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trashmouth-richie · 2 years ago

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Eddie x Fem! Reader

master list

w/c: 7k

A/N: this chapter is a little bit shorter than the last few but I hope you enjoy it regardless! huge s/o to @blueywrites + @jo-harrington for beta reading and helping me with parts ♥️

tw: 18+ no minors, depression, acts of depression, drinking excessively etc

Granules of brown sugar melt against heaping creamed rolled oats, nestled into the crisp white second hand vitrelle made Corelle brand bowls. The pattern of dainty brown flowers skim around the outer surface, one that Eddie is now rubbing softly with the pad of his thumb.

He had never noticed them before this very moment. The guitar string callouses skid along the cool surface of the bowl. The familiar feel reminded him of the soft skin on your back as he held you while you slept, strumming along your body to the tired tunes of your breathing.

A song he’d listen to forever if he could.

Eddie found himself noticing many new things he hadn't noticed before in the early daylight hours of the morning. He didn’t want to stir you, didn’t want to disrupt the beautiful sleepy angel next to him. Wrapping you tighter against him, pressing light kisses to your hairline, he soaked up the warmth of your skin against him. Drinking in your smooth breathing and matching it to his own.

Fluttering heart beating wildly in his own chest, he can’t believe you are here with him. Last night felt too good to be true. All these months of lonely pining, unsure if you felt the same, only for it to be true that you wanted him as much as he had wanted you.

He was elated, heart overflowing and spewing candy hearts from his eyes and mouth at the weight of your body tucked into him, fitting like a glove against the bend in his arm.

He was head over heels for you.

A wave of assurance washed over him when he woke this morning and found you curled in on yourself, the cotton sheets wrapped tight up under your chin, slack lips open and your eyelashes laid sweetly against your cheeks. A breath of relief leaves his muscles— you’re still here.

The rise and fall of your naked form when he pulled ypu into his side had him breathless upon first opening his eyes this morning. The sunlight basking through peaks in his bedroom curtains and providing enough light for the dust mites to dance their daylight waltz amongst the stuffy air and crowded surfaces in Eddie’s room.

Cotton sheets dipped into your curves. The smooth skin of your cheek pressed into his own chest. The steady whirring noise of your breathing in and out of your nose with your lips closed delicately.

Beautiful. Radiant. A thousand other adjectives he could use to describe you but there was only one he wanted to call you: his.

The toaster erupts with a metallic clunk, bringing him back from his day dreaming and focusing again at the task at hand.

Grabbing a knife from the silverware drawer, he smears cold butter against the warm toast, the knife scraping gently as the warm crusted pockets flood with butter and sweet grape jelly.

He finds himself daydreaming again. He pictures the corner of your lips coated in jelly, he’d reach forward and brush his finger against it, maybe his lips would kiss the crumbs away. You’d giggle at his stupidity and he’d melt like the butter into this toast at your warm smile.

You were perfect. Everything he had wanted and more. And years of being friends, then enemies, then roommates and now lovers. He was giddy, stomach filled with snowflake flurries resembling a winter storm.

He balanced the bowls of oatmeal in large hands, the toast cut in diagonals and stuffed like rabbit ears into the cooked oats. A pep in his step, he practically floated to his room, back to you, snug in his sheets, his pillows. He’s carried by the wings of the butterflies in his stomach.

A tickle on your cheek has your eyelids fluttering slow, the cool feel of unfamiliar sheets twisted by your chin have you jumping in your skin, but the warm velvet voice in your ear whispering good morning greetings and a peck against your ear tames your heart and softens the goosebumps on your skin.

The same calloused palms that held you in a protective manner last night now gently stroke the underside of your chin in a lazy pattern. Up the rounds of your cheeks, and circling the plump of your lips. Eddie’s hands are unusually warm against your skin, the heat from the bowls hot on his palms.

The mattress bends beneath his weight as he sits with one leg on the bed and leans on a hip over you. The bourbon colored ends of his curls sweep feather-like against your bare chest, like the white tufty pappus of a dandelion head.

You titter softly when his lips slide down your neck and blow a softened raspberry against your skin.

“Good morning, baby,” he sighs beneath your ear. The pearls of his teeth graze your neck because he can’t stop smiling. The silk of your hands wrap around his arms, fingers gliding over the carve of his muscles. And your eyes finally flutter open.

A halo of sunlight breaches his frizzy curls and pull every bit of amber from them, his smile cozy and familiar the warmth seeping through you as his blackened honey eyes drink you in.

His eyes trail your sleepy features, caressing your skin with each slow drag across your face. Taking in every inch of you he can.

“Sleep okay?” he purrs gently, planting a rose petal kiss on your lips.

Last night was perfect, everything you had hoped for and more.

You didn’t know sex could be so intimate, so passionate. Feeling how much he cared about you with every kiss, every touch of his molten fingers on your skin. He gave you the love and adoration you had yearned for. And it felt good.

So, so good.

Something that delicious should be enjoyed again and again. An indulgence, a finger swiping into the edge of a frosted cake for temptation deemed too strong. But unlike the taste of frosting melting away on your tongue, craving more and wanting another taste, you couldn’t.

Peering into his eyes, you can see how much he loved you. But the feeling sat sour on your tongue, and burned your belly in a lonely way.

But why?

You could push through this right?

Didn’t you want this?

Want him?

Heart hammering for Eddie, all green flags and sticky love, kicking feet and giddy heated cheeks, but your brain was screaming another sound, ringing bells of unworthiness loud in your ears.

You don’t deserve him.

His love won’t last.

A quick smile that doesn’t reach your eyes implants on your lips. Insecurity is evident among them when the twinkle of love is replaced by dark brooding agony. And if Eddie sees it he is blinded to it. So wrapped up in bubbly love for you he thought you hung the stars.

The way his brown eyes are gazing at you hurts your heart. Before hot tears can fall down your cheeks you blink rapidly. Wells of salt stinging in your eyes as you swallow them down.

Answering his question in a hushed almost whisper, you push yourself up on his mattress, clutching the sheet around your chest, suddenly aware of how naked you are. Bare beneath the sheets a once welcomed coziness now feels like shards of glass embedded into your skin.

Your knees tuck up beneath your chest, in a small attempt to shield yourself more from the man you wanted to love but couldn’t.

Eddie is all adoring dimples and pinked cheeks. His voice is laced with flowing sweet words of pleasantries. He places a pillow behind your back, so you can be comfy,.

The act cracking your heart deeper waiting to be split like the thin shell on a peanut m&m.

“I didn’t ask, but do you like oatmeal?”

You’ve never known a single smile burrowing into your soul deeper than his does. But it aches and burns. Nose tingling bringing up another wave of tears, you simply nod, you wipe your eyes hastily with the back of your hand as Eddie turns and grabs the bowls. Oblivious to your turmoil.

He brings the warm bowl of oatmeal to the bed and places it in your hands. Jelly having slid down the toast and snuggling with the brown sugar and oatmeal. Joining you on the bed Eddie sits beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him as you sit shoulder to shoulder.

You don’t deserve him.

His love won’t last.

Lead filled arms hold the metal spoon to your lips, a warmth in your mouth that has no taste. For you are not hungry. The beast inside spreading its ferocious wings and sucking any amount of joy from you.

But he said he loved me.

He doesn’t. Don’t fool yourself.

Staring ahead you are trapped in your mind. A hostage to your demons. The sunshine of happiness is replaced with heavy thunderstorm clouds of acidic rain, eating away your insides like maggots on a carcass.

Eddie is talking between mouthfuls of his breakfast but you don’t hear him. The words unable to make sense against your ears as you stir your spoon around and around the bowl. A hypnotizing motion.

Unaware of the state you are in, Eddie is floating high on cloud nine. A pinky cheeked cherub shooting arrows of lust below him. He’s giddy and cheerful, a light of beckoning hope next to your brooding steel trapped mind.

He’s too good for you.

The voices shout louder in your ears and you fight tears away.

Just another notch on his belt, silly Tooty.

Run, before he does.

“Sweetheart?” your breathing is erratic and complacent. Sweat is trickling down your hairline. Wet beads in the space behind your ears and forming on your upper lip.

Run.

Choking down the bile of panic cradled in your throat, you croak a smile. “Sorry, what?”

The rest of breakfast is void of noise besides the ominous clinking of spoons against bowls and the gulping slide of oatmeal down Eddie’s throat. Chewing your toast to humor him you still taste nothing, barely registering your teeth are grinding together against themselves until Eddie asks if you’re alright.

Fine, you lie, easy on your tongue, the forced smile is harder, painful. Settling an unease in your bones that creaks and groans like a worn porch door batting against the frame in a windstorm.

Pulling hard to untuck the sheet from the one corner of Eddie’s bed that didn’t manage to come undone during the passion of last night, you wrap it around you fully, and scoot down the length of his mattress. The walk of shame gown held tight in your grip. Doubling as a shield of comfort around you, a flannel sheet of armor.

Not announcing where you are going in fear of breaking, you scamper from the room, quick feet on the carpet and shivering in the cool air on your shoulders. Eddie’s hot desperate eyes burrowing into your back as you lock the bathroom door.

He’s everywhere in this house, and your mind is suffocating. Lungs punched of any oxygen as you struggle to stand using the knob as a crutch.

What makes you think you’re deserving of his kindness?

The daunting demonic voice laughs mercilessly in your head, bouncing off the pinked brain matter and echoing lol against the hollow marble of your skull, scribbling along it in permanent marker.

Unworthy

Undeserving

Hot tears stream down your cheeks and you shed the cloak of flannel armor, reaching for the silver knob of the shower and turning it to the hottest temperature the small water heater will allow.

The stream of the scalding water sears your back like steak in a skillet, you welcome the burn with open arms.

Thinking of Eddie’s doting and how sweet he was to you made your stomach splinter. All he was doing was exactly what you had hoped for, wished for, stayed up long nights aching for.

But it wasn’t simple.

You were terrified. Scared shitless of his love for you. But you knew Eddie and you knew he loved big, and cared in ways that most people couldn't fathom.

Hot water rolls down the front of your shoulders and flows over your softened nipples, mixed with salty tears.

The tears only stop when there’s a soft knuckled bang on the door.

His endearing voice is small against the closed door, “hey babe?”

You don’t answer. Unable to free your mind from the double hell of feeling inadequate and petrifying anxiety of being loved by someone you can’t love back.

But you do love him.

You always have in one way or another.. even when you shouldn’t have. You did.

But the overwhelming feeling of his affection is too much, you don’t know how to feel, or act. Not as if Chad ever made you feel loved. Somehow the feeling of being loved is almost the same crushing feeling of being choked out.

Because you’re not good enough.

You don’t deserve him.

The bathroom door opens and Eddie’s calm voice breaks through the void. Makes its way through the silent sobs that are causing your body to shake violently.

His shadow is blurred against the shower curtain. Coy hands peel the cream plastic and blue fabric away slightly, opening the threshold to the shower and the steam rolling out, thick in his vision.

“Tooty?”

Back to first names.

Back to the basics.

Eddie wasn’t an idiot. He knew something was wrong. And he had spent the last ten minutes walking back and forth along the carpet, wracking his brain. Pulling his hair in frustration when tears stung his eyes and collected like puddles in his lashes.

Trying to figure out the solution to a problem he didn’t have the equation for.

No one did.

This was a fight within yourself, solving for x when Eddie barely passed basic algebra. Nobody could fix this.

Broken goods, sold at a discount and marked down.

Trash.

When you don’t answer he says your name a smidge louder. Reaching his fingers out to touch your shoulder and almost breaking on the spot when you coil away from him.

His touch once so protective and undeniably reassuring in your blood now threatens to make you react with bared teeth and steel eyes.

But you refrain, pushing yourself further away from him. Deeper into your sorrows of a life of despair, a valley of dread.

Relentless, Eddie won’t give up easy. His voice is meek and breaking with each cold shoulder of avoidance you offer.

You’re nothing.

“Baby,” he pleads, a tear running down his cheek, collecting in the column of his throat. “Talk to me.”

His cheeks return to normal color, his eyes don’t dance with twinkles, the corners of his mouth turn flat. He's beside himself.

The voices deepens now, roaring loudly like a river. A familiar tone. One that has terrified you for almost a decade, Chad.

You think someone could love you like me? Better than me?

Take it, fucking whore.

Yeah, cry for me.

“No.”

Eddie’s brows turn inward. Concern painting his face. “Tooty?”

Who would want you?

You’re nothing.

A hand on your shoulder makes your spine twinge with icy cold resentment causing you to flinch unexpectedly, shivering away from him. A wounded animal, protecting yourself.

“I said, no!”

When you turn to face him you are met with wet eyes, and the saddest expression you’d ever had the displeasure of seeing.

One that would bury itself in your mind and haunt you at night. More horrifying than a scary movie because it was real, right before your eyes.

Eddie doesn’t give you time to think before he twists his mouth into a question, “what’s going on? What did I do?”

This is not a conversation you want to have. You can’t.

Plain and simple.

“Leave me alone,” you beg, salt in the skinned wound. You turn the water off and shove past him, your warm wet skin sliding against his dry bare chest.

Unlovable

Undeserving Tooty.

The terry fibers of your robe cocoon you in a hug. And you’re reminded of the memories this fabric holds. The first night Eddie had moved in, and him wearing it with pride.

The night he defended you against the twins, when you were piss drink and he wrapped you up tightly to cover you up.

He was a good man.

And you were a bitch.

An unlovable shrewd, forcing someone to open up and then cutting them off because you couldn’t handle the thought of someone loving you when you couldn’t love yourself.

You deserved what Chad did to you.

Eddie is talking a million miles an hour trying to explain himself as you leave him in the bathroom. His throat aches from swallowing back tears and his heart is breaking.

Turning in a swift jerk of your head you face him when he begs you to look at him.

“Please, goddamnit please just talk to me. Help me understand what I did wrong!”

“There’s nothing to understand Eddie! We fucked! So what? No big deal.” It was the biggest lie you’d told yourself. It was a big deal. It meant everything to you, but you couldn’t do this.

He’s stunned, mouth hung open and his pink bottom lip starts to quiver. The same lips that kissed you so delicately and made you cum so hard it was like the Fourth of July behind your eyelids.

Not having any of it, his sadness turns to anger on the drop of a dime, his shaky lip flipped to a snarl, “Don’t you dare do this, don’t you dare turn this around as just some one night stand bullshit.” His eyes search your face for any tell on a sick joke. But he knows you better than that.

He can’t contain the fueling rage inside of him and he almost shouts in your face. “I know what it meant to you!”

“Really?” you voice in a shaky tone, crossing your arms across your chest in a manner that suggests you couldn’t give a single fuck about his feelings, but barely below the surface you were screaming for help. “If you got all the answers then enlighten me.”

His voice is softer, gentler. He timidly reaches out to hold your clothed shoulders, the tips of his fingertips grip them softly, thumbs rubbing small circles. Hoping his touch could bring you back to him, bring back the angel from his dreams and coax you out from this hellish nightmare he had fallen into.

“Don’t act like this baby, please.”

Your head hangs in defeat and you’re ready to give up. A sigh escapes you and he lifts your chin with a ringed finger. He licks his lips and he says the three words you couldn’t hear.

The three small words that confirmed the anxiety in your chest and made your heart crumble. And it kills you.

It kills you to hear the words come from the man you’ve been yearning for.

It kills you to know you won’t ever be able to say them back to him. Even though you’re dying to.

And it kills you to know you don’t deserve to hear those words from him.

His fingers feel like talons against your shoulders and you're caught in his grasp. A hawk swooping to catch a field mouse. You can practically feel the blood pouring from your skin by his nails through the robe. The sharpness squeezing your lungs and attacking your mind.

And like a bullet from a gun, you fire back. With hateful words and a dead tone, fire lit behind your pupils and your caged self inside of them begging to be let out. Begging to be let free and loved by Eddie. Slapping his hands away from you, you pull away from him, your back hitting the wall with a thud, the same wall you leaned on last night when he kissed you for the first time.

The word is final. And so full of venom it feels like poison on your lips.

“Don’t.”

Wounded like an animal he defends himself. His slapped hands are red and stinging as he hangs them limply at his side. He shakes his head and his lips glow with how hard he’s pressing them together.

“Tell me I don’t mean anything to you,” he yells, hurt and unable to contain his building desperate pleas to win you back, “Go ahead! Use your words Tooty. Tell me last night meant nothing to you.”

He’s a fiend for your poisoned drug and you are his dealer, giving him what he wants, directly to his vein of choice. The veil of hatred falling in your vision and coating your stone still features. A single tear welled into your eyes. Falling the exact time you tell him words you knew weren’t at all true.

“It meant nothing to me.”

He chuckles in a hurt tone trying desperately to hide his own tears, a sick smirk of dismay is displayed on his quivering lips. And he’s fighting like hell to stay standing on two feet.

“So now what? Huh?” His voice breaks and he clears his throat, hands on his hips and looking towards the popcorn ceiling, desperately blinking tears back, and once they’re hiding again he nods his head forward, one last attempt to have you break with him. To admit you were lying to yourself.

Crossing his arms he’s trying not to shake with fury and grief. Through gritted teeth he misters up enough courage to ask you something he doesn’t wanna hear the answer to.

“Tell me what you want since you’re so big and brave. Don’t be a coward now sweetheart, tell me what you want.”

You almost vomit on the spot. But choke it down long enough to spill the last lie from your pretty lips.

The nail in the coffin. The big finale.

“I want… you to leave.”

—

JANUARY

It took three hours and all the boys from Corroded Coffin to help Eddie move his things out. He took a few days off from work to get his affairs in order. Filling out the proper paperwork to change his address back to the light blue trailer in Forest Hills for the time being.

You weren’t home when it happened. He had made sure of it.

When you closed your eyes at night you could still hear slam of metal connecting to metal when he slammed his van door and the crunch of ice and snow beneath his van tires as he sped away.

You didn’t cry anymore when Metallica played on the radio. And nobody but you knew that every glass you had owned had been shattered against the front door when you came home to his empty room.

A reality that had your eyes swollen for days.

It took you two weeks to see the envelope on the table. A scrawl of shitty handwriting with your name on it.

Tucked inside the pristine white envelope was more than twenty $100 bills, fresh from the bank. And a small note:

“If you need more let me know,

take care of yourself - Eddie

That night you wept. Clutching onto the handmade shirt Eddie had given you, the night before the concert. The only thing remnant of him living in the house. Not counting the newer jar of pickles in the fridge, like the last— the lid was missing.

Hot tears slid out of your eyes faster than a tub draining. A call to Robin is broken with blubbering hysterics and honking noises of your nose being blown into a wadded Kleenex, and in ten minutes time—she manages to drop everything to come and look after you.

Countless hours slip by of her rubbing your back and even crying along with you, she swore Eddie and you were meant to be. Her words were blankets of comfort on you as she tried her best not to bring him up.

She had promised both Steve and Eddie to not tell you where he was staying, for your own good.

And like the kind hearted friend she was, Robin stayed for a few days. Taking off work and cooking meals for you even though you refused to eat.

On the third day of not eating and refusing to leave your bed, she put a call in to Steve. He was hands on his hips disappointed in you. Lecturing you about how your actions hurt people and how you couldn’t be a brat forever. He threatened to dial the Wheeler’s to have Karen step in.

But you wouldn’t budge.

When Nancy had shown up on a Wednesday morning, she immediately went to work. Making a schedule for you to follow, and taking absolutely no bullshit when you told her you were a grown woman and could deal with things on your own.

When she blacked out Eddie’s name from the calendar, silent tears fell down your cheeks.

Seeing his name brought you both solace and pain. A reminder that you had done this yourself. That he wasn’t coming back. And it was because of you.

You moved with the motions of each day.

Shower

Brushing your teeth

Eating breakfast

Getting ready for work

Going to work

Eating lunch

Working

Driving home

Eating supper

Brush teeth

Bedtime

You sat in silence when you weren’t at work. Finding little to no enjoyment in anything anymore. Avoiding everyone’s calls. Staring at the 4 walls in your bedroom like a prison cell. Eddie’s stupid jar of pickles tucked snuggly between your crossed legs, your supper for weeks now.

The only thing on your mind was him. He stuck with you in everything you did. He was everywhere. You even started drinking orange juice from the jug just like he did.

His laugh. The small giggly one he’d had since boyhood and the deep belly laugh he’d generate when you would roll your eyes at him, all of his teeth showing.

His smile seemed to stretch across the Milky Way. Wide and pearly, ear to ear. His cheeks prickled with deep dimples. Somehow getting cuter with age.

The darkest eyes full of mischief and wonderment. You could get lost in the Wonka chocolate river pooling in his eyes. Changing with his emotions like a mood ring, they gave him away.

—

Corroded Coffin hadn’t played a gig since A Merry Corroded Christmas. Hard to play a show when the lead singer couldn’t pull it together during practices or remember to show up to them.

Steve had stayed up with Eddie the first few nights, talking him off the edge of a violent end he didn’t see a way out of.

He wouldn’t allow himself to forget that night. The passion was cosmic. And he knew you felt it too. Whether or not you would admit you were lying to yourself didn’t interest him.

He was used to rejection.

Used to feeling like he was nothing.

What was breaking him was the ghost of you in his arms. Your sleeping body haunted his dreams, made the demons escape from hell and flood his vision.

When he woke and you weren’t there the pain surfaced tenfold. And no amount of whiskey or Rick’s finest trees would fix it.

The cycle never ending

He cared about you more than he cared about himself.

The day you asked him to leave was a blur. He woke up at Gareth’s apartment a day later, no recollection of how he had gotten there.

Your words etched into his skin like a tattoo.

I want you to leave.

FEBRUARY

Still Loving You by Scorpions is playing on repeat between Nothing Else Matters by Metallica again in the guest house behind the lavish empty pool of Steve Harrington’s new home on Cornwalis St.

Thirty some odd days had passed and Eddie Munson was nowhere near the man he used to be.

Where his skin was once smooth shaven was now replaced by a prickly sparse beard. His once sparkling chocolate eyes were now dull and almost ashen. Dark circles rim his eyes from lack of sleep and poor nutrition, a diet of Marlboros, whiskey and pretzels giving him enough energy to work and come back to the same space he had called home for a few months.

Throwing himself into working long hours at Boom’s he slept very little at night. When he did close his eyes he’d be jarred awake by a nightmare, one he hasn’t had since he was a kid. And he’d lay awake for hours replaying the same day over and over again in his mind.

Each time ending the same way.

Shreds of notebook papers cluttered the floor, each littered with blue and black ink, all different but entirely the same subject: you.

Poems, songs, haikus and even a poorly written sonnet he had attempted while drunk at 2 AM sitting in a lounge chair he had drug out from the pool shed to sit along the edge of the frozen pool cover.

His hair hadn’t been brushed in weeks. Leighanne offered to help comb out the tangles and mats but the burden was too much for him to handle. He denied her kindness, brushing it off with mumbled ‘m fine ’s and don’t worry ‘bout me ’s.

But in reality the thought of another woman’s hands in his hair only made the tears fall harder.

When Eddie first moved in, Steve and Robin were still in the apartment, and Eddie’s things were moved to a storage unit across town.

When the lease was up at the end of January, Robin moved into Vicky’s apartment over Surfer Boy Pizza and Steve purchased a house, along with an expensive diamond ring he would be anticipating on giving to an eager Leighanne, holding off until her birthday for the right time to pop the question.

The Harrington/Buckley apartment was then subleased to Eddie. A sublease that didn’t last more than a week before he was booted out by the landlord for destruction of property when he accidentally started a fire in the kitchen.

He was only trying to replicate your lasagna.

Steve graciously invited Eddie to move in. and Eddie kept to himself for the most part. And on nights when sad music was blaring from the small guest house, Steve knew better than to ask if his friend wanted to play cards or kick back with a few beers.

-T-

January came and went and close to the end of February Josie told you she was cutting everyone’s hours, the salon would no longer be open on the weekends. The envelope Eddie had left for you was thrown into your night stand and you refused to use any of it.

No one in town was hiring for another hairdresser so you opted to driving fifteen miles out of town to find another job.

The job you had gotten was bartending at a rundown shithole bar worse than the Hideout. But the tips were good and your boss was sweet. A pot belly old farmer who only played country classics and served warm beer and peanuts, the shells making curved mountains on the filthy splintered wood floor.

It was refreshing to get out of Hawkins, but most importantly, it was the best chance you had at not running into someone who looked like him.

Your body started to ache at all times, tender in places that never hurt before. Exhaustion thick on your features

Months had passed and you hadn’t seen your friends. Nancy would call every now and then and check in. Jonathan and her were seeing a couples therapist for intimacy issues. She said Mike was hinting at proposing soon to El.

Eddie’s shadow lingered on your skin and you swore you could feel his breath in your ear. Whispering how he loved you.

Some days were better than others, but most days you would get so worked up you would vomit from the pain. Betrayal splayed in your guts. Your mind was working against you.

His teary eyes and hurt expression were all you saw when you closed your eyes. And every night you cried yourself to sleep, cocooned into a pile of too many blankets, dreaming that Eddie was holding you tight against his chest, never leaving…never letting you go.

MARCH

Eddie worked more than twelve hours a day, acting as two full time mechanics with how hard he was throwing himself into projects. Boom, although grateful for Eddie’s help and go-getter attitude, worried about him. Especially when he noticed the other two knot head mechanics he couldn’t afford to fire, helping themselves into his office flipping through personnel files.

“Sean told me he makes more money than me! I was just checking to see how much more you think he’s worth!

Aaron chuckled when Boom tossed him out of the office by his collar.

A secret motive snug on his Copenhagen smile. The Information he was seeking: found and a reward would be granted for his loyalty to a long time friend.

…

“… alright fine, I guess pineapple is pretty good on pizza.”

“Told ya, Harrington, ” licking his lips, Eddie reached into the cardboard box and grabs another slice, the melting cheese stretching for what seemed like miles, “I know good pizza.”

Steve rolls his eyes, taking it easy on his friend who finally is looking like his normal self again after two months of becoming almost unrecognizable.

The sad music didn’t play anymore. And his fingers didn’t bleed from writing songs about you.

He was accepting what happened. Still sad, a little depressed but moving forward with his life.

The date was approaching, Steve knew it and so did Eddie, neither wanted to talk about what he was going to do yet but Steve held his tongue for far too long.

“so.. that Metallica concert is coming up… you still g—”

Before Steve could finish muttering, Eddie was already finishing his sentence, chewing along with his explanation. His fingers twirl the rings on his other hand. A nervous fit settling in his stomach.

“—already sold ‘em. Gonna drop the money I got for them in her mailbox tonight.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his chair, threading fingers through his coiffed hair. “So that’s it huh?”

“So what’s it?” Eddie questioned, nonchalantly standing suddenly from the table with a scratch of the chair's legs against the tiled floor. Throwing his paper plate and napkin away, he stops at the trash can. Doubling back he almost cracks under the scrutiny of Steve’s eyes.

“Steve, she doesn’t wanna be with me, we’ve been over this. I fucked up, came on too strong.”

“I’m sorry man,” Steve apologizes, a drag of his large hands down his face. “I really thought she felt the same way—,” he huffs out a breath, “fuck, we all did!”

A shake of Eddie’s curls silences Steve’s words, the whirring noise in his ears, “I’m fine man, really. I’m gonna keep doing what we said we would all those years ago.”

Walking towards the front door and stomping louder than he should have, Eddie thrusts his arms into his leather jacket, the silk inside cozy along his faded cotton shirt.

His keys are hanging on the little hook by the door, Steve’s decorator thinking of every detail, he lets the brass teeth dig into his palm.

“Even if she hates me Steve,” one hand on the silver doorknob, rings clicking against it in his tight grip, he turns his head and looks into pitiful moss colored eyes, as he delivers the only truth he’s ever known, “I still love her.”

Slamming home the driver’s door to the van and turning his key into the ignition, Skid Row’s I Remember You plays gently through the speakers. Eddie hums along and pats his thumbs against the steering wheel.

It was true he was doing better.

His hair was combed through after using copious amounts of the cheapest conditioner Melvald’s had to offer. And he didn’t need the whiskey anymore to make it through the day.

He yearned to see your face.

Even if it was a glare his way or a raised eyebrow at something stupid he had to say, he’d do just about anything to see it.

Would you be smiling?

Were you happy without him?

He hoped you were doing well, and maybe would want to be friends again.

Turning onto Cherry Lane is pure nostalgia. It had only been a few months but everything looked the same. He felt different and maybe expected everything else to change along with him.

And there it was. Your house.

The house he had lived in, learned life skills he should have learned years ago, and most importantly shared the deepest love he’d ever felt with someone in his life.

The windows were dark, except for a small light in the kitchen, a candle he assumed. The smell of vanilla warmed his nose as he thought of the familiar scent you had kept burning.

The driveway held your car and another he didn’t recognize. By first glance he thought maybe it could be Nancy. But she had just brought her old station wagon into Boom’s last week for a tire rotation.

The license plates on the fancy BMW were not from Hawkins, housing the wrong number for the county on the Indiana plates.

His ears heated with jealousy. Throat closing tight trying to hide a choked sob.

How could you have moved on from him so quickly? The thought of you hooking up with someone while he was practically a dead man walking made him weak in the knees.

A punch to the gut. He had never felt so low in all of his life.

He couldn’t help himself when he jumped out of the van. Foregoing slamming the door. Stomping on cold concrete with shaky legs all the way to the front door. He fumed as he blinked back tears.

He was prepared to make an ass out of himself. He’d announce himself the same way he had when he opened the door the day he has moved in all those months ago.

A loud boisterous, HONEY, I’M HOME

With knuckles raised and his heart hammering in his chest like a bee trapped in a tin can, he was ready to knock.

Ready to see your shocked face with some faceless guy probably with a better job and stupid suits when Eddie’s wild hair and goofy grin was on the other side of the door.

But he is stopped short when a muffled shrill scream vibrates off the walls and finds his ears.

see you in volume 12

🐑 (sacrificial for readmore)

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst

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xxsugarbonesxx · 1 year ago

Text

Librarian Miguel x Flower Shop Owner

tags: tooth rotting amounts of fluff and some suggestive bits. No one is spider man in this AU, mainly just character set up stuff :3 and no gender is specified for reader any1 can read it

hopefully this will be me getting back into writing since i took a break from it lol (this was done in 30-40 minutes at 2am so sorry if it isnt too high quality) ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

In the little rural town of Nueva, there was a library, it was owned and operated by the single hottest man in town, and probably the whole state, Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel O’Hara was a simple man really, he ironed his clothes, did sudoku on the train and ate a bagel with light cream cheese, an assortment of raspberries, blackberries and blueberries every morning every day for breakfast.

He took his coffee dark with the littlest splash of cream and one sugar cube. Two sugar cubes would be just reckless. Coffee could be substituted with Camellia flower tea when he was out of coffee, peppermint for when he had a migraine.

All the women in town would sing his praises to another. Little was known about him besides that after the death of his daughter he moved to Nueva and opened his library. In front of his library was a small community garden and a bench dedicated to his dear daughter by the double doors.

No one brought it up, no one asked, and he liked it that way. He liked the simplicity of Nueva. The air was cleaner, the people there warmer and the ringing in his ears seemingly disappeared when he moved there.

He liked to keep his library neat and tidy, he had plenty of rules set in place to follow…children's books in the front and adult books in the back. The spicer content was shelved by the cook books so no kids found them. You are to only use the various lamps in the library, never the big light. It totally ruined the cozy atmosphere he had set up.

Jazz, Frank Sinatra, and Selena Quintanilla was the only music allowed to be played, he didn’t like any other types of music. Coffee was free as long as you returned your mug to the table his coffee maker was on once you were done. No talking louder than a whisper, and only pet the library cat if you had all your shots. That was mostly a joke, but Miguel didn’t want people who weren’t up to date on their immunizations touching his cat.

It was almost closing time, and there were only a few people left. The familiar cast of characters Miguel had come to know now wandering the maze of shelves. Ben Riley was using one of the community monitors. Sending emails back and forth to his girlfriend in Canada. Only god knew if she was real or not.

When Miguel asked why Ben just bought his own laptop or computer to converse with his girlfriend, Ben explained he didn’t want to go through the trouble of setting up a laptop when he could just walk to the library to use one for free.

Miguel couldn’t help but hold back the fattest eye roll known to man when he heard that.

Peter Parker was looking for cookbooks for the dinner he was gonna make to win his ex wife back. Stressing over the perfect dish to make as young Mayday Parker debated whether she wanted to check out GoodNight Moon or Skippyjon Jones for her bedtime story tonight.

Then there was Pavitr Prabhakar and Gayatri Singh. Debatably his most adorable regulars. Miguel would watch the two teenagers stumble through their awkward study dates, he couldn't help but feel the littlest bit proud of Pav when he finally worked up the courage and kissed her.

But his favorite, hands down, was you. You owned the little flower shop across the street from his library next to the bakery. On the opening, you had brought him a bunch of sunflowers tied with a pearl white ribbon as a gift. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he was actually allergic to sunflowers and graciously took the generous gift with a stuffy nose and kind smile.

You would come waltzing in, batting your eyelashes like you were auditioning for a mascara commercial. At first he had no interest in romance, but you were just so…kind, caring, loving, compassionate. You were so slow and soft spoken, giving him the space he needed while he grieved and was there afterwards to hug him and dry his tears.

At the beginning, you’d only stop by and help him in the library or check out a novel or two, but as you became a frequent visitor, you stopped coming just to help him…and started coming just to see him.

He remembered how one day, you had arrived at the library as usual. A perplexed look on your darling face with your hands behind your back. You had spent all of the night before carefully crafting a special bouquet of lilies and tulips. Making sure there wasn't anything in it he was allergic to.

After dancing around the subject, you had slowly confessed her feelings to him.

The next hour was spent in the back room of the library. Feverishly groping another and kissing frantically, your glasses kept sliding against each other’s as you both ran to rip each other's clothes off another's bodies.

Miguel was still that simple man he was all those years ago when he moved to the sleepy town of Nueva. The idea of building a real relationship with someone scared him from how many times he'd been hurt in the past and the fresh wounds from the death of his child.

But now he has you. He has someone to come home to besides the empty walls of his little cottage home. He has a significant other to fill that void and to lift him up, someone to be his lock screen picture.

Someone to tell all the things he’s learned from the regulars at the library. He told you about Ben getting catfished, Peter winning MJ over with homemade ratatouille and a promise, about Pav and Gayatri’s kiss while the both of you snuggled up on the couch over a bottle of strawberry wine.

You'd both started the relationship a little rocky, not knowing whether this was right with the things Miguel was working through then. But it soon proved to be the best decision either of you could have made.

He had your wedding picture next to Gabriela's school picture day portrait on his desk.

His favorite parts of his day were when you’d walk from your shop to the library on your lunch break to eat together, and in the evenings when he'd read the book you were currently reading out loud to you, before going to sleep together.

He was still that simple man, but now he’d share his bagels with you. He’d offer to iron your clothes for you, and even when you didn’t understand, he showed you how to play sudoku on the long train rides. Even though you were just nodding along to hear him talk about something he enjoyed.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #2099<3 #spiderman 2099 #writing #across the spiderverse #fluff #miguel ohara fluff #just cutesy reader being cutesy w their man #tooth rotting fluff

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things-for-your-little-mindset · 1 month ago

Note

hiii could I request stuff for a snow leopard please!!

things for your Snow Leopard regressor ! ( ❄️ )

Snacks & Drinks

Snowball Cookies – Powdered sugar-covered butter cookies that look like tiny snowballs! White Chocolate Chip Cookies – Soft, warm, and snowy-looking with melty white chocolate Frozen Berry Bites – Blueberries and raspberries dipped in vanilla yogurt and frozen for a chilly treat. Mini Meat Jerky – Something chewy and protein-packed, just like a wild snow leopard might snack on! Vanilla "Snow" Milk – Warm milk with a little vanilla and honey, topped with whipped cream. Chai Latte (Caffeine-Free) – A spiced, cozy drink that feels like a warm hug in the mountains. Icy Blue Slushie – A blue raspberry or blueberry blended drink for a frosty feel.

Outfit ideas

Fuzzy White or Gray Hoodie

Soft Pajama Shorts or Sweatpants

Paw slippers / socks

Fluffy Socks

Snow Leopard Onesie

White or Gray Overalls

Spotted Tights or Leggings

Fluffy Ear Warmer or Beanie

Tail & Ears Headband

White or Light Gray Puffer Coat

Mittens with Paw Pads

Snowy-Fur Patterned Leggings

Furry Snow Boots

Activities

Pillow Fort "Snow Den" – Build a soft, snowy cave with blankets and pillows to snuggle in like a real snow leopard! Snow Leopard Coloring Pages – Print or draw cute snow leopard pictures to color. Use soft grays, whites, and blues! Storytime in the Den – Read books about snow leopards or wintery stories while cuddled up in blankets. Stuffie Rescue Mission – Hide stuffed animals around the room and "hunt" for them like a sneaky leopard cub! Make a Mini Snowy World – Use cotton balls, fake snow, or even sugar to make a tiny winter wonderland in a shoebox! "Leopard Cub Zoomies" – Run through the snow, roll around, or slide like a playful cub! (If there isn't any snow, just find some soft grass! Make sure you're dressed for the weather) Snowy Hide-and-Seek – Find a "den" (snowy tree, fort, or blanket spot) to hide and seek like a sneaky leopard. Winter Treasure hunt – Look around for items that are winter themed outside! Pine cones, icicles, mouse tracks.. anything! Snowy Adventure Map – Draw a map of a magical snowy land and plan your leopard cub adventures!

Games

Roblox roleplay games or wintery games!

Gacha life 2 for ocs!

Animal jam / AJPW

Wildcraft

Pet World

RecRoom roleplay games

Zoo 2

Songs & Playlists

Playlist by Alibaba Space song - beach house Playlist by Clark Shipley Jingle bells Playlist by Jasper

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coyotelip · 7 months ago

Text

wolfstar microfic: knight bus || wolfstar raising harry pt.8 || @wolfstarmicrofic || wc: 474

"I'm never again let you stay in a charity shop this long.” Sirius grumbles under his breath at Remus, who is sitting next to him, as he pulls Harry closer to him on his lap, trying to keep him as steady as possible so that the ice cream-filled boy doesn't throw up.

He wishes someone would hold Sirius the same way, because in the last two minutes he's hit his head at least five times on the shelf next to him. Listen, he was guilty of traffic offenses himself, but at least his adventures with his motorcycle didn't hurt anyone else.

“You know, it was actually you who asked me to find a new chair for Harry, and that's what I've been doing.” Remus replies calmly, as if he's not even affected by the crazy scene around him.

Because of Remus's long search, they stayed until almost all the shops in Diagon Alley were closed, and the ones that were still open didn't have any connected floo fireplaces. On top of that, Harry just hated being apparatied, so their only options to get home were to either buy old brooms at the same charity shop and fly home (not a good idea, you must admit) or catch the Knight Bus, risking their mental health, because no parent in their right mind would let their child go to this psychiatric hospital on wheels.

Sirius's head was beginning to ache from the drink he had had earlier in the bar, the stuffiness and stress. It seemed like they would never get there, and it was one of those peak times when all the seats around them were occupied by various freaks. On the one hand, a gray-haired man with a shaggy hairstyle was staring at Remus, periodically licking his lips and twiddling his thumbs. On the other side, an old witch wearing the ugliest hat ever made was trying to lean closer to them to look into Harry's eyes, smiling broadly at him with her crooked smile and yellow teeth.

Sirius's instincts were screaming in his ears, not knowing which way to rush first, which person to defend, because the two most important people to him were here, under the observation of those freaks.

As if sensing the man's anxiety and uneasiness, Remus puts his hand on his trembling knee, squeezing it tightly. Sirius looks over at him and notices the tense line of his jaw from the way Remus is clenching his teeth. His own instincts and sense of smell were probably going as crazy as Sirius' right now, considering how close the full moon was.

So Sirius forced himself to take a deep breath and exhale through his mouth to avoid the horrible smell, and tightened his arms around Harry's body, who was already snoring in his lap from exhaustion and too much sugar.

#marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar raising harry #harry potter

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paci-papa · 3 months ago

Note

curiosity from the anon you inspired to be a caretaker...

do you have any ideas for how i can reward my little princess for good behaviour? how do you like to imagine rewarding your babies? i'm trying but i just can't think of many good methods! (i think i'm too used to viewing her as an adult...)

Oh, my friend, there are all sorts of wonderful rewards for good little ones!

First off, little ones love treats. Papa is yet to meet a cutie who isn't a little sugar hound. Offering little candies, cake, cookies, or ice cream for good behavior is always a winner. Plus, it can be fun for you too!

There is almost nothing as cute as watching a cute little baby new to their role realize that if they are going to eat that big slice of chocolate cake, they are going to have to use their hands and make a mess like the overgrown toddler they are!

Toys are also excellent rewards for extra good behavior. A super special outing for you and your little princess is a trip to the toy store to pick out a stuffie to commemorate a milestone.

You get extra points if you get the stuffy as a reward for something extra blushy. Then, you can always remind your little one about how they earned their favorite little friend each time they cuddle with it, keeping that memory of something like their first messy diaper fresh in their mind forever!

Speaking of fun outings, just taking your little out in public can be an excellent reward. Babies need fresh air, just like everyone else, and a walk in the park with their Mama or Papa can be just as exciting as a new stuffed bear!

Finally, there are always the more 'big kid' rewards. Buzzy time, humpy time, and bouncing time on a caregiver's knee are all wonderful ways to use a little one's natural big kid feelings to help reinforce how small they are.

Getting to have "special cuddles" with Mrs. Bear after making a big present for Papa in their diaper, is a great way to reinforce that even when a baby is feeling big, their actually itty bitty!

Papa's sure that there are a bunch of other wonderful rewards for littles out there. I'm always learning new ones myself.

Just remember to always be flexible and creative. Those traits will truly make you the best caregiver you can be!

#papa answers #ab/dl lifestyle #ab/dl diaper #ab/dl kink #ab/dl little #ab/dl couple

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yourhellishdaddies · 10 months ago

Text

{How the boys react to you regressing! SFW edition.}

Notices it before you even do. Can sense you regressing like a service dog.

Gets super excited! He LOVES playing with you when you're little!

Will kneel down and take your hands in his, the sweetest smile on his face.

"Aw, are we feeling a tad small, baby duck? Do you want to play? Come on, up we go!"

Picks you up and carries you to your playpen, sitting you down and pinching your cheek. There are a myriad of toy ducks that he's made just for you scattered around.

Offers to pick out a comfier outfit for you, and dresses you.

"What would you like to wear, pumpkin? Oh, oh! How about your ducky overalls?"

Will play pretend with you for HOURS. He'll make snacks for the both of you to share and will bounce you in his lap.

Sad or upset? Lucifer has an arsenal of horrible jokes and visual gags to turn that frown upside down! Watch out for silly faces and tickles!

Feel like going out? How about a trip to the circus? He buys you all the sweetest carnival food and gets you the best seat for the show! OR! Creates his own circus for you! He's the ringmaster, and you're his assistant!

Gives you a nice, hot bubble bath after such a long day. Rubs your aching muscles with a sugar scrub, and washes your hair with apple scented shampoo. Then he'll wrap you in a big, fluffy towel and carry you to bed.

As soon as you look at him, he's patting your head and taking you by the hand, leading you to his radio tower.

Gives you a kiss on the forehead and asks if you would like a snack. You nod, thumb in your mouth. He gently removes your thumb, tutting you and giving you a plate of food instead.

"Here, darling, be a good child and eat the nice food daddy's prepared for you. You want to grow up big and strong, don't you?"

Has his shadow watch over you if he has to turn his attention to something else. You play peek-a-boo with it, giggling happily.

Gives you chores to do, and offers to do them with you if you're struggling with them.

Encourages you to brush your teeth after each meal.

"You must take care of your smile, dear. After all, you're never fully dressed without it!"

Shows you his radio equipment and how it works, and even offers to let you make a broadcast!

Dances with you while the radio plays his favorite music. He'll take the lead and spin you as much as you want!

If you're tired, he'll rock you in a rocking chair and sing to you quietly. The small, happy sounds you make soothe him and allow him to relax, nearly nodding off himself.

Doesn't notice at first. It takes you grabbing his coat tail and tugging on it gently, gazing up at him with big doe eyes.

When he realizes that you're little, he lights up and swoops you up in his arms, swinging you around while you giggle and kick your feet.

"Hey, kiddo! Need some daddy time? No problem, Vox has got you covered!"

Lets you sit in his lap while he works and will take frequent breaks to play with you.

Knows all of your favorite movies and shows by heart, and will watch them with you for as long as you want.

He even gets into them! He knows all the characters, the songs, and likes to talk to you about them.

Buys you toys of your favorite characters.

Is unsure of how to handle you whenever you become upset or cry, and has a habit of just plopping you in front of the TV.

When that doesn't work, he awkwardly picks you up and shushes you, patting your back and bouncing you in his arms.

"Hey, c'mon now sweetie, don't cry like that. Daddy Vox has got ya, alright?"

Is completely oblivious until you start to get whiny or shy. You may throw a stuffie at him to get his attention.

"Hey, what the fuck!? Oh, ohhh haha! Sorry squirt. Didn't realize you were regressed. Ya need something from daddy?"

Lets you eat ice cream for breakfast and plays with you all afternoon during your sugar high.

Teaches you how to play music, and introduces you to all of his favorite rock bands.

Writes songs just for you, and performs them whenever you're feeling down.

Dresses you in "cool" outfits, and shows you off to all the other angels.

"Ain't they the cutest lil shit you've ever seen?! Hah!"

Is surprisingly gentle with you when you're tired, talking to you in a soft voice and making sure you have your favorite stuffie.

Naps with you when you eventually crash. Holds you against his soft belly like a pillow. He's incredibly warm and wraps you in his wings protectively.

Can tell by your mannerisms when you've gone into little space.

Immediately melts and coos at you, putting you into a diaper and perhaps a onesie or a cute little outfit.

Look you over and hums approvingly, picking you up and cradling you, combing his talons through your hair.

"Oh, you're just too precious, my little owlet. I could eat you up~!"

Proceeds to pretend to eat your fingers and toes, relishing in your tiny giggles.

Takes you to the library in his palace, where there's a special play area just for the two of you.

"Would you like a story, starlight? Or perhaps you'd prefer a nap? We could also play house, of course!"

Will do literally anything you ask of him.

Has several deco pacifiers he's hand made personally for you.

Sings to you whenever you feel upset or scared, and even uses his magic to put on a little galaxy show.

Has learned from his mistakes with Octavia and does his absolute best to communicate with you on your needs.

#age regression #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #caregiver f/o #cg/l #ab/dl #🍎#🎙️#🎥#🎸#🪶#f/o imagines #proselfship #proship #pro kink #profic #@gepl4y #proship safe

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justhere4thevibez · 10 months ago

Note

I have a question and a statement (it's like being at a con!)

Question/ask: what would Eddie do to cheer Chrissy up when she's feeling low? And/or vice versa! Headcanon or drabble or whatever takes your fancy!

Statement: I love you like WOAH and I wish I could give you the biggest hug ever ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

*taps mic* is this thing on?

I love you toooo, and I can feel your virtual hug, it's delightful 🥰🥰🥰 how do you always manage to inspire some words outta me??? Here's Eddie getting a very grumpy Chrissy out of bed:

Eddie crept into their bedroom, sighing when he caught sight of a well-hidden lump of a human underneath their covers. Still a bad day, then.

Chrissy got like that sometimes, where the world just got to be too much, so she’d hide away until it dialed down a little. Sometimes, though, she stayed too long and needed a nudge to get her back up and moving.

Eddie tiptoed his fingers down her shoulder, the only part of her not hidden by blankets, but she scrunched away from his touch.

“Eddie,” she said grumpily. “Don’t wanna.”

“I know,” he said, peeling back the covers a little more to press a kiss to her spine. “But I miss my girl.”

A very unimpressed huff emanated from the checkered blanket lump, but she didn’t resist when he pulled the covers away enough to slip underneath them with her. It was a little stuffy under the blankets, and honestly they should probably get around to changing the sheets sometime soon, but his Chrissy was here, so here he would be.

“You gonna let me see those eyes, pretty girl?” he asked, tracing up and down her spine.

With a little whine, she turned over, giving him the biggest pouty face he’d ever seen. It was like a puppy dog wanting to play fetch and a small child begging for ice cream all in one.

“Wanna stay here,” she said, giving him that pathetic face.

“I know,” he said. “But if you stay here, you won’t get my extra-special blueberry muffins that are cooling on the counter as we speak.”

“Muffins?” she perked up a little. “You could bring those in here.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, tapping her gently on the nose. “The whole point is bribery, milady. I’m getting you out of bed one way or the other.”

“Killjoy,” she grumbled.

“I know,” he said, tracing her cheeks, her lips, her jaw. “I’m the worst.”

“The very worst,” she said, scrunching up her nose.

“So, you gonna let me be the very worst and drag you out of bed?”

“…Do the muffins have the crunchy sugar on top?”

“Of course,” he said, playing at affronted. “Only the very best for my queen.”

Chrissy sighed, conflicted, and then wrapped her arms around his waist, squeezing him like a boa constrictor.

“Fine. But I need one more minute.”

“Mmm, how about I carry you instead?” he asked, holding her close.

“That would be acceptable,” she mumbled into his shirt.

Eddie flung off the covers, making Chrissy squeal, and scooped her up into his arms.

“Onward, milady,” he said, carrying her triumphantly into the kitchen. “Breakfast awaits.”

#vibez answers #hellcheer #ficlet #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham

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binbogummy · 3 months ago

Text

Humans are —

Chapter 3

This fic is fairly mundane so far, but things pick up just s bit in the next chapter. As much as a sickfic can pick up, I suppose.

Words: 3k+

Chapter 10|

The morning came gently and with it, the roaring sound of last night's downpour had been replaced by the softer tapping of raindrops against the windowpane.

Your eyes had just barely opened, but the muted gray light of the overcast sky peeked weakly through the undrawn curtains, and you could already imagine the damp chill of the world outside, a stark contrast to the cozy warmth enveloping you now.

You rolled over with a sleepy hum and noticed that your phone, keys and a few neatly folded bills were setting on the nightstand. It was the contents of your pant pockets you'd forgotten to empty before undressing last night; placed there with care by Aziraphale no doubt.

The fancy glass bottle he'd brought had also been refilled. You'd nearly emptied it last night after waking up rather thirsty once or twice, but it was once again full to the stopper. A doily had also been placed underneath it to catch the condensation growing on the sides as well as a coaster under your glass.

As you finally shifted to sit up, the ache in your head made itself known, along with the stuffiness now completely blocking your nose. And you couldn't help but groan, accepting that the cold you'd brushed off last night had fully settled in.

Plucking a tissue from the box on the nightstand, you were prepared to make an effort to relieve the pressure in your sinuses, only for a soft knock to rap against the door.

"Good morning, my dear," Aziraphale’s voice sounded carefully through the wood, hoping to alert you to his presence if you were awake but stay quiet enough to not disturb you if you weren't. "Are you awake?"

You almost responded but felt the slight resistance in your throat and clammed up immediately. You knew for sure your voice would betray your condition immediately.

While you didn't have much of a game plan, you were relatively desperate not to let Aziraphale know that you really were sick now. The still clean tissue in your hands was quickly crumbled and tossed in the trash to hide the evidence, and you resolved to keep quiet. If you didn’t speak, maybe he wouldn’t notice.

Aziraphale’s knock came again, this time accompanied by the silent creak of the door opening slightly. His head peeked around the edge, expression tempered by cautious concern until he saw you sitting up in bed and smiled brightly.

In your mind, you felt caught like a deer in the headlights.

"Ah, you are awake! Very good." He nodded, his head disappearing back behind the door for a moment before letting himself in the rest of the way.

He was practically glowing. Humming a happy tune as he carried along a wooden tray table inside with him. Atop it sat a plate, covered securely by a silver cloche, as well as a small ornate tea tray at the side, complete with two cups, a flowery teapot and the servers for sugar and cream respectively.

You were a bit doe-eyed at the sight but were far too distracted with the thought of giving away your condition to give it much thought.

His happy humming continued, even beaming proudly for a moment when he saw you staring, unaware you were practically staring through him, as he set everything down on a nearby dresser.

"How are we feeling?" He asked, a flicker of anticipation passing over his features as he arranged a few things on the tray. "Still a bit out of sorts?"

Not quite thinking, you shook your head vehemently.

He hadn't been looking in your direction, though, and turned to you with a hum when you seemingly didn't respond.

"Hm?"

With his eyes on you now, you shook your head again with what you hoped was a convincing display of casualness this time.

"Ah, that's good. Quite good. What did I tell you? The wonders of a good night's rest!" He seemed to almost sigh in relief, his smile returning as he lifted the little tea tray from the larger tray table and closed the distance to place it on your bedside table. "I thought you might enjoy a bit of tea to start the day?" The question was likely intended to be rhetorical, but when you only continued to glance about doe-eyed, you saw his expression shift expectantly.

So you nodded quickly, overcompensating with enthusiasm in an attempt to reassure him.

Luckily, he seemed to brush off the strangeness of your silence once again with an agreeing hum and began to set everything carefully in its place, his movements always precise and practiced as he poured the steaming liquid and added just the right amount of milk and sugar before stirring it with a soft clink of the spoon.

After that, the gentle clink of porcelain was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

Your head felt like it was filled with cement and your body ached just sitting up, but so far so good, you guessed.

For a little while, as he prepared each of you a cup of tea, the two of you sat in the quiet that Aziraphale had usually found peaceful, but as you continued to avoid offering him so much as a, 'Morning, Azi!', he fidgeted slightly, smoothing down nonexistent wrinkles in his waistcoat between each action as if looking for something else to say.

But he forced his movements to remain calm and methodical, and was sure to unfurrow his brow before turning to you with the lovingly prepared beverage.

"Here we are~ Just the way you like it." He assured sweetly, his full smile returning as he was sure to earn your signature and always grateful little 'thank you!'

But when he passed you the tea, you reached for it silently, gripping the saucer with both hands and only an acknowledging smile.

His brow didn't remain unfurrowed for long.

You, on the other hand, smiled a bit more genuinely as you lifted the china cup to your lips, taking a comforting sip and sighing quietly at the way the warm beverage offered a bit of relief to the pressure in your sinuses.

Your enjoyment, though, could only last a few seconds before you felt his gaze lingering on you and you dreaded the worst.

You dared not look up, keeping your eyes on your tea as Aziraphale tilted his head slightly, giving you something akin to a stern, expectant pout; like a parent waiting for their child to admit guilt.

Setting his own untouched tea back on the nightstand, the angel was sure now that something was amiss, and his mind began to race through the possibilities.

Until...

"You're cross with me, aren't you?"

You froze mid-sip and finally looked up at him, cocking a brow in confusion with a barely audible, "...hm?"

"Oh, you are cross with me. I knew it!" He reiterated, throwing his arms up slightly as he began fretting in place.

Your eyes widened in alarm when you finally realized that he'd completely misinterpreted your silence. You opened your mouth to reassure him, but the thought of speaking and revealing your stuffy voice made you hesitate. Instead, you waved a hand frantically, shaking your head again to indicate that nothing was wrong.

"No, no, you must be," Aziraphale continued, his voice tinged with regret. "Oh, I've overstepped, haven't I? I've been far too meddlesome? I do tend to get carried away with my... fussing. Oh, I'm a fusser!" He winced at the word, as if yours and Crowley's teasing had finally gotten under his skin.

You kept shaking your head, mouthing the word, "No," and motioning for him to slow down but the angel was already beginning to ramble.

The earnestness of his guilt made you feel awful. You wanted to reassure him, but the more he spoke, the harder it became to find the right way to communicate without using words. So instead, you quickly set your tea aside and reached out to place a hand on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and offering your best reassuring smile.

Aziraphale paused, his lips parting slightly as he stared at your hand, then back at your face. "Oh- oh... are you... not cross with me?" he asked, his voice now soft and hopeful.

You shook your head emphatically, your expression earnest. No, you were in no way "cross" with him.

His face softened immediately, relief washing over his features as his shoulders sagged just a touch. "Oh, my dear..." he murmured, his hand lightly covering yours where it rested on his arm with a sigh of relief. "You've no idea how much better that makes me feel."

You smiled and nodded gently, but before you could relax entirely his brows knitted together again, this time out of curiosity.

"Then... whatever's the matter?" he asked, leaning in to get a better look at you. "You've been so quiet this morning. It's not like you at all." he added, a new note of concern creeping into his voice. "Are you sure you're feeling quite yourself?"

Of all the moments you could have hesitated, this was the worst and your hand slid off his arms as soon as you noticed that he'd noticed the small pause in your expression.

You gave an awkward thumbs-up and kept your lips sealed in a tight smile.

Despite what the bulk of this morning so far would lead one to believe, Aziraphale was quite observant, and his gaze quickly flicked to the tissue box on the nightstand, then back to your face. The flush in your cheeks, the slight weariness of your eyes, the way you sniffled ever so softly; it all seemed to click into place.

The angel's expression hardened, "You do look a bit peaky," he muttered. "Come now, let's have a look."

Your eyes widened in horror as a gentle hand was extended to your forehead, and with the kind of speed that made your aching head pound harder, you ducked under the covers to avoid it.

Aziraphale blinked in startled surprise as you disappeared beneath the covers, clutching them tightly around youself like some kind of shield. His hand hovered in the air for a moment, then slowly dropped with a sigh.

"Really now, hiding under the covers?" He chided, "I promise, I'm only trying to help," he coaxed gently, his voice adopting the soothing tone someone might use with a frightened animal.

You shook your head, your voice muffled but unmistakably nasally as you spoke without thinking, "I'm fine!"

That was all the confirmation Aziraphale needed.

"Come now, there's nothing to be embarrassed about," he cooed, the mattress shifting slightly under his weight as he sat at the edge of the bed. "It’s perfectly natural for humans to catch colds from time to time. All the more reason for me to help you."

A hand landed atop the blanket over your shoulder, and you felt a pang of guilt. In that moment as you hid under the blankets like it would do any good, you were becoming increasingly aware that your actions were almost as over the top as Aziraphale’s silly mother-hening.

Now you were being unintentionally silly too, borderline childish, immature even, and it was all because you were in the presence of one of the few people you felt safe being 'silly' around.

There was a moment of silence, the kind that suggested Aziraphale was waiting for you to give in. When you didn't after a few seconds, still coming to terms with it all, he sighed dramatically, the sound as theatrical as something that should have come from Crowley.

You finally peeked out from the edge of the blanket, your eyes meeting Aziraphale’s soft gaze. He wasn’t angry, or even exasperated. He looked... fond. Too fond to be looking at you, you thought, and just fond enough to force you to give in. With a sigh, you poked your head out the rest of the way and let the blanket slip down to your shoulders.

"There now," he said warmly, his smile thankful as if you’d just done him the greatest favor. His hand hovered cautiously, giving you the chance to move away before it landed lightly against your forehead and the coolness of his palm felt heavenly against your overheated skin.

"Oh, dear," he murmured after a moment, his brow furrowing in concern. "As expected, you've a fever."

Aziraphale withdrew his hand and you hung your head as a good few seconds of silence stretched between you.

"I knew it!"

Aziraphale's triumphant exclamation was accompanied by a radiant smile, or perhaps it was a self-satisfied smirk, and you cocked your head up immediately in surprise. "I knew it!" he repeated, his voice brimming with pride. "I had my suspicions last night, of course, but I thought to myself, 'No, surely she'll admit it when she's feeling truly under the weather.' And yet, here we are!"

He straightened up with an almost smug little huff, his eyes sparkling with a mix of satisfaction and concern as he regarded you. "It's quite a good thing I insisted you stay the night, or heaven knows what state you'd be in now."

All that remorse from moments ago in regards to his 'fussing' had vanished, replaced by the vindication that he really had made the right decision from the get-go.

You blinked slowly, reminded that despite his good nature, even an angel couldn't resist the allure of a good "I told you so".

But he seemed to remember himself after a moment, coughing into his hand to begin again with more humility as his eyes settled back on you with a soft look of concern, "But that's no matter now." He amended. "What matters now is seeing you well again."

You glanced away as he leaned in closer to examine you once more

"Let's start with your symptoms. You've the fever, of course and you're rather stuffy by the sound of it, as well as harboring some congestion I'd imagine? What else? How's your throat, any soreness?" He interrogated you with earnest concern.

You shook your head softly.

"You're quite sure? You are being honest with me?"

You nodded. It was true. Your throat wasn't sore exactly, but the congestion in your chest and pressure in your head did make talking a bit of a chore.

"I see. Is there anything else? Anything at all?"

"My... head hurts." You admitted. That couldn't be more true. When you glanced too hard in any direction, when you shook or nodded your head, and even when you sat up or laid back down, it felt like your brain made a soft thump into the inside of your skull.

He hummed thoughtfully then gave a serious nod. "I see, well I'm afraid that leaves no room for argument then. You're far too unwell to be gallivanting about. It's clear you need at least another full day, if not more, to recover properly. And I'll see to it, personally, that you stay put."

"Mmmmm...." You pursed your lips and made a chittery groan from your throat in an exaggerated show of disdain at the idea. Aziraphale was a sweetheart. Probably the sweetest person you knew. But to this day you still found kindness, from him or anyone else, hard to accept. Knowing Aziraphale had helped you work on that. The guy was nothing BUT kind after all, stubbornly so to the point where your usual attempt to deflect didn't even work.

At least last night you had the mercy of going to bed, but a full day if not more of being subject to these levels of protective angelic cosseting might actually kill you.

"Really now," Aziraphale began with a half sympathetic, half exasperated look that faded to something soft and coaxing when he met the pleading look in your eyes, "Hmm," He hummed and then smiled kindly, "Do you think you could do me a favor, my dear?"

You narrowed your eyes at him and he let out a little chuckle.

"Since I must insist that you remain where I can keep an eye on you, perhaps you could find it in your heart to enjoy your time here; under my care?"

Dammit... enjoy it? How could you not enjoy it?

You glanced around yourself, at the layers of blankets tucked over you lap, at the quickly cooling tea you'd set aside and then down at the nightgown you were wearing in defeat.

Guilt, that's how. But regardless, you were sure denying him now, while he was giving you that fond, affectionate look would only make you feel guiltier.

So with a single word, even more final than the one you gave last night, you rolled your eyes and gave in. For real this time.

"Fine..." You scoffed but there no no bite behind it at all, only a deep pink rushing to your cheeks as Aziraphale seemed to feel every bit of emotion you didn't dare express outwardly and grabbed your hand to give it a tender squeeze.

"Oh, thank you, dear! I assure you you're in the best of hands." He beamed, "Now then, I'll ensure that you have everything you need for your recovery, but for nowー" He raised his eyebrows playfully and turned to fetch the tray table he'd set aside earleir, returning to your bedside with it in hand, "how about some breakfast to start the day, hm?"

"Azi, no!" You exclaimed with a hopelessly bashful look as he gently set it to straddle your lap and adjusted it just so. "You didn't..."

"Aziraphale, yes!" He countered enthusiastically, once again correctly interpreting your 'distress' as the bashful appreciation that it was. "No tummy troubles I'm assuming? So it'll be important you keep your strength up, and a good breakfast is sure to set the precedent for a good day!"

Aziraphale grinned, his excitement palpable as he carefully gripped the handle of the silver cloche and, after waiting a second for dramatic effect, lifted it with a flourish.

On the plate underneath was a big croissant sitting beside a serving of scrambled eggs, topped with a bit of parsley, a few slices of bacon and a small dish of fresh fruit containing strawberries, blackberries, and some orange slices. At the side, there was also a dish of butter and a dish of marmalade, neatly placed for spreading. The presentation was tidy and thoughtful, prepared with care like the kind of thing you'd see served at a fancy Cafe.

"Voilà," Aziraphale said with pride, gesturing to the tray as though he'd just successfully pulled off one of his magic tricks. "A proper breakfast; made with love, of course. Nothing too heavy, just enough to lift your spirits and nourish the body."

"Oh, Aziraphale, this is..." You began in awe, about to insist that it was too much, that he didn't have to do all of this, when a small, 'ahem', from the angel cut you off. You looked up and met his smile. It was soft but expectant.

"If I recall, we did just agree to let ourselves enjoy our time here? Did we not?"

So you took a small breath and smiled, you really smiled, and then continued differently.

"Perfect. It's perfect. Thank you, Aziraphale."

"Think nothing of it, my dear! I assure you. Seeing to your well-being is an absolute pleasure." He reached for the teapot and refilled your cup, adding a bit more cream and sugar before placing it on your the tray table as well. "Now, eat up while it's still warm. And don't hesitate to ask if you'd like anything else. I'll be happy to oblige."

You hummed happily and began to dig in.

You couldn't help the small hum of appreciation that escaped you after a few bites and Aziraphale beamed from his place beside you, picking up his own cup of tea and taking a seat at your bedside. For a few minutes, you ate and he sipped his tea with an air of quiet contentment, reading the morning paper he'd brought up with him and silently emoting to whatever it said.

You glanced at him between bites, noting that he didn't appear to have brought anything up for himself. He seemed content just to sit with you as you ate, but you couldn't shake the question that had popped into the back of your mind.

"You're not eating?" you asked softly, your voice still a little hoarse but warm with curiosity. Food was one of his favorite earthly things after all.

Aziraphale blinked, startled out of his thoughts, and turned his attention to you. His expression softened immediately. "Oh, I've already had breakfast," he explained, setting his teacup down on the bedside table with a delicate clink. "This morning was a bit of toast with marmalade and some tea. Quite scrumptious." He mused joyfully. "I made a point of having it quite early, you see. Knowing you might still be unwell, I rather wanted to focus on making sure you had the best morning possible!"

"Aww, Azi...that's so sweet."

"But worry not!" he added quickly. "I’ll have plenty of chances to join you for meals yet. Lunch, of course, followed by afternoon tea, then dinner. And with you bit more settled, breakfast tomorrow morning as well. And I’m quite looking forward to <i>all</i> of it, if I do say so myself~ On top of that it's–" his face scrunched a bit in thought, "what day is it, my dear?"

"Thursday." You answered with a sip of your tea.

"Ah, yes! Thursday! The shop's closed on Thursdays– or wait, perhaps that was mondays?" He seemed to think again but waved the details off with a flutter of his hand and a smile, "Doesn't matter! What I do mean to say, is that for the rest of the day you'll have my undivided attention!"

#good omens #GO #aziraphale #crowley #platonic good omens x reader #good omens x reader #ineffable dads #anthony j crowley #Technically he's not in this chapter but he's gonna be a bigger part of this fic as a whole #so I'm tagging him #Also #I haven't taken requests in ages #buuuut #I'm definitely the the mood for some inspiration #soooo #If you have any good prompts/ideas send em my way #and maaaaybe I'll take a crack at em

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kawaii-claw-machine · 3 months ago

Note

hiii could i get a cosmo from dandys world? we have a fragment of the character and she would really like to fully form :)

heres her known information so far:

Pronouns: She/they/it, occasionally he

Sign off: 🍩

Names: Cosmic, Brownie, Cosmo

thank you :D you can add whatever youd like!!

Your capsule has dropped

Open it?

Name: Cosmo / Cosmic / Brownie

Pronouns: He/Him They/Them She/Her It/Its Ix/Ixs X/Xs Hy/Hym Thy/Thym Thiy/Thim Shy/Hyr Shi/Hir H☆/H☆m Sh☆/H☆r Th☆y/Th☆m H♡/H♡m Sh♡/H♡r Th♡y/Th♡m Cook/Cookie Cake/Cakes Cup/Cupcakes Bake/Bakes Ice/Icing Cream/Creams Frost/Frosting Rainbow/Rainbows Sweet/Sweets Sugar/Sugars Heart/Hearts Star/Stars Space/Spaces Cute/Cutes Nya/Nya U.U/U.Us O.O/O.Os UwU/UwUs OvO/OvOs :3/:3s :D/:Ds 🍰/🍰s 🧁/🧁s 🍩/🍩s 🍪/🍪s 🍭/🍭s 🍦/🍦s 🍬/🍬s

Age: 14

Gender Identity: Pangender, Agender, Bakerygender, Cookiegender, Cakegender, Fluffygender, Sweetgender

Sexuality: Aroace spectrum, Pansexual

Role: Food maker (couldn’t find a term for this), Maid, Babysitter, Hygiene helper, Caretaker, Dear

Positive front triggers: Baking, Cooking food, The opportunity to scare someone, Playing outside, The park, Showering, Doing skincare, Cats, Playing with cats, Cute things, The color pink, Stuffed animals, Sanrio

Negative front triggers: Bed rotting, Neglecting the body, Not drinking enough water, Not doing basic hygiene tasks, When someone needs motivation.

Likes: Being outside, Cute things, Skateboarding, Rolerskating, Riding a bike, Being active, Feeling the wind in their hair, Baking, Helping/Cooking dinner, Cleaning up, Taking showers, Tidying messy spaces (he finds it therapeutic), The wind, Doing skincare

Dislikes: Staying in bed all day, Not going out, Spending too much time on tiktok, Stuffy spaces (cannot be in a room without a window open or the air con on), Not eating, Not showering, Not doing hygiene tasks.

Aesthetic: Kidcore, Pastelcore, Cutecore

Species: Cake, Toon, Human thing?

Source: Cosmo - Dandy’s world

Personality/Short description: Cosmo lovelovelovesszz baking and will sprout up to front to bake every chance it gets. Some of the things that Thiy like baking the most are cupcakes, cookies and roll cakez! Hy also enjoys going outside and feeling the breeze in cakes hair, some of the ways that cook in joys the most are swinging, spinning and running around. Th♡y also like to make sure that we keep healthy by exercising, drinking enough water, showering and doing hygiene tasks.

Typing quirk: Replaces S with Z example: “He haz and nice zmile!”

Faceclaim:

Sorry for the amount of pronouns i got inspired 😅

Also i decided to mix these two requests as i didn’t wanna make two cosmos, hope that’s okay!

!! Reblog if you use !!

Request open !

* alters may not turn out as planned, and that’s okay ! *

This alter was packaged by Pastel

#bah blog #build a headmate #build an alter #endo safe #endogenic system #pro endo #willogenic #endo friendly #mixed origin system #plural system

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radiowallet · 2 years ago

Text

Eyes Open - Chapter One

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Amy Oliver (ofc) Summary: As the leader of the Heroics, Marcus Moreno always seems to get stuck with the worst of the legislative duties, including dealing with the local police stations. The station secretary, Amy Oliver, quickly steps in, finding subtle and not-so-subtle ways to get Marcus the information he needs. WC: 2.5K Warnings: 18+ MDNI Canon-typical violence, talk of police work, slow burn, yearning, idiots friends to lovers, financial stressors, second chance romance, workplace romance (sort of), older love interest, eventually explicit.

Series Masterlist II Main Masterlist II Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Cross-Posted to AO3

>>> Chapter Two

A/N: Hello friends! It's been a very very very long time since I've posted a fic and needless to say, your girl is nervous. I've been hard at work on book prep and promotion, and in between all of that I have been plucking away at this story. I really wanted to write something fun and easy and self-indulgent. Thank you to everyone for reading!

For any new writing follow @radiowallet-writes and turn on notifications.

----

Marcus is tired. The kind of tired that builds slowly, the feeling cresting higher and higher until it’s pulsing behind his eyes. The kind of tired that leaves him irritable and anxious, and ready to take it out on anyone or anything. His head is pounding, his body aching from the physical exertion of standing his ground for far too long. It had been what felt like hours of runaround from the chief of police; a semi-regular occurrence that he had grown far too accustomed to. The room was stuffy, the blinds pulled closed and the door shut tight, locking them in with the stale air and cigarette smoke. He fights the urge to tug at his tie, refusing to give the bullheaded ass sitting across from him the satisfaction.

Being leader of the Heroics came with quite a few headaches but the bureaucratic anxieties that came along with dealing with the local law enforcement was one of the biggest thorns in his side.

“Sir, the Heroics have always done our best to keep the lines of communication with your precinct open. But in order to achieve that, you’ll have to meet us in the middle.”

Chief Baldwin chuckles, the sound demeaning in more ways than one. He leans back in his chair, his heels making a heavy thud as they hit his desk. “As in break protocol? Skirt the rules? Allow vigilantes free reign in my precinct and my city?”

“I don’t see how my asking for a few unredacted case files is–”

“Forget it, Moreno!” He grins, making a show of picking up the very file Marcus had asked for. “You can go through the proper legal channels and you’ll take what I give you. Now get the hell out of my sight.”

Marcus turns where he stands and storms out, making sure to slam the door as hard as he can, the bland, generic art hanging on the wall rattling on impact. For a moment he doesn’t move, chest heaving and fists clenching, wishing he had something (or someone) to take this simmering rage out on. Just as he’s about to start walking again, intent on completing his righteous tantrum with a moniker of dignity, a soothing voice hits his ear with the smallest of peace offerings.

“Coffee?”

He turns to see Baldwin’s secretary staring at him from her desk, a stack of paper sitting in front of her, her pen poised above a signature line. His frown shifts, the tension melting from his shoulders as his head jerks out a nod and he falls into the seat beside her desk, the chair squeaking beneath the weight of him.

She doesn’t say anything else, instead gripping his shoulder once before standing and stepping away. He watches her from the corner of his eye, her movements precise as she pours him a cup of dark liquid. She tears open two sugars, adding them along with a splash of cream before finally setting the navy blue mug down in front of him. She pours her own, a chipped white mug with a worn-away police badge on the front, and returns to her seat, turning her quiet gaze in Marcus’s direction.

“You can say it,” she prompts, brown eyes watching him over the rim of her mug, the slightest hint of a smile curling along the corner of her lips.

“Your boss is a jerk.”

She doesn’t respond, but her smile shifts just a smidge wider. She takes a generous sip, humming as if she actually enjoys the taste of it. She sets her coffee to the side, and pushes up the sleeves of her cream-colored blouse, turning back to her stack of papers with renewed intent, jotting something down across the top of the page.

“The two of you have been doing this dance for years now. I’d think you’d be used to it.”

Marcus grumbles into his own coffee, refusing to respond, knowing full well how good of a point she’s making. Amy Oliver has, after all, had a front row seat to every argument between the Heroic and the chief of police from day one. She knew the pattern just as well as Marcus did, and after every instance of door slamming and name calling she was always there to help in her own way. She was one of the few people in the building who brought a smile to his face and he found that even when he knew there would be trouble, Marcus always looked forward to sitting at her desk and sipping her terrible coffee.

“Might be time to just end these little visits. Not like they get me anywhere.”

“Don’t joke,” she gasps, her over the top pout more than comical. “What would I do for entertainment around here without the two of you having your little pissing matches? My job?”

He rolls his eyes, but her smile is contagious, and before he can stop himself, he’s hiding his own behind his mug.

“Perish the thought.”

“The audacity,” she murmurs mostly to herself, checking another box with a bit too much flourish, her ponytail swinging from the effort. “How was your weekend? Did Missy end up going out with what’s his name? The one who’s death you’ve been daydreaming about?”

Marcus feels his smile slip at the change in topic, but Amy doesn’t miss a single beat. “She did! I love this! How did Marcus Moreno, leader of the Heroics, handle his baby girl going out on a date?”

“I’ll have you know I handled it great.”

The admission seems to finally have her full attention. She drops her pen and leans forward on her elbows, the tips of her fingers just grazing the tops of his thighs.

“Define ‘great’?”

Marcus swallows hard, ignoring the heat swirling deep in his belly, even as he feels himself lean, just barely, into her phantom touch. Amy, for her part, takes his silence in stride, reading between the lines of everything he doesn’t say.

“Let me guess? Sharpening those silly swords at the kitchen table when he came to pick her up? A stern reminder of curfew while also demonstrating superhuman strength? A text or two under the guise of ‘checking in’?”

He barks out a laugh at how keen her eye really is. “Alright, you got me! I may have leaned a little hard into the protective dad thing.”

“And I bet Missy was still home by curfew.”

“A few minutes early, actually. Not sure why I worry so much.”

Her hand is on his knee before he even has a chance to register the feeling, another comforting squeeze, there and gone faster than he can pull air into his lungs. “Because you’re a dad.”

He coughs and takes another sip of coffee, an action meant only to help slow his racing heart, and leans further back in his chair.

“How was your weekend?”

“Oh, big Saturday night. My mom sent Harris Candy Land. So, naturally we had to play it 5,000 times in a row.”

Marcus feels his chest fill with a different kind of warmth, picturing Amy and her 7 year old daughter going toe to toe over the same board game he and Missy would play night after night. She could downplay it all she wanted, but he knows that when given the chance to spend quality time with her daughter, Amy would play as many repetitive games as there were stars in the sky.

“You wouldn’t believe how many times she beat me, Marcus! I swear! This weekend I’m pulling out Monolopy and letting her taste my wrath.”

“Big words,” he teases, admiring the way her cheeks heat up beneath his own gentle ribbing.

When their snickers finally start to subside Marcus moves to refill both their mugs while Amy continues to work. She thanks him, easily splitting her focus in a way he’s always been jealous of. She checks a few more boxes and signs one paper after another, all the while never letting her bright eyes and impish grin stray from his attention. She doesn’t falter, even in the throes of her gentle teasing, and Marcus wishes he could spend the rest of his day sitting across from her.

And then, as if she can read his mind, “Can you stay for lunch today?”

“No,” he sighs, hating the taste of the word more than the shit Amy calls coffee. “I have to get back. The rest of the team will be waiting for me.” He takes one final sip of coffee before standing, knocking his fist against her desk in lieu of goodbye.

“Okay, well, can you toss these files in the shredder for me on the way out the door? I have to get a presentation set up for a briefing, and I’m already behind.”

“Of course,” Marcus agrees, accepting the stack of papers that she had been carefully chipping away at since he walked in this morning.

“Thanks, handsome,” Amy quips, turning back to the computer screen, the click of her mouse following him as he goes. When he gets to the shredder he stops and tosses one single piece of paper away, taking care to fold the rest in half before sliding them into the breast pocket of his jacket. Once outside, he walks quickly to his car, only stopping briefly to send a quick text.

M: Thank you

A: For what?

She always was a pro at playing dumb.

It would have been easy to mistake Amy as a wallflower, her eyes always pointed down, her lips seemingly sealed tight, fetching coffee and filing paperwork with zero complaints. She knew the precinct better than anyone, and though every cop in the building would rather die than admit it, she was the reason that place made any difference.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a secretary was underestimated.

But it wasn’t long before she proved that very notion wrong, finding Marcus after his very first argument with Baldwin, pushing a crumpled piece of paper into his hand along with a crappy cup of station coffee. When he smoothed it open later that day, it was to find a list of suspects, hastily scribbled in Amy’s beautifully looped cursive.

Neither of them mentioned it again, but the tips kept coming, subtle and not so subtle alike. Case files meant for the shredder that never made it, heavy boxes carried to the evidence locker under the guise of a favor, and one hilarious time when a phone number had been penciled into five down on a Monday morning crossword puzzle. Each one had helped him avoid the legislative tape wrapped securely around police work, and Marcus was eternally grateful for all she did to help him and the other Heroics.

Even if he couldn’t tell a single soul.

M: Next time I’m around, lunch is on me.

Marcus tries not to think about how it’ll probably be a few weeks before he shows his face around the precinct again, especially considering the confidential information he had just been handed. It always felt prudent to keep a low profile after these run-ins with Baldwin. He picks up his pace, anxious to get back to Heroics headquarters and begin parsing through the case report tucked out of sight, his detective skills already thrumming to life with the potential of new puzzle pieces.

It’s another helpful distraction from the lingering memory of her comforting grip around his shoulder, the hint of her smile over the rim of a chipped coffee mug, the teasing lilt of sweet adorations that he knows don’t mean a thing.

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

Amy takes care to keep her eyes forward, watching Marcus over the top of her computer monitor, only catching a glimpse of his hands as he tosses away some of the pieces of paper she had handed him, and pocketing the rest. The transition is seamless, and she can’t help but swell with pride as the Heroic disappears completely from view, the front door of the precinct swinging shut behind him.

Her concentration is broken by another stack of papers hitting the corner of her desk. From the sound of the dull thud it gives, she already knows the rest of her afternoon is now spoken for. But, she reasons, at least it should help the hours tick by just a little bit faster.

“I swear. That Moreno. He just doesn’t know when to call it quits.”

She casts an eye over her shoulder at her boss, refusing to feel any sort of shame for being caught staring. It was hardly the first time she had let her eyes linger on the width of his shoulders or the cut of his jaw, unable to deny how handsome the man is. She was only human after all.

Today had been just like any other, Marcus’s righteous fury boiling away to reveal his tender heart, joking along with her as he slowly relaxed back into himself. Amy could feel the heat making a home in her cheeks, unable to look away from his plush lips as they formed around a laugh or the stretch of his skin as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. But for all her stolen glances and coy flirting, she knew she could never bear to ask for more, not willing to risk the precious friendship they’d built together over the years.

“You could try playing ball with the Heroics every once and a while.”

“He’s a bleeding heart, Oliver. Walking around with superpowers and worrying about petty police business. Best not to get too hung up on him.”

A bleeding heart is one way to put it.

A good man is another.

A rare find in a world full of men and women alike who were anything but. Amy had had her fair share of experience with those, Harris’s dad the best example she could conjure up. But it hardly mattered. He was gone and she and Harris were better off for it.

And if given the choice she’d gladly take Marcus’s bleeding heart over the man who walked out when there were two lines on the stick instead of one.

Derek stares down at her, dark eyes nearly piercing where they pin her in place. For the briefest of moments, white hot panic slices through her heart and she worries he’d seen the case report Marcus had slipped out of sight. But then he’s turning away, reaching for the coffee pot that lives behind her desk, pouring the last dregs of dark liquid into his cup.

“But we’re all on the same side. Right? Derek?”

Amy watches the older man for a minute longer, doing her best to listen to the steady beat of his silence for any lingering secrets. But Derek Baldwin has always been best at keeping things close to the vest, and his true feelings towards the Heroics were no exception. He taps two fingers on the stack of papers, his movement firm, his orders concise.

“Finish these up and then you can head out for the night.”

“Sir?”

“Take the afternoon. See your kid. You’ve earned it.”

Amy can’t help but smirk, ducking her head and pulling the papers close, anxious to finish up and head home.

If only he knew the whole truth.

Earned it doesn’t even begin to cover it.

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

>>> Chapter Two

A/N: All my love and thanks go out to @jazzelsaur who has listened to me talk about these two (and silly book stuff) basically non-stop. Really, truly, I can't believe I get to call you my friend. How is that possible????

#marcus moreno fic #Marcus Moreno x ofc #Marcus Moreno #pedro pascal characters #Marcus Moreno fanfic #we can be heroes #wcbh #we can be heroes fic

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miloscozycorner · 7 months ago

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𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐬.

Carer!Michael Taylor x Little!Reader

• Getting up in the mornings was always a bit of a pain, especially when you were so tiny. Michael makes it a bit easier.

cw: age regression.

( 665 words )

Michael’s nails scratched on the top of your head, the sunlight making his skin glow. The curtains were white, not doing a very good job of concealing the daylight. You groaned as you flipped over on the sheets, your palms hiding your face.

“Tired, pup?” Michael asked, tilting his head as he looked down at you. You grumbled incoherently, before forcing your head up to meet his warm gaze.

Finally, you have a short nod as you covered yourself in the warmth of the blanket, holding your stuffed bunny tight to your chest. “I don’t wanna go to work.” You complained, pouting as you flipped on your side.

Sunlight warmed your form but still, the grogginess remained in your eyes. Michael gave a short sigh as his strong arms helped you sit up on the bed, ruffling your hair. “C’mon, little one. We have to get up. I have work and so do you.”

While you wanted to protest, he helped you place your feet on the carpet floor, ignoring the pour curling your bottom lip. Plus, you couldn’t deny that you loved the attention he gave you in the mornings.

“Why don’t you get dressed, sweet pea? Dada will make some breakfast.” He patted your cheek, and you mumbled to yourself grumpily but obligated. The smell of pancakes and bacon wafted through the apartment, and you couldn’t deny how your tummy rumbled.

Soft footsteps pattered down the stairs as you walked up to the kitchen, perching on a bar stool as you watched him flip the bacon over. You held your stuffie close in your arm, juice sitting in your favorite sippy cup.

“Nicole and Joey are out for breakfast, so we should have the morning to ourselves.” Michael sighed playfully, “Who even knows what shenanigans they’re up to.”

You giggled into the head of your stuffie at Michael’s playful words, placing bacon and a stack of pancakes on your plate. “Alright sugar, eat up. Or I’ll be very offended.” He joked, sitting next to you.

Per usual, you decided to add lots of toppings. But of course, Michael always indulged you despite how silly your pancakes looked drizzled with sprinkles, hot fudge and whipped cream. “Dada look- is a smiley face!” You exclaimed proudly, showing him the face on your pancake shaped out with whipped cream.

Michael gave a little gasp as he looked at the pancake, ruffling your hair. “I do have quite the little artist, hm?” He cooed teasingly, watching you take a bite out of the pancakes.

Giggly laughter escaped your lips as you ate, shifting in your seat. “Dada, you’re being silly.” You replied, finishing your breakfast slowly as Michael rose from his chair and checked his watch.

“I’m sorry to give the bad news baby, but I think it’s about time for work.” He finally spoke, looking at the time with a small frown. “Go brush your teeth, and we’ll get a move on, okay?”

A pout curled at your lips as you huffed, standing up from the chair with your arms crossed over your chest. “But I wanna stay here, with you.” You insisted, grumbling as Michael gave your arms a reassuring squeeze.

“I know honey, but we both have some kid responsibilities to get done. But guess what?” Michael said, crouching and looking down at you. His hand wrapped around your fingers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You tilted your head, looking down at him curiously.

“Once we both get done with all our boring, big kiddo stuff, dada will put on your favorite movie and maybe we can even have some ice cream, hm? How does that sound?” He offered softly, giving you a small smile.

Even though you grumbled, you still nodded in agreement, perking up at the idea of ice cream. “Mkay, dada, I guess.” You mumbled as Michael stood, giving your hair a small ruffle.

“Alright, good job, pumpkin. Now go brush your teeth, alright? No stinky breath here, you silly goose!”

#my two dads #my two dads sitcom #joey harris #michael taylor #my two dads fanfic #my two dads fic #my two dads fanfiction #agere fanfic #agere fic #milo writing

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anoctoberpepper · 1 year ago

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Nicky/Nick/Nicholas system head canons that haven't made it into my fic yet.

Nicky likes LaCroix because it’s in a can, and he can drink it when his friends are drinking beer. Lime is the only flavor worth the effort.

Nick would just rather have beer.

Nicholas likes coke, hot chocolate, and putting ice cream in root beer.

When forced to exercise, Nick likes sparring, Nicholas likes solitary running outside, and Nicky likes weightlifting or beating Lark at any fitness thing the other man is doing.

Nicky likes his coffee with sugar but no creamer. Nick pretends to like black coffee but takes advantage everytime Nicky makes coffee and leaves it out for him.

Nicholas would never! It would stunt his growth. He does, however, know how his mom likes her coffee.

Nick has a blue baby blanket that’s worn thin with holes.

Nicky has a panda stuffie his mom gave him when he was a little kid, but he doesn’t know which timeline it’s from. He suspects Nicholas, because Nicholas really likes the stuffie even though he pretends like he’s too cool for it.

None of them can cook well, but Nicky and Nick can cook out of necessity. Their top recipes are ramen, boxed mac ‘n cheese and pancakes. When asked to eat healthier by his mom Nicky starts stocking his fridge with raw fruits and veggies. It’s not uncommon to find cuties and raw broccoli in Nick’s pockets. Nick doesn’t eat the veggies but Nicky fully intended too. He’s doing his best. Nicholas is fully a kid junk food fanatic and should not be left alone with the credit card. If there’s a grown up around he will pretend to follow the horribly outdated food pyramid that Jodie took as gospel in their house.

They all hate swimming, but Nicky tried to learn after a few missions went bad. Everyone makes fun of his sputtering doggy paddle. Grant tried to teach him once, but it didn’t go well.

None of them know what day of the week it is at any given time. They show up to D.A.D.D.I.E.S. whenever they want, work when they want and disappear at odd hours for meals.

#dnddads #dungeons and daddies #dnddads s2 #nick close #nick foster

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koithelittle · 1 year ago

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cg!wolfbur moodboard (maybe some hc's?) 🥺👉👈

cg!wolfbur moodboard + hcs !!

note; sooo I sorta kinda read wolfbur as dark wolf after reading your request over and over again and ended up making a darkwolf one BUT I fixed my mistake so here! I hope you like it<3 I'm actually going through my drafts today and queing everything up so most requests should be out today & tomorrow :3 as always requests are open it just may be a few days before I get to them!

paci creds; littlest._.creations on ig!

navigation

other moodboards (requests are open!)

taglist; @jjtheresidentbaby @lillylvjy @wilmaslittleflower @whos-nicooo @littlerosiesoot @arabellasrose (ask or dm to be added!)

- i think he's a bit more strict as a cg, more sound boundaries and rules. just because he doesn't want you hurt, he cares about you and puts your safety and well-being first.

- things like candy/sugar limits, how far you go when you play outside, bedtimes/routines, no swearing, etc. small things but, more yk?

- he tries his hardest to not laugh when you do swear when regressed because, come on, it's funny!

- you're all puffy, getting mad because he said no ice cream for breakfast (when really you're just tired) and so you tell him 'f you!' and he just smiles.

- it sounds so silly with your baby voice, but he just smiles and tries to calm you down.

- I'm not very familiar with lycans or how it works so I won't touch on that too much bUT he does like to chase you around playfully in his human form and tell you how the big bad dada wolf is gonna get you! you're just giggling and squealing and running from him, but end up getting picked up and spun around by him!

- cuddles you into his chest and likes to curl around you and rub your back n stuff!

- he's very soft with you and he's very observant, he knows what you need before you do, often times.

- offers his hair for you to play with, like he'll lean his head down for you to play with his curls.

- any sort of stim like that helps you when you're fussy or having a meltdown

- so he'll offer his hair, or his hands or a stuffie for you to play with

- it's almost like a reminder that he's real and there and youre okay, y'know?

- likes calling you baby wolf and little one mostly but uses a lot of petnames!

- he's a good cook so he makes all the meals, and he's good at it too.

- cuts your food into bites though, he doesn't want you to choke!

- plays with you in the floor for hours on end

- most of the time he cleans up while you're napping but sometimes he'll have you help.

- he wants you to be as stress free so he'll just do it for you, he enjoys doing it though!

- like he'll just put on an old record and go around and clean up the house while you're napping in your room.

- wakes you up from naps with soft coos and sweet forehead kisses!

- likes giving you his sweaters/shirts to sleep in bc they're comfy but you like how they smell like him!

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cloverhasnobrain · 5 months ago

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Bead Ants

In which Hank Pym tries art therapy.

////

Content: Fluff, platonic HankJanet, Science BrosTM, can be read as "x reader", in which case it can be olatonic or not. Reader would be the unnamed character.

Trigger Warning: none that I am aware of? Not proofread.

====================================

Growing up, Hank was never really encouraged to embrace his creativity. Not that there was much inspiration in East Nowhere, Nebraska.

Sometimes he wondered if it was a money thing, if his parents, as a factory foreman and a bookeeper, were just worried he wouldn't be able to keep himself on his feet based off just creativity as an adult, if it was just well-justified parental concern, which he could almost understand. Still, some part of him couldn't help thinking a bit bitterly of his folks sometimes; his old man for giving more of a damn about a carburetor than his son's development, and his mom for her similar exasperation at his inquisitive imagination— she worled with books, for pity's sake, shouldn't she of all people, understand it? And then there were the professors with those disapproving eyes whose judgemental faces he could see to this day, telling him he was nothing, he'd always be nothing, but he believed that the lighter-hearted, sweet Henry truly faded most when his grandmother passed.

His first great failure.

It wasn't his fault, he knew it, she was sick and he was seven, of course the device he tried to build to cure her didn't work, but at times, despite all reason, he found himself reviewing it, revisiting the concept and reaching for a way, any way, to sit once more on her knees, swishing his legs, and yap about machines she could put into her wondrous novels, babble about wonderful mechanics and science to the point of magic.

Maybe that percieved failure, that loss of the support he needed, was the beginning of the guilt that nagged at his heart, that first carburetor his first attempt at conforming, becoming what people wanted to see. Maybe not. Maybe his he was just doomed from birth because his brain chemistry was messed up— how ironic, a biochemist with a screwed brain chemistry.

He'd vented about it to Jan. Oh, Jan was so great, even after everything, he loved her so deeply, she was a ride-or-die, she was his family. And she gave really good advice, when it did not involve shopping sprees, the club or a spa day. That was not really his thing.

"I think you're overanalyzing the past and not focusing enough on the present, Hank."

He'd roll his eyes, swirling the atrocious decaf latte in his hands, he'd heard this so many times already.

"I mean it!", she bumped her shoulders to his, savoring an equally revolting drink that was more sugar and cream than coffee at this point. "What I'm saying is, you need something to unwind. You're becoming stuffy, ex-hubby, you are! That big brain is too hyperactive, it's like a pent-up engine— if that's even how they work. Too much brainpower, and you can't just spend it all on inventions, there aren't even enough things to invent for that, so you just get obsessin'. If you ask me, what you need is a hobby. Not super-related, maybe not even so science-y. Like me, I draw up new designs when I'm bored or stressed— oh, that's it!" she gasped with delight at her own brilliant idea, to grip his arm.

"Hank, you need to reclaim your creativity."

Admittedly, he'd been skeptical. A half-hearted "sure, Jan," and a soft chuckle, and he'd been ready to forget it, only it lingered. He mentioned it to Stark, Richards and Banner on Poker Night, and they were more supportive than expected too;

"Hey, makes sense, you know? Having an outlet. I used to really love the anger management classes I took," Bruce would shrug, contemplating the bet Reed had just placed. Shocking no one, Stark also had his two cents, but the surprise came in the fact it was not a jab or a quip.

"That actually sounds really cool. Cap has been doing art therapy at this volunteering center, I'm sure he could tell you more about it, Hank."

"Four of a kind," was Mr. Fantastic's input, that prompted a very smug smile from the usually meek Dr. Banner:

"Ha! Royal Flush," he proudly declared, leaning back and crossing his arms behind his head with a contented sigh as if the protests and outrage of the others were the most sublime chant of the angels. "Pay up, cocksuckers."

In the end, Pym did reach out; Steve was very sweet about it, as expected, and directed him to this volunteering center that had all sorts of activities, from a community garden to the attelier to which he had dragged himself, though his confidence failed him as he saw the illustrations on display, the half-finished pieces and people prepping canvases, clay; he wasn't an artist, what was he doing here?!

"Hey, you're a new face!", the instructor called; a bit of a beanpole, with freckles and very blue hair, sporting a baggy shirt that read: "DIAGNOSED ARTISTIC" and a big smile. Birdie, they introduced themselves, and proceeded to give him a bit of a get-to-know of what the group did; apparently, it was just people that liked to do art together and in a sort of guided way to cope. Hank was grateful that they didn't try to have him introduce himself to everyone, he hated when that happened, felt like highschool. Highschool was bad, he was an awkward, angsty teenager...

"Haven't seen you here before, first day?"

He was ripped away from his introspection by the person on the table beside his. Damn, why was everyone there so talkative?!

"Ah, sorry, it's cool if you don't like talking when you're creating-"

"No, no, it's fine," he waved his hands a bit with a tiny huff, "was just lost in thought, it's okay... yeah, first day."

"Nice, and how do you like it so far?"

"... well, the instructor is diagnosed artistic, so I think I'm in good hands..." His quip earned a bright laugh from the stranger.

"Yeah, Birdie's great! So whatcha makin'?"

He looked down to his hands at the question. What WAS he making?

"I dunno," he confessed with a sigh. "I came here to 'reclaim my creativity' as per my ex-wife, but now it's really dawned I'm terrible at drawing anything that's not formulas and I feel like an idiot."

The stranger's features softened. "Hey, don't. We're all searching for something here, some to get over a slump, some to cope in a healthy manner, some to perfect their skills, some to start learning at all. Honestly, don't worry too much about the result, no one here's gonna be an art critic or whatever, and everybody has thrown a tantrum over how their art ended up at least once. Table-neighbor tip? Start with something you like, make it an enjoyable process. Art's not supposed to be a chore. Let the creative juices run."

A slow smile spread across Hank's face, and he nodded.

"I like ants."

"Then do an ant."

It was more fun than he expected. A bit daunting at first, but he chose to make little ant sculptures with natural seed beads and wire, and had a really good time between discovering this new hobby and participating in the light banter of the attelier, not on important world emergencies, rather on how the paint water looked appetizing, and how hands were evil because they were hard to draw and sculpt.

By the end, everyone would showcase their creations, and Hank felt surprisingly proud of his ants; the class was so supportive too, making little comments and praises to the bead critters. Amidst all the positive energy, he felt his chest bubble, all warm inside, as a tiny smile quirked his lips. Maybe he could get used to this art thing.

Fin.

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