#shy green bean

[i-cant-find-a-damn-name]

[eyivibyemi]

✧ I won’t really write descriptions for these, but see original post tags for explanation/commentary on the song snippet ✧

[anadiasmount]

as time gets close - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: almost close to your due date, what is wrong with a late-night grocery trip with your very excited and anxiously waiting fiance?

wc: 1.8k | masterlist | jude's masterlist

psa 🗣️: a little dad! jude blurb bc we haven’t seen much of this on the timeline!! like always hope you enjoy 🤍

"why are you bending down? you know that is bad for you," you rolled your eyes at your fiance's scolding, grabbing the keys from the floor. "i dropped the keys by accident," you say as you pick the correct key that belonged to the lock. jude rubbed your belly, ensuring you were okay before helping you out to the car, the reusable bags tucked underneath his arm.

"did you bring the list?" you ask him seeing as he nods and pulls it out from the pockets of his hoodie. "i did. i also brought you some snacks because you didn't eat much after getting some nausea," you pouted your lips leaning up to peck his cheek thanking him. "what would i do without you?" you tease, a playful scoff falling from his lips.

"what makes you think you'd be without me? i'm attached to you for life remember?" he grabs your left hand kissing over your ring finger as he gives you a knowing look. you feel as he brings your intertwined hands to your belly, "and you're carrying my baby in there."

"really i couldn't tell," you say sarcastically.

"let's make it quick because my feet already hurt and i want to sleep," you advised letting out a tired yawn. despite being close to your due date, you still had some work to do before maternity leave. making calls to set meetings, attending them over zoom, filing paperwork, in charge of making sure the firm doesn't backfire, and planning some stuff out for your wedding.

jude had told you multiple times to take it easy, but placing that aside, he always helped you unconditionally. in the shower, when cooking, taking care of chores, before bed, and attending all your doctor's appointments. he was your personal midwife and wanted to take care of you the most he could.

you remembered to look on his face when you told him you were expecting, the tears on his face as he spoke to your barely bump all night and traced his hands on your belly. singing and humming lullabies and stories about his day. since then he wanted to protect you the best he could.

going to the grocery store at this time was nothing new, in fact, it became so prevalent now that you were pregnant because you craved everything. making jude do a late run to pick up your cravings or groceries for the upcoming weeks. the same store, at the same time.

you placed your purse on the cart, snuggling into your jacket as the cold air inside the store blew you away. you followed jude who picked out veggies and greens for his meal prepping, helping him tie the bags and weigh them on the digital scale that produced labels. you watched in awe as your boyfriend picked out three pairs of different flowers. "what are these for?" you asked, smelling the flowery scent.

"for the house. we need to replace the old ones that dried out," jude says with a shy grin. "you were the one who said plants and flowers bring a sense of home into our house, " jude recalled your words, kissing your temple, pushing the cart since it became a bit heavier. "i did say that didn't i? well i wasn't wrong," you shrug, wrapping a hand around his bicep as he trailed along isles to pick up the different items on the list.

he did all the heavy lifting as you reached and picked stuff up from your level, like spices and eggs. you turn your back for a few seconds to retrieve some milk and coffee beans for the morning, to see the cart filled with pop tarts and other salty snacks. "no no no," you shake your head, as jude whines out protests. "y/n we need them! they're even on sale!"

“jude, i don’t care! we just got some three days ago!,” you say laughing, putting back the box of pop tarts. “y/n i’m telling you right now, in a couple of hours or days you’re gonna have me running back here for them,” jude states following behind you.

“am not!” you quickly defend, bringing a hand to your aching back. “are too! last night you had me running out for cheetos. what’s it going to be today? kettled popcorn? or wingstop?” jude teased making you rolls your eyes and focusing back on to what needed to get done. “don’t forget we need to pick some of that acid reflex stuff for you, to get rid of the heartburn,” jude reminds you, taking the cart and walking out of the pop tarts isle, sneaking a box in for you.

“what’s left on the list?” you ask him, taking out a small snack you had in your purse and offering some to jude. “we need bananas, strawberries, orange juice, and meats for upcoming dinners…” jude reads the list one by one, using his index finger as he goes along.

you pass by an isle grabbing some cereal and granola for your yogurts and bowls. jude insisting he grabs his favorite too since you refuse to share from your part. as you wait by the deli section jude come behind you, grabbing your belly and relieving some of the pressure.

you immediately lay your head back on his shoulder sighing in relief, hearing jude chuckle and place a kiss on your head. “almost there darling,” he whispered running one of his hands along your tummy. “i know what you’re doing jude… and if this baby starts kicking right now i’ll leave you here,” you warn.

“i’m just trying to help you love. doesn’t it feel good?” he reprimanded as you nodded. “yes but not when she starts kicking, i swear she does it on purpose and it’s your fault. like she knows it you,” you said feeling your lower back less tense and heavy. "i kid you not, last night she almost made me pee from this hard kick!"

"sounds to me like we have a mini footballer coming into our lives," said jude continuing to hold your belly since you were tired and your baby was heavy. he had read the method online with other tips and tricks. jude got more into reading when he found out you were pregnant, wanting to know every effect and secret to ensure a healthy and safe pregnancy.

"let's hope not, i don't think i could handle cleaning up broken stuff around the house every day," you sigh, releasing yourself from his hold because you began to get hot. you didn’t understand how your body was so quick to adjust and then de-adjust from hot and cold, but it was so easy and it drove you mad sometimes.

“you okay?” jude softened his eyes as you let out a breath of despair, holding your hand and feeling a sit squeezed tightly against his. “yeah just got a mini cramp,” you held your back and practiced breathing methods you learned, “i’m good, i promise,” you kiss his hand before retrieving the meats from the butcher. "we'll get home soon, and i promise you a warm tea and massage okay?"

"did you want chocolate or strawberry milk?" jude held up the pint containers, "strawberry, we still have chocolate milk at home," you said, jude nodding as he quickly picked the orange juice and your favorite yogurts. "i was never a fan of sweet or flavored milk but these are soooo good," you exaggerated, jude smiling hard down at you.

"never a fan? these were my childhood as a kid! my mum used to buy these or the powder to make it ourselves," jude says recalling a old memory thinking of his babygirl. "you reckon she'll like them too?" jude spoke softly as he saw you give him a fast nod. if there was one thing loved it was discussing his babygirl. he was so anxious and wanted to meet her. the itch in his teeth getting bigger as every day passes.

to hold her while she slept, hug her to keep her warm, coddle her to sleep, feed her. he was ready for it all. he loved to shop and spoil her already. her carrier, crib, different books, toys, and stuffed animals like he had as a kid. she didn't know it yet, but she would be jude's second best friend. firstly you. always you.

they saw if one ever finds love at first sight, and jude definitely did with you. a smile so bright, eyes gleaming with happiness, a stranger who he fell madly with almost immediately after hearing her say hello. through ups and downs, you found your way to each other and since then, it's a love story for the movies. jude had his career blowing, a beautiful fiancee, and now a baby on the way. what more could he want?

as jude helped bag the groceries into the recycled bags you had, you paid and thanked the cashier whom you got close with on nights like these. asking how her day was, about her kids, anything special, always something to distract her. "you two have a safe night!" she yelled as you turned and thanked, wishing her a good night as well.

after you insisted on helping, you carried four light bags as jude carried most bags since he hated double trips. you guys quickly unpacked everything, longing and wishing to get into bed. you ensure the stove and other appliances are off, grabbing your tea and heading upstairs with jude.

"lay here for me," jude instructed, grabbing some cream and begging to smooth and massage out the muscles on your legs and shoulders. "after we have her, i promise i'll return every single thing you did for me while i was pregnant," you say struggled and full pleasure as the tension went away at jude's fingertips. "oh i'm fully expecting the injured boyfriend method again," jude teased as he finished up.

he grabbed a new book, laying on your side as you brushed and played with a few curls on his head, twirling them around your finger as he breathed softly. he looked so gentle and full of excitement like this, reading to your babygirl, who sensed her daddy's voice as she kicked. she knew, she always knew.

he applied your belly oil to prevent any stretch marks and kissed the small ones that formed along the way. jude cherished your body for carrying his baby in there, for being able to give and bring a new life into his and yours. you laid on your side, jude's chest connecting and fitting the crevasse on your back, holding your tummy as in a way to keep it safe.

you placed and locked hands with his, as jude wishing you a goodnight, peering kissed on your shoulders then finally lips, moaning in delight, a tiny groan leaving his lips. "i love you so much darling," he whispered, kissing your temple and snuggling into you more. "iloveyoutoojude," you said fast, with a playful smile on your lips as you felt a familiar sensation of a certain craving. "okay now i do want some pop tarts..."

"are you serious right now?"

[lilasamaaa]

Missed chances | Max Verstappen x Reader / Part One

Genre | Angst, Hurt, Fluff.

Word count | 4.1K

Warnings | Mentions of heartbreak, alcohol consumption, Max being an asshole.

Summary | It's been years since you've had a crush on your best friend's brother. But him too, right? Or is kissing you every chance he gets just a game for him?

Author's note | Angsty Queen is back at it! This piece is the result of this poll. Thank you so much for all the feedback on the previous pieces, I'm so glad you like them. Enjoy this one! (Not proofread yet, sorry!)

You and Victoria are thirteen when you cross paths for the first time. The shy blonde girl stands upright, nervously nibbling her lip. It's the first day of school, and you're both waiting to find out which class you'll be in, hoping to be with friends. Her gaze meets yours, and she offers a timid smile. You're not friends. Not yet. You just have mutual friends. Your names are called almost simultaneously, indicating that you're in the same class. Instinctively, you head towards her, giving her a big smile. You don't know anyone else in the class, so you'll have to get to know each other. Stick together.

A few months later, as your father drops you off in front of Victoria's house before rushing off to your little brother's soccer practice, you take a moment to observe the pale blue house from the outside. Upstairs, a curtain moves, catching your attention. You don't see anybody, though. You knock on the door, and Victoria opens it, immediately throwing herself into your arms.

"I'm so glad your parents agreed to this," she says, excited. "This is gonna be so cool. My parents aren't home so Max is supposed to look after us, but he'll probably lock himself in his room. Boys, you know..." she finishes, leading you into the hallway.

Max? For months, you've been sharing your lives between classes, but you've never heard this name before.

"Who's Max?" you ask, curious.

"My older brother," she replies, rolling her eyes. "We don't get along so well these days. He thinks he's all grown up... Barely even acknowledge me," Victoria says, frustration evident in her voice.

"I can relate," you reply sarcastically. "Well, mine's younger, but not that interested in me either."

You spend the afternoon in her room painting your nails, braiding each other's hair, and sharing your secrets (you're starting to run out, after all this time), until night falls. You're deep in conversation when someone knocks on the door. That must be Max, you think, waiting for the door to open.

And it is Max, indeed. His face appears, and your heart skips a beat. He's cute. He seems a bit grumpy. Not in the best mood, that's true. But there's something immediately touching about his big, wide eyes and annoyed expression.

"Diner's ready," Max says before closing the door.

"I bet he made fish sticks again," Victoria grumbles, getting up. "That's the only thing he knows how to cook."

Sitting at the table, cutting a fish stick in half with your fork, your gaze shifts from Victoria to Max, who sit across from each other, not exchanging a word.

"So..." you start shyly. "What's your favorite subject, Max?" you ask, immediately regretting your words as the boy glances in your direction, brows furrowed.

Of course, your only topic of conversation is school. You've always been one of the top students. A real bookworm, as they say. Plus, you're not exactly comfortable around boys, especially those around your age. Victoria shoots you a desperate look, eyes wide open. But right now, anything seems better than this uncomfortable, excruciating silence.

"Erm," Max says, grabbing a green bean with his fork. "Geography, I guess. I don't know."

Silence falls once again, lingering until each of you finishes your meal, and then Victoria and you retreat to her room.

"Don't even bother trying to talk to him," the blonde says as she slips into her pajamas. "Nothing interests him except go-karting."

The next time you encounter Max, you're fourteen, and he's sixteen. Victoria and you are participating in an endurance race to raise funds for a charity, and your families have been invited to attend the event. Your parents, who have crossed paths several times at school meetings and other events, find each other in the stands and share enthusiastic greetings before sitting down. Already on the track, you watch the reunion with a smile when your eyes fall on him. Max is here? you think. He never attends these things.

The race begins, and Victoria and you take off along the lake, completing lap after lap. On one of them, as you pass by the stands, particularly the one where your parents are seated, you turn your head, hoping to catch a glimpse of them. You don't see your father or your mother. Your eyes only see him. Max. And he's looking at you, too. Your eyes don't leave each other until your foot slips on a stone, and your ankle twists violently. You fall to the ground, letting out a cry of pain as your father rises, rushing to your aid.

A little less than an hour later, as Victoria finishes her run and joins you at the infirmary, the blonde gives you a worried yet disapproving look. "You're too distracted," she says, hand on her hip. "What was it this time? Did you see a cute boy or something? Was it Jan?". You don't respond, giving a sheepish smile to your friend. A cute boy, yeah...

As the years go by, you see Max less and less. At the beginning of your friendship with Victoria, you often ran into the young man when you spent afternoons or nights at the Verstappen's, but the aspiring driver has started to become increasingly scarce in his own home. One evening, though, as you're racking your brains over a philosophy essay, your phone vibrates, signaling a message from the person who's become your best friend.

"Max is throwing a fucking rager at home. Please come, I beg you. I'll shoot myself if I have to deal with his drunk friends all alone."

Thirty minutes later, you're on your bike, covering the five kilometers that separate your house from Victoria's. Summer has begun, with only a few days of classes left, which certainly explains Max's sudden urge to throw a party. On your bike, you're anxious, your stomach tying itself in knots. Despite your daily visits to Victoria, it's been almost a year since you've last seen her older brother. You try to convince yourself that the fact you applied a bit of mascara to your lashes or straightened your hair has nothing to do with his presence. You just wanted to tidy up a bit, that's all. Nothing else to it.

When you arrive at the blue house, your first instinct is to anxiously glance at the surrounding houses. How has no one called the cops yet, you think, impressed by the decibels pouring out of the open windows, and the number of people you can already see inside the house. Leaving your bike in the grass, you venture into the house, passing by the wide open front door. On the way to the living room, drunk bodies cling to you, spilling beer on your shoes, shouting incomprehensible words in your ears. Wow. Victoria wasn't kidding. This thing is a huge mess.

Spotting your friend in the middle of the kitchen, you make your way to her.

"What the fuck is happening here?" you ask, casting a glance over the room.

"Can you believe this asshole?" Victoria replies, fuming. "Mom has been gone for five hours. Five! And I haven't even finished my fucking essay," she says, despair filling her eyes.

"Forget about it," you reply, stifling a laugh. "That's not happening tonight."

Victoria launches into another tirade about how much her brother annoys her when you catch sight of him in the middle of the living room. He's wearing a shirt that looks slightly too big for him. Maybe borrowed from his dad. He's holding a beer in one hand. A girl in the other. The sight twists your heart and brings a bitter taste to your mouth. Clinging to his arm, the blonde —who you recognize as Sanne, a girl from his class— can't seem to tear her gaze from Max, looking at him as if he belonged in a museum.

"Hey, are you listening?" Victoria says, bringing you back to reality.

"What?"

"They want to play a game," Victoria repeats. "Seven minutes in heaven."

"Seven minutes in heaven?" you repeat, eyes wide.

"Yeah. Sanne suggested it."

Of course she did, you think, biting your lip. Of course Sanne, who clearly has a big crush on Max, would suggest a game where the goal is to get locked in a narrow closet with someone for seven minutes.

"Listen to me," Victoria says, suddenly serious. "If Max has to be locked in a closet with anyone, I want it to be you. We'll figure it out. We'll cheat at the draw," she continues. "I hate Sanne. At least with you, I know nothing will happen."

You swallow loudly, completely at a loss for words. Getting locked in a closet with Max? The Max who's never really noticed you? Who's always seen you as nothing but a kid because you're a year and a half younger and his sister's friend? You don't have much time to think about it because already, you're sitting in a circle in the middle of the living room with a dozen other people, a bottle in the center.

Johannes, a friend of Max's, spins the bottle, which lands on Sanne. The girl's eyes sparkle with excitement, her gaze fixed on Max. Johannes spins the bottle again, and this time, it stops in front of another girl you don't know. You glance at Victoria, who seems particularly amused by the situation. Sanne looks absolutely gutted.

"Rules are rules, girls," Johannes says, laughing.

A boy from your class escorts the girls to the closet by the entrance before locking them in and starting a timer. The seven minutes pass, filled by various discussions. When the alarm goes off and the girls are freed, Sanne sits back in the circle, her face closed off.

"It's my turn to spin the bottle," she announces, seizing the plastic object.

She's quite skilled, as the bottle spins twice before landing directly in front of Max. Sanne grabs the bottle again, sending it spinning, and it rotates for a while before stopping right in front of you. Sanne seems beside herself, but your attention is focused on Victoria, who gives you a discreet thumbs-up. Your eyes meet Max's, and it's safe to say the young man doesn't look too pleased. But as Johannes said, rules are rules, and the two of you get up before walking towards the closet.

The space is ridiculously tiny. Max ventures in first, one foot behind the vacuum cleaner, the other squeezed between two shoe shelves. There's barely enough room for two people to fit, and as Johannes pushes you inside unceremoniously and you hear the lock click behind you, you realize you're standing between Max's legs, your hands on his chest.

"Sorry," you say, trying to get away, your back hitting the door.

A heavy silence settles between you as outside, you hear the lively conversations resume in the living room.

"I'm sure you would have preferred to be locked in with Sanne," you say, trying to fill the silence that's slowly eating away at you.

"Not really," Max responds, evasive.

"Aren't you two together?" you ask, curious.

He scoffs against you, sending vibrations to your chest.

"She would like to, yeah," Max says, as you feel his breath against your face despite him being twenty centimeters taller than you.

"And you don't?" you ask, trying to appear nonchalant even though you fear his answer.

"I don't have time for her."

"Oh. I didn't realize your time was so precious," you reply, stunned.

"Depends on who it's spent with," Max replies, his voice deeper.

You're suddenly incredibly grateful to be plunged into darkness because your cheeks are definitely burning red. Is Max Verstappen flirting with you?

"You've changed since the last time I saw you," he continues, as you feel like the temperature in the closet has risen several degrees.

"Changed how?" you ask, seeking his gaze despite the darkness.

"You're taller. Your hair seems longer. It's lightened up a bit, it's nice," he says. "Sixteen suits you. You're not a kid anymore."

You're going to suffocate. Die in a closet.

"We're only a year and a half apart," you reply, breathless.

"I know," he replies, as you feel his hand caress your cheek. "I'm not a kid anymore either."

His lips crash onto yours before you even have time to comprehend what's happening. You melt into him, closing your eyes, savoring the contact you've dreamed of for years. His hand rests on the back of your head, bringing you closer to him, as your hands find their way back to his chest. You bite his lip, and he lets out a groan before wrapping his arms around your waist. You thank the loud music from the living room for drowning out the sounds you're making in this closet, pressed against one another. Your hands find his neck, and his crawl to your ass, squeezing it as you let out a moan against his open mouth.

You thought you couldn't get any closer, but one of Max's hands slips under your right knee, lifting your leg. You've never kissed anyone. Never touched anyone. Yet, as your two groins press against each other, everything feels so easy, so natural. You could stay here for hours, exploring his mouth, his face, his body, but already, footsteps echo in the hallway, and you pull away from each other as if you'd been burned.

"Time's up, lovers!" Johannes says opening the door, prompting laughter from the living room.

"As if," Max says, getting out first. "That's disgusting, bro. She's like my sister."

You stay in the closet for a few seconds, watching the two boys go back to the living room, catching your breath. Several hours later, lying in Victoria's bed as the music has stopped and most of the guests have left the house, you stare at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep, despite your best friend softly snoring by your side. Getting up to get a glass of water, you walk blindly through the dark hallway, passing by Max's room.

"Can we talk?" a voice suddenly rises, making you jump, your hand finding your heart which threatens to leap out of your chest.

You remain silent. Not quite sure if you want to talk, let alone with Max. And certainly not to talk about earlier, in the closet, and be rejected by the boy who stole your heart.

"Come here," he says, pulling you into his room before closing the door behind him. "I don't want Victoria to hear."

You're about to pour your heart out, tell Max how much he hurt you, when he pulls you towards him and presses his lips to yours. Again. Everything you had planned to say escapes your mind as your tongues meet and the hands of your best friend's brother slide under your shirt, stroking your back. Max pulls back, sitting on his bed, pulling you onto his lap, one leg on each side of him. The kisses intensify, your noses brushing, your hands getting lost in each other's hair. Your lips speaking without sound, your hearts opening up without words.

"I don't understand you," you admit between kisses.

"Don't try," he replies, biting your lip.

Max grabs your butt, pressing you against him, and a flash of panic grips you when you feel him against you. Hard. You moan, and suddenly, all the reason seems to come back to him. It's you. His sister's best friend. He pulls back, avoiding your gaze.

"I..." he starts, breathless. "You should go," Max says before pushing you off his lap. You stand here, facing him awkwardly for a few seconds. Waiting for him to say something. Anything. When nothing comes, his head still low, you turn on your heels. Back in Victoria's room, slipping under the covers of your best friend's bed, you let out a tear, feeling a sadly familiar ache tugging at your heart.

Max and you cross paths again a year later, at your high school graduation ceremony. You and Victoria are among the top students in your class, and you're invited to go on stage to give a speech with eight other people. One of these people is Niels. Your boyfriend. You've been together for a few months now. He welcomes you on stage, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before holding you close. In the audience, your eyes meet those of your parents, proud. Those of Victoria's parents, proud. And those of Max. Icy.

The speeches go by quickly, and just before the buffet begins, you apologize to Niels and your parents, saying you need to make a quick stop at the restroom. In the deserted corridors of your high school, your heels click against the floor, soon joined by the sound of another pair of shoes. You turn around, surprised, seeing Max approaching in the distance.

"Niels Harmen?" you hear the boy say. "Really?"

"What do you want?" you reply, eyes cold.

"That guy was still picking his nose last year."

"It's good that he stopped, then," you respond, annoyed.

"Why are you dating him?"

The question makes you laugh. Not a sincere laugh. A laugh that says "mind your own business" and "screw you" at the same time. An ironic, ugly laugh that you don't even recognize.

"When we kiss, I'm not afraid that he'll reject me the next second," you reply, even though you know it's hitting below the belt.

Max scoffs, crossing his arms.

"Is it what it is? Some sort of revenge?"

"I'm not seeking revenge on anyone. My life doesn't revolve around you," you spit before turning on your heels.

You haven't taken a step before a hand grabs your wrist. You already know what's going to happen. So you try to resist. You know you shouldn't turn around. That if your eyes meet his, you'll fall back in. Start another round of false hopes. Disillusionments. Heartaches.

Yet, you do. You turn around, and, of course, his lips find yours. It's almost routine now, mechanical. You close your eyes, your heart torn between the joy of feeling his touch again, and the anticipation of the pain that will undoubtedly assail you in a few hours. When he'll reject you, again.

You're lost in each other when the sound of applause brings you crashing back to earth. The two of you quickly pull away before turning towards the source of the noise. Sanne.

"Don't you have a boyfriend waiting for you?" the girl asks with a fake smile.

"Get out of here, Sanne," Max says like a warning.

"What happened to "I'm not interested in her", Max?" Sanne asks, one hand on her hip. "Or to "She's just a kid, and not even my type"? Or, wait, what was it, the last time?" Sanne continues, stroking her chin. "Oh, yeah. "She was just there, and I was bored"."

You look at him, mouth agape, but Max carefully avoids meeting your gaze. Sanne's words tear at your heart. In a way, it's even worse than being rejected by him. You turn on your heels for good this time, passing by Sanne who's looking at you like you're the most despicable thing on earth. You're vaguely aware of Max saying... no, screaming your name, but you keep on walking, not looking back once. For a second, you thought you were gonna cry, break down in tears in the middle of the hallway. But nothing comes. You don't feel anything. Your heart has given up, surrendered. Returning to the ceremony, you smile at your parents before settling next to your best friend.

"Have you seen Max?" Victoria asks, and you don't miss how the mention of his name doesn't make your heart flutter, for the first time in years.

"Nope," you reply, smiling at her.

Three years later, you're in Victoria's car, on your way to the Zandvoort Grand Prix. You don't even know why you agreed to come with your best friend. You don't watch F1. You have no interest in the sport. Curiosity, your inner voice whispers. You wanted to see him again. You shake your head to dispel those intrusive thoughts when Victoria turns to you.

"I'm so glad you agreed to come. Max is so happy, too."

"What?" you ask, turning to her.

"He told me over the phone. Is that so surprising?"

Well, it is. Max and you haven't exchanged a word since the last ones thrown in the hallway of your high school. But Victoria, of course, doesn't know that. Victoria thinks you're friendly. Like two people who grew up together, gravitating in the same universe without ever colliding.

"He got us VIP passes", your best friend continues. "We'll be able to go everywhere, even see the pit stops!"

"How kind of him," you mumble.

"Look," she says, looking over at you. "I know Max wasn't the kindest... or the warmest, growing up. But he's changed, so much. You'd be surprised!"

"Oh, I bet," you say, smiling at her.

Victoria parks her small car in the VIP space, and a RedBull staff member greets you, handing you two passes before guiding you through the paddock. A stress you haven't felt in three years creeps into your head, into your body. Your thoughts collide, your hands are sweaty. You're beginning to wonder if coming here was a good idea after all when you spot him. At the end of the aisle, in his racing suit. Helmet in hand. Victoria's phone suddenly rings, and she apologizes, gesturing for you to continue without her.

You take the few steps that separate you from the driver. He's changed. So much. His teenage roundness has vanished, replaced by sharp features. His hair is longer, his eyes darker. He gives you a warm smile that twists your insides. It's impossible, you think. After all these years. Having so much power, so much hold over me.

"You came," he says, still smiling.

"For her," you reply curtly.

"Well..." he says, laughing softly. "She's not the one racing."

The silence falls again. Cold. Heavy. You turn your head, spotting Victoria a little further away, hoping she hangs up soon.

"You look beautiful," he says, and you know he means it despite you wearing the blankest blue jeans and white shirt ever made.

Silence, again.

"I'd hoped you'd no longer be mad at me." Max says, and you scoff.

"I'm not mad at you."

"You're cold."

"You broke my heart."

The driver winces, looking away.

"I should have called," he says, softly.

"I wouldn't have answered," you reply.

"I should have come to see you," Max starts again.

"I wouldn't have opened the door."

Your eyes meet his. Fire and ice.

"Well, I should have done something. Fight for you," he continues.

"Fight for who?" you ask. "The girl who was just there?"

Max runs his hand through his hair, embarrassed.

"You were never just that to me. You were so much more. I was just too young, too stupid to realize it. I have. Now."

You hadn't planned on getting into deep explanations with Max today. Not here. Not now. You're about to respond when Victoria returns, linking her arm with yours.

"Maxie!" she says, kissing his cheek. "Are you catching up on lost time? Did she tell you she's still dating Niels? Rumor has it that he's going to propose soon!"

Max's eyes glance down at your hand, and something in his demeanor shifts. It might be the breath he holds, or the way his shoulders seem to slump, defeated.

"She hasn't," he says, smiling faintly at his sister.

"We should go," Victoria says. "The race is about to start. Can we go to the stands?"

"Yes, no problem," Max replies as Victoria begins to head towards the garage, leaving you face to face once again.

"Congrats on your future engagement, I guess," he says.

"Thank you. I'm going to break up with him," you reply, crossing your arms.

"What?" Max says, astonished.

"It doesn't feel right. Him and I."

"If it has anything to do with me, please, tell me," Max breathes, as you avoid his gaze. "I was so focused on my career these past few years that I never wrote to you. I knew I didn't have the time to make it work. I knew it'd be selfish. Unfair to you," Max admits.

"Here you are, once again, thinking that my life revolves around you", you say, smirking at him. "I'm not waiting for you, Max. I haven't been for a while now."

The driver nods, swallowing hard.

"Of course," he says. "I'm sorry for assuming."

"I'm not against the idea of grabbing a drink with you sometime, though," you say, winking at him. "Just text me when you're free."

"I will," he says quickly, blue eyes boring into yours.

"See you around," you say, running to catch up with Victoria.

Watching you leave, Max stands there, grinning like an idiot, before unlocking his phone.

"How about tonight?"

Sent.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

soup

a/n: this whole fic is 100% @chvoswxtch fault because one day when I was about to make dinner she planted this idea in my mind, after too long of winding each other up with thoughts about him, when I attempted to say goodbye so that I could cool down enough in order to not cut my fingers off or burn the food because I was too busy drooling, this menace just went, and I quote: "try not to think about him fucking you from behind while you cook." needless to say, I was a mess that night.... I was already a mess before, but then I just 401 error and I haven't recovered yet

warnings: frank castle x reader, smut, established relationship, cooking soup (good soup), kissing, clothed sex, kitchen sex, couch sex, dirty talk, size kink, oral, fingering, light anal, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, impact play, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, creampie, cumplay, overstimulation, just them being cute and nasty and domestic together

word count: 3577

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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The soft sound of Nat King Cole crooning was barely audible from the speakers in the living room, mixing and mingling with the soothing rhythm of raindrops pattering against the window in front of you, yet your hips still gently swayed to the tune as you grabbed the stripped oven mitt still laying on the counter beside the stove from the last time you’d checked on the broth bubbling away in the large pot. 

Lifting up the heavy lid, the heat from the metal slowly began to seep through to your touch as you checked on the progress, briefly watching the ivory beans dance around in the simmering liquid, wispy aromatics bubbling alongside them, before you covered it up once more. 

Standing beside the sink, you transferred the lightly dripping head of dark green cabbage onto the cutting board. After temporarily getting distracted by a thunderous roar that was heard from somewhere outside far in the distance, you then sliced the knife in your hand straight down the middle of the cruciferae, the crunchy vegetal sound reverberating off the kitchen walls. 

Hearing the floorboards suddenly creak, you whipped your head around to find Frank leisurely leaning against the doorframe, eyes glued to your form as an adoring smile warmed his stern features. 

“Frank!” you exclaimed, chuckling lightly at the fright he had managed to stir in you, “when did you get home?”

“About three songs ago,” he stated, the gentle music still buzzing from the room behind him. 

“And you’ve just been standing there this whole time?” you bit down on the smile that fact conjured. 

“Yep,” he drawled, readjusting his crossed arms. It didn’t take long after you’d turned back to the task at hand that you felt his warm touch wrap around your waist and felt his deep voice tickle your ear, “what are you making?” he rested his chin on your shoulder. 

“Soup,” you shared, cutting rhythmically through the hardy greens. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, craning to plant a tender peck upon your clavicle, his beard gently scratching your skin, “that sounds great…” his tender hands nearly burned through the material of your dress, causing your moments to slow down ever so slightly, “so, what do you have to do now?”

“Well, the base and the bean are already cosy in the pot, doing its thing,” your breath briefly hitched, interrupting your determined explanation, as his wandering touch triggered goosebumps to erupt across your skin, your form instinctively curving into him as his fingers lightly caressed your midsection, your still swaying hips and just shy down your thighs, “but I thought I’d get a head start with this before it’s time for them to go in so that I don’t go and get distracted by something else and then end up having to rush cutting it up.”

His slow breath clear in your ear, he sneakily brought your hips back flush against his, your soft bottom a stark contrast to the excited tightness in his dark jeans. Feathery kisses roamed your neck as your chopping gradually came to a stop, your eyelid growing heavy as you felt your pulse spike, especially making its presence known between your legs. 

Inhaling deeply, his hands slid up to capture your covered boobs in a teasing grasp, “Frank…” you warned softly, though your ass lazily melted back against his hardness.

“Yeah?” nose gracing the shell of your ear, his touch boldly drifted down your dress, effortlessly finding your centre through the fabric, your pulse thumping against his graze. 

“I am holding a knife,” you pointed out, trying to compose yourself, even though the way that he caressed you over your clothes successfully swayed your brain to fit something else into your evening’s schedule. 

Nipping gently at your flushed cheek, you heard the smirk on his lips as he acknowledged, “so?” burying his fingers in the fabric billowing around your legs and slowly hiking it up, “you really think that fact scares me?”

Bunching the skirt up around your waist, clenching it tight in one of his iron fists, the other one dipped down below it and only briefly tickled you over your panties before hooking a finger in them and pulling them to the side. Fluttering through your glistening folds for but a moment, as soon as your hips bucked in search of more, he took it away. 

Turning your cheek to complain, his lips grazed your skin as his grasp enveloped yours still clutched around the kitchen knife and set it down for you. Fluttering eyes locking on his form, you watched as he sank down, kneeling behind you on the cool tile. Holding your gaze for a moment as he hungrily nipped at your arched backside, he then determinedly dove in, burying his face in between your thighs. 

“Holy shit,” you gasped, gripping onto the edge of the countertop as his tongue lapped up your essence, “Frank!” desperately latching on like your pussy was his oxygen and he had just come up from a dive in the deepest of oceans. His muffled moan vibrated against your folds, making your legs quiver, “you’re-, you’re-…” sturdy nose bumping deliciously against you as he fluttered up to bury his tongue in your heat, “holy fuck!”

Growling ecstatically as he momentarily pulled back, each of his broad palms glued to your soft cheeks, fondling the flesh below your hips as he admired how your core dripped for him. After landing a swift tap across your ass, he began to slobber at your little rosebud, determinedly moving with you as the dizzying sensation made you rise up onto your tiptoes. Framing your bottom with his burly arms, he then shifted one of them, lowering it till found your cunt, promptly plugging up your clenching pussy as his mouth devoured your other hole. 

Briefly retracting once again, you felt a dollop of his spit harshly impact your core, withdrawing his finger and spreading it around your glossy petals before shoving two of his digits right back inside, leaning back as he pumped them in and out, admiring your mess as his free hand lowered to palm his tightness through his pants. Curling them softly, he found that spot that drove you wild. One of your rowdy legs nearly kicked his ribs as he began to harshly rock his fingers within you, his hand nearly vibrating as your pussy squelched at the pressure. Though just as you felt yourself near the edge, his touch faltered. 

That tease, he had to have known how close you were. Arms flailing to get him back, your whines were swiftly knocked out of you and traded in for a breathless moan as he suddenly straightened up behind you and filled you up in one fell swoop. 

Clenching around his girth as he gave you a second to accommodate around him, you caught sight of his reflection in the raindrop-adorned window before you, his brow furrowed as he stared down at where you had taken him so beautifully. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you saw his eyes roll in his skull at the pleasure of your warmth. Wrapping his strong arms around your form, one of them came up to seize your jaw, hungrily turning your head so that he could capture your lips in a heated kiss. 

Grinding back on him as you were still so close, your collective moans mingled as your head tilted back, breaking off the needy kiss. With webs of saliva still connecting your mouths, you hazily blinked back into his eyes as he let go of your chin, grasping your hip and aiding you back against him, egging your desperate bucks on. 

“I missed you today,” he shared his breath as you chased your high, “real bad,” his nose gently bumped against yours with every needy roll, “and then I came home and saw you just-…” he let out a low groan, grasp tightening around your moving hips, “you’re like a fucking angel…” 

With frantic moans gushing out of you, your legs trembled as you creamed all over his throbbing cock. Arm feverishly twisting, you snatched up the edge of his dark t-shirt like a lifeline and whimpered, “I love you,” completely enamoured by his dark coffee eyes staring back at you, “I love you so much,” he crashed his lips against your own once more, silencing your entranced cry. 

Slowly pressing your hips further back against his, burying himself that much deeper within your still trembling core, your grip on him tightened as he moved you, sliding you silkily upon his cock and gently fucking the sensitivity away.

“I love you too,” his deep timbre washed over you, like magic the sound aiding your trembling pussy to quickly bounce back, “so much,” he disappeared in your eyes, “god, you’re sexy…” before your head sluggishly lulled back and reunited your vision with the drizzly window.

Your entire body rocked against the counter as he bucked up into you, “Frank,” you uttered breathlessly as he stretched you out at a rhythm that was both so slow yet so hard at the same time, “oh my god, you feel so-, so-…” you crumbled down against the table, your head right beside the cutting board, “fuck!” 

“I feel so what, huh?” he teased your blissed-out babble, “so hard? So big? So good?” his thrusts began to grow more selfish, the lewd clapping of hastily exposed slivers of skin echoing and overpowering all the other soothing noises that vibrated throughout the apartment, “you like how this cock fills you up to the fucking brim, do you?”

“Y-yes!” you struggled to get out, feeling his warm, broad palm spread over your spine as a tender anchor while he fucked your brains out. 

“Yeah, you love this cock, don’t you?” his hips slammed into yours, “tell me,” he dared you with a sharp smack across your bottom, “tell me you love it.”

“I love it,” you blubbered, your face buried in the crook of your folded arms on the counter. 

“You love what, sweetheart?” you didn’t have to peek back at him to know how hard he was smirking. 

“I love your cock,” your toes curled as his broad thumb suddenly began to rub over your other hole, “I love it,” still slick from his kisses, he swiped over it, “I love you-, I love-,” tickling you gently before slowly sinking it in, plugging the opening up just to the first knuckle.

Like the rain pouring down outside, so did you as you came, your pussy gushing all over his girth. Swiftly yanking his dick out, he harshly rubbed it through your folds, “there you go,” flicking across your clit and urging more of your juices to squirt out, “there you fucking go,” showering down onto the cool tile floor.

Panting, he spun your jelly-like figure around and kissed your lips fiercely. Scrambling, he fervently plucked you up into his arms, wrapping your shaky legs around his hips as your tongue danced across his own. In a haze, you clung to him like a koala, fuzzily curling your arms around his neck, eternally thankful for his might as he held you secure against his boulder-like body. 

Eyes shut, soft hums escaped your lips and vibrated against his own as you felt his legs begin to move, swiftly exiting out of the kitchen. Fat length still like a rock nudged against you’re your trembling centre, you gently began to rock against it, a decision that caused Frank to suddenly change the destination to where he was carrying you. 

A sharp yelp erupted from your lunges as your back suddenly collided with the leather couch cushions. The shocked squeak swiftly melted into a warm giggle, one he fleetingly echoed as he dipped down to join you, knees resting below your dropped form, your legs folded up at your sides from both the fall, but also the delicious exhaustion that had kicked in. 

Reaching down between your bodies, your form jaggedly jumped as you briefly circled your sore pearl before seizing Frank’s third leg, his clothes still clung to his figure, as did yours, only zippered were undone and fabric desperately pushed aside to free what needed to be freed. Fingers barely meeting as they wrapped around him, you gave him a few generous tugs before guiding the tip back down to your entrance. Mouth agape, you nudged him against your sobbing hole, his brows furrowed in pleasure as he stared down at you intently. 

“There she is,” he smirked down at you, “there’s my fucking dirty girl,” noting the dreamy glint in your eye, “you want some more, huh?”

“Please,” you whined as he kept his hips locked, making your job impossible, “I do, I really, really do,” he then wafted away your grasp and held at the base of his heavy length, “I need it!” you squirmed beneath him as he tapped the weight against your overly sensitive core, your sodden panties still clinging on the sidelines.

“Yeah?” you expected him to tease you, to twist your arm until you said uncle, but no, that wasn’t what he did at all. “This what you need?” he mercilessly slammed back into you, a strangled moan rolling off your tongue to answer his taunting question, “then fucking take it like the good little slut I know you are.”

You were nearly crushed as he fucked you into the couch, though you didn’t care one bit about the odd position when he made you literally melt the way he did. 

Folded in half, face smooched into the cushions, your collective moans echoed throughout the apartment. Hands engulfing your waist, you felt like a ragdoll as he fucked you, balls slapping against you with every primal thrust. Tits nearly spilling out of the delicate neckline of your crumbled dress, Frank fleetingly caught the jiggle, palming it roughly before focusing in on the pebbly nipple poking through the fabric, pinching it harshly and causing your eyes to grow glassy. 

A low growl seeped out of him as he watched you squirm so deliciously. Swatting the soft skin lightly before refastening his hold around your form, he readjusted you and yanked your hips further up off the couch, curving your spine and hauling your hips against him like you were just a little fucktoy, a cocksleave for him to get off with. 

“Where are you going, huh?” you heard him chuckle as you practically dug your face into the sofa, your entire form just uncontrollably curling up from the overwhelming ecstasy, “don’t hide that beautiful face from me,” he uttered adoringly while pounding your puffy pussy into next week, “look me in the eye when I’m fucking ruining you,” and painstakingly, you forced your blissed out features to turn in his direction, your cheek smooshing against the cushions as you hazily blinked up at him, “that’s it,” he towered above you, a smirk blossoming on his lip, “look at you,” he couldn’t help but pick up his speed, slamming into you so hard that you saw the stars themselves, “that’s my good girl.”

His grip dug into you so hard that it left no doubt in your mind about the colourful marks you’d have as a souvenir for the following days. 

“You want me to cum inside you, huh?” he smiled at the way it made you whine, “send you back into the kitchen with it still running down your wobbly legs?” and even though you were positive you wouldn’t be able to stand after this, the vulgar image was still enough to push you over the edge once more, needily nodding for him to join you as you tumbled over. 

Gushing around his fat cock, rumbling groans escaped him as he pumped your trembling and tender cunt full of his hot cum, your own intense waterfall still trickling when he eventually pulled his spent length out. 

Flopping down on the couch beside your own exhausted figure, his head rotated, flashing you his hazy smile. Humming in contentment, your eyes too heavy to stay open too long, your fingers lazily grabbed for him to scoot closer.

Cupping your cheeks softly in his broad hands, one of them stayed as the other brushed down the length of your arm, caressing the goosebumps upon your tingly flesh. Nuzzling his nose against your own, he then pressed a soft kiss to your lips, thumb swiping across your cheekbone as your serene hum washed over him. 

The fingers on your arm slowly wandered over your skin, boldly making their way down your form once more. 

“F-fuck!” your eyes swiftly fluttered open, body jolting, your palm smacked his sturdy chest as his touch swept through the sore and sloppy disarray between your weary thighs.  

“Christ,” he craned his neck to admire your downright swollen cunt, “look at that pretty mess, baby,” he caught some of his own creamy essence slowly leaking out of you and rubbed it into your petals as you squirmed at the overstimulation. 

Dipping his lips down to latch onto the side of your neck, you panted, “Frank, please, it’s-” 

But he interrupted before you could finish the hazy sentence, “what?” purring in between the sloppy hickeys his mouth left in its wake, “is it too much for you? Too good, huh?” you simply let out a whine of confirmation as you felt your body begin to side with him, “you can take it, I know you can,” pornographic soppy sounds found your ears as his long fingers slid inside your sore core, “just listen to that, fuck…” your sensitive walls clung around him like a velvet vice as he stubbornly caressed you.

If someone at that moment asked you what day of the week it was, then your best attempt at an answer would probably be blue, as you didn’t even know what was up and what was down at this point. 

“You think you can squirt for me again, huh?” he kissed your cheek as the tell-tell soppy sound began to echo at his hithering motion, “give me some more sugar?” you suddenly felt his warmth disappear from your side, blinking your sluggish eyes open to see him slide down on the floorboards before you, his coiled fingers all the while rocking daringly within you as he granted himself a front row seat, “a little more dessert before dinner?” 

Pushing your tired legs further apart, the warm smile that bloomed upon his lips tickled your glistening centre, “look at that…” he watched as he fucked the rest of his cum out of you, “fucking beautiful…” 

Glancing up in your direction, he narrowly caught your eye and the intense look that he gave you made it impossible for you to simply let your own close once more. Piercing gaze glued on you, he too noticed your crumbled-up form begin to tremble even further just as he dipped down to kiss that swollen clit of yours.

“Atta girl,” he gently pressed his grin against your puffy pearl. 

Fingers rocketing, he only managed to flick his tongue against you a moment before the floodgates flung open one last time. 

First gripping onto your bucking hips with only one hand, he then departed the one buried deep within you to aid in the cause, holding you steady against his mouth as his tongue successfully slipped in to substitute for his digits. 

Sharp sobs melting into whiny pants, you watched as he finally released the latching hold he had withheld, eyes growing wide as he revealed to you the substance he had caught. 

“Holy shit,” you heard your guttural moan fill the room as he alluringly let your squirt trickle from his lips and back down upon your messy core, “that’s so much!”

“Yeah, it fucking is,” he beamed, pride dripping from his husky tone.

Beard damp and eyes the shape of hearts, you just barely through your overwhelming haze managed to see as he lowered his glossy hand down to enclose around himself. 

“Are you-,” you giggled, incapable of finishing your query. 

Cock, once again, hard and throbbing in his fist, he chuckled, “how could I not be?”  kissing your tender inner thigh as you continued to laugh.

“You are not going anywhere near there again,” you lightheartedly warned as your palm shot down to shield yourself. 

“Hm,” he raised himself up from his knees, “I can work with that,” blissed-out smile still plastered upon his gruff features, “what do you want, huh?” his strong legs then caused the couch to dip on either side of your form, “you want me to give you a show?” gazing at you longingly as he now hovered above you, “you sure gave me one.”

“Maybe you can repay the favour…” your nails dug into his meaty thighs, urging him to crawl up so far that his knees were fastened on either side of your shoulder, his girth blocking your eye line to his gorgeous face. 

“Yeah?” he slowly jerked himself mere millimetres from your features, “you want me to make your face as messy as your pussy? Give you a mouthful of cum?” his other hand dipping down to lovingly comb your matted hair as his offer triggered a warm giggle to flow from your chest obscured beneath his perched hips. 

“I love you,” your starry eyes gazing up at him crinkled from your bliss as you snuck your tongue out and swiped it across the prominent vein running along the underside of him. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - Getting hot under the collar and in the kitchen and on the pool table and...

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Aug 2024 Week 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) eps 3-4 of 12 - one of the things I'm enjoying about this show is the fact that the introverted super shy uke is having hot fantasies, and the extroverted seme is having the sweet fantasies. It's another way this show is highlighting God being the world's greenest flagged seme BL has ever produced. (And he's being given stiff competition this year - trend alert.)

Anygay: God is so cute and so not cool and so in love and all the consent asking word salad coming out of this boy. I LOVE him. 

Diew: It’s ep 4 so I’ve decided we can talk face-to-face.  God: So how many children do you want? 

The teaching him to play basketball bit, where God politely asks to hold his hand, is so freaking adorable I can’t.

I'm thinking of calling this show the anti-Mame pill.

Blue pill? Red pill? GREEN pill!

My Love Mix-Up Th (Fri YT) ep 11 of 12 - We gotta talk. I do like this version, but it’s starting to feel lackluster. Perhaps it always was by comparison to the bright sparkle uniqueness of the original. Perhaps I didn't notice because I was distracted by G4. But now I gotta say it's become a bit disappointing and even my love for G4 can’t seem to bind me to this. Frankly, this show is making me want to watch either the Japanese version, or My School President. It’s never a good sign when a currently airing BL makes me want to stop that and go rewatch an old one I’ve already seen.

NO SINGING.

Meanwhile, the "locked on the rooftop" trope! I haven’t seen that one in years. Cool. Also cute kisses. They learning. 

This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans (Fri iQIYI) ep 7 of 8 - I can’t believe this is ending next week. But also I can. And I have thoughts.

I really love SailubPon. They might be one of my favorite newer pairs on the scene right now. But I just don’t believe in these characters or this couple. I don’t feel like they are going to have a lasting relationship. It feels like they’re just using each other for sex and distraction, and that’s how the script to set it up, and as a result they’re never gonna make it as a couple. As soon as the sexual fire between them burns out, what do they have to build a relationship on? Frankly? That would be fine if this were a modern love drama, and not a BL. But this IS a BL.

Putting the health code violators aside, I really do believe in the secondary pair, but they haven’t been given enough bandwidth to develop as a couple. There’s no way they’re going to adequately resolve Methas and JJ in the final episode.

At this juncture, I’m mostly finding this show annoying. Which in itself is annoying, because I wanted to love it.

Why is it that Thailand, the land of the best food in the world, king of BLs, struggles so hard to produce the restaurant set BL of my dreams? I’m really pissed about this.

That said, the Methas & JJ stuff is killer. Loved JJ running away. So good. Plus the age old decision - love or money? 

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 2-3 of 12 - The issue was me and I've managed to get hold of this show again. The story within the story is so ridiculously badly written I'm going spare. I’m not sure if the outside show is not ALSO badly written. That said, I do love how the 3 writer friends are all shipping our leads. It’s VERY silly. Meanwhile, cohabitation trope is a go. 

I like the side couple too. Stern Daddy + lost puppy is a very cute dynamic, I hope we get more than just crumbs. I actually am enjoying this show now. Ep 3 kinda derailed into this weird chimera novel that they’re all writing together and I’m finding that bit the least interesting, but I adore the domestic components which I think may turn out to be TutorYim's strength (if they're allowed to lean into it). 

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - Man I hope this gets some kind of distribution at some point. It was a pain to find and watch. But I enjoyed it. The focus is more on the seme in Thailand’s version. Which I don’t mind since that's rare in BL, and it’s more August on my screen. It’s all round softer than China’s version but still feels very familiar. I know some fans are struggling with it, but not me.

Sunset X Vibes (Sat iQIYI) ep 10 of 12 - I like that Sam’s crafty business espionage has paid off. Them teasing Sam & Yo really had me belly laughing. It was so funny.

Legitimate question. Would one put perfume on one’s cheeks in Thailand, as one does on wrist or sternum? Because of the sniff cheek thing? Scented face powders?

I do feel like with MosBank & SailubPon scorching up our screens, we’re being spoiled by some of Thailand‘s best high heat pairs at the moment.

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 5 of 12 - It remains kind of sweet and cute. It's also calm and slow moving. Oddly it reminds me of La Cuisine in its style and execution (if not content). I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would.

The Trainee (Sun YouTube) ep 7 of 12 - I don’t know. I’m getting bored.

Love Sea (Sun iQIYI) ep 10fin - Fort’s acting during the break-up was truly great. But I feel for Rak. It’s rough to learn that someone else is playing a long game with feelings while you were playing a short game with d**k.

Ultimately this is probably a solid 8/10 show but I’m mad I wasn’t madder at it, and I'm mad I was so bored throughout. So it gets a 7/10 and let us not speak of this again. I’d like to simply forget about it. Trash watch.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 1-2 of 10 - OMG a uni student who looks young and a... COP! GAH. The subversion and kink of it all. I had to go grey to get it and I hate everything about what I had to do. But ya know what? Fucking worth every single repeated crash-causing advertisement.

I love it. The grumpy lonely little student cook and the cheerful mature police officer. What a fabulous dynamic. Is the cook looking for a boyfriend or a Daddy, and do we care if it has the same result? It is filmed VERY manga style camp. I’m a little nervous about that, but this means it’s also very fluffy and so damn sweet. It made me squeak with the cute. I’m gutted this didn’t get distribution.

Ironic that Tawada Hideya is in a new BL while Sunspot is re-airing.

Cosmetic Playlover (Japan Tues Gaga) eps 3-4 of 8 - Ah, the gays are doubting the bisexual again. How familiar. I like how this one is paced and moving through time, even if the relationship seems to be going comparatively slowly by contrast. I love the way Sahashi is always looking at Natsume, even when they’re in conversation with someone else. Ah yearning. I think the conflict was kind of inevitable, given the two personalities of the protagonists, and I like that. (No manufactured angst here.) But I still hope they can repair the breach and I’m still interested. Frankly this is so classically Japan - I don’t know what story beats it’s following and I’m not entirely sure where it’s going, but I kinda like that unpredictability. Makes me think it could go into "must you, Japan?" territory but fingers crossed.

I Hear the Sunspot AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - I'm enjoying it very much. I could do without the girl character. I know she’s more interesting than most (this is Japan after all), but she’s not really for me. It’s the complexity of the connection between the leads (and why they like each other) that’s being executed so brilliantly in this show (and in the manga, FYI). Both actors are so on point with their roles and the nuanced emotions required of these characters that every time it’s only them interacting I'm riveted. I could do without the rest of the cast tho.

Seoul Blues (Korea Fri? YouTube) ep 1 of 8 - I have a confession to make, I’ve been watching this whole series as it goes along. But this is the pair I absolutely like the most. I’m not sure I would necessarily recommend any of the installments, and I’m not sure how this one is going to go, but I’m VERY invested in this particular couple. They are so pretty!!!! This is a true friends-to-lovers struggle. I like that a lot. (Reminds me of I Cannot Reach You but a different dynamic.) Did I mention how pretty they are? And we already know they gonna kiss well. I bet the uncut version is stellar.

Meet You at the Blossom (China) - It's no one's funeral, turns out! Reports are in - not only are there kisses but it ends happily with wedding plans. So I'm eating crow, binging the fucker, and live blogging. I'm enjoying it. Ya'll know I adored Chinese BL before censorship. It has a certain unhinged quality I very much apreciate (and is the reason I'm so tolerant of the Thai pulps) that I think will marry well with Wuxia's effervescent and ever-present tropes. Watch me suffer here.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) eps 1-2 of 12 - About a singer with stage fright and his timid fan starring Charles (H4 the puppy one) and Michael Chang (the youngster in My Tooth Your Love), plus side couple featuring a Thai actor Jame (Koh in Gen Y) and Liu Min Ting (of Guardian fame). What a damn team. With their powers combined they are...

fine.

This is a fine BL. The fight scene was fun and I like the meet cute. I’m not sure about the chemistry of the leads, but I think they’ll probably do okay. I admit I’m struggling a bit with a singing and the music. Are you surprised? I think I like it enough, but I’m not wowed.

Takara's Treasure AKA Takara No Vidro (Japan Mon Gaga) ep 7 of 10 - Oh! Out of the blue attack kiss. What IS this show? I don’t get it at all. Bah. I guess they’re dating now. It’s… so odd...

It's airing but...

4 Minutes (Thai Netflix/Grey) - A rich boy at uni suddenly gains the supernatural power to see four minutes into the future. I have a source, but I've decided to hold off and binge if it ends okay, since it's only 8 eps. I depend upon y'all to tell me if it's safe.

8/16 The Last Time (Thai Fri YT) ? eps - Convoluted story of loss and possible reincarnation or something. Again delayed? Not sure what's going on with this one but the continued push-backs do not bode well.

In case you missed it

The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer IS COMING IN SEPTEMBER!!!! (Yeah this is gonna sit here until then).

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming This Month!

8/22 The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) 12 eps - announced in 2023 this one has a high school set stepbrothers trope and is reputed to be high heat. From Taiwan! It's made for me. Based on a novel Mou Mou from the Your Name Engraved Herein folks, so it could go dark. Still, I'm very excited.

8/22 The Paradise of Thorns (Thai movie) theater release - Jeff Satur is back but this does not look like a BL (the gay lover's death is the inciting event). More in Goodbye Mother vein. Looks dark and dramatic. He opposite and extremely well known actor Toey Pongsakorn who has never done gay before.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

WHY IS HE SO FINE?

I truly belly laughed. Sam & Yo did not go in the direction I expected, but this scene alone made me not mind that they curtailed the suffering Sam was rightfully due. (SunsetXVibes)

Tall boyfriend armpit, anyone? (Monster Next Door)

The two extremes of BL in one show (Long Beans indeed).

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many tags.

[buckrecs]

𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙘 𝙧𝙚𝙘 : 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙚

masterlist | monthly fic rec masterlist

FLUFF

Exhausted by @moonvis

Uncle Bucky by @/moonvis

Trying To Study by @pitubea1910

Secure Your Back by @writingcroissant

poppies and babies’ breath by @lizzie-is-here

More than friends by @theeleggymeggy

Lovesick by @/theeleggymeggy

Protecting What’s His by @jobean12-blog (bodyguard!bucky)

Pieces of Us by @majestyeverlasting

As Many As You Want by @/majestyeverlasting

How I Met Your Father by @pomelo-villano

Nerd by @imgoingtofreakoutnow

Trouble Doubled by @certifiedskywalker

magnetic mishaps by @aneluvs

Angel Eyes by @killatravtramp

hint dropped by @rocketrhap3000

pre-mission blues by @buckysblanket (husband!bucky)

Nightmares by @waiting4inspiration

Safe and Sound by @talesofesther

voicemails by @lovelybarnes

Chicken Soup for the Soul by @sebbytrash

Baking (fails) with bucky by @winter-soldier-vibes

booked on a feeling by @intrepidacious (librarian!bucky)

Theater by @loving-barnes

Sleepyhead by @tom-holland-parker

A Good Man by @/tom-holland-parker

A New Uniform by @hopelessromantic423

Manicure by @itsapeterthing

Speechless by @/itsapeterthing

I’ll Stop The World And Melt With You by @shamevillain

Flustered 2 by @/lovelybarnes

Aroma by @navybrat817

The Animal Within by @/navybrat817

ending unplanned by @starryevermore (bookstore au)

only angel by @cherryrogers (40s!bucky)

IDGAF by @amandaoftherosemire

Sleepy by @sunflowers-and-bucky

Happy Beans by @/rookthorne (barista!bucky)

Imagine by @buckyalpine

Shy Boy by @hiddles-and-skittles

A Good Man by @beyondspaceandstars

Meet The Parents by @/navybrat817

before sunset, i fell by @atlaese (modern au)

Lemonade and shields by @/atlaese

Old Fashioned by @rookthorne

ANGST

Tip of the Tongue by @bucky-fricking-barnes

Who Did This To You? by @espinosaurusrexex

“Accidentally” by @/pomelo-villano

Just Tell Her by @girl-next-door-writes

New Love by @ro-is-struggling

jealousy, jealousy by @malum-forev

Jealous by @sweetbbarnes

A New Life? by @/waiting4inspiration (phoenix!reader)

We mend each other by @/talesofesther

Green by @/itsapeterthing

Smoke by @shurisneakers

The Ultimatum by @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky

feel me by @flordeamatista (siren!reader)

youngblood by @sebbies (boxer!bucky)

Safe Place To Land by @sunlightdances (modern au)

Too Much (Not Enough) by @touchstarvedirl

SMUT

Be it revenge or moving on by @writingsoftheloser

Cherry by @sweetdreamsbuck (camboy!bucky)

Your Daddy Did It Better by @princessbellecerise (billionaire!bucky)

Wrapped In Red by @/flordeamatista

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: like Staind said in that one song, it's been a while.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Lloyd brings you down the flight of stairs, his arm through yours as you teeter in the heels. You’ve never been one for anything besides flats or sneakers. You’re getting acquainted to the painful arch of your feet and it’s doing little for your agitation. 

While this man might be entirely too direct at times, he can be just as vague. You still have no idea why you’re dressed like some dainty rose. Whatever delusion he’s living in, it’s not the fairytale he believes it is. 

Savoury aromas waft in the air and draw your nose towards the kitchen. You glance at Lloyd curiously. He puts his hand over yours and winks. You quickly turn your head straight. 

“Don’t worry, jelly bean, I got everything sorted. Can’t have you sweating up a storm in the kitchen. Private chef,” he clicks his tongue, “besides, our guests won’t settle for anything less.” 

You arch a brow but don’t ask. As much as you want to know who he’s expecting, you dread finding out. You highly doubt it’s good company. 

He takes you into the living room. A large chandelier dangles from the high ceiling, the long crystals casting marbled pale light around the space. The tall windows peer out onto the green lawn, dim in the rising evening hue. The ornaments are just as sleek and precise as every other room. Polished marble and spotless porcelain. 

As you take in the curved couch and round ottoman, Lloyd shifts your hand from the crook of his arm and tugs you to face him. He raises your knuckles high and kisses them. You blanch and resist the urge to pull away. His mustache tickles your skin. 

“Baby, you look spectacular,” he purrs, “did I mention that dress hugs your ass in all the right ways.” 

You bite down and nearly snatch your arm away. No. Don’t rile him. Tolerance will keep you safe.  

“You didn’t,” you murmur as he clings to your hand and places it against the chest of his jacket. He wraps you up in his arms as if he means to dance with you. 

“Well, shit, it really does,” his hands crawl down your sides and he scoops your ass up in his large hands, forcing a squeak from you as you press against his chest. “How about an extra dessert tonight?” He winks. “I bet it’s sweet, huh?” 

He leans in, nuzzling your forehead as he growls. You shudder, but he might mistake it for excitement. His nose brushes yours but his lips stop short of yours as a chime interrupts him. He freezes and reluctantly draws away. 

“Wait here,” he smirks and flutters his fingers longingly as he struts away. 

You blow out through your lips and swivel to glance around. It’s a nice place but you miss your apartment. You miss being alone. You miss when you didn’t know this man. 

You mash your hands together and wring them. You hear voices. A man and a woman. Great. This is really strange. You don’t understand what exactly he’s up to. Is he not afraid you’ll start begging for help? Somehow you don’t think that would do you much good. 

“She’s in here,” Lloyd’s voice carries through ahead of him, “mom, dad, my lady,” he waves towards you. 

You stand frozen to the floor. Uh. Mom? Dad? Oh gosh, it’s a family dinner. You blink and slowly step forward as Lloyd waves you closer. 

“My mother, Delores, and father, Lawrence,” he introduces the two other figures. 

The woman is tall and blond and statuesque. You feel even smaller in her presence. She looks down her long nose, her irises blue as ice, and her lips a soft shade of rose. Her hair is so icy, you can’t tell if it’s blonde or silver. 

The man is as tall as Lloyd, a little broader, and wears a cerulean jacket over black. His hair is streaked with the same sandy shade as his son, mingled with shocks of white. He tilts his head as he measures you, his eyes narrowing. 

“Hm,” that’s all you get. You feel much the same. 

“We’ve come all this way, tell me supper is ready,” the woman, Delores, tuts. “Crab cakes, right, honey?” 

She looks at her son and he frowns. His mustache makes the expression even more theatrical. You hate to disappoint but what did he expect? I mean, look at you. 

“And I appreciate you coming,” Lloyd says, sounding unlike you’ve ever heard him in your short acquaintance. Something about it is disingenuous, for as honest as that man can be. “We’re super excited to have you.” 

“Have you had those windows looked at?” The man stops to scope the ceiling to floor panes, “impractical things.” 

Lloyd’s shoulders square. You can’t see his face but you’re certain he’s not happy. You don’t see anything wrong with the place. It’s a bit over the top, too sleek, too shiny, but it’s not horrid. Most people can’t afford anything like it. People like you in your boxy apartment. 

“This way,” Lloyd says and waves them towards another doorway.  

He takes them across the entryway and you follow behind. The dining room has high ceilings and an overly long table. You can’t imagine anyone would ever need that many seats. 

Lawrence sneers with disapproval as Lloyd pulls out a chair for his mother. Delores primps herself as she sits, popping a compact out of her purse to touch up her lipstick. You stare from the doorway, drawn forward as your host clears his throat and eases another chair away from the table. 

You near and sit. His parents have even you on eggshells. You can tell they won’t be much help to you. You’ve got more than enough with their son. 

“I’ll just go check on dinner and you can get to know each other,” Lloyd declares as he claps his hands. 

You wince as his mother snaps the mirror shut and puts it away. She looks you up and down as you keep a dull stare. His father examines the butter knife as if searching for any speck of filth. 

“So, dear,” Delores begins. “Aren’t you a quaint one?” 

You scrunch your nose up. Quaint? You’re not a house. 

“Quiet, aren’t you?” She chuckles, “well, what do you do then? How’d he find you?” 

“Probably one of those websites again,” Lawrence grumbles and curls his lips. “Women these days, they’ll jump at a dollar sign.” 

You shake your head and tilt it. You’re not a mean person. You wouldn’t consider yourself malicious at all but he annoys you. And her. Their judgement reminds you of your schoolyard bullies. 

“I do data entry,” you answer, ignoring the snipe. “We met... uh...” you frown and look at the table.  

We met when your son stalked me and starved me out of my apartment. Yeah, you don’t think that’s going to get more than another condescending trill from her and indifferent grunt from him. You pick at your nail, the movement catching her eye, and you pull your hands apart and hide them behind the table. 

“We met...” 

“At the cafe,” Lloyd strides in and approaches the chair next to you, standing behind it, “supper will be out shortly.” He sits and grabs your hand, bringing it onto the tabletop, “you know, I saw her from across the coffee shop. Just waiting. I was just taken by her. Her effortless beauty--” 

“Effortless indeed,” Delores comments. 

You flick your lashes and glance over at your abductor. How is he preferable in this moment? You blink and turn your dull gaze ahead, staring through the blonde. You don't do well with confrontation, you're more the type for avoidance.

Lloyd quiets and brings his other hand up, chewing his fingertips before ripping them away from his mouth. He keeps his grip on you with his other and sighs. He looks up and shrugs. 

The silence doesn’t last long as several bodies enter and lay out plates in front of each seat. A man in a black jacket and chef’s cap emerges and announces the appetizer; crab cakes with black truffle crostini. You stare at the food. It doesn’t look very tasty; it’s too curated. 

“Mm, crab,” Delores sings as she picks up her cutlery, “how delightful.” 

“Yes, see, I remembered,” Lloyd utters. 

“All this flash,” Lawrence clucks as he lifts his fork, “you know, there’s more too life than show. Your fancy car, the house, your women...” 

“Dad,” Lloyd goes rigid, “she’s not just another woman. I wouldn’t bring you here if--” 

“Oh, no? The last one, I recall, was wearing a bright red thong. How do you think I know that?” The older man snips. 

“She’s not like that,” Lloyd rebuffs. “I told you, she’s different. She’s the one.” 

“Well, she definitely doesn’t talk as much as the last one,” Delores remarks tritely. “And Lawr,” she nudges her husband with her elbow, “she does have a certain allure. She definitely is... different.” 

Your brows nearly meet in the middle. You close your eyes to hide the roll. You exhale through your nose. You don’t care about these people. You don’t even want to be here. So, why try? 

That's it. Don't try. You don't need to impress any of them. You're not going to dance for them like they want you to. They aren't your parents and your own parents don't earn enough of your concern. You don't care about them and you definitely don't care about the man beside you.

Defence is the best offence, right? You're not going for an outright attack, that won't work. It's about repulsion.

You wiggle free of Lloyd’s grasp and surpass the cutlery to pick up the crostini with your fingers. You shove the whole cracker in your mouth and chew without caution. You hum and nod as you swallow it down. Maybe if you can disgust his parents enough, they’ll make him get rid of you. It’s not much of plan but more than you had before. 

“Oh my,” Delores hovers her cutlery over the crab cake and gapes at you. 

“Mm, oh my, good,” you speak through a full mouth. 

“Uh, right, mom,” Lloyd raises his voice, “did you try the wine?” 

“The wine,” you say through another mouthful, “mmm.” 

You slurp messily. Your heart is racing and your skin is tingly. You don’t talk in front of strangers often. Always mindful of every single action. You never want to draw attention. Never step out of line but now, you’re toeing every one. It’s embarrassing. 

“Lloyd,” Delores breathes. 

“Honey,” Lloyd touches your shoulder, “let’s slow down.” 

“I’m starving,” you argue and nearly choke, coughing into your hand. 

“We still have several courses,” he lowers his voice, “please, jelly bean, don’t do that.” 

“Do we have any more of this stuff,” you hold up the second crostini. 

“Please,” he begs and puts his hand on your thigh, squeezing. 

You smile, food in your teeth, and show it to the table. You’re going to barf, not just from the soft cheese but your humiliation. Hold it together, just a little longer. 

“She definitely is... something,” Lawrence says and sends his wife a look of disgust. 

You clear your plate as quickly as you can. The food is like rocks in your stomach. You’re not used to eating that much, not to mention, that sort of fare. It’s rich to the point of too much. 

You wiggle your nail between your teeth and pick at them until Lloyd grabs your hand. You flutter your lashes in his direction. You really think you might throw up. Not only because of the fishy taste in your mouth. 

Before you can think of your next move, the plates are cleared away and replaced with the next course. An entree of filet mignon and seasonal vegetables, as announced by the chef. You imagine it’s similar to what they serve in those fine restaurants you could never afford. 

“Fine cut,” Lawrence offers as he turns over the steak with his knife and fork. 

You saw through your own and look at the middle, “ew, is it supposed to be this colour?” 

The table is quiet as you poke at the steak with your knife. You push it to the edge of the plate and make a face. You poke at the roasted potatoes instead.  

“Rare,” Lawrence sniffs, “I’ll take the chef’s name.” 

“Can he make cheeseburgers?” You ask. 

“Jelly bean,” Lloyd hisses, “what’s going on? What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you shrug and look at your plate and huff, “fine.” 

Like a bratty kid you pout. You pick up the steak with your hand and gnaw on it, making it into an effort. Lloyd reaches over and takes it from you, putting it back on your plate. 

“Stop, please,” he begs. 

You shrug and wipe your hands on your dress. He latches onto your hand, gripping it tight until your joints hurt. You wince as he stands, still clinging to you. 

“I was meaning to wait until dessert but... she’s had a long day. She’s not feeling herself,” he reaches into his jacket with his other hand and turns. He looks down at you and clears his throat, lowering himself to his knee. His blue eyes meet your grimace. Oh, god. “Jelly bean, sweetheart,” he pulls out the velvet box and your stomach lurches, “will you--” 

You bend over your lap as you lose all control. You spew onto the floor, the sick splashing onto your feet and Lloyd’s pants. You cup your mouth as you puff, bile staining your tongue. You groan and stay folded over your knees. 

“Oh, Lloyd, you can’t mean to marry that?” Delores sneers. 

“Truly, son, you brought us here for... her? Really?” 

Lloyd looks at you and his forehead lines. He shakes his head and opens the ring box, picking the ring from the cushion, and grabs your hand. He shoves the row of large diamonds onto your finger. You stare at the sparkle in horror as you slowly sit up and he stands. 

“We are getting married,” he insists, “and I didn’t bring you here for your blessing. I only brought you to let you know.” 

“Married?” You and Delores echo in fraught unison. 

“Yes!” Lloyd stomps his foot, nearly stepping in the puke. “You can’t stop me, she can’t stop me,” he jabs his finger in the air, “no one can stop me!” 

“Settle down, boy,” Lawrence says. 

“Come on, baby,” Lloyd snatches your wrist and pulls you to your feet, “let me get you cleaned up.” He winks and wiggles his tongue out at you and his parents groan.  He curls his arm around you and lowers his voice to a whisper, "I got something else for you to choke on."

Well, that didn’t work. 

[classyrunawaynightmare]

⊹₊ ⋆Jᴀᴄᴋsᴏɴ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ - ⊹₊ ⋆ᴛᴇᴇɴ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ

——— ˚˖𓍢ִ໋`🔸 ⁿᵒ ʷᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍˢ ⁻ ᶠᶦʳˢᵗ ᵖᵒˢᵗ, ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᶦᵗꜝ ⁽ᶦᵍⁿᵒʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵐᵐᵃʳ ᵉʳʳᵒʳˢ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ 😭⁾

You and Ellie were playing a children's board game since you had nothing to do on that dry autumn afternoon... the day was boring and neither of you knew what to do so you found this old game about the land of sweets. You took a card and it told you how many houses you had to walk through... three yellow... two purple... one blue... until you reached the kingdoms of jelly beans, peanut butter, chocolate, cookies and blah blah blah. ...it was still boring

"What a stupid game..." - She says while she sigh - "How about truth or dare? Huh?" - You ask, with a bit of provocation in your tone - ... "Sure, why not?" - She accepts the challenge and picks up a bottle of water and spins it on the floor, and stops in your direction - "Uhm... Truth or dare?"... "Truth" - She says - ... "So, who was your first breakup?" - Ellie didn't expect such a direct question despite knowing that you had a certain attitude but appearing to be as shy as her sometimes...

"So that's the level you're willing to go?" - Ellie smirks - "Well... it was tragic, I think it's not one of my best memories... she was special to me"... - "She?" - You ask - "I thought it was obvious" - You both laugh at it... It was funny to think that your best friend once had a girlfriend... that wasn't you, uh?...why would you ever think of her like that! You've been friends since she arrived in Jackson, stop!... "Well..." oh no, you started to lose focus, getting lost in those freckles that made her more adorable than she already was, in that cute button nose, in that eyes.. focused on you (and as green as Eugene's plantation...).

There was tension in the air all of a sudden which made the two of you look away... it was strangely good... you had been thinking about Ellie that way for a while but it was always a denial for you, you didn't know why you felt that way but you couldn't help but feel the butterflies in your stomach every time you saw her smile or make a silly jokes... and it was an incredible feeling. You were madly in love with Ellie, and it left a hot trail across your chest, up to your neck and then your cheeks, and you were there blushing like a real fool and Ellie seemed to have a little fun with the awkward situation, she was giving a smirk that you knew what it meant.

And with that she slowly approaches you, and all you can focus on now are her lips... the anxiety of your first kiss forming in your belly, you froze and with that Ellie just took your face on her hands and brought you close, kissing you... It was soft, innocent and good... You lost yourself in her lips for a few seconds, savoring every moment of it...

"Ellie, you there?" - Joel knocked on the door and you immediately separated from her, what made you sad for a moment, missing that feeling...

Joel opens the door to see the two of you with your faces looking like a tomato.... He doesn't ask anything but imagines what possibly happened... yeah, Ellie is growing up...

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Two: [Chemo & Charisma]

Summary: Jake arrives in Rhode Island to accompany his three kids back to Houston Texas the next morning. He expects it to be slightly awkward, but something he doesn’t expect is to be cryptically seduced by you—his ex wife.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Cancer Diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Separation. Marriage issues. Mentions of death. Minor smut (18+)

Word Count: 4.6k

Author Note: Thank you for all the love and support around this series so far. It truly has been an awesome experience getting to create this storyline with you all. I'm excited to see how you all react as the chapters come out. Your concepts, theories and reactions are truly making my December that much better.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Turbulence…it can mean anything from a few little bumps to a catastrophic weather system that could knock your flying tin can right out of the air. In Surgery they call it a complication, the surgeons hit a snag, a bump in the road. Turbulence. 

In your marriage, you called it Separation. One of the most unpredictable things about encountering turbulence is its aftermath. Everything’s been shaken up, undone, turned on its head. So you ask yourself time and time again, if you had the choice to avoid the plane crash, the turbulence altogether, would you take it? Would you play it safe and cancel the flight? Or would you get onboard and take your chances. 

“Dad!” Little Lucy Seresin was just the spitting image of you and your grandmother. She was every bit you except for those big emerald green eyes. “Dad—!” You could see Jake making his way towards you and your three children through the crowd, all standing around your legs waiting for their father. The one who gave all three of your children those piercing emerald eyes that held what seemed like all the secrets in the universe. “Mum! Dads here! Dads here!” 

“I see him sweetheart, there’s daddy.” You replied to your six year old, who, before you even had a chance to stop the only daughter of Jake Seresin, took off running across the crowded airport welcoming area towards her dad. You knew it had been far too long since Jake had been able to see his children, but you also knew it wasn't entirely his fault. The Navy was unpredictable as it was reliable. 

“Hiya Lulu!” Jake smiled as wild as he could as he dropped to his knee to embrace the six year old human he’d helped create. “Oh I missed you sweetheart.” That much was true, Jake Seresin missed his kids every day that passed him by. You watched on with six year old Lennox by your side and two year old Samuel on your hip as Jake picked his daughter up and carried her back over to where you stood patiently waiting. “Lenny, how you going man?” Jake beamed as he tousled his eldest son's hair. “Far out kid, you shoot up any more and you’ll be taller than your mother.” You smiled at the dig unintentionally, before you knew you were smiling Jake had seen the corners of your lips turn upright into an unmissable smile. 

“Mums says I’m growing like an inch a day because I eat all my green beans at dinner.” Jake took a moment to place Lucy back on solid ground before he came up back up to meet your gaze. It had been a few weeks since you had called Jake about your Christmas plans. He still wasn’t sure how to feel about them, deep down he wanted to tell you not to go. Deep down he was screaming at the top of his lungs for you to give him another chance, to come with him and the kids to his mothers for Christmas. But Jake knew better than to make a scene in front of the kids. But that didn't mean he couldn't be petty when he wanted to be just to get a rise out of you. 

“Is that so?” Jake beamed that signature Seresin grin you’d fallen for back in college when he was captain of the football team and you were just that meek library dweller. He made you feel so much more than just the shy history buff you’d been back then, Jake Seresin had taught you a lot of things about yourself in the time you’d been his best friend and wife, now ex. Nowadays however you often caught yourself wondering if he’d miss you if you didn’t make it through the battle you were facing. The battle you hadn’t told anyone about except your mum. The battle that took all your strength to keep a secret close to your chest. The battle that was draining you or all your strength and energy. The battle that late at night you wish you could just end early. 

Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma. Triple positive meaning that your specific cancer fed off oestrogen, progesterone and HER2 hormones. Lucky you right? Your first lumpectomy went rather well, but you were facing twelve weeks of chemotherapy treatment. Three oral tablets daily and two full days of IV sessions a week. 

However, you were taking measures into your own hands as of tomorrow and were scheduled to be back in hospital for double mastectomy. You didn't want to wait and see if the cancer would spread and wanted every single bit out. But Jake was none the wiser about your medical status and assumed that you were off to Canada with friends for a white Christmas in Banff Alberta. 

“Well—“ Jake carefully took little two year old Sammy from your grasp and placed his tied sleeping self on his own jean clad hip. “Mums are always right.” Jake quickly followed up as he looked down at Lenny. “There’s gonna be a ton of green beans at Grandma's house so you might overtake her quicker than anticipated buddy.” Jake gave the youngest of the three Seresin siblings a kiss on the cheek before he fully turned his attention to you. “Hey Hon—“ The way Jake stopped himself from finishing his sentence made your heart sink into the pit in your stomach. “Y/n, hey Y/n.” He corrected himself quickly as he picked up his duffel bag from the ground next to where he stood before you. “You look well.” 

Oh if only Jake truly knew what you had to do in order to look well. The countless hours you spent throwing your guts up in the middle of the night. The sleepless nights that turned into days. The loss of appetite that had you dropping weight faster than you could blink. Your diagnosis had been quick but your symptoms had been even quicker to take over your daily life.  You kicked yourself every day for not getting yourself to a doctor sooner. 

“Yeah, I’ve been doing alright—“ Things used to be so easy with Jake, now he was standing here before you in the middle of the airport bustling with people going to and from for the holiday season and you swore he looked like someone you didn’t even know. “The kiddos keep me busy, don’t you?” You asked Lucy as she reached out for your hand and looked at you like you were telling lies. 

“Mums been sick.” She told her father confidently, like you weren’t about to die then and there on the spot from embarrassment. Little Lucy had a bad habit of throwing you and Jake under the bus with one another. “She said it’s just a cold, but she’s been sick for like four whole weeks.” Lucy didn’t know any better than what you had always told her, that you had the flu. A long flu at that. As soon as you’d get the kids off to school you’d head right back to bed and sleep. The medication your doctors had you on was pretty brutal, and chemotherapy didn’t help although you’d only just started that kind of oral treatment. It packed a punch you couldn't handle.

“Oh?” Jake frowned as the five of you all made your way through the airport and out towards the car park. “Mum didn’t tell me she was sick, if I had known I would have come sooner.” Jake looked at you like he was trying to read the lines on your face. He could tell you were tied, more than normal—but despite that knowledge he’d never say it out loud. His grandmother would roll over in her damn grave if Jake ever dared to point out a woman’s under eye bags or her tired expression. So he went with ‘well’. 

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” You didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, but you knew by the hurt look on Jake’s face that it had struck an exposed nerve. He never wanted to separate. “What I meant was, I’m fine, Lulu here sees a runny nose and thinks it’s the end of days, I would have called you if I needed help.” 

“Fair, I mean—you can’t be that sick right? With your big trip to Banff planned and all.” Jake shrugged it off like his heart wasn’t breaking inside his chest. This was about to be his first Christmas separated from the women he loved more than life itself. Being in North Island made it easier to run from his problems, but the minute he got on that flight he was back inside his own head, rewinding and rethinking everything he ever did wrong to drive you away. 

“Right—“ You agreed softly beside the man you loved so deeply that it burned. “Yeah, I’m just so thankful you were so happy to take the kids with you to your mothers house this year.” To be perfectly honest you were expecting Jake to push back, ask more questions, be a little standoffish on the idea of you not being there for the kids on Christmas. But he never did, and you didn’t know what hurt more. 

“They’re my kids as much as they’re yours—kinda think it’s the least I can do considering you’ve had them all year round.” It was the tone you didn’t appreciate, the almost passive aggressive attitude that made you frown as you walked with Jake and your kids back to your car. 

“You can see the kids anytime you like.” You tried to keep your head level, but the way Jake had said it made you question his motives. “I’d never stop you, if you wanna have them more often I’m sure we can—“ 

“Wasn’t that a big part of the reason you wanted to separate?” Jake interrupted before you had a chance to finish what you were saying. You were about to say perhaps you could come up with a custody agreement. Something on paper that seemed fair to the both of you that took your work schedules into consideration as well as your living conditions, the kids schooling, holidays and extended family. You were happy to discuss it more, but this year that had passed the both of you by had gone in the blink of an eye. “You were stuck with the kids too much? Seems a little counter intuitive considering you’ve become their primary caregiver.” 

“Jake—“ You sighed with a longing he’d missed. “Not in front of the kids, alright?” You were trying your best, truly. But here he was in all his glory, the love of your life and father of your children, telling you that you made a mistake just in a different kind of font. “We can talk about it all when we get home.” 

“I’m not doing anything in front of the kids—“ Jake shrugged as he watched you unlock the car. “I’m just trying to understand why you can’t just admit why you really left.” Jake knew why you left, because of him. He knew he hadn’t done enough in your marriage to show you how much he loved you. He just wanted to hear you say it. That you didn’t love him anymore. He wanted you to tell him point blank that you had fallen out of love with him.

But you could never say that, because you never stopped loving him. 

“You know why—“ You had to bite the inside of your cheek and grit your teeth to stop yourself from yelling, Jake Seresin after all these years still managed to get under your skin with ease. “Again, not in front of the kids, let’s just get home.” 

“You seem frustrated.” Jake teased with that award winning grin, he knew exactly what he was doing. You always took the bait. 

“Yeah, you’ve been here for five minutes and I’m already over it.” If you had rolled your eyes any harder than you did you would have fallen over. 

“Little harsh—“ Jake chuckled as he placed Sammy into his booster seat, the little buckles that used to give him a hard time when the twins were younger were seamlessly clipped up in seconds. Jake made sure his youngest was safe and secure before he stood and turned his full undivided attention back to you. “I’ve missed you.” He said genuinely with a love so strong inside his heart you could nearly feel the warmth as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and drew you in for a hug. “It’s good to see you, even if it’s just for one night before you go jet setting.” 

With little hesitation you melted into the man you had married all those years ago with ease. Jake was your home, your guiding light. This past year had been rough without him and you knew deep down it had been rough for him too. 

But sometimes love just wasn’t enough to save a marriage. 

“Yeah—yeah it’s good to see you.” Jake felt your arms wrap around his torso as you let your cheek rest on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too.” Jake’s scent had alway brought comfort to you, the overwhelming warmth of cedarwood and notes of vanilla bourbon always calmed you, grounded you in reality. “I’m uh—“ You wanted to tell him the truth about what was going on, but you just couldn’t do that to him. You couldn’t ask that much of him. Not after everything you’d both been through over the last year. “I’m just happy you’re here for the kids.” 

“Mum! Lennox won’t let me have the window seat!” 

“I’m older than you!” Lennox argued back as Jake groaned into your neck. Oh how he’d missed you, missed the kids, missed his family. North Island was great but without the four of you? Something was always missing. A piece of Jake was always missing. 

“I’m not just here for the kids.” Jake pulled away at the sound of Lenny and Lucy arguing in the back seat over who was taking the middle seat. “But they’re a bonus, Honey.” He winked as he switched into dad mode and dropped his voice an octave or two. “Stop arguing, I’ll flip a coin.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Oh woah—“ Jake's eyes lit up as he walked through the front door of the home you’d recently finished moving into. He’d only ever seen it over FaceTime. “It’s bigger than it looked.” The little giggle you let out as you passed him by didn’t go unnoticed. Dirty bird, Jake thought to himself as his eyes lingered down to your ass as you walked ahead of him. 

“It’s enough for me and the kids with a spare room.” You replied as Jake continued to look around. Reminisce of cardboard boxes used in your move still remained scattered around the place. “The kids still wanted to put up the Christmas tree even though they aren’t gonna be here.” 

“Mama said Santa will know that we’re spending it with Grandma and Grandpa and will take all our presents there.” Lucy caught Jake's attention as she barreled into the living room where the Christmas tree stood tall and proud, decorated with mismatched decorations that you and Jake had collected over the years either from stores or the kids' school crafts. “She also said I could give this to you when you came to stay the night.” Lucy explained as she dropped to her knees and reached under the tree to where a perfectly wrapped gift labelled with Jake's name on it sat. “It’s from mum.” 

“Lucy May—“ You nearly hissed as you padded into the living room. “Don’t tell lie’s please.” You pointed, the deal had been you’d get Jake one present and one present only knowing he probably wouldn’t have gotten you anything, and that you’d tell him it was from the kids until he opened it. “You tell your dad who it’s from.” Jake knew by the smirk that crept across his daughter’s face he recognised as his own, that it was from you. Lucy didn’t have to say another word. But she did regardless. 

“It’s from me and Lenny.” She replied as Jake sat on the couch he used to sleep on during those nights the two of you couldn’t sleep in the same bed. Those nights where the two of you needed space and those nights where he thought he was doing the right thing by you and giving it to you. He sat on the couch that felt unfamiliar now and took the present his daughter gave him with grace. “Lenny! Dad’s opening our present!” 

“What present?” Lennox frowned as he walked into the living room trying to carry two year old Sam. “Oh! Mums present.” 

“Lennox!” You groaned aloud in utter defeat. 

All Jake could do was laugh to himself as he looked over at you. You were as beautiful as ever, his one and only love. How the fuck did things get so messy where you had to use your children as scapegoats. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine—I know it’s from the kids Honey.” Jake winked as you rolled your eyes and headed on into the kitchen where you were getting organised to cook dinner. You were starting to feel awfully tired–the oral chemotherapy was starting to make you feel sicker than you had been before you knew what was going on. A double edged sword really, you keep taking the pills? You get so sick you die. You stop taking the chemotherapy tablets? You get so sick you die. Either way you were dying or you convinced yourself you were. 

But Jake could never know that, your kids could never know that, so you went about your routine as normally as you could without making a fuss. 

“I might save this for when we get to Grandmas, I wouldn't wanna not have anything to open on Christmas morning Lulu.” Jake smiled as he brought her in for a hug between his legs. “I love you all so much.” 

“We love you too dad.” Lucy replied as she hugged Jake back. “Mum loves you too.” 

“Oh does she now?” Jake knew that putting all his faith in a six year old probably wasn't the best thing he could do, but right now as he held her in his arms, the little girl the two of you had created–he did. He trusted her to tell the truth you wouldn't, because you wouldn't lie and tell him you didn't love him either. “Guess I'll just have to take your word for it then, won't I?” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Jake Seresin had always been a good dad, you had never questioned him on his ability to go above and beyond for his children. That was something you never had to worry about. As you plated up dinner, the laughter of your three children coming from the living room made you smile to yourself. They were loved so fiercely. 

“Alright, let's get ready for dinner, yeah? Mums been cooking up a storm in here.” Jake rounded the corner with Sam hand in hand. “Smells so damn good in here.” You again smiled to yourself as Jake can to stand beside you at the kitchen counter, watching as you scooped some pasta bake onto five plates. 

“When's the last time you had a home cooked meal?” It was a simple question but Jake really had to think about it for a moment as he reached over to steal a cucumber slice from the chopped salad.

“Does food from the bar count?” He asked with a half cocked smile, knowing full well that Penny's burgers and fries wouldn’t be considered home cooked in your opinion. 

“No–” You grinned as Jake leaned in from behind you, trapping you between him and the counter with both arms encompassing you. “No, when's the last time it was a home cooked meal?” Jake didn't reply right away, he simply inhaled your scent slowly from behind you and took in the comforting scent of elderberry and juniper. He missed that all encompassing feeling, that safe and warming feeling of your presence. 

“Uh—probably the last time you cooked for me.” Jake noticed the moment you paused at his words, the revelation that you were having. “And it was probably pasta bake, with salad and pork chops, like what we’re having right now.” 

“It’s always your favourite—“ It was clear from the very beginning that both you and Jake were getting caught in the moment. But as his hands slowly make their way from the counter top to hips, you know you were too far gone to press the pause button. “Jacob—“ 

“I'm a simple man.” Jake cooed as he brought one of his hands up to move your hair from one side of your neck. “Lucy tells me you love me.” 

“She’s got a pretty wild imagination that daughter of ours.” You teased as Jake pressed his lips against your neck in a sweet gesture of gratitude for the woman who gave him three beautiful children. “You need to stop—“ You sighed into Jake's warm embrace as he pulled away and let his chin fall to your shoulder. “I don’t know where or what you've been in recently.” 

“I think she said her name was Vanessa.” Jake taunted as he held you tightly from behind. He felt you tense in his embrace at the very idea he’d been with someone other than you. But you couldn’t hold it against him, not now, the pair of you were separated. You held no claim on the man you had left in favour of putting yourself first. 

But that didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt. 

“Vanessa a name I should remember?” You asked with a little attitude in your tone Jake caught immediately. He couldn’t help but to smirk at the idea you were a little jealous of his very infrequent conquests. He loved you to the end of the world but this was such a frustrating situation to be in. What was a guy supposed to do? Be celebate in hopes his wife came running back? 

“Nope—“ Jake reassured you with another kiss to the neck. “I’m not ready to let you go, I thought maybe I could if I just leaned into the whole thing, whatever it is that we’re doing, but I’m just not ready to let you go.” 

“Have you?” Jake had to clear his throat when he asked. “Been with anyone, that is?” 

“Do you think between work, raising three kids with your DNA and missing you that I’d have time to get laid?” You knew what Jake would latch onto, the part where you said you missed him. You saw the light in his eye as you turned in his embrace to face him with a mischievous smile plastered across your face. 

“You miss me?” Yes. Yes you did. With all your might you missed him everyday and every night. But it didn’t change what the two of you became. 

“Don’t try your luck—“ You argued, shrugging Jake's query off like the answer was obvious. To him it was, you did miss him. Other sailors tend to recognise other sailors on the sea and Jake missed you tenfold. 

“Oh I’m feeling like the luckiest guy in the whole world right now.” You could feel Jake pressing himself against you, silently but not so subtly telling you exactly what this whole encounter was doing to him. 

“Really? Is that so?” You asked like you weren’t aware of the rock hard erection pressing against your pelvis. Jake just pressed his lips together in an attempt to hold off the crimson red from creeping up his neck and cheeks. But he wasn’t backing down from a challenge, especially when you were leaving all the right doors unlocked for him to walk right through. 

“So lucky that I couldn’t help but to notice the spare bed hasn’t even been made up?” 

“Oh so you assumed I’d be your personal chef and the maid tonight?” You countered as you looked around for your three small children, not wanting to expose them to such x-rated content before you slowly but surely sunk your hand into the sweatpants Jake had recently changed into. Damn those grey sweats and damn Jake for going commando. “You are perfectly capable of making your own bed.” 

The way your palm wrapped around his length sent sparks through Jake's body like nothing he’d ever felt before. Your touch was so beautiful and elegant, like you knew exactly what he needed and where he wanted it. 

“Or I could just sleep in yours, with you.” Jake nearly begged as your fist slid up and down his hardened length, feeling him twitch under your control. “Honey—“ He nearly moaned as he fell forward into you, letting his forehead rest against yours. “You’re killing me here.” 

“What don’t you get about the fact we’re separated?” You asked almost teasingly like you weren’t pumping him slowly as dinner cooled on the counter behind you while your kids played in the living room. 

“For as long as you have my last name, you’re my wife, end of story.” Butterflies, that’s how you’d describe the feeling inside you when Jake, your somewhat ex husband, told you you were still his. You never wanted to not be his, but you were sure that Vanessa maybe wondered if she’d ever be his too. 

“Oh you are so full of yourself.” You slowly but surely pulled your hand out from Jake’s sweats and watched him nearly deflate at the loss of sensation, but he never missed a beat, Jake was quick like that, he always had been. 

“You could be full of me too if you just let your guard down a little.” 

“Jake!!” You slapped his chest firmly as your kids all rushed in at the smell of food. 

“I’ll take my stuff upstairs shall I?” He grinned ear to ear, knowing by the way your jaw remained on the ground he had you hook, line and sinker. 

“Yeah, you can, to the spare room you idiot.” You watched as Jake fixed himself up and headed in the direction of the stairs. You were still so in love with this man. 

“Lenny! Where’s your mothers room?” Jake turned to your eldest son who always knew that the two of you were going to make it through whatever this rough patch was. He had friends who had divorced parents, and even at the young age of six, Lennox knew his parents didn’t hate each other. 

“Upstairs to the left, it’s the messy one.” You gave your son the stink eye as he beamed up at you. 

“Perfect.” Jake chuckled and sent you a wink. “I’ll be right back.” He was getting laid tonight and you both knew it. 

“I’m—“ You hardly had the energy to keep your whole hard to get act up, so with a sigh, you let your guard down for the man who held your heart in the palm of his hands. “You’re unbelievably.” 

“I’ve been told by the youth on base it’s called Rizz now.” Jake yelled back as he jogged up the wooden stairs, you could just barely hear him as his voice faded the higher he climbed. But nevertheless, you still heard him. 

“Well I can’t wait to get both you and your ‘rizz’ out of my house!” You shouted back, Lenny just laughed as he watched his Dad pull a funny face at your words from the top of the stairs. 

“You don’t mean that.” He smiled up at you. “You and dad love each other.” It made your heart skip a beat, but you had to remember that you were playing a dangerous game here. Letting Jake in now would only break his heart more. You had to do what was best for you, and that was to remain separate. At least while you were fighting for your life. 

“Maybe, but he’s still a pain in my ass Lenny.” 

***~****~****~***~***~***

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 91 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @lafrone @fanficfandomlove ve @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog @goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination

[iwas-princess]

You ABSOLUTELY should write about atsumu's boobs!!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

writing abt them again bc they’re j so great

miya atsumu • not at the dinner table

“if i’d known how much ‘ya’d love my tits, i woulda upped my weights a long time ago, sugar.”

your cheeks heated as you blushed at him, slightly flustered that he’d bring up such a topic while eating.

well, to be fair, you were also burning holes into them at the dinner table and practically drooling on your plate. it was only a matter of time before he would say anything.

you nudged a green bean with your fork, rolling it around your half empty plate. your eyes flicked down to the discarded vegetable, avoiding getting caught looking for too long in fear of his growing ego.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘tsumu.” you lied, your voice wavering slightly in hesitation.

he scoffed, lightheartedly but taken aback by your lie. his own eyes dropped down, but instead of staring at his own plate, he mirrored your previous actions by admiring the cleavage of your tank top.

“not that i blame ‘ya for staring, i can hardly keep my own eyes away from yer tits too.” he mumbled, ignoring your previous attempt at fibbing.

you swallowed thickly at your boyfriend’s flirtatious comment, suddenly finding it hard to sit still as you began to rub your thighs together mindlessly.

he quieted, his gaze locked on your supple breasts spilling over the lowly cut fabric and giving him an eyeful. he silently thanked himself for choosing to lounge in nothing but sweatpants today or else the topic of breasts might have not been excusable at the table, if it wasn’t for your wondering eyes continuously checking out atsumu’s bare chest.

“can i, maybe, touch them after?” you mumbled, your voice shy and unsteady.

his ears perked up at your sheepish behavior, watching you in amusement as you fidgeted with your food nervously.

he always admired how shy you got when it came to sexual related questions, acting as if you being the filthiest slut he’s ever fucked wasn’t reality. as if you weren’t begging him last night to fill you up with his cum. or as if slobber wasn’t dripping down your chin and coating his heavy balls as you took all of him down you greedy throat yesterday morning.

he found it impossible for him to go one day without burying himself inside of you at least once, the sight of someone so sweet having the filthiest desires keeping his sex drive at all time high.

he never in a million years expected his precious babygirl to be so desperate over a pair of enlarged muscles, especially on his chest. atsumu was always big, but fuck, ever since he increased his weight training he’s been insatiable.

beforehand, you and atsumu would fuck each other five days a week, regulating a healthy sex life that kept the both of you more than satisfied with your busy work schedules. but, ever since you discovered this new kink of yours, it’s been impossible to keep your hands and mouth to yourself.

something about the way his hardened nipple felt in your mouth with your cheek pressed comfortably against his plump breast as you contently suckled, made your brain short circuit. the sensation was so serene yet incredibly sexy, and also deeply addictive— to both parties.

because even though your cocky boyfriend likes to let you believe that he only ever indulges in this kink of yours for your pleasure, he secretly enjoys if just as much as you do.

your mouth had always drove him mad, either it be wrapped around his cock or pressed against his lips, atsumu had always daydreamed about the wicked things that your filthy mouth could do for him. now, it’s even worse. watching your lashes flutter shut as you relaxed against the cushiony flesh, your lips wrapped tightly around his blush nipple and lazily suckling as you both winded down for the evening, was always the main thought that occupied his horny brain as he worked out every morning. the amount of times that he accidentally caused himself to pop an unwanted boner was beyond recording at the point.

“ya’d love that, wouldn’t ‘ya, princess?” he teased.

of course he was going to let you suckle on them later, it was his new favorite passtime. but, poking some fun at you beforehand can’t cause any harm.

your breathing caught in your throat, long lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks as you fluttered your eyes closed in longing.

atsumu’s teasing never failed to rile you up, no matter how vulgar he could be. in fact, you’ve found that the meaner, the better. he always repays you with soft aftercare anyway to heal any possible mental wounds that his words may have caused.

he chuckled at your reaction.

“are ‘ya going to ask correctly, princess?”

you gathered yourself rather quickly, knowing well enough that if you don’t give him a direct answer quickly, you would have to opt for another form of pleasure.

“pl-please, ‘tsumu. let me suck on your tits tonight, i’ll be a good girl.” you embarrassedly pleaded, your ears and neck turning red with humiliation.

the tint of your flushed skin caused a spark of corruption to jolt through atsumu’s cock, the electric feeling causing the organ to twitch in his sweatpants. he spread his legs farther under the glass table, attempting to make himself comfortable with a massive hard on.

“can’t really deny ‘ya when ask so pretty like that, now can i?”

[peachdues]

HASHIRA PERFUME PREFERENCES

HEADCANONS

A/N: this came from my unhealthy perfume obsession. Don't @ me.

MITSURI KANROJI

Perfume: Killian PARIS Love, Don't Be Shy

Notes: orange blossom, vanilla absolute, luscious marshmallow

Sweet like candy, yet warm like a thousand kitten cuddles. This is the perfume Rihanna wears, and honestly, while I wasn't a fan of it on me, I do love the scent!

KYOJURO RENGOKU

Perfume: Replica's By the Fireplace

Notes: clove oil, chestnut accord, vanilla accord Literally smells like a crackling fireplace and marshmallow. I'm so in love with this fragrance, it's on my rotation in the fall (I have a leather jacket collection so mixing this on them in the cold is MAGIC). Of course I see our flame boy smelling like a literal cozy fireplace and GOD I could bury my nose between his tiddies forever.

SHINOBU KOCHO

Perfume: NEST New York's Wisteria Bleu ♔ Glossier You

I know the Wisteria perfume is a bit on the nose, but given our girl's development of the wisteria poison, it just seemed to fit! Plus this scent is just delightful. Key notes: French wisteria, watery notes, Bulgarian rose, imperial jasmine

That said, I can also see Shinobu as the type to gravitate towards skin scents -- especially as a doctor, she doesn't want to overwhelm anyone's senses, so she prefers scents that are more natural. So I also think she'd be a fan of Glossier You

Notes: pink pepper, abrox, iris

SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA

We actually know what Sanemi smells like canonically -- matcha tea and ohagi!

So in that spirit, I'm going with Matcha Meditation by Replica

Notes: Bergamot Essence, Matcha Accord, Moss Accord.

BUT there's another scent that I 1000% believe Sanemi would wear in the modern age, and it's super affordable: Dossier's Ambery Saffron

Top notes: saffron, orange blossom ♔ middle notes: jasmine, plum, cedarwood ♔ base: oakmoss, fir balsam, amber

I bought this for myself and loved it, but on my husband??? I go feral for it. It smells so fucking good on him, and it's an instant panty-dropper for me. And since Sanemi is the one 2D character I would happily bend over for, it fits.

GYOMEI HIMEJIMA

Tom Ford’s Ebene Fume

Notes: Palo Santo smoke, stoked by the warm elegance of cistus absolute, enticing black pepper, and notes of ebony wood, captured in sleek, sublime notes of leather.

Diptyque L’eau Papier or Tam Daisy EDT

L’eau papier notes: White musks, Mimosa, Blonde woods accord, Rice steam accord. I mean, tell me this doesn’t SCREAM our favorite Stone Pillar???? 

Tam Daisy EDT: Sandalwood, cedar, cypress, and myrtle 

Again, Gyomei SCREAMS diptqyue ok. So earthy and refined and quiet luxury

UZUI TENGEN

The flashiest Pillar deserves the flashiest cologne — and by “flashy,” I mean in terms of both scent profile AND price.

Obviously he is a Tom Ford whore. 

Most likely cologne: Tom Ford’s Cherry Smoke. This scent is literally described as “hedonistic” and it’s so correct. 

Notes: Cherry Smoke plays with fire, bursting with the scent of dark cherry, ignited by seductive osmanthus and smoldering, smoked woods.

while we’re at it: Tom Ford’s Fucking Fabulous. I mean, it’s in the name. 

Notes: leather, tonka bean, and sage 

tell me this man isn’t the best-smelling Hashira in the Corps I DARE you 

GIYUU TOMIOKA

Okay I feel like this man smells like CITRUS and he’s absolutely delectable. 

So that said — Oyedo by Diptyque 

Notes: yuzu, green tangerine, thyme, and raspberry  I’m sorry this man smells like earthy fruity citrus and you can’t convince me otherwise. There’s also a hint of the aquatic in there, since he’s, y’know, the Water Pillar. And this scent is DIVINE. 

I also see Giyuu having something with ginger as a major note — so that said, Chanel’s Bleu de Chanel

Notes: Citrus Accord, Labdanum, Sandalwood Cedar

MUICHIRO TOKITO

Baby is 14. He does not know fine scents/perfumes that well.

That said, I think he’s going for something lowkey and likely no-fuss (if he wears a scent at all). He’s going to smell like soap and something fresh and clean. 

So I think the safest bet is Bubble Bath by Replica 

Notes: Soap Bubble Accord, Rose Superessence, White Musk, Coconut Milk Accord

Tagging @xxsabitoxx who is a mutual perfume whore like me

[deceptive-daydreams]

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

Smoke Signals

Chapter Twelve - The Holiday Season Begins

W/C: 8.7K

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

"I've got my eye on you."

Say Yes To Heaven - L.D.R

A/N: Wow I think this is the longest I've gone without posting a chapter. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. I wrote it in bits and pieces and read it over several times. I would really really really love to know what you think, this one is so special and personal to me.

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Sugary apple goo.

You think back to Thanksgiving back home, a ruckus constant in the kitchen as dinner is prepared, more than enough food to feed an entire village.  Pots and pans clank together, trays create an echo as they are not-so-carefully placed atop the counter.  Dinner rolls are burned but still enjoyed with warm cinnamon butter.  The potatoes are a touch too lumpy but still desirable with notes of rosemary and an ungodly amount of garlic.  Various smells, both sweet and savory flood the house, your poor, stressed out mother churning out dish after dish, siblings all engaged in some kind of ball game out in the street just after watching the Thanksgiving Day parade.  

You tend to the green bean casserole, an easy dish that you couldn’t screw up even with your limited attention span.  Cream of Mushroom soup from a can seemed so repulsive in itself although it brought the whole dish together.  It didn’t matter that seconds prior it slumped against the green beans still in the shape of the can, nearly gelatinous.  Once stirred in and baked with crispy onions layered over the top, it was a masterpiece.  A five star dish in your book.

It would only be a matter of time before grandma showed up with her famously delicious apple pie, the crust coated in extra amounts of grainy sugar, the dish still piping hot.  And the “sugary apple goo” as you used to call it at the age of three already had your mouth watering just thinking about it, crispy apples so fresh and topped with syrupy caramelized sauce topped off with cinnamon and nutmeg, all wrapped up in a flaky, buttery crust.  

You sigh, piling the apple mixture on top of the homemade graham cracker crust.  It wasn’t clear to you just how lonely Thanksgiving morning would be without anyone around.  Sure, you had Donnie’s to look forward to this evening but until then, you were on your own, the parade quietly playing on the TV though you hadn’t been very impressed with the floats this year.  Holiday depression was kicking in, a kind you hadn’t experienced yet.  They were usually always a happy time, family surrounding you and distracting you from the lonesome thoughts you usually had.  This year it started feeling more like a ton of bricks was sitting on your chest, no one able to aid in providing you with some kind of task such as the honor of making the green bean casserole to ease the pressure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t just make the controversially delicious dish, you had everything stashed in the pantry.  It just didn’t feel right.  It went unnoticed by you that tears were slowly sliding down your cheeks until a fat one landed on your wrist as you finished spooning the apple filling.  

Again?

In that moment you swear you looked the most pitiful you had ever looked in your entire life, tears trailing down your face silently, all alone, homesick.  You should be in your pajamas playing some kind of a board game on the coffee table in the living room, surrounded by your siblings.  Not throwing yourself a pity party while spreading apple goo.  To top it off, your hands had gotten completely covered, the sauce making your fingers undesirably sticky.  You hadn’t quite reached the point of sobs yet though you suppose if you let the goo linger on your hands any longer you would.

Some comforting folk music your grandpa used to play religiously rang through the house though you felt no such comfort.  Not as much as you’d hoped anyway.  It brought a familiar sense of his essence to you, his passing three years ago not settling right in your heart.  It only made you more homesick.

But you weren’t going to let yourself soak in salty tears and sticky apples.  No, you washed your hands in soothing warm water, the sludge sliding right off and into the metal of the sink, eyes puffy and red but void of tears for the time being.  You’d sucked them back and changed the music to something more upbeat, some Elvis that your grandpa had also engrained deeply into your brain though you hoped the faster tempo would brighten your spirits and ignite the happy memories.

Only, it landed you on the couch in a whole new sea of sobs this time as Unchained Melody lingered in the lonely room.  There was no getting a grip on the gut-wrenching, stomach-aching isolation you were feeling, sanity was long gone.  You were supposed to be trimming the dough that was meant to create the criss cross pattern for the pie, you were supposed to be enjoying your glass of wine as you sang under your breath to familiar tunes, you were supposed to be okay.  

It was you, after all, who had made the decision to move, right?  It was you who picked up your entire life and plopped it right in the middle of some unknown mountain town in search of yourself.  You feared that you were just losing yourself instead, forgetting just after a few months what it felt like to be surrounded by loved ones, forgetting how it felt to come home to a full house after a grueling shift at the local Denny’s.  You smelled of burnt coffee and dry eggs, your hair greasier than the literal grease trap, but none of that mattered the second you stepped into the coziness of the living room, all family dysfunction left at the door.

The tears wouldn’t stop though you still managed to force yourself off of the couch, wiping snot away with the back of your hand as you stared at the messy kitchen in despair.  Everything suddenly seemed so…impossible.  How were you meant to do anything while simultaneously questioning your entire existence, your entire meaning of life?

You had been in such disarray that cleaning up as you went didn’t even seem close to an option, nearly every pot and pan either set on top of the stove or thrown in the sink, whisks and spatulas scattered among the mess, and apple skins littering the floor.  Now you were taking in the aftermath, not even having the finished product to show as an excuse for the complete disaster, even the dough still rolled out on the cutting board.  You had hours left to prepare though it felt like seconds ticking by to inevitable disappointment.  

The end of the world felt like it weighed down on your shoulders yet you did what you did best each time.  You set it aside and pressed on.  It was never simple, weak hands grasping the dull knife, slicing through the dough to create uniform strips.  Motivation was running dry, the desire to grace everyone with the most delicious apple pie they’d ever tasted was out the window, you could only do what your body allowed.

And like every other time you had to pull yourself out of the gutter.  Life began to bleed back into your eyes as your creation came back to life.  Puffiness still remained throughout your face, eyes still droopy but slowly your drive kicked back into gear.  Sniffles from previous snotty tears continued but nothing felt better than laying down the last layer of dough over the apple filling, a quest conquered.  

Finishing off your cheap red wine, you reward yourself by licking off the spoon you’d used for the filling.  The kitchen still required a good scrub down but you could live with the mess a little while longer as you indulged in the sweetness.  Something well deserved.  You didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that Christmas was about to become, decorating your tree with only the company of your dreaded thoughts.  That was a scenario you were not willing to wander into, at least not until it would actually happen.  There was no sense in making yourself live through it twice, your brain longing to torture you with irrational possibilities.

Elvis’s voice continues to carry through the living room, a second glass of wine being poured in hopes of easing your homesickness, attempting to neglect thoughts of what you would usually be doing right now.  It was barely working, only leaving you feeling slightly lazy with a good layer of sadness still looming over you like a storm cloud.  There was no extinguishing the sorrows you felt for familiarity and the comfort the holidays were supposed to bring you.

Sudden knocking sends you into a brief panic, unexpected guests were not in the cards for your lonesome morning that had only served to encourage your crybaby tendencies.  At the very least you got a pie out of it.

The knocking persists as you scramble up from your depressing divot on the couch, a certain urgency waving over you at the speed of the knocks.  They were rapid, quick pecks at the wood, a worrisome speed that usually constituted an emergency in the end.  

Why today, why now?

With a heavy sigh, you swing the door open, glass of half-finished wine in one hand while the other runs down your drained face.  You expect some kind of eviction notice; god knows why since you own the place.  Maybe the check hadn’t reached the mortgage company, maybe it had been intercepted in transit.  The last thing you expect on your doorstep is a wide-eyed Eddie cradling a large bowl in one arm.  His gray sweatpants swallow his legs and hang low on his hips, a sliver of his tummy on display in between his t-shirt and pants.

It’s conflicting.  Do you act concerned and start begging the questions:  Did something happen?  Who’s injured?  Or do you exhale in relief as a tiny smile tugs at the corners of his mouth even in his somewhat distressed state?  It can’t be that bad if he still finds it in himself to smile, right?

“I, uh, I need help.”  He says sheepishly.

Ever since the night of the hoedown, he’d been a new kind of shy with you.  You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t adore it because truth be told, big bad Eddie Munson who previously chewed you out for being so bashful was now getting a taste of his own medicine.  Except you had been much kinder than he initially was, though it was fun to tease him and force his face to turn a vibrant tomato red.  

“Help?”  You smirk, swirling your wine as if you were some kind of connoisseur.  “My, my, how the tables have turned.”

“Bambi.”  He groans, still maintaining focused eye contact with the wood planks of your porch.

“Eddie.”  

It’s said so softly, in a way that reduces him to a puddle, his knees could give out at any moment if you so much as looked at him a certain way which had been why he refused to catch your gaze.  He internally curses himself for automatically counting under his breath, unable to stop himself: one, two, three, one, two, three.

In an instant your face falls, he only ever counted when he was stressed from what you could gather.  It was a learning curve, navigating Eddie’s quirks.

“Hey.”  You soothe, gingerly grabbing his wrist with your free hand.  “Hey, what’s wrong?”  

His curls bounce with a shake of his head, his eyes fluttering shut.  The counting stops but he still comes across as fuzzy.  Disoriented.  

“Come inside.”  You whisper, gently tugging him through the door, your wine abandoned at the entry table in the process.  “It’s freezing out.”

Instinctually he hands you the bowl he’d been cradling close to his body with a wooden spoon sticking out.  Upon further inspection, a mountain of mashed potatoes-or should you say lumps of potatoes are piled up within the bowl.  The skins are still intact, way too many if he intended to make smooth and creamy potatoes.  They’d be much less than enjoyable in the state they were currently in.

“I fucked them up.”  He whispers.

The sight you’re met with is that of a small child in a grown man’s body, his large eyes pleading.  You’re forced to realize that today may very well be much worse for him than it is for you.  He’d warned you that he didn’t do holidays and here he was, a nervous wreck turning up on your doorstep in a panic with lumpy potatoes.  And suddenly you felt so selfish.

“That’s okay.”  You assure him, tracing a tender thumb over his bicep.  He looked so lost.  “Eddie, it’s okay.”  You repeat with a nod.

“I just, I was gonna buy something from the store, and then, I just thought–I dunno maybe I’d at least try.”  He tugs on his curls, a bit too harshly for your liking.  “I don’t know why I even tried.”  He sighs in defeat.

It’s enough to break your heart.

“Eddie.”  

Turmoil flashes in his eyes, stress apparent in the way his brows furrow and his frown lines grow deeper.  His lips are red, most likely bitten, and he can’t stop twisting one of his rings around his finger.  He looks to be as much of a wreck as you felt although the symptoms seem to be much more apparent in his appearance than yours.  Your slightly swollen eyes were nothing compared to his tousled curls, anxieties littered across his face and trembling hands unable to be subtly hidden without the crutch of sleeves.

“I, uh, I-I shouldn’t have bothered.”  He mutters, reaching for the door.

You intercept him, your hand wrapping around his elbow while you attempt to meet his eyes.  He freezes in his escape, your touch rendering him paralyzed, your fingers suddenly too determined in digging into the meat of his arm.  Not meanly.  Never meanly.  More concerned.  Concerned for the way he cowers away the second he’s offered any fraction of help.  Perhaps it’s hypocritical of you to regard him with such worry when you yourself present the same behaviors under the same circumstances and expect no such treatment.

Your expression offers a certain softness that he’s come across one too many times since you’d barged into his life and taken his heart hostage.  You’d never know you committed such a crime.  And he’d never outright tell you of the ache that sat deep in his chest that he had no clue how to satiate.  All he knew was that he could not jeopardize this.  If he could get through the holidays, if he could get to January and you were still around, then, and only then would he be convinced that he had finally lifted whatever fucked up, out-of-this-world curse that had haunted him all his life.

“It’s okay.”  Barely above a whisper, you assure him.

Eddie doesn’t remember making his way into your kitchen, he can’t recall your delicate hand pulling him along until you let go to discard his potato concoction onto the counter and he realizes he’s taken the warmth for granted in a haze of existential dread.  Like a lost puppy, he stares at your fingertips as they linger on the counter while you lean over to reach for an empty casserole dish.  The entirety of your kitchen cabinets had thrown up all over the counters, a reflection of the way his brain felt.  Scattered.  

“Potatoes are actually super complicated.”  

His ears perk up, unsure of how to conjure up a response.  Instead, he raises his eyebrows, fearful of how dumb he could make himself look with just a few syllables.  It wasn’t like him to care so deeply what others thought of him.

“That’s why I avoid them.  Instead–”  You turn around only to pull out a can of green beans and a can of cream of mushroom.  “-work smarter, not harder.”

Eddie knows he should be hanging onto every word you say and usually he would be, he knows.  Except he can’t help but tune into the melody of Blue Christmas that had been echoing off the kitchen walls from your record player across the room.

The damn record player.  And the records.

He didn’t realize how much the records still affected him.  He had his own collection now, sure.  But anything that resembled the essence of his Mama, lived safely and soundly on its dedicated shelf in his room, untouched.  It took him years to rebuild Mama’s collection.

“Sorry can we-”  He makes his way toward the record player, his face contorted nearly painfully before lifting the needle.  “I just-I can’t think.”

Your motions were paused, can opener halfway through the can of beans as your eyes meet him with questions splayed across your face.  You don’t ask them.  An understanding smile works its way across your lips and god, he doesn’t know why you’re so patient with him after he stepped into your house and suddenly had the uncontrollable urge to shut off your music.  As he strides back into the kitchen, a series of apologies haven't even left his mouth and yet-

“So…Green Bean Casserole.”  You state, fingers tapping against the tin of each can.  “And Sugary Apple Goo.”  A vague gesture toward the uncooked pie.  “Kind of a…weird duo.  Or it will be if I actually get it in the oven-”

“Sorry, what?”  

“Apple pie.  The apple pie.  At home we just call it sugary apple goo, don’t ask why it’s just–it’s just a thing we do.”  You clarify, shoving the dessert into the comforting warmth of the oven, shivering at the sensation as goosebumps begin to prick your skin.

“Apple goo.”  He repeats.  A raised brow disappearing beyond his messy bangs.

Eddie almost forgets the reason why he’d been in such disarray, almost forgets why he even bothered knocking on your door in the first place, only remembers the fact that he was in a panicked state.

“Yeah.”  You sigh.

You busy yourself with slopping the now drained green beans into a nearby glass bowl.  Your blotchy skin and puffy eyes catch in the stream of sunlight, the kitchen window betraying you as it showcases your true state.  Avoiding those large brown eyes is the best you can do, the theory that if you can’t see him he can’t see you dumbly being put to use no matter how aware you are that it makes no sense.  Maybe if you act “okay enough”, he’ll chalk it up to the common cold, placing the responsibility for your rudolph-like nose on the yearly infection.

What you fail to realize is that by this point, he’s become too familiar with your teary eyes and sad worry lines that only seemed prominent in your times of distress.  Times that he had regretfully been the cause of previously.  Words can’t escape his practically sewn-shut-mouth, all sounds dying long before forming on his tongue.  It’s impossible to create comfort when he himself has trouble doing so for himself.  How could he possibly offer such comfort to someone who deserved kinder words from someone of a higher regard?

“Here, dump this in and mix.”  You instruct, forcing a can of cream of mushroom and a wooden spoon in his hands, yanking him out of his mind.

There’s no room for protest, not that he even intended to.  Not when you’re standing there with the ghost of tear tracks down your cheeks.  Not when you’re this kind.  Not when you’re you.  

“Okay.”  He mutters, a disgusting sound filling his ears from the lumpy soup falling into the bowl.

“After that, pour it in here.”  You place a ceramic casserole dish to his right, the dish nearly too large to fit on the cluttered counter though you’re too occupied with tidying up other parts of the kitchen to bother.

“Got it.”

Eddie Munson absolutely hates Thanksgiving.  But he doesn’t mind it so much when you’re rustling around behind him, a silent conversation hanging in the air that neither of you are alone in your holiday sorrows, whatever they may be.

You don’t ask why he continues counting under his breath behind you or why his hands are shaking.

And he doesn’t ask why tears linger in your eyes or why you pause to regain your composure after dropping a pan a bit too loudly for your liking, your lip wobbling.

Because the collective understanding is that neither of you is okay.  And maybe that’s okay.

–

“Careful, the bottom is–”

“Shit!”

“-hot.”

A ringed hand waves around in an effort to rid it of the burning sensation caused by the bottom of the piping hot casserole dish.  Eddie releases a series of curses, the side of the dish pushed against his chest as he balances it between his body and his single arm protected by one of your generously donated dish rags.  Your wide eyes caution him in his balancing act, a perfectly crafted green bean casserole at risk due to his negligence as he had taken the liberty of knocking on the door.

“What the fuck, how can fuckin’ beans be so goddamn hot?”  Brown eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, his fingertips more than likely singed an angry red.

It’s no laughing matter, not according to the scowl that makes its way across his handsome features but you can’t stop the pull of your lips from forming a large grin, giggles caught in the back of your throat.  His irritation disappears just as quickly as it came, harsh edges blurring into softness at the sight of your puffed out cheeks, inflated due to the humor just dying to crawl out of your mouth.

“Oh, shut up.”  A nudge of his shoulder against yours has you shaking your head, laughter finally escaping your perfectly glossed lips.

He could write paragraphs about them if it didn’t seem so creepy and stalkerish.  So he allowed himself the tiniest of glances, only hoping to paint the full picture in his head ever since you’d quickly puckered your lips in front of your mirror at home to complete your finishing touches while he viewed from the porch where he waited in his black button up and nicest pair of jeans.  He’d never been so jealous over a tube of lipgloss.  In fact, he’d never in his life been jealous of a tube of lipgloss and he never felt like more of a loser than in that moment.

“I told you.”  You mutter, an endearing side eye delivered right into his line of sight.  It was something almost child-like, something innocent and not at all like what he’d ever really been on the receiving end of.  Maybe because there was a certain flirtiness you were hinting at although he was no expert and had no right to assume.

“I told you.”  He mumbles back with a higher pitch, mocking you.

You turn toward him, a comeback on the tip of your tongue when his own tongue interrupts with a taunt, peeking out between his lips swiftly, his nose scrunching up meanly before his full attention is back on the door as it creaks open.  And then, a quick wink that only you yourself were a witness to, only creating a stir in your brain as you decipher that no one else would be able to confirm the action.

“Hey!”  Donnie greets, arms flung up in excitement as she ushers you into her welcoming home, smells infiltrating your nose, sweet and savory galore.

Before either you or Eddie can even get a simple “hello” in, she’s talking your ear off, something about who all is already in the living room, how far along the turkey is, where the bathroom is, all while guiding you into the spacious dining room.  She must have set out her fine china, the gorgeous dishes set all around the table lined with champagne colored silver on the edges of the plates.  Two tables had been pushed together, creating enough space for the large number of guests expected.  In the center sat an exquisite arrangement of various orange-hued flowers and some greenery.  

The house was comforting; not too large and not too small, a two story dream that no doubt had acres of backyard.  The Christmas tree had already been set up and decorated, the branches and lights hinting at you from the other room where men roared with laughter, a football game blaring from the TV that contrasted with the familiar voice of Frank Sinatra coming from the stereo.  Combined turkey and Santa decorations adorned the interior everywhere you glanced, surfaces that would usually be empty year around were occupied with tacky little figurines that were more endearing than anything.  Plastic garland traced the rails of the stairs, littered in fake plastic cranberries, the front room being far more grand than your entire home as you inspected it through the archway of the dining room.

Suddenly your nerves were simmering down, a familiar feeling nestling into the bottom of your chest as your shoulders fell from their tensed position, your fingers letting up on their grip on the pie tin you clutched so desperately.  Women squealed from the kitchen, a series of “oh my god”s erupting into the rest of the house, some kind of juicy gossip initiating several gasps as well as some laughter.  Your homesickness began to lie dormant, warmth overtaking you as Donnie went on and on about her family members, which ones to avoid sitting next to at all costs and warning you of the aunties that would corner you and beg for details on your love life.

“Just pretend I’m calling you and run as fast as you can in the other direction.”  She advises.  “And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you had too much wine and that it’s making a reappearance.  They’ll scatter like flies.”

You laugh along, taking mental notes as she grabs the pie from you, complimenting the smell as she sets it among several other desserts, a whole table dedicated only to sweets.  When she goes to grab the green bean casserole from Eddie, you can’t help but pause and watch as his doe eyes trace his surroundings, a clearly unfamiliar environment to him.  There’s uncertainty dripping from his demeanor, his single finger tapping against the dish:  One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.

“Green bean casserole-Eddie, do you know how many green bean casserole we’ve got?  Like you all read each other’s mind, I swear.”  Donnie jokes.

“It’s-um, it’s hot.”  He cautions her.

Sauntering toward the main table, Donnie proudly sets it on top of a place mat to protect the wood from the heat.  Eddie doesn’t budge, seemingly glued to the carpet, his hands still lingering in the air like he had still been holding the dish.

“You okay?”  You mouth to him, looking up into his worried eyes, only hoping to soothe the crease in between his eyebrows.

He nods though you suspect he’s being a bit dishonest.  

“Oh, c’mon Eddie!  You know I’m just pullin’ your leg.”  Donnie reassures, a heavy hand falling against his shoulder.  “Shoot, I have to go check on the oven.  Yell for me if you need anything, both of you, okay?”  

“Sure.”  You mumble.  “Thank you.”

“There’s a fully stocked bar right over there, help yourselves.”  She calls as she backs herself up toward the kitchen.  “But don’t go too crazy.”  She sends a knowing glance, recalling both of your tendencies to take on more than you can handle.

“Why don’t we get some air?”  You suggest, unable to comprehend exactly just what was happening in Eddie’s mind although you knew enough to understand that he was miles outside of his comfort zone.

“No, no.  I’m good.”  A cleared throat doesn’t reassure you enough but you let it go for the time being.  Prying wasn’t going to help.  “”M gonna get a beer.”  He murmurs, chain jingling from his belt as he makes his way toward what you can only assume is the kitchen where Donnie had just disappeared to.

As pathetic as it seemed, you weren’t going to allow yourself to wander around alone, vulnerable to various conversations trapping you in small talk with strangers: an absolute nightmare.  Timidly, you follow behind Eddie at a safe distance, holding your breath as you take in the new room full of busy women and many glasses of wine.  The smell of gravy heavily lingers, a tinge of the sourly sweet alcohol peeking through as you release your breath and inhale finally.  

And then-they were all over him.  Sweet older women, ranging from around fifty plus years, all doting on him, cooing at him while complimenting how tall he is and his handsome features.  It only forces you to lean your hip against the counter and take in the most captivating scene you’d ever witnessed.  His cheeks redden, his entire face matching shortly after as he nods in response, small “thank you”s sneaking past his lips with a sheepish grin threatening to spread across his face, dimples prominent.  It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, has no recognition of the power he currently holds.

“Is this one yours?!”  One woman shrieks, taking your hands in her bony ones.

“Oh-”

“You’re so lucky, he’s such a looker!”  Another chimes in.

“We’re not-”

“You better hope he holds onto all that hair throughout the years.”  A third nods.

Eddie’s face has never been redder, crimson painting his usually pale skin, a beer pinched in between his fingers as he avoids every single eye in the room.  You can only imagine the look on your own face, maybe slightly mortified with a hint of pink pulling at your cheeks due to the unnecessary attention.

“Alright, alright.”  Donnie interjects.  “Enough, you’re gonna scare ‘em away before they’ve even had a bite to eat!”  She waves her hands around, dramatics on full display as she shoos them away like pigeons.

“Thank you.”  You whisper, eyes large and surprised.

“Run, run.”  Donnie displays wide eyes, gently shoving you both out of the kitchen.

–

Throughout the evening, you kept Eddie in your peripheral.  Sure, he was grown and fully capable of taking care of himself but it didn’t worry you any less when holidays weren’t necessarily his favorite thing.  Anxieties lurked in the back of your mind the second he started counting earlier, never once fading away no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that he was fine, now bantering back and forth with Sam.

“That Steve kid really can’t dance.”  Nathan laughs, pulling you back into the initial conversation you were having, perched on the couch with a glass of wine set in front of you on the coffee table courtesy of Donnie’s excellent hosting skills.

“Well that’s why he excused himself off the dancefloor.”  You softly smile, earning another hearty laugh from the man.

“Hey, but Eddie’s no better.”  He jokes, taking a swig of his beer.  “Looked like a damn giraffe stumbling over his own legs.”

“I wasn’t very coordinated either!”  You defend.  “We were a hot mess.”  You bury your face in your hands.

“Yeah, I bet Eddie thought you were hot.”

The recliner adjacent to you creaks beneath Jett as he makes himself comfortable, slouching with a beer in his hand.

“Whoa.”  Nathan leans forward, ready to reprimand him.  “What-”

“That’s okay.”  You speak softly, your hand covering the older man’s as an act of keeping the peace, something you did best.  Several seconds of contemplation and a glance across the room toward Eddie change your mind.  

“Actually-it’s not.”  You turn your body toward Jett, a man–child before your eyes that refused to even look at you after his comment.  Your hands shake and your cheeks heat with embarrassment, chalking your sudden confidence up to the glass and a half of wine you indulged in.  

“What?”  Jett furrows his brows, examining his beer far too aggressively as a means to avoid you.

“It’s not okay.”  You whisper, a wimpy excuse of a defense.

“What’s gotten into you, boy?”  Nathan scolds through gritted teeth.

Jett’s nearly-black eyes resemble something opposite in comparison to the warmth in those across the room currently harboring a twinkle in an engaged conversation.  The boy is unable to get a word in as you quietly begin to address him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.”  You regret the tremble in your tone, confrontation was well out of your comfort zone, especially with someone who had been so hostile for no reason.  It wasn’t in your DNA to be the “bad guy” even when it would benefit your wellbeing.

Something in your words softens Jett’s eyes, pulls a piece of him back into reality.  You weren’t terrorizing him and he couldn’t seem to grasp that ever since that night you had argued with Eddie behind the bar.  And you hadn’t spoken a word out of line but you weren’t clueless.  Clearly he had an agenda against you and Eddie, it never left your mind since Eddie mentioned that Jett got all over-protective suddenly that night and took it out on him.  But what could you do when all he did was puff out his chest rather than have a decent conversation?  His frayed emotions were not your responsibility, you owed him nothing if he was going to insist on acting like a toddler in adult situations.  You suppose some of it could be due to his lack of years behind yourself and Eddie, Jett still a teenager, almost twenty whereas you had been in your twenties for a few years now.  It wasn’t an excuse, just your brain attempting to work out his logic.

“You didn’t–you didn’t do anything wrong.”  He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

You don’t offer any words.  Only an expectant look.  Expecting of some kind of explanation as to why he’d been acting so cruel.  And as if the universe decided you didn’t live in enough anguish with your homesickness that morning paired with the current unwanted confrontation, Eddie’s eyes met yours for a brief moment before darting away, a deep sigh and suddenly slouching shoulders clearly indicating some kind of defeat before he quietly stepped out of the room.

“Can we get into this another time?”

You don’t wait for a response, excusing yourself to slip out of the room and follow the trail of cold out the front door, the chill seeping into your bones as your cradle your arms close to yourself.  The porch is spacious, something you hadn’t taken notice of earlier when arriving.  To your left, Eddie sits on a wooden bench with the family name “Scott” carved into it.  A cigarette takes its place between his fingers, his lighter flickering while he lets out a frustrated groan.  He places the stick between his lips and cups the flame to hide it from the wind, finally succeeding in lighting it, puffs of smoke escaping through the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not fragile, Bambi.  Stop following me around.”  He mutters, pulling the cigarette from his lips.  There’s no malice detected in his words, just something lacking hope as he stares straight ahead.

Carefully, you sit at the very edge of the bench, your skirt a tad too short to allow you to fully sit back due to the cold surface.  You catch a wave of his warmth as he rests his arm on his thigh.  It hurts, how far away he feels even being inches from you; his mind might as well be on Jupiter.  A momentary glance over at you causes him to sigh deeply, his head dipping down while he shakes it in disappointment.

“And dammit!”  Eddie snaps, face twitching in aggravation.  “I don’t have a jacket for you this time.  Learn how to dress for the cold.”  He gestures to your posture, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt to savor any warmth, and your jaw clenched shut as a means to keep your teeth from chattering though you can’t seem to contain the shivers nearly rattling your bones.

“I don’t need one.”

He scoffs, disbelief evident in his movements, a fidgeting hand reaching up to scratch the barely-there stubble at his jaw.  

“I don’t!”  You lie.

You were never one to willingly be dishonest but a little white lie in this case didn’t seem like the end of the world.  Not when Eddie’s fragile state of mind seemed to gnaw away at him.  You wouldn’t leave him out for the wolves to feed on him; wolves being his never ending thoughts that always without fail, won him over and forced him to crawl back into his comfort zone of isolation.  You suppose you weren’t so innocent either, always succumbing to the very same habits.

“Go back inside.”  A flick of his cigarette ash towards the ground ignites in the thin layer of snow barely coating the porch before extinguishing.

You can’t help the furrow in your brows, staring at him as if to figure him out, attempting to glance into his large coffee colored irises, to no avail.  His shiny eyes dodge your attempts, the windows of his soul closed off, even from you.  Not that you were immediately entitled, though you figure with each trauma he had shared with you, he’d at least be able to look you in the eye.

“Come with me.”  You chirp.  “We’ll taste all the wines.  C’mon, and then we’ll be nice and hungry.  Drunk eating is the best.”  You extend a hand out toward him, your freshly painted nails perfectly imperfect in his peripheral.

“I’m not in the mood, Bambi.”

His gravelly voice has a certain effect on you, one you find not appropriate to dissect right now.  He lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, the chance to take one more drag stolen from him as you pluck it from his fingers, tossing it into the snow without regret, stomping your foot on it for good measure.

“Well, get in the mood.  Let’s go.”  

Boldly, you tug at his arm, unable to move him by yourself, you know.  But he willingly melts into your touch, allowing you to pull him up despite his protesting frown.  Though he follows you to stand, he doesn’t budge much further than that as you try to drag him back into the cozy warmth of the house.  The rounded tip of his nose glows red, the threat of a cold only pushing you to tug on his sleeve with no success in ushering him inside.

“I think ‘m just gonna head home.  You think someone else could give you a ride back?”  The question is hesitant, no longer wanting to participate in the festivities but still concerned for your well-being, especially if you were going to continue to drink.  

Your track record with alcohol wasn’t exactly great and he’d never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there just because the sight of you talking to Jett had left a bad taste in his mouth.  But he couldn’t stand it any longer, watching you act so graceful all the time, especially to someone you didn’t particularly like, and then having to pretend that a simple kiss on the cheek didn’t absolutely wreck him.  A kiss that you hadn’t since mentioned, and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself by insinuating that you wanted him in that way.  No one wanted him in that way.

“What?”  You breathe, face shifting into a sadness Eddie wanted to kick himself for.  “No, you can’t go–”

“I’m sure Jett is ready and willing to entertain you.”

Low blow.  He could always count on himself to deliver a low blow at the worst of times.

Eddie knew now that you had a distaste for Jett, he knew that.  And yet he was stupid enough to continue using Jett as ammo against you for no reason other than his own insecurity.  If he continued to push you away then it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized he was scum of the earth.  Trailer trash.  A nobody.  That’s what he kept telling himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  You fume, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know, Bambi.  You tell me cause I can’t figure you out.”

The use of his nickname for you stitched together with words of anguish only further confused you.  You couldn’t seem to win.

“Can’t–can’t figure me out?!”  You widen your eyes at him, only hoping to convey how ridiculous of a statement it is.  “Can’t figure me out.  What about you?!�� You’re the one no one can figure out!”  

You’re on the verge of whining, begging in a sense.  Pleading with the most stubborn man in the world and god only knows what you’ll do if he doesn’t stand down.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.”  He states simply, monotone.  It makes you want to yank your hair out by the roots and offer it to him, asking him if it’s enough.  If it’s enough to shut up the voices in his head.

“Yeah?  Because you don’t wanna let people in?!”  Uncharacteristically, you jab a finger into his chest, frustration making itself known across your face and you only know because his eyes ever so slightly soften.  “Eddie, all you do is give me mixed signals!  How many times do I have to tell you I want nothing to do with Jett?!  What do I have to do to get that through your thick fucking head?!”  He tries to get a word in but you don’t give him an opportunity.  “No, seriously!  I need an instruction manual or something because I’m trying!  I have been trying-”

“-I didn’t ask you to!”  He finally interrupts, sorrow filling his eyes.

With a deep breath, you calm your heaving chest.  It’s apparent you’re no longer cold, your skin hot from working yourself up.  Steam may as well be coming from your ears though it wasn’t your intention to get so irritated with him.  

“I wanted to.  I want to.”  Your voice comes out softer, a gentler approach to his sudden internal conflict.

“No.”

Turning away, he doesn’t quite move to leave but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s trying to shut you out.  He’s trying to escape like some kind of feral animal but you refuse to give in.  You refuse to let him.  

“Yes.  Eddie–look at me!”  You demand with a small pull of his arm.

“No.”

He goes to turn his body even further away from you but the firm hold you have on his bicep stops him.  He keeps his gaze on the floorboards below, his nose twitching and eyes burning with the threat of tears.  You only know because you’re all too familiar with the mandatory frown that comes with holding them back.

“Stop doing that.  Please.”  You beg.

“I can’t be here right now–”

“What makes you think I can?”

He’s silent.  The world instantly feels so quiet, tiny snow flurries fluttering around you, making you feel as if you’re the only two people on Earth.  Echoes of the celebrating and hollering inside are faint although they don’t do much to pop the bubble you find yourselves in.  Then he breaks the silence, daring to plead with you this time.

“Bambi, please.”  He croaks.

Your initial thought is, please what?  You’d been pleading with him back and forth for god knows how many minutes straight and here he was doing it right back to you.  And for what?  It wasn’t a good enough plea, not for you.  You weren’t ready to let it go, if you even knew what “it” was.

“No, you’re coming inside and you don’t have to associate with me if you don’t want to but you’re coming inside.”

Your demand only seems to irritate him, his brows knitting together while he pinches the bridge of his nose in between his fingers.  If he was agitated then you were about to become enraged.  And that is not something you wanted.  You never wanted to display that kind of emotion toward him but he was practically pulling it out of you and you had to fight against it.  No one had ever been able to pull such a reaction out of you, not ever.  Even if you had gotten pretty close, you swallowed it down and hid it.

“Why?!”  Eddie seethes.

His outburst takes you back, though with the aggravation boiling within you, you were able to contain any reaction he was seeking, if any.  That wasn’t the case for long though as you then launch yourself into another tantrum after staring for a second too long at his snarled lip.

“Because believe it or not, I care, Eddie!”  You practically wail, your voice becoming hoarse.  “If you leave I’m coming with you because I’m not leaving you alone.  Not on Thanksgiving.”  Your head shakes in denial.

Against your own will, a single tear trails down your cheek and the moment you feel it, you’re rapidly wiping it away, hoping he never even saw it when you knew damn well his umber eyes followed it all the way down your face.  He only pulls his gaze away.

“I’m leaving.  You’re staying here.”  He decides, regret etched into his features.

In a final attempt to escape your grasp, he succeeds, feeling your fingertips linger for one last second before drifting away as he turns and makes his way down the porch steps, wood protesting beneath him.  The noise is the only proof you have that he’s actually leaving, that he actually feels he’s not worthy enough to stay.  

You refuse to give up so easily.

Your feet are already on a mission, nearly sprinting down the stairs even with the threat of slipping on the minimal amount of ice beginning to freeze over.  Eddie pays no mind to the fast paced footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him, making his way over to Sugar with his head hung low.  Your heart is racing, not just because you suddenly decided to sprint a few yards but because a healthy dose of dopamine has started coursing throughout your body, a good amount of anxiety accompanying it but not deferring you any longer.

Eddie makes it to Sugar, his hand reaching for the door only for it to be forced shut with a self-manicured hand.  If he didn’t know who the hand belonged to he’d be chewing the owner out for daring to touch his beloved truck.  Instead he rolls his eyes and turns as he prepares to reprimand you in a much more gentle manner than he would anyone else.

Except he doesn’t even have the chance when your lips are suddenly pressed to the corner of his mouth, your body pushing him against Sugar.  His hands freeze mid air, his eyes wide open.  Your hands are resting on his chest and–he can’t breathe.  You pull away, inches from him and he can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t move.  As far as he’s concerned he isn’t even human anymore.  

“Stay.”  You whisper, your breath fanning over slightly chapped lips.

His lips won’t stop tingling, he can’t grasp the concept of what just occurred.  He refuses to even touch you for fear that you might disappear right before him.  Hell, he’s not even sure he’s allowed to.

It’s difficult to gauge his reaction, his heavy breath lingering with the smell of his cigarette that would probably gross you out had it been anyone else but for some reason, because it’s him, you don’t mind very much.  You must smell strongly of wine which isn’t always pleasant so you figure you’re even.

“Please stay.”   You repeat, nudging your nose into his.

It’s like he’s in a trance, his eyelids becoming lazy and his body relaxing when you reach up to trace your thumb ever so slightly over his jaw.  His forehead rests against yours, his eyes squeezing shut, and you can hear a gulp in his throat.  With his eyes still shut, he nods and before you can process it, he launches himself into your arms in a tight embrace, wrapping himself around you, his face buried in your neck.  A wetness catches against your skin catches your attention, Eddie’s body heaving slightly and you just know.

You know that the tear stains on your skin mean more to him than you could ever imagine.

Slowly, your fingers tangle in his hair, threading into the curls at the nape of his neck to lightly scratch his scalp soothingly.  The way he grips onto you tighter, his body shaking, only confirms that physical touch and affection was not a luxury he was allowed in his lifetime.  If he let you, you’d spend thousands of hours holding him, even in the cold.  Whatever he needed.

But the snow flurries began to grow larger and the wind started to pick up.  And you’d be damned if you allowed yourself and Eddie to catch a nasty cold when you could be doing the same thing inside next to the fire.  Though, as you thought about it, Eddie would probably shy away from your touch in front of everyone.  And that didn’t anger you in the way it normally would.  Because you couldn’t blame him, someone so touch starved that he began to sob the second he was willingly kissed and told he was wanted, for shying away from showers of physical affection in front of peers that only know him to be big, bad, Eddie Munson.  It would be too much of a change and you weren’t willing to force that upon him.

So as the cold grew more unforgiving, you continued to hold him.  He would be the one to decide when he felt he wanted to part from you.  And if you both got sick, so be it.  A stupid cold would be worth the price if you were able to provide him the touch he went so long without and so badly craved, even if he didn’t quite know it at first.

Eddie parted from you far sooner than anticipated.  His cheeks were rosy, his rounded nose matching, endearingly so.  His eyelashes were dotted with a few lingering tears, his eyes rimmed with red but sadness was absent from his features.  Instead there was a fondness dripping from his expression and though he parted from the embrace to gaze down at you, he still clung to you like his life depended on it. 

“Can I–can I kiss you?”  He whispers shakily.

You want to laugh, only because he’s acting as if you didn’t kiss him in the first place.  But you bury it deep down and only let a smile blossom.  

“Please.”  You whisper back.

This time, you’re more than happy to beg.  

Hesitantly, his shaky hand cups your jaw, the warmth from his skin more than welcome as he gently slots his lips against yours.  He’s slow with it, taking his time.  As you move in rhythm with him, you encourage him, moving his arms to circle your waist, pressing yourself closer and letting your hands travel up his chest to lock behind his neck.  

“I can’t stop.”  He laughs quietly, continuously pecking your lips like he can’t get enough.

“Don’t.”  You giggle into his mouth.

Teeth clash against teeth and though he hasn’t quite graduated to using tongue yet, you have the urge to introduce him.  Before you can pass your tongue along his plump bottom lip, he curses under his breath as he pulls away, only causing worry to spread across your face.

“You’re freezing.”  His hands rub up and down your arms to somewhat heat you up and only then do you realize your face feels completely numb.

“No, I’m fine.”  You protest against your better judgment.  It wasn’t exactly fitting to be in tights while one of the first snow falls of the year ensued.

“You’ll be a popsicle in like three seconds.”

Eddie softly smiles, reaching for your hand and tugging you with him toward the house.  A whine escapes you, a pathetic whimper but you manage to shuffle yourself along with him.  Before entering the realm of reality beyond the front door, Eddie turns to you, stars in his eyes, something glimmering.

“How’s my nose?  Snotty?”  He grins, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

~end~

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[charliemwrites]

idek how many days it's been at this point but I cannot keep the Keeper/Kept worms at bay and they have wormed into a childhood memory of mine that I think fits this au soooo well!

When I was a smol bean (2 or 3 I think) my father was actually active duty special operations (flew on the same gunship Shadow Company uses for close air support, and was assigned to the real-life squadron that flys the "spooky's"/AC-130H frequently referenced in the CoD universe. bit of personal lore lol). ANYWAY the first time my dad deployed after I was born I snuck one of my baby socks into his big green duffel bag while he was packing and when he found it and showed his squadron?!?! For the rest of their tour of duty they WOULD NOT clear the gunship for takeoff unless my dad showed them he had my little sock in his flight suit because his entire squadron had made it their good luck charm for missions. I think this is 1000% something Feral, Shy Thing and Good Girl/Boy would do for their keepers and all the keepers/team would all absolutely cary whatever they had snuck into their bag with them RELIGIOUSLY on missions.

Okay first of all??? This is utterly adorable and I could CRY. Thank you for sharing that lore it’s going to live in my head rent FREE. I love stuff like that.

As for little tokens?!

For Simon, it’s a rock that Feral gave him after a penguin documentary (per this ask). But I could also see her biting him hard enough to leave a bruise that lasts, something that he can’t lose somehow but fades. When it’s gone it means he needs to come home. He presses on it when he misses her.

For Johnny, the red mask is one. Shy Thing has written a little message on the inside in marker something like “I love you” or “come home safe” with her initials. I can also see her crafting a little soap bar charm that he has to put with his dog tags or belt or something.

Good Girl has sewn/embroidered something in his hat. A flower, a heart, her initials, maybe a cigar. The other thing is a lighter that she built from a kit and hand-engraved painstakingly. Even if he hasn’t brought his cigars on the mission, he has the lighter.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @orchidscript @heartstringsduet @ironheartwriter

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🧡🧡🧡🧡

Due to TK's 30th birthday being a Current Theme, I'm going for a Work is Published Wednesday and sharing some Where All This Love Comes From, in which TK's birthdays (30th and otherwise!) are an important feature.

(Some context: Gwyn dislikes black leather couches)

"Colombian beans," Carlos says, removing a packet from a cupboard and a cafetiere alongside it, roiling internally when he realizes he doesn’t know if Owen prefers French press over moka pot. He’s seen him with a moka pot before(!). But he unclips the little wooden peg he uses to secure the packet, and passes the beans to Owen to smell.

"Real coffee," Owen says as he closes his eyes and breathes in. "Nothing like it."

He hands the packet back and watches Carlos meticulously tip beans into the grinder. They make a satisfying tapping noise as they drop out, and Carlos smiles at Owen.

"I don't think TK's enjoyed a birthday this much since he turned ten," Owen says quietly, leaning against the worktop. He gazes at their translucent, yellowish reflections in the darkness of the window that faces the invisible yard.

"I guess birthdays lose their shine as we grow up," Carlos offers, starting to feel hot and itchy in the green sweater he spent an hour choosing for the occasion.

"Four years ago, on his birthday. Exactly four years ago..." Owen shakes his head. "TK’s addiction was..."

Carlos secures the lid onto the grinder but does not press down.

"Heroin," Carlos whispers. Owen nods. "He's told me some of what happened."

"I know he did. And I appreciate it wouldn’t have been easy for you to hear. Honestly. If I sat and wrote down everything that went on, it would be like an encyclopedia. It's taken his mother and me a long time to deal with–" Owen stops, points to his temple and circles a finger "–These things can stay with you a while. The things Gwyn and I have seen. The people he was around. What I'm saying is – I'm happy he met you, Carlos."

Carlos bites his lip and looks away, feels himself going shy. The wall he put up, so flimsy. "That means so much to me, Captain Strand. I'm happy you brought him here."

Owen looks over at Gwyn and TK chatting on the couch. They look back at him and smile shyly, as if they sensed being watched.

"What's taking y'all so long?" TK teases.

"Y'all!" Owen tuts, returning his attention to Carlos. "Okay. Let's see this grinder in action. I want to know how it compares to mine."

Carlos nods seriously, the terrifying challenge accepted. He presses the beans into a beautifully soft powder under his future father-in-law's watchful eye.

An hour later, he and TK are on the doorstep, shaking Owen's hand and hugging Gwyn goodbye, thanking them for coming – TK thanks them as if he lives here with Carlos, instead of with them. He's sending his divorced parents off to their own home as if they're still a married couple, just like he always wanted.

As soon as Carlos shuts the door, TK knocks him into the frame with a powerful hug from behind.

"They love you!" TK pecks kisses over Carlos’ ear, getting him to squirm.

"That went well," Carlos agrees, his voice lilted with laugher at the tickle of TK’s kisses. "Not that I have anything to compare it to."

"Well, believe me, I do!" TK hugs him tight, smushing his face into the back of his shoulder. "Dinner with them and you today. Clubbing tomorrow. Best birthday ever."

Carlos turns around in TK's arms, kisses him slowly on the lips. "Want to cash in on that birthday backrub?"

"Want to screw my brains out?"

"Let's go!" Carlos yells happily, taking TK's hand and dragging him to the stairs.

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[omart]

I got bit carry away while doing friendship bracelets, and because my current obsession is Star Trek TOS...

and I wanted to make the bracelets a bit different from each other, mostly because of the repetition of colors

So, for example:

Kirk's and Spock's have little stars in the back implying their rank

Uhura's have little green beans for her earrings

Bones' is a bit more pale and shy-blue compare to spock's

Sulu's and Chekov's have tinier and pale yellow; which is not the case with Kirk's. He has a bunch of more big beans

Scotty came out bit bigger and can't complain lol