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#crabs as big as cars

montereybayaquarium · 2 months

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The mighty Japanese spider crab is larger than life. 🦀

These crabs roam along the seafloor on their long limber legs, which can span up to 12 feet from claw to claw! These slow-moving scavengers spend much of their time searching for dead and decaying fish, invertebrates, and seaweed on the seafloor. Yum!

#monterey bay aquarium #love for the deep #crabs as big as cars #we like big crabs and we cannot lie #getting a leg up on the clawmpetition

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sometimesanalice · 7 months

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Bedside Manner

Summary: You were expecting the perfect summer afternoon with the Daggers, but when a game of dogfight football takes a turn for the worse, you’re left with a bleeding head and an aching heart. And it’s up to Bradley to show you his bedside manner.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: A little angst, a little pining, and two idiots in love.

It’s a perfect summer afternoon. Well, almost.

The sun is high in the sky and the steady salt kissed ocean breeze keeps it from being too uncomfortably hot. The coolers are filled with beers and sodas and a few pink cans of rosé that Coyote had brought. And the beach blankets were littered with open half-eaten family sized bags of chips and cubes of bright pink watermelon and containers of various dips and ziplocs with sun warmed and mostly melted chocolate chip cookies.

“You guys, really, I’m fine,” you state as adamantly as you can given the circumstances.

Sure, you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your throbbing, bleeding head. Sure, you are a little afraid to put your full weight on your left ankle and already dreading the long walk back to your car.

But it’s fine, you’re fine. Everything is…peachy. Or it will be as soon as they all stop looking at you like you’re about to crumple to the ground like some 1920’s silent film starlet from on the silver screen.

Nat has that deep pinch between her sharp brown eyes. Jake’s lips are pressed together in a firm white line. The rest of the team stands hovering around you in a misshapen semicircle, all sandy and sweaty, and wearing the concern painted across their faces.

All except for Rooster, who can’t seem to look at you at all.

“Clearly, you’re not,” Phoenix says flatly, clearly unamused by your attempts to minimize the situation. And you wish that just this once she could have let this go and follow your lead. But then she wouldn’t be Natasha Trace.

Your best friend since middle school had always been the most capable and sharpest person in the room and you loved that about her.

Normally.

But not so much when her keen assessment of you keeps you from being able to slink away quietly without fuss.

“No, seriously. It’s just a little scratch. It’s not a big deal.” It sounds feeble even to your own ears. Trying to hold back a wince when the way you shake your head makes starbursts bloom behind your eyes.

You could have dealt with the pounding in your head if it weren’t for the relentless burning of your ankle that was only making things worse. One or the other would have been easier to manage, but both vying for your attention as the pain pulses with every heartbeat was miserable.

The sun was too hot, the kids frolicking the ocean were too loud, the sunscreen on your skin felt too greasy. All you wanted was a shower and your bed and to forget this whole day even happened.

You look around the group trying to gauge how successful your efforts are, but it’s clear that no one seems to be buying your brand of poorly performed bullshit. You wanted to crawl into yourself like a hermit crab, protected by your own shell, as six pairs of eyes all looked on at you sympathetically, while the pretty brown ones you wanted to see the most were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses and trained down at the ground.

It was supposed to be a fun day.

You’d woken up that morning absolutely giddy about trading spreadsheets for sand and sunburns and sea salt tangled hair. Your cheery, new swimsuit already laid out and waiting for you from the night before.

There was something thrilling about hooky on a Friday with all of your favorite people that made you feel all kinds of young and free. Well, hooky for you. They’d been given the day off after a month of intensive training and testing of some new defensive software. They all deserved the break and you were more than happy to tag along.

You were always the good kid in school, never skipping, never missing a class. You’d felt like a rebellious teen as you crafted your ‘out of office’ email, a smug grin on your face like you were getting away with something. Even though you’d earned the right to use that PTO whichever way you wanted.

The anticipation of a snow day from your childhood school days had nothing on the intoxicating promise of a beach day on a golden summer Friday.

The team must have felt the same way too because the group chat the night before had been chaotically amusing. The excitement was palpable enough that you’d almost think you all lived in some landlocked state rather than San Diego, where it felt like all roads led to the beach whether you wanted them to or not.

Somewhere between the string of all capitalized sentences and exclamation points with a few well-chosen emojis scattered throughout, Natasha had managed to wrangle everyone in enough into sorting out who was responsible for bringing what. There wouldn’t be another veggie platter incident, not on her watch.

You’d felt bright and effervescent as you’d pulled into the parking lot, your eyes reflexively seeking out a blue Bronco that hadn’t arrived yet. With a beach chair over one shoulder and a beach bag over the other and a packed cooler bag in your hand, you’d made towards the multicolored sprawl of blankets and the striped peaks of the umbrellas, where you were met with the smiling faces of shiny happy people.

Some of the boys had rushed over to help you carry your things and added your offerings to the communal pile of snacks and sunscreen and bottles of water. It had been easy to fall into conversation with everyone as you set up your own little patch of paradise and shimmied out of your frayed cut-offs. Natasha had given you a wolf whistle and you’d laughed as you give her the finger.

And hour and a half later with an easy grin on his face, carrying a case of beer and two big Ziploc bags stuffed with what you learned later were homemade cookies balanced on top, was Rooster.

You’ve had plenty of beach days with them but every time you saw him in those damn denim shorts he always seemed determined to wear, regardless of how impractical they were, your mind still went a little fizzy as you took in just how well they clung to his thighs.

He’d taken the ribbing from his squad in stride as he unboxed the beers and added them to the collection already chilling in Bob’s bright yellow cooler. You were trying- and failing- to read your worn paperback book when he’d surprised you by plopping his things next to yours on your oversized towel and stole a chunk of juicy watermelon off of the plate balanced on your lap.

“Hey, book worm,” he grinned as he popped it into his mouth, “How’s my favorite girl doing?” That smile of his getting bigger when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Hi, Rooster,” you’d said looking at him from over the top of your sunglasses with an amused smirk.

And if your cheeks felt warm, it was from the sun and not the teasing tone of his raspy voice.

When he’d shrugged off his shirt to apply the sunscreen you’d brought with him in mind, the wink he’d shot you went straight to your head like champagne. The sun highlighting his impressive abs and sculpted shoulders didn’t help either as he took great efforts to cover his chest and stomach with the lotion. He had to be doing it on purpose, because he’d kept rubbing it in well past when the white hue faded. But who were you to complain? Melanoma was no joke.

“You wanna help me out?” he’d asked turning his back to you, looking over his shoulder. You’re pretty sure that he’d been flexing because he’d looked impossibly broad, every defined muscle standing out for eyes to map out and explore.

You’d been at war with yourself, because while your eager hands were desperate to touch him, you also knew that once you ran your hands along his solid frame that you’d never want to stop. That you wouldn’t be content until your fingertips had traced every inch of him.

You had been blessedly and devastatingly spared the choice.

“I got you, Rooster. My hands are already all sunscreen-y,” chimed in Bob, who had just finished rubbing his own freshly applied layer. “Wouldn’t want it to get on her book.”

You were only half relieved to be off the hook, while Bradley on the other hand was still looking at you expectantly, almost hopefully, still with the white and yellow bottle of sunscreen partly extended towards you.

“That’s so sweet of you, Bob-” you’d started.

“Yeah, so sweet-” Bradley grumbled under his breath.

“I appreciate you sparing my pages the sunscreen grease,” you’d said shooting Bob a smile, choosing to ignore Bradley’s comment completely. “Plus, your hands are bigger than mine. You’ll have him covered in no time.”

Bradley looked between you and Bob before he passed the bottle to the other man, shaking his head a little in defeat. You’d giggled to yourself as you wiggled your book at an openly brooding Bradley, and then leaned back on your elbows to observe the way the attentive WSO made sure to carefully and thoroughly cover Bradley’s entire back.

Respectfully, of course.

Behind your sunglasses you’d admired all of Bradley’s bulk compared to Bob’s lithe grace. But in your defense, they were standing right in front of you and you’d already reread your book at least five times in the past, so it wasn’t nearly as interesting as the scene in front of you had been.

“You look awfully comfortable over there,” Rooster called out with a raised eyebrow.

“Just taking in the view,” you’d teased back.

“Yeah, I bet you are,” he huffed as Bob finished up, giving him a thanks, man before tossing you back the bottle of sunscreen. He’d nudged his sunglasses down his nose and pinned you with his gaze, “Let me know if you want me to get your back. My hands are just as capable as his.” Even in the high heat of summer, the way he’d looked at you sent chills running along your arms.

You felt the way his keen eyes traveled from your face, down the deep-v of your swimsuit and along the swells of your breasts, and down your legs to your freshly painted toes. His mouth had ticked up in the corner then left you reeling and your heart pounding away in your chest as he’d strut off to go join Fanboy and Coyote by the mountain of snacks.

And that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. You never knew if he was just flirt-y or flirt-ing.

You hadn’t had a crush in ages, but when Nat had introduced you to her team five months ago, the man with the sunkissed curls and surprisingly attractive mustache had immediately caught your eye.

And as you’d gotten to know him, it had only gotten worse.

Not only was he very nice to look at and could make you laugh until your sides ached, but he also he had depth about him in a way that most men your age didn’t. You liked talking to him and listening to his stories. You liked learning his perspective on things. You liked being around him.

He made you feel interesting and special and funny and seen. You’ve never felt as comfortable in your own skin as you did when you were around him.

Rooster would send you flirty winks, give you less than subtle once overs, and could flash you such devastating slow grins that they’d have you trying to catch the butterflies they released in your stomach for hours after you went home.

But he’s never made a move.

If only he wouldn’t play hide and seek with his true intentions.

You felt like you were still waiting on some small clue whether he was serious or not. You didn’t know if he was just having fun with you or if he was into you and it was more than just friendly banter. It would be so much easier if he’d straight up tell you one way or another.

Needless to say, you’d let Nat be the one to help you with your sunscreen a little bit later. The idea of Bradley’s big hands on you, gliding along your sun-warmed skin and under the crisscross straps of your swimsuit, was too much for your hummingbird heart.

The sun climbed higher into the sky as the butter yellow midmorning transformed into a Midas-touched golden afternoon.

The squad had been able to reserve a fire pit and the plan had been to stay until the sunset. An endless summer day stretching out before them like a cat. They had nothing but time.

Clusters of people came together and split apart like a kaleidoscope as some went to take a dip in the ocean or raid the cooler and snack spread or go for a walk along the shore. Changing and shifting with the direction of the wind, going where the mood took them.

And for a peaceful moment, it had been you with your book and a napping Bradley sprawled out next to you on your towel with his arm flung over his eyes. Close enough that you could feel his warmth, almost but not quite touching. The sound of his soft breaths and the waves their own kind of lullaby as you contentedly read your book, turning your pages quietly to not disturb the man next to you, as the droplets of the Pacific dried on your skin.

You still don’t know how you got roped into playing a round of dogfight football with the Navy’s best and brightest. You were more of a corn hole or ladder toss kind of girl, but Coyote had all but thrown you over his shoulder and dragged you out before you’d agreed to participate, conceding your defeat.

You were on a team with Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy against Nat, Rooster, Payback, and Bob. A few plays in and you had been getting the hang of it. They’d all been making sure to take care to go easy on you even in the chaos of two teams playing offensively and defensively at the same time. You were more than a little out of breath, but you were having fun.

Before the next snap, Mickey gave the most impassioned pep talk you’d ever heard, “Fuck luck, we don’t need luck. We gotta fucking win.” You had been about to laugh, but then you’d seen the looks on Jake and Javy’s faces and decided against it. Curious about the other team, you’d glanced over only to see Rooster looking back at you.

The calls had been made, the blur of plays in motion as people whirled and dodged and sprinted.

You’d just lobbed the ball to Javy before darting around Nat when a big, solid body collided with you. Hard. You’d felt the twinge of your ankle twisting in the sand right before the force sent you flying in the opposite direction you’d been headed.

The impact had been jarring. The air knocked from your lungs.

Where you should have been met with a mouthful of gritty sand, instead your head had connected with the rough surface of a partially buried rock. The low, thick thud reverberating throughout your whole body.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t even register you were even on the ground until you heard the chorus of oh fucks and holy shits and goddamns and jesus christs over the ringing in your ears.

The game coming to an immediate and conclusive end.

For how many empty bottles and cans were sitting collected in a trash bag off to the side of your beach set up, they had been surprisingly quick to act as you blinked blankly, trying to clear the spots from your vision.

It was a silent ballet of efficiency as they instinctively fell into their roles, much like you imagined they did the sky. Everyone stepping up and then stepping back as they did their part, like the ebb and flow of waves.

Nat had carefully poured some fresh water from a bottle on your face to remove the sand that clung to the sweat and sunscreen on your skin. Then Jake had wordlessly passed her his clean spare shirt he’d jogged of to get to help stop the bleeding after Javy checked on your pupils to make sure they were the same size. While Bob stood off to the side holding your warped sunglasses in his hands, as if he was hopeful they could still be salvaged. Mickey and Reuben had been waiting in the wings giving you space, ready to help if they were needed, but not wanting to not crowd in.

And from the corner of your eye, you’d caught Rooster standing a couple feet away with his hands in his hair looking absolutely wrecked.

“Bradley?” you’d tried, even though his name stuck to your teeth. But he’d just shook his head at you before turning away slightly, like he couldn’t look at you, which made your heart sting as well.

They only allowed you to move to sit up after they were content with the answer to their questions- What day is it? Friday. Where are you? San Diego. What else hurts? My ankle and my pride.

It wasn’t until someone hauled you up from underneath your armpits that the throbbing and stinging and aching settled over you. The pain seeping and spreading through muscle and bone like an inky oil spill.

It’s still an almost perfect summer afternoon except for the fact you hate everything about this.

You hate the way they’re gathered around you with too many pairs of assessing eyes pinned on you. You hate that you’re the reason the game of dogfight football came to a definitive and abrupt end. You hate that you’re the reason their carefree and fun afternoon off has turned into this.

There’s a pressure building behind your eyes, the hot tears of hurt and frustration and embarrassment are clamoring to be released. You have to bite your lower lip to keep it from trembling.

And it doesn’t help that you’re the type who’d rather lick your wounds in peace.

You just need to get back to your car and you can figure things out on your own from there. You just need a moment to yourself.

As you open your mouth to argue your case again, Jake puts his hand up and stops you before you’ve even had a chance to start, “I hate to break it to you, sugar, but you’re not fooling any of us.” He says it gently, but gives you a pointed look at the way you’re leaning heavily on your right leg to keep the pressure off of your left ankle.

“That head wound is not a little scratch. Just like your ankle isn’t just a little puffy, when it’s twice the size it should be. You need to go to the Emergency Room,” Nat says, final and resolute. A lifetime of friendship has taught you not to argue when she has that look in her eyes, the one that says try me, I dare you.

They all talk over you as they figure out who is the most sober of the group after your suggestion to call yourself an Uber is immediately shot down. Drinks are being counted on fingers, and memories are searched to make sure every sip and bottle and can is accounted for.

Your eyes drift over to the man who is still actively avoiding looking at you, even as he talks to everyone else on the team. You aren’t paying too close attention to what he is saying, but you can hear the short, clipped staccato of his words.

Bradley’s shoulders are tinged a little pink even though you know for a fact that you had purposely passed him the 65 SPF. His eyes are hidden behind his dark green tinted sunglasses, but you don’t need to see them when you can read his body language better than any book.

His arms are crossed firmly over his chest, the tendons in his forearms flexing and shifting, like he is squeezing and releasing his fists from where they’re tucked under his biceps. Everything in his body looks coiled tight and strained, so at odds with the easy going and loose-limbed man you know him to be.

You don’t realize just how much you’ve zoned out until Natasha has to say your name a couple time before you pull your gaze away from Bradley and back to her.

“Ok, it’s settled,” Nat informs you, “Rooster’s going to take you.” You barely nod your head in acknowledgement when she tells you, because it feels like you’ve been punched in the stomach now too.

“It’s the least he can do,” Jake drawls.

“That’s not fair-” you start, defensively.

“Fuck off, Bagman-” Rooster snaps.

The rage in his voice shocks you, you’ve never heard that much heat from him before. There’s none of the teasing tone that usually underscores their banter. Jake puts both of his hands up placatingly like my bad, folks and Javy just shakes his head and sighs.

And this time when you look at Bradley, he is finally looking back at you with a deep furrow in his brow. His jaw is clenched tight, that muscle ticking and jumping, as he takes in the way you have Jake’s t-shirt pressed against your forehead.

Not exactly the way you’d hoped he’d be looking at you when you put on your new blue and white striped swimsuit this morning.

The one you’d bought because you wanted to make him look.

Just not like this.

With everything sorted the rest of the team trickles away a smattering of take cares and get better soons and let us know if you need anythings. But not before Mickey hands Rooster his stuff and passes Nat your bag and sandals. He gives you the gentlest of squeezes on your shoulder before he leaves to join everyone else back on little part of the beach you all had claimed before things went to shit.

Your group of eight now downsized to a trio.

Bradley is quick to roughly pull on his tank and shirt, and Nat fishes out your car keys from your bag as she waits for him to slip his shoes on. When he’s ready she passes it to him and he silently slides it over his arm.

Nat bends down to help gingerly glide your feet into your sandals, “I’ll grab the rest your things and drop them off at your place and then one of the boys will drop off your car later. We’ve got it all covered, ok?”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say quietly, trying to hold back a wince as she slips the left one on, your ankle pulsing in tempo with your heartbeat.

“Best friends don’t say thank you, they just do,” she says matter-of-factly as she stands. It’s the same thing you’d told her after you’d dumped a carton of strawberry milk on Carly Radke for outing Natasha your freshman year in high school. It was only time you’d ever gotten detention, but it had been worth it.

“They just do,” you repeat with a small smile.

You’re so grateful that your friendship with her is one that has spanned years. That you’ve been able seen one another grow and change and come into their own, but that you haven’t outgrown each other. She’s the person you want by your side and having your back. There is no one quite like Natasha Trace.

She turns to Bradley and you watch him stand a little taller under her sharp eyes, your straw tote still dangling from his forearm.

“You good?” Nat asks him with a look in her eye that you can��t place. And you’re reminded that even though she’s your best friend, that he has also earned a spot as one of her closest friends. Their relationship built over years and experiences that you could never fully understand. Different, but just as deep.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got her. I’ll take care of her,” Rooster promises with a stiff nod, as he gives her his word. It might have made your heart beat a little faster if you didn’t feel like such a burden. That it’s simply a twist of fate and three less drinks than everyone else for the reason that he’s the one to look after you. That he’s the one stuck with you.

“I know you will,” she says softer now, patting his shoulder, “Keep me posted.” Nat presses a kiss to your cheek and gives you an encouraging smile then heads off to go rejoin everyone else.

You watch her go with longing. The cheerful beach set up with its colorful blankets and umbrellas looks more like a desert mirage now. The sweet coconut scented potential of what the day could have been now forever out of reach.

And then it’s just you and Bradley and the sound of the waves and cries of seagulls.

The two of you silent and motionless.

You feel one wrong move and the fragile attempt of the stiff upper lip you’ve cocooned yourself in will crack open and all the soft parts of you will seep out into the sand beneath your feet.

His expression is shuttered closed as he bends a bit like he is going to pick you up.

“Woah, buddy, what are you doing?” You’re squinting into the sun as you look at him. You’d step into his shadow to block it, since you’re now in need of a new pair of sunglasses, but that would mean moving to the left which isn’t an option with your ankle.

“Buddy,” he grunts under his breath, slipping off his sunglasses and carefully putting them on your face, being mindful of stinging scrapes and wad of soft cotton you’re holding to your head. “They’re definitely going to have to run concussion protocol on you,” he mutters more to himself than to you, “I’m taking you to the Bronco and then we’re going the ER, remember?”

“Yeah, I know, Rooster,” you grit out, even rolling your eyes hurts, “But I don’t need you to carry me.”

Everything about this was excruciating and embarrassing enough without him being the Clark Gable to your Vivian Leigh. Maybe you could lean on him and hop over to his car? Like a six-foot-one pair of crutches with good hair.

“Take a step without wincing and I’ll think about it,” he says firmly, pointedly calling your bluff. There’s an expectant look of go on then, whenever you’re ready on his face. Because he knows he’s right, and you do too.

You don’t even bother to make a move, but the way your lower lips wobbles speaks volumes.

“That’s what I thought,” he says quietly, almost like pains him to be right.

He bends a little to hook his arms around your knees and back to lift you up, and this time you let him. Your free arm automatically wrapping around the back of his neck. And he starts off towards the winking windshields of the parking lot.

You’ve thought about what it would be like to be wrapped up in Bradley’s arms, how good it would feel to be pressed closed against him. And now you are and it’s nothing like you’ve imagined, because there isn’t anything sweet or swoon-worthy about how you ended up in them. You’re his duty, you’re not his desire.

All your sandcastle hopes have been washed away by the tide.

You’re so frustrated. You’re frustrated by the day, by yourself, by him.

This time you can’t blink back the tears that well up in your eyes. They flood through your tear ducts carving hot trails down your sun-tinged cheeks.

You want the Bradley from earlier.

The one who stole your watermelon with warmth in his eyes.

The one who dozed next to you in the sun like a cat, his features soft free of the tension he now holds in his shoulders.

You want your Bradley.

The one who’d whispered cheeky comments in your ear whenever the team got into lighthearted tequila fueled arguments about things like whether a hot dog was a sandwich.

The one who’d always go up to the bar with you on busy nights at the Hard Deck and make sure you didn’t get bumped into on the way back to your friends with your freshly refilled drinks.

You’re aching, aching. Everywhere.

For a brief moment, as you swipe at your tears, you’re happy for the throbbing in your head and ankle, so that way you don’t have to think about the stinging in your heart.

“I know, I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you’re hurting,” Rooster says gentle and low as you sniffle, but you can hear the thickness of the words in his throat. The term of endearment is the sweetest of nothings, making your tears come faster. Where it should ease the heartache, all it does is make you angry at yourself for giving your emotions away. “We’re almost to the Bronco. It’s ok, we’re gonna get you taken care of, I promise.”

We.

You wanted that with him.

You want to press both of your hands to his cheeks to make him look you in the eyes to ask him is it going to be you and me together? You’ve been a fool for love before, but you didn’t know if could take another hit-and-run with your heart.

The salt of your tears makes your cheeks feel tight and itchy as the summer breeze dries them on your skin.

Bradley carries you like you weigh nothing, but cradles you like you’re the most precious things he’s ever held. He’s mindful of any dips in the sand and gives wide berth around the college kids playing volleyball close to the entry back to the parking lot.

When he reaches the Bronco, he sets you down gently, making sure both of your feet are planted on the asphalt before letting go of you to unlock his car. He tells you to wait a moment when you move to open the passenger side door.

“I never know when I might get called up for an emergency deployment, so I like to have some extra clothes just in case,” he explains as he digs around in the backseat, pulling out a pair of gray athletic shorts.

“Oh.” And you realize you’re still just clad in your striped swimsuit. “Thank you for sparing me from the hospital germs,” you say lightly, an attempt at a joke to break the ice. One that doesn’t land, since instead of cracking a grin he just presses his lips together in a firm line and nods.

Bradley crouches low in front of you and you put a hand on his shoulder for balance as you lean against the Bronco, still trying to keep as much pressure off your left ankle as possible as you step into them. He’s looking up at you and even through his sunglasses perched on your nose, you swear his brown eyes get a shade darker as he eases the shorts up your legs. You’re touched by the effort as he ties the strings in a lopsided bow, even if things are feeling tense between the two of you.

“Think this’ll be easier,” he mumbles shrugging off his light blue button up. You’ve always liked this one, with its soft pastel pink and minty green watercolor prints of net fishermen and hula girls and palm trees.

He holds it open for you, helping you thread your arm through it, and then takes over holding Jake’s now ruined shirt to your head so that you can get your other arm past the sleeve. It smells like him, citrus and amber. Your fingers brush against each other when you reclaim the makeshift bandage, and he adjusts his shirt so that it hangs over your shoulders just right.

It’s an awkward kind silent as Rooster helps lift you into the Bronco with his strong hands around your hips. He is all smooth efficiency as he buckles you in with a click. You pass him back his sunglasses the same moment he hands you your tote bag, and it almost feels like a hostage exchange.

He says nothing as he hauls himself into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life when he turns the key in the ignition and a cheery song from the 80’s station on the radio comes on. Bradley quick to turn the volume down low. His thumb brushing your shoulder as he sets his hand on the back of your seat to look behind him as he carefully backs out of the spot.

It’s never felt this strained with him before.

It’s so painfully obvious that the two of you are walking on eggshells around each other. You can almost feel the wall that’s gone up around him. The white noise of the radio drowned out by the hum of the road as he drives in near silence.

Your day has been most effectively ruined by a chunk of sedimentary rock, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still recoup what’s left of it.

He could still have the perfect summer afternoon.

He could still go back to your friends and their perfect beach set up and laugh with them as Coyote keeps accidentally setting marshmallows on fire. He could still catch the bold oranges and soft pinks of the sunset with all the satisfied contentment he deserved to experience.

“You can leave me and go back, you know. I’ll be ok if you just want drop me off and then head back to the beach,” you say looking down at your fingers as you trace the stitching of his leather seats.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you glance over at him. The vein in his neck is standing out boldly against the column of his throat.

“Do I seem like the kind of guy who would leave someone at the ER alone?” he asks, his voice rougher than sandpaper.

“No. No, of course not,” you say emphatically, “That’s why I’m giving you permission.”

“Permission?” he scoffs with a shake of his head.

“Yes, permission,” you say, clipped.

You’re giving him an out, why doesn’t he get that?

He heaves a big sigh and grunts. “Is it… Would you rather have Bob- with his big hands- here instead?” Bradley asks, frustration leaking out around the edges of his words.

“Bob with his big hands?” you repeat baffled, “What does Bob have to do with anything about this?”

“That’s what you said earlier, sweetheart. I’m just citing the source. Or I can call Phoenix? Or…” he pauses glancing at the t-shirt pressed to your head, “Or even Seresin. Once we get you checked in I can call any of them an Uber or something, and they can be there with you, if you don’t want me.”

“No, Rooster, I don’t want anyone else.” You wince at the implication and hope it doesn’t read into it further than the current situation to two of you are wading through like quick sand.

“Ok, good,” he grumbles.

“Great,” you lob back.

His hand tightens on the steering wheel, the knuckles turning white, “Then where is this even coming from?” The action makes his thick forearm flex in this most delicious of ways that you’d appreciate more if you didn’t feel the anger simmering low in your stomach.

“It’s pretty damn clear that you’d rather be back there, Rooster. Or literally anywhere else right now.” You flip down the sun visor with more force than it deserves, regretting that you gave him his sunglasses back when the bright California sun in your eyes turns your headache into a full-blown migraine.

“Of course, I’d rather be anywhere else!” he says hotly, tossing his sunglasses back in your lap, “Do you think I like that you’re hurt and that we’re on our way to the hospital?” You shove them on your face with an angry huff.

A car speeds by blaring their horn as they pass by.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” he grunts but speed of the Bronco doesn’t change, “Asshole.”

Bradley’s driving five miles under the posted limit, and you know for a fact he religiously drives at least ten miles over. And his turns have been smoother than butter, as if he is trying not to jostle you anymore than you’d already been today.

You are so tired of this hot and cold thing that he’s doing. His words and his deeds weren’t going hand in hand. He keeps giving you the cold shoulder, but is also so in tune with your every movement and need.

Gingerly, you angle yourself in your seat to look at him better, resting your tired left arm on the back of your seat and taking in his strong profile.

“Why are you being like this?” you demand, waving your free hand in a vaguely in his general direction.

“Like what? I’m not being like anything,” he retorts, making the same vague hand gesture as you did a moment earlier.

And oh, if that doesn’t fill your chest with hot indignation. That low simmering anger has turned into a full roiling boil as you shift in your seat trying to get your ankle in a position where it doesn’t hurt.

“Seriously, Rooster? I can feel tension rolling off of you in waves. You’ve been like this since everything turned to complete shit on the beach. I didn’t mean to ruin your day, I’m just trying to figure out how to make things better,” you bite out unable to keep things bottled up anymore.

He sucks in a sharp breath, “Are you kidding me right now? You think you ruined my day?” He glances from the road to you and back again, his brown eyes wide and searching.

“Yes?” Or so you’d thought until you’d seen the shock written all over his face, but now you weren’t so sure. It’s like you’ve dumped ice water on him instead of simply calling him out. “I feel like you’re taking it out on me and I don’t know why.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rooster swears under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m so damn sorry, sweetheart. I’m mad at myself, because I ruined your day. I should have been more careful, I should have been looking out for you. It’s not like you’re hard to miss in that swimsuit.” Your cheeks heat up at the comment, but you choose to ignore it.

Misery drips from his words like spilled ink off a page. You knew he was upset, but you didn’t realize he was upset about that. That he’s shouldering this fluke of fate as if it is his burden to bear. Some of the anger you’ve been feeling leaves your body like the tide washing out back out to sea. You’re still upset at him for how he has been acting up until this point, but you’re not mad at him about that.

“Bradley, no. It was an accident.”

“Yeah, an accident I’m responsible for,” he says hoarsely, rubbing roughly at his forehead. “God, I can still hear the sound it made when you hit that rock and it makes me feel sick. I would give anything to undo that moment. I need you to know that.”

He is being so hard on himself and your heart squeezes, this time in sympathy rather than hurt. He didn’t place that rock in the sand, the both of you were victims of circumstance.

“It could have happened to anyone. It could have been anyone,” you press delicately, trying to get him to hear you, shifting in your seat again still uncomfortable.

The sunshine bounces off of his slumped shoulders as he sighs raggedly.

“But it happened to you and it’s my fault. You’re bleeding, you’re in pain, and you’ve been crying. And it’s because of me.” He reaches down with his right hand and lifts up your leg so that you can rest it on his thigh, some of the ache alleviating immediately. He asks quietly, “That better?”

“Yes, thank you,” you murmur. He looks so upset, and all you want to do is curl into his lap. You want to hold him and you want to be held by him. “You know I don’t blame you, right?”

You expect him to move his hand back to the steering wheel, but he keeps it on your leg. His thumb stroking your still slightly sandy shin. Your cheery toenail polish at odds with the color blooming around your ankle.

Bradley’s throat bobs as he swallows hard, “Yeah, I do. I know that. But I still blame myself.”

The Bronco rolls to a soft stop at the light. There’s enough traffic that you know you’ll be here for a bit, and so does he since he turns in his seat to look fully at you. You take his sunglasses off, tucking them into the pocket of his shirt that rests above your heart, so nothing stands between his brown eyes and yours.

“So, you’re going to keep beating yourself up over it and icing me out? Making me feel worse? For what, Bradley? Because you’re a glutton for punishment? That’s not fair to me or to you.”

“Shit,” he mutters, his left hand running through his curls. “You’re right and I’m so sorry. I’ve been in my head feeling so damn guilty that I’ve been such an asshole. Can you forgive me?”

You’re about to answer him that when a horn startles you, making you jump in the leather seat. You see the light is green, the car that had been in front of you is gliding through the intersection passing under a blue sign pointing the way to the hospital.

“Bradley, the light.”

The car behind the two of you honks their horn again.

“They can wait. This is important, you are important. Do you forgive me?” There’s an underscore of need that punctuates his question.

“Yes, of course,” you say easily and sincerely. There’s so much remorse in his eyes, you would have forgiven him with that look alone.

“Thank you,” he breathes out in relief. And then he smiles at you for the first time since the beach and that ache in your heart is completely soothed, bandaged by that soft way he is looking at you.

Atlas no longer, he can simply be Bradley.

He takes his foot off the brake and by some miracle he’s able to make it through the light before it turns red again. You can see the tall structure of the parking lot near the hospital poking out above the line of the treetops.

The destination is closer than ever, but there are still things on your mind.

“And you aren’t an asshole, Bradley. But your bedside manner could definitely use some work,” you tease with a smile of your own.

“Baby, I’ve been trying to show you my bedside manner, but you keep holding me at arm’s length,” he groans dramatically.

The idea of experiencing Bradley Bradshaw’s bedside manner makes you feel all kinds of weak in the knees, even as you’re seated in his Bronco with your leg propped up in his lap, his big hand skating up and down along your shin comfortingly.

“How can you even say that with a straight face? You’ve never made a move!” you exclaim incredulously, “I was even the one to ask for your phone number, if you remember.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I hit on you all the time,” he argues with your favorite brand of Bradshaw banter, “I’ve been waiting for you to give me the green light, sweetheart.”

“I thought you were supposed to be pretty and smart,” you smirk.

He barks a laugh and the last tendrils of all the tension and all the pressure that had been swirling around you like a marine layer evaporates.

“You saying I’ve had the green light this whole time?” He looks over at you with a boyish smile, you like the way you feel when he looks at you like this.

“What I’m saying, Bradley, is if you’d have actually asked me out I would have said yes.” You press your toes into the muscle of his thick thigh and immediately regret it, wincing as pain ripples around your ankle.

He makes a sympathetic sound deep in his chest, “Sounds like I’ve been an idiot.”

“A very pretty one,” you allow, leaning your aching head back against the back seat.

“At least there’s that,” he concedes good-naturedly as he pulls into the parking lot, turning on his blinker for a spot opening up near the entrance to the Emergency Room by some twist of fate, one that’s in your favor this time.

Bradley pulls into the empty spot and kills the engine turning to you. He gently eases your foot back down onto the sandy floormat of the Bronco and leans into unbuckle your seatbelt.

He’s so close now looking up at you from under his eyelashes, and your breath catches in your throat. He moves closer, you can see the bits of hazel that surround his pupils. Your eyes flutter close and you tilt your head up, lips parting at the anticipation of his kiss.

There’s no holding back the noise of dissatisfaction you make when his lips press a tender kiss to your cheek. You lean into him wanting to feel, wanting him to give you more. His warm breath coasts over your skin as he chuckles. You can feel the way his lips are pulled up into a smile.

“I’m a gentleman, sweetheart,” he says as he pulls away, his eyes lingering on your lips. “My mom raised me not to go for the kiss on the first date. Or ones with head wounds and potential concussions.”

“Some first date,” you lament jokingly, looking in at the fluorescent lights awaiting you inside the hospital. You’d rather skip over this part entirely, but you’re ready to be done with holding Jake’s shirt to your head. “Nothing like insurance cards and scrubs to really set the mood.”

“Mmm. How about this, after we’re done here, I’ll take you through whatever drive-thru you want-”

“In-N-Out,” you cut in without a second thought. The novelty of it still hasn’t worn off on you, even if the fries are terrible.

“Ok,” he grins, “I’ll take you through in In-N-Out and get you your number two combo with mustard and grilled onions with a vanilla shake.” He pauses waiting for your nod of approval, looking more than pleased with himself when you acknowledge he got your order right.

“I like the sound of this so far,” you hum.

“Well that’s good. Since it’ll be our first date, I want to set that bar high,” he says giving you a wink. And there are those butterflies again, this time you don’t try to catch them with a net. They’re free to flutter around as they wish.

“If you really want to impress me, you’ll also take me through the McDonald’s drive-thru for their fries,” you muse.

“Done.”

“I was kidding,” you laugh, shaking your head at him disbelievingly and thoroughly charmed.

“Well, I wasn’t. So after we get you fed, give or take some fries, I will bring you home. I’ll get you whatever you need, I want to make sure you’re comfortable. Think you might be on crutches for a bit, sweetheart,” he says softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “And then in the morning, if you’re up for it, I’ll take you out for breakfast. Or bring you breakfast. Whatever you want. We can call that date number two.”

“And then you’ll kiss me?”

“And then I’ll kiss you,” he promises, offering you a crooked pinky finger. You beam and you wrap your own around his.

He slips out of the driver’s seat leaving you to contemplate the terms of his offer as he rounds the front of the Bronco. The nurses are going to get an eyeful of him in only those snug jean shorts and thin white tank. You make a mental note to avoid looking at him if they have to connect you to a heart rate monitor, he doesn’t need to know the effect he has on you. Not yet anyways.

“I have counteroffer,” you announce turning your body towards him as he opens your door for you.

“Let’s hear it, baby,” he says with a grin that almost makes you forget how bad your head and ankle hurt, “Shoot.”

“We still go to In-N-Out, but then in the morning you make me breakfast in bed with some of those famous Bradshaw pancakes I’ve heard about,” you say, as he steps in between your legs, “Seems like a good way to work on that bedside manner of yours.”

“I think you’re going to like my bedside manner, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek.

You tilt your head at him, taking in the sunkissed strands in his hair and the affection in his eyes, “I guess we’ll have to find out.”

“Guess we will,” he rasps.

Rooster drops another sweet kiss to your cheek, whispering for you to stay put, and then he struts off towards the automatic doors of the Emergency Room. Leaving you alone with the butterflies in your stomach and the hope in your heart.

You dig your phone out of your straw tote and check the time, doing the math in your head.

There are a few messages from Nat and other people on the team already checking in, but you know you’ll have time to reply to them later as you wait with Bradley sitting by your side.

You look up and see he’s got a wheelchair now and is making his way back to you, wearing a soft smile on his face just for you.

Only seventeen more hours until you get to kiss Bradley Bradshaw and you can’t wait.

You’ve got that forever feeling about him.

Oh, oh, oh.

Thank you for reading! Rock on. Oh that joke was schist, I'll see myself out.

This was written as part of @roosterforme's Rocktober Playlist! You can check out all the other great submissions here!

The song that inspired this story was Paula Abdul's "Straight Up"

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

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bettyfrommars · 9 months

Note

Okay. An idea. Eddie and you, drive in, b movie monster marathon, nice crisp autumn night.

I’m over summer, sue me.

🧡🖤

Hope this puts a smile on your face Meg 🧡

Eddie Munson x Reader

18+ONLY, mature themes, smoking the devil's lettuce, b-movie references, friends to lovers, use of "baby" but no she/her or y/n, pure fluff, just some cute nonsense, Eddie and reader are in their early 20's. wc: 1.4k

I'm just a sucker (for you)

“Got it,” you crawled up into the squishy van seat with Eddie’s infamous drug lunchbox in your hand, plopping down with a theatrical smile on your face. “I knew I felt its presence.”

Eddie sat there looking so proud, as if you’d just pulled it out of a magic hat. “My baby is a bloodhound when it comes to the devil’s lettuce.”

You took a sharp inhale and choked a little at the use of the pet name. You and Eddie were not romantic like that, you’d only ever been weed buddies who met through Reefer Rick. Recently you’d discovered that he also enjoyed getting stoned or buzzed at the drive-in on Wednesday nights when they offered the cheesy, cinematic glory of b-movies by the likes of Burt I. Gordon and Roger Corman.

You’d both showed up alone to the drive-in, and on your way back to your car with a popcorn bucket almost too big for the crook of your arm, Eddie whistled to get your attention. It was a wolf-whistle, the likes of which made you frown as you searched for who the dead man was. His arm lolled out of the van window in a wave, and he gave you a finger gun.

“Oh, it’s just you,” you snorted, shoving a few kernels in your mouth, fingers glistening from all of the butter. You didn’t mind that kind of attention from Eddie because you knew he was harmless. Wasn’t he? Neither one of you had any attraction to each other, whatsoever, as far as you knew.

But then, you stopped in your tracks a few cars down, thinking about how you’d smoked your last bowl earlier, and Eddie would for sure have a decent supply on him. Maybe it wouldn’t kill you to hang out with a fellow freak for a bit.

The October nights were chilly, and you thought to grab a hoodie out of your car before you made your way back to his van. The grass at your feet was scattered in burnt orange and gold leaves, and the air was crisp, yet warm, with the smell of rain and freshly cut wood.

Eddie saw you walking back and jumped out of his vehicle this time, determined to get your attention. He held his hands behind his back, lifting up on his toes, tentatively. “Did you come back to give me a kiss?”

His mannerisms made you chuckle. “Keep dreaming, Munson,” you pushed the popcorn tub into his chest, and he grunted, taking it with both hands. “I thought you might like some company.”

Eddie squinted at you, whispering, leaning in, “you came to smoke all my weed like a little feral, stoner raccoon.”

The movie started —Attack of the Crab Monsters—and Eddie feared he’d left his lunchbox at home. You weren’t sure why, but you were about to stay and watch the movie with him even without the weed, but then you decided to take a chance and check around his messy van, just in case.

“Why is there a bed set up in the back?” You asked, wondering if maybe he was in between living situations at the moment. You’d been staying with your mom since you dropped out of college, and most days, you wished you were living in your car.

Eddie wiggled his eyebrows at you as he fingered a joint and slipped it behind his ear, snapping the lunchbox closed. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Please, you have about as much game as I do. There’s no way you’re getting laid that often in this van.”

“You know what they say,” he looked around, making sure no one was walking by as he passed you the lighter. “If the van’s a rockin’, don’t bother knockin’.”

You checked around too, and then sank down in your seat to take a long drag, passing it back to him, fanning the smoke away, coughing a few times, while the scenes from the black and white film flickered across your face. Just beyond the movie screen stretched a line of trees dressed in fall colors, and a big, bright, dark blue sky that burned purple over the hills.

You shared sneaky pulls off of the joint for the rest of the movie, each of you getting progressively invested in the loose plot, and giggly about it all at once. Eddie asked you a few personal questions, which you weren’t expecting, and sometimes you could feel his eyes on you. It was a double-feature night, and right after the crab monsters they were showing a personal favorite of yours: The Monster Club with Vincent Price.

It also happened to be one of Eddie’s favorites.

“There’s no way,” he shook his head dramatically, brushing his bangs off his forehead. “Nope. It’s impossible you love this movie, too. No one I know has ever even heard of it.”

“Well,” you had one foot hanging out the open window, sucking from your straw. “I feel bad for the ones who haven’t heard of it. It’s a masterpiece.”

You let him know that you had to run to the restroom but that you would be right back, because you didn’t want to miss the beginning, and you asked if you could get him anything. As you said it, you could tell he was doing his best to contain the smile yanking at the corners of his mouth, but his efforts were fruitless.

“So,” he crossed his arms, tilting his head sideways to give you a curious look. “I guess you do like spending time with me?”

“Absolutely not,” you teased, slamming his door shut on your way toward the concessions.

There were butterflies in your stomach as you returned to the van, though; an undiagnosed thrill in your veins that had something to do with seeing his face again.

With Vincent Price’s face looming over the parked cars, Eddie cleared his throat. “Do you, um, have any plans for Halloween?”

“I never have plans,” you gave a self-deprecating bark of a laugh. Your favorite holiday was in a couple days and the most you had done was carve a few jack-o-lanterns. “I mean, used to, when I was kid, but these last couple years have been…rough.”

Eddie kept his eyes on the screen, plucking at the steering wheel with his thumb. “Do you, um, think you might want to come see a band with me?”

You snapped your head to look at him, but his eyes only flicked to you once before returning to the movie.

“A buddy of mine is in a cover band and, um, they’re playing at the haunted maze,” he pressed his lips together and then blew them out on a puff of air. “But I totally understand if it’s not your scene. I’ve got a shit ton of old horror movies at my place, too, or I’ve got friends at Family Video, we could—”

“Eddie Munson,” you had a funny feeling flopping its way from your stomach to your heart. “Are you asking me out on a date? Or are you just asking me to join you as a friend?”

“Now that all depends,” he lowered his chin, wiping something imaginary off of his jeans. “What would you say if I did ask you out? Would you, um, be into that sort of thing?”

“Shhhh,” you halted, eyes straight ahead. “Hold on, I love this part.”

You used it as an excuse to reach over and grab his forearm, to touch him, to give the type of reassurance that words couldn’t. You squeezed him through his leather jacket a few times, only a couple seconds, and Eddie watched it in slow motion, aching to take your hand. The distance was suddenly too far.

It was a song sequence with a vampire band on stage at the Monster Club singing “I’m just a sucker for your love.”

“You come from Pennsylvania

I’m from Transylvania

And I’m a pain in the neck...

When I kiss and fondle her

It’s like making love to a

Colander”

You could hear Eddie mumbling the lyrics and tapping his thumb, because he knew the obscure song by heart.

“Yes, Eddie,” you kept your attention on the screen, and now it was you losing the battle with a smile so big it pushed up your cheeks. “I think I would like to go on a date with you.”

#Eddie munson #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #October #Halloween #drive-in movie #fall #eddie x reader #requests

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nohoney · 2 years

Text

When Bakugou returns from the gym and steps inside the apartment he shares with you, he smells the aroma one of his favorite takeout place and walks towards the kitchen after removing his gym shoes. There on the kitchen table are two styrofoam boxes that he sees are bulging from being packed inside with food. The old couple that runs the little eatery always serves extra portions whenever he walks in and the treatment is no different when you order from that place as well. He even sees a little paper bag of egg rolls too with the little side of sauce already pulled out to the side.

You bought lunch for him, which surprises Bakugou considering you and him had an argument last night.

He knows that it was a dumb argument that happened last night, something about car keys or maybe it was about the car itself. He’s not sure, Bakugou just remembers that it had something to do with the car and it ended with you sleeping with your back towards him. Naturally since you chose not to speak to him, he chose to also not to speak to you which was an issue the relationship was still learning to deal with. You and him both knew it wasn’t healthy to deal with your problems in that way.

The usual routine is that there would be silence for three days so the two of you are skirting around one another for a bit until either one of you present the olive branch to the other; the person’s favorite takeout food.

This is the first that you’ve reached out so soon to make amends, especially in the span of less than 24 hours.

Bakugou thinks that maybe that’s some good progress.

You come out from the bedroom dressed in your lounging shorts and your favorite big t-shirt (his shirt) and immediately go to him. Obviously he came from the gym so you stop just right in front of him and he sees how you move in that familiar motion to give him a kiss.

He meets you in the middle with a quick peck.

“‘M sorry baby, don’t wanna fight with you.” You tell him as you help slip off the strap to his gym bag on his shoulder and set it to the side in the hallway.

He gives his own apology, “Me too, I’m sorry for not listening to you yesterday.”

Just a simple apology is what’s needed to amend the little spat. If Bakugou hadn’t just returned from the gym then he would have given you a hug and rubbed his hand along your back to comfort you. But that has to wait until after he’s showered and after he’s had lunch. He had a nice long session at the gym and now he’s ready to replenish the calories he burned from weight lifting today.

You and him sit down, but you make sure to inspect the containers inside first before pushing his box towards him. Your orders are almost identical except you tend to get an extra side of veggies or crab rangoons sometimes depending on your mood. Bakugou’s order is always the same thing every single time though; half fried rice and chow mein, sautéed vegetables, and broccoli beef.

“Thank you baby, I appreciate it.” He tells you, nudging his foot against yours underneath the table.

Bakugou is famished.

He’s looking forward to food.

He’s happy that you and him made up.

He opens the lid to his styrofoam container and…

He can’t believe you.

“What the fuck?”

You look up at him, already having taken a forkful of your food and are busy chewing it. It’s not polite to talk with your mouthful but on the rare occasion you do, you put a hand over your mouth for a bit of privacy and also to be courteous so that no one sees you talk while you chew. So you do so and ask Bakugou, “What is it baby? It’s your favorites.”

“Yeah I can see that but why,” Bakugou flips the box in your direction so that you can see his food, “are all the tops of the broccoli fucking gone?!”

True to what he says, the green little vegetable tops are not attached to the stalk of it.

You swallow your food after a thorough chewing and nonchalantly say, “I didn’t want you to have them.”

“What the fuck? Why?!” Bakugou asks, unbelieving of this level of pettiness coming from you!

“Because I’m still mad at you, but I also didn’t want us to fight anymore. So there.” You inform your boyfriend as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Eat Katsuki.”

Bakugou inspects the broccoli stalks and sees the ridges of teeth marks on it so you didn’t even bother to take them out individually and cut off the florets with a knife. You literally just bit off the tops and put the stalks back in his food. But the question begs where exactly did the best part of the vegetable go?

You answer his silent question by lifting your fork and see a little broccoli floret speared through the prongs.

And you eat it in front of him.

This could be something to have another minor argument over.

Why would you get food as a means of making up if you were only going to spite him anyway? Why do something as petty as bite off broccoli heads when you know he enjoys the crunch of them? Why even bother apologizing when you just told him that you were still a little mad?

But Bakugou also realizes that you are still trying to make up with him and that you just added one slight jab to him, nothing that actually hurts his pride whatsoever. It’s barely an inconvenience, just a little blip is what it is as you eat another floret and wait for him to say something.

I’m making up with you but also letting you know that I’m still a little mad.

He decides that it’s okay and to let this be for what it is overall; an attempt to make up. This can just be a funny story later on that you tell your friends and it will be at his expense but not by much.

So Bakugou just merely picks up his utensils and tells you, “Thank you for getting lunch baby.”

You smile at him before extending your fork out towards him, a broccoli floret at the end of it and offered to him.

Maybe it’s not a huge milestone in how the two of you make up after a fight, but it’s an improvement nonetheless.

-i did in fact actually do this to my ex one time and we actually still laugh about it when it comes up

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #bnha x reader

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tinkerleaf · 2 months

Text

Beach Day with the ADA :)

Since Bungou Stray Dogs doesn't have a 'beach episode', I thought I'd make one myself with the reader. If y'all would like a separate one without the reader, let me know. :) Genre: fluff, comfort? Warnings: probably a few gramatical errors Pairings: platonic everyone, a little extra bit of dazai Words: 880 ish

⊹₊⋆☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆☁︎⋆₊ ⊹

It had been a rather tiresome week at the agency, so when Fukuzawa offered to let you all have a day off, you were ecstatic. It was Atsushi’s idea to do something together as a group, which prompted some interesting ideas. After Dazai suggested bar hopping, he received a harsh smack from Kunikida.

After looking at the forecast on your phone, you had an idea. “Why don’t we go to the beach? It’s not too far away. It’s close enough for a day trip." And with that, the decision had been made.

Kunikida opted to drive, with you in the passenger seat. He agreed to come along only if Dazai was in the other car (thankfully not driving) with Kyoka, Atsushi, and the Tanizaki siblings. He figured if this was going to be his day off, he should at least get some form of stress relief.

After a stop at the convenience store for snacks and sunscreen, everyone finally arrived at the beach. You got out of the car and helped everyone unload before heading out. The weather was phenomenal and the water was the perfect temperature. The waves were calm enough to relax in the ocean and the sand was incredibly soft.

It was around noon, and you had finally blown up your little ring float to bring into the water with you.

“Aww, can’t swim?” Dazai teased.

“Actually, I can swim just fine.” You playfully flicked him on the shoulder. “Just wanted to ride the waves a bit while they’re smooth.”

He paused. “Well, since you can swim…” He picked you up before you realized what he was doing and ran toward the water.

“No, no! Put me down!” you pleaded. He started to throw you in, but you clutched onto his arms. “You’re coming with me!” You both fell into the salty water. Laughter came from the rest of the gang, except for Kunikida who merely sighed a you two.

“Don’t think we won’t come for you next!”

You ran after Yosano, and Dazai caught Jun’ichiro. Not long after that, everyone had been submerged at least once, sparing Kunikida for their own safety. He had been sitting in a chair underneath one of the umbrellas trying to read a book. He looked over to find Ranpo eating snacks. “You know you have to save some of those for everyone else, right?”

He stopped chewing, “Hm?”

Atsushi and Kyoka were building a sandcastle together. They were fixing up the moat before filling it up with water.

“It looks great! Now we can collect some shells to decorate!” The boy offered.

“Can we use this?” She held up a big crab that was desperately trying to get away.

He made a face. “…Sure!”

The girl placed the crab on top. However, it jumped off and skittered away into the sand. “Well, there goes that.”

The Tanizaki siblings were playing volleyball. Naomi was winning by one point.

“Hey! Anyone wanna play with us?” She called out to everyone.

“Me!” Yosano jogged over to them along with Kenji.

You had been in your swim tube, floating with the waves while Dazai held onto it, keeping you from drifting too far. “This was a good idea. I have to admit, this is quite refreshing.”

“I know, right? I couldn’t think of a better way to spend our day off.” You squinted at his pink nose. “I think you need a little more sunscreen.”

He shrugged, “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, but if you’re burnt to a crisp tomorrow, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He laughed at your remark before flipping you into the water. You popped you head up.

“What was that for?”

“If I leave you here to put on more sunscreen, you’ll float away! You must come with me.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You walked with him back to where the group had settled. Kunikida was still buried in his book. You had grabbed the last bag of chips from Ranpo.

“You havin’ fun?” Dazai asked his partner.

The blonde put a single finger towards him, “Don’t.”

“Oh, come on. I haven’t even done anything-”

“Yet.”

You chuckled at the two, “Why don’t we go play volleyball with the others?” Dazai nodded.

After hours of playing in the sun, you all had decided that it was time to go back. Everyone mentioned they were hungry, so you found yourselves at a restaurant nearby. It was a great way to end the day before heading back to the agency. You were satisfied with your food as you listened to everybody talk. The restaurant was cozy and warm, and you were getting tired. After leaning back against the back of the chair, you slowly nodded off.

You felt someone tap your shoulder. “Hey! It’s time to go!” Kenji whispered. “We’re leaving!”

“Hmm? Oh-” You quickly woke up and went with the crew back to the vehicles outside.

You couldn’t remember the ride back since you were out like a light. Thankfully, the loud ones were in the other car, allowing you to get some sleep. There may or may not be a photo floating around of your face squished against the window. Dazai sent it to you the next morning, along with the other pictures taken the day before.

"Which one of you took that?"

"Not telling!" It was him.

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onenicebugperday · 2 months

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@maggie--pie submitted: Hello! I found this lil guy tucked in the seam of a car window. Not super big, the size of a thumbnail maybe. My best guess is a type of house crab spider (family Philodromidae) perhaps?

(Location is FL, if it helps)

Yep, definitely a running crab spider in Philodromidae! Cute friend :)

#animals #bugs #spider #arachnids #submission #running crab spider

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secretdiaryofcrowley · 1 month

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Things to Do Today

1. Sober up and get rid of hangover

2. Ponder on how ridiculous this is

3. Get drunk again because I can't deal with this sober

I thought they were off to Alpha Centauri. Living that sweet life we will never have...

Well, it seems things don't always work out for other people, too.

Obviously. But let's rewind to last night and try to sort this all out.

"I was going to mysteriously appear in your car", Beelzebub said, "but somehow I can't get in anymore."

Oh.

"Also, when I tried to miracle myself in, the car suddenly turned yellow. Like some kind of defense mechanism."

OH!

"Things have changed, Beelzebub. You have to be invited in. And I'm certainly not go... gonna do that."

"Well, that's all right." They take a step closer. "We can just talk here."

"And I certainly don't want to talk."

"I brought booze."

My eyes shift between the empty bottle I'm holding and the full bottle in their hands.

Sigh.

I throw the empty bottle into the Thames (Yes, I should litter, I'm a demon after all. And maybe some hermit crab can build a home in it. Or some little fish family. Oh, lookey here, it's Nemo and the guys.)

Beelzebub passes the full bottle to me. It's obviously not miracled out of Hell, it's good old Earth stuff.

Mhm. Smells like it, too. And I just remembered that Nemo is a saltwater fish.

And so are hermit crabs.

I take a deep sip. Well, obviously not fish, but well.. you know.

"I heard about Aziraphale," Beelzebub looks at me with a sympathetic gaze and suddenly I feel the need to throw up. "I'm sorry, things didn't work out."

Bloody Heaven! I'm not going to talk to them about Aziraphale. It's bad enough with Maggie and Nina trying to get me to talk about Aziraphale, but Beelzebub? Really?

This is one of the few times I'm actually speechless, but being a fellow demon, Beelzebub should fully well be able to read my death glare.

They do. "Well, that's all right. Gabriel and I broke up, too, and I don't want to talk about it either."

They WHAT? They thwarted both Heaven and Hell for their love and now they fall out of it after barely three months?

Lucky for the both of us, Beelzebub freezes the bottle in mid air before it smashes on the ground. They grab it, take a big sip and pass it back to me.

We stand in silence, staring at the river. All is quiet, except for the city noises in the background, the sound of the water and the occasional burp from one of us as we devour the alcohol.

I know, I'm gonna regret this. I'm gonna regret this big time.

"So", I ask, turning to Beelzebub. "What exactly happened?"

~*~

More Diary Parts:

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21

#crowley #good omens #aziracrow #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #beelzebub #aziraphale x crowley #crowley is a mess #it is their car now

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years

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Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.7k] prompt: “Take my jacket, it’s cold.” Not quite enemies to something, late night walks, clothes sharing.

“Take my jacket,” you turned, arms crossed, eyes wary as you looked at the boy beside you. “It’s cold,” he insisted, pushing the soft denim into your hands.

No matter how bad you expected your night to go, you didn’t anticipate Steve Harrington to be walking you home.

The Spring Fling at the Hawkins country club was something your parents never missed and every year, they insisted on bringing you with them, showing you off to the highest members of society. The mayor, Doctor Stewart and his very single son, the Parsons - didn’t you know, they just bought a yacht?

It was the same every time but as you got older, your patience wore a little thinner and by nine o’clock, you’d ate as much as you could of your dinner, insisting that you were twenty years old now, so yes, you were certain you didn’t like fucking crab cakes.

The band had started playing, your parents leaving you at the table so they could mingle with the other guests and by the time you’d found a pay phone in the lobby, the only number you could remember was Steve fucking Harrington’s.

It wasn’t like you hated the boy, no. But you weren’t exactly friends either. The most you had in common was the fact that you seemed to share babysitting duties for Max and the Sinclairs, plus the fact that you both attended the same school.

You always seemed to collide on your worst days, when one of you was running late, when Dustin wanted a ride to the arcade, When Will and Mike just had to tell you about the new movie they’d seen. So you were usually both frazzled, missing your first hour at work and with no time for small talk.

You’d bump into Steve at the kids D&D meetings, Max insisting you had to watch the end of Will’s campaign but Steve would be there too and somehow, you both would end up bickering over Erica’s sugar intake or the fact that El wanted to join the swim team.

“I don’t think putting El in a giant tank of water would be good for her, Harrington, talk about bad connotations?”

“What’re you talkin’ about, it’s a pool! She floats like a fish, she'll be fine!”

Dustin always laughed, Max always smirked and Robin said it was repressed sexual tension.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to be this.

He’d sounded a little surprised when he answered your call but covered it up with something snarky and teasing, a comment that went a little like, “I always knew you’d end up needing me late at night, princess.”

You thought it was the end of the call when he told you his car was in the garage, a punctured tire that was getting fixed. But then he told you to wait where you were, sitting in the Club lobby, hands pulling nervously at the hem of your dress, and he’d come get you anyway.

He’d opened the front door, ignoring how the staff threw him disgruntled looks, his faded jeans and soft cotton T-shirt standing out against the sea of tuxedos and black ties in the worst way. The best way, you’d thought fleetingly. He’d tilted his head at you, as if it were the most natural thing, and then you were sneaking out, his hand on the small of your back as he guided you down the stairs in your heels and well, fuck.

Steve fucking Harrington.

You pulled the jacket over your shoulders, the collar smelling like mint and something woodsy, something you’d come to realise was just Steve. The sleeves were too big, the hem of the jacket falling to the same part of your thighs that your dress skimmed and you blew a breath out into the cool, night air.

The roads were empty and wet, the leftover scent of rain soaking into the sidewalks from the April shower that you must’ve missed during the mayor's speech. The air smelled like pine and the faintest hint of summer, a promise of warmer nights and longer days, coconut sunscreen and fresh lemonade.

You eyed the boy carefully, gazing from under your lashes to find him walking with his hands stuffed in his pockets, his state already set on you.

“Why’re you doing this?” You asked abruptly, your voice sounding too loud in the empty streets. The country club was a little out of town, the roads deserted and you both walked down the middle of it, footsteps balancing on the white lines that split each side.

“Why’d you call me?” Steve shot back. His words would’ve sounded harsh if there wasn’t a small smile on his face, the corner of his lips upturned into a smirk.

“You’re the only one with a car,” you retorted, cheeks warm because it was a lie and you both knew it. “Usually, anyway.”

That made him grin, your defiance, the flush on your face, the lie that tasted a little bittersweet on your tongue. He moved a little closer, made it seem casual, accidental, until your shoulders were brushing and he could smell the perfume that you were wearing, something fresh and soft, like apple.

“You didn’t have to, you know,” your voice was softer now and you were acutely aware of how close Steve was, how he was much taller than you remembered. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here just to walk me home.”

The boy simply shrugged, the light breeze messing at his hair and he chanced a gaze down at you, brown eyes warmer than you’d seen them before.

“I know,” he stated, voice sincere and without leaving much room for argument. “But I wanted to.”

The way he said it made your body buzz, an excitement rolling in your stomach at it, a feeling that led to what ifs and potential opportunities.

You twisted your lips, hiding the smile there and when you looked up at him, you raised your brows, tried your best to look intimidating. But your dress was pretty and a buttery yellow, soft like sunshine and his jacket was swallowing you whole.

“I thought you hated me,” you told him, nose scrunched.

Steve snorted, a laugh that sounded adorably cute and you hated the way you liked it. He nudged his side into yours, solid and warm and he shook his.

“Don’t hate you, princess,” his voice was softer than you’d heard before, “you’re just a pain in the ass.”

You huffed out a laugh, sharp and unexpected, because Steve Harrington had never made you laugh before. He seemed to like the sound, eyes shining, smile wide, cheeks a little rosy.

“Charming,” you murmured but your smile was still there, gaze on the ground as you tried to pull yourself together. You felt like a teenager again, first crush, first date, first kiss on the horizon as you let a boy walk you home in the dark. “You’re not exactly a peach either, Harrington.”

“Hey now,” he tutted, faux offence tinting his words and it made you want to laugh again, it made you wanna walk the length of Hawkins just to spend more time with him. “I have my moments.”

You were coming closer to your street, and you felt disappointment colour your words when you said as much, pointing to your front door as if you didn’t wanna go in.

“This is me,” you said, suddenly feeling shy. You were never shy, not with Steve, your usual sharp words and petty arguing the only way you knew how to communicate with him. You didn’t know what to do with this soft boy, who smelled nice and looked at you like you were something new to discover. “Thanks, really. You didn’t have to.”

Steve nodded, foot kicking at an invisible pebble on the sidewalk as if he were nervous. “Like I said,” he told you, voice soft and quiet in the dark, “I wanted to.”

You moved to shrug his jacket off, cool air nipping at your bare arms as you did but Steve stopped you, a hand on the collar as he pulled it back over your chest. You stared.

“Keep it,” he said, all faux nonchalance as he tried not to grin at you, dimple pressing into one cheek and eyes turning honey. “You can give it back to me next time.”

“Next time?” You repeated, brows knitted together in confusion but you were pulling the denim back up your arms, revelling in the way Steve looked at you as you did so. “When’s next time?”

But Steve was already backing away, feet a little clumsy as he stumbled backwards so he could look at you, smile wide and a spark of something new there. He shrugged, hands back in his pockets.

“I dunno,” he told you, “maybe you should give me a call again.”

Your lips parted in surprise, wondering if he was hinting at what you thought he was. “You wanna take another walk with me, Harrington?”

He grinned, a flash of bright and warmth in the dark street. He tilted his head back a little to look at you from under his lashes, eyes hooded and full of that Steve Harrington charm you’d heard so much about.

“A walk, dinner, maybe a movie, who’s to say?” He answered and you hate that you giggled, a soft laugh that made his eyes widen.

“Sounds a lot like a date,” you mused, voice full of delight and maybe it was just because it was dark, but you felt braver than you had before with the boy.

Steve crossed his arms, his head tilted to the side as if he were taking the time to think it over. He leant against a lamppost, eyes still on you, taking you in.

“It does, doesn’t it?” He grinned. “Weird.”

You laughed again, spinning on your heel as you started to walk the path to your front door, body warm as you felt his gaze on you as the hem of your dress danced around your thighs, shifting as you moved.

“Goodnight, Harrington,” your hand was on the door, face turned to look over your shoulder at him, expression suddenly coy. You had absolutely no idea what had just transpired.

“Talk soon, princess,” he answered and when he spoke, the nickname suddenly didn’t sound like an insult, like a curse on his lips like it used to.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things

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ohanny · 2 months

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stabby murder husbands kentakim au!

does this make much sense? no. is it going to be long? yes. am i sometimes very happy about what my mentally ill lil brain cooks up while i sleep? very much so.

tony chen is a rotten super villain in every universe but in this one kenta was his assassin until he finally had enough, turned on his master during the bloodiest night known in these circles, john wick style, and then disappeared off the face of the earth. was tony running the high table? how deep does the lore go? who knows. i was asleep. my brain did not have the capacity to figure it all out.

flash forward some years. kenta is living a normal life. he has a boring office job. he’s reconnected with babe, his estranged brother who ran away from home at the first sight of sketchy activities and was spared from all of tony’s bullshit. unfortunately for kenta, babe - happily married and pregnant - is channelling all his extra hormones and boredom into a mission to socialize his hermit crab of an older brother.

which is how kenta ends up eating dinner in babe and charlie’s warehouse loft of doom, sitting opposite of kim - a regular customer at the couple’s garage and a casual friend. it’s an awkward affair because a) kim can't stop staring b) babe keeps shooting these looks at kenta all “see, i brought you a hot ginger, do something with it” and c) kenta would much rather be at home. unsurprisingly, when kim offers him a ride home at the end of the evening, kenta says no.

this turns out to be a bad call because on his way home, kenta gets jumped. it happens sometimes - after all, he was tony’s weapon for over a decade and made a lot of enemies, no one can escape their past without occasionally being haunted by it. except this time when he limps out of the alleyway, clutching a minor stab wound on his side, there is a car idling by the pavement.

it's kim, rolling down the window and telling kenta to get his ass in. against his better judgment kenta does.

kim speeds off the scene of the crime with the kind of ease and confidence kenta has only ever seen from babe. it quickly becomes apparent that he knows way more about kenta than he should because he starts asking about cameras and when kenta just stares blankly - bleeding all over the nice upholstery - kim laughs and says “don’t worry, even if you got a bit rusty and missed one, i know a guy. or two. since they live with me you'll meet them soon anyway.”

and fuck, kenta should have just trusted his instincts instead of chalking kim making him nervous up to having someone so pretty pay any level of attention to him. he finally finds his voice (and lowkey also his knife) and demands to know who the hell kim is or if he's even called that. “oh i am,” kim answers gleefully, “and you could say i’m a… freelancer.” which, great. just amazing. kenta is being kidnapped by some amateur bounty hunter and his day officially couldn't get any worse.

… but it does. because once they reach their destination, the second he's ushered into an apartment he's greeted by an obnoxiously loud scream of “holy shit, he actually did it!” followed by a slightly less obnoxiously loud “our kimmy here is a big fan!” and then “oh fuck he’s bleeding all over the place, get the med kit dumbass!” and kenta realizes he wasn't kidnapped by some amateur bounty hunter. he was kidnapped by a fucking fan boy. on the bright side they do seem to be capable of basic wound care so there's that.

(yes, the trio is living their best mercenary vigilante life. kenta’s purge of tony happened right as kim was getting into the game and he went full “holy fucking shit, this man took down tony fucking chen and got away with it?” and basically became obsessed with the legendary lore of john wick kenta. so imagine how pumped he was when babe of all people introduced him to his ultimate murder crush goals)

kim: obviously you'll need to stay the night since you're so injured. You can have my room. i’ll just sleep with north and sonic.

kenta: …

sonic: you have a problem with three men sleeping together?

kenta: … no?

north: great! but if you hypothetically did you could ask kim to share with you instead because trust me, he's like super interes -

kim: shut up or i’ll evict you.

north: pls, whose day job is paying the bills here since you only take on charity cases?

kim: my name is on the lease! and i'm being a good person!

sonic: honey, you kill people.

this is where i got with my dream sequence but other things that just make sense in this verse:

the first person kim ever killed was winner. he was a toxic college hook up who kim dumped after few gos but who wouldn't take no for an answer. kim could have dealt with him being a dick on campus but then he started harassing kim’s dorm mates, north and sonic and kim just… snapped.

it all came to head on an alley behind a trashy gay bar. winner tried to grab sonic and kim honestly just meant to beat the shit out of him but went too far. when they read the news the next day it's weird. none of them regret it. they’re happy about it. and when no one knocks on their door to ask any questions, they realize how easy it actually is to get rid of a bad person.

the second person kim kills is a campus dirtbag who likes slipping shit into girls’ drinks and taking them home. they plan it all together but kim goes out alone and after… he's a mess. winner was a crime of passion in the heat of the moment but this is something different. he's all keyed up. he can't settle down and paces around their living room. a man is dead and he thinks he got off clean but only time will tell. he's nervous and elated and half-hard and full of adrenaline and it's sonic who nudges north and goes “look at the poor thing, we should take care of him.”

the night ends with kim’s head on sonic’s lap, sonic’s fingers in his hair, telling him he did well and he's so good when he cries as he's getting fucked into the mattress by north. kim wakes up sandwiched between them, in a mess of limbs. he has a very brief freak out about what the happened - the sex, not the murder - but north shushes him, telling him it’s not a big deal. “we love you, hyungie” sonic shrugs and pecks his cheek. “you two get some more rest and i’ll bring breakfast, okay?” and that's that.

needless to say kenta is in for a culture shock with the northsonickim arrangement. like he's taking a shower with kim and things are getting good when sonic barges into the bathroom, yanks the shower curtain back and goes on a rant of “kim, you gotta tell north to do the laundry because it was his turn but he forgot and now my favorite pants still have cum stains on them!” and kenta is like “um, excuse us?” but kim just rolls his eyes and proceeds to yell for north and then has an entire damn conversation with his dick out while kenta just stands there all 🧍‍♂️. (after he's done chewing north out for the laundry, he turns to sonic like “and you! we talked about this! kenta is new, we don't want to spook him!”)

the whole murder thing will be another conflict. kenta is happily retired. he killed because that's what he was raised to do and he didn't have any other options until he did. kim though? kim kills because he wants to. kim kills because he believes certain people deserve to die.

kim: i have a date with a wife beater at 2am. wanna come?

kenta: stop calling them dates. and you shouldn't be so… flippant about it.

kim, smirking while pulling on his leather gloves: don't tell me you never enjoyed it.

while kenta’s kills were always obvious hits, done using knives and guns, kim likes to deliver justice personally. he warms up using his hands and finishes the job with whatever blunt object he can pick up.

one time kenta’s boring office job takes him out of town for business and kim is climbing the walls. he calls kenta all “please quit and just become a hit man again, the pay is better and you'd be home when i need you” and kenta sighs because yes, his job is boring but he's trying his best to be normal and he has a morning meeting. so he tells kim to go occupy himself with north and sonic

kim: wait.. What?

kenta: don't you guys have sex with each other all the time?

kim: we did, BEFORE i met you

kenta: … huh. well. go fuck or get fucked or whatever before you start hunting pedestrians for stress relief.

kim: is this a trap?

kenta: no? i would never mess with whatever the three of you have.

Kim barging into north and sonic’s room, growling at them to take their clothes off and sonic’s first reaction is “oh shit, they broke up” but then kim’s like “dick first, rings second, i’m going to wife that man so hard he won't know what hit him” and everyone cheers and no one feels bad about having a pre-engagement celebration threesome not involving one of the grooms.

also, pete? did he step up after tony’s death? does he run a business like the continental? is way his weird attic wife that fucked himself over in the business and now can't step a foot outside the hotel without getting his brains blown out the less fun way? in any case he would have an eye on both kenta (because their whole… brotherhood) and kim (because kim is a wild card and truly independent and neither follows nor knows the code).

#pit babe the series #kentakim #northsonic #northsonickim #please play in my sandbox with or without me

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sparkle-fiend · 1 year

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An exploration of Steve’s home life, and relationship with his parents.

*****

People always feel sorry for Steve, when they hear how often his parents are away. "They leave you all alone in that big house? How long has it been since you saw them?" They always say the same things - express the same concerns, the way they have ever since he was in middle school.

Steve never knows how to respond. The truth is - he's happier when his parents are gone.

When the house is empty, he can breathe. He can move through the space and fill it with his own presence; he can talk as loud as he wants, listen to music - even sing if he wants to. He doesn't have to make himself small or quiet.

When his parents are home, Steve feels tense all the time, on edge, like walking over eggshells. Carefully watching every word, minding every detail of his appearance and behavior. It's never enough, of course. His father always finds some fault.

They’re going into the fourth week in a row that his parents have been home (a record this year) when he sees his mother rubbing her temple, wincing with a headache as she observes the contents of the pantry.

Steve says, "Hey, why don't I make dinner tonight?"

He's been learning how to cook, making dinner for Eddie and the kids on D&D nights, and he thinks he's actually gotten to be pretty good at it. His mother is delighted at the offer, and Steve feels a warm little thrill of pride – until his father walks into the kitchen. It’s all downhill from there.

"That's not how you dice tomatoes Steven; the pieces are all completely uneven."

"Did you even add any salt to this?"

"The pasta is overcooked. I can't eat this - it's practically mush."

"How did you manage to screw up such a simple dish? It's basically spaghetti; a child could make it."

Each word is a chisel, chipping away at him. By the end of dinner Steve is trembling, trying to keep any emotion off his face.

The real kicker is when they start clearing the table, and his father spills a glass of wine all over his white button-down shirt.

"Goddamnit!" he roars, jumping back with enough force to send his chair clattering to the ground.

"Shit!" He slams a fist down onto the table in frustration, with enough force to rattle all the remaining dishes. Steve can't help it - he flinches hard, feels his heart begin to race.

His father has always had a temper, always been prone to flying off the handle at the smallest things. He's never violent toward Steve or his mother, but sometimes the rage feels like a physical force all the same.

It's been so much worse since Starcourt. His father's tantrums send Steve back to that cold metal room, head aching as an angry Russian shouts in his face, demanding Steve tell them what he knows.

Steve retreats to the kitchen, chest heaving as he gulps for air. He starts cleaning up with numb focus, waiting for his father to leave the dining room before returning to help his mother pick up the glass.

After that, he waits in his room. When the house goes silent, he slips out the window and sneaks to his car, keeping the headlights off until he reaches the main road.

When he was younger, he would drive all night just to stay out of the house. He'd been up and down every back road in Hawkins until he could probably navigate them blind; sometimes he would even hit the highway out of town, racing for hours across empty corn fields, swallowed by the sweep of the night sky.

He has somewhere he can go now. He cuts the headlights again as he pulls up to the little brick house on the edge of town - purchased with a hefty government payout to keep the Munson's quiet about the real fate of the old trailer.

Steve slips around back and pulls himself up onto the roof of the porch, crab walking carefully until he reaches Eddie's window. There's a sliver of light visible under the lowered shade - if there hadn't been, he would have returned to his car.

Instead, he taps lightly at the glass until the shade flies up and Eddie yanks the window open. "Jesus Christ, what are you doing? You know you can come in the front door like a normal person, right?"

"I saw Wayne's truck in the driveway. I didn't want to wake him up."

"He wouldn't care - I try to tell you that every time. Get in here."

He pulls Steve through the window, gripping him by the elbow so he doesn't fall when his feet get tangled in a pile of clothes on the floor.

They sit together on the edge of Eddie's bed, and despite the warmth of another person pressed against his shoulder; Steve can't seem to stop shaking.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, brows furrowed in growing concern, "what's wrong?"

Steve shrugs. At this angle, he can see the two of them in the mirror over Eddie's dresser. There's Eddie, looking comfortable and soft in sweatpants and a tank top, rings all discarded in the dish by his bed. And there's Steve, looking worn thin, hair limp and eyes bruised from exhaustion.

"My parents are still home. Sometimes it's hard to sleep - I don't want to scare them if I have any nightmares."

That was true enough, even if it wasn't the whole story. He can tell by the way Eddie's reflection scowls that the other boy isn't buying it.

They've danced around it before. He knows that Eddie and Wayne are both suspicious of his relationship with his parents; hell, he's pretty sure Joyce and Hopper are too. It makes him feel stupid.

His father has never touched him, not once. Steve is just overdramatic, making a big deal out of nothing when others have had it so much worse. Eddie certainly did, before he started living with Wayne. Steve's not going to whine to him about how his dad says stuff that hurts his feelings sometimes.

"Well you know you're always welcome to stay here. Wayne could sleep through an air raid siren - you won't bother us."

Steve nods, and accepts the sweatpants and t-shirt Eddie digs out of the drawer for him. When he comes back from the little bathroom down the hall, Eddie has the blankets folded down and the overhead light turned off.

Steve climbs into bed silently, and Eddie follows. Neither one of them acknowledges the fact that there's a pullout sofa in the living room downstairs - a much nicer one than Wayne used to sleep on at the old trailer.

Eddie rolls onto his side, facing Steve, and lifts an arm in invitation.

They've been dancing around this too - the unspoken thing between them.

Steve shuffles forward until he's close enough for Eddie to drape the offered arm over his shoulders, and then he allows himself to be pulled closer still. He presses his face into Eddie's chest and just breathes.

This is home. The scent of cigarette smoke and weed mixed with Old Spice, the tickle of Eddie's curls over his forehead. Here, he doesn't have to be alone to be himself.

As the tension in his muscles starts to ease, unwinding like a spring, the tears take him by surprise. Eddie must feel them wetting the fabric of his tank top, because he holds on tighter. "I've got you, okay?" he mutters into Steve's hair. "I'm not letting go."

In the morning, Steve will try to sneak out before Wayne gets up. Wayne will meet him at the door with a cup of coffee, and drag him into the kitchen for breakfast, and when Eddie gets up, they'll share weighted looks over Steve's head while he eats his eggs and pretends not to notice.

Wayne will mention, not for the first time, that it's actually a three-bedroom house - "Just furniture, is all it needs. We'd be more than happy to have you stay."

Eddie will chime in, "Wayne's been wanting you to move in since he tried those leftovers you brought over."

They'll laugh, like that's all there is to it.

Maybe this time, Steve will finally say yes.

#steve harrington #steddie #my fic #tumblr drabble #just a little character exploration #some angst for Steve #and a little comfort at the end #stranger things #if you saw me struggling with the readmore #no you didn’t

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unamused-boss · 4 months

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Take out Night

Billy Hargrove x Fem oc Hello! Just before we begin this is a fic that will introduce another Oc that I have created. A Billy x Oc to be more precise. I have seen so many other creators, some whom I am mutuals with, make amazing oc. And I wanted to jump on the train with it. Plus I really want Billy to have a weird gf! So I have made a character for Billy hargrove and I hope you like her.

It was all strange when the two first got together. If you mean the Cali boy going after probably the weirdest hot girl in town then you'd be correct. Because that is what happened when Billy Hargrove asked out, and is still going out with, Phoebe Brown.

Yep, Hawkin's local weirdo. Has been seen walking bare foot within the woods. Constantly seeming like she has consumed an intense amount of drugs even though she doesn't even drink or smoke. Claiming it ruins the soul of the body. Her dark brown hair always done up in a new style. Along with her clothes matching her presence, comfortable.

It was a month long gossip train as to why Billy would ask out such a peculiar girl. Many of Billy's, so called, friends said it was because he lost a bet or was looking for something easy. But what the masses do not know it took Billy a whole month before Phoebe even said yes to a date. Billy claimed he has never liked Hawkin's heifers, as much as Phoebe has told him to stop calling them that, he wanted something he thought would bring him excitement. So when he laid eyes on Phoebe Brown, he knew it was her.

Well to get that out of the way with all the sentimental shit that we will get into later. Lets focus on where our couple is at presently. It is the middle of December for Hawkins with a blissful, not to Billy, cold outside. And in front of a little chinese food restaurant sat a charged blue camaro where our couple sits. It is just another of their many at home date nights tonight. Let's see where the night will take them.

“Do you have to do this every time?” Billy asked his girlfriend. Who at the moment has her nose deep within a menu of said Chinese restaurant.

“Yes, what if I wanna try something new?” Phoebe said back to him, still with her face in the pamphlet of the menu.

“Babe there is no doubt in my mind that you have not eaten the whole menu since we have discovered this restaurant.” Billy reasoned with her. “Can we please order the food so we can go back to your house”

Phoebe faced him with a smile gracing her face. “You know, for such a big strong guy, you can be very soft and cute.” The statement flusters Billy, she knows this. But he will always keep his tough guy act up till they get home. So in response to his girlfriend's statement, he turned his head away from her. Which did not help because she could see his ears turning red which meant he was blushing. Phoebe just giggled at him, “Get out of the damn car.” Was all he said to her, but not with any mean intent behind it. So that is what you did. You both got out of the car to make your way in to order your dinner for the night.

“Hey Billy, Hey Phoebe” The cashier greeted, “What can I get ya?”

“We’ll get the spicy chicken combo and spring rolls to go with it.” Billy answered to the cashier.

“We will also take the Lo mien and crab rangoons.” Phoebe added on with confidence.

“Um, who paid?” Billy sassed to her.

“Um, who’s job is it to pay?” She simply sassed back. “I also paid for your gas, be a good boyfriend and pay for your girlfriend's dinner.” Billy just rolled his eyes to her.

“Alright coming right up.” That was all that needed to be said for the two to take their seats in front of the window to wait on their food.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Phoebe asked.

“Okay, hit me.” Billy said thinking it was gonna be a challenge.

“Why did you ask me out?” She asked simply.

Billy was silent for a minute. “This isn’t a trap is it? Last time this happened my tire got slashed.” Billy panicked.

“No it’s not… I just- I just think there is someone more suited for you than me.” Phoebe admitted.

“What like some cow on the cheer team?” Billy said very aggressively.

“Billy- I’m serious.”

“The reason I asked you out was because you were different from every other girl I have ever dated.” Billy told her, looking into her honey colored eyes.

“But-”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He stopped her. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and if I had to go another month of chasing you around to simply look in my direction then I will. I know I’m not the best guy, but you have made me realize that I will do whatever it takes for us to stay together.” Billy’s eyes softened as he looked at her. Phoebe's once tired looking eyes became wide while staring at Billy as he spoke. No guy has ever said something like that to her. Yeah, she knows she’s weirded Billy out before but he still stayed with her.

“Billy” She spoke softly, a smile making its way onto her face. He smiled back at her, taking her hand into his on the table.

“Order 37!” Was shouted out, to which brought the couple out of their trance.

Once the food was picked up. The couple made their way to the camaro to go home. The drive was silent, it was warm and comfortable. Just the quiet tone of one of Billy’s rock tapes playing from the window. As Phoebe was looking out the window to the dark outside of the night. She saw the glimmer of snow, she gasped as her eyes lit up. Even though it had snowed for the past few weeks, with every new snowfall Phoebe got excited. She loved the cold weather unlike her boyfriend. Billy heard her small gasp from beside him; he made a small glance over to her to see she was staring out the window. He just smiled at her expression, he couldn’t have asked for anyone better. The couple usually didn’t express too much emotion in front of others, not too heavy on pda other than a quickie in the janitor's closet. But the nights such as these were Billy could get away from his house to go home with her. To spend the night cuddling and watching trash movies they can make fun of. It was pure bliss for Billy, He loved it He loved her.

The car came to a stop in Phoebe’s driveway. With her parents out of the house for the next few days that meant more time with Billy, and being able to eat in the living room. The food was set out on the coffee table, blankets were prepped, movies prepped to be watched, and Billy’s side ready for Phoebe to cuddle into. The chosen pick from the Family Video tonight were American Ninja, obviously Billy, and Smooth Talk, clearly picked out by Phoebe, the two had very distinct tastes. The two watched and ate with glee for being in the other mere presence. In the middle of one of the movies Billy pauses it out of nowhere.

“Heey?” Phoebe said in confusion to his action.

Billy turned to her, now her side is cold. “Why did you ask me that question at the restaurant tonight?” Billy was curious. He wanted to make sure no one said anything to her and so she wasn’t in her head.

“I just- I just started thinking about the types of girls you went after before you got with me.” She said, “And I felt like I was a downgrade.” Hearing this broke his heart. “ I’m noy like Tammy, Tina, or Nancy… It's stupid but I can’t help but feel insecure sometimes. You were told about me from people that judged me and still chose me after everything. I just don’t get it sometimes.”

“Like I said before, you are unlike any girl I have ever been with, and I love it. I love you.” Billy said.

“You said the L word.” Phoebe giggled at him. Billy’s smile broke out after you said that.

“What are you gonna punish me?” He teased. In response Phoebe places her soft lips onto Hargroves. It felt like a puzzle being completed when they kissed. Phoebe became more forward and started to slowly push Billy back until he was on his back while she was sitting on him still kissing on her couch. The kiss slowed and the two started to pull away. Looking at one another for a moment. Until a sly smirk appeared on Billy’s face.

“I should say the L word more often if that’s my punishment.” He flirted. Phoebe just laughed at him then pulled him up right to continue where they left off. In the movie obviously. Billy played the movie and Phoebe snuggled back into his side.

“Just so you know.” Phoebe started. “I love you too.” Billy smiled and kissed the top of her head. The night was perfect, as always.

Hope you enjoyed! Like always if you have feed back I would love to hear it.

if you wanna see anything specifically with Billy and Phoebe just request or comment.

Thank you, love ya bookies!

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove x female #stranger things #fanfiction #billy hargove imagine #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson #eddie munson #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #80’s #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #stranger things billy

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evesaintyves · 9 months

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@thethreebroomsticksficfest is having a microfic celebration for Harry Potter's birthday... but as usual my fic isn't very micro. here you go anyway.

The Underside

Harry's eyes keep meeting Uncle Vernon's in the rearview mirror. It's two days before his tenth birthday. They've only been driving for forty-five minutes and Dudley's already been sick twice. Harry's pretty sure his aunt and uncle think it's his fault, somehow, but he's not the one who piled Dudley's plate with a half-dozen fried eggs this morning.

Weird things have been happening around him, though. That's the only reason they've brought him along instead of locking him up—he'd prepared himself to spend the day sipping underbrewed tea and letting his eyes glaze over at thirty years of snapshots of Mrs. Figg's dead cats, but when his aunt marched him over this morning, the old woman never answered her door. One of her cats was in the front window, switching its tail to and fro as she knocked and knocked, as if to say, time's ticking, Petunia, you're going to be late—

So, after a whispered argument in the kitchen—no, that boy's not to be trusted, we'll come home to the whole place in flames—his uncle dragged him by the arm to the backseat of the car. Dudley's brought along so many road-snacks and toy dumptrucks that Harry only has half a seat to squeeze himself into, but it's sort of nice. He doesn't get many long rides. Past the rows of houses and the repeating grids of car parks there are farms like he's seen in storybooks, rumpled over the hills, ribbed like green corduroy with cabbages in rows. Cows kneel in the shade of trees. What a life it would be, Harry thinks, to wander all day in the grass of a field, bothered only by the odd horsefly. Eating his fill. Surrounded by friends.

—

While Vernon's at the convention, Petunia takes them to the pleasure pier. Dudley tries for one of the big prizes, a stuffed gorilla that looks rather like his dad, but his strategy is to hurl the ball with as much destructive force as possible and he's swiftly banned from the Coconut Shy. He does the same at the pingpong ball and fishbowls, whipping the ball like he's trying to murder a fish, and while Petunia is arguing with the teenaged game-operator, Harry boredly tosses one of Dudley's unused pingpongs. It plops right into the centre of a fishbowl, where a longfinned red-and-gold fish circles it and issues a surprised silver bubble from its puckering mouth.

Petunia's convinced Harry cheated (and he's not entirely sure, actually, that he didn't. He's had a lot of weird luck and near-misses, lately. Last week, Dudley tried to hit him with a water balloon and it bounced off Harry's chest, hit Dudley square in the crotch, and made it look like he'd wet his trousers) so Dudley gets the fish, of course. It's in a few inches of water inside a plastic bag. He swings it around violently as they walk through the arcade.

I'm sorry, Harry thinks at the fish. I didn't mean to make things worse for you.

At the beach, while Petunia is buttering Dudley with suncream, Harry walks into the chilly water until it's up to his chest. The swells lift him off his feet, a bit, and the sand feels warm when he scrunches his toes. When he stretches out his arms and legs to float on his back, it's like the sea is cradling him, holding him up, and after a moment the sensation is uncomfortable for some reason so he curls into a ball and sinks under the surface, pinching his nose.

It burns a little when he opens his eyes, but he's instantly stricken by how peaceful it is under there and he doesn't want to close them. Above his head, there's the sparkling tumult of the waves. Below, the sand moves slow, like it's sleepy. There are the legs of other swimmers, kicking, oblivious. There's a spiky little crab with an orange pill-bottle for a shell. There's a grumpy-looking grey-green fish with rippling fins, flat and creeping along the bottom like it's trying not to be noticed. Harry wishes he could do that. He's always drawing attention to himself, blurting out a sarky thought when he ought to have just kept quiet, having some lucky thing happen that makes Dudley wail and Vernon haul him by the collar across the house and into his cupboard. If only he could stay here, in this secret world underneath the waves, where no-one on the shore even knew he was there...

A cloud of minnows, moving as one, drifts like a shadow in front of his face. They all turn sideways and seem to look at him with their iridescent eyes. He looks back, wondering if he's disturbing them, his chest starting to prickle as he runs out of air.

Before he can push off the sand and come up, all the little minnows rush at him, stroking their cool bodies along his cheeks, wriggling through his hair. He shuts his eyes, but just as quickly they're gone. He turns to see the grey ghost of them vanishing into the blue distance.

Then a hand is in his hair, yanking, and he's swallowing salt, breaking the surface and blind in the afternoon sun.

"You can't drown today, you knob, Dad's got a very exclusive dinner with a client," Dudley shouts in his face. Harry sputters, there's water stinging in his nose, and on the shore he can see Aunt Petunia waving her sunhat at the two of them, stepping along the lacy hem of the water like she's afraid to let it touch her feet.

—

"The double-augur—that's the crown jewel of the Heavy-Duty line," Vernon is telling Petunia, but in the rearview his eyes are on Harry like he thinks he's up to something. Harry's skin still smells faintly of salt. Dudley's plopped his goldfish onto the pile of plastic dumptrucks like it's just another toy. Harry picks it up and peers into the plastic bag; it's hard to tell because the car is moving, but it looks like it might already be dead.

"Cheap ruddy fish," Dudley sulks. "Didn't even last 'til dinner."

"All cheats, those game operators," Vernon huffs.

"We'll get you a better fish tomorrow, Popkin," cooes Petunia. "A couple of fighting fish, maybe, wouldn't that be fun?"

"I'd do myself in too if I had to share a room with you," Harry mutters. The back of Vernon's neck goes purple, and he nearly crashes the car shouting at Harry, and Dudley pinches his arm hard enough to leave a bruise, but Harry finds he's not bothered. He closes his eyes as the cabbage-fields are crowded out by houses. There's a world out there, huge and hidden, full of colours he's only seen in dreams, full of creatures and beautiful tricks of the light, and he'll get back to it someday—he'll take a breath, he'll dive down into deep water, and he'll open his eyes—

image: paul klee

#harry potter #a very harry birthday #hp fanfic #harry potter fan fiction #harry james potter

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mafiasliege · 22 days

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I dare you to let me go

(this is part 2 of my fic. Enjoy reading!)

Part 1 ↓

JAMESON

Jameson was standing in a maze. Green bushes everywhere. And whichever way he went, the end was green too. Except now. Now, a 5"6' hazel-eyed brunette was standing there.

"Heiress." He tried taking a step toward her, but the distence seemed to stay the same, maybe it was getting bigger. "Where are we?"

"Not we. You. You seem… stuck."

"I'm not stuck. I'm-"

"-fine? Is that your latest lie? Then why am I here, Jameson? again?"

Where was he? And why did Avery seem younger?

"It's not a lie, heiress." Jameson was starting to get angry now, he turned around and started walking away. Avery- or the girl who at least looked like her- spoke louder.

"I'm not her, you know. Maybe the real one doesn't even exist anymore."

"Shut up."

"Maybe she just-"

"Shut up!-"

"Jamie, I'm gonna start yoddling loudly until you get your ass out here!" That was Xander, but Jameson had no regard for a yoddling threat between his gasping for air like a drowning man. Apparently, the things that plagued him during the day had started following him into his sleep now.

He pushed away the sheets and picked up his shirt from the night before. Under it was that box. They same green box. How long had he had it now? An year? Two? And did it matter, really?

You're fine. Just get this done.

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

Jameson got dressed and got to the room. He was surprisingly on time, the only reason being Xander making good on his threat to yoddle. He was actually decent at it, but annoying, nonetheless.

"Do you believe you're being paid to arrange a funeral?" Grayson's tone walked the line between a question and an accusation.

"I need this entire-"

"That's enough! Thank you" Lyra inserted herself in the conversation and dragged Grayson away by his arm from the event planners, who went back to doing their thing.

The dinner last night may have been non-existent the last straw a disaster, but this party's going to be epic. Besides, Avery would at least be home for at least a while on her own birthday, right? She'd promised.

Jameson helped himself to one of the appetizers on the long table covered in platinum and shades of violet. He hadn't had breakfast. After everything was set, he excused himself to the garage and tried calling Avery.

"Your call has been-"

"You're call has-"

"You're ca-"

He plunked his phone down with force. Luckily, it landed on the soft leather of the Valkyrie's seat.

"You alright there?" Nash. It was Nash. Why was everyone so concerned all of a sudden? Avery had just missed her own birthday that he'd planned for days. Not a big deal. At all. Janeson rolled down the car's window glass.

"I am fine."

"You're staying to sound more like Gray than Gray used to himself," Nash took that as his cue to get in the passanger seat.

"Whatever you and Avery have going on, just talk to-"

"Do you think I haven't tried?" It came out slow with a hint of frustration. They were face to face now. "There's always another call, there's always another problem, there's always another person expecting the most from her and she's trying to live up to them more and more."

To that, Nash had no answer. They just say like that for a while.

"Try talking to her today. She might just listen." He patted Jamie on the shoulder and got out.

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

"I can't feel my faxing legs," Max whispered, sitting in a crouch. After a long day of planning Avery's party, everyone was sitting in a crouch waiting for her to come and surprise her.

"Sit on me, then," Xander whispered back to her.

"Oh, get a room you two!" Libby whisper-yelled at them, just as the door rattled.

"SURPRISE!!"

"Oh, my God!" Said… Mrs. Laughlin, who almost dropped the tray of crab cakes in her hands.

"Ugh. I can't crouch for much longer! Where is this beach?" Max whimpered, kicking her feet.

After two hours, all the dishes were half-empty, the wine half-drunk, and half the people previously in the room had dispersed.

"So-"

"Before you say what your about to say, Gray, just like everyone else in this house, I'm okay, and so is Avery."

Grayson frowned. "I've been where you are, Jamie. If you have to keep telling yourself you're okay, you definitely aren't."

Jameson felt Grayson call out to him as he stormed out walked away.

He was done. He was so done. With his brothers' concern, with Lyra's unnecessary inputs.

With Avery.

The floodgates were open now, just like the door of his bathroom as he slammed it back shut. He was angry, no, frustrated. He was frustrated at the dinner, he was frustrated as he threw the green box from his pocket at the sink, he was frustrated as he felt the mirror shatter beneath his knuckles. He could suddenly see a thousand reflections of himself. But every reflection in every piece of the shattered mirror was a shell of what Jameson Hawthorne used to be. How he used to be.

He staggered back, still staring at his reflections until his back hit the door as he slowly sunk to the floor. And just like that, the tears and the memories came rushing out to the surface.

"Maybe the real one doesn't even exist anymore."

"She told me she's going to make it up to you"

"If you have to keep telling yourself you're okay, you definitely aren't."

"How many times have you had your heart broken over the last five years?"

And with the painful memories and the exploding bottled up feelings came crystal clarity, for the first time in a long time.

I can't do this anymore.

Loving Avery had made him love himself too, it made him realise his self-worth. He got to see what he deserved. But this, right now? He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to pretend to be happy. He didn't deserve to settle for a shell of what him and Avery used to be. He always says he can't imagine a life without Avery, maybe that was never a good thing. He had to start living for himself.

And there was only one way to do that.

#the inheritance games #tig fanfic #the grandest game #jameson hawthorne #tig #averyjameson #avery grambs #javery #IDYTLMG

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bridgertonbabe · 2 months

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Bridgerton Spouses Support Group Chat #?

BSSG Group Chat

Kate: Guys can I ask you all a question?

Michael: Shoot.

Kate: Did you all go paintballing without me last week?

Message seen by everyone ✔✔

Kate: Ok it's been 24 hours since my last message and I know for a fact you've ALL seen it so what fucking gives?

Gareth: look if i send a cute video of george and you guys all flood the chat with comments and stuff then hopefully we can drown her out and lowkey gaslight her into forgetting all about it

Kate: What?!

Gareth: oh fu

Gareth sent a video

Michael: Awwwwwwwwww bless he's so adorable

Lucy: he has the cutest laugh!!! 🥰

Sophie: I can't believe he's getting so big already! 💗💗

Phillip: Cute x

Penelope: omg I love the onesie do you know where it's from?

Simon: See I told you he'd love the crawling crab.

Gareth: @ Penelope i'll ask hy

Gareth: @ Simon he can't get enough of it, it's his favourite thing atm

Kate: @ Penelope Well I got it from Bambino

Kate: And I fucking saw the message you obviously sent to the wrong GC @ Gareth , so you can all quit trying to GASLIGHT me!

Kate: Now I'll ask you again; did you or did you not all go paintballing without me?!

Simon: Ok fine we did.

Kate: AHA! I KNEW IT!

Penelope: How did you find out?

Kate: Greg asked me if I enjoyed the spouses paintballing afternoon when he came to pick Katie up yesterday.

Gareth: omfg wtf @ Lucy

Michael: Yeah rare L from you Lulu

Lucy: guys I'm sorry I forgot to take the wristband off before I got home and he instantly recognised where it was from so I had to fess up

Gareth: dammit you've jeopardised our entire set up

Lucy: no no no it's fine I swear! I know some of you guys don't have any trust in your partners but greg can keep a secret and respect our spouse group privacy! it won't get back to any of the other bridgertons, you've got to believe me!

Phillip: He literally blabbed to Kate.

Lucy: yes but only because I didn't tell him that she wasn't invited!

Kate: And why was I not invited?!

Sophie: Because you would have ruined it! You would have turned a fun afternoon into anything but just like you do with every other game and activity we've played before! You're just as bad as the Bridgertons when it comes to anything vaguely competitive and the rest of us just wanted some lighthearted fun without everything descending into chaos and the world burning around us, ok? And that is why we didn't invite you!

Phillip: Yep

Simon: Very that.

Kate: Wow.

Michael: Look Kate you've got to understand it's not you. It's just the psychopathic competitive Mr Hyde in you that scares the bajeebus out of us.

Penelope: yeah it really isn't personal

Gareth: except it is

Kate: For god's sake I'm not that bad! Sure I have my moments but that doesn't mean I should be excluded from your group activities! I can control myself! I've never done anything to cross the line enough to be compared to Mr Hyde for crying out loud!

Sophie: You accused me of faking going into labour with Alex and refused to call me an ambulance when we played Cluedo.

Simon: You keyed my car after Daph pissed you off in Monopoly.

Michael: And you threw Newton's poo on mine when I won charades.

Phillip: You've always mocked me for having panic attacks during game nights.

Penelope: You pushed Colin down the stairs.

Lucy:

Kate: Oh boo fricking hoo! I'm so sorry you're all a bunch of whiny oversensitive little babies who can't take the slightest bit of heat from some perfectly healthy competition!

Gareth: