#flour canister

[plexippusangel]

My beloved roommates have moved our dry goods into vintage porcelain canisters, which I supported when we were organizing the pantry but I just had the most harrowing experience trying to refill the sugar bowl so I could enjoy my coffee. Tbh I’d stay something about switching them back but I don’t really cook or bake on any kind of a fatigue day so it’s only an issue once in a blue moon but I’d rather not be dealing with that also.

[renthony]

I think my favorite thing in Marie Kondo's work is the section in The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up where she talks about branding and labels contributing to visual clutter.

She explains that if you go through the whole tidying process and still feel cluttered and anxious in your own home, one thing that might help is looking around to see how much visible text and logos there are in your home. It can make you feel like you're constantly being advertised to, which makes you less comfortable in your living space, because you're basically in a showroom.

She suggests taking labels off of packages, storing items in different containers if you can, and making sure you take every purchase out of its packaging when you bring it home.

I think about that advice a lot when capitalism starts to get to me and I feel like I'm never gonna escape. Taking all the branding and advertising off of things has genuinely helped make my home feel more like my home. Peeling labels off candles, storing envelopes neatly on a shelf in a plain box, putting flour and sugar in canisters instead of leaving them in the bags, creatively covering logos on my tech...it all helps so much. Like, goddamn, it really made me realize just how much we are constantly being advertised to even when we think we're not.

[milksuu]

Sorry, Mom. I'm The New Cleaning Lady For Heartsteel

Pairings: various!Heartsteel x f!reader

Status: on-going (Cross posted on AO3)

Content/Warnings: 18+ content, explicit themes, suggestive language

Summary: Identity theft was a crime—that was obvious. But when it meant paying off the bills for basically existing and your mother’s hospital expenses, committing a felony didn’t seem like a bad thing. It was like that one quote, from that one band, with that one hit song: “Two sides to a story but they never tell me side.”

Or…something like that. Wait, what was their name again? Heartsteel? Sounds like a dating sim game.

[Reader takes the identity of her mother, who had been hired to be the new cleaning lady for an up and coming boy band named ‘Heartsteel’. Obviously, there’s no way they would ever find out. But that was a joke. Because they’re definitely finding out: one by one.]

“You…brought your own cleaning supplies?”

“You always need to be prepared, young man,” you replied, adjusting your duck-yellow cleaning gloves. They squeeked and flopped comically around your hand and fingers. 

“Ma’am, you do understand today is solely the house tour.” The man folded his arms neatly against his chest, white brow raised. “In order to rely on you fully, you’ll need to be familiar with the estate first. I thought we discussed this beforehand. That and…we have cleaning supplies to provide you with here.”

You paused at the grand modern entrance. You lifted your bucket full of sponges, brushes, and cleaning spray from the dollar store. 'Buy-one-get-one' on all cleaning supplies was the grand deal of the day. How could you pass a penny-pinching bargain? Swallowing your shame, you settled the cheap items on the pristine granite floors. 

“Oh, is that so? Must’ve slipped my mind. Age will do that to you.” You forced a chuckle, adjusting your sterile mask across your youthful face. “That and, I have such a passion for cleaning. I can't help myself. I see the inside of a house, and I just have to clean it. I’m sure you could understand that.”

“I don’t believe I could,” your employer said dryly. “Anyway, if you will, follow me.”

You nodded and shuffled along accordingly. As you stared into the back of his immaculately pressed business attire, a new-found horror struck through you: you had no clue what your employer’s name was. Frantically, you scavenged your pockets. From it, you pulled out a business card, holding it so close to your face you smelled the tinge of clean cologne.

YONE

RIOT RECORDS

DJ / PRODUCER

 EMAIL: yone123@riotstudios.com

TELEPHONE:  XXX-XXX-XXXX

“The bottom floor consists of all of the amenities; gym, entertainment area, recording studio and so on.” Yone stated as he stepped into the open-kitchen plan. When he regarded you again, you awkwardly plunged the card back into your pants pocket. “The boys have their own scheduled chores every week. They’re expected to do it without you having to help them. I’m trying to keep them humble, but easier said than done. Refer to the chore calendar on the fridge. And try not to interfere with it too much.”

“Okay—who switched my protein powder with flour?” Behind an opened cabinet, a heavy-muscled stacked man growled. “Guys. Seriously. This stuff’s expensive. Where’d it go?” When he poured the contents out into the trash can, he plucked out a note from the bottom of the canister. The small print read:

‘Protein powder tastes like dog food.’’

The weight of realization punched him square between the eyes. He threw open the pantry, where dog kibble was stored in a tub at the bottom marked ‘Ernest’. Sett pulled open the container, and sure enough, found his  protein powder and scooper. There was no mistaking his favorite smell of cinnamon crunch isolate, now mixed with the scent of dry-bacon kibble. Another note pasted the inside lid:

‘Woof–Woof ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ’

“A–phe–li–os,” the name gritted between his canines. His ears flattened against his untamed hair, and crumpled the note to dust in his palm. “Oh–Ho. Mess with me all you want; but never mess with my gains. I’m gonna’ prank him back so hard tonight, he’s gonna’ be begging me to stop.” 

“Sett,” Yone coughed, grabbing the Vistayan's attention. “We have a guest today. Our new cleaning lady.”

“Oh, sorry about that.” Sett wiped his powdered hand against his sleeveless shirt. He reached and took your rubber glove with a squelch. “Hey, how’s it goin’, Ma’am. The name’s Sett.” 

You swallowed hard, hoping your glove would remain securely covering your hand. You feared if he pulled back, he would reveal a hand that wasn't so wrinkled for someone supposedly in their late-fifties. And that was according to your mother’s age printed on her driver’s license. Thankfully, you could tell he restrained himself to a delicate shake.

“Would talk more but gotta hit the gym. Nice meetin’ yah though,'' Sett started away, and called back over his shoulder. “Mom, can you take care of Phel for me? I dunno' where he hid the dog food for Ernest.”

Yone exhaled a silent sigh, and part of you felt pity for your employer. He seemed like a parent with a tag-team of overbearing children running around the house. Being a single parent was difficult; you knew this first hand from your own up-bringing. It made you grateful for your mother’s patience and attention. It was the reason you were here in the first place. 

“Let’s continue with the tour upstairs,” Yone said, motioning you to a loft-style staircase. “The second floor consists of all the bedrooms and laundry room. At the end of the hall is my room. As it stands, it’s completely off limits to everyone, including yourself.” He turned a sharp chin in your direction, “Am I understood?”

You gulped and pressed your shoulders straight. “Of course.”

“Mommy, help me!” A bed of green hair bounced to Yone’s side, tugging at his tailored suit. “Kayn’s bullying me again. But I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”

“You’re such a crappy liar.” The presumed assailant, Kayn, stomped out of the hallway bathroom. Magenta hair stuck to his furrowing brows. With just a towel wrapped around his steaming waist, his abdominal muscles tensed, pointing aggressively at his target. “I was trying to shower in peace, until bubblegum pop princess over here came barging in trying to take selfies of himself. Did you know people usually shower naked? I’d like my junk not to be posted on social media, unless I’m the one doing it. For cash.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re always going over your shower limit. News flash: we each only get fifteen-minutes. But you’re always breaking the rules! You know I take my selfies at the same time, at the same place, every single day. So how about you do us all a favor, and get some better time management?”

Kayn raised a vein popping fist into the air. “How about I get you a better face instead?"

Ezreal cried fake sparkling tears, cowering further behind their producer.

“Enough. The both of you,” Yone tightened around his words like a leash, restraining the quarreling pair. “For once, I’d like for you two to at least pretend you get along in front of others.” 

The two whined and grumbled under their breaths till they fell to a silent agreement. But the peace treaty wasn’t upheld for long. You saw a zap of yellow from the corner of your eye. The image was so fast, you thought you must’ve imagined it—Nope. You definitely saw something. Kayn’s towel knot popped loose. And it wasn’t caused by an event of divine intervention.

The towel billowed towards the ground. And the world felt as if it was turning in slow motion, like one of those car chase movies with excessive explosions. Except, the only explosion here would be your very own heart.

Sure, you took an anatomy class here and there. In high school, you remembered the penis joke’s and games, and they never flustered you. Heck, not even when your friends set your desktop screen to a .gif of dicks spinning in circles—you found that hilarious. And when anatomy classes began in college, they were all very clinical, rudimentary, and otherwise a snooze fest. 

But seeing one in real life when you’ve never had a boyfriend or a one night stand, was truly groundbreaking. Earth shattering, even.

Penis (en)counter: 1

While you were stuck in your prison of naïve embarrassment, Ezreal laughed and pulled out his cell phone, camera light shuttering a mile a minute. 

“You little shi—!” Time sped forward again. With fast reflexes of his own, Kayn whipped the towel and knot back in place. “That’s it. You’re dead.” 

“Uh–Oh. Time to run again,” Ezreal quipped, zooming off down the stairs.

With all bark and full bite, Kayn vanished like a cloud of smoke in pursuit. You coughed against the smog, while Yone merely swatted his hand back and forth, dissipating the gray wisps.

“You’ll have to excuse them,” he commented. “They share the same room, but have vastly different personalities. I arranged most of them together, thinking it’d help them understand each other on a deeper level. And ultimately, help them perform better together in the studio and on stage. My efforts are…yet to be determined.”

“That’s alright. Can’t be easy for young men their age to share anything. Especially with them being full of energy, testosterone, and other things. O-Oh, to be young once more…ah-ha…” you laughed nervously. Oh, God. What the heck were you saying? Honestly, you had to give pardon to yourself. You were still trying to recover from seeing your first penis up close and personal.

The image would be forever burned in your mind.

You were pulled from your self-conscious thoughts. Down the hall, a pair of shadowed eyes peeked through a sliver of door and frame. When your gaze locked together, the other pair of eyes shifted shyly from side to side. As if a poltergeist existed within the room, the visage faded back into the uncanny crack of darkness. The door creaked closed, with an audible click and lock.

Yone pursued straight to the door, and you stood a few paces back. If there was any chance that a ghost was inside living rent-free, you wouldn't be the first it possessed. You weren't a certified Ghostbuster.

But you also weren't a certified Dustbuster, either. No one will know, know one will know, you chanted the comforting hymn. 

“Aphelios. Open the door. I know you’re in there. I can see the computer light flashing,” Yone stated, rattling the door knob. “Where’s the kibble for the dog? Sett told me you have it somewhere.”

There was a beat in the air. From behind the door, you heard feet pacing back and forth, and the sounds of finger taps against a phone screen. Yone’s phone pinged with an alert. He pulled it out, and opened his text messages.

‘I can’t open the door all the way. I set the bucket of dog food to fall on Sett’s head when he comes in. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ’

“For the love of…no more pranks today." Yone pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. "But I doubt you could even manage that. Whatever trap you’ve ensembled, take it down—now. And put the dog’s food back in the pantry. Unless you want to donate a cut of your earnings every month to Ernest’s pet store bill.”

Another pause, followed by begrudging phone taps. 

‘Fine, m O T h E r…(¬_¬")’

“That might take him a few. Depending how intricate the set up was. I would be surprised if the only thing involved in this scheme was just the dog food.” Yone motioned you back down the stairs. “Last thing to see is the outdoor space.”

Continuing with the tour, you passed through the lower floor, stepping down a hallway decorated with awards and magazine clippings. From commercial modeling gigs to sold out venues, your eyes glistened at the polished look the group was slowly cultivating. Which you had to admit, completely contradicted their personal lives.

When you reached a sliding glass door that stretched from floor to ceiling, you stepped out onto a landscaped deck. Lush modern garden trims, a shaded outdoor lounge, and smooth sandstone pavement decorated the space. At the backend, an infinity pool rested in pristine stillness. 

At the head of the pool, a person of sculpted bronze physique posed in swimwear on a lounge chair. When you approached along with your chaperone, he picked up his tropical drink, and tilted it in a cheering gesture.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mama gracing me with his presence. And look's like someone else is with him, too.” The man basking in the sun's rays and oil slicked, shucked his sunglasses onto his dread locks. “Let me guess. This must be the new cleaning lady you hired to pick up after our mess.”

“To a certain degree,” Yone replied. “But not all of the mess, K’Sante. Out of everyone, you should know better.”

“I only joke, Mama.” He grinned smoothly, taking a sip of his frozen alcoholic refresher. “Say, have you seen Sett? I told him to come join me for a tan by the pool. If he wants his muscles to truly pop, he needs to use some oil and not be allergic to the sun. The man is whiter than the sky is bright today.”

As he laughed to himself, Ernest left his chew toy at the far side of the pool, and came to sniff your shoes. With a smile, you slipped a very small piece of your long sleeve up, allowing him to sniff at your skin. The dog lapped his tongue around his slobbering chops, barking delightedly and pawing for you to pet him. You were more than happy to oblige.

These gloves came in handy after all, you thought pleasantly as globs of saliva fell in heaps over your fingers.

“What’s this? Ernest taking a liking to the cleaning lady already,” K’Sante mused at the sight. “Barely warmed up to us when we first met. We won’t mention the illegal trespassing but, call me impressed.” 

With a wink, he flicked his sunglasses back down to the bridge of his nose. “That or he has a ‘ting for older women. Can’t say I blame ‘em. An experienced woman has a certain power that’ll make any grown man cry. And from my own experience, it is never for mercy.”

Oh, boy. You couldn’t imagine your mother being interested in the cougar life-style. Not that you would approve of it. And you were certain your father would descend from the heavens and deliver the backhand of God to any young man who dared otherwise.

Before Yone could address the unsavory statement, Ezreal burst through the backyard sliding doors. Still possessed with laughter, he hopped and skipped over pool chairs and tables. The merriment stopped short when Kayn caught up to the cheeky idol, snatching his wrist which held the phone. From the staggering halt, the phone slipped from Ezreal’s hold, somersaulting towards the pool. 

“M-My phone!” Ezreal paled at the thought of losing thousands of stored photos of himself—Oh, and the blackmail photos he was going to use against Kayn, too. 

Yanking his wrist free, Ezreal pursued the device. But Ernest’s rubber hotdog toy squealed beneath him, forcing him off balance. Kayn latched an arm around Ezreal's slim waist, and pressed him safely against his bare chest.

He huffed against Ezreal's ear. “You can’t swim, you idiot. Remember? Just let it go.” 

Ernest barked at the surmounting commotion. Being the valiant guard dog with the perfect pedigree, he bounded on his thick paws to catch Kayn by the towel, with all the intent to keep them both from falling in. What a good boy! Unfortunately for Kayn, Ernest bit a bit more than he could chew.

Kayn’s voice bass boosted ten-octaves lower. “MY DAMN ASS!”

W-Whose voice was that? Was that even the same person? The thought rattled through you.

A chunk of Kayn's soft meat condensed in the jaws of a furry devil. A shock travelled up the nerves of his spine, into the the muscle fibers of his arm, shoving Ezreal forward. Ezreal flailed his hands in the air, desperate to find some semblance of balance—with no luck, at all. Fumbling on his tip-toes, Ezreal plummeted into the pool with a splash. Kayn stumbled from the after-shock of his spirit being bitten straight through his buttcheeks. His feet met the cursed rubber squeaker, sending him following suit into the pool. Except, the towel had its own plans. It decided to stay behind and not get involved.

Penis (en)counter: 2

“I heard some commotion, fellas. What’s goin’ on?” Sett stepped out from the sliding doors. He caught witness of Ezreal’s face treading water, gasping for bouts of air. Sett’s muscles popped at the sight, barreling towards the scene. “Don’t worry, Ez. I’m coming for yah, buddy!”

Sett launched himself into the air, preparing the most athletic Olympic dive ever conceived.

Kayn inhaled sharply as he broke through the water's surface tension. Recuperating his breaths, he slicked his wet hair back from his face. Looking down at the waters crystal reflection, an odd shadow grew in size around him. And according to the forecast earlier; there was no chance in Hell of clouds or rain. Lifting his nose to the darkening sky, he blanched in sheer horror. A body, massive enough to eclipse the sun, hurled down like a meteor descending to Earth.

What day was it today, Doomsday? He must've forgot; Kayn never bothered to look at calendar's, anyway.  

Back to the painful mistress that was his life; a weak, painful moan escaped him. “You can’t be serious. This isn’t the cool death I deserve—”

Those were Kayn’s final words. A wave rivaling a tsunami consumed him, a random pizza chair float, and the immediate surrounding pool area. Standing in the designated splash zone, pool water soaked your soles, leached into your socks, and dampened your pants to the knees. From K’Sante’s spot, a shot of chlorine or two spiked his drink. He snatched his sunglasses off and shouted the words; “This was the last bit of banana daiquiri mix, you aboas! Now I have to go down to the liquor store and hope they sell it frozen already.”

Yone, with all the grace anyone could hope to be blessed with, merely side-stepped away. A single speck landed on his polished shoes. He narrowed his steely eyes, flicking away the insignificant drop.

You caught something flashing on the second floor of the estate. Looking up, you shielded your eyes from the glaring sun. From one of the windows, you spotted someone holding up a sign. You assumed it was Aphelios. The poster read:

‘4/10 Ezreal. 6/10 Kayn. 10/10 Sett.’

With a dramatic burst through the water, Sett hurled Ezreal over his massive shoulder, and walked out of the pool. Placing Ezreal onto his soaking back, he coughed and gagged against the awful taste of treated water.

He smiled at his new-found savior. “Thanks, Sett. I’m fine, but what about Kayn…”

The group shifted their attention over the silent, lapping water. After a bubble or two, the sight of Kayn’s bare bottom surfaced to the top. Floating like a wet and rounded land-mass, with the additional landmark of a pink dog-bite. 

“Kayn! Hang in there, pal!” Sett launched himself once more into the water, creating another wave of soaking magnitude.

Although the drink had already been spoiled, K’Sante reflexively covered the top of his daiquiri glass. “For God’s sake, Sett. Take your time. It’s not like you’re saving the life of an innocent man.”

As chaos continued to ensue around the gang, Yone placed himself at your side. With a shake of his head, he crossed his arms, and sent a ghost of a smile your way.

“Welcome to Heartsteel,” he said. “Your first day starts tomorrow.” 

Looks like your identity was safe…for now, at least.

an: thanks for reading! the rest of the this story will most likely just be on my AO3. You can find me @ milksuu. comments and suggestions always welcomed. <3

[lemoncrushh]

Anniversary Pancakes

Summary: Harry and his daughter make breakfast for his wife on their anniversary

Warnings: None, cutesy family fluff (very small mention of sex at the beginning)

Word Count: 1264

A/N: From my 2016 collection, this is written from Harry's POV.

I was in love with her. After six blissful years of marriage, I was still as much in love with her as I'd been the day we said "I do."

I woke up before she did, thinking about the night we'd shared. I'd made love to her three times, each time bringing her to the brink as she called out my name. Then we'd laid in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings, exchanging confirmations of our everlasting love. The sun was just starting to rise, a blueish glow streaming through the curtains. I laid in bed watching her for a good ten minutes, her chest rising and falling as puffs of breaths escaped her lips. She was so beautiful, it took all the strength I had not to wake her up with a gentle kiss. But I wanted to let her sleep. Today was our anniversary, and I had plans.

I sauntered into the kitchen squinting my eyes when I flipped the switch, light illuminating the granite countertops. I started the coffee brewing, knowing that's the first thing my love likes when she wakes up. Opening the refrigerator, I pulled out the eggs, milk, cheese, spinach and bacon. I'd just finished whisking the eggs in a bowl when I heard the pitter patter of little feet on the hardwood floor.

"Morning, Daddy," my little girl said softly as she appeared around the corner, her tiny fist rubbing her eye.

"Morning, princess, what are you doin' up so early?"

She merely shrugged before reaching her arms out to me for a hug. I set the bowl down on the counter and lifted her into my arms, giving her a kiss on her forehead.

"Whatcha makin'?" she asked me.

"An omelet," I replied. "For your mum."

"What's a omnet?"

I giggled as her mispronunciation. "Omelet. It's eggs with stuff in it."

My daughter made a face, showing me she did not approve. I shook my head and set her down on the nearby stool to watch me. I got the first pan ready for the bacon.

"Daddy, I'm hungry," I heard behind me as the bacon started to sizzle.

"What would you like to eat, love?"

"Pancakes."

I chuckled. "I don't think I know how to make those all by myself. Can you help me?"

"Uh huh!"

I flipped the bacon over before turning to my little girl.

"Will you get me a bowl from under there?" I pointed to the cabinet next to her.

"Okay."

She hopped off her stool, eagerly searching for the bowl she knew her mum had used to made pancakes in before. When she came up with it in her little hands, a satisfied grin on her face, she handed it to me.

"Here you go, Daddy."

"Alright monkey," I said. "First I need some flour. Do you know where that is?"

Her little arm immediately shot out across the counter, her finger pointing to a canister.

"In there?" I raised a brow, teasing her. "You sure?"

"Uh huh," she nodded. "The big one is flour."

I grabbed the large canister and lifted the lid, widening my eyes.

"What do ya know! There's flour in here!"

My daughter giggled, covering her mouth. I winked at her, dropping some of the flour into the bowl. Then I added baking powder, salt and sugar.

"Will you stir that for me while I grab this bacon off the fire?"

I lifted her back to her stool, handing her a big spoon. I removed the bacon from the stove while she stirred.

"Good job," I remarked. "Now we get to add the egg."

"Can I do it?" she pleaded.

"Uh...how 'bout we add it together."

"'kay."

I cracked the egg gently as I covered her hand that held it, opening it with precision, careful not to get any shells in the bowl.

"What am I missing?" I narrowed my eyes, putting my finger to my chin.

My little girl shifted her eyes back and forth before giving me a big shrug, her hands in the air.

"Butter!" I exclaimed.

I quickly grabbed some from the fridge, warming it in the microwave to melt. I let the little one pour it into the bowl while I started heating the griddle. Then grabbing the whisk once again, I handed it to her.

"I like the whisk," she commented, her S held out longer than the other letters. I smiled as I watched her move it around the bowl.

"Here, bug," I said, covering her hand again, showing her how to whisk the ingredients.

Her wee little tongue poked out of the side of her mouth in concentration. I brushed her hair back with my other hand, kissing the side of her face. God, I loved my family.

"Alright," I chimed. "Time for pouring."

My daughter watched as I poured the pancake mix onto the griddle. While I waited for it to bubble, I poured my previously prepared egg mixture into the second pan to make my wife's omelet.

I'd just folded the eggs and had made two good pancakes when I heard a little voice say cheer "Mommy!"

"Hi, precious," she said, her voice still groggy from sleep.

Our little girl hopped off the stool once again to wrap her arms around her mum.

"What's all this?" my love inquired, lifted her head to look at me.

"We made breakfast!" our daughter danced.

"You did?" Her eyes were locked on mine.

I grinned at her sheepishly, setting down the spatula. Then I pulled her to me, planting a soft kiss to her lips.

"Happy Anniversary," I murmured against her mouth.

She leaned her forehead against mine. "I love you."

"I love you more."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, monkey?" I asked, even though my eyes were still on my wife.

"What's a ammivassy?"

I grinned. "It means your mum and I love each other a whole lot. And today is the day we celebrate."

My beautiful woman's face beamed back at me as I took it in my hands, kissing her once again.

"Harry..." she said when she broke the kiss.

"Yeah?" I asked, my lips pressed to her jaw.

"Something's burning."

"Shit!" I exclaimed.

I tore away from her to remove the scorched pancake from the griddle. As I cursed under my breath, I heard her chuckle behind me. Luckily, it was only one pancake. And I was able to save her omelet. I felt her hand on my back as I poured more of the mix.

"This is wonderful," she whispered in my ear. "You're wonderful."

Her arms wound around my waist as she rested her head on my back. Then she kissed my neck before backing away. I winked at her as she poured herself a cup of coffee, adding the creamer she liked.

"C'mon, precious, let's go sit at the table so we can have this delicious breakfast you and Daddy made."

I slipped an omelet onto a plate along with bacon, setting it in front of her. Then I gave my little girl her stack of pancakes, covered in syrup before making a plate for myself. I ate with my gorgeous ladies, another morning of complete joy.

My wife smiled at me as she ate, a look on her face that told me something else was on her mind. Perhaps she woke up thinking about last night too.

"I love you," she mouthed silently.

I was about to declare my love in return when my little girl spoke.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, love?" I turned to her, giving her my undivided attention.

"When is our ammivassy?"

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[trashmouth-richie]

eddie x fem! reader

masterlist

w/c 7.8k

summary: things heat up in more ways than one for the roommates, thanksgiving makes everyone thankful.

warnings: NO MINORS, language, fighting, mentions of child neglect, mentions of murder

a/n: thank you to my beta readers: @jo-harrington @sweetsweetjellybean pls check out their work they are both so amazingly talented 🩵 thank you to @blueywrites for screaming with me on certain parts of this story + @fracturedarkness for helping me plan future parts for this series.

again— I’m no longer doing a tag list for this series— this week as really opened my eyes to a bunch of shit in this world and I’m fucking pissed off about it.

“Do you think it’s enough food? Last year Mike ate all the mashed potatoes so I’m just hoping there is enough for everyone.”

The holidays were always a stressful time for most people, housewives stressing over meal planning, guest lists and matching outfits for their Christmas cards—ones that coordinated well and hid the fact that they were miserable with their lazy, limp dick husbands. Poor Nancy fell into that category all too well.

She’s walking circles around her dining room table, counting the dishes on her fingers. Ham, turkey, cheesy potatoes, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, corn, green bean casserole, a relish tray, strawberry fluff, gravy, two pumpkin pies, two pecan pies, a jello mold, two dozen caramel Rice Krispie bars, a pan of iced banana bars, and one can of jellied cranberry sauce on a crystal plate.

When Nancy asked you to join the Wheeler/Byers/Hopper’s gang for thanksgiving this year, you quickly accepted the invitation, asking if there was anything you could bring. She requested you bring the dessert. So the night before Thanksgiving, you started the tedious task of keeping Eddie from eating all the icing and caramel.

“Eddie! Have you seen the caramels I just bought? They were on the counter next to the flour canister.”

“Nope! Haven’t theen ‘em,” he answers all too quickly, “you thur you bought ‘em?”

“Yes I’m su—,”

Goddamn him.

Walking into the living room you approach the metal head, splayed out on the couch, fingers shoved in his mouth picking at his teeth, “oh Eddie?”

“Mhmm?” He hums, innocently, looking at you with big doe eyes.

“You wouldn’t happen to have caramel stuck in your teeth, the same caramel I bought and said, ‘please don’t eat these they’re for the Rice Krispie bars,’ would you?”

Rose colors his cheeks, “what? Me? Not listening? Ok O’Donnell,” he says with a scoff.

“Eddie,” you say sternly, hip thrown out and arms crossed over your chest.

“Ok! Fine! They were just so fucking good! But I’m dying right now— my teeth feel practically glued together— do we have any floss?!”

“Nance, I think there is more than enough here, you and Jonathan will have leftovers for weeks, months possibly.”

Fretting, Nancy wipes her fidgeting hands on her apron, “I just want it to be perfect— you know how I am.”

Type A, that’s how she was.

“It’ll be perfect, Nancy,” Jonathan agrees, coming up behind her and holding her around her small waist, “just like you.”

Scarlet heat accentuates her rouged cheeks. “Ok ok, no kissing the cook just yet,” she says, peeling herself from Jonathan’s arms, “can you and Argyle set the card table up in the basement?”

-

The turkey almost melted like butter on your tongue, the gravy was rich and savory. Karen’s cheesy potatoes were creamy and the crunchy cornflakes on top were to die for; the entire meal was delicious. The labor of Nancy’s love for her family and friends showing through her craftsmanship of amazing cuisine. You hadn’t seen Karen or Ted since the wedding, being the closest thing to parents you had, you were ecstatic when Karen joined you over the hot water and soapy sink, washing the china plates.

“So sweety, how have things been going lately? Nancy said you have a roommate?” Her tight blonde permed curls shaking behind her as she scrubs the pot used to make the gravy.

Drying the freshly rinsed dish, you answer with a coy smile on your face, “I’ve been good, doing better than I have in a while, yeah, I have a roommate, uhh Eddie Munson.”

“Oh Mike’s friend? He always was so kind to him, taking him under his wing and showing him the ropes in high school,” she looks at you then, her lavender eyeshadow catching the light over the sink, “I’m happy you two are dating.”

Dating.

Dating Eddie Munson.

Scenarios fly through your mind, Eddie holding your hand at the movie theater, him behind you—his chin resting on your shoulder helping you play video games at Arcade Land, watching him write songs and play his guitar, kissing his lips sweetly, deeply— moving down his neck, his chest. His fingers on your thighs—

You’re sweating.

Head dizzy and full of visions of you loving Eddie and Eddie loving you back dance in your head.

“W-we’re not dating, just—”

How would you describe your relationship with Eddie? Roommates? Friends? Waiting for him to kiss you?

“—friends,” you say, enunciating the word slowly, rolling it off your tongue.

“Well,” Karen says, a hidden smile on her knowing lips, “I’m happy you two are just friends.”

Friends.

Such a complicated word. Because you and Eddie were more than that, but definitely not dating. The tension between you was electric, and sometimes jarring, but you went to bed thinking of him every night, hoping he would just open the door to your room, slip beneath the sheets and hold you while you dreamed.

-

[Two weeks prior]

The morning after you had comforted him, you woke up alone— his side of the bed still warm as if he had just gotten up. Sleeping so soundly you weren’t sure what day it was, or the time. The alarm clock on your night stand said 7 o’clock but that couldn’t be right. You and Eddie had both slept for over twelve hours, the comforting kind of sleep that lulls babies to sleep, gentle, sweet, pillowy dreams in one another’s arms. Getting dressed for work, you slip a pair of jeans on, and change into a long navy blue cardigan, headband to match. Lacing up your converse, you open your bedroom door.

Eddie’s in his room getting dressed for work when you find him. Knocking on the opened door gently, you poke your head in, his eyes lift and meet yours, a sleepy, coy grin colors his face, but it doesn’t meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, stopping mid button on his work coveralls.

The black bandana around his head presses his bangs nearly flat, the soft waves of his chocolate dipped curls reflect the sun light with a honey oranged hue.

“Hi,” your voice is small and meek.

An overwhelming feeling of dread* clouds your mind. Where would this new found friendship and comfort lead you both? Maybe Eddie was regretting the entire night. You haven’t been on this comfort level with someone you were physically attracted to ever. Steve was like a brother to you. And Chad— you were never comfortable with him, your skin crawling just thinking of it. But Eddie? The sight of him gave you butterflies, his arms holding your waist while you slept was an intimacy you haven’t experienced before, and you wanted to relish in the feeling of it.

He fiddles with his rings on his fingers, rolling them around and around before his mouth opens to speak, “I’m sorry for yesterday,” he blurts out, looking down in shame, unable to meet your curious eyes.

Barely comprehending that he’s apologizing for being vulnerable, you walk towards him slowly. He notices your staggering steps and inches backward. His walls are back up, caged in with his feelings, barbed wire on the top so you couldn’t find a way in, electric fence surrounding the brick walls—the highest voltage imaginable.

“Ed—”

“Please,” he begs, voice cracked and broken, wavering on another breakdown, “please don’t… I don’t need your sympathy.”

Tears well in your eyes at his recoiling. How can a night of comfort turn into despair and hostility the next morning? Nose burning, signaling your brain that tears would be falling any second, you wipe your eyes hastily.

Eddie felt like his neck was out, exposed to the world, waiting for the guillotine’s blade to slice his skin, until the crimson of his blood spilled in the basket, severing his head, a trophy amongst the weak.

Munson’s didn’t accept charity, his whole life that's what he felt like to Wayne, a charity case, a goddamn roadblock in Wayne’s life stopping him from finding a girlfriend, sleeping on a real bed, forcing him to work overnight just for Eddie— he’d never forgive himself for the pain he’s caused him— and now you? Offering your bed to him, your fingers twirling through his hair as he came undone. Whimpering like an infant, coating your thighs with thick tears. Sure it felt nice to have someone there with him, to reassure him it was all going to be okay, sweet, angelic voice of reason. But when he woke this morning he felt disgusting, like a predator, a vicious wolf preying on a sweet innocent lamb offering herself to him because he was upset.

He didn’t want that for you. He didn’t want to taint your soul with his past.

“I’m not giving my sympathy,” you voiced into the void, whether he heard it or not you weren’t sure.

Eddie breathing heavily, trying to contain his emotions from spilling out of him, “good, because I don’t want it.”

He walks around you in a huff, the muted scent of cigarettes and cologne hit your nose, as he passes you and walks into the bathroom, shutting the door all too hard. Following him, you’re certain you are full fledged crazy at this point, like in a scary movie when the lead actress stays in the house instead of running away.

Opening the door, opening Pandora’s box, you push it til it swings wide, he’s hovering over the sink brushing his teeth, white and blue toothpaste decorate the corners of his mouth.

“Tooty,” he groans, spitting a dollop of toothpaste into the sink, “seriously— I don’t want to talk about it, whatever you have to say save it for the human Care Bear Harrington—I don’t want to hear it.” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stones would be impressed with how still you’re standing, head raised waiting for him to look you in your eye. Refusing to break. A storm in your eyes threatening to flood. “Why are you acting like this?”

“I’m not acting like anything,” Eddie grunts impatiently, “are you ready?”

When you don’t say anything, he moves you out of the way, large hands around your arms, stepping around you and going into the kitchen.

Following him, you won't let up, his head in the fridge he pulls out the orange juice carton, drinking directly from the jug, “Eddie, you can talk to me about it, I’m a good listener.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, gasping for breath as he swallows the citrus liquid, “I said— I said, I didn’t want to talk about it and I meant it, I’m a grown ass man— ”

Interrupting him, not giving him time to finish you blurt, “Doesn’t make you less of one just because you’re upset.”

His teeth clench so hard they almost crack, his hands balled into fists at his sides, the orange juice container crumbling in his grasp. Years of therapy as a child did nothing to help him. And neither could you.

“Stop,” he snaps, his eyes pinched tight, a wave of fury washing over him, only seeing red. “Jesus Christ enough! I don’t need this shit right now, I’m gonna be late for work!”

He stomps towards the door, shoving his boots on haphazardly, throwing his leather jacket under his arm, the same leather jacket you had worn the night before, your perfume lingering on the inside.

The smell of you lighting his fire even more, he’s losing all self control.

“What’s your problem anyway?” he grumbles, kicking open the front door, waiting for you to follow. His eyes are wide and full of hurt, anger, crippling anxiety so deep he didn’t even know if he was breathing. But no matter how mad you looked, how many tears you kept wiping away from your lash line, he couldn’t stop.

Keys in the ignition he puts the van into reverse and yanks the wheel quickly, driving like he robbed a bank.

Anytime you try to speak he cuts you off.

“Do you like getting involved with people's lives? Why are you so desperate to know what happened? Need something to gossip about at the salon? So you and your boss can whisper shit about me again? Hmm? ”

“What the fuck are y—” you try to say, but he cuts you off again, he’s raging war on himself and on you, it’s far from over, no surrender flag in sight.

“That must be it right?” he preens, barely stopping at the stop lights as he flies to your work, tires squealing around corners, “I’m here because you need something to talk about, the well full of hot gossip of Hawkins must have run dry. Well guess what sweetheart? It’s not anything I haven’t heard before.”

He’s so clueless, so expertly out of sync with what you were trying to convey, what you were begging him to understand. The tears are free falling and you don’t stop them, screaming at him, “Eddie!”

“What?!” he barks back, chest heaving with hatred filled lungs and venomous words so toxic they’re burning your skin.

Aching soul and self doubt at an all time low you try to will the words to not shake as you deliver, “do you really think I would hold you while you were sad with any other intention than consoling you!? You were upset and the least I could do after you helped me was try to make you feel better!”

He tried to argue but it’s your turn to cut him off, holding up a hand as he fumed through his nose. He parks in back of the salon, slamming on the brakes as you both jolt forward. “Let it go, Too—”

“I care about you, you stubborn asshole!” You grab your purse between your feet and open the door and jump out.

“Just stop,” Eddie pleads, his eyes brimming with tears, “don’t.”

“I can’t,” you say back in a whisper, your voice breaking at the last syllable, you reach for the door, out of breath and holding in your sobs the best you can, “oh, and for the record— Josie was telling me to be nice to you and give you a chance— my mistake.”

Slamming the door you don’t hear him break, you don’t hear him thrust the heel of his hand into the steering wheel until it aches and burns. His nerves shooting pain through his entire arm. You don’t hear him scream and hate himself as he drives to work, his body soulless, empty, fragile.

-

“Tooty, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you tell Josie for the tenth time.

You definitely were not fine.

Distracted the minute you got to work, your mind raced with questions of the unknown. Hurt, confused and pissed off, you had mixed the wrong color formula for your clients hair, resulting in money down the drain from your own paycheck as you threw the mixture away and started it again, for the third attempt.

At 10 o’clock you were folding towels in the back when you realized you had bleached an entire load of darks. The once rich black towels were now faded with splotches of orange.

Eddie’s words had ripped through your heart, hurdling themselves into the deepest parts of you that were sheltered away from anyone, taking up solace in your forbidden soul, hollowing it out.

By noon you were crying while rolling a client's perm rods into her hair, having to step away multiple times before Josie gently told you enough was enough and that you should go home for the day.

Not wanting to call Eddie and get a ride you decided to walk the half mile through town back to your home on Cherry lane.

Kicking a rock with the toe of your shoe for most of the walk home, you mull over the events of the day. Wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan as you tread along the sidewalk.

-

[Thanksgiving Day]

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me to Nancy and Jonathan’s? It’ll be fun!”

Eddie is leaned against the driver window of his van, his finger tracing a smiley face into the dust in the dash. “I wish I could, but Wayne and I go fishing every year on Thanksgiving— it’s a tradition.”

Every year since Eddie was ten years old, Wayne took him fishing on Thanksgiving, starting early in the morning and going until sundown, ending the night camping beneath the stars, cooking their daily catch for supper, “save me a piece of pie okay?” he finishes, ruffling up your hair, a shit eating grin on his lips.

Feeling horrible that your car was still out of commission, Eddie had let you borrow the van for the night after you dropped him off at Wayne’s. “And you’re positive it’s okay if I take the van?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Eddie’s laugh spread across his cheeks, the black beanie he has on his head inching closer to falling off every second, “Tooty,” he breathes, his brown eyes dipping into yours, “take the goddamn van and have a good time—and hurry up, you’re gonna be late.”

[2 Weeks prior]

🎶 it was the third of June another sleepy dusty delta day

I was out choppin’ cotton and my brother was baling hay

Bobbie Jo’s tune was ringing in his ears all day— no matter how loud he cranked the radio in the shop, no matter how many times he tried to hum a different tune— her -* words rang through his mind like silk, coating his skin and implementing old memories he didn’t want brought up.

He was filled with fury. A ticking time bomb. It should have been no surprise when Sean and Aaron started poking at him, how unhinged he would become.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Munson,” Sean sneers, changing the oil on the Ford truck, “your little girlfriend finally figure out you’re a fucking loser?”

Eddie had already thrown a wrench across the shop out of frustration when he realized he forgot his lunch. He slammed the hood of a blue minivan on his fingers right after morning break, and now Aaron and Sean were starting in on him.

His breath erratic, trying to breathe through his nose to calm himself down but failing. His misery over taking his nerves. He grunts through barred teeth, “We aren’t dating,”

Sean perks up at the news, his wiry mustache splattered across his top lip like a squashed caterpillar, decrepit and sparse. “Oh shit, so she’s single, huh?”

“Damn,” Aaron chimes in, his hands cupped around his junk as he shakes it back and forth between his greasy hands, “what I wouldn't give to be balls deep in that pretty little mouth, that’d shut her up for good.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, fuck rag, I’d watch my mouth if I were you.” Eddie’s shoulders are tensed, adrenaline at an all time high. Fight or flight screaming through his blood racing through his heart and speeding up his heart rate.

“Whatchya gonna do about it, freak?” Sean spits pushing Eddie in the chest, “ ‘Name the time and place’ yeah motherfucker? How about right here right now?” Standing toe to toe with Eddie, but a foot shorter he peers into Eddie’s face, egging him on.

“Ever since you moved in with that whore you’ve been such a little bitch about everything— I mean I get it, honestly— Chad always said she had the sweetest p—”

Sean chokes on the last word as Eddie’s fist connects with his cheek, his rings would end up leaving bruises in their shape on his skin for weeks to come.

Sean throws a punch at Eddie but he is quick to dodge it, years of fighting in the trailer park giving him an upper hand. Blood spews from Sean’s mouth as Eddie upper cuts him in the chin, his tongue almost split in half as he bit down from the impact.

Eddie is blinded momentarily as Aaron socks him in the eye, a deep purpling plum colored bruise that took weeks to heal. Stumbling backwards his back hits the red sun faded tool box, Sean came swinging a crow bar out of nowhere and hit Eddie in the ribs, a groaning thud as the sound of his bones shatter in his body.

Behind his back, he reaches for whatever is closest, a wrench wrapped tight in his fingers gets thrown in the air at Sean, hitting him in the throat and knocking him over onto the smooth concrete of the shop floor, gasping for breath.

Aaron tackles Eddie, sending him into the air compressor, four fists are swinging and bodies shifting as they both struggle for dominance. Eddie’s lip is cut and his eye is swollen almost shut. Aaron’s nose is dripping blood on Eddie’s shirt as he punches him in the same place that Sean hit him with the crow bar. He’s able to get a knee up between Aaron and himself and twists his body to get above him, and when he does he lays punch after punch into Aaron’s swollen bloody face.

With each rocking fist connecting with flesh, Eddie has one thing on his mind, you. He thinks about the foul way they had disrespected you. The way you had cried when you told him you couldn’t stop caring about him. How he was close to losing you because he couldn’t open up and let you in. How terrified you must have been for all those years when you were scared and alone, nobody there to hold you and comfort you. And while he’s pummeling Aaron into a bloody pulp of cracked teeth and swollen eyes, it finally clicks for him.

-

The fight didn’t last long, but was effective enough to get Eddie suspended for the rest of the work day— and Aaron and Sean got a nice week's vacation with no pay.

Eddie’s knuckles are coated in a mixture of blood and spit. His jaw aches as he drives home with one eye open, it’s the clearest he’s seen in a long time.

[Thanksgiving]

“Fish ain’t bitin’ much are they?” Wayne and Eddie have both cast and reeled in their rods multiple times with zero luck. The small boat Eddie had gifted Wayne with for Christmas 3 years ago stood at still waters of Lover’s Lake, both men chilled to the bone.

“Nah, they sure aren’t. Probably no fish left in here after the summer you had.”

Since Eddie had graduated, Wayne dropped down to part time at the plant and went to dayshift. A true dream for him and for Eddie, offering to pick up most of the bills, a silent thank you for all the years that Wayne has taken care of him when he didn’t have to, but did anyway— the only caring person in his life, until you.

The wind whips through Eddie’s hair, tugging the curls out from the confinements of the cotton stocking cap snug on his head. The once crisp autumn foliage is soggy like forgotten cereal in a bowl of milk around them from the previous nights rain, chilling the usual humidity from the air and adding a depth of ice in their veins as they shake and shiver in their jackets, Eddie in his leather jacket, Wayne in a weathered faded khaki canvas coat.

Ruddy hands with silvered rings light two cigarettes, passing one to a pair of calloused, aged hands. Inhaling deeply and blowing warm smoke in the whispering winds of the quiet fog around them.

Wayne runs a rough hand over his sunned scalp, itching the small patches of hair left, as he readjusts his tattered cap, letting the nicotine settle into his bones and soothe the stubborn ache in his jaw, like ointment on an arthritic joint, “you ever gonna bring that girlfriend over to meet me or you keepin’ her alls to yourself?”

“What girl?” Eddie says quickly, coyly, blowing smoke into the space between the two of them, hiding his mouth with the curtain of his curls, opening the coffee can full of mud and worms, pushing another worm on the end of his hook.

Wayne hadn’t talked to him about girls since he was fifteen when he walked into his room and tossed a box of rubbers at his chest and grumbled, “use ‘em,” under his breath.

Irritation blooms against Wayne’s brows, “boy, don’t play dumb with me,” he cracks at Eddie, a false stern voice in his gruff voice, “the one you’re dating you little wise ass.”

“I’m not dating anyone, Wayne.” Eddie says, pretending to be preoccupied with the tackle box full of neon fishing lures and bobbers. He runs his thumb over the rough cracked surface of the faded red and white bobber, the same one Wayne gave to him when they started fishing all those years ago. The memory brings a smile to his face.

The gruff scoff from Wayne’s throat suggests bullshit to his ears from his nephew’s mouth, a noise Eddie has heard many many times in the two decades he had been living with Wayne, one that told him that he better tell the truth, and right the hell now. No matter that he now towers over Wayne, he’ll always be his boy, the wide eyed boy with a mountain of guilt on his shoulders, his son.

And as Wayne always knew— the more he poked and prodded, the more Eddie would clam up. They sit in comfortable silence, the slight breeze rippling the water on Lover’s Lake, rocking the small fiberglass boat and swaying the two Munson men gently.

How could he describe the relationship between you and him? Not dating, but hopefully more than friends. He didn’t have many friends that he’d willingly let help him battle his inner-most demons. In fact, Gareth and Jeff were still left in the dark about it. The breeze continues to grow frigid and burrows itself between the layers of his clothing, freezing his skin and peppering it with goose bumps. The chattering of Eddie’s teeth remind him of Steve’s birthday when he offered you his jacket, and opted to freeze the rest of the night just so you wouldn’t be chilly.

It’s simple really, he admitted it to Steve, but somehow admitting it to Wayne was worse than the hit from the box of condoms against his chest.

He says it all too fast, out of breath, and barely audible. But he says it. And a smile spreads across the weathered leather of Wayne’s face, pulling his mustache up, a glimmer of a sparkle in his eye, “see, now was that so bad?”

-

[2 weeks prior]

His knuckles ache, and he’s not positive if it’s from the blows to Aaron’s face or the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. His realization while busting open Aaron’s cheek made him eager to get home. Eager to clean himself up before he went to pick you up from work.

The house is silent as he walks through the garage, his angry hurtful words bounce back to him off the kitchen walls, the counter. The orange juice was still where he left it, crumpled and misshapen.

He truly was an asshole. Hurting the one person who cared for him other than Wayne. He sits down in a chair and unties his boots, blood splattered on the toes. Peeling the sweat stained work coveralls from his body, he tosses them down the steps to the basement, leaving them for later.

He stands partially naked in the kitchen, clad in only his underwear and socks, the kick of adrenaline wearing completely off, the promise of pain against his broken ribs rings searing heat through his body.

A glance around the kitchen stills the breath in his lungs. The kitchen is a wreck from the waffle night, the colossal beginning of a budding relationship that he was currently in the trenches hoping to fix. The once silky batter is now hard, pale concrete cemented onto the sides of the glass mixing bowl. The waffle iron was open, sprayed with cooking oil that was sitting with its cap off on the counter. The plates were sticky with cold syrup and now styrofoam resembled waffles, still on the table from where you had both sat. Forks and knives laying atop the ceramic plates in a haphazard way, awaiting the return of warm hands to finish their job.

Without thinking he starts to clean up, filling the sink with hot water, scraping the food from the plates into the garbage, putting away the orange juice and the left out butter and cooking spray. In no time the kitchen is sparkling and Eddie’s body is screaming at him to rest. The cuts on his knuckles are cleaned but swollen, soap stung from the water. His side aches, adrenaline slipping away with every growing minute.The pain is almost unbearable.

A clicking noise from the front door has him turning suddenly, a slight panic in his nerves as he stands stone still.

-

A block from the house, your tears return, cold, and stuck to your face like ice on poles. You’re exhausted, stomping the entire way home drove shin splints up your legs, the cold cramping dull in your calves. Thinking of Eddie the entire way home you are dumbfounded— completely and utterly confused at his reaction. How could he not know how you felt about him? Why was he begging you to stop? Wondering if you’ll ever get the answers to those questions you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. If he was going to guard himself again, and put the barriers back up— so could you.

The door is stuck as you try to open it, pushing and shoving your shoulder into it, it finally gives, stumbling your way into the living room in the most ungraceful way. The scent of freshly wiped surfaces sting your nose and stop you dead in your tracks. You weren’t expecting to be relieved from seeing Eddie, but the relief is short lived as you notice the deep violet and indigo bruise painting his eye.

“Ed—,” you gasp, covering your mouth as you run towards him, foregoing the screaming in your legs, “wh— oh my God!”

His eyes melt at your appearance, scarlet rimmed eyes and wet cheeks take him in, eyebrows dipped into unease and apprehension. He feels your hesitancy, thick like fog surrounding you both as you reach your fingers up to his cheek. Ice cold pads of your fingertips skim the tender skin of his face, brushing the wispy hair of his bangs from his eyes with your fingertips to get a better look at him.

He doesn’t speak, barely breathing at your gentle touch on his face. The frosty coolness of your fingers burn his skin with every silky movement of your hands. He tries to avoid your eyes, avoid the pain he knew was from earlier and his cowardice.

Fingers dancing along his skin, you scan over his torso, the same way you did on the morning after Halloween, the bruising from the mishap of the steps is replaced by a pattern of splotchy deep bruising.

“They’re broke,’’ Eddie groans, his split lip ripping open, from him trying to force a smile, “looks cool though right?”

Using humor to deflect the true way he feels was an easy defense mechanism for him, but you won’t bite. Won’t take the bait he’s dropping into your waters, won’t nibble at his small offering.

Trying not to break, you stand your ground, “what happened?”

“Nothing that wasn’t deserved,” Eddie says, eyes casted downwards at your hands near his ribs, “I was just having a shitty enough day— my own fault—“, he adds quickly, his eyes flicking to yours, not wanting to put salt into the already festering wound he created, “I—uh—I took care of it.” He says in a final explanation.

“And now I’m going to take care of this,” he motions between you both, sliding his hands down your arms and settling them in your hands.

“Tooty— I,” he exhales as deep as his lungs will allow given the break in his ribs, spilling his stitched up heart to you, letting the walls fall with each word, “I’m sorry— I’m so fucking sorry. Nothing I do or say will ever amount to how shitty I feel for making you cry, for pushing you away. I’m a coward when it comes to this type of shit, and it was too heavy— too muddy for me to explain. I figured if I’d shut you out you’d go back to how it was before— before Harrington’s birthday, before Halloween befo—,”

A shake of your head and a sharp intake of breath come from your body. Did all of this mean nothing to him? The flirting, the gentle touching, the sweet gestures? It was all just something he wanted to forget?

Voice small and shallow, “Is that what you want Eddie? To go back to how it was before, when you first moved in?”

A single tear falls from your face, and without thinking, without second guessing himself or wondering if you would think he was being weird, Eddie is quick to brush it away with the curl of his forefinger. His swollen knuckles are tight and achy. He tries to hide a hiss from his teeth, wanting to live in this euphoric moment for as long as he can, as long as you will allow him to. He extends both hands now to your face, his rough thumbs rubbing over the expanse of your cheeks, fingers behind your ears, curling into your hair.

“I want,” he breathes easy now, as if the touch of your skin on his fingers mended his broken bones, his eyes soft where it allowed, one still swollen shut, “I need you to know that I care, too— and I don’t want you to ever quit caring about me— baby, I’ve cared about you for years—- and I can’t get myself to stop.”

And when a sob breaks from your chest, he pulls you into him, “c’mere,” the sensation steals the breath from your lungs, you’ve never been touched with such gentleness, such care. He’s holding you as if you’re glass. Fragile, cracked and held together with shitty Elmer’s glue that was a tempting snack for children. It’s so delicate the way he’s stroking your skin.

Minutes or hours pass you’re not sure. His warmth engulfs you, his musky cologne and spiced deodorant is a gentle blanket around you. Wrapping you in a swaddle of his admiration.

His hair tickles your cheeks, tattooed arms are twisted in your hair,and wrapped around your back. The shine of your tears coat his bare chest, his chin rests on top of yours breathing in your hair shushing you gently.

You spend the night working Eddie’s rings from his already swollen fingers, pressing ice packs to his bruises and spreading neosporin on his cut lip, rubbing it gently with the tip of your finger, Eddie giggles at the concentration on your face and the way your tongue is poked out.

He’s infatuated with the way you make him feel. His heart soaring higher and higher with each delicate touch of your fingers on his skin.

He’s up late that night, stomach full from your homemade chicken noodle soup and his heart even more full. Flying higher than cloud nine, your sweet face on his mind.

-

[Thanksgiving]

A sadistic voice echoes from your tv screen, “a little young for ya isn’t she Richie? BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

Richie Tozier sips the Dixie cup of water, leaning against the bookcase in the Derry library, Pennywise continues his antics of torture as balloons drop from the ceiling, popping with blood spluttering on the library go-ers faces, oblivious to the fantasy nightmare Pennywise ensues.

The front door opens with a thud as a shriek and the popcorn bowl on your lap goes flying through the air. Eddie walks hurriedly through the door. A shivering spine of fear and realization hits you all at once. His boisterous laugh reverberates the living room walls as he picks popcorn from your hair, and places it in his mouth, a loud crunch between his teeth as he plops down next to you on the couch.

“Think you got your holidays mixed up, sweetheart— it’s Thanksgiving, Halloween was last month.”

Rolling your eyes you make a face to mock him, which only fuels his fire and has his cold fingers jabbing into your sides and tickling you so hard you scream out. Begging him to stop.

“Don’t!,” you squeal, holding your breath and giggling at his unrelenting tickling. He finally gives up after your face has gone red and your hair is a mess, laughing tears rolling down your cheeks.

Eddie sits back on the couch taking a huffing breath, a wild smile spreading from ear to ear, “that’s what you get for watching IT without me!”

Scoffing, you pick up the bowl of popcorn and the paled yellow crunchy kernels spilled on the ruby red throw blanket, “wait, weren’t you supposed to be camping with your uncle tonight?”

Eddie breathes out a sigh, bending at the waist to gather the kernels off the floor. The rest of the fishing trip with Wayne, Eddie spent it quieter than he had ever been, contemplating his next move, how could he show you that he was serious? How could he let you in? Show you his ugly past without scaring you, without you running for the hills? The answer was easy.

“I have something— somewhere I wanna show you,” he whispers, standing to his full height. Looking for the familiar mischievous glimmer in his eye, you are surprised by the genuine sparkle replacing it. His face his earnest, almost a look of doubt on his lips, scared of your reaction.

He peels the blanket from your lap and reaches down, his hand held out extended to yours, “come with me?”

-

The air is bitter. The driveway is glittering with a sequined frost, dancing with the shine of the street lights. Warm breath fills the inside of Eddie’s van as he slots the key into the ignition and fires it up, cranking the heat. Snuggling further into your knitted scarf, hiding the chill of your nose as Eddie backs down the driveway, heading out of town.

It doesn’t take long to get to where he was going, the drive in silence had you questioning what was going on in his mind. The path was overgrown, hidden from the road, hidden from anyone who didn’t know that it was there. The headlights of the van bob along with each sunken hole on the dirt drive. Jostling the van this way and that.

Nestled into thick trees past an old loose and corroded barbed wire fence, in place for property lines, sits a small house, paint chipped and barely visible. The roof was caved in by a large tree falling on it, the sagging porch still had bleached yellow crime scene tape hanging on by threads to the moss eaten pillar.

Eddie throws the van in park, sniffling slowly and looking around. “This uh,” he stutters, clearing his throat, “this is where I lived with my mom, my old man was in and out most of the time—drunk or in jail, I don’t remember him being here that much except the last time.”

Silence is golden, and you give him your undivided attention as he twists in his seat, bent knee leaning on the door frame.

“That,” he says pointing to the fallen tree in the back, “was an apple tree, apples this big around I swear,” he motions his hands in a circle, a chuckle in his throat, “we didn’t live here for very long, a year, or two maybe…”

His voice fades, and at first he second guesses bringing you here. He can imagine you piecing this puzzle of woe together, his life. The tragic tale of Eddie Munson, he didn’t spin a web of luxuries for you to pretend with him for a moment, a second, that he was anything other than what he was—but when your cotton gloved fingers slide into his, interlacing them—it gives him the courage, the resilience to continue.

“…I was six when it— when she was… he—,” he trails off, unable to finish, but it doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. The abandoned house, the barely-there flicker of yellow tape, she wasn’t only dead— she was murdered, by his father’s hand.

Comprehending what he’s getting at, you can practically hear his heart breaking. Eyes never leaving his face, you take him in, his eyes are wet as he blinks back tears, using his other hand to pinch the inner corners of his eyes, and hide behind his hair, his face is ashen, once ruddy cheeks from when he came home and tickled you is now swallowed by stale ash, sucking the life from his eyes, his cheeks, his soul.

“.. right in front of me…” he hangs his head low, sniffing quietly, “Wayne took me in after that.”

Eddie and you were alike in more ways than you had thought, although your parents were still alive, they were equally absent from your life, much like Eddie’s parents. Sure you both had people who took care of you, and as sweet as the gesture was, it was never really the same. The aching torture of having to defend for yourself, put a brave face on for your temporary care takers so you don’t seem like a bother to them, so they won’t worry about the weight of taking you in— was all too familiar.

“Eddie,” you whisper softly, rubbing his hands with your thumbs.

Yearning and breaking for him, the cords of your heart reach to his, tethering them together as you slide over the center council, and carefully land into his lap. He’s surprised at first by your brazenness, but once you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him into you, he melts like chocolate at your heated touch.

Your fingers tug into his hair at the nape of his neck, his nose and lips make their way in between your scarf and your neck, the slight chill against your skin sends goosebumps down your spine, a throbbing in your core.

Realization spreads through your heart, your brain, the hair follicles on your head, the painted nails on your toes. Holding him, him holding you, his arms around you, your arms buried in his hair, his fingers rubbing patterns into your back as he sighs deeply and regulates his breath—for the first time in your life, you realize this is what love feels like.

To be loved and to be in love. It was undeniable. Right? Friends didn’t do this. Roommates didn’t do this. But two people who cared deeply for one another and were bonded together by more than just traumatic circumstances? That was love.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

It’s just you and him.

Him and you.

The flutter of your heart short circuits as it seeps hot sticky love all over your face, blooming warmly in your cheeks. Grasping him tighter, you pull away, settling your forehead into his. Whiskey poured eyes staring back into yours, for a brief second you swear you can feel his heart flutter with yours, beating as one.

Eddie doesn’t play his music loud on the way back. A comfortable echoing still in the van as it clunks along the road. His voice barely above a whisper when he speaks. He feels satisfied. Happy even? Like the weight of the world was off of his shoulders by you simply knowing his past. You didn’t ask questions and in the moment he didn’t need you to. His arms wrapped around you was more than enough, your fingers twirling in his hair, the smell of your perfume behind your ear. The way you let him grieve, let him take you somewhere he hasn’t gone in years, was something he’d appreciate for a lifetime to come.

Once home it’s like any normal night, only he doesn’t tease you. He doesn’t fight over the bathroom or use your toothbrush, he doesn’t argue when you pop Christmas Vacation into the VCR, even though you can quote the entire movie. He’s completely engulfed by you, watching you brush your hair, the extra roll of the waistband of your pajama pants. The ridiculous colors of your fuzzy socks you insisted on wearing now that the weather was colder.

He’s never felt nervous around a girl before, usually throwing himself around, showing off his exquisite rack like a stacked buck in rut, rubbing his antlers on trees, showing his mighty dominance.

But you weren’t just another lonely girl looking for a night with a lead singer, or a girl pretending to be in love with him just so she could score coke from his supplier while also fucking him behind his back, and you definitely weren’t a faceless girl that he plowed to forget it all.

Meaning much more to him than just some silly fuck, or a high school “sweetheart” that ended up being a heartless cunt, or a dumpster for his cum.

No.

You were much more than that, to him.

More than a roommate, more than a friend, more than Eyeball’s bratty fucking sister.

He could write sonnets about the little lines in between your brow when you pulled your eyebrows together, usually when you were mad at him. He could sing songs about your laugh, not the small polite one, the loud one, the one that rang every doorbell to his heart and and he gladly answered. He could hum a tune of gratitude about your cooking and the silent ways you care for him and your close friends. He’d get his ass kicked by the entire male population of Hawkins if it meant keeping you safe.

You were it for him.

The only one to make him feel, the only one he wanted to see at the end of the day, in the morning when he got up.

Watching you giggle and let out a yawn, he places a couch pillow between his hip and yours gesturing for you to lie down. He almost goes into cardiac arrest when you move the pillow entirely, your head resting in his lap. A sleepy smile on your face as you tug the blanket under your chin.

Yup.

You were it for him.

And he's a sucker, addicted to the way you made him love you so effortlessly.

hope you all enjoyed this volume! volume ix is where it heats up 🔥

@big-ope-vibes @br0ck-eddie @b-irock @loveshotzz @mopeymopeymouse @shiftingtherain @courtingchaos @nightonblogmountain @word-wytch @ghost-proofbaby @hanobe8 @abibliophobiaa @joejoequinnquinn just a few of the coven 🩵🩷

READ MORE

This is for you

*sacrifices 🖕🏼

[wing-ed-thing]

Tandem (Levi x Reader)

Synopsis: The two of you work together seamlessly. Your clear intimacy was usually left unspoken... that is, until Eren asks the stupid question.

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags/Warnings: Language, Fluff, No Reader Pronouns

Notes: I think it’s funny that my last Levi fic was about Levi and reader like... hating each other hahaha. I guess I simply must bring balance

“Do you have the—”

“Right here.”

Watching the two of you in action was fascinating. 

Levi tossed you a canister from over his shoulder. The metal container flipped through the air, nearly smacking Eren directly in the face. He ducked just in time. The canister landed perfectly into your outstretched hand. You didn’t even look up from the crate of supplies you were tending to. Eren sputtered.

“Hey, watch it! You almost hit me!” 

“Don’t be in the way.” You spoke the command in unison. Neither you nor Levi missed a beat. Eren caught a mutual eye roll as you and Levi continued to organize the new cargo shipment. 

You secured a thick wooden lid onto your crate and made a tick on your clipboard. You maneuvered out of the way just in time for Levi to heave over an equally massive wooden box. He stacked it on top of yours.  

“Tell me that’s all of it,” Levi grumbled, placing a familiar touch on your shoulder as he peered over your amassment of papers. You flipped the pages with a solemn shake of your head. 

“Between what we brought back from the expedition and the disaster that was this last shipment, I’d say we’re done with barely half.”

“Fucking hell…” 

Immediately after expeditions, your leftover supplies would be checked and consolidated into storage to prepare for the next outing and regular patrols. That had always been an undertaking and typically took the whole night. But when you were away, a new shipment of supplies had come early. A disorganized mess of various crates and trunks, Commander Erwin nearly hit the roof before he stormed over to the supplier’s office to complain. 

The company had apparently shifted management, and the new owner thought he could cut corners. At least, that’s what you guessed. 

Levi slowly turned to Eren as you made a few frustrated scribbles in your notes. The crease in his brow deepened, and a vein above his eye twitched. 

“What are you doing just standing around, Jaeger?” Levi stepped forward, gesturing to the chaos of stacked and scattered materials across the room. “You think these big-ass boxes will grow legs and walk to storage by themselves?”

“Section Commander Zacharius sent us in here to help. He’s finishing up outside.” A bead of sweat formed on Eren’s temple. Levi stared wordlessly, scowling. “Sir!”

“You can help Jean,” you said, glancing up from your attempt at an organization sheet. You gestured over to where Jean knelt by a mountain of wooden crates. Heavy pouches and metal parts poured out of the sprawling containers. “He’ll need all the help he can get separating the flour sacks from the deconstructed ODM gear.”

Jean met Eren’s eye, exhausted and annoyed at the prospect of working with Eren on top of his menial task. Mikasa carried three boxes stacked on top of each other somewhere in the background. 

The entire regiment worked into the night. Empty crates were slapped with proper labels, refilled with the correct material, and sent to storage. The rate at which you and Levi put together a plan was astounding, and you quickly ordered your exhausted soldiers around in teams to get the job done. 

Jean and Eren worked to separate the flour sacks from the gear, moving gingerly to avoid crushing anything. Some bags were broken. Eren blew white particles off of a grip and onto Jean’s slacks. Jean scowled but was too tired to complain. The two of them took to sorting out the pieces of gear quietly, Jean placing the parts in their respective bins as Eren sifted through the mess of metal and wires. He was left with a small box of screws at the end of his work.

“Um, do we have a box for screws?”

“Screws?” Jean repeated, glancing over the closed crates. “No?”

Eren shrugged and put them in his pocket. 

You and Levi continued to work seamlessly together, racing throughout the room and ensuring everything was sorted. You passed your clipboard back and forth as you elapsed each other. Eren could hardly see the handoff. He chased after you after he closed the last crate of flour. 

“Section Commander!” you turned with a stack of random materials in your arms. The soldiers from your squads gathered around you, deliberating with each other over the orientation of the storage. “Jean and I finished. Where else can I be of assistance?” You handed your supplies to one of your team leaders, giving instructions before returning to Eren. 

“Captain Levi has the list,” you said, moving another set of boxes down to the floor. Your team took to opening them. You looked down and groaned at the sight, running a hand over your face. Inside, the supplier had packaged together explosives and yeast. “What a mess.”

Eren ran off to find Levi, who stood in the courtyard supervising the organization of horse feed. Levi gave two firm slaps to a neat assembly of boxes as he addressed a group of six. The compilation had been mislabeled as “bread grains.”

“You’ll take these to the stables. You hear me? The stables. If I see a lick of this shit in the kitchen, you’ll eat horse food for the rest of your life.” Eren approached him cautiously, offering him a salute.

“Sir! How can I be of assistance?” Levi huffed, blowing a tuff of his bangs away from his forehead. 

“I just gave the list back. Go ask the Section Commander.”

“Uh…” Eren croaked, having just spoken to you. “Well, I just spoke to—”

“Eren!” Armin appeared in the doorway out to the courtyard with a wave. The torchlight made his blond hair shine even more golden. “We need your help with the swords!” 

“There you go,” Levi snorted, gesturing down the hall where Armin disappeared. He bumped Eren’s shoulder as he passed.

Luckily, things were beginning to wrap up by the time Eren nearly dropped from exhaustion. After the swords came lentils mixed with the smoke-gun pellets and then the tangled ODM wires. You and Levi were powering on at the same pace you had been for the night— perhaps even more rigorously— but Eren could see the burnout on your faces. A rule of thumb whispered among the cadets dictated that the two of you appeared visibly grumpier with tiredness, not that anyone would dare tell you that. 

Levi maneuvered around you, snatching something you offered wordlessly in your hand. He sent off the last of the cargo boxes with a small team of drained recruits, and as he turned to you, he didn’t have to say a thing before you tossed the clipboard to him. He caught it like a frisbee. 

“That’ll do it,” you announced. Your voice echoed off the stone walls of the now-empty room. “Thank you, everyone, for your hard work. I’m sure you’re very tired. Dismissed!” 

Eren breathed a sigh of relief as you marched out of the room. He quickly took his leave, filing out with the rest of his friends as they trudged back to the barracks in exhaustion. No one said a word as they crossed through the courtyard, too drained from the expedition and the organization disaster to say anything. 

Eren stuck his hand in his pocket, stopping short when he felt the small box of screws he had put in there earlier. Armin shot him a worried look as he started back toward the packaging room, too fatigued to ask where he was going. Eren said nothing, jogging back so he could return as quickly as possible. 

You and Levi sat on the stone floor, back to back, as he read over the materials list. Your head tilted back to rest on his shoulder. He did the same, his short hairs brushing against your cheek. Two cups of tea sat on the floor next to you. That must be where you went when you dismissed everyone.

“The twenty units of ODM wire—”

“Southwestern storage with the grips,” you yawned. You closed your eyes, letting yourself slouch back into Levi. He said nothing as you nuzzled into the shoulder of his jacket.

“Updated uniforms and linens—”

“Forth floor. They need to be organized, but they can be distributed soon.”

“Great. Like we haven’t had enough of that tonight.”

Eren stood frozen in the entryway. He clutched the box of screws in his hand, stepping off to the side to avoid being seen. Something inside told him that he shouldn’t be there, that the scene in front of him was too intimate for his prying eyes. He watched on anyways, wondering if he should just wait until tomorrow. 

You finished your tea, placing it on the ground with a disappointed hum. You reached for Levi’s and took it in the pads of your fingers. Levi brushed his cheek against your hair and tilted his face to look at you. He didn’t get very far with your head in the way.

“Excuse you,” he frowned. “You have your own.”

“Finished mine,” you muttered, half asleep. Levi shook his head before returning to read the rest of the list. He flipped a page. 

At that display, Eren decided that he could definitely wait until the next day. Stealthily, he returned to the little, lit hallway to take his leave. 

That was until the little box of screws clattered to the floor. The sound reverberated off the stone, causing both you and Levi to turn to the noise. You sat up straight with eyes snapped open with alertness. Eren cringed, picking up the box, and with no choice, he revealed himself. 

“The hell are you doing up?” Levi snapped with a deep scowl. “You were just dismissed. Or do you want more work?” Eren almost flinched.

“I forgot about this.” He held up the forgotten cargo, giving it a rattle. You yawned again, a strangled noise of affirmation escaping you.

“Oh, thank you, Jaeger. You can leave that with me.” Eren scampered across the room to your outstretched hand. It dropped with the weight of the tiny container. With a simple thanks, you once again sent him on his way. 

***

“Do you think the Section Commanders are, you know, together?” Eren asked in a hushed tone at the dinner table the next day. Armin’s forehead wrinkled in thought.

“Which ones?”

“Yours and Captain Levi.” Eren played absentmindedly with the leftover stew on his plate. The entire table seemed to stiffen. A few nervous eyes glanced around the mess hall for any leadership within the radius to overhear. Eren hardly noticed the way the former members of the 104th seemed to lean forward.

“I think they’re all together,” Reiner finally spoke, eyes darting around the room again.

“What? You mean like all at once?” Bertholdt laughed nervously, swiveling his head as he spoke. He rubbed at the back of his neck with his large palm.

“Yeah!” Reiner exclaimed in a hushed tone. The table leaned closer. He gestured emphatically with his hands. “I mean, you’re in this line of work. Everyone’s ripped and sexy—”

Connie let out a roaring cackle.

“You did not just refer to Captain Levi as ripped and sexy!” 

Reiner sputtered as cheeky grins and bouts of laughter spread across the group. Reiner clutched the edge of the table as his pale skin turned a bright shade of red.

“You know that’s not what I meant!” he stammered, just about standing up to slam his hand on the table, causing various utensils to clatter. The noise was not too out of the ordinary for the cafeteria. “That’s not what I meant! I meant my squad leader!” Connie propped an elbow on the table, counting his fingers to accent his words. 

“Section Commander Levi: ripped and sexy. Section Commander Miche: ripped and sexy. Section Commander Hange—” Reiner slapped Connie’s hand from across the table, causing Connie to just about go into hysterics. He collapsed into Sasha’s shoulder. Bertholdt tugged the back of Reiner’s shirt, urging him to sit back down. 

“That is the opposite of what I meant!”

“You said everyone, Reiner!” Connie had nearly burst into tears. He heaved between labored breaths. “What— what if they…! What if they made— Hahaha! A calendar?! What if they made one of those sexy calendars?!” His deranged delirium was contagious, the taboo notion enough to make Mikasa cover her face with a shake of her head. She continued small bites of her food. 

“Shirtless Levi calendar just for you, Reiner.” He stood at a loss as Jean reached up to knock against his bicep. Reiner sat down in defeat, hands rubbing over his face as Bertholdt gave him a heavy-handed pat. 

“What made you ask, Eren?” Christa’s gentle voice somehow made it down to the other side of the table. He craned to be able to see her before looking off, wondering if he should say anything. He didn’t think for long, if at all.

“I walked in on them last night—” An eruption of astonished gasps and cries cut him off—a jumbled chorus of sounds molded over each other. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute!”

Sasha’s voice carried over everyone else’s. 

“Levi and Reiner?!” She exclaimed. Reiner somehow grew redder. 

“Of course not!”

“No, he means our captain and Levi, right Eren?” Armin clarified, and Eren nodded. 

“When you say walked in on them—” Jean glanced around the room, eyes widening with emphasis. “Did you mean walked in on?”

“No, no,” Eren stuttered, running a hand through his scalp as he thought of describing what he saw. “I’d say they were more cuddling.”

“Cuddling,” Reiner repeated with a single downward nod. He crossed his arms over his chest as he squared his shoulders back. “You walked in on the squad leaders… cuddling.”

“Well, they weren’t really cuddling. They were sitting back-to-back against each other more… nuzzling. And sharing a cup of tea.” Eren trailed off, face contorted in a pained expression as he continued to play with his hair. Armin nudged him under the table, barely picking up his head to offer him the contrite look painted on his expression. 

“Eren…”

“I think it’s kinda romantic!” Christa brushed a few hairs behind her ear. “Two soldiers fighting for their lives with no one to lean on but each other! I could see them together. Maybe Captain Levi would loosen up a bit if he was dating.” Ymir grumbled something incoherent. 

“I think we’ve all been in a room where Captain Levi’s shared a cup of tea with all the leadership.” Reiner glanced around the table, unimpressed. “Is that supposed to be a euphemism or something?”

“It was the same cup!”

“Things sure are lively over here.” Everyone froze. “What are we talking about?”

You placed a warm hand on his shoulder. Eren’s eyes followed the length of your sleeve to your smiling face. You glanced over the group, slightly taken aback at the sudden silence. Levi came up to Eren’s left with crossed arms. 

“We heard from everyone coming the other way that you couldn’t shut up, and now you decide to be quiet?” Connie met Reiner’s eye from across the table.

“The calendar,” he mouthed, and Reiner resisted the urge to throw a spoon at him. 

“We were just talking about Sasha’s dating life!” Eren exclaimed, much to Sasha’s horror. You beamed.

“Oh, how fun!” Levi rolled his eyes, maneuvering around you. 

“I’m grabbing food. You want the usual?” He leaned in slightly, a gentle touch on your back. The table watched with bated breath. You smiled and nodded.

“Yes, please!” With your confirmation, he left. You turned back to the table, your hand still on the back of Eren’s chair. “Dating! That’s so exciting! You have to tell me!” The group exchanged looks. Normally, they would tell you. That is if there was anything to tell. 

“Are you dating, Section Commander?” Sasha quirked an eyebrow, hoping to turn the heat onto someone else. 

“Oh, uh—” You stuttered, thrown off at the sudden question. You could feel the heat of their intense stares. —“No, not really.” You let out a nervous laugh. Surely you were missing something. You missed the silent eye contact Eren made with Armin.

“Not really?” Eren repeated, twisting his mug in his hands as he stared at his water. Reiner studied him, wondering that perhaps Eren had been onto something after all. Mikasa kicked Eren under the table. He flinched, composing himself just before Levi returned with your food. 

“You guys are sure acting strange tonight.” Bertholdt refused to look you in the eye. You let out another nervous chuckle before taking your plate from Levi with thanks. 

“They ran out of the rolls, but I got you the—”

“The baguette?” Your face lit up at the sight of the tiny baguette on the corner of your plate. You faced Levi with a grin. “Have I ever told you that you were the best?” 

“Sure, sure.” He didn’t acknowledge the rest of the 104th as he stormed toward the exit. You offered them a wave goodbye.

“Sorry, we can’t stick around. I’ll see you all later! Good luck, Sasha!” With one last wave, you hurried after Levi and left together. 

As soon as you were well down the hallway, the table erupted in debate.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Ah, I love writing young Eren as the stupid little baby he is 🙏 Heavily channeling Bluey “do you have a wife?”

[serenescribe]

This is a silly little fic that sparked from a conversation I had with @hanafubukki, and so I wrote it! What started as a discussion about Lilia eating teabags quickly shifted into the very sweet idea of a young Silver bringing his papa some tea leaves.

I hope you enjoy!

Lilia smiles as he hears the front door open, the sound of the creaking hinges reaching his ears. “You’re finally back, Silver,” he greets, turning from where he’s been preparing something at the kitchen counter — mixing plenty of flour and berries and a little bit of sauce together for quite the splendid treat! — to face the door.

He watches as Silver, nearly five years old and dressed in a shirt and some patchwork overalls, stumbles through, a small little pouch clutched in his hands. Tilting his head, Lilia asks, “What have you there, hm?”

Silver doesn’t speak, not until he totters over to the little kitchen area where Lilia crouches in. It’s only then that he raises the pouch, a resolute expression on his face — and how amusing it is, Lilia snickers silently to himself, to see such seriousness on that chubby-cheeked face! “This is… for Toto,” Silver insists, pushing the pouch into Lilia’s hands.

Lilia blinks. “Well now,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Silver’s hair, his other hand holding the mystery pouch. “What a kind boy you are, thinking about me while you’re out in the woods!” And this isn’t abnormal by any means, because Silver always comes home with a gift for him, be it berries — poisonous and otherwise; the poor child doesn’t know any better just yet — or a wilting bouquet of wildflowers, but Lilia relishes in it anyways. Affirmative remarks are helpful for raising a boy as young as Silver — or so he’s been told by the Zigvolts.

Silver giggles as Lilia runs a hand through his hair, mussing up those light strands. “Open it, open it!”

So Lilia does, pulling on the string and loosening the pouch. And as soon as he does, he finds…

A handful of shredded leaves, some wet moss, a couple of berries — the non-poisonous ones, and Lilia sighs with relief at the knowledge that Silver has caught on — and, to top it all off, a pinecone.

Lilia blinks. “This is lovely, Silver,” he says, and he’s not lying, because anything this sweet human boy he’s growing fonder of, day after day, brings to him sparks a bit of warmth in his heart. “But… what is it?”

And imagine Lilia’s surprise when Silver grins at him brightly, and says, “Tea!”

It clicks for him after a moment’s pause, mind caught on that one word before everything falls into place. Oh, Lilia realises, eyeing the pouch, at the way the leaves have been shredded, the small size of the pinecone, everything clumped together. It looks much like the contents of the little canister of tea leaves he has, a gift from Baul’s daughter along with a teasing note about drinking it if he finds it a bit hard to sleep.

Silver has brought him tea leaves. Silver had watched him scoop them out and steep them in water, perched on tiptoes on a stool pushed up against the counter as Lilia prepared breakfast, and thought to himself that he would go out in the woods and get Lilia some tea.

Warmth swells forth within his heart in one big burst, engulfing his chest until it reaches his cheeks.

Whisking the pouch to the counter with his magic, Lilia sweeps up Silver in his arms, spinning around as the boy yelps before he giggles. “How darling of you,” Lilia coos, happiness thrumming through him. “To think of me, and to bring me such a sweet gift!”

“I hope you like it, Toto!”

“Well let’s find out, shall we?”

And though Lilia enjoys the cup of tea he brews very much, relishing in it as Silver watches, the young boy still too sensitive to enjoy a scalding drink that’s too hot for his tongue, he realises, halfway through, that there’s definitely something poisonous in this.

Oh well, he thinks, as he feels his throat beginning to itch relentlessly from the inside-out, his eyes beginning to swell slightly. That’s another thing to teach Silver in the future, I suppose.

Perhaps he’ll avoid eating the leftover tea leaves for once. He’ll have to scrape them into the bin. What a waste, Lilia sighs to himself, though there’s no real disappointment in any of it. How could there be, when he’s basking in the thoughtfulness of Silver’s actions?

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

In the dream, Dean walked through the bunker, or a facsimile of it, the hallways' angles not quite true, the rooms not quite plumb. His hands were bloody the first time he looked down at them, dusty the second time. It took him long minutes to walk up the metal staircase because there were twice as many steps as usual, with a curling ascent that made him a little dizzy. The heavy door was hard to open. With his weight against it, it opened with an echoing thunk; he fell into a field of knee-high grass and chicory as blue as Cas's eyes.

An empty field. His palms were still ashen.

The sorrow that tore through his body woke him more than the fall did. He blinked up at the wooden beams hatched across the farmhouse bedroom ceiling and tried to catch his breath. A tear slid down into his right ear and made him flinch. After a few swallows, he sat up and stretched. Rubbed his eyes dry. Noticed a strange brightness flaring around the perimeter of the bedroom's window curtain and let the ache behind his ribcage fade.

His feet registered the chill of the floor before the rest of him did and he skipped over to the window on tiptoe. With the curtain open the source of the light proved to be dawn illuminating the skim of snow atop everything in the yard – a powdered sugar dusting, surprising only because 24 hours ago it'd been 60F degrees outside.

He was gargling mouthwash when elsewhere in the house it sounded like someone was fighting off ninjas with a cookie sheet.

"You okay?" Dean asked at the kitchen doorway.

Cas, startled, dropped a metal pie plate (again) and groaned. "I'm sorry." He picked up the wayward pan and inspected it for dents before putting it firmly on the counter. "I didn't mean to wake you." He turned to give a more settled smile. "Hello, Dean."

Dean snuck in and wrapped Cas up in a hug before he could move away. "Good morning," he whispered into Cas's soft hair.

"Happy birthday," Cas said, his voice still smiling. He pulled back enough to look up at Dean, typical earnestness all over his face. "I guess my surprise won't be much of one now."

Dean blinked as the pie plate suddenly made sense. "Are you making me pie?" Delight bubbled up in his chest as Cas mouthed yes; Dean let his hands slide to Cas's waist and held on, anchoring himself there. 

Cas ducked his head. "I was going to try." He glanced at a cookbook cracked open on the nearby table where they usually drank coffee and watched the sun rise, and beside it a bowl, a stick of butter, the canister labeled 'flour' and the canister labeled 'sugar', three loose eggs, a big wooden spoon, and a bag of nutmeats.

"Pecan. My favorite." Dean kissed the side of Cas's head. "Would you like some help?"

After a pause, Cas said, "No." He didn't sound sure of the answer. "It's your birthday. You should take the day off. I can manage." His hands on Dean's chest were another anchor.

"It is my birthday, so I think I should get to choose how to spend the morning." Dean quirked an eyebrow the way Cas often did when he was being bossy. "And I would like to help you make the best pecan pie either of us has ever eaten." He let his expression sweeten as a flush crept across Cas's cheeks. "Please."

Cas nodded, eyes shining. Dean gathered him into his arms again because he could. He was 45 years old and holding the love of his life in their tiny kitchen with the oven ticking, with snow sparkling through the windows. They were living their small, precious lives together in freedom, in peace (what 45 years had taught Dean the hard way: they could have both) and there was nothing empty about it. 

They stood swaying sleepily for a couple of minutes before the desire for pie, and other things, started to eat away at Dean's brain. Low at Cas's ear, he said, "You know, pecan pie is best served room temp. We'll need to let it cool down after it's out of the oven before we can cut into it. Might take an hour."

"We haven't even started–"

"I'm just saying," Dean continued, "we'll need to find something else to do with ourselves in a little while." He cleared his throat. "Some way to pass the time."

Cas tipped his head up. "I don't think figuring that out will be an issue," he murmured, and pressed closer.

[ltwilliammowett]

What food was served to the sick aboard a Ship ?

This decision about what a sick person was allowed to eat was made by the surgeon. He determined whether the man was put on a full (pieces of meat were included in the meal wich included soft bread, pudding and soup)), half (soft bread, pudding and soup) or low diet (just soup). And in consultation with the purser, he gave the man his ration according to the instructions. The Surgeon also discussed with the Captain whether it was necessary to kill an animal for additional meat or whether the sick man was given wine while the rest of the crew was given beer or grog at the time.

Sickbay aboard USS Constitution, by Stephen Biesty (x)

In principle, however, the sick received their food with little or no salt. In addition, a sowins or flummery was cooked, which was a kind of very thin oat porridge. The flummery, by the way, developed in the course of the 18th century into a very popular desert, in which the porridge was sweetened, milk and cream were added, but also madeira and fruits were also added. If she was lucky, her porridge was sweetened a little and enriched with milk.

Another big part of the diet was the portable soup and flour, which was used to make soft bread or pudding, which could also be sweetened and sultanas added, depending on the surgeon's instructions. What was also not to be missed was the daily portion of alcohol, but it could be that the patient had to do without it completely, or only light wines diluted with water, or very strong alcohol.But that also depended on the Surgeon, whether he allowed it or not.

Sickbay aboard HMS Victory (x)

One problem was that the whole thing consumed a lot of extra material, which is why the Surgeon received ready-packed Necessaries boxes from the Sick and Injured Board. These came in three sizes - half single for 25 men, single for 50 men and double for 100 men. Their contents were sufficient for three months' service. If we now assume HMS Victory with her 850 men, then the Surgeon received 8 double and one single box for 3 months. If she had now been at sea for 6 months, we would have 17 double chests. A double case of 1806 contained linen and flannel, a saucepan, a canister for tea and one for sago, 4 1/2 pounds (2.04 kg) of tea, 4 pounds (1.81 kg) of sago, 8 pounds (3.63 kg) of rice, 16 pounds (7.26 kg) of barley, 32 pounds (14.51 kg) of soft sugar and 2 ounces (57 g) of ginger powder. In the Mediterranean, barley was replaced by macaroni and in the West Indies by arrowroot. Portable soap and lemon juice were added to the list of medicines, and the sickbay was even given special equipment that included pillows, nightcaps, bedpans and spitting pots. After the Napoleonic wars and the development of cannings, tins of beef and soup were added.

Small treats were also occasionally brought into the sickbay from the officers' table to get the men back on their feet more quickly and to spoil them a little. But this was only allowed after consultation with the Surgeon.

[minimomoe]

A Good Mistake

Summary: Toji came home with a hunger he never had before. wct: 3.1k

Song inspo: Options- Doja Cat, JID

MDNI: 19+, warnings: rough sex, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, face sitting, 69, rimming, sex pollen trope!

Preview: “That spray made you like this?” you giggled breathlessly. Your hand reached down between them to palm the bulge in his pants and Toji sucked a deep breath in. His eyes rolled far into the back of his head and he growled, pushing you to the wall. “You need my help, Toji?...."

You lounged on your couch listlessly scrolling through TV channels when your phone rang somewhere deeper in the house. As you followed the humming it led you to the kitchen. Despite that you still couldn’t locate your phone. You had baked earlier in the day, and the kitchen was in an unrecognizable mess, but you remembered having your phone in there last. Toji had slipped it in your back pocket right before he left to take care of a case given to him by his handler, reminding you to keep it close because you had a habit of losing it with the ringer off. 

You had sent him off with a kiss and a floured handprint on his ass, and promptly took out your phone to make a call ten minutes later. You then proceeded to lose your phone after the call, but you could hear it vibrating, loudly. After searching the entire kitchen twice, you found it chilling inside the fridge. Your eyes rolled at the contact name when you read it, pressing the green button anyways. 

“I fucked up.”

“Let’s try that again,” You sighed. “Hi, Sukuna. How are you?”

“Hi, I fucked up ,” he said again. 

You weren’t  moved by your friend’s proclamation because he fucked up all the time. “What did you do this time?” 

“So me and Toji were out on a job, right? And we got it handled, of course we got that shit handled, but we were told to bring back the target’s fucking science expirement thing.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I was driving a little too fast and braking too hard.”

“A little?”

“And the fucking canister broke. Whatever the fuck was in it sprayed all over Toji when he opened the trunk to get it out.”

“Sukuna,” You said in a low voice. “Is Toji alright?” 

“He’s– fuck. He’s okay! He’s not… hurt. At least, not in the way you think.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Put him on the phone now.”

“I already dropped him off at your house. That’s why I’m calling you. I wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Heads up? I didn’t hear him come in.” 

“Look– I’m sorry, okay? Just give him some space. They said the effects of it could last a while.”

“If there's anything wrong with Toji I will have you by your fucking balls.”

You bickered with Sukuna on the phone, throwing more threats at him when you suddenly heard a dull thud on the stairs. “He’s already up the stairs!” You whispered into the phone. 

“You’d think that shit would slow him down,” Sukuna grumbled. “When I called you he was walking up to the door. I don’t know what else to tell you but he only wants you, if you’re willing to help. Good luck.”

“Good lu— Ryou!” But he already hung up. You made a mental note to drop kick him the next time you see him, but you had other things to worry about. You creeped out of the kitchen, tiptoed past the living room, and peered up the stairs to see if it was really Toji who made the noise. He stood at the top of the stairs with his back to you, standing stock still like he was waiting for something. Suddenly he looked over his shoulder very quickly, making you jump back and hide behind the wall like you were caught doing something wrong. Blood rushed in your ear and your heart was pounding out of your chest, but it really was just Toji. 

He didn't seem hurt at all, just like Sukuna said, so you made your way around the corner and bumped into a very frenzied Toji who took your lips before you could even greet him. 

“Did you take a shower? I wanted to take one with you,” he said into your mouth. His tongue danced over your lips, not giving you enough space or time to answer him properly. 

“We can always take one later,” you gasped. 

His teeth pulled your bottom lip taut before running his tongue inside of your mouth. You were not shy to his affection but this was different from his usual welcome home kiss. It had a desperate undercurrent, one that beckoned you to fall in and drown with him. 

Breaking the kiss as gently as you could, you tugged his head back by gripping his scalp. He whined from the lost contact but his mouth found a new place to claim on your neck. His tongue liked and sucked any exposed skin, only short from sinking his teeth in, when you tugged his hair harder to get him to focus. 

“Toji, talk to me. What happened?” 

His eyes were blown wide, his green irises nearly black holes that swallowed your image. He was panting and looked at your whole face eagerly, unsure what he wanted to view first but he wanted all of it, all of your, now. He tried to kiss you on the lips again but you stopped him by putting your other hand over his mouth. It did nothing to deter him in the long run, as his tongue traced your palm until you gasped and peeled your hand back, only for him to catch one of your fingers with his mouth.

“Sukuna’s a dumbass, that’s what happened,” he said with your finger still in between his teeth. “You smell so fucking good. You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, dropping your finger and pressed you closer to his body. His erection poked your stomach and he shuddered when you put your hand on his chest to brace yourself. 

“So sweet.”

He grabbed your hand again and sucked the inside of your wrist, relishing the way your heart rate sped up under the surface, looking at you with glassy eyes. His hand went past the waistband of your leggings, finding the seam of your sex to rub eager circles on your clit. “You’re so ready for me,” he said in awe. His fingers glided over your sensitive bud, swallowing your moans with a carnivorous kiss.

“That spray made you like this?” you giggled breathlessly. Your hand reached down between them to palm the bulge in his pants and Toji sucked a deep breath in. His eyes rolled far into the back of his head and he growled, pushing you to the wall. “You need my help, Toji?”

“ Fuck. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

You had zipped down his pants and stroked his length slowly, liquefying his thoughts and making a shudder run up his spine. The abundance of pre come leaking out of the head made it easy for you to turn him into a putty in your hands. You made a ring with your fingers around his frenulum, twisting and tugging the skin until Toji’s lips marked your neck, his hips rutting into your palms to come faster. You muttered sweet words in his ear, pressing searing kisses down his jaw, and carding your other fingers in his hair to push him over the ledge. 

His fingers worked just as fast in your cunt, fucking your with two, now three fingers deep, keeping a steady pace to stroke your spot while grinding the heel of his hand on your bud. Your essence drenching him like you was the one sprayed with the aphrodisiac. With one leg hooked one leg around his waist you rode his hand shamelessly. Toji’s moans send electricity straight to your pussy. He was so vocal, so needy, you felt your orgasm cracking you open and Toji was seconds away from the same peak. 

He moaned your name out as he came, low and drawn out, his orgasm hitting him like a train as he ruined the front of both of your clothing. Trembling groans and soft croons were the only sounds that filled the staircase. When you looked down at your hands and it was your turn for your eyes to grow wide. He had come so much and he was still hard. 

“Woah,” you breathed. You looked at his release on your hands, then back up to him. Toji was quick to remove his shirt, hastily wiping away the mess on your hand, quickly ridding your of your top too, then smashed his lips back on yours. 

Toji tapped your leg and you jumped up to wrap around his waist. He nipped your chin, your chest, the valley between your breasts, then frowning that he couldn’t put a nipple in his mouth. 

“Take this off,” he grumbled, pulling at your bra with his teeth. He didn’t even wait for your to attempt it because he succeeded in pulling the cup down to free your breast. Toji took a bit in the pliant flesh, running his tongue over the mark, then flicked your hardening bud. 

“Toji, let’s get to our room,” you begged, but you pushed his head deeper into your chest. Toji obliged, not needing his eyes to make it up the stairs or down the hall that led to the bed you shared. He wanted to be even closer to you, wanted to be in your skin, wanted to draw out those sweet moans that fell from your mouth because it was the only thing on his mind. 

Your back bumped into the closed bedroom door and you writhed in his arms. Toji made a sloppy mess of your other nipple, looking up at you with heavy lidded eyes. It was a gaze that spurred you on, making you secretly thank Sukuna for his wrekcless driving. If he continued to play all the strings of your body you were sure you could come from your nipples alone.

“Put me down so I can open the door ,” you begged. Toji must have not heard you because he tugged on your nipple with his teeth instead. You had to drag him out of his horny headspace long enough for him to focus on you clearly. You yanked his hair back, your nose bumping his. “Bed.” 

Toji finally registered the words coming out of your mouth and slowly slid you down the door. His hands stretched to the length of the doorway, crowding over as you tried to open the door without turning away from him. The sexual energy permeating from him came out in crashing waves, making your struggle to find the handle for longer than you meant to. 

“How are you this perfect,” he murmured. His hand holding your waist squeezed and your knees felt weak.

You decided the best option would be to face the door so you can complete the very simple task of getting inside. Toji pulled your hair away from the back of your neck, taking a deep breath right on your pulse again, and carefully guided you until you almost made it to the bed. 

Almost, that is, because you were walking too fast but out of step and tripped over yourselves, landing on the floor a feet away. You laughed on the floor underneath Toji, a bubbly laugh as you tried to push yourself up. Toji never stopped kissing your body, travelling down to your shoulder blades, your spine, the dimples in your back. He put his thumbs in the divots in your body and dragged you close to him, his aching cock rubbing against your ass over leggings.

“A perfectly good bed is less than five feet away,” you quipped, taking off your bra but you arched your back lower and wiggled your hips. 

“Am I being too rough?” He strained. You looked back at him and there was genuine concern clouding his face. 

“No. No, you’re not,” you promised, and he kissed your again, much more gently than before. When you broke away it’s like he was washed over the aphrodisiac again. Before you knew it he bent your back over and slipped your leggings over, then positioned your right over his face. 

“ Woah ,” you said for the second time that night. You weren't even sure how he moved you so quickly. “Toji— hold on,” you tried to raise your hips off of his face, but he slid his hand under and over your thighs, locking you in place and diving nose first into your pussy. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm and Toji’s tongue was relentless, licking and sucking until you braced yourself with your hands splayed on his stomach to keep grounded. Getting caught up in the feeling you began to rock your hips guided by Toji’s hands on his face, building another orgasm up that threatened to restart your brain, and Toji was revelling in it, moaning in your folds that sent delicious shocks to your core. A high crest washed over you, making you come with a loud keen, and you tried to move away from Toji’s lips but he wouldn’t let you until you were sobbing. 

“I’m s-supposed to help you,” you heaved. He finally took a moment to breathe, smacking his lips loudly and watched your pussy twitch around nothing. Seeing your folds puffy and shiny with arousal and spit made his cock twitch. He slipped two fingers inside of you, pumping them slowly, watching how your head dropped and your back arch up because he was stroking your already frazzled g-spot. 

“You can stay like this. Help me there,” he said, sliding himself up so he can look at you over the curve of your ass. He went back to adorning the back of your thighs with kisses and bite marks. You looked at his cock standing straight up and planted one hand on the outside of his thigh while the other grasped his cock firmily. Trembles took Toji’s body whenever your hands were on him. The pads of your fingers could be branded into his skin and he would thank you. Just the thought of you taking him in your mouth almost made him come again. 

You gave random pecks around his pelvis, the top of his thighs, everywhere where his pale skin looked flushed and kissable, which was everywhere, all while ignoring his swollen head. You dragged your hand around his shaft and sighed from the velvet heat. His leg jerked up and you put your balancing hand on it to still him. 

“Don’t worry baby, I got you,” you crooned, twisting your body enough for him to watch your swallow his cock from behind. Toji rested himself on his elbows and his head flopped back, fully allowing himself to feel the sensation of your tongue swirling around his tip. His hands sank into the flesh of your calves when you attempted to take him all the way down to the base while using your spit to massage his balls and he was on the fast track to heaven. Cocky hums shook around his cock when you reached as far down to the base as you could, making Toji let out a string of curses. 

Shaky breaths escaped Toji’s lips when he finally remembered the task in front of him. You’s cunt was still dripping and twitching around his fingers, so he focused his attention on your clit and kissed the entrance. His eyes lined up right up with your asshole and he blinked a few times at it. You and him were no strangers to anal, but he did not prepare your enough to do anything there yet. 

Toji spit right on the hole and watched it roll down. Before it could reach your folds he licked it back up and traced the scrunched spot, causing you to gasp around his cock and pull up from it with a pop. 

“Fuck, Toji, just like that,” you moaned, gyrating on his tongue again. You put your mouth back to work on him after a deep breath, determined to make him come before you did. Toji was lost in a hedonistic bliss, his balls tightening from your hot lips. From the change of pitch in your moans and the way your hips shook you were close to the end of your rope, Toji could tell you were close to coming again and he was right there with you. He came with a shout, shooting rounds of come in your mouth that you didn’t let go to waste this time around. You gushed around his fingers, drenching his hands and chest, spasms running through your legs yet Toji still circled your clit tightly. 

You let your body go limp and collapsed beside him on the floor. You couldn’t feel your legs anymore, nor your arms, tremors running through every limb in your body. Sweat dripped down your body and you reminded yourself how to breathe. 

You thought that you had imagined it, but you felt a faint touch on your ankle. You strained your neck to look at Toji, and sure enough he was grazing your feet with his fingers. You tilted your head to look at his cock and it was slowly hardening again. A disbelieving scoff escaped your lips  and nudged his cheek with your feet. 

You let your body go limp and collapsed beside him on the floor. You couldn’t feel your legs anymore, nor your arms, tremors running through every limb in your body. Sweat dripped down your body and you tried to remind yourself how to breathe.

You  thought you had imagined it, but you felt a faint touch on your ankle. You strained your neck to look at Toji, and sure enough he was grazing your feet with his fingers. You tilted your head to look at his cock and it was slowly hardening again. A disbelieving scoff escaped your lips and nudged his cheek with your feet. He kissed the pads of your toes one by one, the inebriating look spreading from him infecting you again. 

“What the fuck was that drug?” 

Toji propped himself up with his arms to drink in your body. The bite marks and handprints were already forming, and he would’ve felt bad if it wasn’t for the widening grin on your face. 

“Wanna go again?”

“As long as we’re on the bed. You know, the soft bouncy thing over there?” 

Toji scooped you from the floor, walked over to the bed and tried to climb on top of you. You raised your foot to plant in the middle of his chest, pushing him back until he supine. You always enjoyed the display from above.

“How long is this supposed to last?” You pecked his cheek. He wanted to kiss you back, trying to catch your lips while you dodged them and left teasing touches down his chest. 

“I have no idea,” he groaned. “Are you too tired?”

“Not even a little bit,” you smirked. “You can finally keep up with me.”

[simenapule]

Set Zatara It 's a set with autumnal and country tones.

Include 8 meshes

- Bowls - Cotton Cloth - Dried Flowers - Flour Canister - Sugar Canister - Galvanized Gathering Pan - Ladle Holder - Windows Deco

Download at TSR

[echoing--stars]

ok picture this: Wars is an absolute MENACE. He goes to bake and Rowan just so happens to check the expiration date on let's say his baking powder which may be 20 plus years old....

just pulling ideas outta thin air ya know not targeted at all

Totally not going out of order to post this one today while it's fresh nope not at all

This was supposed to be crack, but it's mostly just very sweet! It is also based on a true story of a beloved friend using baking powder that is older than they are. I will be kind and not call them out though XD

This one also got long. It's longer than some of my fics on ao3 I'm pretty sure! And I remembered to use a read more line break this time!

(If you read this and would like to request a supposedly short snippet, see this post!)

Link thought that Rowan would be proud of him. He’d read the recipe twice — twice! — before starting. He’d taken out all the ingredients and all the equipment he needed. He’d only had to dig for a few things, but he’d bought the chocolate and butter that he knew they were out of yesterday.  If he’d misread the recipe yesterday and thought he’d needed baking soda instead of baking powder, well, no one had to know except himself. They’d use the extra baking soda someday. He assumed. And he’d found some baking powder anyways so what did it matter? He cracked the eggs in a bowl and made sure no pieces of shells were left in them. He measured out the sugars and dumped them in the mixing bowl along with the sticks of butter (and yes, he had remembered to take them out of the fridge that morning) and added two teaspoons of vanilla.

Link put the eggs and the sugar canisters away and then wiped the sugar residue out of the measuring cups he’d used. Rowan had talked about the importance of cleaning as you go and keeping a tidy workspace, after all. Next was measuring the dry ingredients. He started with the smaller measurements, putting them in a small ramekin for now. If he put them on the bottom of the bigger bowl, they wouldn’t mix well.  Another thing that Rowan had taught him was how to properly measure flour for baking. If you couldn’t weigh it, then you should spoon it into the cup and then level it. But was it really that important? Link thought for a moment, then shook his head. This was a simple cookie recipe, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He dunked the measuring cup into the bag of flour and scooped some up. He smooshed it against the side of the bag to even out the flour and — Knock knock! Link dropped the measuring cup into the bag of flour and grabbed his phone. Had one of his roommates forgotten their keys? It was too early for Rowan to be here, he wasn’t supposed to be off work for another hour. There was another knock and Link wiped his hands on a paper towel before heading to the door. He unlocked it but left the chain on, opening it just enough to see who was on the other side. “Rowan?” His boyfriend smiled sheepishly, and Link shut the door to undo the chain before letting Rowan in. “There’s a peephole for a reason, you know.” “That’s less dramatic.” “Whatever you say, Link.” Rowan pulled him into a brief hug, and when they pulled away, Link pressed a kiss against his lips. Rowan smiled into the kiss, and Link laughed as they pulled apart again. He turned to head back into the kitchen. “Why are you here so early? I thought you were at work until seven.” “It was slow today, so I left early.” Rowan dropped onto one of the bar stools at the counter. “What are you making?” Link blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to make you cookies. I’m sure they won’t be anything fancy, not what you make, but—” “They’ll be perfect, Link.” Link’s cheeks heated even more, and he turned back to the bag of flour. Now was not the time to flirt. Not even if Rowan looked extra cute with his hair coming undone from the bun he normally kept it in and the soft sweater and… He shook his head. No time for distractions. Now that Rowan was watching, Link measured the flour right. He took the spoon he’d left out and scooped the flour into the cup and leveled it with a spatula. He dumped it into the mixing bowl and started on the next cup.

Rowan was fidgeting in his seat while Link worked. Link tried to ignore him, to concentrate on what he was doing. But it wasn’t exactly easy. He’d just dumped the second cup of flour into the bowl when Rowan stood and walked around to Link’s side of the counter. He stood behind Link and wrapped his arms around Link’s waist, leaning down until he could tuck his chin over Link’s shoulder. “Rowan, you’re going to distract me.” “But I missed you!” Link hummed and tilted his head to the side until their cheeks were touching. The position was a bit awkward, but Link wouldn’t trade it for the world. After a few moments, Link got back to work. He grabbed the whisk and stirred the flour briefly. Rowan’s arms tensed around him briefly, making Link pause. Rowan pressed against his back as he reached towards the canister of baking powder still on the counter. Link took a small step forward to make it easier for Rowan to reach it and grabbed the ramekin of salt and baking powder he’d measured out earlier.

“Why are you using baking powder?” Link paused and let his hand fall to the counter. “That’s what the recipe says?” “Where’s the recipe?” Link gestured to the bag of chocolate chips. “The one on the back.” Rowan stepped away from Link’s back and grabbed the bag. He scanned the recipe before looking back at Link. “It says soda, hon. Most recipes like this use baking soda.” Link grabbed the bag from Rowan’s hands and squinted at the label. Had he been correct yesterday after all? “I swear I read this like three times!” Rowan laughed — the audacity — and shook his head. “You guys have baking soda right?” “I bought some yesterday.” Rowan raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question him. Link dumped out the ramekin into the trash while Rowan grabbed the can of baking powder to put it away. “Link, where did you get this baking powder?” “Huh? I found it in the cupboard. Why?” “Link. Link, this is expired.” Link turned around. Rowan was holding the can upside down and frowning down at it. “Oh. Stuff is usually okay to use past the expiration date. And besides, Time used it a few months ago I’m pretty sure.” Not that the whatever he’d been attempting to make had turned out well. But Time had never been good in the kitchen, at least not without his girlfriend to supervise. Link couldn’t reasonably blame the baking powder for that. “No, Link.” Rowan shook his head. “This expired over 20 years ago.” “That’s not possible.” Rowan held out the can for Link to take. And just as he’d said, the date on the bottom read Nov 97. “What in the fuck?” Rowan burst into laughter. “You were a toddler when this was purchased!” Link dropped the can on the counter. “Stop laughing! It’s not my fault!” “Was it here when you moved?” “How am I supposed to know? I assumed Time or Twilight bought it.” “They’ve only lived here, what? A few years? Did one of them inherit this can from their parents?”  Link sunk to the floor, head in his hands. That only made Rowan laugh harder, until he was nearly wheezing. Link could feel how red he was, his cheeks flushed from the embarrassment. “Rowan, how I supposed to know?” Link flopped onto the floor, hands still on his cheeks. He was glad that he’d mopped earlier before this whole fiasco. “This can looks like it’s from the 90s, Link. It’s all yellow and faded.” “Maybe that’s just what baking powder looks like. You’re the baker here, not me.” Okay, now he knew he was just whining. It’s not like he’d already made the cookies. Rowan knelt down next to him, his laughter finally fading. His cheeks were as red as Link’s felt. “I know, and it was very sweet of you to try. Do you want to finish?”

[liaromancewriter]

Sweet Cravings

Premise: Sienna’s late-night cravings won’t leave her alone.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Sienna Trinh x Max Valentine (M!OC) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Words: 785

A/N: Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge March, dialogue prompt "Is it too late to start over?"

She wanted a cookie, and it was just her luck they were all out.

Sienna Valentine placed her hands on her hips and scowled at the empty shelf in the kitchen pantry. Her brown eyes narrowed in concentration as if she could magically make the box of her favorite brand of cookies appear.

When that didn’t work, she growled in frustration. Literally. The sound resembled a lioness unhappy with her pride. Sienna wouldn’t have made the connection, but she’d just finished watching a documentary about lions on the Animal Channel.

Her pregnancy was far enough along that every little thing annoyed her, from feeling fat and ugly to swollen feet and a lingering ache at the small of her back she could never quite reach. Lately, their little bean had taken to somersaulting in the middle of the night, so sleep was a distant and fond memory.

If she didn’t love Max so much, she’d surely leave him for putting her in this position.

Deciding that nothing would do but make herself the damn cookies, Sienna reached inside the pantry for the baking supplies she always kept at hand. And then stopped when she saw the flour on the lower shelf.

Beetling her brows in frustration, she stared at the canister and then her protruding belly. Lately, bending down was an exercise in patience and rationalizing if the thing she dropped was really worth keeping. She meant to ask Max to move everything to the middle shelf, but it had slipped her mind.

Sienna started to ease herself down, just enough to grab the flour, but her stomach kept getting in the way. Maybe if she…nope, that wouldn’t do. Or she could…. No, that was clearly a bad idea, she thought as she felt a cramp in her thighs.

She huffed in annoyance and threw her hands up in the air, grumbling under her breath about the indignities of being pregnant. As if waddling and peeing every five minutes wasn’t bad enough, now she couldn’t even fill a late-night craving without becoming a contortionist.

“What are you doing?”

She held back a yelp, barely, as she turned around to see Max leaning against the kitchen entrance. Dressed in a tee shirt and sleep pants, messy hair stuck up in spikes, he yawned and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

“Iwantcookiesbutwe’realloutandIcan’tgrabtheflourtobakesomebecausesomeidiotputitonthebottomshelfandmybackhurts,” she whined, the words rushing out in a long, breathless sentence.

She must have surprised him, for his eyes went wide, and he tripped over his feet as he straightened from the wall.

“Why do you need cookies at,” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “two-thirty in the morning?”

“I’m pregnant,” she said in a steely tone, implying he’d better be smart enough not to argue.

Max clearly wasn’t that smart.

“And?”

“And your son won’t let me sleep, and I’m hungry! Any other questions you want to ask the pissed-off pregnant lady?” Sienna challenged, folding her arms under her breasts and raising her chin, eyes fired up.

"Is it too late to start over?" Max said in a conciliatory tone, holding up his hands for emphasis. “I’m sorry for being an idiot.”

He padded cautiously toward her, much like the lion in the documentary. When he was close enough, he reached for her hands and tugged her into his arms.

Sienna wanted to pull away, ride high on indignation, to resist his charms. She really did. But then he started massaging her lower back. And she melted into him, letting him take her weight, a sigh of relief escaping as his clever fingers eased the ache that had settled in the groove above her hips.

“Yes, just like that,” she moaned as his thumb pressed against a particularly stubborn spot.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you said when I got us into his mess,” Max joked, and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

He was probably right, but she had long suspected that her impulsive seduction of him after a heated argument was the conception point.

“If you’re really craving cookies,” his breath brushed against her ear, “there’s a twenty-four-hour CVS on Dupont.”

Sienna lifted her head off his chest and gazed at him with puppy-dog eyes, smiling cajolingly.

He sighed. “Looks like I’m making a CVS run.”

“My hero!” Sienna gushed, stretching on her toes to kiss the underside of his jaw.

Later, Sienna bit into the gooey chocolate cookie and hummed in pleasure as the flavor exploded on her tongue. She glanced sideways at Max, who had dropped onto the couch and promptly closed his eyes.

She silently chortled. Being pregnant wasn’t so bad as long as she had a hot husband to massage her back and fetch her cookies on demand.

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

All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @justyourusualash @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Max & Sienna only: @aallotarenunelma @storyofmychoices @kyra75

[dnschmidt]

Girlfriend Flour

A friend came over for dinner and saw my canister with "GF Flour" on it. He asked, "What's girlfriend flour?"

I told him a long and rambling story about how German men woo women by bringing them special aphrodisiac flour and making a pastry called Hühneraffe. He was fascinated.

He'll probably be really annoyed with me when he realizes "GF" is just gluten free.

[queerdiazs]

fuck it friday 🫧

i don't have anything to put the fuck in fuck it friday (which, nuts, but i'm so stoked because i'm writing stuff that's not porn for once) but i do have eddie and chim being silly goofy brothers so!!! enjoy!!!

Chim makes a noise and grabs a ten pound bag of gummy bears instead. “What makes you think it’s a good idea?”  Eddie shrugs, wondering if keeping the gummy bears and having a handful at the station when he wakes up from a nap is worth receiving Bobby’s patented disappointed look. “Maybe it’s not a good idea, but I have to do something,” he replies, deciding that, yes, the gummy bear are so worth it. “She’s mean to me, Chim.”  “You sound like Jee.”  Eddie flaps his hand at Chim and turns the corner into another aisle. “You’re so funny, man.” He picks through the several different kinds of flour, searching for the kind Bobby’s particular about. “She singles me out and makes me look bad in front of my neighbors. I haven’t even met any of them.” “Maybe they’re scared of you. Have you thought of that? You keep odd hours, your truck is big, and you listen to country music. ”   “I listen to good country music, you jackass.”  And he does. He’ll be damned if anybody associates him with Jason Aldean—fuck that dude, fuck his little buddies, and fuck all they stand for. Every single one of them. In the words of Kris Kristofferson, a legend—people like Toby Keith and his alt-right patriotism have done to country music what pantyhose did to fingerfucking.  (Oh, God. Is that Eddie’s Roman Empire? Chris is going to have a heyday.)  “Semantics.”  “I’ll show—” he starts, stops, takes a deep breath to calm down. “The next time you walk in front of this cart, I’m fucking up your heels.” He crosses his chest.  “See? That’s what I’m talking about. You’re weird.”  Eddie swerves the cart toward Chim, loud and rickety. “Swear on my life, Chim.” Chim dances out of the way. “You should probably swear on something else, pal,” he says, laughing loudly when Eddie veers the cart his way again. They make a commotion, gathering the attention of a few others down the aisle, and sheepishly apologize. “Have you talked with Buck about it?”  “No,” Eddie replies, sighing. He grabs a few canisters of unsweetened cocoa, adding it on top of Chim’s addition of sugar free pudding. “It kinda slipped my mind.” 

i was tagged by @callaplums, @honestlydarkprincess, @hippolotamus, @jesuisici33, @try-set-me-on-fire, @exhuastedpigeon, @wikiangela, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @callmenewbie, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @giddyupbuck, @thewolvesof1998, and @daffi-990 mwah 🫶🏼

it's late so i'm only tagging @eddiediaztho because i sent britt a lil bit of this scene last night and she was excited for it, which wow, and i need her to see it so she can gush praise at me BUT PLEASE everybody consider yourself tagged by me i'm so fuckin serious mwah

[unofficial-book-of-quotes-tm]

Joe Lycett: Well, we were confident and then we thought, 'Let's throw a trestle table off the bandstand'. Greg Davies: And I thought the trestle table was madness, but in case you didn't catch it, what Noel threw off was a full gas canister.

Joe Lycett, Greg Davies (series 04, episode 02: Look at me) Land the flour on the target.