#I don’t wanna defrost no shit to eat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trickstump · 2 years

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OFFER YOUR THROAT / STARVE WITHOUT ME

CHAPTER THREE // (read it HERE on AO3)

When Steve goes to wake Eddie up he thinks, for a chilling moment, that he’s dead.

It’s the first time he’s gotten a full look at him in daylight, and he’s pale enough now that Steve thinks he can see the blue of his veins under his skin. He’s curled in on his side, and when Steve reaches a hand out to shake him awake after he doesn’t respond to a few calls of ‘rise and shine, Munson, come on ’, he’s stone cold again, and there’s no fluttering pulse in his throat. Shit.

“Eddie,” he tries again, shoving the plate of defrosted meat aside for the moment so he could get both hands on Eddie’s shoulders. “Eddie, man, come on; we just had you figured out yesterday, man, we can’t do this again- I can’t do this again.” The last part sticks in his mind as a mantra, and he’s not sure if he’s speaking it aloud or not, panic rising to his throat and clouding his mind. I can’t do this again, I can’t do this again, I can’t do this again, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-

Eddie’s eyes flash open, and he bares his teeth at Steve, canines flashing.

Steve’s relieved instead of terrified.

“We cannot keep doing this like this,” he says, words coming out in one long exhale. “Fuck, man, you sleep like a goddamn corpse- a literal corpse.”

“That’s not my fault,” Eddie says, his words half swallowed in a yawn, blinking blearily at Steve. “You scared the shit out of me, Harrington.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” Steve shoots back, but his relief undercuts his annoyance. Eddie’s still himself, still there. “God. I just wanted to come give you breakfast before I leave for work, my bad.”

“Breakfast in bed? Aw, Harrington, you shouldn’t have.” Eddie perks up a bit at the mention of food, sort of shuffling so he could push himself to a sitting position. It’s kind of pathetic to watch, and it makes Steve’s heart do that thing in its chest again, so he eventually relents and leans in to untie Eddie’s hands.

“I don’t think you’re gonna wanna be in here for this,” Eddie says while he’s shaking out his wrists a bit. Steve wonders if he’d tied them too tight; he needed to be careful about that. He didn’t know how circulation worked in a regular body, much less a vampire’s, and he really didn’t want to walk in one morning and find that Eddie’s hands had, like, fallen off. “It’s gonna be messy.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “Every time?”

“So very sorry I didn’t have a vampire sire to teach me proper table manners, Harrington,” Eddie says. “Kinda can’t help it.”

“You can’t eat like a normal person?” Steve shoots back.

“No , that’s the- whole thing.” Eddie sounds frustrated, and Steve almost regrets asking, digging up shit that was probably freshly sensitive. “It’s like… you know when you haven’t eaten in a long time- all day, or for a few days, even, and then you like. Literally can’t help yourself when you get it? Like you have to have it right now, or you think you’re gonna die?”

No, Steve thinks, because he’s not sure, really, that he’s ever had to deal with true hunger in his life, but says, “Sure.”

“It’s like that,” Eddie says. “Every single time. The moment I get the… scent of blood, or whatever, when the first little bit touches my lips, it’s like if I don’t get it in me right now, I’m gonna just. Fall apart. At least, that’s what it’s been like so far. I don’t… think I’ve gotten full yet.”

“Could be because you’ve been eating squirrels,” Steve points out. “Can’t be a whole lot of blood, in squirrels.”

“Could be,” Eddie says. The way he says it makes Steve think he has another theory, but he’s also eyeing the plate with a voraciousness Steve doesn’t particularly want to fuck with, so he leaves it be and steps back.

“Go to town,” he says. “I’ll… be back up in a minute to grab the plate, I guess.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, already sounding distant. The moment Steve closes the door, there’s a wet noise he doesn’t like the sound of, so he moves downstairs to attempt to make his breakfast.

It’s a good morning for cereal. He thinks he’s gonna be turned off meat for a while.

He takes his time eating so that Eddie can take his time; actually washes the bowl when he’s done, rearranges the kitchen a little. The house has gone from looking like a nice, suburban family lives there to looking like a burnt-out single twenty year old lives there in patches: the kitchen’s not as clean as it once was, when his mother would tidy up around cleaning people coming in, and there’s pillows on the floor where the kids had commandeered them to sit on, but his dad’s office is as pristine as it’s always been- not that Todd Harrington was ever in his home office in the first place- and the foyer is dusty, but otherwise immaculate, staged family photos on the wall like there had always been.

Half lived in, half time capsule. Steve fucking hates it here, and can’t imagine living anywhere else. He thinks it might be Stockholm Syndrome, or something. He stops thinking about it.

Generally, Steve spends a lot of time wishing he wasn’t thinking.

When he’s sure Eddie’s had enough time to finish, he heads back upstairs, grateful for the fact that he doesn’t have to do more than slap on a pair of jeans and shirt to be dressed for work, nowadays. He knocks before he opens the guest room door, because he was raised to be polite, but not patient. Eddie’s done, thankfully, but he’s got blood around his mouth again, and there’s a pile of what Steve can only describe as absolutely destroyed steak on the plate. He doesn’t like that it somehow looks both eviscerated and dry.

“Good?” he asks, and means ‘are you good? ’

“Have you ever eaten something out of the trash before?” Eddie asks, and Steve takes that as a ‘no.’

“Absolutely the fuck not,” he says, which isn’t entirely true. There was a dare, back in middle school, he thinks. He used to take a lot of dares; it was always a transaction of attention. Do something cool, something funny, and people will pay attention to you. “Why?”

“It’s sort of like that,” Eddie says, nodding towards the meat pile. “It’s not good, and it’s not filling, and it makes you feel kind of sick, but it’s food, so it almost does the job. You just feel kinda like shit after.”

Steve grimaces. “Sounds shitty, yeah. I’ll try and get over to the butchers’ after I get off, see if we can get anything a little, uh. Fresher.”

Eddie frowns again, and it reads to Steve the same way his tone had earlier, like he’s thinking something else, but isn’t gonna say it. Steve wishes he would just come out and say it, but he’s not going to say anything, either, so he just sits with it.

Instead, he asks: “Do you think you’re gonna sleep all day, again?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I feel like shit, but I’m not tired.”

“If we move you downstairs and keep the curtains closed, there’s a TV?” Steve offers. “I don’t have, like. Too many books or anything around, so that’s gonna have to keep you busy until I get back.”

“I’ve never said no to bumming it on the couch for a day,” Eddie shrugs. “I mean- usually, I’m like three sheets to the wind in the stratosphere when I’m doing it, but.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but the town dealer died, so I’m kind of hard up on the good shit right now.”

Eddie heaves a put upon sigh, tossing his head back like a woman fainting in an old movie, and that gets another laugh out of him. “What have you people been doing without me, really? All of Hawkins suddenly gone dry, Harrington, it’s enough to make me cry. However have the star students been getting enough blow to keep them going through the semester? God, I must have a million mourners for that fact alone.”

Steve rolls his eyes, because he has to, otherwise he’s going to let this new, bright feeling that’s suddenly appeared settle far too deep into his chest to ever draw it out again. “I’m sure they’ve made do, somehow.”

“A good druggie always does,” Eddie hums, and rolls himself so his legs are dangling off the side of the bed. “Are you gonna make me bunny hop downstairs, or can I have a little bit of walking time, warden?”

“You’re the one that wanted to be tied up, Munson,” Steve points out, but he obliges and undoes the rope around Eddie’s ankles. “Seriously, if you’re not gonna bolt, I think we’re good leaving these off; I don’t know how you slept with them on, but I’m worried you’re gonna, like, lose a hand or something if we keep doing it like this.”

“Spoken like a man who’s never had the pleasure of being tied up before,” Eddie says, sharp grin made even sharper with the addition of his- fangs? Steve figured he could call them fangs; it felt stupid, but there was nothing else to call them. Vampires had fangs. “Not the most uncomfortable position I’ve been tied up in, Harrington, no worries.”

He, valiantly and with great effort, doesn’t flush at the idea that Eddie had been tied up before for reasons other than safety concerns. “Still,” he managed to get out without sputtering. “I’m saying I leave a couple of steaks on the counter to defrost for lunch, and you can, like. Have free reign of the place while I’m gone, keep yourself busy. Just in case you have to piss or something.”

“I don’t think I piss any more,” Eddie says. He sounds almost excited by the prospect. “Crazy, right? I think all the blood just goes-” He makes a little loop with his fingers. “In and back around. After I eat I can, like, feel my heart jump starting again.” He pats his chest a few times. “Check it out.”

Steve reaches out, and puts a hand over Eddie’s heart. Eddie presses his own hand over Steve’s, and Steve has to take a second to not focus on his suddenly racing heartbeat before he can feel the faint thump of Eddie’s. “Shit, yeah.”

“Fucking weird,” Eddie declares, and he sounds almost proud of it. He keeps his hand over Steve’s on his heart, and they just sit there for a moment that feels like an eternity while Eddie’s heartbeat sends pulses up Steve’s arm like a live drumbeat. Steve thinks he can feel it moving faster, but figures that it was just his own pounding in his ears. He’s glad Eddie can’t feel it.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” he says, somewhat weakly, and Eddie’s hand drops to his side so fast it’s like it was ever there in the first place. It was freezing, but the spot where it’d been atop Steve’s feels like it’d been branded. Like freezer burns, he thinks. Like frostbite. Cold heat that burns, almost in a good way.

He’s not thinking about it.

“Don’t let me keep you then, Harrington,” Eddie waves a hand, and it takes Steve a second to realize he hasn’t moved his hand away. He pulls it back like a delayed reaction, and the burn moves up his neck and to his cheeks. He’s probably bright red, embarrassed, which only makes him grit his teeth. He’s still not used to feeling embarrassed.

“Right,” he says, mostly as a way to say something, to force the world to right itself and whatever the hell he was feeling to shove itself back into the little boxes in the back of his mind labeled DO NOT DISTURB. He stands, and nods. “Let’s get you set up with whatever the hell is on TV this early.”

“Housewife soaps,” Eddie says, bouncing to his feet. Steve had forgotten how close they were in height, how it put Eddie right in his face. “Can’t wait. Lead the way.”

Steve did, mostly because he had the fleeting thought that if he stayed that close to Eddie for too long, something was going to happen. The thought sent a thrill down his spine and fear back up it for reasons he couldn’t- wouldn’t - place.

There were, in fact, housewife soaps starting up when Steve flicked on the TV. He’d only really been using the VHS player recently, and imagines this must be what his mom watched all day while he and his dad were gone, the rare times that his parents were home for more than twenty four hours. It feels weird, imagining that about his mom instead of knowing it; he thinks other kids probably knew what their moms did. What their moms liked. Who their moms were, kind of, as people.

Eddie flops down onto the couch like he’s done it a thousand times, and that does something to Steve’s chest that combines noxiously with the thoughts that were running through his mind. He leaves him to the television, and goes to grab some steaks from the freezer so that he has something else to think about.

“This is the number for the store, if you, like, have an emergency or something,” he says, scribbling it out on the notepad next to the landline after he’d set the steaks in the sink. “If this stuff’s not defrosted by lunch, nuke it for like a minute and you should be good to go. You can toss the… mush from this morning in the trash, I’ll take it out when I get back.”

“You got it, dad,” Eddie calls from the living room, and Steve flips him the bird as he grabs his work vest off the coat rack by the door and shoves his wallet into his pocket. “Those kids have got you trained in babysitting, huh?”

“I’m not babysitting you, you’re like twenty,” Steve says.

“What’s this, then, house arrest?” Eddie bats back.

Steve frowns. He likes that even less. “It’s- you’re like. My guest,” he says. “You’re a friend who’s living with me for a while until his shit gets sorted. That’s all.”

“A friend,” Eddie echoes, and it sounds like Steve might as well have gut punched him. He flicks his gaze back over to Eddie as his hand reaches for the door knob, suddenly frozen, and Eddie’s staring at him with wide doe eyes. Steve can’t tell if he’s surprised or scared until a wide grin breaks out across his face, and he laughs. “Yeah, man, alright.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve says, a little ruffled and annoyed about being ruffled about it. The words are as much for him as they are for Eddie.

“It’s a funny deal,” Eddie says, turning over and tipping his head over the side of the couch so that he was looking at Steve upside down. “I’m friends with Steve Harrington. The afterlife’s insane.”

“I’m pretty sure the afterlife is supposed to be, like, Heaven or Hell,” Steve says, but it’s not like he knows. His parents were too busy for religion, so he only ever really got it through cultural osmosis from those in Hawkins that did attend. Secondhand Jesus. “This is Hawkins.”

“Some would argue that’s the same thing as Hell,” Eddie says. “I’m starting to think it’s, like. Purgatory. Middle ground.”

Steve snorts. “Isn’t that the place from the Ring Lord books?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide again, and this time, Steve knows it’s shock. “The Ring Lord books?” he splutters. “Harrington. Harrington, Harrington, Harrington, are you fucking joking? Tell me you’re fucking with me.”

“Those’re the ones with the elves and shit, right?” Steve offers. “Henderson talks about them. With the little guys with the hairy feet.”

Eddie stares at him for a second more before he bursts out laughing, warm and bright, just like he had last night. Steve flushes again, and he’s not sure if it’s more embarrassment, or if it has to do with the way the warm settles in his chest again and he feels like he wants to bottle it. Keep it there forever.

“Hobbits,” Eddie says, when he finally stops laughing long enough to wheeze words out. “Hobbits, from Middle Earth in the Lord of the Rings.”

“What ever, you class A nerd,” Steve huffs, and turns back toward the door. If he doesn’t leave now, he’s gonna be late. It’s only barely a good enough reason to break the moment. “Call me if you need something, I’ll be home tonight.”

“Before the council arrives to decide my fate, yeah,” Eddie says, giving him a little salute. Steve had nearly forgotten about that, and that does the trick on getting the warmth out of the way, though it replaces it with something cold. Fear. “See you.”

“See you,” he echoes, and walks out the door before he loses his will to leave entirely.

“So,” Robin finally says, like Steve could tell she’d been waiting to do since she got in this morning. He’d beaten her there by a few minutes, and that’d been the only time today he didn’t feel her eyes on him. “How was last night?”

Steve shrugs, and makes sure to send a look over his shoulder at her that reads as ‘come on, Buckley, don’t be weird.’ “It was fine. Kinda just went to bed.”

“How’s Eddie?” she asks. The way she asks it, though, makes Steve bristle a bit. How’s Eddie, the same way he asks her how’s Vickie, the same way people used to ask him how’s Nancy, how’s Andrea, how’s Whatshername.

“He’s watching soap operas and hopefully not getting meat juice on my couch,” Steve says, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“No reason,” Robin says, but it sounds like ‘I know something you don’t’ to Steve’s ears, which only makes his eyes narrow more.

“Reason,” he counters, abandoning the box of tapes he’d been putting back in place and moving back toward the counter, hands on his hips. “Why?”

Robin’s blown her eyes out and pressed her lips together in a display of faux innocence, staring up at him from where she was leaning on the countertop. “It’s just crazy,” she says. “Him coming back and everything. I know we all thought he was gone for good, and, I mean. No one could blame you if you had feelings about that, and maybe wanted to, like. Talk about them with your best friend?”

“I don’t have feelings about Eddie Munson,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, and then amends his statement when Robin gives him a look: “Okay, yes. I have feelings about him being alive. We thought he’d died, Robs, it’s like- of course I’m gonna feel shit about that. Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Robin says. “I’m glad he’s alive. I’m worried about the vampire shit.”

“Exactly,” Steve says, pointing at her, and that should’ve been the end of the conversation, really. Feelings discussed.

Robin asks, “Anything else?” though, and he groans.

“No,” he says, going back to his box, and aggressively re-shelving a copy of Girls Just Want to Have Fun. “Or- yes. Yes, but in a normal way. I called him my friend this morning.” He’d meant to end that sentence at ‘in a normal way,’ but. It was Robin, and he was sort of shitty at not telling her stuff.

“You did?” Robin’s whole face lights up when she asks.

“We’re friends.” Steve doesn’t know why he’s getting defensive about this, again. There’s nothing to be defensive about. “We’re, like. Trauma bonded, and he’s kind of okay once you get past all the weird rumors. He’s funny, and- sweet.” The word trips off Steve’s tongue and feels right, but also makes something like shame roil in his gut. There’s not another word for it, though; kind was weirdly formal, and nice didn’t get across what he wanted it to. Eddie was soft-hearted. Thoughtful. Bubbly, if you hit him at the right time with the right joke. Sweet.

“He’s sweet,” Robin echoes, and Steve can feel a flush working up his neck again. He doesn’t look back at her. Some part of him is scared at what he’ll see, a line of tension drawing his shoulders up to his ears.

“That’s good, then, that you two are getting along,” she says, and that sounds like she’s dropping it, which drains some of the tightness away. “Honestly, I was kinda worried you were gonna be at each other’s throats or something.”

“He’s already been at my throat,” Steve jokes. “I don’t think he’s gonna wanna get at it again, considering I knocked him out the last time he did it.”

Robin laughs, and Steve feels like he can turn to look at her again. He forces himself to feel normal about this. There’s no reason to get defensive about Eddie Munson. They were just friends- barely friends. The dude was still practically a stranger, Steve told himself, even if it didn’t feel true.

They don’t get any customers until after three, but it’s a Friday night, so they’re pretty much swamped from then until close. Steve jumps to answer the phone every time it rings, just in case it’s Eddie with some kind of emergency, but it’s always just someone calling to see if they have something in stock or checking their return hours for the weekend, and by the time it’s time to close, it’s almost easy to forget that there’s a fugitive vampire living in his house at all.

Almost, but not quite, because he checks his watch as Robin’s getting ready to rock, paper, scissors him for the trash and realizes that the butcher closes in like fifteen minutes. “I gotta go see a guy about some blood,” he says. “Are you riding, or are you gonna meet me at mine?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Robin says. “I, like, totally don’t want to go to a butcher. They freak me out.”

“Just meat, Robs,” Steve huffs, even though they kind of freak him out, too. “I’ll see you later, then.”

It’s a narrow thing, making it in before the shop closes, and the butcher looks at him with suspicion in his gaze when he waltzes in and requests several gallons of ‘whatever blood you’ve got.’

“What do you need that for?” he asks.

“That British pudding?” Steve says, and shrugs. “I don’t know, man, my mom called and told me to pick it up. They went over there and had it awhile ago, and she can’t get enough of the stuff. Wants to get a ton and freeze it so she can make it for all the holiday parties and stuff.”

The Harrington’s traveling is well known enough around town that it seems to be a sufficient enough explanation, and Steve’s never been more grateful that his parents don’t really make friends with the town shopkeepers so that the fact that they haven’t been back in town in half a year doesn’t throw a wrench into his plans.

It’s precarious, finding a way to put about a half dozen gallons of blood in his car in a way where he’s sure they’re not going to spill if he hits a pothole, but he drives slow and somehow manages to do it. He waits until he’s securely closed the garage door behind him before getting them out, shoving a few into the meat freezer and loading the remainder into his arms to go stick in the fridge. There’s a smell wafting from the kitchen trash can when he gets in that tells him Eddie’s disposed of his breakfast and lunch, and he wrinkles his nose. Definitely going to have to take that out tonight. “I’m home!”

“Welcome back, honey!” Eddie’s voice comes in from the direction of the living room in an exaggerated falsetto. “Have a good day at the office?”

“Fuck you,” Steve calls back, setting a few of the jugs on the counter while he makes space for them in the fridge. There’s a flash of air behind him when he turns his back to toss out some long-turned leftover he’d been saving for god knows how long, and when he turns around again, Eddie’s there, drinking out one of the jugs like it’s a milk carton at midnight. Steve jumps about a foot in the air from the suddenness of his appearance, and swats at him. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Smelled blood.” Eddie shrugs, and goes back to drinking. Steve just watches him for a minute, the way his throat moves as he drinks like someone was chanting at him to chug, chug, chug like his life depended on it. He’s downed almost three fourths of the jug by the time Steve realizes he’s probably been staring at another dude’s throat for too long and comes back to himself.

“That’s supposed to last, Munson, come on,” he says. “I don’t know how many times I can go to the one butcher in town and ask for all the blood I can carry before I become the town devil worshiper.”

Eddie finishes off the jug anyway. He’s got a blood mustache, furthering Steve’s midnight milk metaphor. It’s- endearing, almost. Steve stomps that feeling down. “No one’s gonna think you’re Satan’s spawn, Harrington,” he says, pushing himself up onto the kitchen counter and tossing the jug towards the trash can. It bounces off the rim and clatters to the floor. “You’re too pretty, too charming.”

“Pick that up,” Steve says, kid-supervising instincts kicking in. “Isn’t the devil supposed to be pretty and charming? Temptation, and all that.”

“Good point,” Eddie says. Steve blinks, and he’s not on the counter anymore, and then blinks again, and it’s like he’d never left, kicking his feet against the cabinets. “Maybe they’ll believe it, then. Too pretty, too charming.”

“I’m not that charming,” Steve says, a weak protest. His mind’s elsewhere. He turns, and the jug’s no longer on the floor. “What the fuck did you just do with that?”

“I threw it away?” Eddie says, the ‘duh’ unspoken but absolutely heard.

“You didn’t move,” Steve says. “Do you have fucking telepathy, now?”

“That’d be telekinesis, if I did,” Eddie snorts. “And, no- but, god, wouldn’t that be cool?”

Steve thinks of El, and smiles a little. “It’s pretty cool, I guess. Doesn’t explain what you did, though.”

“I picked it up, and threw it away,” Eddie repeats slowly. “Are you okay, man?”

“How,” Steve presses.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I got up,” he says, and in one blink he’s across the room again. “And-”

“Stop,” Steve says, and Eddie freezes. “Come back over here.”

Eddie does. Steve knows he does, because he blinks again, and turns around, and Eddie’s back on the counter.

“I didn’t see you move,” Steve says, awed. Eddie looks at him, eyes doe-wide again.

“Hold on.” Steve blinks again, and he’s disappeared. Blinks one more time, and Eddie’s back, with the TV remote in hand, looking at it like it’s the Holy Grail. “How long was that?”

“Like, a second,” Steve says. “A literal second.”

Eddie laughs, joyful and teetering dangerously close to manic. “I’m the Flash!”

“I think that’s illegal,” Steve says. “And gross.”

“The Flash, Harrington,” Eddie says, sitting on the counter again and pointing the remote at him like a teacher with a ruler. “I cannot believe Henderson lets you walk around uncultured like this.”

“I’ve got a well documented allergy to nerd shit,” Steve says, but it’s hard not to smile a little. “Vampires have super-speed, then.” It’s weird. It should probably be concerning. It’s kind of, sort of, really cool.

“Apparently. About time I got something cool, right?” Eddie sounds so happy, and it’s lighting Steve’s chest up again. He lets himself live in that, for a little bit, instead of pushing it away. Eddie does deserve something nice, something cool.

“Yeah, man,” he says, punching him in the shoulder with no force behind it, just meant to nudge. The kind of touch friends shared all the time. No weight to it. No weight to it. “Congrats.”

They both laugh, and Eddie shoves him back, and Steve gets all of a few seconds to feel lightheaded and giddy before someone pounds on the front door, and he’s jolted out of the moment.

Eddie drops off the counter and ducks behind it, and Steve goes to get the door. His heart doesn’t shift out of his throat until he looks through the window and sees who it is, and he only opens it once he can breathe properly again. “It’s just the kids,” he calls to Eddie.

“He’s actually here?” Lucas asks as the boys push inside. Just the three of them- no El, no Will, no Max. She’s the one Steve’s least used to seeing not around, of the missing three, but he figures she must have had physical therapy today. Something she couldn't miss.

Six months had healed a lot of things, but she hadn’t been one of them, not entirely. They were lucky, really, that she was conscious and moving at all, wheelchair or otherwise.

“He’s actually a vampire?” Mike asks, and Steve opens his mouth to answer, but the boys’ attention has already shifted as Eddie popped around the corner.

“I told you!” Dustin crowed as the boys crowded him, hefting a heavy looking backpack higher on his shoulder. Steve figured it was the research materials he’d alluded to the night before, and wasn’t looking forward to whatever was in there. “Eddie, show them the fangs.”

Eddie does, but Steve thinks it’s mostly because he’s grinning, not because Dustin had asked him to. “Good to see you, gentlemen.”

“Holy shit,” Mike breathes, taking a few stumbling steps back as Dustin and Lucas move in. Eddie has to bat Dustin’s hand away from his mouth.

“Is Nancy coming?” Steve asks, because it only really crosses his mind now that he’d forgotten to loop her in.

Mike turns to him for a second and nods, attention shifting back to Eddie immediately. “She’s giving Robin a ride, or something. Should be here soon.”

“Can you read minds?” Lucas asks Eddie. “Can you fly?”

“No,” Eddie says. “And- I haven’t tried?”

“We’re not trying,” Steve cuts that line of thought right off at the head. “I’m not letting you jump off my roof, Munson. You’ll die for real.”

“Or he’ll fly,” Dustin counters, and that argument carries them until the girls get there.

Nancy just stands in the doorway and stares for a long time, when she sees Eddie, gaze raking over him like she’s picking him apart. Steve can’t tell if she’s sizing him up to make sure he’s alright, or to figure out all the best places to shoot him if he tries attacking someone.

“You wanna take a picture, Wheeler?” Eddie asks. His smile hasn’t faded, but Steve can hear nerves in his voice, like he’s also afraid Nancy’s gonna shoot him. “It’ll last longer.”

“Of you?” Nancy asks, wrinkling her nose. “Hard pass, Munson.” There’s some amount of humor in her voice, though, and that makes Steve relax a bit. She wasn’t gonna shoot him, then. Probably. Hopefully. Not right now.

They all settle into the living room, the boys on their pillows, Nancy in Steve's dad’s recliner, and Steve, Eddie, and Robin on the couch. Eddie flops down on one end, and Robin rushes for the other, patting the middle seat for Steve, far too eager. He narrows his eyes at her- ‘don’t be weird, Buckley’- but sits anyway, because it’s that, or the floor, or standing, and neither of those options seem any better.

Eddie’s leg is pressed against Steve’s, a little. He imagines heat there.

“Right,” Nancy says, and the word settles serious over the room, joy sucked out in an instant. “How’d this happen, then?”

“If you want hard answers, I don’t have them,” Eddie says. He’s twisting his hair around his fingers, knuckles pressed against the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll take theories,” Nancy says, “As long as they’re good ones.”

Eddie sighs, and shifts to tuck a foot under himself. It presses him a little closer to Steve, and Steve has to exhale a few times before he can focus on something other than the point of contact. “Demobats, right?”

Nancy frowns. “What about them?”

“I was- killed by demobats, right?” The word killed comes out of Eddie’s mouth a little strangled. “I mean. I did die. I remember it, how it- felt, while they were doing it. Remember they left me alone after a while, and I just. Bled out. Everything went black.”

“But, you came back,” Dustin says, and it’s both a point to the story and a reassurance.

Eddie gives him a tight smile. “I did,” he says. “And I was- hungry, from the moment I woke up. Couldn’t… think about anything else, not where I was, not who I was, just that I needed-”

“Blood,” Nancy cuts in. “Instinctively, you knew you needed blood.”

“I knew I needed something,” Eddie says. He looks a bit like he’s trying to hide behind his own hair, now, and Steve’s settling a hand on his leg before he can fully process what he’s doing. Eddie’s gaze flicks to him immediately, and- Steve should pull back. Should stop touching him. He doesn’t, though, just squeezes Eddie’s knee reassuringly, and feels something giddy pulse through his stomach when it gets a weak smile out of Eddie.

He can feel Robin’s eyes on him. He doesn’t look at her. He can’t.

“I knew I needed something,” Eddie repeats, a bit steadier, now. “And, when I finally- clawed my way out, god knows how, I saw a squirrel, and just kinda. Went for it. Figured out then I was looking for blood.”

“Gross,” Lucas says, but he sounds kind of awed.

Dustin punches him in the shoulder. “Dude.”

“What, it’s gross,” Lucas protests. “And kind of cool.”

“You’re like Morbius,” Mike says, a reference that seems to click for about half of the room- the nerd half- and leave Robin, Steve, and Nancy staring at him. “He’s a vampire, from Spider-Man? He got turned into a vampire when he was, like, attacked by a bunch of bats after taking this serum.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says, and he lunges for his backpack, dumping what Steve can only describe as a metric fuck ton of comics and books onto the floor. Most of the comics have a white faced, red caped vampire on them, featured in various open-mouthed, yellow fang-baring poses.

“This isn’t a comic book,” Nancy says.

“He’s a vampire,” Mike shoots back. “And he was turned into a vampire by bats . This is the closest thing we’ve got to answers.”

“It’s demobat rabies,” Robin says, like a revelation. “I knew they had rabies.”

“I don’t have rabies,” Eddie says, but he’s obviously nervous again. Doesn’t sound entirely sure.

“Is it contagious?” Robin asks. Steve can feel her about to panic, too. “Do we need to be worried about, like, cross contamination? Is it airborne?”

“He doesn’t have rabies, Buckley,” Steve says firmly. “And, it’s not airborne, or you’d already be a vampire.”

“You can have rabies for a year before you experience symptoms,” Robin says. “And by the time you have them, it’s too late. Boom, dead.”

“He does not have rabies,” Steve says again, and when Eddie opens his mouth to say something, he waves him off. “You don’t have rabies.”

“It could be a disease, though,” Nancy says, standing and starting to pace, a little lost in thought. “Like… pica, sort of, or some kind of parasite.”

“Like Morbius,” Mike insists.

“How’d he cure it, then?” Steve asks, because he might as well.

“He didn’t,” Eddie says, mournful.

“Sort of,” Dustin cuts in. “He needs Spider-Man’s radioactive blood to synthesize a cure, and even then, it’s only temporary. He keeps needing more.”

“Spider-Man isn’t real,” Nancy says. She’s still pacing. It’s kind of making Steve sick to watch.

“Radiation is,” Dustin counters. “Maybe if we just, like, pump him full of radiation-”

“And turn him into some kind of mutant vampire?” Lucas huffs. “Come on, man, that’s crazy. No way.”

“It could work!” Dustin protests.

“Are we sure it isn’t airborne?” Robin cuts in, squeaking a bit.

The room turns into a cacophony that’s making Steve’s head hurts, all of a sudden; the boys are debating the merits of radiation, and where they can find a power plant or something to even try it, Nancy won’t stop pacing, and to his right, Robin keeps babbling about demobat rabies transmission. To his left, Eddie looks like he’s going to pass out.

Okay. Enough of this.

“Okay!” Steve’s voice booms over everyone else's, and the conversations die in an instant. Nancy stops in her tracks, shooting him a glare. “Let’s get ourselves together, here. Eddie doesn’t have rabies, Robin,” he says, and when she opens her mouth to protest, he says it again. “Eddie does not have rabies, Robin, and we’re not-” He points at Dustin, Lucas, and Mike on the floor. “Going to... mutate him, or whatever. Not happening. It’d probably just make him sick, or kill him. Not worth the risk.”

“Which leaves my idea,” Nancy says. “Parasite, or- blood disease. Something. A medical explanation for all this.”

“How would we find that out?” Steve asks.

“We’d need- some way to run blood tests,” Nancy says. “Take samples, run them through a lab. Maybe get some x-rays?”

“We can’t take him to a doctor,” Mike says. “He’s supposed to be dead, and he was on the run before that. If one person sees him, it’s game over.”

“Can he even go out in daylight?” Lucas asks.

“I haven’t, yet,” Eddie says, shrugging. He sounds like he’s just barely holding it together. Steve squeezes his knee again, and Eddie leans into him for support. It takes everything in Steve not to move. Away or closer, he’s not sure. Not the time to figure it out. “But, I don’t think it bothers me? I’m okay with, like, sunlight through the window and stuff.”

“We’re gonna have to figure out how to do it ourselves, then,” Dustin says, like it’s just that easy. “Like… sneak into the hospital.”

“It’s a hospital, dingus,” Steve says. “It’s not like we can just go in after hours; it’s never closed. There’s, like, security and nurses and stuff everywhere.”

“We don’t have too many better options,” Nancy says, and Steve really wants to tell her off for encouraging this, but she gets to it before he can. “Come on, Steve, tell me another idea if you’ve got one.”

“We could at least try a doctor’s office or something first?” he offers, but he knows it’s weak.

“It probably wouldn’t have the equipment we need,” Nancy says, and she’s right. She’s almost always right. Steve used to really, really like that about her, and still sort of does. It’s just that, tonight, it means he has to mentally prepare himself to get caught breaking into a hospital. What could the legal repercussions of doing an unauthorized x-ray even be?

“We don’t even know how to do any of the tests we need to do,” Steve says, because at least that’s a poignant point. “Unless one of you little nerds is secretly a medical savant?”

“Max is the one that knows all of the first aid stuff,” Lucas says, and then perks up like he just got hit with an idea. “She also knows the layout of the hospital really well, by now.”

“I’m sure I can, like, read up on it,” Dustin says. “It’s just looking at some blood under a microscope and doing an x-ray, right? How hard could it be?”

“Hard enough that doctors go to school for, like, ten years to do it,” Steve says, but he also knows that if anyone can cram a decade of medical knowledge into a few afternoons, it’s Henderson. Shit. They were probably really doing this, huh?

“Are you okay with this?” he asks Eddie, because no one has yet, and he thinks it's important, before they do anything else. Parasite or none, if he’s not down, Steve’s gonna be in his corner fighting it.

Eddie seems surprised he asked. “I… I wanna know if there’s a way to fix it,” he says, fiddling with his hair again. “And if this is how we can do that, then I’m game for whatever it takes.”

“You don’t wanna be Mobius?” Steve nudges him with his shoulder, aiming for a tease.

Eddie laughs. It’s the soft-bright one, and it’s really just for Steve, and really, he has got to stop feeling like this every time Eddie shows any amount of joy in his vicinity sometime soon, right? Maybe he was sick. “Morbius,” he corrects. “And, nah. He’s way too broody, even for me.”

That gets a laugh out of Steve, too, and he nudges Eddie with his shoulder where he rests against his side. Eddie nudges him back, shifting closer, and then stays there, head dropping to Steve’s shoulder. He’s warmer than he’s been since Steve’s found him but cold, still. It makes Steve feel the warmest he’s ever felt, still.

“We’ll loop Max in, and figure out what times are best to get in without being noticed,” Nancy says, settling it. She’s looking at Steve specifically when she says it, though, looking at him almost the same way she’d looked at Eddie earlier, like she’s trying to pick him apart. He doesn’t like it. Chooses not to ask himself what she might be finding there. “We won’t move until we know exactly what kind of tests we need to run, and how long it’ll take to get results.”

“We can all pick through whatever medical stuff they’ve got at the library,” Dustin says. “Maybe head up to Indy and see if we can’t get into the library at the medical school one weekend, if someone can drive us?”

“Probably worth the road trip,” Robin says. “I don’t think the Hawkins Public Library is going to have a wealth of information on identifying and treating blood diseases.”

“We could ask off on Sunday?” Steve suggests. “All go up together.”

Nancy shakes her head. “Someone needs to stay here and watch him,” she says, nodding to Eddie.

Steve bristles. “He’s not a toddler, Nancy, and he’s not a murderer or anything.”

“She’s probably right, though,” Eddie says. Steve frowns down at him, and he shrugs. “Cage the beast, Harrington, remember? We agreed.”

“We did not agree,” Steve says. “You keep saying that, and I keep telling you you’re not a beast.”

“We agreed that you’d keep me from hurting people,” Eddie says. “And I don’t trust myself alone, yet.”

Steve’s frown doesn’t shift. “You were fine today.”

“For a couple of hours, with food on the counter and you a phone call away, if I felt something coming on and needed you to put me down fast,” Eddie says, and bulldozes on before Steve can cut in and say he didn’t agree to anything about putting him down. “Not while you were like six hours away, round trip, all day, where you couldn’t get back to me in time if I lost it even if you wanted to.”

“We’ll take you with us, then,” Steve says, even though he knows the answer before he gets the words out of his mouth.

“No way.” It comes from Nancy and Eddie at the same time, the former with vehemence and the latter like he’s giving up.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna do in a crowd of people,” Eddie says. “College campus? Might as well be a buffet, man.”

“And, someone might recognize him, either while we’re getting out of town, or coming back, or just- on campus, if someone we know is there,” Nancy says.

“Small chance,” Steve snorts.

Nancy glares at him. “Not worth the risk, Harrington.”

“Then it looks like you guys get to go on a road trip without me, then.” Steve’s not really mad about missing out on a trip to Indianapolis; a day spent in a medical research library while everyone around him poured over books way above his head would’ve probably just ended up being a real ego bruiser anyway, but he doesn’t like that it’s because they think Eddie’s a threat, because Eddie thinks that Eddie’s a threat. Logically, he gets it. Vampire, bloodlust, the fact that barely even a day ago he’d lunged for his and Henderson’s throats. It was Eddie, though, and he doesn’t get why everyone isn’t factoring that in in the same way he was.

“We’ll debrief when we come back,” Dustin offers, probably thinking that Steve was pissed he wasn’t going to be kept in the loop. “Or radio you once we’re in range on the drive back, if there’s something big.”

“We’ll just have to make our own fun that day, won’t we, Harrington?” Eddie hums. The way his head’s positioned, he’s basically saying it right into Steve’s ear, and it sends that thrill-fear electricity from that morning up his spine and back down again.

“Yeah, for sure,” Steve says, and it comes out a little higher than he intended it to. He clears his throat, and tries again. “Yeah, for sure.” Robin’s staring. Nancy’s staring. He presses on a smile, and pushes out a joke. “I’ll bring back some old black and white movies and we can get you brushed up on your accent, huh? ‘I vant to drink your blood’ and all that. You’re not bald enough, either. Gotta get you rockin’ that Nosferatu.”

“You’re not touching my hair,” Eddie says, pulling back and covering it like Steve’s coming at him with scissors. Steve immediately misses the weight of him. He doesn’t think about it.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve touched it much, either,” he shoots back, and he catches Nancy rolling her eyes out of the corner of his vision, which settles things a bit better. Successfully thrown off the trail- whatever trail that was. He wasn’t thinking about it.

Eddie huffs. “Just because I don’t spend an hour in the mirror everyday choking myself with hair spray?”

“It is not an hour,” Steve protests, even though he’s a little flattered that Eddie thinks it takes that long.

“It’s like twenty minutes,” Robin says, because she’s a traitor, and Steve sends her a look that says just that. “What? It’s like twenty minutes, unless you’re rushing, and you never rush your hair.”

“Perfection takes time,” Steve says.

“It’s thirty if he’s got a date,” Dustin pipes in, and Steve cannot believe this.

“I gave that routine to you in confidence, Henderson,” he says. “I can’t trust any of you people with anything.”

“Like any of us didn’t know, Steve,” Nancy snorts, and really, Steve has got to get new friends, or at least stop hanging out with his ex and a group of fourteen year olds. Robin’s on thin ice.

“Are we making a plan, here, or ragging on my hair?” he says, and thankfully, they relent, and the evening turns first into a planning session for the Indianapolis trip, and then into everyone crowded around comics and books with pizza. It almost feels normal, and does at least feel right. The heavy feeling that’d been settling on Steve’s chest again, same as it always did when the spooky shit reared its ugly head, lightens a bit. Doesn’t disappear, but- they all had this, for now, and it was enough to push him through; the kids on the floor, and Robin and Nancy passing ideas back at his side, talking animatedly.

And Eddie.

He doesn’t know why Eddie is separate from the group, there, not looped in with the rest of his little Hellfire Club Jr. where he’s settled with them on the floor to read the new issue of something or other, but he is. His joy sits different around Steve’s shoulders than the rest, equal but more all at once- or, not more, but different. Definitely different.

He’s not thinking about it. He can’t think about it. He makes himself tune into Robin and Nancy’s talk instead, so he can be confused about that instead of whatever was going on between his stomach and his heart.

It’s not a school night, so everyone stays over until the street lamps have turned on and then some with the assurance that Nancy could drive the kids all back to the Wheelers’, where they’d said they were staying, and take Robin home. Steve sees them all out, and he and Eddie manage a peaceful quiet as they put the living room back together, a little bit.

“You seem like you feel a little better,” Steve says eventually, while they’re tossing out the pizza garbage. He ties off the bag and tosses it in the garage to take out before work tomorrow. The meat smell’s gotten worse.

“I think guzzling like two gallons of blood just before they came over helped,” Eddie says, hopping back up on the counter and giving up the ghost on giving Steve a hand. Steve doesn’t mind; if he lets himself think about it, just for a second, he likes the way Eddie seems like he fits there, like he’s been hopping up on Steve’s counter and watching him wash out glasses for years. “I feel, like… full-ish for the first time since I came back.”

“How long do you think it’s gonna last?” Steve asks. “Like I said, I don’t know how much blood I can go around buying before it looks weird.”

“I don’t, like… excrete it,” Eddie says, shrugging. “So, who knows? I guess we’ll find out when I start getting really hungry again.”

Steve frowns, tossing the dish towel over his shoulder and turning to lean back against the sink for a second. “Really hungry, like you’re still hungry now?”

“Less than I ever have been so far,” Eddie says, but he nods. “I… honestly, man, I don’t think I’m ever gonna be totally satiated with, like, squirrels and pig’s blood, but. It’s enough.”

“You think there’s something that’d do it better?” Steve asks. “For the record: I am drawing a line at going around and collecting, like, cats and dogs and shit for you.”

“I don’t want to eat cats,” Eddie says, nose wrinkling at the idea. “And, I- don’t think that that’d make a difference, either.”

“What will, then?” Steve asks, even if he thinks he sort of knows the answer, even if Eddie’s not saying it.

Eddie presses his lips together in a thin line, and shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, as long as the pig’s blood keeps working,” he says, sucking in a deep breath. “I don’t really want it to come to that, either.”

“Do you think the pig’s blood is going to keep working?”

Eddie doesn’t immediately answer, and Steve watches him twist his hands where his rings should be. He wonders what happened to them, if Eddie lost them somewhere, clawing out of the Upside Down. He has the crazy impulse to go get them back, or pilfer through his mom’s jewelry box and replace them. Make the world right again, patch just one part of Eddie back up.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, finally, quiet. Scared. Steve can tell he’s scared. “I hope it does. I hope it lasts.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Steve says. “I told you I wasn’t gonna let you hurt anyone, and I’m definitely not gonna let you starve to death.”

“I don’t want to be a monster, man,” Eddie says.

“I don’t know that you’ve got it in you to be a monster, Eddie,” Steve says.

Eddie laughs. There’s no humor to it. Steve doesn’t know how to store it in his chest with the others. “Everyone’s got it in them to be a monster.”

“I don’t think you do,” Steve says. “Because I think, if you did, you would’ve been one way before now. Before the Upside Down.”

Eddie laughs again, shakes his head. “Whatever, man.”

“I’m serious,” Steve says, because he is and, for whatever reason, he can’t let himself let Eddie brush this off. “All the bullshit you’ve been through, what’s the worst thing you’ve done? Been a shithead? Played rock and roll about it? Let people believe you were into weird magic?”

“If we’re talking about moral weight, I super dealt drugs,” Eddie points out, but Steve bats it down easy.

“To people who wanted them anyway,” he says. “I don’t remember you lacing anyone’s shit. And then you died-” The word still feels too heavy on Steve’s tongue, takes effort to get out. Eddie’s right there, relatively fine for the moment and in the flesh, and he still doesn’t think he’ll ever get past it. “And came back as a fucking vampire and you still give a shit about not hurting people that didn’t used to give a shit about you.”

“No one deserves to die because they called me a freak,” Eddie says with a shrug.

“They wanted you dead because you were a freak,” Steve says, and it hurts to say as much as it seems to hurt Eddie to hear. He pulls his knees to his chest, and Steve wants to take it back, scrap this line of conversation, but he pushes on instead. “Honestly, man, if you wanted to burn down the whole town, I’d kind of get it. I wouldn’t, like… let you do it, but I’d get it.”

“I don’t,” Eddie says, words muffled by the way his face is sort of pressed into his knees. “I- still want out, I do. One day, I want to put this whole place in my rear-view and never think about it again except to spit on the name, but. I don’t want it razed to dust or anything, and I… there’s some good people here, you know?”

“I know,” Steve says, because he just had pretty much all of them in his living room. “And you’re one of them, is what I’m saying.”

He leaves it at that, turns back to cleaning the dishes in the sink and putting them neatly into the drying rack. Let Eddie have some time to just- sit with it. The silence makes his skin prickle, but he thinks they’ll both be better for it, just for now.

“You are, too, you know,” Eddie says eventually. It’s not what Steve was expecting to hear.

“I didn’t used to be,” he says, drying the last glass and turning back around. He can’t read the look in Eddie’s eyes, a blip of white and brown between dark hair and pale knees, covering the rest of his face. “So, I’m really trying, now.”

“You used to be a real prick,” Eddie agrees, and it sucks to hear, but Steve’s used to it. He knows it’s true. Knows he has no right to forget it. “But- you’re way more of a good guy, now, than you were a prick back then.”

“I don’t know if it balances out like that,” Steve says.

“I don’t think shit ever balances out,” Eddie says, straightening again, going back to kicking his legs against the cabinets. “Cosmically; there’s too much stuff going on in the world for us to ever be at, like, total equilibrium. But, I think if you’re doing most of what you can to be a good person, now, and making up for the old shit when you can, then that matters more than how you used to give people swirlies in high school, or whatever.”

“I never gave anyone a swirly,” Steve huffs, and that breaks the heaviness, adds light back to the room. “What the fuck is this, the fifties?”

“If it was, would you have given me a swirly in high school?” Eddie shoots back, and that gets them both laughing, and it puts the light back in Steve’s chest, too.

Going back and forth with Eddie is way easier than Steve thought it would be, if he ever let himself think about it. It’s like going back and forth with Robin, sort of, in the ways that it’s not like going back and forth with Nancy, in the ways that it’s not entirely different from how going back and forth with anyone else in his life ever has ever felt before. By the time they’re back upstairs, he’s almost entirely forgotten that today had ever felt anything other than good.

It’s a little harder to forget, when Steve’s tying Eddie’s wrists back together again, but. A promise is a promise.

“Night, Munson,” he says when he’s at the door. He doesn’t want to say it, really. It’s the first night all week that he’s had a good reason to stay awake, and he wants to keep it rolling. “I’ll get you up before I go tomorrow.”

“Sweet dreams, Harrington,” Eddie says, and gives Steve a little wave with his bound wrists before he turns off the light.

Steve’s definitely tired. He knows that; he hasn’t slept in at least the past two nights, and wasn’t exactly getting the best sleep of his life before Eddie leapt back into it, so he could definitely do with a quiet night. When he climbs into bed, though, and closes his eyes- and then, turns over and pushes his face so far into his pillow he’s nearly suffocating- he already knows there’s no way he’s going to get to cop out before midnight.

He thinks, without permission, that he’d really like it if Eddie were there- and, then, he doesn’t think that. He deliberately doesn’t think that.

He can’t un-think it though, so the thought of the thought lingers, and he just has to sit with it. Lay awake with it.

It’s kinda hot in his room, he reasons. Far too hot for an Indiana October. It’d be nice to have a- reverse heater at his back. Sap all the heat out of him.

Something in the back of his mind whispers that he doesn’t think he’s going to feel less warm with Eddie in his bed, vampire or not.

Steve decides he’s done thinking entirely for the night, and pushes his face even deeper into his pillow.

#steddie #steveeddie #vampire eddie munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #oyt/swm #jack writes

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aboutagirl4031 · 1 year

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All the sudden everything has lost its color, taste, excitement. I don’t want to eat, talk or sleep. Not even the tv or music excites me. Everything I looked forward to… all these little things that keep me together, keep me going, these small things that were so important no longer exist or even existed?

I put a lot of importance on my body and life to the point where I deconstruct the way it’s gonna play out or what I’m gonna do next..am I making it a chore or is it helping? One thing s for sure, at least I have my one thing, a constant, waking up and making coffee is what makes me the happiest and at least I haven’t lost that.

I don’t feel that deep dark despair but everything is so boring to me. I don’t understand why it gets like this but I do know that it doesn’t last forever…I just wish I didn’t haft to work through it.

I don’t wanna do any thing anymore, I need a break, I need release, I need to feel human again. I don’t feel like anything these days. I go back to online shopping in hopes of feeling something but even that. My makeup? Not even new makeup excited me. It fucking sucks, daily life is too mundane to me, my body is so used to the drama, the trauma and fights. So when I’m just living and nothing happens to me I can’t stand it, yesterday and last month I even got to the point where I wanted to start a fight over something that still makes me angry. I wanted too so bad but that doesn’t solve anything. I don’t know if he feels the way I felt and sometimes I just want to see it on him..I guess that’s the point though, I never know if he really grasps or understands the pain I’ve felt..so sometimes I try to justify stressing him out and I just wish he could tell me understands.

I feel so lost and like I got it all figured out at once, I’m defrosting… it was a tough winter for me, I’ve had some really dark days and it was hard in some moments. I’m starting to see the silver lining again and I cannot wait for spring. I wish I could convey into words what it’s like to spiral and feel like complete dogshit. I wish I could explain how so badly I wanted to crawl out of my skin. My brain can be broken down into three parts.

I understand so much about myself now and I do appreciate all the shit I’ve been through so differently now, growth is painful yet so rewarding. I’m a woman who loves to hate, used to! Now I love life, I’m learning to be myself again, all those parts I hid or tried to kill off from survival mode.. from being judged, bullied or abused. I lost so many pieces of myself and had gone through high highs and low lows. As I pick up the pieces a rediscover all of my good qualities and become and different/ better version of all the old me I thank the gods I have the luxury to really sit down and take inventory of all these things that I’ve done. I was sweet but also dark. I’ve been many things but without all those pieces of me I wouldn’t be who i am today. It’s not that I want to take and repair those pieces to repeat or stay the same, but I have alot of heart and experience from those parts of me. I cannot kill myself or forget the things that have happened but I can take what got and make it new. It all can make so perfect sense sometimes. But sometimes it’s a blur, overwhelming and draining. I’ve been in therapy for 7 years now and in that time I’ve healed so much …yet I still have so much to overcome. I’m grateful to be where I am today

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stopisa · 3 years

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Tonight, it's my turn.

sawamura daichi x reader (18+)

a/n: decided to post this on here too, but feel free to support it on my ao3! also big smooch to @meiansmistress for initially beta reading this! minors dni

tags: AFAB reader, choking, slight brat taming, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, idk this shit was mad indulgent im sorry @ all the ppl that know me.

Daich lets out a big sigh as he walks through the door, removing his shoes and setting down his bag. Sweat on his forehead and clothes now drying from the cool air that envelops him. It’s 7:09 pm, which was usually around the time he’d return from his evening workout. Between attending the police academy and working part-time at a grocery store, he had his hands pretty tied up from dawn till dusk 6 days out of the week. This is not to say that you weren’t also just as busy balancing being a college student, a tutor, and working part-time.

The few hours of quiet time you and Daichi ever got with your hectic schedules was always around this time. Unfortunately, this week found itself to be quite difficult, where you couldn’t even find 5 minutes to just breathe. You had an extremely important research paper worth 60% of your grade that was due at the end of the week, and it was Wednesday. Daichi had pushed you to start earlier so all this stress could be avoided, but in your defense, your best work came out of procrastination. But here you are, at the dining table, papers strewn everywhere, marked in every direction with the highlighter. Typing away with the soft glow of the laptop reflecting on your face. Daichi leans against one of the walls in the hallway that lead into your combination living-dining-kitchen great room, he smirks at your stress-induced face.

“Are you starting to regret your procrastination now?”

His voice breaks you away from your hypnotic focus. “Oh! Hey honey,” your expression softens. “No, you know I work best under stress. Anyways, I was able to get 6 out of the 12 pages I needed to do today. So be proud of me,” The triumph in your eyes makes him let out a small chuckle as walks to your seated position and plants a kiss on your forehead. “Who am I to doubt your abilities? You never cease to amaze me. Are you hungry?”

Glancing up at him, your eyes widen when you remember that you completely forgot to prepare dinner. “Shit! I’m sorry, it completely slipped through my mind, I even left the chicken out to defrost. I’ll get on it right now!” Before you could get up he places his hands on your shoulders to force you back down on the chair.

He looks at you with a stern look on his face, “I don’t need you stressing about dinner too. Tonight, it’s my turn. Let me freshen up and I can whip up something quick for the two of us.”

You give him a soft smile in reply, “Ok, thank you.” Daichi rubs your head before leaving for your room to shower.

He returns with damp hair, a white muscle tank, and black joggers, your eyes feast on him as you stare above the brim of your laptop to watch him slip on your pink apron and get to work.

20 minutes later, a delicious meal is placed in front of your eyes and your mouth immediately waters as you look at the noodles and vegetables glistening in the bowl. “Thank you, baby!!” you exclaim, immediately shoving your laptop aside and digging in.

“Of course, princess. I hope you enjoy it.” sitting beside you and also beginning to eat. You’re so thankful to have a boyfriend who is so supportive and loving, you couldn’t even imagine what you’d do without him. You think this while admiring him as he peacefully eats the meal.

Now with full bellies, he picks up the dishes to wash them and you continue working away. Daichi starts growing jealous of your laptop just from how much attention it has been getting since he left this morning. As he’s drying the last plate to put it up, he clears his throat to get you to look at him. “Um, so do you wanna watch the new episode of that anime you’ve been watching?”

“Hm, not tonight, babe. I’m kinda on a roll right now and at this pace, I may actually be able to finish this by tomorrow!”

He only replies with a dissatisfied grunt, knowing that you are notorious for pushing yourself beyond your limit. With the kitchen cleaned, he strides over to you, placing a hand behind your laptop. “Does your document autosave?” Quirking an eyebrow you slowly nod in confusion. “Good.” He then closes your laptop, “You’re taking a break. Now.”

“Hey! No, I said I didn’t want to.” You reached out to open it again, but he kept his larger hand over it.

“I wasn’t asking, go get your butt on the couch, don’t like having you stressed like this.” you pout as you get up and slowly make your way to the puffy gray couch with all its blankets and pillows.

Okay, you have to admit to yourself that it was pretty damn tempting. Settling for the corner, you pull your legs up and cross your arms, staring straight ahead at the TV. Daichi picks up the remote from the coffee table and turns to a random channel playing an older, cheesy movie. He sits on the cushion next to you, giving you space, figuring that you’re a bit upset from being forced to break away from your focus. Eventually settling into watching the film, you begin to forget the assignment you had been worrying so much about.

About an hour into the movie, Daichi quietly shifts his eyes to your figure, scanning it up and down. To him, this is how you looked the most beautiful: natural, wearing an old shirt you got from your campus as a free giveaway and pale blue, cotton shorts. That’s not to say he doesn’t appreciate it when you do get dolled up. Just seeing you like this in your natural setting makes it all the more intimate, knowing full and well he’s the only other person in your life who gets to see you like this.

Lost in his own thoughts, he sees your pink underwear peeking from under your shorts as you adjust your leg to get more comfortable. It’s incredible how easily you can arouse him, even unintentionally. He certainly wants to continue pampering you tonight, make you unwind, and scream his name. yeah, that sounds ideal.

As if on cue, the credits of the film begin rolling, and you stretch your legs out to get up, “Alright, break time is over. I should get back to work.”

Daichi then quickly rests a hand on your plush thigh, squeezing it and looking into your eyes, his hooded with something more.

“Yeah no, you’re not.”

You scoff, “You’re funny, Daichi. I’m getting up.” And before you could move another inch, his fingers dig into your thigh, making you yelp.

“Move again and I swear, Y/N, I’ll have your face shoved into the fucking couch as you take my cock, understand?”

Surprised by his sudden shift in mood, you timidly reply, “Y-yes…” Softening his expression, he loosens his grip and leans over to plant a soft kiss on your cheek.

“I’m sorry, baby, I just don’t like seeing you so tense. Will you let me fix that?”

You reply with a simple, “Okay.” Upon your confirmation, his other hand cups your face and he firmly presses his lips to yours. You’re able to feel all his love and dedication overwhelm you. The hand on your side slides up under the loose shirt to slip under your soft sports bra, cupping the flesh and running his thumb over to pebble your nipple. Your faint moans only serve to motivate him in his endeavors to please you. With one last open-mouthed kiss, he moves his head under yours to kiss and suck the sensitive skin of your neck. His hand on your face also moves to wrap its fingers around your neck, applying enough pressure to increase the wetness between your thighs.

Daichi’s mouth appears next to your ear, “I’m gonna take good care of you, princess, now spread those legs.” Obeying his command, you spread your legs, relieving some tension you had from rubbing your thighs together during the make-out.

His hand on your breast moves to the waistband of your cotton shorts, tracing it until you lift your hips, giving him permission to slide them down and abandon them on the floor. His mouth and other hand are still on your throat, knowing it’s the spot that turns you on the most. “Mm, Daichi, please...touch me.”

A low rumble comes from him as he replies, “As you wish, princess.”

Fingers begin tracing your slit, dampness beginning to form from the ministrations. He applies just enough pressure to your clothed clit to make you arch your back and stifle another moan. Slipping your panties to the side, he uses his middle finger to gather up your slick and to make painful slow circles around your clit, taking in each delicious noise you let out. Daichi starts sliding his body off the couch as he kneels on the carpeted floor. He hooks his fingers around the sides of your underwear and pulls them down, throwing them to join your shorts. There you are, slouching on the couch, legs spread, pussy fully on display for him. “Fuck, baby, if only could see the view I have here, maybe you’d understand just exactly what you do to me.” His cock makes his sweatpants feel tighter despite their already loose fit.

Brown eyes still on your intimates, he licks his lips and inches his body closer to yours, hiking your legs over shoulders with enthusiasm. “I’m gonna take good fucking care of this pussy.” he says while placing a hot kiss on your right thigh. You can feel his warm breath over you, antagonizing you with anticipation, and before you know it, he’s taking a long lick from your entrance to your clit. Your body jolts from the feeling. God, when was the last time you two had done this? Two weeks ago? A month ago? Who cares at this point.

Daichi continues taking his time in eating you out, with slow movements of the tip of his tongue, circling around your clit before lightly sucking on it. He hums in delight as he hears your moans get louder. He starts flicking his tongue over the sensitive pearl, making you dig a hand into the tufts of his hair and move your hips to further the sweet, sweet friction. His eyes shift up to see your face writhe in pleasure, mouth hanging open as saliva begins to drip from the corner of your lips. From the looks of it, he’s doing the job pretty damn well.

“F-fuck! Daichi, I’m close!”

Making the process more interesting, one of the hands on your thigh slides to your entrance, middle and ring finger teasing it as he continues sucking on your clit.

He slowly slides them in and hears, “Ah! Yes, fuck me with your fingers, p-please.”

How could he deny your plea like that? When he’s to the last knuckle, he pistons his hand back and forth, being sure to curl his fingers up just like the way you taught him the first time he fingered you. The vulgar sounds of your moans and the wetness of your pussy being licked and finger-fucked filled the room.

Face burning up and legs shaking, you’re reaching your orgasm, signaling this to him by pulling harder on his hair and clenching tightly around his thick fingers.

“Yeah, right there, keep doing that r-right there. Baby, I’m so close.” Daichi’s other hand gives you a firm slap to your thigh as he continues pushing you to orgasm on his face and fingers. “Ahh! Yes!” Your thighs squeeze together, trapping your boyfriend’s head between them, ‘maybe this wouldn’t be a bad way to die.’ Daichi thought while you climaxed.

Removing his fingers, he wipes them on his sweatpants and he gives your clit a sweet kiss before lifting his head and carefully removing your thighs from his shoulders. Buzzed on your orgasm, you look at his face and stifle a laugh as you see from his nose to chin covered in your juices. “Such a messy eater,” you say with a little smirk.

“Well, babycakes, it was really hard being neat considering you were already dripping before I had hardly even touched you. Almost like you wanted this to happen.” he retorts with an even bigger smirk on his face. Your face gets even redder, how did he always have a comeback ready for you? Daichi starts getting up, wiping his face with the back of his arm.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” you reply.

He quickly leaves and returns from the kitchen with a glass of water, handing it to you to drink. “Great to hear, baby. I’m gonna go draw you a bath so you can wash up before bed, okay?”

You nod, “Mhm.” When he walks away, you begin taking a sip of water, realizing how parched you were. Your eyes glance over to the digital clock on the TV that reads: 12:05 am. ‘Is it really that late already?’ you shrug it off, 100% deciding that no more of that paper will get done tonight and it’ll just have to wait until the morning. Setting the glass on the coffee table, you begin gathering up your discarded underwear and shorts from the floor and walk into the bathroom to meet Daichi there, setting a fresh towel on the counter. You kiss his cheek as a thank you and strip the rest of your clothing onto the floor and slip into the warm water, allowing it to engulf your sore muscles.

After your bath, you dry yourself and wrap the towel around you, beginning to brush your teeth and do your skincare that you had been neglecting since last week. Your boyfriend walks in as you’re finishing, already dressed down to his boxers and nothing else. Using his strength, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, walking you over to the bedroom as you laugh at the surprising gesture.

Being the ever so gentle person he is, he dresses you in your favorite sleeping clothes, leaving kisses all over your body in the process. You snuggle up to body heat under the fluffy comforter, placing a goodnight kiss to his lips. “I love you, Daichi.” He drapes an arm over you, pulling you closer. “I love you more, princess.”

#daichi x reader #haikyuu smut #daichi sawamura #smut #🖋.writing #haikyuu x reader

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duskamethyst · 3 years

Text

not a bad thing.

a/n: we often see fics involving cats turning into a human hybrid but i wanted to switch it up. i wasn’t sure if i wanted to make him full on quadrupedal or just half human-cat. spoiler: i chose the latter.

word count: 2.8k

genre: fluff

warnings: n/a

pairing: catboy!shinsou x gn!reader

summary: shinsou is infested by a quirk that turns him into a cat. how is he going to turn back?

you and shinsou are on patrol before suddenly alerted that there is a robbery from the jewelry shop nearby. the both of you quickly get into offensive mode and spot the running criminal, one that you’ve never seen or known of– probably making their debut tonight. they have the physique of a human but the head of a cat. none of you have any idea of what their quirk is but judging from their figure, you probably have the gist of it.

“okay, they’re running into an alley!” you inform shinsou who’s running right behind you. “i’ll try to get them from the back while you try to distract them.”

“hey, wait–” he calls but you already left him when you turn to the other side of the building to execute your plan.

you stalk the criminal behind the wall who’s running towards your direction before jumping in front of them and startling them. your quirk allows the ground to turn into clay and objects to molt into shapes you desire with a touch. the ground between you melted once you activated your quirk, but the offender is quick to stop and turn around and face shinsou instead.

“we got you cornered. please don’t resist.” shinsou says, activating his quirk at the same time. realizing that they have no other options, they sprint forwards into shinsou’s direction to make a break for it. shinsou swiftly uses his scarf to grab a hold on them but unfortunately, they’re so much quicker and are able to smoothly avoid the restraints– thanks to their feline capabilities and senses.

“shinsou!” the culprit is closing in and before shinsou can defend himself, he’s met with nothing but a soft peck on his lips. the both of you are surprised and they easily take the opportunity to escape and disappear from your sights.

“are you–” concerned, you run up to him who is still baffled and wiping his lips with his sleeve.

“fine,” he grunts. “but they got away. hopefully the police are notified by now.”

“i’m sorry, it’s my fault. i didn’t think it through.” you sigh defeatedly. “but hey, at least someone got a kiss!” you joke, eliciting an eye roll from the male.

“shut up, it’s not funny. what am i gonna write in our report? ‘got kissed by a villain’? goddamn it.”

you laugh, “it sounds romantic, though.”

a loud banging on your door suddenly interrupts you from your sleep. you glance sleepily at the clock from your bedside table– 2:24 a.m. maybe turning on sleep mode wasn’t a good idea.

you look through the peephole and open the door to a very distressed shinsou in his hoodie.

“what’s going on?” you move to the side to let him stomp in before closing the door behind you. it has only been a few hours since the incident earlier. he stays silent as he stands in the middle of the room and it kind of starts to make you feel worried. “shinsou?”

he turns around with a glare and he sighs to recollect himself, “promise me you won’t laugh.”

you blink at him once, twice. “i was in the middle of my sleep, i don’t think i’m in the mood for a joke right now.”

“promise me.”

“okay, okay. i promise!”

once he gets your word on it, he slowly pulls the hoodie down from his head– and you can’t believe what you’re seeing; shinsou now has cat ears!

“what– what’s that?!” your hand finds its way to your mouth as you try to hold in your laughter. is this a joke? was he forced to do this?

“you promised–” he pulls back the hoodie on his head to hide his new ears that hold the same shade as his hair.

“i know! but– but it’s a good look on you! you look so cute!” you start giggling and walk up to him. “oh my god, can i touch it?”

“what?! no!” shinsou steps back, protecting his new ears with his hands.

“oh, come on! you trust me with this, right? i bet i’m the first person you looked for!”

“y-yeah, but–” he stammers, “but that’s only because you were with me! i bet it was their quirk that made me like this!”

you manage to corner him to a wall and you quickly take off his hoodie to reveal his ears again that are pushing backwards as some sort of sign of defense.

“i promise i’ll be gentle.” you coax, hands already reaching up to his ears before he could answer. you scratch behind his ears like you normally do with cats and he slowly relaxes to your touch.

before he feels like he’s about to purr and humiliate himself, shinsou smacks your hand away, “cut it out.”

“why? i thought cats like that?”

“and i’m not a cat.” he looks away to hide his face, feeling like his cheeks are turning warm. “anyways, i don’t know what else it’s gonna do nor how long.”

“but we gotta tell the hero’s commission about this. i don’t know if you wanna stay over or something but i really wanna see what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“so you can laugh at me even more? when my tail shows up?” he snorts.

“pshh, no.” shinsou squints at you for a moment before you groan defeatedly, “okay, maybe?”

he rolls his eyes, “don’t mind me then.”

if your sleep last night was disturbed by knockings from the door, this morning you’re woken up by a frantic shout of your name from the living room. you quickly get out of bed to check out what’s happening.

“shinsou– oh my god!” you squeal both in amusement and shock as you notice a fluffy indigo tail coming from shinsou’s back. shinsou, however, looks beyond unamused.

“ït’s getting worse.”

“aw, shinsou.” your lips feign a pout. “you look ador– ack!” he throws a pillow at you. “fine, i’ll report this to the commission.”

“could you, maybe...” he mutters before you turn back to your room. “leave out the details? i feel embarrassed.”

you tilt your head questioningly, “but isn’t that the most important part? to find out how to undo their quirk?”

shinsou just remains quiet, his eyes staring down onto the ground. feeling as if you don’t want to make his day any worse, you comply. maybe you can find something out by the end of the day or maybe he can only hope that the quirk won’t last much longer anymore, that there should be a time limit for it like most quirks do.

you leave the room to take a quick shower and write in your report. a couple of hours pass by and you think about cooking for your guest today. shinsou is still laying on your sofa, looking very much in despair while his fluffy tail wags up and down, making you feel nothing more than mesmerized by it.

failing to fight the urge, you quietly sneak behind him and tug on his tail. the startled male turns to you annoyingly.

“at this point i just wish claws would come out so i can put a scar on you.”

“and i will throw a bucket of water in your face.” you tease. “anyways, i’m gonna cook for both of us now. you can do whatever you like. you’re a cat anyways, i can’t really tell you what to do.” he glares at you while you stride off towards the kitchen laughing.

you call out to eat once you’ve finished cooking. nothing too special, just fried rice and stirred veggies that are enough to fill your empty stomach. you’re not going to take any complaints and you’re not the best cook either but it’s the most you could do right now.

“ack!” shinsou coughs after taking the first bite of his meal and quickly gulps down some water.

you look at him dejectedly, “hey, i know my cooking isn’t that good. don’t need to rub it in my face!”

he shakes his head, “no, it’s just– i think my taste buds aren’t working well.”

“you’re just trying to make me feel better.” you scowl playfully but shinsou only chugs his drink each time he tries to put food inside his mouth. “don’t tell me you only want to eat fish now?”

“i hope i don’t. but– meow?” realizing what slips out from his mouth so casually, he puts his hand over his mouth in shock.

“meow?” you repeat.

“shit, i– meow.”

“shinsou, are you okay?” you look at him curiously.

he shakes his head again, his cat ears pushed back. when you stand up from your seat to check on him, he quickly dashes to the corner of the room and faces the wall. you carefully walk closer to him but as you are about to put your hand on his shoulder, shinsou turns around and hisses at you– his tail slightly fluffed up.

you take a step back in wary, “oh, um, okay? i’ll get you a fish? is that what you want?”

shinsou only growls lowly, his irises narrow and tail wagging in annoyance as he watches you walk back into the kitchen to get food for him.

oh boy, this is bad. he lost his speech abilities.

thankfully, you have some raw salmon in your fridge. while you wait for it to defrost, shinsou only curls up in the corner defensively. each time you try to get closer to him, he’ll either growls or hisses at you. as much as you want to be offended (he’s close to you after all), you can’t help but think it’s rather adorable to see him like this– behaving like a cat though you can see that he still has his attitude.

you then try to sway him with the fish, gently placing down the plate in front of him before he sniffs his food and crouches down to eat it without using his hands.

“that looks... so inhumane.” you sigh. “maybe i should feed you?”

you take a slice of salmon from the plate and bring it in front of his mouth in an attempt to feed him. he looks at you warily for a brief second before sniffing it again and opening his mouth to nibble on his food.

“that’s a good boy!” you giggle, reaching to pat his head but he shies away as he chews his meal. okay, he probably needs some time.

you patiently feed him until the plate is empty and give him some water to drink. you then finish up your brunch and do the dishes while shinsou lazes around on your sofa. to your surprise, shinsou is quick to warm up to you when he sits up and scoots from his seat, giving you room to sit next to him. even more surprising when he lays his head on your lap right after that. it makes your heart throb and embarrassed at the same time.

“uh...” he looks content but you’re unsure if he’d allow you to touch him. however, you decide to try your luck and begin to gently caress his hair.

shinsou flutters his eyes open at the touch and doesn’t fight back but instead his eyes slowly shuts again as he leans into your hold. his head nuzzles against your hand as you continue to stroke his hair. you take it as a sign that he has finally loosen up and you waste no time to scratch him behind the ears. over time, you can almost hear him purring on your lap. your heart squeezes in glee at the thought that shinsou finds comfort and warmth from you.

“you’re not hard to please, huh?” you chuckle as you watch the male endearingly; maybe he should just stay like this so you won’t have to put up with his smart mouth so much. you’ve heard about how cats are able to provide humans oxytocin but currently you’re not sure if it’s because he is partially a cat or because it’s shinsou himself.

the both of you stay in the position for quite a time as you idly flip through channels on the tv screen. truth be told, shinsou is the only one that feels comfortable right now. you want to move because your legs are starting to feel numb but you feel bad if you wake or move him. fortunately, you are saved by the bell when there’s a knock on the door.

shinsou’s ears perk up as his attention is drawn towards the door.

“hold on, i think i got a package.” you stand up from the sofa and head towards the door to greet the delivery man.

shinsou watches you as you stand there and engage in little unnecessary chats while you sign on the paper. the man gets excited when he recognizes you as one of the pro heroes and somehow it drags into a long conversation before he realizes that he’s running out of time and needs to deliver his packages to the other customers. with a brief handshake, he finally leaves your doorstep and you turn towards a vigilant (half) man from your sofa.

his indigo eyes narrow down at you as you walk up to him, gaze piercing through you as you find your seat next to him again.

“what?” you look at him in unease. he shifts closer to you and scrunches his nose as he takes a sniff from you and a low growl rips from his throat as if something unpleasant just flared through his nostrils. and to shinsou, it is– the scent is still you but it’s somehow tainted now and he doesn’t appreciate it.

“hey, i already took a–”

shinsou suddenly jumps on you, his hands pushing you roughly by the shoulders as his bigger and muscular build hovers over you. your heartbeat is running a mile once your eyes are locked with his. you hung around him a lot before and there were some unintentional brush of the hands here and there, but this is probably the closest you two have been and you’re starting to feel nervous.

“shinsou? c-cut it out.” you whimper but the male doesn’t budge at all and instead his lazy eyes just continue to bore into yours.

if only you have a water quirk, you probably would spray his face by now.

once shinsou’s grip softens, you try to wriggle away. however, he leans down closer to you and stops an inch away from your face. you want to brace yourself for what’s to come but you have no idea what to expect either, but there’s an unshakeable feeling inside you that wishes to feel his soft lips on yours. you blush at the thought– you probably shouldn’t feel such way towards your colleague and especially when this is the work of the criminal’s quirk, you should keep this professional and not let your personal feelings be involved.

however, your little wish is granted.

your eyes almost go out of their sockets when shinsou gently presses his lips onto yours so tenderly. you can see that the absurd fury he had has subsided and he turns rather calm as a soft sigh escapes from him. slowly, your own eyes close as you give in to the kiss.

it feels all too quick before he pulls away and gazes at you with those half-lidded eyes. it’s a dreamy sight and you just want to pull him back but you notice that his ears are slowly disappearing.

he blinks a few times before letting reality finally hit him and realizing the compromising position the both of you are in. a tinge of pink creeps on his cheeks and he quickly pushes himself off of you.

“your ears and tail are gone!” you squeal, voice masking the dread inside you that he’s back to normal but you’re also glad that the quirk has worn off.

“thank god.” he sighs. he tries to remember the details of how he even got on top of you but nothing pops in his mind. he might have the slightest idea but he doesn’t want to believe it. the thought of it makes his ears and cheeks burn hotter. even if he did kiss you, he doesn’t want it to be like that– not when he’s under a damn quirk.

“do you remember what happened?”

“the last thing i remember is when we’re having brunch.” he murmurs, still trying to put one and one together.

“oh, boy. you should’ve seen yourself! you suddenly started acting like a–”

“listen. you are to forget what just happened.” he cuts you off immediately.

he’s so used to putting up a stoic attitude around people. he always deliberately tried to look cool especially around you and made sarcastic remarks to annoy you but that was one of his confusing ways to express his liking to you. and now the fact that he might have looked so vulnerable in front of you, it’s just too humiliating.

“but–”

maybe this time, shinsou thinks it’s okay to finally use his quirk on you.

#shinsou hitoshi #hitoshi shinsou #hitoshi shinso x reader #shinso x you #shinso x reader #shinsou x you #shinsou x reader #shinsou fluff #bnha fluff #my hero academia fluff #shinsou fic #shinsou #mha fluff #r; writes #pro hero shinsou

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buckthegrump · 4 years

Text

Cold & Flu Season

The Himbo Chronicles

Summary: Avengers don’t get sick, unless they do.

Pairing: Himbo Bucky x F!Reader

Word Count:1053

Warnings: fluff, a swear word

A/n: here ya go

Being sick sucked. And Y/n didn’t get sick often so when she did it was always terrible and she was bedridden for at least a week. Not to mention, she always refused to believe that she was sick until someone forced her to rest. This time was no different.

* * *

The ache and chills that plagued her body told the logical part of her brain that she was sick, but she still got up and started to go about her day. She walked down to the gym like a zombie.

She didn’t notice Bucky doing squats next to the weights. (Normally she not only would’ve noticed but watched, because who wouldn’t?) But instead of following her normal routine, she walked over to the treadmills and did a measly half run that probably wasn’t beneficial at all.

Next thing she was aware of was Bucky pressing the stop button on her treadmill.

“Dude, what the fuck?” She asked with a sniffle. “I’m trying to work out.”

“You’re sick, you should be in bed, resting,” he said. He grabbed her hand and helped her off the machinery.

“I’m fine!”

“You were working out without headphones, which you never do. And you didn’t even say hi to me when you came in. I thought we were friends.”

Y/n yawned and didn’t open her eyes as she swayed from side to side.

“We are friends, I’m just a little tired.”

“Y/n, your hand is burning up and you cannot keep your eyes open,” he pointed out, “So either you walk to your room on your own or I help you there.”

“Or we could do option number three which is you leave me alone and I do whatever the fuck I wanna do,” she said finally opening her eyes. Bucky was a lot closer than she thought he was. His gaze was unwavering, he had a concerned look on his face.

He hummed and then wrapped his arms around her back and her knees, lifting her off the ground. She mumbled a protest but it was weak and Bucky ignored it.

As he carried her back to her room, she rested her head on his shoulder and traced a pattern on his shirt. She made a mental comment about his pectoral muscles or she accidentally said it out loud, she wasn’t sure.

She must’ve fallen asleep, or Bucky was very fast because it seemed like a second later when Bucky was laying her down on her bed and tucking her in. He brushed his thumb across her cheek, or at least she thought he did.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered.

“But I’m hungry,” she yawned again as she spoke. She maneuvered herself so she was comfortable and closed her eyes. She didn’t know if Bucky ever responded because she was asleep the instant the last word left her mouth.

* * *

It was either midday or it was tomorrow and she slept for twenty-four hours because the sun was beaming through her window.

She tried to move her limbs but they weren’t responding to her commands. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drifted back into unconsciousness.

When she woke the second time it was dark outside. Now she could move but she still felt like shit.

With great force, she swung her legs off the side of the bed and got up. She made her way down to the kitchen to find Bucky standing at the stove. A mess of pots and pans surrounded him along with a pasta maker and partially defrosted chicken breasts.

“What are you doing?” She asked before going into a coughing fit.

He turned around with flour covering his whole body.

“I’m making soup,” he shrugged.

She sat on a stool at the edge of the island and propped her head up with her hand.

“For dinner?”

“Yeah.” He smiled at her and started chopping the veggies.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Uhh, I think they went out clubbing.”

“Then how are they gonna eat dinner?” She asked half asleep again.

“It’s not for them.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him then at the pasta maker then back at him. “You know I could’ve just heated up some Campbell’s and called it good right?

“Campbell’s is barely soup,” he said as he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe but at least they don’t put fucking celery in it,” she said.

Bucky nodded his head as he dumped the partially chopped up celery into the compost. But then held up a stick of it.

“I’ll take this one out before giving it to you because it makes it taste better,” he put the stick in the pot and Y/n grimaced.

“Gross,” she muttered. “Also, you realize that they sell pasta that’s premade, right?”

“Do you not trust me to make you good food or something?” He put his hands on his hips.

“Dude you’re from prohibition, of course, I don’t fucking trust you to make good food. All you people knew how to do was boil shit,” she said.

“I will have you know that I’m more than capable in the kitchen, thank you very much.”

Y/n was about to respond with something half witty when everything began to fall to shit behind Bucky. The pan that was cooking the chicken caught fire, somehow. And the pot he was actually making the soup was overflowing.

Bucky turned around to deal with the chaos that had erupted behind him, while Y/n grabbed an apple and went back to her room.

* * *

An hour later Y/n was sitting in bed watching the first season of Grey’s Anatomy when Bucky walked into her room with a tray of food. He set it on her nightstand before looking at her.

“Campbell’s chicken noodle soup,” he said looking like he was in physical pain as he spoke, “as requested.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at him.

He nodded and started to walk away.

“Wait,” she whispered but he heard and turned back to her, “keep me company?”

She gave him her best puppy face and he rolled his eyes before making his way over to the bed.

“Fine,” he said laying on the duvet, “But if I get sick you’re taking care of me.”

“You’re a super soldier, you don’t get sick,” she said snuggling into his side.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky x reader #the himbo chronicles

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streetsofsecretswegone · 3 years

Text

WHICH OF MY OCS ARE THE BEST ROMANTIC PARTNERS? (GUY EDITION)

7. GRISHA VALTCHITSKI

Grisha’s weird. When he’s young he can be INCREDIBLY cute with a significant other. Tongue tied, sweet, just the cutest! But now in his 40s...eugh. He’s one of those guys who are married to his job, first and foremost. He’s that upper class husband who drives home with his wife with a thick silence between them because he’s coldly ended the argument about whatever. He’s that boyfriend who won’t have a conversation with you when you’re venting because he is busy. He is still capable of being a sweet man, somewhere deep down inside. But at the end of the day he is a very logical, blunt man and that can cause...so many issues in regards to him sparing someone’s feelings. On the bright side, he’s a great provider and doesn’t act like the gangsters he works among. So you don’t have to worry about ‘work coming home.’ That being said, you have to really, really, really, REALLY put in the work to defrost him.

6. REUBEN HOLLOWAY

The only issue with Reuben is that old age has caused him to become less romantic. He isn’t cold like Grisha, but, don’t expect grand, sweeping gestures from him. Don’t expect to go out for Valentine’s Day, don’t expect to go to a slam poetry event - because really, Reuben does not have much of a social life any longer. Which is a high contributing cause to why he’s more of a reclusive homebody. Either way just expect loyalty and honesty. For some people this is enough. For some people this isn’t. Also, you have to be the one who forces Reuben to go out for date night. Expect a 6 minute back and forth to commence, but that’s cool if you’re aspiring to have a old married couple thing going on.

5. NICHOLAS SCOZZARI

Nick’s greatest flaw is that when he was in prison he cheated on Janie over at @tcpimpabutterfly, but did he cheat on her when they were teenagers? No!! Is he still holding remorse for his actions? Yes!! The thing about Nick is that despite his hard demeanor, he’s soft as hell. Always been soft as hell. Just like his mama. He’s out here writing love letters, he’s looking out the window listening to 70s love ballads thinking about his past crimes and sins against you. However, he loves too hard and while his actions can be sweet it means lines can be crossed. This man is trying to talk to you when you have a restraining order. Trying to find out information about your new man. Also he’s inclined to get on social media and post about the better days. But if you can handle all of that -- he’s a great spouse and dad. I mean, you’ll also have to handle him going to jail frequently because he’s a gangster...so...anyway....

4. JERROLD SIMMS

Jerrold may be the best father to your kid (if you had a baby with him) may surprise you with fancy dinner dates and fur coats, but you really have to WORK at a relationship with this man. Make him a believer, redefine love, all that. Shit can be so fun! So great! But can it be real? Um...maybe! Probably! It’ll just take awhile. Maybe a long while. This is because Jerrold has never been in a real, serious, long-term relationship with anyone. So he doesn’t believe in real love and really? He has a lot of reasons not to due to his family having a dysfunctional history with interpersonal relationships.

It’s worth a shot to aim for him though.

3. ANTONIO MARINO.

Tony is a mess. He gets on his drug binges, he gets self-destructive and it takes someone with a lot of unconditional love to handle him when he is at his WORST. Someone who will support him, but also not baby him and inevitably enable him to be the worst. While Tony is difficult, he’s not impossible. And the truth is, he’s bound to love you more than he loves himself so maybe you’ll become his impulse control! Maybe he’ll go to rehab! That’s all for you.

2. LUCIANO SCOZZARI.

For better or worse, Louis is open with his partner from the jump. If he would be interested in a poly relationship, he’s going to admit that. If he thinks you’re fucking up your life, he’s going to admit that. His honesty - and tendency to ruthlessly joke around, can make him seem like a lousy partner, but he just keeps it real.

Also, Louis really tries not to care about people beyond his family. Therefore, when he’s in a relationship, he cares about the other party and their best interests as deeply as he cares for his own affairs! He can even be a romantic when he’s not goofing around. What keeps him from being number one?

A whole lot of family baggage. Do you wanna be in a mob family? Do you wanna potentially get shot? Okay, go for Louie.

1. BENJAMIN ROSENTHAL. Ben is the only dude. ONLY DUDE. On the list with no crime connections and you know what? That makes him the best on fucking default.

Any drama that comes from Ben comes from regular everyday shit. Like him investing in a Subway sandwich! Or forgetting your co-worker’s names! He’s a little nervous, having freshly gotten out of a abusive relationship, but once he can put that behind him? He’s not just your lover, he’s your BEST FRIEND.

Also he eats pussy good so that counts for something.

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ohbaby-obeyme · 3 years

Note

I'm in a big mood for the most domestic shit right now.

I wanna come home from work and tidy up the livingroom and pop some lasagna in the oven so that it's ready for both of us when you get home. I wanna sit next to you at our livingroom's coffee table and watch whatever shitty sitcom we've decided to binge together and then either pass out on the couch with you or head to bed and play different games on our phones or read a book before bed or just joke and talk about how our days went before we both drift off to sleep.

We'd wake up in the morning all groggy then get up and dressed and ready for the day. I'd get the coffee brewing and the bacon/sausage defrosted while you shower because I took mine last night and I don't drink coffee anyways. I'd whip up some eggs or pancakes to go with them and by the time we're both ready the food is as well. We'd eat quickly and shuffle off to our jobs after filling the pets' food bowls and a quick goodbye peck on the cheek; looking forward to returning in another eight hours to do it all over again with the minor variations that make life worth living.

~🍓🐄

congrats, you’ve unlocked access to my domesticity kink!!

babe, yes. but… if you don’t think i’m gonna cling onto you as soon as we’re in bed, you’re dead wrong. even if i’m just laying between your legs with my phone on your stomach, or hooking my knee over your thigh, i’m gonna wanna be touching you. especially after a hard day at work.

#i can be. extremely reclusive and need a lot of time to myself #but. having you so close without touching you?? unthinkable #inquiries #🍓🐄 anon #you don’t drink coffee but you’d still make some for me 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 stop i’m gonna propose

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quaememinisse · 4 years

Text

Fights

Word count: 5,184

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Smut

Author’s note: based on my other series, https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799851/chapters/6284765

Don’t ask me why I write this ish...

“Cherry, you don’t remember talking about this on Sunday? We talked about it on Sunday night,” Bucky sighs, placing a laundry basket full of Christina’s clothes on the floor in front of the basement door. He pushes a hand through his hair and leans back against the wall as Cherise continues to dig through the fridge for a half-empty bag of pre-packaged Caesar salad.

“Are you hearing me, Cherise?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Huh?”

“Didja hear anything I just said?” Bucky asks. Cherise had explained to him that she was going to need him to pick Christina up again because of her meeting the following afternoon that just kind of came up in the middle of the week.

“If you don’t wanna pick her up, Bucky, I’ll ask my mom—”

“That’s not what I was talking about,” he says with some frustration now. Cherise finally finds the bag of salad she was looking for, hoping they still have enough of the dressing that Christina likes to eat, otherwise the salad won’t make it past the little girl’s mouth.

“Have you seen that dressing Stina likes?”

Bucky sighs and pulls it out of the door, holding it up in front of her eyes.

“So, Christina’s teacher-parent conference, you’re going with me this time. You said you would.”

“James, please. I can’t even think about that right now.”

“What?” he asks, and finally she picks up on his irritation.

“Didn’t you say you were going to be able to go to it without me?”

He sighs, “Cherry—we talked about this on Sunday, and you said you weren’t going to have any meetings on Friday that would keep you from going.”

“Please don’t use that tone with me. I don’t need that right now,” Cherise explains, dropping the salad on the granite counter.

“Hey, I’ve been real patient all week with you coming home later than usual. The least you can do is find the time to go with me to a meeting about our daughter,” Bucky explains, his tone not having changed. Cherise spares him a glance before walking out of the kitchen to go the bathroom briefly. When she walks back into the kitchen, Bucky is standing where he was, his arms crossed, looking rather frustrated.

“Can you not walk away from me mid conversation?”

“I just went to the bathroom for a second, James. Relax.”

“Don’t tell me to relax.”

“You tell me that all the time when I get upset,” Cherise explains, opening the cabinet and pulling out three plates.

“Stop changing the subject. Aren’t you going to just let Bruce handle this meeting and come hear what Christina’s teacher has to say about how she’s doing?”

“James—I don’t know. She has been doing fine, hasn’t she? You didn’t have anything bad to tell me about her last parent-teacher meeting—”

“That’s not the point, Cherise—”

“Don’t raise your voice at me,” she says, starting to match his. Her headache doesn’t help, and getting agitated with her husband makes it worse. Bucky sighs, looking away a moment, his fists balled. She can tell he’s trying to calm down.

“Can you make Christina her salad and bring it to her?”

Bucky walks to the cabinet and pulls out a pink plastic bowl that he’d bought from Target, knowing the girl will break china if she’s given any without supervision. He starts to pour the remainder of the salad into the bowl.

“So, you’re going with me tomorrow. Christina’s teacher wants to meet at 5:20. That’s our slot.”

“I can’t, James.”

He places his bionic hand on the counter and stares down at Cherise. She stops unloading the dishwasher to look at him, her expression gradually becoming irritated.

“What is that look?” Cherise asks impatiently.

“Are you giving me an attitude right now?”

“You gave me one first with that fucking look.”

“Don’t swear at me.”

Cherise knows how much Bucky hates for her to talk to him like that. It makes him feel disrespected. She has lost her patience and had wanted silence while making dinner. His frustration is making her headache worse.

“Ms. Foster has only met you once, Cherise—months ago. She thinks that you died or left, or something, and that I’m a single father.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cherise mutters, heading out of the kitchen and towards the garage to the extra refrigerator they kept there because the one in the kitchen was always getting too full. Cherise finds herself surprised to hear Bucky come out after her shortly, his steps hastened and harsh, not his usual pace.

“I do so much every day for our family, Cherise, and you sit there and disrespect me when I’m talking to you,” Bucky explains, his voice low, but Cherise can tell from the crease of his thick eyebrows that his anger is growing. Having already had a headache and coming home from a long day of experimentation with Dr. Cho, the last thing she wanted to hear about were more meetings. She hadn’t really understood how important to Bucky this was until now. He usually did the most when it came to their daughter, in terms of picking her up, dropping her off, even cleaning the house, because his schedule was simply more flexible. Bucky’s entire flesh hand wraps around Cherise’s upper arm as she leans into the fridge, catching her off guard.

“Are you listening to me, Cherise?”

She sighs.

“Yes, James.” But when she walks back halfway through the door, he grabs her by the waist rather aggressively, nearly causing her to drop the chicken that had been defrosting out there.

“So, stop walking away from me,” he says loudly. Cherise gasps, putting the large bowl of defrosting meat on a shelf nearby before grabbing her husband’s wrists and tugging.

“I don’t know if I can make it to the meeting, James. But you can handle that—”

“You said you’d go this time. You have missed all of them this semester.”

She examines his face to find him looking a lot angrier than she thinks he should be about this.

“…Let go of me,” she says calmly, not comfortable with the degree of anger in his expression.

“I asked you to stop walking away from me,” he practically snarls. His metal arm whirs loudly, something she’s used to hearing when Bucky is excited or upset, and in this moment, she knows it’s the latter. He shakes his head slowly.

“Why can’t ya just respect me for once, just listen—”

“Let go of me,” she says again, pulling away bodily. Bucky held on for a second before sighing and putting both of his hands up a few seconds, during which time Cherise looks at him angrily.

“I told you on the weekend, James, there’s a lot going on at the compound this week in forensics. I don’t know if I’m going to have time—”

“Time?!”

She flinches at the sudden loudness of his voice.

“For our daughter! Are you serious?!”

He takes a step towards her, closing the garage door.

“You barely remember half the things I say to you these days—you don’t even want to help me raise our child—”

“What the fuck, James!” she’s angry now, but her eyes fill up.

She reaches for the chicken and turns around, but before she can touch the doorknob, Bucky’s hands are on her waist again.

“I told you to stop walking away from me,” he states. She drops the chicken at the sheer force of him pulling her back into the garage. And then she slaps him, something she had never done before. She’d bought that organic chicken because she didn’t want Christina eating shit, and there it lay on the garage floor, unpackaged. Bucky turns and slams his metal fist through the garage wall. Before Cherise can blink, he has punched five large holes there. She gasps, rushing for the door and pulling it open abruptly before walking into the living room, grabbing Christina unexpectedly off the couch, and carrying her as quickly as she can up to the attic, locking the door after herself.

“Mumma,” Christina complains for the umpteenth time since Cherise had snatched her up, “I was watching Bambi,” the little girl explains, frustrated that her mother interrupted her so unceremoniously.

“Shh—no noise, baby,” Cherise explains, gently holding her hand over Christina’s mouth as she sits her in an old armchair before walking over to the corner behind some racks of clothes to find a rifle which Bucky had in a small arsenal Christina knew nothing about. Cherise fumbles with the magazine, finding it empty.

“Mumma…what are you do—”

“Stay where you are, Stina,” Cherise calls, holding the gun behind her back as she peers around the clothing racks at the four-year-old who had started to approach.

“But Bambi—”

“Christina, please go sit down where I had you,” Cherise explains. The girl starts whining as she makes her way back to the chair. Cherise’s hands are shaking and she stops looking for the bullets, tears streaming down her face. She hesitates a moment before storing the rifle back where it was and walking to the girl to find her playing unsurely with her socks. Cherise had never seen Bucky get that upset, to the point where he started breaking something. Many times, especially before Christina was born, he’d had this conversation with her, his fear that he might snap. He’d showed Cherise that arsenal several times and even taught her how to load the weapons. He slept with a handgun in their bedside drawer, but she’d thought he only kept one there because he was paranoid about home invasions. Deep down he feared that someday something might set him off again and he’d be dangerous. He wouldn’t have been able to bear it if something like that ever happened where he put his wife and child in danger.

The way he was so angry in the garage mere minutes ago had genuinely scared Cherise. She had hit him much harder than she’d meant to, but he was already frustrated about the parent-teacher meeting and the possibility of Cherise not going with him. He didn’t like it when she walked away from him, something Cherise knew, but something was different about it tonight and Cherise wasn’t quite sure what.

“Mumma, why you cry?” Christina asks, turning her head to the side. Cherise immediately wipes her eyes, kneeling in front of the girl and smiling.

“It’s nothing, baby. Hey, keep your socks on, okay? It’s cold.”

Cherise starts to put her daughter’s socks back on, listening out for whether she hears Bucky coming up the stairs, but it’s silent. This silence makes her more anxious. She thinks about the shotgun again. But she can’t imagine using it, especially not on Bucky. She figures that if he was going to really lose it on her, he’d have found them by now. He knew where she would go if she felt scared and needed to get one of his guns. He was probably already in their bedroom, looking for her.

“Mommy, I’m hungr—”

“Shhh,” Cherise interrupts, covering Christina’s mouth.

“Why are we up here, mumma?” Christina whispers, looking around the attic. The child sighs.

“Where’s daddy?”

“…”

“Mumma?”

“H-he had to run an errand, baby. I just need you to be quiet a little longer, okay?”

Christina pulls her hand through Cherise’s hair playfully. The sound of Bucky’s Harley starting down the street tells Cherise that he has left the building. She sighs, picking Christina up and starting for the attic stairs again. Bucky is gone by the time Cherise makes it back into the garage, the organic chicken still playing dead on the garage floor. Cherise decides she can salvage it by soaking it in some vinegar before baking it. She stands in the garage for at least a minute, examining the damage Bucky has done to the wall. The cold air is coming into the garage now. Cherise shivers, interrupted by the sound of small footsteps.

“Mumma?”

“I’m coming, baby. Do you want a peanut butter sandwich? It’s going to be a while before I finish cooking.”

Christina’s whole face lights up, and Cherise guides her back into the house before she has the chance to see the holes in the garage wall and inquire about them.

Christina is sleeping peacefully in her room when Cherise finally decides to take a shower and get ready for bed. Bucky had texted her not long after she finished cooking, saying that he was sorry for the way he acted and that he went for a ride to clear his head. Still not having responded, Cherise leaves her phone to buzz on the night stand, letting her husband’s call go to voicemail. She feels a lot more relaxed once she envelopes her senses in steam and aromas. She doesn’t even hear Bucky come home again. She nearly jumps out of her skin when she finds him standing in the doorway of the bathroom as she pulls the curtain back and reaches for her towel. She grabs it and wraps herself immediately, suddenly very uncomfortable that he’s blocking the entire doorway with his body, looking in at her with some obvious remorse. Cherise shuts the water off before pulling the curtain back more. She stands in the shower looking at him hard, and he just looks sorry. His cheeks are rosy from the cold, and she doesn’t have to make it all the way over to him to tell he’s been drinking. He can’t get drunk, but she can smell it.

“Baby, I—”

“No,” she interrupts, shaking her head, holding her elbows. She can still feel him grabbing her by the waist. He had never touched her so harshly before. He had scared her. Cherise’s heart rate quickens.

“But I’m sorry,” he says sincerely, a few strands of hair dusting his chiseled jaw as he tilts his head to the side.

“I—I’ll buy another chicken—”

“It’s not about that, James,” Cherise explains impatiently, her voice breaking. He sighs, shrinking somewhat. She can tell that he regrets his actions.

“I lost control. Just for a second, baby. I’m sorry.”

She’s silent for a few seconds, wiping her eye.

“Get out of the doorway,” she says, not looking at him.

“Cherry—”

“I need space right now,” she states, but she’s trembling, enough for Bucky to notice. He steps out of the doorway and she finally steps out of the shower. She approaches the sink cautiously, reaching for her tooth brush.

“Cherry, I didn’t mean it. I was upset.” She shakes her head, rushing to the bathroom door and closing it.

He’s not in bed when she walks into their room. She can hear the TV downstairs, finds Bucky’s jeans and the shirt he was wearing in his hamper. She knows that he took the couch, that she didn’t want to talk to him, that she was uncomfortable with his volatile reaction in the garage just over two hours prior. He never liked for them to go to bed upset with each other, but she knows he realizes this is more than just being upset: he had frightened her. It was the last thing that Bucky wanted to do, cause his own wife to be afraid of him. So, he had taken some fresh sheets, grabbed his PJs and showered in the downstairs bathroom.

Cherise checks his bedside drawer to find that his handgun is still there. She hates herself for checking at all. She doesn’t believe that Bucky would really hurt her, not in his actual right mind. But she still had to be sure. It was one of his fears that he would snap one day, that Hydra’s secrets inside of him would never really go away. When Cherise wakes up, Bucky is in their closet getting his clothes, and she knows he’s about to peel Christina from in front of the TV with her Cheerios to drive her to school. When he walks out of the closet to find that Cherise is sitting up in bed, he looks at her remorsefully again. He finishes pulling the t-shirt over his head and throws a fresh pair of clothes into his gym bag, the one he always took to work. Cherise sighs, reaching for her charged phone and unlocking it.

“We need to talk,” Bucky says calmly. She closes her phone, sighs, rubs her temples.

“I know,” she responds, with equal calm, “But not right now. I really have to go. I already made Stina’s lunch. I asked Banner to cover for me so I can get out of this meeting and go to the parent-teacher conference, okay?”

Bucky nods.

“I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable…Cherry, I love you. I wasn’t gonna hurt you—I could never do that. I’m sorry,” he says with such emphasis. Cherise’s heart jumps.

“I love you too, but I’m upset.”

He sighs, gazing out the door. She knows this isn’t what he wants to hear, but it’s the truth.

“Gotta go,” he says, picking up his gym bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and sparing her one last look before he walks out of their room to go get their daughter.

Around lunch, Cherise finds that Bucky has texted her to say that he’ll pick Christina up from preschool around 4 and drop her off at Sam and Kate’s, who said that Christina could spend the weekend. Bucky explains that he thought it might be good to let her spend time with her older cousin, aunt, and uncle, to give himself and Cherise a chance to talk. At first, Cherise is hesitant about it, but she starts to realize that this is pretty important. The argument she and Bucky had the previous afternoon shed light for her on how she sometimes wasn’t as involved in their daughter’s education as she maybe should have been. Teary-eyed as she bites into an apple, Cherise texts Bucky back that she thinks this is a good idea, and that she will meet him at Christina’s school no later than 5PM.

Cherise pulls up to the lot of Christina’s school at 4:47PM. She had always prided herself on her punctuality. To her surprise, Bucky is already there, having driven their Rav4. He’s leaning against the door, texting. Cherise’s phone pings the moment she sees him. Before she even steps out of her car, she can see that he’s dressed very nicely. He’s wearing a pair of charcoal dress pants, light blue dress shirt, black tie, and loafers, his coat unzipped, hair in a neat ponytail at the back of his head. She can’t help but feel her heart beat wildly when she steps out of the car to meet him. He’s generally in sports attire, due to his job, and she hadn’t seen him look so dapper in a while. As soon as he sees her coming, he opens the car door to retrieve something. He smiles down at her without teeth, hopefully, handing her a bouquet of peonies.

“Bucky…you didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did.”

As she gazes at the flowers with a large smile that she can feel warming her from the inside out, Bucky pulls a second bouquet out of the car for her. This one is assorted hydrangeas.

“I remembered that you really like those, too, and I couldn’t decide. So, I got ya both. I’m sorry,” Bucky explains again. Cherise gazes up at him, her eyes wet. She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

“I love them,” she explains.

“And I’m gonna fix the garage wall—I already went to Home Depot and got the paint and some things to patch it up. And I went and got more chickens, organic like the one you made last night. I’m really sorry.”

“James—”

“I mean it. You and Stina, you’re my entire world. I didn’t mean to get so angry. I regret scaring you.” He places his flesh hand on her waist gently, trying to measure Cherise’s level of comfort. He holds her waist a little tighter when she doesn’t pull away from him.

“I don’t think Stina even heard us fighting,” Cherise explains, “And yes, your reaction scared me. But I was also upset with some of the things you were saying. I felt like you were trying to tell me I’m a bad mother.” Cherise’s voice cracks at the end of her sentence and Bucky looks remorseful again.

“You’re not, I didn’t say that—”

“You implied it.”

“I was wrong…I was upset. I didn’t mean it, Cherry. You’re a great mom—”

“But you’re right. I haven’t gone to one of these meetings. And you’ve been telling me that Christina often asks you when I’m coming home. I don’t always spend enough time with her and I feel badly about that.”

Bucky rubs her arms comfortingly. Cherise wipes her eyes.

“Babe, I’m sorry…Please, don’t cry.”

Bucky takes the flowers as she starts to dig in her purse for a tissue. He places the bouquets back in the car before producing some coffee shop napkins that were stashed in their Rav4. Cherise sighs, trying to collect herself.

“Fuck. I don’t want to look like a fucking mess in front of the teacher.” Bucky rubs her hip with his flesh hand as he hands her the napkins.

“Can we just try and get through this and then go home and talk more?” he asks.

Cherise nods. She takes a few deep breaths.

“You weren’t wearing that this morning. You look really nice, James.”

He blushes and starts to lead her to the entrance.

“I—I just wanted to look presentable, ya know?”

Ms. Foster seems surprised to find that Christina does, in fact, have a mom, and Cherise can already tell that the woman is disappointed. She looks to be around Cherise’s age, and Cherise begins to realize that maybe part of the reason Bucky wanted her to go with him so badly to this meeting was because a number of the single moms would stare at him, in ways that Cherise could tell they wanted him. It made her feel a little jealous, but she knew Bucky would never have a wandering eye. He had clutched her around the waist with his flesh arm, even kissed her temple a few times, as they waited patiently in the hall for their turn with the teacher.

Thankful that their daughter seems to be doing okay in school, the drive home is less nerve racking for Cherise. She checks her rearview mirror a handful of times to find that Bucky is not far behind her in their other car. When they arrive home, she walks towards the fridge in the garage and opens it to find two more organic chickens, a bucket of paint which matches the garage wall on the floor with a brush and plaster waiting to be used. Bucky walks up behind her to find her looking at the holes he had punched in the wall. He sighs, and she doesn’t have to turn around to look at him to know he’s disappointed in himself.

“I’m sorry that I grabbed you. I really wasn’t gonna hurt you, Cherry. I couldn’t. Not in my right mind. Not even when I get mad. I don’t have the stomach.”

“I know,” she says, continuing to stare at the holes. This is where he had placed his anger instead. Finally, she turns around to find him gazing down at her with an utterly sad expression, his eyes damp, but the tears not falling. He’s holding both of the bouquets of flowers he had bought her.

“I love you so much. I would die first,” he explains. She places her hand on his chest and hugs him. He wraps his arms around her, still clutching the flowers.

“I love you, James. I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I wish I hadn’t slapped you...I was exhausted…I had a headache…I’m sorry for that.” He kisses her forehead lingeringly. She shivers.

“Come on. Let’s get in the house,” he says, leading her. She fishes her keys from her purse, feeling Bucky kiss the back of her head as she does so. The warmth of their home, their dog wagging his tail upon the door opening invites them both in. Bucky follows Cherise to the kitchen where she immediately finds two vases in the cabinet under the sink for the flowers. She fills them both and smiles as he hands them to her. Carefully, Cherise cuts some of the leaves from the stems so that the flowers will fit in the vases. Bucky tugs gently at the sleeve of her coat, and she pauses to let him remove it before he makes his way to the hanger in the hall by the front door.

He goes out of his way to fix her a plate of food. He had even bought Cherise’s favorite noodles from the store she liked to shop at. She figures he’d bought two chickens to overcompensate. They didn’t usually fight so badly, but whenever they did, he always made up for it afterwards by doing the most that he could for her. He doesn’t allow Cherise to do the dishes and instead takes care of everything she was going to do around the house. When they get into bed and are comfortably beside each other, they’re both relaxed enough to talk again. They sit facing each other, Cherise’s arms around her shins, Bucky Indian style. He looks so apologetic still.

“Do you forgive me?” he asks, hopefully. Cherise sighs.

“I do. I just don’t want us to fight like that. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either, babe. It sucks.” Bucky runs a hand down her arm.

“But I think you were right to be upset that I was short with you. I’m sorry,” Cherise admits. She has apologized to him twice now. She cups his cheek, smooth from a fresh shave, her thumb tracing his supple bottom lip. He looks relieved now that she’s touching him again.

“We were both up really early all week. I think we were both exhausted. We need to communicate better.”

“We do. I remember that we did talk about Christina’s meeting on Sunday. It’s just that a lot has been going on and I totally forgot.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, though. Christina means as much to me as she does to you, and I didn’t think about how important that meeting was. I guess I just figured that because of the last few, you would always tell me that everything was going well, she was getting along with her peers. I didn’t think it was a big deal that only one of us was going. But I’m going to keep making time for that and getting someone to cover me when I have to. I don’t need to always stay as late as I do, but some experiments are time sensitive and I just get so wrapped up in my work.”

“I know, babe. And I can appreciate how hard you work. You provide for me and Stina a lot, even if you don’t always have time to cook when you come home. I know how much your career means to you and that’s why I take Christina to school most days, so you can sleep more.”

Cherise smiles, her eyes full of love. His bionic hand massages her buttock.

“I just want for you to respect me when we talk. I think that’s what bothered me so much.”

“I’m sorry, Bucky. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“But…it still doesn’t justify what I did. I shoulda just let you walk away, and I definitely shouldn’t have punched holes in the wall. I know my reaction was out of control. I’m going to work on that going forward. I don’t like that I scared you. That really feels bad.” Bucky gazes down between them with regret again. Cherise climbs into his lap, holding him. His arms encircle her warmly.

“Then let’s do something that feels good,” Cherise explains.

Before she knows it, she’s lying on top of him, kissing him, tasting his tongue and letting him explore her mouth, his hands clutching her butt beneath her underwear. She pauses to sit up and remove her tank top. Bucky turns to lead her onto her back. He takes his time kissing and sucking each breast, massaging her hips and thighs, gradually pulling her underwear off. She knew they would have makeup sex. They couldn’t help it. When he starts to go down on her, she releases all the tension of the week from her body, focusing instead on the softness of Bucky’s hair between her fingers, his head between her thighs. On her third orgasm, she clutches at his shoulders, beckoning him up. He had already begun stroking himself inside his flannel pajama pants. He questions her with his eyes, licking his lips, moving to place his head back where it was. He wasn’t going to stop until she was too exhausted for him to continue. But she grabs him, leading him on top of her now. Bucky starts to pull off his pants and suddenly he’s inside of her, the two of them moaning upon penetration.

It was nice to have the house to themselves, silence, the air filled only with the sounds of their shared pleasure and flesh contacting flesh. Cherise’s hands all over his shoulders, his back, his chest, are a welcomed sensation as Bucky pauses in thrusting to kiss her. She grabs needfully at his lower back and he continues, pulling her up so that he’s on his knees in their bed with Cherise straddling him. She meets his thrusts, his arms strong as they support her entire upper body. He could tell from the way her head drops back slightly and her lips part that Cherise is going to have another orgasm. She gazes deeply into his eyes. When he feels her walls contracting rhythmically around him, squeezing him, he can’t last much longer, he carefully but swiftly lies Cherise on her back before pulling out completely and collapsing beside her, catching his seed in a trembling hand. Cherise’s hand on his chest, clutching, causes him to grin. She had turned over, her face in the sheets, panting. She’s muttering repeatedly that she loves him, he turns on his side to kiss her on the neck before reaching for the tissues on the nightstand.

When she finally can breathe again, Cherise is on her side, gazing at Bucky dreamily, looking very satisfied. Bucky rubs her hip, admiring her naked form. Even after having a baby, she’s always still so beautiful in his eyes. He traces her cesarean scar with fondness, finding her eyes closed when he finally looks at her face again. He inches closer to kiss her forehead a moment before turning around to flick off the lamp, pull the blankets up to Cherise’s shoulders, so that they could dream together.

#story #Bucky #romance #fighting #PTSD #original female character #original female characters #Bucky x Reader #3rd omniscient #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #dad Bucky #love #Damn spacing copying and pasting >.<#communication #Ugh I love a man who communicates well!

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lord-explosion-baku · 5 years

Text

Part 2 of Yandere Neko!Shinsou

Neko!Shinsou x Reader

Warnings: yandere, light violence??? Classic case of reader being kinda dumb around a yandere.

A/N: this was rushed as hell and definitely not my best work but🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ I’ll be writing more of the story that’ll get a little more spicy and probably a little gross tbh but please be patient. ALSO, I’m on mobile and for some reason the “read more” cut isn’t working??? So... I’m sorry lol.

“What are you doing?”

You stood against you kitchen counter, shaky hands struggling to defrost the plastic covered frozen salmon in your sink. You tried to focus on the fish and not on the abrupt stranger that has appeared in your house in the middle of the night that had claimed to be your cat. It was… impossible but you’d pulled at his ears, examined his tail, and checked his teeth; everything about him was real… he even had the same beautiful purple colored irises with those slitted pupils. He was your cat but how and why?

After a lot of one sided conversation and a struggle to get the cat-man to wear your pajama pants, you decided that it would be awhile before you could fall back asleep and figured that your pet would be hungry.

You moved the pink slab of meat onto your counter and pulled out a knife. You gave the fish a slice, trying to focus on anything but the looming presence of the strange cat-man behind you.

Just then, he placed his chin on your shoulder, his wispy purple hair tickling your skin. “That’s for me, right?” He asked, right before nuzzling his cheek into the crook of your neck.

“Gah!” Swiftly, you turned around, holding your hands up, still wielding the knife, to keep distance between you and… and Shinsou. So much for trying to focus.

He looked at you with surprise while his indigo ears twitched back as he stared wide-eyed at the knife, his narrowing into slits. Goodness, you didn’t want to frighten him but you were just spooked by the sudden contact!

“Shinsou,” you lowered your hands, resting the knife on the counter, “I’m sorry, but you need to keep your distance! People have… boundaries. And you can’t just pop up behind people like that.”

Shinsou’s ears twitched back and his lips outed subtly. “I thought you knew I was there.”

Ohhh nooo he looked hurt. It was bad enough you threw your shit at him and called him a pervert but now you were threatening him with knives. Whether he was kinda human or still your cat. You bit your lip, trying to figure out what you could possibly say or do to explain yourself and make sure your cat wasn’t upset. He was your cat, right? … Pleasing Shinsou as a cat wasn’t too hard… maybe you could… continue doing what you had done before.

“Hey,” you cooed, trying to sound as the sweetest caregiver possible. Shinsou watched your shaking hand reach up to his hears and in response, they perked up as you began scratching behind them. “I’m so sorry, Shinsou. I don’t mean to be harsh with you. I’m just rattled, is all. This is new for me, too.”

The way your fingers attentively pat his ears made Shinsou melt. You were heaven on earth and it didn’t take long for him to start purring for you, which made your eyes widen for him. Thankfully, you didn’t pull away, instead you moved your hand under his chin and began to scratch upwards. Shinsou’s face flushed, everything he knew he liked as a cat felt a hundred times better as whatever he was now. A human? Neither you nor him could call himself that but at that moment, it hardly mattered. You were giving him the attention he needed since he found himself in another body, and it was everything. You were making him feel so good that he didn’t catch himself leaning down towards you, mouth agape, pupils wide, lost in a dopamine induced trance.

You gave him a funny look as soft purrs rumbled out of his chest and the moment you finally pulled your hand away, albeit, too soon, Shinsou had to put a foot down to stop him from falling on top of you. Before your hand could return to your side, Shinsou grabbed it and, without even thinking about it, bit down on the carpal side of your palm.

You winced and Shinsou noticed, catlike eyes watching you and waiting to see how else you’d respond. He had bitten you plenty of times when he was an animal but that was usually when he was overstimulated. You hadn’t done much to get him there.

“H-hey,” you began, trying to pull away.

Your body heated up when his tongue slid out of his mouth and gave the side of your hand a long lick. You felt prickles erupt in your back!

“Don’t stop,” he mumbled as the blush on his cheeks grew. He brought your hand to the side of his face and rubbed against you, desperately clinging on to the warm sensation you brought him whenever you touched him. “Never stop.”

“I… uhh,” you tried articulating an objection but Shinsou took a step closer to you, his surprising built frame towering over you. You could practically feel the vibrations from the reverberating purrs emitting off his chest so close to yours, the distance between the two of you uncomfortably intimate. “I need to… feed you, Shinsou.”

“Mhmm,” Shinsou smacked his lips together, his purple irises darting from your face to the ignited fish on the kitchen counter. He opened his mouth, expecting you to place his treat in his mouth like you had always done before. You had to repress the need to call him out on his lack of manners. He was a cat, he wasn’t raised like you and it was partly your fault he was so spoiled.

Beside yourself, you catered to the purple haired beast’s whims, placing a tiny slab in his mouth to which he greedily swallowed whole. “Another,” he commanded and again, his mouth fell open.

“A please and thank you would be nice.”

“A what?” He stopped purring.

“People say please and thank you when they want something from another person. It’s only polite. I understand that you don’t know these things, Shinsou, but I’m not here to be your little slave. A little appreciation goes a long way!”

“Appreciation?” Shinsou tested the word on the tongue. He understood most foreign words as soon as he them. “Oh, I appreciate you, human! Didn’t you hear? I love you!”

Your treacherous heart skipped a beat and that embarrassed you. “You don’t have to go that far,” you mumbled, turning back to grab another slice of the fish. “And I told you, my name is Y/N.”

“No, but I do,” Shinsou leaned back against the counter next to you, eyes glued to you even though his food was right in front of him. “You saved me from the cold. You take care of me and pet me… and you love me too. You said so yourself and you can’t take something like that back.”

You bristled at the comment. If he could remember you telling him that you loved him as a cat, then that would mean he could recall everything you’ve done in front of him, whether it be shoving food in your mouth without the cripple of societal eating standards glaring you down, singing obnoxiously loud to your favorite songs, or even changing in front of him. It wasn’t like you had to worry about those kinds of things before! He was an animal! He couldn’t think deeper than eating and sleeping… at least that was what you thought!

“I said I loved my cat…”

“Again, I’m not your cat. You’re my-,” he started but you waved the preposterous statement away. Did cats really believe that they owned humans?

“Whatever, I look after you,” you fired back.

“That you do,” he smirked and languidly turned so his whole body was facing towards you. He opened his mouth and pointed to it. You scoffed.

“Pleeeaaase?” He asked.

When did your sweet cat turn into such a brat? You figured that since he at least learned how to say, you might as well feed him again, just this once but you made a mental note to teach him proper human etiquette later on. He had to treat you at least a little decently until you figured out a way to change him back.

“Mmmm,” Shinsou closes his eyes and enjoyed the salmon that was simply melting on his tongue. After he swallowed, he cracked a grin, knowing that getting you to feed was a partial victory. He reached for another slice, honestly having hands was so convenient, and brought the fish up to your lips. “Now it’s your turn.”

“What! No!” You swatted his hand away and the fish fell to the floor. Shinsou narrowed his eyes before picking the salmon piece up. At first you were worried he was going to eat it clean off the ground but you were happy to see he threw it in the sink. He must’ve seen what you do in situations where food touches the floor.

“What’s the matter, human? You don’t want me to take care of you now that I can?” He clutched his chest. “I’m hurt.”

Where on earth could he pick up such a dramatic move like that from. You shook your head. “I can’t eat that unless it’s prepared correctly. And to answer your question, no, I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“Pffft,” Shinsou picked up a different salmon piece and ate it. It was infuriating!

“Okay, well, it seems like you’re doin’ fine on your own so if you would excuse me, I’d like to go to bed. Hopefully I can think clearly about our situation in the morning.” You stepped out of the kitchen but Shinsou was right behind you.

“Bed?” Shinsou’s tail swished behind him, his ears perked up. What was he so excited about?

“You’re not coming with me,” you said, accusingly.

His ears fell. “Why not? I love being in bed with you.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. “Because, you’re…” you stopped at your bedroom door to gesture at his entire body, “like that! It would be inappropriate for us to share a bed! And besides, you woke me up by… biting my neck…”

“You liked it.”

“What makes you think that?!”

“Because, you were purring,” Shinsou grinned, taking a step closer to you so pressed your back against the door. He leaned down so close to you that he could feel the heat radiating off your darkening cheeks. His pupils dilated. “I wanna make you purr some more.”

“Ohh noooo,” you pushed past him, heading towards your living room. “There will be absolutely none of that!”

You gathered a couple blankets and draped them over your couch, choosing which pillow would suit your cat-not-cat best. Shinsou distracted himself by watching the long switch hanging from the fan whirl around with the manufactured wind.

“Lay down,” you commanded, pointing to the couch. Curious, Shinsou obeyed, awkwardly maneuvering himself into a position that would best fit him, but his joints wouldn’t bend the way they did while he was a cat and he found himself in an uncomfortable fetal crouch.

He looked at you expectedly. “Now what?”

“Oh god, you’re hopeless.” You grabbed on to his legs and pulled them out so they were stretched alongside your cushions and when he looked halfway normal, you threw an extra blanket on top of him. “This is where you’ll sleep tonight. Comfy?”

“No.”

“Well!” You threw your hands up. “There isn’t really much I can do for you right now!”

“You can let me sleep in the bed with you.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“Well then, could you get me a bowl of milk? The salmon wasn’t enough.”

You scowled at the beast who only granted you with a toothy smile. He sat up and gently took your hand, bringing it back to his cheek so he could rub it some more. You really had no idea how to react to the incredibly odd affection. No man had ever rubbed himself on you, at least, not in the way Shinsou was doing right now. But he wasn’t a man at all. He was only doing catlike things, and could you really scold him for acting on his nature?

“Or maybe you can just sleep on this couch with me,” he pulled your arm hard, so you would fall into his lap. Before you even tried to struggle to get up, he wrapped both arms around your torso and nuzzled his head against yours, sending shivers down your spine. He started purring immediately!

“See?” He nipped at your ear while locking his hands together, “There’s enough room for the both of us!”

“No!” You elbowed him in the side and hopped right back up again. You immediately regretted it. The hurt look in Shinsou’s eyes was absolutely heartbreaking. You’d hit him, your cat...

Shinsou moved his body so he was sitting up on his knees, looking up at you with those precious, widened pupils. You were just about to be overwhelmed with guilt before he uttered his next words.

“You’re being so stubborn, kitten.”

Dumbfounded, your brow twitched, aggravated and flustered. He was talking to you as if you were his pet! You had really spoiled him rotten, hadn’t you?!

You clenched and unclenched your fists. You could choose to lash out at him but then you’d have to deal with him not trusting you anymore after you figure out how to turn him back into a cat. You did love him… your cat, so you really wanted to give him the best life. That shouldn’t change just because you could now understand what he’s saying to you.

You turned on your heel. “I’ll get you your milk.”

As you walked towards the kitchen, Shinsou called, “make it warm! … Thank you!”

You flexed your jaw. At least he was trying to be polite…

Unfortunately for you, when you returned with a warm glass of milk you had steamed, Shinsou was no longer in the living room.

That little scamp.

What a frustrating nuisance, you were going to spray that mischievous scoundrel in the face with water when you found him! It was like you were taking care of a child who only looked like a young adult and that made dealing with him so much worse!

You swung your bedroom door open, prepared to throw the cup of milk in your cat’s face but your anger dissipated as soon as you saw him there, laying in your bed. He was on his stomach with a blanket half covering his body, his right hand hanging languidly off the bed while his tail was tucked against his side. Soft snores escaped his mouth that very well may have melted your heart.

You let out a long sigh and set the glass on your side table. Beside yourself and done in by your tiresome night, you carefully crawled over Shinsou, careful not to touch him even a little bit, and tucked yourself against the wall, keeping as much space as possible between the two of you.

Shinsou was like you; it was always easy for him to fall asleep and even if you were aggravated with him and your situation, it didn’t stop him from still being your cute little kitty. You’d lay down your ground rules to him in the morning.

“If you touch me at all tonight, I’m going to throw you out into the snow,” you said, nodding out with a yawn.

Shinsou only responded with more soft snores. Usually when people snored around you, it was hard for you to get to sleep, but Shinsou’s breathing was pretty soothing, just as he had been when he was a cat. It didn’t take long for your eyelids to finally grow heavy and you zonked yourself out.

When Shinsou heard your breathing grow heavy, he opened one eye and turned towards you, sleeping cozy and perfect next him. Shinsou’s tail swished behind him as he started to smirk.

@bluebearcandy

#bnha x reader #bnha #bnha imagine #bnha reader insert #reader insert #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #shinsou x reader #yandere bnha #yandere neko!shinsou #neko!shinsou #neko!shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #yandere #tw yandere #yandere male

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jon-daddy-dominus · 3 years

Text

Kitten's Collar

Chapter, 25

Laying in bed staring at each other, Clint continued drawing random lines, and circles on her back, as they talked.

"I know you said, "you want this too", but I just want to make sure you're not rushing your decision."

"No, I'm sure." She smiled. "But can you explain, what it is about it, that you like so much?"

"Well... I um... I really don't know, why I like it so much. I just do. I guess the the only way i can explain it is... Okay, you know how you say, you like the little things I do? Like washing, and playing with your hair, and rubbing your ass when we're cuddling on the couch? I guess, it's kinda like that for me."

"Oh... okay. Well, I get that. I mean, I know most guys couldn't care less about cuddling, and playing with a girls hair, unless they think it's gonna lead to sex, but I love it. It makes me feel special, ya know? It makes me feel wanted, and if that's what me being submissive to you makes you feel like, then I wanna do it. I wanna make you feel special too, ya know?" She smiled.

"Okay Sweetheart, I just wanted to make sure."

"I know Honey, but I'm sure." She giggled. "But it does go against everything my mom ever taught me."

"How so?" Clint asked, curiously.

"She always used to tell me, "Don't ever let no man tell you what to do, Alexis." and that if one ever tried, I should tell him to, "go fuck his self" and get the hell outta there." She laughed.

"She ever say why she feels that way?"

"No, she's never come right out and said why, but she had me when she was seventeen, and my sperm donor ran off, when she told him she was pregnant. So, I think that may have something to do with her "man hatin" attitude."

"I can understand how that might cause her to have some trust issues with men."

"She might not have trusted them, but it sure didn't stop her from screwin'em!" She laughed. "Cause she had plenty of shitty boyfriends, to treated her like crap, when I was growin up."

Chuckling along with her, Clint replied. "That's not nice, Sweetheart."

"Maybe not, but it's true!" She cackled. "I don't think my momma's ever met a penis she didn't like."

Laughing out loud, Clint yelled. "Alexis, that's fucked up!"

"Well?" She kept laughing. "It's the truth. That's why, if o ever let you meet her, y'all will not be left alone, together."

"Seriously, Alexis? You really think, I would ever let anything happen between me, and your mom?"

"No, I don't think you would, but you're hot, and momma's a hoe, so I ain't takin no chances." She cackled.

"You can be a mean little thing, when you wanna be, you know that?" Clint grinned.

"I ain't bein mean, but we agreed that I'm yours now, right?"

With a devilish grin, Clint growled. "You certainly are."

"So, that means, you belong to me, too? Right?"

"That's right."

"Good." She placed the tip of her finger on his lips, and traced it down his chest, across his stomach, and gently grabbed his package. "And since you're MINE? That means THIS is mine too, and I better be the ONLY ONE getting anywhere near it." She smiled, her cocky little smile.

"Yes Princess, that's yours too." He smiled.

"Mmmrrroooeeewww." Billy-Bob groaned from the kitchen.

"Guess I'm not the only one that's hungry." Alexis giggled.

"I guess I better go feed him, before he go's, and brings dinner back himself." Clint chuckled.

"Yeah, definitely! I'd rather he not bring anymore snakes back." She laughed.

The two, made their way into the kitchen, where Billy-Bob was laying on his back, playfully, pawing the air.

"What're you doin, Knucklehead?" Clint said, walking to the pantry, to retrieve his bag of food.

Quickly flipping over, the large cat bounded to his feet, and trailed Clint through the room, staring up at him intently.

As Clint began to pour the food in the bowl, Alexis asked, "Ain't that dog food?"

"Yeah, but it's all the picky little shit head will eat. I've tried cat food a few times, but he turns his nose up at it. I still try again occasionally, but I ain't gonna keep buyin it, if he ain't gonna eat it."

"Speakin of eatin... I'm hungry." She grinned.

"Of coarse you are, Kitten." He smiled back. "Know what you want?"

"Nope!" She smiled, sliding in close to him, and giving him a quick, peck on the lips.

Wrapping his arms around her, Clint smiled. "Well that's no help at all."

"Ooo... Pasta?" She grinned.

"You want pasta?"

Grinning like crazy, she stared up at him nodding.

"You being mine, is supposed to be about me being in control, but I'm starting to think, I'm just fooling myself."

Still smiling up at him, Alexis asked. "Why you say that?"

"Because that smile will get you pretty much anything you want, from me."

"Awe..."

"No... No, awe... you're cheating." He chuckled.

Poking her lip out, in a pouty face, and using her babytalk voice. "But I thought I was your Princess?"

"That you are, Beautiful." He smiled.

Furrowing her brow, in a pretend angry face, and continuing her pouty, babytalk. "I thought a Princess always gets her way?"

"You're pushing it, young lady." He smiled.

Pushing her lip out, as far as she could, she faked a stutter. "P... p... p... please, Daddy?"

Spinning her around, and gently pushing her across the kitchen, Clint laughed. "Get your pretty little ass outta here. What kind of pasta do you want, cheater?"

Catching herself, and jumping playfully back around to face him, in a wrestling stance, she yelled, jokingly. "Alfredo! Chicken Alfredo!"

"You're a jackass, you know that right?" He grinned.

"Maybe... But you love me anyway!" She said, as she made huge, overdramatic steps toward him, like she was a giant, before taking a long, slow motion, swing at his head.

Grabbing her by the arms, and wrapping them like a pretzel, with her back pressed to his chest, he growled playfully. "Go away Kitten!"

"Never!" She squealed, as Clint began making loud chomping sounds, pretending to bit her neck.

"Do you want Chicken Alfredo, or not Jackass?" He laughed out loud.

"Yes, Sir!" She giggled, spinning out of his arms, and saluting him.

"Then I need to get everything out, and I can't do that with you harassing me!" He grinned. "And the chicken's gonna have to defrost. So, it might take a little while"

"That's fine."

Clint began taking out the items he needed to start their meal. "Sweetheart, will you look in the pantry and see if there's a loaf of French bread on the shelf?"

"Sir, yes Sir." She continued laughing.

"You're such a goofball."

"I know." She said, sticking her tongue out at him.

From inside the pantry she yelled. "Yeah, there's one in here. You want it now, or when we eat?"

"Now, please."

"What'cha gonna do with the bread?"

"I thought I'd make an alfredo bread boat. You know, hollow it out, put the alfredo in it, then bake it."

Alexis stopped in the doorway, and crinkled up her face.

"Oh, stop it. I guarantee you'll like it, and if you don't, you can just eat the pasta, and I'll never make it again." He said, making his eyes big, and sticking his tongue out at her.

"Whatever." She griped, rolling her eyes.

"Do we remember the spaghetti incident?"

"Yes, asshole! I remember the damn spaghetti!" She laughed.

Cutting his eyes at her, he smiled, triumphantly.

"Okay, so anyway..." She said, jokingly, rolling her eyes. "You said the whole, "being yours" thing is mostly about trust, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Well..." She laughed, nervously. "I know curiosity killed the cat, but..." Alexis, propped herself against the countertop, and twisted her mouth to the side, "I was just wondering, if you could tell me, what'cha got in the spare room?"

A big smile, slowly overtook Clints face, and he chuckled softly to himself. "Nosey much?"

Seeing that he didn't seem as uptight about it as she thought he would be, she smirked, and giggled. "Well, yeah! It's been drivin me nuts, wonderin what you hidin in there."

"How bad you wanna know?" He grinned, popping his eyebrows up, and down.

"BAD!" She chuckled.

"How much money you got?" He joked.

"None, I'm broke! I need to carry my butt back to work."

"That's too bad."

"Why?"

"Cash, grass, or ass Sweetheart. Nobody rides for free!" He laughed.

"Well I ain't got no cash, and you don't smoke grass, so I guess we gonna have to work this out, on some kinda pussy payment plan." She joked back.

"Come on, nosey." Clint said, grabbing his keys off the counter, and starting for the hall.

Alexis's eyes grew wide with excitement, as she hurried to catch up with him.

Clint unlocked the door, but paused without opening it. "Hold on, before I open it... What do you think is in here?"

Laughing, Alexis replied. "I don't know, that's why it's drivin me crazy."

"Well, you must have made a few guesses."

"Yeah, but I still don't know."

"Well?"

"Well, what?" She grinned.

"Well, what were some of your guesses?"

"I don't know. They were dumb, and they probably weren't even close."

"I'm waiting." He grinned.

"Ugh... seriously?"

"Mhmm."

"Ya know, you get on my damn nerves sometimes." She said, scrunching her face up, pretending to be mad.

"I know... still waiting."

"Ugh..." She huffed. "Well, let's see? I thought it might be a freezer full of dead bodies. A bunch of security camera stuff. Nothing... I don't know! That's why I asked!" She grumbled, still smiling.

Clints face went blank, and lost all color, as he stood there, just staring at her nervously. "How did you know about the bodies?"

Alexis froze dead in her tracks, and her smile faded away, as she stood there, struggling to read his facial expression. "What?"

Clint didn't say anything, as his eyes darkened, and his breathing intensified.

Alexis's heart rate began to climb, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up. "Okay, I'm freakin out a little bit right now."

Clints voice was low, and serious. "Did somebody say something? Who have you been talking to?"

Alexis's heart was pounding away, as she struggled to remember if the front door was locked, and if her keys were still in her car. "Clint..." she chuckled nervously. "Hun, you're scaring me."

Reaching down, and taking her by the wrist, he growled low. "Alexis, did you go in this room, when I wasn't here?"

"No, babe I swear to god I didn't." She said, quietly.

"Alexis, how did you find out about the bodies?" He growled.

"Baby, I was just joking, it was a guess. I promise." She whimpered, softly.

"Alexis, it's imperative that you tell me the truth, right now. Have you been inside this room?"

"Baby, I promise I haven't been in there at all." She stammered, tears filling her eyes.

Bursting into laughter, "Well I'm glad you didn't see all the dead bodies, I DON'T have hidden in here!"

"You fuckin asshole!" Alexis yelled, ripping her wrist from his hand, and punching him in the shoulder. "You scared the shit outta me! You had me thinkin, you actually had dead bodies in there!"

Wrapping his arms around her, he continued laughing. "Awe... I'm sorry Sweetheart. I couldn't help it."

"No, uh uh, don't "Sweetheart" me, you asshole! I'm mad at you!" She laughed, lightly hitting him in the chest.

"I'm sorry." Clint chuckled, still laughing hysterically.

"You ain't sorry. You ain't even quit laughing, yet." She grumbled, through her laughter.

Composing himself, he said. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry, that was mean. I shouldn't have done..." He went right back to laughing.

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

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971.

5k Survey LX

Is it true that you... 3051. are politically correct? >> I don’t know what this actually means and I’m not inclined to try and figure it out. 3052. are too nice to say how you feel? >> I don’t say how I feel not out of niceness but because I don’t comprehend why anyone would want that information. 3053. don't think the world government affects you? >> The “world government”? What on earth is that? 3054. think that all people who are fat are ugly? >> False. 3055. think all people who are thin are shallow? >> False. For the record, I don’t think of people in general terms like this often at all.

3056. think you are getting solid information from advertisements? >> I don’t pay attention to advertisements. They have nothing to offer me. 3057. don't research the products you use? >> No, I don’t. Not unless I’m given reason to. Otherwise, that’s a lot of time and energy to spend for little return. 3058. believe that the lives of the people you love are somehow more important than the lives of the 6 billion other peeople in the world? >> Of course they’re more important -- to me. That’s how it works. I don’t comprehend how it could work any other way, tbh. 3059. believe that the lives of your country men or woman are somehow more valuble than the lives of people from other countries? >> I don’t care about people based on what country they’re in... it’s about their connection to me, like I just agreed a question ago. 3060. believe your ideas are somehow worth more than the ideas of others? >> Worth more in what sense? Like, my ideas are important to me because... they’re mine. Other people’s ideas can be interesting. Sometimes I adopt them and other times I ignore them and yet other times I’m just neutral to them. I don’t know what else to say about this. 3061. repress things rather than deal with them? >> I try not to repress things. It’s a long-standing habit and I’m working on it. 3062. mindlessly self indulge? >> I don’t mindlessly do anything. 3063. think there is only one right way? >> To what? 3064. think that this one right way could possibly be right for ALL of the 6 billion people on this planet? >> --- 3065. Decide something is UNTRUE just because you don't AGREE with it or you don't LIKE it? >> If I don’t like a fact, then I just don’t like it. I’m not going to declare that it’s not a fact, I’m just going to complain about it. 3066. What do you think of the out-dated chinese custom of foot-binding (tieing a baby girl's toes under her foot, even if you have to break the bone, making her walk with her toes under her foot(or hobble) because chinease men like small fett)? >> What am I supposed to think about it? I don’t think I need to have an opinion about this. 3067. What do you think of plastic surgery? >> Nothing? Like, it’s a thing that exists and people have it done sometimes. What of it? 3068. Is there a difference between foot binding and plastic surgery? What? Are there any similarities between foot-binding and plastic surgery? What? >> The similarity is that they’re both body modification. The differences are everything else, I guess. 3069. Would you be likely to continue reading a book that began: 'It was a bright, defrosted, pussy-willow day at the onset of Spring, and the newlyweds were driving cross-country in a large roast turkey.'? >> Probably not. 3070. If I don't quit smoking then I will sing a song. If I sing a song then I either play an instrument or run a mile. I do not play an instrument or run a mile. Therefore I quit smoking. Is this a valid argument? >> I cannot parse this. 3071. What came first, the acorn or the tree? >> I guess the acorn did. Who knows. 3072. What is surrealism? If you were putting together a surrealist work of art, what would you do? >> I’m sure Wikipedia has a great breakdown on the surrealist movement. I have no interest in being a surrealist artist. 3073. What did you do on Halloween? >> Last Halloween I was in New Orleans on my honeymoon and we went out in ostentatious goth outfits and had a great time. 3074. Some bees have made a comfortable nest for the winter inside your air conditionar. How would you remove the air conditioner from the window? >> The air conditioner is built into our unit, I doubt it’s removeable by the average tenant. The maintenance crew can take care of the bees. 3075. Why is quiet contemplation important? >> I consider it important because it’s a way to sort out my thoughts without having my attention fractured or monopolised by the rest of the world (especially the digital part of the world). It’s important to me to be acquainted with the colour and expanse of my interior life. 3076. Do you spend lots of time in quiet contemplation? How about any time? If not, what distracts you? >> Not lots of time, no. Some time, sure. 3077. What is the lowest you have ever felt? >> Er, low enough to plan suicide? I don’t know how else to answer this? 3078. Who has changed your life dramatically for the better? >> Can Calah. 3079. Is all you christmas shopping done? >> I don’t do Christmas shopping. 3080. Who is the greatest writer you can think of and why? >> --- 3081. Are people either good or evil? >> --- 3082. Can people be BOTH good an evil? >> --- 3083. Is there good in a rapist or a murderer? Is there evil in Mother Thereasa? >> --- 3084. You are in a classroom setting. A teacher has asked for a surrealist project. One person comes in with cards. Each card has a picture. Some of the pictures are a breast, a penis, a urinal, open heart surgery, a woman sucking on a vaccum tube, etc. On the back of each picture is a phrase like 'Fuck you and all of your lesbian fish eating friends' or 'people who speak in metaphors oughtta shampoo my crotch'. The artist asks each person to take a random card, go around the room and at their turn hold up the card with the picture side out and read the phrase on the back. Would you do it? >> This... is legitimately making no sense to me. What the fuck is this. How would you feel about it? What do you think the artist's intent is? 3085. Are you satisfied? >> With what? 3087. How fast do you drive? >> I don’t drive. 3088. What do you want that you don't need? >> All the time in the world to play FFXIV to my heart’s content. 3089. What do you have that you wish you didn't? >> Bills. 3090. What does it mean when someone suggests that you don't own your possessions, they own you? >> As I understand it, they are speaking of the pitfalls of consumerism and placing too much value on acquisition for acquisition’s sake. Or they’re just zealously anti-stuff and probably run a minimalism channel on Youtube. 3091. Where do you get motivation? >> I don’t bother with the nebulous concept of motivation. I just figure out how to work with my brain to get things done without making myself feel like shit in the process. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I don’t. That’s just the way it is. 3092. Did you ever wanna get with one of your teachers? Did you ever actually get with one? >> Considering my fucked-up social development, I don’t think I actually understood what I wanted when I thought I wanted to be intimate with a teacher. Or any adult who showed me positive (or “positive”) attention, at that point. 3093. Have you ever had this happen, where one day you completely believe one thing and the next day you don't believe it anymore? If yes, do you lie about your change of beliefs in order to appear consistant? >> I mean, maybe. Not sure if it happened quite that dramatically; sometimes I don’t notice my own views shifting and it might seem like I just “woke up one day and believed something different” but in reality it was a gradual process that happened behind the scenes. I usually just go along with it and if someone has a problem with me changing my mind then I know damn well that’s their problem, not mine. 3094. Do you hide things about yourself from others? If so why? Is it because you are afriad they will be scared? Or because YOU are scarred? >> I hide things about myself from others because I have trust issues and intimacy issues and have a major problem with vulnerability. 3095. Do you recognize that some part of you is evil or do you feel like you are all good? >> --- 3096. If everyone were flying flags and putting up yellow ribbons in honor of the people who died in a war and someone put up black bows and ribbons all over the top of therir house what would you think? Would you want them to take it down? Why? >> I wouldn’t think anything. I don’t understand why this would even warrant my attention. 3097. Is a foot massage meaningless or does it have implications? >> Yawn. 3098. Are you sick of technology yet? >> No? 3099. After tattoos and piercings, I believe the next big thing will be implants (horns, metal plates, etc) and after that will come genetic alteration (wings, purple skin, etc). Would you have any of this done to you? Would you let your kids have it done? What do you think the next big thing in body modification would be? >> I doubt any of this stuff would be accessible to me (financially, particularly), first of all. I also don’t trust humans enough to let them mess around with my whole ass genome even if it was accessible to me. 3100. What's the most insulting thing you could come up with to say to someone? >> *shrug* I think insults are most effective when they’re tailored to the individual, not just a generic pejorative word or phrase.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

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lilliryth · 4 years

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So I got tagged by @starksclown and I haven’t had a chance to do it, so first of all I’m sorry about that, and secondly, thank you! 🖤💕

***

1. What color is your hairbrush?

White. Has green stains on it that won’t budge. Don’t ask.

2. A food you never eat.

Oysters. I used to love them, but I had some the day that Douglas Rain died and they were probably too old, so I got sick from them. Now whenever I eat them they taste like Grief And Sadness.

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold?

Too warm. Hate that shit. I’d rather be cold any day.

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

Emergency-ejecting my soul out of my body.

5. What is your favorite candy bar?

Cadbury milk chocolate.

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports event?

Nupe.

7. What was the last thing you said out loud?

A groan of irritation at having to defrost a bagel.

8. What is your favorite ice cream?

Cookies 👏 n’ 👏 mother 👏 fucking 👏 Cream! 👏

9. What was the last thing you had to drink?

Warm Diet Coke.

10. Do you like your wallet?

It’s pretty nice.

11. What was the last thing you ate?

Bagels and lox. tHey were s. O good...... *Bursts into tears*

12. Did you buy any clothes last weekend?

Nupe.

13. The last sporting event you watched?

I saw a bit of a fencing match from the 2012 London Olympics on YouTube, recently. Does that count?

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?

C a r a m e l.

15. Who was the last person you texted?

I emotionally texted Kat (clownsxclowns) about how much I love bagels.

16. Ever go camping?

No, but I’d love to camp in the woods someday. It’d be a good opportunity to reunite with something that lives there, we haven’t spoken in a while.

17. Do you take vitamins?

Nope. Probably should, though.

18. Do you go to church every Sunday?

Nope (see: question number 11).

19. Do you have a tan?

From the sun? Probably not.

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza?

Pizza.

21. Do you drink soda with a straw?

I used to as a kid. I had a weird hatred for getting droplets and smudges on the rim of the glass.

22. What color socks do you wear?

It varies too much for me to say, tbh. I like to wear cute graphic socks.

23. Ever drive above the speed limit?

I’ve never driven a car before.

24. What terrifies you?

Losing the things that are most important to me, either by making too many mistakes or someone forcing me to give it up.

25. Look to your left. What do you see?

Purple and white flowers.

26. What chore do you hate?

Daily care of the flesh prison.

27. What do you think when you hear an Australian accent?

🖤🖤💕💓🖤💓💕💕🖤🖤🖤💓💕

28. What is your favorite soda?

Either cream soda or Cherry Vanilla Coke.

29. Do you go into a fast food place or just hit the drive-through?

I prefer the drive-through, yeah.

30. Who was the last person you talked to?

G U N L E T T U C E

31. Favorite cut of beef?

I don’t know enough about Beeves to make that decision.

32. Last song you listened to?

“Eulogy” by Tool.

33. Last book you read?

And finished? Susan Kay’s Phantom. If books I have yet to finish count, the 2018 Halloween novelization.

34. Favorite day of the week?

fridæ, fridæ, gotta get dœwn on fridæ 👁👄👁

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards?

I don’t wanna.

36. Do you like coffee?

I LOVE coffee.

38. Favorite pair of shoes?

A pair of boots that have blue flames on them. I bought them for a Marilyn Manson concert last Halloween!

39. At what time do you’d normally get up?

What’s a Normally??????

40. Which do you prefer—sunrises or sunsets?

Sunrise. Always sunrise. Sunrise means one of two things: freedom or a new chance. Because either you stayed up late as hell on a whim, or you’re just waking up to a day filled with possibilities. Sunsets are too sleepy.

41. How many blankets are on your bed?

Two.

42. Describe your kitchen plates.

They’re white and very pretty.

43. Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage?

Not yet.

44. Do you play cards?

Nope.

45. What color is your car?

It’s gonna be green when I get one.

46. Can you change a tire?

No, but I’m tired of a lack of change—

47. What is your favorite province?

teA,,,,,kettle,,,???????(don’t understand)

48. Favorite job you ever had?

I haven’t gotten my first, yet.

49. How did you get your biggest scar?

Don’t have any tbh, but I think the biggest one is on my knee? I don’t know how I got it.

50. What did you do today that made someone happy?

I haven’t really done anything, yet, but I’m sure that’ll change.

***

Tagging: @jessicanity-sideblog, @fractured-nightsky, @clownsxclowns, @ajokeformur-ray, @justawriterinprogress, @tsukiakarinobara, @arthurflecksgirl. Nobody I’ve tagged has to do this if they don’t wanna, but if you’re interested go ahead!

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purkinje-effect · 5 years

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 44

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 11. Go to previous. Go to next. Stir that pot, Sticks. Stir it up good. TWs: Mental break, mention of past assault.

_________________________________

Sticks came out of the kitchen carrying two steaming hot bowls, one in his right hand and the other balanced on the fold of his right arm. The ghoul set one in front of ‘Choly and one where he’d sit on the other side of the booth. In his left hand he’d carried in a sizable greyish egg slightly larger than a coconut, and he cracked it stiffly into ‘Choly’s bowl with a mindful deadpan. The egg was mostly whites, with a walnut sized yolk. He produced flatware from an apron pocket, and stirred the addition in to create egg ribbons in the opaque pale stew.

‘Choly could identify carrot and corn in the bowl, but little else. He decided not to comment on the one elbow-high leather glove Sticks wore on his left hand.

“What... is this? I know there’s no milk anymore, and it looks so creamy.”

Sticks cleared his throat and straightened, to project an exaggerated Boston accent.

“Squirrel chowder.”

‘Choly did his best not to make a face at the source of the small darkly color meat nuggets.

“...And the egg? That was not from a chicken.”

Despite what Olivia had advised, ‘Choly struggled not to stare at Sticks as he sat down opposite him, between his features and his familiarity. The ghoul still had most of his head of blond hair, though it had thinned out a good bit, and he still could grow facial hair contrary to being covered in what looked like deep wiry burn scars from his radiation exposure. The missing chunk of his upper lip exposed the incisor and canine near it. His dark-sclera eyes glanced off to the side, likely misinterpreting ‘Choly looking restlessly between him and the food as ‘Choly distrusting the food.

“Radscorpion. Wasteland remedy. Perfect for hangovers... and coming down from God knows how many consecutive doses of Day Tripper.”

“A scorpion egg. One. Help me, I don’t know if I want to--” He trailed off in a sputter. “Day Tripper. No wonder I couldn’t even hold up a combat helmet.” He finally held up a spoonful to blow on it, and try it. He appreciated the savory mouthful with a slow nod, brows raised. “Not bad.”

“Used to be one of the only chems I’d touch back in the day. Skate through dicey deals on a rough day. Don’t really touch the stuff at all anymore. ...You know, mouthwash does wonders for a nasty bite like that.”

‘Choly didn’t notice how much he’d been fidgeting and stirred his stew more diligently to cool it.

“I’d sooner pour vodka on it.”

Sticks chuckled.

“If memory serves, you’d sooner pour vodka on just about anything.”

Angel opened the front door, and poked its sensors around it.

“Pray I’m not intruding, but I just wanted to check on you gentlemen.” It rushed in once it saw the food on the table. “Why, you’re not eating the MREs Miss Olivia gave you! Did you forget about them, Mister Carey?”

“Oh, no. No, Sticks insisted on being the hospitable one.” He broke down into snickering. “I’m sorry. Sticks. Sticks?”

“What about it? Sticks set out some hardtack in a kerchief. He soaked a chunk in his stew, and offered some to ‘Choly, who declined it. “Nothing wrong with a ghoul livin’ on the river...” He trailed off to lyrical effect, with a long pause.

“Oh, you nerd. I’ve thought it was S-T-I-C-K-S all this time.”

“It is.” Sticks smiled to himself while he kept the hardtack sunk with the back of his spoon. “...Y’know, this isn’t even close to how I thought I was going to spend my day.”

“And how’s that?”

“A pot of stew, and then work on my refurb project some more.” The ghoul eyed Angel. “Those had better not be off Little Boy Blue.”

“My word, no,” Angel interjected. It proceeded to idly polish at the countertops.

“I could never--!” ‘Choly stuffed his mouth full of poached egg. “What are you restoring?”

“Usually my days are packed with maintenance and repair on my mirelurk traps, but I was gonna kick it easy today and try again to get a car running. I try every few years. Not without its risks, but it’s less dangerous now, being a ghoul. Cracked engines don’t risk a suntan anymore.”

So ghouls were resistant, or immune altogether, to radiation after all. For some time, ‘Choly worked on downing the meal.

“Mirelurk?” the chemist finally asked. “I thought they were called Merrilurks.”

“Oh, it’s like how a wolf spider’s a kind of spider. They’re particularly gnarly as far as Commonwealth crustaceans go. Lowell’s factories and mills used to dump directly into the Merrimack and Concord. And Deenwood, too, of course, but you lot couldn’t just dump straight from your backyard. Pipelines. Nasty stuff.”

‘Choly numbed to having had a source put to the mutated wildlife. The flavors of the stew clung to his mouth and he ran his tongue over its roof repeatedly.

“Are you trying to tell me that something Deenwood made, created those... things that attacked me and Angel?”

“Duller than a spoon.” Sticks clicked his tongue. “You think the base disposed of their waste safely? In war time? The mills were getting converted over to fabricating military textiles like QUARPEL, too, the year the bombs fell. Deenwood kept dumping for decades after the world ended. Wouldn’t be surprised if the General still dumps her project waste.”

‘Choly picked at the morsels in his bowl.

“...You go by Sticks now. I go by Melancholy now, for my degree in opiates. Do you... do you remember the Melancholia? Did I ever make any around you?”

“What, that stuff you drank instead of eating?”

“Yeah, I...” His throat choked him. “I thought maybe you’d remember what went into it.”

“...Melancholy, it’s been two hundred years since I last saw your face. You think I’d remember your recipe just from observing you make it a few times? I’m sorry.” The ghoul took a big bite and patted the table to stand, then held up his hands to suggest ‘Choly stay put. Once he could swallow half of it, he started, “I might not have that, but I do have something else.”

When Sticks vanished upstairs, ‘Choly looked to Angel.

“Oh, Sir, don’t look at me. I haven’t a clue.”

The ghoul returned with a jewelry box. He picked through it and produced a velvet drawstring bag, which he set beside ‘Choly’s food before sitting again.

“Before Gene dragged me out of Sanctuary Hills--the Vault-Tec guy--I took what valuables I could scoop together from the house. Including your stuff. I wanted to be able to liquidate easily. I sold off most of it, but something about selling off those just felt... off. It would’ve been like selling off your--” He stared at ‘Choly’s bars, realizing he still had them, and quietened himself a spell with another mouthful of stew. “--Your uniform.”

“I was just as surprised as you to find it hanging in the Walden Drugs mud room, still in the bag, after all these years.” He sat back to empty the bag into his hand, and the breath fell from him at the sight of his red enamel cuff links returned to him. He turned them in his palm. “My remembrance poppies. I did forget them that morning, didn’t I? J-- Sticks. You... said you took two things. What was the other?”

Sticks gave him a raunchy sneer.

“The lingerie catalogue. You remember, right? Duchesne?”

The two exchanged an ugly laugh.

“No wonder I couldn’t find it.” The chemist grinned insufferably.

“--You looked for it!” The ghoul slapped the table and guffawed.

Because the Pip-Boy forced one rolled cuff, he couldn’t wear both cuff-links, but ‘Choly threaded one poppy through his left cuff buttonholes with a fading smile. Memory of Duchesne from the nightmare the other day elicited a flinch. He started sobering from the chem that had likely been in both his breakfast and his early morning cocktail, and he rubbed at his forehead attempting to draw his eyes back into focus. His head picked up, his jaw askew. “--Wait. If you’re-- wHO DID I FUCK--”

Sticks choked on his food and laughed even harder, punctuating ‘Choly’s meltdown.

“Mindy, you fucked a FERAL? And you thought--” He could barely breathe he was in such stitches.

“I-- I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“No, no. Go on. This is the most entertaining company I’ve probably kept in fifty years or more.” He wiped away tears. “...Christ, I’ve missed you.”

‘Choly could feel himself trembling. His eyes wouldn’t focus, and his ears rang dully. His nostrils tasted like metallic dust filled them. He tries to steady his breathing.

“...You haven’t even the first idea how much I’ve missed you. I haven’t been adjusting well to waking up to all this. I’ve self-medicated with just about everything I’ve put my hands on. Essentially sampled the whole Wasteland... You’re sure you don’t remember what went into my meal replacement drink?”

“Ohhh, if you’ve only been defrosted a few months, you haven’t sampled shit. You wanna fool around with that junk, I can tell you what all to keep your eyes peeled for. And no, Mindy, no. I don’t. I’m surprised you never wrote down something you considered so important.”

After a long pause, Angel piped up.

“Mister Carey has sworn off chems.”

Sticks and ‘Choly made surreptitious eye contact like they always used to, and went back to finishing their meal. Both of them grinned that for as much as everything had changed, the knowing glance of scheming caprice still came as familiar as ever.

They headed out once Sticks shoved the bowls in the sink. He loaded up with canisters of flamer fuel strapped to his legs and back, and strapped a bandolier of Molotov cocktails across his chest. ‘Choly would have never recognized him under the ushanka and welding goggles.

“Hope you don’t mind that we’re going on foot,” the ghoul commented as they continued East on Pawtucket Boulevard. “I haven’t had a car running in years, and your guess is as good as mine whether the river locks even work anymore.”

“After our run-in earlier, I don’t think I’d trust the waterways. ...Man, I just can’t believe you really live right on the water. By all those things.”

“They know to leave me alone.” He shook the nozzle of his flamer. “They hate fire.”

They passed through the intersection for O’Donnell Bridge and continued along the river instead.

“I know it’s cutting it real close to the C.I.T. ruins, but O’Donnell’s always crawling with Merrilurks and hermit crabs. I don’t trust the vehicles I saw. They weren’t there last time I came this way.”

‘Choly’s ears were still ringing, but he’d begun evening out well enough. He steadied his syringer rifle with one hand on the handle, to rub under his visor at his eye sockets.

“Yeah, Olivia mentioned the crabs. I’m not understanding what vehicles have to do with it.”

Sticks held up a finger to hush him, and they crossed the next bridge down, Howe. Once they stood on the Southern intersection across the Merrimack, he pointed to the parking garages.

“Big crabs move into big shells. The tectonic activity from the bombs flooded the hook down into campus. The bottom story of a parking garage like that is perfect for them.”

‘Choly squinted at the building.

“Are you trying to tell me that the crabs are as big as Little Boy Blue?”

“A lot of them are bigger. Saw one take a freightliner trailer once.”

The chemist paled, but the ghoul didn’t laugh at him.

They crossed a single-lane bridge from the Acre into Downtown. ‘Choly had been watching the tick on his Pip-Boy’s map in comparison to their location, and hemmed when they didn’t cut straight East to the next nearest bridge.

“Why not Oullette?”

“It’s out. Cox or nothing.”

They turned right from the ballpark then took an immediate left, and followed the street until they hit a roundabout with a post office. With another left, they traveled down a single street for a ways, crossed into the National Historical Park district proper, packed to the brim with Federalist architecture both industrial and residential.

“Not to beat a dead horse,” Sticks started, his mouth difficult, “but that night, when I pulled a knife on you... I was scared. Like I’d misjudged you. You had a moral compass. Limits. That’s the last thing I expected from a Deenwood chemist. I think I took it, that you were trying to be the better man. The day of the bombs, I really believed you were. My brokering habits have made it hard to cultivate much of a compass of my own, really. I still broker chems in Goodneighbor and Diamond City when I get restless and have to get out of Lowell. To be fair, a lot of the history I’ve got with the Furriers involves chem trafficking, too.”

“I don’t think arguing the morality of things really has a place in the new world order anymore. At least, not the morals of the world that came before this one.”

One couldn’t say he was sorry. The other couldn’t say he forgave him.

“...You’re partly right. The way things have changed, different things take priority. Friends and security are still big ones, though.”

“As ever, I’m sure the big thing is what company one keeps, and how one achieves that security.”

“Amen.”

“Cheers!” Angel agreed. “It’s so good to have the two of you reconciled at last. ...I told you that feral ghoul wasn’t Mister Hawthorne, Sir.”

When Sticks burst into another peal of raucous laughter, ‘Choly flushed and sank down atop Angel with a frown.

They turned onto Bridge Street, and passed the long brick red textile mills to the left.

“I don’t doubt your navigation, Sticks. But if we’re taking Cox, why didn’t we just cut straight down Fr. Morissette? Or Hall?”

The ghoul shrugged.

“Well, I took you a way without any parking garages, didn’t I?”

“You mean all p--”

“--Yes.”

They stepped onto the pale green hybrid truss-cantilever bridge. ‘Choly looked North along the river and could tell the previous bridge across the waterway had in fact fallen out. Angel also looked every which way, and ‘Choly got paranoid when even Sticks felt on edge.

“My sensors indicate we’re being observed,” the Handy informed.

“Yeah, they know we’re coming. That’s fine.” Sticks sighed. “Mindy, let me do the talking when we get there, all right? They know me.”

‘Choly remembered that Jacob had always been the one of theme who cut their deals, and he nodded with a swallow.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Oh, and one more thing.” He held up his gloved hand. “Don’t touch them.”

They get to the other side of Cox Bridge without further comment. The entire area felt like another world, the closer they got to the designated marker on ‘Choly’s Pip-Boy map. The architecture didn’t look like it belonged in this landscape, let alone in the United States. Bizarre organic shapes jutted from the earth, a mixture of earthen material and warped sheet metal. Once they arrived in Voire proper, Sticks waved ‘Choly to dismount Angel, and the chemist walked by cane the rest of the way.

The deeper into the settlement they traveled, they began to notice people in fur and leather garments milling about their daily activities, which included skinning and butchering, weaving, cooking, and the like. They didn’t seem to mind the visitors much, though it looked as though Voire didn’t get many owing that everyone dressed so similarly. Sticks had dropped his guard, carrying his flamer more than wielding it at the ready, so ‘Choly put up his rifle as well.

It didn’t sit well for the chemist, that every single Furrier he’d laid eyes on so far wore Halloween masks. And he didn’t feel confident in his ability to read their silhouettes beneath their large, long coats.

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