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erinwantstowrite · 1 day

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Let me just quickly say, cross-overs can sometimes get REALLY difficult to map out and write in a cohesive way but you have absolutely NAILED IT!! I absolutely ADORE LoF!!! I usually don’t even bother reading fics with the ‘Richard Grayson is Richard Parker’ premise cause I felt like they were super confusing and overcomplicated but this fic?? SUPERB. ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE. OH MY GOD I ADORE IT. Everyone’s characterizations are so nice and wonderful aaaaaaah!!!! <33333

Ok ok I did actually have a question as well: would you be willing to share what your writing process looks like in terms of a chapter you’ve already posted? I was just wondering since I’m also currently working on my own fic (it’s been a few years but I managed to get fixated on an idea and it grew legs lol) and I’m currently fighting the organization of it haha.

How do you keep track of the plot points and/or foreshadowing you want to get a ‘lightbulb!’ moment for later? Do you have any tips?

Thank you so much! I absolutely adore your writing AND your art is so gorgeous omg it adds so much to the incredible story :DDD I hope you have a good day!!

I have a secret: I actually didn't like "Richard Grayson is Richard Parker' tag for a while for the same reason. Sometimes they felt like they missed the mark or it's just. A thing that's there? I almost didn't include it for LoF, but I'm glad I did because it changed the direction in such a big way.

Another secret: this made me incredibly happy because I have read so many wikis and scoured the internet to make sure that I had enough info on both fandoms so LoF could make sense to anyone who's reading it, whether they know Spider-Man, Batfam, or neither at all. Sometimes I worry a lot before I post that I'll miss a mark and will confuse people.

As for the question: I definitely am willing to share what my writing process looks like!

Be prepared for under the cut, I love to yap. It's in my blood to yap. And that's why it took a minute to get to this ask haha

(Spoilers for Leap of Faith!! Everything mentioned has already been published ((Chapters 1-11))

I had to go and find out which chapter I wanted to use as an example and I think we're gonna go with Chapter 5 for the most part :)

My writing process is, as described by alighterwood:

I think the description fits because while I'm all over the place, I have to be very detail oriented and I store everything in one spot.

Starting with the overall process, what I find is most helpful for me, when organizing, is having a notebook rather than doing it all digitally. I've been using a 70 sheet notebook that I had lying around waiting to be used, and as of yesterday, I officially filled the entire thing front to back. It's been an incredible help, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because it's a lot easier to remember something I physically wrote down than it is to remember something I typed. I'm now on to my second notebook for LoF, and I might even have to get a third.

In another ask, startupkat asked me this:

And I shared a little about my outline process there, but I'll try to go into a little more depth here. Emphasis on little because this is so long.

I write a truly insane amount of outlines in this notebook.

This is just what I can show you, but a good chunk of the notebook is just outlines. Over and over and over again. That's because they're always changing/adapting based on so many different factors. Sometimes I get to a chapter I thought I had fully planned out and then realize it just doesn't work anymore. Other times, I get to the chapter and realize I don't want to write that anymore/isn't as interesting as I thought it would be. A few times I got halfway through a POV of a scene I was struggling on and decided to switch POV's, which will change up the outline for a chapter every now and then.

Which is why I don't write incredibly detailed outlines and try to keep it vague until I actually get to that chapter. It's a lot less daunting to rewrite a chapter outline than it is to rewrite the entire outline.

Fic outlines and Chapter outlines look a lot alike.

This is what I said in the other ask, but I didn't elaborate on it all the way.

I make a list just like that, and then I try to put it in chronological order/in an order that makes sense. I keep the Fic outline vague by writing down "Goals" for a chapter rather than scenes. But I also keep notes to myself if I really think something is important. The more important I think a scene needs to be, the more details I write down to make sure my future self recalls what I had in mind when I thought it up.

Really simple example:

Chap 1 Goal: Peter gets to Gotham and meets Babs while running around. Meet Nightwing too? Get shelter.

Chapter 2 Goal: Bats are like "???" about Peter. Batfam dynamic important... Peter stalking Batfam back? Peter meet Batman >:)

When I get to a chapter, that's when I make a far more detailed list of wants/needs/goals. It's the Step 2 from the Step 1. Here are some examples from Chapter 5:

Needed to have:

More POV's from universe 1299 (Peter's home universe)

Tony's POV more specifically, how he's doing/feeling, what he's figured out

What they've figured out on 1299 side vs what's going on in 1300 (Gotham)

Explaining more about Peter's trauma/his past

Dick learning more about Peter, and vise versa

Wanted to have:

Ned being a more central character

Natasha :)

Loki being a little shit

Tony and Cap bickering

Peter talking to Nightwing again

The last name Grayson

Gymnastics!!

(This is the shortened list, because the chapters are so long)

When I looked at this list before writing my outline, I had to figure out how I could incorporate everything. If I needed more 1299 POV's, and I wanted Ned, Natasha, and Loki, there's one scene accounted for. I had to get their side of things and wanted that trio together. I needed a Tony POV, and I wanted Tony and Cap bickering, so those went together, plus I got 1299's POV of Ohnn and his plans explained.

I needed to have Peter explaining more about his trauma, and Dick and Peter to talk/get closer. I wanted a Nightwing POV, to have Peter say his last name, and them doing gymnastics. I knew Peter wouldn't willingly talk about that, so I had him have a nightmare. Not only did it give readers perspective but it made Peter more susceptible to talking to Nightwing because he was more emotionally vulnerable/lonely, and that's how that scene came together.

That's when I would write down the chronological order of these events by writing out "Scene Blocks." (This is what I wrote down but my handwriting was so bad I can't subject y'all to it):

scene 1- Ned talking to Loki. Natasha should be nearby and observing Loki's behavior. They are not on friendly terms. Ned is more worried about Peter than he is as to what Loki could be up to, so Natasha takes on that role.

scene 2- Tony is freaking out about Peter being in an alt dimension. He should attack Ohnn when he's not prepared for it. Beat his ass? Beat his ass. Cap there too.

scene 3- Peter's nightmare. "Ben, where do you go when you die?" "Where do you think?" "With you. Where you went."

scene 4- Nightwing and Peter.

Of course, things come to attention when writing. Like originally, Tony and Cap were arguing in the Tower. But it was a little too much like his and Natasha's argument, and I kept in mind that Tony is smart. Sometimes I forget that the characters are smarter than I am, so I have to account for what they would figure out. So Tony would have picked up the puzzle pieces and come to more conclusions than I originally thought about, and I figured he'd be way more proactive about it than just. Being in the Tower and waiting.

Which means that that scene ended up being as listed above: having a squabble with Cap, learning more about Peter's dynamic with the Avengers in this universe, and seeing how Tony is reacting to it by throwing himself head first into trying to capture Ohnn.

I'll realize I need something else to be mentioned or put in and I'll have to shimmy things around, but that's basically how it goes.

As for other forms of organization:

Keeping a timeline is so important because it tells you a lot about the environment your characters are in. It's also important to remember what a character has on them, what money they've spent, who they've met/who you have mentioned, every alias that is being used, to read your work and write down edits you want to make before you make them, to write down ideas beforehand of situations you can use, and, most importantly: MAKE A MAP!! This has saved me so many times. Sometimes your brain WILL trick you or make it harder on you to envision a scene. Make a map of where your characters are physically!! It will save you too!!

As for foreshadowing and plot points, I'll let you in on yet another secret:

Your subconscious is doing a lot more than you think it is.

Sometimes when I foreshadow something, I didn't even know I was until I got to it. I very often go back to read chapters that came before this to see what I've mentioned and what I haven't, and when I do, I'll see something and go "I have to bring this back" or "I almost forgot about that!"

Other times, I am very aware of what I'm foreshadowing, and that's because I follow a mystery plot formula. You have to keep in mind everyone's intentions, all the time. How are they feeling? What are their motivations? And: what are they doing right now, while this character is doing this?

Like Beck and Ohnn. From the very beginning, I knew I had to make sure that it was obvious Ohnn wasn't working alone. From there, I had to weave through the story and slowly build him up as someone who's working behind the scenes. Even from Ned's first POV, I made sure to mention that this person knows Tony and is tech savvy.

My biggest tip is to make sure you reread your work or at least skip through it, because sometimes you don't even know that you placed something there.

And sometimes, it's very purposeful. :)

I hope this helped! I really tried to keep it short but I am insane and the process is sooooo long. It sounds complicated but it really is simple when you're actually doing it I swear

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steviewashere · 7 hours

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Birthday Blues

Rating: Teen and Up Pairing: Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington's Parents, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson CW: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Abuse, Brief Mention of Child Abuse, Brief Mention of Financial Abuse, Brief Mention of Secondary Original Character Death Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has a Stepdad, Steve Harrington Has a Good Mom, Steve Harrington's Father Being an Asshole, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Emotional Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington's Mom is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington's Birthday, Steve Harrington is Loved, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Hopeful Ending, Bittersweet Ending

Based on my own experience with my stepdad and uh...yeah, that's it, basically. Be kind, I guess? 🤷‍♂️

Also on Ao3 because this shit is long.

🫂————————🫂 He thought his twentieth birthday would come with more fanfare. Maybe not the whole calvary. But something simple. A cake, maybe. A card, possibly. Even just a simple “Happy Birthday.” That would’ve sufficed.

And the problem isn’t with his friends. No. They’ve sent him messages over the walkie since the clock hit midnight on June 29th. Made plans for the next few days. Promised birthday gifts tonight. He wondered if everything was supposed to be a surprise: the gifts and cake and plans. But Robin had already reached out, promised him that she already spoke with everybody, made sure to tell them how he doesn’t like surprises; not after Vecna, not after his ankle had been grabbed.

The issue is with his mom’s boyfriend. His ‘stepdad.’

Nobody really knows much about him. Not really. Nothing above: “He’s an asshole. I don't like him.” Which is…a way to make an impression. But he doesn’t really enjoy talking about him.

The boyfriend came into the picture when Steve was seven. When he was naive and confused about the world around him. When he was used to it just being him and his mom for a while. His birth dad had passed on really young—nothing that could’ve been prevented, but it wasn’t any sort of accident, and Steve doesn’t like talking about it; so he just doesn’t. But the boyfriend came along after so much nothing. After a life half-lived.

He was kind, at first. Interested. Capable. Made Steve’s mom happy. Took her out for dates—which left Steve with a babysitter; then on his lonesome when he turned thirteen—he bought her things, promised the moon, was at her beck and call. He even cared about Steve. Introduced him to the world of Spiderman comic books and baseball games and driving with the windows down. Had been there for home baseball games, Steve’s first piano recital, and for the first handful of birthday parties. He helped, when there was nothing. He helped, even when they had everything.

Then came the alcohol.

Steve remembers it clear as day. The vacation they all took together. They’d taken a plane from Indianapolis to Seattle. And it was sort of cool, Steve figured. The hotel with the indoor pool and the double-wide beds and the really nice view over the tops of tall apartment buildings. It was the first of many trips; one of the last Steve went on. What came with the nice hotel, though, was a bar and grill down at the lobby.

And sure, it was a time for celebration. Of sorts. They were heading out for Disneyland, Steve had been wide awake since the night before, his mom had bought them matching shirts so that nobody got lost. It was ideal, fun, what say you. But then the boyfriend came upstairs, a cup of something sticky in his hand, and a glaze to his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“We’re celebrating,” he had slurred, “it’s alright, just for the night. Let’s have some fun.”

It didn’t stop there, though. Steve hadn’t known why at first. But then came the arguments over the next couple months after that decision. When the recycling bin was full of more beer bottles than empty containers of yogurt. When Richard was slurring his words earlier and earlier in the evening. When he’d sleep a good amount of the day, try and right himself from work, barely talk to anybody when he came back, and already had a bottle in hand by the time conversations started. The arguments were unrelenting, though. He could hear them through the floor of his bedroom: “Laura!”, “Richard.”. A few tense moments would pass after Laura, Steve’s mom, would say that name. Steve would leave his bed, in all the right spaces to make sure it didn’t creak, and settle himself by his bedroom door—where he could open it a crack just to hear, just to know, in case something happened and he had to go down there. Then, she’d speak again. Quiet and wet and calm, “I wish you would stop. If not for me, do it for Steven.”

Steve would hold his breath. Waiting. His mom never called him that, not unless he was in trouble, not unless she was serious. And his stomach turned at the thought of it. She’d call him Stevie otherwise, all soft and sweet and soaking—akin to the sugary butter at the bottom of a freshly made cinnamon roll. He liked that. He loved her. He loved Richard, despite all of this.

Until, finally, Richard spoke. “Is that supposed to make me care?” He questioned with ire. “He isn’t mine,” he eventually spat. And then he stormed to their bedroom—downstairs on the first floor, just off of the living room—slammed the door.

His mom wept that night, Steve could relay if asked. And he had been too tied up in his own awful sadness to go downstairs and comfort her. It wasn’t the last time. Wasn’t the last slammed door, or argument, or soft cry; for either of them. At least Mom loves me, he had thought, at least she’s mine.

With the alcohol and that understanding of absent love and those arguments, Steve would instigate them, too. He’d pick fights if only to get Richard to leave the house quicker. He’d scream and spit and stomp his feet, if only to get time alone. He’d even get fussy with his mom. Because if he could be an ass, get them both to be angry at him, maybe Richard would stay off of her for a little while. Maybe he wouldn’t drink so early. Maybe he’d have to have a conversation about “Steve’s antics.” It only made him more distant. It only made him angrier.

And with all of that in mind, he stopped the birthday celebrations. He stopped caring. He stopped saying “I love you,” when Steve went to bed. He stopped being a dad.

Because Steve wasn’t his. And he wanted to make sure the whole world knew it.

In comes his twentieth birthday, though. And he thought, maybe, that Richard would care. That he’d do something similar to when Steve was a kid. Make pancakes and wake him up with a soft knock to his door and sing the birthday song. He supposed, though, that that was all so foolish. That he wasn’t a little kid, so why would Richard do any of that? Maybe to prove himself, that’s something. Maybe care at all.

His mom had said something at midnight. Then again at nine in the morning. Then again over scrambled eggs and bacon. Made plans. Ushered a card full of cash and the Duran Duran album he didn’t have yet, Notorious, on cassette into his hands. He thanked her, kissed the top of her head, and put his things away upstairs. Richard still had said nothing. In fact, he was snoring through the wall. And the evidence of his latest binge had been scattered across the kitchen countertops before making it to the recycling bin; Steve should know, he had to put them in there and his hands came away smelling of cheap beer—it’s not even the good stuff, how can he drink this shit, he asked himself.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore. Sure, his chest caved in something funny. And his throat sort of went dry. He went to his car, though. And he drove off to where Robin had told him to go. To Eddie’s new double-wide trailer, a damn replica of his old one on the outside. Where everybody was already parked and waiting. Hanging out outside, sodas and…beer in hand.

He took a steadying breath and forced his way over to them. Let them shout ‘Happy Birthday’ at him. And then he took a seat by Eddie. He was in a pair of loose black basketball shorts, a white t-shirt, and barefoot. His hair was piled up. And he was drinking.

“Hey baby,” Eddie greeted. He leaned over the side of the sofa they were on, dug around in what Steve assumed was a cooler, and held out a weeping beer can. “Technically, it’s not legal, but I’m not going to tell anybody.”

Steve eyed it for a few long seconds. Enough that Eddie’s hand wavered, the beer threatening to fall to the floor. He looked back up. “No—uh—no, I don’t want that. Can…I’m going to sound like a dick, but can I make a request?”

Eddie put the beer away with a sidelong glance. He furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s your birthday, Stevie. Of course you can make a request.”

“Can we put the beer away? I don’t…It’s making me uncomfortable.”

Another odd glance to Steve, Eddie gave. His mouth pinched. He swished his near empty can in his hand. How many has he had, Steve wondered briefly, some weird pulse of panic in his belly. “Sure,” Eddie agreed slowly. “You going cold turkey or something? Could’a sworn you had one the other day when I saw you?”

He watches Eddie stand up briefly, pour out his beer over the side of the porch, and then place it in a clear garbage bag that’s been tied to the railing. There’s already three or four beer cans in there—Steve knows that’s what they are, they all say Miller and the cans the kids have are bright red or green. He looks back to Eddie’s face when he settles down again, an arm thrown over the back of the couch, hair falling loosely from his bun, sweat on his brow, sweat or beer on his upper lip.

“I just don’t want people drinking today, please.” And he feels kind of silly. Having to explain himself.

But Eddie’s hand curls down from the back of the couch, dangling loose at the back of Steve’s neck. Fingers trailing over the top notches of his spine. “You got it, sugar. I’ll have Robs put it away inside, okay?” Steve nods loosely, lets Eddie holler out, and relaxes into his side.

The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly. There were gifts: hairspray from Dustin, some artwork from Will, a new basketball from Lucas, matching shirts from Robin, a book he’d asked for from Eddie, and cards from the others who couldn’t find something in time or afford anything. He’s thankful for it all because it’s more than he expected. And there’s cake, his favorite, German chocolate with Ferrero Rocher candies on the borders; “Nance and I made it,” Robin explained and he gave her a knowing look.

It was all so normal. So good. So sweet.

Just like it had been last year. Even the year before that. And the years prior, when it was his mom and Tommy and Carol and Nancy. And the years before that, when it was Richard and his mom.

He really wants to cry about it.

When the party dwindles down, it’s just him and Eddie. Eddie’s putting out the last of the recycling and cleaning up some dishes, to which he adamantly refused to let Steve help with. And so Steve takes advantage, using the new phone.

He dials his house number and waits as it rings for his mom to pick up.

“Harrington household, Laura speaking,” she greets, her voice…nasally. Unusually so.

“Hey Mom,” he greets back, “it’s…Well, you know it’s Steve. Just called to…wanted to check-in. How’s everything going?”

She shuffles on the other end. Clears her throat. Sniffs. “He’s not going to say it, Stevie, I’m sorry,” she says, voice unreasonably apologetic. “I tried to get him to at least call this number you gave me, you know for your Eddie friend. And he…he just scoffed at me. Said some things, you know how he is.”

“Oh,” he mutters. His voice must do something weird, because Eddie’s slowing his wash on the dishes, leaning further into the counter edge to look at Steve. “Are you okay?”

“It’s the usual, Stevie. It’s just—“ She sighs, a great heaving thing. “—Just the usual. He’s already out to the store. Took the last bit of my cash for it; he spent all his own. Left me here with microwaved leftovers. Might turn in early.”

“I can give back the bit of cash you gave—“

“No,” she rushes. “No, Stevie. That’s your money. If it came back to me, he’d probably take it anyway. Don’t worry about it, alright? Just…If your friend can let you, I think you should stay the night there. Richard’s…he’s got the whiskey out from the den. Just stay with Eddie for now. I’ll take you out tomorrow for cake, okay? We’ll make a little date out of it. Just us. Like it was…Like it was before.”

He stands still for a moment. The phone cradled in his hands by his ear. Her words ringing out so loud, yet so soft. He really wants to cry about it.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters in his silence, “I’m sorry he ruined this for you.” She shuffles again. Probably got one arm wrapped around her waist, stepping to the side in her slippers. Like she always does when she has to call her sister about…him. She sighs again. “I’d leave him if I could. God, Steve. I would create whole galaxies for just us to live in if I could. I wish I knew how to fix this. I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“It’s alright, Mama,” he whispers, utterly broken. “’T’s alright. We’ll do cake tomorrow, yeah? I’ll pay for us to get milkshakes for old times sake, right? Like…” He swallows. Murmurs, “Like before.”

Just off to the side, Eddie’s inched closer. The dishes completely abandoned now. Steve doesn’t want to look at him, thinks he’ll break down if he does. But his body heat is welcoming, wrapping around him like a warm hug.

“Like before,” she echoes. Sniffs. “Just heard the car outside. I’ll…Call me in the morning, okay? I’ll let you know how tonight went. I love you, Stevie. I love you, don’t forget that.”

He takes a breath, it stutters like the skip over a scratch on a record. “I love you, too,” he breathes out. “Be safe,” he murmurs, “you have the address if you need to get away. Or…call me if you need me to get you.”

“I’ll be okay,” she mutters, a wisp of a smile to her voice. “Now, you go have fun. Tell Eddie I said hi. And that…Tell him I say thank you for keeping you.”

They share their goodbyes almost hastily. Right as her words fall through the receiver, the front door seems to open, and the phone is hung up before he can chance anything else. The dial tone is blearing in his ears. He keeps the phone cradled close, like maybe she’ll reach a hand out through the speaker and caress his face. Kind of wants her to.

And he doesn’t have the chance to stop himself from crying. Trembling where he stands. Tears streaking hot and fast down his cheeks, over his jaw. He doesn’t make a noise, but it’s a near damn thing.

“Baby?” Eddie calls softly. He takes a hesitant step forward. And he’s closer than Steve thought. Right at his left side. His hands reach out and take the phone from Steve, hanging it back up. He wraps his palms over Steve’s biceps, barely turning him. “Sweetheart?” He calls out again, softer this time. Bending down just a little to make them stare at each other. He moves up to Steve’s face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs working over the tears. “’S everything alright?”

He sobs something little at that. Closing his eyes so he can’t see Eddie. “He’s so selfish,” he manages to cry out, “Why doesn’t he care?”

“Who, sweetheart? Who’s ass do I need to…” Steve finally stares back. And whatever it is that’s there, Eddie seems to understand. “Oh,” he coos, “oh baby.” In a flurry of movement, Steve is pulled in tight and close. Haphazardly dragged back to the sofa and plopped down almost unceremoniously, if Eddie weren’t holding him so carefully. There’s a palm at the center of his back and one on his head. Both of them firm and welcomed and warm.

“He—Just—He just doesn’t,” Steve hiccups between breaths, “Never—Never cared.”

Eddie shushes him gently. Leans back against the armrest behind him, and pulls Steve on top. His face is tucked into Eddie’s left shoulder, where it’s awkwardly stuffed between the armrest and the backing, and he just cries.

There haven’t been a lot of moments where Steve’s cried over this. Maybe once or twice when he was in high school, but that’s about it. Otherwise, he was getting it out through anger or ignoring it altogether or trying to talk it out with his mom. So many conversations and so many arguments and so much just shoved inside his chest. He thinks if he weren’t getting it out right now, soaking the fabric of Eddie’s white shirt, he’d probably burst at the seams, maybe teeter, fall right off the deep end into something murky and thick. He’d probably die from it. Have a heart attack, maybe, like his dad did.

When there’s nothing more to cry out, he just breathes hot and heavy and choking over Eddie’s shoulder. “I’ve got you, baby,” Eddie murmurs, fingers petting through Steve’s hair, “we’ve got nowhere to be right now, okay? You can fall apart here, I’ll still catch you.”

He sniffs. “I just…I just want him to love me,” Steve admits quietly, “To think of me as his kid and to want to do better and to just be somebody I wanna be around.” His arms wrap snuggly around Eddie’s waist, pushing himself further into the hold of their bodies.

“Can I ask something?” Eddie asks gently.

“You just did,” Steve murmurs, voice crackling with the joke. It’s almost hollow coming out of his mouth.

But Eddie snorts anyway. “Okay…Fine. Two questions. Does this have anything to do with the whole beer thing earlier?”

Steve stiffens, brain fighting to find an excuse, but he figures it’s best to just be honest. Even as shameful as it seems to be some days. “Yeah,” he sighs, giving in. Swallows harshly, his jugular moving over Eddie’s shoulder, the sharp outline of the joint against his neck. “Yeah, it does. He drinks like everyday. Sometimes he…some days he doesn’t, claims he’s stopping for good, says he won’t pick it back up. But then he’s doing it the next day and I—“ He shrugs where he can move. “I just don’t get it, I guess. And I…I try so hard to not think of him badly, y’know? He’s probably got shit he’s working through. But it’s almost everyday, Eddie. He’s almost always drunk. Always arguing with my mom. I can hear him through the floor of my room,” he admits. “I want to feel bad, but the way he treats me—the way he treats my mom—“

“How does he treat you? Just focus on you right now, Steve.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes a harsh sigh through his nose. He can’t bring himself to pull his head up, to look Eddie in the eyes. “I want to feel bad,” he repeats slowly. “But he’s so awful. He’s not a good person when he’s drunk, Eddie. He just riles me up, argues with me, tears me back down. That sort of shit.” Steve shifts, rolling his head over onto Eddie’s chest. The depth of his breath under Steve’s ear.

“He told me to go fuck myself the other night,” Steve murmurs, “I don’t know why, but that like…It solidified in me the fact that he doesn’t love me. I don’t know why I expected him to tell me happy birthday today. Why he’d choose this year out of ‘em all to finally be the person I expected him to be. Just my stupid brain, I guess.”

Eddie’s arms tighten around him. Hands petting over where they rest. “It’s okay to be disappointed, Steve,” he carefully states. “You wanted the best for him and he let you down, tore you apart in the process. You needed him to be your dad and he’s made no effort, it’s not…You’re not stupid for wanting that love.”

“He used to be so nice, Eds. I used to love him. I want to love him, but he makes it so hard. God, that makes me sound like such a terrible person, to admit something like that out loud.”

“No, Stevie,” Eddie immediately says. “You’re not a bad person for wanting to love somebody. And you’re not a bad person for refusing yourself to love them. He’s hurt you, Steve. And you’re allowed to feel how you need to.

“And…” Eddie’s hands clasp over the middle of Steve’s back. Heavy and sure. “From experience,” he musters, “with my dad, sometimes you just gotta let go of that love. Sometimes you just gotta tell yourself that it’s not possible. Because…honestly, in some ways, it is impossible. My dad had every opportunity, and yet he chose alcohol and drugs and crime over me.

“I miss who he was…Before my mom died. I miss his laugh and his hugs and our inside jokes. Miss the way he used to play guitar and the late night drives we’d go on. I miss when he taught me good things, like catching lightning bugs in our palms and how to make a good smash burger and how to tell entertaining stories.

“I don’t miss him now, though,” Eddie confesses quietly. The words almost lost in Steve’s hair. “He hurt me in irreparable ways. Mentally and…and physically. But what got me through the worst of it, before I came here, was knowing there were other people out there who’d love me. Who love me and continue despite who I am or what I’ve experienced. Like Wayne. And my grandma, at the time. My friends; Corroded Coffin especially.

“I could spend a million lifetimes unloved by my dad, but at least it’s the real love I was surrounded by. Sometimes people are so damaged that they like it, they like the cracks they can trace and the anger in their blood, they almost enjoy it—they usually don’t get better. My dad was that way. Even when he quit the couple times he did, he always found his way back to that alcohol, those drugs.” Eddie’s fingers absentmindedly trace over the notches of Steve’s spine. His breath a little heavier, a bit raspier. And Steve is absorbing the words. “Sometimes people want to get better and they don’t know how. And that’s when help is needed, outsourced hands, intervention, that kinda shit.”

“We’ve tried,” Steve breathes heavily. “My mom and I have tried so damn hard, Eddie.”

“What’s he usually say in response to that help?” Eddie asks quietly.

Steve takes a deep breath. Sighs, “That he doesn’t want it.” He slowly brings his left hand to Eddie’s chest, tracing figure eights over his shirt. “I wish he’d want it. I—He was my dad for a little while. Now I just live with a stranger.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Eddie murmurs, “for what it’s worth. I’m sorry you’re going through this. That you’re still going through this.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not, Stevie. Things don’t have to be this way.”

“It has to be fine,” Steve mutters, “there’s no other way right now. I can’t leave my mom. And my mom can’t leave him. And he won’t stop.”

Eddie takes a careful breath. “You can leave, though. Steve, you’re an adult, you can go,” he softly states.

“I’m not leaving my mom,” Steve snaps lightly. He sniffs, the last of those tears and snot receding. “Sorry,” he breathes. “I just can’t do that to her, Eds. She wouldn’t do it to me. I’m not gonna do it to her.”

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, “then, look at me, sweetheart.” Slowly, careful of the slight tension in his neck, Steve raises his head and stares down at Eddie. There are tear tracks on Eddie’s cheeks. A sheen to his eyes. And Steve begins to reach up, but Eddie holds him down tightly. “You, Steve Harrington, are loved by people who want to do right by you. You, Steve, will have love in so many corners of your life. The love that Dick has isn’t for you and it definitely isn’t for your mom.

“I love you, you hear me? And Wayne does. Hopper does. There, that’s two dads. Your mom loves you, too. She loves you with her whole soul. And you’ve got your friends, Robin and Dustin especially. And you’ll have more, Stevie,” Eddie explains gently, his fingers going back to trace along the edges of Steve’s spine. “I can’t fix things, I’m sorry. And I’m not sure how things turn around. But they will some day. I know it because I lived it. We can’t figure it out right now, but we’ll find our way some time down the line. Focus on the people you’ve got right now, though, Stevie. Not him. He ain’t worth a rat’s ass.”

Steve snorts wetly. His lips tremble and his eyes ache something fierce. He’ll cry forever at this rate, but at least Eddie’s hands move to his cheek, at least he wipes the tears away. “I love you, too,” he breathes. “And I’m sorry that you have to know all this shit. That you had to go through that.”

“I’ll figure out a way to know how to get you through it, too,” Eddie murmurs, smiling softly, his eyes moments away from leaking. “But you’re loved. He ain’t worth it. Don’t go searching for something you ain’t gonna find.”

He drops his head back down and burrows under Eddie’s chin. At least he found this. “When I’m ready to go, will you have space for me?”

“Always and forever,” Eddie rushes to answer. “Remember, baby? You fall and I catch you. You come knocking on my door, I’m gonna answer it. And if you climb in bed with me, I’ll hold you close and never let go.”

Steve nods gently, pushing himself in further. He sighs. “Thank you,” he mutters. Eddie squeezes him in. “My mom said hi and thank you, by the way. Remind me to call her in the morning? I wanna make sure I get her before he wakes up.”

“You got it, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, “now let’s get ourselves to bed before we fall asleep on this couch. Gotta be comfortable, don’t we?”

He huffs. “But you’re comfy.”

Eddie snorts. “I love you and I don’t want you to be sore. Come to bed with me?”

Steve wriggles. “Okay,” he relents. “Because I love you and I also don’t want you to be sore.”

And, he supposes, because he's loved.

🫂————————🫂 Sorry if this sucked, I wrote this with a raging migraine and have no grasp on how shit it is. Whoops.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington's parents #steddie #angst and hurt/comfort #read the content warnings #cw alcohol #cw alcoholism #hopeful ending #bittersweet ending

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heygerald · 1 day

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Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 7

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When Parker starts to let go of her initial assumptions about a man that makes a lasting impression, she starts to see that there's more to him than meets the eye. Yet, she can't help but wonder, why does he insist on acting like an asshole?

Read the story here: prev / ...

Parker was dying.

Had to be, anyway, because her organs felt something like slushy-mud water inside her chest, and there was something pounding against her skull that made it hard to think. She couldn't remember the last time she felt like this—her own birthday, maybe—and though she didn't put a lot of emphasis on her own personal health, she was certain that this time she was dying.

Really, really dying.

"I fucking hate Colt," she muttered, cheek pressed against the cool kitchen counter as an antacid tablet dissolved in her cup of water with a looming zzz. It almost hurt to watch, and when half the tablet broke into a chunk to send a torrent of bubbles up to the surface, Parker grimaced. "...blonde bastard."

Her sentiments went unheard in the empty kitchen.

It was still early, and her body ached to return to the couch. It wasn't comfortable by any means, worn in all the wrong places with scratches lining the surface, but it was horizontal, and it didn't involve sorting through books while greeting customers. If she hadn't been so adamant about setting three alarms the night before, Parker surely would have left the bookstore locked up all day.

But, as it was, she needed money, and a Saturday was too good a day to be an irresponsible property owner. So, here she was, crying on the kitchen counter watching her antacid dissolve in hopes that it would miraculously cure a hangover.

She grimaced at the sticky dryness of her mouth.

In hindsight, that last beer probably hadn't been the best idea.

And, in further, more truthful hindsight, neither had been the beer she drank after that one in the parking lot while waiting for their Uber. It had been Dan's challenge to do it under thirty seconds, prompted further by Colt's off-key acapella rendition of We Are The Champions, and though Parker wasn't good at many things, shotgunning a beer was something she was good at.

Who was she to waste a talent?

Her stomach turned at the thought, and she was in the middle of contemplating puking all over Colt's kitchen, when footsteps approached her from behind.

"Well, you look peaky."

Parker groaned low and deep while pressing her face further against the kitchen counter. Jodi offered an amused smile before moving towards the fridge. Despite yesterday, she looked good. Bouncy skin, tousled blonde hair, Colt's t-shirt that didn't so much hang as it laid against her thin legs. Oh, and the happy features of someone that were clearly not suffering from a hangover.

Bastards, Parker thought glumly, the both of them.

"Want some?" Jodi asked, jug of orange juice in hand. She had the benevolence to at least look tired. Though, not nearly enough in Parker's opinion.

"D'rather have a lobotomy," Parker muttered.

Jodi somehow managed a smile and a wince at the same time. "You did drink a lot," she said. The idea of drinking anything had Parker paling, and Jodi quickly moved past it to add, "but it was really fun. I think everyone enjoyed it."

She wasn't particularly in the mood for conversation, but Parker supposed the more she talked, the less she had to think about making herself presentable for work, which meant the less she thought about work itself, so she did her best to tamper down her headache with a slow sip of her water.

"S'definitely better than last year's," she said. There was sunlight streaming through the kitchen blinds, and while Jodi didn't hesitate to pull them up, she responded by pulling her sweatshirt hood further down over her eyes. Another inhuman noise, before, "thanks for helping plan it."

Jodi beamed at the gratitude.

Though, Parker noticed with a growing self-hatred, the Englishwoman seemed to do that naturally. "I'm just glad that I could pitch in. It was a lot of fun. I've never played paintball before."

"Really? Coulda' fooled me. I think my welts have welts."

"Oh," Jodi said, hiding a giggle behind her glass of orange juice. "Sorry about that."

Parker got the feeling that Jodi wasn't very sorry at all. In fact, from the way Jodi and Colt had tore it up on the paintball field, Parker had a strong suspicion that the woman was just as competitive as the boys were.

Waving a hand at her, she said, "don't be sorry. You won, afterall."

"Oh, did we?" she chirped. "I barely noticed."

"Hmph."

"I didn't hit you too hard did I?" she asked, actually sounding curious as she leaned onto the counter.

There was a very large bruise on Parker's back side that would argue differently, but Parker instead shook her head. It sent the room spinning, however, and she just as quickly had to lay her head back onto the counter. "Had me a little scared out there, though. If anyone on set has ever given you shit before, you should just take a paintball gun with you to work."

Jodi laughed. "There are one or two," she said. From the look in her eye, it was obvious she could name them, but she didn't. Instead, her eyes darted to Parker.

"Ah," she said. "Well, you had your chance yesterday to shoot him too. I hope you took the opportunity."

At the joke, Jodi seemed to relax a bit. Her mouth tugged into a crooked smile as she popped some bread into the toaster. "I tried, but he was a little harder to get than I thought he would be..."

Her voice trailed off, and Parker arched a brow. "What?"

"Er, well, I guess I was a little surprised that you invited him. We all were, I think."

Unbidden guilt crashed down onto Parker's shoulders, and she caught her face in her hands. "I know, I know, I'm sorry... It was a last minute thing. He had stopped by the store and then we were just talking and, well, I don't know..."

Jodi's back was to Parker, but she peeked over her shoulder with curiously arched brows. "I didn't realize you were friends. Certainly not after that introduction on set."

Just the thought of that introduction had Parker grimacing. Worse still was the realization that somehow, somewhere in her mind, that Tom was in no way connected to the Tom she had brought alongside her last night. It was as if they were two totally different people, and the reminder that they were actually the same person had her stomach rolling.

Or, that could have been the hangover. Whatever.

Parker picked at a loose thread on her hoodie. "Was Colt upset?"

"That you brought Tom?"

"I didn't ruin the night, did I? I know that he can be a total prick, and that everyone else has bad feelings towards him from work, but... well, I guess I was hoping that everyone else enjoyed last night as much as I did. I mean, I know he's a prick, but he's at least okay to be around sometimes."

"Can you remember?" Jodi teased from beside the coffee maker. It beeped as she fiddled with it, before she was puling mugs out of the cabinet. Obviously, she had been here before.

"Does Colt hate me?"

Her smile was soft and graceful. "No, he doesn't hate you. I'm not sure he could, if I'm honest. He talks about you a lot, you know."

Parker didn't think that was necessarily a good thing, but she wasn't about to scold her brother for talking about her on dates. Not when he was actually going on them and she was at home marathoning trashy reality tv.

"And, as for last night," Jodi continued, "everyone did have a lot of fun. No nights were ruined."

"Not even...?"

"The Uber driver was actually quite nice about it," she said, skipping over the issue entirely. A good thing too considering the thought of last night made Parker woozy, and she certainly didn't want to relieve that car ride home. Or the two stops they had to make for her and Colt to throw up on the side of the road. "Honestly... I was pleasantly surprised."

Parker frowned. "By the Uber driver?"

"By Tom," she corrected with a laugh.

"Really?"

Jodi shrugged. "Granted, I don't know him nearly as well as Colt, and he was an awfully sore loser. I mean—really awful—you should have heard him after paintball."

"Oh, I did," Parker said. "I just blocked it out."

"And yet..."

Parker arched her brows.

Jodi smiled, then shrugged once more. "He wasn't nearly as bad as I thought he would be. Losing, I mean. He didn't threaten to fire anyone or sue anyone—"

"Speak for yourself," she muttered under her breath, cup of liquid antacid looking more unappealing by the second.

"And by the end of the night... well, I think he was actually getting along with some of the others. Not really well, mind you. He is still a prick."

Parker snorted. "I don't think anyone was doubting that."

"But a manageable one. It actually felt like he was hanging out with us, you know, rather than dictating on set."

Parker tried not to sound too hopeful as she tugged on her thread. "Yeah?"

Obviously, she failed, because when Jodi smiled there was something conniving to it. Something suspicious twinkling her eyes. Yet, the woman didn't dig in deeper. Just moved on. "He might not admit it, but I think Colt was more pleased than he let on when Colt said he was a great stuntman. I was too. Mind you, on our last film, Ryder asked Colt if he could get a jaw implant to look more like himself."

Parker made a face. "Yeah, I heard about that."

"I think this was the first time he ever complimented Colt. In, like, a decade of working together. Can you believe that?"

She could. The guy was a prick. But also, Parker didn't want to believe it—struggled to envision that as the same guy that had come to her bookstore twice now—and so she sipped her water so she didn't have to respond.

Jodi, however, noticed all of that. "Since when have you two been friends?"

"Friends? We're not—it's not—we just... know each other."

"Hm," Jodi hummed, clearly not buying it. "Yet you brought him to Colt's birthday party. And apparently you talk."

"I don't plan when he come to the store," she said defensively.

That surprised Jodi, and as she filled the mugs up with coffee, she said, "oh. When you said you were talking I didn't realize you meant in person. You literally dragged him to the birthday party, then."

"I wouldn't say I dragged him," Parker muttered as she accepted a mug. The coffee was low quality and definitely burnt from Colt's stupid machine, but just the smell of it had her feeling better. She cradled the steaming hot mug between her hands with a deep inhale. "What did you think I meant?"

"I thought you meant you were talking on the phone."

"Colt told you about that? It's so weird. I still have no idea how he got my phone number," she mused, chancing a sip. It burned her tongue immediately, but Parker didn't care. She was not a morning person, and didn't function this early unless she had three cups of coffee. Hangover or not. "The prick."

Jodi hedged from her cup of coffee, but didn't say anything.

Parker shrugged. If Jodi didn't want to rail on Tom Ryder being a prick, that was her decision. Moving on, she added, "anyways, I really did appreciate your help with the party, even if I ended up fudging the team numbers by lugging Tom along. You were a life saver with getting everyone's phone numbers."

Whatever Jodi had been thinking passed over, and she smiled. "Yeah, of course. Thanks for letting me help. I know... you know—Colt's your brother—I'm not trying to, er... step on anyone's toes."

It was funny to watch her get flustered, and Parker gave the woman an impish smile as she took another sip of her water. "Colt's a big boy, and he can do whatever he wants," she said. "Besides, I think you're great. Why would I have a problem with you wanting to help plan his party?"

"You think I'm great?" Jodi asked.

To that, Parker rolled her eyes, and though it had the pounding behind her temples start up again, it felt worth it. "You get enough compliments from my brother, you don't need to go fishing for them with me too."

"Me? No. I hate fishing. Detest it, really."

Parker harrumphed, but couldn't help but snicker as she took a deep whiff of her drink. "Well, if you aren't fishing, then I don't need to tell you that he doesn't act like this with just anyone," she said before taking a long sip. Too long, and it burned her mouth immediately. "Fuck!"

"Hot?"

"I thought you weren't fishing anymore," Parker muttered while wiping drool off her chin.

"I was talking about the coffee!" Jodi cried in response. But then she caught the haughty look Parker was shooting her and couldn't help but laugh. The sound hurt her ears, but, god, if everything about the woman wasn't perfect. "You and Colt, honestly. The things that you say are so ridiculous."

She vaguely remembered Tom saying the same thing the night before. A smile pulled at her burnt lips. "Tom would agree. He said something similar last night."

That look returned. "You know, for not being friends you've come a long way from calling him an asshole. I thought you were going to break his nose that day on set."

Parked moaned. "Oh, not you too."

"I'm just saying," Jodi defended from behind a steaming mug of coffee. She blew on it coolly, as though the answer to her question didn't matter in the slightest. "I just couldn't help but notice how well you were getting along last night. Spent a lot of time together, too."

"Shah, because some Englishwoman came and stole my brother from me," she retorted blithely. "I always knew boomers complained about immigrants stealing jobs, but stealing drinking buddies is a little vindictive. Even for the English."

"Oi!" Jodi exclaimed, though it ended in a laugh. "You and Colt spent plenty of time together last night. If I recall, we were trying to get away from you lot and that ridiculous game of yours."

Parker perked. "Game?"

"Something about a cat in the woods."

She thought through the previous night's events, and when the card game came to mind, her stomach rolled a second time. Moaning, she willed herself to disappear into a universe where responsibilities didn't exist. "Ugh, no wonder I feel like I'm dying."

"It was a ridiculous game. The amount you drank was ghoulish."

Something rolled in her stomach. "We don't have to—"

"And the rules didn't make any sense. It's all about drinking, drinking, drinking—"

And yep. That did it.

Parker barely made it to the toilet before she was puking up a stomach full of last night's drinks. The bathroom floor was cooler than the kitchen counter, at least, and as she caught her breath, she vowed to never drink again. Or play that retched game.

From the doorway, Jodi grimaced. "Sorry."

Parker haphazardly waved her off. "S'fine. Just do me a favor and kill Colt for me, will you? The bastard..."

Jodi smiled. "I think he might already be dead."

"What?"

Jodi inclined her head to the left, and Parker turned to find her brother curled into a ball in the bathtub. He was wearing his Miami Vice jacket backwards, and his bucket hat was drawn low over his eyes. He was so pale that she might have actually thought he was dead if it wasn't for the quiet groan of misery he let out.

"He's been in here for an hour," she said in lieu of a proper explanation. "Ran in here, threw up, and then passed out in the shower because it felt nice. I decided to leave him. Just seemed easiest."

Parker didn't doubt that.

"What a fucking idiot," she said instead, and though Jodi didn't respond, when the blonde sipped her coffee, the smug grin she was wearing made it obvious that she agreed.

---

Two coffees, a greasy bagel, and an antacid tablet later has Parker feeling moderately like a human being. The hangover is still there—teasing the inside of her skull every couple minutes—but it's better now. More manageable, at the very least.

Of course, manageable hangovers at work don't make for good working environments, and as the door rings with the sound of a brass bell, Parker adjusts the sunglasses perched on the edge of her nose.

"Hi, welcome in," she says. Though, when she looks she realizes that it's not a customer, but instead a tween girl with far too much trouble in her eyes. "Oh, it's you."

"You could sound a little more enthusiastic about it," Melissa chides, arms jingling with the sound of too many stacked bracelets to count. She looks pretty today—she looks pretty every day—and though Parker isn't in the mood for vibrant conversation, she can't deny that it's always nice to see her most loyal customer. "I am your number one, afterall."

"Number one...?"

"Customer!" Melissa chirps with a smile as if she can hear Parker's innermost thoughts. She swings closer to the counter with dancing eyes. "I have a couple more ideas I wanted to run by you before tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sunday," Melissa says slowly, blinking. "Hello? Does painting sound familiar to you?"

Parker pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh. She's all out of interest in paint; the welts on her ribcage haven't been forgotten, and she can feel something tweaking in her lower back from being bent over for hours at a time.

God, she's old.

"I thought we were about finished."

"Finished? Not even close," Melissa corrects her. She settles her tote bag onto the counter. Her nose scrunches distastefully as she glances around. "We only did the walls. We still have to do the shelves. And I think those will take longer since I want to add some cute detailing to them. Have you thought about shelf liners?"

"What the hell are shelf liners?"

"You know," she gestures. "Like wallpaper, but for shelves."

"That sounds expensive."

"And totally worth it. Look," she sticks her phone across the counter, Pinterest page already pulled up, and starts scrolling. The speed at which she's doing it, however, as Parker's eyes going crossed. She sits back with a groan. "It's not that bad!"

"No, no, it's not..." she starts, then stops. "Can we just talk about this tomorrow?"

Melissa pouts. "Fine, but we'll probably need to start painting first thing, since you can't put the books back up until the shelves dry completely."

"Are we sure this is even necessary?"

"Completely," the girl says, and there's no room left for argument as she pops her hip out. "I told you this place looks so much better already, but the shelves will be worth it. It'll really help everything pop. And I have some ideas about stickers we can use to make cute signs for all the book sections."

Parker sighs. "Don't you go to school?"

"Yeah. And?"

"How do you have time for all of this stuff?" she asks, a floppy hand gesturing half-heartedly to the room around them. She doesn't mean to offend Melissa in any way, but she can't imagine that there's a teen girl out there who spends all of her time dedicated to fixing up a dilapidated bookstore. "Shouldn't you be in, I don't know, cheerleading or something?"

Melissa shoots her a tart expression. "Cheerleading is so totally dated, Park. Sexist, too. They just have skinny girls wearing tiny little skirts for the objective male gaze."

"...right."

"Besides," she continues, bracelets jangling as she pops a piece of gum into her mouth. "I love this place."

Even more bewildered, Parker repeats herself. "...right."

"Speaking of—" Melissa says, and when she leans against the counter there's a waft of vanilla and lemon perfume. Parker almost gets sick at the strength of it, and she sips her coffee with a grimace. "When are you going to hire me?"

"I already did."

"For real," Melissa asserts, digging her heels in. "You said you'd think about it, and you've had plenty of time. I mean all you do is hang out here."

"Okay, ouch."

"I want a job."

"Can we talk about this tomorrow too?" Parker whines. She knows she's the adult in the situation, but... well, she really doesn't want to be. The idea of doing math and taxes has her head spinning painfully. "I'm—I have a headache."

Melissa narrows her eyes at that. Smarter beyond her years, the girl doesn't miss much, and when she leans across the counter, Parker wishes her sweatshirt would swallow her whole. "What's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look bad."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

She waves a hand indifferently, and squints. "Not like that. I mean you look like you're sick. Are you sick?"

Her stomach roils, and Parker tries to hide the uncomfortable wince behind another sip of scalding black coffee. "A bit."

"You were fine on Wednesday."

"Must have caught something," she lies. The last thing she needed to do is be blamed for being a bad influence on a teenager.

Melissa furrows her brows, reaching to plant a palm against Parker's forehead. She tries to duck it, but only manages to send the room spinning a second time. "You don't feel like you have a fever."

"Twenty four hour bug I guess," she says, waving a hand as if it really was that simple. It wasn't, and when she bends down to scoop a pile of books off the ground her vision flashes white. Colt was such a fucking bastard. "Ugh."

"Oh. My. God."

She slams her eyes shut, head steepled between three fingers, already knowing what was about to come. Parker really can't handle Melissa's high-pitched tone of judgement, however, and considers just giving the girl the keys to the store right then and there. "Don't."

"Are you—?"

"No."

"—hungover?" Melissa finished anyways. She whispered the word like it was some big secret, but by the way that her eyes widened and her mouth pulled into a sneaky grin, it was obvious that the news was all too interesting to her. Especially when Parker didn't answer her right away. "Oh my god! You totally are!"

The boom of her voice had Parker's head hurting, and she let her head fall into her hands with a groan. It was a saving grace that the store was empty.

Well, not entirely a saving grace considering she needed customers, but...

"What happened?" Melissa pried. "Did you go on a date last night?"

"You think I would get black out drunk on a date?" she asked.

The girl shrugged. "I don't know, maybe it went really well."

Parker rubbed her temple wearily. "You're not going on dates are you? Because you shouldn't be getting black out on the first one, ever. That's dating one-o-one."

"Oh, whatever," she flipped a perfectly manicured hand at Parker before settling further onto the counter. It was obvious that she had sunk her teeth into the subject. The last time she done that, she convinced Parker to repaint the entire store. Hopefully, this one wouldn't be as expensive. "Not a date then. What'd you do?"

Parker sighed. "It was Colt's birthday party."

Melissa ooh-ed with a dreamy smile. "I can't wait until I can drink. Legally, I mean. Obviously I've tried beer before," she said with batted eyelashes. It seemed that she was completely ignoring the very real reality of what happened when one drank too much, and Parker rolled her eyes. "Why did you come in today? When my brother drank a lot at Christmas he was in bed until dinner the next day. Mom said he had the flu, but, like, come on."

Parker gave a half-hearted hum. Any other day a glimpse into Melissa's home life would have amused her—teenagers nowadays really did baffle her—but at the moment she didn't have the mental capacity to do much other than try not to die. "I had to open the shop."

To that, Melissa grinned. "Well, if you had another employee..."

"Oh, please, Melissa," Parker threw up a hand with a groan. "Seriously. Not today. I'm weak willed. I can't have this conversation; I'm not in the right mind, and nothing will be legally binding."

"I'm just saying!" the girl threw up her own hands with a laugh. There was something conniving about it, though. Something glittering in her eyes. "If you had another employee, then you would be able to take a morning off every once in a while. How is that a bad thing?"

"You're taking advantage of me," Parker pointed out with a sour frown.

"Actually, you could argue that I'm trying to help you."

"Hmph."

"But, now that we're on the subject," she continued, eyes flapping like Bambi as she walked a slow circle. Only, Parker got the distinct impression that she was a hen stuck with a fox, and as she wiggled her sunglasses nervously, she tried to remind herself that she was the adult in the conversation. "The store looks way nicer, and you've been getting compliments from people, and I still have a lot more ideas for what else we could do. Don't you think that hiring me would benefit us both? We could start doing work throughout the week which means you would get your Sundays back to yourself."

Parker slumped onto her hands. "Are the devil?"

"Parker," she whined, returning to the counter where she delicately propped her head on two palms, ever the essence of beauty and grace. "Please?"

The throbbing in her head hadn't gone away, and the sweat dripping down her back was as uncomfortable as it was gross. Parker had avoided every mirror in her house that morning knowing that however she looked wasn't pretty, and having someone actually pretty blinking at her made Parker feel slightly violent.

And sick.

And, well, maybe having a second employee around for the days that she was sick wasn't the worst idea out there. Not to mention that Melissa had garnered her lots of compliments over the past couple of weeks, and the store did look the best it ever had. The girl had good ideas, Parker couldn't deny that. And she certainly didn't lack a work ethic. She had been begging for a job for weeks now, and didn't once skimp on her painting responsibilities when they came together on the weekends. If anything, she was giving herself more to do every time she came.

She let out a long, self-suffering sigh. "...alright."

Melissa froze. "Really?"

"Part time, three days a week, and Saturday mornings."

"Really?"

"And I'm not paying more than minimum wage."

Her eyes were the size of saucers, waiting on baited breath, as she asked a third time, "really?!"

Slowly, Parker nodded. "Really."

Melissa jumped, squealing, and if her head hadn't hurt earlier, it was like an elephant coming through in a parade. Hand up, she said, "okay, okay, but you have to stop before I hurl. Seriously, this energy is... not a good way to start out as an employee."

"This is so sick," Melissa said anyway, unfazed by Parker's white-washed face. "I still think we should do liners for the shelves, and little gold accents, but that'll take a while, so maybe tomorrow we just start with painting this section—"

She gestured as she talked, and she talked a lot. And though Parker was only half paying attention, she hummed and nodded when appropriate. Afterall, the store did look so much better, and she could use another employee. Particularly one as clever as Melissa.

Sipping her coffee, she smiled.

Until she felt another wave of nausea.

One of these days, she swore, she would seriously kick her brother's ass.

---

Crave Cafe, only two blocks down from her own bookstore, was like stepping into a different world. The cafe itself was beautifully decorated, vintage artwork on the wall, string of pearls hanging from rope baskets in the corners, with soft LED lights in the shape of lightning bolts and cappuccinos on the wall. Discolored and misshapen mugs could be seen scattered throughout the inside, with every odd table occupied by varying individuals. Chatter echoed throughout over the sound of coffee grinders and a Spotify playlist, and though Parker was always a little sore that Crave's clientele didn't show much interest in her own storefront, she had to admit that it was her favorite place around.

Not just because the coffee was cheap, the bread always freshly made, and the general ambiance, but also because the manager, a young man named Harry, was always happy to see her.

"Don't tell me you're working again today," he said while setting about putting her order together. "I thought you were closed on Sundays."

Parker shrugged. She felt much better today, having a full night's sleep and a long shower, and though she was about to go back to more painting, she was in an arguably good mood. "Melissa's taken over the store, I'm afraid. She keeps seeing stuff on Pinterest that she's wants to try."

"Too scared to tell her no?"

"Is it lame if I say yes?"

Harry laughed, slinging a pink and yellow patterned towel over his shoulder. "I can't say I blame you. Kids nowadays are frightening. I have my own group that hangs around for hours that I'm too afraid to shoo away. When did girls get so intimidating?"

Parker followed his line of sight to a trio of teen girls. They ducked their heads at being spotted, giggles erupting from their table. "I think you're teens are a little different than mine," she pointed out with an arched brow. "Namely, Melissa isn't hoping I'll ask her to the prom."

Harry laughed at that. Parker didn't wonder why there were teen girls ogling him—he was an objectively attractive guy, white teeth, nice tattoos, good sense of humor, and the odd finger painted black, he was practically a knockoff Pete Davidson. Apparently, that was what every girl wanted nowadays. "Not that you know of, anyway," he teased while working the frother. "I'll have to come over and check it out for myself. Bet it looks nice."

She rolled her eyes with a snort. "Anything looks nicer than it looked before," she said. "I did finally get rid of that weird smell though. Score for me. Only took three gallons of Pine Sol and way too many candles. Which, I think are actually toxic but whatever. A wins a win."

He laughed again while sliding her coffees across the counter. "How late do you think you'll be there today?"

"Knowing Melissa? Till midnight. She's a bit of a hard ass."

"Perfect. I'll stop by after my shift."

"That's very presumptuous of you," she chirped, smiling. It was hard not to smile when talking to Harry. She wasn't naive enough to ignore his flirting; particularly when she stopped by three times a week for her caffeine fix. But Harry was like every other surfer in California—flaky, flirty, and trouble. Not her type in the slightest, but he was a friend, and often gave her coffee on the house. "But, if you must, bring me a bagel?"

He winked. "Anything for a pretty girl."

Parker shook her head with a smile and gathered her coffees and sandwiches up before leaving. The table of teenagers shot her dirty looks when she walked by, to which she smiled right back.

The walk back to her shop was short, stalled only when she stopped to pet a slumbering bulldog along the sidewalk. The bell overhead jingled when she entered. Despite the CLOSED sign on the door, she never bothered to lock up when they were painting. If someone was stupid enough to stumble in, she figured they would be stupid enough to fork over some cash on a book or two. And Parker would never say no to cash.

"I got the coffees!" she called when Melissa didn't immediately come to the front. Music played softly on the speakers, but the store seemed empty. Shelves had been shifted to the side with stacks of books off to the other, and the tarp crinkled under her sneakers as she walked over it. "Melissa? Hello? Did you...?"

Trailing back further proved that Melissa wasn't ignoring her, but instead in an adamant conversation.

A conversation with none other than Tom Ryder.

Parker stopped short. "Tom?"

The pair turned to her. Melissa's face was flushed, and her cheeks were split in two from the width of her smile. Her chest was heaving as if she had just been talking nonstop. Which, likely, she had.

And despite the fact that he was being mobbed by a teenager, Tom didn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, he was standing casually bent against the ladder, brows relaxed, shoulders loose underneath his expensive leather jacket. And though she expected him to greet her—like friends did—the first thing out of his mouth was, "I was wondering when you got a sense of style, before realizing that you were outsourcing to this one."

"I—what?"

Tom gestured to the bookstore as Melissa grabbed her Chai latte out of Parker's hands without so much as a thank you. "The color is much more modern, and the gold accenting really brings things together. Could use some better wall decor, but I'd bet anything nice is out of your budget."

Parker blinked. At him. Then at Melissa. "What?"

Melissa, still grinning, waved an emphatic hand at the celebrity standing across from her. "Mr. Ryder—"

"Melissa, come on, I already told you to call me Tom. We're friends, aren't we?"

She paused, flushing under his gentle comment, before tucking some loose hair behind her ear with an even bigger grin. Parker rolled her eyes at the act of it all. "Tom stopped by to talk to you, but since you were out, I let him in. He was wondering what we were painting, so I showed him what we are doing today, and then I showed him what we've done the last couple of weeks."

"Stellar, really," he chimed in. She beamed beneath his praise, and Parker swore a helicopter could have caught the brightness of her teeth from a mile away. "I think she's done a great job so far."

"I helped," Parker reminded him indignantly. Not just because he was quite obviously playing it up for the attention, but also because she was so thrown by his presence in the first place that she felt uncomfortable having walked in on them talking. "Paid it for it, too."

He acted like he hadn't even heard her. "I'll have to come back when it's finished. What design of shelf liner do you'll think you'll get?"

"I'm not totally sure. I really like the dark, forest style, with the birds and branches. But I also think that the brighter gold style would look good set against the books."

"Wait, I thought I said no to the shelf liners?" Parker interrupted.

"To which I reminded you that it would look so good," Melissa shot back. When she remembered who she was talking to, however, she gestured shyly to Tom. "Besides, he thinks it would look good too. So, that's two opinions against one, right?"

"What—he doesn't work here!" Parker exclaimed, feeling a bit like she had stumbled into the Twilight Zone. Since when did Tom Ryder have any opinion about her store besides thinking it was dirty? And since when did she care about his opinion in the first place? "It doesn't matter what he thinks."

"Should," Tom added. He looked much too smug in that moment, yet, when Melissa glanced at him, his smirk became gentler. "I mean, I do have a good eye for this sort of thing. And I'm a paying customer. Doesn't hurt to listen to your customers every once in a while does it?"

"I have the right to kick out customers, you know," she warned.

Melissa didn't like that one bit, and her voice pitched in horror. "Parker! You can't—come on. He's—you know—Tom Ryder," she said, enunciating every syllable as if Parker wasn't aware of who had stumbled into her store when it was supposed to be closed. Tom, on the other hand, pointed right back at Melissa smugly.

As if to say, yeah, I'm Tom Ryder.

Sighing, Parker pinched the bridge of her nose. Yesterday's headache seemed to be coming back full force. "I know who he is, and I don't care. And I think it's time for your break now. Sandwich?"

Melissa glanced between said sandwich, her boss, and her celebrity crush for a long moment, before accepting it with a frown. "Thirty minutes?"

"Sure."

Her mood was obviously glum as she glanced between them both once more before stalking towards the back room. She paused in the doorway. "It was nice meeting you."

Tom, for what he was worth, never missed with a grin. "Likewise. I'm glad that someone working here has a sense of style."

And just that like her glum mood vanished. Melissa smiled, blushed, and disappeared into the back room with a pep in her step. When she was gone, Tom returned his attention to Parker.

"Is that for me?" he asked. Though, he didn't even wait for an answer before he was swiping the coffee out of her hand and taking a sip. If looks could kill, it was a good thing there was already a tarp spread out beneath his feet. He furrowed his brows. "Is this an americano?"

"Yes. Mine," she snarked, grabbing it back with a huff. "Why would I have gotten you a coffee? I didn't even know you were here."

He shrugged. "Feeling generous?"

"Why are you here? We're technically closed today."

"The door was unlocked," he said, and Parker's thoughts returned to her earlier sentiments. Stupid indeed. "I do like the paint. Looks cleaner. Not so sad, anymore."

"My store wasn't sad."

"Alright, ugly."

She trailed towards the front counter with a sigh. Part of her was amused—it was nice to have someone to banter back and forth it, particularly someone like Tom—but the more sane part of her was annoyed. Only he would come drink her coffee and then insult her bookstore.

And only he would be allowed to do that. Why was that?

"Are you here for more book recommendations?" she asked, forcibly moving the conversation along as she began to unwrap her turkey, cheese, and bacon sandwich. The bread crumbled in her hands, and Parker's stomach growled at the smell. "Obviously it's a little messy right now, but I could pull a few more out for you."

He shook his head; both to shake loose fringe out of his eyes and to give her a undiscernible look. "You seem to have recovered from the party Friday night. I was pretty certain either you or Colt would be dead by now."

"And yet you didn't call," she deadpanned. "How touching."

Tom's mouth quirked at the side, and he took another long sip of her coffee. He didn't even seem to care that it wasn't his own. "Is he alright then?"

She hummed around a bite of turkey. "By the time I left yesterday morning he was sleeping it off in the bathtub. So, not really any different than last year."

"What did you do last year?"

Parker couldn't really remember, she just knew that there was a whole lot of alcohol involved, and someone set off fireworks that got them in trouble with the neighbors. "Had a poker night, I think. I don't really remember much after someone got the absinthe out though."

To that, he did laugh. Though, he shook his head and glanced away as if he didn't want her to know that he did. "I always thought that Colt was trouble, but you're no better, are you? The two of you last night drank half a cooler worth of beer."

She shrugged, completely unperturbed. Mostly because she knew he was teasing, and only slightly because she knew his partying habits would outshine hers any day. "If I recall I was asking you to drink more with us," she pointed out with a snooty look. "You were the one refusing to join in. Something about the drinks being too low brow or something."

"It wasn't the brand that kept me from drinking," he retorted. Parker didn't believe that for a second though, and when he caught the arch of her eyebrow, he rolled his eyes. "I couldn't keep up with your stupid game, alright?"

"Just admit that you're a lightweight, Ryder. I won't judge you."

"I'm not a lightweight."

"Acceptance is the first step."

"You're so fucking annoying," he said with an eyeroll. But then he was peeking at her over the counter and when their gazes met, the pair dissolved into a fit of laughter. It was a nice sound; one that she quite liked earning. Parker remembered he laughed a lot at the beach, even if she didn't always remember why he was laughing. "Whatever. You better not drink that much at my party or else I'll have you kicked out myself. Just because there's any open bar doesn't mean you need to drink everything in sight, yeah?"

Parker furrowed her brows at him. "Party?" she asked.

Tom shifted on his feet, pushing off where he had been leaning on his elbows to pluck a nearby book off the counter. Absentmindedly, he flipped through it. "My party on Friday. To announce my part in the movie. You and Colt are coming, aren't you?" he said, as if this was a conversation they had before, and not something he was springing on her out of the blue.

Her first response was to make some sort of scathing response about how she wouldn't be caught dead at one of his parties. But, Parker couldn't help but notice how he shifted on his feet, how he was avoiding her gaze.

What could someone like you ever have to be anxious about? she had asked him that fateful day in the bathroom. It was so out of character then.

But now?

Tom Ryder was an asshole, but he was also a person.

She set her sandwich down onto the parchment paper. "I didn't realize we were going to be invited. Is that alright with Gail?"

He responded with a derisive snort. "It's my party. Besides, there's over a hundred people on the guest list. She won't even realize you're there. As long as you don't dress like you normally do, that is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

His blue eyes swept over her hair, to her paint stained sweatshirt that he had now seen her wearing twice, and then to the store around them. "It's going to be an upscale party. Important people are going to be there. I can't have you and Colt running around like idiots, getting drunk, and ruining mink rugs."

"Do you have mink rugs?" she shot back.

"Of course I don't have mink rugs."

"Then problem solved," she said, waving a hand at him. It certainly didn't answer all of his points, however, and when Tom stopped flipping through his book to shoot her a glare, Parker conceded with a sigh. "Alright. We'll dress nice. I won't spill anything on my pants. And Colt will be on his best behavior."

"Good."

"On one condition."

Tom's eye twitched. "You can't be serious."

"Colt get's a plus-one," she said anyway, ignoring the knit of his brows or the pull of his mouth. He responded just as she expected, with a long suffering sigh and an eyeroll. "Oh, come on! He'll bring Jodi, and no one is better at keeping an eye on him than her. Plus, you're right. We're not going to know anyone there. We'll stay in our own little pathetic poor people bubble. And if you do get annoyed with us, you can kick me out yourself. I bet you'd love that."

He sighed a second time, relaxing onto the counter. "I don't invite set hands to my house," he pointed out. Though, it was a bit of a moot point, wasn't it? Considering the fact that he was doing just that—and, if Parker had to guess—without Gail's stamp of approval. Not to mention the fact that his tone was soft. Not harsh or judgmental.

Just arguing for the sake of arguing.

Parker smiled at him. "First time for everything, right? I'll even tip off the pap. You might get some good press out of this," she teased.

And though he was playing the victim, Tom's mouth curved into a crooked smile anyway. Still, he made a roll of rolling his eyes a second time. "Fine. But seriously? Best behavior."

She wiggled her fingers at him in a mock salute. "Promise."

They stared at one another. His eyes, deep and bright, searching for something she wasn't quite sure. Her own, light and gentle, taking in everything. It never cased to surprise Parker just how handsome he was—no matter how much she wished that she was just making it up, or that his ego wasn't deserved—Tom Ryder was beautiful.

And when he smiled, she couldn't help but think he looked so much better like this than he did in all those over-touched advertisements. Here, now, he looked happy. Effortless. Real as he took another sip of his coffee. Eyes crinkled and teasing, mouth curved around the plastic lid, hair air dried but perfectly swept towards his temples.

He was—

"Hang on a minute. That's my coffee you ass!"

The ass, knowing now that he had been caught, set the empty cup back onto the counter with an empty thud, before attempting to make off with her sandwich too. And as he laughed, she was certain that she was finally starting to see the real Tom Ryder.

She kept that in mind when she let him see the real Parker Seavers, and leapt across the counter after him.

#falling without a harness #tom ryder #tom ryder x ofc #original female character #tom ryder imagine #the fall guy #the fall guy imagine #series

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starboyyoongi · 2 days

Text

(de)tangled. ateez au

⭑ summary: unable to a set an appointment with your favorite braider, your roommates decide to step in and help. the problem, though? the three of you had absolutely no idea how to braid—at all.

or, in which you, hongjoong, and wooyoung (damn near) fail at doing your braids at home.

⭑ pairing: kim hongjoong x jung wooyoung x choi san x black female!reader

⭑ warnings/tags: cursing, lots of confusion, questionable hair parting skills, joong and woo bickering, use of nicknames (“ji” and “mama”), play fighting

⭑ notes: in light of me stressing over getting my braids done, i decided to write something a little light hearted and funny about the boys trying to help reader do her braids. i also thought that this would be a cute way to kick off the series? idk but i hope that you guys enjoy and feel free to leave feedback! x

and then there were nine series masterlist

YOU ALWAYS PRIDED yourself on being able to figure things out relatively quickly especially when it came to others. it’s how you ended up becoming the unofficial mom of the group a couple of years ago. the boys, and just about anybody who knew you, knew that they could always depend on you to come up with a solution.

when it came to yourself, however, things were… different.

it was like all of your problem solving skills went out of the window and your body became riddled with anxiety. you didn’t know what to do when it came to solving your own problems. sure, you could ask someone else for help, but why would you want to run the risk of being looked at as stupid or incompetent? it was a silly thing to worry about, yes, but you couldn’t help it.

if anyone was going to come up with a solution to your problems it was going to be you—plain and simple.

however, your current problem was starting to feel more and more like something you couldn’t do by yourself. as you stared at the pieces of braiding hair strewn out in front of you, you wondered why you thought that this would be a good idea. while you knew how to manage your natural hair and do a couple of plaits or twists whenever it was necessary, you were by no means a braider.

that was something reserved for either your mom or your braiding lady who you had been loyal to for the last four years. speaking of said woman, she was the reason why you were in this mess to begin with. she was booked solid for the next few weeks which meant that any plans to get your hair done was basically thrown out of the window.

you were desperate, though, and instead of finding someone else to do it and risking your hair being botched you decided to do it yourself. you now recognized that in theory this sounded like a good idea. you felt so confident as you picked out your hair color and browsed the hair beads section in the beauty supply. you couldn’t keep the smile off of your face as the cashier rang your items up and you thought about how cute your hair was going to look.

but that was in theory.

in reality, you were a confused mess standing in the middle of your room clutching your phone in one hand and a comb in the other. you didn’t have the slightest clue where to begin and it was stressful to say the least. just as you began typing something in tiktok’s search bar, you heard a knock at your bedroom door followed by hongjoong saying your name in a sing song kind of tone.

“jia, babe, have you seen my— oh. what’s, um… what’s going on here?” hongjoong asked.

you peaked up at him with a fake smile and held your comb up as you said, “nothing. just getting ready to do my hair.”

hongjoong raised an eyebrow in confusion. “okay… so what’s with all of the pieces of hair on your bed? and why is your hair still up?”

“because i’m just getting started.”

“by looking at your phone all anxious and whatnot?”

“ugh. okay, fine,” you sighed. “i don’t know what i’m doing, joong. i thought that doing my own braids was going to be easy, but i completely underestimated things.”

“do you need some help?” hongjoong asked.

you opened your mouth to say no, but then you hesitated. now really wasn’t the time to be picky and deny any help that was offered to you. because again, braiding your hair wasn’t your forte. and if you could get an extra pair of hands to get the job done then so be it.

you nodded in response and watched as hongjoong smiled at you before loudly calling wooyoung’s name. it took a few seconds, but soon your other roommate was popping his head into your door frame and asking, “what’s up? everything okay?”

“yeah, but are you busy right now? jia needs our help doing her hair” hongjoong explained.

“no, no, i’m not doing anything right now,” wooyoung smiled. “however, i’ve never done hair before so i’m not sure how this is going to turn out…”

“don’t worry. i have a bunch of tutorials in a little playlist i created and we have all the supplies that we’ll need,” you said half reassuringly. you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince them or yourself. “so we should be okay.”

right?

⭑ ⭑ ⭑ ⭑

you guys were in fact not okay.

twenty minutes later, the three of you found yourselves situated in front of your mirror trying to follow along a hair parting video you found on youtube. the video was pretty straightforward to you, but the same couldn’t be said for wooyoung and hongjoong. where wooyoung was confused about how big to make the parts, hongjoong was confused as to why so many were needed in the first place.

“the more parts, the more braids, joongie,” you tried to explain, but to no avail.

hongjoong scrunched up his face in confusion as he said, “yeah, but, like… won’t it be too much hair? and will parting your hair hurt?”

“why would it hurt, hongjoong?” wooyoung huffed out with an eye roll. “clearly jia’s hair has been parted before and it’s never hurt her. are you stupid?”

“you don’t know even know how to part her hair to begin with!”

“neither do you, fuck face!”

“oh, fuck yo—”

“okay!” you said loudly as you paused the video. “clearly this is getting out of hand. how about one of you work on pre parting my hair for now? what do you say, wooyoung?”

at the mention of his name, wooyoung started to nervously laugh. he wanted to say no so, so bad, but he couldn’t. he had such a big soft spot for you that saying no felt like it was impossible. hell, he doesn’t even think that he’s ever told you no before and he wasn’t about to start now.

so with a nod of determination, he positioned himself behind you, comb in hand. your hair had already been blow dried and taken out of the messy ponytail that you had it in earlier. all that was left now was for your hair to be parted then braided.

“ready, woo?” you asked.

he gave a thumbs up.

“ready.”

hongjoong watched as his (clearly nervous) friend began to part your hair. for a minute, it felt like things were going well. wooyoung had managed to part a straight line across for the first row before starting on the square parts. everything seemed fine until hongjoong realized that the squares were all different sizes.

he stifled a giggle as he looked away, not wanting to draw attention to himself. but you had noticed and asked what he was laughing at.

“nothing, babes,” hongjoong replied. “just looking at woo’s, um… squares is all.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “why’d you say it like that?”

“like what?”

“you know. like something was wrong with the squares or something.”

“pfft, no. there’s nothing wrong with the squares…”

“okay, good.”

“…except for the the fact that they’re different sizes and look goofy from this angle. but aside from that, everything’s fine.”

“what?!” you screeched out, immediately twisting your neck to try and see what wooyoung was doing.

“i thought that i was doing a good job! they look fine to me, ji, i swear—” wooyoung tried to explain.

you wanted to believe him.

you really, really did, but one glimpse of the back of your head told you otherwise. you sighed and told wooyoung and hongjoong to switch. if hongjoong was just as nervous to part your hair he didn’t show it. you sat still as you felt the end of your rat tail comb glide through your hair once more.

you couldn’t see it, but hongjoong had somewhat managed to fix wooyoung’s square partings. once everything looked okay to him, he moved on to start making the second row of squares. wooyoung had been standing beside him watching closely the entire time without saying a word. once again, it started to feel like some progress was being made. if hongjoong could just get through parting your hair then—

“your parting is ugly as shit, joong.”

hongjoong threw wooyoung a nasty glare before he glanced at you in the mirror and gave you a very unconvincing smile.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, jia. the parting looks great! woo’s just being a fucking hater” hongjoong stated, but you didn’t miss the way that his voice faltered at the end. that was all that you needed to shoo him away and twist and turn your neck in the mirror once more to see the damage.

okay, so maybe wooyoung was right—hongjoong’s parting was definitely on the weird looking side. you couldn’t deny it no matter how hard you wanted to.

you sighed for what seemed like the nth time that day. if you guys couldn’t even get the parting right, then there was no telling what the actual braiding process was going to be like.

you started to weigh your options.

on one hand, you could forego the entire thing and style your natural hair for the next few weeks instead. there were quite a few styles that you had been meaning to try on pinterest anyways and your hair was finally long enough for some of them. the only downside was your lack of patience and sort of laziness when it came to doing your hair. a cute slick backed hairstyle that was meant for two days could easily turn into a three week old, caked up gel mess on your head.

on the other hand, you could continue to go through with the braiding process. you had more than enough hands to help and your best friends didn’t seem to mind redoing anything for the sake of wanting your hair to look good. plus, you had more than enough tutorials on deck for practically every part of the braiding process. the downside, though? you were taking a huge risk with your hair being botched—the one thing that you had been trying to avoid this entire time. as much as you loved your best friends, they weren’t experienced braiders and it would (most likely) show.

in other words, you were fucked.

sort of.

kind of.

you groaned in frustration before you spun around in your seat to face wooyoung and hongjoong. you looked up at them, eyebrows furrowed as you said, “guys, i don’t think that this is working.”

“you think?” wooyoung immediately deadpanned.

hongjoong gave him a nasty glare before he nudged him rather painfully in his side. he ignored wooyoung’s whines for help as he asked you, “what do you want to do then? should we keep going or…?”

you shrugged in response.

hongjoong hummed as he started to wrack his brain for a solution. it had become apparent to him over the last hour or so that the three of you were not cut out to braid hair whatsoever. the whole thing was a bad idea from the jump and hongjoong knew that. but he was so desperate to help you out that he was willing to ignore the possibility of the whole thing falling apart.

now, though, as he stared at the uneven parts in your hair and the frustrated look on your face, he felt bad—awful even. there had to be a way to fix things. you guys couldn’t give up just yet.

“what if—” hongjoong started only to be cut off.

“san. we should ask san.” wooyoung interjected.

“what? san?” you said in a confused tone.

“yeah, san,” wooyoung said with a shake of his head. “he has a little more experience with braiding hair and could probably follow the videos better than we can.”

you chewed at your bottom lip as you thought the sudden suggestion over. you had no idea how wooyoung even knew that san could braid hair in the first place, but you weren’t in a position to really question it. either you agreed to ask for his help or you called it a day and stuck to hiding your hair under a bonnet for the next few weeks.

“okay,” you agreed. “call sannie and ask, but you better not be lying to me, woo. or else i’ll beat your ass.”

“so will i!” hongjoong chimed in.

“but you just hit me! what the fuck, joong,” wooyoung complained as his fingers started to fly across his dimly lit screen. just as he finished sending the text and was about to lock his phone, he saw the three little bubbles pop up. they disappeared for a second before wooyoung’s phone buzzed with san’s response.

sanieee 🕺

LMFAOOO of course you two dumbasses messed up

tell ji i’ll be up in a few 😁

⭑ ⭑ ⭑ ⭑

seven hours.

it had taken you and san (with occasional help from wooyoung and hongjoong) seven hours to braid your hair with an additional twenty minutes spent adding beads at the end. that part would have taken less time, but hongjoong had no idea how to add them and kept dropping the beads every five seconds.

by the time you guys had finished both braiding and beading your hair, your fingers and arms were in pain. san was pretty sure that his fingers had gotten cramped up and you had a feeling that you’d be finding braiding hair and beads in odd places for the next few days.

the boys watched as you kept turning in the mirror to see your hair, the grin on your face growing wider with each turn. you swung your small, long pink and red braids from side to side as you took a quick ten second video of yourself. you tilted your phone down slightly and zoomed in a little on the clear and black beads that adorned the ends of your hair. simply put, your hair was fucking stunning.

you took a few more videos and pictures before you finally set your phone down to work on your edges. as you rummaged through your drawer for your edge brush, you caught san’s gaze in the mirror. just as you were about to thank him for the millionth time in a row, you suddenly remembered what wooyoung had said earlier.

“he has a little more experience with braiding hair and could probably follow the instructions better than us.”

dipping your brush into the half empty jar of edge control, you called out san’s name. he tore his gaze away from hongjoong to look at you as he answered, “yes, ji?”

“a little birdy here tells me that apparently you,” you started as you pointed your edge brush in his direction. “know how to braid hair. i’ve known you for how many years now and i’m just now finding out about this?”

“oh. um…” san ran a hand through his hair as he laughed, slightly taken aback by your question. beside him, wooyoung and hongjoong were watching you two and giggling like two little kids.

“well, i wouldn’t say that i know how to braid. i only know how to do plaits and stuff, you know? basic shit” he said.

you turned around to face him and raised your eyebrows in disbelief.

“you just braided my entire head and you gon’ sit up here and tell me that you only know how to do ‘plaits’? and ‘basic shit’?” you questioned, not entirely convinced by his answer.

��but it’s true though?” san said with a a shrug of his shoulders. “and to be fair, i was just following along and being patient. braiding isn’t that hard to do.”

“okay, now you’re just being a show off, dude” hongjoong muttered with a roll of his eyes.

you barely managed to stifle your giggles as san suddenly shoved hongjoong, causing him to fall off of your bed and land on the floor with a loud thud. it took all of five seconds for hongjoong to get back up and lunge at san. you watched as the two men rolled around your bed play fighting with one another and messing up your neatly spread bed in the process.

you shook your head and turned back to your mirror to finish doing your edges. you could hear wooyoung in the background repeatedly yelling out “fight! fight!” and hongjoong and san giggling loudly. as you finished fixing your baby hairs and putting your things back, you couldn’t help but stare at all three of them in your mirror’s reflection and smile.

you didn’t realize how long you had been smiling and looking at them, though until wooyoung asked in a teasing tone, “uh oh. what’s got you smiling so hard, mama?”

“you guys, duh. although,” you squinted your eyes at them a little. “you look like a bunch of idiots right now play fighting on my bed and stuff.”

“yeah, but we’re your idiots and you love us, so…” wooyoung joked with a toothy grin as he dragged out the ‘o.’

you rolled your eyes at him with a dramatic sigh, but you didn’t disagree.

“of course i do. i’ll always love you guys. forever?”

“and always, mama.”

#ateez au #choi san #kim hongjoong #jung wooyoung #ateez x black reader #ateez x reader #black reader

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cainsau · 2 days

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Just Between Us || The Boys Imagine

(Platonic) Hughie Campbell x GN!Reader (Platonic) Kimiko Miyashiro x GN!Reader

Summary: Set in S4E4. Hughie and Kimiko arrives at the office thinking it would be empty. But there you are, wondering where they've been and whose blood are on their clothes.

Warning: Spoilers for S4E4, ankle injury

Ever since you became a part of The Boys, you find yourself watching news on the TV more often. The people they put on the screen are not reliable most of the time. The information they share differ from what truly happened, but that's what makes it entertaining, the fact that you know they're blatantly lying through their teeth.

The TV lights up the office with its flashing, but dim colors. You don't even bother turning on the lamps, because you don't plan to stay there long.

As the presenter moves on to talk about a recent incident with Firecracker and Starlight, the door to the office opens.

Kimiko and Hughie enters, their arms supporting each other up. Kimiko's shirt is ripped off, and Hughie has a makeshift cast on his ankle. Both of them have blood on their faces and clothes, looking like they just got hit by a car or something.

You immediately get up from your seat, hurrying to help them. "What the hell happened to you two?"

As you help Hughie to a chair, Kimiko sits down and takes out her phone to type. 'We met A-Train, then got attacked by Shining Light.'

"A-Train? Are you serious? What were you guys doing with him?"

Kimiko glances frustratingly at Hughie, who is sitting on the chair next to her. He's oddly quiet. Then, she types on her phone again, 'He made a deal with him.'

"What deal?" You ask him, but he looks away.

Instead, Kimiko types, 'Getting a compound v.'

"I just-" He finally speaks, "It's the only way i can save my dad, okay?"

You let out a sigh, unable to argue. If you could save someone you love by turning them into a supe, you totally would too. At this moment though, you can't really say that out loud, so you decide to just get a medkit and patch them up.

'Treat him first. He can't heal like i do.'

"Alright." So you grab a chair and place it near him. Sitting down, you open the medkit, then gesture to him, "Give me your injured foot."

He puts his foot up, resting it on your lap, while Kimiko cleans herself beside you.

"Did you do this?" You ask Kimiko about the splint. She nods with a small smile. You return the smile, "Nice."

Carefully, you start cutting the tape of his DIY splint, then takes off his shoe and sock, revealing his bruised ankle. It's blue and a bit swollen. You take out the elastic bandage from the medkit and ask him, "Do you know how to properly wrap a bandage around your ankle?"

"No, uh, i don't..."

"Alright." You assure him, "I'll teach you right here so you can do it yourself later. Pay attention, yeah?"

He nods, and watches as you start with the bridge of his foot, around the bottom, then to his achilles tendon, and back to the bridge, which then you repeat until the roll is out. Lastly, you put the two clips on, and ensure they don't fall off.

"It feels so much better now, thanks a lot." He says, "How did you learn to do that though?"

You shrug, "I've sprained my foot before. Couldn't walk properly for a few weeks."

"You're telling me, i won't be able to walk for a few weeks?"

"Not really. You could walk a bit, earlier, right? So i'm guessing your injury is not as bad as mine. Just don't put your weight on it, and also, it would be better if you position it above your heart to let the blood flow."

He let out a breath, "Alright." Then moves the foot to a desk.

Kimiko pokes your shoulder to get your attention, then turns around, pointing to a spot on her back that has blood on it.

"You want me to help clean it?" You ask, to which she nods. "Of course."

The injury on that spot has already healed, but not completely. From the shape, you guess it was a gunshot. You shake your head. Sure, she's a supe who can regenerate, but it must've been painful to experience all that.

"You said you were attacked by Shining Light people," you say as you use a wet cotton on her injury, "What were they doing over there? I thought you were just making a deal with A-Train?"

She picks up her phone, and types, 'I killed a bunch of them, and they came for me.'

"Wait, you killed them? When?"

'A while ago.'

"You mean, that time when you left with Frenchie?"

She nods.

"I see."

You finish cleaning her injury, then tidy up the medical tools as Hughie also finished patching up a cut on his thigh by himself.

He then speaks up, "I'd really appreciate it if you don't tell the others about today."

"To be honest, they'll probably know sooner or later." You reply, which causes Hughie to look down in guilt. Then, you continue with a reassuring smile, "But yeah, don't worry, i'll keep this whole thing just between us."

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coollizzylou · 4 months

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Use of GW2 content in generative AI is OFFICIALLY against EULA as of today’s update btw.

#gw2 #gw2 fan submission #I wonder if this is something that they were planning for a while or because the WARP controversy broke out #who’s to say really but it’s nice there are some official protections in our corner of the internet

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thethingything · 1 month

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our current dilema is that the pain from our wisdom tooth keeps getting so bad we have to take pain meds (like it keeps hitting an 8/10 for several hours at a time. we can't not take pain meds) but the only pain meds that touch it have a warning on them saying not to take them for more than 3 days in a row, and we have at least another month of dealing with this, so I don't really know what to do.

the warning is because they're opioids and can cause addiction but I don't actually know how bad the risk is because everything seems to treat it like opioids are the worst thing ever and should be avoided at all costs and you'll get addicted if you so much as glance at them.

either way, my options are to either keep taking them and just accept that risk, or deal with being in so much pain I can't function. even with taking the pain meds I can tell we're a lot more irritable and short tempered and probably just insufferable to be around honestly and I hate the fact that pain causes this, but once again we've got to deal with this for over a month and we've also got to deal with the anxiety over what the treatment for it is going to actually involve.

I've had to deal with medical trauma stuff I didn't even know about until like yesterday when Lucy suggested it might be part of why I feel so shit, and I've had multiple panic attacks per day and constantly feel way more anxious than usual and I get the feeling we're just gonnaa have to put up with this for the next month and I don't know how the fuck I'm meant to cope with any of this

#personal #thoughts #🍬 post #vent post #posts made on pain meds #there is absolutely nothing that gets rid of what essentially amounts to a constant sense of impending doom #like our brain has just fully decided we're fucked and going to die or some shit and now I have to deal with the anxiet from it doing that #and like I know logically we're gonna be fine and this is ridiculous #but I know we sometimes get a delusion where our brain just decides we're gonna die on a specific day or whatever #and I think that's flared up and combined with the severe medical anxiety #and since knowing a delusion isn't real doesn't do shit to stop you feeling like it's real #no amount of logic seems to be able to make our brain not freak out over this and make me have panic attacks because of it #we already had that delusion kind of going on in the background because something about this time of year seems to trigger it #and I guess having something planned that's incredibly triggering and causing that feeling a dread #probably just made our brain combine the two things #we also are definitely experiencing stress-induced psychosis just in general because I've been hallucinating so fucking much #actually I wonder if the fact that I've had to take pain meds so much might also be messing with our psychosis #I would like to maybe not have to deal with any of this #we were looking forward to just getting that one tooth removed and then resting and recovering and not having anything planned for a while #and instead we've got at least a month of dealing with this shit and I'm fucking exhausted #this year has basically just been me dealing with one unbelievably triggering thing after another because I have no other choice #like I keep being thrown into situations that involve triggers that I can't even think about without having panic attacks #there's a whole bunch of shit going on in our personal life and stuff just keeps piling up and we don't get a break from any of it

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anotherpapercut · 1 year

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literally seeing people say we shouldn't blame Biden for his plan being struck down sjavdkns you guys just have no idea what's going on do you

#'hes already formulating another plan!' yeah well i mean thats his job so #also im sure these plans were laid out a long time ago...???#anyway the point is he should have known it would be struck down because every other sane person knew that #and he should have done something to actually prevent that from happening in the first place #just like he shouldve done something to protect roe v wade and affirmative action and the epa and navajo water rights and and and and #he has repeatedly refused to even touch court reform!#do you guys know how the new deal happened??#FDR fully threatened the supreme court. he said hed add justices who were on his side to dilute the courts power #this is called packing the court. and the threat worked. they allowed the new deal to go forward #i wonder how something like this couldve been implemented while dems have the senate majority #hmmmmmmm. it's a mystery! guess there was just absolutely nothing biden or obama couldve done ever to prevent this </3

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rivilu · 10 days

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The more I think about the story through Daeran's pov the more insane i go. btw.

#on so many levels #the whole courting Elluin itself is already bonkers as a choice #nevermind the actually falling for him thing despite him spiraling mentally the entire time after act 3 #(not beating the actually sweet allegations with that one I'm afraid king)#but what im mostly crazy about is like. you know the mask motif ellu has? how he's a lying liar who lies?#and like. Dae knows. Hells the Spark achievement happened when elluin tricked those cultists into killing eachother #he's seen him lie and deceive OTHERS time and time again #even if he is apprehensive- which honestly i can't tell if he is he's too good at not letting me understand his feelings -#he probably doesn't think too much of it until perhaps. it affects him?#aka the encounter with liotr .#that. i dont care about you (lie) quote that has been spinning in my head ever since #he's SO good at lying- acting- that even someone that close to him- someone that expects it- can be convinced of what he says #it's such a huge red flag if you think about it because well #when can you ever know if he's being truthful? You can't. He hardly knows how to be himself!#to then have threshold happen. Dae pov you've just proposed and he's said yes. All is well. to then see him walk toward that edge #and AREELU IS RIGHT THERE. THERE WAS NO NEED. this was something he did because he planned it #and you can only look back and realise how many things he did and said were cries for help in disguise.#wonder if it couldve been prevented if you noticed but it's far too late now #even if we take trickster multiverse into account and find a version of the story where ellu could've been talked down #what happens afterward? i imagine it'd be different if he was talked out of it early vs while On That Edge #just. what a fucking situation to find oneself in. what a person to choose to court. Daeran i need to pick at your brain #even if everything HAD worked out perfectly fine Ellu's .. not exactly the kind of person that would fit well in any royal setting.#which may be part of his appeal to Pissing Off The Rest Of The Royalty- The Character- but still. long term how would they make it work?#im frothing at the mouth if only i could write canon characters AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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writingouthere · 5 months

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singledad!Sukuna x neighbor!reader-Sukuna and Yuuji really want you to join their family! role reversal from my other series, think this will just be a one-shot though. Yuuji is Sukuna's brother but he's raised him since he was a baby and Yuuji calls him dad.

cw: Sukuna is manipulative and also a murderer but everyone's happy and you're both aware so it's okay. this is really just fluff.

"I....want you to be my mommy?"

Sukuna scowled as Yuuji looked more confused than ever.

"No, no that is not what you're saying kid. You're just going to tell her about how the other kids' mommies on the playground make you feel left out."

"But they don't, Megumi's mommy always gives me a snack when I'm hungry!"

"That's not his mommy, that's Megumi's daddy," Sukuna corrected, wondering if this was just a hopeless endeavor. He could have easily followed a plan this simple when he was four, but Yuuji was too soft. This was what happened when you raised a kid in a stable, loving environment. They lost the ability to go for the jugular when needed.

"But Megumi's daddy calls him mommy?" Sukuna didn't hold back his groan. You were going to be coming back from your morning walk any minute. He didn't have time for Yuuji to not get basic directions or to explain the dynamics of that Gojo family.

"Look when we go out there, just look sad and I'll handle the rest."

"But I'm not sad, I'm happy. We're going to the park and Megumi's mommy is bringing mochi today!"

"Shit kid, do you want a mom or not?" Sukuna asked, trying not to roll his eyes as be bent down to snap on the velcro straps on Yuuji's light up sneakers.

"I don't need a mom, I have you," Yuuji said. He looked uncharacteristically defiant and Sukuna couldn't help feeling proud of his little brother.

It had been touch and go when Yuuji was a baby. Sukuna had still been a kid himself and they didn't have any money and Yuuji's mom was even crazier than Sukuna's. Their father nowhere to be seen. Since Sukuna and Uraume had spread the pieces of his corpse around the city.

Sukuna pushed these memories aside and ruffled Yuuji's hair. "I know you don't need one, we only need each other." Yuuji nodded, his little head moving with all his conviction. "But it might be nice, right?"

Yuuji seemed thoughtful before finally biting his lip and looking down at his sneakers. He tapped them, making the red and black lights flash.

"She's really nice, I like her."

"I like her too," Sukuna said and he heard the sound of your sneakers slapping against the tiled hallway. "So let's go and look sad, okay?" Yuuji nodded, determined now and Sukuna grabbed his backpack before the two brothers went out into the hall.

You were just taking your keys out of your bag and you turned to the brothers, a smile on your face. "Good morning gentlemen, it's nice to see you. Heading out?"

That was when you noticed Yuuji's downturned expression. Sukuna saw your face shift into one of concern and he resisted a smirk.

Sukuna cleared his throat and squeezed Yuuji's hand. Good boy. "We're heading out to the park, you know the one by the high school."

"Oooh, that's nice. You like that park, right Yuuji? You said it was the biggest one in the whole city," you crouched down so you could look Yuuji in the eye and Yuuji seemed to forget he was supposed to be sad for a minute because he jumped up and down, the lights of his shoes flashing in the dim hallway.

"Yeah, it has the best swings too!" You ooohed and aawed appropriately while Sukuna tried not to smack his head against the wall. Maybe he and this kid weren't related after all, fuck.

Yuuji seemed to notice his expression because he stopped jumping to look down at feet. He put out his lower lip and used the tip of one of shoes to mess with a scuff mark on the linoleum. It would have made a more pathetic visage if his shoes weren't still lit up.

"Yuuji," you said, coming closer so you could kneel on the ground in front of the boy. The sight of you on your knees did something to Sukuna, but he pushed it aside to see what the brat had in mind. So far, he wasn't impressed with the performance. "Is something wrong?"

"It's just," Yuuji let out a sad sigh that wouldn't get him a gig in a car commercial. "Megumi and his mommy will be there and it makes me feel sad because all the other kids have mommies and I don't." God, there was no way you could be buying this, Sukuna looked at you and saw that your eyes looked a little watery.

Huh, look at that. Maybe he wouldn't have to kick the kid out, after all.

"I'm sorry Yuuji, that must be hard," you said and you reached out and swiped out where Yuuji had even managed to shed a tear. Sukuna felt so proud. "But I know that your dad is really excited to take you and the two of you are going to have so much fun!"

"Could you come too?" Yuuji asked and you bit your lip. Yuuji looked up and batted his little doe eyes at you. "It would make me really happy if you came with us. We could all have fun together."

"I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"It wouldn't be intruding," Sukuna cut in. "If you're busy though no worries, I know we'll have fun just the two of us. Right, Yuuji?"

Yuuji bit his lip and Sukuna could tell he was torn between showing how excited he was to spend time with his dad and being 'sad' so you would join them.

You looked between the two before seeming to come to some kind of decision. "If you don't mind waiting while I change, I'd be happy to join you two. Should I bring anything?"

"I think we're all set. We'll wait outside for you," Sukuna said and Yuuji went up and gave you a big hug that you returned.

Sukuna took Yuuji outside to wait for you, the kid occupying himself with a mostly washed away hopscotch chalk sketch. Sukuna alternated between watching him and texting Uraume who was claiming to be over him and his nonsense. Sukuna would take it more seriously if Uraume hadn't been saying that for going on twenty years. He knew they loved him, fucking sap.

Soon, but not soon enough, you came bounding down the stairs. A scarf tied around your neck, your turtleneck exposed by the open top button of your coat. He couldn't keep letting you be single, looking all pretty like that. He was too greedy for that.

Besides, looking the way you did and knowing your big heart, it was just a matter of time before some nice loser tricked you into settling with them and he just couldn't have that. The idea of you taking someone else home to your warm apartment with it's million throw blankets and a cookie jar, an actual cookie jar, he was convinced you kept stocked up just for Yuuji, made him want to commit another murder.

"Ready?" you asked and Sukuna nodded while Yuuji took your hand in his right and Sukuna's in his left.

"Let's go!"

Yuuji's enthusiasm was contagious and the two of you chatted all the way to the park. Sukuna saw some people shoot you all looks as you walked. Sukuna was used to people viewing him with suspicion, even fear. His tattoos, dyed hair and general demeanor making people cross the street to avoid him. Something about you and Yuuji seemed to balance him out though and people reacted as if they were just looking at a cute family going out on a Saturday.

You didn't seem to notice either way and just continued talking to Yuuji about some new anime for kids Sukuna had probably had to suffer through but hadn't retained any memory of.

As soon as you all got to the park, Yuuji took off with barely a good-bye. You seemed concerned and Sukuna bumped your shoulder with his. "Don't stress, he just sees the Fushiguro kid over there. See, they're already fucking around."

He pointed to where Yuuji was chasing around a scowling dark haired boy the same age as him. Sukuna didn't buy the scowl for a second.

He had once run into the kid and his weird dads at the grocery store and the kid had scolded him when he figured out Yuuji wasn't with him. Sukuna would have knocked the kid down a peg if he wasn't actually four years old and if his 'mommy' didn't low key give him the creeps. Sukuna was pretty sure he wasn't the only person guilty of homicide currently at this playground.

"That's so cute," you cooed and Sukuna nodded along while he took you over to some picnic tables. Unfortunately one of them was already occupied.

"Aww if it isn't Sukuna. How nice it is to see your lovely face on a Saturday morning!"

"Gojo."

Sukuna was ready to leave it there but then the bastard got up and walked over. His partner continued sipping on a large cup of boba, watching from his seat although he gave you a little wave.

"Who is this, new girlfriend?" Gojo asked tilting down his sunglasses to look you up and down.

You laughed and introduced yourself while Megumi's parents did the same. Gojo grabbed your hand when you held it out and kissed the back of it, his lips curved into a smile even as he lingered, his fingers clearly holding onto where your pulse would be. Sukuna moved closer to you and put a hand around your waist, the gesture a clear sign for the other man to back off which Sukuna knew Gojo understood because the bitch fucking smiled at him.

Sukuna didn't necessarily take any of Gojo's flirtations seriously. He flirted with every mom and dad on the playground, including him when they first met. He'd even seen him flirt with the guy who worked the ice cream truck so egregiously the kid had looked on the verge of passing out. His partner never seemed bothered and Sukuna wondered if he was just that secure in the relationship or if he hoped someone would finally come along and get the annoying man away from him.

As usual though, Gojo lost interest quickly and went back to his husband who didn't say anything as Gojo lay across his lap like some kind of housecat.

"There are children here," Sukuna said. Mostly out of spite and not jealousy that the two of you weren't curled up like that.

"Don't be homophobic," Gojo said and you snorted before looking innocent when Sukuna shot you a look.

"Alright, let's go see what Yuuji's up to." Sukuna went along with your excuse, mostly just because he liked the feeling of your hand in his. The two of you wandered closer to the playground where Megumi and Yuuji were currently engaged in a game with some other kids that Sukuna couldn't have possibly guessed the subject of.

The kids alternated running around the large structure, disappearing into tunnels, jumping down to hide underneath slides and behind climbing walls. Every time Yuuji popped back up to view he would wave and call out to you both. Sukuna still felt a little warm whenever the kid called him dad and the look you gave him after made him feel caught.

"So, I can see why Yuuji was so sad those morning. Megumi's parents are just vicious monsters," you said and Sukuna was so taken aback he knew his expression didn't hide it well. You smiled and swung your hand that was still in his, turning so you could look at him.

"I don't think that's what the issue was," Sukuna managed and you nodded.

"Right, it must have been because he's so lonely," you said before the two of you were interrupted by the sound of children's ecstatic laughter. You both looked to where Yuuji was now being chased by an entire horde of children.

"I'm the curse, you have to catch me," he yelled out and the other children screamed and laughed as they tried to grab him. Yuuji had never had a hard time making friends and that was very evident in the way he got kids of all ages, even the quiet ones to join in on his game.

"You can have friends and still be lonely," Sukuna argued and you gave him just the softest look. It wasn't fair for you to see through his schemes and still look at him like that.

"Are you lonely, Sukuna?" You got closer to him, your hand still got in his and you were so warm. "Maybe I should come home with you, then?"

Sukuna couldn't have stopped himself from kissing you even if he wanted to, which he didn't. He let go of your hand so he could cup your face in both of his palms. You moaned your approval into his mouth and he responded by nipping your upper lip, pulling you up to meet him as he leaned down to kiss you. Sukuna was about to risk another arrest by taking you right here in the park before a familiar voice called out to the both of you.

"Hey now, there's children here."

Sukuna turned to give the infuriating dumbfuck a piece of his mind when you distracted him by pulling him back to you and giving him a quick peck on the lips. He could leave the fight with Gojo for another day, he supposed. He knew he'd win anyway.

You're smiling and you look so happy and Sukuna doesn't feel the least amount of guilt in getting you here. Even if you knew it was a trick.

Although.

Did this mean you knew that all those times he was "stuck at work" and needed someone to watch Yuuji were a lie too? Or that he actually could cook and the one time he set the building fire alarm off had been because he started an actual fire and not just him burning dinner and two of them didn't actually need you to invite them to dinner so much? Did you also know that your radiator hadn't just stopped working randomly but he had broke it, knowing you would call him because your super never answered, and when he said a part was still missing and you would just have to stay the night at his and Yuuji's place-

Sukuna looked at you more closely and you just kept smiling.

As Yuuji called for the two of you to come help him and Megumi on the swings, Sukuna wondered if he had ever trapped you, even once. Or if you had just let him catch you.

Watching you push Yuuji as the boy screamed for you to go "higher, higher!" he decided he didn't care. Fuck, it might just be better. Knowing you were maybe as crazy as he was.

shout out to the dad at the park today who had the audacity to play with his toddler and have a cute dog at the same time.

also I liked the end of this so much I may just write a prequel of Sukuna and reader taking turns gaslighting the other into a relationship, we'll see.

Edit: wrote the prequel, here!

#jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you

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