#once i get home i have to do dishes and shit so i will simply not be home yet

[beneathsilverstars]

gave up on caring if my neighbors think i'm weird for sitting in my car for an hour instead of going inside my house. i can't go inside yet the car protects me from responsibilities 😭

[botchedsundoll]

requests still open? insomniac anon is back

re fluff hcs with a reader who's on a trip? family, work, any reason; just some temporary absence/reunion scenarios

L. KENNEDY, C. REDFIELD, C. OLIVEIRA X READER (SEPARATE)

ೃ⁀➷ sypnosis; absence/reunion hc’s

ೃ⁀➷ warnings; none!

ೃ⁀➷ author’s note; bought ps plus iusy to play ff7 and ff15 again ermmmmm, this is mostly random bs i thought of on the spot😁, also i always think of re5-re6 chris and og re4 leon when writing these but its up to u😘😘, no proofread yikes

C. OLIVEIRA

you’d think he was grieving your loss by the way he was acting

doesn’t necessarily let it show too much into his daily life (for exp. work) but you can still notice he’s not as up beat as he usually is

sends you random photos of the things he gets up to whilst your gone, and half the time they’re things that make you regret even leaving him alone - such as something he’d made in the oven all over the floor as he dropped it by accident, captioned with a single ‘oops’

but you get some heartwarming videos here and there amidst all the chaos and random bullshit. like him fixing the piece of jewellery you’d complained about breaking for so long, or something as simple as him trying to learn to cook your favourite dish to welcome you back

sends you photos of him brushing his teeth every morning. send one back.

yet once you’re back? it’s as if nothing ever happened. INSISTS on being the one to pick you up, no ifs or buts

absolute bone crushing hug, spins you around whilst he’s at it before attacking your face with kisses. he’s missed you, okay?

L. KENNEDY

he tries to ignore your absence as much as possible

tries to keep his hands and mind busy at all times, simply to not think about you not being with him

sends a message daily, asking how you are and if everything’s alright. he’d prefer to call you, but he refrains from doing so as he doesn’t want to disturb you in any way ;(

but whenever you call, you best believe he answers literally on the first ring (if he’s not at work, yet even if he is he manages to somehow answer the phone) and has a small smile on his face basically the whole time you’re speaking with him

tends to start taking less care of himself once you’re gone due to him overworking himself to keep his mind off things. it’s a bad habit, he knows, and he’s guaranteed to have a lecture from you once you’re back

but he doesn’t mind like at all - subconsciously does it on purpose so you dote on him once you’re back but you didn’t hear that from me

long ass hug once you’re back, face buried in your neck as he simply takes in the scent of your perfume once more - until you comment on his eyebags and the lecture begins

a small smirk tugged on his face and a ‘what, worry that much ‘bout me?’

C. REDFIELD

workaholic at heart. so he works even more to make up for your absence

calls you twice a day without fail - once in the morning, once at night just to simply hear your voice and ask you about what you’ve been up to

won’t ever admit it, yet going to bed without you now feels strange. sure, he might sleep flat on his back half the time and be out cold most of the time when you’re just getting into bed, but he can’t help but miss the thought and feeling of you throwing your leg over his hips and snuggling against his bicep. he’s a simple man

hates when you leave because your cooking’s gone. there is genuinely nothing this man loves more than a meal home cooked by you, and having that stripped away from him is, to him, worse than having to deal with all the BOWs and shit at work

claire’s always asking him when you’re back for 2 reasons; 1, she genuinely wants to know to see you again and 2, she loves reminding chris of the fact you’re gone and winding him up about it. sibling love

will literally decide himself that he’s picking you up. whether that be the airport or a whole different city, he’s coming for you himself. you get no say in it

you come running at him and throw yourself against his chest, which prompts him to wrap his arms around you with a small grin on his face

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You open the cupboard and rummage through the contents. Rice crackers, no. Protein powder, please. You scoff and find what looks to be chocolate but as you rip the wrapper open and bite into it, the bitterness nearly gags you. You rush to the sink and spit it out. 

“Glad to see you making yourself at home,” Steve muses from the doorway. 

You look to him and fold the wrapper back around the bar. You scowl and go to put it back. You shake your head. 

“I’m starving,” you say. “So hungry it hurts.” 

You rub your stomach as a wave of dizziness bobbles your head. Between waves of nausea and fatigue, the ravenous need consumes you. You search around, forgetting him for the pang in your stomach. You pull open the fridge and pull out the yogurt. You peel the lid off and grab the sugar dish and pour it into the container. 

“Woah, woah, that’s not good for the baby,” Steve rushes forward. 

“Don’t,” you warn as you slide open drawers in search of a spoon, “do you have pickles?” 

“Pickles? With yogurt?” 

“I’m fucking hungry!” You growl, a surge of rage searing through your veins as you grab a spoon. “If I have to be here, let me eat, at least.” 

“I don’t mind you eating, but you gotta be careful--” 

“Pickles,” you remind him. 

“Don’t got any, sorry. But I can go grab some, I guess. If you make a list--” 

He gets closer and you recoil. You wave your hand at him and plug your nose, “don’t come any closer.” 

“Excuse me?” He grimaces. 

“Your cologne or something. It’s setting me--” 

You spin and hold the spoon behind you as you puke into the sink. Your body lurches with each violent wretch. The bile does little to deter your appetite. You simply rinse out your mouth and the sink and go back to the hunt for satiation. 

“They said the symptoms will probably be worse than usual,” he leans on the counter and watches you. “Nausea, hunger, hormones...” 

“Goddamn? Ice cream? Do you have ice cream?” You snarl down at the freezer drawer. 

“I’m not much of a sweets guy.” 

“No pickles, no ice cream. Baking chocolate and sour yogurt.” You rant. 

“I told you, I’ll go get you some stuff-” 

“Then go.” You snap. 

“Hey, watch it.” 

“Or what?” You face him defiantly. “I’m carrying your baby, Steve Rogers, so you can’t do shit.” 

“I can do whatever needs to be done. You might require bedrest.” 

“Bedrest? I’m fine.” You insist and turn your back to him. 

“You’re tearing apart my kitchen and slathering like a dog,” he reproaches. 

“Slathering like a dog? Tell me again about how in love you are.” You snip, “Jeez.” 

“I didn’t mean—honey, sweetheart, I’m just trying to help you settle. We both gotta learn to live with each other. We only got seven months or so to do so.” He crosses his arms as you pull out the loaf of bread and load the toaster. 

“Hmm, you know what will help me settle in? Peanut butter and jelly. Oh and cream cheese. Mmph, yes,” you march around the kitchen and grab the butter. “Also, oreos--bagels!” 

“Okay, I’ll head out,” he sniffs and shifts flat on his feet. 

“Great,” you go back to the toaster as the scent of the browning bread drives you wild. 

He approaches you from behind and you do your best to ignore him. You bounce on your heels impatiently and tap your fingers. You stiffen as he rests his hands on your hips. You have nowhere to go. 

“A kiss before I go?” He asks. 

You hold back a heave, “I just puked.” 

“I don’t care,” he squeezes, “please. It’s been a while since that night. I’m a bit... neglected.” 

You lock your jaw and stare at the tiled wall. You force the tension out and steel yourself. You turn to him and your insides coil uncomfortably. 

“Fine,” you croak. 

He leans in and presses his lips to yours. You hold back an eruption of disgust. Objectively, he’s handsome. He is the great golden Captain America but you’ve seen the real him. You’ve seen his callousness, his cruelty. You have witnessed his delusion. You wonder if the serum did that too. 

The toast pops and you tear away just as his tongue pokes out. You grab the butter knife and take the lid off the container. You slide out a hot slice and spread the dairy across it. He sighs and looms close. 

“Anything else I can get?” He asks. 

“Just food. Lots of food,” you say as you shove a piece of toast in your mouth. “Mmm, ohmagrddddd.” 

“Alright, I’ll be back. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Sure,” you munch loudly.

Maybe that will keep him away. If you can make yourself as gross as possible, you won’t have to worry about him begging for kisses and touches. Right now, you don’t want anyone near you. 

[little-annie]

It's in the kitchen of their shitty little 1.5 bedroom apartment that Eddie Munson continues to bemoan his roommates request for him to watch the 2024 Olympic Games with her this evening.

“Christine Henrietta Cunningham,” he starts with a sigh, wiping the reminentes of yet another YooHoo from his upper lip, leaning a narrow hip against the countertop's edge, “there is no way in hell you are getting me to watch the Olympics.”

Already wearing her team USA sweater, Chrissy tries to protest. Just as she did last night and the night before. For some reason thinking it's such a dire thing that Eddie watches the Olympics this year.

“First of all, not my middle name. Second-”

“You would literally have to glue my eyeballs open.”

“Second-” she tries again, voice stern, pointing a yellowed spoon in Eddie's direction as she dishes up a bowl of Kraft Dinner for them both.

“There is not now, nor will there ever be, any reason for me to watch juiced up jocks prance around and play any form of sportsball.”

There's so many reasons. Christ. Fuck. So many. But he's not telling Chrissy that. He'll watch the reruns when she's not home. He couldn't possibly be caught dead after last time.

“What about the swim-”

“Not even Gandalf himself,” Eddie interrupts, “-could convince me to waste my precious campaign planning time on such a thing.”

Following Chrissy to the living room, bowl of macaroni in hand, Eddie refuses to sit down next to her on the couch. He's not going to watch. Nope. Maybe sneak a peak in passing? Sure. But not watch. Are you kidding me?

“What a about To-”

The metal spoon that was once in Eddie's hand chatters to the floor as he mock gasps. Neon yellow noodles on the tile that the cat comes running over to clean up, Eddie stands in abject horror. She wouldn't dare.

“Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say, Christine. My 2020 not obsession with Tom Daley shan't be spoken of. It was merely a blip in the system. A glitch in the matrix.”

He still thinks Tom Daley can get it. But that's neither here nor there. And what is there, is simply between Eddie and the well used bottle of lotion next to his bed.

Chrissy rolls her eyes, now sitting with her legs crossed on their ugly ass thrifted couch, patting the cushion next to her as if Eddie's a dog. “Eddie you literally watched every one of his ra-”

Races?

“I did not.”

Okay maybe we wanted to. Who wouldn't? But it's not like he obsessively watched every one of the man's races.

“... I missed two.” He admits Inna whisper.

And what a sheer travesty that'd had been

“Oh yeah. You missed two. Oh Edward, how could I forget?” After patting the cushion mindlessly next to her again and eating a spoonful of macaroni she faux whines, “‘Oh Chrissy, would you record the race for me? I don't want to miss it.’”

He doesn't sound like that.

“I do not sound lik-”

All pathetic and whiney? Eddie Munson doesn't sound like that.

“As if I would believe you actually gave two shits about the races you giant homo.” Chrissy rolls her eyes so hard Eddie's surprised she doesn't hurt her neck, “You just liked seeing those boys in spandex.”

Well…. She's not wrong. Sports are dumb. People playing sports for money is dumb. What the Olympics does to those cities in the aftermath of the event is dumb.

But she's not wrong.

Spandex

“…. I hate you”

“No you don't.” She smiles, blowing Eddie a kiss.

“Um. Yes I do.”

As if he could ever hate Chrissy.

Avoiding making eye contact with her as she continues to pat the cushion next to her and turning heel towards the hall, Eddie decides maybe it's just best to eat his supper in his room. Away from jockey spandex and its temptations, “Anyways. As I was saying. Fuck you and your jocky hobbies Chrissy.” Eddie yells from the hall, “My time is far too valuable to be wasted mindlessly drooling over arrogant jocks and their-”

In a sing-songy voice Eddie hears Chrissy call from behind him, “You're gonna want to watch this!”

He groans, turning back around from the journey he'd just started in the direction of his room, “I would rather di-” only to be caught short when a familiar mole dotted, spandex covered ass makes its way across his TV screen.

He'd recognize that ass anywhere.

Went to every goddamn swim meet at the stupid community pool to see that beautiful ass in motion for years.

He fawned over it in the halls of Hawkins High.

Drooled over it on the odd days he actually attended gym class. Tried to solely avoid eye contact with it when he found it bare and within reach in the change rooms only an hour later.

Fuck.

Eddie's knees feel weak and before he knows it he's climbing over the back of the couch, bowl of macaroni in his lap and mirroring Chrissy's position. Legs crossed. Eyes glued to the TV. Mindlessly eating chemicals that some big corporation somehow manages to pass off as macaroni and cheese.

“Is that Steve Harrington?”

Oh look at those moles.

Beautiful.

Those pecs?

Fucking hell.

“Christine!?” Eddie screeches from his position on the couch when Chrissy doesn't answer, just simply shrugs and smirks at him. The little devil. “Did I just see Harrington?”

“Told you, you'd want to see this.”

[r0-boat]

Please give von lycaon x pregnant reader I really want to see this wolf gentleman absolutely spoiling reader non stop as I’m totally seeing his tail wags as he gently caress reader stomach as I’m totally seeing him growling and very protective over reader too headcanons please gosh I wish he was my butler so bad

Oh my God I love this!

Von Lycaon as the father of your kids

Von lycaon x pregnant!gnreader (+more)

Cw: pregnancy, children, one moment of labor (Don't worry it's not in-depth or anything)

He tries to control himself so he is not growling or gnashing his teeth at people like some street hound. But That doesn't mean he doesn't get super tense when someone as much as brushes against you. He did grow once when a not-so friendly person tried to hurt you, He did not feel bad when he kicked the shit out of them.

Most of the time he's genuinely protecting you against yourself. Most of the time, it is just mundane things. Picking up Sharp objects, even knives in the kitchen, or getting on ladders when he warns you that you could fall, if you are a hollow raider, That is simply out of the question, He will not even let you consider going near hollows. He reminds you multiple times that he will gladly do anything for you so you don't have to lift a finger for nine months, though you still try to do stuff on your own, much to his dislike.

A part of him wants to be home taking care of you, holding you close, cuddling up to you, feeling this pops in your stomach after he brewed you a nice cup of tea and feeding you a plate of whatever concoction you are craving this time. Another part of him screams at him to provide, Go and work extra hard, bring back money and food, and provide for pregnant mate.

When he is home, he does not leave your side; He is practically attached to your hip, following you at a very short distance; he is your shadow. When you try to do anything, he takes over immediately. And I mean anything. You're trying to wash dishes? "Here, dear, let me take over. You try to reach for something on the top shelf? "Let me get that for you, love." Trying to get your shoes on, "Ah, here, sweetheart, sit down And give me your foot." It gets worse with each month.

As soon as Lycaon comes home, he instantly rushes to your side, a hand lovingly around you, another hand on your stomach, asking you how your day went.

About 7 to 9 months in, he'll start talking to the baby in your tummy; someone probably told him that the fetus can hear sounds, or it's beneficial. So he thought he could have His child get used to him. It's cute watching him nervously form his words, as his tail wags. He will literally introduce himself very formally as head Butler of Victoria housekeeping and father, and then Tell them how much He loves them and wants them to be strong and healthy and can't wait to meet them, can't wait to hold them.

Baby showers, and gender reveals. Perfectly planned events lovingly hosted by Victoria Housekeeping. Nice and formal for their aesthetic yet still casual for their friends.

In the delivery room, Lycaon keeps his cool. He knows that no matter how much he's afraid, It is important to stay calm because he wants you to know that everything's okay. After everything, he admits that it was the scariest moment of his life.

Lycaon holding his child for the first time in his arms, he relaxes it's as almost as if the world stops, and it's only the three of you. He's holding his baby. They are smiling at him, and you are smiling, and he is too tired and weary.

Lycaon takes his role as a father extremely seriously, As seriously as his butler duties at Victoria housekeeping. It was a hard decision to go on parental leave for a while, but he knew everyone was in good hands. You and his baby need him. He was not going to let you do anything after giving birth. As long as he is here, he swears That you'll never be woken up by your child's cries, that you won't have to worry about a dirty diaper as long as he's around, and for until you recover all you need to worry about is resting. He tries to hold on to the burdens as much as possible, but when he sees you have your child, feed it, or play with it, his heart swells with so much love.

Lycaon, I see as a very loving and sometimes strict father; he is a stickler when it comes to rules. But but he doesn't mind bending them when the situation calls for it. He loves schedules, But he knows that children don't always stick to the schedules; sometimes, his head butler role bleeds into his fatherly one. He wants his children to grow up knowing that they could do an achieve anything They set their mind too. And he wants his children to know that they are smart and talented at anything they try to achieve,and no matter what there is always room for growth.

After birth, you are still the apple of his eye, probably even more so. With his baby in his arms, He holds you close and kisses you, nuzzles against your face, and asks you if there's anything you need. Every now and then, he comes into the room to check up on you wherever you are, whatever he's doing. He has you on his mind 24/7.

Before this, He always thought he wanted one kid; now, he might consider another one. But he knows that as the person who gives birth, your opinion matters more than his.

[strangerstilinski]

eddie the hero

summary; the holidays bring about daddy issues of the decidedly un-sexy variety, but eddie is a total sweetheart and a goofball to boot. (this is very self indulgent.) 2.6k warnings; some angst but a very very fluffy end, trauma from overly-critical parents, eddie being sweet, some blood, a brief anxiety attack maybe?, i think reader is written gn (eddie refers to reader as a fair maiden but like jokingly? so do with that what you will) a/n; turns out, a combination of being home for the holidays and listening to mean by miss swift on the drive out brought up, uh... this. shout out to my dad for being himself over this holiday season, and shoutout ruby for very delicately insisting (repeatedly) that i get my shit together and simply.. make something of this trauma dump. so here it is; a wee bit of angst with lots of fluff to round it all out.

The kitchen is in chaos.

You've got about a hundred different things going at once in an effort to get everything ready for the holiday dinner that you and Eddie agreed to host. The smell of cinnamon from your morning baking endeavors still lingers in the air, though it's slowly being overtaken by rosemary and and the earthy scent of fresh vegetables. The hair at the nape of your neck is beginning to feel a bit stifling with heat from the oven already warming house, and you make a mental note to crack a window once your friends and family begin trickling in.

It's a little overwhelming, but you're doing your best to get what you've deemed the more detailed-oriented aspects of preparation done while Eddie is busy in the shower.

You intend to be finished by the time he's done getting ready. A mental plan has been laid out. You'll have the knife in your hand washed and dried and put away before he even emerges from the bathroom— no problem.

There was a problem though: you hadn't been quick enough.

You're in a zone of sorts. So much so, that you don't notice the footfalls of your boyfriend making his way down the hallway toward the kitchen. When he speaks from the doorway, his voice takes you completely by surprise.

"What are you doing?" Eddie's voice is soft as ever, though you're unable to process the gentle innocence in the tone of his question.

The realization that you've been caught has the heat in the kitchen very suddenly feeling entirely too warm. Your collar is entirely too tight around your neck while your mind whirls with sudden anxiety.

It's as if Eddie is no longer there. Instead, your ears are filled with the echo of your father's voice, the condescension in his tone ringing sharply in your skull.

"What are you doing?"

"Why are you doing it like that?"

"It's not that hard, bud. Just do it like this and it'll be better. How many times do I have to tell you-"

His voice would toe the line between irritated and amused, narrowed eyes making you feel a fool. It would prompt a frustrated prickle behind your own eyes and a tightness in your jaw when he'd show you the way you should've been doing it in the first place.

You heart races now with that unhealed scab of your father's never ending dissatisfaction. His impossible standards. His mean little digs and criticisms that masqueraded as him merely wanting you to be better.

Because you could always be better.

Growing up it was sports, your effort in school, it was the way you putted in mini golf, it was 'why on earth would you not dry the glasses when you washed dishes? That's just stupid because now they'll air dry with spots and-' From there began the slow evolution into the way that you drove your car, the way you spent money, how often you called and what time of day you called when you did..

Nothing you did was enough. In his eyes, there here was always something wrong, something that could be improved.

It's entirely possible that the stress of the holiday is getting to you already, if the way you've very quickly begun to spiral is any indication. And though there's nothing more than curiosity in your boyfriend's question, the familiarity of it makes you flinch nonetheless.

It happens in a flash. The paring knife in your grip slips and the blade slices the edge of your thumb instead of the potato you'd been getting prepped for boiling. A sharp sting that you barely notice. The sight of the blood that pools quick from the shallow cut has your ears ringing, Eddie's soft curses sounding muffled when they curl at your ears. It's a bit like you're underwater, sounds eerily distorted and brain fuzzy with the heavy beat of your heart.

"Sorry—"

It comes out as nothing more than a murmur under your breath. With a slight delay, you have the foresight to move your hand from above the bowl of already sliced and cleaned potatoes. Wrist now clutched to your chest, you zero in on the drops of blood that have already stained a few of them, red bleeding into the starchy whiteness.

"S-sorry, I just-"

Your voice is shaking as Eddie grabs a kitchen towel, his hands gently cradling your own and dabbing the towel at the cut so he can examine the severity of your injury. His brows are furrowed beneath the wispy curtain of his wet bangs, brown eyes wide with worry. His fingers are free of their normal assortment of rings, likely because he'd come out with the intent of helping you cook. Your eyes flick between his bare fingers and his shower-damp hair, between the roundness of his chin and the frown pulling at his lips — guilt pools heavily in your gut at the sight.

"I shouldn't 've been using a knife anyway, but I couldn't find the peeler s-so I just used the knife. I-I know it wastes more of the potato, I know that's not-" Your breath comes out trembling, your whole body wracking with it as your eyes prickle and burn with embarrassment. Your words come quicker, panicked, "I just wanted to get them done so I could get them in the water and start on the beans, but now I-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Eddie soothes, wide palm coming up to your flushed face where his thumb drags slow over the apple of your cheek while his other hand works to secure the dish towel in your fist to stop the bleeding, "Breathe, sweetheart. You're okay."

"I'm sorry," You whisper, voice thick with tears, "Was s' stupid, I'm sorry-"

"Baby.. Baby, hey-" His voice is soft. He squares his shoulders and follows your movement as he tries to meet your eye, brown finally connecting with shining pools that threaten to spill over. The pad of his thumb catches the first drop the moment that it breaks free, smoothing the moisture along your skin as he repeats the slow back and forth motion over your cheek. "The cut's not bad, it's not very deep.. What's going on, sweet thing? What's got you so worked up?"

Your next breath catches and it has your whole body quaking when it eventually whooshes out of your chest, a pitiful little sniffle escaping you in response to the sudden influx of tears.

"I- I was doing it wrong. I know- And then I- I got blood all over the potatoes-"

"We can wash the potatoes." Eddie says all too easily, though his voice still has that anxious edge to it that does nothing to make you feel better.

"We can.. We can wash the potatoes.." You repeat cautiously, as if the thought hadn't yet occurred to you.

"Yeah, baby. We can wash the potatoes." He echoes gently.

A shaky breath falls past your lips as you nod, "Sorry." You say again.

"I'm sorry," He insists with a shake of his head, "I came in here like a bat outta hell while you were holding a knife, and I scared you into hurting yourself. I was just- Potatoes we're supposed to be one'a my jobs. And, uh-" A grimacing excuse of a smile pulls at his lips, his eyes drifting to the discarded knife that lay at the bottom of the sink, "Well.. You couldn't find the peeler because it's in the dishwasher-"

You have to fight back a sigh at his admission, "Eddie-" You admonish weakly.

"I know, I know. It's not dishwasher safe. I know that, I do," Eddie says in a rush, "You've told me a million times, I just forget in the moment. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

His earnest apology has you reeling a bit. The fact that Eddie's instinct is not just to apologize, but also to explain away his mistake with guilt dripping heavy from his words-

You suddenly feel a bit like a monster. A cruel, perfection-driven bully of your father's creation. It has a fresh wave of tears pooling in your eyes and threatening to well over.

"God," The word comes out a choked sounding thing, buried beneath the tightness in your throat, "I'm sorry, Eddie. It's not a big deal, really, 's just a peeler. If the dishwasher ruins it we'll just buy another one for, like, a dollar."

"Yeah?" Eddie treads, a cautious smile pulling at the corner of his mouth while his thumb continues to drag soft over the wetness spread across your cheekbone.

"Yeah," You sniffle around the word, panic and realization settling in and promoting your chest to heave with quick breaths, "Jesus. Y-You shouldn't be worried about my reaction to something so.. So stupid. Fuck. I- I'm just like him-"

"Woah, woah, woah. Baby, hey.. Just like who?" Eddie interrupts with a renewed sense of urgency, "What're you talkin' about?"

"My dad-" You sob, shoulders trembling with it.

"Oh, baby, hey. Hey-"

In a flash, Eddie is guiding your head into the crook of his neck, wetness transferring onto his skin as a dam breaks and your body trembles with a series of heavy sobs. You slot into the space below his jaw just as perfectly as you always do, the two of you fitting together like puzzle pieces.

He smells like shaving cream and the conditioner you'd bought him especially for curly hair. The combination of the rich masculine scent on his skin with the sweet citrusy perfume clinging to his damp hair makes your head spin as you try valiantly to follow his soft demands for you to calm down.

His voice rumbles soft over your ear as he shushes you, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple all the while. The towel wrapped around your fist tightens when Eddie's bigger hand encases your own, a slow sway overtaking your body as he urges your weight to shift from foot to foot in a soothing motion. He rocks you back and forth, your socked feet shuffling against the kitchen tile, your boyfriend's chest pressed tight to your own.

A wide palm smooths up and down your spine, a tune that sounds distantly familiar rumbling over your ear when Eddie begin to hum softly into your hair.

A minute passes, shuddering breaths come and less, the heaving of your chest and the tears in your eyes settling until each sniffle feels more embarrassing than anything else. A weak laugh bubbles up from your throat as you hone in on your boyfriend's socked feet nudging at yours with every shift side to side, your fist tightening around the blood-stained towel for a moment before you're hooking your own fingers around the back of his hand, palms clasped together.

"'re we slow dancing right now?" You ask a bit breathlessly, finally lifting your head from the curve of his neck to peer up at his with swollen, reddened eyes.

"Mhm," Eddie hums and drops his forehead against your own. That hand on your spine hikes you up against him, air forced from your lungs and another bubbling laugh pushed up your throat.

"You trying to woo me, Munson?" Your tease comes out a bit raspy from all of the crying, but you watch a grin pull at his lips regardless.

"Why?" Big brown eyes flick between your own, a little cross-eyed with how close your faces sit, "S'it working?"

You bring your free hand up to curl around the back of his neck, fingers slipping beneath his wet curls to ensure his forehead doesn't leave yours.

"It might be.." The words come out in a murmur.

You're feeling a bit mesmerized by his proximity, even after all this time. A sudden spin from your boyfriend has you stumbling over your feet, the only thing keeping you from losing your balance completely being the steadying hand that quickly finds a place on your hip and slides back to the base of your spine.

"It might be?" Eddie repeats with a scoff, "Oh, it might be, you say." A small huff of laughter escapes you and puffs out against his chin as he continues on, "Well I guess I'll just have to up the ante then, won't I? What shall I do, my fair maiden? What is it you desire? I could finish this lovely holiday dinner by myself, provide thee with sustenance-"

It's you who scoffs this time, "Right, hilarious. Our friends and Wayne will be here in less than two hours-"

"Or perhaps I'll wait until nightfall, pluck a star straight from the sky for you. Because what other courting gift could be better suited for a maiden who shines so bright-"

"Eddie," You can't help but laugh at his dramatics. The drying tear streaks on your cheeks are long forgotten now, the ridiculous man in front of you is nothing if not an expert in getting your whole attention focused on him.

"No. No, you're right. That couldn't possibly be enough to prove my endless love and devotion," He makes a show of shaking his head as he releases you from his hold and takes a step back. A sidestep has him bumping into the sink basin, a wide grin already pulling at his lips. "But this!" He announces as he snatches the bloody paring knife from the sink with a flourish, "This cursed object! Laced with evil, I'm sure! This blade that has brought harm upon you!"

You watch Eddie dispose of the knife with a smile pulling at your lips, and you only spare a small wince at the fleeting worry that it might tear through the plastic bag lining the inside of the garbage can. Eddie drops to his knees in a flash, dark denim coming into contact with the kitchen tile at your feet. His hands grip at the backs of your thighs as he looks up at you with wide eyes, the brown pools swimming with mischief and humor and love.

"-It is dealt with, my dear. It will never hurt you again. This I swear-"

The blood-stained towel falls to the floor as you take his head in your hands, carefully avoiding the drying cut on your thumb. You're swallowing down laughter as you guide him to his feet again. Your heart feels full enough to burst, and Eddie's expression of faux-seriousness is almost enough to push a giggle from your lips.

"Oh, my hero," You whisper with all of the dramatisation you can manage, "My big, handsome savior. Whatever would I have done without you here to protect me? How can I ever thank you?"

Eddie brings his palms up to your cheeks in a flash, and you know it must be a ridiculous sight. The current disaster zone that is the kitchen; ingredients lining every available inch of countertop space, a pot of salted water very nearly boiling on the stovetop, and the two of you standing at the center of it all — cradling one another's faces with all the care in the world.

Brown eyes flick slow over your face, the freckles on the bridge of Eddie's nose catching your attention all the while.

"One million kisses." He proposes.

A laugh does escape you now, though it's a giddy one, slightly flustered by just how sweet the man before you is. Your cheeks feel warm with it as your uninjured thumb drags soft over his cheek.

"One million?"

"One hundred million!" He counters immediately.

"One hundred million?" You repeat in disbelief, "Now, what's a guy like you going to do with one hundred million kisses should I give them to you?"

"Maybe you're right. Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Eddie nods valiantly, "We could start with just one, and work our way up."

"That sounds more than reasonable," Your cheeks are beginning to ache with your smile.

You push up onto your toes to brush your lips over his, scarcely touching. But when Eddie pushes forward, you rock back in an easy move, your mouth remaining just out of his reach.

"I am going to need that knife to finish dinner though," You whisper, the hushed words rushing over his lips in one breath, "The others are too dull-"

"Consider it retrieved and washed," Eddie says easily, "As soon as I get my kiss-"

It ends up being more smile than kiss, in the end, but there will be millions more to make up for it.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hello!!! I love with your writing!

I was wondering if you could do a trope where the villain and the hero are dating as civilians, but when the hero and villain get into a huge fight, where hero is badly hurt, villain takes off there mask to reveal there lover!

“Fuck.” The villain had noticed it earlier, right before everything had gone to shit. A part of the hero’s mask had been destroyed. With blood streaming down their face, the villain hadn’t recognised them right away but when they had, they had pulled their punches.

They had wanted to throw up. To wake up from this horrible nightmare. But there was no escape.

Not when the hero was fighting with their bare hands and a primal hatred that was alien to the villain.

“Fuck, no. No. No.” The villain took off their mask and the hero’s eyes widened. They were barely breathing. “Please.”

The villain pulled them onto their lap and when they realised the hero wasn’t fighting back anymore, they were truly terrified. They were moaning quietly, sounding more like an animal than a person.

“I’m so sorry,” the villain whispered. They pulled their lover close to their chest and wished both had stayed home tonight. Wish they had put on a movie or fallen asleep in each other’s arms. “What have I done?”

Quickly, their sobs followed. Should they call an ambulance and risk revealing their lover’s identity? The villain knew the hero would never forgive them but even if this meant the end of their relationship, even if the hero hated them and wanted them dead, they had to save them. They had to save their hero.

With shaky fingers, the villain managed to take out their phone and dial the number. When the hero’s fingers dug weakly into their arm, they knew the hero didn’t want them to do this but the villain had no choice.

Their trembling voice could barely name the street they were on when the operator asked them for any kind of information. Not only their broken bones but also their rising panic attack made it difficult to think clearly. Once the person on the other end promised them an ambulance, the villain dared to hope.

Eventually, they hung up and prayed the next minutes would go by fast.

However, they only seemed to stretch like chewing gum.

“I swear, I didn’t know it was you. I — I would have stopped, I would have never done this—” the villain said between sobs. They took the hero’s hand and looked at them, the exhaustion deeply carved into the both of them. The villain didn’t know which bones exactly they had broken and which effects that was forcing. “Please, if you can hear me, please just…you’ll get help soon, I—”

The hero’s eyes stared at them, almost as if they were dead already. They didn’t talk, they barely moved. All they were seemingly able to do was recognise the villain and simply stare. It was heartbreaking.

It had been such a stupid fight. Something about some codes, the villain couldn’t even remember.

“I love you,” the villain whispered. “I don’t care that we’re enemies, I still love you.”

The hero didn’t answer.

So, the villain pressed a kiss to their forehead.

“I love you,” they repeated. “Please don’t leave me, please, I’m begging you.”

Their hands were holding onto the hero as if they were a lifeline. If they lost their lover now, if they lost the only person that could calm them down from panic attacks, the only person they didn’t have nightmares with, a person so unbelievably kind and soul-cleansing — if they lost them now, the villain feared they would shatter like a porcelain dish within seconds.

Was there even a purpose without their lover?

Wasn’t this the hero’s world and the villain was just living in it?

“I can’t do this without you,” the villain said. “Please.”

When the hero was still unresponsive, the villain checked their pulse.

Their eyes widened.

And then the villain started with CPR.

[grimm-writings]

can i request chilchuck making reader their favorite dish when they get back to the surface? like inviting them over for dinner to try and confess properly :3

the secret ingredient

…ft! chilchuck x gn! reader

…tags! fluff, post-canon, senshi being wise

…wc! 949

…notes! this is so cute… what da hell… enjoy your meal 🥺 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

The half-foot is running around the kitchen of his home like a headless chicken, which is coincidentally what he’s holding over his head rushing from the oven to the hob, and back to see if things are stable.

The one who remains perfectly calm and still, stirring a little pot of gravy is Senshi, glancing to look over at Chilchuck trying to stir some vegetables.

“...You forgot the–”

“I know I forgot the salt!”

With clear agitation, Chilchuck shrilly screams the words back at Senshi as he scavenges the cabinets around him for the salt.  Senshi already showed disdain for how disorganised Chilchuck’s kitchen is.  At the time, he had simply dismissed it, but now it’s biting back when he clearly doesn’t know where things go and how they got there.

Chilchuck tries not to overflow the vegetables with salt as he mutters to himself.  “They’ll be here in an hour, we don’t have an hour to fix all this up – Senshi can you hurry the gravy up?!”

Giving his friend a sidelong glance, Senshi keeps stirring, as gravy shouldn’t be left alone.  “No can do, Chilchuck.  This takes time.”

“We don’t have—”

“Were you not prepping this all beforehand?”  Senshi looks around at the already made meals.  “I love food myself, but… this might be a bit…”

Chilchuck’s glare once Senshi turns back at him could kill.  “What?  Much?  You think it’s ‘a bit much’?”  He throws his hands in the air.  “They deserve the best meal I can make for them!  Aren’t you always talking about the best way to bond is through food?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“Listen, Senshi,” Chilchuck slaps his hands down on Senshi’s shoulder.  “This…  This needs to be perfect.  I can’t go and confess to them if it isn’t.”

The dwarf takes in Chilchuck’s worries, before pointing behind him.  “The chicken is–”

“SHIT, THE CHICKEN IS READY!” 

Senshi turns down the heat of his part of the hob as Chilchuck runs off, and begins pouring the gravy into a jug.  “I thought you’d know more than anyone that quality should be favoured over quantity,” he muses.

Chilchuck, upon retrieving the chicken from the oven, grumbles incoherently.  He sighs.  “I guess I don’t want to disappoint them…”

“I’m sure they’d love even just one portion of their favourite meal with you,” Senshi advises, patting Chilchuck’s shoulder.  “Even with all of this food, you’re missing the secret ingredient.”

With confusion etched into his features, Chilchuck looks at Senshi.  “What?”  He flatly responds.  Did he miss something?!

Senshi smiles – or rather Chilchuck learns that when his cheeks puff and his eyes close that he’s likely smiling – and chuckles slightly.

“Love, o’ course.”

Chilchuck looks like he is losing brain cells in real time.  “Love,” he repeats, in slight disbelief.

“Yep.”

“Love.”

“That’s it!”  Senshi takes a step back.  “Do ya happen to know their favourite dish?”

Chilchuck can’t believe he’s about to learn some moral about love at a time like this.  “...Yeah, why?”

“Let’s scrap all this.  I can hand them all out to families around the place,” Senshi graciously offers.  “Instead, make a two-portion meal, their favourite, for your dinner.  And sprinkle in some love.”

The wink Senshi gives him results in Chilchuck’s skin going hot in embarrassment.  Really?  That’s his suggestion?

“I wanna impress them,” he says, quieter.

“I know ya do, but you can’t do that rushing around doing the bare minimum of cooking.”

The silence of the kitchen fills Chilchuck’s ears, and suddenly he’s aware of the heat of the room, how sweaty he is, and how tired he feels.

He really has been going overboard from stress, huh?

The half-foot takes a deep breath, grounding himself in this reality again and meekly nods.  “Yeah.  Fine.  You can give all these meals away to the townsfolk.

Together, the dwarf and half-foot put the meals in appropriate containers and bags.  Right before Senshi was about to leave, Chilchuck stops him.

“Hm?”  Senshi turns as his attention is grabbed.  He knows Chilchuck isn’t the best with his feelings by now, but as his friend, he feels it’s his duty to at least help him.

The half-foot doesn’t look him in the eye when he says, “thank you,” cheeks flushed.

Senshi perks up at Chilchuck’s gratitude.  “Not a problem,” he returns, leaving the home.

Now alone, Chilchuck checks the time.  You’ll be arriving in 45 minutes.

…Sure, he can make one meal by the time you show up.  With his secret ingredient he can.

It takes a strenuous amount of precision on Chilchuck’s part, but with his line of work there’s nothing that he can’t do. His love is poured into the meal, from how he stirs the mix from how he gently places a little stick of parsley on the top.

‘Tis finished, the little Senshi in Chlichuck’s head heaves a sigh of relief.

Right on time too, considering the knock on the door.  Chilchuck wipes the beads of sweat off his forehead and rushes to welcome you in, before noting he needs to get dressed into something nicer.

When he comes back, you smile that wonderful grin.  “Thank you for making dinner for us, Chil.”

His secret ingredient shines through for you, from how he presents the meal to how he returns your smile, the lines under his eyes crinkling.  “Really, the honour is all mine.”

He offers his hand out to you, and you accept.  Even if you’re somewhat surprised, Chilchuck has always been quite a gentleman around you.

Chilchuck thinks that, maybe, he is able to confess with just his confidence and love alone.  There’s no need for frivolities.

Just one secret ingredient seals the deal.

[jadewolf22]

My Little Lion

Brienne x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort (Kinda), mentions of animal blood, mentions of killing animals, Smut, fingering (B receiving), eating out (B receiving), ect…

Summary: Brienne comes home from a day in the slaughterhouse and you do what you can to help her forget what happened.

A/n: I fucked around with the timeline a bit. Brienne is in her early 20’s in this fic.

Word Count: 1,152

You’d heard the door open and close again which told you that Brienne was home so you waited patiently for her to enter the kitchen but, after a moment, the house was quiet again and you still had not seen Brienne. Setting aside the dishes you’d been washing and drying your hands on a clean towel you left the kitchen and stepped out into the hallway, facing towards the door. 

At first, due to the darkness of the house, you saw nothing but as your eyes began to adjust you saw her, your Brienne, leaning up against the wall with her face buried in her hands.

“Brienne?” you whispered, walking towards her and placing a gentle hand on Briene’s shoulder. You felt her body tremble under your touch and your heart shattered, “Oh, Brienne, what did they do to you?

“S-Sl-slaughterhouse…” Brienne choked through gritted teeth, letting her hands fall to her side as you pulled her close.

Now you understood.

Brienne could hack the shit out of an opposing threat but tell her to hurt and innocent creature and she’d crumble every time. YOu held the tall bonde close, her tunic soaked through with what you were sure was a mixture of blood and sweat. 

“What do you need?” you asked, rubbing her back, “What can I do to help?” “I need you…” she whispered, burying her face in your neck, “I need to forget…:

“Okay.” you gently pulled back from her, immediatly drowning in her sea-nlue eyes, “Ket’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up, then I can help you forget, hmm? Does that sound alright?”

“Yes…”

You took Brienne’s hand and gently pulled her upstairs, sitting her down on the edge of the bed as you quickly drew a warm bath for her with salts and lavender oils to help ease her. After helping her undress, you guided Brienne into the tub on shaky legs, nearly laughing at how small the tub looked with her large frame in it- though you knew now was not the time.

You took a soft cloth and a bar of soap and began gently scrubbing away at the animal blood that had dried to her skin, turning the water a deep red. Once you helped her back out of the tub you dried her off quickly and had her sit, fully bare, on the edge of the bed.

Picking her blood-stained clothes off the floor you turned to Brienne and said, “I’ll get these washed and then-”

“No.” Brienne growled, her eyes glued to the floor, “Just burn them…”

Her request concerned you but you weren’t going to fight her over it. Clothes could be replaced, angry words not so much. So you did as she said, taking the clothes downstairs and tossing them into the fire, watching them burn for a moment before returning to her. When you came back upstairs Brienne was where you’d left her with her face buried in her hands again, a small puddle of tears forming at her feet. You rushed to her quickly, sitting down beside her and pulling Brienne into your arms.

“Brienne-”

“Why would they do that to me?!” she whimpered, nuzzling her head deep into your shoulder, “I don;t understand…”

“Because they can’t see you for what you truly are.” you whispered, stroking her hair, “They see a lioness who can kill without hesitation but, in reality, you’re simply a lion cub, ruthless when you have to be and kind and gentle when you want to be… They don;t see the softer side of you, Brienne.” 

“What do I do?”

“Tonight? Nothing. Tomorrow? You’re going to walk up there with your head held high and show them that you can’t be phased by something like that. But that’s for tomorrow… For now, lay back and let me take care of you.”

You pushed her shoulder gently and Brienne complied to the silent command, moving to lay on her back across the bed. You stripped slowly, coming to straddle her hips. Tears slipped slowly for her eyes and you were quick to brush them away, kissing her face and down her neck, littering kisses and love bites across her shoulders before gently latching onto her breast, nipping gently as you palmed the other. Brienne groaned and her breath hitched at your ministrations, her hand weaving itself in her hair. After paying ample attention to both of her breasts, you worked your way down to her sex, breathing in her scent as a smile graced your lips.

“Remember our safeword?” you husked, looking up into her eyes from between her legs.

“Lion…” she breathed out, moaning quietly when your tongue slipped inside of her. 

You gently lapped away at her cunt, slowly working her towards the release she so desperately needed, her hands threaded in your hair to keep you in place, as if you would ever dare to leave. 

“Please. Please, y/n. I need you.” Brienne groaned, thighs trembling around your head as you moved your tongue to her bundle of nerves, slipping a finger inside her aching hole, “Please, plaeasepleaseplease-ug!” she moaned when a second finger joined the first, whimpering and moaning above you as your fingers worked her closer to her peak, hips thrashing widely as she was sent over the edge.

You moaned as her release spilled over your fingers, licking away at her essence while your fingers continued to move within her. You slid up to her, pressing a gentle kiss as you maneuvered the two of you to the edge of the bed, Brienne seated between your legs as you continued to fuck her relentlessly.

Orgasm after orgasm you drew from the blonde until Brienne was a sobbing, mewling mess beneath you. Bring her to her release a final time, you slowly removed your fingers from her, cleaning them before helping Brienne lie back against the pillows. You fetched a warm cloth and carefully cleaned her thighs and sex, tossing it on top of her towel from earlier before crawling into bed beside Brienne, pulling the covers over top of you. Brienne buried herself into your side, her head on your shoulder while your arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her close.

“Thank you, Y/n…” was all she managed to whisper, her mind too hazy to form any other sentence.

“You’re welcome.” you whispered against her hair.

Nrienne groaned against your skin, intertwining her legs with yours as she sunk into you and fell asleep. You kissed her face and caressed every inch of skin you could reach, wanting her to fully feel how much you cared for her, even in her sleep and moments of weakness. Brienne truly was your little lion; she was both your protector and the thing you had to protect, she was fierce and loyal and breakable and sensitive and you loved her for all of it.

Your perfect lioness.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Can you do a Crp x Reader who can't cook for shit but is really really trying? Like the food they serve looks good but tastes super bad

-From your local shit cook

Various crps x reader who cant cook

bro i made a cake for my birthday and its so good im becoming diabolical.. not really a cake person but this one turned out good!! cinnamon swirl cake w/ brown sugar cinnamon frosting my beloeved characters: laughing jack, ticci toby, slenderman, jeff the killer notes: reader is gn, they cant cook either, the only one who can semi cook is toby and slender but we dive into that in a minute cws: none

SLENDERMAN

the only reason he knows how to cook is through observing; be it watching you or watching others in the past... hes no expert but he seems to have more luck in the kitchen than you do

no need to worry about giving him something that tastes bad, he doesnt need to eat human food- assuming his body even accepts it- and i wouldnt be surprised if his perception of taste was a little different compared to human tastes

doesnt make you feel bad about your cooking, will keep an eye from the corner of the room to see what you could be messing up... perhaps you were messing up measurements, or using the wrong ingredients? sugar and salt is an infamous mix up, it wouldnt be surprising if there were other things that got mistaken for something else

assuming eating human food doesnt make him ill, he will humor you and eat whatever you give him.. its his way of showing support!

TICCI TOBY

can "cook" but in the sense that he knows how to microwave something and follow the instructions, or spice up a bowl of noodles or some other pre packaged goods

despite not being much better than you, he still finds it hard to conceal his face when he tastes something that... probably shouldnt taste like that... he may even instinctively say something out of surprise before backtracking- he may not have much of a filter but hes doing his best to protect your feelings

might force himself to eat through the rest of the portion, may even give some push back if you tell him he doesnt need to finish it if he doesnt like it

theres an effort but keeping his face neutral is hard

LAUGHING JACK

cant cook at all, probably the type to light water on fire and stand there in awe wondering just HOW he managed to pull that off... on top of that, he doesnt need to eat.. so he never really picked up on the skill

eats whatever you make him, not very phased by the flavors the dish may give him simply because this man has likely put everything in his mouth at least once at some point... so unless you make a new thing hes never come across before, hes not going to give much of a negative reaction

he might try to make you feel better by telling you that your cooking isnt the worst hes had, he used to steal food from homes he was lurking in as a joke... theres... definitely worse cooks than you out there

offers to be in the kitchen with you, though that will more than likely end in absolute chaos regardless of if what ends up being made is edible

JEFF THE KILLER

cant cook either, like toby he can only really microwave stuff and make the bare minimum to keep himself going... does not go out of his way to make things better

that being said hes not all that much of a picky eater so theres a good chance hes going to eat most of anything you put in front of him... so theres that! there are a few dishes hes rejected, though, whether verbally or physically (in the form of his body just... ejecting the food. whether in the form of vomit or simply dropping it before he has the chance to swallow.. depends on how bad your cooking is)

if its something you want to get better at he lightly offers to learn to cook with you, his tone comes off as him just saying it to get you to pipe down... but he doesnt fight back or leave when you commit to the idea and get him to join you in the kitchen

[number1wilburfan]

sudden post but whatever.

it's so fucking funny how sss come here and say "kys".

like buddy, im a grown adult with a job and MY OWN OPINION. im not going to suddenly go support Shelby, cry or kms just because some anonymous coward on the internet decided to leave their shit in my inbox.

if anything, these types of message make me even more disgusted with Shelby and her "community", that by the looks of it, has only chronically online children who can't think rationally or just looking for someone to spit all their toxicity on.

go help your mom, do the dishes, clean your room or something, get your ass outside for once.

i really don't know what's going on in heads of such people. you guys have problems at home? you need help? someone to talk with, maybe?

in that case you can simply dm and vent to me and not leave hateful messages. i won't bite (hahah get it???)

anyway, it's like almost 2 am for me and i have to get up for work early and instead of sleeping im ranting here, lol

I'll probably delete this in the morning haha

[darling-renyuu]

SEVEN; the bittersweet trio

content: bittersweet trio being cute, some cussing, "what if they first met each other once as kids but they didn't exactly remember" kinda hc special thanks to @lunasdemise for beta reading!!!

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

“Where should I put this, sugar?”

They turned to see Seth hauling a box over his shoulder, a messy “FRAGILE” scrawled across the side. Sugarboo smiles, and raises a flour-spattered hand over to the couch, pointing.

“Just over there, Seth. Thank you so much!”

The brunet obliges, just as Alphonse gets in and closes the door. He beams at Boo, peeking around their shoulder at the cookie dough they were mixing. “Sweet! Thanks for the cookies, babe.”

He doesn’t make a move to leave, though, expectantly beaming at the baker. They raise a brow and hand the frosting-covered spoon to him, chuckling. “All yours, Al.”

Alphonse gratefully shoves the spoon into his mouth, without forgetting to peck a swift kiss to his babe’s cheek before Seth comes up to the kitchen.

Sugar hands him some water, which he also gratefully receives. As he sips, the condensation runs down the bottle to his chin. Sugar quickly dabs at the drip, grinning as Seth looks at them dumbfounded.

“Did I have something on my chin?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at Alphonse’s… appreciative look. “What now, bubblegum?”

The aforementioned bubblegum prince simply waves a hand and licks the last of the frosting off.

Seth snorts as Alphonse turns away to wash the rapidly accumulating dishes in the sink. He busies himself looking over at the cookies Sugarboo’s laying on the tray. “What’ya makin’ sugar?”

They raise their head, gesturing to the little blobs of divine, saccharine goodness.

“I’ve made a dozen! The half’s got cinnamon, and the other half’s plain butter cookies,”they say, giving a glance to each of the two, “Wanna help me decorate ‘em later before they get devoured?”

The two voice their agreement, and Sugarboo goes on to place the cookies into the oven. They huff, bumping Alphonse hip with theirs as they make him scoot a little to the side to they can wash their hands.

Wiping their hands on a nearby cloth, they look at the box and back at Seth. They grin. “Wanna do a little unboxing?”

“Sure, sugar,” he says, following them to crash on the couch.

Cradling the box in their lap, they shift around to sit cross-legged on the plush couch. They rip off the tape, unfolding the flaps like it was some sort of blooming cardboard flower. Sugar immediately snorts at the contents.

“Oh shit, this is from years ago! Gosh, my old journals… my recipe books… and huh?” Their awed voice tapers off to a mumble, “My camera, too. Haven’t seen this in a while.”

Seth squints at it, pursing his lips. “I think we got some batteries- hold on,” he quickly gets up from the couch to pull a drawer open, “Here ya go.”

They give him a smiley “Thanks!” before flicking the compartment open and replacing the older batteries. Alphonse comes just in time to sidle up beside Sugarboo. Seth settles into their other side.

The camera flickers to life, and the two men curiously lean in. “Damn. How old is this thing, Boo?”

“…It’s almost as old as I am.” They whisper, trying to remember where the gallery button was. With a click, it opens the very last picture taken on it. It was a picture of them before they moved into town, in their childhood home surrounded by an army of cardboard boxes.

Sugarboo cringes. “Ugh. Hate the haircut.”

That draws a chuckle out of Seth, and a teasing grin out of Alphonse. “I mean, it could be worse, Boo.”

Sugarboo quickly presses the “next” button, and the oldest photo props up. Their eyes soften as soon as it appears.

Sugarboo, in all their toddler glory, looking shy and unsure as they face the camera.

“Aw,” Alphonse starts, “How old were you in this?”

They shrug. “Like… maybe six? I remember getting the camera when I first started school.”

They flick through the photos, until they land on a specific photo that catches Seth’s eye. “Wait, sugar. This road looks familiar t’me.”

The photo was a slightly blurry shot of the sidewalk, along with some equally blurry blobs of what look like stores. It’s obvious that it was taken by a kid who was running. Or speed walking.

“Oh yeah. The next pictures are from a family trip. Though I can’t exactly remember the name of the place, I never forgot the vibes. It almost feels like here, in this town.” They explain, Alphonse unusually quiet and staring at the photo.

The next photo makes Alphonse’s brows furrow. “Wait, I know that playground. All rusted now, but Seth and I used to play there when we was just little brats…”

Sugarboo flicks to the next, and it makes the trio’s eyes collectively widen.

“Holy shit.” Alphonse helpfully supplies.

It’s a candid photo, of little Sugarboo playing tic-tac-toe with two children. One’s got fluffy black hair with bright blue eyes, and the other’s got his tongue out in concentration as he traces an x into the sand. He’s got very familiar brown hair and eyes.

Seth blinks at the photo. “Holy shit indeed.”

With every consecutive photo, Sugarboo’s mental jaw drops closer to the ninth circle of the inferno.

The swing creaks ominously, and they glance up to make sure they won’t fall. Their face scrunches up as they squint against the afternoon sun.

Summer vacation won’t last long, but they don’t exactly have anyone else but their family to spend it with. There aren’t exactly kids their age here…

Footsteps crunch against the sand, and they whip their head to the sound. It’s two boys, chatting up a storm as they skip towards the playground.

They’re almost tempted to flee, until they catch his blue-eyed gaze. He points to them, saying something to his friend.

The child grips the swing, cautiously looking at the pair in silence. They walk up to them, and the black-haired kid grins, waving.

“Hey. You new here?” At their nod, his smile gets brighter. “Nice! You here to stay, or…?”

“For a trip. Visiting my relatives.” They reply meekly. Alphonse nods, holding out a hand.

“Well, welcome! I’m Alphonse. What’s yours?” He bumps his friend with his hip, who bumps him back. He shyly gives them a wave.

Now that they’re looking at him, they notice how both his brown eyes and hair catch in the sunlight. Dinosaur bandaids are plastered onto his knee and cheek.

“…I’m Seth. Welcome to town.”

They say their own name, and shake Alphonse’s offered hand.

“So uh,” Alphonse starts, “What do you guys feel like doin’?”

After an intense game of tic-tac-toe and a round of sweet iced tea, the trio climb up to where Alphonse and Seth have claimed their spot.

They chat about a lot of things; what food you like, what you don’t, if you believe in dinosaurs, and what your favorite color is.

The summer sunlight flits through the trees, casting light on the trio laughing and clutching their middles.

Soon, a woman calls their name, and asks if the three of them could take a little commemorative picture before the little one has to go home. The pair happily oblige, and they stand on either side of them, each of the children with their own little pose and smile.

The shutter clicks and they smile.

The picture stays on the screen, like a little mirror to the present; except instead of cute little smiles and peace signs, the present image is a flabbergasted trio. Significantly older too.

They take the time to stare at each other in bewilderment, before Sugarboo breaks out in a laugh.

“Oh my goodness, how could I’ve forgotten that?” They snort, shaking.

Seth chuckles. “So that’s why you were so familiar.”

“This is some real destiny type stuff here! Shit, how could I, nah… how could we have forgotten you?” He laughs breathlessly, but a mischievous smile grows on his face, “…Maybe ‘cause of the haircut?”

Sugarboo lays an affronted hand on their chest, clutching their invisible pearls. “Excuse me?”

“Woah, low blow for someone cosplaying a laffy taffy.” Seth chirps, earning another laugh from his mini-audience.

“I look damn good, and you know it, Seth.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The oven dings, announcing the upcoming arrival of their cookies. But before anyone gets up, Sugarboo takes both their hands.

“I…I’m glad I met you guys. Just, better late than never, right?” They smile at their boys, receiving two fond smiles back.

“Glad I met you too, Boo.” Alphonse squeezes their hand. He glances at the brunet who smiles wistfully.

“…Seth, you gettin’ teary-eyed again?”

“Oh shut up, you sap. Let me help you get the cookies, sugar.” Seth gets up, giving Sugar a slight tug to their feet.

They in turn tug Alphonse up, and they somehow walk hand in hand to the kitchen.

A single red thread hangs from all their pinkies.

Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

do not repost; writing of @/darling-renyuu

[sweetiecutie]

141 x Eastern European reader relationships hc’s

Warnings: some cussing, stereotypical behavior, pretty much safe, not meant for russians - just scroll past

A/n: I was heavily inspired by this post by amazing @kivino, absolutely go and check it out!!

Pretty much all of 141 were in Eastern Europe with missions - Ghost and Price were with missions in Ukraine, Soap, Gaz and Price were to russia.

All of them worked with Eastern Europeans, so boys are generally acquainted with Slav traditions and superstitions - not to whistle within a building, for example, or not to pass things through the threshold. But working with Eastern European for a few weeks and having a romantic relationship with one - completely different things.

So here are some headcanons of how Task Force 141 deals with their Slavic lover<3

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Starting off - Simon loves your culture. He finds many national quirks amusing; his favorite one tho, is how boisterous and bossy Eastern European women are. Usually people tend to be scared of him due to his intimidating stance and quiet behavior. But these ladies who are barely over 160 cm? They can beat the living shit out of him with a single slipper, and he both respects and slightly fears them for it.

For some strange reason Ghost can’t learn a word you teach him, but all the swearings that accidentally slip off your tongue throughout the day? Ghost knows all of them by heart. And he can’t hide a small smile of amusement whenever he hears you cussing angrily over spilled tea or shattered mug. And his favorites so far are ‘kurwa’ and ‘blyat’

Simon is a huge fan of your country’s cuisine! He’s a big man, so he requires proper nutrition. And all the delicious meals your mom cooks? He’s nomming everything to the last crumb! Simon is especially fascinated with a godly meal called “shashlik” - he is definitely a meat eater, Riley loves him a juicy steak freshly off the fire. And eating a meal that consists purely out of roasted meat - a paradise for him.

Captain John Price

Now, this man is most acquainted with all Slavic traditions of all 141 since he works closely with Nikolai, so throwing him off wouldn’t be that easy. But still, having an Eastern European partner does give him some unexpected experiences. For example, John is really surprised by how easily and lightheartedly you and your family joke about dark topics as death, physical traumas or alcoholism. And while everyone is rolling with laughter Price is like “What the fuck is wrong with you guys🧍🏻‍♂️”

If some of your relatives happened to speak English, John will do his absolute best to speak slowly and reduce his accent to minimum, so that they can understand him better. I think it’s just so sweet of him 🥺

What never fails to impress Price is that how much Eastern Europeans care about their appearance. In UK people don’t bother much about their looks, preferring clothes that are comfortable rather than fashionable. And seeing all these people on the streets wearing luxury brand stuff, women with full on glam makeup, their hair made elegantly - it makes him wonder just how much time and effort these people put into their looks. (He soon learn just how expensive and tedious that is once you two start dating)

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

I’m pretty sure many Eastern European countries have this magnificent dish - meat jelly. Looks and sounds terrifying, true cultural shock for Kyle’s poor British soul. Or soup called Okroshka - even tho I grew up eating it, I still question its existence, no wonders Kyle gets absolutely weirded out by it.

Many Eastern Europeans, especially in small towns and villages, are very unfamiliar with people of color. It’s not because they mean ill, no, but simply because it’s very rare to see foreigners in such places. So, when Kyle came over to your home for the first time, all neighborhood was quite literally gawking at him. And Garrick, being more closed-off and shy person, was really unnerved by it. What especially set him off was when some random grandmas on the streets asked him “Whose are you?”😭

Oh and he loves, loves, loves when you spill the tea about your family members, sometimes even in front of this exact person bc they can’t speak any English. Sounds mean to do so, but Kyle is very eager to hear about all the drama, glancing discreetly at relative in question. Everyone thinks it’s so cute, watching you two cooing at each other in soft voices in a faraway corner, but in reality you two are just talking shit about everyone in the room😂

John “Soap” MacTavish

What Johnny likes the most about Eastern Europeans is just how generous they are, how they treat all guests with such kindness and hospitality. Usually, when Scottish/British/Irish person invites you for some tea - you do have tea and some sweets. In Eastern Europe though, if you are invited for some tea, you will be having a three meal course of delicious national dishes with incredibly tasty bakery for a dessert, and, of course, tea as promised. And afterwards they will also give you some food in a plastic container so you can take it home. Johnny was genuinely surprised by such warm treatment.

He remembers a lot of random words you say: names of different objects and foods or whole sentences like “turn on the lights” etc in your mother tongue. Johnny likes listening to you talking on the phone with your relatives, his ears perk up slightly whenever he catches a familiar word. But can he actually spell or write these words down? Not really. And if your language uses Cyrillic alphabet? Absolutely no. (This thought came to me based off @kivino’s hc’s)

When Johnny visited your home for the first time, he was actually surprised to see this stereotypical picture: a bratz doll gf and her shreck bf. He was also surprised by how unattractive most Eastern European men are, especially those in their 40s.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important for writers, give us some love and appreciation<3

[hidden-by-a-trench-coat]

Hi, hello STFH fandom??? Yeah, I know a new longform just came out but I can't get Phantom Begruvia and Father Andrews out of my head for absolutely no reason so please have some shippy headcanons about them because I'm going insane. They came out of nowhere and took over my neurons

This is a really long post btw so beware

OKAY, ready?

in my mind I think Begruvia would prefer holding Andrews than being held simply from the sense of control that he gets - but also I think he’d have a secret soft spot for being held, too because it makes him feel safe. But specifically only from Andrews

I think Begruvia would be clingy. I can’t exactly explain why? It just kind of makes sense to me. Maybe something about all that pining or being worried about losing it all, idk. I also think he'd be very protective about Andrews, even if he never openly admits it. But he'll go out of his way to make sure Andrews is okay. Like anyone even vaguely threatening Andrews? Beguriva is instantly staring daggers at them somewhere nearby with fire in his eyes if they even so much as try anything

I think Begruvia would be the one to fall first, but it would be really reallllllyyyy gradual. Like sooooo so slow. Like think slow burn, but the slow burn takes an actual 2000 years before it stars burning. That’s how long it takes him to realize. And it’s not until they meet again that he’s like, 'wait. What. What are these like. Feelings???' And then he realizes that like, the revenge that he thought he wanted/the anger that he felt was actually just him pining for 2000 or so years

I don’t know about Andrews, though… I think he wouldn’t even consider it until after the 2000 years and maybe takes sympathy on Begruvia and then after a while he falls, too - though I imagine it would also be pretty gradual (but not 2000 years gradual, lol)

They would live in Andrews house for... Kind of obvious reasons (Begruvia does NOT have a house) but I imagine it would take them some time to get used to. In my mind they would have started sharing a bed out of either necessity or Andrews being like "I need to keep an eye on you" and then after a while it just becomes a habit

I think Andrews would do most of the house work, half because it’s his house and half because Begruvia doesn’t really do anything

I don’t think he’d mind, though. I think he’d just ask Begruvia to do basic stuff

Maybe he teaches Begruvia how to cook and for a while Andrews is the better cook out of the two of them, but then after learning Begruvia turns out to be wayyyyy better than Andrews so Andrews has him do most of the cooking, lol. I think Begruvia would enjoy cooking

I think Andrews would be better at baking, though? Idk. I just see them making deserts together 

On the other hand, Andrews does like. All of the cleaning. He asks Begruvia to do the dishes and he just. Never does. And Andrews reminds him tons and tons of times - and maybe he does it once or twice (or when Andrews is sick/tired and he almost feels bad) but after a while Andrews just gives up asking him because he knows it won’t happen

They do the shopping together, though, even if Andrews sometimes regrets it

I think Beguriva would convince Andrews for them to get a cat (I think Begruvia would be a cat lover)

That or he ‘convinces’ Andrews and Andrews had been against it before because it was a lot of work and he didn’t really know how to take care of a cat or if they could, but then Begruvia just like. Finds a kitten and brings it home one day and Andrews is just like “well shit, I guess we have a cat now because there’s no way we’re giving it away” and so then they have a cat

Andrews very quickly loves this cat

Begruvia gets to name it, though, and it’s the most wild name ever so Andrews either shortens it or gives it a nickname

I think it would be a tortoiseshell cat

Begruvia hears the cat’s breed/color/whatever you call that and gets angry about it because “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘TORTOISE-SHELL’ IT DOESN’T LOOK LIKE A TORTOISE SHELL AT ALL”

I think the cat would like Begruvia more and it makes Andrews sad

Andrews will call the cat and it will completely ignore him, but then Begruvia calls from across the house and the cat is like !!! and goes running and Andrews is like, wtf why... :C

Over time I think Begruvia would learn to enjoy living a quiet life. At first I can imagine him being bored all of the time and just wanting to do things and cause chaos, but after a few years he kind of realizes that he likes the quietness of it all and just living alone with Andrews is nice and that’s all he wants in life

Okay, I'm going to inevitably have more thoughts, but for now I think that's more than enough - but if I think of more I will add them in the reblogs. Thank you for listening to my ramblings about these two, I love them - if you have any ideas please feel free to share

[berzatoe]

hi! just thinking about carmy and the reader having a heated argument and then just ending up making out while in the middle of discussing

thank you <3

Hiiii thanks for this!! Sorry I’m just now getting around to it xo

He’d be such a little shit constantly.

Wether it’d be taking it out on you when things got too busy and hectic in the kitchen, or getting overwhelmed and throwing a fit, screaming his lungs out, chewing your head off if you were in his way, he was a absolute nuisance. You hated Carmy on bad days.

But on good days, he was really good. He’d take extra time to explain things to you, run you through recipes and cooking techniques. You’d stay late and have deep conversations, muse about the future of the restaurant together. It always made your heart beat fast and your cheeks flush when you’d see him the next day. He had a gentleness that was almost no where to be found under high-stress situations.

Today was one of those. It was a bad day. It was busy. The truck came in late and half empty. And you kept upsetting Carmy.

Strike one: you’d ripped the green tape like an asshole.

Carmy came storming into the kitchen holding it up for all to see, “Who the fuck does this? Chefs? How many times do I have to tell you to stop. Ripping. Tape. Like. Assholes!” He punctuated each word.

“My bad, chef.” You responded, barely paying him a glance as you busied yourself with work.

He came over to you then, as everyone went back to work, and sternly spoke; “I expect more from you chef, really.”

“Sorry, chef.” You responded, still staring down at your hands chopping scallions.

“Look at me… please.” The way his voice sounded when he said the last word drew you in, for some reason.

You looked up and met his icy eyes. “It won’t happen again, chef.”

He simply nodded and walked away, getting back to his own work and unsettling you for the rest of the day.

Strike two: walking out during rush.

You just had to get out of there. You were sweating so much you were almost convinced you had heat exhaustion. Your head was pounding and the general noise of the restaurant and kitchen along with the staff was making you dizzy.

Not to mention Carmy’s yelling. Jesus Christ, he had a set of lungs. Each passing minute of this day, you were getting more and more fed up with him. He had a mean streak in that kitchen, likely, you assumed, something he’d picked up in New York from the big shots.

Or maybe his parents, or maybe his clear inability to confront his emotions, you didn’t know and you were desperately trying to get your mind off of him.

In the heart of the kitchen, the bell ringing, the printer spitting out countless receipts, dishes clattering, and above all, Carmy’s angry voice booming, you felt like you were going to pass out. Feeling your mouth go dry and fingers go numb, you sprinted out of the restaurant, leant against the back alley and finally breathed.

When you collected yourself and returned to the kitchen 5 minutes later, Carmy was pissed.

“Where the fuck were you, chef? I needed you!” He shouted once he saw you walk through the back.

“I needed a minute, chef.” You responded calmly. He got close to you again.

“Are you blind, chef? Do you not see how swamped we are? Hmm? You didn’t even want to let me know?” You were thankful he wasn’t shouting anymore, but his voice was still venomous, shooting to kill.

You turned around in looked him in the eyes, a silent plead to let the moment go.

“What is it?” He asked, confused.

“I just got really overwhelmed, Carmy…. I needed a second, okay? I’m here to help now.” You said the words gently.

Carmy straightened up, nodded, and rubbed his fist in circles against his chest. That was that.

You thought you were finally done with fighting him for the day, until close.

Strike 3: the corner

It was late. You were tired. Everyone had gone home. You were quickly wrapping up your closing duties and sprinting around the restaurant so you could get home and cuddled up in your bed as soon as possible.

You weren’t paying attention, and you had your earbuds in, listening to music to help you get in your closing groove.

You were rounding a corner when you crashed straight into Carmy. You recoiled back and rubbed your nose as he rubbed his head. Pulling one earbud out, you glanced down. At your feet were 3 broken cans of red sauce, spilled onto the newly mopped floor.

You looked up to see Carmy glaring at you.

“CORNER! I said fuckin’ corner….” He groaned.

You shot down and began picking up the cans.

“Those earbuds… take ‘em out, right now.” He reached out and opened his palm.

“Are you serious?” You began prepping the mop.

“Yes, chef.” With the tone he took, the title almost sounded degrading.

You grit your teeth and placed them in his out-stretched hand.

“Great, now I have to be here another 30 minutes so we can get that cleaned and dry.”

“Fine, Go home, Carmy. I can lockup. I’ll manage. Please, leave.” You said.

He looked taken aback.

“No. I can’t leave the premises until every employee is gone.”

“Who made that rule?” It sounded like he had made it up on the spot.

“I did…. You gotta get home safe, it’s the city.”

You rolled your eyes at this and he looked at you confused.

“What?”

“Nothing, chef.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“No, tell me.”

“I’ll be fine. I want you to go. I can take care of myself”

“Im not sure you can, chef.” He said it with a mocking chuckle that made you clench your fists.

“You underestimate me carmy. That’s all you do. Since I started, you don’t think I can do anything right.”

“Because you can’t!” He shouted exasperatedly.

“Yes I can! You don’t give me the chance! You have no faith in me!”

“It was our busiest day in a month and you were a mess the entire time!” He prickled

“I was a mess? I ripped tape wrong, yeah. I took a 5 minute break because your damn-near verbal abuse of the staff was overwhelming me, and I’m sorry I ran into you, but seriously Carmy, get a hold of yourself. How are you gonna run a restaurant if you can’t even regulate your own stupid emotions?” You huffed at the end of your little speech, slightly pleased for sticking up for yourself.

Carmy was not pleased. In fact he looked kinda scary right now. You couldn’t read him, but you could tell what you said affected him.

“Leave. You’re cut.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re cut.”

“You’re firing me?” You scoffed

“Leave your apron on the counter I’ll email your last check.”

You were flabbergasted. You searched his eyes, hoping he was bluffing.

“Go home, Chef.” He repeated.

“You know Carmy, I really don’t think you’re a bad person. You’re not a bad person.”

“Shut up.” He interrupted you.

“You get overwhelmed like me.”

“Stop”

“And it pushes you until you’re at a breaking point before you can check yourself. But you’re a good boss. And you’ve changed this restaurant. And you’re a good person.”

He doesn’t protest to this statement, he doesn’t say anything.

You begin to turn around to leave, mustering a goodbye;

“Thanks for the opportunity, Chef Car—” you’re suddenly pulled back around by a hand latched to your elbow. You’re now flush to Carmy’s chest, noses touching.

And all at once, your lips are touching. At first you’re confused, trying to understand if this is really happening, if Carmy Berzatto was really kissing you. You could sense the same sort of anxious stiffness from him. You were still so mad.

But his lips were smooth and gentle, and your stomach filled with butterflies even though a minute ago you could’ve stabbed him.

At first it was more like a short peck. The two of you pulled apart and looked into each others eyes, scanning scared and eager faces.

You wrapped an arm around the back of his neck and placed your hand in his hair, urging him to come closer. He obliged, returning and deepening the kiss with fervor.

His strong arm came around to hold the small of your back, his other resting at the nape of your neck, hand stretching out and thumb brushing against your jaw.

You softly licked into his mouth, earning a guttural sound from him in response.

After that, he was everywhere, pulling you close, hands gingerly traveling the expanses of your clothed body. You smelled his cologne and sweat after the work day, you tasted a bit of the cigarette left on his tongue from his smoke break, your hands twisted around his soft curls. Every sense was filled with Carmy.

The kiss was incredible, you had to admit. You never imagined Carmy could kiss like this, could give you this much of himself, all of this raw emotion. He was so tender with every beginning brush of his lips, before slowly becoming ravenous and desperate for more. Your stomach was in knots and you were getting antsy, wanting more too and knowing you should put an end to it.

Luckily, he pulled away for air first, saving you the chore. He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing rapidly.

“That was…” he began, slightly speechless.

“A one time thing.” You finished quickly, pulling away.

Carmy met your panicked gaze and just fuckin’ smirked at you, as if he knew how severely you were lying to yourself.

You grabbed your bag in a hurry and began walking towards the door.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Carmy asked.

“That depends. Am I fired?”

“Obviously not.”

“Then yeah, I guess. In like… a purely professional work way, yes you will see me tomorrow.”

“Yeah, uh-huh.” He smiled and opened the door for you, starting to walk out along side you.

“Um.. what are you doing?”

“Walking you to your car,” Carmy replied, “company policy.”

He winked at you and you turned your head, blushing into the night sky.

[persephone11110]

organ player || bradley bradshaw

tw: abusive relationship, domestic violence, gaslighting, mentions of past child abuse, mentions of dead parents, self/victim blaming, alcoholism, cursing

summary: you wished you had the guts to get away from him, you wished he didn’t give you a reason to wear long sleeved sweaters in the middle of summer.

AN: haven’t done a bradley bradshaw fic in ages, I listened to suicide squad soundtrack and gangsta—kehlani came on.

—

THIS FIC MENTIONS PAST ABUSIVE CHILDHOOD,ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, AND ABUSIVE BRADLEY— SO PLEASE BE CAREFUL!!

—

He changed. Bradley Peter Bradshaw wasn’t the same man you met three years ago. He started off as the man who held the doors for you everywhere the of you two went, the man who made sure your were in the right headspace before sex. The man who came home after a long from being on base eager to see his girlfriend even while having bags under his eyes.

That wasn’t him anymore—day after day Bradley came home from work angrier and angrier. He spent his days in the dark garage drinking the night way, you remembered the first time you noticed a change in him. It been the anniversary of the Goose’s death, the day Bradley life fully changed, the day were little Bradley Bradshaw no longer had two parents.

You brushed it off telling yourself that he was in pain, grief is a slippery slope of neverending emotions.

You couldn’t fault him for his emotions being all haywire, you knew what it felt like to no longer have a dad . To walk across a stage without your dad in the audience cheering your name.

You knew better then to start argument with him, knowing how they would end— Bradley walking out of the room for a beer, you laying on the floor with a hand on your cheek.

You shouldv’e left him when Bradley control on his emotions were derailing constantly. You knew what would happen if you didn’t, you watched your own mother get beaten like a rag doll every day until you left for college. Your mom stayed until dad died, his liver could only go so long before it stopped working from all the alcohol.

Your dad knew how to sweet talk your mom into staying everytime she threatened to leave him.

“Think of our daughter Y/n , think of what’ll happen after she grows up without dad in her life”.

“I’ll change you know that, If it means keeping my wife and daughter under one roof”.

You didn’t mean to start an argument with him. You simply only asked him what he what side dishes he wanted added to the meal.

“Roo”, you called from your spot at the cabinets, rummaging around trying to piece together a decent meal for dinner.“Pick something to eat”.

“Whatever”, he grabbed two cold beer bottles from the fridge, brushing you off. That makes five.

“Do you have a preference?”. you sighed eyeing cans of corn and green beans. Like usual he would shrug his shoulders like he didn’t care, but like always— you always had a new bruise on your arm.

“Did you fucking listen to me, I just said I didn’t care Y/n”. Bradley grunted out, his grip on the beer bottle getting tighter. “I just got home from being gone for almost sixteen hours you think I give shit about whats for dinner?”.

“No need to get angry at me Bradley”, you crossed your arms,“I just wanted a definite answer before I waste food you don’t want”.

“Go figure Y/n”, he chucked the glass bottle into the trash can before walking away. “As if you weren’t sitting there demanding an answer from me Y/n— can you pretend to care about my wellbeing for once?”.

Turned back walking to the counter, you immediately tensed up waiting for his hand to ball into a fist.

Bradley shoves past you, grabbing his car keys.

You listened to the broncos engine roar, you didn’t think to run through the front door and stop him.

—

You sat across from Bradley deciding to break the silence with the good news you got from your mom. “I was thinking about flying to Houston to visit my mom grave for mother’s day, I’d—”.

“Are you fucking serious Y/n” Bradley slammed his fork onto the plate. his voice raised to louder octave you’ve been familiar with for the past couple of months. “You didn’t think to ask me if It was okay?”.

“Bradley”, you nibbled at your lower lips—you shouldve kept your mouth shut.

“Dont fucking Bradley me”, he slammed a fist onto the kitchen table making you flinch. “What about my mom grave Y/n?”. He took a gulp of his beer.

You were shaking your head,“I just thought since we always visit your mom grave every year, I thought maybe we could change it up this year and see my mom, Bradley I haven’t seen her since I buried two summers ago”.

“Yeah you thought Y/n, you never think about me”. His face flused with anger, “Did you suddenly forget my mom died from breast cancer almost twenty years ago?”. He tossed his plate towards the center of the table knocking down the glasses and breaking everything. “There a difference between our moms and you know it Y/n, Carole Bradshaw fought long and hard aganist cancer- while Ruby L/n allowed her husband to beat her senselessly every day till his death”.

He was right. There was no need to visit her anway— she’ll always be there waiting for you visit her.

You wiped at your nose, your eyes burned with tears as you tried to stop them from spilling down your face. “I’m really sorry Bradley”. you reached for his hand.

Bradley pushed himself out of the chair—stumbling almost as he walked towards you, gripping your shoulder tightly,“We both know your smarter than this Y/n, so figure out how to cancel the flights”.

You listened to the refrigerator door slam. His footsteps started to drown as he climbed the stairs to the bedroom you two shared together.

You picked the up the broken shards of glass.

You laid in bed watching his chest slowly go up and down. Your eyes blurry with tears, afraid if you moved your even a little you would wake him up.

You laid straight on your back staring at the ceiling wondering were the Bradley you once loved disappeared to. Wondering how you got here, your entire childhood you always promised yourself you never end up with man like your dad.

Like mother, like daughter.