berries you bring instead– “water and fiber now, carbs later” –but is placated with you reading her to sleep from one of her favorite Amy Tan novels. Every now and then she wakes up with a contraction, but a little soothe in your voice and she’s out again.

After a few hours, Tommy goes to nap in a spare room and Willa returns with a bag full of clean linens, ready to take over, sending you out to get your own nap in.

It’s quiet downstairs, the setting sun throwing long shadows through the western windows, mixing with a few faint rainbows still filtering through the leaded stained glass over the door.

Maria’s not far from you in age. If there were still doctors in hospitals, they’d call her pregnancy not just geriatric, but advanced geriatric. Even with all the medicine that used to be available, she and the baby would still be under the care of several wary eyes. If they both make it, they’ll have beaten the odds. If they don’t–

Slumping down on the couch and pouring yourself over it–just to put your feet up and your head down for a second…just a second–you push worry out of your orbit. This isn’t a world to worry in anymore. What comes comes. All you can do is what you can do. Maria is strong. Tommy loves her. Willa’s capable. The baby’s on time. Everything’s going to be fine.

It has to be.

It hurts too much to consider an alternative.

_____

When your eyes open again, the house is dark and quiet, the sun long since set.

Although, not so quiet when your stomach growls. Nor so dark either, as you notice a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

A simple investigation leads you to a tea candle burning in a jar on the countertop, next to a scrap of paper with your name scrawled on it and a plate covered in a linen dishcloth, under which you discover a flatbread sandwich.

One look at the handwriting and you can imagine Joel coming by to check up on things only to find you asleep on the couch. There was no gentle-but-possibly-disruptive blanket-covering, no “thought you could use something to eat” beside your name on the note. Nothing but reverent candlelight and one word to let anyone who found the plate know for whom it was intended, no requests or commands, just a quiet devotion, a simple offering to a sleeping idol to be taken or left as you chose.

If he doesn’t want you to fall any harder for him, he’s doing a terrible job.

_____

The final labor comes the following morning, Tommy holding one of Maria’s hands and you the other–both of you gritting your teeth as her grip leaves bruises–and Willa holding the soles of Maria’s feet, giving her something to push against.

Joel’s been tasked with guarding the door to the house since Maria’s taken to screaming with each push–not in pain, but in ferocity–and the neighbors have been coming around in concern. He’s quick to turn them around and send them on their way and you’ve gathered from Ellie’s reports that they seemed offended until she started volunteering the information that Willa is upstairs helping out. Then everyone readily accepts that all is well and being taken care of.

But Maria, she’s the real star of the show here. Yes, she’s in pain, and yes, she’s tired and weeping–no tears, dehydrated–but she’s nothing if not a fighter. She wouldn’t be in Jackson without that being true. And, frankly, Jackson wouldn’t be Jackson if it weren’t true either.

When it’s all done and the delivery miraculously comes off without a hitch, when Willa checks the baby boy over and finds him responsive and healthy, ties him off and hands him over to Tommy, taking her leave to go wash up and rest, the room is eerily quiet.

“Hello, little man. I’m your dad,” Tommy whispers, on the edge of tears but too tired to cry as he sits next to Maria and shares the bundle with her, the two of them staring down in awe at the tiny new human. “I’m your dad, and this is your beautiful, strong, fantastic mamma. And your auntie’s here too and we’re all damn happy to meet you. Welcome home.”

Maria smiles wide, the pain already fading to memory, an unnecessary detail she’s gonna leave behind her in exchange for exponentially better days ahead.

“Good job, you three.” Adding to the kiss count on Maria’s head, you start to pick up some discarded towels and sheets, preparing to leave the new family to rest. “Did you finally agree on a name?”

“Oh, I think I settled early on,” Maria sighs, completely in love. “Riley.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Nice. Where’d that one come from?”

“Ellie suggested it and it just hit me right. It’s a good name for a boy or girl, but mostly I liked it because it’s a fighting name. All riled up and ready to go.”

“Sounds like trouble.”

Maria snorts. “Oh, I’m sure. After all, he is a Miller.”

“Damn right,” Tommy whispers, bestowing his legacy.

It’s an easy decision to make, your vow of silence. You’ll never let them know you feared losing her. Not when there’s more now to protect, more to love.

There's been enough fear. It isn't worth your time.

_____

Over the next week and change, a routine easily emerges. You make yourself available during the day for any needs–help with cooking, diaper washing, or just rocking Riley while Maria has a bath or Tommy needs a nap. After school, Ellie comes by and adds two more hands, truly turning childrearing into a village affair. Joel’s the last to add to the party after the sun starts getting low and construction on the new district slows down for the day, earlier if it’s his day for patrol. Every night is family dinner night now and sometimes Riley’s actually awake enough to join them.

Ellie can’t get enough of her new little friend. If she’s got empty hands she willingly fills them with baby, either rocking him or laying him on a cushion to watch him watching her. She’s not had a lot of experience with babies or newborns other than the lambs, but she’s a quick learner. It’s just one more thing that this harder world has deprived her of. Babies were few and far between in the QZ and Ellie seems bound and determined to make up for lost time, not wanting to miss an instant of growth or change.

Joel, on the other hand, is more stoic. If he was hard of hearing before, it almost completely disappears when Riley’s in the crook of his arm. He can’t help but be captivated by his new nephew and you catch a fond smile creeping along his cheek now and then, but there’s always something a little sad behind it, and when the light catches a glimmer off the face of his broken wristwatch, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking.

It’s during one of these moments when Maria’s napping and Ellie and Tommy are out in the yard, that you finish up the dishes and plop yourself down on the couch next to Joel.

“Your arm tired? Want me to take him?”

“No. I’m fine,” he says quietly, trying not to wake the boy. But the silence is more for himself than the baby–Riley sleeps hard. For now.

You simply draw a knee up onto the couch and lean your elbow against the back cushion, watching them, chin in hand.

“Where’s Ellie?” he finally asks.

“Enough leaves are down. Tommy’s out back showing her how to make a leaf pile. And what to do with it.”

He chuckles, knowing exactly what’s proper and good to do with leaf piles. “We used to have a big maple out back when we were kids. Dad spent hours raking and nothing he could say or do could keep us from demolishing his work. Whip our hides and we'd be back out there the next day making a mess.”

“Well, at least lawn maintenance isn’t such a priority anymore, right? Just think of all the leaf piles this one’s gonna get. Let the destruction commence.”

“Yeah.” It’s slow and subtle, but the light slowly leaks from him, a twilight descending over his brow. “I guess there’s still a few pleasures to be had for kids in this world.”

This is why he’s always so contemplative with Riley. Worrying. Taking everything he’s seen and experienced and piling them onto one little baby, doing the parent thing, hoping that they’ll have a better life…but doubting that it could ever happen.

“There’s always going to be something, Joel. If the world hadn’t gone to hell, there’d still be car accidents and kidnappers and war in some far off country and the capitalist job market. A kid has every chance to have a good life in this time as in any other. And even if it isn’t in the world we remember, this one has you and me and all of us in it to look after one little boy who gets to live a life. Isn’t that what’s great?”

“Is it?” He finally turns to you. “You think it’s a good idea to bring a kid into this disaster?”

His eyes lay bare the puncture you’ve made in him, his sorrow and apprehension starting to vent, and it seems he hopes you can patch the hole because god knows his hands are full and not steady enough to handle the delicate procedure.

“Hey. Kids are going to happen, Joel. People are still going to find each other and fall in love and I hate to break it to you, but babies are sometimes a consequence of that. Biology’s a hell of a thing. But just because it’s not the world we knew as kids doesn’t mean it’s not worth living in. In fact, Ellie and Riley are going to do better than us, because they were born into it. They’ll have all of this kind of living in their bones from birth and don’t have to take twenty years to relearn it all. Or use up twenty years living life with regret.”

You expect him not to take that well, but he surprises you, softens, and turns back to the baby, his eyes skipping to his watch.

Maria told you once that sometimes she’s glad that Kevin died. He was still young–only 3 and a half–but he would have remembered. He would have held trauma. Back then, a lot of the little ones were lost, either to hunger or to attack…they didn’t know enough to be quiet.

Sarah on the other hand…. Joel didn’t know it, but Tommy had said once that Sarah would have never made it in this world. Too good. Trusting. Gentle. She would have been taken advantage of or become severely damaged by the shift coming in her formative years. Children are resilient, but a teenager’s psyche could be a difficult thing.

“Still not a good idea,” he mumbles. “But he’s here now.”

“Thank god. Maria needed another man in her life to boss around.”

He’s not budged by your joke. Instead, he side-eyes you, hits you with a cynical question, trying to knock you off your rosy pedestal. “If you’re so happy about kids, why don’t you have any of your own?”

You shrug. “Got sheep. What. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what.”

“Not every woman wants kids, Mr. Man. Even if they like them a whole lot.”

“Biology’s a hell of a thing.”

Catching his not-so-clever info gathering, you smirk. “I had other things to concentrate on. And in the meantime, the factory had blessedly closed down.”

He can’t help the instinct that makes him truly assess you now. “You’re not old enough for that.”

You chuckle. “I’m starting to think what you don’t know about women could fill a few books, Joel Miller. You let me know when you’re ready to brush up.”

It’s at this point that Ellie calls in from the porch, telling Joel to “get your flat ass out here! Tommy says you’re a champion leaf-piler!”

“Goddammit,” he hisses as Riley starts to stir.

“Go on,” you smile, holding your arms out for the baby. “I’ve got him. We’ll need to wake his mamma up so he can eat soon anyway. Go on outside and play with the other kids. Be home before dark.”

_____

A few nights later, you’re making assessment in a full-length mirror on the inside of a closet door in a room in your house you very barely use. When was the last time you really had a look at yourself? And when was the last time you wore a dress?

Sure, it’s a fall dress, fine-knit by Addie as a gift for bringing her on as a Roostling so many years ago. You keep it for special occasions, which means you get to wear it maybe once a year. The wool is undyed, so the natural oat goes well with your brown leather work boots. Unfortunately, shoes are at a premium, so having a second pair just for fancy isn’t really a thing anymore. Doesn’t matter. The weather’s been a bit wet and the streets a bit muddy. Boots’ll do you just fine.

But you haven’t worn your hair like this in ages. Freshly washed and let to dry rather than set back or under a bandanna for utilitarian purposes, you almost forgot what it looked like natural like this.

You almost forgot that you could actually clean up quite pretty. Huh. Imagine forgetting a thing like that.

The knock at the front door’s expected. Even though Ellie and Joel come and go as they please, tonight you knew he’d do the polite thing and knock. The comfortable part of you wants to call down and tell him to just come in. But the hopeful part of you knows that this is his way of making an effort. Of taking a step your way.

“You sure?” you’d asked Maria earlier in the afternoon. “You’re gonna be okay for the night?”

“It’s a dance, not a trip to the moon. And Ellie’s here. We’ll have fun.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, clearly not happy about diaper changing duty, but smiling through it. “Please. Go. Get him out of the house. The later he comes home the better. Bonus points if he’s not back until morning.”

“Jesus, Ellie.”

Maria only smirked in full agreement.

He’s waiting on your porch when you open the door, one thumb tucked into his belt, the other holding onto a porch pillar as he examines the sole of one boot.

“You step in something?”

“Shit, I hope not. I just cleaned these. I thought–” but of course he stops when he looks up and sees you. Joel himself doesn’t have a lot of extra clothes, and is dressed in a clean dark flannel and jeans, nothing you haven’t seen before–although tucked in this time–his hair is still wet and slicked back, exposing more of the gray.

Your getup, however, is a new sight for him, and he’s struck enough to let it show on his face. So you give him a twirl, let the dress swing a bit. “Get your fill, I only bring this out like once a year. You’ve earned it this time.”

The smile is subtle, but it’s there, along with the tiniest of nods.

It’s not a long walk to the mess hall, but on your way you both determine that Joel’s definitely stepped in something, and yes, it’s still worth holding his hand. Horses are gonna horse and stepping in crap is an everyday occurrence when you live around animals at the end of the world. He seems grateful and maybe a bit chagrined, but neither does he seem ready to let you go.

The mess hall’s brightly lit; several jack-o-lanterns carved by the town’s kids adorn the long tables which spill out into the street to make room for the buffet and the dancefloor inside. A good portion of the town is out tonight and mingling under the canopy of string lights.

Addie and Goldie are the first to find you and greet you, the former admiring her own handiwork on your dress–even if she’s much improved over the years–and the latter pushing mugs of warm cider at you and Joel. Willa, it seems, took to the Roost short after Riley’s birth, always opting to take solitary watch during big gatherings and celebrations. But she did help with the decorations and is responsible for a good portion of the cornbread on the banquet table. When they start asking questions about the baby, Joel politely excuses himself, muttering something about getting you a plate.

“And how’re you doing?” Goldie asks, nodding after Joel. “I didn’t think that grump would warm up to anyone, but I suppose you’re tenacious enough when you want someone. I don’t blame you. Grey Fox indeed. If I was twenty years older, we’d have to share.”

“Yeah, he’s coming around.”

“Didn’t think you’d ever take up with anyone again. I heard Ellie had a run-in with the lye.”

A sudden lump rises, nothing you can’t swallow down. “She’s fine. And so am I. Maybe I'm a little lonely is all. Maybe I got a type. Here’s to hoping I’m wrong where it counts!” You smile wide, clinking your mug with Goldie’s and drink deep, chasing away whatever guilt rudely decided to come calling.

Tonight’s supposed to be happy. Tonight’s your night with Joel. Just you and him. No family, no interruptions. The past is the past. And this night is easily the first of many.

Soon enough you catch him waving you down at one of the tables and join him for dinner.

“Figured you weren’t picky, so I got you some of everything.”

“Hells bells, Foxy. Were you planning on dancing with me at all tonight? Because I won’t be able to move if I eat all of this.”

At least he swallows what he’s chewing so he can answer you between forkfuls. “Don’t worry. I’ll eat what you don’t.”

“Then how are you gonna dance?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t plan on gettin’ rowdy. Not with these knees.”

“Oh my god, you old man. Did you really come here with me just to sit and eat? There’s a band playing. And they’re good. You’re not gonna dance with me?”

“To be honest,” he says, straining above the chatter spilling out of the hall and taking another bite of chicken, getting it mostly down before continuing with a pained squint, “I was never good at it. One of those ‘stand around with a beer and watch the band play’ kinda guys. But a pretty girl wanted me to slow dance, I could do that. More swaying than anything.”

“Well I guess that’s something to look forward to then.”

“Good thing you’re easy to please.”

It’s another hour sitting at the communal table, the night settling in and the fiddle and guitar music rolling out from inside the hall. A few friends come by to visit, Missy Tippett makes her way to Joel’s right side to flirt and he pretends to hear her, answering all questions with a “yep” even if they aren’t yes or no queries and you do your best not to laugh. True to his word, Joel takes on the leavings of your meal–nearly half the plate–while you chat with folks, and he rises beautifully to the challenge. Without having to scrape and scramble in the QZ or starving out in the wilds, he’s put on weight since the spring, just enough to fill out his hollowed cheeks and pleasantly soften down his belly. He keeps active with the construction enough that he’s putting away more fuel than storage, but it’s good to see him enjoying the harvest.

You’re mid-conversation with one of Willa’s brothers when Joel taps a knuckle on your elbow. Turning to find him with his chin in his hand, he points inside of the mess hall where a slow song just started, an old Buddy Holly tune, True Love Waits. The time has come then. Like the worn shoe that he is, he gets up and re-tucks his shirt as you excuse yourself and then let him lead you inside to the dance floor.

He’s an old-schooler, guiding you close around your waist and taking your hand in one of his.

In all the time Joel and Ellie have been in Jackson what you’ve felt toward him was a strong pull, a crush, an attraction. It’s been years since you felt drawn to someone like this. But it isn’t until this moment that you actually register the ramp up and learn that your species of butterflies don’t really seem to reside in your belly, but behind your sternum. The tip of your nose and chin tingle with the proximity to his, his breath warm and apple-scented, his flannel smelling of soap and being dried in the sun. His hand fits perfectly at your lower back and your arm was made to curve up and around his sturdy, ample shoulder.

It’s that feeling where you can’t seem to look him in the eye for more than a fraction of a second for fear of losing control, and so you focus on his chin instead, yearning to land your lips there.

It takes most of the song to realize he’s doing the same with the top of your head.

You should say something; it feels odd not to be poking fun somehow. But then, you can’t think of a damn thing to say now that you’re exactly where you’ve been wanting to be all these many months. Well, nothing witty anyway.

“It’s been forever since I slow danced with anyone.”

“Out of choice, I assume,” he answers after a while. “Seems odd you being here so long and not spoken for.”

“Not everyone has to be paired up for life to be worth living.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like you want to and I’m not sure how anyone says no to you if you set your sights. You’re damn persistent.”

The song ends and you break to applaud, ready to quip back. But there’s a look on his face, and expression that you’re not able to categorize in the context of this moment, only that it looks like he might want to leave or be alone.

“Joel, I’m sorry if I pushed you. I know you’re still settling in. I didn’t mean to–”

But the next song starts up, sweet and slow–You Belong To Me–and he doesn’t give you a chance to finish. He just pulls you in close, tucking your head against his shoulder under his jaw, taking your hand again and holding it against himself.

“I’m settled,” is all he says as you sway.

Determination. That’s the expression. A commitment laced with lingering sadness or fear.

And that’s okay, you think. After everything he’s been through, that’s okay. As long as he wants to be here with me, everything’s going to be okay.

At the end of the song he peels away, and while the expression has softened, it still remains.

You reach for his hand. “You wanna walk?”

He nods. You let him lead.

Outside in the crisp autumn night air, he doesn’t take the direct path to your house, instead, he ambles slowly down another road, toward Maria and Tommy’s place.

Joel’s a thinker. He’s got things to say but needs to put them in order in his head first. So you let him organize while you walk slowly beside him, the light and the pretty violin ballad fading behind you. It takes a little longer than you expect and you’re almost to the house when he finally speaks.

“I’m not good at this.”

“You say that like there’s one right way. Like I’m expecting something out of you.”

It’s obviously not what he expected you to say. “But you are.”

“Okay, maybe. But I’m also willing to meet you where you are.”

“No, that’s not what…” he breathes out hard, frustrated that his thoughts are getting out of order, but you wait. “You should be…expecting…something. You should want me to…reciprocate.”

“I do want that, but I can’t force you and I know it.” You amble on, watch his jaw tick. “Joel, I’m crazy about you and I’d love nothing more than for you to feel the same way about me. It’s been a long time since I felt that way about someone. But I know it’s different for you. I know you were more recently attached, and for a long time–”

“It wasn’t like that. Well…wasn't like this, anyway.”

You follow him silently past Maria and Tommy’s place–dark, everyone asleep–and take a turn that will eventually lead you to your own house. A block goes by before he finds his next words.

“Tess and I…our lives…we were…rough with each other. Cared for each other, but we were hard. We had to keep on our toes, couldn’t let feelings get in the way or make mistakes. But all that…stuff… We had each other physically but we kept a lot at arm’s length. Like a survival mode. Conserving our energy for things that kept us alive. Safe.”

“I think I understand. Tommy said–”

“Tommy didn’t understand shit. He thought I was using Tess. But he was wrong.” Even if he’s keeping his voice even, his eyes cold, you can see his fist clenching and unclenching out of the corner of your eye. “I…I needed her and didn’t know it. She was right there and I should have… told her so. That’s what I think I’m saying. I don’t have any practice in anything that isn’t just surviving. And I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

“Are you pulling a ‘you deserve better’ on me?”

Another look of surprise. Again, you’ve thrown him for a loop.

“Because I do deserve better. You’re right. I do deserve to be loved and to be adored and to be happy. But so do you. Most of us do. Doesn’t mean everyone’s gonna get it. Sounds like you spent the last decade and change denying it for yourself and to someone else. But at least you had someone. At least you knew where you stood. Me, on the other hand…I spent the last decade remembering something like that and wishing it would come back, knowing it wouldn’t, and beating off any chance of having it again like a damn fool. Maria ever tell you about Troy?”

His headshake is subtle, but his look of concern not so much. You decide to let it roll off you just as you had with everyone else in the past ten years.

“Figures. Tommy’s got a big mouth but Maria’s always kept her trap shut when it’s not her story to tell.

“Troy was my...husband. We were married for three really good years. He was a refugee, like you. Came through from Seattle QZ with his sister. Ash was a wild one, loved the sheep. She was the last trainee we had before Ellie came out. She had a habit of wandering though, hopping the barrier for berries and honey and just to run free in the woods without a care in the world. Almost cut her off from going out to the Meadow, but Troy spoiled her, took her side in most things. His only weakness. Damn, I loved that stupid man so much.”

Coming up to your house, you take a seat on the steps, not ready to go inside yet. As you continue, Joel follows your lead and ends up beside you.

“You ever wonder why Maria and I don’t live on top of one another? Troy and I lived in the house next door. Once he died, I couldn’t bear to live there anymore.”

The breeze picks up and you give it a minute to die down. Joel’s voice pushes through your silence just above a whisper. “What happened?”

“Troy and Ash were out at the meadow and they weren’t answering the check-ins. So Willa and I went out there with the patrol. Right away we see almost the whole herd gathered in one lay. Not like them unless they’re protecting a sick or injured one. And that’s what they were doing, all huddled around the hole.

“Can’t say for certain how it went down, but from the looks of things, Ash got herself bit, nearly took off her forearm. Back then the area wasn’t so cleared out and Ash liked to play her chances outside the barriers as I’ve said. Must have scrambled back in and come looking for Troy or he brought her back thinking he could fix it and found out he was wrong. He blew her face clean off. He must have dug the hole and put her in it. Covered it with lye. Got in there with her. Shot himself.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Bodies were in pretty rough shape when we found ‘em.” The stars are bright tonight as you blink back tears in the dark. “I shouldn’t have let her go out there. I thought he would get her to take it seriously. I should have pushed. But. They were so close and I also know that I couldn’t ask him to choose my wants over hers. And in the end it looks like he wouldn’t have picked mine anyway.”

The power from the dam is being conserved for the harvest dance tonight, so the streetlamps are dark on your row. But the moon’s bright enough to catch Joel watching you, reassessing you.

“I’m very, very capable of deserving love, Joel. And I’m capable of giving it with my whole, stupid heart. I remember what the world used to be, and how it turned on a dime and how we all lost everything we were and had. And when I met Troy I thought that love could fix it. Nope. It doesn’t fix it. The past doesn’t go away. But it’s nice to have someone to walk through the better days with. To choose to live in the present and make it brighter.”

As if the world is an underscore to your story, one last, lonely cricket interrupts the silence, a holdout for the season, waiting a little too late to find itself a mate and a home.

“I’m a murderer, Songbird.”

It’s a simple statement.

“I know you are.”

“Just so you know. Just so you know what you’re getting into.”

Now it’s your turn to gather your thoughts. “We’re all a pile of our many selves. Who we were, who we choose to be going forward, how we see ourselves, how others see us. It’s all there, always will be. All of us a little broken. Fractured. But it doesn’t have to be just one thing forever. There’s no mark of Cain here. Just making choices every day to be the person you want to be. You find your people and you take care of them as best you can, and they do the same for you. You slip up, you start over tomorrow.”

And now it’s his turn to blink up at the night sky.

“You did what you had to do, Joel, we all did. We all had to revise the moral manual for a minute. Nice thing about Jackson these days is that there’s nothing you have to do. You can just do what you want, what makes you feel whole and alive. And if that’s something different every day, then that’s your choice. You say you’re not good at this, but you are. You danced with me. Walked with me. Listened. You’re just as good as you have to be and if you want to be better at it then you just...try again. You get unlimited tries.”

His expression is muddled in shadow, his face turned out of the light and focused on you.

Suddenly tired, you stand up and walk up the stairs to the door. “I had a nice time tonight, Foxy. The best. Even if it ended on a downer.”

“That’s my fault.”

“No. It’s nobody’s fault, it’s just what life is now sometimes. Will I see you tomorrow?”

He’s slow about it, but he climbs the last few steps to the porch. You were wrong about the solitary cricket; there’s still a few still pushing the limits, challenging the first frost, singing to the moonlight.

Reaching out, letting his fingertips trail your arm all the way down, he captures your hand to keep you still and moves in, slow and quiet.

When he finally kisses you, it’s a tentative declaration, a promise of what he can give right here, right now; his kiss lingers in apology, showing you in every way that he has trouble letting go, unpracticed in being tender, but he’s willing to try.

Finally.

Every second lingered is worth the wait, only because you can feel that it won’t be the last.

“Guess I shouldn’t put off until tomorrow what I can start on today then,” he says when he steps back.

“That's a real good start.”

There’s not much more to say as he makes his way down the steps off into the night and toward his own house. No need. No expectations. There’s always tomorrow.

And since Joel’s come to town, it seems like every tomorrow’s usually been better than the yesterday before.

_____

You’ve been sitting on Maria’s couch knitting a sweater in the chilly morning sun for at least a good hour when Ellie comes down from upstairs.

“Oh hey, you’re here,” she says, throwing herself down on the floor by your feet and beginning to paw through your basket.

“I am. Didn’t have any plans today, thought I’d come and be on hand. How’s Riley?”

“Down for one of many naps. He’s growing so fast already.” Finding a full spindle in your stash, she begins unwinding it and forming it into a neat ball with practiced hands.

“That’s what babies do. He’ll be walking and talking before you know it.”

“We should bring him out to see the sheep when he’s walking.”

“We’ve got a corral of milkers in town he can visit. Probably not a great idea taking kids out of town. You’ll see when he’s up and about. Little kids like get away from you and hear themselves scream. Hard to keep safe if you’re dumb and loud.”

“Oh. Right.” She’s silent a while, slowly building her yarn ball.

“Something you wanna ask me? It’s not like you to volunteer to help with this part.”

There’s a certain way Ellie chews her lip and scrunches it at the same time. “I was thinking of asking you…if I could stay behind next time you go out to the Roost.”

That makes you chuckle. “Riley’s a little more fascinating than the sheep right now, huh. What. You thought I’d be mad?”

“No, just…I do like being out there. But I also feel like I can help here. For now. And I know you’re skipping your weeks to be here and I thought if I stayed you could go and then there’s still enough of us around….”

“The sheep are in good hands, they can wait. I’m in no hurry and I don’t mind being here. But I appreciate it.”

The yarn’s coming to an end, the ball in her hands reaching a pleasing softball size. “Can I ask you a favor then?”

“Of course.”

“Tommy went out to the reconstruction site and left his lunch and Maria asked me to bring it to him so he doesn’t come home for it and wake her or the baby.”

“But you wanna stay here.”

“Yeah.”

“Good timing.” Smiling and finishing up your row, you tuck the needles and sweater into the basket. “It’s a nice, dry day for a walk and I’ve been meaning to go see that sector. Tell you what. Eye for an eye. I go out there, you ball up all those spindles while I’m gone. Don't undo my knitting."

What the autumn sun is lacking in warmth, Ellie makes up for it with that spark of unbridled joy. “Fuck yeah, deal!”

_____

Swinging a bundle bag full of Tommy’s lunch and other sundries, you walk out to the old north edge of town. The wall’s come down here, another one erected a handful of blocks beyond, re-civilization slowly sweeping and expanding out as the need arises. The houses are in varying stages of disrepair, repair, and some have come down to use for scrap. Your elementary teacher’s house is still here, getting a spiff-up treatment and you’re remembering Mrs. Erstine and her roses fondly when there’s a sharp whistle and call of your name.

Joel’s walking down the block toward you with an easy smile and you return it as he nears. It’s been a couple of weeks since the harvest dance and you haven’t seen each other much outside of family dinners and scattered evenings at Maria and Tommy’s’. Between the rush to get some of these homes fit for winter and you helping out with all the canning and preserving down at the mess hall, a twilight trio on the porch with Ellie here and there has been your scant means of together time.

“What’s brought you up this way? Everything okay?” He’s good enough to bend his neck a little so you can meet his patchy cheek in a kiss.

“Tommy forgot his lunch and Maria wants to spare him a trip.” You hold up the bag. “And I brought treats for you too.”

His finger hooks the bag, trying to peek in. “Really.”

“Nah ah, not until you take me to your leader.”

“My leader,” he scoffs, turning and leading you up the street. “Ain’t nothin’ he can do I don’t have to come up after him and fix.”

“Speaking of fixing, we could use new shingles at the Roost. It’s been wet and I’ve heard there’s a leak.”

“Yeah? When you going out next? I’ll go out with you.”

Turning onto a more wooded road, you both follow the sound of hammers. “Well, Goldie’s up there now and I usually take after her. I suppose I could go next week before the rains really start up.”

“Next week then.”

As you approach a beautiful A-frame home, Tommy’s over to one side at a couple of sawhorses, measuring out a beam. Joel calls out to his brother with the same whistle he gave you.

“It’ll be just you and me,” you say. “Ellie wants to stay home with Riley.”

Joel’s head whips around. “What?”

“Hey there, ma’am-o-jam, what brings you up here? Everything alright?” Just like his brother.

“Yeah, all’s well. You forgot your lunch and my legs needed a stretch.”

“Oh shit,” he grins. “I was just starting to get hungry. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You gesture to the house. “This is really beautiful. It’s like a bigger version of the Roost.”

“It’s nothin’ like the Roost. It’s on the ground.” Tommy smiles as you swat at him. “We’ve started with all the houses that need the least amount of help, tearing down the ones that need the most to fix ‘em up. This one had a lot of protection from the elements–the sun and the snow–from all these pines around it. All the windows still in place. Mostly just had to clear out a couple of overgrowths in the basement–probably the previous owners gone to seed. But it’s all good treated hardwood. Good bones. It’ll stand another century or two.”

A small, involuntary shiver passes through you at the casual mention of dead infected. “Did you burn them? The previous owners.”

Your reaction doesn't escape Joel’s notice. “Did it myself. There were a few in this section. It’s okay. They were long gone. Dry as a bone. It’s safe here.”

He’s earned a smile, even if it’s a sad one. “That’s good. They must have loved this house, to want to stay here, even when they didn’t know any better. Can’t blame ‘em. Anyway,” you go through your bag, lifting out a small parcel and handing the rest to Tommy, “here you go. But this is yours,” offering the parcel to Joel but then snatching it away as he reaches for it, “only if you promise to be honest and tell me if you like it or not.”

Joel’s eyes light up when he opens the package. “Holy shit; is that…pecan pie?”

And Tommy winks as he takes his lunch and walks back toward the house.

“Heard it was your favorite.” You can’t help but laugh at his big dumb grin. “Don’t be too excited! I obviously had to make every substitution. Walnuts for pecans, honey for sugar; it’s not exact, but it should be close enough. Been working on my bakes.”

Taking a bite, he shakes his head in what at first seems like pain but soon reveals itself to be the opposite. “Damn woman. And you only bring me one piece?”

“You’re a carpenter. That’s a triangle obviously cut out of a full circle. You know there’s more where that came from.” It’s a pleasure to watch him lose a battle against another big bite. “I take it you’re happy.”

His mouth full of sticky sweetness but the crow’s feet setting in, all he can do is chew and cock his head, looking you over as if to say, damn right I am.

_____

Joel’s quiet the whole ride to the Roost. It’s easy to guess what’s troubling him. A whole week alone should be exciting, but he’s worrying about expectations again and there hasn’t been much time to talk about it…or he just didn’t want to.

“Meadowlark to Goldfinch.”

“Present.”

“Bringing a Grey Fox in at the north gate.”

“Noted. You brought your own sheets I hope.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Joel’s frown and straightened shoulders as he suddenly loses the sympathetic gait with his horse. “Yup. Both sets. For two beds. Man’s here to work on that roof and I’m only payin’ him in food.”

“Ooof. Poor Joel. He deserves better.”

“Yeah, well I’m working on it. Boiled water last night and I didn’t even burn it.”

The banter seems to have relaxed him back into the saddle sag for the time being, and you keep it up until Goldie has you in her sights.

“I know you like sleeping under the stars, Foxy, but it’s been cold and wet. Bed’s yours. I’ll take the top bunk.”

“Fine,” he grunts.

“And you’re not allowed to go up on the roof unless I’m around to spot you.”

“I can handle it.”

“Oh, I’m sure, but my nerves can’t. And this is my domain. I’m the boss out here.”

This gets you one half serving of smile with a side of eyeroll. “Yes ma’am.”

Once you’re settled in, Joel descends the ladder and starts going through the woodpile, looking for adequate repair material, taking up the axe to split some logs for shingles while you go take a cursory round through the meadows.

The sheep are mostly on the near side by the copse of trees housing the Roost, keeping a tight flock, settled down and facing into the wind. A few bleat as you arrive but none of them skitter, allowing you to pat a couple as they chew cud and to check any for painted marks in case Goldie found one of them sick or lame. Other than one small ram that wants to playfully butt you in the thigh, all seems well. The rest of the flock is mostly down by the river and you take a little time to make some noise and shoo them toward the others before circling back to the Roost….

…which is where you find Joel Miller up on the ladder prying at rotted shingles.

“What the hell did I say, Cinnamon Roll?”

“Hold your britches,” he calls down. “I’m just assessing.”

“How am I supposed to get up there and you got the ladder?”

“Oh now we have a quandary,” he jokes. “What are you gonna do if I don’t let you up?”

“You think I haven’t slept out with the sheep before? I’d have no issue with it but that it’s gonna rain, so maybe you should let me up so I can help and make that repair go faster.”

Coming down and moving the ladder to the balcony drop, he scans the sky with doubts. “What makes you think it’s gonna rain?”

“Because I read sheep.”

“You read sheep.”

“Yeah. They spell it out like a marching band. RAIN. Big letters. Cursive. Could you just–”

The ladder comes sliding down with a thunk and you climb, taking his helping hand as you reach the top.

He smirks. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

All you can do is shake your head and hide your grin. “Don’t you dare. I’m gonna get my gloves.”

As he starts to heft the ladder back up, you go inside and quickly grab a wool hat and a pair of deerhide gloves from your pack. Turning to go back out though, a glint catches your eye near the door.

There’s a new nail in the wall.

With a broken watch hanging from it.

Huh.

This must be the place where he feels like he can be free of it and of the past you gather it represents for him. A special spot for it by the door where he won’t forget it when he leaves, somewhere he can see it if he needs it, but not carry it so much.

It’s a nice piece but for the hole. Well cared for. 2:40. You realize with a little regret that you missed the anniversary, that Outbreak Day no longer registers. Which means you also didn’t–

He doesn’t like to celebrate his birthday, Tommy once said.

It had come and gone without much fuss. But also without any noticeable misery. Railroaded by a new nephew and hard work.

That’s good. He’s not forgetting, just letting it rest. Someday it will be a good day again.

“You gonna get out here and hold this thing or what? You’re the one said rain is coming.”

“Not me. It was the sheep. Hold your britches or get a better belt. I’m coming.”

_____

A gentle roll of thunder wakes you in the night and the Roost is dark as you listen for a moment to the rain pattering against the roof slanting up and over you, inches away. Tuning in, you train your ear for a hard patter, a splotch, any indication that the roof patch didn’t hold, but of course it has. It was mended by Joel Miller himself.

Well, at least it’s dry, but damn, it’s chilly. A glance toward the little iron stove shows you nothing but darkness, which means the fire’s out. As much as it hurts to leave the little nest of warmth you do have, it’s probably better to relight it and warm the place by morning, so down the bunk ladder you go, being as quiet as possible.

Somehow, it's always comforting waking up at night at the Roost. Your house in town is too quiet at night, too full of the possibility of unfamiliar ghosts--of those that lived there, of the society it held, of your own loneliness. At least out here you feel held by the trees and needed by the sheep. There are ghosts buried out there in the meadow, but they're long gone now, part of the land itself, land that was always wild and free and full of the kind of life that wasn't destroyed all at once in one day. Night at the Roost is a quiet comfort, a place of purpose and sisterhood and family. It's full of wooden and woolen things made by hands you know and is welcoming to everyone, including the moonlight and the stars.

It takes a little doing with the wind up and you have to manipulate the flue a bit, but after a few minutes there’s a lovely crackling and smell of pine. Padding over to the chair by the window to snatch the wool blanket there, you stop for a minute to look out at the storm, trying to catch a glimpse of the sheep in a flash of lightning, but there’s not much of that to be had, so you wrap the blanket around yourself and make your way back to the bunk ladder.

“Sheep okay out there?” Joel mumbles in the dimness from his bed, somewhere near your knee.

“They’re fine. Did I wake you up?”

“No. Been listening to the rain a while. You cold?”

“Yeah. Fire went out. You?”

His answer comes in the form of something like a sail in the darkness and it takes a second to realize that he’s holding his blankets open in an invitation. “Come on. You’re gonna let the heat out.”

Sliding into Joel’s warmth is an easy decision to make. And it’s not just the warmth of his sheets, but that he brings the covers around you, pulling you all the way into his chest against his soft old undershirt, tucking you in under his chin, wrapping you up in his whole, woodsmoke-scented self.

Every tension in you simply melts into bliss.

Resting his lips against your forehead, his breath fans gently at your hair. “I could get used to this.”

A long hum rides out on your exhale. “I think I already am.”

“You’re a good woman, you know that?”

“Spoken like a true Texan.”

A long kiss presses into your forehead. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m gonna do my best to be good again, Songbird. Hope I can be what you want.”

“That’s easier than you imagine. You’ve been what I want since you showed up around here, so I’m already quite pleased. Hope I can be what you want.”

A new warmth takes you over as he starts to spread his hand along your back, simply running over your contours, testing out what it’s like to hold someone this way, slowly caressing, lightly squeezing, tucking you in tighter. “You seem to know what I want before I even do. I look forward to finding out what I want next.”

“Well, I have to admit. Your brother tipped me off about the pecan pie.”

He laughs a little as he tips your chin up to meet you in a kiss in the dark. It’s hesitant but hungry; a long time needed and a long time savored.

“Did your sheep say it was supposed to rain all day?”

His hair and beard ruffle softly under your fingertips. “I didn’t ask, but I think it probably will. Sure hope that new roof holds.”

“We could always just stay right here and keep an eye on it.”

“See? You know exactly what you want. We can do that. I’d say that’s a good day’s work.”

His hand splays big and warm on your back, pinning you close for another kiss. “I tend to agree.”

_____

PREVIOUS: SUMMER

WINTER

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

[qininqinin]

Ohhh!!! Tysm!!

Can you write about bill sans? I barely see anything of him with writing!!

(maybe a enemy's to lovers? But different, we veiw him as a enemy, were grouchy I guess lol- he's a simp >:3 admirer I guess- You know how the UTMV fandom writes Geno X reaper duo type? Like that- Bills like reaper and we're like geno >:o)

Change anything you want! I don't mind!! 🥳 Sorry if English bad ☹️

-🇧🇷 anon

(⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)

HIS NEW PET

Cw: Bill Sans x Reader, f!reader, enemies to lovers, lowkey yandere Bill Sans, establish friendship, past friends to lovers, suggestive (?), non consensual touching… 

note: outro brasileiro yaaay

"Give him back, you filthy demon," you growled, your teeth clenched so tightly that you feared they might crack from the pressure. He merely smirked at you, his expression one of unsettling amusement as he seemed to take pleasure in your anger.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery, "it seems the little girl has quite the sharp tongue." His tone was taunting, and he seemed genuinely intrigued by your fierce words.

"Give Sans back, you son of a b—ugh!" you shouted, but your words were abruptly cut off as he yanked you up by your hair, pulling you close with a rough grip.

He chuckled softly, clearly amused by your struggle.

"It’s Bill, sweetheart. Sans is long gone," he murmured into your ear, his voice a sinister whisper that sent chills down your spine. 

His breath was icy against your skin, and you shivered slightly in disgust as he began to rub his face against yours with a nauseating familiarity.

"I’m starting to understand why he liked you so much," he remarked with a twisted grin. "You’ve got such a fierce spirit in that delicate human body of yours—like an angry kitten." His eyes gleamed with a perverse fascination as he continued to invade your personal space, savoring every moment of your discomfort.

As soon as your mind cleared, your hands instinctively shot to one of his eye sockets. Your thumb dug in sharply while your other fingers pressed firmly against the sides of his skull, trying to leverage him away.

Bill’s laughter echoed with cruel amusement as he observed your desperate struggle. He tightened his grip on your hair, his fingers digging into your scalp, and pulled it back further, exposing your neck even more. 

“I should just make you my new pet,” he snarled, his voice dripping with malice. “Taming you would be quite the accomplishment, after all.” He shifted closer, pressing his face against your neck with a disturbing intimacy.

“Did you know he once imagined putting a collar on you?” Bill whispered directly against your pulse as you persinsting in pushing him, “He really had quite the dirty mind.” He laughs darkly.

Unable to contain yourself, you spat at him. A sense of satisfaction washing over you as you watch his smirk falter slightly.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice smooth and menacing as he licked the spit from his face with an unnaturally long, yellowed tongue. “I’ll have plenty of fun putting a collar and a damn muzzle on you.” His eyes gleamed with the cruel promise.

[gonzo-rella]

The Benevolent Girlfriend | Kim Pine (ft. Wallace Wells)

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): Kim Pine x sick!gn!reader (romantic), Wallace Wells x sick!gn!reader (implied romantic)

Summary: Your roommate Wallace is repulsed by your cold, so he gets your girlfriend Kim to come over and take care of you.

Warnings: You're gross and sick, sorry. (Let me know if I need to add any)

Word count: 0.8k

(A/N: I finally rewatched Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, because I wanted to watch it before I watch the anime (haven't seen it yet, but once I have I'll make a post and add it to my fandom list), and damn I'm in love with Kim. I've been enjoying writing these sick fics whilst I recover from the common cold, so I figured I'd try writing something about Kim, and I was motivated to write something that wasn't just headcanons, which I've already done with the Yellowjackets ladies, Abed and Annie from Community and Charlie, Todd and Neil from Dead Poets Society. This is my first Scott Pilgrim fic, so hopefully it's alright! I tried to capture the spirit and tone of the movie and characters. I'd like to write more for both Kim and Wallace specifically. Maybe I'm delirious from being sick but I'd love to write a fic where the reader is the S/O of both Kim and Wallace to indulge myself because I'm in love with them both.)

A mattress on the floor in a very cold country surely couldn’t have been the best place to recover from a cold- an idiot could tell you that. Wallace had very kindly made you soup and brought you countless glasses of water, but he had hauled his chair as far away from you and the bed as he could manage in the small apartment because, to quote him, you were ‘repulsive and contagious, no offence’. He had been very gracious in letting you pick out what daytime TV crap you wanted to watch.

It reached the late afternoon when there was a knock at the door, and, with a huff, Wallace got up to get it, leaving you to stare absently at the TV through the mist of your mild headache and clogged ears. Your neck was beginning to ache from craning it to look up at the screen.

“Kimberly. You’re here. What took you so long?”

“Nice to see you too, Wallace. Are they awake?”

Wallace cast a glance in your direction and tilted his head; he then looked back at Kim.

“Well, the lights are on, but it doesn’t look like anybody’s home.”

He punctuated the sentence with a shrug.

“Kim?” you said finally, voice hoarse and nasal from your sore throat and blocked nose respectively. 

Kim peered at you over Wallace's shoulder then barged past him. She stood at the foot of your ‘bed’.

“What are you doing here?” you mumbled. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Wallace texted me that you’re sick.”

Wallace left the door ajar, prompting you to wrap your blanket tighter around you. He reached over to grab his coat and slid his arms into it, then stood beside Kim.

“I’m going out with Other Scott, and I thought it’d be cruel to leave you alone, so I told your very benevolent girlfriend-” Kim rolled her eyes as Wallace indicated to her with a nod. “That you were sick and that she might wanna come over and take care of you in your equally benevolent roommate’s stead.”

“Okay. Thanks, Wa-”

You were interrupted by a sneeze. It was so sudden that you made the split-second decision to cover it with your hands. When you peeled it away, droplets of snot coated your palms.

You groaned.

Wallace scrunched up his nose.

“That’s disgusting,” Kim commented monotonously. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’ve been told.”

“And, with that,” Wallace said, stepping over to the door and swinging it open. “I’ll leave you kids to it. Good luck, Kim. And, I hope you feel better soon, dear.”

“Thanks, Wallace,” you mumbled.

“Fuck off, Wallace,” Kim said dryly, in unison with you.

He waved at you both then closed the door. There was a moment of silence in which you and Kim just stared at one another. Your snot-covered hands were still held out in front of you.

“So, you’re sick, huh?”

“Yep.”

“Are you going to clean that up?”

You stared at her blankly, before realising what she meant.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

You went to reach for your box of tissues before you realised that they were on the kitchen counter after Wallace had used a few to shield his hands from direct contact with your glass of water. Kim’s gaze followed yours, but her attention returned to you when she noticed that you were readying yourself to get up.

“One sec. I’ll get them for you.”

You relaxed as Kim made the very short journey to the kitchen counter and knelt down to put the box next to you. She yanked a few tissues from the box before placing them in your hands, careful not to touch your snot.

“Thanks, Kim.”

“No problem.”

She stayed kneeling down beside you, watching as you cleared up your hands. There was a look of contemplation on her face.

“You need anything else?”

You glanced up at her and smiled.

“No, thanks.”

“Alright.”

She climbed over you and took a seat beside you- shoulder-to-shoulder- on the mattress. You looked at her incredulously.

“Are you sure you wanna get so close? Wallace hasn’t come near me all day.”

She folded her arms.

“I don’t care.”

“But, I’m disgusting.”

Kim smirked so faintly that anyone who didn’t know her wouldn’t have registered that it was there.

“I wouldn’t be your ‘benevolent girlfriend’ if that bothered me.”

You chuckled and rested your head on her shoulder, and Kim rested her head on yours.

“Holy shit, you’re hot,” she stated.

“Thanks.”

“I meant you have an alarming fever.”

“Oh. Right.”

There was a pause, and Kim huffed.

“Fine. You’re the other kind of hot, too.”

“Thanks, Kim, that’s very-”

You broke into a series of coughs and doubled over. You covered your mouth with the inside of your elbow. Kim rubbed your back soothingly. Once again, the faintest of smiles tugged at her lips.

“Sorry,” you groaned. “That wasn't very hot.”

“Maybe not,” she said. She rested her hand on your shoulder and pulled you closer, once again resting her head on yours. “But, I love you anyway.”

[klbwriting]

Combining Two Worlds

Chapter 12: Truth or Dare

Fandom: DCEU

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: some suggestive language

Summary: Orm and Arthur take Ludo out for a bachelor party while Mera and Y/N host Lydia for a girls' night in

Note: it is so hard for me to find good GIFs from the 2nd movie, like yes I love all the shirtless ones but still, I need more!

Hestia and Syfin left for Xebel and it was like Ludo and Lydia were lost.  They sat at the lunch table the next day, quiet, not even looking at each other.  Y/N finally got tired of the silence and the awkward staring and sighed. 

               “Are you excited for the party?” she asked Lydia, smiling at the girl.  Lydia looked at her finally, clearly trying to figure out the game they were all playing.  “Its not going to be fancy or anything, I’m honestly not a fancy person.  I thought maybe we would play a few games, there’s so many Atlantian games I haven’t played.  Maybe I’ll teach you two some of the surface world’s games, we have one called truth or dare, very popular.”  Orm smiled, seeing what she was trying to do.  Arthur clapped a hand on Ludo’s back. 

               “You my friend are in for a night of complete debauchery,” he said.  Orm cocked an eyebrow, looking at his brother.  “O we are going to drink some of that terrible fermented seaweed crap you guys’ drink, play some cards, go find an actual mermaid.”  Ludo looked both intrigued and terrified. 

               “He’s lost his mind,” Mera said, laughing. 

               “How many do I have to tell you, Ariel is not real,” Orm groaned.  Arthur shook his head undeterred. 

               “I don’t know, up until like six years ago Atlantis wasn’t real,” Arthur said.  “I gotta say my chances are good to find her and then well, Mera will have competition.” 

               “O will I now?” she asked.  Arthur smirked and shrugged, moving to his wife, kissing her head. 

               “This is going to be fun.”

               Y/N had requested everyone dress for comfort, but it seemed that Lydia didn’t exactly know what that meant, arriving dressed for an actual party.  Mera had prepared for this, bringing extra clothes for her. 

               “Lydia, you look so good!” Y/N said as the other girl sat down in her new outfit.  “Tell me Lydia, what games do you like?”

               “It’s been a long time since I was asked to play a real game,” she said.  “Normally the games we play are…just to win, not for fun.”  Mera nodded.

               “After Atlanna was exiled that is what Orvax did to Orm and me, we played games of battle, strategy, nothing that was just for enjoyment,” she said.  Y/N shook her head.

               “Both of you, have such screwed up childhoods.  Dear God, ok, then we are just playing some good old-fashioned truth or dare,” Y/N said.  “All fun, all silly, no question is off limits. Of course the dares can’t be dangerous because well, I will throw a trident through someone who tries to make me do something to endanger Velka.”

               “Velka?” Lydia asked.  Y/N smiled and patted her stomach.  “What about the other one?” 

               “Other one?” Y/N asked, confused.  Lydia nodded.  “It’s not…twins?”

               “When we were exiled, we lived in a settlement and I often helped with the midwives when I was old enough and my parents weren’t around,” she said.  “I know when a woman is carrying twins and you, are having twins.”  Y/N let out a breath. 

               “Well then, guess I’ll have to think of another name,” she said, before laughing happily.  Mera was still weary of Lydia, watching every move the woman made, but so far, she didn’t see any malice or deception.  Lydia seemed to be relaxing and genuinely interested in Y/N.  Mera just hoped it wasn’t because she wanted to betray her.   

               “Alright, Mera, truth or dare?” Y/N asked.  Mera had only seen this game played in movies and was worried about either option.  “Come on, I’m nice, I’m not going to embarrass you.”

               “Fine, dare,” she said.  Y/N smiled and looked around, hearing the men’s voices going by the room.

               “I dare you to shoot a water cannon at Arthur when he passes,” she said.  Mera laughed and got up, going to the doorway, and opening it.  They said goodbye to the guys as they walked by and Mera shot a water sprout right at Arthur, sending him toppling for a moment before he turned and smirked at her.

               “Don’t worry baby we’ll get rough in bed tonight!” he called back, making Orm groan and Mera blush. 

               “O, that’s going to be a question for truth later,” Y/N said.  They ladies went back to the room they were in and sat once again.  “Ok Mera, now you get to pick someone to ask.”  Mera looked at Lydia, who started looking very nervous.

               “Y/N,” she said, turning back to her friend.  “Truth or dare?”

               “Truth,” Y/N answered.  Mera thought for a moment.

               “Does Orm have any weird habits?  I never got that close to him when we were betrothed to know,” she asked.  Lydia leaned in, ready to hear something useful. 

               “I mean, he talks in his sleep, a lot,” she said.  “Constantly dreams about being attacked by sea worms.”  Lydia laughed with them this time, seeming to relax more.  “Doesn’t everyone have that one weird dream though?  I used to have a dream about a giant hat that I would get trapped in somehow.” 

               “Mine was always running into a blob fish without warning, in the dark,” Mera said. 

               “My nightmares were always that someone would hurt my brother,” Lydia said.  Y/N and Mera looked at her, looking worried.

               “Who would hurt your brother?” Y/N asked.  Lydia bit her lip.  “Lydia, I know that you don’t like me, but I don’t want to be enemies, at all.”  She sighed and looked so exhausted. 

               “I am so tired of this game,” she said.  “Not…not this game we’re playing, this is fun, but of what my parents’ want.  I don’t want Orm, in fact, after we were released, I met someone that I care about deeply already, she lives in the city, she’s not noble but she’s wonderful.  I’m sorry about everything I’ve done, and I hated every minute of it.”

               “What do your parents want?” Mera asked. 

               “They want to be on the throne, they want revenge against Orm and his family.  Orvax sent us away because they were really trying to kill Atlanna and Orm, they are monsters.  My brother is just like them, I just want out,” she said.  “They want me to marry Orm, get close enough to Arthur and Mera to stage some kind of accident for their family.  Orm will ascend the throne and I will be queen and when I have an heir, I will kill Orm.  That is the entire plot, they have been planning it for years.  In fact, when we arrived and found out about you and then your baby’s, my parents nearly murdered you themselves, but they held back, don’t like to get their hands dirty.  I was supposed to do that, to poison you so you would at least lose the babies, but I fought to just try and seduce Orm away from you.  But he loves you so much, the devotion he has to you is inspiring.  Then it was to get you to leave, which we did, and get rid of the prince.  I’m sorry Mera, Ludo, he knows all these poisons, he listens to the servants, he found your stash of snacks for Tom and well.  I’m sorry” Lydia finished and looked down to her hands.  Y/N moved over and sat beside the woman, wrapping an arm around her.  Mera watched closely, trying to see a lie in Lydia’s words, but couldn’t find any.  She was either a very good liar or she was being honest. 

               “Would Ludo try to hurt Arthur and Orm tonight?” Y/N asked.  Lydia shrugged.

               “I don’t know, he didn’t seem too excited to go to this little party so I don’t think so, unless he could separate them somehow…” she shrugged again, clearly at a loss.  She didn’t understand her brother and his motives, nor why he wanted so badly to be like his parents.

               “We should go, make sure that they are safe,” Mera said.  They were just getting to the garage for a vehicle when Arthur came back, alone.  “Where’s Orm?”

               “There was an explosion at the club, we got separated, he’s not here?” Arthur said.  Y/N shook her head.  “Dammit…”

               “This has Ludo written all over it,” Lydia said.  Y/N looked at her.  “He will hold Orm hostage now, without our parents he doesn’t know how to handle this delicately, only with brute force. He will ask for the throne in exchange for Orm’s life.” 

               “Where would he go?” Arthur asked.  Lydia shrugged; she didn’t know what her brother did when they were released. 

               “He just talked about going to place he knew they wouldn’t like half-breeds or their allies.”

               “Wherever he is, he better be ready,” Y/N said.  “He has fucked with the wrong half-breed.”

[pintsizemama]

Christmas Carols

Day 16

Daddy Dave ‘verse

Welcome to the 2022 Christmas Writing Challenge!

Summary: You and Dave get a surprise during your weekend tryst.

Pairings: Dave York x Reader (female), Dave York x You

Fandom: The Equalizer 2

Rating: Explicit 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 1,100

Warnings: language, infidelity, SMUT, PiV sex, unprotected sex, Daddy/baby girl relationship, age gap…let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: This takes place directly after last year’s Day 21; Naughty or Nice.

Day 15 Day 17 Christmas Masterlist Series Masterlist Main Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

“Fuck, baby, you feel so damn good wrapped around me,” Dave groaned as he pounded into you. You could only whimper in response. Dave had you pinned down on the couch on your back. Your legs were pressed together and propped up on his shoulder. He was able to get in so deep this way, you saw stars every time he slid back in.

Your parents were still away on their long weekend. Dave had snuck into your room two nights ago to punish you for being ‘naughty’ and hadn’t left since. Apparently Carol thought he was away on business, but the only business he had conducted all weekend was between your legs.

You were used to sneaking around, catching stolen moments when you could. You rarely got to be with him for this long. It was absolute bliss. You loved having him all to yourself.

“Gonna cum,” you moaned. “Please, Daddy, can I?”

“Yeah, baby girl,” he grunted. “Soak my cock.” He speared into your g-spot and your whole body arched as you hurdled into the most intense orgasm.

“That’s it, baby,” Dave groaned. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” He pumped a few more times before he stilled deep within you and came with a shout. Not five seconds later the doorbell rang. You were still in a post orgasmic daze, and it didn’t register immediately. Dave, always on high alert even after coming, snapped his head in the direction of the front door.

“Are you expecting someone?” He asked.

“Huh?” You murmured.

“There’s someone at the door,” he told you. As if to prove his point, the doorbell rang again.

“What the hell?” You said, lowering your legs from Dave’s shoulder and sitting up.

“Are you expecting someone?” Dave repeated.

“No,” you said with a shake of your head. Dave stood and grabbed his boxers that he had tossed on the floor in his frenzy to get inside of you. He pulled them on and handed you your discarded robe.

“Let me go check who it is,” you said as you stood up.

“Wait,” Dave warned, “maybe you should let me go…could be anyone. That boy still bothering you?” You shook your head no immediately. Blaine. The guy who had been low key stalking you. After your Spring break trip with Dave, Blaine had practically disappeared. You still saw him sometimes on campus, but he always took off once he noticed you. You couldn’t help but wonder if Dave had said something to him.

“He hasn’t even looked in my direction since Spring,” you told Dave.

“Good,” he growled. He started walking towards the front door. You ran after him and pulled him to a stop.

“What’re you doing?” You asked. “You can’t answer my door in your underwear, Dave…what if it’s someone we know?” Dave frowned when he realized what he had been about to do.

“I’ll just see who it is and get rid of them as quickly as possible,” you said gently. “If it makes you feel better, just wait nearby, but out of sight.” Dave nodded and moved into a position near the door, but not visible to whoever was on the other side. You looked down to make sure you were presentable, then opened the door. You were greeted by eight of your neighbors…including Carol—Dave’s wife—with their young daughter, Molly.

“Merry Christmas!” Tom, the head of the country club board said cheerily.

“Hi, Mr. Campbell,” you replied. “What brings you all here?”

“Well, we’re out and about, spreading Christmas cheer!” He exclaimed. They immediately launched into song. You just stared at them, trying desperately to keep the look of horror off your face. They finished their song and stared at you expectantly. After a moment you recovered from your shock and clapped.

“That was wonderful,” you said. “Thank you so much for stopping by. It was beautiful.” They wished you a merry Christmas and moved on to the next house, but not before Molly ran up to hug you. You squeezed her back and tried to ignore the pang in your chest at what you were doing to this beautiful little girl’s family.

“I go sing now, but we play later?” She asked in her sweet voice.

“I’ll always make time to play with you, Molly,” you replied with a smile.

“Yes, Molly, dear, she’ll be babysitting you in a few nights when Daddy gets back,” Carol said.

“What?” You asked, surprised.

“Oh, shoot,” Carol groaned. “I completely forget to ask you! Are you able to watch her Wednesday night? Dave has been out of town, and I’ve planned a wonderful date night for us once he gets back.” Your stomach dropped.

“Oh, uh,” you stuttered, not sure what to say. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”

“Great!” Carol said happily. “We better catch up with the others. See you soon!” She whisked Molly away, and you closed the door quietly. You stood there, staring, your hands still on the door. Dave came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I’m sorry you had to do that, baby,” he whispered into your ear. You shivered.

“I feel like such a piece of shit,” you whispered back. Dave turned you around and grasped your throat gently.

“You are not a piece of shit,” he ground out between his teeth. “Do you understand me? You. Are. Not. A. Piece. Of. Shit. Carol and I have not been husband and wife for a long time. You know how I feel about her…how I feel about you.”

“But you’re married to her,” you said quietly, “not me…it’s still morally wrong.”

“Baby girl,” he smirked, “nothing about me is moral.” You couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped you. “Don’t worry about all this. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the weekend before we have to go play pretend again.”

“Ok,” you said with a nod. You really didn’t want to examine your thoughts on this arrangement right now. You decided to try to lighten the mood. “I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t answer the door after all.”

“That would have been a bit awkward,” Dave said with a smile. “Now forget about all that and take your robe off. I need to suck on those perfect tits.”

“Daddy!” You squealed in mock horror. “That’s so crass.”

“Get your sweet little ass over here,” he growled and yanked you back onto the couch. You still had two more days until your parents returned home, and Dave intended to make the most of it.

Day 17

Join my taglist

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Taglist:

@amneris21 @burrito-stuffs @dreedhudson @emilianamason @fatimaisabelpascal @gioispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @harriedandharassed @hnt-escape @just-here-for-the-moment @kirsteng42 @maxwell--lord @mswarriorbabe80 @peach-child @stevie75

[daemonwritesstuff]

MATCHUP TRADE WITH @mxchislvt

A/N: Hihi! I finally got this out! I’ll be working on your other one soon, I’ve been really busy lately since schools almost over and I’m trying my best to get more matchups out, enjoy! and these are shorter due to how many fandoms there are.

[ JUJUSTU KAISEN ]

٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ SUKUNA RYOMEN!

I really adore this pairing so much 😭❤️ innocent gf x cold-hearted bf (expect he’s not cold-hearted towards his gf aka you).

He really adores your style, it’s probably the reason why he got attracted to you in the first place, he is probably willing to do spa days with you to make you happy if you’d like because he’ll (actually) burn the world down if you’d ever like.

He likes that your smart! You’ll always understand his jokes and be able to come back at him with jokes as well. He also enjoys hearing you sing, he’ll secretly watch you do plays if you ever do them.

I feel like he would go roller skating with you and almost falls but catches himself so he doesn’t get made fun of by his beloved, he will SPOIL you on dates, trust.

[ TBHK ]

(^_−)−☆TSUKASA YUGI

You pulled hanakos twin brother huh… that’s very nice, anyways I feel like this pairing is also very unique and perfect, he gets super curious about you when he first meets you, he also teases you for being very naïve.

But he doesn’t mind whatsoever, he thinks your really cute, he loves playing with your hair a lot, he really adores any soft pink or pastel colors on you, he thinks you look good in anything!

He would do amusement park dates with you for SURE, but he’s very energetic so you’ll have to do your best and catch up with him, hopefully that won’t be too much of a big deal for you.

He will buy you so much taro milk teas and kitkats whenever you want, he’ll probably steal those from people but it’s out of love <3 I also think he listens to kpop too, just mostly girl groups like newjeans, gidle or like red velvet.

[ HAIKYUU ]

(*^o^*) KOSHI SUGUWARA!

This pairing is so, so SOOO cute!! he’s super gentle and carrying towards you, he’s always protecting you from hurting yourself or if some bullies ever start picking on you.

He’ll be there for you whenever you start zoning out and pointing out to whatever you were doing or tell you what you might’ve missed, also you guys listen to music a lot together!

he’s in love with your style! especially your coquette kind of look, he thinks pink suits you really well then anyone else, you guys also go out to get boba tea or go to any mexican restaurants for burritos!

As for what I said, he’ll give you a lot of gifts and provide all the love languages you want, he’ll always hold hands with you if you ever need it, he’ll also be there to reassure you and call you sweet names <3

[ BLACK BUTLER ]

（╹◡╹）CLAUDIA PHANTOMHIVE

This may be surprising to you but I feel like he would be the best pairing for this one! He’s very understanding of your ADHD and will help you however he can.

He’s very attracted to your style, the way you present yourself, your personality, basically everything made him fall for you, he loves seeing you in pink and will compliment the shit out of you!

I think he’ll give you a lot of gifts, usually small ones and big ones for anniversaries, birthdays, etc, he also loves watching you help people, he feels warmth whenever your being nice to people and him

he would dance with you! and he also loves hearing you sing, you sound so divine to him, power couple here.

[ ASSASSINATION CLASSROOM ]

-_-b KARMA AKABANE

I think he would like you so much, platonically AND romantically, he thinks your better than the rest of your classmates, your also really chill like him, he’ll tease you maybe here and there but it’s just playful.

he’ll snap you out of whatever you’ve been dreaming of, he’s your body guard for sure, a free one actually, it’s cute how naïve you can be so he’ll probably want to protect you at all costs.

he’ll go out with you to anywhere you’d like! I can see you guys having lunch dates or going to relax somewhere and talk about each others interests while drinking boba tea <3

He’ll definitely roller skate with you! Honestly, he’s pretty good at a lot of things so he’s be happy to do anything with you!

[ MY HERO ACADEMIA ]

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ DABI

I think he would like having you as a partner so much, your very comforting towards him, like a cozy fire.

he loves how nice you are to him, even if he doesn’t show it through his emotions but he’ll show it through his love languages which would be gift giving at the most, later on he would start to get comfortable with cuddling you.

He supports your dreams of becoming a teacher! He’ll support any dreams you have and he’ll be there for you 100% of the time, he believes in you and you believe in him, you are his rock.

[ HAZBIN HOTEL ]

( ◠‿◠ ) LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR

I promise I didn’t match you with him because your a theater kid 😭 but also you just suit him really well! he finds you very entertaining and also you brought a lot of light into his life when he was in the dark.

you bet he’ll spoil you, he’s the king of hell and he’s very rich, like REALLY rich, he’s the leader of hell anyways so why not use that money for his loved ones? he’ll take you to get boba and he’ll take you to amusement parks as well, including his own amusement park!

He also has some trouble of expressing his feelings, if took him a little while to come out of the hole to even say that he’s fallen for you…

He’ll also be zoned out at some points too, it’s just a thing he’s had for a long time now, so it’s now something you both can relate on! you guys are the best couple frfr !

[ GENSHIN IMPACT ]

( ^ω^ ) WRIOTHESLEY

He would love you so much!!! seriously though! he may be worried sometimes since he cares about you and wants the best for you so he’ll help you with your ADHD and other problems.

he spoils you with gifts so much, and he runs on coldness a lot so if you ever cuddle try not to complain about him being really cold against you.

he’ll definitely take you for picnic dates! and he’ll possibly take you out to go see fireworks and watch how your eyes watch in amazement and twinkle.

he also loves the way you dress! his dark style and your feminine style really clash together so well, he’ll carry you bridal style or give you piggy backs, he’s very tall and strong.

[ HONKAI STAR RAIL ]

( ^ω^ ) JING YUAN

He’s been really interested in you ever since you interacted with him, you looked so cute and petite in his eyes and he knew he had to keep you!

he’ll bring in a lot of snacks and drinks for you, you also sit on his lap while he works on paperwork or you’ll just be in his office while he prepares for his next mission to wherever, he loves it whenever you hug him and kiss him.

he’ll also bring you back to reality whenever you zone out and tell you to go take a break for a little while, he cares about you as well and doesn’t want anything bad happening to you.

He also likes seeing you roller skate around anywhere and also likes watching you dance as well and will possibly pull you into a slow dance.

[ TWISTED WONDERLAND ]

(´∀｀) LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

He really liked you since the beginning of when you came to the school, you looked super cute to him and he doesn’t look down on you that much, mostly just teasing though.

he’s a very lazy person ngl, he likes any sort of cuddling with you, you guys also take naps with each other a lot, just being in your own little worlds with each other.

will also buy you snacks and drinks, or fast food! that’s his other way of showing you his love, if you ever go outside he’ll roller skate with you and take you to any amusement park close to you guys.

your style is so cute to him! please put any accessories on him and tease him!! he’ll be very flushed when he wakes up or realizes he’s been bedazzled, fluffy couple hehe.

[ OBEY ME ]

((((；ﾟДﾟ))))))) BELPHEGOR

He really likes your energy, your the least annoying than his brothers are, he can chill with you a lot since you aren’t that much of a annoyance to him at all.

He also loves how naïve you are, and how you zone out at times, he’ll tease you but he doesn’t really mind, you guys definitely take a lot do naps together.

you guys also have takeout a lot, even though Lucifer says how unhealthy it is but you guys don’t really give a fuck anyways, you guys also go outside a lot too, but it’s relaxing and it’s just a picnic and he’ll watch you roller skate around the park.

[starlightcleric]

Autumn With a Witch - Chapter 1 - Leaves

Fandom: Sun Haven

Relationships: Catherine/Farmer

Other: Fluff, established relationship

With the town of Sun Haven saved, Calliope can turn to enjoying the start of autumn with her wonderful wife, Catherine.

Also on AO3

-

Autumn had come to Sun Haven, bringing cool air, the crisp scent of decay, and the crunch of leaves underfoot. Repeatedly. Crunch. Crunch.

Calliope admitted to herself that she possibly didn’t need to step on so many of the leaves so exactly as she skipped herself forward into town. It was just, well, fun. She was a responsible adult. Honest.

The canine amari twitched her ears as yellow leaves brushed against them in their fall from above. She raked a hand through her unruly, silvery bobbed hair to dislodge the leaves and almost missed a beautiful red maple leaf she could crunch underfoot. Crunch.

But the change of season also meant a time for new crops, and Calliope had already spent the past two hours prepping the land. So if she wanted to take some time to be silly on her way to the farming store, she was going to take it.

Her fluffy tail wagged eagerly as she combed through the fall seeds at the farming store, Emmett watching emotionless from behind the counter. Yams, pumpkins, cranberries! She threw a few of everything into her basket. Maybe she should have more of a plan, but her farm was doing well and she had already donated fall crops to the museum last year. Now was just time for fun: for the jack-o-lanterns, jams, and baked goods that she wanted to make.

“You know, the ingredients for love potions are in season right now,” said a voice behind her.

Calliope turned to see her wife, Catherine, beaming at her, her rabbit ears perked forward. Catherine’s purple hair cascaded down around her shoulders, and a carrot peaked out of the band of her pointed witch’s hat.

Calliope smiled innocently. “And what do I need a love potion for? I already have the love of Sun Haven’s most beautiful woman.”

“I’ll just keep pretending I’m not here,” said Emmett, deadpan.

Catherine laughed and closed the distance between them, placing a kiss on the top of Calliope’s head. She then plucked a yellow leaf out of Calliope’s hair. “Saving this for later?”

Calliope shook her head vigorously, attempting to dislodge any more leaves. “Hey, if you can store snacks in your hat, can’t I?”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Snacking on dead leaves? Surely there are better options? Or are you just fishing for the mushrooms in my pockets?”

“Hmm, you know I wouldn’t say no, but I’m still interested in those love potions. Should I be growing something specific?” Calliope wiggled her basket of seeds.

“Well, it depends on who you’re trying to get to fall in love with you,” said Catherine. “The potion must be tailored to the person, otherwise it’s no good.”

“Hmm, is this just an elaborate scheme to get me to make you more carrot juice?” asked Calliope.

Catherine laughed. “There’s a little more magic involved than that, but as you pointed out you don’t exactly need me to fall in love with you again.”

Calliope stood on her tiptoes to kiss Catherine on the lips, then winked at Emmett. “I’ll get out of your hair so you can go back to your peace and quiet. Just ring me up for these.”

“I’m not going to ask how your personal finances work,” said Emmett as he handed her the change.

“Let me know if you need any help,” said Catherine as Calliope headed towards the door. “You know I don’t mind the feeling of dirt between my fingers.”

“I should have it under control,” said Calliope. “I don’t want to interrupt your lunch with Lucia. Although…” an idea came to her. “Meet me in the wooded area of the farm before dinner?”

Catherine cocked her head. “Alright, I’ll look forward to surprises. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” and Calliope headed back to her farm, crunching the leaves along the way.

Calliope attempted to smudge the dirt off her face as she waited for Catherine, but only managed to get more on herself. She sighed. Catherine was always so composed, the image of a garden goddess, and Calliope… Calliope was always slightly scruffy. Grungy. Untamed. And yet for some reason Catherine loved her back, something she thanked the universe for every day. Maybe carrot juice was a love potion.

“Alright, what’s my surprise?” Catherine’s voice echoed through the trees. She stepped into view out from behind an oak tree to see Calliope in the small clearing she had created earlier.

Calliope gestured to the picnic blanket surrounded by fallen leaves. “I thought, since it’s not too cold yet, we should enjoy one more dinner outside.”

“Is that mushroom pie I smell?”

“Yep!” Calliope situated herself on the picnic blanket, wrapping her tail around her legs.

“You do know how to treat me right.” Catherine sat down next to her. “Oh, you have some dirt on your face, love.” She licked her thumb and attempted to rub the dirt off of Calliope’s face.

Calliope leaned into her hand, enjoying the touch. 

Catherine leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “No, but really, you do spoil me. What have I done to deserve this?”

“Just being your wonderful self.” Calliope smiled and began serving the mushroom pie.

“Calliope…” Catherine actually seemed uncertain now. “I hope you do know… I hope you do know how much I love you? I feel like you always spoil me with romantic gifts and gestures and I don’t do as much in return.” A falling leaf landed on her hat. “But you’re the best thing that has happened to me and I love our life together.”

Calliope took a bite of her mushroom pie and considered thoughtfully. “You know I was really nervous originally, moving to Sun Haven? Giving up everything I had known in the Great City and moving to a small town to start all over. I almost didn’t get on the train three times. But everyone here… and you,” she punctuated emphatically at Catherine with her fork, “made me feel so welcome. This is my home now. Our home. Together. I sometimes wonder how I got so lucky, but I know you love me. And so I just try to show how much I love you back.”

Catherine leaned into Calliope. “I know, love. I know. Thank you for the picnic. This is a perfect start to fall. I’m glad I gave you the mushrooms in my pocket. Mushroom pie is a much better dinner than dead leaves.”

Calliope picked the leaf off of Catherine’s hat, booped her on the nose with it, then, holding steady eye contact, munched on it.

[endlesstwanted]

What Have We Become

My entry for the @flashfictionfridayofficial #201 prompt Comedian’s Night and the @domaystic day 17 prompt Marked date in the calendar!

Fandom: Original Work

Rating: General Audiences

Characters: Blue (OC), Richard “Ricky” Jones

Tags: First Person POV, slightly codependency, Secrets, Angst and feels, Non-verbal communication, Domestic Fluff, Ambiguous Ending

Summary: Rick takes Blue out to a comedians’ night the night before their big mission.

Wordcount: 809

Author's note: This is set in one of my MCU-verses, but given that none of their characters appear in this piece, I tagged it as Original Work! Things are being ambiguous and nothing is clearly discussed on purpose (even though the summary gives a clue), so I’m sorry if it’s confusing. I promise it makes sense with the rest of the story, but this was not a scene to spill every detail onto. This piece, unlike the rest of my writing, will not be posted on Ao3.

Thanks for reading, ficlet under the cut!

Ricky has said it was a good idea.

I didn’t want to get out tonight, given what day tomorrow is. And I don’t understand how coming to see random people talk to a bunch of strangers and trying to make them laugh is a good idea, but everyone seems chilled here. Maybe it’s me, who can’t understand their humour, and maybe Ricky is just pretending that this is actually fun so we don’t call it a night yet.

We’ve been here for an hour now, and it’s definitely not fun, at least for me. But well, I know what I am getting when I agree to anything he suggests —as if I had the ability to tell him no.

Ricky has been listening to the speakers and holding my hand. We’ve never done this before, outside our room, but I’m holding his back. It feels nice. Very nice. He’s also been laughing at some of the jokes, chuckling at the rest of them. And looking at me, from time to time, like trying to guess if I’m still here or not.

I’ve mastered the art of being in one place and having my mind in another, which is usually work, and that’s where I am right now. Tomorrow’s date has been marked in my calendar for quite some time, and I have only just told him today. I feel terrible for keeping it away from Ricky, making every second I’ve spent with him since I was assigned this task a waste, by not making the best out of it, but I had orders to follow.

I’m sick of orders and I’m tired of this place.

On top of that, I have just realised we have never done anything like this before tonight, nor in the years we’ve known each other or in the ones in which we have been living together. This is something Ricky has never asked me to do, and it can be his way of dealing with my departure.

This seat is getting uncomfortable and I shift, squeezing Ricky’s hand and bringing it closer on the table. I can feel his eyes on mine, and even if I’m focusing on the speaker’s lips and on trying to make sense out of whatever they are saying, I know by my side there is a better view.

So I turn to look at him, and his eyes tell me everything I need to know. He doesn’t want to go home.

Well, coming back to a bunker turned into a room and a bed we’re going to share for the last time in maybe forever doesn’t sound suitable for anyone, that’s fair. Even though he doesn’t know this last part, I know very well what is happening after tomorrow, what needs to happen if I want to fulfil my mission and finish living in this lie I’ve turned both of our lives into.

The only reason why I’d like to come back home tonight instead of running away is because I’ll be doing it with Ricky, and he’s the one giving some meaning to that name. The moment we close the door, he’s going to wrap his arms around me. Probably will pick me up to take me to bed, and most likely pepper my face with kisses until I feel my head burst from laughing.

We’re going to cuddle in bed later, entangling our fingers like we were made to be mixed with the other, and if I get lucky, he’ll remember some kind of story he’d start to tell me. If he doesn’t, or is not feeling up for it, he’ll be skipping that part and jumping to where he rests his head close to mine and whisper kind words to carry my soul to sleep. Words of freedom, hoping for a better tomorrow, and a future in which we’ll be in charge of our own fate. Words of hope, close to daydreaming of a life we could be living only if we were different people.

I’ll pretend to believe them; I’ll snuggle closer to him. But he’ll look at me like anyone’s looked at me before, like he does every night, and I’ll let it pass, praying that he keeps looking at me like that forever, simply because I cannot say the words I want to say to him. I don’t know what is going to be like to get away from his skin, his magical voice and the warmth of his presence.

And I don’t really want to find out.

So for now, all I have to do is focus on the person speaking into the microphone, and on Ricky’s laugh and his touch on me, and hope for the night to last, or at least let it be one to remember and recall in the worst of days that will be there to come.

[lessthanpure]

After Chapter 3

Fandom: Shooter (2007 movie)

Pairing: Bobbi Lee Swagger/Nick Memphis

Tags: Female!Bobbi Lee Swagger, a/b/o dynamics, non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, omega!Bobbi, alpha!Nick, though bobbi is pretty dominant, and nick is pretty submissive, Heat fic

Warnings: None this chapter.

Rating: Explicit

18+ only

Wordcount: 2148

ao3 link

Nick wakes up first, trying to figure out where he is. He looks down and finds Bobbi asleep in his arms. He can smell her and remembers. He smiles down at her and scents her hair. She mumbles sleepily and stretches. She wakes completely and looks up at him. “Mornin’,” she greets, voice rough from sleep. 

“Good morning.”

She gets out of bed and takes her toiletries out, going into the bathroom. He sighs happily and stretches in the bed, humming. He hears Bobbi clear her throat and she’s leaning against the post, watching him. “Hey,” he smiles.

“Hey. Your turn.”

He gets up and she goes to her bag. He brushes his teeth with his finger and rinses. He drums his fingers on the sink. He should get clothes. He should. But Bobbi could want him. Maybe after a wave. Bobbi comes in the bathroom, brushing against him and knocking her hip affectionately against his. She starts the shower and Nick perks up, curious. 

“Easy, boy,” she laughs. “You need clothes first.”

“Maybe I can ask for some from the staff,” he mutters.

“Get some clothes from your place. I’ll be fine.”

“You sure? You don’t want me to stay until you have a wave,” he asks.

“I don’t usually have one early in the morning. As long as you’re back by lunch, I should be fine.”

Nick nods and kisses her. She smiles against him. He goes, passing an orderly in the hall. “Sir,” he starts. “You shouldn’t leave.”

“I know. But I need clothes, my toothbrush,” he details. 

“We have nurses who do that. If you give us your keys, we’ll do it.” Nick nods and goes back in the room, taking his keys off the side table and handing them over. He can hear Bobbi in the shower and opens the bathroom door. 

“Hey,” he greets. 

“Why are you back?”

“Apparently they do that for you.” He leans in the doorway and watches her shadow move. 

“Are you coming in or what?”

He smiles and strips, getting in. She hands him soap and he washes up before reaching for her. 

“I’m already clean,” she furrows her eyebrows. 

“Wanna get dirty again?” She laughs. 

“Not right now.”

Nick washes his hair and Bobbi gets out, drying herself and leaving the bathroom. He rinses off and gets out, drying himself and wrapping a towel around his hips. He goes to the room and finds Bobbi with her back to him, getting dressed. She settles in bed and looks at him. She gestures for him to come closer and he does, getting in bed. She tugs his towel down and settles between his legs, mouthing at him. He settles and leans his head back, getting hard. She licks up the side and he hums. She takes him in her mouth and swallows around him and he gasps. She’s good. She pulls off and wraps a hand around his base, mouthing again. She curls her tongue out to lick. His hips jerk and she chuckles, pinning him down with capable hands. She swallows him again and takes him completely down her throat. She gets him off and swallows. She looks up and he pulls her up, kissing her. She makes a surprised sound, but he licks his taste from her mouth.

“Memphis, what the fuck.”

“I’ve been with guys before.”

“Ok, but that’s...yours.” Nick shrugs and she settles over him. “That was hot, though.”

He chuckles and pulls her in for another kiss. She laps into his mouth. She trails her mouth sideways and bites along his jaw. He easily bares his throat for her again. “Why do you do that,” Bobbi asks, already going to it to kiss. “Most Alphas don’t.”

“I’m not most Alphas. Bobbi, you’re more dominant than I am. Plus, I’d like to think that we know each other well enough that you won’t rip my throat out.” She chuckles, and he can feel it through her lips, which are pressed against his pulse point.

“You don’t know that,” she teases. She noses back up and tilts his head down to get access to his lips. She lazily kisses him and he smiles against her. She lays her head on his chest and sighs happily. 

“So, do you want me to help you through your Heat,” Nick asks, tracing a design on her back. 

Bobbi considers that for a long minute. “Yes. But we use condoms.”

“Of course. Knotting or unknotting?”

Bobbi thinks. “Knotting.”

“Ah, so I don’t have to keep my knot to myself then huh,” he teases.

Bobbi chuckles. “No.”

There’s a knock on the door and Nick gets up, wrapping the towel back around himself and going to it. A bag is pressed into his hands and the nurse nods at him before turning around. Nick comes back and gets into pajama pants, though he forgoes boxers and a shirt. 

Bobbi stretches out in the meantime, rolling into his warm spot. She breathes in his scent there. She’s never been able to fully embrace the fact that she’s Omega, though she’s gotten the closest in her Heats. But Nick guessed right- she’s never had an Alpha to help. She’d always been in a hospital Heat room or holed up in her room, taking care of it herself. She’s never even had a Beta. Nick comes back and rumbles at her. She purrs back. Nick gets in behind her, wrapping an arm around her middle. Bobbi leans her head back, pressing her nose against the underside of his jaw and licking there. He settles, palm gently petting her. She knows rationally from sex ed that touch from an Alpha helps soothe Heats, but she never figured that it would help this much. That almost all the pain would go away, leaving only comfort and peace. She turns in his arm and presses her face into his chest, trying not to cry. Memphis senses it anyway. 

“Bobbi, what’s wrong,” he asks, cupping the back of her head. “What’s wrong?” Bobbi doesn’t answer him. “Swagger, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

Bobbi sniffles and leans back. She looks up at him, oddly shy. He’s staring down at her with such care in his eyes, and she kisses him. “Thank you,” she breathes against him. “I never thought-”

Nick sighs, relieved. “Of course, Bobbi.” He pulls her close and she settles, curling into him. 

Memphis smells when Bobbi is fully in a wave, even if she’s trying to smother her noises. He noses at her jaw and presses a kiss to the hinge. “I’m here,” he promises. “I’m here.” Bobbi whines at him and he pants, letting her scent wash over him. He pushes off his pants as she pulls off her underwear and her shirt. He grabs her hip, but she surprises him- she flips him onto his back and gets on top. Nick really should have known. She gets a condom from the bedside table and opens it, backing up just enough to roll it onto him. He helps- her hands are shaking. “C’mere, Bobbi,” he says. She grabs his base and lifts herself before slowly sinking down. She bites her lip once fully seated. He pets over her sides, murmuring soothing words he doesn’t remember the second they leave his mouth. Bobbi leans down and kisses him before she starts to move. Nick swears and is torn between closing his eyes to fully feel or keeping his eyes on Bobbi. She, meanwhile, doesn’t seem to have the same dilemma- her eyes are closed and her mouth is open, panting. He makes his mind up. He watches her. She’s so damn beautiful like this, and he can look at her all he wants without her noticing. 

Fuck is all Bobbi can think. What she doesn’t tell Nick- and likely never will- is that not only has she never had an Alpha help her through her Heat, but she’s never had an Alpha. Period. She’s had sex with a couple of Betas, but that’s it. She feels Nick thumbing her hip and moves one hand from his stomach to hold it there, stroking along it. He moves his other hand from her side to her clit, and she keens. “There we go,” Nick is saying, but she barely hears him. She’s not worrying about her past, or future, or anything outside this room, or even this bed. She just lets herself get lost in the moment. She cums, whining. Nick swears and thrusts up a few times before he follows her. She feels his knot forcing inside her, and has a split-second of panic (out out out, trapped, no) before Nick’s hands are at her hips and he’s sighing, relaxing into the mattress. Seeing her Alpha so relaxed helps, and she hums, petting along his stomach. She does her best to settle down, but she can’t get comfortable. She whines plaintively and Nick opens his eyes. 

“Can I roll over,” he asks. Bobbi is grateful he did because she nods. Nick nods, sliding his hands to her thighs and rolling them, hiking her legs onto his hips. The effect is instant- Bobbi purrs and relaxes, head going back. Nick is there, nosing at the underside of her jaw, and she has another moment when her training tries to kick in, but he leaves her throat alone and rests his head on the pillow beside hers, nose at her temple. She turns into his neck and breathes there. 

Ten minutes later, Bobbi is starting to get restless. She keeps moving her hips, trying to pull back, but Nick’s still locked in tight, and will be for at least another ten minutes, probably twenty. “Bobbi,” he whines- it hurts a little. She pets over his shoulders, apologizing without words. He lowers himself and kisses her, and she melts into it. That settles her for about thirty seconds, and then she’s shifting again. Nick grunts and pins her hips down. “You’re acting like you’ve never been knotted before,” he snaps at her. Bobbi flinches and looks down, hands spasming on his arms. Oh shit. “Bobbi, I’m sorry, you should have told me, I would have warned you-”

“Don’t,” she snarls, snapping her head up. “Just don’t.” She angrily looks away.

“Bobbi. Look at me.”

“No.”

“Bobbi.”

She looks back at him, face hard. But again, her Heat makes her more readable- she’s hurt and embarrassed. He brushes their noses together, and she closes her eyes. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures her. 

“Easy for you to say, Mr. ‘I’ve been with a few Omegas,’” she snarls, eyes flying open.

“I said two, Bobbi. Two.”

“Two more than me.” 

“Bobbi, I couldn’t give less of a shit that you’ve never been with an Alpha,” Nick tells her. 

Bobbi scoffs. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’m serious.” He sighs. He doesn’t know how to convince her that it’s ok. “Look. I know I’m not your first choice of Alphas,” he says, internally whining at the thought, “but I’m honored I was your first knot.”

“What are you talking about, ‘not my first choice?’” Bobbi looks honestly confused.

“I’m not exactly the most dominant Alpha, or the best-looking.”

“Nick. Do you honestly think I could ever be with some knothead?” She’s got a point. “And you shouldn’t say that about yourself. Everyone has a different opinion on what’s attractive.”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Nick, I am not about to start listing the things I like about you.” She pauses for a second. “Y’know what, yeah, I will, we have however long it takes your knot to go down.”

“At least ten, fifteen more minutes.”

“Shit. Ok, here goes, and don’t you dare tell anyone about how sappy I’m about to get because then I will rip your throat out.” He chuckles but nods. “I like you because you’re not a dominant Alpha. You can be, but most of the time you respect my boundaries. Even today, when I was in the middle of a wave, you left so that I could make a clear-headed decision if I wanted you to help or not. Most Alphas would have taken me right there, without even asking.” Nick growls, thinking of a) any Alpha coming near his Omega and b) anyone ever making her do something she doesn’t want to do. She makes shushing noises, nosing at his jaw. He settles. “You even bare throat to me,” she whispers. He does it and she presses a kiss there before tilting his head back down. “You’re soft when you want to be, and strong when you have to be, and you watch my back. And this, right here,” she looks down to where they’re still joined. “Is something that most Alphas would brag about to anyone who would listen to them. I know for a fact that you never will.”

“Never.”

[loneveenas]

ahhh that made me miss writing so much. i have like 10 drafts im working on but they’re getting me nowhere... hopefully i can post something soon!!

[ithinkinggenshin]

Yae Miko with a GN!reader and Yae is scared that she might be accidentally hurting or manipulating S/O, so she's confused as to why S/O keeps coming back to her, scared that she might be accidentally gaslighting S/O when in reality she's doing nothing wrong

"Loving you, killing you, isn't it thrilling? You've said enough from those guts you've been spilling through Crying and begging, a lovely sound I tear at your soul, but you still stick around What I've found is a treasure indeed A friend who can bend to my every need I'll use and abuse you and never feel bad, until suddenly, funnily, you take my hand Tangle you tight in the yarns that I've spun And I'll do it again, to get what I want Pretend that I'm harmless, I'm actually alarmed this is something charming to anyone... (wow) The fact can actually make Death wanna Die? I'm the one that you love, and I'm making you cry And it's "just me", after all"

"You know, I want you to care that I want you to stay So I swear I won't blame you if you turn away At the end of the day, I will smile and give in to this burning and vile Original sin 'Cause hell is the realization you're selfish And drawn to the loving, the soft and the helpless I can see through that facade that you wear When you're honest, and promise you'll fight the despair And I'll say it again, that I know I'm the worst So then how can you spend so much love on the person that hurts you Like I do? 'Cause inside, I can't hide that I cannot desert you And if I'm "the world" to you, surely you never stood even a chance at all, didn't you? It's me, after all"

This request was based on the song "Ijimeko Bully" by Mori Calliope so please try to focus most on the themes of the song also here is the overall lyric analysis made by the song writer/singer:

"The basic theme and motif is, it is a self-hating song. …The self-hatred is accompanied by confusion as to why someone still continues to love them. Think of like, for example, a kind of Beauty and Beast situation. There’s a terrible beast who doesn’t understand why when they continue to hurt the person they care about, the person that they care about keeps coming back to them. …This is coming from the perspective of the beast.

Something I want to make really clear is, in this sense, because this is coming from the beast’s mind, there are mentions of things like hurting, abuse, et cetera. This is because, since we’re in the mind of the beast, these are just things that this villainous being believes that they are doing, right? So perhaps they aren’t actually hurting someone. But they hate themselves so much that any time they give the bluntest little quip against someone that they care about. while to that other person it might feel like, “ouch that was kind of a harsh word,” to the beast, perhaps, it feels like they’ve done something horrible and struck and actually hurt that person much more deep than what may be the truth.

So for example, while I don’t actually go out of my way to go on rants and tirades and angry shouting at anyone because I really don’t like confrontation, sometimes I’ll give a sharp little remark or say, “Oh, that wasn’t funny.” But it’s like, it feels to me as soon as I’ve said it I regret it, and I say, “oh man, oh shit oh fuck, oh no,” and I feel like I’ve really hurt that person. There are times when I’ve apologized afterward to people that I care about, and they say, “What are you talking about, it’s fine, y'know it was a little annoying, but it’s not that big of a deal, dude.” And maybe the root of that is because the beast actually just hates themself. So there’s the self-hatred part. ‘Calli’s the beast?’ Maybe!"

Bully?

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Yae Miko

Pairings: Yae Miko x GN! Reader

Warnings: Angst

Word count: 655

Synopsis: Oh little red, what an innocent face. Let me eat you up. You’ll sit well in my stomach. …Won’t you?

Extra Notes: I really like this ask. I like the lyrics of the song too. Very thoughtful. Thanks for requesting!

Yea is known for making people sweat and squirm. On occasion she’s made some of them cry. At first she thought you were simply a masochist, continually coming back to her with that big, dopey smile and offerings only to be turned into a flustered mess when she teased you. But you kept coming back. Then she thought you were trying to bribe her, everyone who comes to the shrine has some sort of desire, whether or not they want to admit it. But you voluntarily said that the only thing you wanted was to see her. Finally, she thought you were a blind, lovestruck fool. No one really loves her. No one even truly knows her. You just want to have a pretty and powerful woman like her wrapped around your finger, but if you think Yae is going to fall for that, you’re sorely mistaken. But you surprise her once again. You claim to not care if she loves you. You admit to having a crush on her. Yae cuts you off with a quip about how she’d never date a human. You look down shamefully but continue on and say that you’d still like to be her friend. You enjoy seeing her in action and the conversations you have with her are entertaining. And that one day, You can know the real her.

Yae is stunned by your confession. Taken back by your sincerity. She sorely regrets making that snide remark earlier.

The sunset light hits your face beautifully, and you smile at her. It’s time for you to go back to your boring, little human life. Yae almost doesn’t hear your question of if she wants you to come back the next day, as you always do. She waves you off and says that you can do whatever you want. She’s hit with another wave of guilt as your face falls.

The response was something typical of her to say, but it still hurt for you to hear.

Yae isn’t sure how to react to this rare feeling of discomfort. Since when is she uncomfortable with being herself? Normally she basks in a person’s crestfallen face or at least is disappointed in it. But just now, with you, she felt… ashamed of herself.

You disappear down the mountain and Yae retires to her chambers. She doesn’t sleep. One night of missed sleep is nothing to her. Instead she lays in her comfy futon and thinks about all the times she must have hurt you. She says so many things in a day, so used to saying whatever will get the best reaction out of people.

She used to think it was you that she had to be wary of. Oh how the tables have turned. The reality is that it’s you who should be avoiding her.

Miko feels as though she’s been stabbed as the thought of you avoiding her crosses her mind. What a terrible life that would be, she thinks to herself.

But…

She can’t argue that it would be better for you. Even she has to admit to the damages she must have done to you. The ways she’s baited you, letting her teasing go too far. She’s taken every gift you gave, every compliment, everything. Such an adorable, little piece of sunshine. Little red riding hood just trying to pick flowers for grandma and the big bad wolf— Yae came along and ruined everything. Stole your innocence and hope. All while smiling about it.

Yae is torn between wanting you to come back and hoping you stay away. She’s a bad influence. A bad person. She’ll only continue to hurt you. It’s who she is after all. You’ll never truly know her. You’ll never make it past her walls. You’ll start climbing and she’ll tease you and laugh when you fall and land on your ass. It’s just too entertaining. It's too mean. She should tell you to stay away.

Even if it makes her heart sting.

[adri-2022]

Whipped

Fandom: Chicago PD

Characters: Jay Halstead x FemReader, some of Chicago PD, Fire and Med characters

Warning: slight swearing/ fluff

Word count: 1901

Jay Halstead Materlist

A/N: Hi everyone, I hope you guys all like it. Thanks for the support, enjoy it! This one is based on a request from @allisonargent144

Don't be afraid to leave a comment!

---------------------

There you were in front of your mirror in your apartment looking at yourself and regretting every detail of your outfit. Why were you feeling this way? You were just going to the navy pier with your boyfriend. To say you were nervous was an understatement, and you would think that after 6 months of relationship you wouldn’t get nervous about going somewhere with him. But you see, now you had to add the fact that you were going to meet his friends. Jay was a detective in Chicago’s most important team, but that didn’t limit his friend group to just cops it also meant his friends from CFD and Chicago Med. But it would be worse to meet his family, right? Right? WRONG because, well the thing is you are 22 years old and Jay is 36 years old, neither of your really cared about the age difference, you were a lot more mature than most your age. And that mixed with your bubbly and happy personality were the reason Jay fell for you at first glance. In his words you were and quote “a breath of fresh air”, and that reassured you a lot in the past, but now- now a group of the most important people in Jay’s life were going to finally meet you and you were afraid of their reactions and opinions and you didn’t know what to expect. Moving to grab your lip gloss you notice Jay leaning on the door frame just looking at you,

“Do I look okay? I think I should change, yeah, I’ll change” you said panicking without giving him any time to answer making him shake his head and chuckle, you continue to move to your closet to find another outfit -the fourth Jay has seen-. When you were about to reach the closet doors you feel Jay reaching for you waist turning you around to face him giving you a shy smile.

“Babe, don’t. You look gorgeous” then proceeded to give you the famous Halstead smirk, while he wrapped his arms around your waist, while yours went around his neck. I mean you looked beautiful, you had a black and white knee long skirt with a small slit on the right side, with a white tank top, a leather black jacket and some white sneakers. And let’s just say that Jay really liked that outfit -and he really liked the other three as well-, and to him you could wear a paper bag for a dress, and he would still find you the most attractive girl in the world.

“Are you sure I look okay; I can just find something else” you said timidly considering that maybe it made you look even younger. “Nop, you look absolutely breath taking…. And you’re not going back in that closet, or we’ll never make it on time” you both chuckled, he then hugged you burying his nose in your hair -god he loved the way your hair smelled like coconut-. You took a deep breath before nodding to signal that you were ready to leave.

Arriving at the navy pier, there wasn’t a lot of people around and you were extremely grateful that you’re embarrassing moment wasn’t going to be witness by a lot of people. And as if your boyfriend was a psychic, he turned so that he could look at you and grabbed your hand,

“Don’t stress baby, they’re gonna love you, you’ll- you’ll see they will try to steal you from me, that- that is guaranteed” you both chuckled as to relieve the tension. You didn’t care about the age difference, but you had gone through a lot uncomfortable moments when you and Jay would go on dates, lots of lingering looks, but you ignored those- those people didn’t mean anything to either of you. But today this- this people meant something to Jay and that made them mean something to you too.

“You’ll be with me, right?” you gave him a shy smile. “Of course, I could never leave my precious girl on her owns” he said putting a string of your hair behind your ear, then he took the hand he was holding and raised it to his lips giving it a gentle kiss, before pulling you closer to him and kissing you deeply. Now you were walking towards were his friends said they were, you felt butterflies and your hands were shaking. As Jay felt your hand shaking, he pulled you closer instantly you wrap your other hand in his bicep, you did that a lot when going out together, that’s why Jay always initiates it he knew it made you feel safe. Just then you took notice of a group of people, laughing and teasing each other. This is it, its time. As you both approach, their attention shifted to you and some had surprised expressions, but you didn’t see nor feel an ounce of judgment from this people.

“Hey, guys, thanks for coming. Ahm, this is Y/N, my girlfriend” Jay said without breaking your eye contact. Just as he said those words you smiled and turn to greet them. Giving them a shy wave and a sweet smile, they returned it without trouble, this right here gave you some confidence that maybe they weren’t like other people. Just then two girls in the group took a step forward and shook your hands introducing themselves as Kim and Hailey.

“Hi, I’m Hailey, this is Kim, those are Adam, Kevin and these are Kelly and Stella, and the redhead right there is Will, Jay’s brother and Natalie his girlfriend” Jay gave Hailey a thankful smile for taking the initiative to introduce everyone then one by one they shook your hand and gave you friendly smiles. But when it was Will’s turn, he just gave you a massive hug. You two had met over a facetime call, when Jay was talking to him and you happen to be in the background, leaving Jay without a choice that to just introduce the both of you. You had instantly clicked with Will, taking every opportunity to tease him every chance you both got.

You didn’t know when but at some point, you were a couple of steps in front of the guys with Kim, Hailey, Stella and Natalie. You girls were talking and making dinner plans, all your worries gone. They made you feel welcomed and comfortable. Unnoticed to you the guys were having their own conversation which was based on their new friend group member -you-.  

“So how long have you two had this going on, huh?” Adam said wiggling his eyebrows which made the entire group of guys -Jay included- laugh. “6 months, 3 weeks and 2 days, as of today” Jay responded the accuracy of your relationship time made the guy’s eyebrows go up in a surprised manner. Without taking his eyes off your walking figure, smiling when he noticed you laughed at something Stella said to you.

“You’re whipped man” Kevin said shaking his head and smiling lightly. “Leave the poor man alone, he found someone who makes him happy and its obvious is a two-direction kind of thing” that was Kelly, while giving a pat at Jay’s back reassuringly.

“Yeah, your right….” Jay smiled again meeting your gaze as you glanced over your shoulder giving him a wink. God that made Jay’s stomach dance with butterflies. The way you had him wrapped around your fingers without even noticing. And that smile you gave him- that- oh that made him believe God is a woman. And the way your laugh sounded- man- Kevin was right he’s whipped and its all because of you. “You know she was nervous about meeting everyone, and having to listen to stupid comments about the age gap”

“Now that’s bullshit. She seems like a great girl. And look if the both of you are happy who are we to stop that?” Adam said in a more serious tone, making Will and Kevin nod. “Look at you getting all serious and shit, did Kim straighten you before coming here?” said Kelly making the others laugh.

“I have the pants in the relationship!” Adam responded. “Yeah, you wish you did” Kevin said in between laughs. As if noticing the guys were gossiping about you the girls stopped turning to give them a look,

“So... what are you guys talking about huh?” Stella said “Yeah do tell” Kim said while bumping her shoulder with your making you laugh again. Man, these girls were really godsend.

“Football” “Hockey” “Jay being whipped by Y/N” Kelly, Kevin and Adam answered at the same time. The latter receiving a smack around the head by Jay. You all laughed, and started walking in couples, now talking into their own conversations quietly -Kevin and Hailey- well they were the only single people in the group, so they dedicated themselves to try to make Adam trip -poor Adam-. Now that you and Jay were alone, he looked at you with such love that it almost made your heart explode. Then he got in front of you with his back to you and bending slightly -yeah you a lot shorter than Jay, don’t need to make a big deal about it- , tapping your hips twice, and you just giggled and claimed onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck and his going around your thighs to keep you in the piggyback ride, also making sure no one could see anything -cause you were in a skirt- and even though it wasn’t a short one, well were talking about Jay, he would still be overprotective when around other people. The others just smirked at this not really saying anything, just admiring their friend being in love. And not being afraid to show you how much he loves you. You guys look really cute, and that made Hailey take a picture just to encapsulate this beautiful moment between you and Jay.

“You okay honey” Jay asked in a soft voice, he always used that voice with you. You smiled kissing his cheek making Jay smile even bigger. “Never better, baby” you whispered in his ear, he just nodded turning his head slightly to the side to give you a kiss that made you feel his love, care, and selflessness.

“Are you really whipped by me?” Jay laughed out loud throwing his head back, this gained the attention of by passers who then got stern looks from the friend group that was now slightly back talking among themselves. -yeah, you now knew you had a group that would gladly throw hands to anyone who dared make a comment towards you-. “You know I am baby; you don’t have an idea how!” Jay answered still chuckling.

“Adam shut up…stop… if you don’t stop were going home” Kim said to Adam as if he was a little kid.

“And you said you wore the pants in the relationship, buddy!” Kelly muttered under his breath but not quietly enough because pretty much everyone heard him. “I really like them” you said while giggling, which made Jay laugh only to respond,

“Uhh, that giggle is evil” making everyone burst laughing. Today was a good day, it may had started with a lot of stress, but now- now you knew this people were family, and you were grateful that you had met every single one of them.

[dhwty-writes]

The Terribly Sad and Tragic Affair that Is the Fake Funeral of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss

Apparently, I am not only drawing for the Critical Role fandom, but writing for it, too. After months of nearly no progress I just vomited out 3k words this Tuesday and it only went downhill from there.

This fic is based on this post by @anne-o-nyme, I really hope I managed to capture the energy of it.

Have fun!

Summary: There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience.

After the sudden "death" of Shadowhand Essek Thelyss, it is his brother Verin's job to empty out his towers. The Mighty Nein show up to help (and maybe steal a few things).

OR: Verin is grieving, Essek just wants his stuff back, and the Mighty Nein are the Mighty Nein.

Warnings: I didn't tag this with MCD, because Essek is technically alive and kicking. Since Verin doesn't know that though, and this fic is written from his POV, this is dealing with grief and includes depictions of depressive thoughts as well as anxiety attacks. For more explicit warnings, please mind the tags on AO3. Take care of yourselves, and let me know if I forgot anything.

Read on AO3

There were eight strangers in the foyer of his dead brother's towers and Verin Thelyss was slowly losing his patience. "Listen," he said with what little calm he had left, "I know that by returning one of our beacons you became heroes of the Dynasty and were placed under Es— My bro— his stewardship. But this here—" he gestured vaguely at the interior of Essek's towers that had always been too cold, too empty, but not like now, never like now— "This is a very difficult situation for me, so if you could please leave, that would be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, yes, it's very sad that Essek died," the blue tiefling said—Jester, her name was Jester; she had given him that already as she had offered him her condolences with a hug—and Verin could barely contain his anger. After the funeral he had quite enough of lying dignitaries, nobles, and heroes currying favours with him. That had always been Essek's thing, he would know what to do, how to make them regret even daring to speak up; Verin had never been any good at it.

"But we're his friends!" He grit his teeth at Jester's blatant falsehood. Perhaps his anger showed on his face, since the tiefling faltered. "And, uh— Fjord?"

"It's true," the half-orc with too-smooth words and too-smooth voice lied, too. "We spent quite some time with your, er— your brother here. Made some good memories. We thought we might take this as our chance to say goodbye, too."

"We are here to help as well. We wouldn't want to infringe upon your grief, though," the tall firbolg added. "So, if you'd prefer us to return at a later point, we'd be happy to."

Verin was still trying to process everything—from these strangers showing up unannounced to their overwhelming presence to the fact that his brother was dead—while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on the halfling who looked like she might have sticky fingers. So, he latched onto the word that stood out the most to him: "Help?"

"Right," Fjord said, looking slightly embarrassed, "we probably should have led with that..."

"We should have called ahead, too," the scary-looking human in blue—they didn't even wear white for the funeral—added. "We always forget to call ahead."

"But Beau, how should we have called ahead?" Jester complained. "We didn't know Verin yet."

"Well, Essek—" the human was interrupted by the even scarier-looking woman next to her stepping on her foot unsubtly. She at least had the decency to act embarrassed. "Right. Sorry 'bout that."

Awkward silence fell across the room, the Mighty Nein looking anywhere but him. It took him a few moments to realise they were waiting for him to speak up. "Help how?" Verin could have kicked himself. By the Light, he could do better than that. He had to do better than that.

A beat of silence followed, then everyone seemed to talk at once. Verin wanted to weep. How was he supposed to deal with this? How had his brother dealt with this? 'He probably hasn't,' he thought. 'They're probably all liars, probably—'

Someone cleared their throat and all eyes turned to the other human who hadn't said anything so far and who looked properly miserable. Immediately, the Mighty Nein fell silent. "Word has reached us that Den Thelyss ordered these premises to be vacated as early as possible," he said quietly with an accent Verin has been taught that belonged to the enemy. "And while some of us may not look like much, I can assure you, we are quite capable."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "I supposed such menial tasks are beneath the heroes of the dynasty. There are servants—"

"Well, sure," the halfling with the probably sticky fingers interrupted, "but we know him. Knew him, I mean; sorry, force of habit."

"Besides, there's a lot of stuff," the lavender tiefling, who Verin was pretty sure was a known pirate, piped up. "Looks like you could use the help."

"If you want to, of course," the sad Empire human added.

Verin only wanted to scream, to give room to the torrent of thoughts raging in his head. 'My brother just died. My brother just died and he wasn't consecuted, so he's gone for good. He's gone for good and I didn't even know him; I didn't even know about these supposed friends he had because he didn't allow me near him in decades. I was a horrible brother and so was he, but I can't even be mad at him because he's dead.

'And now these liars show up and talk about friendship and knowing him, but those are all lies, horrible ones, because Essek had no friends. Essek was cold and cruel and lonely and do you even know how horrible that is? Dying alone with no-one who mourns you, just the favours you still owe them? Do you? I don't even know, and I'm his brother.'

Were he a weaker man, a less disciplined one, he might have said so. But he was Taskhand Verin of Den Thelyss and he had learned discipline before he had learned to talk. So, he said: "Your help would be greatly appreciated, thank you. I'll have the servants bring up some tea. There are, uh—" He straightened his back, summoning the composure that was befitting a Taskhand, even one with a dead brother. "There are boxes up there, they've been brought to the rooms already. Anything of value will be sold; the rest will be given to charity. The things— Well, if you find anything that might have sentimental value, something in his handwriting, perhaps, I think I should like to keep that, please."

The firbolg nodded sagely. "Of course. We will be careful with our selection."

With that, Verin turned around and— froze. Where was he even supposed to start? The towers had always seemed to huge for just Essek and he knew that there were very few personal belongings in them. Still, they would have to be scoured clean within the fortnight.

A large hand on his shoulder made him jump, although he'd never admit it. "Sometimes, when a task seems too large, you should start with the smallest part," the firbolg said. "If I were you, I'd start with the smallest room."

"Thank you, that, uh— that seems like good advice," Verin replied, still a bit startled and confused. "I, er— I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Caduceus Clay. I live in a graveyard, so I'm used to this," Clay said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Verin furrowed his brows slightly. A graveyard? It seemed highly unlikely to him that one of the heroes of the Dynasty would live in a graveyard of all places. Perhaps they were not only liars, but impostors too? But they had the symbols of the Bright Queen, so there wasn't much that he could say.

"Right," he mumbled. "I believe the smallest room would be the closet. Although it might be tied with the bathroom..." He trailed off again. He had never seen Essek's bedroom in his towers. Judging by how many times he had even seen the inside of the building; he could count himself lucky if he even found the way there.

"Why don't we split up?" Clay suggested. "One group takes the closet, one the bathroom and one the bedroom. We'd get done sooner that way."

"That is a great idea, Caduceus," Jester said excitedly. "I'll take the bathroom; I promised— er, I'm curious if I can find more of that hair oil, I got for Fjord that one time!"

"Ohhh, are you saying this is... an investigation?!" the halfling joined in.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Veth!"

"Seems like a case for Wildemount's best detectives!"

"Bye, Verin!" Jester called and he blinked and they were gone. Fjord joined them as well, muttering something about having to supervise them.

The purple pirate-tiefling shrugged, heading off in the same direction. "Well, I wouldn't mind rifling through some drawers. I'll have a look at that bedroom."

"Yeah, I don't need to see Essek's underwear, so I'll pass on the closet," Beau added tactfully—Verin was getting the sneaking suspicion that manners were not really her strong suit. She linked hands with the large woman at her side, pulling her along. "Come on, Yash."

"I'll go handle the tea," Clay said. "Don't worry about it." He vanished in the direction of the kitchen, his steps accompanied by the constant tap tap tap of his staff.

When Verin looked around, he realised that only the sad Empire human was left with him in the hallway. "If you wouldn't mind," he said, pointedly avoiding eye-contact, "I would love to have a look at the closet. I always, ah— appreciated your brother's sense of fashion."

Verin blinked at him a few times, then shrugged. "Sure." He began heading up the stairs.

"My condolences," the human continued. "I realise I didn't speak up earlier, but— I am sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, letting the same numb feeling wash over him again that he had embraced since the news of Essek's death had reached him.

"I know that we seem like a bunch of, ah— forgive my language, but assholes, but we're really here to help. I will tell the others to tone it down a bit."

"Thank you," he repeated.

"If you'd prefer that we start in, ah— less personal rooms, we can do that also."

"If I'm perfectly honest, I don't even know what I should be doing there."

"Neither am I." The human laughed nervously. "I have dealt with grief before, but I've never had the, ah— how do you call it? Hang on." He pulled out a copper wire and whispered: "Beau, how do you say zweifelhafte Ehre in Common? You can reply to this message." A moment later he straightened. "Right. I never had the dubious honour of emptying out a deceased person's house before."

"Neither did I," Verin admitted. 'Usually, the deceased person comes back,' he didn't say. Instead, he opted for: "You're, er— What's the word in Common? You're weird? I'm sorry if that's insulting, I just— waele xanalressen [stupid languages]."

"I don't understand your words, but I think I understand the sentiment." The man grimaced. "And I've heard that one before. I hope we're not too much of a... too much."

"It's alright," he lied and opened the door to Essek's bedroom. 

It wasn't alright; Verin wanted to weep again.

The door to the bathroom stood ajar, as did several drawers and cabinets, although he couldn't glance inside. Considering that he heard glass shatter and a quiet "oops" followed by a hushed "Jester!" he was rather glad about that. Besides, what he saw was already quite enough to handle. Beau was currently rifling through Essek's nightstand, the tall woman tossing unread books on the bed carelessly, while the lavender tiefling seemed to make his way through his brother's collections of make-up and jewellery alike.

They froze when they spotted him and the sad human in the door. "Heeey, Verin," Beau drawled.

"These were all still closed, I swear," the lavender tiefling said immediately, gesturing at the jars in front of them.

Verin just sighed in defeat. "I don't wear any make-up, I don't care; you can have it. Put the jewellery in the box to be sold; the books are for charity if he hasn't read them. Just leave the earrings in front of the mirror, please. Those were his favourites."

Without another glance at them, Verin headed straight to Essek's closet, desperate to get some quiet. He took a few moments to collect himself, before closing the door and leaning his head against it with a heavy thunk.

He stayed like that for a minute or maybe two until he heard someone clear their throat. "I have been debating for the past fifty-five seconds, if I should just Dimension Door out," the sad human said and Verin very nearly jumped out of his skin, "but that would be loud and I didn't want to startle you. Not that I didn't startle you like this but—"

"Vithin shu," Verin cursed.

"Vithin shu ke," the sad human agreed, his accent in Undercommon even heavier than normally.

For a moment, they both stared at each other, equally startled by the course of events. Then, the human looked away again. "I, ah— have started learning Undercommon before, um— well, before." Verin tried very hard to focus on the way the human was scratching at his forearms; that way he had something else to focus on besides his nearing breakdown.

"This is a bit embarrassing, but, ah— I believe I forgot to introduce myself," the human continued. "I'm Caleb Widogast. Essek and I were... friends, yes, and ah— colleagues, of some sort. It's... complicated."

He scratched at his arms again before turning towards the shelves and pulling out a stack of tunics. He unfolded one, looked at it, then carefully folded it again, cast a cantrip to smooth out the wrinkles, and put it in the charity box. Then he repeated the procedure with the next. And the next. And the next.

Verin frowned, thinking for a moment about his words. There was something about them that seemed painfully familiar, although he couldn't quite remember. Then: "The transmutation specialist."

Widogast looked up in surprise. "Yes."

"Essek told me of you," Verin admitted.

The last time they had seen each other had been here, in these towers, just a few months ago. He had found his brother in his office, pouring over notes for a new spell, alive and healthy as ever. As always, he had entered without knocking. As always, he had pretended to read the notes. Not as always, he had noticed something wrong. "Whose handwriting is that?" he had asked.

"What?" Essek had snapped, his head whipping up. Then, however, his expression had softened. "Oh. A friend's. A colleague, of sorts. He's helping me out, a bit."

"With the spell?" Verin had asked incredulously.

"Yes. He's a transmutation specialist; you know that's not my forte. Now give it back, will you?"

"A colleague, huh?" He had grinned and held the paper out of Essek's reach. "Are you sure that's all?"

Perhaps Essek had been sick after all, for the strangest thing had happened: instead of using his floating cantrip to snatch the notes back, he had gotten a dreamy, far-off look in his eyes. He had even smiled with an expression Verin might have called dopey, if it weren't his brother they were talking about. After a few moments, he had snapped out of it, sighed, and said: "It's complicated."

"Did he?" Widogast asked tentatively. "Did he, ah— did he say anything else about me?"

Verin pinned him down with a glare, sizing him up. In hindsight, he should have noticed the thick spellbook at his hip earlier; judging by his slim frame alone, he should have known the man was a wizard. He supposed Widogast was handsome enough, although his brother had never cared much for that, with his copper hair and his striking blue eyes. Blue eyes around which crows' feet were gathering, as he noticed to his dismay. 'He's human,' Verin reminded himself. He might have a few decades left, maybe, whereas Essek had centuries ahead of him. The thought why his brother might condemn himself to more loneliness crossed his mind, though it hardly mattered. His brother had been the first to die, after all.

"Verin?" Widogast inquired quietly.

"I'm sorry," he answered with a thick voice. "I got lost in my thoughts there. He, uhh— he said that he trusted you." That didn't even begin to cover it, but these Mighty Nein had been lying to him since the moment they got here, so what was a little lie by omission? Besides, there were some memories that he wanted to keep just to himself.

"Essek," he had teased, still waving the sheet of paper out his reach. "Come on! Aren't we brothers?"

Essek had crossed his arms and pouted. He hadn't done that since they were both little. "Unfortunately. You are a menace. And a child."

"If you tell me about him, I'll give it back. Is he handsome? Is he a drow? Where's he from? How did you meet? When will I meet him? Can I promise to kill him if he hurts you?"

"Verin!" Essek had groaned and hid his face in his hands.

"What do you do when you meet? I bet you stay up all night, talking about 'arcane research' or something."

"We do, in fact. Are you done now?"

"Oh, is that what young people call it these days?" He had cackled at his own joke.

"Evidently not," Essek had muttered. "Might I remind you that you're younger than me?"

"Might I remind you that you're a buzzkill?" Verin had shot back and placed the note down. He had gotten bored of his own game.

Essek had taken the sheet of paper almost reverently and thanked him. "I would have hated it to rewrite that page." He had smoothed it down, stored it safely away in a folder, silent for a long time. Then, he had said: "Caleb."

"Excuse me?"

"That's his name," Essek had said. "Caleb Widogast."

Verin had frowned. "Hey, Essek?"

"Hm?"

"You must trust him a lot, to share a spell with him."

His brother had taken a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Verin hadn't expected him to answer, yet he'd said: "I do, actually. It's not the first spell we've created together and I would be honoured to create a thousand more with him. I'd trust him with my life, my death, and beyond. I think—" He'd huffed. "I think I trust him almost as much as I trust you."

Verin watched Widogast as he was looking through his brother's tunics, placing most of them in the charity box, and he wondered. Wondered if the trust Essek had obviously put in Widogast had been misplaced. Wondered if it had extended to his friends, as well. Wondered if ultimately trust had been his downfall, as he'd always feared.

Then again, if Essek had trusted him... perhaps that trust had been mutual. Perhaps they had been friends. Perhaps there was another person mourning his brother after all.

"Do I have something on my face?" Verin had given up on counting how many times Widogast had now startled him out of his thoughts.

"No, no I—," Verin stammered. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head to the side. "For staring?"

"No, er— For your loss." Liar or no liar, it only seemed appropriate.

"Oh." Widogast turned back to the tunics. Verin probably should get started, too, shouldn't he? "Thank you. Though I'd wager your loss weighs heavier than mine."

"Probably," he agreed and turned to the task at hand. At this point, Widogast had moved on from the simple tunics to Essek's court regalia. After a short moment of consideration, Verin decided to look through the pants; he also had no interest in sorting through his dead brother's underwear.

Out of the corner of his eye he kept watching the wizard, pulling out one cloak after the other. At a few he wrinkled his nose, at others he just stared before putting them with the tunics. After a while one made him pause; an elaborate, beautiful robe in deep purple. "This is what he was wearing when we first met him," he said.

'He hated that one,' Verin thought. Not that he could say that out loud. Instead, he cocked his head and asked: "Are you sure? He has a lot of those. Had, I mean. Had a lot of those."

"Yeah, I'm sure." He tapped his temple with a faint smile. "I have a good memory."

"As does Essek," he snapped, suddenly feeling very defensive about his brother's capabilities. "I suppose most wizards do."

Infuriatingly, Widogast only nodded. "Indeed. Or they're not very good ones."

Silently, Verin turned back to the trousers. The sooner he got done, the sooner he got these people out of his brother's towers, the better. He didn't know for how long they worked in silence, Verin reminiscing about the times he had seen Essek wear the clothes and wondering about those he didn't know. Eventually, he folded the last of them and forced himself to return to the present. "I think we're done here," he announced. "Do you have a preference for a next room?"

"Perhaps the library?" Widogast offered a tentative smile. "I think I might be of more use there than folding clothes."

"More use than I will be, surely."

"I take it the wizardry doesn't run in the family, then?"

Verin only scoffed and opened the door to the bedroom again.

He immediately spotted Beau leafing through one of the books Essek had never read, while the tiefling was chatting amiably with the aasimar while braiding her hair. He also noted the boxes neatly stacked in the middle of the room. Besides that, he noticed with a heavy heart, the room looked much the same. If anything, it looked less orderly and empty than before. Except for—

"Where are Essek's earrings?" Verin demanded to know.

"What earrings?" the lavender tiefling replied with a too-wide grin the same moment Beau said: "Dude, there's tons of them, why don't—"

"No," he said decisively. "Essek's favourite earrings; they're always up here. I told you about them. Where are they?" His hands curled into fists, his neatly manicured fingernails pressing almost painfully into his skin.

"Perhaps you should look in one of the boxes," the aasimar woman suggested "I'm sure they're—"

"You're lying," Verin interrupted her, barely containing his anger. "Why are you lying? If they're in one of the boxes, then only because you put them there. So: where are they?"

Widogast only now stepped out of the closet, wearing an amber necklace he hadn't noticed before. "Verin—" he said tentatively, but he'd had enough.

"Shut up!" He startled himself with how loud his voice was. But he was beyond caring. "I know they're not in there, because the only ones to put them in there would have been you. So, either you're lying about having them put in there, or you're lying about stealing them, I don't care. Just— please. Please give them back."

The four of them passed a guilty glance. "We can't," Beau replied finally.

"The fuck you can't," Verin spat. "Give them back!"

"Verin, love, we would really love to," the tiefling added, "but we can't."

"I don't understand; is it precious things you want? Here, have some!" He strode over to the boxes and ripped the first open, tossing the lid towards the bathroom door Jester was peeking out of. He reached in to grab a necklace—an ugly one, he had always thought, with a stylised beacon—and threw it in their direction.

Beau caught it. Of course.

"Have a whole box, actually, if you like them so damn much." He reached inside and pulled out a jewellery box, tears prickling in his eyes. He threw one of those, too, just for good measure. It gave him some satisfaction that Widogast had to dodge it. "Just give me back the bloody earrings that my brother wore at my fucking consecution!" He was properly crying now and could only imagine the mess he looked like, but he had reached his limit. And, in his opinion, he was allowed to with all that was going on.

At least they looked a little bit guilty. "Fuck man, we didn't know," Beau mumbled.

"It's just one pair, Beau," Jester called over from the bathroom. "I'm sure it will be alright."

"Yes, there's no need for this to escalate," Fjord agreed and strode over to them, his hands raised innocently.

"I don't even know you people," Verin muttered, looking at the people crowding into his brother's bedroom. "Why did I even let you inside?"

"Do you want the earrings back?" the aasimar woman asked, reaching into a bag at her hip. Had she been carrying a greatsword for the whole time? Verin suddenly noticed how overpowered he was, were he to face all of them. "You can have them back if you want. Here, you can have them back."

"For a moment," Widogast added, slowly drawing closer to him and taking the earrings from the aasimar. He held them out on his flat hand, almost like he had seen soldiers offer treats to horses. His whole demeanour reminded him of someone trying to calm a spooked animal. For some reason, that seemed hilarious to him and he couldn't help the hysterical giggle that escaped his throat.

"Verin, I need you to calm down," he continued. "I know that's easier said than done, but you need your head."

"I think we should all calm down," Clay said from the doorway. And despite being surprised again, he did. It didn't make any sense, but few things these days did.

"Did it work?" the halfling asked. Verin wasn't really sure what she was talking about.

"It did," Clay confirmed.

"Gut," Widogast said and pressed the earrings that had seemed so important a moment ago into Verin's hands. "I think we should maybe go somewhere else, ja? Will you come with me?"

Inadvisable as it might be, if Essek had trusted that man, he should, too. And out of all of the Nein, he seemed to be the most normal one. The one he could see Essek with most. So, he nodded.

"I'll get us back to the kitchen, quickly." Caleb held out his hand and Verin closed his eyes, steeling himself. 'I hate Dimension Door,' was the last thing that crossed his mind before the teleportation spell ripped him away, together with: 'We haven't been to the kitchen, yet.'

Evidently, there went something wrong with the spell. Verin didn't know much about magic, but he knew Dimension Door couldn't transport more than two people. So, when he heard Beau groan and say "Fuck, dude, warn us next time," he knew that something wasn't right.

"You knew about the plan, Beauregard," Widogast replied.

"It doesn't matter," Fjord decided. "Caduceus, do you think you could make tea again? I think the Calm Emotions is about to wear off."

Cautiously, Verin opened one eye, then the other. They were, in fact, standing in a kitchen, as far as he could tell. All of the Mighty Nein were surrounding him. The furniture seemed to have been made for people taller than them; Essek probably would need to float in order to avoid awkwardly climbing onto the chair. The firbolg, however, who was fussing with a teapot, seemed to fit right in. All in all, the interior was very rustic. And very much not in Essek's towers, not that he had ever seen that room, of course.

The panic hit him once more. Verin whirled around to the wizard, instinctively grasping for his sword. "Where the fuck—" he faltered, finding his hip bare. Of course, he hadn't brought it for the funeral. Instead, he opted for just grasping Widogast by the lapels and lifting him up a bit. It was supposed to be menacing, which surely would be more effective, were humans not so annoyingly tall. "Where the fuck are we?!" he spat out.

A lot of things seemed to happen at once—he heard a "Fuck, man, what-" from Beau, a "Well, Mister Thelyss" from the pirate, several hands trying to tug him away from the weak wizard—but he didn't pay them any mind. He just shook Widogast, who looked entirely too calm for his liking, and demanded: "Answer me!"

"Leave him," was all Widogast said. "He has every right to be angry."

Indeed, the people grasping at him retreated, still on guard and surrounding him. There was a creak outside the door and Verin desperately wished for his sword once more. Then, a voice cut through the tense silence that had descended over the kitchen: "Caleb, is that you? You're back early."

"Yeah, there were some complications. Best come and look yourself, Schatz."

There was a sigh that was entirely too familiar for Verin's liking. Then, the door opened with a creak and in walked a dead man. "Complications," Essek Thelyss said with a fond smile. "I was just a Sending away, what did you come here fo— oh."

The person wearing his brother's face stopped in their tracks as they saw him. A couple of complicated emotions passed over his face—confusion, surprise, regret, guilt. If he hadn't known before, Verin was certain now that they were impostors, all of them. His brother would never tolerate such a display of weakness. Still, the impostor said: "Hello, brother."

Verin whipped his head back around to the wizard in his grasp. "What the fuck are you playing at?" he hissed.

"I- what- Verin!" the Essek-impostor sputtered. "What are you doing; put him down!"

"I would appreciate that, yes," Widogast added.

"Not before you don't tell me what's going on."

"Going on?" The impostor sneered and shook his head in a perfect imitation of his brother. "Nothing is going on, Verin."

"You died," he accused him.

"Evidently not," Essek scoffed.

Verin narrowed his eyes, looking from the man claiming to be his brother over the other too calm wizard to the rest of the Nein, seemingly perfectly happy to let this play out. "Prove it," he demanded. "Tell me something only my brother would know."

"You've become paranoid," he noted and Verin couldn't decide if it sounded proud or disappointed. "Alright. When you and I were in our early thirties, you once got in trouble for scaling the outside of mother's mansion. Rightfully, I should have gotten in trouble, too, but I was hiding on the attic. And the reason you never told anyone, is because then you'd have had to explain that I, the wizard, had somehow outpaced you, the fighter, in a climbing competition."

Verin wrinkled his nose at that. "Well, my brother cheated."

"I did not cheat, thank you very much!" He huffed indignantly and crossed his arms. "You didn't say 'no magic' before we started."

He stared at Essek for a few moments. "It's you," he whispered.

"Obviously."

Verin dropped the wizard on the ground and looked over at his brother; really looked. The man looked nothing like the one he had known for most of his life. His hair was longer than it had ever been since he'd cut it off and his bare feet were touching the ground. His clothes were casual, a simple tunic and trousers. After this day, Verin knew for a fact that not even Essek's trancing clothes were that informal, and yet his brother looked more comfortable in them in another's house than he had in decades. On top of that, he kept glancing over to Widogast. And smiling. Essek was smiling.

No, this man looked nothing like the one Verin had known for nearly a century. But he looked a lot like his brother.

"You're alive," he said stupidly.

"Yes, of course I am," Essek said, as if Verin hadn't just attended his funeral.

It felt only right to tell him so: "Why are you alive? I was at your funeral."

"That's a long story," he sighed and floated onto one of the chairs that were slightly too tall for him. He accepted a cup of tea from Clay with thanks and turned back to Verin. "Why are you here?"

"Well, that's a pretty long story, too," Jester spoke up. "He kind of started freaking out about your earrings, I think? And he was crying and looking pretty awful and everything, right Caleb?"

"I, ah— didn't think he'd believe us if we told him about you," Caleb said. "So, we had agreed beforehand to bring him here, in case of an emergency."

"He thought we were lying," Clay added.

"I suppose it is my story to tell," Essek said. "Earrings, Verin?"

"They're your favourite," Verin said stupidly and held them out to him.

His face grew soft. "Oh," he said as he took them gingerly, "I didn't know that you kne—"

Before he could overthink and do something stupid like stop himself, he surged forward and enveloped his brother in a tight hug. After a moment Essek closed his arms around him, too.

It seemed so unreal, to be able to hold him after mourning him for what felt like years. All the worries, all the grief and anger that had crushed him in the past few weeks and for what? For the bastard to still be alive after all. It wasn't fair. Why had he had to go through all of that? And why did he feel the pressing urge to start crying again? He should be happy, shouldn't he, that his brother wasn't dead. So why did it make him feel so awful?

"I think this is our cue to leave," Fjord said. Verin felt his brother nod and heard the Mighty Nein shuffle out of the kitchen, the door closing behind them with a creak. 

Only then, Essek spoke up. "Verin," he asked quietly, "are you crying?"

"Shut up," he mumbled through the thick fog of tears and snot, definitely not crying. "I hate you, Essek. Do you know what I went through?" 

"Meeting the Mighty Nein? Yes, I can imagine."

"They're horrible," he complained. "They're loud and they're rude and they had absolutely no respect for any of your belongings! I thought I was going mad."

"They are. They also are my friends, you know."

"How?" he asked agonised.

"I know they don't look like it, but they are surprisingly capable. And I am sure that you've noticed most of them to be annoyingly charming. But I think their absolute worst traits are their infinite stubbornness and perseverance. They quite literally did not leave me alone until they had befriended me."

Verin glanced up at him questioningly. "And were half in love with the wizard?" he guessed.

Essek scowled darkly, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. "Perhaps."

He snorted and disentangled himself from their embrace. Very calmly he said: "You're a liar." 

Essek looked genuinely startled at that. "What?"

"You said, you trusted me more than him. Why then, did he know and I didn't?"

"It's... complicated," he said.

"You wizards say that a lot."

"Verin." Essek closed his eyes. "I trust you. Implicitly. And I care about you. Which is why I chose not to burden you with the knowledge of my misdeeds. I didn't— I didn't want to put you in an impossible situation to choose between me and our queen."

He laughed nervously. "What on earth are you talking about? I mean, you didn't commit treason or anything."

Essek didn't answer, avoiding eye-contact instead.

"Right?"

Still, Essek kept stubbornly quiet.

"Oh," Verin breathed. He took a moment trying to reconcile what he knew about his brother with the fact that he was apparently a traitor. It all fit together ridiculously easy. "The beacons."

Essek looked up at him in shock and he knew he had hit the mark. "What?"

"You stole the beacons." Now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. Essek had been studying them at the time, one of the only people with frequent access to them. He had always been fascinated by them, yet his theories had been rejected for their heretic nature. As Shadowhand, he had also regular contact with counterparts from the Empire, albeit not officially. Then, a few years after Essek’s research had been denied, they had vanished. How had he never seen this before?

"Oh Essek...," he said softly.

"No, please— I don’t—Please don’t—” He seemed to deflate, curling in on himself. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you, I—”

"I don't care,” Verin interrupted his frantic ramblings.

"What?" Essek looked up at him, looking just as shocked as Verin felt.

“I don’t care,” he repeated, realising that it was true the moment the words left his mouth. For how could he care about something as trivial as treason when Essek was sitting right in front of him, alive and well. "You're my brother, I don't care. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe in a year. Maybe in ten. Right now, I only care that you're alive."

“I—What—I don’t—” Essek stuttered, lifting and then lowering his hands a few times. “I don’t know how— If I can—Fuck.”

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but even he knew that this wasn’t the right time for it. Essek was obviously trying to tell him something and it took him a minute to decipher that strange behaviour. “Are you asking for a hug?” he hazarded a guess.

An agonised expression passed over his face and for a moment Verin thought there were tears gathering in his brother’s eyes. Surely not. “I don’t know if I may. I don’t mean to overstep—”

Without further ado, Verin stepped forward and gathered a yelping Essek up and squeezed him tightly. “Of course you may!” he assured him, awkwardly patting his shaking shoulders. “I love you, Essek. I am very glad that you’re alive.”

“I’m very glad to see you, too,” Essek answered and squeezed him a little tighter.

[marblemoovt]

Tattoo - Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8k

Warnings: Fluff. A bit of angst cause Chrissy is a traumatized bean. Mentions of ED and abuse.

Summary:

Chrissy decides to get a tattoo, and who better to accompany her than her boyfriend, Eddie?

A submission for Hellcheer Fest. Prompt: "Take me to get a tattoo."

------

“It’s only a tattoo, sweetheart.” Eddie winces at his poor choice of words, but Chrissy understands what he’s trying to say. She bites her lip to prevent the tears from spilling.

“Yeah, but my mom can be… overwhelming.” Chrissy knows that ‘overwhelming’ is an understatement. Words cannot express how terrible her mother is, but Chrissy’s learning to vocalize it.

Eddie smiles wryly and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he says. His shoulder receives a playful smack from Chrissy. He gasps and dramatically throws his shoulder back. She giggles, and he grins so much that his cheeks hurt. “No, but seriously, Chris. Fuck Laura Cunningham.”

“Eddie!” Chrissy gasps.

“You’re right. That’s a bit too bold for your first tattoo. Maybe for your second one, then. I’m thinking right across the forehead would be good.” His face nearly splits in half at how comically wide her eyes grow.

Note:

Welcome to my debut in the Stranger Things fandom! I wanted to write something for Eddie and Chrissy after seeing their chemistry in the first episode of season four, and when I saw there was a hellcheer fest, I immediately knew I had to participate! This fic has honestly been sitting in my drafts for too long and, like most of my fic do, grew monstrously in its word count.

This was really fun for me to write, and I encourage you all to check out all the other submissions! Link to Hellcheer Fest

Warning!!! There are mentions of EDs and abuse. I only delve into Chrissy's struggles in this fic if that gives you a better idea of what to expect. This is mainly fluff but our two beans are still recovering from their traumas, so please exercise caution when reading if any of those topics are triggers for you.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

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“Nervous?” Eddie asks, holding Chrissy’s hand while her other arm is prepped for tattooing. She hums and shakes her head, strawberry-blonde locks whipping around her face. He tucks some of her hair behind her ear to unveil her beaming smile. He doesn’t comment on how she’s holding his hand tighter than usual. 

“Just excited for my first tattoo. My parents—well, you know how they are.” Chrissy doesn’t need to finish because Eddie knows all too well what her parents are like. 

“Ah yes, the pool party incident of ‘86.” Eddie looks away into the distance and pretends to reminisce. He turns back to her and grins wolfishly. “Your mother is much more agreeable when she’s unconscious,” referring to how Laura Cunningham fainted when she saw his assortment of tattoos. 

Chrissy giggles. “My mother was convinced they were satanic symbols embedded into your skin. And the lecture she gave me when I called them your ‘sweet ol’ tatties.’” Chrissy shakes her head and bites her lip to contain her laughter. She’s already been scolded for moving too much. “‘Christina Cunningham, how dare you invite that Munson boy and allow him to brandish his dark marks,’” Chrissy mocks in her best Laura impression. 

“Dark marks? Sounds like something an evil wizard would have.” Eddie makes a mental note to incorporate the idea into a campaign. Before he can brainstorm further, Chrissy squeezes his hand and smiles cheekily at him.

“You can add dark sorcerer to your resume,” she says. He snorts and kisses the crown of her head.

“Ah yes, my ever-growing list. I’ll add it right under cult leader.” He sticks his tongue out, but with only one hand, his devil face looks ridiculous with a missing horn. It works as intended when Chrissy grins at him, her lips curling upward in amusement.

“I see you’re a man of many talents.” Chrissy plays with the sleeve of his jacket, rubbing the leather between her fingers.

“What can I say? I’m multi-faceted.” Eddie studies her expression and grins. By now, her cheeks are rosy and glowing. She tugs on his hand and avoids his gaze, lips pursed in thought. He waits patiently and rubs his thumb across the back of her hand. She turns to look up at him through her long lashes.

“Hey, Eddie? Thanks for not freaking out earlier.” Her tone is borderline apologetic, and it makes Eddie frown. He crouches down so they’re at eye level and holds her hand in both of his. His hands are so warm, and they swallow her dainty hand. Safe. Eddie makes her feel safe. 

“It’s only a tattoo, sweetheart.” Eddie winces at his poor choice of words, but Chrissy understands what he’s trying to say. She bites her lip to prevent the tears from spilling. 

“Yeah, but my mom can be… overwhelming.” Chrissy knows that ‘overwhelming’ is an understatement. Words cannot express how terrible her mother is, but Chrissy’s learning to vocalize it. 

Eddie smiles wryly and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he says. His shoulder receives a playful smack from Chrissy. He gasps and dramatically throws his shoulder back. She giggles, and he grins so much that his cheeks hurt. “No, but seriously, Chris. Fuck Laura Cunningham.”

“Eddie!” Chrissy gasps.

“You’re right. That’s a bit too bold for your first tattoo. Maybe for your second one, then. I’m thinking right across the forehead would be good.” His face nearly splits in half at how comically wide her eyes grow. 

“Oh my God, Eddie. She’ll kill me.” She knows he’s only teasing her, but the dread that fills her stomach at the thought of it is suffocating. Eddie notices her distress, and he brings a hand up to her cheek. She nuzzles into his touch and tries to focus on her breathing as her therapist taught her. Eddie joins her breathing exercise, and she squeezes his hand.

“You’re 18, princess,” he reminds her. She shakes her head slowly, and a tear rolls down her cheek.

“I still have to live with her.” She shudders. She graduated at the top of her class, valedictorian, honour roll. But none of that means anything to Laura Cunningham. All her mother could see was Chrissy quitting cheerleading, Chrissy breaking up with Jason Carver—who is ‘such a nice, upstanding man’—and Chrissy dating the local freak and drug dealer. Chrissy thinks the list is probably infinite; her mother will always find a fault.

Before she can spiral, Eddie brushes her tears away and kisses the corners of her eyes. “Only until the semester starts.” He stares into her eyes, and any trace of playfulness is gone. “You know my offer still stands, right?” She licks her lips and hesitantly opens her mouth.

“I don’t want to impose or be a nuisance.” She’s spent many nights at the trailer, but living there feels like a giant leap. Living there means that she’s ready to leave the old Chrissy behind. While she hasn’t been the ‘old Chrissy’ for months, it’s still a skeleton in her closet, a reminder of a life she never wants to return to.

Eddie knows about her struggles. He’s learned to not take it personally when she rejects his offers to help. “You’re always welcome. And you’ll never be a nuisance. Anyone who’s told you that is full of shit. Wayne adores you, and I would love nothing more than to have you there.” Her lips twitch into a smile, and his chest swells with warmth.

“Later… when you….” Chrissy stumbles over her words, not used to asking others for help. She bites her lip and stares at the ceiling for a minute until she gains the courage to look Eddie in the eye.  “At—will you help me pack?” she manages to spit out. The grin on his face is full of joy, and it makes her regret not asking sooner.  

“Are you serious?” Eddie is over the moon. That little voice in his head snarls with doubt, but he ignores it. Chrissy's cheeks go dark, and he feels like he’s placed his hand on a heater.

“I am. Unless you’re rescinding your offer?” The disappointment in her big, blue eyes does critical damage to his heart.

“And miss out on going to bed with you in my arms every night? Not a chance, princess.”

Tiny, the tattoo artist, chuckles and mumbles something about young love. “If you two are done flirting, I’m going to outline the tattoo now.” Eddie drops his hand from Chrissy’s face, and she slams her back into the seat. The couple continue holding hands, hoping the buzz of the machine will fill the awkward silence as they wait for their embarrassment to cool down. Eddie focuses on Chrissy’s arm as ink is applied to her skin. He thinks back to a few days ago that led up to this moment.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

“I can see the gears turning in your head, darling. What’s up?” Eddie asks. Chrissy looks at him with puppy eyes, the face she always makes when she wants something. Eddie munches on some cereal as he waits for her request.

“Take me to get a tattoo?”

Eddie nearly drops the spoon in his hand. He sets it down in the bowl and pushes his breakfast aside. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” Her face scrunches up, and Eddie curses under his breath. He reaches across the table and places his hand on Chrissy’s. “I’m only making sure, Chris. They don’t exactly wash off.” 

She slowly lets out a breath and nods. “Yeah. Maybe just a small one to start?”

“Anything you want, sweetheart. Got any ideas?”

Chrissy bites her lip and shakes her head. “I’m not sure. Should it be something important to me?” She mulls over what she would like permanently displayed on her skin. Eddie pats her hand and smiles encouragingly at her. 

“It can be whatever you want it to be,” Eddie tells her. His smile turns into a grin.  “You could tattoo ‘Fuck Laura Cunningham’—which would be metal. Although from the face you’re making, you don’t think the same.” Chrissy giggles, which becomes full-blown laughter when Eddie starts wiggling his eyebrows. 

“I think she would disown me if she ever saw that tattooed on my body,” she says, shivering at the thought. She can’t lie; a part of her really wants to do it. 

Eddie props his cheek against his hand, using his other to boop her nose. “You just gotta make sure she doesn’t see it then.” Chrissy wrinkles her nose and jerks her head back to avoid his next attempt. 

“I’m still not doing it.” She shakes her head and tries to hide her grin behind her hair. She decided to leave her hair down today, her usual scrunchie on her wrist. Eddie’s bottom lip is jutting out, and his eyes look like they’re going to pop out of his head. When she snickers, Eddie’s expression returns to normal with a smug smile. 

“Maybe some pom poms?” he suggests, waving an imaginary pom pom with one hand. Chrissy’s grin falters, and Eddie freezes. 

“I do like cheerleading, but it’s always been something my mom pressured me into. There aren’t a lot of good memories associated with it.” Chrissy thinks about her uniform, which always shrank. The disappointment in her mother’s tone when her spot at the top of the pyramid was taken. For a second, Chrissy can taste bile in the back of her throat, and she takes a deep breath to quell the incoming wave of nausea. Eddie squeezes her hand, and she grounds herself with his touch. 

“What about your favourite animal? Can’t go wrong with that.” Chrissy perks up at Eddie’s suggestion. There’s a sparkle in her eyes and a rosy glow on her cheeks. She fidgets in her seat, and Eddie has to stop himself from screaming over how adorable he finds her. 

“Don’t laugh but… Hey! I said not to laugh!” she chastises. Her cheeks immediately darken, and she tries to tug her hand back, but Eddie keeps a firm grip and places a kiss on it. She stops her movements and stares at the texture of the table. The notches in the wood are old, and there are some stains she would rather remain ignorant about. 

“I can’t help it, darling. You look so cute, all flushed and embarrassed,” Eddie teases. Chrissy lets out a whine in her throat and rests her forehead on the table. The oak feels cool against her skin. 

“Seals,” she says, her voice muffled by the table. Eddie hums and tries to remember what they look like. He’s probably seen one on tv; Wayne likes to leave the nature channel on as background noise. 

“Those creatures that look like giant bouncy balls when they’re on land?” Eddie chuckles, recalling how ridiculous they look, sliding and bouncing around the ground. 

Chrissy whips her head up and says in a defensive tone, “They’re big sea puppies! And they’ve got the cutest faces.” She gestures frantically with her hands, continuing to ramble about how adorable seals are. Eddie loves the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles and the little dimples that form around her mouth. 

“I don’t know, there’s a pretty cute face in front of me right now,” Eddie says. Chrissy pauses mid-ramble and narrows her eyes. 

“Are you calling me a seal?” Eddie shrugs and struggles to keep an indifferent expression on his face. He can feel Chrissy burning a hole into his head when he doesn’t respond immediately. His shoulders quiver. She might as well close her eyes if they narrow any further.

“No, I’m saying you’re cuter than one,” Eddie says, and Chrissy firmly shakes her head. 

“Then you’ve never seen a seal in person,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone. Eddie hums and tilts his head.

“And you have?” Chrissy looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Of course I have!” she answers. Eddie stares at her in silence, and she clears her throat. “Once… when I was seven. My grandfather came to visit.” Sensing a story, Eddie hops off the stool and leads her to the couch and—oh! Can’t forget breakfast! He grabs his bowl of cereal and sits beside her, conscious of his munches as she continues talking. “I was being difficult because I really didn’t want to go to my gymnastics class, which drove my mom crazy. I was a lot younger, so my mom….” Chrissy lets out a bitter chuckle. “She wasn’t as mean as she is now.” She licks her lips and says, “and so he offered to take me because I always listened to him. My mom practically shoved me towards him and left to self-medicate. It made me wonder at the time why she wanted to get rid of me so badly.” 

Her eyes become glossy, and Eddie scoots closer and wraps an arm around her. His cereal is forgotten on the table, too soggy to be edible anyway. Anyone who enjoys soggy cereal is weird, and that’s coming from Eddie, the local ‘freak.’ He tries his best to soothe Chrissy, telling her how much he loves her and that he’s here for her. She looks him in the eyes, and his heart breaks. “Does she not love me? Why doesn’t she want me? Thoughts that no child should ever have.” Her voice cracks between sentences, and she brings a sleeve up to wipe her eyes. 

Eddie opens his arms, and Chrissy crawls into them. He strokes her hair, and she sniffles into his shoulder. Minutes pass, and she chokes out a laugh. “I remember sitting in the back of his truck, and nothing outside the window looked familiar. I told him that he was going the wrong way for my gymnastics. ‘I thought you didn’t want to go,’ he said. I told him I didn’t want to make my mom angrier. And he said, ‘it’s ok, I’ll handle your mother. I’m not taking you to gymnastics. We’re going on an adventure,’” she recalls with a smile. 

“Sounds like the best grandpa ever,” Eddie murmurs. 

Chrissy nods enthusiastically and giggles. “He was the best.” Eddie wipes a stray tear from her cheek. She takes in a deep breath, relaxing into his embrace. “We drove for what felt like forever until he pulled into a huge parking lot. I remember holding his hand as he led me to the ticket booth. He asked for two tickets to the aquarium, and I asked, ‘what’s an aquarium?’ ‘You’ll see,’ he told me and wouldn’t tell me more no matter how many questions I asked. And when we got inside…. Oh, Eddie.” She pauses in wonder, reliving the memory. Eddie makes a mental note to bring her to an aquarium in the future. “It was beautiful. I’ve never seen so much blue in my life—and it’s my favourite colour!” Her whole body is buzzing with excitement, and it’s incredibly infectious. Eddie can’t help but smile and nod as she continues talking.

“We saw all kinds of sea creatures, and I got to touch some of them!” She goes on to describe the different textures she felt. Some of the memories cause her face to scrunch up, which in turn causes Eddie to laugh and kiss her flushed cheeks. “Eventually, we went outdoors.” Chrissy pauses and grins. “And I remember being so short, and the railing was so tall.” She exaggerates the height difference with her hand gestures. “My grandfather picked me up onto his shoulders, and I saw seals for the first time. ‘Look, grandpa! There’s puppies in the water!’ He laughed so hard and told me what they were called. He even read to me those little plaques with the creature information, and I….” The smile on her face is radiant, and Eddie wants to burn it into his memory. “I hung onto every word about seals.”

Eddie kisses the top of her head and runs his hands up and down her arms. He touches Chrissy like she’s the most precious thing in the world because that’s what she is to him. “Tell me a fact, seal expert,” Eddie says with a smirk. Chrissy’s face lights up like this is the first time someone has asked her a question on a topic she loves. His hands dig a little deeper into her skin, and he tries not to frown. 

“Hmm, ok,” Chrissy hums as she tries to think of an interesting fact, letting out a small gasp when she remembers one. “Did you know that seals are one of the closest living relatives to bears?”

“No fucking way.” Eddie refuses to believe that those cute sea blobs are in any way related to bears. “You’re not trying to pull one over me, are you?” His fingers lightly skim over her stomach, and she giggles. 

“Are you the expert, or am I?” Chrissy smirks. Chrissy Cunningham just smirked at him. Where has she been hiding this confidence? 

Eddie lets out a breathy chuckle and rests his forehead against hers. “I don’t know. It’s been over ten years since you’ve seen one. Your knowledge might be outdated.”

She huffs. “You know, there are these fantastic things called books that contain information. They can be found in the library for the public to read,” Chrissy informs him.

“I know what books are, Cunningham. I just don’t read any of the non-fiction stuff.” The corners of Chrissy’s mouth curl up, and her eyebrows raise. It’s been a while since they were on a last-name basis. 

“Well, Munson, you should try it. Maybe you can debunk my facts next time.” Eddie pulls her close and plants a trail of kisses from her shoulder to her neck. Chrissy hums in approval and tilts her head. 

“If it’s something you like, I’ll read whatever you want me to. Maybe you can recommend one of those raunchy novels I found in your room.” Chrissy mentioned before how her grandfather used to read the Hobbit to her but that she hasn’t read the Lord of the Rings series yet. Unwilling to let this injustice continue, Eddie offered—forced—his copies to Chrissy. When he came over with the books, she directed him to the bookshelf in her room, and he took the liberty to peruse her literary tastes. He’ll never let her forget what he discovered that day. 

“Eddieeee!” She shoves him back with a whine. Eddie debates adding ‘Cherry’ to the list of nicknames he has for her. Chrissy pulls some of her hair forward to hide her face.

“In order to become a Chrissy expert, I need to expand my knowledge and research topics, no matter how dangerous, to accomplish my goal.” Eddie adjusts the nonexistent glasses he’s wearing. 

Chrissy snorts and slaps his chest lightheartedly. “You’re such a dork.”

Eddie chuckles and catches her hand, holding it to prevent further attacks. “Yeah, but you think it’s endearing,” he says. No matter how much she denies it, Eddie knows that his theatrics never fails to make her laugh. He keeps to himself how laughter is a good look on her. It’s definitely not the reason he acts like a goof half the time. Nope. Not at all.

“I do.” Chrissy bites her lips and begins playing with her hair. “So… tattoo?” She looks at him with those puppy eyes again, and Eddie has to lean against the couch for support. 

He swallows the lump in his throat and says, “Right, tattoos. I know a guy.” Eddie clears his throat and can’t help but smile at Chrissy’s focused expression. He tucks the strand of hair she’s been playing with behind her ear. “His studio is outside town, so you don’t have to worry about running into anyone.” As fun as it would be to run into her mother or Jason, Eddie doesn’t think the screaming match over tattoos would be worth it.

“Did he do all of your tattoos?” Chrissy asks, fingers grazing against the inked spider peeking out under the collar of his shirt. He shivers from her touch, and a pleased smile forms on Chrissy’s lips.

“Pretty much. Tiny’s got these rad pre-designed tattoos for a fair price, or you can order a custom one.” All of Eddie’s tattoos are custom. He was adamant about wanting something unique. He was involved in the design process as much as Tiny would allow, which wasn’t much, given his talent to annoy people. But his sweet ol’ tatties turned out great, so every year, he sees Tiny for a new tattoo. 

Chrissy laughs in disbelief. “I’m sorry, his name is Tiny? Is that… is that really his name?” Her expression is more curious than put-off. 

Eddie waggles a finger at her. “Don’t let the name fool you. Tiny’s built like a mountain, and he’s covered in tattoos. As far as his real name goes, no one knows. Tiny likes to keep people guessing.” Despite the intimidating description, Chrissy doesn’t feel afraid in the slightest. 

“Well, you weren’t how I thought you’d be, so maybe it’ll be the same with him.” Chrissy’s optimistic comment causes Eddie to smirk. 

“I think you’ll be sorely disappointed, sweetheart. I’m much more handsome and charming than Tiny—don’t tell him I said that.” He finishes with a panicked look in his eyes. 

A bit of rebellion stirs inside of Chrissy, and she grins devilishly. “Now I definitely have to tell him.”

“The betrayal! The deception!” Eddie brings a hand to his chest and clenches his shirt, letting out gasps and wheezes as his body eventually goes limp. He lolls his head against the couch and shuts his eyes, leaving his tongue to poke out of his mouth. He cracks open an eye and sees Chrissy frozen in shock. Then she bursts into a fit of giggles. “The beast is dying from a broken heart, and the fair maiden does not grieve but laughs,” Eddie laments. 

Chrissy shakes her head. “Maybe she laughs because she knows the beast can be cured with a kiss.” She plays along, enjoying how silly she can be around Eddie. 

Eddie shakes his head solemnly. “I don’t think one is nearly powerful enough.” Pretending to be gravely ill is extremely difficult when your entire body is trembling with repressed laughter. Eddie bites on the inside of his cheek when Chrissy beams at him. 

“Must be a terribly dark curse, then.” She tuts and pats his head like he’s some pitiful child. 

Eddie nods. “Oh yeah. A broken heart is pretty high up on the list. Don’t you know it’s the leading cause of death of beasts in love with pretty maidens? 9 out of 10 wizards recommend at least 5 kisses as treatment.” Chrissy hums and inspects his face. “What are you doing?” Eddie asks. 

“I’m trying to figure out where to place the kisses for maximum effect,” Chrissy answers. “Now, hold still. I can’t focus with you squirming.” Eddie sits there quietly. Chrissy has a chokehold on his attention right now. Maybe that’s why it feels difficult to breathe.

 “One.” She places a kiss on his forehead and counts out loud. 

“Two.” His cheek 

“Three.” His other cheek. 

“Four.” His chin. By now, Eddie is starting to feel lightheaded and floaty, better than any weed high. 

“Aaaand five.” She plants a final kiss on his lips.  

Eddie remains stunned until his body acts on impulse. “It lives!!” He sits up like a reanimated corpse. His arms wrap around Chrissy, and he playfully bites her shoulder. She giggles and fakes screams and sounds of distress like she’s in one of those cheesy horror films. Eddie pulls away, adoration etched into his features. 

“It’s a miracle!” Chrissy throws her arms up and returns the embrace, laughing until tears come out of her eyes. 

Eddie brushes away her tears with his thumb. Warmth blooms in his chest, and he smiles. “Christ, you’re adorable, Chris,” he says.

Chrissy shrugs and grins. “What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me.”

“I like the sound of that,” Eddie says, hands resting on her waist and squeezing gently. Chrissy leans forward and brushes her lips against his. He can feel her warm breath on his face and waits for her to make the next move.

“You and me both,” Chrissy whispers into the small gap between them. Eddie holds his breath. Chrissy’s hands are cradling his face, and she’s stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. All the air in his lungs escapes in a long sigh when Chrissy pulls away. “Now that you’re no longer on the verge of death, lunch?” She looks at him with hopeful eyes, and Eddie can never deny her.

Eddie eyes the bowl of soggy cereal on the table. “Yeah. Benny’s? I’m craving some pancakes.”

Chrissy perks up at the suggestion. “Ooh, can we get the ones with berries and cream??”

Eddie stretches to place a kiss on her forehead. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” The smile she gives him melts his insides.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

“Can we go get pancakes after this?” Chrissy asks, barely flinching from the tattoo machine, which impresses Eddie. He definitely won’t be telling her how he teared up a little when he got his first tattoo. Tiny is finished with the outline and is now adding all the details and shading.

“With berries and cream?” Eddie asks, to which Chrissy answers with an enthusiastic nod. Her excitement is infectious. “Yeah! We’ll have a celebratory… brunch—is that what you fancy people call it?” Eddie doesn’t really understand the concept of brunch. Who decided to combine breakfast with lunch? He personally doesn’t associate specific times with his meals. If breakfast is the first meal of the day, then he’s had breakfast before at 12am—still technically his first meal. Eddie honestly thinks brunch is just an excuse for people to drink during the day without being scrutinized by others.

Chrissy’s voice brings him out of his reverie. “Former fancy person here, and brunch is more of a formal thing. At least the ones I attended growing up were.” Her nose scrunches up, and it looks like she just sucked on a lemon. Eddie knows there’s a country club on the outskirts of town where all the upper-class families play dress-up and pretend they’re better than everyone else.

“Then we’ll have frunch,” Eddie says, feeling quite proud of himself. If people can create names for mealtimes, then so can he.

Chrissy chortles. “You did not just make that up.”

Eddie grins. “I am a wordsmith, m’lady. Using my legendary powers, I have combined the word ‘freak’ with ‘brunch’.” He brings up both of his hands and smashes them together. “Thus creating ‘frunch.’”

“It sounds like you’re badly pronouncing the word ‘French,’” Chrissy points out. 

Eddie ignores the flaw in his naming choice and turns to Tiny. “Tiny, my good sir. Have you any knowledge of such an establishment that offers pancakes?”

“You are an idiot,” Tiny responds, not even looking up from Chrissy’s arm. From what Eddie can see, the tattoo is nearly done. The round face of a seal stares up at him; they are pretty cute, he has to admit.

“That wasn’t my question, but I thank you regardless for the compliment. No, but seriously. You know any places?” Eddie drops the facade. If Chrissy wants pancakes, then he’s making damn sure she gets ‘em. He feels Chrissy squeeze his arm, and he flashes her a reassuring smile.

Tiny jerks his head and says, “There’s a cafe a couple of miles up the road. They make killer pancakes.” The whirring of the machine stops. “You need to stay still, hun. I can’t make clean lines with you bouncing in your seat.”

Chrissy flushes and immediately stills her body. “I’m sorry, it’s just…. I’ve never been to a cafe before. Do you think they have cakes??” Her feet start to wiggle, and Eddie wonders if Chrissy has a supernatural ability to be cute; there’s no other explanation.

“I’ll ask to borrow their kitchen if they don’t,” Eddie says like it’s an entirely normal thing to do. He’s confident that he can charm his way in there. The awe on Chrissy’s face morphs into horror. 

“I wouldn’t survive the embarrassment,” Chrissy whispers. Her voice is low and solemn.

Eddie waves his hand. “You survived high school. The cafe will be a piece of cake, pun intended.” Chrissy giggles while Tiny groans.

“Tattoo’s done. Thank god because I can’t stand to be in this room any longer,” Tiny huffs and looks at Eddie with exasperation. Eddie knows he can be an annoying gremlin, but he thinks Tiny secretly likes it. Chrissy lets out a little gasp, and Eddie watches her reaction unfold.

“It’s so cute!” Chrissy gushes over her tattoo. She traces the shape of the seal; the skin is tender and red. “I love it so much!” Chrissy is a ball of sunshine right now, and Eddie is basking in her light. The baby seal on her arm is frankly adorable, and the flowers around it are a nice touch. Sure, it’s nothing like Eddie's tattoos, but the smile on Chrissy’s face is everything. Warm affection blooms in his chest, and he resists the urge to shower her with kisses, wanting to avoid further antagonizing Tiny. 

“Looks great, man. How much do I owe ya?” Eddie asks, reaching for his wallet. He has to stifle a laugh when Chrissy gapes at him with wide eyes.

“Oh no, Eddie. I can pay for this.” Chrissy reaches into her pocket and pulls out a bundle of cash. Every birthday and holiday, she sets some money aside to buy things she wants. She remembers how careful she had to be about buying anything that would be visible to the public eye. Cassettes and books were always a safe bet if she hid them well enough, but anything worn would be scrutinized by Laura. Every article of clothing would come back smaller from the laundry because ‘sometimes clothes just shrink in the wash, and if they didn’t, then you must be getting fat.’ Some of her accessories or makeup would vanish under the pretense that it’s not ‘appropriate’ for her to wear. ‘How embarrassed would Jason feel standing next to a tramp?’’ Laura’s words are venom dripping into Chrissy’s ears. 

Sometimes Chrissy will stare at the garden in their front yard, watching Laura fret over the weeds that are suffocating her precious plants. Every flower and bush is meticulously trimmed. If a seedling isn’t up to standard, it’s ripped out of the soil and tossed into the compost. Often times there is nothing wrong with the flower. Chrissy thinks it’s still beautiful; Laura thinks it’s a disgrace. Even if the flower appears without flaws, Laura will always find something wrong with it—find some way it could be better. Chrissy doesn’t want to dwell on these thoughts much longer. She has a tattoo now, a permanent mark inked into her skin for the world to see. And screw what Laura Cunningham will have to say about it.

During her mental battle, Eddie hands money to Tiny before Chrissy is aware. Her face is full of betrayal when she snaps out of her daze and sees that Eddie has paid for her tattoo. Eddie presses a kiss to the crown of her head, and he plays with her hair. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Consider it a gift to celebrate the start of your rebellious streak,” he says. 

Chrissy is hesitant but finally relents. “Fine, but only if you let me pay for lunch.” She gives him puppy-dog eyes for good measure. 

Eddie grins and holds out his hand for her to shake. “You got yourself a deal, Cunningham.”

After saying goodbye to Tiny, the two of them get into Eddie’s van. The drive to the cafe is silent except for the low thrum of music. Chrissy watches the landscape blur past the window, and she has to be careful to not make herself nauseous. The smell of weed permanently lingers in the van, and it sends her stomach into a frenzy. One thing she learned from getting high is that her appetite increases, like, a lot. 

The first time she succumbed to the munchies, she managed to eat two whole pizza slices before feeling disgusted with herself. Eddie comforted her and told her his opinion. But he also told her he wouldn’t stop her from going to the bathroom if she absolutely felt the need to. She struggled but managed to refrain from throwing up. The smile on Eddie’s face when she downed it all with a soda… it’s what keeps her eating most days. Her stomach rumbles, and Eddie chuckles. He places his hand on her thigh and squeezes gently.

“Almost there, princess.” The roads are empty, so Eddie sneaks a peek at his girlfriend. She is practically vibrating in her seat with excitement. Her shoes are tapping against the floormat to the beat of the music, and she looks out of the window every few seconds to catch a glimpse of their destination. God, she’s too fucking cute.

Chrissy laughs and puts her hand on top of Eddie’s. She says, “I can’t help but get excited every time I think about what they might sell at the cafe.” Cafes mean carbs, sugar, butter, and anything delicious that Chrissy isn’t supposed to have. But she doesn’t have to worry about that anymore—she doesn’t have to sustain herself on air. 

Eddie grimaces when he sees the conflicting look in her eyes. In an attempt to cheer her up, he offers, “I’ll buy you one of those lattes.” He’s no coffee connoisseur, but it’s a drink he’s heard Nancy and Robin mention in passing. From what he understood, it’s coffee and steamed milk.

Chrissy perks up at the mention of a latte, another forbidden drink. The only way she was allowed to have her coffee was black. No sugar. No milk. “We already agreed that I would pay for lunch,” Chrissy reminds him. “We shook on it.” She doesn’t want him to pay for everything today. 

“Yeah, but I’m paying for your drink,” Eddie emphasizes the difference, but Chrissy knows better. If she lets him pay for her drink, he’ll end up paying for their entire bill. 

Chrissy snorts and shakes her head. “That is not a loophole, Eddie.”

“Au contraire, I think it is,” Eddie says. They never specified what lunch entails, and he feels like spoiling her today. 

Chrissy crosses her arms. “Using French does not make you more right. Where did you hear that phrase anyway?”

“Sorry, princess, but I’m buying you one of those obnoxiously named drinks.” Eddie dodges her question.

“Then I get to buy you an equally obnoxious drink,” Chrissy counters, offering a compromise. 

She has that little pout on her lips when she gets stubborn, and Eddie melts inside. He pats her knee and says, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

They pull into the cafe parking lot, and it’s fairly empty. Cars are sparsely spread throughout, so Eddie parks just about anywhere. The smell of sugar and coffee waft into the van. Chrissy’s stomach lets out another rumble of protest. Eddie gets out of the van and jogs around to open the door for Chrissy before she can open it herself. She beams at him and takes the hand he extends to her. 

“Why thank you, good sir,” she jokes, stepping out of the van like a princess descending from her carriage. 

Eddie bows grandiosely and offers his arm. “Your Highness, may I have the honour of escorting you to this fine establishment?”

Chrissy sighs and hooks her arm with his. “I suppose you’ll do.” She looks at him with her nose turned up, like he’s beneath her—which he honestly is, at least Eddie thinks so. 

“How benevolent of you, Princess,” Eddie says with a touched expression on his face. Chrissy only smirks and kisses his cheek in response. They continue to laugh and joke around on the walk to the entrance. When they enter the cafe, they’re instantly enveloped with the warm scent of coffee. They can practically taste the chocolate and cream on their tongues already. 

Chrissy drags Eddie to the display cases next to the cashier. “I’ve never seen so many different kinds of cake before!” she remarks in awe. Cupcakes, fruit cakes, carrot cakes, and many more sat tantalizingly in front of her.  Chrissy brings a hand up to her mouth to check for any drool. 

Eddie nudges her side gently. “What happened to pancakes?” he asks; the corners of his lips twitch upwards. 

“But, Eddie, they have cheesecake,” Chrissy says, gripping his arm tightly. 

“Oh, fuck me,” Eddie says, immediately spotting the cheesecake section. “We’re definitely having some.” Eddie loves cheesecake. Wayne made him a no-bake cheesecake once for his birthday, and 12-year-old Eddie was never the same afterwards. 

Chrissy smiles impishly at his choice of words. “Maybe after.” 

“Is that a promise?” Eddie asks, rubbing his thumb in circles on her hips. 

“I wonder,” Chrissy responds, leaning into him.

The employee at the till slams open one of the display cases and restocks some cookies. Chrissy clears her throat and stares at the different cheesecakes, willing the prickle of heat on her skin to go away. Eddie presses a kiss to the side of her head and wraps his arm comfortably around her waist. He looks at the blackboard containing the daily specials and orders the latte with the longest name he can find. They sit beside each other in a booth after placing their orders, which Chrissy promptly pays for before Eddie can take his wallet out. She sticks her tongue out at him and relishes in the small victory.

A good five minutes pass before their orders arrive. Both their drinks come in these wide mugs, and Eddie realizes the various white blobs in his latte are actually hearts. He looks at Chrissy’s mug, and her design has a cat. At least, that’s what he’s choosing to interpret the white mountain of foam as. Why is hers so much cooler? “Your latte looks absolutely ridiculous,” Eddie says.

Chrissy hums and admires the carefully crafted creature. “I think it’s cute!”

Eddie sips his drink and watches as the milk vacuums toward his mouth. The hearts are now stretched out and misshapen, a sad state compared to their initial look. “I don’t see the point in making art with coffee if it’s all going to mix in my stomach,” he comments.

Chrissy has barely touched her drink, her lips slipping into a frown whenever she attempts to take a sip. Her first taste of the latte was delicious, but the plump cat wobbled, and she almost drank the poor thing. Now she’s putting off finishing her drink in good conscience of the foam cat in her cup. It’s silly, she knows, but the cat with its little painted face is too cute to destroy. So far, she’s managed to distract Eddie, but he’ll catch on eventually. “The little hearts don’t do anything for you?” she asks.

Eddie snorts and shakes his head. “No, but I’ll tell ya what does. The fact that they named it Hazlenut Heartthrob.” Eddie clutches his chest and crumples over, his head resting on the table with a soft thud. He doesn’t dare risk a glance until Chrissy’s melodic giggles fill the booth. He peeks at her through the wild curls of his mane, grinning like a love-sick fool because he is one.

“We both knew what we were getting into when we decided to have lunch here,” Chrissy reminds him of their latte deal. She picks up her fork and digs into the cheesecake. Her content hums fill the silence, and she does a little dance in her seat.

Eddie falters for a moment. He wipes away crumbs from the right corner of her mouth. Seeing her get so excited over food shortcircuits his brain. He likes seeing her happy, plain and simple “C’mon, princess. Hazelnut Heartthrob? No one would drink something with that name.”

“You are,” Chrissy mumbles around a mouthful of cheesecake, pointing her fork at him.

Eddie rolls his eyes and takes a bite from his cheesecake. “Anyone who doesn’t have a girlfriend trying to buy them an obnoxiously named coffee,” he adds. The tang of the cream cheese melts in his mouth, and the graham cracker crust adds a crunch to the otherwise smooth texture of the cake. He groans and shovels another forkful into his mouth, washing it down with a sip of his latte. The hazelnut is faint, and he’s not even sure he can taste it. “I don’t think the names even have anything to do with the drink,” Eddie says. He’s half expecting heart palpitations any minute now, hence his fake heart attack earlier. 

Chrissy grimaces and pokes at her cake. “It’s all about presentation. If something sounds nice and looks pretty, people don’t tend to question it,” she remarks. The plate squeals as she stabs the cake and chomps another bite, making no further comments.

Eddie holds her hand and gently unclenches her fingers from the fork. “I have a feeling we’re not talking about coffee anymore,” he says with a wry smile.

Chrissy sighs and slumps in her seat. “I’m sorry, I just—it still haunts me,” she says, stumbling over her words. She hates how she can’t just move on. The Upside Down is sealed. She’s going to college soon. Jason is out of the picture. Why is this still affecting her? Why can’t she drink coffee like a normal person?

Eddie squeezes her hand. “That’s alright, darling. We’re gonna work on the apologies, but know that I’m not going anywhere,” Eddie reassures her because she has nothing to be sorry for. Chrissy survived her mother, Jason, and Vecna. The girl deserves a goddamn medal for the suffering she endured, which is why it breaks Eddie’s heart to see her in pain. He tries his best to remind her of the present, but once in a while, she gets trapped in the past. God knows Eddie still has nightmares about monster bats; all the suitcases in the world wouldn’t be enough to contain the baggage of their entire friend group. Chrissy seems to forget that it takes time to heal, a fact her therapist often reminds her of. 

Chrissy blinks away the tears in her eyes and the smile on her face wobbles. “Eddie….”

“Come here, sweetheart.” Eddie opens his arms and pulls her into a tight embrace. They sit in silence and just hold each other. Chrissy breathes in the minty smell of his toothpaste and the scent of weed that clings to his clothes like it’s woven into the fabric. Eddie strokes her hair and presses a tender kiss to her forehead. “Now that we’re stuffed with cheesecake, I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it another cheesecake?” Chrissy’s question is full of hope. 

Eddie chuckles and pecks her lips when she pouts. “No, but we can bring some home. I’m sure Wayne would appreciate it.”

“Is it… condoms?” she asks, voice timid and small. 

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he holds her hand. “Christ, Chrissy. Please tell me you’re joking.” When she bites her lip and doesn’t respond, anger begins to simmer inside Eddie. “Did someone try to surprise you with them before?” 

“Jason—he….” She’s unable to find the right words. Because even now, her mind is trying to justify Jason’s actions. She knows now that none of it was her fault, and it was a terrible gift. But self-doubt is a bitch and a relentless monster inside her head,

“Look at me, Chris. What he did was a shitty move, ok? I’m going to surprise you with so much romantic shit—flowers, chocolate—that you won’t even entertain the possibility of condoms,” Eddie rambles. His face morphs through various expressions, determination being the most prominent.

Chrissy swallows the lump in her throat and manages a watery smile. “I look forward to that,” she says.

Eddie squeezes her hand. “Now, close your eyes.”

“Ok.” Chrissy follows his instructions and closes her eyes.

“Hold out your hands,” Eddie instructs, and she can hear him fumbling around with his pockets.

Chrissy giggles. “You know, the last time someone told me to hold out my hands was in kindergarten. I ended up holding a beetle,” she says.

“Did it scare you?” Eddie asks.

Chrissy shrugs her shoulders. “No, I named it Bella.” She smiles fondly at the memory. Some kids tried to scare her, but the tables turned when she approached them and asked if they wanted to pet the beetle. She couldn’t take it home, of course. God forbid she brings home any animals, let alone insects. Her mother would have lost her mind. So Chrissy left it in the garden behind the school, coming back every recess to see if she could catch a glimpse of it again.

Eddie sounds surprised—no, impressed. “You are something else, Cunningham.” She feels something light and flat against her hands. Some sort of paper, perhaps? “Alright, you can open them,” Eddie says. 

She opens her eyes and glances down at the mystery object. “Tickets? General admission to—the aquarium?!?!” she squeals. Chrissy tackles Eddie with a hug, peppering kisses all over his face. Eddie instantly flushes red, and not even his hair can hide his embarrassment. She places one last kiss on his lips, conveying every ounce of her appreciation. Eddie can’t help but lose himself in her sparkling eyes. She is the sun, and he is feeling the gravitational pull.

Eddie caresses her cheek and says, “Let’s go see those seals, and I can judge whether or not they have the cutest faces.”

“Mhmm. You’ll find out that I’m right.” Chrissy sounds so sure of herself, but Eddie knows he’ll find a way to prove her wrong.

“I’m not gonna lie, princess. They have some stiff competition with you around,” Eddie says, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.

Chrissy shakes her head but can’t stop the smile from spreading across her face. “Since I only paid for lunch today, I still have some money left. Take me to go shopping? I want to find something to wear for our date.” She wants to surprise him with something nice, maybe even pick something out from the lingerie store. She’ll have to do a rain check on the latter idea; she needs some help from her friends for that.

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?” Eddie asks. He finishes the rest of his latte and slings his arm around her shoulder. Chrissy doesn’t vocalize it, but his arm feels comfortable there and not suffocating.

“Honestly, Eddie, I don’t know. I just want to wear something I feel good in,” Chrissy admits. The last time she bought a shirt she liked, her mother confiscated it and told her that it accentuated the rolls around her stomach. The next day, her mother wore Chrissy’s new shirt. But now she can wear what she wants, and it’s not like Eddie will steal her clothes to wear. Although she does wheeze at the image it creates in her mind.

Eddie squeezes her shoulder and smiles softly. “Alright, you can go on ahead. I’m gonna buy some cheesecake, and I’ll meet you in the van.” Chrissy nods and exits the cafe, skipping her way to the van. Her stomach is full of delicious food, and the seal on her arm is gorgeous. Life is good.

Chrissy sits in the passenger seat and sings along to the song that’s currently playing. She wonders if she would look good in a skirt with some chains. Maybe she’ll also buy a set of pyjamas; she can’t keep stealing Eddie’s clothes if she’s going to live with him. Movement from the corner of her eye catches her attention. It’s Eddie exiting the cafe with a large box that most definitely contains an entire cheesecake. She examines the aquarium tickets in her hand and bites back a grin. Chrissy can’t wait to show him the seals and all her other favourite sea creatures.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

I love how cute this is. Reading this gives me so much serotonin, I hope it gave you guys a mood boost as well! I'm glad I got to write for them and this lets me live in my little bubble where Eddie and Chrissy get to be happy together.

If anyone was curious, this is the tattoo I like to imagine Chrissy got.

Thanks for reading and see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

[fanfic-scribbles]

Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

  ~

 You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

~

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

~

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

~

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

~

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

~

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

~

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

~

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

~

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

~

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

~

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

~

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

~

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

~

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

[thefanficmonster]

It’s Only Fair

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Minor Spoilers for RE8: Village

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: It’s all fun and games while Corpse is simping over Lady Dimitrescu, seeing as how Y/N herself isn’t immune to that woman’s charms. However, things get ‘serious’ when Corpse has to deal with his girlfriend making heart eyes at the hammer wielding final lord - Heisenberg.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for this incredible request - it hit close to home, not gonna lie hehe. Thank you so much for the opportunity you gave me with this request, I had a ton of fun turning it into a fic and I hope you have at least half as much fun reading it! Love, Vy ❤

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t Heisenberg remind you of Lucas from the seventh game? I don’t know, all this speakers communication is giving me flashbacks I’m not too fond of. That guy traumatized me.“ Y/N shudders in her seat from where she’s observing Corpse’s gameplay while keeping tabs on the speeding chat, answering as many of the comments as she can.

“No idea. Never played the game.“ Corpse wheezes out, feeling the pressure’s on and working up a little bit of a sweat seeing as how this is the last lord he’ll have to battle before probably having to square up with Mother Miranda. The fact he’s running low on ammo has been stressing him out but luckily he has Y/N there to comfort him every time. She doesn’t even need to use words to do so or even ask him what’s wrong - just placing her hand on his knee allows him to feel relaxed and as though everything will be alright even though it probably won’t be if he doesn’t collect some money, ammo or supplies for making ammo soon.

“Wooow, fake fan, huh?“ Y/N pokes his side teasingly, “No, nevermind, I know exactly why you chose to play this, skipping all the previous ones in the process.“ She prods on, continuing to mess with Corpse who gives her a side-smile after having held on a still face for such a long time, features frozen in his focused and on-edge state.

He rolls his eyes, deciding to play her game, “Oh yeah? Why do you think that is?”

She scoffs, “Maybe cause thee other games don’t have 9ft tall vampire ladies? I don’t know, I’m just shooting in the dark here.” She delivers another poke to his side, giggling devilishly as she does so.

Corpse quickly takes hold of her hand, murmuring: “Maybe...” under his breath before bringing it to his lips and giving her knuckles a kiss.

Y/N wiggles her hand free from his grasp, mock-offended by his words, “Knew it! I freaking- Whoa, hello there, sir.” She cuts herself off as the game enters into a scripted cutscene, showing off the final lord in all his glory. “Who is you?”

“Y/N, Heisenberg. Heisenberg, Y/N.” Corpse laughs, “I forgot you missed the episode where he was first introduced.” 

“Damn do I regret that now.“ She whispers, eyes glued to the game instead of the screen of her laptop where she’s been fetching comments flying by. No one can blame the girl, she’s got a justified reason to be distracted. “Wish we met sooner, Mr. Heisenberg.“

Corpse finds his jaw on the floor in an instant as his head snaps to face his girlfriend, “Excuse me, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

Y/N frowns, narrowing her eyes at her boyfriend as she finally brings herself to tear her eyes off the screen where now the game has been paused. “What? You now get to complain? After I didn’t say shit about you drooling all over Lady Dimitrescu? It’s only fair I get my own simp-worthy subject, don’t you think?”

Corpse rolls his eyes, “This deal doesn’t seem like it’ll benefit you much - I get a hot, classy and rich vampire lady and you get...” he motions at the screen, his face twisting in a displeased expression, “...him.”

“Oh trust me, I’ll be perfectly benefited, don’t ya worry.“ She shoots him a wink, cackling quietly yet evilly at the shock-disappointment het comment is met with on her boyfriend’s part. “What?“ She asks though laughter, “He’s hella hot!“

“Ok, that’s it.“ Corpse gets up, pushing the desk chair Y/N’s sitting in forward, rolling it on its wheels towards the door, “You’ll be in exile until this chapter’s done with. I can’t have you simping all over the place, it’s bad for business. I mean, if you fall for guys who look like him, God knows what people will think I look like.“

“Well, you do need a shower but...“ Y/N comments through a fit of giggles, kicking her legs as to get up and off the chair but by the time she’s able to react, he’s already rolled her out in the hallway and shut the door of the recording room behind himself as though she can’t just open it and walk back in. Which is exactly what she does, much to his dismay - but she only pokes her head inside, “You’re right, it’s bad for your image, so I’ll clarify.“ She clears her throat, raising her voice as for it to be picked up by Corpse’s mic from across the room, “The two men in question don’t look at all alike, folks! Heisenberg is way hotter than Corpse!“

“OUT!“ Corpse shouts, sounding as threatening as he can while laughing his ass off alongside Y/N who has followed his ‘order‘ and stepped out in the hallway where her laughter can still be heard. “Guess the longer I don’t shower, the hotter I’ll appear to Y/N. Remind me to buy myself a cape as well. Wonder how much factories cost around the West Coast...“

“COPYCAT!“ Comes Y/N’s shout from outside the door, causing Corpse to break out in another fit of laughter.

Never did Corpse think he’d be trying to cop the ranks of a video game villain but here he is, actually googling the price of cape coats and he’s never felt more bemused with himself - ok, that may or may not be a lie considering he’s really digging the coats he finds for sale online.

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