#it was up to You to hold on. and not fly off the saucer and into the abyss

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Summary: June brings the end of Harris's preschool career and the official beginning of your new life as a family of three--with a little help from your friends, of course.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), p in v, mentions of phone sex, grief and loss

WC: 7.8k

Chapter 20/20

A/N: With the official end of Trapped Under Ice, I am now opening up requests in the TUI universe. Thank you all for taking this journey with me as I processed my own grief. As long as you keep requesting, I will continue writing for our little family 💚

Thank you to @rip-quizilla for making that scene stronger. Ily, bb.

Divider credit to @saradika

The diner is bustling with customers, happily chatting over stacks of pancakes and overstuffed omelets. Coffee carafes clink against chipped mugs as the waitstaff pours refill after refill. 

You weave through the rows of tables, careful not to bump into servers balancing trays of food or busboys carrying the used dishes and silverware. A small yellow gift bag is clutched in your hand, and you hold it to your chest to protect its fragile contents. 

Harris spots you before you can see him; his little arm shoots up from where he’s tucked into the booth next to Wayne. 

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he frantically waves, his grin wide enough to stretch off of his cheeks. “Over here!”

You laugh, watching as Eddie scoots from the middle of the seat to the end, making room for you to sit down. There are two steaming cups on his side of the table, centered on little saucers that are likely older than you are. 

“Morning, baby,” he greets you with a smile, leaning in to give you a small kiss—no tongue, of course—as you slide in next to him. “You sleep okay last night?”

You nod sheepishly, remembering the phone conversation the two of you had had, well after Harris fell asleep. Eddie’s sultry voice had guided you through touching yourself; the next-best thing to having his own fingers inside you. 

“Wish I could be there right now,” he’d murmured into the receiver, so low that you could barely hear him. The faint sound of his own fly being lowered punctuated his words. “Wanna make you feel so good, Sweetheart, but I know you’re being a good girl f’me tonight, aren’t you?”

You bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping to blame the heat creeping up your face on the drink, and take a hearty sip. It’s a little sweet, but mostly bitter. Just how you like it. 

The crinkling tissue paper as you lean back in the booth draws your attention to your company and away from your indulgent memories. “Happy Father’s Day, Eddie,” you kiss him on the cheek, your lipstick tinting his stubble pink. “This is from me and Harris. Be careful with it.” There’s a deliberate vagueness in your warning, not wanting to spoil the surprise. 

Eddie cocks his brow, clearly not expecting any sort of present from you. Shocking, considering you’d taken Harris to the Paint-n-Play on Wednesday during your usual tutoring session time, and you’d figured he would have spilled the beans as soon as he and his dad had a moment alone. He rustles around the bag with dramatic flourish, trying to build anticipation but only succeeding in testing Harris’s patience.

“Open it, Daddy! Open it!” Harris bounces up and down in his seat, mouth sticky and teeth tinted purple with grape juice as he urges Eddie to stop dragging out the process. Wayne discreetly places his palm behind his grandson’s scalp, protecting his head in case he rocks too far back. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart did it together!”

“You did, huh?” Eddie chuckles, pulling out a ceramic mug. It’s painted sky blue, and Harris had insisted on making purple polka dots, splotchy as he’d haphazardly dunked the brush in paint and pressed it to the plaster. Written in bright orange blocky letters is DAD; you’d helped him sound out duhh-ahhh-duhh, his little tongue poking out in complete concentration. Your only visible contribution is the tiny green 1997 painted along the handle, marking the first year you’d celebrated Father’s Day together.

The multitude of complementary colors and mismatched designs should clash. The dots look more like disfigured spiders than circles. The 7 you’d carefully written with a fine-tipped brush is slightly smudged from where Harris had picked up the mug before it had fully dried, and there’s an extra curving line extending from the first D in DAD after he’d started writing the letter backwards.

To Eddie, it’s perfect.

“I love it.” Brown eyes find his son’s hopeful gaze that eagerly awaits his father’s reaction. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.” He places the mug on the table next to the coffee-filled one in front of him, tipping its contents into his gift. A few drops dribble down the side, but most of it ends up where it should. A success, in his opinion. He takes a hearty gulp, not caring that the hot liquid singes his taste buds. “Is this magic?” He holds the mug up to his face, studying it like it’s a precious stone. “Because, I swear, it makes this coffee taste better.”

The little boy beams, exchanging an elated glance with you. “Ms. Sweetheart, did you put magic in it?”

Eddie chimes in before you can respond. “I bet she did. She’s sneaky with it; always sprinkling it where you least expect.” His empty hand finds your thigh underneath the table, silently claiming it as his own. “I don’t know how she does it,” he muses wistfully, adding another sugar packet to the mug and swirling it with a spoon until it’s dissolved. Like it was always part of the coffee from the jump. 

“Speaking of presents,” Wayne chimes in, unearthing a tiny, newspaper-wrapped package from his jacket pocket and handing it to his nephew. “‘S, not much, but it’s a Father’s-Day-slash-housewarming gift for ya.” 

“I thought we agreed on no gifts,” Eddie shakes his head, suddenly self-conscious about arriving empty-handed. 

“Well, I lied.”

Wayne watches as Eddie tears into the paper. Whatever home run or double-header had made the front page of the sports section is irrelevant compared to the mystery item that is snugly tucked between baseball stats and the upcoming game schedule. 

A small gasp leaves his mouth as he unwraps a wallet-sized picture frame; the word family is etched into the wood right above the plastic-protected photo. 

It’s from Harris’s bowling party; the one Wayne had taken of you and Eddie on either side of the birthday boy. Happiness radiates off of the three of you with such intensity that it seems impossible for it to be captured in a still frame. He’d forgotten that Wayne had even snapped it.

“Wayne, I…” Eddie struggles to find the words he needs to properly convey his feelings. The tip of his nose burns with the anticipated influx of emotions. “I’m gonna put it right next to my alarm clock, so it’s the first thing I see every morning.” 

You lay your head on his shoulder, the edge of his lips finding your forehead in a half-kiss. He soaks in the comfort you bring, absorbing it through every pore as he exhales and feels himself relax.

The waitress comes over with a notepad and a smile. “You folks ready to order?” She clicks her pen, poised to jot down what the four of you want to eat.

“Chicken fingers, please!” Harris announces, perching up on his knees and leaning his elbows on the table. “With French fries!”

The waitress, whose name tag reads Bee, offers a sympathetic smile and a soft click of her tongue. “I’m sorry, buddy. We don’t start serving lunch until 11:30.”

The boy’s lower lip quivers at the news, having his heart set on eating his favorite food. You can see his perfectly curated routine begin to crumble, taking his excitement with it. “But…but I even said ‘please!’” he insists, voice cracking. 

You step in quickly, wanting to salvage the Father’s Day celebration before Hurricane Harris can brew up a storm. “Hey, Har, I know you’re disappointed about the chicken fingers, but I have a super special idea.”

“Wh-What?” Misty eyes indicate that tears still threaten to spill over his lashes. 

“When Grandma used to take me to the diner, we used to split silver dollars. They’re pancakes, just smaller.” You take a deep breath and smile, hoping and praying that your plan works. “Would you like to share some silver dollars with me? And we can come back and get chicken fingers another time.”

Harris considers your proposition, rubbing his hands together along his knuckles to soothe himself. Finally, he says, “Can we eat them with syrup?”

“That sounds delicious.” You lean over and ruffle his hair, careful not to let any loose strands land on the table. “You wanna tell the waitress?”

“Mmkay,” he nods, turning to Bee and smiling. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are gonna have the, um, little pancakes.” He frowns, unable to remember the dish’s name. “The dollars?”

Bee laughs and nods, jotting it on her notepad. “An order of silver dollar pancakes, coming right up. And for you gentlemen?” She brings her attention to Eddie and Wayne. 

The older man clears his throat, ordering a Western omelet with home fries and rye toast. Eddie asks for the same but with white bread. “And a refill on the coffee,” he adds. 

Bee promises to be back shortly with the food, and the four of you resume your conversation. 

“We’ll get to take a new picture next week at someone’s graduation,” you say with a smile, looking in Harris’s direction. “Are you excited, Har Bear?”

Harris takes another messy sip of grape juice. “Uh-huh. I’m gonna go to kindergarten soon! But first is summer.” 

“Summer first, then kindergarten,” you agree, sipping your coffee before it gets cold. You’re no stranger to it, often setting down your to-go cup at work and forgetting about it until well after morning circle time, but you relish any chance you get to enjoy it while it’s still warm. “I was thinking: once you and Daddy are all moved in, we should make plans for this summer. Like the zoo, or the pool…”

“Yeah!” Harris claps his hands together and grins. “Or Disney World!”

Eddie’s ears perk up at his son’s suggestion. “Not this year, but maybe soon.” If he can continue moving up the ranks at the record store, coupled with the two of you splitting rent, it might even happen next year, but he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t guarantee he’ll keep. “And we’ll drag Grampa Wayne with us.”

Wayne responds with a shake of his head. “You’re outta your mind if you think I’m goin’ on any of those roller coasters.”

“You’re gonna sit and ride It’s a Small World the whole day?” Eddie teases, leaning back in his seat. 

“Damn straight.”

The food comes out ten minutes later, steaming plates carefully placed on the table. You cut the silver dollar pancakes into bite-size pieces, pushing half to the side nearest Harris and the other half closest to you. A glass syrup carafe waits to be used, its handle sticky with residue. 

“Say when,” you tell Harris, drizzling it back and forth across the plate. He waits until the pancakes are drenched before stopping you.

You watch as he uses his fork to spear some pancake, pops it in his mouth, and chews thoughtfully. “It’s yummy!” he declares triumphantly, already scanning the plate for his next piece. “This is my favorite food ever!”

You, Eddie, and Wayne share smiles; none of you take his declaration too seriously, knowing he changes his favorite anythings on an hourly basis. Still, a win is a win, and avoiding a chicken finger-induced tantrum is no small feat. 

Eddie spreads a pat of butter over his toast, but his eyes never shift from you and Harris sharing breakfast. You’d asked him whether he prefers blueberries or chocolate chips in his pancakes, and the discussion quickly devolved into a competition to see who could come up with the grossest pancake addition. 

“How about…” Harris wiggles his nose, “broccoli pancakes?”

“Ew!” You stick out your tongue in disgust. “That was a good one, but I think I can top it. Would you eat…” you tap your chin in contemplation, “fish stick pancakes!”

Harris squeals, far from an inside voice, but no one wants to correct him. “That’s super yucky! Fish stick pancakes?!”

Eddie smiles, tucking into his own food. He wants to savor the joy, the warmth. The twinkle in Wayne’s eyes, the upturned corners of Harris’s lips, the trill of your laugh. He wishes he could capture the feeling, but a mental image will have to do. 

He inhales and allows himself to be wrapped in the unconditional love he had once convinced himself he didn’t want nor deserve. 

The Hawkins Preschool cafeteria has once again been transformed. The custodians folded the long tables, propping them against the wall, and set up rows of folding chairs, leaving a small aisle for the graduates’ families to find their seats. 

Other parents stare as Eddie walks in, perspiration prickling under his arms as he hears them whispering about the kid who ran away. It’s audible enough for Wayne to hear; he rests his hand on his nephew’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze before they take their seats. 

Jeff and Dustin arrive a few moments later, noticing Eddie and Wayne in the small crowd and shuffling over. Eddie pulls them each in for a quick hug, and Wayne does the same.

“Glad we made it,” Dustin says with a sigh of relief. “My flight got delayed half an hour, but we made up the time in the air.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “It didn’t help that we had to stop at a payphone so you could call your precious Suzie-Poo,” he huffs, but there’s a glimmer of a smile on his lips, proud of the way his friend cares so deeply for his partner. “Anyway, we’re here now.” He takes a seat next to Wayne, shifting so he can speak to Eddie. “Is Harris excited to graduate?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie laughs, shaking his head at the recent memory of his son prancing around the apartment that morning in his cap and gown, small body drowning in the flowing green fabric. In that instant, Eddie could picture him as a young man, crossing a much larger stage to receive his diploma from Hawkins High. If Higgins is still the principal, Eddie might have to teach Harris the family tradition of flipping him off. 

Sue Sinclair makes her way up the small staircase to the podium, adjusting the microphone so she speaks into it easily. “Good morning, parents, siblings, and other special guests. Welcome to Hawkins Preschool’s Moving Up ceremony.” She beams, holding for applause. Eddie eases back into his seat; he’s known Principal Sinclair for years, since Lucas had joined Hellfire, and she’d recently stepped up to take over teaching Harris’s class for the remaining weeks of the school year. After the little boy had given his statement to the police, Marion and Paula’s teaching licenses had been immediately terminated, and negligence charges were currently pending.

“Before we get started, I’d just like to make an announcement.” Sue Sinclair looks over to where your class is standing, patiently waiting their turn to receive their sticker-laden diplomas. “I am pleased to announce that our very own Mr. Will Byers,” she extends her hand in Will’s direction, “will be our newest head teacher starting this fall.”

Though everyone in attendance is clapping, it’s obvious that Eddie, Wayne, Jeff, and Dustin cheer the loudest. Will blushes red, unused to being the center of attention, but the smile on his face shows how excited he is to take on this new role. You wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind and pull him in for a proud hug.

“Our students have worked incredibly hard this year, learning their letters, numbers, and how to be a good friend,” the principal continues. “And though we will miss them dearly, we are thrilled to send them off to kindergarten with these new skills. So, without further ado, let’s bring out our graduates!”

The ceremony begins, starting with your class. You stand at one end of the stage, sending each student off to where Will is waiting at the other end as Principal Sinclair reads out each of their names. They take their certificates and pose with baby teeth on full display while their parents snap photos from disposable Kodaks and bulky Nikons. All the seemingly endless days, the menial fights over sharing toys; every moment was worth it if it led to this.

You usher the kids to their seats in the front row after your final student’s name is called, spotting Eddie in the crowd as you sit down. He winks, the corner of his eye mischievously crinkling. You smile, taking full advantage of the other parents’ distractedness and give him a little wave; the exchange a private love letter.

Both of you bring your attention back to the stage when Sue Sinclair calls up the next class. Harris stands towards the center of the line, excitement buzzing through him at a rate that cannot be contained. He rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels, back and forth as he awaits his turn. His brown ringlets poke out from underneath his cap, grazing just above his eyebrows. 

Principal Sinclair pauses, looking directly at Eddie when she speaks. She understands the gravity of this accomplishment, her lipsticked smile reaching her eyes as she leans in towards the microphone.

“Harris Munson!”

Eddie jumps up, hollering as loud as his vocal cords will allow. Harris accepts his diploma and smiles wide, both at his accomplishment and at the sound of his dad cheering him on. His expression further brightens when he sees Wayne, Dustin, and Jeff beside him, and he waves while jumping up and down.

He’s supposed to walk from stage left to stage right, just as all the students before him have done; in typical Harris fashion, he takes the road less traveled. With a mighty leap, he catapults himself off of the stage and makes a beeline straight for you.

Two little arms wrap themselves around you, squeezing you as tight as they can. The brim of his cap is flush against your cheek. “I did it, Ms. Sweetheart!” His words carry a lightheartedness that only a child’s joy can bring. “Did you see?” He picks his head up from where it was nestled against you and giggles, dimpled chin brushing your bicep.

You tilt the mortarboard slightly upward and press a kiss to his forehead. “I saw, Har,” you tell him, using your thumb to wipe away your lipstick print, “and I am so, so proud of you.” Readjusting his cap, you usher him over to where the rest of his class is standing, a garden of happiness blooming within you. 

You look back at where Eddie is sitting, wishing you could sit next to him, fingers laced together while his thumb caresses the side of your hand and grasping your hand tighter when Harris’s name is called. For now, it’s enough to know that you’ll be by his side throughout all of Harris’s future endeavors and accomplishments. A team. 

Eddie’s palms press into his slack-covered thighs as he peers over at you and grins. Bright, adoring eyes meet yours, speaking every thought that his mouth can’t say right now. I love you. Thank you. We couldn’t have done this without you.

You accept the wordless praise with a smile, one that reaches beyond its usual confines. 

Dustin notices the small exchange, and he nudges Eddie’s ribs with his elbow. “She’s the one, huh?” He cocks his eyebrow knowingly. 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie murmurs, no longer paying any attention to the remaining names being read aloud. “You ever think you’d see the day I settle down?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an ounce of insecurity behind them. 

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin nods without hesitation. “Always knew you would.” Carol Perkins shushes him from the row ahead, but he just flips her off and rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you remember that time in high school when we got sloshed—sorry, Wayne,” Jeff cuts in sheepishly, “and you went on a rant about how you secretly wanted the whole wife, kids, picket fence deal?”

“And I believe I threatened to kick your ass if you told anyone,” Eddie points out, embarrassment turning his face red, apparent even under the light stubble covering his cheeks. 

Wayne chuckles softly. “I already knew. About the dream and the booze.” He laughs a bit harder at Jeff and Eddie’s shocked expressions. “If you keep replacing vodka with water, eventually, it’s all just water.”

“Ya don’t say.” Dustin’s sarcasm bleeds through his whisper. 

Principal Sinclair reads the last student’s name with the same enthusiasm she’s given all of the other kids. “I now present to you, the Hawkins Preschool class of 1997!” She mimes tossing a cap in the air, the students’ cue to do the same. 

The fervor of the cheers and applause could shake the cafeteria. Whistles pierce the air and reverberate off of the walls, none louder than Wayne Munson’s. You stand up, smoothing the pleats of your dress to soak in the achievement of completing another academic year; for you, this one in a brand new school with more challenges than you’d cared to endure. 

You and Will take in the sight of nine cherubic faces looking up at you in admiration, though they’re beginning to shed their baby fat. This was certainly a journey, and you couldn’t have asked for a better teaching assistant to walk beside you through it all. 

“I’m gonna miss you next year,” you say, squeezing him in a tight hug. 

“I’ll be right down the hall!”

Begrudgingly, you let go of him, not losing the pout on your lips. “That’s way too far for me.” The two of you both know that you’re serious; it won’t be the same without having him in the classroom with you. “Can we try to match up our breaks and eat lunch together?”

“It’s a date,” Will laughs, then juts out his chin to motion behind you, “but it looks like I might have some competition.”

Before you can turn around, Eddie’s arms wrap around your waist. He tugs you in close so your back is flush against his chest, the buttons from his shirt pressing into your spine. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs in your ear, lips so close that they brush the lobe. “Are you ready to start your summer?”

You kiss his cheek, adjusting your stance so you can walk hand in hand to get Harris. He torpedoes himself into Eddie’s stomach, shrieking with laughter as he’s lifted into the air. 

“Har Bear, you’re a preschool graduate!” Eddie smacks a kiss to his son’s temple. “How should we celebrate, hmm? Ice cream? Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Ice cream!” Harris decides easily. “I’m gonna get cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles and—Uncle Dusty!” He squirms out of Eddie’s grasp and races over to Dustin. 

“What? I’m not an ice cream topping!” Dustin teases, crouching down to ruffle Harris’s curls, matted to his scalp from being hidden underneath the cap. 

Harris giggles. “You’re so silly!” He glances back and forth from him to you, and you realize he doesn’t know that you’d met in March at Will’s birthday party. “Uncle Dusty, this is Ms. Sweetheart. She’s my almost-mommy.”

“Ohh,” Dustin replies with a smirk, raising his eyebrows and nodding. “I think she needs to be your dad’s almost-wife first–”

“All right! Ice cream time!” Eddie hurries to cut him off, glaring at Dustin for bringing the idea to Harris’s attention again; he has constantly been hounding him about marriage ever since he found out about his newest living arrangements. The idea of marrying you, however, eases his tension and has a smile tugging on his lips; a slight switch in expression that his uncle spots easily.

Wayne’s gruff whisper is in Eddie’s ear. “Sounds like it’s time for an almost-proposal.”

“Shut up!”

“I think that’s the last of them!” Jeff calls out, lugging the final cardboard box from his car into your apartment. He wipes his hands on his jeans and closes the door behind him, careful not to wake up his sleeping daughter in Viv’s arms. He looks over at where you, Robin, and Jess have begun unpacking, laying Eddie’s clothes in one pile and Harris’s much smaller clothes in another.

Jeff places a kiss on the crown of Viv’s head, then plants an identical one on Ettie’s. “Where are the guys?” 

“Harris’s room,” you say; bittersweet taste tinging the new label. It feels better than Grandma’s old room, but part of it will always belong to her. You hear Harris giggle as Eddie and Dustin re-assemble his racecar bed, spreading warmth that gently softens the sadness until it resembles sentimentality. “I’ll come with you; I have to put this away, anyway.” You grab the pile of Harris’s clothes and tuck it under your arm.

Eddie and Dustin sit on the floor, rogue screws spread around them as they intently study their project.

“I think this piece,” Dustin muses, picking up one of the sides of the frame, “connects with this one like that…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, it’s the other way around.” He takes the screwdriver and twists the metal into the slot triumphantly. Your breath catches in your throat as his bicep flexes with the motion, perfectly displayed where his t-shirt sleeve had been cut into a makeshift tank top. “There we go.” He looks up and realizes you’re there, perfectly still as you watch him. “Hey, Sweetheart. Y’good?” There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye; though it was inadvertent, he knows what he’s doing to you.

You only nod, the movement dragging you out of your momentary stupor. He chuckles as you place Harris’s shirts and pants in the dresser, fingers clumsily slipping over the knobs. It’s the same unicorn-covered dresser that had sent Harris into hysterics a few weeks ago, but you’d painted over it before he could see. It’s now a dark navy blue, no evidence of what once lay beneath.

Eddie’s amused by your reaction and subsequent embarrassment, running his tongue over his teeth and chuckling to himself, but his victory is short-lived.

“Hey, Casanova,” Dustin’s exasperated voice cuts in, pointing to the section Eddie just assembled, “you put the piece on upside down.”

Harris crinkles his nose. “What’s Casanova?”

Eddie buries his head in his hands as Dustin scrambles to explain. “It means your dad is trying to show off his handyman skills for your almost-mommy.” He winks in Eddie’s direction before leaning in and exaggeratedly whispering in Harris’s ear, “but he’s not doing a very good job.”

As soon as Harris distracts himself with setting up his toys, Eddie is saluting his friend with a quick flip of his middle finger.

You crouch down, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Don’t worry; I’m very impressed.” He blushes when you kiss his cheek. “Your uncle’s going to be here with dinner in a few minutes, if you burly men want to wash up.”

Eddie nods, turning to his friends and his son and speaking in a deep baritone. “You heard the woman! Let us refuel so we may regain our strength for hunting and other masculine activities.”

Harris’s brows pinch together in further confusion while you and Dustin share an eyeroll, but the three of you follow your fearless leader out of the room. Eddie lets the two of them pass and waits for you, sliding a coy hand in your back pocket and murmuring against your hair. “Man and woman make fire in bedroom later?” He continues using the deepened voice.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s…that’s not a no, though, right?”

The summer sun is still high in the sky when Wayne arrives at the apartment, three pizza boxes still warm in his palms. He’s barely able to put them on the table before Harris is racing towards him, ready to give a full report of the goings-on of his day. 

Jess sits at the table, baby Ettie laying in her arms while she gives Viv a break and feeds her from a bottle. You place a piece of pizza on the paper plate in front of her, and one in front of Robin, who adoringly watches her girlfriend dote on a baby. Wayne sits in the third seat, thanking you with his kind smile as you pass him a slice.

You join Eddie and Harris on the couch; Jeff plops down in the La-Z-Boy on the other side of the coffee table, motioning for Viv to sit atop his legs, while Dustin has seemingly been relegated to sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Uncle Dusty, come sit next to me!” Harris chirps, nearly knocking your plate out of your hand as he bounces onto your lap. His curls tickle your chin as he leans over to take a bite of his dinner, dragging the cheese halfway off of the crust before Eddie holds it in place. 

Dustin obliges, squishing in next to you with an apologetic laugh, but you don’t mind. Dialogue melds together, with people seamlessly leaping from one conversation to another. Robin poses the question of what everyone thinks Ettie’s first word will be, which prompts Wayne to tell the story about how Eddie tried so hard to get Harris to say dada, only for the boy to scream out “SHIT!” in the middle of Bradley’s Big Buy. 

Jeff looks across the room at his tiny daughter. “Please don’t let that be your first word,” he jokingly begs her, picking a greasy pepperoni piece from his slice and dropping it in his mouth. While he’s preoccupied, Viv steals a bite of the crust. 

“Are you all going to the July 4th carnival next week?” Eddie asks through a cheesy mouthful. 

Everyone except Dustin answers in the affirmative. “Flying back home tomorrow,” he says, a round of booing from the group forcing him to pause mid-statement, “but Suzie and I are—hey, not cool!” He swats at a crumpled napkin that Eddie lobs at his head. “Suzie and I are going to try and visit for my mom’s birthday in August,” he finishes with a pointed look. 

Harris tilts his head back so you can see straight into his flared nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart, you’re coming to the carnival with us, right?”

“Of course! What rides are we gonna go on?” you ask, his little feet kicking at your calves as joy flows through his body. 

“The Ferris Wheel! Me an’ Daddy always go on that, an’ now you can come with us!”

He and Eddie always go on the Ferris Wheel. It’s a tradition that they share, and now they’re allowing you in. Now you’re part of it. 

You smile, kissing his forehead in a celebration of belonging and delight. “That sounds like a lot of fun,” you agree. “Do you think Daddy will play the games and win a prize for us?”

Eddie groans at your suggestion. “Those booths are all rigged. Every last one of ‘em.”

“I dunno,” Jess says teasingly, wiping Ettie’s chin with a cloth bib, “I won a stuffed animal from the whack-a-mole last year—”

“Oh, yeah! And I beat the Test Your Strength one,” Jeff adds slyly, getting a rise out of proving Eddie wrong. 

Eddie throws his voice to a falsetto, mocking his friend’s words. “I beat the Test Your Strength one,” he echoes nasally, chuckling when Jeff scoops up the napkin previously thrown at Dustin and hurls it towards Eddie. 

The rest of the evening continues like this, silly banter and recalled stories that end up being cut short or watered down for the impressionable ears listening in. It’s love in its many forms: between partners, between parents and their children, between friends. Each peal of laughter, each shared smile, each memory made adds to its foundation; brick by brick, layer by layer. 

The pink hues of sunset darken to indigo and eventually settle into a night sky, the moon shining brightly and unobscured by clouds. Eddie, Jeff, and Dustin finally manage to put the race car bed back together—and just in time. Harris’s yawns become more frequent until he can no longer fight sleep, dozing off with his cheek pressed against your chest. Soft snores leave his slightly agape mouth. 

“I feel the same way,” Wayne jokes, standing up from his chair and stretching his back with a grimace. “It’s been a long day.”

The group nods in agreement, quietly gathering their belongings and saying good-bye. 

“Thank you all for helping today,” you say, handing out hugs while keeping Harris sound asleep. He stirs but doesn’t fully wake up, even with all of the commotion. “We really appreciate it.”

Eddie seconds your sentiment. “It means a lot to us. We know we owe you a lot more than just dinner—”

“You guys are family,” Viv interrupts with a smile, gently rocking a sleeping Ettie in her arms. “This is what family does.”

A calloused hand rests on your shoulder from behind the couch; you lean your head on Eddie’s forearm and give it a small kiss. The delicate hairs brush against your lips, and you relax into his touch.

Your guests file out, already making plans to meet up at the carnival. Eddie closes the door behind them, insisting that he can beat Jeff at the Test Your Strength and demanding that his friend buy him a funnel cake when he does.

There’s a soft murmuring coming from Harris’s room, and Eddie walks as quietly as he can. He watches silently, shoulder pressed against the doorframe, as you place his son’s head onto the pillow. The crisp sheet is draped over his sleeping body, followed by the Buzz Lightyear comforter you’d bought at Kmart especially for him. Harris stirs for a moment to grab onto the blankets, tugging them to his chin and scrunching up his legs to assume a cozier position. He lets out a content sigh and slips back into his dream.

“Good night, kiddo,” you whisper, kissing his mop of curls. You look around the room, so different from when it belonged to Grandma. It seems larger, his race car bed taking up much less space than her queen-size bed did. A Lego set lies where her shoe rack once stood. The top of his dresser is covered in Hot Wheels, rather than the makeup and jewelry that Grandma had on hers. 

But it’s a good kind of different, one that comes with the natural ebb and flow of life. It brings inevitable change, and it’s your choice whether to embrace it or run away.

“You’re a natural at this bedtime thing, y’know.” Eddie’s voice, low and soft, places you back in the moment. He holds his arms out for you to nestle into them, holding you as close as he can. His thumb caresses your shoulder blade. “It normally takes a couple of stories, half a dozen pee breaks, and a horse tranquilizer to get him down.”

“I think being completely exhausted from moving helped,” you laugh into his chest. “And I’m right there with him. Man and woman might have to postpone their fire-making.”

Eddie’s chuckle vibrates against you. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be my best performance. Wanna make this one really good, since it’s a special occasion and everything.” He closes Harris’s door and leads you to the bedroom you two now share. “We gotta christen this bad boy.”

“We’ve had sex on this bed a million times.” You recall the ways his lips traced over your body, eager to memorize every inch of skin. 

“But that’s when it was only your bed,” he points out. “Now it’s ours.”

Ours. Our bed, our home, our family. Ours. 

You can barely change into pajamas before you’re falling asleep; Eddie manages to slip off his jeans and shirt, clad in plaid boxers and nothing else, before crashing down into the bed you now share. His arm slips around your waist, fingers reflexively dancing up your shirt, while he buries his head in the nape of your neck. 

When daylight breaks and the sun streams through the gaps in the blinds, Eddie has assumed a starfish position, blankets flung to the edge of the bed in what must have been a middle-of-the-night move. You’re still dozing, but he knows he has to wake you if he wants to sneak in some alone time before his son wakes up.

“Morning, gorgeous.” His breath tickles under your earlobe, pulling you close to him. You hum, not quite awake but no longer dreaming. “C’mon, wake up, pretty thing.” He licks his lips before kissing the exposed skin of your shoulder blades. 

Wiping sleep from your eyes, you turn over and face him. Your mouth lazily finds his, the cotton fabric of your pajama top fisted in his grasp. The outline of his morning wood is visible through his boxer shorts; it presses into your thigh as though greedily searching for your warmth. “You always wake up this hard?” you tease, fingertips already fiddling with the worn elastic waistband and dipping towards the treasure beneath. The scruff of his pubic hair grazes your knuckles. 

“Only when I dream of you,” he mumbles with a cheeky grin, climbing on top of you while shedding his only clothing article. The boxers fall to the floor unceremoniously. 

“Smooth.”

“I thought so.” Both hands cup your cheeks; you expect him to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Love waking up next to you.”

It draws a memory of the first morning you’d spent together; an inadvertent sleepover that culminated in one poorly-crafted lie and two broken hearts. He looks at you now, tired and yet still beautiful. How could I have let her slip by? How did I almost miss all of this?

You take the lead this time, arching your back so your torso melds into his, connected by desire. Eddie has your tank top off in a heartbeat, tongue swiping over your nipples the instant they’re visible. 

“Perfect,” Eddie groans, making his way down your abdomen. He places your legs on top of his shoulders, lips delicately fluttering over your clit so he can lick a broad stripe up your labia. “I know we should be having a quickie, but I can’t turn down breakfast in bed.” His face is buried in your pussy, inhaling your scent and committing it to memory. 

You giggle at his phrasing. If you question it, you know he’ll make a comment about you being good enough to eat. You give in instead, letting him ravish you just the way you both crave. 

One finger, then two, slip into your waiting cunt while his mouth focuses on your clit. You’re dripping with your arousal and his saliva; you bite your lower lip to stifle the noises begging to be heard. 

“Eddie, Eddie,” you croak, trying to keep your voice down. “I’m so close, s-so close…”

Eddie says nothing, continuing to worship the taste of you. You can feel his victorious smile as you cry out his name in orgasmic bliss, toes flexing just as he brings you down from the high. 

“Need you, fuckin’ Christ,” he breathes, tempering the stimulation pulsing through his cock with a few short tugs. 

You nod, already electrified at the prospect of being split open on him. He sinks into you with a muted moan, savoring the way you envelop him within your warmth. “All mine, Sweetheart; you’re all mine.”

“Mhm,” you manage. Your fingernails dig into his upper back with a force that will surely leave crescent indents in his skin. “I’m all yours. Always will be.”

His thumb runs along your jaw and he smiles. She’s all mine.

The ridges of his dick form a delectable friction along your walls. Each thrust is a mutual give and take, an exchanging of selves with every breath. 

“I love you.” Eddie’s impossibly beautiful like this, hands holding your hips steady while sweat drips from his forehead onto yours. He brings your fourth finger between his lips; you can feel his tongue claiming it as his own. “And I’m gonna put a ring on this pretty little finger of yours, okay? Just want it to be perfect for you.”

You weave your fingers into his sleep-mussed curls and kiss him. “Don’t need perfect. I’ll marry you without a ring.” Whatever elaborate fairytale wedding you’d been crafting in your head is suddenly wholly unnecessary; all that matters is that you and Eddie commit to one another. But you know him well enough to not question his devotion to you. If Eddie Munson wants to give you the proposal of a lifetime, then that’s what he’s going to do. 

There will be no unkept promises this morning, no shattered hearts to mend.

He can’t hold back any longer, spilling into you with punctuating grunts. You receive every last drop gratefully, a part of him within you, and you finish for the second time today. 

“I meant it.” He gently withdraws from inside you, both of you mourning the loss of the other’s body. “When I said I’m gonna marry you, I meant it.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Eddie grins, laying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. Sweat glistens along the sparse hairs curling over his bare chest. “Are you hungry? I know I worked up an appetite.”

You kiss his nose, biting the end teasingly. He yelps in mock pain, so you kiss it again. “I am, but I have to be honest—between all the unpacking and sex, I don’t have the energy to make breakfast.” 

“Me neither,” he admits with a laugh. “Why don’t we shower, wake up Sleeping Beauty,” he nudges his head towards Harris’s room, “and go to the diner.” He stretches and stands, eyes drawn to the nightstand, where the framed photo from Wayne leans against a porcelain lamp. Happiness captured with the click of a Kodak.

You’re smiling, thinking about sharing silver dollar pancakes with Harris again just like you used to do with Grandma. Somewhere along the way, you grew from the child to the adult in that scenario, passing on a tradition you never even knew had been started. 

“That sounds amazing.” As you say it aloud, something in addition to hunger gnaws at your stomach. You’ve been putting it off, hiding from the truth, but you want to stop pretending. You want to feel everything that comes with accepting reality. Without sorrow, you would never recognize joy. Without grief, you won’t understand the depths of our love beyond the physical plain. 

“Could we make a quick pit stop first?”

Though it’s still morning, the late June humidity has your shirt clinging to you, sweat beading along the collar and around your bra clasp. You close the car door behind you; Eddie shuffles to open the back door for Harris. The little boy unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the booster seat, glancing between you and his dad. You take his left hand and Eddie takes his right as you walk over to the stone. 

“Hi, Grandma,” you whisper, crouching down to better see the engraving. Gently, your fingers dance over the etched words: Beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and friend. “I know I haven’t been by to visit you yet, but I’m here now.” You muster up a small smile. “And I brought Eddie and Harris with me. They…they loved you, too.”

You falter for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Eddie’s hand rubs your upper back, not caring about how perspiration-soaked it is. 

“Do you want some privacy?” he murmurs. “Harris and I can wait by the car. You take as long as you need.”

You nod, watching them walk hand in hand to give you your space to grieve. Filling your lungs with a deep breath, you speak what’s been in your heart. 

“I need to thank you,” you start, talking directly to where her name is engraved, “for a lot of things. But I guess, um, the most important is how you taught me to forgive without taking shit—can I swear in a cemetery?—from people.” Your laugh is heavy with the weight of remembrance. 

“I miss you. A lot,” you continue, tears now spilling freely from your eyes. “I miss doing puzzles together. I miss cooking together. I’m going to try and make your applesauce for Thanksgiving this year. I think Harris will really like it.” You swallow thickly. “If you’d met him before you got sick, you would’ve adored him. He’s got the biggest heart of any kid I’ve ever met.”

You’re finding it easier to talk; everything you need to say is coming naturally and without hesitation. 

“He’s…he’s living in your room. I guess, technically, it’s his room now. But a little part of me will always consider it your room, too. And I think that’s okay.” You nod, confirming to yourself that it’s all part of the process. “He keeps asking me and Eddie when we’re going to get married. To be honest, I’m kind of wondering the same thing.” You smile at the thought of marrying Eddie, maybe even legally adopting Harris, if that’s something they also want. “I’m not in a rush, though, but I really do believe that Eddie’s the one. He’s my person, and I’m his. So, yeah, I’m definitely hoping that he proposes sooner rather than later.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to visit. I always thought losing you wouldn’t be as hard as it was, because it felt like I had already lost you to dementia.” It feels silly to admit aloud, but it’s the truth. “I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be easy. But I promise, I’ll stop by more often, and I’ll have plenty of cute Harris stories to tell you.”

There’s just a bit more that you need to share before you can go. “I love you, Grandma. And…thank you for loving me, too.”

You stand up, pressing on your knees to ensure your balance. Taking one last look at the stone, you run your fingers over the jagged marble and turn back towards Eddie and Harris.

The little boy is perched on his father’s hip, squinting into the sunlight to make out your form. “You ready, Ms. Sweetheart?”

You blink through misty eyes, staring at the two people in front of you. Ten months ago, if someone had told you that your one-night stand at a dive bar would end up being the love of your life, you would have laughed in their face. But the universe does what it must to remain in balance, and it doesn’t humor any arguments.

Inhale, exhale, repeat. This is where you’re meant to be. This is who you’re meant to be: a partner, a friend, an almost-mommy.

“Yeah,” you say finally, the tears clearing from your vision and a genuine smile forming on your lips. “I’m ready.”

--

💚

[mustainegf]

Omgggg you should do cockwarming with fem reader and like 80’s Kirk and he’s like whimpering and begging for more

UGDHDHDD I LOVE SUBBY KIRK HES SO CUTE

𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 ¹⁹⁸⁴

Kirk lay beneath me, his eyes glazing over with desperation. His hands were clenched into my hips, holding me in place, as he wiggled just a little. His whimpers filled the room, each one a sweet melody that only I could draw from him.

"Please," he whispered, his voice barely heard, "I need you.".

I grinned down at him, my fingers tracing the edge of his jawline. His skin was flushed, and a faint sheen of sweat made his curls cling to his forehead. I could feel the throbbing inside me with every pulse. But we didn't move, just our bodies fitted together in that most intimate of ways.

"Patience, love," I murmured, bending down to place a soft kiss on his lips. His whine of frustration vibrated against my mouth, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Seeing him like this, so needy and on the edge, was perfect.

His hands moved from my hips to my waist, and his grip tightened, as if he could pull me even closer, a futile effort really, seeing as we were already as close as two people could get.

His eyelids fluttered shut, and he bit down hard on his lower lip, clearly fighting the sounds of his need. He lost that battle pretty easily, every few seconds another whimper broke out of him, each one making me that much wetter, more hungry to watch him retch completely apart.

"Please, I can't take it," he groaned, his hips bucking minutely. That small action was almost like a shock of lust between us both, and he gasped, his eyes flying open to lock with mine. "Please, let me move."

I shook my head slowly, feeling very much in control in this moment. "Not yet," I said softly. "I want to feel you cum just like this."

His eyes widened to saucers. He whimpered again, his whole body trembling from an effort at stillness. I could feel him twitching inside me, his need to cum becoming almost unbearable.

"You're so good for me, Kirk," I whispered, rubbing my thumb across his lips. He kissed it with the will to get off, his eyes pleading for mercy. "So desperate, so needy. Do you like being my good boy?"

"Yes," he choked out, his voice slipping. "God, yes. I'll be anything for you. Just please, please let me cum."

I bent down, taking his lips in another kiss. He moaned, his whole body shuddering, as he strained to remain still. I could feel his need to move, to thrust, to find any sort of friction.

And then just when I was about to give it up, to give him exactly what he wanted so badly, he cried out.

"I can't—I'm gonna—" His words dissolved into a strangled moan and he came, his body tensing beneath me. I could feel him pulsing inside me, his cum warm and thick as it coated my insides.

We hadn't moved an inch, and yet he had cum harder than I had ever seen before.

I watched him ride out his high, eyes shut, mouth agape in a wordless scream of lust. The grip of his hands on me was tight, probably leaving bruises that he would kiss the next morning. His body finally began to relax, his breathing shallow pants, his eyes opening to look at me.

"Fuck," he breathed, his face spreading into a cheeky smile. "That was… a lot."

I smiled back at him, brushing a curl from his forehead. "You did so well, Kirk. My good boy."

He chuckled softly, pulling me down for another kiss. "Only for you," he murmured against my lips. "Always for you."

[roosterforme]

Beer Boy and Sugar: The Second Lost Year (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader)

Part of the Lost Years series for Beer Boy and Sugar

Warnings: language, longing, angst (series fits chronologically between Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time)

Banner by @mak-32

Year Two

Bradley dropped down on his bed and started to untie his boots while Nat looked around at everything on his desk. They were both about to start flying solo now, and it was such a relief that she was advancing in the program with him. It brought him a little bit of joy every time they left the others in the dust.

"I always liked this thing," she remarked, poking his Navy desk lamp as he set his boots under his bed. "You said it was your dad's, right?"

"Yeah. Makes it vintage," he replied with a grin as he lounged back on his pillows, already thinking about dinner in the mess hall. It was hot as hell outside, especially by Rhode Island standards, and it made him miss Virginia a little bit. "Are you ready for dinner?"

She groaned. "It's too hot to go outside and walk all the way to get food. Your air conditioner works better than mine, too. Can't we just stay in here?"

His stomach growled as he said, "All I got is some protein bars and instant mac and cheese. And I'm starving."

Nat started to poke at the book he was currently reading as she said, "I'll order us a pizza."

This was something he'd never get used to, even though he considered her his best friend. She always seemed to have money from her parents, and he had basically nothing. But she continually offered to share her food with him. Bradley wasn't exactly sure what he brought to this friendship, but she seemed to enjoy having him around, so he didn't bring it up.

"Fine," he agreed.

This seemed to make her happy as she fished her phone out of her pocket. "You want your usual topping choice?"

Bradley froze with his fingers pushed back in his messy hair. At first, he always ordered his pizza that way, because that's how you liked it. Now Nat thought it was his preference. But maybe it actually was?

"Yeah," he replied softly. "Please." 

Then he listened to her call it in while his thoughts drifted back to Virginia. He hadn't seen or heard from you in fourteen months, but he'd thought about you every single day. It hurt a little less now, but all the feelings were still there. He still looked at all the pictures he had saved on his phone. He thought about you when he touched himself. He still hadn't slept with anyone else since you.

"Why would you keep a differential equations notebook from UVA?" Nat mused, but he was barely listening to her as he thought about your body curled up against his while you wore his Grateful Dead shirt. "Did you even take advanced math?" 

When he finally registered what she said, he sat up in his bed and saw her holding your purple notebook. The one with all the doodles and love notes in the margins, and he felt like he was back in the study room with you on his lap. The breath was knocked from his lugs as a sheet of loose, folded paper fell onto her lap, and she picked it up and started to read it out loud.

"Dear Beer Boy, 

I'm bored in my calculus lecture, and I just started thinking about your bedroom door. It's still the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life. Maybe you and I could wait until the middle of the night when all of your fraternity brothers are asleep and sneak out into the hallway and-"

Bradley lunged out of bed and grabbed the note from her hand before she could see the rest. "What the fuck, Nat? That's personal!"

Her dark brown eyes were as wide as saucers as she said, "That was from her."

He knew she was kind of mystified by you, given that he only shared details of the happiest months of his adult life sparingly. She always asked for more information when he mentioned you, always wanted to know more. But Bradley felt like the magic would wear off the more he talked about you, so he always kept it brief. He also knew he wasn't going to get away with saying nothing right now.

"Yeah," he grunted, taking the purple notebook from her hands and returning the folded note to the back pages. The sight of your handwriting filled him with a deep need for you. "And this was her notebook."

Nat's voice was gentle, as if she was trying not to spook him when she asked, "Why did she like your door so much?"

Bradley closed his eyes and laughed quietly. "I painted over all the other girls' names and phone numbers. For her. Or for myself. I don't really know anymore."

Now her eyes were narrowed when he looked at her again. "'All the other girls'. Holy shit, Bradshaw. Were you some sort of fuckboy in college?"

He leaned back against his pillows again as he groaned, "Basically." He didn't really like thinking about it, because that hadn't been him for a long time now. "Before Sugar."

She took her phone out again, and Bradley desperately wished the pizza would arrive so this conversation could end. But Nat asked, "What was her last name again? I want to know exactly what she looks like."

He whispered the word, loving the feel of it on his tongue as he took his own phone out. He located the picture of him with his arm around your shoulders that Dev took the week before graduation. Your smile was too pretty, and your face was too perfect. There was a reason he had to limit himself, and the onslaught of feelings was proof of why: He wasn't over you yet.

"Here," he muttered, stretching his arm out to hand his phone to Nat, but she gasped as she looked at her own phone.

"She's gorgeous. I found her Instagram account."

"You did?" he asked, launching himself off of the bed and forcefully switching phones with her. She gasped again as she looked at the photo on his phone, but Bradley was too busy staring at the tiny thumbnail of your smiling face. Your account was set to private, but this photo must have been more recent. Your hair was styled differently, and the only thing he could process was that he felt relieved you were posing alone instead of with some other guy. He didn't want to have to put a face to that.

He thought about taking a screenshot and texting it to himself, but he couldn't. He wouldn't. And when Nat asked if he wanted her to send you a friend request, he said absolutely not. "You think I want her to know I still think about her every day? No."

Then she said, "But maybe she still thinks about you." 

Bradley didn't see how that was a possibility.

The pizza finally arrived just then, and Nat stood to go get it. She gave him a cautious hug and said, "I think she would be proud of you." She left him alone with both phones in his hands, and somehow he knew it would be easier to talk about you now if he wanted to.

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

It was mind blowing. Three months ago, Chicago was freezing cold and practically encased in ice. Now it was blazing hot to the point that you couldn't get any relief unless you were inside your dorm room. It was Friday, thank goodness. Everyone in your graduate studies group wanted to go out for deep dish pizza tonight, and you had to figure out a way to stop sweating long enough to actually get dressed in something other than the shorts and tank you were wearing now.

You groaned as you carried your computer and textbooks across campus in your backpack. You had the highest grades out of all of the math graduate students, but you still took everything with you everywhere in case you had some extra time to study. But you should have left everything in your room instead on this sweltering day.

The quad was packed with tables and students participating in a career fair, but for some reason, this was where Jared asked you to meet up. Four dates with him, and you still weren't convinced it was a good idea to take things out of the friend zone. Four dates, and you still didn't really want to do anything besides kiss him. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with him, he just wasn't exactly right.

"Hey!" 

As soon as you heard Jared calling out for you, your initial reaction was to hide. You were absolutely going to have to tell him you didn't want to see him anymore, and it mostly made you mad that it would probably disrupt your friend group. 

"Hi," you replied as he squeezed through the crowd to get to you. And then he slipped his sweaty hand in yours, and you actually cringed. Why wasn't this what you wanted? After nearly a year, he wore you down enough that you gave it a try, but this was decidedly bad. Especially since you could picture exactly what you did want.

When you looked up at Jared's face, your gaze drifted to your left. You gasped and dropped his hand immediately. There were recruiters from the Navy. They were wearing flight suits. You caught a glimpse of wavy brown hair and a flash of dark eyes, and you were off.

Jared was calling after you as you fought through the crowd, catching glimpses here and there of broad shoulders and a handsome smile. Oh my god, he was here. Somehow, he was here. Like he'd just climbed out of your dreams and into the University of Chicago campus. 

"Bradley!"

Your voice rang out, but he didn't fully turn your way. You rushed a little faster, no longer caring if you knocked someone into one of the tables. 

"Bradley!"

But you stumbled as you reached the recruiters, and your smile evaporated from your lips. Tears stung at your eyes as he turned to face you, leaving your heart filled with disappointment. 

"Hey, there. I'm Lieutenant Chapman," he said with a grin, and you honestly didn't know how you could have been mistaken. His eyes were hazel, and his hair was too curly, and now you were standing there feeling like you'd just broken your own heart all over again. The disappointment could smother you if you let it.

You nodded and turned away as sweat dripped down your chest and an awful feeling settled into your stomach. You made your way back through the crowd at a much slower pace with no real desire to talk to Jared, but you reached him all too soon.

"What happened?" he asked, grabbing your hand again.

You looked at the ground and tried to hide your tears as he squeezed your hand tighter. "Sorry. I thought I saw an old friend."

He just made an impatient noise and asked, "You ready to go get changed and grab some pizza with everyone else? I thought we could ditch them early and maybe go back to my room and watch a movie? And like hang out... on my bed?"

His voice was distressingly hopeful. You wanted to say no. You knew you should. But you kept your eyes fixed on the ground as you said, "Sounds good," with almost no conviction. You wanted to get past this, so you needed to actually start trying.

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

Make it stop hurting. Or don't. I don't know. They must both already know they belong together. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the rest of this series!

@beyondthesefourwalls @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @sorchathered @mamachasesmayhem @attapullman @bobgasm @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @shanimallina87 @sylviebell @wkndwlff @horseslovers2016 @sadpetalsstuff @schoollover @jessicab1991 @lex-winchester @bellaireland1981 @sagittarius-flowerchild @marvelouslyme96 @trickphotography2 @goldenseresinretriever @rascallyrascals @auroracaroline @nerdgirljen @redbarn1995 @theweekndhistorybook @averyhotchner @moon42flight @eli2447 @lyn-js @na-ta-sh-aa @mygyn @je-suis-prest-rachel @kcloveswrestling @imnotcreativeenoughforthisblog @callsign-magnolia @eternalsams @lynnestra44 @shinzowosasageyoooo @tgmreader @princessofglitterland @backupbrii @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @averyhotchner @hookslove1592 @callsigns-haze

[strawberrystepmom]

umemiya x meteorologist f!reader. flirtation, world building, a little game played between the two of them. reader is a few years older than ume. | divider by cafekitsune, wc 1.6k

pt 1 available here

Since your first meeting with Hajime Umemiya, you’ve taught him the differences between the types of clouds. He’s become intimately familiar with the record high recorded temperatures in his home country and yours alike, as well as when humans began recording that type of thing. There isn’t much more you can teach him that isn’t technical application and you told him weeks ago you’d spare him from the boring specifics. 

What he doesn’t know, though, is nearly enough about the woman who has spent the past eighteen mornings with him. Even on your days off, even on the days you used to skip over stopping at Cafe Pothos, you’ve been here bright and early and shining like the sun to spend some time with him. He wants to know everything he can, devising a plan on the fly to get you to divulge.

“Let’s play a game.” 

His announcement makes you laugh, teeth biting down on the tip of your tongue and eyes crinkling at the corners. Everything he says is an announcement, his vivacious personality and natural knack for taking the lead even extending to his speech patterns. It’s something you have grown to like about him very much, your palms pricking with sweat when he assumes the specific tone that is firm but kind. 

He makes your heart beat unusually fast if you’re honest with yourself although you are only interested in teaching a curious member of the public about your job. You didn’t sign up for romance or anything resembling it when you agreed to sit with him but today is your day off and you don’t have to report to the station at the usual barely dawn hour so you decide to bite, shrugging and wiping pastry crumbs off of the table in front of you. 

“Okay. What did you have in mind?”

A smile to match your own dances across his handsome face. You lean forward with your elbow on the table (rude, you know…) and cup your chin in your palm, absentmindedly tracing the edge of the saucer beneath your coffee mug with your other hand. The little details are what Hajime has discovered he likes the most about you, warmth climbing up his neck as he watches your subtle movements. You won’t catch him off guard, though, and he tilts his head to the side.

“Let’s play twenty questions.” Another laugh from you, shifting your posture so that your back rests against the booth that holds the two of you. The shop is open, the regulars coming and going and taking a sidelong glance at what all the giggling is about from the corner of the room, but it feels as though no one is there at all when you’re around him. The world disappears and it’s what makes you decide to humor him.

“Sure.” Nodding, all too familiar with the old  “get to know you” game, you hold your hand in his direction. “You go first since it was your idea.”

The man leans over the table himself, both of his elbows parked on the edge of it, hands on either side of his face. The most earnest set of eyes you’ve ever encountered blink at you, as honest as the rest of him is, his head remaining tilted like a curious puppy.

“How old are you?”

Despite yourself, you smile and shake your head at his question. He admires your lower lip and the way it curves, memorizing the shape easily and then looking away so he doesn’t give away too much. The curve disappears when you lift your cooled latte to your lips, sipping and raising a brow. 

“Well I wasn’t expecting that to be your first question. You first, Hajime. How old are you?”

He pushes himself forward, scrunching his nose and leaning over the table as though he’s telling you a big secret. 

“I’m 26.”  You hiss, clicking your tongue against the top of your mouth. Playing the motion off as a joke, you raise your eyebrows but your gut churns with the realization that there is a little bit of an age difference between the pair of you, worrying about his reaction. He’s very kind but you can easily see whatever easy peace and flirtation exists between you two wrapping up today if he decides an older woman isn’t for him.

“I’m a few years older than you.” He leans forward on the table, his own brows raised, interest piqued. “How much older?”

“About three years.”

You’re on the precipice of your next phase of adulthood and he is blissfully enjoying the middle of his current one, not too far from the worries of the late twenties but far enough away he can pretend they’re something to be toppled later. 

He chuckles, taking a look at your widened eyes and flat mouth, obviously amused that you are so concerned about the scant age gap.

“So? I like an older woman.”

Your face warms and you reach for your emptied coffee cup, staring dejectedly at the ceramic bottom. Is this his attempt at making you feel better or does he mean it? Eyes shifting from the cup to the man across from you, you let a half smile crawl across your face and fold your arms over your chest.

“Are you hitting on me, Umemiya?”

He leans back to mirror your stance, folding his own arms over his chest. You notice the way the sleeve of his t-shirt rides up over your bicep and feel the need to look away again. You fight the urge and stay glued to him, a single eyebrow raised. He copies you, making you giggle.

He is too good at that. It almost frustrates you how his natural ease makes you easier as a person. You’ve always prided yourself on being a tough egg to crack, hardened despite how gooey you are inside, yet he cracks you a little more with each smile, joke, or hand on the small of your back while he walks you to the door. 

“I dunno, is it working?”

You need to figure out a way to end this today for both of your sakes though your erratic heartbeat betrays how you really feel at his insistence that he is indeed expressing his interest in you. He finds your struggle to believe it borderline amusing, the emotions etched across your face far more easily read than you know. 

“Well, that’s very nice of you,” you finally reply, scrunching your nose and letting your face fall into a neutral expression. He shrugs, unfolding his arms and reaching for his own coffee cup that is still half full. “It’s not being nice, you’re just really fun to talk to and I enjoy our time together.”

Now the feelings you’ve been running from are inescapable and your chest feels warm. You have a bit of a thing for him, you’d be a liar to deny it. Knowing it’s returned? You weren’t prepared to topple that mountain today. You roll through excuses to leave in your head (my cat is sick, I have an appointment I forgot about) but none are able to be formed on your lips and you sit, pinned to where you sit by the weight of his steel blue gaze.

“And I wanted to ask, if it isn’t too much, if you’d want to do this over dinner instead of coffee sometime.”

No more excuses come to mind, just a blaring and flashing “yes”. That same old fight or flight kicks in, wondering if now is the time to break his heart and let him know that you’ve fooled him into thinking you’re decent company. You want to decline, to end things here and today, to leave him to someone else but you are at your heart as selfish as anyone else.

“I’d love that, actually.”

So you agree. The way his face lights up makes your palms sweat once again and you’re grateful they’re pressed against your light spring jacket so you can covertly wipe them. There is no cure for lovesickness other than to ride out the waves of overwhelming nausea that come with it and he smiles at you so softly a part of you believes he may be your lover already.

Finally settling yourself down, you raise a brow at him again and smile.

“Was that one of your twenty questions?”

He laughs at you from his heart, head tilting backward. Everything about him is so larger than life, his personality and his smile and his heart, and you wonder how this meeting even came to be. You aren’t so foolish as to believe fate plays a hand in everything but these mornings have felt nothing short of fated, two kindred spirits destined to meet and enjoy each other.

“I was going to ask you if you had a boyfriend for my next question but I guess I should have asked that before asking you out?”

Again, the pair of you devolve into giggles and Kotoha who mans the coffee station and the elderly woman she is serving both turn to look at the pair of you and then at each other. It has been like this for weeks and it shows no sign of stopping, the younger woman thinks to herself, glad she encouraged the man she has viewed as a brother her entire life to send the letters that he did to you. She’s known you since you moved to Makochi and feels as though her hand in all of this can’t be ignored, passing a cup across the counter to the woman smiling and shaking her head.

“Do you think they’ll have the wedding here?” The older woman jokes, making the younger one shrug and raise her hands innocently. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Misu-san.”

The woman casts her a glance and walks away, her cup in hand, leaving Kotoha’s view of the pair of you clear. You laugh and talk away, ignorant to the world around the two of you, and she smiles proudly, eager to hear about his bravery in asking you out as soon as you part ways.

[marblemoovt]

Fever - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, Dad!Price

Summary:

John pounds on your door at an ungodly hour in the morning. You've never seen him so distraught.

------

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself.

Note:

Hello! It's been a while since my last Price fic. If I'm honest I'm sorely tempted to keep writing this universe as a series of oneshots (because I'm terrible at commitment). So expect to see more Rose and Price at some point. I've already come up with a series title lmao..

I have a few dividers I want to try out and see which one I like best. So far I like this one better than the previous one.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Bam. Bam. Bam

You bolt upright in bed, squinting around your room until you locate the alarm clock on your bedside table. You glance out the window and notice the sky is still dark, and the sun is nowhere to be seen. Not even a sliver of pink or orange to creep over the horizon. Hm. Definitely not your alarm.

BamBamBam.

The noise grows louder, and the pause between hits becomes nonexistent. Your brain refuses to process the source as you sweep your eyes across your room. The early haze that fogs over your mind when you wake up clouds your ability to think.

Until you hear John shout your name. 

Snatching a coat hanging off a chair, you fly out of the room. The floorboards squeak beneath your weight as you weave between your furniture. Sliding to a stop in front of the door, your fingers fumble with the lock before you wretch it open.

“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself. 

A small groan comes from the blankets. “Daddy, you’re squishing me.” 

Your shoulders sag as the tension leaves your body. The weight resting on your lungs eases. You glance up at the ceiling and say a silent prayer of thanks before beckoning the pair inside.

Heading to the kitchen, you prepare some tea to keep yourself busy. No caffeine, though. You were anxious enough as is; you didn’t need to worry faster. Fishing out the chamomile from your cupboards with three cups and saucers, you turn the kettle on to boil. While the tea steeps, you take out the honey and add a drizzle to each cup. 

“Daddy, I’m cold.” Rose’s voice breaks the still silence. You run through a mental list of all the possible things that could be wrong. It can’t be life-threatening if John knocked on your door instead of taking her to the hospital. But you can’t help but think of the worst possible scenarios. The kettle whistles, pulling you out of your thoughts. You’ll ask after you bring the tea. 

A quick glance reveals that John is still cradling her in his arms. The lighting unveils the redness of his eyes and the thin, tight line of his lips. “I know, my little flower. We’ll fix you up, and you’ll be as right as rain,” he says, stroking her head.

You walk over and set the drinks on the table. “Tea? It’s chamomile,” you say, sipping from your cup. The warm liquid soothes your nerves, pooling comforting heat in your stomach. John’s lips quirk up, but they fall just as quickly. He makes no move for the tea. Your cup rattles on the saucer as you place it down. “John, you look like shit,” you state. No response other than a slight flinch. You sit down beside him and hold out your arms. “Drink, you’ll feel better. I can hold Rose for you.”

John studies your face. His eyes are staring past you. It makes you wonder what he’s seeing to make that solemn expression. The movement of you tilting your head brings him back to the present. His gaze flickers between you and Rose. “Ok,” he whispers, carefully placing her in your waiting arms. 

“Hi, Rosy,” you greet her, checking to see if John is drinking his tea. His shoulders aren’t as tense as he sips the drink, but his knee begins to bounce. 

Rose cracks an eye open and smiles widely at you. “Hullo,” she rasps.

You observe her flushed complexion and the hair clinging to her face. “How are you doing, little one?” you ask.

She licks her chapped lips and says, “M’ sick.”

“That sounds like no fun,” you say, exaggerating the frown on your face.

Rose smiles wide and shakes her head slowly. “But Daddy says I don’t have to go to school.” Her eyes glitter at the prospect of staying home, a fantasy most children have at least once during their school years. You can imagine the chaos she could cause if she wasn’t so sick.

You mirror her grin and brush her damp hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “That’s true. You get to stay home and sleep in,” you say, and her smile nearly blinds you.

“And watch cartoons!” she adds. Ah, the quintessential stay-at-home activity for the sick. She starts squirming in your arms. “I get to watch all the shows I miss because of school.” Her lips curl into a feline-like smile, reminiscent of a cat that stole a big, juicy fish. 

You laugh and nod. “That sounds amazing!”

Rose giggles, “That’s because it is!!” If she wasn’t sick, you would be squeezing her in a bear hug. 

You press the back of your hand against her forehead. It’s warm. “Did your dad take your temperature?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and says, “He put a stick in my mouth and told me to hold it there.” She mimics the motion of placing a thermometer in between her lips and closing them. Your cheeks start to hurt; how can such a tiny being be so precious? She must get it from her father. 

You eye the cabinet in the kitchen where you keep all your medical supplies. “Can I check again?” You trust John, but you just want to make sure. 

“Why?” she asks.

“To see how warm you are,” you answer, booping her nose, which scrunches up in response. 

Rose looks at you with her big blue eyes. “Why?” she asks again. You’re glad to see the fever hasn’t affected her curiosity. 

You smooth down her hair, doing your best to flatten the stray cowlicks. “Because it’s dangerous if you’re too hot. You would need to go to the hospital,” you say. 

Rose furrows her brows and utters an “Oh.”

You rise from your seat and head for the kitchen. “Are you comfortable?” you ask. To free up your hands, you shifted her upright, and she’s now clinging to you like a koala.

“Mm,” she mumbles a confirmation into the crook of your neck. You grab the thermometer and turn it on to see if the batteries are still working. On your way back, you fill up a mug of water to keep Rose hydrated. Once seated back on the couch, you bring the thermometer to her mouth, and she lets you take her temperature without a fuss. 

You wait a few minutes until the device beeps to signal it’s finished. “38.8. Not a low fever, but you should be fine with some rest,” you say. Next, you take the mug and hand it to Rose. “Can you drink this water for me?” She drinks every last drop, smacking her dry lips together. “Wonderful! For being such a good patient, the doctor has decided to give you a little treat.” Fishing around your pocket, you pull out her reward. 

Rose stares in awe at the shiny wrapper in your hand. She gently plucks it up and marvels at the strawberries dotting the colourful material. She glances at her dad, but you bring a finger to your lips when she looks back at you. Rose smiles and nods her head, clutching the candy in her fist.

“I’m sleepy,” Rose announces. You look at John and notice that he’s sunk back into the couch, staring into his empty cup.

“There’s a bed in the guest room. I can put on some cartoons for you to fall asleep to,” you suggest.

She nods her head. “Ok.”  

On your way to the guest room, you fill another glass of water to leave on the bedside table. You lay down Rose on the bed, rummaging in the closet for a thin blanket. As you tuck her in, you feel her forehead with your hand. “Do you feel uncomfortable? Do you want to take any medication?” you ask, making a note to grab a damp cloth before you leave.

“You’re like Daddy. Especially when he looks like this.” Rose brings a finger up to each eyebrow and pushes them down, grimacing in a familiar fashion. She bursts into a fit of giggles, and you join in, unable to resist her charming antics. “Daddy already gave me some medicine. It tasted like bubblegum,” she remarks, sticking her tongue out as the rest of her face scrunches up. 

Amusement twists your lips into a smile. “You don’t like bubblegum?” you ask.

Rose shakes her head. “Bubblegum should not be medicine,” she says with a grave tone; it’s the most serious you’ve seen her since she arrived. You head to the adjoining bathroom and run a clean cloth under room temperature water. Wringing the excess moisture, you return to her side and wipe her sweaty skin.

Rose’s eyelids droop; you take this as your cue to leave. “Alright. Your dad and I will be in the living room or in the room across if you need us.” She nods, and you go to turn on the TV, switching to a channel she likes and lowering the volume and brightness.

You tiptoe out of the room, closing the door slowly but leaving a small gap in case she calls out for anyone. When you return to the living room, John is still in the same position. Except now he’s wringing his hands as his cup sits abandoned on the table.

“John?” you call out his name softly, not wanting to startle him. He doesn’t look up at you, and you wonder if he even heard anything. You remain at a distance, observing every flex of his muscles as he fidgets.

“Is she asleep?” he asks in a whisper. His eyes dart to your figure before landing on his lap again. You walk up and gingerly take a seat beside him. John shifts some of his weight onto you, head resting against yours. You can feel the exhaustion emanating from him in waves. He looks like he could fall asleep any minute himself. 

“Nearly. Rose could barely keep her eyes open when I laid her on the bed,” you say. Warmth envelopes your waist as John snakes an arm around you, pressing you closer to his side.

He kisses the side of your temple, murmuring into your hair, “I’m sorry for troubling you like this. I just… didn’t know what to do.” It’s not often you hear his words catch in his throat. You frown at the wobble in his tone and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp in the way you know always has him purring. He hums appreciatively and leans into your touch, eyes closed in momentary bliss. 

“You’re not troubling me at all. Is this the first time she’s gotten this sick?” you ask.

John mulls over your question, his brows furrowed with thought. “First time while I wasn’t deployed,” he answers. John sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “I’m a terrible father,” and his chuckle leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You pick up the untouched third tea and use it to warm your hands. “What makes you think that?” you ask, fingertips tapping against the ceramic sides of the cup. 

His answer is almost immediate, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “Because I panicked.” As if that single sentence encompassed everything he did wrong tonight. 

You frown and set the cup back down, not wanting to break it in a fit of emotions. There’s a strange disconnect between John’s confidence at work and at home. “So? Does being a good father mean knowing everything about parenting? Because in that case, there’s not a single good father in the world,” you say. But your attempts at comfort only cause him to sigh. “Panicking doesn’t always equal death.”

“You know what I mean,” he says. 

You shake your head. “No. No, I don’t, John. I can’t read minds. What I can tell, though, is that you did your best to handle the situation.” If only you could extract your memories and play them for him to watch. Then maybe he would finally see what a good father he really is. 

“It wasn’t enough,” he deflects.

You place a hand on his shoulder and say, “Yes, it was. Rose is sleeping peacefully down the hall. She’s fine.” You emphasize ‘fine,’ but John shakes his head. Doubt swims in his eyes, churning the blue depths into sheets of glistening glass. 

“What about the next time something like this happens?” he counters. You can feel the damped vibrations through the sofa cushions, and you place a hand on John’s knee. 

“Then you use what you learned from the previous times and do better,” you reply in an even tone. The two of you stare in silence. You refuse to look away. John wavers underneath your gaze. His lips remain in a thin line, stretched taut like a rubber band. And what eventually happens when you put too much strain on a rubber band?

It snaps.  

“Can you hold me?” he whispers, and your heart clenches. You want nothing more than to pick up and carry him to your bed for some well-needed cuddles. But John’s a big man. You’re not sure you could do any of that without struggling.

You shuffle onto his lap and open your arms wide. “Come here.”

John buries himself in your embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he mumbles. His beard grazes your skin, and a giggle bubbles from your throat. The sound causes John to tighten his arms around you. Is this what stress balls feel like when they’re about to explode?

“No problem. I’ll hold you for as long as you want me to,” you say, patting his back. It’s faint, but the scent of his cologne wafts in the air. Notes of bourbon and the smoke from his favourite cigar brand. You breathe it in, wishing you could bottle it up to use when he’s away.

He chuckles, and the resulting vibrations raise the goosebumps on your arms. “I’m afraid you’ll have to surgically remove me from yourself,” he says, burrowing into you.

“Well, that doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world,” you wheeze, rubbing the burning tips of his ears between your forefinger and thumb. 

His voice is small, but it reaches your ears in the serene evening. “You still want to stay?” he asks. 

Your lips twist into an amused smile. “Did I ever say I wouldn’t?” You brush your fingers through his hair, fiddling with the grey streaks you find.

“I’m a mess,” he says. 

You nod. “Yeah, a hot one.”

“Darling….” he drawls. 

“Yes, John?” you say, batting your eyelashes, looking like the epitome of innocence. A sudden attack is launched on your vulnerable sides. “Hey!” you screech as John digs his fingers mercilessly into your waist. You attempt to squirm out of his grasp. If you don’t get away in time, your fight instincts might take over from your flight, and John will learn the hard way not to tickle you.

Although you doubt his reflexes will allow anything to happen. The cheeky bastard’s nearly impossible to catch by surprise since he reacts instantly to any objects hurtling towards him.

“I like hearing you laugh,” John admits, the lines on his face relaxing. The warmth in his eyes stirs that familiar fluttering in your chest. A shudder wracks your body when he absentmindedly rubs circles into your hips.

You peck his nose and lean your forehead on his. “Gets the happy chemicals flowing?” you ask.

John hums, “Mmm.” He teases you again with a quick skim of his fingertips, and you bite your lips to keep quiet. Rose is still sleeping, but a small laugh punches through your teeth. John relents his assault, satisfied for now. 

He continues to cling to you like a koala. You think back to what you’ve learned about John since that fateful encounter at the grocery store. “John? Why do you get so insecure when the topic of parenting surfaces?” you ask.

“...Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. You mentally scold yourself for bringing up a sore subject.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to,” you say.

“What?” John looks at you with wide eyes.

You grin and gently close his jaw before it can reach the ground. “I won’t force you to talk about something you don’t want to,” you say with a shrug. 

“Thanks.” The room falls silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock and the unintelligible murmurs of the TV.

“John, you’re really not that bad.” You trace the bags underneath his eyes, frowning at how puffy they are. 

“Well, I can’t be a bad father if I’m never around,” he chuckles dryly.

You hesitate before asking, “...Is that what this is about?”

“....”

“I know your job takes you away from home often.” You pause and wrack your brain for the right words to convey what you want to say. “But I wish you could see how Rose smiles when I tell her you’ll return in a few days. Or how she hugs her teddy bear—that you gave her—close every night.” Rose’s enthusiasm for her father’s return never wavers, never changes. You’ve babysitted Rose on and off for months now, and every evening, without fail, you hear the recording in the bear play from her room. “Would we like to see more of you? Of course. But I understand, and I think Rose does to a certain degree, that you have responsibilities and duties to fulfill.”

The right side of John’s lips slant up. “Don’t you ever get tired of cheering me up?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ You stand up and hold a hand out to him. “Now let’s get you to bed, my sad little man.”

“Little?” John chuckles, placing his hand in yours.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re just a sad little guy,” you say.

John blinks slowly and raises his brows. But his expression is soon replaced with amusement. “Is this some kind of internet lingo I’m unaware of?”

“....”

John clicks his tongue. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

You huff and feel like a cat with its hackles raised. “Don’t judge me for how I spend my free time,” you say.

John nods. “Ah yes, reading literature. What were they called again? Fan books?”

“Fanfics,” you correct, tugging him from his seat. “To bed. Now.”

John's eyes crinkle at the corners, and his quiet laughter fills the room. “You don’t need to be ashamed, darling. It could be worse. You could be reading those raunchy romance novels they sell at the grocery store.” You don’t humour him with a response, too busy trying to mask your face with a neutral expression. God forbid John learns about the kinds of things you read in your sacred corner of the internet. “You read the equivalent online, don’t you?” The apples of your cheeks tingle, and your mouth dries.

You clear your throat and begin stacking the cups and saucers. “It’s still late. We need to get some more rest,” you say, setting off at a brisk pace to the kitchen sink. The thud of footsteps follows right behind you. You don’t have to turn around to see how his lips curl into a grin.

“You read those books when you have me?” he asks, mock hurt lacing his tone.

You roll your eyes and set the dishes in the sink; a problem for future you. Turning around, you cross your arms and steel your gaze. “In my defence, some of them actually have a good plot,” you say. John raises a brow, and he does a poor job covering his laugh up with a cough. “Don’t give me that look! Some of them do!” you insist. Literal masterpieces exist on the internet. And they’re free??? Clearly, John’s never binged a fanfic until three in the morning and had an epiphany, only to be left desolate and distraught now that there are no more chapters to be read.

During your internal debate to justify your reading habits, John hoists you over his shoulder and heads to your bedroom. 

“Why don’t you recount your favourite one, and we can reenact it, hm?” he suggests, landing a playful smack on your bottom. You flail your limbs to no avail. The heat on your face could burn through the clothes on his back. John glances over at you with a smirk. “You can be quiet, can’t you, love? You did so well last time.” He caresses the back of your thighs, closing the door behind him with his foot.

At least you get a glorious view of his ass from this angle.

End Note:

Listen, don't ask me why I always end up writing some angst when it comes to Dad!Price. I can't help it, it's just ingrained in his DNA. I do have some ideas as to what happened with Rose's mom, and I do want to eventually write Price coming to terms with his grief. But as always, who knows when I'll get to that.

I did think about dragging this out longer. Originally, Price was also supposed to fall sick the next few days and Reader would be nursing him with the help of Rose. But that would have doubled the length and I just wanted this done so I could move on to the next fic 😅

Now it's on to the next fandom on my list! Alas, I am cursed with too many ideas and not enough willpower to write all of them at once.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Taglist: @mipitt141, @lovecats123451

[tapedeckshoard]

Could you do maybe a gn human reader and Cosmos becoming friends over long-distance/ham radio transmissions? Cosmos is a lonely little flying saucer and he deserves some love. G1 or IDW

D'aww, I miss him! I wish Hasbro would do more with his character, honestly. He hasn't been featured in much. As such, I don't really have a great grip on his character, but I tried! This is shorter, and more just a ramble on your idea. Still, I hope you enjoy! (P.S. I don't know anything about radios so if I got something wrong, oops!)

_

Radio Waves

Cosmos x GN!Human!Reader

SFW

643 words

-

You and Cosmos became friends by accident, funnily enough. You were surfing through radio stations, trying to find a specific channel, when you picked up a long-distance station unfamiliar to you.

That’s when you heard his voice. He seemed to be talking to himself, the sound staticy over such a long distance. You found out his name was Cosmos, and that he’d been assigned to monitor the moon and the area around it for Decepticon activity. Now, you had no idea what Decepticons were, but from what Cosmos was chattering about, they weren’t good. Out of curiosity, you couldn’t help but try and reach out one day.

“Is this Cosmos?” you asked, holding down the transmit button on your microphone, hoping the signal was strong enough to communicate with wherever he might’ve been.

“Woah,” a familiar voice replied. “This is Cosmos. Who is this?” You introduced yourself, explaining your ability to pick up on his chatter through a radio you possessed. 

He didn’t seem to care much about the backstory, and honestly just seemed happy to have someone to talk to.

The first night, you two talked for hours about anything and everything. Who you were. Who he was. Where he was. What he was doing. You listened, entranced, as he explained himself. You weren’t quite sure you believed his story about being an alien robot, but you accepted it, anyway. You didn’t care if he was telling a lie. Robot or not, he was interesting. And he seemed just as lonely as you were.

That’s how you started chatting almost daily, answering questions back and forth, him describing deep space, what it looked like, how far he’d gone, what he’d seen while circling around. 

“I wish I could see all that,” you confessed sleepily, leaning against your desk as you spoke into the microphone in front of you. “That sounds beautiful.” “Yeah,” he replied, voice cutting through the static. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It gets lonely up here.” 

“You’ve got me to talk to,” you pointed out.

“That’s true. But that wasn’t always the case. I know this is my job, but. . .”

He didn’t have to finish his sentence for you to understand. “Could you ever visit me one day?” you asked, voice soft.

“I’m not supposed to,” he replied after a moment of silence. “My job is up here. Not down there.”

“Can’t you. . . take a day off? Have someone else watch the stars? Just for a day. . .”

Cosmos fell silent, and you didn’t have to see him to know he was contemplating your words.

“I. . . I’ll see what I can do,” he spoke up. And then the line went dead.

You didn’t hear from him for a few days after that, waiting and calling out on the radio, only to receive static in response. You hoped he was okay. Did you say something wrong? Did he not want to speak to you anymore? Surely not. . . right?

One night, almost a week with no response, you were slumped in your chair by your desk, absentmindedly staring out the window as you listened to the radio in a hopeless attempt to hear him. 

That’s when a loud sound pierced your ears, and your eyes widened as you stared at the spaceship that just landed in your backyard.

You raced outside, almost tumbling out the door before you came to a halt next to the green saucer. 

Something inside you told you that this was the person you were talking to. And so, despite your trepidation, you spoke. “Cosmos?”

Piece by piece, he transformed in front of your eyes, mechanical parts moving and slotting into place until a green robot stood in front of you, dwarfing your small stature.

“I got a day off,” he said, and though you couldn’t see his mouth, you could tell he was smiling. 

[roxygen22]

Boats and Babies

"My Little Cocoa Bean" Series

Summary: The Wonka family takes a trip to the beach.

"You...what?!" you asked incredulously.

"I bought a boat!" Willy repeated gleefully. You stood in the kitchen frozen, mouth agape trying to process the information. He let you stand there a few awkward moments before he finally added with a snicker, "Just for the weekend."

"Don't you DO that to me, Willy Wonka!" You bopped him on the arm with the wooden spoon in your hand with your exaggeration of "do." He laughed and feigned hurt from your retaliation. "So you RENTED a boat. And what are you going to do with a boat, pray tell?"

"WE are going on an outing this weekend. Just the three of us. As much as I love the world of our own that we have carved out on land, I do sometimes miss the sea," his voice trailed off.

You loved the idea of getting out of town for a bit, enough to forgive his earlier prank. You and Willy hadn't taken a trip since Ben was born. The boy was finally big enough to handle some adventure and had been obsessed with boats as of late.

You spent the rest of the week gathering up what you would need for some fun in the sun with a toddler in tow. Willy mapped out a route to a beach far enough away for a fun boat ride but close enough not to require an overnight stay.

The day finally came to pack up the boat and launch. Ben clapped as the family walked to the docks. One of his favorite things to do lately was to look at the boats. You and Willy had kept your plans quiet from the boy.

"I have a surprise for you, Bean," Willy said as he knelt down to the boy's level. "How would you like to actually go for a ride on a boat?"

Ben looked up at you both with eyes as big as saucers. "Really?!" he shouted.

"Really!" Willy responded with equal excitement. You all walked a little further down the dock. "Here she is." He stepped down into the boat, then turned and gestured for Ben to come closer. Suddenly nervous, the boy attached himself to your leg.

Willy patiently held out his arms. "It's alright, Bean. I've got you." Timidly, Ben stepped closer and reached out to his father, who deftly scooped him up and set him down in the boat. Ben clung to Willy's shirt as the boat rocked. "Don't worry, son. You'll get your sea legs eventually. Now, let's get this lifejacket on you so I can help Mamma get our things into the boat."

Once he got the boy settled, Willy grabbed and stowed the bags, then offered you his hand. It had been a while since your last boat ride, so you felt a little shaky, too. You lost your balance slightly and fell back into Willy, who caught you by the elbows. "Well, hello there." He grinned down at you and waggled his eyebrows. More than six years together, and he was still a flirt.

As expected from a lifetime on the water, Willy was a natural at prepping and launching the boat. Soon, you were out on open water. Ben relaxed and took in the sights, though he kept a tight grip on your hand. You enjoyed the feeling of the wind in your hair, and when you closed your eyes, you felt like you were flying. You looked back at Willy with a huge smile and found him staring back at you with a content, dreamy smirk.

After an hour or so on the water, the beach appeared on the horizon. As you got closer, Willy jumped over the side to pull the boat to shore and help you both out. Restless from sitting, Ben immediately started running around, picking up shells. Willy cautioned him to stay out of the water until everything was unpacked.

You and Willy got everything set up quickly, complete with blanket for lounging and umbrella for shade. Once set, Willy ran after Ben, grabbed him from behind, and spun him around. The boy shrieked with glee as you all made your way to the water's edge.

Nothing prepared your heart for the sight of Willy wading in the shallows, pants rolled up and holding Ben's chubby little hand. They pointed and chattered about the little creatures in the tide pools as Willy recounted stories of the wide variety of animals he had seen on his voyages. Ben ran back and forth between Willy and you, bringing you shells and pebbles from his scavenging. When they moved on to build sand castles, you stepped away to prepare lunch.

"Alright, my boys. Time to eat!" you called. Willy grabbed up Ben by the waist and hoisted him onto his shoulders.

"Hi, Mamma," he waved from the towering height of his papa's frame as they got to the picnic blanket where you sat. Willy flipped the boy over before gently setting him down beside you.

"Hi, baby. Ready to eat?"

"Yeah! My tummy growly," he said before growling like a bear.

"Mine, too," Willy agreed, growling back.

The boys eagerly devoured the sandwiches you prepared. Exhausted and full, Ben quickly succumbed to the relaxing sounds of the waves hitting the shore and napped in the shade of the umbrella. Willy laid his head in your lap, and you couldn't help but card your fingers through his chocolate curls.

He looked up at you and smiled. "I love you. I love this," looking over at Ben. "I want more."

"Me, too."

Willy quickly propped himself up on an elbow to stare at you. "Really?!"

"You say that a lot, don't you, Mr. Wonka?"* You winked. "Really. I had already been giving it some thought, but seeing you today with Ben convinced me. For someone who was worried he wouldn't know what to do, you're awfully good at being a father."

"And you are the best mother," he replied as he lifted his hand to your cheek. You leaned into his touch and closed your eyes with a soft sigh.

"I always wanted a big family," he reminisced as he laid his head back down. "But I never thought it would be in the cards for me. Sometimes, when Mamma had to work and it was too quiet with just me on the boat, I wondered what it would be like to have siblings. That dream died with her until I found Noodle. I don't want Bean to ever be lonely like that."

A tear slipped from your cheek to his as you looked down into his greenish blue eyes. He had such a big heart and so much love to share.

Before you could respond, Ben started to stir, and Willy slipped back into dad mode. He rolled off your lap onto his belly to be level with the boy, chin resting on his forearms. Ben blinked the sleep from his eyes and smiled. "Hi, Papa."

"Hi, Bean. Ready for some more adventure? I think it's high time that I teach you how to swim." You watched the two run back to the water's edge, in awe of Willy's near boundless energy. You knew he'd have no trouble keeping up with another little one. Or two.

<><><>

MASTERLIST

*This is an inside joke from when the reader and Willy first met. Read Boxes for more context.

[lomllover]

snow on the beach.

summary: y/n is on tour and harry joins her for one of her songs pairings: singer!yn x boyfriend!harry warnings: so so much fluff - You had been on tour for a total of five months and this was your final show for a little bit.

"Alright, Chicago are we re-" You began to say and saw a sign that made you laugh. "Wait hold on.. can I read your sign?" You asked the fan in the crowd and waited for their answer.

"Yes!!!" The girl shouted back at you and held her phone up higher to get a better angle of your guys' conversation.

"Her sign says, 'Y/N please reject me so I can move on'.. What's your name?"

"Charlotte!" She responded.

"Well Charlotte, you'll be very upset to hear that I have a boyfriend," You smiled as the crowd got louder at the mention of Harry. "And I think he would also be upset and a little jealous if he read your sign. What if we brought him out to confirm that?" You said with a smirk and watched as Harry walked onto the stage.

He wrapped his arm around your waist and gave it a light squeeze. "Now what's this I hear about you trying to get with my girlfriend?" He asked once everyone settled down.

Charlotte laughed and shrugged. "Have you seen her?"

"Have I seen her?! Of course I have! She's smokin' hot."

You buried your face into Harry's side as your cheeks turned red and shook your head. "Shhh.. okay.. We have one more song for you and I was going to bring H out to sing it with me so your sign was amazingly timed, Charlotte." You turned to Harry and gave him a small nod. "Ready baby?"

He nodded and you both put your mics on their stands as the band started playing.

"One night, a few moons ago I saw flecks of what could've been light. But it might just have been you passing by unbeknownst to me." You started singing and smiled at Harry. "Life is emotional abusive and time can't stop me quite like you did and my flight was awful, thanks for asking. I'm unglued, thanks to you." You shifted your weight from one side of your body to the other to start singing the chorus. "And it's like snow at the beach weird, but fuckin' beautiful. Flying in a dream stars by the pocketful you wanting me tonight feels impossible but it's comin' down no sound, it's all around."

Harry couldn't help but smile big at you singing that he almost forgot to start singing his part. "This scene feels like what I once saw on a screen. I searched "aurora borealis green" I've never seen someone lit from within blurring out my periphery," He watched as a couple in the pit started dancing with each other so he couldn't help taking his microphone off his stand and moving closer to you. "My smile is like I won a contest and to hide that would be so dishonest and it's fine to fake it 'til you make it 'til you do, 'til it's true." He sang as you turned to face him.

"Now it's like snow at the beach, weird, but fuckin' beautiful. Flying in a dream, stars by the pocketful. You wanting me tonight feels impossible. But it's comin' down no sound, it's all around." You both sang together. "I can't I speak, afraid to jinx it. I don't even dare to wish it."

You both moved down a couple of stairs to the cat-walk part of the stage and sat down on them then Harry started singing again, "But your eyes are flying saucers from another planet. Now I'm all for you like Janet. Can this be a real thing?"

"Can it?" You finished the lyric and held his free hand. "Are we falling like," You started this lyric for him to finish as small pieces of white confetti started falling down from the ceiling to act as snow.

"Snow snow at the beach? (Snow at the beach) Weird, but fuckin' beautiful. Flying in a dream (Flying in a dream), Stars by the pocketful. You wanting me (You wanting me). Tonight feels impossible, but it's comin' down. No sound, it's all around." He finished the song and you both stood up to bow to the crowd and blow them kisses.

"Thank you everyone so much please get home safe tonight, I love you all so much. Thank you for the best 5 months of tour I could ever ask for." You looked down at Charlotte and blew her a kiss. "Thank you." You mouthed to her and she smiled big.

You and Harry left the stage and went back stage to your dressing room. "That was so much fun, H. Thank you for coming and singing with me." You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hug.

"Anything for you, honey." He nuzzled his face into your neck. "I love you."

-

sooo what'd you guys think?? pls make sure to lmk and reblog this story if you did like it to help my account grow! i love you all so much and thank you for taking time to read my stories. <3

[puhpandas]

Rabbit Burrow

(5180 words) part 2 (1 found here)

Tony Becker, one year after surviving the attack from GGY, tracks down Gregory post-SB. But he has to get through Vanessa and Freddy before he can get to Gregory.

Its only after Tony has run through the interaction with Vanessa ten times over that he realizes she never told him how she knows Gregory.

He'd been nothing but restless since she left. His eyes have been darting to and from the digital clock on the end table on the other side of arm of the couch, and his brain has been so scattered, all he can focus on is the awaiting reunion.

The baking show has long since switched to a new episode since he last checked the TV. Tony's worried that at this point, his fingers will start bleeding if he keeps picking at them like this.

The only saving grace in a long chunk of nothing-but-anticipation is when Tony's phone buzzes at 6:01pm, right when he had started to gather his thoughts and began plan out the reunion in his head like remembering a speech.

Ellis: dude where r u????

Ellis: yr mom said u arent home and she keeps asking me if ur with me and where u r

All Tony does is sigh. He cant even find it in him to feel bad that his Mom and Grandma are probably worried. All he can think about is how his arms are shaking and his stomach feels floaty.

He types back with thumbs that have peeling skin on the edge of the fingernails.

Tony: Remember how I covered for you that one time?

Tony: I need you to cover for me. If you need to tell her that I'm with you and I'm staying over do that. I just need any excuse.

Ellis: yea i remember but why?

Ellis: if a guy covers for u u can at least tell him what the deal is

Tony: I'm doing something really important. I can't tell you all the details yet.

Tony: I just need you to trust me. Please. It'll help me out a lot, Ellis.

Tony: I promise I'll make it up to you next time you need something.

Ellis: dude didnt know it was that important

Ellis: dont worry then. u know i can tell a mean lie when i need to

Tony: Dude thanks. That's a big relief. It wont be in vain.

Ellis: my services will not be for free tho

Ellis: i will need something in return

Tony: What do you want?

Ellis: for u to buy me a cookie next time i see u at lunch

Tony finds it in him to roll his eyes at that. He smiles a bit, and right as he goes to send back I'll buy you two, Freddy Fazbear makes some sort of clunking sound.

Its enough to make his already fluttery heart clench and himself almost fly off of the couch. He jerks and yelps and can only stare Freddy Fazbears black eyelids phwip open, and his pupils glow..

They're blank, though, like they're on but Freddy himself isnt. His body whirs and shifts slowly, as if running a diagnostic, and after his ears wiggle, theres a clear difference.

Tony just sits rigid as a board with eyes wide as saucers as Freddy doesnt notice him right away. He just takes the jump cables off of his ears and sets them on the carpet, and moves his torso to face the window.

Which Tony is blocking. Since hes on the couch sitting directly next to the animatronic.

Theres a staring contest with a distinct lack of breathing for all but a few moments, before the small black plastic pieces that are Freddys eyebrows tilt downwards.

"Wait wait wait!" Tony holds out his hands, but Freddy doesnt get off the couch and attack him like his fears. Freddys eyes dont leave his once, and it reminds him too much of those few times Freddy would stare him down and be hot on his heels in the Pizzaplex during the GGY debacle.

Freddy pauses, not even so much as twitching as he burns an LED hole into him. Tony tries to get over the unease and stutters out, "Um, Vanessa trusts me. I talked to her. She told me to stay here."

For a fleeting moment, Tony believes he somehow said the wrong thing and that Freddy is now going to grab him and beat him into a pulp like he feared back at the Pizzaplex all that time ago. But during the rigid silence, the glow in Freddys eyes flickers for half a second, and some sort of beeping sound emits from a hidden speaker.

"I have just contacted her." Freddy finally breaks the tension, and Tony sighs at how his voice does not sound aggressive. In fact, Freddy hadn't spoken at all when Tony had been afraid of him last year. "You are telling the truth... my apologies."

"Theres no issue." Tony manages when Freddy looks so undoubtedly apologetic theres no doubt that he's not genuine. He scratches the back of his neck. "...I guess I wouldnt be too keen on a stranger being in my house when I wake up either."

"Yes," Freddy nods, and his ears bob at the motion. Theres a split second of silence where the baking show Tony hasn't caught a single second of is the only noise in the room. "so that begs the question; why are you here?"

Tony jerks. "What?"

"You are a stranger in my house, like you said." Freddy points out, not unkindly. "I would appreciate knowing why. Even if you already went over it with Vanessa."

"Oh. Well. I dont know what all Vanessa told you, but... I'm here for Gregory."

Freddy doesnt immediately turn distrustful or wary like Vanessa had. Probably because he already knows Tony is a friend. "She said you were an old friend of his." Freddy confirms. His "So, you are the boy Gregory talks to much about."

Tony doesnt really know how to respond to that. He grabs a fold of fabric from the arm of his jacket in-between his fingers. "Uh...yeah."

"I'm sure you've already talked to Vanessa. So I wont beat around the bush." Freddy says. "But Gregory has tried so hard to remember you."

Tony brows furrow. "...She said he has dreams sometimes. And that's how he knows I-- we exist."

"Yes." Freddy nods."But she probably did not tell you that he tries to figure out what reminded him of you, so he can continue to keep dreaming."

Tony's eyes widen, and he picks at his fingers. No. Vanessa did not mention that. She said nothing about Gregory actively searching for Tony around his life to see him in his dreams.

Freddys LED eyes dim, and his ears and eyelids droop in a clear sign of upset. "It breaks my heart. To see Gregory try to gather the broken pieces of his memories." His eyes stare at the couch cushion below them, before they dart up to look him in the eye. "You were obviously very important to him, if he searches like this."

"He is to me too." Is all Tony can manage. He's suddenly getting a sense adjacent to deja vu.

"Its clear that he is." Freddy is still looking him in the eye, but somehow, Tony feels like he's smiling at him. "If you came all this way to see him."

And he really did come a long way, didnt he? He took a bus to a different county. He spent hours and hours scouring the internet for any mention of Greg after he suddenly up and went missing as soon by the time Tony had recovered enough to look for him.

Greg has searched too, apparently. Tony cant help but be aware of. Even after losing his memories.

"What is your name?" Freddy suddenly asks him.

"Tony Becker." Tony answers easily. "I guess he doesnt remember my name, huh?"

"No. But he has tried. Believe me when I say that." Freddy says. "He wants to know more about his life before what happened more than anything."

"...You think he'll be happy to see me?"

"There is no doubt, Tony Becker."

The last time he had seen Greg, it was in a dusty back room with a knife in his back.

But despite that, it isnt what Tony thinks when he thinks Greg. When he thinks of Greg, he thinks of the sleepovers and the days Greg would show up at school one day with his hair different lengths. He thinks about how He, Greg, and Ellis would Vs. eachother on the air hockey machine. He thinks about the stories they'd come up with in creative writing.

When he thinks of that afternoon at the Pizzaplex, he doesnt think Greg. He thinks GGY. Maybe its that first inkling of separation that got him here.

Theres been a stretch of silence while Tony soaked it in. The rain outside has slowed, and the sun peeking through the gray clouds shines through the window, white lines on the coffee table like the blinds are a stencil.

"But the truth is... I do not think Vanessa feels the same." Freddy suddenly says. "She wants to protect him from the awful memories. I do not have to deal with them like she does, but I assume they... that they haunt her."

His ears droop. "I believe that she does not want Gregory to have to as well."

"So shes trying to keep them from him?" Tony asks, a brow raised. "But that's his choice, isn't it?"

"That is how I feel." Freddy agrees, looking at him again. It's starting to become less uncomfortable. "Listen, Tony Becker. I may not know for sure, but I feel that Vanessa is afraid to let you near Gregory. Seeing you will make him remember so much."

His mind immediately jumps to a thousand implications at that."If shes scared, what does that mean?" He asks. "She'll make me leave? She'll change her mind?"

"I do not think so." Freddy assures. "But my point is that she has been trying for so long to keep Gregorys memories under wraps. It is not with malice, but this is why I ask you this."

"Gregory has long since chosen to remember, even if Vanessa does not want him to." Freddy says havent left his once, and Tony doesnt look away, either. Freddys pupils suddenly appear brighter in a way when he speaks again, "To keep them from him after he has already made his choice would be cruel. Which is why I would like you to help him, Tony Becker."

Tony hasnt forgotten how Greg fought for him that day at the Pizzaplex. He hasnt forgotten how all that mattered was Tony escaping. Not if Greg would get in trouble. Not if something would happen to him.

Gregory has, though. Greg has forgotten a lot of things.

But if seeing Tony in danger that fateful afternoon made him remember himself enough to fight, and win against mind control?

Tony can fight for Greg's memories, too. Even if it takes another year.

"He deserves to remember his old life." Freddy says. "Vanessa has told me that his parents are dead. Any life he had before is nothing but a faint memory." He hums, melancholy. "But it's one I want him to remember."

Me too Tony almost says. Because all Tony has wanted throughout this last year is his friend back.

"Greg was one of my best friends." Tony says quietly, eyes downcast. He counts the threads in the couch cushion. "I want him to remember me and Ellis and... everything. It's why I'm here."

"I have not been able to help him, no matter how much I've wanted to." Freddy responds, sounding sad. "But I am glad you are here. Now Gregory truly has a chance of obtaining what hes been chasing for so long."

"Me too." Tony replies, not knowing which exactly hes responding too.

"So," Freddy pauses. "what do you say?"

"I'll do it." Tony responds immediately. "But... I just have to ask. Why do you trust me so much? Vanessa wouldnt even tell me anything until I answered her riddles."

Freddy hums. "It is exactly as you said." Freddy answers. "You earned Vanessa's trust. So in turn you have earned my trust. I trust Vanessa to trust you."

Tony doesnt respond, for a moment, just taking that in.

The amount of faith you have in someone to trust them that much. To know you can rely on them. To have no doubt...

Tony glances at the hallway he can see just over the back of the couch and down the hall into the room with the slightly open door, with the pens and pencils and bed and desk, and wonders how tightly wound the people in this house are with eachother.

"...Then I'll return the favor." Tony smiles. "You're friends of Greg's, and, well... I was friends with him, once upon an time. And he still seems to think so." He holds out a hand. "Any friend of Greg's is a friend of mine."

Freddys ears wiggle, and his eyelids come up in a way that make him look overjoyed. "Any friend of Gregory's is a friend of mine." Freddy repeats, shaking Tony's hand. "We are in this together, now. We will have to be there for Gregory if he remembers not so great things."

"And for the great things." Tony smiles, going over the few months worth of memories of their three amigos friendship he has in his head. "Its worth it, I think."

After all, if Tony's found a way to seperate killer Greg with his Greg, then he thinks Gregory probably can as well.

"I'm glad we have that settled." Freddys ears wiggle, and his eyes do that dimming thing again for half a second. "Because Vanessa has just contacted me and let me know that she is almost back with Gregory."

He makes some sort of choking noise. Theres a thousand things on the tip of Tony's tongue in seconds. His eyes blow wide as saucers, and he twists his back to look at the clock that reads 6:34.

He immediately feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. He stutters, trying to gather his thoughts, and eventually gets out "How long?!"

"Soon." Freddy smiles. "It wont be long, now. It seems all the work you've done has paid off."

Tony cant find it in him to move his mouth after that. Just too rigid. It feels like theres electricity buzzing up his skin and a wildfire in his chest. It feels like he cold start floating like a balloon at any moment.

He doesnt respond to Freddy, after that. He just twists his body to face the front door (his back twinges. maybe he shouldn't slouch over his laptop and desk so much) and waits.

A few minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Not really when its put up against the year he's taken to track Greg down. But its somehow more agonizing waiting now when he knows Greg is in arms reach, instead of it being uncertain if he'd ever see him again.

It's not uncertain, now. Is the thing. Greg is on his way, and Tony, for once, doesn't even know what to think. All he can do is sit there and be clammy and impatient.

Freddy chuckles. Tony ignores it. He burns a hole into the front door just across the living room, only hearing his own jumbled thoughts and roaring in his ears over the baking show on the TV.

Its Winter right now. So by 6:45, all the light outside has darkened into pitch blackness. The residential street lights outside the apartments make the raindrops on the window glow. The TV is still going in the background.

Freddy is as still as he is, joining him in watching the door as restless as a bored puppy. Listening to the ventilation inside of Freddys inner workings is the only thing that reminds Tony to breathe.

After multiple agonizing minutes, Tony jerks when the slam of a car door is heard distantly outside the window.

"Are you ready, Tony Becker?" Freddy breaks the silence. Looking back at Freddy is the first time Tony looks away from the door. "We do not know how much he will remember at first. It may be messy. It may not."

Messy is definitely a word he would use to describe a lot of the things that have happened, here. So he just nods, a tilt of his head. "I'm ready."

"He is ready, too." replies Freddy.

And that's all that's said until the doorknob begins to rattle.

All that Tony manages is a strangled gasp before he's bolting off the couch, almost tripping over Freddys legs. His converse slide on the laminate wood, and he stands there. In perfect view of the door.

His legs feel cold and his chest airy as he watches. He waits for movement, and cant help the tremble in his hands when the deadbolt unlocks. He can hear voices. Only because hes straining his ears, but he can hear a high pitched voice muffled and faint behind the door.

The doorknob rattles, and Tony watches as the deadbolt unlocks from the inside. His heart stutters in his chest when he hears voices outside, and he can pinpoint one of the pitches as Greg's.

"Come on, Vanessa. Were home. Now tell me what the suprise is!"

"I think you'll want to see it for yourself, Greg."

"Its inside? Well what could it possibly be if you wont even give me a hint--"

The knob twists, and the door creaks open. Its steady and agonizingalmost as if it's in slow motion.

And there he is.

Theres the pale skin and short stature and blue clothes. Tony isnt breathing when he just looks, and sees the boy he'd been searching for so long right in front of him.

He has raindrops in his chocolate brown hair. Greg doesnt look away from Vanessa while he walks in, at first, but Vanessa looks away from Gregory. She meets his eyes, and Tony doesnt have it in him to dissect what the look could mean.

All he cares about is how Greg follows her gaze.

He stops in his tracks, his mud stained Pizzaplex brand sneakers planting him firmly in place.

It's like everything else falls away when Greg meets his eyes. Huge, amber eyes that grow as wide as saucers when they see him. Theres a dark jagged scar wrapped around his cheek that makes it to his nose that wasnt there before.

The silence is deafening, as they just stand there and stare at eachother. Tony thinks he isnt breathing. Theres electricity shooting up his spine. His fingers twitch and tremble. Greg just stares, mouth agape.

Tony's own twitches, and he smacks his lips together, testing if he can still speak at all. His legs are rooted to the ground as he says, just above a whisper, "Greg."

Greg's face shifts ever so slightly, and it's only now Tony realizes his eyes are a bit faraway. Like he's...

Remembering something.

In an instant, they dart and blink, and Greg is looking at him again.

Tony dares to break through the water by taking a step. He never tears his eyes away from Gregory's own.

At some point, Vanessa moved away from the door and somewhere else in the house.

Which means the coast is clear when Tony takes a step, and then another, and Greg is meeting him in the middle.

Hes almost sprinting when they crash into eachother like waves. Immediately, Tony wraps his arms around Greg tight, and Greg clutches back just as desperately.

"Tony." Gregory says breathlessly. Tony can feel Greg's hair brush against his cheek and his hands ball up his jacket. "Its you. That's your name. You're the..."

"The one you've been dreaming about?" Tony chuckles, and to his suprise, it's a little wet. His legs ache from pushing himself into the hug so much, but he ignores it. "Yeah. Me and Ellis. Your friends."

"Tony and Ellis." Greg repeats, and Tony could cry at how it's the same voice in all of his memories. A few things are different; Gregory's face has changed a bit, and so has his hair and clothes. But all of the things that made him Greg back then are still here.

"I--" Greg stutters. "I tried so hard to remember anything about you. I was gonna track you down, I hope you know. Cause you're the only things I remember about..."

"I know, Greg." Tony replies. Greg pulls away from the hug, and Tony still has a grip on his shoulders. "They told me everything."

He jerks his head towards Freddy and Vanessa, and when Greg looks over at him, Freddys ears wiggle and Vanessa does a small little wave.

"Some suprise." Gregory chuckles, wiping at his dry eyes. "Jeez, its just-- I just remembered so much. Just by seeing you, and--"

Greg's eyes turn a little misty as he looks in Tony's own. "We were friends." He says. "And I forgot you for so long."

"It wasnt your fault." Tony smiles slightly. Greg still has to look up at him a bit, like he did last time Tony saw him. "Freddy and Vanessa told me you tried your best to remember us."

Gregory nods, glancing over at them. "I did." He says. "I wanted to know what triggered the first dream so bad. But... I never figured it out."

"I guess it doesn't matter now." Tony says. "I'm right here in front of you, and you remember now. Ellis'll be really glad to see you, too."

Gregory chuckles. "I missed him." He says. "I missed you, too."

"Me too." Tony replies, and it doesn't feel like those two words can encapsulate how much Tony has felt the past year. "Ellis really missed you as well. He still is. You don't know what happened to him when you went missing."

Gregory ducks his head, eyes downcast. "I wish I did."

Tony eyes Freddy from the corner of his eye, and he nods. Tony looks back towards Greg. "I can tell you some stuff, if you want. Vanessa said something reminded you of me one day." He smiles. "I can try to help remind you of stuff enough to remember more."

Gregory's head shoots up, and to Tony's suprise, tears gather in his eyes. As quick as they come, he ducks his head, using the sleeve of his navy jacket to wipe them away. "Yeah." He sniffs. "That'd be great."

"I'm glad you guys reunited." Vanessa pipes up to their left. "But, Gregory, I think you should go take a breather. I wanna talk to Tony anyway."

Greg doesnt answer for a second, but eventually he nods, smiling at Tony as he peels himself away. Tony takes note of how the tooth Gregory had been missing last year is still gone.

Tony watches him go, and his eyes dont leave his back until the door to his room shuts.

"Kid," Vanessa grabs his attention. She gestures to sit down on the couch, and he moves over, sitting in-between Freddy and her. "that went well. Really well."

Tony just nods, not able to shake the trembling in his fingers and the floaty feeling in his chest.

"It doesnt seem like he remembered anything bad." Vanessa points out. "He couldnt have. He wouldn't be so calm if he did, trust me."

Tony remembers Freddys words about how Vanessa grapples with the things shes done, so he does. He nods again, and Vanessa smiles. "So that's good. Listen, kid. If you can somehow have Gregory remember his old life without any of the mind control murder stuff, that would be the best case scenario."

Freddy whirs and straightens out a but, opening his mouth to speak, but he stops at the last second. "It wouldnt be unfair to Gregory if he wasnt remembering anything good, Fred." Vanessa points out.

"That is true." Freddy agrees. "There is no point in Gregory remembering anything harmful to him if avoidable. Vanessa knows that better than anyone."

Tony opens his mouth to speak, but pauses.

Not remember anything bad? As in he wouldnt be able to remember that day at the Pizzaplex?

How Greg had put himself on the line and fought for Tony's life? How he'd succeeded? How Tony always desperately wanted to see Greg again just to talk about it?

Words get caught in his throat, but he pushes them down and shoves his feelings aside. He just nods. "I'll do my best."

"Thanks." Vanessa says, and she sounds more relieved than Tony's ever heard anyone. She puts a hand on his shoulder, offering him a smile. "Really. Thank you, kid. I'd do anything for Gregory to never have to remember the same things I do."

Tony just nods again, finding that for the first time in his life, he has no words to say. "Yeah."

"I am sure you're dying to catch up with Gregory." Freddy smiles. "Go on, Tony Becker. We will give you both space."

Tony smiles, shooting up and shimmying past Freddys legs in-between the coffee table towards the hall. "Okay. Sure." He only lingers for another moment to say "Thanks!"

Its jet black outside when Tony passes a window, and by the time he makes it to Greg's room, the only light available is a small table lamp on the desk with paper strewn about. Greg sits on his bed, deep in thought, before snapping out of it when Tony walks in.

"Hey." Gregory smiles, and Tony grins back when he shuts the door behind him. He cant help how his eyes wander about the room, taking in every detail as he moves further into the room. His backpack is tossed on the floor beside his bed, and theres comic pages and drawings thumbtacked up across every wall. Theres a corkboard with blocky letters written on paper sheets scattered around, and his bedsheets have constellations on them.

Tony's eyes linger on the desk, where there are multiple comics covering every inch, some half-finished and some fully colored.

"You would draw comics when we were friends, too." Tony says, making his way over and peering at all of the different drawings. "I'd call them graphic novels. I'd write the story and you'd draw."

"I think I had a dream about that." Greg says. "We'd go in your room and brainstorm, right?"

"Yeah." Tony smiles. He looks at the dates scribbles in the corners of them all, and notices that most of them are recent.

"Its one of the only dreams I had." Gregory says. "It... it would make me so mad because it never went any different. And it had been the only indication you even existed for so long." He chuckles without humor. "The other dreams weren't much different, but, well, I was never really able to figure out how to trigger a new dream."

As he keeps looking, some of the older comics, like the ones on the walls and the underneath the piles of recent ones have dates from a few months ago.

It's like a tiny lightbulb goes off above his head. He turns to Gregory, asking "Do you remember when you had the first dream?"

Gregory pauses for a moment. "Yeah." He says. "It was a few months ago. The first dream I had was about us drawing comics in your room."

Tony smiles, finding the earliest date to be near October last year. Its February now. "Did you ever think the thing that triggered that memory was drawing a comic?"

Tony watches as the gears turn in Greg's head. Hes silent for a moment, before muttering, "No. I didnt."

Tony looks at the window on the wall by Greg's bed and watches as raindrops drip down the screen on the other side. Crickets are chirping faintly, and he can hear Freddy and Vanessa's voices muffled behind the door.

The days events catch up to him, and right as the first inkling of tiredness creep up on him, he says "So how about we try to make a comic together like the dream? Maybe it'll bring back some new memories."

Gregory is silent for a moment, and Tony watches as his eyes widen, and a grin gradually stretches across his face. "Okay." He says. "Yeah. Let's do it."

So it's in Greg's room, instead of Tony's, where they hunker down for the night and squish next to eachother on the same chair at the same desk and brainstorm a comic. Tony makes a point of calling it a graphic novel like he used to, because Greg would always say something about it, and unsurprisingly, this time is no different.

The only light is from Gregory's small table lamp shoved to the very corner to make room for more papers, and it's only when they have everything ready does Greg finally ask about the story.

"You said you'd write the story and I'd draw." Gregory says. His shoulder is pressed up against Tony's on the chair and his voice is loud in his ear. "So what's the story?"

Tony hums for a second, jumbled thoughts and ideas running course in his mind, then he gets an idea.

He grins slowly as it dawns on him. He glances over at Greg.

"You always liked nonfiction better, right?" Gregory says, voice up an octave like a question. "Real life stuff."

"Yeah." Tony confirms. "This is a real story."

"So tell me." Greg smiles, leaning back to get a good view of Tony. Tony himself does the same, and Greg is doing one of those lopsided smiles that shows off his missing tooth. "And I'll start drawing the panels."

Its only after theyve hunkered down does Tony really let himself revel in the fact that he found Greg, and he's here and okay. It may not be perfect, since Tony never really will be able to speak to that Gregory that saved him that day and thank him, but its content. Tony has his friend back, and he can't ask for any more.

He's long since decided on a story when he finally tells Gregory. He smiles softly, before saying,

"This story is about a kid named Gregory, who once hacked the school PA speakers and started beatboxing."

🔎🐰

Ellis: um so how long will i have to keep this up???

Ellis: would be nice to know

Tony: I dont know how long I'll be gone.

Tony: I'll buy you as many cookies as you want for this.

Ellis: we will negotiate when you come back

Ellis: for now ill uphold my end of the deal mr. becker

Tony: I'll uphold mine early.

Tony sent an image

Image ID: A boy with short dark brown hair and a green jacket angling the camera so by his head is a boy with pale skin and chocolate brown hair. The boy with dark hair is smiling and the boy with brown hair is looking suprised at the camera.

Ellis is typing...

ao3 link

[bungalowbear]

one.

nanami kento x reader, pokemon au, wc: 730

nanami is a ranger with yuji as his trainee and reader is a psychic gym leader. had so much fun thinking up this little universe. many thanks to @strawberrystepmom for bringing out our inner trainersonas!

You’re sitting in the library, sipping on a hot cup of tea in front of the fireplace when you hear it. The loud, powerful knocks on the front doors echo throughout the gym. Zorua lifts her head from her front paws, ears perking up toward the sound.

“A visitor?” You glance at the clock resting on the mantle. It’s nearly midnight. “At this hour?”

Placing your cup and saucer on the side table, you rise from your seat and exit the library with Zorua following behind you into the hall. The path from the library to the front of the gym requires several turns down long hallways illuminated by the warm glow of sconces along the walls.

Once an abandoned family estate, your gym is the culmination of years of careful curation. Every detail from the carpet, to the light fixtures, to the crown molding was transformed during your renovation. There’s the library filled with shelves upon shelves of books, rooms for meditation and mental training, and the battle court in the backyard that was once a tennis court. The property also boasts a lush garden for Solrock and Lunatone to sit undisturbed, as well as a large freshwater lake where your Psyduck spends most of his time. It took several years to bring to life your perfect gym, fulfilling your dream of creating a paradise for psychic trainers and their Pokémon.

When you arrive at the foyer you stay standing at the other end of the room opposite from the front doors. The knocking is louder now that you’re closer, and Zorua yips before jumping into your arms. You smooth a hand over her dark fur before using your telekinesis to open the gym doors.

A young boy with pink hair stumbles forward, nearly dropping the person he’s carrying on his back. Judging by his quick recovery, this boy must be stronger than he looks as he straightens up and adjusts the hold he has on the man’s thighs around his waist.

“Hello?” the boy calls out. His voice rings out clearly in the empty foyer. “Is anyone here? We need help.”

He doesn’t see you right away. Not until both your feet lift off the floor and you slowly approach him. You study his face for a reaction to your presence, and you’re impressed by his lack of fear. Most people that end up at your gym have rarely encountered someone with psychic abilities and immediately start trembling. But this boy stares up at you with a wide eyed and awed expression.

“Y-you’re flying!”

His eyes jump from your face to your feet, bending lower to examine the empty space between the bottom of your shoes and the floor.

“I’m actually levitating,” you say, smirking.

“Wow,” he marvels, drawing out the sound as he straighten up again. “So cool.”

His enthusiasm makes you smile, but now that you’re up close you can see the state the man on his back is in. Your face falls at the sight of the head resting on the boy’s shoulder. Blonde hair sticks to the sides of the man’s face, obscuring most of what isn’t already squished against the boy’s body, but you make out a dark bruise blooming near his temple along with the blood that flows from the gash on his cheek.

“What happened?” you ask.

“We were going after poachers when we got caught in a rock slide,” the pink haired boy answers. “He pushed me out of the way and ended up taking some hard hits from the debris. Please, can you help him? Your gym was the closest place I could find.”

Zorua sticks her nose out to take a timid sniff at the unconscious man then turns her head back to look at you. You see worry in her usually playful blue eyes and run your hand across her back to soothe her.

“Poachers?” Your brow furrows. “So, you’re Rangers?”

“We sure are,” he says, chest puffing with pride. But then he turns a bit sheepish. “Well, he is. Technically I’m still in training.”

You hum, taking another look at the man. The longer you stare the more his presence piques your interest, a familiar aura that suggests you’ve met before.

“What’s your name?”

“Itadori,” the boy says. “Itadori Yuji.”

You tell him your name, turning to look at him over your shoulder.

“Follow me, Itadori.”

series masterlist

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @bungalowbear-archive and turn on notifications.

[flufffilleddonut]

Spider-Mandated Break - Part 2

Summary - Carmilla has been easier on herself about her work lately, after some convincing from Zestial. However, she has not forgotten about the unconventional method of persuasion he used, and does not plan on letting his stunt slide.

Word Count - 800

-

Zestial and Carmilla were in the latter’s office, resting in the two chairs situated in front of her desk. The Overlords were enjoying each other’s company, with Zestial sipping on a cup of tea. Despite the busy lives that they both lead, the old friends made the effort to spend time together at least semi-regularly.

Holding the cup and saucer above his lap, Zestial’s cloak was slightly raised away from his body, displaying his long, slender figure. 

As their idle chat reached a natural pause, Zestial took a long sip of his tea before speaking.

“I must say, Carmilla, I am pleased to see thou taking some time for thyself.”

Carmilla gave a soft smile in response.

“Well, I thought about what you said, Zestial. If I keep giving all of my energy away to other people, I may work myself to my second-death.” She chuckled softly. “Taking some time off every now and then allows me to recharge, giving me enough energy to handle my responsibilities without feeling completely drained.”

“Glad to hear it.” Zestial said, a mischievous grin appearing on his face. “I suppose that means I will no longer have to persuade thou into giving thy weary soul a break, hm?”

Carmilla recalled Zestial’s playful attack a few weeks prior.

“Ah, yes, that will no longer be necessary.” She said, Zestial chuckling as he took another sip of his tea. “However, I don’t recall paying you back for your… considerate actions.”

Zestial’s tea caught in his throat, the demon choking slightly as he lowered his cup.

“Th-that is quite alright, Carmilla. Thou hath already repaid me by changing thy lifestyle for the better.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Zestial.” A smirk crossed Carmilla's face as she stood, taking a few steps over to the other Overlord, who shrunk back in his chair.

“Carmilla, thou really need not-” 

Zestial was cut off as Carmilla placed her hands on his sides, rhythmically drumming her fingers against the surface.

“You see, my friend, one does not mess with a Carmine and simply get away with it.” She said, beginning to skitter her nails up and down Zestial’s sides.

Frantic chuckles left the demon as he squirmed, twisting his body this way and that. His cup of tea rattled in his hands as he moved.

“Cahaharmillahaha! Thehehe tehehehea!” Zestial chuckled out.

“Looks like you better stay still. Wouldn’t want to spill it, would you?” Carmilla teased.

Moving her hands up to Zestial’s ribs, Carmilla began applying light, rapid pinches. Zestial’s movements became more erratic.

“Ihihi cahahahant!” He insisted, the cup and saucer flying out of his hands and onto the ground.

“Oh, nevermind then. Squirm around all you want. You won’t be getting away.” Carmilla said, vibrating her fingers into Zestial’s ribs.

His rapid chuckling turned into laughter.

“NAHhaAHa! ThohOU ahahARt cruhuHUhuel! CehEHEase ahAHat ohohOHOhonce!” Zestial laughed out, jumping around in volume. He grabbed onto Carmilla’s wrists but did not push at them.

“I’ve never heard you laugh like this, Zestial.” Carmilla chucked, slowing her hands. “You’re just as ticklish as my daughters.”

“Ihihi dohoubt my sehensitihivity is as greheat as thahat of yohohour kihihin.” Zestial giggled, regaining his breath.

“Oh, is that so? Well then, I guess you won’t mind this.” Carmilla shot her hands into Zestial’s underarms, scribbling mercilessly with her nails.

Zestial burst out laughing. He quickly slammed his arms down against his sides, effectively pinning Carmilla’s hands.

“Remohohove thy fingers!” He pleaded.

“I can’t. They’re stuck. You have to lift your arms so that I can pull them out.” Carmilla smirked.

“Thou wihill tihickle me agahain!”

“Don’t be silly, my friend. Just let my hands free.”

Zestial sheepishly raised his arms up, prompting Carmilla to dig into his underarms once again.

“THOHOU HAHATH BETRAHAHAYED MEHEHE!” Zestial proclaimed through his laughter.

Carmilla couldn’t help but laugh along.

After a minute, she slowed her hands to a stop, removing them from Zestial’s figure.

“Are you alright, friend? I didn’t go overboard, did I?” Carmilla questioned, returning to her chair.

“No, thohou were gentle enohough. T’was nice to let loose for a while.” Zestial laid back in his chair, slightly winded.

“Sorry about the tea. Would you like me to get you some more?”

“I would be most grateful.” 

Zestial watched as Carmilla got up to fetch him the beverage.

Even as a widely-feared, ancient Overlord, Zestial had a more sensitive side to him, one that he enjoyed being able to freely share with his old friend. They could have moments of vulnerability together, without fear of ridicule or mockery. Zestial cared for Carmilla, and enjoyed bringing out her more playful side.

As he had watched many Overlords rise and fall from power, Zestial hoped that Carmilla would stick around, and that they would always have each other to rely on.

-

[harveybwabbit92]

{The School is holding it’s annual book fair, Arven is holding a copy of ‘Larry’s kitchen: Recipes for the average joe on the go..’ (The cover is Larry the Gym leader holding a rice-ball staring deadpanned at the camera,) while Arven is skimming through it Penny comes up behind him holding a black book with a Flying saucer on it.]

Penny: I'm getting this book on UFOs.  ["Unidentified Flying Outrage!"]  Did you know they're real, but there's a huge world conspiracy to cover it up?

Arven: Oh, that's just a paranoid fantasy.

[the clerk runs Arven's book over the scanner, a signal travels down through the scanner, over wires, then to a small satellite dish, the dish relays the signal to an orbital satellite, where the signal is then transferred to the Medali Gym headquarters, Where it is printed out via a fax machine, Larry’s assistant Y/n grabs the printout reads it, gasps! and dashes off to Larry’s office ]

Y/n: Mr. Larry! Someone finally bought a copy of your book, sir.

Larry, deadpan: (looks up from his papers) Well, this calls for a celebration.

[He takes out his phone puts on Kool 'n' the Gang: Celebrate while a confetti popper goes off and a disco-ball descends from the ceiling.}

Rotom-phone: "Celebrate good times C’mon!"

Larry, flatly: I will.

[phantomfairs]

So I had an idea. A mysterio x reader idea from Quentin’s perspective. Blame @hollowsart for giving me the idea.

The night was Mysterio’s, his plan having gone a bit too well. People were fleeing the rooftop cafe, and Spiderman was on his side, bleeding profusely. The drama major lowered his arm, the machine over his hand dimmed and retracted back into hiding in his gauntlet. He pretended to blow the steam from the gadget, putting his hands on his hips.

“What a showstopper this new gadget of mine is. Do you like it, Spiderman?” He asked with his signature dramatic flare, taking a few slow steps toward the hero. “It might actually put a stop to that pathetic circus act of yours.” He mentally encouraged the man to get up, the spider lying deathly still. He turned away from the arachnid with a swish of his cape, trying to give him more time. “You disappointed me, spider. Is there no hero who might put a stop to Mysterio?” The lack of quips was weirding the villain out.

“Help!” Mysterio made no show but his head swiveled towards the sound. In the light of the city awake at every hour, he caught sight of a hand slipping from the railing. A woman was hanging seven stories up with Spiderman down and out, no one left on the roof to save her. His eyes darted between the downed hero and the girl's slipping hand. Before he could even try to make a decision, the woman fell with a screech.

“Hold on!” His persona dropped like the woman, Quentin jumping over the railing without a second thought and earning many questions screamed in his ear by his partner in crime. She was falling too fast. Quentin threw out his hand, two little gremlins flying out. They grabbed the woman’s shirt and did their best to slow her fall. Just a little closer…Quentin finally grabbed the woman, pulling her into his arms and twisting them both around. “Gotcha!” He smirked under his helmet, hearing the sound of his hoverboard approaching. Thank god Tink thought to send it, the man expertly landing on the tech and holding the woman close as their fall was stopped. Quentin sighed, his heart racing. “Ma’am, are you alright?” He looked up, his eyes meeting (e/c) eyes wide as saucers. Quentin swore the stars came out of hiding just to sparkle in her eyes and steal his breath. She was beautiful. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, his under her back and legs. His heart thumped in his chest but it wasn’t the fading adrenaline.

Quentin didn’t know they’d been moving until the hoverboard sat inched above the rooftop, quentin stepping off and slowly lowering the woman.

“Thank you.” Her words echoed through his head, her sweet voice enrapturing him. Quentin couldn’t speak for a moment, just watching her. Slowly, he reached up. Ignoring the voice in his ear, Quentin twisted off his fishbowl helmet. He shook out his hair, tucking the helmet under an arm.

“You’re not hurt are you?” She seemed as frozen as him, shaking her head softly. Neither of them could seem to break the spell between them, unable to look away from the other. A smile wormed onto Quentin’s face, quite liking the spell he was under. “Good. I’m awfully sorry for knocking you over the railing, miss, it was not my intention.” He held a hand to his chest, bowing in apology.

“It’s alright…well, it's not alright but I understand not realizing you were going to hit me.” The woman rambled, a blush settling on her face as her hands waved around. “I wasn’t exactly expecting a supervillain attack when going out for coffee.” She chuckled, the sound pulling Quentin closer to her. “You never really expect a villain attack or nearly falling to your death. Then again villain attacks happen so often you might as well assume you’ll be in danger at some point-” A gloved hand taking hers stopped the woman’s ramble. Quentin pulled her small hand close, kissing the back of it.

“I apologize again for putting you in such danger.” He hesitated before letting go of her hand and taking a step back. “You should head home, miss. Do try not to fall off a building again, I can’t always be there to sweep you off your feet.” He winked at her, putting his helmet back on when hearing the superhero start getting up. He hopped onto the hoverboard, using a twirl of his cape to disappear before the woman’s eyes. He appeared in a back alley, checking over his equipment.

“Are you alright, Quentin?” Tinkerer’s voice crackled in his ear.

“All good here, Tink.”

“Good, because I’m going to kill you for giving me a heart attack!” Laughter echoed through the alley, the illusionist’s mind stuck on the woman as he made his way to his hideout.

[that--funny--feeling]

Like the first time

Two days ago I saw All things and I still have feelings. I liked it so much.

Here's my take on how it went in that missing moment iykyk

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

She didn't even remember when she actually fell asleep. One moment she was talking to Mulder about destiny and choices, the next she was feeling his arms wrap around her shoulders and her legs, lifting her off the couch.

«Mulder, what are you doing?» she whispered into his chest with her eyes still half-closed as her blanket slid off of her onto the floor. She hadn't even realized she had it on.

«I'm taking you to bed, Scully.» She heard his voice rumble in his chest. She could feel his heat through his shirt too. It was comforting.

«No… It's late, I have to go home.» she tried to reply weakly, but she didn't even believe her words.

«Don't even try it, Scully.» She imagined him shaking his head. She could have seen it with her own eyes, if only she had opened them. But she was so exhausted. She wondered how he could carry her so easily. She felt so small, wrapped up in his arms. Safe.

Mulder laid her on his bed, under the covers. The sheets must have been just changed because they smelled clean. Scully fully opened her eyes only now and realized that Mulder had already put on his pajamas. Maybe it had been longer than she'd thought since she'd dozed off on the couch.

«Mulder, I've been wearing these clothes since this morning.»

«I can help you with that.» he grinned widely, leaning down on the bed next to her. His smiles were insufferable, but also irresistible. And Scully just didn't have the strength to hold back hers right now.

«And I didn't even go to the bathroom.»

«Mi casa es tu casa.» Mulder indicated his bathroom with a broad hand gesture. «There's still the toothbrush you used the last time in the sink. If you can get past my insane way of closing the toothpaste.» Scully grimaced in response. «And I prepared one of my t-shirts for you as pajamas, if you like.»

Scully caressed his cheek and looked straight into his eyes. He was right, he had only been gone a couple of days, yet it was as if everything had changed. And at the same time as if nothing had changed.

There had always been a part of her that was afraid of making the wrong choices. First she worried about her father's opinion, then Daniel's, then Jack's. Each of them had a precise vision of what her life should have been, of what would have been the most logical path to follow. She had no doubt that Ahab was only behaving that way because he was worried about her and only wanted the best for her, yet it was something that always made her suffer. Daniel, then, had put his entire life onto her, his love for her but also his private dissatisfactions, his professional ambitions, his anxieties, his fears. He thought he knew her, but she had never been sure if he had really gotten to know the Dana of the past, he certainly couldn't have known the one of the present.

And then there was Mulder. That had respected her from the first moment, had always asked her opinion, had trusted her, had supported her in every decision she had made, had helped her save herself more than once, had seen the best and the worst of her, with whom she would even go to hell if he asked her to. With whom she had cried, laughed, discussed cannibalism in the middle of the water, spent sunday mornings in the office talking about flying saucers. With whom she had hoped to have something more and had managed to break the circle that she feared had chained them. She had tasted a passion and a light-heartedness in those months that she had never thought possible before. And with whom she had also lost so much. Even the possibility of a child.

She had always asked Mulder why he didn't stop, why he didn't want to a normal life. But maybe she was the one who didn't want a normal life. She remembered what she had thought during their first case together, as they trembled like leaves in the rain and he had convinced her of his supernatural theory: that she could do this forever.

Maybe the life with him wasn't the one she had imagined as a child. Maybe Ahab wouldn't approved, maybe if Daniel knew what her job really was now he would think she was crazy. But Melissa – God, Melissa. In that moment she missed her more than anything in the world – would have held her hand and hugged her and laughed with her, she was sure of it.

She was exactly where she needed to be. The back of Mulder's head rested against her hand as she caressed him, eyes closed, completely at the mercy of her touch.

He straightened his head and his eyes stared into hers, a faint smile on his lips. «What?» he asked softly, breaking her chain of thoughts.

She shrugged. «I love you» she smiled.

His eyes became serious and stared her for some time. Then the corners of his mouth curved up too. «Oh, brother.» he whispered.

She rolled her eyes, but they were both laughing. «Isn't that what I was supposed to say?» He took her hands in his. «I love you too.»

Scully's heart filled with warmth. She put both hands around his face and kissed him like it was their first time. She had known how Mulder felt for her for a long time, and he had known how she felt too. It wasn't a secret. They had said it silently to each other many times, they had proven it with their actions more times than she could remember at that moment. And just as many times Scully had held back on him, scared of how interconnected their lives were becoming, how much she was depending on him. She was tired of being afraid, she was tired of saying “I'm fine” when she wasn't fine. She wanted to wake up in his arms if she had a nightmare, have breakfast together at the bar, hug each other on the beach, dance with him when she heard a song she liked on the radio, make love all day like teenagers and not just for a few stolen moments.

Mulder returned the kiss and slowly they both entered under the blankets. They made love like it was their first time.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

A Floyd’s Family Christmas

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x female reader

Warnings: mentions of sex but no smut

Summary: You and Bob continue a Floyd family tradition.

Christmas had always been a special time for Bob, he loved spending time with family, baking cookies, and singing carols, he loved it all but what he enjoyed the most was decorating the Christmas tree. He loved spending the day going and cutting down his own tree and decorating it and so when he met you he continued this tradition. He had been horrified when he found out you’d never had a real tree.

“What do you mean you’ve never had a real tree?” His eyes were wide like saucers and his mouth hanging agape.

“Well I have had a tree before but only an artificial one. My mum always said real trees make too much of a mess.”

Bob was too shocked to even speak. How could people not have a real Christmas tree? On Your first Christmas together Bob went out of his way to make it as magical as possible, including a real tree. Now every year the two of you would go and pick your own tree before bringing it home and decorating it, that took the longest as the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other and it often resulted in sex on the couch surrounded by decorations and a half done tree.

However, this year was a little different. You both piled into Bob's truck with your golden retriever, Bailey, sitting between you. Bob smiled over his furry golden head at you, watching as you gently rest your hand on your growing baby bump. At that moment Bob thought that nothing could be more perfect. The drive to the Christmas tree farm was a short one that was filled with laughter and singing Christmas carols. Bob parked close to the entrance and was round to your door, helping you down from the truck and stopping you from slipping in the snow. You sat down on a log with Bailey while Bob popped into the office to talk to the owner who he’d known since he was a child. He came out holding an axe and had a broad smile gracing his handsome features. He linked his arm through yours, supporting you as you walked through the rows of evergreen trees. The snow was deep, almost coming over the top of your boots, it was deep, pure white and perfect. The scene was picturesque, something that you would see in the Christmas rom-com that Bob loved so much. Bob took picking a Christmas tree very seriously and you watched in amusement as he assessed all the trees, weighing up the pros and cons of them all before finally picking one he liked. It wasn’t an exceptionally tall tree but you would need Bob’s help to put the star on the top, its green branches full and perfect for decorations.

“This is the one!” Bob exclaimed excitedly, giving you the thumbs up as he danced around the tree. You could help but laugh at your husband's childlike delight, how could you not love this man when he was this amazing?

“I love it, Bobby.” You watched as he searched for your approval and grinned ecstatically when you did. He cut the tree down with ease, loading it haphazardly into the wheelbarrow you’d bought and began pushing it through the snow. Bailey had been bouncing around and was now soaking wet and covered in large snowballs that were sticking to his coat. “Bailey, you’re a genius.” You told the dog, reaching down and grabbing a handful of snow between your mittens. You bunch the snow up into a small spherical lump of ice, launching it expertly at the back of your husband's head. Playing baseball at High School had really paid off. Bob froze as the ice hit the back of his head, the cold substance slipping down the back of his neck and running down his back. You sniggered watching as he turned round, shock evident on his face. He looked a little hurt and you stepped forward ready to apologize when a large snowball hit you. You squeaked as it began to soak through your coat.

“BOB!” You exclaimed as he hid behind the tree. “Oh, you’re on.”

Snowballs began flying back and forth as the pair began an intense battle. Bailey jumped excitedly, trying to catch the ball mid-air. Suddenly the snowballs stopped coming and you peeked out from your hiding place. Bob was nowhere to be seen and you called worriedly to your husband. A large pair of arms wrapped around your middle making you jump but you soon felt the warm, delicate kisses on your neck. You sighed into his chest, lifting your arm to stroke the back of his hair as he continued peppering your skin with kisses.

“How about we head home to finish what we started,” Bob mumbled into your flesh, nipping gently at your ear lobe.

“I like the sound of that,” you answered smiling as you felt him smirking next to you. Bob released you from his grip going back to the wheelbarrow and you followed him back to the car. You waited in the car as he loaded up the tree with the help of Bailey. When both of your boys were back in the car you relaxed a little more and watched as Bob pulled off his now wet coat, chucking it carelessly onto the backseats. He looked up sensing you were watching him and smiled lovingly at you. He reached over the top of Bailey’s head, cupping your cheek in his large palm and kissing you softly. “I love you, Mrs Floyd.”

You grinned at him, playing with the small curls at the base of his neck. “I love you too, Mr Floyd.”

Tag list: @callsign-phoenix @imjess-themess @blue-aconite @averyhotchner @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @alexxavicry @a-reader-and-a-writer @topguncortez @maggiescarborough @callsignmaverick5 @ssprayberrythings @smoothdogsgirl @xoxabs88xox @luckyladycreator2 @abaker74 @elenavampire21 @classyunknownlover

[idontknowreallywhy]

Tried but failed to reach a conclusion on what I’m loosely calling the paint mystery but the majority of the chapters have deviated so wildly from any kind of plot that I may have to rethink whether it’s a story or just a collection of scenes.

Unrefined, unedited previous bits for reference:

Bit the first

Bit the second

Bit the third

The interlude after the third where I lost control of the characters and everyone went a bit nuts

Now, Bit the fourth which was supposed to be the end but that still eludes me… ALL the thanks to @astranite @womble1 and @sofasurf for the beta reading and suggestions and encouragement and to the Thunderfam generally for being a friendly safe community to practice a new thing within.

Light

A rush of harmonics drowned out Two’s steady hum as her sister raced up beneath her and barrel-rolled overhead before shooting off into the Californian twilight. Virgil watched as her vapour trail angled up, up, up and over backwards before taking a steep dive and spiralling back towards where he and Gordon watched in various shades of amusement and baffled awe.

“How is he still conscious?” Gordon murmured. “I’d be either sick… or dead. Ugh… nope, definitely dead.”

Virgil watched as his elder brother steered the rocket plane into the vertical zigzag he recognised as the signature move of the ‘Vomit Comet’ Scott had piloted for the trainee astronauts during his 6 month NASA secondment from the Air Force.

“He doesn’t have a… normal relationship with G force, Fish, you know that.”

As if to prove the point, One screamed past them, spinning, and doubled back to overtake at a distance which set Two’s proximity sensors blaring.

Again.

Virgil cringed and covered his ears.

John’s wry smile materialised in front of them. 

“Aunt Val is going to be inundated with emails from the alien spotters again isn’t she?”

Virgil snorted. Then sighed.

“Should we… you know, rein our dear flyboy in a little?”

There was a delighted snicker in the background as John coughed uncomfortably.

“He couldn’t doooo it” came the familiar singsong voice of Virgil’s digital niece. John, who now appeared to be heavily focused on brushing non-existent dust from his baldric, frowned slightly.

“I did open a comm with him, yes.”

“And?”

“He was… whooping, Virgil.”

It was Gordon’s turn to snort. He looked up from his tablet where he’d already accessed the usual conspiracy theory websites to check for new flying saucer sightings over Arizona.

“What, Scott? Pfft, seems unlikely”

John raised an eyebrow and patched in the audio from One’s cockpit.

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat as he was accosted by a sound he hadn’t heard since his brother was a teenager. Warm, hearty, unfettered laughter punctuated by… yes, that could only be described as a whoop… and then an elated giggle. 

Virgil was aware that to most people sound didn’t have colour but it was second nature to him. Scott’s usual speaking voice was a familiar steely blue, rich and dependable. It could deepen to almost navy if he was angered or concerned, or gain highlights of cerulean when he was amused or speaking affectionately. Now it was as if an arc of blazing summer sky was overlaid on the late evening clouds ahead of them, marred only by the static effect of the comm. Virgil was overwhelmed by a sudden longing to hear his brother laughing properly, truly, untainted by digital interference and simultaneously afraid the opportunity to do so would never arise.

Nobody moved, not waiting to break the spell. Then One did it for them, as her pilot pushed her into yet another feat of aerobatic madness and her own burning white squeals of delight muffled those of the man at the controls.

John muted the feed. Virgil releases the breath he was holding and swallowed, glancing at Gordon whose jaw had almost parted company with his face, his tablet hanging from a limp hand, his mission of winding up the ufologists forgotten. 

It was sobering to realise how infrequently a website tracking the rare and precious phenomena of happy-carefree-Scott would be updated. He met John’s eye and inclined his head. He couldn’t intervene either. Drop kicking a puppy would be less morally questionable.

“How’s his fuel?”

John’s gaze shifted upwards as a graceful sweep of his left hand obviously brought up some kind of display and a swift flick of the right closed something else down. Virgil was momentarily distracted by the image of his elegant brother conducting a symphony orchestra from space, his attention snapping back as he noticed the slight furrow in John’s brow.

“Low, I take it?”

“At this rate he’ll drop into F tank in about 10 minutes. Which will get him home if he flies in a straight line…”

“If.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s F tank when it’s at home?” Gordon had abandoned his tablet and was observing his elder brothers’ with overt curiosity.

John rolled his eyes. Virgil bit his lip and radiated guilt. Scott had never been told about that particular upgrade to his ship and it always made him uneasy to keep such a secret but the secrecy was necessary for it to work as intended.

“Gordon you have to swear to keep this to yourself… but you remember all those times when the paragon of caution that is our big brother has reassured us his fuel supply was “Fine” when One was actually running on fumes?” 

More like the distant memory of fumes in some cases. His little brother of course knew all too well because he’d flown enough missions himself to take fuel to whatever godforsaken location Scott had stranded himself in.

“Well… Brains and I installed a little extra tank about which the fuel gauge is ignorant and so is One’s primary pilot.”

Gordon appeared to ponder this for a minute.

“Won’t that just make him believe he really can fly on fumes?”

“Precisely what I said” John threw a hand in the air. “I had suggested a flow rate limiter instead, so she can’t do more than Mach 6 once the gauge gets below a certain level”

“But that’s slower than the Big Green Mom Bag!”

“Oi!” the Mom Bag’s pilot objected “But, yes. Can you imagine what his reaction would have been if…” Another screech of scram jets announced One’s return from who knew where and she decelerated with a shudder to match Thunderbird Two’s more sedate pace, flying above and just a nose ahead with her pilot looking down at them and flipping a cheeky salute. Virgil nudged the comms open again:

“Having fun, you big show-off?”

Scott’s hologram appeared, all shark-like grin and wildly dilated pupils. Virgil found himself leaning back into his chair, slightly intimidated by the intensity of his sibling’s manic expression.

“Well?! What are you going to PLAY?!”

Three younger brothers performed a perfectly synchronised double-take.

“P-play?”

“The concert, short stuff! What are you going to play in the concert? You should play that one that that goes ba-da-da-da da da ba-da-da-da da da da dum…” and then One was spiralling off again in a roar of jet engines, her pilot’s hologram blurring into incomprehensibility from the vibrations and leaving his younger brother blinking in confusion.

He shut off the comm before it gave them all a headache. At some point prior to the spontaneous post-tornado-rescue singalong in the school hall, their old teacher Ms Knighton had accosted Virgil and persuaded him to be the guest soloist at a benefit concert she was already planning to fundraise for disaster relief in their hometown. ‘Persuaded’ wasn’t quite the right word. He wasn’t aware that he’d actually been given any kind of an option. The woman was a tidal wave of organisation and he’d been well and truly swept along.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about it anyway. He’d not played in front of anybody but family since their Mom had passed and he hadn’t planned to either, for all that the idea gave him a tiny flutter of anticipation. He’d been meaning to send an apology citing work commitments later that week.

THIS was what had got Scott so excited?

He squirmed guiltily as he’d begun to theorise that his renowned flirt of a brother had encountered an old flame during the course of the evening and that was what had caused the adrenaline spike. But, it seemed Scott wasn’t celebrating for himself at all. This vanishingly rare level of joy from his big brother, was on HIS behalf?

He suddenly pictured Scott sat in the front row of every little school performance, even the ones Mom couldn’t get to. He’d always put the constantly jiggling denim-clad legs down to frustration at having to sit still and listen rather than climb and run but then… maybe that wasn’t it at all?

There was the gift of the electronic piano… and that time his brother flew back from college to talk round his father who’d objected to Virgil’s nervous suggestion that maybe he could do joint honours music alongside his engineering degree. Granted, when he realised IR on the horizon, Virgil had changed his mind and decided to keep music just as a hobby but thanks to his brother, it had been HIS decision to make. 

Now he thought about it, he couldn’t think of a single occasion when he’d sat and played the lounge piano where Scott wasn’t either at dad’s desk, on the sofa, or leaning against the body of the instrument chatting or just watching with a fond smile.

Scott had been his cheerleader at every step.

“Earth to Viiiirg!” Gordon leaned over and poked him in the side of the head. “So what are you going to play then?” Virgil smiled awkwardly and rubbed away the sudden excess of water in his eyes.

“Guess I’d better figure out what “ba-da-da-da da da” is.”