#Garbage Bag Making Machine

[evieelyzabethh]

"taste"

☆"you're wonderin' why half his clothes went missin', my body's where they're at"☆ Wearing Arcane characters clothes {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw☞ slightly pervy jayce, a bit of fluff, Viktor calls reader a whore, a bit suggestive for all of them

an: this is the case for all my titles, but I feel I should clarify; the songs are not meant to accompany the headcanons, I just get lazy when naming things so I cherry pick song lyrics then use the title lol.

♞Vi♞

♞Vi never thought she would have to worry about her clothes going missing. They're all tattered and torn, holey from all the times she's been cut or stabbed, blood stained from all her injuries throughout the years, and absolutely falling apart at the seams. Hell, her own shirts are so ruined she usually just walks around in chest binding bandages. Granted, stealing Vi's clothes started from an accident of convenience.

You didn't think anything of it as you slipped on the old thing, the writing so faded you could no longer make out the outlines of the letters and the color so sun-bleached it just looked a dull beige. There were holes along the shoulder blade, rib cage, and chest, the hems had long since unraveled, and the neckline had been cut. It Vi wasn't so averse to throwing things out, it's home would've been the garbage can ages ago. But still, it was comfy and clean and something of hers, so you pulled it over your head and carried on into the laundry room where you sat on top of your washing unit, vibrating along with the clunky machine beneath you. You decided to read as you wait, eventually become so engrossed with your book, you miss the sounds of Vi trudging her heavy feet across the floor as she returns from her most recent bout of getting her ass kicked. She hums her way around the space, painfully shrugging her jacket over her aching shoulders, enroute to the laundry room where she finds you, ankles crossed with some old mystery book in your hands. She gawks at you for a moment, not quite knowing what to say at the sight of you in her clothing. It looked good on you. Well, everything looked good on you, but this looked right. "Did you get all dressed up for me, pretty? You jump a bit at the sudden intrusion of her slightly gravelly voice, but eventually relax into her warm, musky presence. She knows how you feel about her smearing her bloody lips across your freshly showered skin, so she bites her lip to swallow her urges. "Depends, did you get yourself all battered just so I could patch you up?" She snickers, wiping the remnants of dried blood from her top lip. "Will my honest earn me a pre-shower kiss?" Of course, you nod your head. You have a very hard time denying her, not even bothered by the feeling of her gauze bound hands grip on your thighs and your skin beneath her shirt. She whimpers, leaning heavily onto the washer, her fingers likely leaving marks from how desperately she grabs at you for stability and her own sanity. She doesn't realize until the adrenaline wears off how much tonight did a toll on her, pulling away from the kiss to rest her head on your shoulder. "You need help to the shower?" "Yeah", she murmurs, hardly louder than a whisper, holding onto your waist as you hop down and sling your arm over her shoulder. "No more pit fighting for a while?", you question lightly, to which she responds by pulling a hefty bag of coins from her pants pocket. "Not for a few months."

★Ekko★

★Ekko has a commune, he is absolutely no stranger to sharing, especially when it comes to clothes. As many times as you have snuck a few of his jackets over the years, he has taken his fair share of your tops, liking the way they constrict and show the definition of his biceps and show off his sculpted lower abdomen. You swap rings, hair ties, and all sorts of accessories, it's another way that you two are visually all over each other. I also wouldn't be surprised if he was the type to buy things knowing they would eventually end up in your closet.

★This being said, you would have better luck getting a reaction out of him showing up wearing nothing rather than in his clothes, at least clothes that aren't important to him. He's so desensitized to the idea of sharing; a regular hoodie wouldn't get him going. Wearing something of his though, his jacket, his mask, replicating how he does his face paint, that would certainly get him. It's the explicit connection to him that gets him, it's you proudly wearing an echo of Ekko.

It was cold and wet and dreary. The sky was grey, and murky puddles formed in the innumerable cracks and crevasses in the dirty floor of the Undercity that the ground began to look like a muddy sea of water. It was the perfect day to be inside, maybe make some warm soup, put on a vinyl and pretend the crackley sound bites are early lightning bolts, and bundle up beside Ekko and call it a day before the sun went down. This was not the case as Ekko was out covering the gardens so they wouldn't be flooded by impure water and preparing for any potential storm surge, leaving you home alone, wrapped in his favorite jacket. You doubted it would be a big deal, it's not like he's ever been upset about borrowing his clothes without asking before, but his reaction when he returns home scares you for a moment. His eyes are closed as he walks through the door, carelessly toeing off his shoes, lifting up his already soaked shirt to wipe the running face paint before it gets into his eyes. From your place on the couch, you look out the window for the first time in hours to see it pouring down, the droplets pelting on your windows and the wind sending the occasional pebble flying at the glass. "I'm telling Scar to do this shit next time, it's too damn w- oh." He freezes, midway through yanking off his raincoat, eye's slightly irritated as they stare at you. oh? "Is that my jacket?" You falter a bit. "Yeah...is that ok?" You had no plans of going out in it, wearing only some old cotton shorts whose elastic waistband snapped years ago and a thin tank top. You didn't even have a bra on. He collects himself though, smirking as he looks you up and down, how good the color compliments your complexion, drinking in the slivers of skin, the sight of your nipples through your top. Of course it's ok, in what fucking world would it not be? "Yea, baby, it's fine." His mumbles, his voice lower and his eyes a bit wide. "You look good in it, too. C'mere, do a spin for me."

❂Jayce❂

❂This man is 6'7 and built like a brick shithouse, his clothes absolutely swallow you and he thinks it's adorable. He gets a fit of cuteness aggression, he just wants to squeeze and hug and kiss you until you pop. It speaks to that part of him that is quite aware of his sheer size, his biceps are the size of your head, you have to look up just to make eye contact with him, his clothes practically fall right off you. He's just so...big.

He awakes slightly startled and feeling empty, immediately feeling your lack of warmth in his arms and slightly panicking. It's too early in the morning to be rational and his frequent nightmares are doing him no favors. He hates waking up alone and cold, he feels like he's waking up in that cave again. His senses calm his rapidly beating heart, the comforting smell of coffee and something syrupy sweet, the sound of something sizzling on the stove. He throws the comforter off him, cringing at the feel of the cold floor on his feet before he throws on some socks and sweatpants to wander around half-asleep in. His brain short circuits when he sees you, his large shirt practically hanging off your shoulders, flowing around your bruised and kiss-bitten thighs. You moved lithely around the kitchen, going back from chopping strawberries for the waffles, stirring the eggs, flipping the bacon, and he's man enough to admit he's blushing a bit. You made breakfast for him! That's so cute. He slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, bending down to plant kisses on your neck. "My shirt looks really good on you, gorgeous." You giggle, turning around to face the big man behind you who picks you up by your hips to set you on the countertop, settling in between your thighs. "You think?" He hums. "Maybe a few sizes too big, but it's endearing. You look like a little fairy, like I could carry you around in my pocket all day." And his eyes are big and out of focus, that charming gap-toothed smile on display as his hands rub over your smooth skin, pushing his shirt higher and higher. Too big is certainly a familiar sentiment, how desperately you were crying that out just last night is still looping in his brain as he says it. "Maybe I'm normal sized, and you're just a giant. Have you ever thought of it that way?" He chuckles. More times than you can imagine.

☽Viktor☾

☽Hard immediately, next question. His work outfits look completely normal on him, but the buttons pop at your chest and the vests accentuate them in a way that's pornographic. Even his ties only serve to enhance the fantasy, even though they are the exact garments he wears to his lab every day. There is nothing innately sexual about it at all, but that's the fun of it. The fact thar you chose to wear that black lacy bra that you knew would show through the top, the way you wear his reading glasses low on your nose, the red bottom heels that you wear, which in any other context could be seen as perfectly appropriate work attire. It's the performance of it that he appreciates.

He knows exactly what game you are trying to play with him, no matter how hard you try and play coy. There is no way that you accidently shrunk your blouse in the wash, hell, he knows that's not your blouse because the buttons are on the wrong side for it to be female attire. He knows that's his tie, he is one thousand percent sure that if he was to yank you by it and check the underside, he would see his initials embroidered. He knows you left it loose on purpose, you have requested for the entire relationship to pick out and tie his ties for him, he knows you can make it tighter. Everything is utterly loose, for lack of a better word. The top button is undone, the tie isn't completely tucked under the collar, the slit of your skirt is not where it should be. It's a play at looking professional that you and him both know is just a test to see how long it takes for him to crack and rush you both home. At first, he's willing to play ball because you always crack first, but today, however, you decided to be serious about your productivity. He tries to focus, he really does, but after a while the clicking of your heels becomes too hypnotic, the fake attempts at adjusting your tie begin to pile onto the sexual frustration, and you lean over one too many times, giving him a good whiff of your perfume and oh you went with a red bra to match his red tie. He waits for Jayce to leave the room, slamming the book he was 'reading' shut as he lets out a very aggravated breath. "I want my shirt back." Cut and dry, his hand flipping the tie you're wearing to confirm that is indeed his. You smirk, and he would feel the need to wipe it off your face had it not been for the fact that he swallowed his pride hours ago after his hard on became too much to ignore. "You want it back now? Right here." And you're already slipping off the other buttons and he contemplates whether it's worth it to barricade the door with the table to buy you more time or be rational and tell you to stop. "Had I known you planned on being a whore today, I wouldn't have invited you over." You pout as he pulls the knot of his tie, grabbing your hands to bind your hands. "But don't I look pretty, Vik?" He rolls his eyes. "You look magnificent, love."

☼Mel☼

☼Like Ekko, she isn't a stranger to sharing clothes with you. Even if it's not hers, she has an exact replica tailored just for you. This being said, she loves playing dress up with you with her clothes. Anytime she needs to clear out her closet or has an article of clothing she doesn't know how to feel about or just gets bored, she'll call you to wherever she is and request you be her doll for a little bit.

Though you had been in Mel's closet for what had to have been hours at this point, you couldn't really complain. Never had you felt more pampered in your life, tens of gowns, trousers, and blouses gracing your skin as you twirled on the platform in Mel's closet as she analyzed the garment from every angle. Now you stood in something white and flowy, the sleeves long, the bodice double lined for winter weather, the hemline off the shoulders and trimmed with fur, the bottom thick and heavy. "What do you think lovey? Do you think it's too on the nose, you know I've never been the biggest fan of fur." Her hand feels across your chest, dusting off where some of the fluff had fallen and rubbing the soft material in her hands. "I don't see you in fur, it's too much of your mother's thing, but I do think it's nice. The lining is really nice on the skin, sorta has a fleece feel to it." She nods, moving her hands along your waist to connect with the silver zipper. She clucks her tongue. "Would I be silly to not wear it because the zipper isn't gold. I know it's a miniscule detail, but I really don't do silver." You chuckle as you look around her closet, a room larger than the bedroom you grew up in filled with racks of clothes that had some sort of golden sheen, be it from the color of the fabric, some sort of metallic accent, or a reflection from the general vibe of the room. "My love, you have so many clothes in here I doubt you would wear it regardless." She smiles. "Are you getting tired of this." You hesitate, which is plenty answer enough for her. You had been standing for hours at this point, and your back was starting to ache from how straight your back had been. "Do you have it in you for just one more. I promise, it'll be quick." She already has it out of the box, a very small party dress that you had never seen her wear before. "I bought it months ago but have been going back and forth between whether or not it would look better on me or you." Of course, you oblige, and she giggles as she zips you out of the dress, carefully sliding it off until the fabric pools around your nearly naked body. Her tunnel vision is briefly abandoned as her movements slow, lingering over the curves of her body, her fingernail tracing tiny hearts on the skin of your chest. "I know I say this every time, but you truly do look beautiful out of everything. Undressing you may be my favorite part of this." You playfully roll your eyes. "Stop being a flirt and just zip me into the dress, I want lunch."

[rafesangelita]

poguesweethearts first time with rafe and he is just so so so so mushy with her 🥺

warnings: fluff, use of the nickname ‘sweetheart’, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, soft sex, multiple orgasms, soft aftercare

rafe had it bad. every touch, every glance, every laugh, he was fighting off things he never thought he’d have to. like right now for instance. “okay how do you like this? is it too pink?” you did a little spin for rafe, oblivious to the way his eyes danced down your figure.

you were currently trying on different outfits to meet his family in, your overthinking machine of a brain not resting until rafe decided for you. rafe leaned back in his seat, meeting your gaze. “you could wear a garbage bag, and i’ll still think you look perfect.”

you shook your head, a pout forming on your lips as you stepped closer to him. “rafe i’m serious! i want them to like me.” rafe pulled you down to sit on his lap, his hands bringing your legs up to rest over his thighs. “sweetheart, they are. my folks are already in love with you, they’re constantly telling me to bring you home already.”

rafe watched the worry etched in your brow melt away, his fingers cupping your chin. “please don’t stress yourself out about it. we still have a whole week before then.” you nodded, pecking rafe’s cheek. he shut his eyes the second he felt your lips against his skin. something so small like a kiss on the cheek was starting to become too much to handle.

“hey, do you uh- have any plans for the next few days?” he hoped you couldn’t feel the hard on in his jeans. leaning your head against his shoulder, you fiddled with a loose thread on his shirt as you hummed. “nope. my manager went on vacation with her husband so the icecream shop is closed, and i already baked what i needed to sell this week, so i’m all yours.” all yours, that was like music to his ears.

“good, that’s good.” you noticed the way he rubbed your knee as if to soothe himself, your eyebrows knitting in concern. “rafe?” you adjusted yourself in his lap, freezing when you felt something poke your thigh. both of you looked at each other, your eyes falling to his lips.

“are you busy the next few days?” you asked him, your chest rising and falling as your fingertips burned to touch him. “no..” without hesitation, both of you kissed each other desperately, your hands flying out to pull him closer as if he wasn’t already flushed to your side.

this kiss was everything you wanted it to be, and everything rafe needed. you wrapped an arm around his neck, letting him pick you up bridal style where he then lead you two to your bed. you swore your sheets have never felt this soft before, but then again, with the way rafe’s hands roamed your body, everything seemed, well, just sweeter.

you welcomed him between your thighs, your dress pooling around your waist as he pulled away to admire you underneath him. “god, you’re fucking gorgeous.” rafe traced the sweetheart neckline of your dress, your breasts peeking out just enough to drive him crazy.

you smiled softly, taking his hand in yours as you dragged it across your chest. “please take it off.” you didn’t have to tell him twice. in seconds, he had you in nothing but your white matching set, kissing your skin as if you’d disappear if he didn’t devour you right then and there.

everything about you was so perfect to him, for him. you slipped off his shirt, running your hands down the ridges of his abs. “i’ve wanted to do this since i first saw you walk into the country club.” you gasped softly when he cupped you through the lacey material of your bra. your hands worked to undo rafe’s belt, his cock straining painfully in his pants.

rafe cursed under his breath, taking his jeans and boxers off in one swift movement. you’ve imagined what rafe would look like; naked and ready to take you, but it didn’t come close to the sight of him right now. he stood glorious, the look in his eyes making you rub your thighs together.

“rafe?” you sat up, watching as he reached for your ankle. you don’t know what you were expecting, but rafe yanking you towards the edge of your bed definitely wasn’t it. “keep talking, sweetheart, ‘wanna hear your voice.” you swallowed thickly, your heart skipping a beat when he kneeled in front of you.

“i want to make you feel good..” you trailed off, letting him lay you down as he took your panties off. one look at your soaked cunt, and rafe couldn’t believe he had survived this long without it. “you already are.” your mouth fell open when you felt his breath tickle your skin.

“is it okay if i do this?” you looked down, the sight of rafe gazing up at you from between your thighs was something you didn’t know you needed. you whimpered, muttering a ‘yes.’ before you felt his tongue run between your folds.

rafe was quick to pin your thighs down on top of his shoulders, ensuring you couldn’t move away from him while he lapped at your clit. “feels s-so good, rafe..” you shuddered, your body jolting when his tongue prodded at your entrance.

rafe had finally gotten a taste of you, and now he was addicted. from your little whines, to the way your thighs threatened to close around his head, rafe couldn’t help but fist his cock at the idea of making you cum on his tongue. he groaned against your slick cunt, the vibrations shooting straight to your clit.

“oh!” your hands fisted the sheets underneath you, your back arching up from your bed at the sensation. rafe watched you fight to take a breath, his chest blooming with pride at your obvious display of struggle. “you look so pretty like this.” he pulled your bra down, your tits spilling out of the white lace.

it wasn’t long before your hips starting moving away from his face, your first orgasm of the night threatening to rip through you. “don’t make me chase you.” you shivered at rafe’s words, complying immediately as you let him pull you even closer. rafe knew you were close to making a mess for him, and he was going to watch you unravel if it was the last thing he did.

“rafe-” your hands scrambled to find his, the band in your stomach snapping as you borderline screamed at the white hot pleasure coursing through you. “i got you, baby,” rafe let you dig your nails into his skin, your cries making his cock twitch with need.

you couldn’t form a single thought, let alone a sentence, so when rafe kissed his way up to your lips and asked if you were okay, you settled for a broken moan. “shhh,” he moved you two further up your bed, making sure your head was resting on a pillow before pecking the tip of your nose.

if you felt fucked out with rafe’s mouth alone, you couldn’t even begin to think what you’d feel like after he was done fucking you with the same cock that currently rested on your tummy. you were still going through the aftershocks of your orgasm when rafe caged you between his arms.

“you’re so perfect, you know that?” your breathing slowed to the sound of his voice in your ear. no one had ever made you feel like this. orgasm aside, you realized as you gazed up into rafe’s eyes, that he wasn’t rushing to have his way with you; instead, he was comforting you and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious thing to ever grace the earth.

he was selfless, even in this very moment when he had every right to be greedy, and that fact turned you on more than anything ever did. “rafe? please give it to me.” he blinked slowly, his jaw clenching at your words. looking down where he lined himself up with your entrance, you watched as his face contorted into full on bliss, a gasp leaving your lips as he filled you up inch by inch.

“holy fuck.” you ran your nails across the back of his head as he cursed against your skin. wrapping your legs around his waist, rafe interlocked his fingers with yours, both of you moaning in unison as he started thrusting into you. he stroked the side of your face, your eyes fluttering shut as you stretched deliciously around his length.

your heart felt like it could explode in your chest. the hand holding, the way rafe touched you as if you were made of glass, it was all making you melt into a puddle of sweet nothingness. “shit-” he hissed through gritted teeth, “you can’t be real.” he half laughed, kissing you ever so gently.

you couldn’t help but squeeze around his length, the head of his cock brushing that sensitive spot that sent you whimpering against his chest. rafe admired the way your eyes sparkled everytime you looked up at him. he fucked you hard and slow, every stroke bringing him closer to the edge of euphoria.

with his forehead resting on yours, your hand suddenly felt cold as he reached down for your clit, your hips stuttering when he circled your sensitive bundle of nerves. “oh my god!” you squealed, your eyes screwing shut as your high hit you in intense waves of ecstasy. alas, rafe was next to float on cloud nine, his jaw going slack as his thrusts came to a stop.

the feeling of rafe spilling his load inside of you was now etched into your mind, incapable of ever leaving. rafe unintentionally had a death grip on one of your tits, your whine of protest snapping him back to reality. “oh, i’m so sorry baby. did i hurt you?” he was panting when he popped his digits into his mouth to taste you one last time for the night. you shook your head, snuggling into his side as he rolled over.

“just a little, s’okay.” you reassured him, rubbing a palm over his chest. rafe looked over at you, moving away any stray hairs you might’ve had in your face. there was nothing you loved more than a man that turned all soft and mushy for you, and rafe certainly didn’t fall short. “it’s a good thing you’re going to meet my folks soon..” he traced the cupid’s bow of your lips. “cause i’m not going anywhere.” just when you thought things couldn’t get anymore sweeter than this, he spooned you.

[poweredbycoffee]

mornings with Ateez:

Hongjoong:

tends to wake up before you to get work done but will get back in the bed to cuddle you just before your alarm goes off so you wake up in his arms

will never admit it, not even to you, but being the little spoon is his favorite sleeping position

knows your breakfast delivery order by heart so he can surprise you with it

makes up songs to sing to entertain you while you’re both getting ready for the day because he says you inspire him

San:

you know it’s true love when he’s willing to lend you one of his plushies to cuddle

most likely to pout if you try to get out of bed before he’s ready to let you go

gives all of the kisses wherever he can reach to wake you up

will greet you with “hey beautiful” even if your hair is a mess and you woke up with bags under your eyes because he genuinely believes you still are

Seonghwa:

will wake up and finish at least sixty percent of the chores on your to do list before you’ve even opened one eye

brings you breakfast in bed for made up holidays such as the anniversary of your second and third dates

will never tell you how long you slept in if he knows you don’t have somewhere to be because he’d rather make sure you’re well rested

loves playing soft music in the background to start the day and can’t resist dancing you around your bedroom in your pajamas

Yunho:

sleeps in longer than you if he’s been up half the night gaming and keeps you in bed with one arm around you or his head on your chest

kisses you like you’re Sleeping Beauty to wake you up

if you’re too sleepy to walk to the kitchen for breakfast he’ll happily carry you there on his back, low key loves showing off that he can

can’t get enough of being the big spoon so he feels like he’s protecting you from bad dreams

Mingi:

feels bad that he can’t cook you breakfast as well as you can for him but will go to the nearest cafe at the crack of dawn to bring back coffee just the way you like it and your favorite pastry

has wound up giving you shirts of his that you borrowed to sleep in because he decides you look too cute in them for him to ask for them back

happiest when you use his chest or shoulder as a pillow

blushes when you check him out shirtless after he’s just woken up

Yeosang:

taught himself to use an absurdly expensive espresso machine to make you your morning coffee to bring you in bed, if you ask him about it he claims he wanted to know anyway

the couple that does their comprehensive skincare routine together stays together, never minds if you borrow his products or spray on one of his perfumes instead

loves small gestures of affection while you’re still asleep, petting your hair/holding your hand/kissing the top of your head

secretly enjoys how you get goosebumps when he whispers “good morning” in your ear with that deep voice of his

Jongho:

has glared at everything and everyone from garbage trucks to birds outside the window if they dare to disturb his morning cuddles with you

steals your pajama pants to wear if they have cute characters on them, especially bears

requires at least three fourths of his morning cup of coffee or tea before he talks, you both drink yours in comfortable silence on the couch

loves it when you have your head on his lap while he reads in bed

Wooyoung:

wakes up a little before you to watch you sleep with the goofiest lovesick smile on his face, thinks it’s cute when you hug your pillow in your sleep

certified blanket thief and you’re pretty sure he does it so you’ll cuddle him to stay warm in the winter

never ask him if he dreamed of you because there’s no way to tell if his answer will be cute or way too spicy for 7am

has walked around wearing only a towel around his waist after showering specifically to distract you from getting ready for work

[specialgradefckr]

it's been a long day for you, nerd gojo's personal bully.

shoving gojo into a locker. him getting a boner because he's a freak. locking him in there and having to pull him out.

by the time you arrive at your part-time job, you're already ready for the shift to be over. scan some items, restock some stuff, sweep and clean and clock right out.

unfortunately, today, you have a visitor.

a familiar voice saying your name. which you still haven't told him he could use.

you try not to make eye contact. it's so uncomfortable, so cringey.

why did a rich kid like him even go to shitty convenience stores like this? was his private chef taking a 15 minute break?

you feel heat rising in your cheeks. desperately you wish for him to just leave, to not talk at all, but even if he did he'd probably talk to you at school about it -

"earth to - AHEM! hello! it's nice to see you, i didn't know you worked here!" gojo chirps, lounging in front of your cash register.

he's dumped a giant pile of treats on there. knowing him, he'd eat all of them, too.

you notice one of your favorites in the pile... now you're even more hungry. the last thing you ate was the lunch you normally steal from gojo, because he screwed up getting you a snack from a vending machine.

there's nothing at home, and you're saving money to go to college, you can't waste money on premade food.

he notices your scowl and giggles. not a chuckle, a giggle. god, he's so lame.

"what's wroooong?" gojo drawls, or tries to. but he's so lame he just looks stupid. then again, he always looks stupid.

leaning over the counter, he tries to lower his head enough to look up at your face as you scan the items. "heheh... you're mad 'cause you can't bully me?"

you're struck by the unpleasant sight of his stupid weird face staring up at you with his big weird eyes. his stupid sunglasses (it's night time. loser.) sliding down his nose.

it must show on your face. "come on! you gotta be nice to me! i'm a paying customer!"

gojo's face has always had this really punchable quality to it, one that made it hard to look away from. but he's never been quite as punchable as he is right now.

you feel your cheeks heat up. from the proximity, of course.

"your total is-" you begin very loudly, enough for him to jump back suddenly.

he twists his mouth, handing you his card, "come ooooon. you don't wanna talk? you're free right now!" he gestures to the completely empty store, "wanna come snack with me?"

you do, actually, but that would require spending time with his insufferable ass, and also agreeing with him.

"i'm on the clock, you moron," you snap, scanning his card and handing him his receipt, "get lost. and don't come here again."

you put his things in a bag and hand them to him. he sighs, pulling something out - coincidentally, the treat you'd been eyeing earlier.

"come on, really?" he whines, like the whiner he is. you don't respond.

he takes a long moment biting into it. making eye contact with you.

(well, he's trying to. you aren't willing to torment yourself with the sight of his ugly mug any longer.)

he starts sort of. side-stepping his way out, in the lamest way possible, shuffling so he can keep looking at you until he's at the door.

freak.

when he's at the door, he sighs as if greatly put upon. "see you tomorrow!" he calls out, which you ignore, "same place, same time~"

you ignore this too. right up until you see him discard his half-eaten treat straight into the garbage while he pushes the door open to exit.

and, well. maybe it's because you're hungry. maybe it's because he says he'll come again.

maybe it's just your natural killer instincts as a bully.

you dart past the counter, snatching satoru by the arm and yanking him back into the store. right next to the trash can.

"whoa, whOA, what - "

"pick it back up."

gojo blinks his big blue dumb eyes at you. "what?"

"you didn't finish eating it," you shove him so he's leaning over the trash can, "pick it up."

"you can't be seri-"

you shove his head straight into the trash can, and gojo yelps, muffled.

"hey! hey! let me out, let me out, i'll get it-"

you hold his head down as he struggles against you (weakly, like the lanky nerd loser he is), until his crying starts to grate on your nerves.

"pick it up with your mouth."

"what?" he's still muffled, "with my mouth? that's so gross-"

"do it, nerd," you seethe, shoving his face further into the trash until you hear a crushing sound.

"okay okay! let me up a little, i'll do it, i'll do it!"

you barely hear him through the trash his face is now buried in. huh, you did need to empty the trash can soon. you'll have him do that next.

so much for being nice to your customer.

...no one will check the security cameras, right?

giving gojo just barely enough room to move around, you wait a moment until he starts to grunt and pull his head back up.

when you let him go, he's got the half-eaten snack in his mouth, like a dog with a treat.

he is kind of like a dog, isn't he?

gojo quickly takes it out of his mouth to complain, but you shove it right back in.

"finish it." you glower.

he doesn't argue with you anymore, quietly eating while his face is red and sticky. he sniffles a little, like a pathetic puppy digging for sympathy.

"what's the big deal," he mutters, "it's just cheap junk food."

you can almost feel your stomach growling. you try to pretend you don't hear-

"oh, are you hungry?" gojo brightens noticeably, "we can go out, my treat-"

the fury of a thousand suns rains upon him in the form of your glare. "finish it."

he swallows. quickly eats the rest of the treat. "there! do you wanna-"

"and take the trash out," you say, striding back to the desk, looking for the trash bags.

"what? isn't that your job?" gojo whines as he obediently pulls the bag out.

for once in his worthless existence, he is correct, but this is immaterial, because he is also stupid, and annoying, and the least he can do is make up for it by taking this task off your hands.

"do. it." gojo rushes out with the trash. he's back in just a few seconds.

by then you've put the new bag in, and you put a hand on his chest as he tries to enter through the door.

"okay, good enough. get lost, nerd."

gojo's face reddens, his eyes flicking down to your hand on his chest, and then your eyes.

what's up with him? his shoulders shift and for a moment you feel his chest flex, like there's any muscle on his scrawny -

shoving him back, you turn straight around, darting right to the counter and quickly grabbing some random items from underneath the front desk to stock.

you don't look up from under the table until you hear the door close.

...

...

...ugh. it's warm in here.

"i'm telling you. suguru, it's SUPER EFFECTIVE!" "dude, there's no way this lame ass flexing impressed her." "what do you mean lame? not every girl likes muscles that are huge, suguru! they're noticeable, but not overt. very mindful, very demure." "this is why she bullies you, satoru." "i'm lean. elegant. gracefu- WHOA!" "heh. graceful, right?" "you literally tripped me! anyways. she was blushing! it was the cutest thing ever! she put her hand on my chest-" "willingly? i doubt it." "she DID! and then i flexed for her and she turned around immediately-" "now that i believe." "but before she did, i swear i saw her blush! i'm getting through to her, suguru! our relationship is getting closer by the day!" "ugh... you could start a cult with this level of delusion." "oh my god, should i? i could dedicate it entirely to her! do you think she'd be into that? i think she would, but she's too tsundere to admit it, hehe... i could build a shrine." (suguru is starting to think satoru is not the victim in this relationship.)

[leighsartworks216]

Laundromat

Sylus x fem!Reader

Inspired by my late-night excursions to the expensive as hell laundromat I had to do my laundry at every week when I was in college (lowkey gonna miss it)

Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, silly, laundry, sleep, cuddling, developing relationship

Word Count: 1,884

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AO3

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Sylus frowns up at the basic sign above the door. It's not even illuminated; just a boring row of letters in red that spell ‘LAUNDROMAT’. You poke his arm, but you're grinning deviously, excitedly.

"You said you could handle living like me for a week. Don't tell me it's starting to weigh you down now."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Sweetie, a little laundry isn't going to kill me."

You snicker, kill the ignition, and get out of the car. He follows, shutting the door behind him while you skip around to the back of the car. Your car. You take endless pleasure seeing Sylus duck down into the seat, pushed as far back as it'll go, and still having his legs be all squished up against the dash. Using one of his cars would be disingenuous to the experience. And you can't deny the wealth of joy you feel getting to treat him like a passenger princess.

You open up the trunk and lift out a basket full of dirty clothes. He frowns at the sight of some of the nice clothes he bought you being mixed into the pile. "Those should be dry cleaned," he grumbles.

"Yeah, well, I can't afford it." You shove the basket into his hands. It looks so out of place. You grab your detergent and shut the trunk. Two quick taps on the fob locks the car with a beep.

"I already gave you my card."

"Goes against the challenge." You lean up with a grin to pat his cheek. He tries to bite your fingers. "Now, c'mon, it takes, like, an hour and a half for all this."

He follows behind as you head to the door. It swings too easily on its hinges, loose from all the customers that come in here at all hours of the day, and the owner's own lack of upkeep.

The inside is bright and cramped. White overhead lights beam down on rows of machines that line the walls of the building. Two tables stand in the middle, and wire-basket carts for the clothes are scattered everywhere. Dryer sheets, dirt, the odd spillage of detergent, and a very dubious looking coin cemented to the tile make up the floor. A frazzled mother folds clothes at one of the tables; blouses and baby clothes all laid into piles. A few teens sit at the back, underneath a wall-television that plays some cooking channel. Their clothes sit in garbage bags at their feet as they wait for a taxi to drive them back to their college dwellings.

You slip past him and move with ease toward a washing machine. It's labelled ‘triple load’, but it's atrociously small and nearly $8 to operate. You pull over one of the carts for Sylus to set the basket in, and pull that up to the small porthole door, tossing in clothes to be washed.

You grin at him over your shoulder. "You wanna go get me some quarters?" You gesture over toward the back of the building, to a sign pointing the way into a back room, full of yet more machines. "Ten dollars worth should do."

He quirks a brow at you. "For one load of laundry?"

"They up-charge all the machines when school's in session."

He sighs, but slips past you. This tall, intimidating man looks so out of place, sidling past half-open washer doors, carts, and tables. His clothes are obviously way too expensive to blend in well, despite his best efforts. You should worry about someone recognizing him, but, really, who's gonna think it's actually him?

The mother's eyes follow him away for a moment. She looks back at you with a grin, eyebrows raised. You flush and turn away.

You toss your clothes in until the basket is empty. You're lucky it's not a big load, or else you'd have to use two machines. If they weren't so expensive, you'd even split the load into lights and darks, or pull out the nice expensive clothes to wash them on delicate. But you're not about to blow 15 to 20 dollars every week when you'd be better off saving it for food.

You add your detergent and shut the machine just as Sylus comes back. His large hand is full of quarters that jingle together. That distinct metallic smell of coins sticking to his palm. You quirk a brow up at him. "I said $10."

He smirks. "Think of it as me covering next week's expenses."

You roll your eyes, but you don't argue further. Not like the machine can exchange it back, anyway. You step away from the washing machine, tucking the cart under the table and out of the way, and pull him by his arm to stand in front of it. You point to the coin slot. "Thirty quarters, if you please."

It's like watching him insert tokens for an arcade machine, but the game requires no skill and the reward is always the same. Well, so long as the machine works. The owner's not good about labelling busted machines, so it's a gamble every week to know if you'll be spending longer here, moving your clothes over to another washer or dryer that also may not work.

Each quarter clinks inside, landing in a pile, the little number display counting down for each one. At some point, there is no clink and the number doesn't change. Sylus pauses, but you just reach over and press on the return. The coin slides out into the catch, and you push it harder back into the slot so the momentum carries it past where it hung up before. The coins clink and the number changes. He shakes his head, quietly showing his disdain for this entire process, and finishes putting in the required quarters.

Right away, the machine locks and the clothes inside begin to spin. He spares your pockets the added weight, dropping the last great handful of coins into his own. The display changes to show a 24 minute timer.

"And now, we wait." You smile innocently as you lead him over to the seats by the door. They're plastic and worn and extremely uncomfortable. He sighs as he adjusts. "What do you think so far?"

He shoots you a look, conveying his feelings quite clearly. "You do this every week?"

"Yup," you say, popping the p sound.

"Always at this time?" The sun has long since set outside. The parking lot is nearly empty. It's early for him, but it's late for you.

You nod. "It's less busy really early or really late. I don't like getting up early, so coming in late is better."

A car rolls up to the curb outside. It sits for a couple seconds before impatiently beeping. The teens in the back yawn as they get up from their own uncomfortable seats. One garbage bag thrown over a shoulder and the other carried awkwardly in front while they sidle past the tables and machines. The distinct scent of weed stinks the air as they pass by and into the night, shuffling into the taxi together. Sylus cringes, fighting back a sneeze. He's well used to the smell of tobacco, the smoke of cigars and cigarettes. Definitely not the skunky smell of marijuana.

He sniffs, turning his attention back to you. "What do you do to pass the time?"

You shrug, leaning against him easily, also a little sleepy. "Depends. Sometimes I run errands. Usually I just scroll through Moments."

He looks at the timer display. Only a few minutes have gone by. The fluorescent lights beat down on him, stinging his eyes in the same way the sun does. One light in the back flickers. Someone on the television leads an imaginary audience through a recipe, far too upbeat and energetic for this run down place.

He tries to imagine sitting in here every week: relegated to these awful chairs for an hour and a half, listening to the hum of electricity and chatter of TV personalities, intermingled with the noise of the washers and dryers. He doesn't know how you can stand it. Or maybe you just got used to the discomfort. That thought upsets him most of all.

He dislodges you for a moment to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side where you'll be more comfortable. You settle your head against his chest without contest. "You can sleep if you want," he says softly. "I'll wake you when it's done."

You hum. It feels much safer in here with him. You've imagined horrible scenarios week by week. Strange people cornering you in this place, no one around to hear or help. Of course, Mephisto would alert him if anything like that happened, but actually feeling him take up space in here pushes all those fears far away. If anyone dared try anything, they'd be dealt with without him ever needing to get up. You're dozing in the security in no time.

-

You wake up to the sound of voices. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you come back to the world of consciousness.

The woman speaks to Sylus in a language you don't understand. She's very coy in her body language, smirking knowingly and gesturing. Whatever she says makes him grin, but he shakes his head as he replies in that same language. You watch on curiously. It's not every day you get to see him interact with someone normally, without threats and business and danger. Not to mention, hearing this language roll off his tongue... you want to hear him speak it some more.

The lady laughs as she gathers the last of her folded clothes into her basket. She hefts it up, supporting it against her stomach. Sylus pushes open the door from where he sits. She levels him with a half-serious look, nodding toward you as she tells him something. He nods, saying something short in return.

She heads outside into the night and he lets the door fall shut behind her. You adjust your head on his shoulder to look up at him. "What'd she say?"

His lips curl in smug satisfaction as he settles back into his chair. "She said my wife is very beautiful. I told her we weren't married, but I agreed." Your face grows warm as he looks down at you. His eyes are mellow and soft, adoring. "And then she said I should propose, before it's too late."

The air is electric. Static with anticipation. You can't help glancing at his lips. They're so plush... When you look back up, his own eyes glance unashamedly at your own lips, following them as you speak.

"What did you say?"

He meets your eyes again. Lips curl into a pretty smirk. He leans away, nodding toward the machines. "Your clothes just finished, sweetie."

"Huh?" Sure enough, when you look over, the machine has stopped spinning. A light blinks, signaling that it's finished. How had you missed the buzz?

Sylus's arm retreats from around your shoulder as he stands. He grabs one of the carts and nudges it in front of the washing machine, throwing an amused look your way. "Come on, sweetie. We need to finish so you can go to bed at a reasonable hour."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @perla-drg @17chuuya @slovesyouuu @leiakitty @lemonn015

[garciaasfluffypen]

comfort me please (it's all i need)

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 1.9k warnings: sub drop, reader feels unappreciated for a bit (not the whole time i promise), this could be classified as reader having a small crash out if you squint

you were tired. you were tired, the first one home, the apartment was messy and you were tired. logically, the apartment was as clean as it could have been after being called in during an impromptu girls night. but there was stuff strewn everywhere and it was bothering your brain. you hated when your brain made you feel like everything was messy and nothing was perfect. there were ways for you to cope with it, yes, but sometimes they didn’t work and you started to feel like only you were the one doing everything. 

which is how you currently felt. 

emily and jj stayed behind to finish the last of the paperwork, leaving tara to drop you off at home since you didn’t want to wait. she had offered to come inside with you but you had declined, just wanting to go and curl up in bed. what you didn’t expect was for your brain to automatically be repulsed at the state of the living room as it proudly showed off the remnants of saturday night. with an annoyed sigh, you dropped your go bag in the front hall, giving yourself approximately one minute to throw a small temper tantrum before you went to the front closet where you kept all the cleaning supplies. you zoomed around the apartment, leaving trash bags in your wake as the cleaning commenced. in the midst of emptying the dishwasher you realized you were thirsty and that there was old leftovers in the fridge so of course that had to be emptied. and just as you suspected… they were emily’s leftovers. with an angry sigh, you threw them in the garbage and continued your cleaning spree. 

meanwhile, emily and jj had pulled into the parking lot and were making their way up the drive, watching you pacing around through the window. emily had to hold back a chuckle at how animated you were being, flailing your arms around and screaming to the man on the tv who was playing some sort of horror game. emily and jj both jumped at the metal puppet looking thing that popped up on the screen, which you didn’t react to at all.

emily and jj stood in the foyer as you angrily paced to the closet, barely registering the two of them standing there in your… whatever was happening. they hadn’t seen you like this ever, and it was concerning to them. that’s how you felt? they shared a look as you walked by them again with the little green machine that you had gotten for christmas in your hand, placing it down and throwing the power cord in the direction of one of the many outlets. mumbling to yourself, you got down on your hands and knees to assess the damage, still unaware that your girlfriends were watching you pace around the apartment like a mad person. you walked over to the kitchen to grab the carpet cleaner, crouching down under the sink. emily and jj shared another look, trying to figure out if they should interrupt your tangent or not. 

jj squeezed emily’s hand, grabbing your go bag as well as her’s and emily’s, quietly slipping into the laundry room as emily continued to watch you. there were a few options that ran through her head about what she could do, and none of them were ideal. all of them ended with you freaking out because your routine was messed up and considering it was late at night, you would probably end up breaking down. you had gone a while without having a break down, but emily knew your meds had to have worn off by now and there was no way she would be able to get through to you without causing a catastrophic reaction due to the way you felt. you had been cleaning since you had gotten home, and the tracking app the three of you shared stated that you got home around 1am. you had to have been tired, considering the team had been up since 6am the morning prior. if jj squinted, she could see the tiredness in your eyes. she didn’t want you to, but she had a feeling if they didn’t stop you that you would ultimately end up pulling an all nighter.

finally, emily sighed and cleared her throat. 

“holy fuck-!” you jumped, dropping the spout of the green machine. “how long have you- how much of that did you see?” 

“enough to know you’re upset. lovey, you could have told us you felt like that.” 

you shook your head. “no.” 

“you need to communicate with us” jj piped in. “we can’t help you if you don’t talk to us.” 

“no.” you stared back at them, hints of your brat side starting to show in the flecks of your eyes. you moved past emily, putting the little green machine back in the closet. “i’m not done cleaning.” 

you walked back past your girlfriends, heading to grab the trash bag on the coffee table. jj and emily watched as you stumbled a bit, pausing a second before continuing to clean. doing some math, jj realized that it had been almost two days since you had taken your adhd meds. of course, the adhd rage was kicking in at one of the worst times possible- when you were tired. from what jj remembered, it was harder for you to regulate your emotions when you were tired and it typically left you drained more often than not. you were pushing yourself, it was obvious to her. emily kept an eye on you as you started to loose your steam, waiting for a break to say something.

“it’s almost four in the morning.”

“‘m not tired. i just need to sit for a second.” 

“you need to sleep.” 

“i’ll sleep when i’m done.”

you blinked a couple times, realizing how tired you actually were. the trash bag you were holding slipped from your hands as you fell onto the couch, the fatigue and events of the past week catching up to you. you rubbed at your eyes, forcing the tired feeling back as you pushed yourself up, holding onto the arm of the couch before you continued to pick up the trash. 

“my love-”

“i’m fine!” you snapped, staring at them. “everything’s fine. go to bed. i’ll come when i’m done. the living room needs to be clean. nobody took care of it so i’m taking care of it, it’s fine. just go to bed.”

“darling.” you locked eyes with jj, the look in her eyes the only thing you could focus on. “eyes on me. the living room is clean. give me the bag, we’re going to bed.”

within seconds emily realized what was happening as you started to bend to jj’s will, and it hit her. you had been going for so long, taking care of those around you that you hadn’t had time to care for yourself. between almost back to back cases, date nights with them and spending time with your brothers, you barely had any time to yourself. you hadn’t been able to sit back, relax and turn everything off. you were burning out. 

jj realized this at the exact same time as she pulled you into her arms, rubbing a hand up and down your back in a comforting manner. you wrapped yourself around jj’s midsection, clinging to her as your sub drop became more and more noticeable to your girlfriends. this wasn’t the first time they had witnessed one per se, but it was the first one they’ve witnessed in the absence of sex. you let the tiredness take over as she caressed you, your head falling into the crook of her neck as the tears that sometimes happened when you pushed yourself too far started to fall. 

“shh, darling it’s okay. we’ll get you to bed, come on.”

“shower?”

“when you wake up, okay?” jj ran a hand through your hair. “you’ve been up for almost two days. we need to get you to bed baby.”  

“‘m dirty. feel my hands.” 

it took jj a second to realize what you were saying. “you can feel your hands?” you nodded. “lets get you to the bathroom then, come on baby.” 

jj picked you up with ease and led you into the bathroom, emily following close behind as she went into the bedroom to get everything ready. jj went to put you down, but you were holding on to her so tight that it was practically impossible for her to set you down. she grabbed a washcloth instead, leaning so you were hovering above the counter in case you decided to let go. you sniffled a bit as she started to move the washcloth across your face, wiping off the makeup that had run down your face. you leaned into her touch, your arms slowly dropping as she continued to wipe you off with the washcloth. your eyes slowly fluttered as you attempted to keep them open, the tenderness of the situation on top of your tiredness truly taking a toll on you. 

you weren’t used to people taking care of you in this capacity. it had been so long since you had been cared for in a way that wasn’t people using you just because it was fun. you weren’t sure what exactly was happening in your brain, but you knew you felt loved and safe. something a partner hasn’t made you feel in a long time. you vaguely heard the door open and someone slip into the room, but you were too tired to try and figure out who was there. 

emily walked over to you two, rubbing a hand up and down your back as she whispered to jj. 

“i just talked to hotch, he said only one of us has to come in tomorrow so one of us can stay here with y/n. he’s the only other person to my knowledge who’s ever seen them like this.”

“not even garcia?”

“no.” emily shook her head. “from what he told me, they work really hard to make sure nobody on the team sees them like this. its why they get more time off than the rest of us.”

“reasonable accommodations.” jj nodded in understanding. “okay we got to get them to bed.”

“everything is ready, i have their pajamas here.” 

emily helped jj maneuver you so they could get your jammies on, switching you over to emily’s arms so jj could go get you some water and your morning medication. emily pulled you into bed with her, wrapping her arms around you as you snuggled into her. 

“fank you.” 

“for what, baby?” emily looked down at you as she scratched your back, resting her chin on top of your head.

“takin’ care of me.” you shuffled closer to emily. “lotsa… don’t wanna.” 

“you want to be told what to do sometimes,” emily started. “you haven’t had people who understood that like jay and i do.” 

your head turned as much as it could in your half asleep state to face emily. “i jus.. wanna be cared for.” 

“and we care for you, so much.” 

“more than that.” you mumbled. 

“then what do you want?”

“i dunno.” you curled into emily’s chest. “‘m sleepy.”

“go to sleep, lovey. we’ll be here for you in the morning.” 

“mm okay emmy. i love you.” 

emily blinked a few times as she registered what you said to her, watching you as you finally fell asleep. she’d definitely have to unpack this.

tomorrow. 

it was definitely a tomorrow problem.

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Tangled lives: Chapter Five

Law x reader (she/her)

Chapter five of Tangled lives

Words (for this chapter): 2k

Notes: A little shorter this time. Just a small peek at their growing relationship. You know, the calm before the chaos hits in like… two chapters (pretend you didn’t read that—spoilers!🤭)

🫶 @chillerkiller 🫶

(If anyone else wants to join the taglist, just let me know, I promise I won't bite 😀)

True to his word, Law did lend you his comic books, and you dove into the series with a childlike enthusiasm. Deciding to start from the beginning, you found yourself reading late into the night, immersed in the world of Sora once more. You weren’t the only one getting caught up in it, either. Apparently, Law believed this was the perfect opportunity to revisit the series himself, so he would sit next to you, flipping through the pages and discussing each issue as if you were both discovering it for the first time.

It wasn’t just the comics, though. Slowly, the two of you started to share more of yourselves, little by little. You even convinced him to show you his coin collection, which was far more extensive and fascinating than you had imagined.

You had begun to consider him more than just a roommate or someone you had a casual acquaintance with. Somehow, you found yourselves becoming actual friends. And that certainly didn’t help to contain the strange, persistent feeling in your chest whenever he was nearby—the one you refused to name, the one that crept up on you unexpectantly and lingered long after he was gone.

“You know, you could make yourself useful and get the mugs,” Law said, his voice dry yet familiar, not even bothering to look at you.

It was strange how natural this felt now—standing side by side in the kitchen, preparing for yet another late-night reading session.

You smirk, leaning lazily against the fridge. “I could, but then you wouldn't get the satisfaction of bossing me around.”

Law let out a quiet huff, shaking his head as he busied himself with the coffee machine. The same one he had insisted on getting after mercilessly berating your so-called “atrocious” way of drinking coffee. You could still remember his entire lecture on the importance of proper brewing methods. A few days later, the machine had appeared in the kitchen, along with a bag of expensive coffee beans and a pointed remark about how he refused to live with someone who “willingly drank that garbage.”

“You say that like I enjoy it,” he responded, but there was an unmistakable ease in his tone.

“You do,” you countered, crossing your arms with a knowing look.

He didn’t argue, which was as good as admitting you were right. Instead, he gestured toward the cabinet with a tilt of his chin. “Mugs.”

“Yes, Captain,” you shot back, throwing him a mock salute as you used the nickname his friends often did. The corner of his eye twitched—whether in amusement or mild exasperation, you weren’t sure, but you counted it as a win.

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed two mugs from the shelf and set them on the counter beside him with an exaggerated flourish. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he deadpanned, but you recognized that small, reluctant smile of his. The one you felt privileged to see more and more lately.

This had become routine between the two of you—shared moments over coffee, snarky exchanges over medical dramas you watched that Law claimed to despite and yet watched with you almost every night now, and deep conversations that made him even more interesting. He was smart, insightful, and surprisingly easy to talk to when he let his guard down. It was a more than welcomed change to your dynamic.

“Want a salad?” you asked, pulling a container from the fridge.

“Sure.”

“Want some bread?” This time, your voice carried a teasing lilt, fully aware of his inexplicable distaste for it. A quirk that, despite all the time you’d spent together, still made little sense to you. 

Law scoffed, his gaze never leaving the coffee machine as he muttered, “As if.”

You shook your head, grinning. “Seriously, what is up with that? I would understand if you were allergic, but straight-up hating on bread is ridic—AHH! Fuck!”

A sharp sting shot through your finger as the knife slipped, and before you could even process the pain, Law was already beside you.

“Let me see.” His voice was direct, all teasing forgotten as he grabbed your wrist gently.

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, but the wince that escaped you told a different story. A thin line of crimson welled up on your finger, the sting settling in now that the shock had worn off.

Law clicked his tongue, already pulling you toward the sink. “You’re terrible at handling knives,” he blurted out, switching on the tap and guiding your hand under the cool water.

“You don’t even know that,” you shot back. “Maybe I was just distracted by your bread slander.”

“Right. Blame me for your lack of basic kitchen safety.”

You grinned despite yourself. “It makes me feel better.”

And you meant it. There was something about this—talking with him, the back-and-forth—that grounded you.  You found yourself wondering if you should tell him about that one day. Tell him how his presence had come to mean so much more than he probably realized. 

How would he take it? Would it change everything between you? Or would he brush it off, not fully grasping the weight behind it? You weren’t sure if you were ready to risk that.

Law let out a deep sigh, as he took out the first aid kit from the shelf. With practiced ease, he dried your finger, his touch surprisingly gentle despite his usual bluntness. The touch of his fingertips lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, and for a heartbeat, you forgot about the pain entirely. You caught yourself holding your breath as his fingers moved with purpose, unwrapping a bandage.

“You’re lucky it’s not deep,” he muttered, pressing the bandage into place. “Try not to be an idiot next time.”

You pouted dramatically, doing your best to mask the feelings stilling deep inside you. “Wow. Such kindness. I feel so taken care of.”

Law rolled his eyes but didn’t let go of your hand right away. There was something tranquil in the way his thumb lightly ghosted over the bandage, as if making sure it was secure.

You blinked, glancing down at where his hand still held yours. It wasn’t like Law to be overly touchy—hell, it wasn’t like him to make a habit of close contact at all, and yet… he didn’t pull away. His fingers curled slightly, a warmth settling between them familiar to the one you were currently experiencing in your traitorous heart. 

For a moment, you found yourself holding your breath, acutely aware of the sensation of his skin against yours, the soft brush of his thumb where it had unconsciously traced the bandage. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so aware of someone else’s proximity

“Thanks,” you murmured, as if the simple act of him taking care of you had somehow unraveled the guarded part of you.

Law’s gaze locked onto yours, holding it for just a beat longer than usual.  You could see the uncertainty in his posture, as though he was calculating whether to say something or maybe just whether to pull away. But then, as if making up his mind, he slowly released your hand, his fingers slipping away. You immediately missed it more than you felt comfortable admitting. Even to yourself.

Without a word, he returned to his task, finishing making coffee as if nothing had happened. But you caught it—the way his fingers brushed over his own palm absentmindedly, as if still feeling the weight of yours.

You glanced down at your bandaged finger, feeling the faint sting beneath the gauze. Your eyes shifted back to him, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

The two of you settled on the couch, mugs in hand, as you flipped open another issue of the comic series. The pages were worn but well-loved, the artwork vivid under the warm glow of the living room lamp.

You stole a glance at Law, who was absorbed in the comic, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration. His usual aloofness was there, but it was softer somehow, less guarded. You wondered what made him this way. Why he chose to share something like his collection with you, or why he took the time to patch up a small cut. It was little things, moments that felt too intimate to be casually brushed aside.

He seemed less like the person who occupied the distant, isolated corner of the apartment and more like someone you could count on, even if you didn’t always know what that meant.

The thought came unbidden, creeping up on you like a quiet realization—Law had become part of your daily life. And not just the casual part. The part where you didn’t mind the silence, the shared moments that didn’t require explanation or effort. You were both comfortable, without even trying.

You leaned back, folding your legs beneath you, as you tried to ignore the way your heart felt a little too light. Maybe you were overthinking it, trying to make something out of typical roommate routine. But there was a tug in your chest, a curiosity you hadn’t expected.

Your thoughts wandered as you looked down at the comic in your lap, not fully reading the words but instead replaying the quiet moments with Law—the way he had stayed beside you, his touch surprisingly gentle as he tended to your finger. You hadn’t expected it, hadn’t expected him to care so much. You hadn’t expected him to feel… like this. Whatever this was.

Law didn’t give much away, and that was something you understood about him. But in his own way, he was giving you pieces. Just not all at once. It was as if he was testing the waters, unsure of how much he could trust you, but doing it nonetheless. You couldn’t blame him. Trust wasn’t an easy thing to build.

You snuck another peek at him. His eyes were focused on the comic in his hands, but there was something more now in the way his jaw clenched, the way his lips twitched when he turned a page. It was as if his mind was somewhere else, lost in thoughts you couldn’t quite reach.

You considered asking him about it. About what was on his mind. But you paused, unsure if he’d let you in. Law had always been the type to keep his personal life hidden, a shield you weren’t sure how to breach completely yet.

You let out a breath, a small smile appearing on your lips again. Whatever this was—whatever was happening between you—it was more than you had imagined when he first moved in. And even if you didn’t have all the answers, that was okay for now.

“You ever think about how Sora just keeps getting back up no matter what?” you mused. “Like, no matter how many times he gets knocked down, he always pushes forward.”

Law’s gaze was fixed on the panel in front of him, his tattooed fingers idly tracing the edge as if lost in thought. For a moment, it seemed like he might not answer, but then he did. “It’s not about being the strongest. It’s about refusing to stay down.”

There was something in his tone, something almost thoughtful. You turned your head just slightly, watching him more closely now, trying to read the subtle changes in his expression.

“Sounds like you relate to that,” you said, your voice quieter now, careful.

His lips quirked upward, but he didn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

You didn’t push. If there was one thing you’d learned, it was that Law only shared things in his time. Instead, you bumped your shoulder lightly against his before returning to the comic.

For now, this was enough.

next chapter

[svnarin]

⊹˚₊‧ first date disasters

featuring! isagi, bachira, nagi, rin, barou

a/n! this has been rotting on my docs for a year now 👍

ISAGI YOICHI meticulously planned everything—from eating breakfast at a local cafe to painting matching ceramic mugs at a ceramics studio. although his plans didn’t go well even from the very beginning when the cafe you were guys supposed to eat at didn’t open for the day due to an emergency. not only that but when you guys were painting your matching ceramic mugs, some kid accidentally bumped into him—making him drop the ceramic mug he was painting on the floor and breaking it. 

BACHIRA MEGURU was so excited to go on a date with you—a movie date at the cinemas. but he was so excited that he used up all his energy which led him to fall asleep in his room unexpectedly—leading the two of you to arrive 30 minutes late to the cinema. and when both of you finally got there, the tickets to the movie you really wanted to watch were already sold out so you ended up watching the only movie with tickets left—the most boring one in both of your opinions. 

NAGI SEISHIRO tried his best to wake up early for your date but his alarm failed him (he slept through all the alarms). for being late for the date, he thought of getting something for you from a claw machine as compensation. after immediately getting his first plush on the claw machine, he thought of getting you another one, so he did. one plush turned into two, and two turned into four. he became so busy trying to get you everything from that claw machine that he forgot about the time—making him arrive much later on your date. 

ITOSHI RIN just wanted to have a very simple first date, so you guys decided just to watch some movies over at his family home. both of you planned to just watch some horror movies at night before bringing you home, but while watching a horror movie that you guys chose, it started raining heavily before turning into a thunderstorm. both of you thought that it would soon subside when all of a sudden the power went out. not only that but even after hours, the thunderstorm still hadn’t subsided, so you decided to spend your night at his family home—in his room, while he stayed in his brother’s to give you some personal space. 

BAROU SHOUEI wanted to pick you up for your first date that he planned—an art gallery date. but when he finally reached your home and met up with you, he realized that he had forgotten to bring his gift to you. he insisted that he needed to give you the gift first before going to the art gallery, but when he reached his home to get it, he saw that the trash bags that the garbage men were supposed to pick up that day was trashed by some stray dogs—making him clean everything first before coming back to you. but when the two of you finally came to the art gallery, it closed much earlier than you guys had expected. 

𝐒𝐕𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 | repost, modification, and translation of my works on any platforms are strictly prohibited.

[babygirlandmommy496]

My little one and I have started exploring the idea of using cloth diapers, as we find that disposables are quite wasteful, not to mention costly, especially as of recent, and as my little one continues to grow more and more comfortable with exploring her time in little space for extended times and these times happening more and more often, we are both looking into the idea of exploring cloth diapering as a more eco-friendly, and over long term, cost saving means of diapering for her.

My little is not '24-7', but does often time wear 24 hours a day during her times in little space, and while I do not think we are going '24-7' in the foreseeable future, I do recognize that we are using often enough to actually warrant the use of cloth.

She tends to be a heavier wetter, especially at night, but I also recognize that due to the great absorbency of the disposables we currently us, I do not have the best idea of when or how she actually wets, so while cloth would likely mean reduced absorbency, it would also mean a development of a better understanding of her wetting schedule and development of a better changing routine for us.

She does mess, generally once to twice a day, which can vary from solid to mushy depending upon our diet during the week, and while messing and the associated cleanup doesn't bother me in the slightest, I realize that it does come with its own challenges when it comes to cloth.

We have our own home, our own washer and dryer, and a bathroom in our master bedroom, so a diaper sprayer in the master will be a must if we do make the switch.

From the little research I have done, I have found that Dependeco and Ecoables are both quality options. I do like that Ecoables has black booster inserts, which will likely be beneficial as, from personal experience, no matter how good your cleaning routine and detergent, boosters tend to yellow over time, especially when messing is involved.

I am right now looking at a Dekor Plus diaper 'pail' with reusable / washable bags for storing of diapers before wash.

The thing I find myself lacking the most when it comes to cloth diapers is the most important part, the care routine.

From my research of others who use cloth diapers with their littles, the best routine is to rinse with a diaper sprayer, let them pre-soak in hot water with a detergent like Rockin' Green Funk Rock, and then machine wash, dry on low and then air dry, but I admit I still find myself with questions...

I know that I will likely need to account for 6~8 cloth diapers a day, solely based on that she currently uses 3~5 diapers a day, so right now that would mean an initial investment of 20~30 diapers to get us through most of her times in little space.

Ideally, I would prefer to do washes every 2~3 days, so any insight on how to develop a cleaning routine based on that would be amazing. I found your page through a little research into abdl cloth diapering and admit that your page has been a wealth of information and has been very helpful, but I still do find myself having questions...

Thank you so much for your very thorough question!

So many people find the wash routine part of cloth diapers to be the most difficult but I promise that once you get started it will be far less overwhelming!

Personally, we like to use our DEKOR bags to hold the cloth diapers and the pail itself is used more as traditional garbage can (which will make sense why both are necessary.) After taking off a wet and soiled diaper, the first step is to wipe baby's bum and I will use the wipe to fold up the liners (I know baby's messing schedule and try to plan accordingly with an extra liner to ease cleanup). Then I rinse the diaper into the toilet using the bidet (I only rinse off messy diapers, not necessary for wet). And i store in a wet dry bag until laundry which is every 2-3 days.

On wash day, i do two wash cycles

1. Prewash, soak and rinse

2.wash and rinse

And then I dry in the sun ☀️ or on low.

I strip my diapers every 3 to 4 months to ensure that any buildup is taking care of, and I'm sure to never use softener. Stripping cloth diapers is the process of a deep clean, using laundry detergent, and water softener and washing soda.

I hope this post answered the majority of your questions, but feel free to message me if there's anything you'd like to know 😊

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

What about the Astral Express finding a Pokémon for the first time?

(H:SR) Astral Express Crew with Pokémon

I may have gotten a little carried away with this.

First Discovery:

(Stelle) "I think I found a new friend."

Stelle walked into the Parlor Car smelling less than pleasant, immediately catching the attention of the other Nameless aboard.

(March 7th) "Ugh! Is it actually alive? Sure doesn't smell like it!"

(Stelle) "Actually, yeah he is."

Immediately, Dan Heng's eyes went wide upon looking at Stelle's hands.

(Dan Heng) "Did...that piece of garbage just move?"

March 7th, Himeko, Welt, and Caelus's sights all shifted to the item Stelle had in her palm, only to see that the tiny garbage bag had eyes and a mouth, much to their wonder and horror.

(March 7th) "EW! WHAT IS THAT?!"

March hopped behind Caelus as he tilted his head curiously, fascinated by the creature more than anything.

With Himeko and Welt not too far behind.

(Himeko) "Oh, I didn't think we'd find another one so soon!"

Stelle's eyes gleamed at the comment.

(Stelle) "There are other cute little trash guys like him?!"

Welt stepped closer to Stelle's new friend, leaning down to look at it near eye level.

(Welt) "Himeko and I have only encountered a few of them in our travels, but we call them Pocket monsters. Pokémon, for short."

(Dan Heng) "Does that mean there's other creatures like...the one Stelle has?"

(Himeko) "There sure are! I've been working on a device to catalogue every one we find, including capsules to capture them. I'm sure we can find you all one in no time!"

(Caelus) "Wait, you already have your own?"

(Welt) "For quite some time, yes. But we kept them inside of our Pokéballs for safety reasons. The ones Himeko and I have are rather...temperamental, to put it lightly."

(March 7th) "Are there super cute ones?"

(Himeko) "Naturally.~"

(March 7th) "Then what the heck are waiting for, let's find our own!"

(Stelle) "But I'm fine with mine."

Welt and Himeko looked at each other before the scientist pulled out the Pokédex, scanning Stelle's friend. When it finished, it spoke aloud for everyone to hear.

Trubbish: It gorges on trash until its stomach is full. Then it belches toxic gas. An unlucky whiff of gas will put a person in the hospital.

(Welt) "..."

(Himeko) "..."

(Dan Heng) "Please do not keep that one, Stelle."

Caelus

Galarian Zigzagoon: Thought to be the oldest form of Zigzagoon, it moves in zigzags and wreaks havoc upon its surroundings.

Caelus's Zigzagoon dug into the trash can alongside him, popping its head out eagerly with a shiny object in its mouth. His owner followed suit, shooting him a thumbs up with a shiny object of his own.

(Silvermane Guard's Voice) "WHY IS THERE TRASH EVERYWHERE?!"

Dan Heng

Snivy: It prefers to avoid groups. In its day-to-day life, it dexterously controls its vines to compensate for its short arms.

Dan Heng sat in silence within the Astral Express's archive, hearing his companion walk behind him. Upon turning around, he saw Snivy holding a book with its vines. Smiling, Dan Heng took the book gently and pet his Pokémon's head.

(Dan Heng) "My thanks, Snivy."

March 7th

Sylveon: It wraps its ribbonlike feelers around the arm of its beloved Trainer and walks with him or her.

(March 7th) "OH MY GOOOOSH YOU ARE SOOOOO CUUUUUTE!"

March's Sylveon was being snuggled happily in her arms, the ribbons tightly around the arm and giving as much affection back. March's phone has at least 80 photos of her and Sylveon from this week alone.

Himeko

Rotom: Its electricity-like body can enter some kinds of machines and take control in order to make mischief.

Himeko has had Rotom for quite some time, and thanks to modifying her Pokédex, gave Rotom the ability to speak. For better and worse. Though it thankfully knows not to cause a mess upon the Astral Express, and most of all, not anger Himeko.

She moved across the main car and poured herself a cup of coffee, opening her eyes to notice that the coffee machine had suddenly transformed into an orange color.

(Himeko) "Morning."

(Rotom) "Hiya! Need a brew?"

(Himeko) "Always. Mind making the others some too?"

Even with its unmoving smile, she could hear the anxiety in the Pokémon's voice.

(Rotom) "Don't you humans need something a little more...edible?"

Himeko's smile remained, but her fist clenched as she suddenly grabbed the machine and yanked the plug from the wall.

(Himeko) "Pom-Pom? I believe we should throw this defective machine out the airlock-"

(Rotom) "WAITWAITWAIT-"

Welt

Drampa: If a child it has made friends with is bullied, Drampa will find the bully's house and burn it to the ground.

Welt smiled as he sat on the couch, watching as Drampa floated over to Caelus and Stelle, nudging them to play.

(Welt) "Ah, sorry. It's been a little bit since I've let Drampa take a walk out of its Pokéball."

(Stelle) "It's okay, Mr. Yang! He seems like a nice fella."

(Welt) "Just be careful if he's with you when you pick a fight. He's rather...protective. Heh, takes after his owner, I'd say."

(Caelus) "I don't think I'd expect anything less! Does he bite people?"

(Welt) "Ah..." ahem "How to put this? It can get a little-"

Welt and Himeko watched in fascination and horror as Drampa burned down an entire fortress effortlessly, thrashing concretes and thugs aside. And with one last flame, it ignited the area into a raging inferno-

(Welt) "-...Heated."

[lostintransist]

Makarov's Chasm

I searched high and low (read for literal days) to find the post about Johnny meeting a girl that matches and exceeds his freak. If any of you know where to find that post please come to the front I would like to give credit to the OP for sparking this particular brain worm.

CW: Johnny post bullet to the brain, sexual content, masturbation, matching freaks, dodgy neighbor dynamics. If I miss anything major please LMK so I can update.

Johnny knew he would either get slapped or finally get her to snap. The woman he stalked admired from afar who lived in his building would humor him for a conversation about every third time they ran into each other. She laughed at a few of his jokes but otherwise held a small smile firm as they talked. He had seen a spark of interest at his muscles often enough to know that he wasn’t barking up the wrong tree.

She interested him. He wondered at the different sides of her he had seen. When Johnny ran into his neighbor once outside of the building she had prim and proper and buttoned up in a suit. Two weeks later she had a new tattoo peaking above the collar of her cropped T-shirt as she swung her legs from the counter in the basement laundry, scrolling away on her phone. She needed to be more cautious about her safety. Johnny would watch for her.

Leaving gifts for her became his favorite pastime: new perfumes he thought would compliment her scent, a gift card for a food delivery service, removing her garbage any time it sat in the hall as he passed on the way to one of his many therapies. The first time he snagged the bag on the way out he heard her squawks of confusion and alarm as he continued down the stairs. They settled over him like a hand running through his hair. The thought settled over him that if she commanded him he would heel like a well-trained work dog.

He knew he had been different…before. Less volatile, but maybe not less pushy. The him he remembered before Makarav tried to give him a third eye no longer existed. The team came by when they could, Simon more than the others. Always commented on him growing out his mohawk. They didn’t discuss the scar that trailed into nothing above his eyebrow. Johnny thought it might be guilt that drove his friend to his doorstep. Johnny dealt with the perceived changes in him by ignoring them in favor of chasing the only clarity he could find.

That brings him back to her, his nameless neighbor. She didn’t reciprocate any time he offered up his name, holding tight to that smile that gave nothing away. He watched her now from the entrance to the communal laundry, wondering if he could crawl inside what he would find inside her bones.

She wore a crop tee, no bra (thank god because when she stretched just so he could see a hint of skin that curved) a long skirt today, black with an assortment of swirling polka dots? Could those be polka dots if they didn’t sit in a uniform line? Johnny stared, eyes narrowing as he pondered on this question.

“If you’re going to stare at my ass John the least you could do is pay for the pleasure,” she stated dryly to the room.

Pulling out the exact change for the machine Johnny set the stack neatly on the machine.

“And how much for the pleasure of your company?”

She rolled her eyes at him as she deposited the coins into the machine.

“Doubt you make that much on your pension. Next question.”

He had never told her about his pension, or that he didn’t work. The flip in his mind switched.

Invade. Stepping close, to close for their status as neighbors.

Intimidate.

“Aye bonnie,” he lets the predator that never ceased pacing in his head peer out through his eyes. “You been diggin’ about me?”

That spark of interest had returned to her eyes, the hint of fear lurking behind stoked the pleasure center of his brain. Johnny thought of the monarchy as his body fought every lick of good sense not blown out of his skull to not get hard right now. Curving around her he settles his ear near her mouth, the slightest catch in her breath as he spoke next.

“Not nice to look in a man’s closet for skeletons,” he chastises.

“Scary times, John. Woman is liable to get murdered any time she opens a door.” Her words are suffused with breathlessness. “Needed to make sure you weren’t trying to remove me from the census or anything.”

The baby hairs on her neck rose as Johnny huffed out a small laugh.

“More in the habit of practicing to add to it,” he crooned.

“Not from what I could find Sargent MacTavish.”

The deep breath she takes brushes against him as he straightens. The only things left from his time serving that fit were his boots and his soldier’s face. He wore both now.

“Seems you found more than a skeleton when rifling through my closet,” his eyes drag from her narrowing eyes, the tips of her breasts peaking up to say hello, the skirt against her stomach and back up. “Be honest with me lass…”

She glances up and down him, as much as she can with only a breath between them.

“Couldn’t find much honestly, found your medical discharge though. And yes, you have a chance.” Then without stepping back, she slides both hands into her skirt, the fabric stretchy enough to allow for the invasion without revealing the secrets below. When her hands reappear she sets one on the washer for balance and pulls something off her ankle with the other.

Incinerate.

“How about this, MacTavish,” her tongue makes an appearance before she continues, “You let me watch you get off to these with my name on your tongue and maybe if you do a good enough job I’ll step on you if you ask please.”

Fucking hell.

Glancing to her hand Johnny knew there would be no saving himself from trudging up the stairs with a hard-on. Panties, likely still warm from her core, dangled off one finger. Nothing fancy, orange and cotton by the look.

The small beep of the machine and the rushing sound of water took him by surprise. His eyes hadn’t left the panties.

“You’ve got thirty-two minutes solider,” she tips her head to one side, the cat that ate the canary smirk broad across her lips. “You game?”

Snatching the orange offering he smashes it to his nose.

“Only if you give your name,” Johnny sucked in a breath through his nose. His erection pressed painfully against the zipper of his pants at the intoxicating scent of her musk.

“Niah.”

She didn’t say more, eyes boring into Johnny’s as the black of her pupil lipped at the color of her irises. Things moved quickly then. They were up the stairs, heavy breaths the only communication between them. Entering his apartment Johnny decided that the couch would be the best place to settle. The space between the TV and the couch left room for a chair from the kitchen and would let him stretch any way he might need.

Niah didn’t wait for an invitation to set a chair across from the couch. She sat primly, one leg resting over the other, fingers interlaced over her knee as the dangling foot bounced. Loosening his belt Johnny let his pants fall to his thighs and sat. Her panties came to his face clenched in his left hand.

Her foot stopped bouncing as she watched his hand curl around his shaft with a hiss. When he could focus his eyes Johnny had them on her. Niah’s chest expanded and retracted as her gaze focused on him. Giving an experimental downward stroke with his hand, he saw her breath stutter. He kept the panties on his nose, removing them for a breath or two to allow him to smell her sweet scent fresh to flood his nose anew.

“Tell me about yourself Niah, got any interesting facts?” Johnny set a smooth and slow pace, hand moving up and down.

Niah doesn’t respond. He stopped and started counting in his head. One. Two. Thr—

“Why did you stop?” Her voice is rough with want, bumping over his flesh and raising hair across his body.

“Asked you a question,” he stroked his hand down, “Do you need me to repeat it?”

She narrowed her eyes, gaze snapping between his head and his head.

“Yes.” She ground the word like a piece of ice between molars.

“Interesting fact about you,” Johnny picks his pace back up, waiting for the answer.

Her eyes have dialed back in on his moving hand, tongue making an appearance as she swallows.

“I have nipple piercings.”

Johnny’s back arched off the couch as his hand tightened down on his shaft at the base.

A stuttered gasp slid into his ear from across the room.

“Would pay a lot of money to see those,” he panted. His hand held a bit tighter as he stroked himself.

“I’m an atheist, but swear I saw God when the first one got pierced. Now though? If the wind brushes me wrong I wet my panties,” Niah slides a hand beneath her crop top, fingers tenting her shirt.

Groaning into her panties his eyes drifted shut. The mental image of nipple piercings, of tugging them between his lips, of fiddling with them in passing ratcheted up his arousal.

“Talk to me Niah,” he moaned her name, unable to keep the pleasure from spilling out and over his tongue.

“About what John?”

“Johnny. Call me Johnny.”

His name, the gift from his teammate, the man who pulled him back to life, fell from her lips. He must have reacted in a way she enjoyed because with her scent lilting over his face, panties still pressed tight to his own, and her sweet voice in his ear repeating his name, Johnny couldn’t prevent himself from tripping over the edge into his orgasm.

Clarity that brought him closer to who he had been before rolled through him on the waves of his orgasm. He hadn’t found a bridge between the now and then, this was as close as he could get. A waving distance to the man he had been, the chasm of Makarov’s bullet between them.

His spend landed in spurts on his shirt, spreading across the fabric covering his stomach. Drifting closer to reality Johnny let his hand fall from his face and his grip on his shaft loosen. Sucking in air like he surfaced from the depths Johnny settled his eyes on Niah.

Both hands worked themselves under her shirt now, knees sliding past the other as she searched for friction. Her head, thrown back in pleasure, let him gaze upon the stretch of her neck. Carefully rolling the bottom of his shirt to hold his semon Johnny removed his shirt. Setting it aside he worked his pants back up leaving the belt undone.

When Johnny knelt before Niah, mind aching for more, he held an ankle in each hand, thumbs sweeping over her soft skin.

“What do you ask for a taste?” Yearning for an answer.

Niah pulled herself forward by the nipple piercings until her nose brushed his.

“Beg.”

Sergeant MacTavish would have balked. Broken Johnny learned the language of groveling at his neighbor’s knee.

Masterlist

@lialucis I finally finished it.

[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

[heylittleriotact]

𝐢 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖

𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐱 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐔

Emmrich works, Rook shops, dinner is imminent

Link to ao3 or read below the cut.

“Three times?”

“Yup.”

“And then this morning too?”

“Mhmm.”

“Damn. He must have been thirsting after you for ages.”

Rook tried not to look too pleased with herself as she regarded the shelf of dried pastas in front of her, purportedly deciding what shape she wanted, but in reality her mind was wandering down the enthralling path of recently forged memories from the night before.

The feeling of his lips on hers.

His scent.

The way he moaned while he was fucking her: not forced or put on. Instead, it was like he had never enjoyed anything in life quite so much as being entangled with her…

I’m in the grocery store with my best friend, picking up supplies for dinner - now is not the time.

Too late though: thoughts of Emmrich had already taken root, and sinful need slithered through her organs, twining around her guts and settling deep in her belly, impossible to ignore.

Later. Soon…

“Does he have Instagram? Facebook? I wanna see this silver-fox-fuck-machine for myself.”

“He doesn’t,” Rook said quietly, her lips curling at the absurdity of Emmrich having any kind of social media accounts. Most funeral professionals had nearly invisible online footprints - in an age where everyone you ever met was likely to look you up online, remaining largely unsearchable was the only sure way to guarantee your privacy.

“LinkedIn?”

Rook wrinkled her nose and pulled a box of linguine off the shelf, tossing it in the basket Leon held. “What? Cuz he’s old?”

“I mean… yeah?” Leon shrugged, his soft, dark brown eyes widening innocently.

“Shut up, Leon,” Rook squeezed past him, bumping her shoulder against his pointedly despite the abundance of space in the empty aisle.

“What?” He giggled, falling into step behind her, shaking his luxurious mane of thick black hair. “Nothing to be ashamed of - you were the one that couldn’t shut up about him at the Mussels Absinthe show a few weeks ago. You bagged yourself a sugar daddy - good for you! Wish I had that pull.”

Her cheeks heated as they wandered towards the produce section, “Can you maybe try not using your fucking radio voice while we’re discussing my sex life in the grocery store on a Thursday afternoon?”

“Just sex then?” Leon forged on, not bothering to lower his warm, booming voice at all. “Or have the seeds of romance been planted and fertilized?”

“Leon.” Rook ground out, looking around to make sure no one else was being subjected to this.

“Oh yeah,” he remarked observantly, “You fucking like him, don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” Rook retorted, manhandling a practical, sound-minded bit of dignity into the conversation as she selected a basket of mushrooms. “He’s stable, supports himself, has a functioning vehicle that’s not filled to the windows with garbage, doesn’t bitch when I tell him to wear a condom, and knows how to get a girl off.” She dropped a mesh bag of garlic bulbs into the basket with unwarranted spite. “Bet he won’t ask me to buy weed for him and his band buddies, or go running to Mummy for rent money each month either.”

“I love it.” Leon said, rubber voice adopting a whimsical tone, as he switched the basket to his other hand and squeezed a grapefruit because Rook knew he’d eyed it and felt like he needed to. “The complete about-face rebound from pie-in-the-sky wannabe rockstar burnout to sophisticated man-about-town is truly inspiring. Tommy is gonna shit himself.”

“It’s not a rebound, and Tommy’s not gonna know a damn thing about it,” Rook snapped, sounding just as harsh as she intended to. “That fucking dickhead doesn’t deserve a window into whatever happens to be going on in my life. He lost that privilege when he fucked that stupid waitress at The Hanged Man… and that was after the shithead already fucked around once and got caught.” She shoved a few shallots into a bag, pretending she was shoving them down Tommy’s throat. “I know he asks around about me - I’m not stupid - and you’d better not be fucking telling him anything about me: I don’t want him knowing where I work, what I’m up to, who I’m fucking, or even what I’m doing with my fucking hair these days. He’s a piece of shit and I hope he chokes on his fucking tongue.”

“Point taken,” Leon raised his eyebrows. “And just so you know: I haven’t said a word to him - and I never would. I haven’t even seen him around at shows or anything for the past month at least.”

“Good,” Rook quipped, calm entering her voice. “Maybe he’s finally made himself useful and gotten a fucking job. Or better yet: done us all a favour and dropped dead.”

It was always one thing to make arrangements with a family that clearly didn’t know much about their loved one in life, but it was quite another thing altogether to sit in an arrangement office with the overwhelmed family trying to guide them towards decisions while simultaneously steering them away from ones that their loved one was blatantly disagreeing with in real time.

“Next! I really don’t care for gerber daisies and I haven’t a clue as to why they think I have some sort of attachment to them.”

Emmrich subtly glanced up from the pages of the binder of floral arrangements into the ghostly visage of the recently deceased octogenarian hovering around it with the rest of her family.

Over the years he had mastered the art of subtly urging the living towards the decisions of the dead, but it wasn’t always easy: it was a balancing act on both fronts that to his knowledge, no other funeral professionals but himself had to manage: the rest only had to worry about satisfying the living. Emmrich had to make sure everyone was pleased.

Try explaining that to the dead, though: the average person rarely considered it in life, but the reality was that funerals were - and always had been - just as much for the living as they were for the dead. Of course celebrating the life and legacy of the departed was of utmost importance, but the communal event itself: the ritual of a funeral, be it Andrastian, Qunari, non denominational, or anything in between was arguably more for the people left behind than the ones who did the leaving: an opportunity for the bereaved to come together and support each other through the heaviest days of their grief. To weep, and laugh, and share stories and regrets. But the world was changing, and fewer and fewer people saw the value in said rituals. Thought them trite and old-fashioned and impractical.

It was a shame, really. But as it stood, society seemed to prefer to grieve privately… or not at all, preferring to bury their sorrows in busy things like work, and commitments; happy to deny that they felt anything at all in favour of letting that vacuous wound inside of them fester and scar rather than accepting the laborious journey of grief and the healing that came with it. No one liked saying goodbye. No one enjoyed losing a loved one. But… that was life, wasn’t it?

And of course, what came after death was a mystery to everyone. Even Emmrich, who had been able to commune with the metaphysical imprints of the recently deceased since childhood was unable to say for certain what followed that final breath: not everyone became a ghost, it seemed, and those that did tended not to linger overlong - less out of choice, he knew: the echo of a soul could seemingly only sustain itself in this realm for a finite time, becoming progressively less substantial before eventually fading away forever. Where it went after that, he couldn’t say.

That was what kept him awake at night. Not the awful music someone might choose, or the fear that his funeral would be poorly attended. No - it was the creeping, uncaring entropy of death itself. The utterly dispassionate way it claimed everybody and everything. The way it would eventually claim him too.

“While we were working on your Mother’s obituary, I recall that you indicated she kept a garden at your childhood home in Cumberland. Are you able to remember if there were any flowers that she particularly enjoyed growing there?”

Of course he was asking her surviving son and daughter, but he was most certainly asking the ghost of Maude Laviolette as well. Something to go off of from any of them would be helpful at this point - they had been in arrangements for nearly two hours by then, and it was clear that everyone was growing tired.

“Delphiniums. Stock. Snapdragons.” Mrs. Laviolette ticked off garden flowers on her ghostly fingers, her voice an echoing melody composed of emotion and memory.

As the Laviolette siblings looked at each other over the table, trying to work out exactly what flowers their mother might have grown all those years ago, Emmrich flipped a few laminated pages of the binder, allowing himself to idly wonder what sort of flowers Rook liked - or if she even cared for them at all. It was so difficult to tell with her - assumptions almost always turned out to be wrong in her case, but she clearly had an affection for things that grew, so surely she appreciated the beauty of flowers?

“Perhaps an arrangement similar to this one here? The ‘Garden Stroll’ casket spray?” He tapped a ringed finger over the picture of a stunning arrangement of delphiniums, spray roses, mums, and iris that ranged from a delicate, powdery blue, to deep violet, to white.

“Oooooh you clever man!” The echo of the elderly woman clasped her hands under her chin and joy crept into her voice. “This is lovely! Could we swap out the mums for stocks and add in some snapdragons?”

“Oh yeah! Some of these look a lot like what Mum grew. The blue ones especially!” Eve Laviolette looked at her brother and pointed at the delphiniums in the photo. “Remember these ones, Aiden?”

Aiden Laviolette scratched at his dark brown beard and squinted at the binder.“I do. I do remember those. But there were others too that were kind of similar…”

“Snapdragons?” Emmrich prompted, for all intents and purposes, a senior mortician who was very well acquainted with flowers after so many years of doing this.

“That’s it!” Aiden exclaimed, “Snapdragons!”

“May I suggest if you’re adding the snapdragons, for the overall shape and spirit of the arrangement, you might consider switching out the chrysanthemums for some nice, gentle stocks? I’ve seen a similar arrangement where it was done to great effect.”

It wasn’t lying. Not really. Just… massaging the truth such that everyone - whether they had a pulse or not - was happy… or as happy as they could be given the circumstances…

He flipped to another page to show them an arrangement that featured some stocks.

“Eve, don’t you think that maybe Mum grew these too?”

Eve leaned over the page to take a closer look and gasped. “She did! What are the odds?” She looked up at Emmrich, her thin lips curving into a generous smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think she was giving you instructions from beyond the grave!”

Emmrich returned the smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly as his face took on the oft-used expression that imparted comfort and peace to those living through dark days.

“A happy coincidence only, I’m afraid, but one that Mrs. Laviolette would be pleased with, I hope.”

His eyes strayed ever so slightly over Eve’s shoulder to see the phantom of Maude Laviolette, looking chuffed as anything as she looked over her daughter at the picture of the chosen floral arrangement.

“Thank you, young man,” she said, rubbing her daughter’s upper arm with the tender familiarity that only a mother could impart. Eve���s expression changed to one of surprise as she looked up at the touch, looking over her shoulder and seeing nothing. “You really are a credit to your profession. Thank you for taking such good care of my kids - Maker knows they need it right now.”

Emmrich entered the customizations for the casket spray into the file, went over the remaining details that needed to be decided that day, and printed the contracts to the administration office.

Taking the navy blue garment bag containing the clothing that Mrs. Laviolette’s family had brought for her to wear, he excused himself, stepping into the hallway and closing the door behind him. He would see to the contracts and give Eve and Adrien a few minutes to chat openly amongst themselves and have some space without the pressure of a near-stranger sharing the room with them.

Rebecca (‘Becks’ as she was known to most) handed him the itemized clothing intake form he’d gone over with the family and printed out, and he folded it in half and placed it inside the garment bag before writing Mrs. Laviollete’s name on a manila tag and attaching it to the clothing hanger with a rubber band.

“Thank you, Rebecca,” he handed the permanent marker he’d used to sign the tag back to Becks and took the contracts from her next. “Oh, could I trouble you for a jewelry envelope? They also brought her glasses, her wedding rings, and a pair of earrings if memory serves.”

The relief admin reached into a drawer under the desk and surfaced with a self-sealing, manila envelope, adding it to Emmrich’s growing pile of paperwork.

It was always strange seeing someone else sitting at Rook’s desk. He’d gotten so used to seeing her there over the past months. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Rebecca - quite the contrary: she was very good at her job, and a lovely person, but she wasn’t Rook.

“Did you get permission to post the obit on the website?”

“Ah! I thought I may have forgotten something… my apologies, Rebecca - I’ll be sure to ask before they leave.” He treated her to an apologetic smile and scrawled a few x’s on the contract to better indicate where the family needed to sign.

“Forgetting things, Emmrich?” Remarked Joan, the other permanent chapel administrator from her own desk. She was in her forties and had tightly curled hair the exact colour of nutmeg. She twirled her pen in her hand and smirked at Emmrich - this sort of harmless teasing was not unusual from Joan. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fight you clearly lost with an octopus last night, would it?”

Oh dear - his collar must have slipped down, revealing the deep mauve love bites Rook had left on his neck.

“That’s hardly any of your business, dear Joan,” he retorted curtly, adjusting his collar with dignity as he continued to review the funeral contracts.

“You gonna bring them to the Wintersend dinner?” She demanded, and Emmrich threw a cautionary glance at Becks as she failed to subtly lean over her desk to try and catch a glimpse at his neck.

“Perhaps,” he flipped the page, circled the price of the casket upgrade that they had discussed. His phone vibrated in his breast pocket, heralding the arrival of a text message - he already knew who it was from, and his stomach fluttered pleasantly. “We shall see.”

“You haven’t brought a date in years,” Joan said. “Was just talking about it with Wayne-“ ah yes, Wayne: Joan’s husband who worked at the nearby cemetery - somewhat rough around the edges, but a lovely fellow all the same. “- last one was that uh… what was she an art appraiser or something?”

“An art dealer,” Emmrich sighed, focusing intently on the contract hoping that Joan would take the hint: he saw little reason to stand around discussing a former flame with colleagues. Not with a family next door.

“That’s right!” Joan pointed her pen at him. “Any idea what she’s up to these days?”

Emmrich bit back his annoyance and forced his expression to remain stoic. “I haven’t any reason to, so no.”

He preferred not to think about Philomena. Preferred not to think about how the avant-gardé and eclectic Orlesian patron of the arts was initially swept off her feet by his charm and eccentricity; his passionate need to understand death and all of its facets, and his almost poetic talent for finding splendour and hope amongst decay and putrefaction.

He felt terrible about himself whenever he thought too hard about her, and he was reminded by his subconscious that she’d gone back to Orlais about a year into their relationship and stopped calling him, texting him, and emailing him without a word of warning.

He never really understood why - never got a tidy explanation - but he had a few guesses: likely a culmination of many things - one too many cocktail or dinner parties amongst the elite creatives of Nevarra where he misread the room. One too many anecdotes about death or decomposition delivered with the casual ease of someone describing the process of preparing an omelette: “It’s a commonly held misconception that rigor mortis is a permanent affliction, however, the stiffening of joints and muscles after you pass on only lasts for a few short hours. Admittedly it can make it challenging for one to manipulate the extremities during that time, but simply massaging the affected areas causes rigor to subside in short order, restoring flaccidity and range of movement so the limbs can be moved freely once more.”

“… Ohhh!” Someone would say with feigned enthusiasm after too many moments had passed without anyone saying anything. “How… interesting!”

The slightly agape mouths and raised eyebrows told a different story.

Add to that one too many declarations of love and romantic intent: words trotted out in flowery verse; expensive gifts lavished with the unspoken hope that they could make him enough in her eyes: I can provide, see? You will never want for anything. I am safe. I am kind. I love you, I love you, I love you - will you love me?

He knew he got too attached too quickly and too easily. He always had, and when he was inevitably left to clean up the aftermath of another lover’s hasty departure from his life, his old friend and colleague, Johanna was always quick to point out that of course he had managed to frighten yet another one away with his saccharine yearning - as if he needed reminding.

Not that he cared what Johanna thought, but he could practically hear her calling him a cradle-robbing pervert upon learning about Rook.

And would she be wrong?

Sighing again, he marked up one more place on the contract before heading back to the arrangement office.

As he vanished around the corner, he heard Joan say to Becks too loudly for it to be accidental, “Seems pretty miserable for a dude that just got laid.”

I really should have taken her out for dinner first. How thoughtless of me…

The guilt hadn’t subsided by the time he arrived home to shower, change, feed Manfred, and return to Rook’s apartment.

She’d messaged him twice throughout the day. Once in the morning to say she’d had a nice night, and once in the afternoon to say she was looking forward to seeing him again shortly - that one had been accompanied by a picture of her wearing nothing but a towel, the curves of her perfect breasts just barely concealed by the grey terry; drenched hair dripping tantalizingly over her skin.

He was grateful he’d waited to look at that one until after the Laviolette family left, because within minutes of opening it, the utterly gorgeous still frame of her had him rock hard, and he found himself shamefully jerking off in a stall in the staff bathroom, desperate to finish so he could refocus himself and concentrate on his final arrangement meeting of the day like he wasn’t some sort of lurid sex obsessed deviant who had successfully reduced a woman like Rook down to a vapid sex object.

He was grateful for a change that the family he was assisting wanted a direct cremation with no service, no viewing, and no obituary. The sole executor brought the will, and was the only person attending the meeting. Everything had been prepaid in advance by the deceased, so there were no changes nor any new decisions to be made: simple, quick, and to the point.

Despite this, Emmrich still managed to spell the word ‘preparation’ incorrectly three times in a row, and almost gave the son making the arrangements Rook’s business card instead of his own.

There was nothing for it: he was a mess.

A besotted, smitten, horny mess, and at this rate it wouldn’t be long before he frightened her away too. What was he thinking? That this young, beautiful creature with a lifetime of promise and possibilities before her would be in a hurry to tie herself down to a man old enough to be her father?

That she would happily embrace the strange looks they would almost certainly get in public as people drew conclusions they had no business drawing?

That she would quickly come to know the worst of him that dwelled beneath the thin veneer that was the ‘best’? The insecurity and loneliness and self-loathing; the irrational fears and anxieties that kept him awake at night and overwhelmed his mind at times, leaving him little more than a quivering, hyperventilating wreck, curled up under the blankets and praying for the Ativan to kick in soon.

She would figure out that he was too much. Too different. Too weird - even by the very broad definition applied by morticians.

He would have to tell her that he could see and speak with the dead.

He would have to tell her that more than anything in life, he was afraid of dying - a wildly contradictory fear for one in this profession.

She was going to know before long that the carefully crafted facade of Emmrich Volkarin was a lie - brazenly thrust into the world, and effective only because of the sheer amount of time he’d been insisting upon it.

She doesn’t deserve this.

She deserves a future full of joy and potential and dreams that are entirely attainable, should she only dare to wish for them.

I didn’t even ask her to dinner before I slept with her…

It seemed stupid to get hung up on that, but he was: mutual feelings or not, it fell to him to take the lead, and rather than controlling himself and treating Rook with the respect she was due, he took her to bed and didn’t even have the decency to spend the entire night.

She deserves respect, and here I’m treating her like a fantasy…

Tuning out Manfred as he twined around and through his ankles, coating the hem of his pant legs with white fur, Emmrich sighed and pulled out his phone, preparing to call Rook and tell her he couldn’t do it - he wasn’t coming over.

But before he could place the call, a banner appeared at the top of his screen.

Another message from Rook.

‘Are you on your way yet?’

A reasonable and fair question - that wasn’t the part of the message that made his eyes prickle unexpectedly. It was the words that followed.

‘I miss you.’

‘I just made it home - I’ll be over soon - close to 7:00. I miss you too, Rook. I missed you all day.’

Just as he said he would, Emmrich arrived right at 7:00. Rook had spent the last twenty minutes stationed at the window again, staring down the length of her street, her stomach leaping whenever she saw headlights turn off the main road.

When she finally saw the recognizable shape of Emmrich’s lights, her stomach flip-flopped even harder, and she pushed away from the window, taking a moment to check herself over one last time in the mirrored closet doors to make sure she had dressed herself properly: her hair was nicely pinned up in a bun with stray wisps pulled loose to frame her face, and she turned her back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder to check for the twentieth time that she hadn’t accidentally tucked the hem of her stretchy burgundy velvet mini dress into her thong. Her stockings were free of runs, and she hadn’t managed to soak sweat stains under her arms yet - though she suspected that was about to change. Her makeup still looked pristine, and the softly tinted gloss she’d chosen over her traditional matte red lipstick still looked good.

Satisfied, she slipped out of her apartment and down the stairs where she waited at the front door for Emmrich to appear, emerging from the dark to stride up the walkway, as elegant and refined as ever.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight she’d been waiting all day to see: him - with his perfectly styled silver hair and his angular, distinguished face. He wore the same black pea coat from the night before, and had switched out the brown chinos for charcoal grey tweed trousers that bore the same impeccable tailoring. With his expensive looking Antivan wingtips and his cream coloured scarf he looked like a bougie fashion journalist or something.

He looked fucking hot.

“Fuck me…” she murmured under her breath before flinging the door open and grinning at him. “Hey.”

“Hello, Rook,” he beamed, stepping inside and taking the weight of the door from Rook, letting it close shut gently behind him.

He was holding a white paper shopping bag, and his glasses fogged up again the same way they had before, and for a moment she was at a loss for what to do with herself as they occupied the small vestibule.

Making a decision for both of them, he swept her against him with his unburdened arm and brushed his lips over her left cheek, then her right, before releasing her.

“I’m sorry it took me so long - traffic and Manfred, you see.”

Hoping he couldn’t see her sway in place as the elation of being touched by him again negated her ability to balance properly, she unlocked the main door and he followed her inside and up the stairs.

“Oh no… no problem at all. I know it’s a long drive. How was Manfred?”

“Oh he managed to break into the pantry today and ate an entire loaf of bread. I think he’s rather upset that I was absent last night for far longer than I usually am.”

Guilt wrung Rook’s gut then. “Sorry,” she glanced over her shoulder at him, offering a sympathetic grimace as they continued their ascent. “I’d say you could bring him with you next time, but there’s a ‘no pets’ policy and my landlord is a real prick about it - last year the old man in 204 got a hermit crab to keep him company after his wife died and the prick made him get rid of the little guy.”

“How sad,” Emmrich frowned, looking genuinely sorrowful at this.

“I brought him a house plant - a cutting of Perry, actually - and I try to visit him once a week for coffee. He’s grateful, but I think he’d be happier with his hermit crab… or his wife for that matter.”

Emmrich’s mouth curved in a soft smile, though the melancholy didn’t leave his eyes. “That’s very sweet of you, Rook.”

“It’s not,” she argued placidly. “It’s just the right thing to do: people should look out for each other, but for some reason they just… don’t and it annoys the fuck out of me.”

“That makes two of us,” Emmrich agreed, wincing slightly as they made it to the landing of Rook’s floor.

“Shit, sorry - are you okay?”

“Oh yes, just the ever-present protestations of knees that I should have cared for better in my youth.”

Rook didn’t know what to say to that. She certainly couldn’t render solidarity in the form of a believable ‘Ugh! Me too! Fucking achy joints amirite?’

She didn’t have achy joints: she was 25.

So instead she just nodded and opened the door to her apartment, ushering Emmrich inside with the same elevated politeness that she ushered families into visitation rooms with.

“What have you got there?” She asked, pointing at the bag that he had set down in the entryway so he could undo his scarf and slip out of his coat.

“Give me a moment to sort myself out and I’ll show you,” he retorted with the tempered ease she’d come to know. He hung his coat and the scarf on a hanger and put them in the closet before removing his shoes. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Damn right I do - I don’t dress up in my own house for just anybody.

“Thank you.”

Emmrich straightened and pushed his shoes to the side of the mat with his foot. He was wearing dark green dress socks with a beige diamond pattern on them, and a black turtleneck that made for a decidedly Warhol-esque look.

They regarded each other silently for moments that lasted far longer than they had any right to, clearly both at a loss as to how best to proceed.

“I uh… haven’t started dinner yet, but if you want some wine, I—“

Something seemed to snap into place in Emmrich’s brain and his eyes widened at her words. “Wine. Right!” He scooped the white paper bag up from the floor and reached inside, withdrawing a visibly dusty bottle and handing it to Rook. “You must forgive me - I didn’t think to ask what was on the menu tonight, so it might be a poor pairing - foolish of me - but the… the wine I brought you last night is… well it’s…“ he sighed wearily, “This will be far more palatable, trust me.”

Rook looked at the bottle in her hands, swaths of dust cleared away to reveal dark, shining glass where her fingers and his had touched it.

She was far from a connoisseur of wines, generally opting to drink anything that had a price tag of $10 or less - or came in a box - and would surely get her drunk faster than beer.

“This is… this is… really nice wine, isn’t it?”

Emmrich made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, “Hardly the nicest, but a definitive improvement on anything with a screw-top.”

Rook swallowed, feeling out of her depth: poor… stupid… uncultured.

Seeming to pick up on her discomfort, he plucked the bottle from her hands and wiped the remaining dust from the label. “It’s from my personal collection: one of a few that I have left from a good year. I think I purchased a case of these for eighteen dollars per bottle, so it’s less that I broke the bank, and more that I stumbled upon something good and decided I wanted to hold onto it.”

“I don’t even know if I have a corkscrew,” she admitted, still feeling sheepish.

“Well we’ll sort that out if we need to,” he treated her to that easy, nonjudgmental smile again and picked up the bag again, handing it to her. “For you.”

Rook’s eyebrow raised when she accepted the bag. She peered into it, then back to Emmrich, then she abandoned the entryway, placing the bag on the kitchen counter and reaching inside.

Her fingers closed around a hard ceramic pot, swaddled in cardboard and plastic. Carefully lifting it, she set the pot on the counter and pried the plastic away, revealing a plant with deep green leaves and a woody stem. Its delicate limbs curled prettily upwards, and small white buds were nestled in the fragrant greenery.

She gently rubbed a leaf between her thumb and forefinger, saying hello to her new friend.

“You brought me a plant?” She asked, staring at the fledgling creature, her heart filling. “What florist is even open at this hour?”

“Odella’s, of course,” Emmrich answered, naming the florist that McDermott & Rafferty had contracted out for funeral flowers for years.

She felt his presence drawing close to her, heard him place the wine bottle on the counter gently, then felt his hand on the narrow curve of her waist - almost tentatively at first until it became obvious that she was not going to flinch away… only then did it settle. With his other hand he brushed a sprig of leaves and stooped slightly behind her, placing his face alongside hers.

“I thought to bring you flowers at first, but this seemed a more fitting offering than an impermanent and fleeting bouquet, given your passion for growing things.”

She didn’t understand why at the time, but the fact that he remembered - or even cared - about her affinity for houseplants made something tighten in her chest.

Tommy hated them. He thought they were a waste of time. Told her if she was gonna bother putting so much energy into growing something, it might as well be smokable.

“Do you… like it?”

Rook realized that she hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t said anything. Not so much as a ‘thank you’.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, though she hadn’t any clue what it was. “It’s… it’s a…?”

“A jasmine plant,” Emmrich assisted. “It will bloom for you in time, so the flowers are forthcoming.”

Rook pulled her gaze from the small potted plant and turned against the edge of the counter so she was facing Emmrich.

“Something to look forward to, then,” she smiled, looking up at his kind face. She curled her fingers into the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. “Thank you. For the plant, and the wine… you didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” he entreated, his sweet, spearmint scented breath washing over her cheeks as she fixated on the enticing shape of his lips.

She still needed to start dinner. She hadn’t even put music on. She promised him a meal, and here she was, wasting time…

“You been tested recently?”

The amorous look in Emmrich’s eyes vanished, replaced with confusion. “Tested? I—?”

“STI panel.”

“Oh!” The faintest blush crept over the bridge of his nose and he looked at the cupboards over her shoulder. “Every year, or after a new partner, whichever comes first, but… I haven’t had a new partner in some time and-“

“You’re clean?”

The flush deepened, diffusing over his cheeks. “W-well yes, of course, but-"

Satisfied, Rook pushed away from the counter enough to drop to a crouch, one knee brushing the floor as she undid Emmrich’s belt buckle and slipped the button of his trousers loose.

Catching on, he managed to babble, “Rook, darling, y-you don’t have to-“ before she dropped his zipper and pulled his dick out of his underwear, casting one cheeky look up at the stammering man in front of her before taking him in her hand and dragging her tongue up the underside of his cock.

“Ah!” He moaned unbidden at the sudden wet warmth when she took him into her mouth, buckling slightly against the counter behind her. “R-Rook!”

Her other hand found the back of his thigh and she locked him in place, filling her mouth with his semi-hard length, hollowing her cheeks and sucking him in, her pussy immediately responding to the high pitchy breaths - little half groans and whimpers - that poured from his lips.

He was surprised by this sudden turn of events, yes, but he didn’t pull away; didn’t tell her to stop. Instead, his gasps gave way to deep elated sighs as she worked him with her mouth and her hand, taking her time and worshipping his long, thin cock, tracing every handsome vein; revelling in the salty tang of his skin and the slickness of his precum on her tongue as she knelt in front of him.

“S-so good…” he whispered, carding the fingers of one hand through her hair, his head tipping back, “Oh… that feels so, so good…”

I know it does, handsome…

Rook hummed approvingly around him, feeling him throb against the roof of her mouth. She let go of his cock, wrapping her wet fingers around the back of his other thigh before slackening her jaw, opening her throat, then taking him deep, deep, and deeper still until she felt him butt against the space just beyond her tonsils. He squirmed in her hands, biceps femoris fluttering coyly under her fingertips. His hand tightened in her hair, but not enough to hurt.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, filling her lungs and belly, lost in the cathartic victory of the bliss she was subjecting him to; the smell of him; the dainty sweetness of the viscous, anticipatory fluid that continued to seep from his sensitive slit...

He moaned her name quietly again when she eased him further down her throat, exhaling slowly… so slowly through her nose as she went, bobbing her head slightly and going further with each stroke until he was fully seated and her nose brushed skin beneath the coarse thatch of hair on his lower belly.

He positively vibrated in her hands - ass clenching, thighs spasming, hips jerking, the nails of his free hand scrabbling over the smooth surface of the counter as Rook swallowed around him and fucked him with her throat, each lewd wet thrust punctuated by the unseemly sound her vocal cords made as they were repetitively prodded by his intrusive length.

“Darling…” he whined, a man toeing the chasm of abandon. “D-darling please… I can’t… oh - I’m going to— ohhh!”

His words were cut short and he went rigid as a corpse before uttering a strangled yelp and collapsing against the counter with a thud, propped on an elbow as his hips jerked gracelessly against Rook’s face and she felt his hot, thick cum spill down her throat - one satisfying, relieving pulse after another.

She moaned as she swallowed him, cunt aching as she drank him deep, his warmth spreading through her, her name falling raggedly from his mouth over and over and over, each repetition more reverent than the last.

When he was done, she twitched her jaw, let him slip wetly from her, traced her lips with her tongue, and smiled up at his fucked-out face.

“I was looking forward to an appetizer, and it was delicious…” she rose, tucking his cock back into his pants and doing them up. “So… how about that glass of wine, handsome?”

It was actually pretty funny, the way that Emmrich was gaping at her with his unusually clumsy fingers absently trying to configure his belt buckle, his face flushed and shiny with post-orgasmic bliss.

“Wine,” he swallowed, throat bobbing, hazel eyes blown out behind the lenses of his glasses. “Yes, yes… allow me.”

He seemed to grasp onto some scant flotsam of rational thought amongst the pitching sea of post-nut clarity and finished with his belt, sliding his sleeves up his forearms and clearing his throat before saying (roughly), “If you did happen to have a corkscrew, where might it be?”

[cosmerelists]

How Cosmere Characters Would React to Having Roommates Who Leave Dirty Dishes in the Communal Sink

As requested by @angelofmusings :)

Per angelofmusings' request, Cosmere characters are in a dorm-type situation with a shared kitchen....and SOMEBODY keeps leaving dirty dishes in the sink! How will they respond?

1. Shallan

Let's just say you do NOT want to get into an "ignoring things" competition with college-age Shallan.

Shallan: [humming to herself as she sits at the kitchen table, drawing] Roommate: Uh, Shallan...? Is that....a good place to be drawing? Shallan: [Looks up. Behind her is a tower of dirty dishes higher than a human person, teetering ominously and casting a shadow across the table where she works] Shallan: Hmm? What do you mean?

2. Sarene

Uses weaponized incompetence until her roommates get their act together.

Roommate: Why are all of my bowls chipped? Sarene: I did your dishes for you since you don't have time! <3 Roommate: Y-You did a bad job! Sarene: Did I? Huh! I tried really hard to help since you seem to be way too busy to do any housework! Sarene: Anyway, I'll get back to doing your laundry! [prepares to dump an entire cup of bleach into the washing machine] Roommate: NOOOOO

3. Vin

Vin only has one solution. And that solution is MURDER. D-Dish murder, I mean.

Roommate: Um, why are all of my dishes in a garbage bag? Vin: Well, you left them in the sink for a week so I threw them away. Roommate: You can't throw away my dishes! Vin: It's either that or throw YOU away in a trash bag. Vin: But my boyfriend said murder wasn't the answer. Vin: Yet. Roommate: ... Roommate: I-I'll do the fucking dishes!

4. Elend

Elend convinces all of the roommates to vote on who does which chores.

Elend: ... Elend: ... Elend: I can't believe they voted for me to do ALL of the chores.

5. Renarin

Rather than confront the situation verbally, Renarin opts to leave anonymous notes when nobody is looking.

Roommate (reading): This one says, "The dishes have been in the sink for 2 days." Roommate: This one says, "The dishes have been in the sink for 3 days." Roommate: This one just says, "4 days." Roommate: This one just says "5." Roommate: ... Roommate: Why is this so ominous???

6. Steris

Ha ha! As if Steris didn't set up an extensive roommate contract and force everyone to sign!

Steris: The arbitrator will be here tomorrow at 4. Roommate: Arbitrator...? Why? Steris: To discuss the dishes issue, per Section 9c of the contract we all signed. Roommate: I ONLY LEFT THEM OVERNIGHT. Steris: 4:00pm. Be there!

7. Dalinar

Let's just say that the roommates of college-age Dalinar "Blackthorn" Kholin are not going to risk pissing him off.

Roommate 1: Dude! Don't just leave that in the sink! Roommate 2: My coffee mug? Why? Roommate: 1: Dalinar gets out of class soon! Roommate 2: So? Dalinar doesn't care about dishes. I've never seen him using any other than that one steak knife he carries around. Roommate 1: Yeah, the knife he used to STAB a guy in the LEG after which he KEPT EATING HIS BURGER Roommate 2: Whoa he did that??? Roommate 1: I'm just saying he seems like the type. Wash! Your! Dishes!

8. Marsh

Marsh just does all the dishes himself because he's the RESPONSIBLE one.

Marsh: (grumbling to himself while carefully washing the dishes) Stupid roommates out having fun with girlfriends, getting into trouble, doing stuff. Marsh: While I'm here doing what needs to actually be done... Marsh: ... Marsh: Makes me want to stab myself in the eyes sometimes.

9. Tress

Tress just does all the dishes herself because she is too nice to do otherwise.

Roommate: I can't TAKE it anymore! Tress: ??? Roommate: You're always making us dinner, you always do the dishes, you fixed the air conditioner last week even though that's not even your job! Roommate: Your power of friendship is TOO STRONG and I think I'm going to have to become a better person now! Tress: I'm happy for you! Roommate: YOU WOULD BE

10.Kaladin

At first, Kaladin performatively washes the biggest, heaviest dish he can find while everyone watches, hoping to inspire their better natures. But when that doesn't work...

Roommate: [Woken up suddenly as Kaladin drags them bodily out of bed at 5:00am] Roommate: What! What's going on??? Kaladin: [dragging him toward the kitchen] You are the biggest, meanest roommate I have and I'm going to MAKE you wash your dishes as an example to the others! Roommate: D-Does this make sense in a roommate situation?? Kaladin: I don't know what you mean. Kaladin [glowering at full power] Get. Washing.

[vilevenom]

This has become a series of non-chronological one-shots of Shadow living with Stone, lol Also, this was vaguely inspired by this adorable comic here, because Shadow deserves an emotional support animal.

Heart Still Made of Gold

Fandom: Sonic the Hedgehog (movie universe)

Pairing/Characters: Agent Stone & Shadow

Summary: Shadow hated rainy days. Or, Stone's apartment is rapidly becoming a home for wayward souls.

It was the sort of day that Shadow had come to loath since being woken up from his fifty year slumber. The sky was overcast in shades of drab gray, while rain didn't so much as fall, rather it wafted through the air on the wind, making it nearly impossible to avoid, no matter how much rain gear you wore. The only saving grace, in the dark hedgehog's opinion, was that it was far enough into April that the truly bitter, biting cold that accompanied the rain in late winter wasn't also present to make the day even more miserable. All in all, it made him all the more grateful to be sat indoors, reading in the corner of the Mean Bean, rather than scouring around in such weather for food and shelter.

"Shadow! Can you take the trash out from the cafe? I've got a line of customers, and could really use your help," Stone called from the front counter with a wave. At least half a dozen people were milling about the cafe, obviously in various states of waiting for their order, illustrating Stone's inability to step away from what he was doing to empty the very obviously overflowing garbage can on the cafe floor.

Shadow let out an exasperated sigh, but carefully tucked his borrowed book mark into the novel he'd been reading, while sliding down from his spot on the overstuffed wingback chair he'd claimed that morning when they'd come down to the cafe to start the day. It was Shadow's favorite spot in the Mean Bean, with how it was angled towards the front window, rather than the main cafe floor, and allowed him at least some semblance of privacy away from prying eyes with the way the wings blocked most of his face, despite his shorter stature. It was also in such a position in the shop that it was easy for him to slip to and from the back of the cafe without having to maneuver through the mingling customers that stood around sipping at their overpriced lattes. He debated leaving his book on the chair to save his spot, but ultimately decided it would be best to hide it in the back, instead. Stone was beginning to look haggard as he worked the till and the machines, so Shadow figured he should probably help his host by cleaning and restocking what he could, so the ex-agent would have less to do later.

Unlike his blue counter-part, who would most likely zip through the cafe haphazardly to get as much work done as quickly as possible, Shadow opted to tend to the cafe at a regular pace, enjoying the meditative relaxation being useful and helpful often brought. He started with replacing the garbage bag in the cafe, as he'd been asked, setting it near the back door to take out later. Once that was done, he moved on to the other garbage bags behind the counter and back room, then after a quick wash of his hands (Stone had explained to him in great detail the importance of washing one's hands before working behind the counter, and cross contamination), he moved on to refilling coffee beans, syrups and the ice machine. He then took up the bussing tub and headed into the cafe, pointedly ignoring the soft coos and quiet comments several of the customers failed to stifle behind hands as he cleared the tables of dirty dishes and trash. He and Stone had both been somewhat surprised by the amount of customers that had begun to come to the Mean Bean because of the 'cute mascot', given Shadow's very public destruction of part of Tokyo, but it seemed that certain people really didn't care. However, since even the most enthusiastic of Shadows fans hand yet to try and touch or approach him, and Stone got more business, the hedgehog decided he could suffer the quiet murmurs that followed him around.

Once the dishwasher was loaded up and running, Shadow turned to the garbage with a sigh, already dreading having to go outside. Luckily, though, with the chores he'd done around the cafe, and the afternoon rush all but over, he would be able to go upstairs to the apartment once he was done and get comfortable on the couch with the blanket Stone had gifted him, where it was dry and warm.

"Let's get this over with," he grumbled to himself, gathering up the bags and shoving his way out into the damp, chilly alleyway with a grunt.

He'd nearly missed the sound as he let the lid of the dumpster drop once the trash was inside, but his keen ears were better than most, allowing him to pick up on the pathetic sounding mewl that emanated from under the dumpster. His ear swiveled in curiosity as he tilted his head, standing stalk still as he strained to catch the sound again, taking a short step back as it happened again. With a light frown, Shadow knelt down, tipping sideways until he could see under the dumpster (his quills regretfully dipping into a puddle) where a tiny black kitten sat, drenched to the bone. It stared back at Shadow with huge yellow eyes, letting out another sad little meow as a water drop fell onto its head from the bottom of the dumpster.

"Hello, little one," Shadow breathed, not entirely certain how he should approach getting the kitten out from its hiding place. It was too far back for him to reach, but he couldn't just leave it there. It was cold, and it was wet, and the back alley was no place to live. He happened to know that for a fact.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, heedless of how the rain was soaking his quills straight through as he wracked his mind for what he could use to lure the kitten out. After a beat he pushed himself up and trotted back inside, only to reappear not a moment later, slices of ham pilfered from the cafe's back kitchen in hand.

"I bet you're hungry," Shadow murmured, tucking himself as close to the dumpster as possible, his arm outstretched beneath it with his offering, "C'mon. I promise it's good."

Tentatively the kitten sniffed at the air, its ears perking forward at the smell of food nearby. It mewed quietly, slowly uncurling from where it had been huddled against the cold, before it began to inch towards Shadow.

"That's it," Shadow whispered, fearing scaring it away if he spoke too loudly, watching in rapt attention as the kitten crawled towards him at a snails pace. "Well done," he hummed with a soft chuckle, a small smile gracing his muzzle as the kitten made it to him hand and began to gobble up the bits of ham after a few hesitant sniffs. Once the meat was gone, the kitten gave a tiny, inquisitive trill, before it began to meander towards where Shadow was laid on the ground. The dark hedgehog dared not move as the kitten butted its little head against his arm, while it gave off the faintest of purrs, its affection obviously easily bought with food. But Shadow really couldn't care less, as the tiny thing crawled over his arm and wandered up to his face, giving his muzzle an affectionate lick.

With slow and careful movements, Shadow shifted until he could cup his hands around the kitten, gathering it to his chest as he sat up. Water dripped from his quills, his own fur soaked through, but he hoped that even the small shelter of his hands would help warm the kitten in comparison to the cold underside of the dumpster. He let his thumb brush over the kitten's head, his smile growing minutely as its purrs grew louder. "The world forgot about you, too, didn't it?" he muttered, licking rain water from his lips, "Don't worry. I won't."

"Shadow? Shadow! Where did you go?" Stone's voice came from the propped open door to the back room of the Mean Bean, his head poking through the opening a moment later. "There you are! Why are you sitting out here in the rain? And without your rain coat?"

Shadow didn't grace Stone with a verbal answer, instead rising to his feet and opening his hands just enough for the ex-agent to see what he held against his chest.

"Oh," Stone stared at the two for a moment, leaning against the door frame with a slight frown on his lips. For a brief moment Shadow was worried that Stone was going to tell him to put the kitten back where he'd found it, only to perk up at the exasperated sigh Stone let out, instead. Shadow was beginning to recognize that sound as one the ex-agent made whenever he was about to give in to whatever strange or ridiculous situation he found himself in. "Make sure to add kitten food and a litter box to the grocery list," he hummed, before stepping away from the door, "Now, come inside before you catch a cold."

"You'll let it stay?" Shadow asked, his tail giving a little wag as he stepped through the door.

"You two match. How could I say no?"

At that, Shadow glanced down with a confused frown, only to finally notice the kitten wasn't entirely black. A tuft of pure white fur puffed out from his chest, easily mimicking Shadow's own chest fur. He grinned, even as a towel was tossed over his head.

[boldlyvoid]

Yours, mine & ours | Part 1: meeting matthew

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington | Single Dads fic

Summary: Eddie has a 6-year-old brother in need of a new legal guardian

Warnings: set in 1993, Eddie was never a part of the upside-down shenanigans, foster care, child neglect, death of a parent, Al Munson is a monster, Wayne Munson is the loveliest man on earth

Word count: 4.7k

Masterlist

When he got the call from Child Protective Services, his first thought was: “Do they have the right Eddie Munson?” His second thought was: “of course, my dad would have another one of his offspring taken away.” 

“So, will you take him? Or should we set him up with one of our emergency families until we can find a permanent foster placement for him?” The woman asked, as kindhearted as possible. 

“Uh… yeah? Do you have to like vet me or check out my place?” He asks, worried he won’t have enough time to make his trailer look presentable. He’s only had it a few months now, just a few spaces down from his uncle Wayne, but that didn’t stop the ‘Eddie tornado’ from wreaking havoc on the space in such a short time frame. 

“A small one. I’ll bring Matthew with his things and I’ll take a look around, make sure it’s up to code,” she explains. “I know you were also taken in by a family member when you were a kid, so I’m sure you know what it’s like. He’s had a very rough day and I would like to have him settled with someone he can trust tonight.” 

“Yeah, yeah I remember… How old is he?” He asks, unsure if she’s said it already or not. His mind was in a bit of a fog, this was all a little surreal. He was 27, how the heck did his dad have another kid? What did he get out of jail? What did he do this time? His mind is absolutely racing. 

“6,” she says and he can tell she’s frowning about it. “I don’t think he’s ever been to school…”

“I missed a lot when I was with Al, too,” he shares. “I’ll get him enrolled. 6 is what? Kindergarten?” 

“It is, he should be able to catch up quite easily, he’s a very sweet and quiet boy. I think he’ll greatly benefit from being around children his own age.” 

He knows that’s true. “Okay, well, I’ll clean up a bit and get things ready here… when are you bringing him?” 

“We’re just in Indianapolis, so I’ll be there in an hour-ish?” She says, more so asking if that works for him. 

“Sounds good.” 

“Thank you, Eddie.” 

“Anytime.” 

He hangs up the phone on the receiver and looks around the room. He’s fucked. There’s no way he can clean everything and make it look presentable in an hour. 

But he’s damn sure going to try. 

He throws all his clothes in the washing machine, he rushes through dishes, and he runs the recycling and a few garbage bags down to the trailer park's dumpster. He tidies his room, and sets up a few spare blankets on the couch so that the kid knows he has a spot to sleep tonight before they get him set up with more… and just as he’s changing his shirt to something less heavy metal, there’s a knock on his door. 

“Coming!!” He shouts as he slips into the shirt and makes his way down the hallway. He’s barely got his arms in the sleeves as he’s opening the door. 

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s still a shock to see a woman no older than himself holding a garbage bag in one hand and holding hands with a little boy in the other. She’s in a dress suit, hair all pulled back and a small smile on her face, “Eddie Munson?” 

“Hi,” he says, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at his brother then, “You must be Matthew?” 

He has the curliest hair, curlier than Eddie’s ever was at this age. He has chubby cheeks, big brown eyes and the longest lashes on earth that batt against those big cheeks each time he blinks. He’s adorable. How the hell could someone have a child so sweet and put them in this position? Was he this cute when he was little? Was this how Wayne felt when he was on his doorstep at 12? Or was he long past that cute phase and more into the annoying tween people felt bad for, stage? 

Matthew nods, reaching up to brush his curls out of his face, he looks so tired. His eyes are red, he doesn’t smile, he’s in tattered old running shoes and pants too short for his legs and a sweater Eddie’s seen before… that used to be his. He left it when he was gathering things to leave for Waynes. It was too small for him then, but now it’s a bit too big for Matthew. 

“Come in,” he steps aside and lets them in. “I uh, I cleaned as best as I could with short notice. I’ll do more tomorrow once I can borrow the vacuum from my uncle down the way, he’s at work right now. He works nights.” 

“That’s okay,” she smiles, letting Matthew in first.

He takes a look around, arms crossed to protect himself. He doesn’t make eye contact, he simply wanders over to the living room to take a look at the figurines Eddie has on the shelves. Wayne would call them toys, they could be if they weren’t so expensive, but with their price tag, they are made to stay in their little acrylic cases and sit on his shelves collecting dust till he has the time to clean again. 

“You like Star Wars?” He asks, trying to make conversation but Matthew just shrugs. “I’ll have to show you the movies sometime.” 

“Okay,” he says, quiet and meek. 

He doesn’t notice the social worker looking around. She opens the fridge, nods a bit and then closes it. She looks in the cupboards and drawers, and she notices that there are clothes in the washing machine tumbling around in soapy circles and she looks impressed. She keeps going down the hall, peaking in the bedroom, “Is it just you who lives here?” 

“Uh, yeah, I just got the trailer a couple months ago… I was renting downtown for a bit but then I got the opportunity to own this place,” he explains. “I’m thinking I’m going to get a pull-out couch for me and he’ll have the room. That’s what my uncle did for me.” 

“Sounds good,” she gives him a smile. “He seems like he’s good here.” She references over to Matthew who’s flipping through pages of a comic book, sitting criss-crossed on the floor. “Here,” she reaches into her pocket and hands Eddie a white envelope. 

“What is this?” 

“You’re not technically a foster parent, but because you’re under the poverty line and taking him in, I pulled some strings and you’ll be receiving a $500 allowance for him each month,” she explains. “It should help with groceries and clothes, and I can help you file for medical and dental benefits through some charities that focus on children going through tough situations.” 

“Damn, okay,” he’s so shocked. Where was all this when he was a kid? “Wow…” 

“And then in the bag, there is a manilla envelope with his birth certificate and other important documents. We couldn’t find any records of him getting his vaccines, so he should see a practitioner before going to school.” 

“Okay,” he nods along, feeling overwhelmed. “I uh, I don’t even have a doctor… does he need a kid doctor or will any do?” 

“A pediatrician would be best,” she explains. “In Indianapolis, we have a local pediatrician who does pro-bono work for children in the system. I included their number in the envelope, my cards in there, too, tell them I referred you.” 

“Thank you. This is more than anyone did for me when they dropped me off with Wayne,” he says, trying not to tear up a bit. “I’m going to take good care of him.” 

“I know you will,” she gives him a real smile, she touches his arm and then makes her way to the door. “You call if you need anything, but I think we’re all good here. Bye, Matthew!” 

He looks up from his book and gives her a wave, “Bye.” 

And then she’s gone. 

It’s just them now.

He has a kid.

A kid that will live with him and depend on him for… 18-6 is 12 but he’s 27 and still dependent on Wayne to an extent, so that’s 21 years. He’s going to have this kid forever. 

Eddie just watches him read for a moment, carefully keeping his distance. “Are you hungry?” 

He nods, “kinda.” 

“Do you have any favourite foods?” 

He shrugs, “Pringles.” 

Eddie sighs, of course. He remembers being fed Pringles and candied nuts and beef jerky from the gas station for years. He never had a real meal between his mom's death and moving in with Wayne.

“Have you ever had Mac and cheese?” 

Matthew shakes his head, looking confused. 

“Well, then I guess I’m going to have to introduce you to my favourite meal.” 

He fills a pot up with water and sets it on a burner, throws in a bit of salt and turns it on high. He pulls a box down from the cupboard and walks it over to Matthew, “See, this is Mac and cheese, it’s these little elbow-shaped noodles and a cheese powder that you mix with milk and butter and it becomes so delicious, you’re going to love it. You can try it by itself, or you can have ketchup on it like I do.” 

“I like ketchup,” he gives Eddie a little smile. “The lady at the drink place gives me ketchup with my fries.” 

He knows he means the bar. His dad brought him there for dinner a lot too because most nights a plate of fries was free when you ordered 3 or more beers. Sometimes, he’d get a burger or even some chicken tenders if the bartender thought he was cute… that stopped after he turned 8. By then he was a lanky, dirty kid no one wanted to deal with.

“So, Matt, how are you feeling?” 

“Hew,” he says, looking displeased. 

“What?” 

“My name is Matthew.”

“Oh, yeah, I know that. My name is Edward but people call me Eddie. It’s called a nickname,” he explains. “I know our father wasn’t big on nicknames, which is weird considering his preferred name is a nickname… but you don’t have to only go by Matthew. People can call you Matt, or Matty.” 

“Oh,” he settles with that. “So my dad is your dad?” 

He nods, “yeah… I mean he’s our father. There’s a big difference between a father and a dad.” Matt looks confused so Eddie starts to ramble. “You see, any man can father a kid, but not every man can be a dad. A dad is someone who takes care of you. Someone who reads you bedtime stories and tucks you in at night and kisses your forehead to see if you have a fever… a dad is someone who loves you and is always there for you. When I left our father, I moved in with his brother, Wayne. He did those things for me. He made me feel safe and cared for. Wayne is my dad.” 

“Oh,” he softens, looking behind Eddie, sad. “My mom did those things.” 

“My mom did too,” he understands. “Where is your mom?” 

“She’s an angel,” Matthew sighs, missing her. 

“So is my mom,” Eddie presses his lips together, awkwardly, trying not to smile but wanting him to feel comfortable. “But that’s okay, we’ve got each other now. I’m going to make sure we get you into school, and maybe tomorrow we can go shopping?” 

He nods excitedly, sitting up straight, “For what?” 

“Well, let’s see what you need,” Eddie says, looking for the bag of his things. He puts the box of Mac and cheese on the counter, the pot still isn’t boiling, it takes forever in here. He grabs the garbage bag and unties it, turning it over and dropping everything onto the carpeted floor. 

It smells so much like cigarettes that it honestly takes his breath away. “oh wow,” he tries not to gag. He smokes, sure, but not as much as Al, and definitely not in the fucking house. 

The pile of things is small. He starts to sort everything, he folds 2 pairs of jeans, 6 shirts, 3 pyjama bottoms and only 1 matching long sleeve top. He has 4 pairs of underwear that look like they’re for a toddler and no socks. There is 1 stuffed elephant and a picture of his mom in a frame… she looks a lot like his own mom. 

Al Munson has a type. 

“Okay,” he places his hands on his knees and bites his lip. “Well, looks like we need a bit of everything… new shoes, a good coat, some socks, a toothbrush, bathroom things? When was the last time you had a shower?” 

He shrugs, “I don’t remember?” 

“Okay, do you know how to shower alone?” 

He nods, standing up, “I do everything by myself.” 

“I figured… um, so while I make dinner do you want to go have a shower? I’m going to put your clothes in the wash later so you can wear one of my old shirts after?” Eddie offers, grabbing one of the other pairs of underwear out of the pile and standing up. “Come on, I’ll show you where everything is.” 

He shows him how the shower turns on and off, sets out some towels for him and tells him just how much shampoo he should use. He gets him a new shirt, places it on the counter with his underwear and heads to leave. 

“Thank you, Eddie,” Matthew says, giving him a little smile before he shuts the door, leaving him to do his own thing. 

In the kitchen he can hear the pot boiling, so he pours the macaroni into the bubbling water. He sets the cheese packet to the side and heads right to the washing machine. He switches his clothes over to the dryer and loads Matt's stuff into the washer. He’ll put it on when the shower turns off so he has good water pressure to get the soap out of his hair.

It’s remarkable how easy it is. 

This time yesterday he was eating cold pizza and drinking a beer, thinking he’d never have the kind of life his co-workers did. Today, he has a kid. Today he’s doing laundry and making dinner and he’s going to have to tuck a kid into bed. Tomorrow he’s going to have to take him shopping. He has no idea how he’ll keep doing this every day? If he’ll be good at it? If he’ll have the money, the strength, the energy… 

All he can do is try. That’s what Wayne did, and Wayne did a fantastic job. But Wayne also had help, he had friends with kids whom Eddie got most of his things from, ladies who watched him after school and neighbours who made sure he was up in time for the bus when Wayne worked late. 

He still has 6 minutes till the macaroni is done, so he heads to the phone, dials the number to his coworker and he waits. 

“Hello?” Daryl’s deep voice picks up. 

“Hey, it’s Eddie.” 

“What’s the van doing this time?” He asks, sounding annoyed. 

“Oh, nothing. No. That’s not why I called. I uh… my kid brother is going to be living with me from now on. He’s 6—

“Oh shit,” Daryl can’t believe it. 

“Yeah, you and Laurene wouldn’t happen to have your boy’s old clothes still, would you?” He asks, feeling bad but he has to ask. 

“We’ve got buckets of their shit down in the crawlspace, I’ll ask Laur to go through it later. I don’t think we’ve got shoes, though. Our boys went through shoes like mad— I swear if they weren’t outgrowing them they were blowing the souls out dragging them on the playground,” he goes off. Eddie can just imagine he’s shaking his head as he explains it all. 

“I’ve got an allowance for him from the state, so I can get him new shoes,” Eddie assures. “He has like 4 shirts and no socks. I need to get him a coat and a backpack, and do you guys have a good doctor? He needs to get a doctor.” 

Daryl laughs, “I never thought you’d be coming to me for parenting advice.” 

“Me either, but he’s my brother. I wasn’t going to let him go into the system. I was with 1 family before Wayne, it wasn’t terrible but I’ve heard the horror stories. I can’t let him go through that shit.” 

“You’re a good man,” Daryl compliments him. “I’ll see what we can find tomorrow, I’ll bring it by the trailer. You think he’s a regular-sized 6-year-old?”

He chuckles a bit, “I think? I’m not sure really. He’s so small. I don’t think I was ever that small.” 

“We were all small once,” he smiles through the phone. “How about you come over tomorrow for lunch, he can meet our boys and we’ll figure out sizing that way?” 

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie agrees. “Thanks again, Daryl. I really appreciate it.” 

“Any time kid, you have a good night.” 

“You too.” 

—

Dinner goes well, they talk about his favourite colours and if he likes music. He likes blue and his dad listened to the radio a lot. He hummed some songs he liked, nothing Eddie could really recognize cause it was probably new-age country. They put their plates in the sink, Eddie shows him where the ketchup goes in the fridge and they talk about getting some groceries tomorrow. Fun food. Things for snacks and easy dinners, and Eddie’s gonna have to start packing him lunches when he goes to school. 

He’s going to need a backpack and a lunch bag, a pencil case and pencils and crayons and Eddie’s going to need to help with homework. He doesn’t even know if the kid can read or write yet… 

Matt grabs the comic book again and sits back down on the couch, flipping back to the page he was on before, and looking at all the pictures. 

“Can you read?” Eddie asks, coming to sit beside him. 

He shrugs, “kinda.” 

“Cool,” he’s honestly impressed. “Have you ever had a comic book before?” 

“No… is that what this is?” 

“Yeah, I have a whole bunch. This is Wolverine 27, there’s 26 that come before it. I have most of them, you can read them all if you want?” He offers. “I also have some X-Men comics and a bunch of fantasy books— but they might be too advanced for you, so maybe I could read them to you?” 

He nods, a sweet gleam in his eyes, “Can you read me to sleep later?” 

“Of course, buddy,” he doesn’t even have to think twice. “Maybe I could read you my favourite book?” 

“What is it?” 

“It’s called Lord of The Rings,” he says with a smile. 

Maybe raising a kid could be fun. 

After explaining the plot to him and grabbing the old, well-read, book off the shelf, he looks at Matthew and the couple sheets he has laid out for him, “Would you want to sleep in my bed or out here on the couch tonight?” 

“I usually sleep in Dad's room,” he explains. “I have a bed in his closet.” 

The fucking closet again. Sure, it gives them both privacy, but a 3x5 room is nothing. It's stuffy and gross and you still hear everything Al gets up to in the middle of the night with his stupid friends. His heart breaks for Matthew. He wished he knew he had a brother sooner, he would’ve gotten Matthew and his mom away from Al as quick as humanly possible. 

Now all he can do is make it up to him. 

“Well, I was thinking you could have my room and I could get a couch that turns into a bed for me to sleep out here,” he explains his thinking. “I'm going to put all my clothes in the closet, I might get a new dresser or something for out here so you can keep all your things in your room.”

“Really? You mean it?” He lights right up. “I always wanted my own room.” 

Eddie smiles right back at him, “Well, now you’ve got one. It might take a little while for me to move my things out here and make it feel more like your space, but you’ll like it.” 

He nods, really happy with the thought of having his own space for the first time in his short little life. So happy, he gives Eddie a hug. 

“Oh,” he’s a bit shocked at first but then he softens, holding him back with a soft smile on his face. Eddie could really get used to this. “I’m glad you’re here, buddy.” 

“Me too,” he whispers against him, snuggling in, clearly tired after a long day. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” 

He nods, “Can I sleep with you?” 

“Uh… yeah, I just have to clean up a bit out here after I read to you but I can come back to your room?” Eddie compromises. He really wants to put his stuff in the washing machine before they go out tomorrow. 

He holds his hand and walks him down the hall to his bedroom, flicks on the light and watches Matt’s eyes light right up, “woah?” 

“You like it?” He smirks, it’s pretty basic. White paint covered in posters and homemade flags with his band's name on them. Homemade artwork from campaigns, photos from gigs and tickets from concerts and festivals he’s been to. 

“It’s so colourful,” he says as he lets go of Eddie’s hand and wanders over to his Iron Maiden poster. “He’s so… wow?” 

“His name is also Eddie… he’s the mascot for Iron Maiden, I’ll show you their music tomorrow in the van,” he promises. “You sure it’s not too scary to sleep in here?” 

He shakes his head, “No, it’s cool!” 

He can’t help but smile, it must run in the family to love this shit. He suddenly can’t wait to show him all the music he has, maybe teach him how to play guitar or hell, he might be into drums or bass and the boys can help him out. Having a little brother is a gift he never expected. This kid is so much like him, it’s going to be so fun. 

He never wanted a kid of his own… really, he just didn’t want to knock up some woman he didn’t love in the name of pretending to be straight. He didn’t want to change diapers and be up all night trying to soothe a crying crotch goblin. He’d do it if he had to, but he never put himself in the position to need to. Now he has Matt, he’s at a fun age, and he’s still mouldable. He can still be made into a good person, he’s not affected too much by their father which is a blessing. He was only with him half as long as Eddie was, and he turned out semi-okay? 

He turns the covers down, fluffs a pillow and flicks on the lamp light instead of the big light. “Come sit,” he offers, going to get his book from the shelf. 

Matt crawls into the bed, pulls the covers up over himself and sits there with his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for his story. 

“Has anyone read to you before?” 

He nods, “My mom did. Just little books, though,” he points at the massive book Eddie’s holding. “Not like that.” 

“I know, but the best part about these big books is that we can read this story every night for a while. It took Wayne a whole year to read it to me at bedtime,” he explains, taking a seat in the bed beside him. “So, it starts off kind of different… the narrator gives a rundown of the world first so that when you start reading, you’re not completely lost about what a hobbit is or where they live.” 

“Okay,” he nods along. 

“And the way the characters talk might be a bit strange, and the words are a bit long and some don’t exist in our world. If you need help understanding, don’t be afraid to ask me what something means,” he explains. “It’s hard to understand sometimes, but I’ve read it so many times I know almost everything about it.” 

He nods, leaning into Eddie’s arm and looking at the pages. “Are there pictures?” 

He shakes his head, “No, but I have drawn some of the scenes in my sketchbook, I can show you them later?” 

“Okay,” he settles against him and that’s how Eddie knows it’s time to start. 

“This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history…”

He reads in his most normal voice, he’ll introduce voices for the characters later. he’s actually really excited about that. Wayne used to try and do voices for him, but he never could keep them consistent. Eddie, on the other hand, would do voices in his head when he read the book to himself. 

“They do not and did not understand or like machines more complicated than a forge-bellows, a water-mill, or a hand-loom, though they were skilful with tools. Even in ancient days they were, as a rule, shy of ‘the Big Folk’, as they call us,—

“Wait, so Hobbits are tiny?” Matthew asks. 

He nods, “Yeah, they’re probably about your size when they’re my age, but they have big hairy feet.” 

Matthew laughs, “I think I’m going to like this book.” 

Eddie smiles, “I think so, too” 

—

Wayne doesn’t work the same night shifts that he used to. He’s too old for that shit. Now, he comes home around 11pm, gets to sleep all night and goes back in at 3pm. He likes it this way. He’s always been more of a night owl, he enjoys sleeping when the sun is up more than anything, it runs in the family. It took Eddie most of his life to get onto a “normal” schedule for his 9-5. 

Wayne knocks on the trailer door lightly just as Eddie’s switching the laundry over. He rushes to the door and holds his finger up to his lips as he opens it, “Hey, let me come out here.” 

Wayne’s a little confused but he backs up and lets Eddie outside. “What’s goin’ on? You got someone over?” 

“Al had another kid after he got out, or during? I’m not sure about the logistics, but he got arrested again and now Matthew’s going to be living with me,” he explains. 

“That old fucker got another woman knocked up?” Wayne can’t believe it. “The courts should castrate ya after CPS takes two kids out of y’r care.” 

Eddie just chuckles, “Yeah, well, at least this one got away at 6.” 

“6?” Wayne repeats, eyes wide, “are you sure y’r up for that?” 

He nods, “he’s pretty calm and quiet. The social worker got us set up with an allowance so I’ll get $500 a month to take care of him and Daryl and his wife are going to hook us up with some hand-me-downs. Tomorrow I’m getting him some new shoes and underwear and a coat. And socks. He didn’t come with any socks?” 

“You didn’t either,” Wayne reminds him. 

He sighs, remembering all too well just how hard it was to be with Al for so long. “Yeah, well, we’re getting him everything he needs now. I need to get him set up at school, he needs a doctor, too… but we’ll be okay.” 

“You said his name is Matthew?” 

He nods, “had to teach him what nicknames are too. He likes Matt so far.” 

“Good, good,” Wayne places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “Wow, never thought I’d be here again.” 

“I told him you’re my dad,” Eddie explains. “Al’s just the man who made us, but dads take care of us.” 

Wayne lets out a huff and presses his lips together, his eyes well a bit, “boy…” 

“I know, I know,” Eddie laughs it off. “You’re not good with emotions, but it’s true. And who knows, he might start calling you grandpa with this logic.” 

“You’re gonna be a good dad to that kid,” Wayne compliments, meaning it with every fibre of his being. 

Eddie just reaches out and hugs him, “Yeah, well, I learned from the best.”

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Single Dads fic

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