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eddies-house · 4 months

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Smoke Signals

Chapter Twelve - The Holiday Season Begins

W/C: 8.7K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

"I've got my eye on you."

Say Yes To Heaven - L.D.R

A/N: Wow I think this is the longest I've gone without posting a chapter. I really hope you guys enjoy this one. I wrote it in bits and pieces and read it over several times. I would really really really love to know what you think, this one is so special and personal to me.

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Sugary apple goo.

You think back to Thanksgiving back home, a ruckus constant in the kitchen as dinner is prepared, more than enough food to feed an entire village. Pots and pans clank together, trays create an echo as they are not-so-carefully placed atop the counter. Dinner rolls are burned but still enjoyed with warm cinnamon butter. The potatoes are a touch too lumpy but still desirable with notes of rosemary and an ungodly amount of garlic. Various smells, both sweet and savory flood the house, your poor, stressed out mother churning out dish after dish, siblings all engaged in some kind of ball game out in the street just after watching the Thanksgiving Day parade.

You tend to the green bean casserole, an easy dish that you couldn’t screw up even with your limited attention span. Cream of Mushroom soup from a can seemed so repulsive in itself although it brought the whole dish together. It didn’t matter that seconds prior it slumped against the green beans still in the shape of the can, nearly gelatinous. Once stirred in and baked with crispy onions layered over the top, it was a masterpiece. A five star dish in your book.

It would only be a matter of time before grandma showed up with her famously delicious apple pie, the crust coated in extra amounts of grainy sugar, the dish still piping hot. And the “sugary apple goo” as you used to call it at the age of three already had your mouth watering just thinking about it, crispy apples so fresh and topped with syrupy caramelized sauce topped off with cinnamon and nutmeg, all wrapped up in a flaky, buttery crust.

You sigh, piling the apple mixture on top of the homemade graham cracker crust. It wasn’t clear to you just how lonely Thanksgiving morning would be without anyone around. Sure, you had Donnie’s to look forward to this evening but until then, you were on your own, the parade quietly playing on the TV though you hadn’t been very impressed with the floats this year. Holiday depression was kicking in, a kind you hadn’t experienced yet. They were usually always a happy time, family surrounding you and distracting you from the lonesome thoughts you usually had. This year it started feeling more like a ton of bricks was sitting on your chest, no one able to aid in providing you with some kind of task such as the honor of making the green bean casserole to ease the pressure.

It wasn’t like you couldn’t just make the controversially delicious dish, you had everything stashed in the pantry. It just didn’t feel right. It went unnoticed by you that tears were slowly sliding down your cheeks until a fat one landed on your wrist as you finished spooning the apple filling.

Again?

In that moment you swear you looked the most pitiful you had ever looked in your entire life, tears trailing down your face silently, all alone, homesick. You should be in your pajamas playing some kind of a board game on the coffee table in the living room, surrounded by your siblings. Not throwing yourself a pity party while spreading apple goo. To top it off, your hands had gotten completely covered, the sauce making your fingers undesirably sticky. You hadn’t quite reached the point of sobs yet though you suppose if you let the goo linger on your hands any longer you would.

Some comforting folk music your grandpa used to play religiously rang through the house though you felt no such comfort. Not as much as you’d hoped anyway. It brought a familiar sense of his essence to you, his passing three years ago not settling right in your heart. It only made you more homesick.

But you weren’t going to let yourself soak in salty tears and sticky apples. No, you washed your hands in soothing warm water, the sludge sliding right off and into the metal of the sink, eyes puffy and red but void of tears for the time being. You’d sucked them back and changed the music to something more upbeat, some Elvis that your grandpa had also engrained deeply into your brain though you hoped the faster tempo would brighten your spirits and ignite the happy memories.

Only, it landed you on the couch in a whole new sea of sobs this time as Unchained Melody lingered in the lonely room. There was no getting a grip on the gut-wrenching, stomach-aching isolation you were feeling, sanity was long gone. You were supposed to be trimming the dough that was meant to create the criss cross pattern for the pie, you were supposed to be enjoying your glass of wine as you sang under your breath to familiar tunes, you were supposed to be okay.

It was you, after all, who had made the decision to move, right? It was you who picked up your entire life and plopped it right in the middle of some unknown mountain town in search of yourself. You feared that you were just losing yourself instead, forgetting just after a few months what it felt like to be surrounded by loved ones, forgetting how it felt to come home to a full house after a grueling shift at the local Denny’s. You smelled of burnt coffee and dry eggs, your hair greasier than the literal grease trap, but none of that mattered the second you stepped into the coziness of the living room, all family dysfunction left at the door.

The tears wouldn’t stop though you still managed to force yourself off of the couch, wiping snot away with the back of your hand as you stared at the messy kitchen in despair. Everything suddenly seemed so…impossible. How were you meant to do anything while simultaneously questioning your entire existence, your entire meaning of life?

You had been in such disarray that cleaning up as you went didn’t even seem close to an option, nearly every pot and pan either set on top of the stove or thrown in the sink, whisks and spatulas scattered among the mess, and apple skins littering the floor. Now you were taking in the aftermath, not even having the finished product to show as an excuse for the complete disaster, even the dough still rolled out on the cutting board. You had hours left to prepare though it felt like seconds ticking by to inevitable disappointment.

The end of the world felt like it weighed down on your shoulders yet you did what you did best each time. You set it aside and pressed on. It was never simple, weak hands grasping the dull knife, slicing through the dough to create uniform strips. Motivation was running dry, the desire to grace everyone with the most delicious apple pie they’d ever tasted was out the window, you could only do what your body allowed.

And like every other time you had to pull yourself out of the gutter. Life began to bleed back into your eyes as your creation came back to life. Puffiness still remained throughout your face, eyes still droopy but slowly your drive kicked back into gear. Sniffles from previous snotty tears continued but nothing felt better than laying down the last layer of dough over the apple filling, a quest conquered.

Finishing off your cheap red wine, you reward yourself by licking off the spoon you’d used for the filling. The kitchen still required a good scrub down but you could live with the mess a little while longer as you indulged in the sweetness. Something well deserved. You didn’t even want to think about the nightmare that Christmas was about to become, decorating your tree with only the company of your dreaded thoughts. That was a scenario you were not willing to wander into, at least not until it would actually happen. There was no sense in making yourself live through it twice, your brain longing to torture you with irrational possibilities.

Elvis’s voice continues to carry through the living room, a second glass of wine being poured in hopes of easing your homesickness, attempting to neglect thoughts of what you would usually be doing right now. It was barely working, only leaving you feeling slightly lazy with a good layer of sadness still looming over you like a storm cloud. There was no extinguishing the sorrows you felt for familiarity and the comfort the holidays were supposed to bring you.

Sudden knocking sends you into a brief panic, unexpected guests were not in the cards for your lonesome morning that had only served to encourage your crybaby tendencies. At the very least you got a pie out of it.

The knocking persists as you scramble up from your depressing divot on the couch, a certain urgency waving over you at the speed of the knocks. They were rapid, quick pecks at the wood, a worrisome speed that usually constituted an emergency in the end.

Why today, why now?

With a heavy sigh, you swing the door open, glass of half-finished wine in one hand while the other runs down your drained face. You expect some kind of eviction notice; god knows why since you own the place. Maybe the check hadn’t reached the mortgage company, maybe it had been intercepted in transit. The last thing you expect on your doorstep is a wide-eyed Eddie cradling a large bowl in one arm. His gray sweatpants swallow his legs and hang low on his hips, a sliver of his tummy on display in between his t-shirt and pants.

It’s conflicting. Do you act concerned and start begging the questions: Did something happen? Who’s injured? Or do you exhale in relief as a tiny smile tugs at the corners of his mouth even in his somewhat distressed state? It can’t be that bad if he still finds it in himself to smile, right?

“I, uh, I need help.” He says sheepishly.

Ever since the night of the hoedown, he’d been a new kind of shy with you. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t adore it because truth be told, big bad Eddie Munson who previously chewed you out for being so bashful was now getting a taste of his own medicine. Except you had been much kinder than he initially was, though it was fun to tease him and force his face to turn a vibrant tomato red.

“Help?” You smirk, swirling your wine as if you were some kind of connoisseur. “My, my, how the tables have turned.”

“Bambi.” He groans, still maintaining focused eye contact with the wood planks of your porch.

“Eddie.”

It’s said so softly, in a way that reduces him to a puddle, his knees could give out at any moment if you so much as looked at him a certain way which had been why he refused to catch your gaze. He internally curses himself for automatically counting under his breath, unable to stop himself: one, two, three, one, two, three.

In an instant your face falls, he only ever counted when he was stressed from what you could gather. It was a learning curve, navigating Eddie’s quirks.

“Hey.” You soothe, gingerly grabbing his wrist with your free hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

His curls bounce with a shake of his head, his eyes fluttering shut. The counting stops but he still comes across as fuzzy. Disoriented.

“Come inside.” You whisper, gently tugging him through the door, your wine abandoned at the entry table in the process. “It’s freezing out.”

Instinctually he hands you the bowl he’d been cradling close to his body with a wooden spoon sticking out. Upon further inspection, a mountain of mashed potatoes-or should you say lumps of potatoes are piled up within the bowl. The skins are still intact, way too many if he intended to make smooth and creamy potatoes. They’d be much less than enjoyable in the state they were currently in.

“I fucked them up.” He whispers.

The sight you’re met with is that of a small child in a grown man’s body, his large eyes pleading. You’re forced to realize that today may very well be much worse for him than it is for you. He’d warned you that he didn’t do holidays and here he was, a nervous wreck turning up on your doorstep in a panic with lumpy potatoes. And suddenly you felt so selfish.

“That’s okay.” You assure him, tracing a tender thumb over his bicep. He looked so lost. “Eddie, it’s okay.” You repeat with a nod.

“I just, I was gonna buy something from the store, and then, I just thought–I dunno maybe I’d at least try.” He tugs on his curls, a bit too harshly for your liking. “I don’t know why I even tried.” He sighs in defeat.

It’s enough to break your heart.

“Eddie.”

Turmoil flashes in his eyes, stress apparent in the way his brows furrow and his frown lines grow deeper. His lips are red, most likely bitten, and he can’t stop twisting one of his rings around his finger. He looks to be as much of a wreck as you felt although the symptoms seem to be much more apparent in his appearance than yours. Your slightly swollen eyes were nothing compared to his tousled curls, anxieties littered across his face and trembling hands unable to be subtly hidden without the crutch of sleeves.

“I, uh, I-I shouldn’t have bothered.” He mutters, reaching for the door.

You intercept him, your hand wrapping around his elbow while you attempt to meet his eyes. He freezes in his escape, your touch rendering him paralyzed, your fingers suddenly too determined in digging into the meat of his arm. Not meanly. Never meanly. More concerned. Concerned for the way he cowers away the second he’s offered any fraction of help. Perhaps it’s hypocritical of you to regard him with such worry when you yourself present the same behaviors under the same circumstances and expect no such treatment.

Your expression offers a certain softness that he’s come across one too many times since you’d barged into his life and taken his heart hostage. You’d never know you committed such a crime. And he’d never outright tell you of the ache that sat deep in his chest that he had no clue how to satiate. All he knew was that he could not jeopardize this. If he could get through the holidays, if he could get to January and you were still around, then, and only then would he be convinced that he had finally lifted whatever fucked up, out-of-this-world curse that had haunted him all his life.

“It’s okay.” Barely above a whisper, you assure him.

Eddie doesn’t remember making his way into your kitchen, he can’t recall your delicate hand pulling him along until you let go to discard his potato concoction onto the counter and he realizes he’s taken the warmth for granted in a haze of existential dread. Like a lost puppy, he stares at your fingertips as they linger on the counter while you lean over to reach for an empty casserole dish. The entirety of your kitchen cabinets had thrown up all over the counters, a reflection of the way his brain felt. Scattered.

“Potatoes are actually super complicated.”

His ears perk up, unsure of how to conjure up a response. Instead, he raises his eyebrows, fearful of how dumb he could make himself look with just a few syllables. It wasn’t like him to care so deeply what others thought of him.

“That’s why I avoid them. Instead–” You turn around only to pull out a can of green beans and a can of cream of mushroom. “-work smarter, not harder.”

Eddie knows he should be hanging onto every word you say and usually he would be, he knows. Except he can’t help but tune into the melody of Blue Christmas that had been echoing off the kitchen walls from your record player across the room.

The damn record player. And the records.

He didn’t realize how much the records still affected him. He had his own collection now, sure. But anything that resembled the essence of his Mama, lived safely and soundly on its dedicated shelf in his room, untouched. It took him years to rebuild Mama’s collection.

“Sorry can we-” He makes his way toward the record player, his face contorted nearly painfully before lifting the needle. “I just-I can’t think.”

Your motions were paused, can opener halfway through the can of beans as your eyes meet him with questions splayed across your face. You don’t ask them. An understanding smile works its way across your lips and god, he doesn’t know why you’re so patient with him after he stepped into your house and suddenly had the uncontrollable urge to shut off your music. As he strides back into the kitchen, a series of apologies haven't even left his mouth and yet-

“So…Green Bean Casserole.” You state, fingers tapping against the tin of each can. “And Sugary Apple Goo.” A vague gesture toward the uncooked pie. “Kind of a…weird duo. Or it will be if I actually get it in the oven-”

“Sorry, what?”

“Apple pie. The apple pie. At home we just call it sugary apple goo, don’t ask why it’s just–it’s just a thing we do.” You clarify, shoving the dessert into the comforting warmth of the oven, shivering at the sensation as goosebumps begin to prick your skin.

“Apple goo.” He repeats. A raised brow disappearing beyond his messy bangs.

Eddie almost forgets the reason why he’d been in such disarray, almost forgets why he even bothered knocking on your door in the first place, only remembers the fact that he was in a panicked state.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

You busy yourself with slopping the now drained green beans into a nearby glass bowl. Your blotchy skin and puffy eyes catch in the stream of sunlight, the kitchen window betraying you as it showcases your true state. Avoiding those large brown eyes is the best you can do, the theory that if you can’t see him he can’t see you dumbly being put to use no matter how aware you are that it makes no sense. Maybe if you act “okay enough”, he’ll chalk it up to the common cold, placing the responsibility for your rudolph-like nose on the yearly infection.

What you fail to realize is that by this point, he’s become too familiar with your teary eyes and sad worry lines that only seemed prominent in your times of distress. Times that he had regretfully been the cause of previously. Words can’t escape his practically sewn-shut-mouth, all sounds dying long before forming on his tongue. It’s impossible to create comfort when he himself has trouble doing so for himself. How could he possibly offer such comfort to someone who deserved kinder words from someone of a higher regard?

“Here, dump this in and mix.” You instruct, forcing a can of cream of mushroom and a wooden spoon in his hands, yanking him out of his mind.

There’s no room for protest, not that he even intended to. Not when you’re standing there with the ghost of tear tracks down your cheeks. Not when you’re this kind. Not when you’re you.

“Okay.” He mutters, a disgusting sound filling his ears from the lumpy soup falling into the bowl.

“After that, pour it in here.” You place a ceramic casserole dish to his right, the dish nearly too large to fit on the cluttered counter though you’re too occupied with tidying up other parts of the kitchen to bother.

“Got it.”

Eddie Munson absolutely hates Thanksgiving. But he doesn’t mind it so much when you’re rustling around behind him, a silent conversation hanging in the air that neither of you are alone in your holiday sorrows, whatever they may be.

You don’t ask why he continues counting under his breath behind you or why his hands are shaking.

And he doesn’t ask why tears linger in your eyes or why you pause to regain your composure after dropping a pan a bit too loudly for your liking, your lip wobbling.

Because the collective understanding is that neither of you is okay. And maybe that’s okay.

–

“Careful, the bottom is–”

“Shit!”

“-hot.”

A ringed hand waves around in an effort to rid it of the burning sensation caused by the bottom of the piping hot casserole dish. Eddie releases a series of curses, the side of the dish pushed against his chest as he balances it between his body and his single arm protected by one of your generously donated dish rags. Your wide eyes caution him in his balancing act, a perfectly crafted green bean casserole at risk due to his negligence as he had taken the liberty of knocking on the door.

“What the fuck, how can fuckin’ beans be so goddamn hot?” Brown eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, his fingertips more than likely singed an angry red.

It’s no laughing matter, not according to the scowl that makes its way across his handsome features but you can’t stop the pull of your lips from forming a large grin, giggles caught in the back of your throat. His irritation disappears just as quickly as it came, harsh edges blurring into softness at the sight of your puffed out cheeks, inflated due to the humor just dying to crawl out of your mouth.

“Oh, shut up.” A nudge of his shoulder against yours has you shaking your head, laughter finally escaping your perfectly glossed lips.

He could write paragraphs about them if it didn’t seem so creepy and stalkerish. So he allowed himself the tiniest of glances, only hoping to paint the full picture in his head ever since you’d quickly puckered your lips in front of your mirror at home to complete your finishing touches while he viewed from the porch where he waited in his black button up and nicest pair of jeans. He’d never been so jealous over a tube of lipgloss. In fact, he’d never in his life been jealous of a tube of lipgloss and he never felt like more of a loser than in that moment.

“I told you.” You mutter, an endearing side eye delivered right into his line of sight. It was something almost child-like, something innocent and not at all like what he’d ever really been on the receiving end of. Maybe because there was a certain flirtiness you were hinting at although he was no expert and had no right to assume.

“I told you.” He mumbles back with a higher pitch, mocking you.

You turn toward him, a comeback on the tip of your tongue when his own tongue interrupts with a taunt, peeking out between his lips swiftly, his nose scrunching up meanly before his full attention is back on the door as it creaks open. And then, a quick wink that only you yourself were a witness to, only creating a stir in your brain as you decipher that no one else would be able to confirm the action.

“Hey!” Donnie greets, arms flung up in excitement as she ushers you into her welcoming home, smells infiltrating your nose, sweet and savory galore.

Before either you or Eddie can even get a simple “hello” in, she’s talking your ear off, something about who all is already in the living room, how far along the turkey is, where the bathroom is, all while guiding you into the spacious dining room. She must have set out her fine china, the gorgeous dishes set all around the table lined with champagne colored silver on the edges of the plates. Two tables had been pushed together, creating enough space for the large number of guests expected. In the center sat an exquisite arrangement of various orange-hued flowers and some greenery.

The house was comforting; not too large and not too small, a two story dream that no doubt had acres of backyard. The Christmas tree had already been set up and decorated, the branches and lights hinting at you from the other room where men roared with laughter, a football game blaring from the TV that contrasted with the familiar voice of Frank Sinatra coming from the stereo. Combined turkey and Santa decorations adorned the interior everywhere you glanced, surfaces that would usually be empty year around were occupied with tacky little figurines that were more endearing than anything. Plastic garland traced the rails of the stairs, littered in fake plastic cranberries, the front room being far more grand than your entire home as you inspected it through the archway of the dining room.

Suddenly your nerves were simmering down, a familiar feeling nestling into the bottom of your chest as your shoulders fell from their tensed position, your fingers letting up on their grip on the pie tin you clutched so desperately. Women squealed from the kitchen, a series of “oh my god”s erupting into the rest of the house, some kind of juicy gossip initiating several gasps as well as some laughter. Your homesickness began to lie dormant, warmth overtaking you as Donnie went on and on about her family members, which ones to avoid sitting next to at all costs and warning you of the aunties that would corner you and beg for details on your love life.

“Just pretend I’m calling you and run as fast as you can in the other direction.” She advises. “And if that doesn’t work, tell ‘em you had too much wine and that it’s making a reappearance. They’ll scatter like flies.”

You laugh along, taking mental notes as she grabs the pie from you, complimenting the smell as she sets it among several other desserts, a whole table dedicated only to sweets. When she goes to grab the green bean casserole from Eddie, you can’t help but pause and watch as his doe eyes trace his surroundings, a clearly unfamiliar environment to him. There’s uncertainty dripping from his demeanor, his single finger tapping against the dish: One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

“Green bean casserole-Eddie, do you know how many green bean casserole we’ve got? Like you all read each other’s mind, I swear.” Donnie jokes.

“It’s-um, it’s hot.” He cautions her.

Sauntering toward the main table, Donnie proudly sets it on top of a place mat to protect the wood from the heat. Eddie doesn’t budge, seemingly glued to the carpet, his hands still lingering in the air like he had still been holding the dish.

“You okay?” You mouth to him, looking up into his worried eyes, only hoping to soothe the crease in between his eyebrows.

He nods though you suspect he’s being a bit dishonest.

“Oh, c’mon Eddie! You know I’m just pullin’ your leg.” Donnie reassures, a heavy hand falling against his shoulder. “Shoot, I have to go check on the oven. Yell for me if you need anything, both of you, okay?”

“Sure.” You mumble. “Thank you.”

“There’s a fully stocked bar right over there, help yourselves.” She calls as she backs herself up toward the kitchen. “But don’t go too crazy.” She sends a knowing glance, recalling both of your tendencies to take on more than you can handle.

“Why don’t we get some air?” You suggest, unable to comprehend exactly just what was happening in Eddie’s mind although you knew enough to understand that he was miles outside of his comfort zone.

“No, no. I’m good.” A cleared throat doesn’t reassure you enough but you let it go for the time being. Prying wasn’t going to help. “”M gonna get a beer.” He murmurs, chain jingling from his belt as he makes his way toward what you can only assume is the kitchen where Donnie had just disappeared to.

As pathetic as it seemed, you weren’t going to allow yourself to wander around alone, vulnerable to various conversations trapping you in small talk with strangers: an absolute nightmare. Timidly, you follow behind Eddie at a safe distance, holding your breath as you take in the new room full of busy women and many glasses of wine. The smell of gravy heavily lingers, a tinge of the sourly sweet alcohol peeking through as you release your breath and inhale finally.

And then-they were all over him. Sweet older women, ranging from around fifty plus years, all doting on him, cooing at him while complimenting how tall he is and his handsome features. It only forces you to lean your hip against the counter and take in the most captivating scene you’d ever witnessed. His cheeks redden, his entire face matching shortly after as he nods in response, small “thank you”s sneaking past his lips with a sheepish grin threatening to spread across his face, dimples prominent. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, has no recognition of the power he currently holds.

“Is this one yours?!” One woman shrieks, taking your hands in her bony ones.

“Oh-”

“You’re so lucky, he’s such a looker!” Another chimes in.

“We’re not-”

“You better hope he holds onto all that hair throughout the years.” A third nods.

Eddie’s face has never been redder, crimson painting his usually pale skin, a beer pinched in between his fingers as he avoids every single eye in the room. You can only imagine the look on your own face, maybe slightly mortified with a hint of pink pulling at your cheeks due to the unnecessary attention.

“Alright, alright.” Donnie interjects. “Enough, you’re gonna scare ‘em away before they’ve even had a bite to eat!” She waves her hands around, dramatics on full display as she shoos them away like pigeons.

“Thank you.” You whisper, eyes large and surprised.

“Run, run.” Donnie displays wide eyes, gently shoving you both out of the kitchen.

–

Throughout the evening, you kept Eddie in your peripheral. Sure, he was grown and fully capable of taking care of himself but it didn’t worry you any less when holidays weren’t necessarily his favorite thing. Anxieties lurked in the back of your mind the second he started counting earlier, never once fading away no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that he was fine, now bantering back and forth with Sam.

“That Steve kid really can’t dance.” Nathan laughs, pulling you back into the initial conversation you were having, perched on the couch with a glass of wine set in front of you on the coffee table courtesy of Donnie’s excellent hosting skills.

“Well that’s why he excused himself off the dancefloor.” You softly smile, earning another hearty laugh from the man.

“Hey, but Eddie’s no better.” He jokes, taking a swig of his beer. “Looked like a damn giraffe stumbling over his own legs.”

“I wasn’t very coordinated either!” You defend. “We were a hot mess.” You bury your face in your hands.

“Yeah, I bet Eddie thought you were hot.”

The recliner adjacent to you creaks beneath Jett as he makes himself comfortable, slouching with a beer in his hand.

“Whoa.” Nathan leans forward, ready to reprimand him. “What-”

“That’s okay.” You speak softly, your hand covering the older man’s as an act of keeping the peace, something you did best. Several seconds of contemplation and a glance across the room toward Eddie change your mind.

“Actually-it’s not.” You turn your body toward Jett, a man–child before your eyes that refused to even look at you after his comment. Your hands shake and your cheeks heat with embarrassment, chalking your sudden confidence up to the glass and a half of wine you indulged in.

“What?” Jett furrows his brows, examining his beer far too aggressively as a means to avoid you.

“It’s not okay.” You whisper, a wimpy excuse of a defense.

“What’s gotten into you, boy?” Nathan scolds through gritted teeth.

Jett’s nearly-black eyes resemble something opposite in comparison to the warmth in those across the room currently harboring a twinkle in an engaged conversation. The boy is unable to get a word in as you quietly begin to address him.

“Look, I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” You regret the tremble in your tone, confrontation was well out of your comfort zone, especially with someone who had been so hostile for no reason. It wasn’t in your DNA to be the “bad guy” even when it would benefit your wellbeing.

Something in your words softens Jett’s eyes, pulls a piece of him back into reality. You weren’t terrorizing him and he couldn’t seem to grasp that ever since that night you had argued with Eddie behind the bar. And you hadn’t spoken a word out of line but you weren’t clueless. Clearly he had an agenda against you and Eddie, it never left your mind since Eddie mentioned that Jett got all over-protective suddenly that night and took it out on him. But what could you do when all he did was puff out his chest rather than have a decent conversation? His frayed emotions were not your responsibility, you owed him nothing if he was going to insist on acting like a toddler in adult situations. You suppose some of it could be due to his lack of years behind yourself and Eddie, Jett still a teenager, almost twenty whereas you had been in your twenties for a few years now. It wasn’t an excuse, just your brain attempting to work out his logic.

“You didn’t–you didn’t do anything wrong.” He sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

You don’t offer any words. Only an expectant look. Expecting of some kind of explanation as to why he’d been acting so cruel. And as if the universe decided you didn’t live in enough anguish with your homesickness that morning paired with the current unwanted confrontation, Eddie’s eyes met yours for a brief moment before darting away, a deep sigh and suddenly slouching shoulders clearly indicating some kind of defeat before he quietly stepped out of the room.

“Can we get into this another time?”

You don’t wait for a response, excusing yourself to slip out of the room and follow the trail of cold out the front door, the chill seeping into your bones as your cradle your arms close to yourself. The porch is spacious, something you hadn’t taken notice of earlier when arriving. To your left, Eddie sits on a wooden bench with the family name “Scott” carved into it. A cigarette takes its place between his fingers, his lighter flickering while he lets out a frustrated groan. He places the stick between his lips and cups the flame to hide it from the wind, finally succeeding in lighting it, puffs of smoke escaping through the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not fragile, Bambi. Stop following me around.” He mutters, pulling the cigarette from his lips. There’s no malice detected in his words, just something lacking hope as he stares straight ahead.

Carefully, you sit at the very edge of the bench, your skirt a tad too short to allow you to fully sit back due to the cold surface. You catch a wave of his warmth as he rests his arm on his thigh. It hurts, how far away he feels even being inches from you; his mind might as well be on Jupiter. A momentary glance over at you causes him to sigh deeply, his head dipping down while he shakes it in disappointment.

“And dammit!” Eddie snaps, face twitching in aggravation. “I don’t have a jacket for you this time. Learn how to dress for the cold.” He gestures to your posture, your arms wrapped around your middle in an attempt to savor any warmth, and your jaw clenched shut as a means to keep your teeth from chattering though you can’t seem to contain the shivers nearly rattling your bones.

“I don’t need one.”

He scoffs, disbelief evident in his movements, a fidgeting hand reaching up to scratch the barely-there stubble at his jaw.

“I don’t!” You lie.

You were never one to willingly be dishonest but a little white lie in this case didn’t seem like the end of the world. Not when Eddie’s fragile state of mind seemed to gnaw away at him. You wouldn’t leave him out for the wolves to feed on him; wolves being his never ending thoughts that always without fail, won him over and forced him to crawl back into his comfort zone of isolation. You suppose you weren’t so innocent either, always succumbing to the very same habits.

“Go back inside.” A flick of his cigarette ash towards the ground ignites in the thin layer of snow barely coating the porch before extinguishing.

You can’t help the furrow in your brows, staring at him as if to figure him out, attempting to glance into his large coffee colored irises, to no avail. His shiny eyes dodge your attempts, the windows of his soul closed off, even from you. Not that you were immediately entitled, though you figure with each trauma he had shared with you, he’d at least be able to look you in the eye.

“Come with me.” You chirp. “We’ll taste all the wines. C’mon, and then we’ll be nice and hungry. Drunk eating is the best.” You extend a hand out toward him, your freshly painted nails perfectly imperfect in his peripheral.

“I’m not in the mood, Bambi.”

His gravelly voice has a certain effect on you, one you find not appropriate to dissect right now. He lifts the cigarette back up to his lips, the chance to take one more drag stolen from him as you pluck it from his fingers, tossing it into the snow without regret, stomping your foot on it for good measure.

“Well, get in the mood. Let’s go.”

Boldly, you tug at his arm, unable to move him by yourself, you know. But he willingly melts into your touch, allowing you to pull him up despite his protesting frown. Though he follows you to stand, he doesn’t budge much further than that as you try to drag him back into the cozy warmth of the house. The rounded tip of his nose glows red, the threat of a cold only pushing you to tug on his sleeve with no success in ushering him inside.

“I think ‘m just gonna head home. You think someone else could give you a ride back?” The question is hesitant, no longer wanting to participate in the festivities but still concerned for your well-being, especially if you were going to continue to drink.

Your track record with alcohol wasn’t exactly great and he’d never forgive himself if something happened and he wasn’t there just because the sight of you talking to Jett had left a bad taste in his mouth. But he couldn’t stand it any longer, watching you act so graceful all the time, especially to someone you didn’t particularly like, and then having to pretend that a simple kiss on the cheek didn’t absolutely wreck him. A kiss that you hadn’t since mentioned, and he wasn’t going to humiliate himself by insinuating that you wanted him in that way. No one wanted him in that way.

“What?” You breathe, face shifting into a sadness Eddie wanted to kick himself for. “No, you can’t go–”

“I’m sure Jett is ready and willing to entertain you.”

Low blow. He could always count on himself to deliver a low blow at the worst of times.

Eddie knew now that you had a distaste for Jett, he knew that. And yet he was stupid enough to continue using Jett as ammo against you for no reason other than his own insecurity. If he continued to push you away then it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized he was scum of the earth. Trailer trash. A nobody. That’s what he kept telling himself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You fume, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know, Bambi. You tell me cause I can’t figure you out.”

The use of his nickname for you stitched together with words of anguish only further confused you. You couldn’t seem to win.

“Can’t–can’t figure me out?!” You widen your eyes at him, only hoping to convey how ridiculous of a statement it is. “Can’t figure me out. What about you?! You’re the one no one can figure out!”

You’re on the verge of whining, begging in a sense. Pleading with the most stubborn man in the world and god only knows what you’ll do if he doesn’t stand down.

“Maybe there’s a reason for that.” He states simply, monotone. It makes you want to yank your hair out by the roots and offer it to him, asking him if it’s enough. If it’s enough to shut up the voices in his head.

“Yeah? Because you don’t wanna let people in?!” Uncharacteristically, you jab a finger into his chest, frustration making itself known across your face and you only know because his eyes ever so slightly soften. “Eddie, all you do is give me mixed signals! How many times do I have to tell you I want nothing to do with Jett?! What do I have to do to get that through your thick fucking head?!” He tries to get a word in but you don’t give him an opportunity. “No, seriously! I need an instruction manual or something because I’m trying! I have been trying-”

“-I didn’t ask you to!” He finally interrupts, sorrow filling his eyes.

With a deep breath, you calm your heaving chest. It’s apparent you’re no longer cold, your skin hot from working yourself up. Steam may as well be coming from your ears though it wasn’t your intention to get so irritated with him.

“I wanted to. I want to.” Your voice comes out softer, a gentler approach to his sudden internal conflict.

“No.”

Turning away, he doesn’t quite move to leave but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s trying to shut you out. He’s trying to escape like some kind of feral animal but you refuse to give in. You refuse to let him.

“Yes. Eddie–look at me!” You demand with a small pull of his arm.

“No.”

He goes to turn his body even further away from you but the firm hold you have on his bicep stops him. He keeps his gaze on the floorboards below, his nose twitching and eyes burning with the threat of tears. You only know because you’re all too familiar with the mandatory frown that comes with holding them back.

“Stop doing that. Please.” You beg.

“I can’t be here right now–”

“What makes you think I can?”

He’s silent. The world instantly feels so quiet, tiny snow flurries fluttering around you, making you feel as if you’re the only two people on Earth. Echoes of the celebrating and hollering inside are faint although they don’t do much to pop the bubble you find yourselves in. Then he breaks the silence, daring to plead with you this time.

“Bambi, please.” He croaks.

Your initial thought is, please what? You’d been pleading with him back and forth for god knows how many minutes straight and here he was doing it right back to you. And for what? It wasn’t a good enough plea, not for you. You weren’t ready to let it go, if you even knew what “it” was.

“No, you’re coming inside and you don’t have to associate with me if you don’t want to but you’re coming inside.”

Your demand only seems to irritate him, his brows knitting together while he pinches the bridge of his nose in between his fingers. If he was agitated then you were about to become enraged. And that is not something you wanted. You never wanted to display that kind of emotion toward him but he was practically pulling it out of you and you had to fight against it. No one had ever been able to pull such a reaction out of you, not ever. Even if you had gotten pretty close, you swallowed it down and hid it.

“Why?!” Eddie seethes.

His outburst takes you back, though with the aggravation boiling within you, you were able to contain any reaction he was seeking, if any. That wasn’t the case for long though as you then launch yourself into another tantrum after staring for a second too long at his snarled lip.

“Because believe it or not, I care, Eddie!” You practically wail, your voice becoming hoarse. “If you leave I’m coming with you because I’m not leaving you alone. Not on Thanksgiving.” Your head shakes in denial.

Against your own will, a single tear trails down your cheek and the moment you feel it, you’re rapidly wiping it away, hoping he never even saw it when you knew damn well his umber eyes followed it all the way down your face. He only pulls his gaze away.

“I’m leaving. You’re staying here.” He decides, regret etched into his features.

In a final attempt to escape your grasp, he succeeds, feeling your fingertips linger for one last second before drifting away as he turns and makes his way down the porch steps, wood protesting beneath him. The noise is the only proof you have that he’s actually leaving, that he actually feels he’s not worthy enough to stay.

You refuse to give up so easily.

Your feet are already on a mission, nearly sprinting down the stairs even with the threat of slipping on the minimal amount of ice beginning to freeze over. Eddie pays no mind to the fast paced footsteps crunching against the gravel behind him, making his way over to Sugar with his head hung low. Your heart is racing, not just because you suddenly decided to sprint a few yards but because a healthy dose of dopamine has started coursing throughout your body, a good amount of anxiety accompanying it but not deferring you any longer.

Eddie makes it to Sugar, his hand reaching for the door only for it to be forced shut with a self-manicured hand. If he didn’t know who the hand belonged to he’d be chewing the owner out for daring to touch his beloved truck. Instead he rolls his eyes and turns as he prepares to reprimand you in a much more gentle manner than he would anyone else.

Except he doesn’t even have the chance when your lips are suddenly pressed to the corner of his mouth, your body pushing him against Sugar. His hands freeze mid air, his eyes wide open. Your hands are resting on his chest and–he can’t breathe. You pull away, inches from him and he can’t breathe, he can’t speak, he can’t move. As far as he’s concerned he isn’t even human anymore.

“Stay.” You whisper, your breath fanning over slightly chapped lips.

His lips won’t stop tingling, he can’t grasp the concept of what just occurred. He refuses to even touch you for fear that you might disappear right before him. Hell, he’s not even sure he’s allowed to.

It’s difficult to gauge his reaction, his heavy breath lingering with the smell of his cigarette that would probably gross you out had it been anyone else but for some reason, because it’s him, you don’t mind very much. You must smell strongly of wine which isn’t always pleasant so you figure you’re even.

“Please stay.” You repeat, nudging your nose into his.

It’s like he’s in a trance, his eyelids becoming lazy and his body relaxing when you reach up to trace your thumb ever so slightly over his jaw. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes squeezing shut, and you can hear a gulp in his throat. With his eyes still shut, he nods and before you can process it, he launches himself into your arms in a tight embrace, wrapping himself around you, his face buried in your neck. A wetness catches against your skin catches your attention, Eddie’s body heaving slightly and you just know.

You know that the tear stains on your skin mean more to him than you could ever imagine.

Slowly, your fingers tangle in his hair, threading into the curls at the nape of his neck to lightly scratch his scalp soothingly. The way he grips onto you tighter, his body shaking, only confirms that physical touch and affection was not a luxury he was allowed in his lifetime. If he let you, you’d spend thousands of hours holding him, even in the cold. Whatever he needed.

But the snow flurries began to grow larger and the wind started to pick up. And you’d be damned if you allowed yourself and Eddie to catch a nasty cold when you could be doing the same thing inside next to the fire. Though, as you thought about it, Eddie would probably shy away from your touch in front of everyone. And that didn’t anger you in the way it normally would. Because you couldn’t blame him, someone so touch starved that he began to sob the second he was willingly kissed and told he was wanted, for shying away from showers of physical affection in front of peers that only know him to be big, bad, Eddie Munson. It would be too much of a change and you weren’t willing to force that upon him.

So as the cold grew more unforgiving, you continued to hold him. He would be the one to decide when he felt he wanted to part from you. And if you both got sick, so be it. A stupid cold would be worth the price if you were able to provide him the touch he went so long without and so badly craved, even if he didn’t quite know it at first.

Eddie parted from you far sooner than anticipated. His cheeks were rosy, his rounded nose matching, endearingly so. His eyelashes were dotted with a few lingering tears, his eyes rimmed with red but sadness was absent from his features. Instead there was a fondness dripping from his expression and though he parted from the embrace to gaze down at you, he still clung to you like his life depended on it.

“Can I–can I kiss you?” He whispers shakily.

You want to laugh, only because he’s acting as if you didn’t kiss him in the first place. But you bury it deep down and only let a smile blossom.

“Please.” You whisper back.

This time, you’re more than happy to beg.

Hesitantly, his shaky hand cups your jaw, the warmth from his skin more than welcome as he gently slots his lips against yours. He’s slow with it, taking his time. As you move in rhythm with him, you encourage him, moving his arms to circle your waist, pressing yourself closer and letting your hands travel up his chest to lock behind his neck.

“I can’t stop.” He laughs quietly, continuously pecking your lips like he can’t get enough.

“Don’t.” You giggle into his mouth.

Teeth clash against teeth and though he hasn’t quite graduated to using tongue yet, you have the urge to introduce him. Before you can pass your tongue along his plump bottom lip, he curses under his breath as he pulls away, only causing worry to spread across your face.

“You’re freezing.” His hands rub up and down your arms to somewhat heat you up and only then do you realize your face feels completely numb.

“No, I’m fine.” You protest against your better judgment. It wasn’t exactly fitting to be in tights while one of the first snow falls of the year ensued.

“You’ll be a popsicle in like three seconds.”

Eddie softly smiles, reaching for your hand and tugging you with him toward the house. A whine escapes you, a pathetic whimper but you manage to shuffle yourself along with him. Before entering the realm of reality beyond the front door, Eddie turns to you, stars in his eyes, something glimmering.

“How’s my nose? Snotty?” He grins, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #smoke signals #eddie munson au #stranger things fic #stranger things au #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic

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sunshineting · 1 year

Text

Thinking of how much Sanji loves to hear you say his name 💙

“Saaaanjiiii!”

Your lover never tires of hearing you call for him. He loves the way his name sounds coming from your lips.

“Oui, mon amour?” He approaches, placing a hand on the small of your back.

“Can you reach this for me?”

“Anything for you,” he says with a kiss to the top of your head.

…

“Five more minutes, Sanji,” you mumble. His arms are wrapped around you in your shared bed. He loves how soft and raspy your voice gets when you first wake up. He loves the light snore that emits from you when you’re in a deep sleep. He loves how you know when he stops cuddling you, no matter how deep into sleep you are.

“I wish I could, but I have to make breakfast for the crew. You know Luffy will be awake soon, begging for food.”

You whine as he removes his arms and gets out of bed. The lack of his warmth prevents you from falling back to sleep. With your eyes still closed, you reach an arm out of the covers. You wiggle your fingers and make grabby hands for him, causing your acrylics to clack. You hear him chuckle.

“Aww, ma moitié(my other half), I’ll be back soon,” your partner says before grabbing your hand and kissing it.

…

“Mmm, Sanji, this is so good!” You moan. The octopus yakitori he made is scrumptious, so good it makes you do a small happy wiggle at the table. The grilled meat tastes so good with its slight char and the caramelization of the sauce. Hearing your praises sends blood rushing to Sanji’s dick. Your moans of satisfaction don’t help the situation, either.

“I’m glad you like it,” he rushes out after clearing his throat. No matter how long you’ve been together, Sanji still finds himself absolutely fawning over you and any positive attention you give him.

…

“Sa-Sanji!”

Hearing you like this is his favorite. All needy and fucked out. He’s pounding into you from above, one hand balancing his weight while the other holds your hand. His fingers are interlaced with yours and you can’t help but give a cock-drunk smile. ‘He’s inside me and he still wants to hold my hand? How romantic,’ you think.

“You’re taking me so well, my love,” Sanji grunts out. He looks so sexy with his curly eyebrow furrowed, mouth slightly agape, and the faintest layer of sweat dusting his forehead. As he feels his release coming, he ruts into you extra deep, wanting to hear you moan his name just one more time.

Authors note: sorry if the French is bad lol I used a website to look up French terms of endearment

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji smut #blackleg sanji #Sanji x yn #sanji x y/n #Sanji #one piece fanfiction #sanji fanfic #sanji x black reader #self insert lowkey bc I love him #and he has my heart #kait's writes

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najia-cooks · 2 months

Text

Apple tart with chili-cardamom caramel

A tart-sweet apple filling, spiced with Ceylon cinnamon and fennel, layered on a robust, flaky crust, then drizzled with a warming, aromatic clear caramel. The spices are subtle, creating a play of complementary flavors with no resounding winner.

Releasing liquid from the apples ahead of baking serves two purposes: creating a crust that is crisp all the way through; and forming a base for the caramel, marrying the flavors of the topping and the sauce.

Recipe under the cut!

Patreon | Paypal | Venmo

Ingredients

Makes one 12” x 12” tart. Serves 4-6.

For the dough:

1 cup (120g) all-purpose flour

1/4 tsp kosher salt

100g salted non-dairy margarine (stick form)

About 3 Tbsp cold water

For the topping:

1 1/2 baking apples, washed, cored, and thinly sliced

1/2-inch chunk Ceylon cinnamon, toasted and ground, or 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon (or substitute 1/4 tsp cassia cinnamon)

1/4 tsp fennel seeds, toasted and ground, or 1/4 tsp ground fennel

Pinch ground cloves

2 Tbsp vegetarian granulated sugar

Pinch salt

To assemble:

1/2 Tbsp non-dairy margarine, melted

For the caramel:

Liquid from draining apples

3 Tbsp sugar

3 green cardamom pods, crushed

1-2 dried red chilies, broken

With 1 chili, the sauce is to my taste warming without being detectably spicy. Increase chili as desired.

Instructions

For the dough:

1. Combine flour and salt in a mixing bowl. Cut cold margarine into an even dice with a sharp knife and coat in flour (or cut margarine into flour with a pastry cutter).

2. Add water, kneading dough against the sides of the bowl, until it just comes together. Cover and put in the refrigerator to chill.

For the topping:

1. Wash apples, core, and slice thinly. Toss with spices, salt, and sugar and put in a sieve over a bowl to drain. Leave for about an hour, stirring once, until apples have released several tablespoons of liquid.

To shape:

1. While the apples rest, roll out dough into a rough rectangle on a generously floured surface.

2. Fold the rectangle in three widthwise, like an envelope, and then in half widthwise to form a square.

3. Re-flour the surface, if necessary. Roll out dough again into a large square about 1/4” (1/2 cm) thick. Brush the surface of the dough with melted margarine.

To assemble:

1. Arrange apples over the dough so that they overlap slightly, leaving a 1-inch (2.5 cm) border on all sides.

2. Fold the edges over the apples and press down on the corners to seal.

3. Put in the freezer to chill while preparing the caramel.

For the caramel:

1. Pour the liquid from the apples into a saucepan (preferably one with a light-colored bottom) and heat on medium-low. Add sugar and stir to dissolve.

2. Add spices and heat on medium, without stirring, until simmering. If sugar starts to stick to the sides of the pan, brush it down with a wet pastry brush.

3. Continue to heat, gently moving the mixture back and forth with a rubber spatula if you notice the color changing unevenly, until caramel is a light amber color. This will probably happen quickly, so watch closely.

4. Remove from heat and carefully dunk the bottom of the pot in a bowl of cool water to halt further cooking.

To bake:

1. Preheat your oven to 400 °F (205 °C) with the rack in the center. Bake the apple tart for 50-60 minutes, until crust is golden brown and apples are tender.

2. Drizzle with caramel and serve hot.

#baking #tarts #fruit tarts #pastry #vegan cooking #apples

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softwaring · 9 months

Note

Would you post your chicken tikka recipe?

chicken tikka marsala

first marinade:

- chicken thigh

- lime juice

- cayenne

- chili powder

- salt

second marinade:

- greek yogurt

- ginger paste

- garlic

- turmeric, cumin, garam masala, madras curry powder, cayenne, ground coriander

for the curry:

- coconut oil

- 1” cinnamon stick

- 2 green cardamom pods

- 2 whole cloves

- serranos, sliced

- onion, chopped

- cumin, garam masala, madras curry powder, garlic p, cayenne, coriander, smoked paprika, turmeric and white pepper

- tomato paste

- fire roasted crushed tomatoes

- soy sauce and fish sauce

- rock sugar

- coconut creme

- cilantro

top w more cilantro when done serve w white rice and naan (trader joe’s makes amazing frozen garlic naan i always keep em on hand lol)

marinade the chicken the first time for 30 marinade. mix the ingredients for the second marinade then pour in the chicken WITH the first marinade. mix well and marinade at least an hour but it’s best after 24-48 hours.

start ur rice ina rice cooker

preheat ur grill to high heat, then grill the chicken until well charred. then remove and let rest.

melt coconut oil in a pan then add onion and chilis, cook until they soften. stir in garlic and ginger and cook til fragrant. stir in spices and cook, stirring for 2-3 minutes. clear a spot in the middle of the pan then add tomato paste and caramelize. stir in tomato purée, soy sauce and fish sauce then simmer 10-15 minutes until thickened and color deepens.

once deep red, stir in coconut creme and rock sugar, cook 10 more minutes then stir in chicken and chopped cilantro. cook 5 more minutes or until well combined and chicken is cooked through. serve over basmati rice w cilantro!

#recipe -#food -#this my spin on it so not authentic but ye!#if u make this pls tell me i think i’ve perfected this to my taste lol #recipes #cooking

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kekaki-cupcakes · 7 months

Note

Hiiii, hope u're doing well :)

Can I request a slow burn-strangers to lovers connor stoll x mortal reader please?

( no headcanon, just a one shot 🫡)

Like how they met, their first kiss... AND connor reveling he's a half blood

A fem reader or gender neutral is okay

Okay so this has been sitting in my drafts since the stone ages but I had a burst of motivation so here's 2.9k of teasing and fluff

It's not really a slow burn because it's a one shot but it's implied that it happens over time so yk yk. And I checked all the boxes you get first interactions a make-out session and the big reveal :)

Cafe au but it's not an au--- Connor Stoll x gn mortal!reader

»»————-　★　————-««

“We’ve got a new kid today, you wanna show him the ropes?”

You finished ripping the receipt out of the machine and smiled politely at the customer who took their change and moved to the side. The receipt made a tearing sound as you pushed it onto the metal spike [you didn’t actually know what it was called, you realized], and then spun around, “oh thank god, yes please.”

“That’s what I thought,” Maria chuckled, wrapping an apron around her middle and pining his name tag to the front of the green material that had an odd shaped stain on the pocket. “You hate the till.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Hopefully the new kid, he should be here in a minute, I did say four thirty.” He looked up at the clock behind the queue of customers waiting for their coffees that read four forty, and then glanced towards the glass doors.

“What’s his name?” You ask, resetting the price on the cash register and taking off the stupid little cap whoever was at the til had to wear. You groaned, “oh please don’t tell me it’s his first job, i can’t explain how to count change to another pimply little-”

“It’s his first job, just moved to New York,” she said, lifting up a sticky note and reading the note underneath it on the whiteboard near the mops. “And his name is… Cecil Markowitz.”

“I’m here, I’m here!”

“We noticed.” Maria muttered drily, pulling the cap over her jagged strawberry blonde hair.

A blonde kid, maybe fifteen or so, panted on the other side of the counter. He was in a school uniform that he tugged a black hoodie over the top of as he spoke at the speed of light. “Sorry, my brother had to drive me and he ran like four red lights so we wouldn’t be late but then-”

“Then you shut up so your amazing big brother —who did not have to drive you here by the way, I have other things I could be doing— wouldn’t get arrested?” Another boy asked with a raised eyebrow, swinging car keys around his pointer finger. You had to pay a little more attention to him than the bouncing blonde currently eyeing the tip jar, because wow, the jawline he had…

“You have to look after us Connor! That’s the whole agreement!” Cecil hissed up at his brother.

“Zip it, short stuff.” Connor [you liked the name] smirked, then turned to you. His eyes widened for a moment and you ignored the fact you immediately noticed they were blue. He blinked a few times and then cleared his throat, “Um. uh, I’ll get a black coffee… please.”

You just shrugged at him, and motioned for Cecil to follow you into the kitchens, where the fridge foods were whipped up. “Don’t order from me, I'm showing short stuff around.”

A look of horror dawned on the new employee’s face. “No, not you too!”

»»————-　★　————-««

“I’m sorry, but we don’t serve pizza here, there’s a dominoes a few blocks away if you-”

“No, I want to order one here, thank you.” The customer said to you with a frown and that patronizing look you got ten times a day just for being a teenager. “I know what I’m talking about, I’ve gotten pizza here a million times, and I'd like two large meatlovers.”

You stared blankly at the woman in front of you for a moment and wondered if it was too late to drown yourself in caramel sauce just so you wouldn’t have to deal with this lady. You take a deep breath and bring out that perfectly fake smile again to-

“Oh Fucknuggets! Miss, that chick just ran off with your purse! You’d better go chase her down!”

“What?” She shrieked, and reached for her big red leather bag and went pale under her orangey powdered face. “Oh for heaven's sake!”

The woman was out the door immediately, chasing down four different people that had just left the cafe. She waved her arms wildly and wailed like a duck that had just been stepped on.

Connor watched her leave with an amused expression on his face you had to quickly pull your eyes away from. He reached into the pockets of his spiderman hoodie [SpiderHam, to be specific] and pulled out a blinged up silver purse, flicking through the contents with interest.

He turned to you and held up an ID card with that smug expression that made your stomach feel like you’d had too much bubble tea. “I reckon I could pull it off, in the right lighting.”

“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that.” You said quickly with your eyes narrowed, but Connor pulled the wads of cash out and stuffed it into the tip jar as he turned to the glass double doors.

“Hey!”

Cecil nearly stumbled into another customer and you motioned to the back of the cafe, pulling his apron off the rack and handing it to him as he took off his yellow beanie, which for some reason had a lot of little sun’s sewn around the edges. “Hey short stuff, you can start by taking the trash out.”

He visibly sunk, tying the apron around his middle and sighing.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Definitely don’t go over the fence to the back of the dollar store because it would be a terrible idea to see the baby racoons living in the recycling bin.”

Connor grinned, watching his little brother speed out of the room with black bags of rubbish in his hands. “So… Can I order from you today?”

“As long as it’s not a pizza, go ahead.”

“...What’s your favorite?” Connor asked, leaning on the bench littered in plastic cup lids and receipts, with his chin in his hands. He was lucky there wasn’t a queue behind him, but you probably would’ve let him sit there and distract you anyway.

You just tapped away at the ipad, sending the last of the order’s over to Maria, who was making one of the matcha teas. “Not a black coffee, if that’s what you're asking.”

“No seriously, what is it?” he said, and you felt yourself get hot when he glanced somewhere a bit lower than your eyes. Not in a gross way, but holy shit when did his own eyes get that lidded? “Maybe I’ll try it sometime…”

“Are you asking to kiss me or do you actually want an iced strawberry tea?” You blurted out, hand frozen over the screen in front of you.

Connor went red in a matter of seconds and shot up, his eyes certainly not lidded anymore. “Oh look at the time I have to go make sure my goldfish doesn’t drown,” He yelped, tripping over untied shoelaces and scrambling to the door.

“Careful… You’re looking at him like you look at those racoons.” Maria muttered as he walked past with a little grin.

»»————-　★　————-««

You dumped your school bag on a bench in the corner of the kitchen, but before you could ask Jerry if there was a new order you were supposed to pick up some new ingredients [the amount of times Connor ordered a black coffee when he dropped off Cecil meant they were seriously out of it[, someone banged on the back door.

It was pouring with rain outside, but you eased open the door and peaked out into the stormy weather, then frowned at the figure. “What are you doing back here-”

You stopped in your tracks and choked, nearly dropping the drink in your hands. Cecil rubbed his hands together to avoid frostbite, a thin line of blood down the side of his face. His hair was stuck to his forehead, and thin patches of golden powder covered it, and his clothes.

He grinned, wiping his nose. “If it’s any consolation… This isn’t my blood?”

“Maria’ll clean you up, go.” You open the door properly and shove him into the warmth, then shut it behind you and step out into the biting wind that ripped though your green apron, and marched up to the car parked near the dumpster.

Holding your hand over your eyes so you weren’t blinded by the headlights, you yelled at the driver. “Why the fuck did short stuff just come out of a fucking apocalypse movie?”

Connor leant over the passenger seat and opened the door with a totally fake innocent smile. You didn’t think he could look innocent. Hot, on the other hand…He still looked hot with blood smeared across his cheek and something shiny underneath his fingernails, apparently. He shrugged one shoulder “I mean, it isn’t our blood?”

“Connor.” You muttered, crossing your arms and squinting through the mist swirling around your feet. You looked down and had to step out of a puddle with a grimace.

Connor blinked and replied instantly, as if this was something he had to do a lot. “Do you want the technically legal version, the version that’ll make you happy, or the-”

You cut him off and glared, rain clinging to your eyelashes. “The truth.”

Connor thought for a moment and then gave you an apprehensive look. “There was a feral Harpy in the backseat of the car that popped out when we got to the intersection two blocks over.”

You sighed. “I said the truth-”

“You don’t believe me.” His voice was faint, and somehow hurt. He sounded resigned though, like he was expecting it. The look on his face made you want to climb into the pretty beat up car and grab his face and tell him you believed him so much and forever just so he’d look happy again.

Maybe if you let him talk. He could be referencing something you hadn’t seen, you reasoned. “Was the harpy like a monster or a furry?”

“Well when you think about it harpy’s really are just furry’s, but yeah it was an actual monster.” Connor said simply, and then he chewed on his thumbnail nervously “Uh, do you wanna… hop in? You look like my brother when he stuck a huntsman in Annabeth’s pillow case.”

“What does spider pranks have to do with being soaked?” You mutter, not really meaning for it to be a question. You climbed into the passenger seat, brushing pools of water off you and wiping your nose.

“You can’t even imagine.”

You raise an eyebrow at Connor. “I work in customer service, try me.”

“My dad is a god.” He blurted out, then froze and turned away from you with an odd expression, his gaze trained on the rain outside.

“Are you talking about the Romans and the Egyptians, or are you Jesus?”

“Greeks, actually.” Connor said through gritted teeth, then his eyebrows shot up and that familiar tone you might have thought about a few times seeped back into his voice. He untensed and grinned at you“One of my buddy’s did come back from the dead actually… but I don’t think Jesus would like him very much.”

“Why?”

“He’s dating one of my other buddies.”

“Oh.” You blinked, but you weren’t really sure what this conversation had to do with Connor and Cecil being attacked. “Good for him.”

“My dad’s Hermes.” Connor said suddenly, sucking in a breath and closing his eyes. When you didn’t answer, too focused on the way his face looked when he scrunched up his eyes, he glanced at you again with a cautious smile, as if your reaction really mattered to him. “Surprise?”

You thought for a moment, actually considered it, and “Yeah. That checks out,”

“Whaddaya mean? I don’t have wings on my shoes!”

“Isn’t he the god of like, traveling and stealing shit?” You ask, smiling back at him as reassuring as you could, soaked to the bone sitting in a boy’s car six minutes before your shift started. “Dude, you drive your brother back and forth across New York four times a week. And you stole that lady's purse.”

‘Oh yeah. That was fun,” he sighed, and sunk in the driver's seat. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and closed his blue eyes, relief painted across his face.

You wiped your nose again, sure that you’d get a cold tomorrow just from standing in the lovely New York weather for more than a few seconds. A song played on the radio quietly, and you recognised it from the playlist Maria played on the speakers in the cafe sometimes.

The lyrics went something like ‘I rob and I kill to keep him with me,

I'll do anything for that boy’. When you looked over at Connor, you gulped.

Connor glanced at you from underneath his hand, and then looked down at the drink still clutched in your hands. The pink tone of it matched the fluffy strawberry’s hanging from the rear view mirror, and it was making your fingers hurt with the cold.

He smirked. “Are you supposed to drink while you’re working?”

“You make it sound like I'm doing shots behind the counter.” You shot back with a glare, and then felt your face heat up as you spoke. “And uh… it’s not… I didn’t make it for myself.”

“There’s an angry old lady in there, you know?”

This was excruciating. You ducked your head and bit your lip a little, looking out the window so you wouldn’t have to see Connor’s face when that stupidly hot smirk spread across his lips. “Uh… I didn’t make it for a customer, either…”

“Is that-”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Connor was wide eyes and slack jawed when you turned back to him, a dark blush across his cheeks that you wanted to take a photo of because goddam he was cute, but you knew you wouldn’t be forgetting the sight any time soon. He opened his mouth to talk, his eyes no longer at, well… eye level.

You put the drink into the holder between the seats and followed his gaze. “Just kiss me.”

You hadn’t seen that smile before.

His hands were so warm on your jaw, as hot as the tight feeling in your chest that melted quickly. It happened so fast you couldn’t really register anything until you realized Connor was halfway between your seats with his teeth on your bottom lip and his soft hair threaded between your fingers.

You used it to tug him closer, as close as he could and then more, because he was warm and soft and you could feel his grin through his lips that moved against your own in rhythm that ebbed and flowed. He slid his hands off you and you nearly pulled them back, until Connor was hugging you tight around your middle, his fingers knotting through the bow tied on your apron.

You chewed on his lip, which felt puffy and pulsing under your touch, but you kept kissing him, breaking away every few seconds to breathe, but you couldn’t not press your lips along his jaw. He was just too much. You had to kiss him everywhere and pull on his hair and tilt his head back and melt into his touch like you’d die if you didn’t.

Connor sighed into your mouth and gulped, you could feel his Adam's apple bob under the palm of your hand as you pushed him back gently by his neck. You got up on your knees as he blinked once or twice, like he’d been in a trance. “You took that all very well,”

“Don’t worry, I’ll freak out later when it sinks in.” You muttered back, pushing him back into the driver's seat where he’d begun. He made an odd noise and tightened his arms around your waist, ducking his head and when he pouted you couldn’t help but slide over the cupholder and sit on his lap, as if you hadn’t been planning to do so the whole time.

Then he frowned, “Wait, you’ll freak-”

“Shhhh,” you said, pressing a finger to his soft lips. He shut up immediately. You glanced behind you at the console, checking the time. “I have four and a half minutes til I have to start, we can discuss this later.”

“Deal,” Connor breathed, dragging your hands down to his neck again and looking up with vague out eyes. You grinned at him and went back to wiping that stupid smirk off his lips.

»»————-　★　————-««

“Your boyfriends here.”

You looked up from the kitchen counter you were wiping down after an accident with the tub of coconut shavings, “Why?”

“I’m assuming he’s here for you, short stuff doesn’t have a shift til the weekend.” Maria checked the whiteboard and glanced out the swinging doors. You moved to peek over her shoulder and saw Connor standing by the doors, swinging his car keys around his pointer finger absentmindedly. He was wearing that spiderman hoodie again, the one you’d accidentally tipped black coffee down the front of once when you’d worn it.

You grinned, if you finished up cleaning and took the trash out, you’d be done in five minutes and you’d get to follow him to his car that surely wasn’t road safe and then go wherever it was he’d planned this time.

“Go. But tomorrow you have to stop the racoons from eating the tires off my Harley.” Maria sighed, crossing his arms and motioning to the exit.

“I love you.”

He raised his eyebrows “Was that directed towards me or the boy-”

“Both.”

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percyjacksonfandomx reader #Connor stoll #connorstoll #Connor Stoll x reader #Connor Stoll x you #Connor Stoll c y/n #the Stoll twins #hermes cabin #coffee shop au

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anothermarkedone · 3 months

Note

THERE’S LITERALLY NO RIDOC FICS AND I THINK THAT’S CRIMINAL! So thank you for being an absolute legend and taking requests for him 🙏🙏

I was thinking what about a Ridoc x reader who is Dain’s little sister but she’s the completely opposite of him. A Weasly twin style prankster who thinks rules are just suggestions. I’d love to see the shenanigans she and Ridoc get up too while also trying to keep their relationship a secret from Dain bc we all know he would freak out

Fourth wing pranksters

Word count: 834 Pairing: Ridoc x Aetos!reader A/N: I saw this request and was immediately inspired. They're head canons, I hope you don't mind nonnie.

Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

One thing was crystal clear

Under no circumstance can Dain find out about you and Ridoc

It’s bad enough that his sweet darling little sister would start dating a guy

But Ridoc?!

The guy who’s known to be the best prankster in the entire quadrant?

Hell to the fucking no

It’s bad enough that you don’t follow the rules, no matter how much Dain and your father try

You don’t need someone to enable you and join in your behavior

Not as a classmate or as a friend and certainly not as your boyfriend

But if you play it smart, he won’t easily find out

He’s too busy drooling 🤤 over Violet, glaring daggers 😡 at Daddy Xaden 🥵 and being a stuck up rule follower

He’s literally Percy Weasley 🧑🏻‍🦰 since we’re talking about HP references

There was a silly tradition in Fourth Wing that when it’s someone's birthday🎉, they bring a snack🧁 to Battle brief

And it just so happens that Dain’s birthday was the next day

The day before his birthday, he had roped you into helping him make your grandmother's famous caramel apples

He told you that he needed your help last minute of course, so you didn’t have an excuse ready😑

The perfect opportunity for a prank, if you say so yourself🤫

When you and Dain were finally done, you wished him a happy early birthday and told him that you were going to study for a bit with Violet.

He knew that Violet was still pissed at him for reading her memories without permission, but he never expected that his sweet fragile Violet would insure that there would be retaliation

*Cue evil laughter*😈

Dain of course insisted to walk you to Violet's room, to make sure you were safe, he claimed, definitely not to maybe see Violet🤡

You walked into Violets room (or rather, Violet pulled you through the wards that 💪🏻overprotective 🥵Daddy Xaden installed)

You used your signet to see through the wall and waited until you saw Dain walk away

The second he was gone, you slipped out of Violet’s room and into Ridoc’s, who was already dead asleep😴

You climbed on top of him and settled in his lap

Of course, he’s a horny bastard and had other activity ideas🥵

You promised him whatever he wanted after he helped you🤭

He was 100% in after you explained your plan, as if he wasn’t already after your spicy promise😏

You two sneaked into the kitchens

You two went to make another batch of ‘caramel apples’ but oh no😱! there are no apples left😥!

Guess you two have to use the onions…😈

While you started making your grandmother’s caramel sauce, he went to peel the onions

It was one hell of a job to get it done before battle brief, especially since your promise didn’t do anything to lessen Ridoc’s horniness

There were a lot of steamy kisses and inappropriate touches🤤

But Ridoc’s ice signet 🥶 came in handy when the ‘apples’ were done and they had to be cool enough so that it seemed that they had cooled down during the night

You two sneaked the actual caramel apples 🍎 into your room to snack on later

Then you went to battle brief

Once you two were seated with your squad, Dain came in with the tasty onions🧅

He handed them out to professor Kaori, professor Devera and, to your slight horror, even to major Varrish

When Dain handed them out to your squad, you quickly warned them not to eat them🙊

The whole time, you and Ridoc had trouble to keep from bursting out in laughter🤣

Professor Kaori had just started battle brief, everyone’s apple temporarily forgotten in favor of taking notes, when major Varrish suddenly leaped from his chair with an angry shout🤬

Pieces of onion falling from his mouth🤮

Ridoc’s hand squeezed your inner thigh, as if that would keep him from bursting out in laughter

Varrish demanded to know who did it

Of course Dain was his first suspect, but professor Kaori pointed out that it was not something Dain would do😯

Everyone checked their own apples and found onions under the thick layer of caramel

Bodhi subtly suggested that one of the first years could have a signet that can change objects, which would make sense, since the first years had only just bonded their dragons, so they have no control over their signet🙄

And thus, Varrish’s rage turned on the first years

He ordered everyone to leave, except the first years and Dain

You shot your horrified brother a (hopefully) comforting look 😬

As soon as your squad was out of the room, Ridoc grabbed your hand

In his other hand, he held his onion and he was busy licking the caramel from the vegetable🤢

Sawyer laughed that he was disgusting, Violet was satisfied with her small petty revenge and Rhiannon was shaking her her head while mumbling how she was stuck with idiots

Ridoc gave your friends an innocent wave, before dragging you off to fulfill that promise that you made.🥵

#fourth wing #iron flame #ridoc gamlyn x reader #ridoc gamlyn #dain aetos

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ignify-caligo · 1 year

Text

[CAPTAIN PRICE HEADCANONS]

note: I have like my last exam in approximately less when 9 hours and what do I do? Write John Price centric headcanons like I’m possessed- anywho! Writing this was like sipping on a cup of tea that got half the sugar dumped into it - real sweet on the feels lmao. There’s also some sneak peak on Toska (my oc) so that’s fun too.

other related works: here

————————————————————————————

Captain Price and John Price may act differently between on-job and off-duty mindsets but one common thread is; a massive protective streak. None of the 141 boys is going to suffer under his watch if he can help it. Jokingly they refer to him as “the 141 mama bear” but truth be told, that’s exactly what he is even though he himself won’t admit it out loud. This behaviour shines through the most around much younger people when Price himself, such as Soap, Gaz and Roach.

His need to take care of his charges ends up with him herding a sleep-deprived/sick or exhausted adult man. Often it ends up being Ghost who’s past his capacity of taking care of himself and towing at the brink of collapse. On occasions, his tired mind will spew heartbreakingly truthful comments and remarks. Once it was “Wish you were my real dad.” mumbled silently against Price’s neck. Without even blinking an eye, Price responded with “I am and always will be, Simon.”

He always uses cedarwood-scented body wash - so often that it basically merged with his natural scent.

Has reading glasses prescript because of the strain his eyes have gone through thanks to paperwork and shameless reading at ungodly hours without proper light source. He outright refuses to use them in public.

Makes great toasts and grilled cheese sandwiches - they are so delicious that everyone in 141 loves them and consider them one of their comfort foods. Price will gladly make some extra ones if he knows that the boys are interested in them - especially when one of them is under the weather or just tired. A pair of toast with their favourite cheese and meat with a side of their sauce/spice of choice greets them whenever he notices them being not their regular selves.

When going grocery shopping, he is the one to make a list even before going out of the base - if it isn’t on the list god forbid you to try and sneak something into the cart. “We don’t need this, we got the same thing at base already.”

He is more of the salt over sweet snacks type of person. Pretzels and salty sticks all the way for him. Sometimes chips but he much prefers the previous options.

There’s also a heavy obsession with anything that has salted caramel included. If there’s an option for salted caramel dessert at the cafe, he won’t even hesitate with picking it up.

Sleeps in a matching pyjama set or nude - no middle ground. Thankfully if it’s the latter he will put on some underwear/sweatpants, when he's in need of something outside of his quarters.

Snores like a monster truck 80% of the time, otherwise, it seems like he’s not even breathing at all during his sleep. Soap got so stressed because of the motionless body of his captain that he did the unthinkable; he woke him up to see if he even was alive. Price obviously wasn’t thrilled with his nap being disturbed.

Gets himself into rabbit holes far too easily when the topic genuinely interests him, especially when it’s history or classic literature related. Loves his Sherlock Holmes novels with a passion.

“You draw the line wherever you need it, Sergeant.” Price would definitely draw the line at brainwashing and conditioning someone, he wouldn't even wish that kind of fate for his enemies. He may use living leverages as seen in modern warfare 2019 - but that? He’s all loud and clear on his no.

Makes subtle rounds around the living quarters part of HQ every night. Just to assert the fact in his mind that, yes, my boys are all right and safe at home. Walking through the corridor with enough force in his step to let the sound resonate and echo - letting all of them know that he’s there. There’s no doubt that all of them recognise his steps less than within a heartbeat. Occasionally knocks in a short pattern on their doors and waits for even a small sign like a grunt or his knock pattern being repeated back. Only when does he move on, the knowledge of them being there behind the door - eases his mind tremendously.

Some OC featuring HC for my guilty pleasure (lmao):

There’s a somewhat chill rivalry between him and Nikolai when it comes to taking care of the newest 141 addition - Toska. Where Price is the stern (in a protective manner) dad/captain - Nikolai is the uncle you go to when the dad is being too stubborn about something.

Price lets Toska sit with him in his office while doing paperwork on occasion. Mostly out of the fact that Toska won’t be a distraction like some people tend to be in the same scenario (looking at you Soap and Gaz) - it’s something that few people, in general, can participate in (there’s like Ghost and Roach being also invited to spend quiet time in the office too).

Tries to engage with Toska in small-time activities that “the kid” had missed throughout his stay with the Shadow Company – simply watching a show with Toska quietly sitting in the vicinity is a secret guilty pleasure he cherishes even through the rocky road that all of them are walking on most of the time.

#call of duty headcanons #cod headcanons #caligo's headcanons #captain price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #nikolai #toska oc #john price #john mactavish #kyle garrick #gary sanderson #simon riley #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #I love of them ur honor- especially price bc he a dad fr #also liked doing this - getting some ground for serious writing and all lmao

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factorialsotherfandoms · 2 months

Note

writing prompts:

bagi and empanada, baking

archivists, late night

bonus: joui and arthur, cooking

Joui and Arthur (I have tried either before and am still mid series so good luck me...)

"You need the salt next, right?"

Joui has the recipe and Arthur can only half remember what he is doing. It sounds about right, though, so he nods. His attention is mostly taken up by charring the peppers with the spices, making sure everything is appropriately blackened and not burnt. Still, he can just about hear Joui measuring it out.

A small bowl of salt is placed in Arthur's hand. It looks about the amount that his father used to use, so he tosses it in without another thought.

"Thanks Joui," he frees a hand to give him a smile and a thumbs up. "Could you cut the chicken? We need strips."

"Sure!"

Initially Joui picks up the wrong knife, but manages to correct himself with no chicken cut. Arthur is pleased - he likes his veg knife, but cleaning it can be a bitch.

They work in silence for a bit, until Arthur notices something... odd with the pan. Something sticky has formed in it, sticky and orange.

Its... not supposed to be orange.

Quickly Arthur runs through everything in his mind, taking stock of what they have been doing. He can't... see anything that would caramelized? The sugar content shouldn't be that high.

"Joui?" He asks. "Did you add any sugar?"

Joui pauses his chopping, then shakes his head, "no, it was definitely the white crystals not the brown ones."

Okay, so it was... wait.

"Which white crystals?"

Joui looks a little confused, but goes and grabs the bag.

The bag not of salt, but sugar.

Right, he did say his Portuguese around cooking food was terrible.

"Fuck," Arthur breathes out, before looking at their potentially ruined dinner. Thiago and Liz were supposed to be coming over tonight, and they promised Cesar that dinner would be fine, and... he really isn't sure this is salvagavle.

"Okay, um, that's sugar not salt, but we can fix this," how he's not sure, but there must be a way.

"I thought..." Joui looks at the bag and squints at it. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean to."

"Its fine." It isn't fine. "Just..." the spices and peppers are charred, but maybe if he adds enough sweet and sour sauce he can pretend it's a Vultures delicacy? "Right. The clear bottle with the blue lid, we can work with this."

"Are you sure, Arthur-san? I can fix it for you."

"I've got it," Arthur gently nudges him to the cupboard. "Just get the bottle. And slice some carrots?"

He can feel Joui hesitate, but still move to get the requested items. This time Arthur checks them, but everything is fine.

Which, of course, just leaves the problem of fixing the meal, and lying to everyone's faces as he says it was completely intentional...

#OP fanfic #osnf fanfic #I havent finished osnf yet shh let me have my very unlikely domestic post-canon au #I bet not all of them make it tbh #My grandma doesnt pay attention and swaps salt and sugar all the time and the pain #ordem paranormal

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gr00vyminibus · 1 year

Text

A wish.

Izogie x black fem

After Izogie catches an orphan boy vandalizing in broad daylight he convinces her to talk to his teacher at the orphanage instead of getting taken to the station and when she gets there she definitely does meet his (kind and beautiful) teacher as promised. Izogie visits there often now and somehow she finds herself inside a storage closet with you instead of getting balls for the children.

includes; kissing and deep admiration between the characters, not long its like a cut scene ykwim?, fluff. Enjoy!

[A/N : hey pretty people, its been awhile 🙉💞💞

- - - - - -

As your back was pressed against the shelf you were trapped in between Izogies arms, she was so close that you could smell her cologne and the soft skin of her neck that was bared for you in any way you chose to treat it, the earthly oil scent from her cornrows and the caramel breath near your ear traveling to your sensitive nose that wouldn't stop sensing.

Your eyes were shut closed thinking she'd kiss you on the lips but she pressed the warm pair under your peirced lobe, lingering it there as she felt your fingers hold her neck. When Izogie departed there was a slow smack and they echoed while she peppered them lower until she right on your jugular vein, it pulsing with a temper. Your lips parted when she sucked there, being as light as possible yet you were squirming all the same, emitting one single moan.

"You sound so fragile" she smirked on your skin, nipping the spot in hopes to create a mark and you let her, moving hands to the back of her head and scraping gently down the undercut which made her hum.

"Don't be fooled, i'm— mh~— anything but" she pulled completely to look into your glittering eyes before glancing down at your lips, colored plum and glossy. Izogie was aware of how intense her gaze would come off but was she really?

When you looked into her eyes she reminded you of the leaves you plucked and smelled while thinking of paradise, she was the warm temperature on a gloomy spring day, the unexpected rush of dopamine while you were sleepy, and the rain washing down cement pavements during the night.

"I want you to kiss me.. " Izogie didn't waste a second because she's been thinking about this moment since day one, she's wanted you since day one. Hoping to make you laugh until you cried, giving you flowers as a lover every morning, praising your beauty without any reasons and making you hold her body close on the days you thought were the worst.

Her hands squeezed your sides and hips in almost a desperate manner as you swirled your toungue in her mouth, making her gently furrow her brows in pleasure.

"Ms.— ms. Ndua?" A young and muffled voice from outside the door made both women break up quickly causing some things on the shelf shift. You dabbed at the corners of your lips and cleared your throat. Izogie smiled to herself as she wiped your lipgloss from her mouth.

"Um- here grab this" you handed her some children's books and a random cup hoping the child outside wouldn't suspect your past events. Izogie situated it in her arms as you cracked the door putting a sweet voice for a young boy with red sauce stains on his mouth. You cleaned it off for him, "omokayo messy boy, what do you need?"

"I want a cookie but can't reach and- ah!" He dramatically out his hands over his hand, staring wide-eyed at Izogies tall stature.

"Policeeee!" He ran away almost tripping over his own feet. Izogie chuckled, shoulders bouncing as you stood up with an amusing yet confused expression.

"I guess he served as a sign for me to take my leave, lunch break is well over by now" you laughed taking the random items from her arms.

"Right, I'll see you tomorrow hopefully?"

"Hopefully." You nodded and she leaned her down making your heart race.

"The kids-"

"It'll be quick" just when you blinked she pecked your lips and grinned, making her way around your stunned and frozen body.

"Bye ms. Ndula" you shook your head with a smile seeing the last bit of her jog from the orphanage.

"Bye officer."

#black women love black women #wlw #the woman king #officer!izogie #izogie fanfiction #izogie x black!reader #izogie #izogie x fem reader #izogie x reader

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rabbitcruiser · 2 years

Photo

National Caramel Custard Day

The National Caramel Custard Day is dedicated to a creamy dessert made with milk, sugar, and vanilla. This food-related holiday is celebrated on October 3.

The word “custard” refers to a variety of desserts based on a mixture of egg yolk and milk or cream. Caramel custard is a custard dessert topped with a layer of soft caramel. It is popular throughout the world. While North Americans call it caramel custard, most Europeans know it better as crème caramel. In Spanish-speaking countries it is usually called flan.

Caramel custard is a popular dessert that can be found on the menu of many restaurants. But if you want to try your hand at cooking fancy desserts, you can make it yourself for the National Caramel Custard Day.

In a heavy saucepan, cook ¾ cup sugar over low hear until melted and golden, constantly stirring. Pour the caramelized sugar into eight 6-ounce custard cups so their bottoms are coated and set aside for 10 minutes.

In a bowl, beat 6 eggs, 3 cups milk, ¾ cup sugar, and 2 tsp vanilla extract until combined. The mix must not be foamy. Pour over caramel. Place the cups in two 8-inch baking pans. Pour boiling water in pans to a 1-inch depth. Bake for about 45 minutes at 350 °C. Unmold before serving.

Source

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testosteronetwunk · 5 months

Text

okay so the recipe for my grandma’s ginger braised beef heart for those who asked follows thusly.

1. slice 2lbs of beef heart into thin, but two inch long strips (or however you like them) and once your beef is all cut, pour in enough white alcohol (i use rice wine but whatever works) to coat the beef and toss. let it sit for 10 minutes to remove any mùi tanh/off flavors. rinse your meat and pat dry after 10 minutes.

2. mince half a head of garlic (or not, sometimes my grandma doesn’t add garlic lol) and julienne your ginger root (you’re gonna need like one entire ginger root that’s the size of your hand AND another half, so 1.5 hands (?) of ginger. also, you can just wash it really well, not peel it, and cut it into chunky slices if you don’t wanna eat the actual pieces of ginger lol)

3. add just enough oil to coat the bottom of a stew pot, make sure half of that oil is sesame oil (not a precise measurement i know that’s just how we do it) heat your pot on a medium flame

4. add like 6 tablespoons of sugar to your oil once it’s heated up, stir constantly to avoid burning, you are making what’s called “nước màu”/caramel. keep an eagles eye on your sugar, it’ll start melting into a white goo, then clear, then brown. keep on stirring constantly and making sure you have your meat within reach because this can burn so easily. (u can look up nước màu on youtube or tiktok for a visual explanation lol)

5. once it’s a deep brown (or even a brownish red if you’re feeling racy) add your beef, ginger, and garlic into the pot and stir vigorously. you may want to wear a long sleeve shirt while cooking this because nước màu is known to spit hot oil lol.

6. once the beef has been evenly coated in your caramel and all the surfaces of the beef have been seared, add in 5 dashes of soy sauce, and like 5 dashes of fish sauce. and mix. you should open up a window or your back door at this point because the fragrance will be intense lol.

7. once the natural liquid that leeched out from your beef heart and your seasonings has almost completely evaporated, add in enough coconut water to submerge your beef. if you don’t have coconut water, plain water is more than fine, because your caramel sauce has already added a good sweetness to the beef. (vietnamese people from the southwestern region like my grandma like their food a bit sweet lol) or, if you so please, you can add in unsalted beef broth!

8. add dried chilies (or don’t), add 3 tablespoons of turmeric powder (or don’t, it doesn’t add that much flavor it adds a fragrance and a color), turn the heat up to high and cover.

9. once it comes to a boil, turn the heat down to a medium flame and keep it covered for like 20mins. after 20mins, uncover so the juices can reduce.

10. now when to turn off the fire is a matter of preference, do you like your beef heart to be crunchy like me? try a piece of beef like 5 mins after you uncover the pot (and also add more fish sauce to taste) id recommend you just try pieces as it cooks so u can find the texture that’s perfect for you. if you like it soft, leave it on a medium flame (and you can re-cover it) until it’s soft. but 2 minutes before you turn off the fire, you can add in fresh sliced peppers if you want (whatever you have on hand, birds eye chilies are typical but i like adding jalapeños for freshness)

11. once it’s almost at the texture you like, add in a corn starch slurry to thicken it and add in as much freshly cracked black pepper as you like. after 2 minutes turn off the flame. done!!

#long post #if u have questions pls comment them lol

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onmysluttyknees · 7 months

Text

Sunday

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader.

Rating: E 18+ (minors dni). This is for mature audience only! By continuing reading you agree that you are over 18.

Words: 2703

Masterlist ✨

“I can’t believe you’ve never had proper Chilean food before” Pedro said with the most shocked look on his face. Utterly appalled, not really though, he was just teasing me as always.

“It’s not like I’d even know what to order if I even found a place that serves good Chilean food. And would I know it’s good?” I retorted and slapped his upper arm.

“Ouch, careful babe. That almost hurt” he laughed and grabbed my hand just as I raised it to smack him again. “Now how about I order some nice food for us and you hop into the shower,” he said and walked out of the room to get his phone to place the order. In the meantime I got into the shower, while Pedro put on some sweatpants and a white Henley. Oh god how I loved him in one of his like, 10 Henely’s, the way they just clung to his body.

Just as I was putting on my booty shorts and one of Pedro’s flannel shirts there was a knock at the door. He went to open it as I cleared the table by the sofa, and returned with two bags of food, which he immediately started unpacking.

“Babe, that looks like way too much food for just the two of us,” I said as I stared at all the food in front of us.

“Don’t worry darling. What we don’t eat we can save for later,” he said with a wink. Those winks that always sent a tingle of delight through my body. A subtle indication of strenuous activities ahead.

We sat down on the sofa and I poured wine from a Casillero del Diablo red. He reached out for the glass I offered and we clinked them together.

“Cheers my love” he said as we both took a sip. “Okay, so this is Empanadas de Pino, which is like a bundle of dough with onion, ground beef, black olives, raisins and hard liners boiled egg” he said as he picked one up to show me.

“Wow, that's a lot of things in that. And to be honest it sounds kind of weird” I said, eyeing the stuffed empanada he was holding out to me. Tentatively I took the strange dough bundle out of his hand, biting into it hesitantly.

“It’s like this delicious bread dough filled with everything. So juicy, and to my surprise absolutely delicious” I said in honest surprise as I continued eating.

After we’d had our fill, he set aside the plate and moved another plate closer. This one filled with what looked like bread and a tub of some creamy looking spread.

“These are marraquetas, it’s like a soft bread with a crunchy exterior, and this is manjar. It’s like a caramel sauce. It goes well with these,” he said as he dipped the marraqueta into the manjar and fed it to me. As I chewed slowly on the pastry covered with cream a soft moan escaped my lips. I heard his breath catch in his throat as he stirred a little, trying to adjust himself without me noticing. I noticed.

“This is delicious babe”, I said and leaned in as he was about to feed me another bite. The manjar started to slip and just as I was to bite down on the marraqueta, the manjar dropped onto my chest. Just above the half buttoned neckline of his flannel shirt . As I was reaching down to wipe it away, Pedro grabbed my hand and pushed it away.

“Don’t querida, let me” he said as he placed the half eaten marraqueta on the plate, and leaned in closer, dipping his head between my breasts, licking up the sticky mess.

“Oh…ah..yes..that's nice” I panted as my chest heaved allowing him better access.

“Should I keep going?” he asked before dipping back down again, not waiting for my reply. “Oh god yes, don’t stop. Never stop” I sighed heavily as he unbuttoned the shirt and pushed it off my shoulders. My upper body, now completely naked.

“Mmmm, no bra on today, I see” he said with a light chuckle as he reached out his hands and cupped my breasts, gently stroking and caressing them.

“They tend to...uhm…get, you know, in…oh god,” I trailed off, having problems forming a sentence when he was touching me, oh ever so softly, but still with such purpose. He gently pinched each nipple a few times, dragging a few moans out of me before releasing his hold. He slid his hands down lower to the hem of my shorts.

“Let’s take these off,” he said. Putting my weight on my hands as I lifted my ass off the sofa to help him remove the offending garments. Feeling a little uncomfortable being the only one who was naked, I reached for his shirt, pulling it off in a swift, single action. His broad chest was a sight to behold. He had been working out a lot lately for his upcoming role in Gladiator 2 which he was set to leave for next month, and it had really paid off. No that he was overly muscular, but he was toned, well defined muscles and the little happy trail.. I dragged my finger along his delicious happy trail, causing him to shiver under my touch. I moved my hand slowly to the edge of his sweatpants, letting my fingers slip inside. As I wrapped my fingers around his growing shaft a soft moan escaped his lips. I looked up into his big brown eyes, so sweet and soft, but also burning with desire. The need for more. To be closer. Always closer. Not that I wasn’t feeling the same. I could never get enough of this man. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. The sudden proximity made it difficult to maintain my grip, so I adjusted myself slightly, allowing me to continue my slow strokes. The low groaning noises erupting from him only made me work my hand faster, squeezing ever so gently now and then. Swirling my thumb over his head, where some pre-cum had already started to leak, and smearing that over his cock to ease my friction. I could feel his body starting to tremble just as he grabbed my hand and pulled it away.

“Stop, I won’t be able to fuck you if you make me cum now. You know I’m not 24 anymore babe,” he said and chuckled, tilting his head slightly when he saw the pout on my face. He got off the couch to stand, removing his pants and tossing them onto the floor behind him, almost knocking over some of the food on the table as he did. “Oh, close one there” he said, getting on the floor in front of the couch.

“What are you doing? Get up here” I said as I reached down and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him up.

“No, ladies first, You should know this by now. It’s like you said, get the water running before going on the waterslide. And baby, you’re my waterslide. I want you real wet before I ride you” he answered with the most devilish smile, using my own words against me. The look of pure lust in his eyes took my breath away.

He parted my legs, positioning himself between them. He started kissing me from my knee to my hip before doing the same to the other leg. Delightful tingles shot through my body as his patchy beard tickled me and made me squirm. His hands gripped me by my waist, holding me in place. I leaned back just as his lips found their way up to my pulsing core. My hands slid down my belly and into his hair. His tongue darted out licking my folds. I moaned loudly as he nudged that sensitive spot and my grip on his hair tightened. My nails scraped his scalp, causing him to let out a low hum that vibrated onto me, making me clench around nothing.

“So eager cariño. Patience love, I’m only getting started” he murmured as his tongue went back to work. Lapping and licking and sucking, his nose nudging at my clit every now and then. My legs began to tremble and I could not help to start to move with him as he kept working his tongue through my wet folds. My jaw went slack as he gently eased two fingers into me.

“Oh…GOD! Yes…I…please...more” was all I managed to get out between sighs and moans. His fingers were working their way in and out of me at painfully slow speed as his tongue found its way to my clit, sucking on it gently. “More baby…please...harder…faster” I pleaded with him, rocking my hips with every move he made.

“You want more? I got you baby” he replied looking up at me, then he slid another finger in and started moving faster as he dipped back down and his tongue found its way back to my bud of nerves. Sucking harder and nibbling on it. Jolts of pleasure were firing through my body, tensing up as I was reaching my climax. And with a final lick on my clit it pushed me over the edge. And I was free falling. Wave after wave of pleasure flowed through me as my orgasm hit. And he rode it out with me, still pumping his fingers into me with every surge of the wave until I stilled under him. He withdrew his fingers and lifted his hand up to his lips, licking his fingers clean.

“You taste delicious cariño” he said as he looked up at me and smiled that half smile that always made my insides melt.

“Come here and fuck me like you promised.” “And make it good,” I said, leaning up to grab him by the hand, pulling him on top of me. His hard cock kept him from getting too close but still, he leaned down and kissed me like a starved man.

“I always keep my promises, you know that bonita,” he said as he reached down and grabbed his cock, lining it up with my center. And in one gentle but firm move he slid all the way down to the hilt, which made me gasp at the sudden fullness.

“Oh...fuck…me!” I gasped out.

“That’s the plan” he countered with a grin as he pulled out almost all the way before thrusting all the way back into me again. His hands held a steady grip on my hips as he picked up the pace and started to pound into me. His grip tightened , fingers digging into my flesh. This would probably leave some delicious marks. I countered his thrusts, rocking just as hard into him, touching anywhere and everywhere I could. My hands finally landed on his upper arms and I pulled him closer to me. Kissing his jaw, nibbling at his ear which caused him to jerk hard into me.

“Yes! Fuck…again” I screamed out. He was more than happy to oblige, again and again, hitting that oh so sweet spot. I could feel that familiar sensation starting to build again within me. He leaned closer, kissing me hard. His tongue slipped across my bottom lip, asking for entry. I surrendered immediately , returning his kiss with the same hunger. My hands into his hair once more, pulling him as close to me as I possibly could as he swallowed my moans. One of his hands released my hip and found it way down to my already sensitive clit. With swift, well practiced movements, he pressed and circled it over and over as he kept thrusting into me. And I could feel myself getting me closer to my orgasm by the second. He slipped out of me causing me to whimper as the loss of him inside me.

“Turn around,” he demanded. My ass in the air, he thrust back into me so hard I fell forward slightly, screaming out his name at the pure ecstasy of the sensation. From this angle he hit that sweet spot inside each time he drove into me. My insides began to clench down on him and he leaned over me and grunted in my ear. “That’s it baby, oh fuck! You’re so fucking sexy like this. Fuck!” he moaned, his pace picking up as he kept pumping into me.

My legs felt like jello, but I was so close to another orgasm, I didn’t dare to move. I could tell he was close too, from the way his moves became more frantic, less precise, but still ever so delicious. I moved one of my hands down and rubbed my clit mercilessly and with that, I came again. Loudly, screaming and pulsating around his cock. With each wave of my orgasm I clenched down on him over and over, which caused him to lose control and he came too. Hot spurts of cum filled me up as he pumped a few more times before he finally stilled. He pulled out and I went to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I returned I climbed on top of him where he laid, still spent. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled a blanket over us. For a moment we just laid there.

The wonderful sensation of being with him, any way I could, as much as I could before he had to leave again, for another movie or tv-show to be filmed, almost made me tear up.

I tried to push those thoughts aside as quickly as they had come into my mind, it still wasn’t quick enough for Pedro not to notice the shift in my demeanor.

“What’s wrong querida? Did I hurt you?” he asked as he caressed my cheek ever so observant.

“Nothing, it’s nothing” I said, trying to play it off, leaning in closer to his chest, hiding my face in the crook of his neck. But he could see it in my eyes before I could look away, I never could keep anything from him anyway.

“Please tell me what it is baby, I can see there’s something you’re not telling me,” he pleaded with me and tipped my head up to look at him with one finger under my chin.

“I just...I don't want…” I trailed off. I did not want to ruin the mood.

“Don’t want what, baby?” he asked, his big brown eyes inquisitive.

“I don’t want you to go,” I whispered and looked away from his piercing gaze.

“Oh honey, is that what this is about? That’s not for another month, we have lots of time together before then, and you can come visit if you want?” he said cupping my cheek, kissing me softly on the lips.

“It’s never enough. I know I’m selfish, but I always want more. More time with you,” I whisper as a lone tear fell. His thumb grazed over my cheek, swiping it away.

“I know mi vida, but like we’ve said before, let’s make the most of the time we do have together, and longing makes the heart grow fonder, right?” he said and leaned in to capture my lips in a searing kiss. And he was right, I knew what I had gotten myself into when we became a couple. He loved his job and I would never keep him from pursuing his dream, especially now that he finally was getting the recognition he so fucking derserved. So I wrapped my arms around him and drew him in for another kiss. Trying my best to shake off the previous feeling and be here now with him, in this moment.

“I love you, now kiss me the way that you would if we died tonight” I said and chuckled and I felt the mood lighten when his face broke into an ever so endearing smile. He kissed me long and hard, his hands cupping my face. “And I love you, por siempre y siempre y siempre” he said and then his lips found mine again. Kissing me until we both were left breathless.

“For ever and ever and ever” I echoed.

Masterlist ✨

#pedro pascal #fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #+18 only #churchofthesluttyknee #smut #my imagination #imagination running wild

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dilf-rights-activist · 10 months

Text

Another Life: part 3

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gender neutral reader, Platonic Hobie Brown & reader

Summary: Your busy night ended unexpectedly sweet when your eyes met a familiar shade of deep crimson. Through careful words and useless small talk, you are able to convince a tired Miguel O’Hara to take a break for the night, a feat (unbeknownst to you) that typically takes Herculean effort from several members of his team. Or, the one where Miguel comes in for a coffee, and you give him a tea instead, and Hobie makes you breakfast :)

Word Count: 3.4k

Content: eventual sugar daddy AU, coffee shop au, no use of (y/n), slow burn (we’re getting there folks), sfw, descriptions of financial hardship, swearing, Hobie makes breakfast :)

AO3 part 1 part 2 part 4

You were in the stockroom organizing boxes when you heard the front door’s bell ring. You grunted into a box of sugar, shifting its weight before setting it down. You turned to glance out the door and saw Peter poke his head out from the back.

“Would you mind getting that? I’m elbow deep in caramel sauce right now.”

You threw out a thumbs up from inside the closet and sighed. When was this night gonna end?

“Give me a minute, please!” You called from your half-bent position. “I’ll be right out.” You got up with a sigh and walked out of the stockroom, dusting your hands on your apron as you went.

“Welcome in!” you smiled before stopping mid-stride. You looked at the tall brunette before you and instantly recognized him as the kicked puppy man from your other workplace. You guessed he recognized you as well, as his brows climbed his forehead and his mouth cracked open in surprise.

“Hey, nice to see you again!” you looked up at him as you leaned on the counter between you.

“Hi,” he offered a small smile and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Yeah, well.” you chuckled and signed into the register. “What can I say?”

Jesus, what could you say? You were broke and needed these two jobs just to stay afloat.

“What can I get started for you?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“Oh,” he blinked, as if almost forgetting the reason why he stepped into the shop in the first place. His warm eyes peered up at the chalkboard menu above you. “An espresso?”

You looked up at him and blinked before checking the time on the register: 9 pm.

“Sure. It’s getting a little late, though. Would you wanna try our chamomile tea? It’s good for sleep,” you smiled gently at him, praying that he’d take your offer. You recalled how exhausted the man looked the first night you met, and (now that you’re seeing him in a better light) you can confirm it’s only gotten worse. The brunette’s crimson eyes were shadowed by dark circles, the fine lines on his cheeks and forehead contoured his handsome face nicely, but they did nothing to hide just how tired he was.

“Hm, I was going to get some more work done, but I guess I could call it a night early.” He said while looking right back at you.

“Sure. One chamomile tea, please.” His plush lips stretched into a slight smile as he watched you nod, seemingly happy that he took you up on your recommendation.

“Great! Drinking espresso late at night isn’t always the best, it can make you jittery and restless.” Hypocrite! Your brain cried. You do that all the time!

“Cool, I’ll get started on that now. The tea takes about 5 minutes to steep, and it’ll be ready at the end of the bar, okay?” You heard a deep “Okay.” before turning around to empty loose tea leaves into a filter. You saw the man leave the register to wander down to the other side of the bar, waiting patiently for his drink with his hands clasped in front of him.

You set a timer for four minutes before grabbing a rag and walking towards him, wiping down the counter that separated you two.

“How’ve you been?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He smiled down at you. “Fine. Been working a lot.” You nodded and focused on a particularly stubborn coffee stain.

“Cool…” you trailed off, glancing at him momentarily before returning to the aforementioned stain with renewed vigor. You couldn’t lie, you were curious as to how he was coping with his break up; he seemed like a wreck the last time you saw him. You paused your work to momentarily glance up at him, admiring how tall he was standing, despite looking like a corpse 2 minutes ago.

“He seems fine now.” you thought with a smile. Maybe your silent wishes worked and he’s doing better!

The two of you stayed silent for a while before the timer chimed, alerting the two of you that the tea was ready. You held up one finger and walked off with a quick “one sec!” before carefully pouring the tea into a cup, capping it securely.

“Alright, one chamomile tea! Please be careful, it’s reeeally hot.” you made a face, you’ve spilled this tea on yourself on more than one occasion and it is not an experience you could really recommend.

The brunette graciously accepted the cup and took a sip, sighing as he lowered it with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Have a good night,” He said your name warmly.

“You too-” You grinned up at him before abruptly stopping. He blinked at you and your smile faltered while you looked off to the side, lips sealing shut. Oh my god what’s his name. You turned your head to face him and stood up straighter, renewing your smile with force. He blinked and looked at you expectantly, tilting his head to the side with a raised brow. You searched his eyes but saw absolutely nothing, your mind desperately looking for a name to match his handsome face and continuously drawing blanks.

“Oh god he’s looking at me, say something!” you thought.

“You have a great night too…” you gave him a tight lipped smile. “Michael.”

The man’s brows climbed to his hairline and he looked down at you right before throwing his head back and let out a laugh. His shoulders shook with the force of his mirth and for a second you were worried that he was going to spill scalding hot tea all over himself.

“Okay,” you thought. “I totally got that one wrong.”

His laughter calmed and the man absolutely not named Michael looked down at you.

“¡No manches! You thought my name was Michael?”

You looked up at him, wide eyed and mortified. “I’m...sorry,” you began. “I didn’t mean to forget, I’ve just had a lot on my mind and-”

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave you an easy grin. “My name is Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.” He gave you his name like he’s done for thousands before you, his Spanish accent rolling through the air and straight into your heart.

“Miguel…” you repeated after him with a smile. “I like that.”

“Thanks, it’s the only name I got.” he grinned at you and you laughed, instantly recognizing the words from the bar. You waved as you watched Mr. O’Hara, no, Miguel exit the four walls of the little cafe, smiling with a wave of his own. You rested your chin on the palm of your hand as your eyes followed his broad back through the window until he was out of sight.

You yawned and pushed your bedroom door as you dragged your slippered feet across the hard wood floors of your apartment. Tired hands lifted to rub the sleep from your eyes before walking into the bathroom you and your roommate shared. The warm, bright light flicked on with a soft click, the bulb’s electricity buzzing quietly through the quiet morning air. You squeezed out some toothpaste and glanced at your phone: 9:42 am. You wanted to sleep in a bit on your day off, finally settle the sleep debt that you had been accruing, but the sounds of New York’s blaring traffic had not been kind that morning.

You were grateful for the day off from not only one but two of your jobs. Typically, these rare off days were used for rest and recovery exclusively, allowing you to fall into a cozy mess of pajamas and junk food as you licked your wounds from the battleground that was your work life. But, you decided that this rare recess would be dedicated to getting shit done. You smiled to yourself, thinking about your grocery list and that pile of clothing on your chair that will most definitely be done by the end of the night. You finished getting ready for the day and stepped out to find Hobie in the kitchen. His back was to you while he focused on the sizzling skillet in front of him, head bobbing along to some music he was playing on his phone. He still had his bonnet on, likely wanting to protect his hair from any of the (delicious) fumes that were wafting from his cooking. You smiled while you looked at all the patches he had meticulously sewn onto the blue satin, lovingly calling it his “battle bonnet”.

“G’morning, Hobs.” You said while walking up behind him.

“Day’s a-dawning,” He said back, smiling lightly. “Fancy some brekkie?”

You looked down at the sizzling mixture of eggs and vegetables in his skillet and noticed the fresh stack of chapati on the counter. Your face cracked into a large grin and you looked up at your roommate gleefully.

“Rolex?”

“Mm.” Hobie hummed as he flipped his eggs. “Get some plates, would you?”

You nodded while turning towards your squeaky cabinets to retrieve your favorite dishware, one vintage collectible Wizard of Oz plate that depicted the famous melting wicked witch scene (yours), and one pink ceramic heart shaped plate that Pavitr made in a pottery class he went to once (Hobie’s). You excitedly placed the mismatched set on the counter, your stomach beginning to growl as you looked at the delicious meal your roommate had prepared. Hobie was born to Ugandan parents back in the UK, and you were grateful whenever he shared that part of him with you. You didn’t know much about his parents, only that they were no longer in his life. Hobie didn’t talk about it, and you weren’t one to pry.

Your roommate placed a piece of fried dough on the plates you brought him and topped each one with a thick vegetable omelet. He set each plate on your small coffee table, and you both sat on the worn couch that furnished your living room. You and Hobie had dragged the sofa across the entire Lower East Side to get it inside of your home. You couldn’t help but smile whenever you thought about Hobie maniacally yelling “PIVOT!!” as the two of you struggled to haul it up your narrow staircase all those winters ago.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” He asked before taking a large bite of his Rolex.

“Just some errands.” You said while rolling up your food. “Gotta run to get some groceries. You need anything?”

“Yeah, actchewy” he said with a mouth full of food. “Coul you ge’ pi’ah ‘ols, ‘ess, aw’en-“

“I can’t understand you!” You laughed beside him. Hobie looked at you with comically full cheeks and a large smile on his pierced lips.

He gulped, “Pizza roles, eggs, that one pack of ramen you got me last week, some biscuits-“

“You mean cookies?”

“No.” He huffed. “I mean biscuits, the Biscoff ones.”

“So cookies.”

“It says biscuits on the package!” He squeezed his wrap then, causing some of its contents to slide out the bottom. “Cream and sugar…or maybe just cream will do it. Been meaning to fetch some builders for me morning Rosy, but I haven’t made it out yet. Got a gig with the band comin’ up, and we’ve been hittin’ it real hard. Gwendy’s been killin’ it on the drums, she’s got a big solo in the last part of the show.”

You nodded slowly as Hobie went on about his upcoming gig, and you began to make a mental budget for the groceries the two of you needed. You put your food down as you slowly lost yourself in your thoughts, Hobie’s deep voice becoming foggy in the background. Food was getting so much more expensive now, and you found yourself compromising on a lot of your usual favorites. You almost threw a fit when you tasted the off brand ice cream you decided to try (it was 15% cheaper and had at least 30% more air whipped into it, not worth it). You began to do the mental math in your head, and the numbers were not looking good.

Hobie licked his fingers clean as he finished his breakfast, only to notice that yours remained unfinished on your gaudy plate. Your eyes had glazed over in your pensive state, not even noticing that he had stopped talking.

“Oi, you good?”

“Yeah! Yeah...just…” you trailed off and sighed, knowing that your friend would not like what was about to come out of your mouth. “I might have to pick up that third job again.” Hobie’s round eyes went wide and he straightened to look at you fully, a very serious look on his sharp face.

“You hate that job.” He said quietly, and you could hardly stand the look he was giving you. The frown that marred his handsome face seemed out of place and sad.

“Yeah! I did-”

“You do.” He cut you off.

“I...do.” You finished lamely. He shook his head and sucked his teeth. The university you attended was raising tuition yet again for...what was it again? Construction for a new campus building that your major wasn’t even allowed in? An installation of yet another ugly ass statue of a dead white guy? You weren’t sure, you didn’t care. A small sigh escaped your lips as you remembered how you threw your phone at the wall when you got that email, cracking the screen in the process.

God, that was stupid.

“It’s okay, Hobie. I’ll get through it.” You smiled before returning to your breakfast with renewed vigor. “You need anything else from the store?” You asked with your mouth full.

“No, be sure to Venmo me for half, yeah?” He said while getting up. “And I wanna see the receipt! I know you’ve been undercharging me!” He pointed a slender finger at you, eyes fierce. You smacked his hand out of your face and nodded with a smile on your face.

“Okay, Hobs.”

Miguel inhaled deeply through his nose as he stretched in the shower, the hot water working to soothe his aching muscles. He groaned and pedaled his feet to stretch out his calves, “Maybe I went a little too hard today.” He thought wistfully. The stress from work had been getting to him, and the gym was the only place he felt like he could vent out his frustrations. He’s ashamed to say that he’s found himself hitting the mats at 3 in the morning on multiple occasions. Or running on the treadmill at 1. Or on the bench at 4. He winced, recalling how he almost caved his face in during a particularly ambitious bench press because he couldn’t find a spotter at such a ridiculous time of night. Eventually, he had a home gym set up on the first floor of his apartment, a place he’s spent more time in than he’d care to admit. When he was younger, he used to smoke when he was stressed, and (as an ambitious thirty something who was in the early stages of running his own company) he would easily blow through a pack a day. As Miguel got older, his priorities changed, his life changed, and he was able to kick the nasty habit (and exchange it for something slightly less detrimental).

He sighed through his nose, remembering the day his daughter had hidden his pack of Marlboro Reds in the pink velour confines of her Barbie music box, begging him to stop because she “didn’t want daddy to die”.

He hasn’t touched a cigarette since.

Miguel placed his large hands on the cool tile in front of him and relished in the feeling of scalding water rolling down his broad back. Truthfully, he’s been clean for a while now. He’s just wasting water at this point. Miguel was reluctant to step back into his usual day of drudgery.

“No puedo más, no puedo más, no puedo más, no puedo más,” he groaned as he thought about the amount of work he had to do that day. It was the weekend! How could this happen to him!? He shut the water off and groaned into the echoey chamber of his large shower while doing the mental math to figure out just how many of his precious weekend hours will be dedicated to reading through reports and contracts. He recalled how Lyla had frowned with sympathetic eyes as she curated his to-do list for the weekend; she suggested that he got out of the house every once in a while to take breaks.

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” The large man stepped out of his shower as his mind drifted to the cute little cafe in the East Village. He could bring his laptop and get his work done there, in the four cozy walls that housed a lifetime of memories for countless people. He thought about what drink he would be ordering this time around, what music might be playing today, what your reaction would be to seeing him again. Miguel patted himself dry with a plush towel, and the corners of his mouth began to lift a little.

He thought about how kind you were to him in the two instances he had spoken with you. He felt like all of the posh formality of his work life melted away when he spoke to you, he felt relief knowing that you were kind not because you had something to gain from him, but because you were genuinely just that nice. Miguel’s mind began to drift to the chamomile tea you had made him, gently denying his request for a caffeine packed espresso that would have fueled another one of his sleepless nights. The warm, gentle notes of apple soothed his tired mind during his chilly walk home.

He caught his reflection in the foggy mirror, when did he start smiling?

Miguel walked down the busy sidewalk clad in a puffy bomber jacket and a faded Mets shirt. He pulled down his baseball cap and smiled when he spotted Cafe May just 2 blocks ahead. The man adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and the soles of his tennis shoes picked up a little as he quickened his pace, eager to reach his destination.

Miguel easily pushed open the door to the warm cafe and stepped inside, noting how almost every table was occupied by a student or a couple. Crimson eyes drifted to the counter, and he couldn’t help the way his shoulders drooped a little when he saw that you weren’t there. He walked up to the register and was greeted by a friendly looking woman with graying hair and bright blue eyes.

“She must be May,” he thought to himself. He scanned the coffee shop, hoping he’d find you cleaning a table or organizing the coffee stirrers, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Hi there,” May said in a kind voice. “What can I get started for you?”

“Oh,” he looked down at her, a little distracted. “Could I get an espresso, please?”

“Of course,” She smiled warmly at him, and he couldn’t help but return it in kind. He handed her the appropriate bills before leaning over the counter slightly to try and peer into the stock room, hoping to see your smiling face emerge from the small space.

“Looking for something?” May asked.

Someone, Miguel thought wistfully.

“No, I apologize.” He smiled softly at her before walking to the end of the bar to collect his drink. He carefully walked over to one of the vacant tables and set the warm ceramic on its wooden surface. He opened up his laptop and sighed a little to himself. The large man pursed his lips as he typed in the lengthy password to log into his laptop and frowed. He couldn’t deny that he was a little disappointed that you weren’t working today, he was looking forward to the 5 minutes of conversation we would have had with you (6 if he was lucky).

Miguel stared at the bleak desktop background before moving to open his company’s work portal. He took a moment to collect his thoughts as he skimmed through the itemized to-do list that he was to complete that day. He needed to get things done, work was why he had biked nearly five miles from the Upper East Side to come to this small cafe specifically, why his heart beat with excitement the minute he walked through its old doors. Work was why he was there…no other reason.

Right?

Notes: Hobie’s voice actor (Daniel Kaluuya) is Ugandan and I wanted to honor that in some way here, the idea of Hobie having some connection to his heritage is very interesting to me! Thank you for reading, there will be more direct interaction with Miguel in the next chapter I promise. I’m actually already done writing the next part, and I’ll be posting it soon after I make some edits, thank you sm for your patience and for reading this far!!

#across the spiderverse fanfiction #coffee shop au #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x you #sugar daddy au #writing #fic: another life

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