#but Chickpea has it and he is happy now

[smalltimidbean]

SOMEONE MAKE THE BIG BOY FEEL BETTER I CANNOT STAND SEEING HIM UPSET AAAUHGHHHH

If you mean Chickpea, after this interaction with Bruno, do not worry, he was okay after! Lavender came back, finished his check-up, and then he got his favourite snack - (very large) soft-boiled eggy

[blueywrites]

Where you and Steve swing with Eddie and Chrissy, and it gets complicated.

TO KNOW YOU'RE MINE (modern!swingers!au) (18+ only)

eddie munson x chrissy cunningham x steve harrington x you

fem!reader, chubby!reader, minimal use of y/n, body insecurity, swingers, angst, hurt/no comfort (there will be a happy ending!)

chapter ten : overcome (10k) | playlist | AO3 | next

🎵 in this au, deftones=corroded coffin. the playlist is a combination of R's sad girl music vibes and some foreshadowing. the songs for this chapter are #29-#33. Eddie's two songs aren't mentioned by name, but the others are. #34 is a good add-on at the end if you want to cry harder.

Do you ever wonder what it’s like 

Losing what you cannot be without? 

I’ll keep running

Overcome — Skott

You’re staring down at the kaleidoscope of color that makes up your salad. The green of crisp cucumbers, delicate arugula, and soft, fragrant mint. The deep purple of olives. The burnt gold of rich chickpeas and toasty pine nuts. The pale cream of fluffy quinoa and the bright white of tart feta. Your gaze lingers longest on the oven-roasted tomatoes scattered like gashes of red amongst the roughage. 

It's a Mediterranean salad your sister kindly prepared for your first lunch at work post-breakup, and it looks delicious— vibrant and fresh, promising a palate of savory flavors that will dance on your tongue. Yet since you sat down in the staff lounge to break for a late lunch, not one bite of salad has made it past your lips. Your elbow is planted on the table, fork listlessly poking around in the glass container as you slump, leaning your chin heavily in your hand. Your mind is far from the allure of color. It's distracted, just as it has been since the moment you woke.

You’re thinking about Eddie.

Now that your relationship with Steve is over and you’ve had the weekend to process it, your relationship with Eddie— whatever it is, whatever it could be— has been all you can think about. Longing, fear, hope, and guilt mix into a tempest while you chart patient records and call names into the waiting room. By your two-thirty lunch break, the storm has accumulated into a vague feeling of nausea that overwhelms your hunger. Your thoughts are relentless, swirling around in a looping pattern that seems never to resolve.

You dwell on Eddie’s gentle brown eyes, the softness of his kisses, and the rough pads of his fingers wiping your tears. You think about his manic smiles and his playfulness, his unapologetic dramatics and his frenetic energy. You remember the smoke words that still swirl around in behind your ribs even now. ‘I want you, y/n. I don’t want to hurt you; I really care about you. Anything for you.’ Wings flutter, your flowers bloom, and red fruit yearns to spill from your tongue. 

But then the guilt resurges, sticky and insistent, mixing with the freezing bite of fear. You know you care for Eddie deeply, but how can you expect to compete with Chrissy? Saccharine-sweet Chrissy, with her powdery-soft skin, bright blue eyes, lithe arms, and delicate waist? How can you compare to high school sweethearts, to five years of history, to plans for engagement and talks of children? Five years versus five months. That’s all you’ve known him for. How could you expect Eddie to throw all of that away? You’ve told one another that you care. But when the allure of desiring what he can’t have is gone— now that you’re well and truly split from Steve— when it comes down to it, would Eddie balk at the reality of what that means?

And even if he doesn’t balk, you can’t stop hearing Steve’s words echo in your head. 

‘I just feel bad for Chris.’

Despair slinks back, drool dripping from its maw to hiss as it contacts the tender growth of your green, singeing the leaves with bitter poison. Yet light and smoky charcoal— Eddie’s black and white— chase it away, nourishing the damaged leaves until all are new again, and the cycle repeats.

It circles over and over until you’re left with a final thought: Wanting Eddie to be with me… asking him to… it—

“Y/n?”

You startle, wide eyes darting to the doorway where Denise leans half-inside, stethoscope swaying. “Yeah?”

“Dr. Nichols is looking for you.”

You nod quickly, snapping the lid back on your uneaten salad. “Thanks, Denise. I’ll be right out.” You shoot her a quick smile, and she smiles back before leaving you with only the refrigerator's hum to accompany the swirling of your thoughts. 

You know the loop can’t last forever; it must resolve somehow. And as you remember the hurt in Eddie’s eyes when he’d asked whether you were too busy to listen to his song, you also know you can’t leave him waiting. You need to talk to him.

So you find yourself seated at Penny’s kitchen island later that evening, facing an empty wine glass placed carefully beside the black screen of your phone. The wine bottle stares at you, and you stare back until you give in, pouring another half-glass of deep red liquid with slightly shaky fingers. The two in your stomach are already spreading warm from your belly to fuzz in your head, taking the edge off your nerves as you direct your stare down at your inactive phone. 

The loop has been resolved, your decision has been made, and now, you’re just mentally preparing to ask Eddie if you can see him. The sooner, the better, you think, though the squirmy, tight nervousness has kept you from actually going through with it.

Finally, your nerves are numbed enough by the fuzz of the wine for you to make your move. You down your final half-glass of wine, dry and tart as it clings to your tongue and the roof of your mouth; the glass clinks definitively against the marble countertop, and you fix determined eyes on your phone. Before the courage can leave you, you swipe it open and find your text message chain with Eddie.

The last message is still Eddie’s song, and you try to ignore the pang it conjures as you type quickly and hit send before you can overthink it. 

‘Can I see you?’

Straight to the point, no preamble. A little bald, truthfully, but it’s the best you can do. 

Your fingers tap against the edge of the countertop as your eyes dart compulsively. They flick to the empty wineglass and the drop of burgundy clinging to its lip, then back to your phone, to the plants on the sill above the kitchen sink, then back to your phone. Back and forth as if you’re desperate to escape but can’t pull your eyes away from those four words for too long.

And then one more dart, from the shine of the stainless steel fridge to the screen, and Eddie’s reply is suddenly there.

‘Now?’

Your heart skips and thuds as you surge with nerves. You’d thought the sooner, the better, but you weren’t ready for that soon. You type with fingers unsteady from adrenaline. ‘Not tonight, but maybe tomorrow?’

His answer comes quickly. ‘I have a show tomorrow night. Come. We can do something after.’

You suck in a tremulous breath, stomach sinking even as you flutter with anticipation. Going out alone isn’t something you like to do; you tend to feel even more self-conscious without the buffer of a friend or partner to shelter behind. And considering the private conversation you’re planning to have with Eddie, inviting a friend only to ditch them as soon as the show is over seems selfish and inconsiderate. You chew on your thumbnail, debating for a tense moment. In the end, you think of the first time you met Eddie, how his brown eyes had crinkled with his wide, genuine smile when you told him you liked his music. 

You know you can’t deny him.

‘Same place as last time?’ you ask.

‘Yes,’ he answers. 

The loop has been resolved, but you’re slowly spinning as your fingers tap your final reply. ‘I’ll be there.’

–

The crumbling brick facade and fissures in the asphalt are the same as the first time you’d visited this bar, but the dry, brittle skeletons of weeds are now plush with green flesh and butter-yellow heads. When in February, the winter wind had cut through your puffy coat, your arms are now bare, skin dewy in the June heat that ushers you from your car to the front door. There are no frozen puddles for Steve to guide you around; you aren’t dressed in skin-tight white. Instead, your blue dress swishes against your thighs, and your sandals take you straight up to the front door. 

You’d showered and changed after work before going out for the night, wanting to both feel fresh and use the ritual of preparing to help the time pass quicker. You opted for something light, a comfortable dusty blue summer dress with short sleeves that will hopefully keep you cool in the sticky humidity you anticipate will fill the bar during the show. Fumbling for your driver’s license in your crossbody bag, you approach one of the bouncers. He eyes you shrewdly as you finally wrench it from your wallet and pass it over. You stand with your hands clasped sheepishly until he gives it back to you, his face now impassive. Timid steps carry you inside.

You freeze at the threshold of the main room. It’s brighter inside this time; the lights have not yet dimmed for the performance, and rock music plays through tinny speakers, hushed slightly under the light buzz of conversation. It’s also much less crowded tonight since it's a Tuesday, though you are surprised by the disproportionate number of girls in the place. Generally, you’d expect to see more men than women on a Tuesday night in a seedy establishment like this. You spot the chalkboard sign beside the bar: ‘Tuesdays are for the Ladies! $6 well drinks and $3 shots.’ You suppose only ladies in college or young enough to be reckless with their Wednesday morning workdays would be willing to stay out late for cheap drinks, which explains the girlish squeals and tiny skirts lingering near the bar. They’re all clustered in little groups, pairs at the very least; a quick glance and you can already tell you’re the only girl here alone. 

You inhale slowly through your nose, fighting against roiling nerves as your eyes scan the room for another reason. Luckily, not many tables are currently occupied, and you cut a direct path to the center of the room, hopping easily onto the stool and pulling your small purse into your lap. You take out your phone to check the time: it’s a quarter to eight, so you only have about fifteen minutes to wait before Eddie’s band comes out. 

A peal of laughter has your eyes darting toward the bar, where many of the young women are still loitering, though some have wandered toward the front of the stage to wait for the show to begin. You turn pointedly from the bar, settling your elbows against the bartop as your knee begins to jolt. Though you know a drink would help to calm your nerves, you don’t want to be anything but sober for this conversation. It’s too important. So you weather your nerves, distracting yourself with your muted Tiktok feed until the lights suddenly dim, drawing your eyes to the stage. 

Your breath quickens as the darkened forms of four masculine bodies trail out amid grinding ambient sounds, illuminated from behind by piercing red light. Feminine chatter crests like a wave as a crush of silky heads crowd together around the base of the stage. Though your view remains hazy, obscured by the harsh red backlighting, three bodies slowly materialize, gaining shape in the haze. And then, the final form takes center stage. It’s a familiar silhouette you would recognize anywhere.

A crowd of heads tips up to watch as the grinding ambient sounds fade, voices hushing until the entire room seems silent, as if put under a spell. After a lingering moment of tense quiet, two snappy drum hits cut through the air, and the front lights finally flash on as Eddie strums the first notes of the opening song. 

He’s a study in black and white with a gash of red, and just like the first time, the sight of him consumes you entirely. 

His legs are splayed wide, clad in tight dark jeans slung low on narrow hips. His long dark curls kiss his strong shoulders, wild and beautiful as they frame his pale quartz face. A white tank, near thread-bare and ripped, barely conceals his torso, which is branded with a tapestry of dark ink that smatters across his chest and travels down his arms like body armor. His deft pale fingers are adorned with those chunky silver rings, fingers that strum his sleek blood-red guitar with intent ease as he gazes out at the crowd. From this distance, you can see Eddie’s face clearly: sharp jaw, full lips, soft nose. Dark eyes that, despite the enthusiastic feminine squeals and reaching fingers of the women at his feet, scan restlessly until they skim yours, only to return and catch, holding fast once he realizes it’s you. You see the instantaneous shift— the way the dark umber of Eddie’s eyes lightens to honey and a corner of his lips tugs up in a crooked smile. He presses them against the mic to croon the song’s opening words: “Hey you.”

Your moth wings flutter at the intimacy of knowing that despite the multitude of women at his feet, Eddie Munson is singing to you.

As you watch Eddie perform for you, he watches you watch him. When his fingers shift on the frets, you feel those calloused pads rasp along the doughy flesh of your thighs. When his plush lips kiss the mic, you feel them brush warm along the shell of your ear. When those curls dampen with sweat, you feel them drag and tickle your soft stomach as he travels down, down, down your body. And when Eddie sings— when he drawls and croons and shouts til grit roughens and breaks the timbre— you inhale every ounce of smoke he exhales until it settles deep within you, heady and more intoxicating than alcohol could ever be. 

Yet despite the charisma of Eddie’s performance, underneath it all, the writhing nerves never leave you, like you can’t allow yourself to forget the conversation that looms ever larger with each passing song.

After an extended set of seven consecutive songs, Eddie’s white shirt has gone near translucent from exertion and the humidity you’d predicted would accumulate in the room. That pale chest inked with armor is heaving, but his brown eyes are bright, lips split in a manic smile as he addresses the crowd with a hoarsened voice. “How’re we doing tonight?” He doesn’t shout; instead, he smolders, that amplified murmur almost a purr as the crowd shrieks their enthusiasm. You can feel how much they love him, and it doesn’t make you jealous; instead, beneath your nerves, you feel pleased for Eddie, warm with the knowledge that others appreciate him just as much as you do. 

He continues, “We’re Corroded Coffin—” 

A surge of more shrieking, and Eddie chuckles, husky and full, as his eyes flash to yours. He sees your broad smile, the pleasure in your flushed cheeks, and his smirk softens. “That’s Gareth on the drums—” Eddie gestures behind him, and it almost feels like he’s introducing you as Gareth tosses his brown hair and lifts his sticks before beating out a short, frenetic fill. “Jeff is on rhythm guitar—” The dark of his skin is broken by a flash of white teeth as he salutes before strumming a short chord, bending the strings so they whammy. “Brian’s on bass—” The larger guy with the bristly hair walks a baseline with thick, capable fingers. “And I’m Eddie.” Another round of cheers and clapping, and he grins again when you clap enthusiastically like one of his groupies. 

Eddie’s grin fades, and he pulls off the mic; he says something inaudible to Jeff, who nods, communicating to the others. Before you can wonder about it, Eddie murmurs again into the mic, smoke voice low and close to intimate. “Wrote this one this weekend. Came together pretty quick.” And then he looks at you, and the expression on his face makes your throat go thick. “This is for someone sweet.”

Immediately you can tell that the mood of this song is very different from the ones that came before. Delicate and atmospheric, pensive, but not quite melancholic. You watch Eddie’s pale fingers pick the strings, knuckles ruddy above chunky silver rings as the notes ring out in the silence of the bar. And you feel it: the quiver of your roots, the stretch of your green as it strives for him. A deep, poignant yearning that mixes with a somber sort of weight as he starts to sing.

“Floating on the water, ever-changing. Picture hours out from that in tune with all our dreams.”

Eddie’s voice is always beautiful, and you told him that. But there’s something different about the smoke that flows from him now. As it rakes down your spine, its touch is gentle. As it enters your mouth, its taste is sweeter. You think it must be written all over your face, how it’s making you feel— how your white flowers open their faces even as a deep ache blooms behind your sternum, pricking at your eyes. Yet you don’t look away. You can’t look away because Eddie is singing to you. 

But he isn’t just singing to you. He’s singing about you.

“The ocean takes me into watch your shaking. Watch you weigh your powers, tempt with hours of pleasure.” The intensity of your feeling increases as Eddie presses close to the mic, eyes scrunching closed as his voice goes higher, almost a caress. “Take me one more time; take me one more wave; take me for one last ride; I’m out of my head—” 

He gasps a ragged breath, and your heart squeezes as the passion leaks through in that one word. “—tonight!”

The music intensifies, and the girls clumped around the stage are swaying, reaching their dainty fingers towards Eddie’s feet, hopping in their high heels to the beat. Because despite never having heard this song before, they love it. And, of course, they love it; the song is good. But you think even if the song wasn’t good, even if it was nothing more than clumsy notes spilling from trembling fingers and a cracked smoke voice, you would feel exactly as you do now.

Hearing how Eddie has interpreted and translated moments of your time together— holding each other in the ocean, trembling beneath him as you orgasmed for the first time, driving you home in his van, the only time you’d been alone together since the first night you’d met— is nearly overwhelming. It’s breathtaking; it caresses your green and pierces you at the same time. 

Eddie sings about you, and as a watery smile blooms on your face, you watch him answer it with a gentle spread of heartbreaking pink.

–

When the show finally ends, the crowd at the front of the stage disperses. You remain seated on your barstool, your purse cradled in your lap, only stirring when you feel the vibration of your phone.

‘Come backstage. Use the unmarked door near the bathrooms.’

You suck in a shaky breath, trying to calm the immediate pounding of your heart. Here goes.

You venture in that direction, hugging your arms close as you skirt around bodies, following Eddie’s instruction. You duck into a narrow hallway and tentatively push open the door beyond the bathrooms, eyes darting down the darkened corridor until they catch on black and white at the end of the hall.

Eddie’s leaning against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, the toe of one black boot planted against the concrete. Behind him, the door is open, and the warmth of the summer air rushes in with the chirping of crickets, soothing against your cheeks and neck as it blows back your hair. He’s cast in the glow of a floodlight just outside, which illuminates the darkness of his curls with warm light. As you approach him, fingers worrying the hem of your dress at your side, his features sharpen, growing clearer until you can see him fully.

He still looks incredibly overheated— the white of his ripped tank sticks like tissue to his abdomen and chest, and his curls are damp with sweat, corkscrewed at his hairline and hanging limp at the ends where they trail against the charcoal ink on his shoulders. You can see the visible rise and fall of his chest as he drops his arms, still panting from his exertions on stage. But his brown eyes are bright, and his pink lips are split in a manic grin. And as you get closer, you notice the wet spot on the front of his shirt, like he’d sloppily guzzled a water bottle and rushed right outside to see you. 

Your heart lurches as you realize he probably did just that.

The poignancy of your yearning swiftly overtakes you. As you reach the threshold, Eddie steps forward, brown eyes warm. “Hey—”

You fall into him, arms crushing around his back, squishing your face to his sweaty chest. Eddie staggers slightly with an audible ‘oof,’ clearly not expecting the suddenness of your hug, but his arms circle you unhesitantly, holding you as you press yourself to him. You relish the warmth of his body despite its dampness; the tattoo of his steady heartbeat under your cheek; his scent in your nose, musky from exertion above notes of smoke and delicate apple. He chuckles as you cling to him, warm and husky. You sigh as his breath fans against the top of your head, and his chest vibrates under your cheek with his laughter. You hold on until you feel his chuckles subside, until the moment has lingered too long for the hug just to be a hug hello, but you can’t wrench yourself away. Eddie quiets, arms simultaneously softening and holding you tighter, and one palm settles heavily on the back of your head. It’s a comforting weight, giving you the strength to shudder a breath against his chest and finally pull away.

Eddie seems to have picked up on your nerves, and his brow is furrowed slightly even as you smile at him. “You were incredible,” you say sincerely, and a corner of his lips quirks. His fingers run lightly along the length of your hair, brushing it back from your face. 

“Thanks,” he says, though the warmth is dampened by the question clearly pressing behind his teeth. You scrape your teeth against your bottom lip, taking one tiny step back. Nerves wriggle up from the pit of your stomach to squirm in your chest, and you fight against the urge to fidget under Eddie’s stare.

“Can we sit in your van?” you ask, voice small as you look up at him. “I have to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.” Eddie's reply is immediate despite the concern creasing his face, and he ushers you forward with a warm palm on your back, kicking aside the brick that was propping the door open. It thumps closed behind you.

The slight breeze is gone now, and the air is warm and stagnant, thick with humidity as if a summer storm is soon to come. Eddie’s boots crunch on gravel as he silently leads you to his van, parked alongside crumbling brick, waiting to be loaded after the show. He opens the passenger door for you, and you take his proffered hand, relishing the rasp of his callouses against your soft palm as he helps you up.

When Eddie clicks the door shut, the muffled silence— the sudden cut in the rhythmic chirping of the outdoors— leaves you feeling almost bereft. The chirping returns as he opens his door, stretching his lanky legs under the steering wheel as he settles into the driver’s seat. Sharply, he pulls the door closed, plunging you into silence again.

Words don’t come easy to you; you often don’t know what to say. And though you’d practiced it, these words are no different. It takes you a moment to struggle against the nerves and fear because you really don’t know how Eddie is going to react to this. It feels even harder than breaking up with Steve. Your fingers are trembling, and you clench them tightly in your lap as you push yourself to meet his eye. 

Eddie still looks concerned, but his expression is open and accepting; his white is on display, and it helps you part your lips. Your voice is quiet but perfectly audible in the hush of the van. “On Saturday morning, I—” 

Your words choke in your throat as your nerves spike. You push through, though you can’t stop your voice from wavering. “I ended things with Steve.”

Eddie’s shock is clear. His eyebrows jerk violently; his brown eyes widen as his face goes slack. Your eyes dart between his, anxiousness leaping into your throat to curdle there. You almost don’t want to examine his reaction, but you can’t help yourself. You watch Eddie attempt to school his features: brows resetting, adam’s apple bobbing in a thick swallow. The silence is becoming oppressive, and you almost feel the need to break it yourself, to fill it with babbling or tell him exactly what happened, every sordid detail. Anything to disrupt the overwhelming silence.

Finally, Eddie’s tongue darts out to lick his lips; they part, and he just asks one question. “Are you okay?”

His voice is such sweet relief from the tension that you release a sigh, but it’s the question itself— the fact that Eddie’s first thought is to ask you if you’re all right— that has your eyes stinging. There’s a sudden lump in your throat not borne of nerves, but it doesn’t stop you from speaking. “Yeah, I’m okay.” You take a deep breath, eyes darting around the cabin as you attempt to explain. “Something was always missing, I think, in our relationship. I just didn’t know any better. Steve was really my first boyfriend. I’d dated guys casually before him, but nothing was ever as serious as it was with Steve. And I thought things were good, and I guess they were for awhile. But….” Your eyes dart to Eddie almost shyly, darting away again from the intensity there. “These last few months changed how I saw the relationship, and I couldn’t pretend like everything was okay when it wasn’t.” 

The flow of words slows to a drip until you feel you’ve finally released them all. You fall quiet, watching your thumb run against your fingernail for a moment until you hazard a glance up at Eddie again. When you make contact, he nods, expression open and accepting again, and his dark curls sway around his face. You want to tuck them behind his ear, but this next part is important, and you don’t want to distract from it. You hold his gaze as you add, “And you should know… I didn’t tell Steve about Friday. What we did. I couldn’t do that to him after Nancy; it would’ve hurt him so badly.”

Eddie nods again. “I get it,” he says. “I do.” And you think he does. His brown eyes flick away as he licks his lips again. “Was he… upset?” 

He sounds careful, almost hesitant. You wonder if Eddie wants to ask whether he came up in the conversation, but you suspect, from the look on his face, that he already knows he did. You think of the dullness of Steve’s hazel eyes, the briny mud. You think of his mirthless chuckle, of the words he’d spit at you. ‘‘Cause then it means you can have Eddie. And you can convince yourself you don't have to feel bad about what you've done.’

You nod, and it comes out shaky and weak, just like the words do. “Yeah, he was upset.”

Eddie’s face creases further, and you think it could be guilt, that ooze you’re so familiar with. “Are you upset?”

You don’t have to wait for your answer to well up; you feel the words pooling on your tongue already. You marvel over how it should be awkward to talk about this with Eddie, but somehow it isn’t. “There is a part of me that’s sad it’s over. We were together for three years, you know? And sometimes it was really good. But after what he told me about Nancy and about—” You shake your head, interrupting yourself. “I don’t really wanna get into it, but… I don’t think Steve ever really healed after what happened. And it seeped into us. I think he did love me, and I loved him, but he was never able to be fully open and honest. And I don’t know if he ever would have gotten there with me.”

The familiar weight of sorrow coats your skin as you mourn what you’ve lost, but it isn’t as heavy as it had been on Saturday night. And you find that as you speak the words to Eddie, it makes you realize that the problem with your relationship with Steve was always as simple as that— that he wasn’t able to tend to you the way you tended to him. 

Eddie nods again. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet this entire time, though you suppose it isn’t out of place for the circumstances. And then he’s tilting toward you to reach over the armrest. 

Your breath catches as you realize his intent; you untangle your hands in your lap in time for him to take one. His hold is soft, skin warm and rough as he anchors you with it, offering silent support. His thumb rubs slowly over the back of your hand, and the feeling makes your wings stir. When he finally speaks, Eddie’s smoke voice is quiet, still hoarse from his performance. “I’m sorry, y/n.” 

You let out a shaky breath, feeling both comforted and nervous. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be okay.” You lean your head back against the headrest, allowing yourself a moment to indulge in Eddie’s touch before your nerves get the better of you. Gently, you pull your hand away, smiling to reassure him that you welcomed his comfort. Eddie answers the tilt of your lips with a little smile of his own. 

Your eyes wander as you sit quietly in the interior of Eddie’s van, which smells like stale cigarettes and soapy, artificial pine. There’s a new pack of Twizzlers in his cupholder, not yet opened. You stare at it as you gather your courage, breath trembling in your freezing chest. 

The conversation isn’t over yet.

“So—”

“Eddie, I—”

You snap your mouth shut as your voices overlap, and so does Eddie; your eyes catch, and he laughs. Though it’s a little awkward, the husky sound still hits you in that same spot inside, deep at the bottom of you. “You first,” he offers easily, brown eyes warm and glinting in the warm light of the van’s cabin. 

You’re nearly shivering with the freeze that spreads along your sternum, and your heart races desperately behind your frosted ribs as if trying to escape its cage. Because it’s finally here: the moment you’ve been fearing. Dreading. 

The conclusion of your loop.

“Eddie,” you say, “I need to be honest with you.” The impact of your words is immediate; the lingering smile slides from his lips. Despite yourself, you pause for a moment to memorize the way he looks before everything changes. 

Eddie Munson is beautiful. His eyes are deep like warm honey, wide and framed by long, dark lashes. You remember how they crinkle when he smiles. His nose is soft, soft like the dark bangs that feather across his forehead. You remember how he buries it against your skin when his face finds the crook of your neck. His lips are pink, so plush and full. You remember how they feel trailing tenderly across your skin. His jaw is strong and sharp, and his neck is pale and corded. You remember how his throat rumbles against your lips when he hums contentedly. Eddie’s curls are wild and dark, and they skim the ink that darkens the pale quartz of his skin. You remember the black and white that has always drawn you in, the smoke of his voice that, from the first moment you heard it, called to something deep inside you.

Your eyes want to dart away, but you keep them on beautiful brown. “Part of why I broke up with Steve is because….” Your voice wobbles, but you steady it. “Because of how I feel about you.” 

Your words fill the space between you, and you watch that beautiful brown go wide. And when it transforms— when it starts to melt, to spread gentleness onto the tops of Eddie’s cheeks— you hurry yourself along. Choking out the next word. 

“But—”

The freeze of Eddie’s expression, the sudden arresting of his features, pierces you. But it doesn’t change what you realized. What you’ve decided.

You think of the loop: the poison of doubt dripping from despair’s maw, the hope of Eddie’s light and charcoal repairing its damage. But Eddie isn’t the only person that matters.

Chrissy matters, too. 

When you pictured the beloved face of your friend, the charmingly crooked teeth in her broad smile, the sound of her giggle and her sweet voice… it wasn’t the sourness of jealousy that resolved you. It wasn’t the fear that you can’t compete with five years and talks of girls and boys or the insecurity that you’ll never be as beautiful as she is. Instead, it was the injury you knew you would inflict, the haunting question you couldn’t dismiss. You’d finally realized the indisputable truth.

Wanting Eddie to be with me, asking him to… 

It isn’t right. 

It’s nothing but selfish. 

Selfish to want to take this man from your friend, a person who has never been anything but good to you. Selfish to break her heart for the sake of yours.

So you finish your sentence.

You look into Eddie Munson’s gentle eyes and whisper, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Eddie’s head jerks back; he recoils as if you’ve slapped him. His voice is no longer hoarse from the exertion of his performance. Now, it’s dry and cracked. “What? But—”

You rush to cover the cracks of his voice with your own. You know you can’t give Eddie a chance to say anything that might change your mind; this is already too hard. You picture bright blue eyes pierced with hurt. “What we did… it wasn’t right. Not to Steve, and not to Chrissy. We should never have betrayed them like that.”

Eddie’s mouth works soundlessly before he stammers, “I, I mean, I don’t… y/n, I don’t regret what we did. I’m—”

You cut him off again, pleading for him to understand. “I can’t get in between you and Chrissy, Eddie. You’ve been together for five years. You’re high school sweethearts!” Your chin begins to tremble. Earnestness becomes tinged with desperation as you admit your selfishness. Your shame. “She told me how— how you’re gonna propose to her soon. How excited she is to be your wife. How she wants a boy, and you want a girl. You’ve made plans for the future, and she was so excited, so happy.”

The impact of your betrayal hits you fully, and your lips press tight to contain a dismayed whimper. Horrible guilt oozes, crawling up, up, up to press against your teeth, to coat the back of your tongue until you feel ill with it.

Eddie looks pained. He looks nearly as ill as you feel. And you suppose it's finally hitting him, too— what the two of you have done. The realization only resolves you in your decision, and you let the ooze of your guilt leak from your lips, dribbling out to coat the center console that separates you. Your voice is thick with it. “She told me all of that, and then I still—” 

You choke on the viscous ooze, unable to voice it: that you knew how much your friend loves Eddie, and you fucked him behind her back anyway. Your eyes sting with tears more insistently than before. “I know— I know you think you want me, Eddie, but we can’t do this to Chrissy. I can’t—” 

You break off, shuddering a breath as you fight against your tears. You blink up at the ceiling, and as you wait for the tears to recede, your eyes are drawn to the warm light above. The one that glints off Eddie’s dark curls, haloing them in a bright glow. It burns into your retinas, darkening a rectangle in your vision, but you can’t tilt your chin back down. You can’t look away. Not until you feel the caress of smoke from Eddie’s quiet voice against your cheek. 

“Is this what you want?”

Almost by instinct, you breathe the question in; almost by instinct, your eyes seek beautiful brown. Your growth quivers, reaching, striving. Your ripe fruit trembles on the vine, begging you to let it fall from your lips.

You want to say, No, Eddie. I just want you. 

Instead, you say, “Yes. It’s what I want.” 

And then he’s nodding like he had before. Accepting your words; never pushing for too much. Tending to you always. "I understand," Eddie tells you, and the lack of resistance brings relief and pain.

After all, it’s what he said. 'Anything for you.'

Eddie splays his fingers, holding out his hand palm up to you. A silent offering. 

Lip wobbling, your eyes run over the callouses on Eddie’s fingertips, the glint of chunky silver on his fingers. His touch calls to you, and you give in. You allow yourself this last thing. 

You take Eddie’s hand.

You weave your fingers with his, slowly, slowly, relishing the rasp against your soft skin, the warmth of his broad palm. And then, when your eyes turn from your clasped hands to his face, Eddie squeezes your hand. And he doesn’t release his grip; he keeps your hand squeezed tight. And so do you; you squeeze Eddie’s hand, and you keep it squeezed until the pain of your grief and yearning burns like a deep ache in your chest. Until it’s so unbearable that you can’t stand it anymore.

Only then do you break the silence. “I should go,” you whisper.

Your hand slips from his, and Eddie loosens his grip. You wrench your eyes from beautiful, glossy brown, and Eddie blinks and looks away. You find the door handle, and when you push it open, the chirp of crickets floods the silence. Eddie’s voice doesn’t join them. You breathe the balmy summer air and it chases the scent of smoke and apples from your lungs. 

You shut the van door, and Eddie doesn’t stop you.

As you cross the cracked asphalt, leaving black and white behind, your leaves droop. The vines that hug your ribs sag as if shuddering a heavy sigh. Your blooms close their faces; your petals wilt, turning down toward the earth. Roots curl into themselves, seeking respite from peat now sapped of nutrients.

Because the source of your light has gone, and in its place, a full moon rises.

–

You don’t see Eddie Munson again for four months.

By the time summer’s heat has cooled and fat yellow dandelion heads have puffed white and blown away, you’ve grown used to the moon. But it wasn’t always so. The loss of those two men who once were so important in your life stirred up your dirt, leaving spaces needing to be filled; the earth within you shifted, groaning as it adapted to its new normal. It had been difficult at first. Their absence, the disruption of your daily life, was felt keenly. No longer did you reach for your bedside table upon waking at one in the morning to see the screen lit with a song. No longer did you exchange soft giggles with a dear close friend. No longer did you know exactly what you’d be doing on Friday nights— week after week spent tangled pleasurably with expensive perfume, citrus and sea salt, and smoke and apples. No longer did you stretch against the cool sheets of a king-sized bed; instead, the cheery window in Penny’s old office cast thick stripes of morning sun across your twin comforter. But the change of scenery did help. You established a new routine; there wasn’t even any reason to venture into the city aside from the weekends you’d spend leaning into old friendships you renewed with vigorous attention. Gradually, you eased into your new normal, and soon, the absences were no longer keenly felt. By fall, your moth wings have settled, adapting to the deep twilight that bathes you in a cool glow. You’d spent the first twenty-four years of your life illuminated by the moon, and you’d been content. You would be so again.

Never mind that contentment means cold. It means frost on sluggish wings. It means dormant growth, leaves curled towards stems, and fruit desiccated on the vine. Never mind that, because at least the ache has been numbed until it can no longer be felt. There’s a kind of peace in the coldness of the full moon.

And you’d just grown content with living without the light when it returns suddenly and without warning one innocuous Friday evening in late October. 

The dusk casts deepening shadows over the couch in Penny’s living room, and the curtains stir in the crisp breeze where you’ve thrown open the windows. You’re seated at the kitchen island. A bouquet of flowers rests in a glass vase in its center, faded just slightly now, bought last week at the market on 28th Street. Paper plates form a ring around your cutting board, holding mounds of chopped carrots, red bell pepper, and onion that will be added to your stir fry. Your sharp knife raps rhythmically against worn wood, shearing broccoli into little crowns as your speaker cycles through your Liked songs on Spotify. Air So Sweet by dodie complements the peace of the moment— the smell of autumn leaves seeping into the deep mahogany of Penny’s kitchen cabinets, the rhythmic thumping of your knife, the words falling from your lips as you sing quietly under your breath, your voice high and delicate. “The air so sweet, I gulp and gasp for more—”

Three sharp raps cut through the peace, and your eyes snap to the locked front door. 

You balance your knife against the edge of the cutting board, sliding off the barstool with a fond if exasperated sigh as dodie eases into Before the Fall. You pull your loose flannel tighter around you, gliding in your socks and worn, stretchy leggings toward the front door. Penny has been a wonderful sister for these last four months of living together, but sometimes, she can be a difficult roommate. For one, she is very particular about the organization of the fridge, and she has a strict and somewhat complex schedule for laundry and dishwashing that you have struggled to get used to. Despite her meticulousness in other areas, this wouldn’t be the first time she’d left her house key behind and needed you to let her in. Not a shoe is out of place in the rack near the front door, and yet Penny can’t be bothered to hook the key back to the keyring after getting a copy made for you. 

You reach for the handle, huffing your tease through the wood. “Again, Pen? You know, I could just leave you out here. How much do you love me—?”

Your words die in your throat as the door swings open to black and white.

Eddie is standing stiffly at your door, hands jammed deep in the pockets of his tight black jeans, his wallet chain caught on his pale wrist. He’s wearing short sleeves despite the weather, the ink of his armor on full display, arms pimpled with gooseflesh in the autumn chill. You’re staring at the deep burgundy of his band tee, the first color you’ve ever seen him wear. His chest expands with a deep breath, and at the motion, your eyes flit to his almost by instinct.

Eddie’s dark curls frame his pale quartz face like a wild stormcloud. The softness of his nose, the plush pink of his lips, the brown of his eyes— they’re all exactly how you remember. A gust hits him in the back, and as his shoulders scrunch toward his ears, it carries the scent of smoke and apples. 

When you look at him, Eddie’s mouth stretches in a twitchy, crooked smile. One booted foot taps out a frenetic pattern against the brick of your front stoop. When you look at him, moth wings twitch, awakening. They stir powdery snow, which falls silently to frozen earth.

And then Eddie speaks, voice like smoke incarnate. “Hi.”

You tip your chin up, and the smoke passes through your parted lips, sinking into the frozen earth at the bottom of you. Four months, and that’s all it takes: one glimpse of light in brown eyes, one caress of smoke against your mouth. 

You thaw. You yearn.

You swallow down the surge of feeling inside you to hush a greeting back. “Hi.” 

As you stare at each other, Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. He seems hesitant, unsteady, shifting his weight as if he’s uncomfortable in his skin. Another gust of wind wracks his lanky form, and his sudden shiver draws you out of your daze. You nearly trip over your words to ask, “Do you wanna come in? Come in—”

You step back, and he ducks inside, long limbs jerky like a newborn colt. You close the door against the wind, pausing in the tiny foyer that connects branching rooms. The paper plate vegetable mounds peek from the hallway in front of you; the kitchen speaker is muted by distance, but you can tell that Before the Fall’s acoustic guitar has subsided into the lonely piano and haunting vocals of Overcome by Skott. It’s exactly as you left it, that room, but when you glance back, the man now inside is suddenly sucking in all the light, standing like a gash of black and white stained red in the foyer of your sister’s condominium. 

You don’t know what to do with him.

Your voice is a soft hum, almost sounding hesitant to draw his attention. “Um—” He’d been glancing around inside, but at the sound, Eddie’s brown eyes flick right to yours. “I was just making dinner—”

“Oh,” he says, face creasing ruefully, “shit, did I interrupt you?”

You rush to assure him, melting further as he winces. “No, no, it’s fine….” You edge toward the hallway to the kitchen, and thankfully, Eddie gets the hint without you needing to say more. He follows you, bootsteps heavy as you shuffle on your socks back into the kitchen. He’s behind you, but every sense is honed to his presence— the swish of his clothing as he walks, the hush of his breath. The hair on your arms stands on end as you gingerly pull your kitchen stool out, intending to sit back in your spot before second-guessing it immediately. You’re melting, you’re yearning, but nerves begin to squirm low; your fingers twist as you cast for something to say. 

What would Penny do?

You find yourself blurting, “Do you want a drink?” Your brows pinch at the sudden shrillness of your voice overtop the soft vocals from the speaker. ‘Some lights are a different kind, never burning out,’ she sings; your gaze darts to Eddie’s eyes and away again.

“No, I’m okay.” Eddie’s typical confidence seems dampened; his voice is stilted, and his posture is stiff. He hovers somewhere between your fridge and the island. His awkwardness— the thought that he feels just as tense as you— is the only thing that keeps your nerves from becoming overwhelming. 

Eddie speaks suddenly, and it nearly startles you. “How’s your car been?”

“...It’s fine,” you say, wondering if that’s why he’s here— to check in on your car, which broke down four months ago. Penny had picked it up for you; when you’d explained what you’d done, tears of shame pricking your eyes as you told your sister why you didn't want to go yourself, she hadn’t hesitated to act in your stead. Mercifully, though you know she hadn’t approved of how you’d betrayed your friend, she’d held her tongue. She could tell that any criticism of your selfishness from her would be nothing compared to your own. 

You keep following this precedent of asking questions. "How did you find me?" 

Eddie shrugs, a jagged little thing. Grinning now, casual— but his eyes say something different. "Just asked around." 

You nod slowly. "So, how are you?" you try, pulling your flannel sleeves over your hands. “How's…?" 

Her name sticks in your throat, conjuring imaginings of strawberry-blonde waves and soft smiles. Imaginings of dainty fingers painted red, a diamond glinting from her ring finger, brilliant as it shines in the light. Your eyes scan the rings beneath Eddie’s ruddy knuckles. All are the same, but then again, they would be. 

Men don’t wear engagement rings.

There'd been a time you and Chrissy had shared part of life together, and now you haven't talked to her in months. You wonder if she'd been confused about the distance between you, how one day you’d just never spoken to her again. But she'd never reached out to you, either. You assume she must know you’d broken up with Steve by now; it must be old news— 

"Y/n." 

It stalls your train of thought entirely. The way Eddie says your name— like a tortured sigh, like rain after a drought, like the whisper of eyelashes against your cheek— makes you instantly silent. Your heart skips in your chest as you register the look on his face.

Eddie’s jaw is twitching. The cords of his neck are stretched taut, dark brows knitted over honey-brown eyes. Not angry, but bothered. Maybe anguished. He licks his lips, and despite the moisture, his voice still comes out hoarse. "I've been trying to do what you said. I've tried for the last four months."

Your breath catches, but the smoke sinks right through your flannel and into your chest, settling rich and heady behind your sternum. You’re standing beside the barstool, and you search for it with your fingers without moving your eyes from Eddie’s face. As he continues, your fingertips brush wood; you clutch tight to anchor yourself, each word cracking your ice to shards.

Eddie stares intently into your eyes as if his words don’t communicate enough. “I missed you. Every day, I missed you. And I tried to forget, to bury it, but I can’t….” He sounds so earnest that your brow crumples and your eyes sting. Eddie sees it and steps closer around the island, narrowing the gap between you. Honey brown holds you fast as he rasps, “Y/n, I can’t stop thinking about you. I care about you so much. So fucking much it hurts.”

Eddie looks down into your face, and he’s so close you can almost feel the tickle of his curls against your cheek, the brush of his plush lips against your forehead. You can almost taste the smoke and apples, the spice of his mouth. His hands outstretch, hovering near the softness of your flannel as if he wants to clutch at the curve of your waist. You nearly press forward to feel them, but you can’t. Not until there aren’t any diamonds in your mind’s eye.

Yet you can’t stop your ice from melting. And as it dissolves into water, roots absorb it greedily. Leaves perk, deepening to verdant green. The water surges through them, through stems and along vines, flooding into desiccated fruit. Red flesh plumps, growing sweet again. Waiting to be tended by calloused fingers. It bends, seeking him. And so do you; as if by instinct, you lean towards the light, swaying on your feet until you feel the heat from Eddie’s calloused fingers against your waist, urging him with your body, with your eyes, with your heart to touch you. 

But Eddie doesn't touch. Instead, he speaks. “That’s why I…” He swallows thickly, eyes flicking between yours imploringly. “I wanna break up with Chrissy.” 

I wanna break up with Chrissy.

I wanna break up with Chrissy.

I wanna break up with Chrissy. 

The words echo in your head, and you blink. Your confusion is clear; your questions are simple, like a child’s would be, asked in a small voice. “You want to? Why haven’t you, then?” 

“I—” Eddie scratches the back of his hair, all frustration and sharp edges. All flashing eyes that dart from yours. “She’s— she’s just got a lot going on right now, with her mom, and… next week is finals for her classes, and I’ve just… I’ve been working overtime—” 

Your heart shrinks from every word until it’s cowering behind your ribs. Eddie pulls roughly at the neck of his shirt as if it’s too tight for him, and you see the truth behind the tar of guilt oozing beneath his collar. Eddie does want you, but not enough to forsake five years. Not enough to crush plans made for boy or girl. Not enough to rend his flesh, to wrench the claws from his back by force. Claws that will never retract on their own.

You force a weak smile to cover the wobble of your bottom lip. A smile of understanding. Quietly, you say, “You don’t need to explain, Eddie.” You nod, bobbing your head as if you’re agreeing to something he’d said. “Thanks for coming over to talk.” 

Eddie must see the conclusion written all over your face; his contorts with distress, with urgency. He’s pleading with his eyes for you to understand. “No, y/n, I—” 

Each word makes you shrink further. You try to force your voice to raise, to be firm, but it comes out wobbly anyway. “You should go, Eddie,” you tell him, eyes darting from that pleading expression. From the light in brown eyes. Because if you look too long, you’re afraid your moths will disregard the danger, flutter up, and chase it forever. 

Eddie’s hands are still hovering near your waist, extended as if in entreaty; he dips them, and your breath catches as he boldly grasps your hands, squeezing tight. “Please, I really do.” His voice is a husky whisper, the timbre thick with yearning. “I wanna be with you.” 

A flick of wings; a flutter, and then another. You look into Eddie's eyes and tell him the truth, even though your chin wobbles. “You can’t have us both,” you whisper, and he looks even more pained. 

“No, I know,” he says, squeezing your hands so tight it’s almost painful. “I know. I don't…” He breaks off, voice trembling. “Can I please just… can I just hold you right now?” 

It's so tender, the sound of his voice. It’s so poignant, his request. It’s so hard to resist the promise of Eddie’s warm body against yours, his arms holding you close, his heart thumping against your breast, his plush lips skimming your brow, his hand cradling your head as you dig your nose into his neck, breathing him in. And you could let him hold you; you could pretend, for a moment, that there is no Chrissy Cunningham.

You could pretend, but you don’t. It’s hard to resist Eddie, but you do. 

“No, Eddie,” you whisper, pulling your hands from his. He lets you go, but reluctantly; when your hands drop to your sides, and you step back, his fingers outstretch as if by impulse. “I can’t,” you choke. “Not if—” not if I can't have you. But you can’t say that; you would crumble under the weight of those words. “We can’t,” you say instead, entreating him to understand. 

You look up into Eddie Munson’s face, and every fiber of your being yearns for him. Your green quivers, reaching. Your wings flutter, seeking. The fruit of your soul is on your tongue. 

You want to say, Please, Eddie. Touch me. Hold me.

You want to say, Please, Eddie. Love me.

Love me.

But you don't.

"Go home, Eddie," you say, and you try to be strong, but you can't help it; you never can when it comes to him. All the water within you— in your leaves and stems, in your flowers and fruit— rushes up to flood your eyes. It spills over, and with a tiny whimper, you start to cry. 

Eddie’s instant distress is hard to endure. His broken voice begs, “No, no—” He closes the gap you’d widened easily, and you sniffle, inhaling smoke and apples as, in his haste, he misjudges the distance and brushes against you. Calloused fingers reach for you; they wipe your face tenderly, trembling thumbs swiping tears that fall and fall and fall with no reprieve.

And you shouldn’t, but goddamn you, you let him. 

“Please don’t cry,” Eddie whispers, sounding utterly distraught.

But you can’t obey because everything inside you is crying out. The smoke is leaking from your pores— you're surprised Eddie can't see it clinging to you. It's condensing into fat drops of charcoal tears, running tracks down your face. Because you want him so desperately, but not like this. 

It's not enough— to be with Eddie, but know he isn't yours. 

You back away, and Eddie’s hands fall from your face. Three big steps, a gulf of distance between you. Words are hard for you, and there are none you can say right now.

Eddie’s face is creased. Those beautiful brown eyes are big and glassy, and there’s misery in the corners of his lips. 

You’ve never seen him like this, but then again, he’s never seen you like this, either. He's never sounded like this— smoke voice thick and tight as if he’s barely keeping himself at bay. “Don’t cry, sweet girl.” 

The sound of Eddie’s name for you fractures you further. You shake your head as if trying to shake the name free from your ears. Your tears still flow silently; your body trembles as you try to keep from losing control. You feel it pushing up your throat— a desperate cry. Despair. Not a hound, but a snarling wolf, growing fat off the verdancy of your green, now reawakened in the presence of beloved light.

As you shake, breath hitching, tears dripping from your chin, Eddie must finally realize the futility of it all. Abruptly, he fists his fingers in his hair. “Fuck,” he yelps, frustrated, helpless. Afraid. 

He stalks away and back again, pacing restlessly as you hug yourself, trying to press the despair back in. No words to say. Just thick drops of charcoal tears. 

And then, you hear a tortured sigh, like the way he’d said your name. You glance up, and Eddie’s smoke voice whisps from his plush lips, tight and thick and high, lingering in the gulf between you. “Fuck, I’m— y/n, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Your face screws up, breath hitching and catching. Words finally come; you push them out. Firm, loud, and clear. “Just leave, Eddie. I can’t see you anymore. Just go—!”

As soon as you say the words, you feel it. The growl, the gnashing of teeth. You grit your jaw against it, nostrils flaring as you avert your eyes to your socks. You listen, and you wait.

Slowly, so slowly, Eddie’s heavy, slumping footsteps retreat down the hall. You’re fighting, nearly whimpering with your effort. The doorknob jiggles, and you suck in a desperate breath. The door creaks, and then softly, so softly, it closes.

Finally, you're alone, and finally, you release it. The wolf howls; its cry explodes from you in a ragged sob. And once you start, you can’t stop. Not until Penny tries the door handle and finds it unlocked, eyes widening as she hears the anguished sounds echoing down the hall. She finds the vase of flowers, the plates of carrots and bell peppers and onions, the mound of broccoli, and the sharp knife. She finds you collapsed on the kitchen floor, red-faced and howling in a puddle of your charcoal tears.

Eddie’s visit was cruel, but it was cruelty unintended. Eddie could never be cruel to you, and you know that. And you know something else. Something you didn't want to acknowledge, something you'd been trying desperately to numb in the cold of twilight, though seeing him tonight confirms it.

Eddie Munson planted the seed in that dark place at the bottom of you, the one you didn’t know existed. He tended it with his gentle touches and his quiet words. And now, your growth is firmly rooted. It has grown tall, weaving around your sternum, vining through your ribs, sprouting through your center. And it’s not just at the center of you. It is the center of you. The fruit of your soul, budded and ready to thrive; the source of your love, one and the same. Under the full moon, it had gone dormant, but it could not be uprooted. 

And perhaps, in time, your green will cleave from the one who’d cared for it. But it’s clear to you now. 

It will take much longer than four months for your love for Eddie Munson to wither.  

[0junemeatcleaver0]

𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔬𝔯; 𝔢𝔵𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔭𝔱 𝔱𝔴𝔬

another incredibly horny snippet of my current favorite wip.

“I don’t think we should have to worry much longer.” Pandora shrugs, picking up some bread and tearing it into smaller pieces she pops into her mouth one by one. “I’ve acquired many connections in my time here. I’ve heard tell of places we can better hide for a while. Between here and Gaul. And there’s space out in Lleida, where Rome will not look for us. Until we get our story together. Until we can figure this all out.” 

“Figure all what out, Pandora?” Flavius sighs, sopping up the pork juices on his plate with his own torn panis candidus. “I haven’t any idea what exactly you’re running from. And I don’t want to. I’m already in too deep and I don’t need to get any deeper. Because when we get caught–and that is when, not if–I don’t wish to be further implicated.” 

“Oh, you won’t be.” Pandora shrugs him off, swatting his concern away as though it is nothing more substantial than a gnat. “I’ll tell them you’re my slave and I made you play along. You can make up all kinds of terrible tortures I threatened you with. It might even be fun for you, that.” 

Despite himself, Flavius smirks at her. He finds it difficult to keep track of how he should be feeling about the situation with his belly so full of wine already and her nipples hard and pushing at the fabric of her stola. He wonders if this is her body’s way of dealing with the stress or if verbal sparring matches are what gets her off. 

“I want you.” He echoes the sentiment of this morning back at her with a naked sort of honesty, meeting her eyes, challenging. 

“Oh, do you?” She smirks at him, leaning back on her lecti. “And how would you do it? Right here? Now?” 

Flavius doesn’t answer, just takes another quaff of wine and enjoys the anticipatory throb in his groin. This is new to him, coming from his Mistress and he’s more than happy to allow her to take the lead, see where she wants to go with this or indeed, where she assumes he wants to go with this. 

“I think you would, wouldn’t you?” She grins, sliding her stola up until the hem was just above her knee. From where he reclines he can almost see what he’s after–her cunt shadowed by fabric, hidden away so all he can see is the creamy skin of her upper thighs. “You’d have me right here with little regard to Mia or Lia walking in on us. In fact, I think it would make you more wild with passion.” 

He can’t even deny it–the idea alone enough to make him fist his cock through the fabric of his toga. “You’d let me.” He ventures. He has no true idea if she would or not. 

She doesn’t answer verbally, instead giving him what he wants by pulling her garment up further, parting her legs just enough to be able to see her excitement glistening between her legs in the low light of the dining room lamps. Flavius grasps himself harder, cock dampening the fabric that covers it. 

“You wouldn’t.” He calls her bluff, taking a few deep breaths before letting himself go. “You’d rather wait until the dead of night. Wouldn’t do to let anyone know you’d willingly let yourself be taken by me.” 

Her smirk widens, a hand reaching down. For one wild moment he thinks she’s reaching out to play with herself, but instead she pulls the hem of her stola down, covering herself. 

“Why should I be ashamed?” She sits up, pops another hunk of bread into her mouth. “Is it not proper for a woman to want her husband?” 

“Proper.” Flavius spits, shoveling another spoonful of chickpeas past his lips. “You wouldn’t know proper if it bent you over your lecti and fucked you senseless.” 

From the doorway, someone clears their throat. 

Pandora spies the interloper first, Flavius watching the color drain from her face. Turning quickly, he sees a new stranger standing in their home–this one tall, startlingly blond, and in need of a haircut. Despite his fairness, his proud nose marks him as Roman, as does his dress. In fact, the purple trimming on his toga marks him as not only a Roman, but a censor at that. 

Flavius rises quickly, the legs of his own lecti scraping loudly against the floor. “We’ve already been entered into the census, friend. How else might I be a help to you?” 

“Yes, about that.” The censor smiles without humor or warmth. “There’s been a bit of a…blunder, shall we say.” 

[melancholysway]

TMNT Headcanons - Allergies!

Things the boys are allergic to because I’m lactose intolerant & I still need time to do my requests yet stay active so I'm posting my drafts for the time being LMAO

Leonardo

Eggs. I don't know why, but I hc that all Leo's are allergic to eggs.

Not that it has a big impact on him, he usually eats traditional Japanese meals. However, some of them do include eggs, so he uses the plant based egg alternative as a placeholder.

Since 2012 Mikey cooks for everyone, he's conscious of the ingredients he puts into the food. If a recipe is egg dominant, like a cake or pasta, he makes a special desert/meal for his big brother. He might make a flourless/egg-less cake, and use chickpea pasta instead of the regular.

Bayverse Leo just omits everything with eggs. For breakfast, he usually reaches for toast anyway.

2012 Leonardo eats a struggle meal at breakfast. Since they're limited to breakfast foods, he usually eats cereal.

P.S: He really likes Special K vanilla and almond cereal. <3

Rise!Leo is the first to actually try and eat it to see how bad his reaction would be. Spoiler: he has to bench in the bed for a week. Yeah, it's that bad. Mix that in with a rash and he's never trying that again.

2007 Leo is more plant-based anyway, since he lived a year in the jungle. So, he's used to not eating anything but fruits or nuts.

Raphael

This boy is sensitive to milk. It may be because I wanna pass the lactose intolerant torch down to one of the turtles, but I seriously think Raphael does not like dairy milk anyway.

Bayverse & 2007 Raph are seriously into their physique. They have a good balance of meats and veggies, but can’t have dairy milk.

He likes Almond milk.

Not only is almond milk a great alternative for non-dairy drinkers, but you get much more calcium that way!

I also headcanon that although the guys eat pizza all the time like in the shows, Raph is the one who doesn't eat it as much. He's way too into his body to mess up his progress. He eats it in moderation. Plus, cheese is a dairy product, but it doesn't mess him up like dairy milk does.

Rise!Raph is massive, so I imagine a tiny little ounce of cow's milk messing him up to be very fitting.

2012 Raph tries to thug out his milk intolerance, but it never goes well. Long story short, after many days of feeling lethargic and throwing up, he knows better.

Donatello

SHELLFISH YALL

turtle shell puns aside

Donatello is allergic to shell fish and I feel so bad because I LOVE me some crab.

I just know Raph clowns him for it to and they bicker over which allergy is worse.

R: Don try this Cali roll, oh wait, ya cant!

D: Wow this milkshake is great! have a try raph! oh wait...whoops! I'll just give it to Mikey.

Always always always!

Do not invite him to your takeout sushi shindig, he will not be able to eat anything.

Leo is the one who usually eats fish, so whenever Mikey makes his special plate, Donnie audibly gags. It's not just the fact that he's allergic, it's the smell.

2012 Donnie really hates fighting FishFace because of the smell

it makes him wanna throw up.

So a lot of the times he just wants to get in and get out when a mission involves fighting Xever.

2007 and Bayverse donnie live off of small snacks, so they don't ever have to think about their food containing fish

Rise!Donnie makes this joke everytime he eats goldfish crackers

"Guys look, I'm eating fish," *wiggles eyebrows*

everyone else: :|

Michelangelo

GLUTEN

Now here ya'll go in the comments

bUt MeLanChOLY, MiKeY'S AlWAys EaTinG PiZZa!!!

OKAY!?!!?!?!

Gluten free pizza ;)

No i swear it. He has some sort of intolerance. You know how sometimes you may eat a certain food so much that after a while your body just rejects it?

It's not pizza his body's rejecting though, it's gluten.

So now, he's in a frenzy, when Donnie told him, he gave him a sad puppy-eyed look & said

"So...I can't....have...pizza anymore? For forever??"

He's happy when Donnie says he still can.

They have to order gluten--free pizza now. But rejoice! Times are changing, diet culture is changing, the world is changing! Gluten free options are pretty much everywhere! Woohoo!

I feel like Rise!Mikey is PISSED he can't eat bagels. I feel like he would love a mean everything bagel with cream cheese.

But, do not fear, there are gluten free breads available!

2012 Mikey just gets gluten-free everything now. It's mainly the gluten from bread, but just for fun, he'll get gluten free snacks

2007 & Bayverse Mikey go on strike and try to not eat anymore pizza to see if it'll "reset his body,"

Raph bursts his bubble and let's him now that's not how allergies or intolerances work

"Take it from someone who ain't had milk in years, mikey."

Taglist:

@bee-1n-space Masterlist

[greypetrel]

*peeks* *runs away, just to return with TEGLIA DI LASAGNE*

What's Alyra's unfiltered opinion on the other blorbos? And most importantly, on their crushes 👀 Also, if Max had to feed Liara a typical dish from Earth, what would it be?

*corre dietro alle lasagne* Offro panettone in cambio! *apre un trench pieno di panettoni*

Oh LOL, Alyra's opinions are FUN.

Alyra on the other blorbos:

Raina: "Bat-shit crazy. A wild card. I don't know how is she even alive eating what she does. Useful, but an asset you can't direct. Perfect for Kirkwall. How is she alive eating how she does, tho. Note to self: never EVER accept an invitation to drink with her, the tavern she seems to favour is the one place you will catch your death by germs." Garrett: "Reliable, if you need the Hawkes, ask him and not his sister. Questionable humour, makes Alistair's seem refined. Not swayable if you touch his family. Jovial, friendly, potentially dangerous." Aisling: "Clever, very fit for politics, reliable as an ally. Do not ever admit that to her face, she'd be even more annoying than she is. Irritatingly unsure of herself and to have around. Good ally, dangerous as enemy, the People needs more like her. Morrigan likes her, so it's fine, can entrust her with them." After Trespasser: "Can't see why she disbanded the Inquisition and went stealth. Fucking Teagan ruined another good thing." Radha: "A grudgy spy. Never cross her if not to impart the killing blow. Good as an asset, too impredictable as an ally. Keep your cards to your chest when she's around." Max: "Reliable, good at her job, but I'll take that playlist and shove her where the sun doesn't shine."

Alyra on the crushes. But taken as a unit because it's more fun:

Raina+Merrill+Bela: "Merrill seems happy so it's fine, I'm glad she got away from fucking Merethari. Isabela? Good taste, nothing to say. Luckily Alistair told no to the threesome, it would have been awkward. Remember to thank him without explain exactly why lest he becomes annoying. The raccoon seems more manageable." Garrett+Fenris: "Do not cross one if you don't mean to cross both. Give money to Fenris to counter slavers, whatever he wants. The Blue Wraith? Suggest him a better name. Or a lack of one. Nothing to say, they're a fine couple, both good people." Aisling+Cullen: "Good for him to having got his head out of his ass. Sappy, horribly so. What could have been with Alistair. Finance their clinic, why not. But invites to dinner? Once in a while, too sappy otherwise." Max+Liara: "No, god, no. Good for each other I guess, do not approach. She's clever, reminds me of Merrill. Can tone the crazy engineering down. Why her cabinets sounds when she opens them? WHY. Run."

Liara's menu for Max, taken from the most renowned historical source on Italian cooking: GialloZafferano

Shrimps in pink sauce (Max likes rock music from the 80s. She searched a fish recipe from the 80s and that's what she found. Doesn't really understand why mixing mayo and ketchup is considered a think to do, but she won't question it, maybe it'll be another genius idea of Joey Tempest and she'd like to talk about other things this evening thank you.)

Gran Fritto Misto of fish, zucchini and zucchini flowers (of course, she has to conquer the girl.)

A very special place bought directly in Livorno Max won't shut up about and will be the piece de resistence and actually get the girl:

Caramelized figs crostata as a dessert.

Honestly this was an overkill, Max would have been conquered by a bottle of spuma alone. The expectations over her liking the cinque e cinque (it's a sandwich filled with a thin pie made from chickpea flour, a typical streetfood from Livorno) would be sky-high, but she will like it a lot, Max won't cry. They need to talk about her problem with spuma (a fizzy drink you only find in Tuscany. Much to my chagrin because it's so good and I'd like to drink some, right now), Max, honey, you have to drink water, not only fizzy drinks.

[sl-newsie]

Query: Q x 00 Agent- Ch. 2: Mrs. White

Thankfully on top of Bond’s knowledge of being a spy, I’ve also picked up on his knowledge of proper dress attire. My apartment’s closet may be small, but I’ve filled any available closet space with clothing for every kind of occasion. Tonight, I decide on an emerald green dress with a v-neck. Not short enough to be distracting, but something a nun might frown at. Paired with silver earrings and simple black flats, my appearance seems reasonable.

“Wish me luck, Cricket.” I give a wave goodbye to the gray tabby as I shut the door.

M seems to have spared no expense, because when I exit my apartment building I find a sleek black Bentley waiting for me. The driver ushers me in without a word and drives straight to the glamorous Blixen. It’s mid-evening, which has produced a decent crowd of wealthy patrons. If it weren’t for my business here I’d feel very out of place. I walk up to the host, about to question about a table-

“Ah, Mrs. White. Your husband is expecting you!” The host greets me and begins leading me down the aisle.

Husband?! Is this what Bond goes through on a daily basis? This new Quartermaster better be as nice as Eve insists, because this whole situation feels like a gag. The host shows me to a table near the back next to a window that displays a gorgeous view of the city. It’s empty, meaning that my ‘husband’ is yet to show.

“Mr. White said he was running late, but you should still order anything you like. Our special tonight is lamb and chickpea stew. Please, enjoy!”

“Many thanks to you, sir.”

I unfold the menu and discreetly begin searching the surrounding patrons for any potential threats. There are none, only a few happy drunks near the bar. I check my watch, seeing that ten minutes have passed. Is this whole thing a joke-?

“Well hello there, Mrs. White.”

My made-up name almost makes me smile. The voice that said it seems strange, almost-

I look up, and almost think the lanky man has the wrong table. His face is young enough to pass as a college bloke, almost child-like. Dark, quirky eyebrows are arched over his brown eyes, full of curiosity. Simple glasses with a black lining cover these inquiring eyes. He’s wearing a very elegant suit, though not as expensive as Bond’s. Coincidentally his tie’s color is almost identical to my dress. I’ll admit he does clean up nice for a younger fellow. If it weren’t for his disheveled brown hair I’d say he was on a first date trying to impress me.

“Hello, Mr. White. I didn’t think they’d allow anyone to have such a messy haircut. I'm even required to keep mine up.”

The geeky man seems unfazed by my comment and settles down in the chair across from me, giving the menu a good search. 

“I don’t do field work.”

My face can’t suppress a smirk. “Of course. You’re just the nerd behind the computer.”

Now I’ve got his attention because his eyes shift up to look at me, almost seeming to belittle me. “I’m the nerd behind the computer that can save your life, agent. Do you want this evening’s conversation to be effective or would you rather go down the street to the local pub to chat in a more childish manner?”

We’re left in a silent glaring battle. How does this guy have just as much spunk as Bond? I’ve not known him for five minutes and he’s already referred to me as a child. Two can play at that game.

“I don’t intend to chat with someone who’s mother still ties his shoes. Either tell me why M sent you to mock me or I am leaving.”

The man keeps a laid-back demeanor as he rises and rounds the table to lean down and whisper: “Pardon my french, love, but I’m your fucking Quartermaster and you better listen if you want to make it through your next mission alive. Do I make myself clear?”

His icy words leave me stunned, only being able to nod in response. Thankfully the waiter arrives now to save me from more arguing.

“Good evening, Mr. White. What will you be having this evening?”

“I will only have a cup of hot tea. Earl Gray, please.”

The waiter is surprised by this simple request, as am I. But he masks it well and turns to take my order.

“I’ll have a lavender lemonade martini.”

“Really, dear? I thought you might be hungry.” God this man really gets on my nerves.

“I lost my appetite,” I reply sweetly but with fiery eyes.

Once the waiter leaves looking rather frazzled, the Quartermaster gives me a skeptical look. “I see you picked up Bond’s love for alcohol.”

I shake my head and toy with the silverware. “Not in the slightest. I just really like lemonade. But if I’d ordered that you’d think I was a child compared to your choice of grown-up tea.”

He actually laughs at my small joke. “Earl Gray tea, only the best. But I wouldn’t think of you differently if you ordered lemonade.”

“Hm. So you don’t like alcohol?”

“I don’t drink on the job. Matter of fact, I don't drink at all.”

The waiter is very quick to drop our drinks off despite me trying to give him a friendly smile.

“Very mature of you. Yet it’s strange of you to only order a cup of tea in a fancy place like this. Ever been here, Quartermaster?”

The man sips his steaming mug of tea. “First, call me Q. It’s much easier. Second, no I’ve never been here. This is probably the most expensive restaurant I’ve ever set foot in.”

“So we both agree that M has exquisite taste?”

“Yes. Speaking of which, let’s get back to the task at hand.” Q pauses to take out a messenger bag he’s brought with him, then pulls out a silver necklace with a blue pendant on it. “For you, Mrs. White.”

“Thank you, dear husband,” I mock in the same cheesy tone. “If this whole dinner was to bribe me with jewelry then M obviously doesn’t know me so well.”

“Haha, we’re all laughing,” Q states dryly as his steady hands clip it around my neck. “It’s actually a disguised tracker. And this-” He pulls out a small box from his bag and opens it to reveal a pouch. “This is a sheath for one of our best non-metallic knives. Undetectable, very elegant and light weight. Which is why I named it Mrs. White in your honor.”

“Yeah, um, why the whole charade of you and me? You could’ve just said we were two old friends meeting for a chat.”

“People don’t ask questions when a married couple is involved,” Q replies lazily as he hands me the knife sheath. “It’s designed for you to wear it anywhere in order to avoid suspicion.”

I smirk. “Oh, like my bust?”

Q doesn’t even flinch. “Yes. Obviously Bond’s also schooled you in flirting, so this jewelry as you called it should suffice.”

“You’re having me model the necklace.” I raise a brow. “Would you have me try on the sheath as well?”

Q takes a deep breath. “Moving on. With the state Bond’s left the current espionage situation in, he’ll be sent to Hong Kong and you to Ireland.”

I almost choke on my drink. “You’re splitting us up? Bond and I are usually joined at the hip for missions.”

This seems to pinch something in Q. In the corner of my eye I see his eyes flick up to search my face for something.

“Figuratively or literally?”

Is this jealousy I detect? “Oh don’t flatter me. Bond never acts like that with me. He knows I put business before pleasure. So why Ireland?”

Q relaxes and takes another sip of this tea. “Closer to home. Better for us to keep an eye on you.”

My nose scrunches. “Are you saying I need a babysitter?”

“In a word, yes. You’re one of our youngest agents, which is why you’ve always been paired with someone.”

I take a good swig of spiked lemonade, then stare him square in the face. “Alright, just say it. You don’t think I’m qualified. You’re just like my last Quartermaster, who thought I belonged as a secretary. I may be young, but I am not dumb, Q. Just ask M. She knows I can go the distance.”

No matter how hard I’ve trained I never seem to control my temper. My own self-pride seems to betray me in delicate situations, and this is probably going to make Q dislike me even more.

However Q seems to take my small outburst surprisingly well. He finishes his tea and takes another deep breath. “I understand, agent. Being one who is also part of the outnumbered youth, I’m afraid our stereotyping of being under qualified only dissipates with age. But please let me finish: This time we are sending you on a solo mission under careful surveillance.”

Did- Did I hear that right? Solo mission? Bond guessed I wouldn't be eligible for those for years.

“Are you bluffing? How on Earth did I get waved for a solo mission?”

Q smiles at my giddy reaction. “I pulled a few strings. M and Eve both told me you could handle it.”

Keeping silent, I rise, move around the table, and pull in a surprised Q for a tight hug.

“Oh thank you! Thank you!” I whisper with contained excitement.

Q keeps stiff as a board, then grunts. “Um, first off, no hugging the Quartermaster.”

“Why? Are you a germaphobe?”

“I don’t do hugs.”

I partake in his request and release him, still smiling like a madman. “Ah. So how about a handshake?”

He considers this, then nods. “That’s acceptable.”

I vigorously grab his skinny hand and give it a firm shake. “I will not disappoint you!”

Q finally mirrors my smile as we begin to make our way to the cashier. “Better not, darling. I’d hate to have to attend your funeral.”

[the-whispers-of-death]

comfort drinks/ food for your oc’s (this is a very important ask) 🎰

Stone- His comfort drink is obviously chai, because of course it is. That's his entire personality (jk). His comfort food would have to be chicken biryani and he makes it super spicy because he has an incredibly high spice tolerance (couldn't be me).

Kali- His comfort drink is lemonade, though he hates pink lemonade. It's really funny because Sarabi loves pink lemonade and Kali thinks he's weird for it. His comfort food is chicken Vindaloo, because his "aunt" (really it was just a neighbor but y'know Indian culture) would make it all the time for him (his parents are both doctors so he never saw them often, even his dentist father).

Sarabi- As previously stated, his comfort drink is pink lemonade. It just tastes so nice and it's so refreshing to him. Now look, it's very basic, but his comfort food is chicken tikka masala. Look, he doesn't have the highest spice tolerance, okay? Cut him some slack, he's half-white.

Simba- His comfort drink is coffee, he loves to drink it and it makes him feel all fuzzy inside. He's not super addicted to it though, so at least there's that. His comfort food is fried chicken. (Yes I do know that four out of my OCs have chicken dishes as their comfort foods, I really like chicken.)

Nala- He doesn't have a comfort drink because he prefers water. Basic, I know, but it's the answer he's giving me. His comfort food is jumbalaya, his mother used to make it all the time and so he now has to search for the best jumbalaya so he can be nostalgic.

Ladder- Her comfort drink is coffee and unlike Simba, she is addicted to it. The only times you see her drinking anything other than coffee is when she's drinking wine or when Stone has literally pushed a cup of chai her way so that she didn't only drink coffee that day. Her comfort food is dal and rice, because it's rather easy to make and the best comfort foods are easy to make, yeah?

Heartthrob- His comfort drink is orange juice and no I will not elaborate on it. His comfort food is chana masala, because he likes chickpeas.

Hellstorm- He likes chamomile tea, I don't know why he does, he just does. His comfort food is mac and cheese, you will only ever see him truly happy and having emotions when there's a bowl of mac and cheese in front of him. It will be devoured in seconds.

[herequeerexitentialfear]

Celia & Cecio backstory!!!!! Silver & Gold!! the horrible siblings!!!

this covers their early lives, and until both reach the point they would be at the start of their respective pwotr runs, with less detail towards the end as the fine details are still being worked out. warnings for mentions of ill health brought on by childbirth and one line mention of sex work.

Celia was born to a unknown father and a Chelaxian mother in Westcrown, they both lived in relative poverty, with her mother doing washing work, unfortunately, between her own poverty stricken life and the cold and harsh nature of washing clothes to support her and her baby Celia, her health was bad enough before she gave birth, and she had been advised not to have another child, something she did not worry about because she was happy with her and her baby.

When Celia was five, her mother caught the eye of a visiting merchant from Andoran, who she fell in love with, quickly finding herself pregnant. He made honeyed promises of paying doctors to ensure her health, but a month before she was due to give birth, he returned to Andoran, and his wife.

When Celia was six, she and a fellow washerwoman acted as the midwives, helping her mother through a painful birth that resulted in Cecio - named after the chickpeas of a foreign dish she had craved during pregnancy. This had a major impact on their mothers health, leading to Celia having to gradually take over raising her brother and being the breadwinner, through begging, thievery, and odd jobs. 

When Celia was 12 and little Cecio was six, their mother finally succumbed to her illness, leaving them behind. Shortly after, a man appeared on their doorstep, taking Cecio to his father, leaving Celia behind, only told through a neighbor's eavesdropping on the conversation. 

Now alone, she takes more and more dangerous jobs, leading to her narrowly escaping arrest in a hellknight raid on the tavern she gets her jobs at. The voice and stature of one of the hellknights seems familiar, and when she crawls out of her cubby hole the next morning and is met in the alleyway with a kind voice coming from the hellknight, she realizes that one of the previous regulars was an undercover hellknight.

She sits on the roof of where she used to live, and talks to her neighbor, debating whether she should sell her body, like her neighbor, her life like her fellow criminals, or her soul by attempting to join the hellknights. She chooses the hellknights, and spends weeks refinding the hellknight, monitoring them, and finding out who their target is.

Eventually, she meets the hellknight again, handing over all the information she could get on the target, including some only a street kid could find. She becomes an informant for the Hellknight, eventually becoming an Armiger. 

Life as a Hellknight informant and later armiger is tough, but it has the order and coin that she needs. Eventually she finds information about an Andoran noble taking in a bastard son, one with her little Cecios silver hair and eyes. 

She slowly gathers information on him, until she finally manages to send letters to her little brother, his replies painted a harsh picture, a distant father and a resentful stepmother, an older and younger brother, respectively resistant to his presence and ignorant of the whole situation. And worse of all, his training is not funded, so while his only path to success is through the art of war, he doesn't have the coin needed to fund that path.

Soon most of Celia's earnings are dispatched on merchant ships to Andoran, with only the money for her necessities kept behind. These letters and spending of coin are disguised as an informant network, and indeed she rises quickly in importance due to her knowledge of the inner workings of the Andoran council, all taken from her brother's gossip about the people who visit the house and don’t see his presence.

Thanks to his sister's support, Cecio is able to become a squire for a paladin, and thanks to his information, Celia is able to become an armiger as well as be respected as an information gatherer. 

It seems like soon Celia will take her Hellknight test, and Cecio will be able to be the son his father respects.

[Unfortunately, Celia is sent on a mission to seek the corruption in the Mendevian crusades, and Cecio is sent along with his knight master to the very same crusades]

[icharchivist]

i finished act 2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! now there's just all these events I've yet to get to from a3en... plus reading through act 3 translations if those exist... i hope they do! but the FIRST thing I'm going to do is fill out my a3! name chart, haha :) okay but before i get ahead of myself: here's my thoughts on the rest of the winter story!

the moment they mentioned the fleur award, I knew within my heart that act 3 might have the members seriously tackle winning or at least getting a nomination, and hey, look, sakuya mentioned it at the end! there's lots of little things I could feel them start to set up, which is cool. like, haruto mentions that godza has new recruits! so I assume shift is gonna pop up in act 3. and then there's the hyakka theater company which sakuya adored so much winning the fleur award at the end... I wonder if we'll get to meet them? I also saw a character on a poll tournament once that I think was an old leader of spring? and since yuzo's already someone we've met, I wonder if we'll meet all the leaders of the old troupes... we've already seen quite a few bits and pieces of them, after all! then, of course, there's the thing with misumi's grandfather's old scripts and reni, which I'm sure will come into play... hopefully we'll get to see his brother, too... guy also recognized reni, so he's probably got some kind of connections with mankai, right? what if he was a leader of the winter troupe, or something? lots of possibilities. and tsuzuru's eldest brother could also bring something interesting to the table? he got his own sprite and all, and he seems pretty interesting, so I feel it'd be a waste if this was his only appearance...

since we're on that subject, I was very glad to meet tadoru. his and itaru's conversation was just really nice, and it was cool to see him kinda watching out for tsuzuru in his awkward way. for a moment i was confused by him randomly saying hello to itaru at the bar, though. was sitting there like. ...is itaru getting hit on? tadoru also gave me sort of chikage-esque vibes because he was just that friendly, and so when he gave itaru sake and was like. hey! bribe material! i was like. ah. nice. would love to see some more elaboration on what he says, though because... “I mean, back when everything was falling apart at home, I just ran off and left Tsuzuru to deal with it all himself.” is intriguing. tadoru says that tsuzuru probably resents him... i mean, he definitely has a right to, but i don't think he like, does, if that makes sense? like... his family is his family. he might not have been happy about dealing with stuff without his eldest brother around, but I don't think it's something that would... fester, if it makes sense?

I've gotten ahead of myself again, so let's rewind chronologically... it was nice to see the improv battle spark something in guy! also it's nice every time they run into haruto because like, tasuku probably calls him "yamada" on purpose but like, half of the time that people get his name wrong, I'm pretty sure it's totally sincere, which makes it even funnier... like homare being like. "ah, hato-kun, I think it was?" with no ill-will is amazing. i didn't actually make the connection that this was tasuku's second time playing raoul until now, which is quite a fun detail.

don't have much to say about the play itself... you made a really good point about how POTO relates to guy, so I don't have much to add except that there's a comment that izumi makes about homare as richard dragging emotion out of the phantom, and I thought that was neat, because it's homare that gets guy to laugh, too, with his silly chickpeas bit. all of winter getting drunk was sooooo cute. its so dear to me that tasuku and tsumugi are just like. intelligently critiquing theatre stuff. not even arguing. like how is their drunk habit just... how they are normally, it's great. and then of course there's homare who's in tears and super sappily composing poetry. love him. and love that he manages to elicit a truly wonderful-sounding laugh from guy the same way, later! what a BEAUTIFUL cg that was!!! homare looks so pleased with himself and he's right to be that way!!

the power outage for the last performance was such a cool moment, too... like, the way that this phantom's final line dedicates his song for his friend. where it's not about being a singer or taking his revenge, anymore. it's such a good way to reflect what guy says before the final performance, that being "all of you are the reason I am able to see myself as human again.” which is what chris does for the phantom, here. you can also hear in guy's BREATH how much finishing this play affected him, which is awesome. seriously, the VAs are so talented, but also whoever's directing them or the like has a really good eye for what kinds of voice performances to add...

watched the backstages and them at karaoke was cute! so they staged it with just music, i see... the part where they method acted like they were in a musical was really funny. yuki resorting to just saying he'll make them pay him every time they break out into song... the sakyo-influence. tsuzuru and yuki would actually be a really fun combo in terms of like, events, also. they've both got this midlly pessimistic way of talking. the SR hisoka was also really good... cant believe he sleeps in a coffin! no wonder tasuku got so into treating hisoka as a vampire during nocturnality lol. anyways what a great actor he is. i love that, with the possibility that hisoka was possessed presented to tasuku, who's seen magic happen before, tasuku is like. alright. time to act my heart out. i bet it was really good practice.

there's a bit where sakuya says "citron was still with us back then..." which. very misleading turn of phrase. anyways they're going to zafra!! whoo!! i think it's so funny that guy is like "I'm a wanted criminal" as like an expression of the fact that his presence is troublesome, completely unaware of the fact that two of the people he's gonna be travelling with are like, also wanted criminals. itaru has every right to call chikage a "menace" like he does here.

another hit out of the park with izumi going "I do not see." about chikage's illegal passport for guy. the structure of this episode is really interesting, though--winter had really big developments outside of their own story (tsumugi in act 1 plus a bit of tasuku, homare in the next play, azuma in the next + a bit of tasuku there, too, and then hisoka in spring's act 2 story. because they got such rich development there, it gives the story space to really work out things between guy and citron. like, apart from azuma and tasuku visiting azuma's old home, it's not like there's a particularly big event any of the other winter members go through? while spring has masumi's whole deal and though its minor, itaru has to open up a little to having a roommate. and summer had tenma's audition and dealing with that stuff, plus kazunari's career worries, alongside kumon's whole stresses (of which muku and juza obviously were major in helping him with). everyone in autumn gets a collage, but while it's not like the characters in winter weren't major presences, it was more like they were reflecting on stuff that had already happened, rather than having new things that developed them in some way? which allows for space.

as for guy's subordinate, mika, i'm like 80% sure their name is mika because it's meant to be like, "mikan"

we already discussed my opinion of zafra as a nation so there's no need for me to really go into that, but about tangerine!! firstly the fact that tsuzuru just has to instinctually correct his japanese is so dear to me, like, he can't rid himself of the impulse... also I can't believe I said muku probably reminded citron of tangerine and guy basically echoes my exact thoughts... like muku, he's rather cute and brave! running to save citron, and then making sure the fire is taken care of... what a good person! I'm sure he'll do well... didn't end up being twist-evil after all, phew. I'm glad I was wrong about that. the end was a little underwhelming in terms of how the king wrapped it up. i'm glad he did so kindly, but I think it's a rather big upheaval that just happened and it felt like things got wrapped up quite neatly... I feel like there's probably a more complicated and interesting way it could've gone down, that also makes zafra feel more like a real place, but that's for me to obsessively plot and headcanon my way around.

the moment they mentioned the chandelier i was like Ah. chekhov's chandelier!! also there's a literal chandelier fall in the actual POTO so like... yeah, of course. I ADORED how sakuya jumped in, improv wise. not even part of the cast! and yet! perfect reaction! he should be proud of himself. (my notes at that moment are just "THATS MY KIDDDDDDD!!!!")

the part where they save citron was also so good... like firstly, half the reason the plan to lure out citron works is because he thinks that it's mankai, which is a wild, would-be-tragic coincidence had not chikage and itaru saved him... speaking of!! what a good moment. those two are both kind of the "adults" of the spring troupe, so it was neat to see them put themselves in harms way while kind of redirecting the younger members. especially tsuzuru, who's fairly responsible... it's nice to see him get treated as young, yknow? anyways. it's up to dad and grandpa to save spring troupe's mom, right... i usually object to obsessively fitting found family into roles but since spring troupe has done this to themselves i can call them as i like!

the dynamic between itaru and chikage was really nice to see... they both know each other quite well, huh? the casual way they treated things was kind of fun. especially when chikage's like. close your eyes for a sec, would you, chigasaki? and itaru very cutely after being like ah close my eyes physically or mentally to your crimes? replies with roger that.

chikage rushing back in to warn everyone about the chandelier was also really really good... i love that his voice gets low when he's frazzled!

citron and spring's proper reunion was so nice... sakuya cried! and I really liked that guy talked to citron in zafran when telling him about being able to rediscover his emotions... “I was not merely ignoring my own emotions, but yours, as well.” was a really good point he made.

also with spring being family it's really awesome that citron calls them his second family.... that's right, they are! and then sakuya states the same feeling at the end, where he says "You're all my true family." which did, I admit, bring a tear to my eye. actually i started tearing up because before that he said "I guess I always assumed that we would always be here together as a company, you know? But that's not true, is it?" and then I remembered the a3en shutdown and got emotional.

still, it's such a sweet ending! excited for more, whenever I get around to it! and I can make my chart now!! I've just got one remaining thought, which is: I wonder who did guy’s scar makeup in zafra, since azami wasn't around? (probably azuma, is my guess)

YEEHAW CONGRATULATION!!! At least finishing the EN sever's content will be welcomed. (and then you'd caught up on me bc i still haven't started anything past that ahah…. ahah… cries). But congratulation at least on being introduced to the full cast now!!

under cut!

Congratulation on seeing it coming ;D yeah it makes sense honestly, after having sorted out some of their biggest emotional problems, it's time for them to start aiming higher eheh. And yesss there's so many set up. I haven't touched act 3 yet so it's just…. so far ahead for me lmao. We will get to meet the ex leaders of each troupes in act 3 though yeah! I really hope you're right in term of how Guy could see it coming too, and how everything is set up for more content in the future, hopefully. we'll see!

DFDLKFJDFL love thinking immediately that Todoru would hit on Itaru over just looking out for Tsuzuru, this is really funny. And ahah sake of chekov if you will. As for what you bring up, yeah… I think it's complicated. On one hand, it's understandable to want to run away when everything is falling apart - your parents are the one putting you through hell and ultimately you know it's going to ruin any possibility to a future you can have, so it's self preservation and all. But when you have siblings, it's leaving them to take the blow for you while you give up on them. It's selfish, it's understandable, i can't exactly blame him, but i blame him still because in the end it's the younger ones who had to take responsibilities while they could have banded together. But everyone was just trying to survive. When you see how Tsuzuru had to sacrifice everything for his family, you know Todoru should have done so too… But therefore it's even more unfair that Todoru dumped everything on Tsuzuru's shoulders. It's complicated, it leaves things to fester. So yeah. difficult for everyone involved.

Back to the plot, it was so nice indeed for Guy! and DLKJFDLKF yeah Tasuku is really just being petty that way. Also "Yamada" is Haruto's birth last name and also a very basic name? as in like, it's like "Smith" in the US, it's something a lot of people have, it doesn't stand out much. I think Tasuku is doing a couple things here. First, he used to call Haruto by his first name without honorific, which he doesn't even do with 90% of Mankai (the only people he calls by their first name without their honorifics are Tsumugi, Citron and Guy, so childhood friend privilege and the two without last name. Azuma stands as being the only one he calls by his first name + honorific. Everyone else is on last name + honorific basis). So it implies Haruto and him were close, yet by calling him by his last name again, Tasuku puts this distance between them. but it's also a name only Tasuku really knows, most people don't know Haruto like that. It remains something that denote how close they used to be, twisting the knife in the wound if you will. Meanwhile since Haruto wants desperately to be on top, to stand out, to be a star, it's also constantly reminding him that he's just like everyone else, that he's not standing out on his own, he's just a guy. it's so incredibly petty from Tasuku in general LDKJFDLKFJLD he knows what he's doing! But yeah the rst just, clearly isn't having this many hard feelings. I do think Azuma is being petty when he messes up (bc let's not forget also that the whole fight with Tasuku happened because of Haruto too, so Azuma may be entitled to be petty) but Homare? is fully genuine. It's so much. And yeah Tasuku and Haruto promotes POTO in act 1 when Tasuku is still working at the Godza! the more time changes.

And ahah i may have got ahead of myself there then -- but yeah Izumi's point here is very good, Homare truly is the emotion maker man. ALL OF WINTER GETTING DRUNK SO CUTEEE YES. and so true Tasuku and Tsumugi are so cute like that. hyperfixation goes brrr. meanwhile Homare, always a gem. he's amazing. And the fact he really gets to Guy is just 😭 Also not to be petty about fandom stuff here but i used to see a lot of jokes a few years ago about how Guy would be fed up with Homare's bullshit and would shut him down and be mean to him because of that and it used to make me SO angry because like Guy would NEVER, Guy would laugh and encourage him, it's HISOKA you want if you want to bully Homare damnit. This made me so angry. Homare has such a positive influence on Guy and Guy may be the one person in the Troupe who fully sincerely vibe with him (and not just to be sympathetic like Azuma and Tsumugi can be). I'm so glad you felt it. AND THAT CG IS SO CUTEEEE. A troupe symbolized by how hard it is for them to be honest about their feelings and how they closed all of them in, being able to laugh so openly with one another being silly. God i love them. Homare is so good.

YESSS Izumi's "the play will go smoothly" really didn't account for that lmao. I loved that everything went so damn wrong then. It made me think about how in act 1 every troupes except Winter have this moment of "The Show Must Go On" -- something that should have stopped the performance fully but the actors adlibed around the issue and all went well. Winter didn't have this moment in act 1, when Tsumugi fucks the play up no one knows how to fix it until the play is over. It really shows how quickly the others troupes went in synch with one another VS how Winter still had to work on their bond first. but in act 2, it's the opposite? For the 3 others troupes, all the problems happen before the plays, the plays themselves go rather smoothly. But Winter gets all sort of problems during their performance and they have to adlib ways to have the show going on even though they hit a deadend. i think it's a neat way to show that NOW Winter is fully in synch with one another. And i do think Guy is the ultimate way for them to make it happen, since Guy having so many of the issues the rest of Winter had to go through, the way they support Guy shows the way they learnt to support each other during the last year. But YEAH YOU'RE SO RIGHT ABOUT GUY'S PERFORMANCE. it's just so so good and the scene is so touching and gaah ;;-;;. the VAs are just so good and the directing is really incredible. Also something i love is coming back to the early plays and see how drastically different the acting for the acting is?? like, after reading act 2, they added voicelines to Alex in Wonderland, so i went back to check the event then -- and it struck me how, while they clearly had improved and weren't hammy at all, the acting was still miles away from being as clear than in Charlatant of Oz. Playing bad acting shouldn't be so hard, but managing to play "medium acting, not bad, but there's room to improve" seems like such a talent to me. the directing must be really tight because even just by VA's strength alone you need some guidance there man.

Glad you liked the backstages! it's so cute to me ahh. YUKI IS SO FUNNY he really became so cut-throat now, thanks Sakyo. God you're right, Tsuzuru and Yuki like "the two somewhat sane people against the world". until Yuki asks Tsuzuru to write a play that has fun costumes in and then he calls him Villager C again and now all hell breaks lose. RIGHTTT I LOVE IT. Hisoka has been sleeping in a coffin since his R from Nocturnality, and Tasuku already had to confiscate it then, and Hisoka was just "…….. i need to become a vampire brb" bc of that; But he basically kept this habit ever since until his SR. And i just find it sO funny that Tasuku tried to get Hisoka to stop sleeping and help out and Hisoka chooses violence instead. He's such a little shit he's so funny to me. And Tasuku just rolling with it because "well i've been stuck in a timeloop so it might as well happen" is so so funny to me. We managed to tame Tasuku into accepting the wildest of shit. god i love them so much.

Sakuya talking about Citron like he's dead fr. BUT YEAAAH ZAFRA! AND DLKJFDKLFJ DYEAH RIGHT. Guy: i'm a criminal // Chikage and Hisoka, with their fake IDs and actual criminal records: wow sucks to be you i guess. Itaru is so right about calling Chikage a menace. Chikage is one. fully.

Izumi's "i do not see" is SO FUNNY YEAH. It's her life now.

And you're so right about the Winter's structure. I think it really helped that well, dealing with Guy's problems is already a way to sum up how far they've come. Like… when Azami was going through his issues, he wasn't really communicating them and Autumn didn't know how to get him to communicate it, so they all shared their personal lives with Azami so Azami would make his own conclusions and all. But for Guy Winter mostly just learnt directly from how they helped each other out to help him instead so it's where the progress is seen, more subdued. But yeah, unlike say, Summer where everyone had a big plot to go through, Winter doesn't have that because it's been a bit spread out. Which i think fits them well. Winter isn't the type to make a big deal out of their own things, so everyhting kinda just happens around them. Act 1 only had them do big things because supernatural intervention happened. but it really helped the actual drama of the event to set in. I think this chapter had a huge task to make Citron be as important to its chapter than Hisoka was to Spring, while also having him absent most of the chapter. As such it needed more time to breath for Guy to really reflect on his past with Citron and stuff.

ooooh good catch!

nods yeah… And RIGHT i almost mentioned "i'm sure i saw Tangerine being fully compared to Muku" in the prev ask before it hit me it probably happened after lmao, but yeah!! it really is just that Citron saw his precious little brother in Muku and immediately became overprotective. Tangerine is so good so cute!! also as a result the fact Guy keeps calling Muku "Little Prince" because he sees Tangerine in him too? so adorable to me. Tsuzuru also not being able to help himself correcting Tangerine's japanese was very precious yeah in that regard. the Citron impulse too strong. As for the Zafra political drama yeah i agree, it was a bit "gotta wrap it up" type of ending lmao. fixing it with HCs is a good plan though fully.

Chekhov's chandelier indeed….. it's indeed very POTO in that sense. but YEAH SAKUYA SAVING THE DAY. BABY. THAT4S OUR BOY!!!!! It's exactly what he wanted like. he was inspired to do theater because of the pirate play that had to improvise evacuating people during a fire drill -- being able to do just that also during a fire drill must have been really the moment for Sakuya to come full circle. (THAT'S OUR BOY INDEED YOUR NOTES ARE SO RIGHT)

And god right. I love this bit so much. Citron just missing his family so much. The actual danger of it all; Chikage taking all the danger to himself, as redemption as well. The fact Tsuzuru is being considered a kid for once (especially after hearing how his brother left him to take all sort of adults responsibilities, i think it really makes it come full circle that in that moment even Itaru, who heard about that, stepped up to have Tsuzuru leave this responsibility behind for once and let the adults do the work instead). And god Itaru. His involvement there is so much. he would never have done anything that dangerous before, but now that it's all about protecting his family who cares. And besides Chikage can murder people he'll be fine. And yeah same, i don't like projecting Found Family's title on people and all but there's a couple exception: Sakyo and Omi being Dad and Mom (as per Yuki and Taichi always insisting and the fact they both answer to their given title like that), and the weird convoluted family dynamic of Spring (because they just love to play those up so much). Like, in the end also, the reality is that those titles don't fit them that much -- but it's a private joke in between them so it's fun to indulge. Dad and grandad on their way to save mom let's go.

Itaru and Chikage's dynamic was so so fun. They're really roommates in a deep way but i love the way Itaru is just getting used to Chikage's rascal ways like that while Chikage is really just unable to get rid of Itaru so now he has no choice but to get used to it. The close your eyes scene is SO FUNNY, the "physically or mentally to your crimes" is one of my favorite line it's just so on point. Itaru is too used to this bullshit. "might as well happen" type.

oghh Chikage…….; sighs lovingly he's so good isn't he. and yea his voice. so good.

CITRON'S REUNION YESS. Sakuya who's been already always left behind by all the family members who took him in, finally making himself a found family, and legit everyone almost leaving him at some point (except Tsuzuru)…. no wonder he cried when Citron was finally back. It's probably the last straw at this point for him. God. Family. And GOD Guy's quote as he talks with Citron. Crying.

Spring being so, so determined to talk about how they're really a family just keeps making me cry. Like, they really saw themselves as each other's family… ironically in the anime, when Citron and Izumi run away from the people that were sent after Citron, Citron does add a line about how in a way, he kinda hopes the troupe could become his family…. and the Ending song for Spring, Home, is also really about "and this home maybe could become a family" and it makes me cry: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lM_rHEFJ3ME But them talking about the end of the company just makes me so unwell. A3en ending really ended up making all of that so, so hard to swallow sobs.

SO GLAD you liked the ending. Now you know everything you need to know before the events ;D and yeah, i think Azuma was the one to do the make up without Azami around. he probably knows a thing or two so it helps out ;D

there's a couple things linked to the events, else i also did the mistake to tag my dgm posts with massive spoilers with kiri dont look so it might still be a landmine...

i can delete the tag from the dgm tags so it can make it easier for you? but yeah else some events are in the way

anyway as always i'm so glad to have been able to read your thoughts <333 so glad you had fun and so glad you get to know the whole cast now. they're so sweet, always........

Take care and see you around ;D

[strawberrysodaslut]

Try Me - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

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[ Eddie Munson Masterlist ]

[ Main Masterlist ]

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word count: 2.5k

summary: After getting drunk with your best friend, Eddie, you find out he’s never been kissed before. You’re happy to help him in that area (and maybe others…)

warnings: SMUT, oral (male receiving), gagging, slight d/s dynamic, praise kink, establishment of a safe word, cum eating, friends to lovers (let me know if i missed anything)

taglist:

@multi-fandomslut

@marauderslittlespoon

@cuddlingwithharry

@kozumewhore

@bbbbbbbbbbbbbbl

@solarrexplosion

@chickpea-jimin

join taglist

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Eddie had been your best friend since second grade. He had always been there for you, no matter what. Even when the two of you fought, he would always come over when you called him.

You would often spend a chunk of the day listening to Eddie bitch about Steve Harrington on your way to the video store. You knew he was just jealous of how Dustin adored Steve, the guy was practically a god to him.

But whenever you brought it up, he’d get completely defensive, going off about how he’s ‘not jealous, just worried that Dustin will fall victim to the disease that is popularity.’

Of course, if popularity was a disease- you don’t even know what you and Eddie were. You weren’t unpopular by any means, you were on good terms with the general school population, but you wouldn’t consider too many people your friend.

That pretty much caused your Friday nights to be spent alone with Eddie, but the two of you didn’t mind. You’d watch movies or have Eddie explain whatever plan he had for the next d&d campaign, you never really understood what was going on, but he always had you hooked on the story.

Tonight, it was your turn to pick, and you had decided on a game that has stood the test of time with sleepovers.

“No, no way I’m playing truth or dare.”

“Please! Come on, it’ll be fun!” You begged,

He shook his head, “Nope, can’t we do anything else?”

You stood your ground, “Hey, it’s my week to pick. And remember last week when you were half an hour late? You owe me a night of thruthing and daring.” You say, crossing your arms on your chest.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Fine, truth or dares it is.”

It starts pretty tame, but the longer you play, the more fun Eddie is having. Asking more daunting questions and embarrassing dares.

It took about an hour for you to introduce alcohol into the game, and it didn’t take much longer for the two of you to be piss-drunk on Eddie’s couch, filters completely gone as you both answer questions you’d never tell each other otherwise.

“Truth,” you say, ready to answer any question he had.

He pauses, his breath hitching as he scratches his palms- he’s nervous. “Eddie? What’s the question?” You ask, trying to calm him down.

“Wh-what happened with you and Billy?” He asks.

You and Billy Hargrove had a very brief relationship a couple of months before the StarCourt Mall fire last year. You knew he didn’t like you that much, and you weren’t fond of him, but honestly, you didn’t care. You just wanted someone.

But even though you never really liked him, it hurt when you broke up. Eddie hated him, so you didn’t really talk about what happened between you two. Billy’s death made it even harder to talk about, but with Eddie, you knew you were safe to talk to him about anything.

“So… that’s what happened.”

Eddie takes a big sigh, “Wow,” He says, turning to you, “Is it bad I’m a little jealous right now?” He asked.

You laugh, “You’re jealous of a shitty, toxic relationship where the guy died in a fire?” You ask, taking a swig of your drink.

He chuckles, shaking his head, “No, no, just having a relationship in general, someone who wants to be with you like that.” He ducks his head in embarrassment.

You look at him, “Come on Ed, plenty of girls would want to be with you. You’re the perfect guy.” You say, lightly punching his shoulder.

“You say that, but look at me. I haven’t even kissed a woman yet, but please show me the line of women waiting for me.” He says, throwing his hands in the air.

His eyes went wide once he realised what he said, and you can’t lie, your own eyes matched his. You don’t know why you didn’t consider it, Eddie was older than you, he always had this “cool guy” attitude to him. Sure you’d never seen him with a girl- or guy, but you just assumed. He never told you anything otherwise- until now.

This urge hit you, one you had been fighting for years now. You weren’t sure whether it was the buzz from being drunk or the new information, but the urge changed into a demand.

He hasn’t had a first kiss? Let’s give him one he’ll never forget.

You moved closer to him, using one hand to take him and the other to cup his cheek. He leans into the touch before his mind catches up, realising what’s about to happen. His eyes go wide.

“Oh, oh, uh-“ He stutters, “You don’t have to-it's fine.” He says.

You shush him, “I want to,” You lean in, you can feel his breath on your lips. “Do you?” You ask, the question coming out like a whisper.

He nods, and before you can second guess yourself, you press a soft kiss to his lips.

The kiss is chaste, but just as you lean back, he’s pulling you back in, his left hand finding your hips while the right cups your cheek.

The kiss is quite sloppy at first, but Eddie is a fast learner. Quickly becoming one of the better kisses you’ve had.

You poke your tongue against his lips, asking for permission to enter, he obliges, giving you space to kiss him with your tongue. It doesn’t take long before he’s experimenting with his own, finding out what’s good and what isn’t.

He nips at your bottom lip, just testing the waters, you moan into the kiss, causing him to groan.

You slide into his lap, straddling him as his hands slip just under your shirt. The cool rings on your skin tickle, so you giggle, pulling out of the kiss. Moving down to kiss his neck.

You can feel the vibrations of his groans on your lips, encouraging you to continue. You quickly find his sweet spot and bite down to suck a bruise. He moans out, bucking his hips up into yours, you moan, gripping his shoulders for stability.

You finally get to look at him, his face is bright red, his lips were completely swollen, he looks completely and utterly fucked out. But he’s also smiling like he just won the lottery, which in his eyes, he just has.

The bulge underneath you quickly grows as he hardens, you roll into it, eliciting another moan from him. You lean in, kissing his neck before licking along his jaw.

“Wait-“ He says, moving you back into place. Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, he grips at your shirt, tugging it. He’s trying to ask you to take it off.

You smirk, you’ve never seen Eddie like this. So… needy, desperate. You decide to take advantage of it. “What d’ya want baby? What is it?” You ask, giving him the most innocent look you can.

He starts stuttering, fingers still toying with the hem of your shirt, you almost feel guilty, wanting to apologise and give him whatever he asks for. But you also like the position you’re in right now.

You grip his chin, making him look at you. “Words, baby, I need you to tell me what you want.” You say, moving to nibble on his earlobe.

To your amusement, he whines, “Please,” he

whimpers, “Please let me take it off.

You smile, about to pull your ace card. You press a chaste kiss to his lips, “Good boy,” you mutter against his lips. You’re very pleased when he reacts by bucking his hips up to yours. You smirk, “You like that?” You ask.

He nods, “Yeah, I really do.” he says, his face turning red as he buries his face in your neck to hide.

Despite enjoying teasing him, you decide to give in, tugging on your own shirt to let him pull it off you. You thank yourself for deciding to forgo a bra today. He practically tears your shirt off of you, moaning at the sight of your breasts.

“Holy shit…” He mutters, his hands hovering just under your breasts, he’s waiting for permission.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “You can touch me, Ed,” You say, a chuckle clouding your words.

And just like that, he goes in. Taking your breast into his mouth, sucking, biting and licking across your nipple. You moan at the stimulation, grinding down onto him, “Fuck, so good.”

He takes this as a sign to keep going- as he should. Gripping harder on your waist as he takes your nipple in between his teeth, rolling it before licking to soothe it.

You card your hands through his hair, tugging as you moan. You’re being absolutely worked. This was supposed to be about him, you’ve gotta fix this.

You tug his hair, pulling him off of your breast. You sit up slightly, moving your hand to palm at his cock. He moans, shuddering as you light drag your nails across his neck.

You unbutton his jeans, resting your hand on the zipper as you look to him for permission. Once his brain catches up he’s nodding profusely, a begging mess for you.

As soon as you’ve undone his jeans, you’re pushing your hand into his boxers, wrapping your hand around his hard cock and slowly stroking it.

He moans, rolling his hips into your hand. “Son of a bitch.” He mutters.

When you remove your hand, he actually whines, desperate for your hand back on him, but that desperation is rewarded as you kiss along his jawline, leaning into his ear, “I wanna suck you off,” you mutter, grinding into him. He moans, rolling his hips up to match your rolls. “Is that okay?” You ask.

Before you’ve even finished the sentence, he’s profusely nodding, “Yes- yes please.” He sputters.

You roll into him once more- for good measure, before moving to go on your knees. “You’re- this is- wow…” He says, watching as you pull his jeans and boxers down.

His cock springs free, slapping his stomach. It’s a surprising length- you never really thought about how big he would be, but you didn’t think it would be that big. It’s slightly curved, with a very red tip, like it’s angry, demanding stimulation.

You decide to oblige, pressing a kiss to the red tip. Eddie immediately moans, bucking his hips. You want to tease him, but decide to be nice this time. Finding a vein in the base and following it right up to his slit, licking the precum.

He lets out a guttural moan, “Oh my god, please don’t tease me, baby, please.”

The mix of his begging and that nickname burned in your abdomen, feeling the wetness from your panties on your leg where you sit.

You decide to be kind, guiding his cock into your mouth and sinking as far down as you can. Using your hand to rub whatever parts you can’t fit.

You swallow, causing him to jerk, hitting the back of your throat. You pull off, gagging and coughing. You try to let him know it’s okay, but he’s already profusely apologising.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you- shit. Do you need something? Do I need to call an ambulance?” He says, not taking a breath in between any of his words.

As your coughing comes to a stop, you sit back up on the couch, resting your hand on his cheek. “Hey, I’m fine, was just surprised s’all, it’s no big deal.” You say, he nods, “Now, we can stop if you want, but I’d be happy to keep going.”

He looks up at you with near doe eyes, “Really? You’re sure you’re okay?”

You giggle at his nervousness, the way he cares for you making your heart swell. “I’m fine, that shit happens all the time. Some people are into it.” You say, his eyes widen. God- he really is clueless about this stuff.

He takes a second, “I don’t think- I’m into it. Is that okay? I just don’t like seeing you like that.” He whispers, brushing his hand along your hair.

You nod, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Of course it’s okay,” You pull back, still seeing some apprehension in him. Your heart aches, he’s not doing anything wrong, he shouldn’t feel guilty.

“Okay, how about this.” You start, he looks at you with peak interest, “If you’re uncomfortable, and want to stop, you say red, if you want me to slow down, say yellow, yeah?” He nods, understanding what you’re talking about.

“And if I want to slow down, I’ll tap twice,” You say, tapping twice on his thigh to show him. “And if I wanna stop, I tap continuously.” You say, tapping at a rapid pace. “Does that make you feel better?” You ask, kissing the side of his lips.

He nods again, looking so much more relaxed. “Definitely, I don’t wanna hurt you.” He says, rubbing along your back.

You giggle, “I’m glad,” You say, leaning in to kiss him, taking his cock in your hand and gently stroking it. “You want me to keep going?” You ask.

He nods before moaning, “Please, please do.” he says, rolling his hips into your hand.

You nod, sinking back down to your knees. Since he still seems nervous, it’s probably better to go a little slow. You press kisses along his length, rubbing the slit with your thumb, smearing the precum over his tip.

He gasps as you start to place kitten licks along the slit, slowly getting bigger as your mouth started to cover his head. He moans, “Fuck baby, s’good.” He says, hand reaching to pull your hair away from your face.

Eventually, you get down far enough that your nose is brushing his pubic hair. You take that as the best sign to start travelling up and down his shaft, swallowing when needed -and sometimes just to feel how he squirms.

His moans turn one continuous string of moans as you feel his cock throb in you. He reaches to feel the way his cock sits in your mouth, swearing at the sight of it.

He feels- close, so you start to increase the pace at which you bob your head. You feel him tense below your hand. “Shit- so close.” He moans.

You continue to swallow around him, encouraging him to unload in your mouth. He moans, allowing himself to fully let go, spilling his seed into your mouth. You smile as you swallow around him, making sure to catch every drop before popping off of him.

“Holy- holy shit.” He mutters, repeating various swear words as you coax him back to you.

You can tell he’s worn out, certainly too tired to learn any ways of getting you off, but that doesn’t matter. Tonight wasn’t about you, it was about him, making him feel good. And after tonight, truth or dare is his new favourite game.

[teatimeallovertown]

I think that sometimes Ian is so blown away by how affectionate and loving Mickey is. Mickey will walk up to Ian while he's cooking, wrap his arms around Ian's waist and bury his head in between Ian's shoulder blades. He will find Ian's foot under the dinner table and play footsie with him even if it's just the two of them eating at home. He is always touching Ian while they sleep. Just a hand on his bicep or his stomach if it's hot or completely pressed against him if it's cold. Mickey will just smile at Ian while they're watching a movie and lean over and kiss him without saying anything. Or tell Ian that he loves him in the middle of the grocery store in between debating over whether to get the chickpea pasta Ian likes but Mickey thinks tastes like cardboard.

And at first, especially after that got married and Mickey got so much more comfortable with casual affection, it kind of freaked Ian out. Not because he didn't like it, he fucking loves it, but because he's worried he pushed Mickey to be like this. When he thinks back on teenage Mickey he can't quite wrap his head around this new version. He knows he's pushed Mickey to change in so many ways and he wonders if this is another one of them.

But, the longer their married and the closer they get, Ian realized this is always who Mickey has been. He's a lover. He's a caretaker. He's passionate and loud and shows his love in so many ways. But he couldn't be that person before. He had Terry or was in prison and couldn't give or receive soft touches and loving words. But now, finally, he's safe. He's married. He can finally let himself have these things and be this person and it makes Ian so happy. Because he's always seen flashes of this Mickey, even when they were kids, but now they get to love and touch and laugh everyday.

[mysteryshoptls]

SR Jamil Viper Apprentice Chef Personal Story: Part 2

"Master Chef"

(Part 1) Part 2

[Cafeteria – Judging Venue]

Master Chef - Jamil Version ～Let's Make Horse Mackerel Fritters 2～

Azul: Oya, if it isn't Jamil-san!

Jamil: Ugh, Azul… Of all people, you're my judge.

Azul: I have often heard tales of your cooking skills, Jamil-san. I look forward to finally being able to try it.

Jamil: You're too talkative, as usual. Just hurry with the judging and leave already.

Jamil: …Ahem. This here is a platter of horse mackerel fritters.

Azul: Oh, my… how gorgeous. I'm quite fascinated by the various colorful sauces.

Jamil: I drew inspiration from palatine cuisine. Wouldn't it be boring to just have brown sauce?

Azul: I would expect nothing less from you, Jamil-san. What a wonderful decision. Now, allow me to taste it before it cools.

[bite, chew, chew] …

Azul: The composition of the batter and the temperature at which you fried it is superb. The texture is light! The flavor has completely soaked into the fluffy body of the fish…!

Azul: And finally, these various dipping sauces.

Azul: It would be no exaggeration to call this the king of all dishes!

Jamil: The way you speak is the real exaggeration. Although, I suppose it's not incorrect to say that I did put my all into this dish.

Chef Ghost A: Jamil-kun did say that he wanted to be more particular with how it was presented. It really was worth my time to teach him!

Azul: It is a wonder that you were able to think up so many colorful sauces.

Jamil: If I were to describe each one…

Jamil: Red is tomato, green is avocado, and white is mascarpone. And the yellowish sauce is chickpea hummus.

Jamil: The blue sauce was difficult to produce and I really struggled with it. But don't you think that the acidity of blueberry somehow goes well with the horse mackerel?

Azul: Indeed, that was quite new for me as well. It is a dish that completely throws common sense out of the window. The way I view fritters will never again be the same.

Jamil: The more you heap on the praise like that, the more it stinks of lies… Well, I suppose this time I'll accept it at face value.

Chef Ghost A: Myyy, at one point I was quite worried because he was acting strange, but… all ends that ends well!

Azul: …Acting strange? May I ask you to elaborate on that, Chef?

Azul: I cannot imagine that the usually calm Jamil-san would ever show that different a side of himself, to the point where you were worried for him…

Azul: As his classmate, I cannot help but be worried for him. Was there some kind of "specific reason" for it?

Chef Ghost A: I don't know all the details, I only witnessed Jamil-kun laughing to himself while he was sharpening his knife.

Azul: While he was sharpening his knife!? Jamil-san, what in the world happened?

Jamil: …I suppose it isn't anything I need to keep concealed.

Jamil: I will never forget it. It was during a training camp for the basketball club―

FLASHBACK

―Several months ago, at the basketball training camp.

Everyone: THANKS FOR THE FOOD!!!

Ace: Whew～! The meal we get to eat right after a hard practice is the best! Jamil-senpai, everything you cook is delicious!!

Basketball Club Student A: Whenever I get to eat your cooking, it makes me happy that I joined the basketball club.

Basketball Club Student B: Same! I'm so jealous of the Scarabia students who get to eat this cooking all the time.

Jamil: You know… It's not like I am your cook or anything.

Floyd: Umihebi-kun, sure, your food is great and all, but it always looks kinda boring～

Jamil: …!!

Ace: Ah, when you put it that way, most of his dishes are pretty brown, yeah.

Jamil: (Boring… Brown…)

Ace: If there was a bit more red, yellow or other bright colors, the spread of dishes might look more appealing.

Jamil: (Brown… Boring… Brown… Boring…)

Floyd: When it comes to cooking, how it looks is also super important. Sometimes, even if you're not hungry, you can build an appetite if you see something that looks good, y'know.

Everyone: So true～ Ahahahahaha!

Jamil: (Brown… Boring… Brown… Boring… Brown… Boring...)

Jamil: …Is what happened. I couldn't believe that everyone was that dissatisfied with my cooking.

Jamil: My sister would always tell me that I make too many brown dishes, but to think that my clubmates all had the same feeling…

Azul: Fascinating. So this dish can be seen as your attempt to show them what you really can do.

Azul: What a dedicated effort you put into this! Once everyone in the basketball club tries these fritters, there's no doubt that they will change their perception of your cooking.

Jamil: I'm glad to hear that. It looks like with this dish I may not have to deal with those guys' complaints anymore.

Azul: Fufu… The basketball club sure is lucky to be able to see Jamil-san's "true abilities."

Jamil: …You don't ever stop talking, do you? Seriously, you're always just so entertained by other people's troubles.

Azul: No, no, I am simply envious of the basketball club, from the bottom of my heart. That being said, I have a proposal for you…

Azul: How would you like to work at the Mostro Lounge? I would love to have you manning our kitchens, Jamil-san.

Jamil: I absolutely, definitely refuse!!

(Part 1) Part 2

[fizzyxcustard]

Chickpea.

Masterlist of all fics are here

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Lots of cuteness! Fluff.

Summary: You find an abandoned baby raven outside the doors of Erebor and decide to take the little ball of fluff in and care for him. However, you never leave the bundle out of your sight and even take him in to council meetings, much to Thorin's irritation.

Comments: If you would like to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know as I’m gradually creating a new one. Enjoy!

"What on earth is that?" Thorin asked as he entered your bed chamber and heard faint chirps coming from somewhere in the room. He could only see your back and you were hunched over, paying attention to something in your hands.

"Oh, Thorin, I found him outside the gate. Poor little thing. He was shivering and needs something to eat. I've managed to get some mashed food from the kitchen and he's feeding so well...." your voice trailed off as you held the little black ball of fluff in your hands and watched him gobble the mashed meat. He stretched upwards, grabbing the meat from between your pinched fingers and then snapped his beak back and forth, forcing it down his throat to his crop.

Thorin stepped towards you and looked down, puzzled as to how the little bundle had fallen from his nest. Roac's clan were always so careful with their young. Maybe this little mite was from another clan of ravens.

"We have to search for his clan. We cannot keep him here," Thorin said.

"Only a couple of days. I want to make sure he's well fed before we go and search for his family. Please, Thorin. He was so cold, and I began to prepare for the worst this afternoon. Now that he has warmed through and has some food in him, maybe he has a fighting chance."

Thorin chuckled. "He certainly has a good appetite."

***

Baby Chickpea, as you had fondly called him, remained by your side day and night. Night feeds rendered you completely exhausted by morning. The noisy little ball chirped until the midnight hour, keeping Thorin awake, much to his absolute distain. Then Chickpea would only sleep one or two hours before he began hopping about in his wooden box, tapping at the side to get your attention.

You arrived in council three days after first rescuing Chickpea. All of Thorin's advisers sat down by order of the King, and then their attention turned to chirping. "Please....no...." Thorin growled, looking beside him as you sat down and placed the temporary home for Chickpea next to your seat.

"I cannot leave him," you whispered harshly, aware that numerous pairs of eyes were on you.

Council continued on and no one made any comment regarding the bird's whistles and chirps, despite puzzled looks and smirks coming from all of those gathered around the table before you.

***

On the morning of the fourth day, you got up early. You rubbed your tired and aching eyes. Then you focused on Chickpea. His bright gaze was searching for you and as soon as he saw you, high above him, he began whistling. It was a high pitch, happy whistle that he always made when he saw you.

"Morning, darling," you said, reaching in to the box to brush your finger down the chick's back. Chickpea hobbled back and forth, trying to get to your hand, so you cupped it and scooped him up. The raven chick nestled against your chest and closed his eyes, and you began to sing to him.

Thorin was lying with his back to you and couldn't help but smile to himself. You had thoroughly fallen in love with the bird, and he was growing ever more saddened by the thought of broaching the subject of releasing him back to his family.

Maybe another couple of days.

[a3hihi]

H*CK you guys, here’s some Guy x gn reader headcanons 🎣

 you guys deserve some food. i respect the hustle, all guy simps are champions. obvious spoiler warnings because he comes in pretty late in the story. ok let’s get started

Guy rarely has an expressive face, so he’s glad when you tell him that you accept it. At this rate, only people close to him know his tells! You, Citron, and most of Winter Troupe are the first to notice that he’s happy when the corner of his mouth quirks up a little bit. By like, a millimeter. Sometimes his eyebrows furrow, and that either means he’s angry or he’s thinking about what tea to have in the morning. 

It’s canon that he laughs when he hears people mention chickpeas so you better take ADVANTAGE of this fact. My guy’s chuckles are deep and comforting you know it 

Speaking of expressing emotions, Guy prefers to do so with his words and acts of service. Expect “good morning”’s and “how are you”’s and “you look wonderful”’s on a daily basis please don’t stop him. He’s also the type to dote on you, so please accept the favors he wants to do for you!

When you do the same, like tuck him in bed or offer to fix his collar, Guy shuts down and has to reboot. He’s unfamiliar with this, so it might take some time before he accepts that he can be doted on this time, and be human all the time!

He likes learning about other cultures with you, especially yours if it’s different from his. This means quiet reading time with him, usually with his head on your lap or vice versa! This also means watching cute documentaries together on the couch (Citron calls you guys “simps” and you have to lightly scold him) and taking language classes. Guy’s faster at picking them up ,so he’s excited when you ask him to teach you. He’s touched that you want to spend time doing something he’s passionate about. 

Citron often tells you guys to spend time alone, firstly to prove that he’s his own person now, and secondly to show Guy that he trusts him. It’s about the Protection it’s about the Dynamic there is so much love here 

Every once in a while, you book trips to see the places you want to go to, and have dinner dates in hole-in-the-wall restaurants near Veludo. The troupe insists that you help him take a break for once please help. Cue you and Guy feeding each other takoyaki while watching the sunset, faint live music in the background,,, sobs,, 

FISHING DATES FISHING DATES

Women want me fish fear me but it’s Guy taking the best fish for you and COOKING IT IN THE SAME DAY. MAN WILL GIVE YOU FRESH DINNER AND LUNCH 24/7. BEST BOY

DRIVING DATES. OH YEA. You think I missed that Guy apparently has a car and driving license? No sir I BELIEVE he takes you out in the early morning and late nights just to hang out. He even lets you pick the music because he’s a king like that

If you let him pick, he chooses classical music or fun love songs. If you listen quietly you can hear him hum along silently, or offer to sing together when he’s feeling braver

Man holds your hand while he drives. Maybe sometimes pats your leg because he’s soft like that. BUT ALSO PICTURE HIM DOING SO WITH HIS SLEEVES ROLLED UP, HAIR SLICKED BACK, WITH NICE WATCH ON HIS WRIST. PERISH 

I KNOW he can drive with one hand. This boy’s a soldier— he’s trained for this, I’m Very sure he can beat up an entire squad of attackers so driving is definitely no sweat for him.

Sometimes he has nightmares from feeling too much like a machine and the training he’s undergone. He ends up jolting awake with a cold sweat. When he sees and hears you though, with concern on your face ft. some water and a towel, BOY does he recover much faster, and falls asleep hugging you. What a king

Please stay with him he likes you so much sobs

Thank you for reading! Have a good day OR ELSE

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 13

Hello friends we have come to the end of Cult Girl. Thank you all for hyping me up throughout this story and giving me the confidence to actually post my work. Y/n and Hannibal throw a dinner party.

The sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the entire kitchen in that homey mid-morning glow. You were enjoying your coffee and scrolling through an article on your phone.

"Senator Hatch reportedly coughed up his late wife's toe on the floor of the precinct." You read out loud. "Huh. Wonder how that could have happened."

You side-eyed Hannibal, who was contentedly sharpening his knives. Placing a rather large meat cleaver to the side, he met your gaze. "I have my ways."

You finished off your coffee and brought the mug to the sink. "There was no way Theresa was going to survive that night, was there?"

"Clever girl." Hannibal praised.

"You were going to kill her if I didn't, were you?" You felt a smile coming on. "Did everything turn out as expected?"

"Darling, this all went much better than I could have ever hoped for." He smirked. "See, I had the whole evening mapped out. I was hoping you'd be the one to deliver justice and kill her, but I had to prepare for the possibility that you wouldn't."

You folded your arms and leaned against the island. "Is that why I was so sick that day?"

You could have sworn you saw some hesitation in Hannibal's face. Maybe even a touch of regret. "Yes. You needed an alibi. It was as easy as removing a single birth control pill from your packet. You'd see it was missing and think you'd already taken your medicine-"

"So I'd neglect to take my focus meds." You cut in. "Yeah, I knew something was off."

"By the end of the day, you'd be experiencing full withdrawal symptoms." Hannibal nodded. "I don't take any pleasure in upsetting the delicate balance of your brain chemistry, and for that I am sorry. I did what I had to."

"Yeah, don't ever do that again." You ordered, no disarming smile in sight. "I need those meds to function."

"I promise you, darling," Hannibal said, sincerely. "I would never keep you from being anything but your very best. I was just looking after you."

"I suppose now that all this is out in the open, you won't need to pull any shit like that again." You muttered. "But I'm still going to keep my pills at my apartment."

"That reminds me." He said. "Would you like to invite your roommates for dinner tonight? I've prepared a wonderful Spanish-inspired menu that's perfect for entertaining."

"I'd love for you to meet my friends, but, they all keep such weird hours I doubt they'll all be free tonight." You shrugged. "I'll give them a call though."

"Wonderful." He smiled. "You make arrangements while I prepare the kitchen."

You stepped into the office and called up Pilar. She answered within the minute.

"[F/N]!" She near shouted. "Holy fuck, how are you doing?"

"I'm actually doing..." you looked back into the kitchen, watching your beloved Hannibal in his element. "Really well."

"I heard about your cousin." Pilar cut in. "One down, two to go."

You snorted. "No fucking shit."

"Sorry, was that okay for me to say?" She apologized. "I know you said Theresa was a bitch, but it's your trauma and I-"

"No, you're fine." You laughed. "She was a bitch. Hey, do you have any plans tonight?"

"Uh, no. I don't think so." She answered. "Why?"

"Hannibal wants to invite you all for dinner tonight." You said with an audible smile. "Y'know, to celebrate the bitch's death."

"Yo! Steph!" Pilar shouted across the room. "Wake Randy up! We're having dinner at [F/N]'s rich boyfriend's house!"

You could make out Stephanie's voice in the background. "It's about damn time. We've been waiting for her to redistribute the wealth."

"She means thank you for the invitation." Pilar corrected.

"It's not like I had to twist his arm or anything. It was his idea." You chuckled. "He loves having guests. And excuses to dress up."

"Oh so we're getting fancy, huh?" Pilar's voice turned up in excitement.

"Hey [F/N]!" Randy snatched the phone from Pilar. "Text me the menu for tonight. My girlfriend'll steal a nice bottle of wine to pair. She's a pro, she works over at Cavatappi's wine and spirits."

"Much obliged, Randy." You said. "I'll see you guys at seven."

You returned to the kitchen with a smile. "They're coming."

"Well, we don’t have a moment to lose, then." Hannibal placed something wrapped in butcher paper on the counter. "Come now. Let me show you how to properly prepare a heart.

You and Hannibal spent the rest of the morning and the whole afternoon preparing a bountiful meal. You reveled in the irony of finally finding a space for Theresa in your life. That space just so happened to be on the stove.

Seven came far too quickly, but your friends were always a welcome sight. You greeted them at the door with hugs, Hannibal watching with stoic adoration.

"Guys, this is Hannibal Lecter, my partner." You introduced. "Hannibal, this is Pilar, Stephanie and Miranda."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies." Hannibal greeted. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

"Here you go, Dr. Lecter." Randy handed him a bottle of wine. "Thank you for inviting us."

Hannibal examined the bottle. "Yes, this will pair quite nicely with our meal. Thank you very much. [F/N], could you show our guests to the dining room?"

You nodded and accepted the bottle, given the extra responsibility of pouring. You led your friends to the dining room and wasted no time distributing the alcohol.

"A toast." Stephanie rose her glass. "Too many of history's worst have had the privilege of dying on their own terms. Today, we celebrate the death of one who didn't: Theresa [L/N]."

"She will join her sisters Nancy Reagan and Madame Nhu in hell tonight." You concurred, tapping your glasses together with a series of satisfying clinks.

"Okay, you need to spill." Randy scooted her chair up and leaned towards you. "How the hell did you get away with it?"

"Well, it helped a lot that her husband was already a felon." You teased. "If I didn't kill her, he was going to eventually."

Pilar made a face. "I can't believe it took actual murder to get that latter-day lump thrown in prison."

"Well, the LDS church is a very influential organization with a stronghold on all of Utah." You explained. "There's a long history of legitimizing sex abuse there."

"We know, cult girl." Stephanie laughed. "You remind us every time your pedophile cousin-in-law comes up. Relax and take your victories where you can get them.” 

“Ladies,” Hannibal entered. You rushed to his side to help him with the dinner plates. “Have we ever tried organ meat before?” 

Everyone’s eyes found Pilar. 

“Braised liver is delicious and you guys are just cowards.” Pilar protested. “I will die on this hill.” 

Hannibal smiled and presented your friends with their plates. “You are a woman of good tastes, Pilar. Our first course is Riñones al Jerez.” 

“Kidneys.” Randy translated. “Who’s kidneys are we eating today, Dr. Lecter?” 

He tilted his head. “Theresa’s, of course.” 

“I don’t care whose organs you harvested.” Stephanie said, her eyes rolling back into her head. “This is delicious.” 

You and Hannibal shared a glance and a smile. 

You and your roommates devoured the Riñones al Jerez, then dug into the next serving of heart stewed with chickpeas and olives. You finished off the evening with natillas de leche and a bottle of Sauternes Hannibal just happened to have lying around. 

“This is the first time since like, Keith Raniere got sentenced that I’ve seen [F/N] happy-drunk.” Stephanie observed.

“Or even just... happy." Pilar said, looking at Hannibal. "I'll have some of whatever she's having, please."

"My pleasure." Hannibal poured her another glass of wine.

Your phone began to buzz on the table, capturing the attention of your guests. You didn't even need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. Nobody else in the world had such horrid timing.

"Shit, you've got to answer it here!" Stephanie pleaded. "So we can all give her a piece of our mind!"

You looked over to Hannibal, who you knew was just as curious.

You dragged the answer icon across the screen and put it on speaker. You gestured for your friends to be quiet. "Yeah?"

"Well look who finally decided to pick up." Grandma said. "Thank you for gracing me with your attention. I know you have so much going on right now, you're just too busy to pick up the phone and talk to your grieving grandmother."

"For your information..." you stumbled over your words. "I was interrogated by the police yesterday. I think that counts as having something going on."

"Are you drunk?" Her voice was laced with a disproportionate level of disgust.

"I'm grieving too, Beatrice." You counter. "What, suddenly you're the only one who can drink the pain away? That's not very democratic of you."

"In your state, you shouldn't even be thinking of alcohol!" Grandma scolded. "You of all people should know the effects alcohol has on an unborn baby."

You smacked yourself on the head. Of course Theresa would plant a seed to fuck you over one last time. "Did Theresa actually tell you I was pregnant?"

"It was her last message to me, actually. Anyway, you're coming home." Grandma said, without so much as waiting for a response. "I won't have my great grandchild living in that dangerous city that your cousin was killed in."

You exchanged looks with your friends, who were going through the same combination of emotions as you were. Grandma's words just seemed to fade out as you shared an entire nonverbal conversation with the people around you.

"And you're leaving that terrible, terrible man."

Hannibal raised an eyebrow and looked at you, waiting to see how you'd respond. You knew what you had to do. It was finally time. You did something you should have done a long time ago.

"No." You said, your nerves loosened by the wine.

"What?"

"No. And I mean it." A big smile crossed your lips. "Theresa lied to you. I'm not pregnant. And you have to live with the fact that your granddaughter's last words to you were a blatant lie."

Hannibal looked at you with pride and your friends began to silently gas you up with encouraging gestures. "

"...And that you're the only one to blame for her deception." You continued. "You raised her in your own image."

"This is why I refuse to let you raise my great grandchild with that man!" She wailed. "He's twisted your mind against me! He's made you cruel!"

"Hannibal made me see clearly that you made me cruel." You said with absolute certainty. "You'll never see me again."

"Don't be like your mother, [F/N]." Grandma snarled. "Don't cut people out for trying to help."

"You'll never see me again." You repeated and decided to leave it at that. You ended the call and blocked the number, joined by an eruption of excitement from your friends.

It was finally over. Your life could truly begin.

[unloved-cadillac]

can i request for overhaul and hawks as father headcanons?

C/n: Overhaul AND Hawks?! Amazing. Thanks for requesting and I hope that you enjoy🤍

———————————————————————

HCs on Overhaul & Hawks as fathers.

Overhaul:

A lot of people think that he would be an absent father, but I completely disagree.

He would be very involved in his child’s life, just not in the usual way.

He’d take them to school, make sure they eat and makes them do their homework.

He mostly leaves some stuff to you, though.

He never misses birthdays. No, no. Overhaul does NOT want his child to grow up thinking that their father did not even care about them enough to show up.

He organizes it actually, you know cause of the Shie Hassaikai. He knows a lot of people.

Never settles for a simple party. Every year, it’s big and special.

When your guy’s child was small, the stage where they would drool and cry non-stop, Overhaul was disgusted.

You called him out on that too.

“Kai, they’re our CHILD. This happens. Stop making that face.” “What face?” “The one that makes you look like you saw the most disgusting thing in the world.” “Tch.”

But when you went to work for the first time, leaving him with the baby, you were worried. You knew he wasn’t so comfortable yet so you called non-stop. And Overhaul just hung up on the 10th call.

When you came home, you saw him with the baby sleeping on his chest while they both laid on the sofa.

Your heart softened and you took so much of pictures. It’s your wallpaper now and Overhaul just scoffs at it.

“Send me it.”

Soft boi with his kids.

=====

Hawks:

This man lovesssss kids.

Before you and him even got together, you saw how much he loved his child fans. He’d play with them, let them feel his feathers. Just a really good guy with kids.

So when you and him had a child, he was over the moon.

He stayed at home with them as much as he could but sometimes he would have to leave, cause of the double agent thing.

But after all of that shit was sorted out, his little dove was so happy to have him home.

Their wings sprouted and they weren’t red like his. They were actually your h/c which made Keigo even MORE happy.

“Y/n! Y/n! They’re beautiful. Their wings are so delicate and pretty. Look!” “Kei, I’m right here. No need to shout, you goofball.”

Hawks helped them fly which made you scared shitless. It started off small, just bouncing them on the bed while their wings started fluttering.

“Dont drop them!!”, you shouted while holding out your hands. “Relax, chickpea. Dove is almost there. Aren’t you, little one?”, he gives them a kunik kiss earning giggles from them.

He reads to them!! Hawks would sit on your bed, with the baby on his lap while holding a book and making funny voices.

Hawks got them clothes that were actually his merch that the agency made. And it looked adorable. It had little slits on the back so their tiny wings could fit. Yes, he made them custom.

Overall, Hawks loves you and your child. And he makes sure that both of you safe, even if he isn’t there to protect you, he has a close eye on you two. You’re both his whole world, afterall.

———————————————————————

“I remember being very, very obsessed with Hawks and almost passed out when I heard his dub voice for the first time. True story.”

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.