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#they’re just not good at parenting and they aren’t good at seeing things from my point of view
boyfhee · 2 days
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박성훈 、PRETTY FACE
all the trouble sunghoon gets himself in lands him in your arms.
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featuring ⋆ rich boy! sunghoon x fem reader
contents ⋆ kissing, mentions of cuts, injuries and blood, just a whole lot of fluff i miss writing cute stuff, insecurities perhaps ( 1370 )
notes ⋆ rich boy sunghoon....save me from him. also this was not meant to be above a thousand words and was supposed to be funny. and this one's for saint @hoonvrs hi bae
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one thing you’ve learnt while dating sunghoon, it’s always an adventure. so unforeseen, like when he showed up at your balcony, again, last night with a few bruises and cuts on his face. you had let him in and he avoids your attempt at cupping his face just as swiftly. and dating sunghoon is exhilarating, with the way you let him stay for the night, again, knowing your parents are home.
“good morning,” you smile and brush your thumb over the cut on the corner of his lips. it’s red, his lips are dry, and yet they’re soft when you lean down for a quick peck. 
“morning, sweetheart,” he says quietly. “how creepy of you to watch me sleep,”
“guess i’ll be a creep if it means i get to look at your handsome face,” you hum, fighting back a smile.
“is that a compliment i hear?” and he’s almost turning away to sleep, but your words catch him off, and he smirks drowsily with a soft and sleepy gaze adorning you. “what’s the occasion?”
“i’m serious, hoon. you’re handsome,” you insist with a frown, cupping his face again, thumb brushing over his cheeks as you lean in and whisper ever so tenderly. “so handsome, it’s crazy,”
“well, aren’t you sweet, my love,” and he can’t help but wrap his arms around you, pulling you on top of him. it’s quiet, you lay with your head on his chest. it’s barely six, you look out through the huge glass window panes installed in your room by your request to fit the aesthetic, but now it’s how sunghoon climbs up your room every other night. 
it’s not usual for him to get compliments. usually, you’re trying to play it cool, as if his words don’t affect you as much as he thinks they do. on other days, you’re busy rolling your eyes every time he flirts. you make him work for compliments, it’s funny, and he enjoys it. a little bit of challenge in his way too easy lifestyle keeps him going. but today— as you’re quietly listening to his heartbeat while he’s caressing your back— you want to stay like this. 
he brushes his fingers through your hair, planting soft kisses on your head every few seconds. it’s rare for you two to be this quiet. with sunghoon, every minute spent on bed leads to something else, most of the time. but this time it’s silent, it’s risky, he’s in your room and as much as he jokes about it, the idea of being caught by your parents isn’t something either of you fancy.
“i think i should get up and leave before your—” it lands upon you to worry about keeping everything a secret, today it’s his job to make sure the secret is safe.
“it stings, doesn’t it?” you cut him off immediately, pinning him down as he tries to get up. he can see the concern in your eyes, worries trickling through your finger tips and seeping through his skin when you lace your fingers over his scratches. 
“i told you, they’re not that bad,” he shrugs, too careless, carefree. he doesn’t know why you worry yourself over something so minor. “they don’t even hurt,” 
“it hurts me to see you like this,” and his thoughts are put to halt when the words leave your mouth. 
it was half past one when sunghoon knocked at the glass doors of your balcony. you were getting ready for bed after movies, and he was avoiding your gaze as you were running your eyes over his state— messy, hurt, and so were you.  
‘did you get into another fight with heeseung?’ you had asked and he avoided, again, dodging all your questions and attempts to check on him. you let him in, and he goes straight to your bathroom. his gaze doesn’t meet your eyes, he avoids all the eye contact and conversation. he turns away to take off his shirt covered in dirt. it’s worse this time. ‘come here,’ 
you grabbed his arm to pull him towards you, but he refused to face you. he’s ashamed, like every time he is when you see him like this. the pretty face you’ve always been so fond of no longer fits the definition. you tried to make him look at you, but he grabbed your hands, kissing your palms and pulled you to bed. 
“is that a new way of telling me to not get into fights?” he asks, feigning a yawn, a faint chuckle following by. you’re still on top of him, pinning him down, and if he didn’t know any better, you would’ve ended up under him already. 
“is it working?”
“a bit,” he mumbles quietly and pulls you closer by your waist, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck. he keeps planting tender kisses on your cheeks, and then down on your neck, as if telling you to let go of all the concerns that plague your mind. “you worry too much,”
“i know, i will continue to do that,” you pull back again, much to his disappointment. nothing could compare to the feeling of having you in his arms. “if not for your dad and for the sake of your reputation then at least for me, you need to stop,”
sunghoon knows.
if not for anything— it isn’t for anything else. not for his mother’s million dollars fashion brand, not for his sister’s business ventures, nor his father’s political career. it’s for you, every scratch, every nip and every cut, every drop of blood that had trickled down the corner of his lips when heeseung landed a punch on his face. how could he not? sunghoon can stand anything but people talking down on you as if they know you. it makes him fight for you and funnily enough, he’s happy to bleed to death for you.
“you always ruin the mood, bringing that old man up,” he’s deflecting— just as you had expected and you’re not backing down. one leg swinging to the other side, arms by his head. he’s down, caged, a position where he can’t avoid you. it’s about time you two had this conversation.
“i’m serious,” you’re trying your best to keep up the stern face, eyes locked into his. 
“i love it when you get all serious, angel,” he grins suggestively, arms around your waist again. he’s slipping them under your top, you slap it away and it only makes him laugh in amusement. “i suppose it is a bit too early for that,”
you don’t say anything, just looking at his pretty face. you stroke softly over the cut on his cheekbone and he flinches ever so slightly. it’s new, it stings, adorned by a bit of dried up blood just like the one on his lips. there’s one near his jaw from a while ago, it’s healing. each and every part an ugly reminder of how much trouble he gets in.
“you’re such a pretty face,” you whisper quietly and lean down to kiss him, trying to be so gentle to not hurt him even more. you take your sweet time, tracing your lips over those wounds, new or old, and then speaking with a voice impossibly loving. “even with these,”
“i love it when you call me that,” he takes your hand, kissing your palms. it’s not everyday that he’s spoiled like this.
and you pull your hand back, speaking with frown as if giving him a warning. “i won’t anymore if you get into another fight,”
“guess we’re making truce with heeseung,” he chuckles quietly, shaking his head, pretending to be annoyed. he finally pulls you down next to him and wraps his arms around you, kissing your forehead. “things i do for my girl,”
you let out a muffled laughter while your face is buried in his chest before looking up at him with love pouring out of your eyes. “for me?”
“for you,” you hand rests on his cheeks as he leans down for a kiss, and his hands wrap over them gently, holding them in place. when you kiss him so deeply yet delicately, like it’s a stellar reunion, he pulls away just for a brief second, whispering against your lips. “everything,”
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DPXDC prompt: Parents don’t approve of Dead on main
Fentons are geniuses but not multitaskers. They’re used to giving their all to the most important thing on the list, forgetting even food and sleep, and then going back to something else.
So when they find out that Danny is Phantom, they panic and can’t think of anything else. Well, until they see the Gotham News on TV. What does it matter if their boy’s ghost or not? He's in bad company now and dating a crime lord! That's a real problem. No time to whine about their research about the nature of ghosts. Their boy is in danger! Change of priorities, urgent change of priorities!
~~~~~
So, when Danny moves in with Jason because of identity reveal, Batman prepares for various outcomes. To the flow of GIWs in Gotham, to the parents of the boy who may continue to hunt him and even to the likelihood that Maddie and Jack will accept their child without any questions. Bruce is a genius, but he forgets to include one important variable in the equation, namely his son. Despite the anti-hero’s current status, Red Hood is still remembered by the general public for his bloody methods of controlling Crime Alley. Which could definitely bother..anyone, to be honest. And it's understandable that video of Red Hood and Phantom beating Black Mask up on news did not make a pleasant first impression.
However, Bruce himself know a completely different side of his son and therefore could not tolerate the completely unfounded accusations from Maddie. Batman: How dare you! My boy is an angel. Your son is incredibly lucky to have such a thoughtful and caring partner. Jack: Yeah? I don't think so. How do we know he’s not just going to use Danno powers in his criminal plans? Maddie: We’re taking our boy home and it’s out of the question. Batman: Yeah? And how do we know you’re not just taking him for your experiments? Danny *whispers*: Um, Jay, we should go away, if you remember. Red Hood *whispers*: Yeah, yeah, I know. But just listen to it. Usually we can not get a word out of him. A temporary cure for emotional constipation is a true miracle. May your parents stay longer if, you know, they will not try to shoot you or smth else?
~~~~~
Maddie at home*aggressively filing a petition against anti-ecto laws*: I don’t care if the parental rights aren’t over the ghosts. How dare a bloody furry tell me I have no official right to take my son home and shove my own quotes in my face calling him a thing?!
Vlad who has long wanted to get rid of GIW *enters the house*: Bonjour, need a helping hand? Jack and Maddie *exchange glances without knowing if Danny’s secret should be revealed to their friend*. Vlad: Oh, for Ancients’s sake. *Snaps his fingers and goes Plasmius* Vlad: I’m also a stakeholder in it, okay? ~~~after two hours of talking~~~ Jack: Wait, V-man, if you know about Danny being Phantom, you know about his boyfriend too? Vlad: Red Hood? How could I not. I often visit Gotham for business deals. This is a favorite topic of newspapers and gossip. I don’t know who he is without a mask but I must admit the guy has a good aim, a lot better than you, Jack. Maddie: *pulls out the Ghost Peeler*
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arthur-r · 2 years
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yo my mom has covid so she can’t come home on the airplane tomorrow….
#hello?????????#covid tw#she is stranded thousands of miles away#she was visiting her family and now she can’t come home#was not prepared to be in a dad-parented household for this long#when i say dad-parented i mean my dad specifically. dads are good parents but my dad specifically is abusive so!!!!#and mostly he is abusive to my mom and then the rest of us is by association. but it still does get bad when she’s not around too#and it would get EXTRA bad if he heard me calling him abusive so um. y’all are the only people i can say anything to#and things are fine right now they are. but he was mad at my little sister yesterday and again a few days before that#and i was making everything worse by how i reacted to that. so things aren’t looking like they will go very well#i wasn’t planning on starting to stay after all the time this early in the school year….#and i don’t want to leave lucia at home. but things really do feel like they’re better for her when i’m not around#hopefully everything will just be fine. but idk#also i’m trying to keep myself from staying after school until i’ve at least went to one session of philosophy club like a normal person#and i literally only will start if i actually feel unsafe at home. which has been true many times this summer but we’re not quite there yet#for this time around. so i will chill and i will sit through it and i shouldn’t have to go until my mom gets home#and she can take care of lucia and everything will be just fine. just. yeah idk. things are sure in a way#anyway i have to get back to dinner i’ve been hiding in the bathroom i just couldn’t take it#but i’m starting to be suspicious. so off to dinner i go. love you guys see you later#me. my post. mine.#delete later#abuse mention#anyway i’m fine and okay by the way!!!! like everything’s okay it’s just. a strange time. just don’t worry
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cy-cyborg · 9 days
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How The Owl House did amputee representation right before Eda ever lost her arm - Disability in Media
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[ID: A screenshot of Eda from The Owl House, an old woman with pale skin, very large, grey hair and pointed ears in a red dress. Beside the screenshot on a dark pink background is text that reads "Disability in media, How the Owl House got amputee representation right before eda ever lost her arm." /End ID]
Dana Terrace's The Owl House has some of the best disability rep I’ve seen on a Disney channel show in a long time, with Eda, the main character’s mentor, being one of many stand-out examples.
Plenty of people have discussed how Eda’s curse and the loss of her magic can work as an allegory for disability and how refreshing it is to see a story (especially one aimed at a younger audience) who’s focus is not on her “overcoming” it, but learning to accept it as a part of her and go from there. Eda’s story tackles a lot of subjects that are often mishandled in other examples of disability representation, from the subject of parents who refuse to accept, to glass siblings and much, much more, The Owl House handles all these topics beautifully.
But one thing that dawned on me during my most recent re-watch of The Owl House is how well Eda (and later Lilith) worked as amputee representation, long before Eda actually lost her arm.
One of the side effects of Eda and Lilith’s curse is that sometimes their body parts, mainly their limbs, can fall off. It doesn’t hurt them, and Eda is seen removing them intentionally at multiple times in the series, but they can always be reattached.
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[ID: an image of Eda holding her sister Lilith's hand. Lilith is a pale woman with long, black hair, wearing grey clothes. She is looking at her other arm suprised, as her hand is missing. Luz, a Latina girl with short brown hair and a purple hoodie is looking on, smiling. /End ID]
While most likely unintentional, the way the show depicts this with Eda in particular is exactly what I wish more people would do with their prosthetic-using amputee characters.
Eda detaches her limbs, especially her legs, when they’re inconvenient or when she’s relaxing.
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[ID: an image of Eda laying on the couch in a bathrobe, her hair in a towel. She has taken her legs off, throwing them to the other side of the seat. /End ID]
The fact that this is mostly played for laughs is actually a good thing in my opinion (though obviously, the show’s overall tone is part of that), as it shows the audience who are mostly children and teens, that in a world of weird and downright scary (from the perspective of the characters) things, this isn't one of them. It’s just a thing she and Lilith can do, and it can even be funny.
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[ID: An image of Luz and Eda dressed as pirates. Eda is sitting on the ground, her legs detached and off screen somewhere. /End ID]
It does startle Luz and Lilith on a few occasions, but that’s more because they didn’t know the curse could do that, but once they’re introduced to it, it’s never really brought up as a big deal again.
I’d love to see more amputee characters who do this with their prosthetics. So often media is almost afraid to have amputees take their prosthetics off on camera or on the page. For some folks, our prosthetics are like a part of our bodies, but that doesn’t mean we never take them off. Show your leg amputee flop on the couch and throw their legs across the room. Have them go without on occasion, not because they have to, but because they just don’t feel like putting them on.
Likewise, the owl house creators never shy away from showing Eda when her limbs aren’t all attached. A lot of media, and kid’s shows in particular, will avoid having an amputee character’s stump visible if they ever do take their prosthetics off - treating that part of the character’s body the same way they treat gore or nudity. I’ve talked before how this actually does have a real impact on how kids in particular react to amputees - I’ve legitimately had kids I worked with cry when I took my prosthetics off, then immediately calm down when they see there’s nothing "scary" under my socks. As much as I love How To Train Your Dragon, it’s very guilty of this. Hiccup looses his leg at the end of the first movie, and wakes up with his prosthetic already attached. The Netflix series has a few instances where he has his prosthetic off, but the camera almost always avoids showing it until he can cover it up again, or is super zoomed-out so you wouldn’t be able to “see anything”. To their credit, they do get better with this in the last movie (though it's still always covered), but for the majority of the series, they are very reluctant to have any shots where hiccup’s leg is in view without the prosthetic (unless they’re very far away).
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[ID: a screenshot of Hiccup from How To Train Your Dragon 3, a white man with short brown hair, and one leg missing, wearing armour made of black dragon scales and no prosthetic. He is holding onto toothless's head, a black dragon. /End ID]
Ironically, Eda does (permanently) loose an arm at the end of season 2, but I don’t really have much to say about her as amputee representation on that front, since she’s absent for a lot of Season 3, and when we do see her again, everything is so hectic, the story doesn’t really have any time to focus on her missing limb (which is reasonable). I will say, I do appreciate that they kept the amputation when she's in her owl-beast form in the finale, but there's honestly not much more to say about it. We do see her again in the epilogue after she’s had some time to settle into the amputation, wearing a hook prosthetic, but it’s, once again, too quick to really say anything from a representation standpoint. There's a few little nit-picky things I could bring up, like the fact they seemed to change the type on amputation she had (when she looses it, we see the split was very close to the elbow, but in the epilogue she has most of her forearm again) but those read to me more like animation mistakes or an odd prosthetic/clothing designs rather than a representation issue - and as someone who's worked in animation, given the stress the team was under for the finale, I'm not really worried about it. Like I said, it's more nit-picky than anything.
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[ID: A screenshot of Eda, her hair tied back and wearing a red robe and a hook for her right hand. /End ID]
Despite all that though, I still think Eda is still good amputee representation, but mostly because of how they depict her curse’s side effects rather than her actual amputation. She’s honestly one of the only characters that I think you could refer to as “amputee coded” (outside of maybe Teen Titan’s Cyborg), and I genuinely wish more creators would treat their actual amputee characters the same way the Owl House treats Eda in that regard.
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luveline · 2 months
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Love love love your writing Jade, I must have reread everything a dozen times!
For a dad!character request, what would you think of Single father Remus signing up to chaperone a school event or field trip? Maybe he meets the newest teacher, who happens to be his exact idea of the perfect person for him…
(Lots of love<3)
“Don’t get– forget your coat, dad.” 
Remus grabs his coat from the passenger seat with a self-deprecating sigh. “I’m s’posed to remember things for you, Lia.” 
Cordelia smiles up at him, her shiny coat and boots already taking on rain. “Okay, so ‘member my lunch, then.” 
Remus turns back to the passenger seat to grab her packed lunch from the footwell. “Thank you.” 
Remus is the kind of parent who writes a list every week, budgeting to the penny and laying out uniforms the night before, but he’s off-kilter today. “I wish your teacher could’ve given me some warning.” 
“She’s new, dad. You have to be nice for new people, ‘cos they don’t know– she’s not used to it.” 
Remus locks the car door, already cold to the bone and wishing they could’ve called off sick. He offers Cordelia her lunchbox (which isn’t a box at all, but a padded fabric zip up pouch in fashion with the rest of the girls her age), and tugs on his jacket. It’s not his, it belonged to Sirius a few years ago, but it got left in his wardrobe somehow and he’s been wearing it since. 
“Okay, lovely girl, what’s the rules for today?” he asks, taking her hand. 
“To be good.” 
“Yeah, and what next?” 
“To stay with my buddy.” 
“Yes, and what’s the last one?” 
She beams at him and waves their joined hands. “To have fun!” 
Remus doesn’t think he’ll be having much of it. He isn’t on the PTA, he had no idea parents even went on these trips, but they’re short-staffed at Cordelia’s school lately and now the year two teacher is off sick, and the phone call was a shock. He didn’t have the wherewithal to say no. 
Cordelia’s class are waiting outside of the school gates near a big red and green bus. Remus is the only parent. Why is he the only parent? There are around thirty kids and only two teachers, the newest of which stands at the front, your hands behind your back and a massive smile on your lips despite the bad weather. 
You’re very pretty, Remus has already thought before, and you dress sweetly, happy colours and cute skirts and pants with flowers and hearts and stars. You’re reaching up into the sky as you say, “So they have lots of energy to grow big and tall like us!”
Most of the kids are listening aptly, though pods of them chatter or fight. 
You see Remus quickly and dodge around the children to meet him. “Mr. Lupin! Hello, hi Lia. I have a packet for you.” 
He smiles awkwardly. “Right.” What’s a packet? He looks down at Cordelia but she’s straining against his hand, desperate to go and talk to her friends. “You can go, lovely. I’ll be right here.” 
“Can I sit with you on the bus?” she asks.
He’d definitely prefer it. “Whatever you want to do. Want me to have your lunchbox?” 
“No, that’s okay!” She leans up for a kiss. Remus suddenly wonders if he’s any good at being a parent, knowing you’re watching, but he leans down for a kiss and gives her a quick pat on the back. “Love you.” 
“Love you.” He clears his throat and stands up. “The packet?” 
You’re looking at him funny. 
“What?” he asks. 
“Nothing, nothing,” you stay, still smiling. He’s ninety nine percent sure you aren’t making fun. 
You load the children onto the bus and have him stand at the front with you, squished together in the aisle. “This is Lia’s dad, Mr. Lupin. Can everyone say hi?” He’s sure he’s beet red. “He’s our chaperone today. You listen to him just like you’d listen to me or Mrs. Davies. If Mr. Lupin tells you to stop talking, to stop running, anything at all, you listen. But today is about having fun and seeing all the flowers and bugs, so let’s have lots of fun!” You touch his elbow gently. He smiles. 
Lia forgets that she wanted to sit with Remus by that time, and you end up hip to hip in the front row. The children are immensely loud, and Mrs. Davies has to constantly ask them to be quiet, but it’s not as though Remus would notice; when he woke up that morning he had no idea he’d be doing this, his schoolyard crush for you feels as though it’s written over his forehead, and he’s more nervous than he’s felt in years. 
Remus is cool. He’s the cool friend, the quiet, collected one, who doesn’t stutter nor falter, but he finds it harder to be that way with you when you’ve seen him pick Cordelia up from the yard and kiss every inch of her face and tell her in baby talk that he missed her so so much. 
“I got you something.” 
Cool, Remus says to himself. I’m cool. 
You unveil an informational packet and a small purple box. “That’s just the stuff I told you on the phone this morning,” you say, “and some emergency stuff you can read before we get there. God forbid something happen, but if it does, you aren’t liable. I, however, will get in lots of trouble.” You offer the box. Even your hands are cute.
It’s a rough day. The kids are rowdy, the weather is wet. Lia’s friend Kory keeps stepping in puddles and Lia herself won’t leave Remus alone. She wants to eat lunch in his lap and half gets her way, the two of them holding hands, Remus a big head surrounded by little girls. 
“What’s that?” she asks in a whisper. 
“This?” He knocks the purple box with his knuckle. “This was from Miss L/N.” He opens the plastic lid to show her the treasure inside, a caramel donut with chocolate shavings. It looks expensive and delicious. “Should we share?” he whispers back. 
“Yes, please.” 
Remus breaks it in half, and Lia breaks her half into half again to share with Kory. He feels eyes on his face and looks up to find you watching him with a soft look, but you promptly flatten it and look down. You pick at your lunch, and choke when someone asks you if you’re alright.
Oh, he thinks, giving Lia’s back a quick rub. Chaperoning really isn’t so bad.
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xxoxobree · 8 months
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Morales Fam Road Trip HC’s.
Ft. Jeff, Rio , The Twins, And You 🥰
You guys are driving to Florida To Visit Rio’s Parents. Orlando Specifically.
You weren’t supposed to come but the twins begged you and their parents until they heard yes.
It was so last minute too, they asked you two days before the trip.
It was Really Miles’ idea that you came, he hates to be separated from you.
Milo (because you guys like that name 😭 it’s so basic) too hates to be separated from you but he’s Capital P fr so he couldn’t let you know that.
Rio said you guys weren’t going to any theme parks but the ticket prices are reasonable so they bought them to surprise you.
You are forced in the middle seat to keep the peace between the twins. 😂
It works for the first 2 hours of the trip.
Big Daddy Jeff 😍
He’s Driving ofc
Goes 10 under the speed limit.
Calls out every traffic violation he sees.
Had a lot of coffee so he’s a bit jittery and is talking a lot.
Holds Rio’s hand🥰
Does the dad hand thing when he hears snacks being opened.
Shakes it and throws it in his mouth 🤣
He was that nigga back in the day, yk what I mean ? 😏 so the playlist is good but clean versions only 🤣
Does the dad “Hey.” When y’all are misbehaving in the back.
We’ll get there when we get there , when asked how much longer.
Needs to stop to pee every hour 🤣
Mama Rio.
Had to pray for her sanity before she entered the car.
Takes pictures of everyone and everything the whole car ride.
Loves the cows , makes everyone look at the cows and horses.
“Oh my god Jeff, stop.” Whenever he calls out a road violation.
Ask if you guys are excited every time you stop.
Turns around with the mom face when you guys aren’t listening. Fussed at you guys in Spanish.
Y’all are listening to Selena.
Plays some of her childhood music and talks about memories in Puerto Rico.
Plantain chips and water. And don’t ask her for none. 🤣 She gives Milo some cause that’s her baby Miles is salty , but she shares with him too.
Miles
Is sooo excited you said yes, has a whole itinerary for you guys, that he FaceTimed you about the night before.
Sits to the left behind Jeff
Sketches Things he sees, on the way , redesigns street signs. Sketches a picture of you and his brother.
Shows you the sketches to get your approval.
Only one who listens to Jeff’s fun facts
“That looks like you” when he sees something ugly. He did it to Jeff and had the whole car cracking up
Begs to go to universal studios because he wants to take a picture with Megatron. Lowkey a minions fan too.
Shares his blanket with you.
Leans on your shoulder and falls asleep.
Makes you watch cartoons with him. You love it.
He and Jeff eats everyone snacks. Doesn’t want to share his tho.
Share with you ofc.
Tells you stories of his grandparents.
Takes pictures of him you and Milo.
Throws his legs across you and Milo.
Milo
Is excited you came too but he’s Capital P so he just hugs you.
Is the reason you’re in the middle. “I’m not sitting next to him ma.”
He leans on your shoulder too , they’re clingy boys.
Talks to Rio in Spanish the whole ride.
Shares his AirPods with you. His playlist is fyeeee🔥🔥🔥 puts you onto new artists and songs.
Plays IMessage games with you. He wins every time.
Texts you talking shit about Miles 🤣 you tell him to be nice.
Shares his candy with you and Miles
Him and Miles go back and forth about Miles eating his snacks.
Pushes Miles’ legs off of him every time and give him a death glare.
“We close Ma?” Rolls his eyes every time he hears no.
Watches Tik toks with you
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janeyseymour · 1 month
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hiii!! i love your writing and i hope you’re doing well <3 i was hoping to request a melissa x reader with “causal” work crush between the two of them. reader is a very put together teacher during school hours but a trendy aesthetic person off campus. mel comes across reader at the grocery store and is astonished at the revealing alternative style and sexy tattoos. reader gets super nervous and shy once mel teasingly approaches. no one at work has ever seen her like this but especially not her crush melissa
oh wow, this one... nice. written as i procrastinate cleaning my house!
Personal and Professional
wc: ~2.4k
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You grew up hearing from both of your parents that you should never mix the personal with the professional. So you compartmentalize. You’ve always done it. You kept school life away from home life when you could, and now you keep your work life away from your home life. That’s not to say that you aren’t friends with your coworkers at school. It’s just that it’s much easier to keep professional Y/N and personal Y/N separate.
And the personal and professional you are two entirely different people.
You see, at school, you’re ‘Miss Y/N’. You keep it all together. You’re buttoned up, you’re conservative in your clothing style, and you strive to maintain that aura of professionalism that you see coming off of people like Barbara Howard. You’re pretty damn good at it too. You’re kind, you allow your coworkers to see small bits of your home life (“Oh, I’ll probably just do some grocery shopping before laying on my couch for the entirety of the weekend… maybe I’ll go to the gym,” is your usual response when they ask what you’re doing over the weekend), and the teachers have all come to respect you once you settled into your position.
But once the school hours are over and you can let your hair down, both figuratively and metaphorically, you trade out your blouse and sweater or blazer for more form-fitting and revealing shirts, pants that aren’t slacks, and you change your flats to your doc martens that you’ve been rocking since the eleventh grade. You take out the clear stud and put in your nose ring, and exchange earrings different from the delicate hoops you wear to school. Your multiple tattoos show in your street clothes, and you love it. 
You’re not entirely sure how your coworkers would feel if they knew that this was how you presented yourself outside of the school, but it doesn’t matter. They’re so used to seeing you all done up to teach that even if they did see you outside of school, they probably wouldn’t recognize you. You sure as hell wouldn’t go out of your way to say hello if you saw one of them outside of campus.
But then things start to change about six months into working at Abbott.
Shit. You have a thing for one of your coworkers- Melissa Schemmenti to be exact. It’s a very casual and silly thing the two of you have going on, really. She flirts with you, you flirt with her; it’s all in good fun. You know that you’ll never act on it though because you keep your many lives as far away from each other as possible, even going as far as grocery shopping a few streets over from where you know most of your coworkers go in order to not run into them. You’ve never had an issue with running into anyone outside of the school anyway- why would that change?
“What are your plans for the weekend, hot stuff?” Melissa flirts with you while you’re eating lunch. “And don’t give me your usual answer… you gotta have more of a life than what you lead on, miss mysterious.”
You roll your eyes. “You wish I was with you.”
She hums in lieu of an answer before asking you again, “What are your plans for the weekend?”
“Honestly?” you chuckle. “Probably some grocery shopping, I have a friend coming over tomorrow, and then Sunday is a day to grade and veg out on the couch while I catch up on some shitty reality tv.”
“Sounds riveting,” the redhead jokes.
“Well, what do you have going on?”
“Nothin’,” she grins. “I fully plan on staying in my Eagles sweatshirt and catching up on laundry and some chores- probably have some wine while I’m at it. Care to join me on Sunday after I go to church?” She’s never asked you if you wanted to hang out outside of work before, and it throws you for a loop. You nearly choke on your salad.
“Oi,” she huffs playfully. “I was just messin’. I don’t want to have to endure any of that shit reality tv in my house.”
“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I wouldn’t want you to have to sit through that either.” The two of you finish up your lunches and head back to your classrooms to deal with your monsters for the rest of the Friday.
“See you Monday, babe,” Melissa winks at you as she closes the door to her classroom and locks it.
“Oh, counting down already, I see,” you roll your eyes. “See you Monday, babe.”
When you get home, you change out of your stuff work attire and into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. You change out your jewelry for the things you prefer. You fully plan on laying on your couch with a bottle of wine on this lazy Friday night, but when you get home you realize that you finished off your favorite white last weekend. With a sigh, you go into your bedroom to change into some nicer street clothes- you would rather be caught dead than wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt out in public. At the front door, you pull on your docs, and then you’re off to the grocery store.
If you’re there now, you decide it’s best to just get your grocery shopping for the week out of the way. You grab a cart and start perusing the aisles like you usually do.
You have a few things in your cart when you find yourself in the aisle with the wines and beers, and you’re currently pouring over the selections. What would your friend want? Probably just some Yuengling. So you throw a case of that into your cart before turning to look for the wine that you love. Little do you know, Melissa is turning her cart down the aisle that you’re currently in, and she recognizes you almost immediately.
You look so starkly different than she’s used to seeing you. If she’s being honest, she’s a little thrown off with your outfit. She’s so used to seeing you in your work attire, your hair either in a neat, low bun or down. But here? This look is entirely different from what she was expecting you to be done up in outside of work. She of course knew that you wouldn’t always be dressed like a teacher, but wow. She was not expecting this. You’re in a pair of tighter, ripped black jeans, you have a tank top on, and your hair is thrown up into a stylish messy bun with a few pieces strategically pulled out to give off the appearance that it’s an effortless look (it is for you). Is that a tattoo on your shoulder that she sees? And a tattoo on your arm? How has she never noticed that before? You have a cartilage piercing, bold earrings for your first and second, and… is that a nose ring? She didn’t even know you had your nose pierced. If Melissa’s honest with herself, it only makes you that much more attractive.
You turn, satisfied with your decision, and pop the bottle into the top of your shopping cart. You make eye contact with the redhead that is practically drooling over the sight of you. You give her a shy wave, but you don’t dare to interact. Don’t mix the personal from the professional. The woman snaps out of her own trance and waves back with a curious look.
You continue down the aisles, and you think that you’re in the clear from Melissa- you acknowledged her, that’s all you had to do. She goes on her way too, but the two of you run into each other again during checkout.
“Hey there, hot stuff,” she winks at you as she starts putting her groceries up on the conveyor belt. “Never pegged you as a beer girl.”
“Hey,” you say softly, shyly. “It- it’s actually for my friend.” That also throws Melissa for a loop. At school, you’re so confident, quick to make a remark. But now, you sound like you have something caught in your throat, and you nervously tuck one of the loose strands of hair behind your ear, as if that would make you more professional looking. “I’ve never seen you around here before?”
“I usually go to the one that everyone else goes to, but they were out of my wine, so…” she gestures to it before putting it up on the belt. “It was worth the extra ten minute drive though if it means I get to see you.” She winks at you with those emerald green eyes of her, but you don’t reciprocate. You nervously worry your lip between your teeth, as if you have no idea what to say.
Melissa understands your hesitation and shrugs. The two of you stand in line together awkwardly. She’s rung up, and as she leaves, you call a gentle, “Have a good weekend, see you Monday.”
She turns and blows a kiss your way, waving flirtatiously before leaving.
Your weekend is nice. Your friend comes over, you go out to the clubs, and you almost forget about the encounter that you had with the hot redheaded second grade teacher.
The small break from work is over all too soon, and you find yourself somewhat dragging yourself into Abbott on Monday, but duty calls. You’re back to wearing your lightly colored blouse and a sweater over top to cover the tattoo that you didn’t feel like putting makeup over today, you’re back in your dress pants and flats. You didn’t even bother to do your hair, just simply brushing it and letting it cascade over your shoulders instead.
You enter the staff lounge and it’s empty, as it always is. You’re always the first one in. Whoever comes next is always a mystery, but today, it’s Melissa Schemmenti. Of course it is. Without anyone else there to buffer, you know she is absolutely going to bring up your meeting on Friday night.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” the redhead says suavely. “Have a nice weekend?”
“Yeah, babe,” you shoot out. The coffee pot dings. “You want some?”
“You know I always do,” she sighs out as she makes a move for the cabinet with the mugs inside. She grabs hers before sauntering over to you. The second grade teacher hands you the mug before cozying up to you.
“For you,” you roll your eyes as your pour the scalding hot liquid into her cup.
“Thanks, babe,” she smirks and winks. “So… when were you goin’ to tell me about this little number?” she rests a gentle hand on your shoulder- the one with the tattoo.
“What do you mean?” you chuckle.
“That tattoo,” she licks her lips.
“I forget it’s there,” you roll your eyes. “Young Y/N mistakes.” Not true at all. You love that tattoo, and most of your street clothes show it off. 
“It’s sexy,” she tells you lowly. “Kinda like the ear spike and the nose ring I had no idea you had.”
“I’m a different woman outside of school, babes,” you tell her, smirk evident as you start to fix your own coffee. “Didn’t realize I had to tell you about it all.”
“You don’t,” she shrugs. “I’ll find it all out myself… little miss alt girl.”
“In your dreams,” you fire out, and you get pretty close to her.
“Oh, every night,” she challenges you and moves even closer. At this point, the two of you are nose to nose.
And wow, it wouldn’t take much more for you to-
“Good morning!” Janine bursts in through the door, not knowing what she’s walking into.
You and Melissa couldn’t jump away from each other faster. The young, energetic teacher starts to ramble on all about her weekend, and your other colleagues start to make their way in. When it comes time to watch the news, Melissa settles herself in next you. Her hand finds its way to your shoulder, and she starts to trace the outline of you tattoo. Then, you feel the redhead’s hand make its way to your arm, where the other tattoo is that she saw. You didn’t know she saw that one too. She lets her fingers lazily trace around that one as well. All of your coworkers are too enamored with what’s happening on the screen to really notice, and Melissa’s green eyes are trained on the television as well. You could not be further from what’s happening on the screen. All you can think of is Melissa, and the things that she’s doing right now are driving you crazy.
Soon though, the kids will start to trickle in, and you know you have to get to your classroom. So you head out, a flirtatious smile and wink thrown the second grade teacher’s way before you close yourself into your room. You take a deep breath, and get ready for your day.
As you’re about to make your way out of your classroom, you hear heeled boots clinking along the linoleum floor, and you know those boots belong to the redhead that’s been on your mind all day.
“Hey, babe,” you says, back turned to the door, but you know it’s her. “Come to walk me out?”
The clicking gets louder, and before you can even think, Melissa has you pinned up against your desk. You can feel the corner of it digging into your back, and then you don’t because all you can feel are her lips on yours. Instinctively, you kiss her back. It’s better than you had been dreaming of. And then she pulls back, wipes away the lipstick she left smudged, wipes her own mouth to fix her own lip, and then winks at you.
“I’m done pretending that all this flirting we do is harmless,” she says once she’s righted herself. “You, me, dinner tonight at The Capital Grille. 6, sharp.”
You don’t know what else to do other than nod.
“And don’t come dressed in your teacher outfit,” she instructs. “I want the babe that you are… Ear spike, nose ring, tattoos out.”
With that, she turns on her heel and makes her way out of your room. As she’s making her way down the hall, you hear her call over her shoulder, “Don’t miss me too much!”
So much for not mixing the personal with the professional.
Next
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clockwayswrites · 4 months
Text
A Broken Sort of Normal- Part 19
WC: 2134, Masterpost
Danny sit up straighter in his chair as he states his name, but Wally can see the wince that Danny tries to hide. Absently, Wally runs through Danny’s schedule of care and when the other will be able to have more pain medication.
“Were you born with powers?” Bruce continues.
“No.”
Wally wants to go to Danny. He wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that Danny has powers. It doesn’t mater how he got them. It doesn’t matter that Wally didn’t know. None of it matters to Wally; he’s just glad that Danny is still here.
“Are you comfortable explaining how did you got your powers?”
Danny runs his hand through his hair. He’s nervous. “Some of it. The broad strokes. It was a lab accident, because of course there was. My parents are ecto scientists, they study ghosts. They’re not… let’s just say don’t read their research into ghostly behavior. They are brilliant engineers though. They managed to build a portal to the Infinite Realms—”
“Minging knobheads,” John curses quietly.
“—and I was sorta in the portal when it turned on. Which, um, killed me and revived me at the same time. I was electrocuted while my system was flooded with ectoplasm.”
Killed.
Danny had— Danny had died. Again, before, Danny had died. Wally closed his eyes and swallowed around the catch in his throat. He almost never got the chance to know Danny. A hand fit into his and Wally knows instantly that it’s Dick’s. He grips it back tightly. At least he isn’t listening to this alone.
“It’s not so much that I got powers, as that because I’m half dead, I’m half ghost and I can do the things that ghosts can do. Invisibility, intangibility, flight… things like that. Long story short, someone had to stop the ghosts that the portal let through—”
John is up and pacing now. Zatanna doesn’t even try to stop him.
“—so I sort of became the town hero. I went by Phantom. It was… well, you’ve all been there.”
God, Wally wishes Danny didn’t know how that was.
“Kid… did you even have anyone to help you?” Barry asks.
Danny shrugs. “Two friends and eventually Ja… my older sister.. There are a few ghosts that were sometimes allies but ghosts…”
“Ghosts aren’t good or evil, they’ve got obsessions,” John explains into the silence. “Sometimes those obsessions motivate the ghosts in a way that seems one way or another. It only works out for you as long as your needs aligns with their obsession.”
Wally’s mind spins.
“Danny,” Bruce asks with very careful words, “do you have an obsession?”
He searches back through his memories of Danny.
“Yes.”
It couldn’t be anything anyone would see as bad or dangerous.
“Protection. My obsession is protection. It’s not as compelling to me as it is for a full ghost. For me it’s more like a hunger craving or itch, but it is there. It’s a good part of why I became a paramedic.”
Oh. That made so much sense.
“That’s our Danny,” Danna says, softly, from in their group.
“Why did you not simply join us as a hero?” Diana asks.
“Before, well, things were… complicated? There’s this government agency that considers ghosts non-sentient and—”
Danny jerks back in his chair at all the exclamations that rang out in the room at that. It isn’t just a reaction to the sudden noise, Wally realizes, Danny looks startled at being defended.
It breaks Wally’s heart.
“It’s okay!” Danny says over the din. “They were always pretty incompetent, really, even when working with my parents. I never even ended up vivisected or anything!”
Gar clamps a hand over his mouth and mutters. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Danny,” Dianna says his name gently, “have your parents ever attacked you?”
“They don’t know I’m a halfa. They don’t know I’m Phantom,” Danny says. There’s a pleading note to his voice that makes Wally agree with Gar; he’s going to be sick.
“But they’ve attacked Phantom,” Dianna says. It’s not a question, but Danny nods anyways. “Danny, do we need to set up protection for you from your parents?”
“They don’t know—”
“Kid,” Barry interrupts, “what you did was on the news. Like, every news station across the world. I think they know now.”
Danny sits back in his chair. He picks at the already frayed edge of the hoodie. Suddenly he looks small in a way that Wally’s only seen when Danny’s been in the middle of a panic attack. Any strength Danny’s gathered the last few days seems to leave him as his shoulders slump. “Maybe. I guess… I don’t know how they’ll take the news. It’s… maybe. We’ll, um, more than that someone needs to make sure the portal stays closed down. If the ghosts start coming through again…”
The hand Danny presses against his chest shakes. “I’m not as strong as I used to be. I don’t know if my powers will come back still or if this… is what I am now, but my core is weaker than it used to be. If this the way I’ll be now, I won’t be able to fight them off.”
“Are they dangerous?” Bruce asks. “Beyond the morality of their obsession, are they actively dangerous to you?”
“That’s not an easy question. Mostly the ghosts used Amity Park as a new way to fulfill their obsessions. Lunch Lady wants to feed people, which is good, but if you don’t want to eat things can get nasty. Obsessions are like that, they can twist quickly. The ghosts also just like to brawl, a lot of them at least. Some of them would understand if I can’t and back off, but there are others… take Skulker,” Danny says with a wave of his hand, “his obsession is hunting rare game and, well, I’m rare game. He wants to mount my pelt to his wall.”
With an unpleasant noise, Gar dashes from the room. It makes Danny wince and mumble an apology.
Wally is already mentally calling favors to call in to safeguard their apartment, not that he thinks anyone will say no to protecting Danny.
“We’ll make checking on the portal a priority as soon as this meeting is done,” Bruce assures Danny.
“Thank you. I don’t want anyone to be hurt if it gets turned back on.”
“Why has it been off? If it’s off, why would they turn it back on now?” John asks, still pacing.
Danny looks away from the table again. “Because they remember now.”
“The curse?” John asks at the same time Bary asks, “What do you mean remember?”
“I mean they forgot, because, yeah, the curse,” Danny says. He’s back to picking at his sleeve. Everyone gives him time to try and find his words, which he does with a wet laugh. “I was stupid. I mean, I was young, but I still should have known better. I was just… I was having a hard time. My parents were working on a new GIW contract and my friends… team were going off to college… I was going to be alone to deal with the ghosts. I still should have known better. I just wished I could be normal.”
“That’s not wrong, Danny,” Barry says. “We’ve all felt that sometime…”
Danny’s shaking his head. “You don’t understand. You don’t wish in Amity Park.”
“Because of this Desiree?” Zatanna asks.
“Because of Desiree,” Danny confirms. “Some ghosts have very specific powers and those are usually strong powers. For Desiree, it’s… it was reality altering based on wishes. I forgot to never say ‘I wish’.”
After a moment of comprehending silence, Diana asks, “She had the power to make you fully human?”
“No, even borrowing power like I think she did, Desiree couldn’t do that. But that’s not what she needed to do. Normal isn’t a real thing, it’s just societal, you know? She just had to make sure no one remembered I was half dead and, tada, I had a normal life.”
John finally stops pacing and leans against the back of his chair. His cigarette is a mangled mess dangling from his lips. “What was the catch?”
“I wanted to be normal, so I had to stay normal. I couldn’t be noticed using any of my powers or being too ghostly or tell anyone I had died or what things used to be like. If I did— well you all saw what happened,” Danny looks up, finally, right at Wally. “It’s why I couldn’t tell any of you, even if I wanted too. It’s why I couldn’t use my powers to help. As soon as I did, I was good as dead.”
More than ever Wally wants to rush over to Danny’s side. He wants to let Danny know it’s alright that he kept this secret. It doesn’t matter. He settles for what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
“I still don’t know how I survived. As soon as Desiree appeared and took my powers, that should have been it for me. My ghost half can’t survive without them and my human half isn’t alive enough to last by itself. It would be like cutting off a normal person’s oxygen. I should have been ended.”
“We overloaded her,” Zatanna explains.
“Forced all your power— which there was a fucking lot of it— into her at once,” John finished. “She popped like a balloon with too much air.”
“Did you have to describe it that way?” Hal grumbles.
“Oh.” Danny blinks a few times as he took that in. “I guess, okay. I mean, yeah, I was more powerful than a lot of ghosts; something about being a halfa and my state being mutable still. I didn’t think though… right, okay. But how am I still here?”
“When she popped,” John says with a smirk towards Hal, “the air was full of ambient ectoplasm. Flash zapped you, re-started your heart, and the cloud went up like a match in a fart.”
Danny’s face wrinkled up at that. “Ew. But, alright. I mean it was my power first. I guess that…” Danny’s hand comes up to press over his sternum. “I guess that means this is my power level now.”
“And the rest of the curse?” Zatanna asks, leaning forward in her seat.
“Gone. People remember now.”
Wally thought to all the phone messages Danny had been getting in a new light.
“That’s why we need to make sure the portal is closed.”
“As well as that the GIW are shut down and that your parents do not try to harm you,” Diana says with that firm certainty of hers.
“Right,” Danny says after a beat. It’s hard to see how clearly Danny doesn’t consider himself a priority. “And… for the rest of it all?”
Diana tilts her head in question. “The rest of it?”
“I didn’t tell anyone my status. I lied to some of you. Is that…”
“You did what you needed to stay alive and hurt no one.” She holds up a hand to stop any protests from Danny. “While I have no doubt with your heart as it is you do not wish you could have done more, it would have never been asked of you at the cost of your life. You are a hero, Danny, and have been since you joined the Response Team in Central City. You have only continued to prove it by your willingness to act and the honor with which you did so. The Justice League is proud to still have you as your post, as soon as you are recovered.”
Finally the last of the tension drains Danny’s shoulders. “I’ll be happy to get back to it.”
Wally tunes Diana out as she wraps up the meeting.
“I’m going to ask him,” Wally says to Dick, who still has his hand.
“What? Now?” Dick hisses.
Wally watches as Danny shakes Clark’s hand. “Why not? Everyone’s here, like you said had to be.”
“Because it’s a debrief! That’s not exactly the most romantic moment.”
The other Titans are standing around them, waiting for their chance to see Danny. Even Gar is back.
“I almost missed my chance, N. I almost never got to ask,” Wally pleads. “I don’t want to miss it again.”
Dick just sighs and pulls a small case out of his belt. He presses it into their clasped hands before releasing his grip
Wally can feel the smile stretching across his face. “You know me so well.”
Dick just shoves Wally off his chair. “Go get your man. Ghost? Man ghost.”
Laughing, Wally fumbles to his feet and towards Danny.
“Danny!”
Danny who’s still here and alive.
Who smiles like the sun as he turns towards Wally.
“Yes?”
---
AN: I don't know, is it too cruel to end right there? 😇 Don't worry, we'll get an epilogue to hopefully tie the loose ends up in a bow! But this is the last half of the last full chapter! They know! And they still respect and love Danny. He can stop worrying~
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crxss01 · 8 months
Text
— PRINCESA
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pairing ʚɞ… 42!miles morales x reader
summary ʚɞ… you came into miles’s life and he makes sure that you, his princesa, never leave it.
warnings ʚɞ… miles being a lil stalker (it’s okay though, is miles), you have parents that move around too much, cursing, miles with a sweet tooth (he loves tres leches), mature themes (making out + mentions of drugs but you two aren’t the ones to do them), the relationship is a little toxic but not too much, major obsession with miles’s eyes (they’re just adorable).
m.list, main m.list ʚɞ
translations ʚɞ… mi princesa: my princess bonito: handsome/pretty boy eres tan bonita: you are so pretty ahora solo tengo tantas ganas de besarte: right now i just want to kiss you so badly siempre estás en mi mente: you’re always on my mind.
a/n ʚɞ…recap of how you met miles, how you started dating + how it is going, heavily based on princesa by jay roxxx. this is supposed to be a fic of celebration for 1k followers so i hope you enjoy and sorry that it couldn’t be published on sunday like i said i would start doing.
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the first time you met miles was when you were walking in the hallway during your first day at visions. you were tired of being the new girl every time you moved, but you didn’t have much of a choice.
he was leaning against your assigned locker and he had an annoyed expression on his face as he glared off into space, it was kind of intimidating and you were skeptical to approach him but you really needed to put all the books in your locker before you got a back injury from the weight.
the boy was handsome though, he had the prettiest hazel eyes you had ever seen. the softest features too, except for his jawline that looked pretty sharp. his hair was braided and the braids looked good on him, a little too good maybe.
you decided to approach him, maybe his expression was the only intimidating thing about him.
and you thought right.
“excuse me, can you move?” you nodded at all the books in your arms. “i need to put these in there.”
the boy snapped out of whatever daze he was in and his eyes focused on you, his hazel eyes captured your own and he seemed so comfortable at holding eye contact while you couldn’t handle his stare and looked at the side of his head where a piece of your locker showed.
“please?” you tried again, it was your first day and you truly didn’t want any drama right now.
the boy cocked his head to the side, the side where your eyes were staring at like he was chasing for your gaze. those hazel’s captured your eyes again and there seem to be amusement in them, the smirk that grew on his face proved you right.
“of course, ma.” he said, and moved over onto the next locker. “there you go.”
you offered him a small smile and a thank you before turning you attention to your locker. after putting the books in, you left but you couldn’t help taking a look over your shoulder back at him when you where about to take a turn.
your eyes met him and he offered you another smirk then he was out of sight when you took the turn.
that was the first time of many that you would find the nameless boy leaning against your locker, making you ask him to move each time. you didn’t have any classes with him and visions was a big school so you didn’t see him around among the crowd of students unless he was there leaning on your locker.
again, you were making your way to your locker ready to see miles again and ask him to move so you could take out something from your locker but this time he was the one who wanted to ask something.
“there you are, princesa.” he spoke when he saw you.
there was that nickname again. he used to call you ma or mami, but one time he decided that those nicknames did not suit you and so since then he only ever called you princesa. you tried your best at pretending not to like the nickname and failed.
“took you so long, i was starting to worry.” the smirk on his face said otherwise.
“hi.” you said with a small smile. “can you—”
“hold up, princesa.” miles put a finger up, shutting you up instantly. “i have been here for a whole month now, just leaning against your locker and you don’t even ask for my name? or anything at all.”
“if you wanted me to know your name you would’ve told me.” you answered back.
he just stared at you for a long moment with amusement, before his smirk turned into a smile and he spoke. “miles morales.”
“y/n y/l/n.” you said.
“i knew that, princesa.” he said. “and now that we know each other’s names, how do you feel about going out with me this saturday? i’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
“we don’t even know each other.” you furrowed your eyebrows, apart from the small talk that the two had made and his name (now) you didn’t know shit about him. “and you don’t know if i’m with someone.”
“that’s what dates are for, and i know you aren’t with someone. i asked around.” miles shrugged. “so yes or no? or do i still need to convince you some more?”
you just stared at him for a while, his hazel eyes not leaving yours the whole while. finally you gave in, those eyes were just too pretty to deny anything while looking at them. “alright, i’ll go on that date with you. golf ‘n stuff, 6pm sharp.”
miles cracked a smile, and clapped his hands together. “i love golf ‘n stuff. you and i are going to have so much fun there.”
and that you two did. the first date with miles was something that you will always have in your heart, but the eleventh one was your favorite because it was when he finally asked you out.
it was on october 3rd.
miles had asked you out to go to a restaurant, and this was the first time that it was actually a fancy one and not just a fast food one. his uncle had let him borrow his car so that he could drive you both there.
“didn’t you say your uncle had a motorcycle?” you had asked confused when he settled in the driver seat with you on the passenger one.
“he also has a car.” miles scratched behind his ear and you nodded. he was lying, that habit of his was easy to pick up on. “i needed to get the best for mi princesa.”
“your princess now?” you raised an eyebrow. “that’s bold.”
he chuckled but didn’t say anything as he started the car.
when you got there, he opened the door for you and gave you his hand to help you out. you smiled and took it, he was such a gentleman when he wasn’t acting like a bad boy.
as you two sat down at the table for two, you admired the nice decorations and the variety of couples and families sitting and chatting away happily.
“this place is so nice.” you told miles.
“it is,” he nodded with a fond smile, his hazel eyes locking with yours like they always did. “my mom started taking me here when my dad… you know. since i love tres leches so much and she was told this place had the best ones she thought it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try and since then we come here at least once a month.”
you reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
“i hope you didn’t waste your monthly visit with me.”
“don’t worry, we already came here this month.” his smile grew as he turned his hand in your grasp and started holding yours back.
“okay.” you looked down at your hands holding, and they stayed like that while you checked out the menu.
“aren’t you two a sweet couple.” the waitress (who looked around your age, maybe a little older) came after a few minutes and smiled at the two of you. “are you two ready to order?”
both of you didn’t bother to correct the waitress instead choosing to give each other a shy smile.
“i want to drink *whatever you want* and a *whatever food you want*” you spoke up your order when miles nodded at you to go first.
the waitress wrote that down.
“miles morales, i requested something.” he winked. “and apart from that i want an alcohol-free piña colada and a steak with tostones on the side.”
the waitress clearly blushed and you didn’t blame her, that wink had been pretty hot.
“got that,” she nodded, and wrote that down. “anything else?”
“no.” you and miles said in unison.
the waitress left.
the night went on in a blur, but when it got to time to order dessert, you were ready to order your favorite one but you didn’t have to order any because the waitress just came and put it down in front of you.
“i didn’t —” you pointed down, not even looking at it but the waitress just smiled at you and left.
you turned to miles. “did they get the wrong table? i haven’t even ordered this yet.”
miles pointed down at the plate and you looked down.
‘will you officially be mi princesa?’ was written on the side of the plate.
“yes.” you nodded, a big smile taking over your face and miles’s smile could rival your own.
and that was also the night you had your first kiss, right in front of your house.
“thanks for the night, bonito.” you were telling him. “i had so much fun and—”
“bonito?” he interrupted.
you got a little nervous and nodded while turning your gaze away. “well, yea.”
miles took a hold of your chin, turning your face back to looking at him. “look at me, okay? always look at me, got it?” he whispered softly as your eyes came in contact with his.
“i got it.”
“bonito.”
“i got it, bonito.” you smiled.
this time it was him who broke the eye contact, looking down at your lips before looking into your eyes again. “eres tan bonita.” the way he said it had you feeling butterflies in your stomach.
your hand raised to his cheek, caressing it softly with your thumb. “and you are so handsome, such a pretty boy.”
miles’s cheek got hotter under your palm and you silently celebrated your accomplishment.
“ahora solo tengo tantas ganas de besarte…”
“do it.”
and so he did, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss. your mouths moved in sync with one another, fitting perfectly together like a puzzle, you two were just meant to be and this was another prove of that. his mouth tasted sweet and you wanted that taste to last on your tongue forever, to just be able to enjoy miles’s sweet taste in your mouth even when you weren’t with him.
you both pulled away because sadly oxygen existed and you needed to breathe.
“that was…” you trailed off, not knowing how to describe it.
“yes, it was.” miles agreed. “i’ll meet up with you tomorrow to go back to school, princesa. is that okay?”
“yes, it is.” you gave him one last peck, but it turned into multiple ones because you two just couldn’t keep your lips away from the other after having just one taste.
“bye, princesa.” another peck.
“yeah, bye, bonito.” another one.
“imma miss you, princesa.” another peck.
“i will miss you too, bonito.” another one.
“i have to leave.” another peck.
“i know.” and another one.
that went on until you two realized how late it had gotten and had to leave before your parent(s) killed either of you.
the first time you two said the three little big words was 5 months into your relationship and miles was the first to say it.
you were hanging out in his house in some shorts and a pair of his shirt, his mom was out working for the day and you kinda missed her because she was honestly the kindest and most accepting mother you had ever met.
rio morales was skeptical at first but when she saw the big smile on her son’s face as he introduced you, she accepted you. you knew that the reason she was quick to welcome you was because of how happy her son was.
“princesa, come here.” miles called out to you from his bed where he was laying, one arm behind his head and the other patting his lap for you to sit.
you smiled and ran to him, jumping on his lap and putting your hands on his chest. “yes, bonito?”
the hand that had been patting his lap earlier made its way to your hips and pulled you in until your lips were touching.
the two of you kissed softly, your hands caressing his cheeks. it was a sweet moment and you both didn’t start anything more just wanting to feel this connection between you.
“you know something?” the boy asked as he pulled away.
“what?” you asked, leaving your noses touching.
“siempre estas en mi mente,” there were those hazel eyes again, locking yours in and not letting go. “and i love that.”
“you do?” you rubbed your nose against him.
“yes, and i love you.”
you froze and sat up fully on his lap, miles followed as he sat and put his hands on your hips.
“sorry, princesa. but i really do and i couldn’t hold it in anymore.” he apologized. “it’s okay if you don’t feel the same just yet.”
“no, it’s not that.” you shook your head and a smile grew on your face. “i love you too, i was just surprised.”
miles smiled along with you and pulled you in to connect your lips again. “i love you so much.”
the first ‘big’ argument that you two had was because of his possessiveness over you and the way he wanted to control everything you did. you had enough of that.
“miles, i’m not trying to start an argument with you or anything. i was just telling you that you shouldn’t be so harsh on my friends.”
“yeah, right. your guy ‘friends’, the ones who can’t keep their fucking eyes off of you for one goddamn second?!” he said exasperated.
“miles, you get worked up over nothing. girls look at you all the time and i do not feel jealous because they won’t try anything, why can’t you try and be the same?!”
“oh so now you want me to change? i thought you loved me just like i’am. guess things changed, huh?” his face was close to yours, noses nearly touching.
“i just want you to change that one thing, miles. it is not a big deal, i just don’t think we can keep going if you’re going to be acting like this.” you pushed him away, but he took a hold of your wrists.
“i’m sorry, i think i must have heard you wrong, princesa.” his mouth twisted into a snarl, those beautiful hazel eyes glaring at you. “you’re not leaving me.”
“if i wanted to, you know damn well i could.” you said, glaring right back.
“but you’re not going to, because you know damn well you love me.” he mocked you.
“i do, miles. i really do, but when you get like this i don’t even know anymore.” you shook your head, pulling your arms from his grip because even if he was mad right he would never apply so much pressure when holding you. he would never lay his hands on you like that.
his phone lit up with a message from his uncle and he took it, reading it without you being able to see what it was.
then miles sighed, “look, ma. i think i’m gonna go, it will give you time to think about this dumb decision you want to make and when i come back tomorrow i truly hope you had made a smart choice.” he laid a kiss on the top of your head and left through your window.
“ma? really?” you scoffed.
the time you made up after that argument wasn’t actually the next day, it was a whole week later during school. right in front of your locker, you hadn’t seen miles for that week and you were mad. he didn’t even bother to answer your multiple texts and calls.
“so we talk when you decide that we should talk?” you spoke up when you walked up to him, who was comfortably leaning against your locker.
the hallway was deserted and you were glad.
“i was busy.” he said like it was nothing. “we talk when you decide so, princesa.”
“mmm…” you nodded with pursed lips. “what were you doing?”
“don’t worry about it.” he shook his head and grabbed your head between his hands, his thumb caressing your cheek. “so, did that pretty head of yours make a decision?”
“yes.”
“so, what was it?” his eyes were pulling you in encouraging you to make the right choice.
and they did convince you. “i want to stay with you, but please tone down the jealousy.”
“i don’t get jealous, princesa.” miles chuckled, then placed a kiss on your lips. “but i promise i won’t get that possessive over you again.”
and of course, he lied about that.
now, after 2 years of being together and going into senior year. you couldn’t be more happier.
“stop!” you started kicking your feet and pushing miles away, trying desperately to stop him from tickling you and failing miserably.
“tell me where my control is, princesa and i will stop tickling you.” he kept tickling you.
you had hid his ps control because you wanted all his attention on you, but you were close to wetting your pants from laughing and there were tears running down your face.
“i don’t know where it is…” you lied out of breath as his tickling came to a stop to let you talk.
“liar!” he attacked you again.
“miles!” you screamed, bursting out laughing again.
“tell me, princesa.” he insisted.
“no.” you shook your head.
then his attack method changed and he started leaving kisses all over your face as only one hand was used to tickle you.
“tell me,” he said. “or you won’t get kisses for a month.”
“it’s in the kitchen, on the shelf for the plates.”
living without his kisses for that long was not an option.
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ʚɞ reblogs are really appreciated!
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taglist ʚɞ @anikaluv @janaeby @queerponcho @laylasbunbunny @onginlove @all444miles @banqnaz @missusmorales @kamisama1kiss @fiannee @sp1dercunt @milesandcorysupermacy @loonalockley @dxille @miguelslefteyebrow @axeoverblade @iheartcats34 (if you asked to be added to the taglist and you’re not on here is because your @ didn’t appear!)
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tojisun · 5 months
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Toxic biker Simon could text “u up” at like 2 am on a Sunday and I’d be like yes SIR 🫡 your works are amazing 🥰🥰
MY GOODNESS HWKDJEJ THIS GOT ME HOWLINGGG but no yea im actually so pumped at seeing yalls reaction to toxic biker!simon drabble!! like this is making me immensely giddy and a lil worried but also thats hypocritical of me bc i too would so do this :’>
and thank you sooo much omg <333!!!
i rambled and this is kinda dark so tw!!
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totally didnt mean to spiral but toxic biker simon def guilt trips you into leaving any function for him ://
you’re out with your girlfriends? simon messages you that he’s outside of your dorms right now because he misses you, and that it’d be amazing if you can invite him up. you message back saying you’re not even there then he goes, “that’s fine, i’ll wait.” and of fucking course you don’t wanna make anyone wait outside at ten in the fucking evening, especially when the weather is tipping into negatives, so you begrudgingly say goodbyes to your friends and trudge back to your dorms. simon greets you with a nod, his greedy hand grabbing a fistful of your ass and you try to be annoyed at him but you both know that you can’t wait to touch him. well, your travel back home ends up running longer than simon’s visit—he came by for a ‘quickie,’ him rutting his cock along your pussy literally just by your dorm room door. then he comes in your panties, kisses you breathless, then he’s off. you are still panting and debauched when simon snatches his helmet and walks out of your room, leaving you heaving as you press yourself onto the wall, trying not to sob.
or imagine when you’re with your parents? simon’s invited because of fucking course he is. your dad adores the man, talking about how simon and him are like brothers—which, gross. and simon, for once, doesn’t bring a date and that’s only because he’s turned to teasing you as the dinner goes on. he’s sitting beside you at the dinner table, just in front of your parents, pretending to listen to whatever they’re talking about as though his warm palm isn’t sliding along your thigh, teasing higher and higher until his fingers toy with the hems of your skirt. when simon does slip his hand underneath your skirt to cup your damp pussy, you jolt, your utensils slipping from your hands and clattering onto the table. your mother frowns in worry but you tell her that you’re just jumpy tonight because of your looming deadlines and simon, the fucking culprit, just laughs and goes, “well aren’t you such a studious girl?” and he smiles down at you like he is oh-so fucking proud, all the while his hand teases your clit and slit once more before pulling his hand away as though he’s done nothing. later, when dinner is over and simon had returned to ignoring you, you try to drag him towards the guest washroom just to finish what he started but simon just pinches his lips, shakes you off of him, and then bids you all a good night before leaving. you stand by the door, nails digging into your palms as you ball your fists in your heartbreak, listening to the rev of his bike in the garage until it fades into nothing—a sign that he’s truly left.
or think about when you finally get a date? someone who’s close to your age and who you see everyday—a classmate or a coworker perhaps—and who adores you the way you should be. all of a sudden, simon’s back in your life. all of sudden he’s affectionate, he’s loving, he’s gentle. all of a sudden he’s promising you things and buying you gifts and offering to drive you on his bike.
(…and god you are so weak so you turn down your classmate or coworker for simon.)
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CHUCKS THIS WORD VOMIT TO YALL N RUNS AWAY
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salteytakesonmanga · 7 months
Note
Your explanation about retconing made me think Oda's way of writing is exactly what bring people to think he has every single thing planed down from the start, even if he didn't.
The story has been going on for 20 years, and Oda himself has admitedly had ideas along the way that he added. But the fact he's still able to connect every new idea instead of having to retcon things is what makes one piece feel so perfectly planned and tied.
Anon, you innocently sent me this ask to share your thoughts and unknowingly triggered one of my rants. I’m sorry/thank you.
Anon is referring to this post.
Oda is just a good writer! He is good at the craft of writing! Even if you don’t like the story (I’m assuming you do, but for people who don’t…) it’s just WELL WRITTEN. People really aren’t used to seeing good writing anymore, to seeing tropes deployed effectively and having plot lines actually connect. This isn’t just me being cranky and old, it’s just truth. People are talking about this in film, TV, books… One Piece has been around so long that it comes from a generation of storytelling that is vastly different from our modern media landscape.
I think people are burned out on the way modern storytelling never delivers (looking at you, JJ Abrams) or constantly jerks people around to elicit a reaction, all for the sake of nabbing that viral moment. When they see Oda deploy a trope or a storytelling device they’re immediately suspicious and fearful that it’ll turn into another unsatisfying gotcha. They rush to look for proof that it’s either all part of a detailed master plan, or it’s just a cheap trick to sell more issues.
In both cases, people are looking for a reason to be LESS INVESTED in the story. If he has a master plan, they don’t need to get worried or excited because it’s all heading to some inevitable conclusion that’s been clearly telegraphed and once you’ve cracked the code then you can already tell what the ending will be, so you don’t actually have to care. If he’s winging it, then the story is just a sequence of loosely connected meaningless scenes whose only purpose is to get you hype about a plot leading nowhere, so you don’t actually have to care.
And it breaks my fucking heart.
When it comes to One Piece, so many people are insistent that One Piece is EITHER 100% planned in advance down to every minute detail, or Oda is completely winging the whole thing. But the real answer is somewhere in between, in some muddy grey area that people find really unsatisfying. They want one clear answer that they can hold up as “The Right One,” but life is not made up of black and white answers.
Honestly it makes me really sad that people can read ALL THIS - pirates are evil except actually pirates are good and the Marines are evil except the Marines are trying to protect civilians by keeping countries stable so that's good except the rulers are evil tyrants so that's bad except when they’re not and then they’re good but only sometimes and… - and what they come away with from it is, “Okay but what’s the RIGHT answer.”
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The thing that makes One Piece feel like it’s so cohesive despite Oda constantly changing his mind and making shit up is that he has a very strong and clear idea about what’s actually important to the story and what’s flexible. Because he has that as a guide, he can add the Shichibukai and change Vivi from a villain to a princess and make up who Ace’s parent is without diluting what he wants to say.
That’s what it MEANS to be a writer. Foreshadowing isn’t “boring,” it’s good writing. A plot twist you didn’t see isn’t “cheap,” it’s good writing. Fleshing out a backstory isn’t “reconning,” it’s good writing.
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atlafan · 7 months
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This is the teacher that kids either love or hate, there’s no in between. Mr. Styles has his quirks, and according to your niece, you either get him or you don’t. The annoying thing is, Mr. Styles teaches all of the science electives like astronomy, astrophysics, forensic science, marine science, zoology, and meteorology. These aren’t required courses, but they’re only a semester long. After completing biology, students can either take a full year of chemistry and a full year of physics, or they can do a full year of chemistry or physics, and two science electives. Or they can do four science electives.
Mr. Styles also is the only AP Chemistry and AP Physics teacher. There’s really no avoiding him. Some students accept this, and others continue to live in denial.
Many students know their strengths and passions. They were made to be scientists. Your niece, who loves science, is taking as many courses as possible to help herself out for college later on. She’s in AP Chemistry with Mr. Styles, as well as forensic science. Your niece loved Mr. Styles until he gave her an F for missing an exam. She had been out sick. She had a note from her doctor and everything! Your niece blubbered to you about it.
You know Mr. Styles. You work at the same school as Mr. Styles. You’re the music teacher. You typically avoid Mr. Styles. You’re in a completely different area of the school. Many students complain about him, but just as many praise him. But this time it’s personal. He made your niece cry, at school! You told her she could stay in your office for a bit to calm down. You were marching your way to Mr. Styles’ classroom. You didn’t care if he was teaching. You were going to barge in.
When you get to his door, you see him sitting at his desk through the little window. It’s a prep period. When you giggle the handle of the door, it doesn’t turn. So, you pound on the door with your fist while Mr. Styles takes his sweet time coming to open it.
“Miss-“
“Don’t even address me right now, I’m too mad.”
“I don’t think I know you well enough for you to be venting to me about something.” He says as he closes the door. “But I guess I can listen since I have time.”
“I’m here because you’re being an asshole to my niece. She missed school because she was sick and you wouldn’t let her makeup a test. That’s against school policy.”
“Not with AP courses.” He crosses his arms over his chest. You can’t help but feel frazzled at his attire. The dichotomy of him wearing a Disney shirt about love while he’s scowling is is almost comical. “If a student is sick on the day of the exam, then that’s it. They fail. They don’t get to try again.”
“How is she going to get into a good school if she has an F on her transcript?!”
“She’s not going to fail the class. She knew I had a strict policy. Also, I put out exam dates well in advance. She knew what day it was going to be.”
“She was sick!”
“Was she vomiting uncontrollably? Was she coughing up blood? Was she bed ridden? If the answer is no to any of those, then she could have come in to take the exam.”
“Right, so then she could get all of the other kids sick?”
“Masks are a thing. Plenty of students still wear them in the classroom. She could have come in for the exam and then left afterwards. Why do you care so much? You’re not her legal guardian. Her parents haven’t emailed or called to complain. At the mandatory parents meeting I run at the beginning of the school, I make it clear to the parents that I am strict for a reason.”
“My sister and brother-in-law haven’t called to complain because they don’t know about any of this. She came crying to me because she has no idea how to tell them because she knows she’s going to be asked if she knew it was an exam day. Which she completely forgot because she was sick and her brain was foggy.”
“She’ll have opportunities to make up her grade. Her participation counts for a lot and she’s always participating.”
“You don’t understand mental instability these overachievers have. I’ve seen that girl cry over an A-. Shooting her in the stomach would hurt less than getting a bad grade. Do you get off on being a dick?”
“You know what? This is my prep period, and I was busy.”
“Yeah, your door was locked.” You scoff.
“I always lock it. I don’t like when people filter in and out during my prep.”
“What if a student had an emergency and needed you?! Why are you even a teacher if you don’t care about students?! Do you have any idea how hard these kids have it? They don’t even teach them how to use computers anymore! No one knows how to touch type! Everyone assumes they have it easy, but they don’t. A lot of kids come to school because it’s better than being at home. You making it worse for them is a real turn off. I know you have students that adore you, but you also have students that would love the opportunity to spit in your food.”
“Are you done?”
“That depends, do you understand the points I’ve made?”
“Yes. You were very clear.”
“Are you going to take what I said into consideration as you’re teaching?”
“No.”
“You’re a fucking prick.”
“And you’re…” His eyes go up and down, checking her out. “It’s a good thing your room is on the other side of the school.” He shakes his head.
“Why? Afraid I’ll spit in your food?”
“No, in fact, I’d welcome your spit. I’d like it preferably in my mouth, but beggars can’t be choosers.” He shrugs and sits down at his desk.
Your mouth is agape. Did he really just say that to you?
“Are you serious?”
“Very.” He stands back up and saunters over to her. “If you’d like to cuss me out some more, could we do it over dinner?”
“I…”
“You never gave me a chance to take you out a few years ago. Remember that night we were both at that bar?”
“I do.” You nod as you blush. “But that was a mistake. I had a boyfriend…”
“Do you still?”
“No.”
“Alright, well, I would love to be in your presence again while you’re all fired up. Are you free Saturday night?”
“Pick me up at seven.”
“I’ll make a reservation somewhere I know we’ll be secluded so you can yell at me some more.”
“Stop talking before I change my mind.” You say and storm out of his classroom.
While you were teaching your sixth period choral class, Harry was teaching his forensic science class. Your niece got there a few minutes early to talk to Mr. Styles as he stood outside the class to greet the other students coming in.
“So…did it work?” She asked quietly.
“Like a charm.”
“She said yes?!”
“Mhm.” He grinned. “You must have put on quite the performance. She was really angry.”
“If you thought that made her angry, wait until she inevitably finds out that we worked together to trick her.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
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corroded-hellfire · 4 months
Text
Thanks for the Help - Eddie Munson x Reader
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An As You Wish Story
A collaboration with my darling @munson-blurbs, who I'm eternally thankful for 💛
Summary: The first Thanksgiving as Eddie's girl comes with some unexpected pressures, but also some unexpected kindness.
Note: Happy Thanksgiving!
Words: 5.9k
[As You Wish masterlist]
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Did I already get all the ingredients for the green bean casserole out? Oh God, did I set the oven to the right temperature for the turkey? I’m missing a vegetable. What am I missing? Jesus, did the carrots just disappear?
Frantic is an understatement for how you’re scrambling about the kitchen, trying to do twenty things at once. Sure, you’ve cooked meals for people before—hell, you’ve cooked many meals for the Munson family before. But this is Thanksgiving. Arguably the most important meal of the year. You refuse to screw it up. 
What if the boys are disappointed in your cooking? Of course Eddie would say he enjoyed it no matter what, but you want the truth. The boys are good with the truth—for the most part, anyway. Luke can be brutally honest at times. Some days it’s refreshing, some days you wish the kid would keep his mouth shut when he says that the skirt you're wearing is an “old lady skirt.”
Eddie is useless in the kitchen—occasionally detrimental. The boys are too young to be of any great help to you, either. It’s all on you. You’re either going to sink or swim, you’re just having some issues getting into the water. 
This is the first Thanksgiving that the boys aren’t spending with both of their parents. Both you and Eddie were curious how they would react to this, but they don’t seem to be deviating from their usual, cheerful selves at all. Part of you is worried they’re going to compare your cooking to Brittany’s. Will they wish their mom was here cooking instead of you? No, you know with absolute certainty that isn’t the case. Even if they do prefer Brittany’s cooking to yours, there is no way they would want their mother here instead of you. Not to mention that Brittany had scampered off to California to visit her family. Eddie tried to have the conversation with her about where the boys would go, but she just rolled her eyes and told Eddie she already had plans. No Brittany already makes this Thanksgiving better than any he’s had in years. 
For you, this only added pressure—not only were you cooking an entire Thanksgiving dinner, but you also had to ensure that Luke and Ryan weren’t distraught over this abrupt change in family traditions. Eddie has told you many times not to be nervous, but since when did that work for anybody? “Don’t be nervous.” Oh great, thank you for the advice, I’m not nervous anymore!
Last night as you were getting into bed, Eddie could tell you were on edge and tugged you over to lay on his chest so he could hold you. 
“What’s going on?” he’d asked. 
You hadn’t said it out loud to him yet. You knew you could, it’s just embarrassing. Plus, Brittany was never a pleasant topic to discuss. But this is Eddie; you could bare your soul to him, and he’d still be there holding you. 
“I’m scared that I won’t be able to cook as good of a meal as Brittany and the boys will be disappointed,” you’d admitted.
Eddie let out a heavy sigh and softly rubbed up and down your back. 
“Sweetheart, half the time we were at one of her relative’s houses, anyway. Brittany only cooked Thanksgiving a handful of times. You cook far better than she does. The boys are so happy to have you with us this year. I’m so happy to have you. Plus, I’m the alternative here. Anything you make will be a masterpiece compared to whatever I’d come up with.” 
His words had soothed you a little, but when you woke up this morning, the dread still slithered throughout your chest. You feel a bit more relaxed when you see two sleepy-headed boys coming down the hall in their pajamas. Luke’s curls are a mess—more so than usual. And Ryan has a few sections of his hair that are standing straight up. What do these kids do in their sleep?
“Good morning,” you greet them.
“Mornin’,” Ryan mumbles. You only get a half-hearted wave from Luke in response. 
“You guys want some cereal?” you ask. It might be a nice break from searching for ingredients and running around in circles.
“S’the parade on yet?” Luke asks before letting out the longest yawn that you’ve ever heard. 
“About seven more minutes, bud,” you tell him. “Cereal?”
“Yes, please,” Ryan says. 
“Sure!” Luke adds. 
You turn to Eddie, who is leaning up against the counter and inspecting his fingernails like he has not a care in the world. “Um, babe?”
“Ya?”
“Can you get the boys their breakfast?” The request is terse, your anxiety amplifying your frustration that he’s taking up space in the kitchen without doing anything. 
Eddie throws Lucky Charms and milk in plastic bowls and brings them over to his sons, flipping through the channels until he gets to one showing the parade. Ryan and Luke buzz with excitement as the New York Fire Department kicks off the event, oversized balloons trailing not far behind. 
“I could be one of those balloon string people,” Luke says as a gigantic Garfield floats by. 
Ryan rolls his eyes. “It would carry you away,” he answers with a smirk. 
Luke’s eyes light up, excited by the prospect of this impromptu voyage. “Where?”
“Over the rainbow. In Munchkinland,” Ryan deadpans, crunching on his cereal. 
“Hey, Scarecrow, Tin Man, be nice,” Eddie says and picks up a couch pillow to bop each of them on the head with from behind, making his way back over to where you’re prepping veggies.
He comes up behind you, resting his hands on your hips. “Baby, did you even have breakfast yet?”
“Uh, I had a granola bar,” you say distractedly, trying to find the right page in a cookbook.
Eddie shakes his head and smiles. “Sweetheart, come on. Sit down with me. Eat something.”
“I have to get the turkey in the oven and get everything else prepped so I’m not scrambling for ingredients…” you explain, closing a drawer with your hip. 
He laughs kindly. “And you will, right after you eat an actual meal. You won’t be much of a chef if you faint.”
“Just let me make sure I have all the ingredients for the green bean casserole. I know it’s in this damn book somewhere.” You lick your forefinger as you flip through the pages on a mission to find the recipe. 
Eddie sighs and drops his forehead down to your shoulder. He knew you were going to put too much pressure on yourself today, even after he tried to explain to you last night that there’s no reason to stress about anything. At this point, any further reassurance would likely be a waste of breath, so he just grabs a slice of carrot and absentmindedly pops it in his mouth. 
You can no longer hide your frustration, even if you wanted to. “Eddie, what the hell?” Anger seeps through your gritted teeth when you chastise him. 
“Hmm?”
For fuck’s sake, you think, sighing in annoyance. “You’re eating the ingredients!”
“It was one carrot slice!”
When you glare at him, Eddie puts his hands up in surrender and starts to back away, nearly bumping right into Ryan. 
“Uh uh,” Eddie says, shaking his head when his oldest son drops his empty bowl in the sink. “Kitchen’s gonna have enough going on today. Wash your bowl and put it away, please.”
Ryan does as he’s told, though his mind wanders back to all the things he learned about Thanksgiving at school this week. He looks over at you while you prep the turkey, a huge grin on his face. 
“Did you know they don’t think there really was a turkey at the first Thanksgiving? Oh! And the first Thanksgiving lasted three days!”
You’re only half listening as you focus on basting the bird up with butter, careful not to miss a spot. 
“That’s pretty cool, Ry,” you say with half-hearted enthusiasm. 
“And they think there were only five women there. That’s crazy!” Ryan continues. 
Luke wanders into the kitchen and Ryan tells him what Eddie did—to wash and put away his bowl. He does, but not as willingly or thoroughly as his brother. 
Once the boys go back out to watch the rest of the parade, you breathe a sigh of relief. Now maybe you can chop the rest of the carrots without accidentally slicing a finger. 
The agitation that’s built up in you over the course of the morning starts to abate as you’re able to get a few tasks accomplished. You wash your hands in the sink, hoping the lemon scent of the soap will take some of the stench of onion off of them. As you turn around to grab a paper towel, Ryan strolls back into the kitchen. You hate the surge of irritation that floods through you. Ryan didn’t do anything wrong; he’s just walking around his own home.
“Can I help?” he asks, adorable smile on display. 
“Hmm, I don’t think so,” you say as you look around at all the supplies spread out on the countertops. Anything that needs to be done next involves a knife, the oven, or stove. Nothing that Ryan is old enough to work with. “I’ll let you know when there’s something I need you for, okay?”
“Okay,” he says with a shrug.
Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. Maybe now he’ll go back out with Luke or go bug Eddie. But he stays in the kitchen, bouncing around on the balls of his feet as he looks at the different ingredients that are out. 
“President Lincoln is the one who made Thanksgiving a national holiday. In 1863!”
Two things you would never do are tell one of the boys to shut up or discourage them from learning. The little devil on your shoulder wants you to do exactly that, though. Before you can say anything, Luke skips into the kitchen and glides over the linoleum floor with his socked feet. He pushes past his older brother to be closer to you.
“We learned all ‘bout the Mayflower! And the Pur…purit…purg…uh…” he trails off.
“Puritans?” you say, tone harsher than you intended. Luckily, neither of the boys notice. 
Luke pipes up this time. “I made a pilgrim hat in school, but then it, um, it broke.”
Ryan cocks a curious eyebrow. “It broke? How?”
“I sat on it.”
Eddie sees the boys getting underfoot and swoops in. “Parade’s back on,” he reports, ushering them back over to the couch before spinning around to face you. “I can help chop, if that’ll help.”
You begrudgingly agree, handing him a knife and a butternut squash. 
He hasn’t even been at the task for two minutes when he yelps, “son of a bitch!”
You jump, startled by the sudden noise. “Wh-What?” you ask at the same time the boys call out, “swear jar!” in unison. 
“Cut my finger,” Eddie mumbles, shoving his forefinger in his mouth while you huff and grab a paper towel. “Jeez, it was an accident. What’s going on with you?”
You massage the bridge of your nose, feeling like you have three kids in the house instead of just two. “Nothing,” you reply, fist clenched, “just…go put a Band-Aid on.”
With his dad occupied in another room, Ryan wanders into the kitchen. 
“Did you know that female turkeys don’t gobble?”
Did you know that this female human is about to lose her patience? You keep the snark to yourself, though part of you thinks your tongue will fall off with how much you’ve been biting it today. 
You’re the first one to listen to what the boys did in school, what they learned, and help them with their homework. You read with them, quiz them, even hit them with your own trivia tidbits. On any other occasion you’d absolutely love this. But now? Now it’s grating on you like sandpaper against your skin. 
“It’s a commercial,” Luke announces as he joins the gang in the kitchen. He stays quiet for a moment, and with your back to him since you’re checking the potatoes on the stove, you think he may have left, but then you hear, “can we get McDonalds?”
Luckily, Ryan answers for you. “No, it’s Thanksgiving!”
“Oh. Right.”
When Eddie returns, one of the boys’ SpongeBob SquarePants Band-Aids wrapped around his finger, he presses a kiss to your cheek. You start to smile, feeling yourself relax until you watch him skim some of the fried onions for the green bean casserole. 
“Boys, do you wanna help?” Your palms tightly gripping the edge of the countertop is the only thing keeping you from imploding. 
“Yes!” Luke begins to jump up and down, flashing a gigantic smile. 
“What can we do?” Ryan asks, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder to prevent him from going airborne. 
You muster up all of the enthusiasm you can, which isn’t much. “It’s a very important job. Are you guys up for it?”
“Yeah!” they cheer in unison.
“Okay.” You lean in as though sharing a precious secret. “I need you to be my little security guards. Your dad,” you gesture to Eddie, “has sticky fingers and keeps stealing ingredients. Can you two keep an eye on everything to make sure he doesn’t take anything else?”
“Aye aye!” Luke salutes like he’s taking orders in the military.
“He’ll never get past us!” Ryan promises.
Eddie raises his fingers from behind them. “And, um, what can I do?” he asks.
“You wanna help? Uh…set the table?” you offer with a shrug.
You can vaguely hear him mumble under his breath about that being a kid’s job; the boys hear it, too, and they laugh. 
“It’s like you’re the kid and we’re the grown-ups!” Ryan giggles. Eddie ignores him and puts down placemats. 
Both Luke and Ryan take their job very seriously; every time Eddie even looks in your direction, they’re on high alert, shooing him away. This gives you a bit of peace and allows you to accomplish more tasks than when you had three Munsons trampling through the kitchen like wildebeests. 
The apartment buzzer rings, followed by a cheery, Southern accent-twanged, “it’s me!”
“GRANDPA!” Luke shouts, bolting for the door. He buzzes Wayne in while Eddie reaches over his head to unbolt the lock. 
Wayne walks through the door a few minutes later, carrying an apple pie just as he promised. His brows crease when he takes in the sight of you practically tripping over the boys in the kitchen, trying to do everything yourself. 
“You’re not helping her?” he asks his nephew, a slight accusation in his tone. 
Eddie holds up his bandaged finger. “I’ve been banished.”
Wayne pulls him aside, dropping his volume to a whisper. “I’ll work on dinner. You go cheer up your girl before she starts to cry.”
Eddie cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “Cheer her up, like…right now?”
Confusion contorts Wayne’s mouth for just a moment. “What…oh, Jesus. Not like that. Just give her a pep talk.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “What are you, a goddamn animal?”
“Take a break, darlin’.” Wayne says, turning to you. “I can handle things in here.” This much you know from his countless stories as an army cook. 
With the eldest Munson controlling the kitchen, Eddie takes the opportunity to pull you aside, into the bedroom. He puts his hands on your shoulders. “Can you take a deep breath for me, babe?” He smiles when you inhale for three seconds and then exhale slowly. “Look, I know you want this to be perfect, but I’m gonna love you whether we have the fanciest dinner or PB&Js.”
You try your best to listen to him, but there’s still this nagging sensation in your brain. “But the boys—”
“Sweetheart, they think Kraft mac and cheese is the pinnacle of fine cuisine. They just want to spend time with you.”
You nod, logically knowing that Eddie is right, but your mind still not fully accepting it. 
“I want to make it the best it can be for them.”
Despite your stressed out and anxious state, Eddie can’t help but smile. It’s an adoring smile as he pulls you against his chest. He presses a few soft kisses to the side of your head before resting his own against it.
“I love how much you love them,” he says. “You know what would make this the best Thanksgiving for them? Including them, just like you did. I know they had to be driving you up the wall, but you didn’t tell them to quit it or get out. Instead, you gave them jobs and made them feel important. Princess, all they want—all we all want—is to sit around the table with the people we love and eat and laugh and just enjoy the time together.”
“That sounds lovely,” you admit with a dreamy sigh that makes Eddie chuckle.
“This is already my favorite Thanksgiving,” he tells you. ‘All my favorite people are under one roof. The delicious food you make is just going to be the icing on the cake.”
“We have pie, not cake,” you tease, poking a finger into Eddie’s chest. But your lips do quirk up in the approximation of a smile. Eddie takes this as a win and gives you a big smacking kiss on your forehead.
Wayne has a well-oiled machine going when you walk back into the kitchen. He hardly even looks tired; he completely has control over the situation. Since Eddie was busy in the other room talking with you, your small security guards are apparently taking a break from their shifts.
Ryan is still spouting out facts to his grandfather about the holiday. Now, it makes you chuckle as you listen to him giving a history lecture. Between Wayne swooping in to be your hero and Eddie trying to calm you down, there’s less pressure on you. You’re able to appreciate the enthusiasm of the boys and how they’re getting into the spirit of the holiday. With one more deep breath, you know you’re ready to get back in the kitchen and work alongside Wayne.
“Grandpa,” Ryan says as Wayne checks on the turkey. “I’ll tell you this because I know Daddy won’t care. Football on Thanksgiving didn’t become a tradition until 1876!” 
“Huh,” you muse as you open a can of green beans. “Do you know who it was between?”
“It was Yale and Princeton!”
Of course he knows that, too. Ryan never ceases to amaze you. You’re pretty sure he knows more now than you ever will. Maybe you could get him to help you with your statistics course that’s being a pain in the ass. You chuckle at the thought of Ryan attempting to explain the equations to you, getting frustrated every time you just stare at him in confusion.
Eddie walks into the kitchen and looks around, eyes landing on his eldest son.
“All I heard was, ‘Daddy won’t care.’ What exactly wouldn’t I care about?”
“Football,” Ryan says.
“You got that right,” Eddie says and musses up Ryan’s hair. “Could be worse though—at least it’s not basketball.”
Luke frowns. “Why don’t you like basketball?”
Wayne shakes his head like don’t get him started.
“All they do is shoot balls into laundry baskets! And they’re already, like, seven feet tall! It’s barely a challenge!” Eddie’s whiny protests are adorable, though it’s very clear that’s not his intention.
Luke shuffles over and whispers in Ryan’s ear, “I wonder if it’s ‘cause Uncle Steve and Uncle Lucas were on the team and were better than Daddy at it.”
The two children–or three really, with how Eddie’s been acting today–take their sports arguments into the living room while you and Wayne continue to cook.
“I gotta tell ya,” the older man says as he measures out the butter to put in the mashed potatoes, “I’ve never seen Eddie and the boys like this.”
“What, acting the same age?” you tease with a smirk.
Wayne chuckles and shakes his head. “Wasn’t gonna be what I said, but that don’t come as a shock to me neither. No, I ain’t ever seen them so happy before. Not ‘cause it’s a holiday and they’re all excited; in general. They’re happier overall. And that’s ‘cause of you.”
Emotion tightens your throat. To know that Wayne can see from an outside perspective that Eddie and the boys are happier having you around? It makes you feel light as air, but you could also burst into tears. Not of sadness, or even happiness really, just tears of so much emotion building up inside of you. Luckily, you don’t have to come up with anything to say because Wayne continues talking.
“I know the two of ya haven’t been together that long,” Wayne says with a shrug, “but I can tell by the way you two look at each other.”
“He’s my person,” you agree, managing to squeak the words out.
“I can’t wait to be at your wedding someday,” he says, emotion clear in his voice as well. “Think I might be almost as excited as those two knuckleheads out there. The small ones, that is. Darlin’, you fit right in with our family.”
In all the time you’ve known Wayne, you’ve never heard him open up like this. To anyone, let alone you. The two of you made friendly conversation when you were still the babysitter and have had some pretty long conversations with one another now that you’re Eddie’s girl. But nothing like this. It makes you take his words even more to heart; you do fit in with this family.
“That means a lot,” you say in a soft voice. Shyness suddenly creeps up in you. “I just want to make this extra special for all of them, especially now that they don’t live together full-time.”
A pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, startling you. 
“Mine.” Eddie punctuates his declaration with a kiss to your cheek. You giggle and turn around in his arms, only to find he’s snagged a green bean from the bowl. 
“Eddie Munson, I swear to God!”
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The nerves that had dissipated over the course of the day start to work their way back up as all the food is set on the table and everyone begins to take a seat. You have no doubt that some of the dishes will taste great, but those would certainly have been made by Wayne. If anything on the table is bad, you’re sure that will fall in your lap.
As if he can read your mind, Eddie slips an arm around you and presses a kiss to your temple.
“Breathe, baby,” he whispers.
You follow his instructions and take your seat at the table, right next to Ryan. Eddie’s seat is at your other side, the head of the table–if it could even be called that with a table this small. 
Everyone but your boyfriend is seated, but Luke looks like he’s ready to dive headfirst into the sweet potato casserole. When the turkey had come out of the oven a little while ago, Eddie asked if Wayne wanted to have the honor of carving it. His uncle just shook his head and told Eddie that’s his job now. 
Now, Eddie stands in front of the turkey, and as you look up at him, you can see a smile quirking the corners of his lips. He clears his throat and looks out at his family sitting around him. Making a toast wasn’t something Eddie planned on doing today, but in the moment it feels right.
“So, uh, this Thanksgiving looks different for all of us this year. It’s been a bit of a weird year, but it led us to this. All of us being at this table right now with each other. Looking around at everyone’s faces I’m pretty sure everyone is smiling a little bigger, too.” Eddie lifts his glass. “My favorite people in the world are all right here with me. You all are what I’m most thankful for—not just today, but every day. So, cheers to a happy Thanksgiving.”
Everyone clinks their glasses together, and Luke makes sure that everyone has touched their own glass to everyone else’s. To no one’s surprise, Luke is also the first one to comment on the food once everyone has dug in.
“I wanna eat this food every day.” He shoves a forkful of green bean casserole in his mouth as if to prove his point.
“It really is great, sweetheart,” Eddie concurs. He reaches over and rubs his hand along your arm affectionately. Purely in a teasing manner, Wayne clears his throat, which leaves Eddie to add, “And you too, Uncle Chef Boyardee.”
Ryan’s too busy stuffing his face to speak, but it makes you chuckle at how focused he is on the food. Normally, Luke’s the one with that appetite intensity. He slows down quickly though, his eyes far bigger than his belly. His fork trails through some butter pooled in a small puddle on his plate when he gets an idea.
“Let's say what we’re thankful for! Grandpa first.”
“Easy,” Wayne says once he’s swallowed his mouthful of food. “Family.”
“New traditions,” Eddie says when Ryan points at him. Next, the finger is aimed in your direction.
“Love and acceptance.” 
Eddie’s leg purposefully brushes against yours, so you gently tap your foot against his.
“I’m thankful for you!” Ryan grins up at you, two missing baby teeth only adding to his adorableness. He wraps both of his arms around your one and gives it a hug. “I’m so happy I get to see you more.”
“It makes me happy too,” you say as you rest your head against his, emotions once again threatening to get the better of you. “I have so much fun with you guys.”
Luke takes it upon himself to announce what he’s thankful for since all attention is currently diverted away from him. 
“I’m thankful no one’s got scurvy, and for my dog,” the six-year-old announces.
“Luke, you don’t have a dog,” Eddie says.
The little boy shrugs before spearing a piece of turkey on his fork.
“That’s what you think.”
You, Eddie, and Wayne all share confused expressions that lead you to giggle, which in turn has everyone at the table laughing as well. 
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Eddie and the boys do most of the clearing of the table when everyone’s finished, since they didn’t cook, but you and Wayne pitch in as well. Right after Luke puts a dirty bowl in the sink, he gasps and bolts out of the room. If it were anyone else, one of you might question it, but it’s Luke.
He runs back in and slides to a stop right in front of you. The way he starts jumping up and down makes you worry that he’ll puke, so you gently rest your hands on his shoulders to keep him grounded. 
“I made this for you!” He proudly brandishes a hand turkey he made at school. “I made it ‘specially for you!”
“For me?” you ask, your hand coming up to rest on your chest. 
“Yes! I knew as soon as we started making ‘em in class, I wanted to give mine to you.”
This is the one. This is the straw that broke the camel’s back today that has the tears finally emerging. You bend down to give Luke a big hug, trying to hide the tears while doing so–you’re not sure if he’d understand that you’re crying for a good reason. 
“Thank you,” you tell him. “I love it so much. Can I put it on the refrigerator?”
“Uh huh.”
You move a few scattered magnets out of the way to place the hand turkey front and center on the fridge. It gets held up with a magnet shaped like a heart–which Luke made at school for Valentine’s Day. While you’re busy admiring your new favorite art exhibit, Eddie and Ryan have left the kitchen and headed into the living room. You don’t even notice until there’s a crash in the room just a few feet away.
“We’re okay!” Eddie calls. “Just a VHS avalanche.”
Chuckling to yourself, you walk out of the kitchen and tilt your head in curiosity. 
“What’re we watching?”
Ryan holds a VHS up over his head in triumph, leaving Eddie to be the sole person to clean up the avalanche of fallen movies. 
“A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!”
Luke comes into the room behind you and taps your hip to get your attention. “Are you going to watch the movie with us?” 
“Of course I am,” you say, giving his curls a ruffle. “I love this movie. But I love you Munsons even more.” 
A grin so bright lights up Luke’s face that it leaves you a little surprised. He looks more excited than when you told him he had most of this week off from school the other day.
Eddie gets up now that the VHS tapes are fixed.
“Why don’t you two put the movie in?” he asks as he walks over towards you. “Babe, will you help me put the pie in the oven?”
“Sure,” you say, a little confused about what he’d need help with. Opening the oven, putting the pie in, and then closing it seems like a pretty simple task. 
Eddie takes your hand and leads you into the kitchen. He stops right in front of the oven and peeks over your shoulder to make sure the boys didn’t follow. When he sees the coast is clear, he rests his hands on your hips and gives you a small smile.
“You just looked a little confused about Luke’s reaction,” he says, before smirking and adding, “I may not be a competent cook, but I can put a pie in the oven by myself.” 
“I’ll still be here for supervision if you need it,” you tease. “But yeah, Luke looked like someone just told him he was getting that dog, not that I’m watching a movie.”
Your boyfriend sighs and rubs his hands up and down your sides, letting his thumbs dip under the hem of your shirt.
“We watch The Charlie Brown Thanksgiving every year; it’s a tradition. Brittany never watched it with us, though. She’d either be too tired, had to make a phone call, blah blah blah… So, not only the fact that you’re watching it with us, but you’re happy to watch it with us is something new to him.”
Tears flood your eyes, and you feel your heart double in size in your chest. You’re pretty sure this day is going to kill you before it’s out.
“I didn’t realize it meant that much to him.”
“Sweetheart,” Eddie says with an adoring smile. “You mean that much to him. To Ryan. To Wayne! God damn, I thought the old man was gonna stick me in the oven when he saw how stressed out you were.”
You let out a soft giggle and take both of his hands in your own. “I don’t think Roast Eddie would have been as good as the turkey.”
Eddie cocks an eyebrow and smirks. “I have it on good authority that I taste delicious.”
“You’re a perv!”
As if to prove your point, Eddie grabs your ass.
“Only for you, babe.” He laughs and takes a deep breath. “But I really am sorry that I stressed you out today. I’m so used to you having everything under control; it didn’t occur to me that you could’ve used my support.”
You nod and give the one hand you’re still holding a small squeeze. “It’s okay. And now we know for next year.”
Next year. Because you’re going to be here next year, and every year after that. You’re his girl, part of his family, and he intends to make sure it stays that way. 
Eddie grabs the pre-made pie out of the freezer and pops it into the oven. He wipes his hands off on his jeans and takes full advantage of the two of you being alone to pull your body up against his. You think he’s leaning in for a kiss, but he leans in and licks the tip of your nose. The unexpectedness makes you giggle and wrinkle up your face.
“Are you sure you’re the older one in this relationship?” you question.
“Older, yeah. More mature? Never claimed that.” He gives your ass a playful swat before heading back out to the living room, you following along behind him.
Eddie plops down on the couch, Wayne already comfy in the La-Z-Boy recliner next to it. You sit down on the couch as well but leave space between you and Eddie in case either of the boys wants to sit there. Both manage to squeeze themselves between you, making both of you chuckle as you scoot toward the respective arms of the couch. Ryan is on the cushion with Eddie, while Luke sits by your side. 
As Eddie hits play on the remote, Luke shifts at your side. He keeps moving and squirming around, never seeming to get comfortable. It’s not unusual for him to be a hyperactive kid but he’s usually ensnared by movies the moment they come on. 
“You okay?” you ask him.
He nods twice and looks up at you, a hesitant expression on his face. 
“Can you, um… Can I, uh…” He trails off, looking at your arm closest to him. It takes a moment for your brain to figure out what he wants. Happily, you lift your arm and give Luke a smile. He immediately curls into your side, and you wrap your arm around him. You have to take deep breaths to keep yourself from crying for what feels like the millionth time today. You’ve run the gambit of emotions these past twelve hours, so it’s nice to sit here and relax.
You look over and see Eddie watching the two of you, also grinning. Ryan is leaning into Eddie’s side, but not curled up and close like Luke is with you. Needing to express your emotions in some way, you lean down and press a kiss into Luke’s messy curls. His head pops up and he looks at you. Slowly, a big smile spreads on his face, identical to his father’s. Luke leans up and presses a kiss to your cheek before resuming his previous position tucked into your side. This time, a few tears do leak out–you’re just careful not to let them fall on the small boy.
As the movie gets going, you take a second to look at the others in the room; Wayne, relaxing with a can of Diet Pepsi in his hand and watching the movie. Eddie, the television screen reflecting in his big brown eyes. He grabs a blanket from the back of the couch and lays it across his and Ryan’s laps. Then Ryan, who pulls the blanket up to his chin and snuggles back against the cushions to watch the movie. Last but not least, little Luke. The mini-Eddie. A ball of energy one moment, melting your heart with his sweet words the next. 
You smile to yourself and whisper, not loud enough for anyone else to hear, “God, I’m so thankful for you all.”
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394 notes · View notes
nburkhardt · 2 months
Text
Every Time You Shine, I’ll Shine For You.
Soooo this was originally going to be full one shot, but I’ve decided since it’s been sitting in my drafts for months, that I’m just going to post it as either an unfinished piece for now. I might try to come up with a second half but for now enjoy this soulmate au ✨
Having a soulmark wasn’t necessary for Steve. Sure, seeing the word- the nickname his soulmate will eventually call him is nice. But it’s not needed, not in his eyes at least.
At the age of five years old, everyone in the world gets a nickname on their wrist. It’s fate telling you your perfect match, that the other half of your soul is out there for you. It’s the ultimate fairytale growing up, that it burns when you hear the nickname said by your soulmate and there’s an instant spark, instant connection. It’s the bedtime story, the ultimate love story and something to wish for.
It’s a wish everyone wants but Steve Harrington.
He has a very good reason to not like the idea of having a “perfect match” out there for you. While he heard the stories and sees the potential in it, he grew up watching his parents be in love without being actual soulmates. Hears stories of their love and ideas of finding love on your own, deciding to show the world that they don’t need fate’s help.
It’s beautiful and he wants that. Wants to make his own story, find his own match. There’s no need for fate to help him.
On his fifth birthday, he watched ‘Dingus’ appear on his wrist, it made him pout while his parents laughed and kiss his head, told him not to worry. That he doesn’t have to be with whoever fate picked for him and joked about only being five.
It eases his five year old mind.
His parents aren’t surprised to watch him grow up to be a true romantic, isn’t surprised to see his love in everything and how having a soul mark doesn’t stop him from having crushes or falling in love.
Life goes on but after some failed relationships and the disaster of a relationship with Nancy; seeing the nickname give him some hope that somewhere out there, there is someone for him. Someone who fate decided is his match, which growing up he hated it.
At eighteen, he really thought he’d already be with the person he’d love forever (and who would love him). But instead of that, he’s single and not at all close to figuring out why fate’s pick for him would call him “dingus” of all things. To top it all of he’s stuck working at the new Scoops Ahoy until he hears back from the colleges he applied too.
The uniform is lame, it’s in the middle of the brand new mall and it’s leaning towards being too cold in the shop and he doesn’t even know his coworker yet, hopefully they’re not expecting him to be some big shot like he was in high school.
Those days are long gone, he’d rather be his lame and hopeless romantic self instead of the asshole keg king he was.
His first week of working is spent being laughed at by ex-teammates, being ignored by his only coworker and failing to get at least a date with someone. It’s not his longest week, but it’s real close.
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After a total of three weeks of getting ignored and laughed at by people he flirts with, his coworker, Robin decides enough is enough and- “maybe with this you’ll try harder”
Glancing behind him, she’s standing there with the whiteboard from the back but instead of the random doodles she drew, it looks like a score board with You Rule/You Suck on it.
There’s already three tally marks under ‘You Suck’ and he can’t figure out if it makes him want to laugh or cry, maybe both.
Definitely both.
“At least I’m trying here, you could find your soulmate with flirting!”
Robin rolls her eyes and hangs the board up behind her, “I’d rather suck on a lemon than flirt with guys”
It surprises him for all of three seconds before he rolls his eyes, whatever, he thinks. If she wants to miss the opportunity to find a soulmate, so be it. He’ll continue trying to find love, he doesn’t need whoever fate picked.
The board is definitely mocking him, he thinks several days later. Currently there’s five tally marks under ‘You Suck’ and a big fat nothing under ‘You Rule’. Robin thinks it’s the funniest thing on the planet.
He doesn’t find it funny, he finds it embarrassing and stupid, actually. Really embarrassing, especially when she brings it out when another girl their age walks in. It’s like she’s doing it on purpose.
Which is confusing, she told him explicitly that she does not like him and will only ever tolerate him. So, her practically chasing people away doesn’t make sense.
Her loud crackle of a laugh starts as his head nearly hits the counter, “That’s another one for the you suck column! Zero for the you rule, popeye!”
Standing up he turns around with a glare, “yeah I can read!”
“You sure about that one, Dingus?”
His wrist burns and he can’t stop his eyes from going wide. There’s no way, absolutely no way. This is a fluke, she must have seen his mark one day. That’s why his soulmate mate, fate’s pick, is his co-worker.
His disbelief and discomfort most show on his face because Robin shifts on her feet, “I’m uh, sorry. If I took that too far, really-uh I don’t think that way about you and, and- this is was” she looks uncomfortable now, tripping over her words.
Opening his mouth to calm her down, he find that his words are gone. The disbelief stopping him. He quickly shuts it and looks away from her. The shop is completely empty. When did that happen?
“Steve- I really didn’t mean to be well, mean.”
All he can do is nod back, “no, uh, I get it. Really- uh. It’s fine.”
How exactly is he supposed to do this? He’s never once called her a nickname! Unless she was his but he isn’t hers? He doesn’t know. Either way he’s still a little disappointed.
“You sure? Because uh, you’re looking a little pale there”
A laugh bubbles up and before he realizes it he’s on the ground with his back against the counter and tears on his face, “ye-yeah. Sorry.”
He hears her move around and then there’s a foot bumping his, he moves his head to look at her.
“We’re currently low on everything, did you know that? It’s unbelievable, just wiped clean.” Robin explains with amusement dancing on her face, “Scoops Ahoy is officially closed for the day”
That surprises a laugh out of him as tries to loosen the tension that built up, moving his arms he puts his chin on his knee, Robin copies him. They’re just looking at each other, comfortable in this silence.
“Sooo”
“Look-”
Their eyes meet and both burst out laughing. This feels different, at least for Steve. There’s something soothing coursing through him now, he never felt on edge with Robin but he wasn’t always this comfortable either. A smile spreading on his face, he didn’t know about this feeling when you meet your soulmate.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
He snorts, “they might be worth more, Birdie”
Robin gasps and he looks at her, but her eyes are wide and locked on her wrist. He follows her look and he can’t exactly see what she’s looking at but he knows it’s her soul mark.
They really are soulmates.
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This is where I’d put the continuation… if I had the idea for it! (Said in that fairlyodd parents meme)
Anyway! If this brought you some inspiration, you can totally take whatever piece you want and write something! But please know I had this ending up as Steddie with side of Rockie (Vickie&Robin)
Permanent taglist: @spectrum-spectre @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @bookworm0690 @strangersteddierthings
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rebouks · 1 month
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Previous // Next
Hi Alex!
I don’t think it’s stupid or cheesy to miss someone, I miss you too! Going back to normal after being on holiday is always horrible, especially after this one, and especially having to go back to school, I’m not a big fan! Do you go to school too? I wanted to ask if you did but I couldn’t… it’s nothing personal, by the way, sometimes I just can’t speak to people and I don’t really know why. I thought it was my decision if I did or didn’t before I met you but maybe not. My parents n’ the teachers at school call it selective mutism but I won’t bore you with all that crap.
I can’t see your new teeth but they grow fast so maybe next time! If they don’t maybe you could get some gold one’s like your dad has, unless you don’t wanna look like a pirate lol.. my littlest sister has four teeth now, and I have all my big teeth! I haven’t counted the twins though cos they’d probably bite me if I tried haha!!
Ava is the tiny one with the blonde pigtails! She’s cute but she still sleeps and poops a lot haha, she’s sorta chill though and definitely doesn’t cry as much as Wren and Byrd used to (have you noticed we’re all named after birds yet? I guess my parents thought it was cute since our last name is Finch) Wren’s the ginger one with plaits! She’s pretty funny but she’s super grumpy sometimes and likes to bite and kick (not me though, she loves me) I think it’s cos she’s tired a lot cos she never sleeps at night, kinda like dad.. they’re twins but Byrd is way different, I couldn’t get a picture of him cos he kept running off, he’s crazy like that but he’s super snuggly and loves playing doctor! He likes to pretend to break my legs so I can’t go anywhere then fix them for me haha. Brothers and sisters are fun but they can be a pain in the butt sometimes! We have a cat called Lou too, his full name is Toulouse and he likes to bring us leaves from the garden and scream about ‘em, and he loves stealing food when you’re not looking.
Dad’s been teaching mom how to cook cos she sucks at it (don’t tell her I said that though cos I always pretend it’s not THAT bad) she’s sorta getting better though so I suppose the whole practice makes perfect thing pays off eventually. I got a school project to make a lame volcano that I didn’t wanna do as well, but my parents made me do it anyway.. we all know that real volcanoes aren’t full of baking powder and vinegar though so I dunno if there was much point to it but they seemed to think it was important so I did it anyway, at least I got a picture of it “going off” I guess. No one likes homework, even if it’s supposed to be fun, right?!
It’s cool you set Amber free!! I’m sure she’s happier wherever she is now so I guess you could just think of that when you miss her? The rocks are way cooler anyway! My aunt Aspen has loads of crystals too, sometimes she even charges them in the sun or the full moon.. I keep forgetting to ask her why but I’ll try and remember so I can tell you next time!
Hahaa your poor dad with those birds! I’ll definitely keep the picture cos it’s hilarious, Wren found it the funniest but don’t worry, I’ll keep the picture safe from her sticky hands! I have a hiding spot in the attic for all the stuff I don’t want them touching. I guess birdwatching is sorta fun sometimes but you’ve gotta be quiet (easy for me I guess.. hah!) I’m not sure there’s any other birds round here other than seagulls since we live right next to the sea, those are the ones you can hear the most anyway cos they never shut up! My dad jokes that he used to be a seagull in a past life cos he’s loud and greedy like they are lol.. he’s been building me a treehouse too, I bet that’d be good for birdwatching!! It’ll be super cool once he’s finished but it’s taking ages cos he mostly does it all by himself, I try n’ help sometimes but I’m still too small to carry or lift most things.. I wanna be as strong as him one day, he can build and fix almost anything (he swears a lot during it though haha!) Do you ever think about what you wanna be when you grow up? I don’t really think about that sorta stuff cos working sounds boring, especially if it’s as lame as school!!
I’m ten, by the way! How old are you and when’s your birthday? Mine’s February 22nd. I don’t think I have a favourite food, anything my dad makes is amazing cos he’s a good cook and my mom makes the BEST pancakes! We’re always stuffed after dinner but dad says (lies) that pudding goes in a different part of your stomach so there’s always room for cake haha.. I think I like it best when he makes spicy food but Wren and Byrd hate it so he doesn’t make stuff like that too often. It’s fun to see how much you can eat before your mouth feels like it’s on fire and I’ve decided I’m gonna beat him one day so he better watch out!!!
I didn’t know what to write at first but I guess I sorta ended up writing quite a lot since I had some catching up to do! Are you and your dad on holiday in the tower or are you living there for now? It sorta sounded like you’ve been there a long time, where do you usually live? What kinda stuff does your dad dig up for work? It’d be cool if he dug up dinosaur bones!! I watched something like that recently and they were HUGE!
It’s hard to think of questions on the spot but you can talk about anything you want too! I probably owe you a million answers as well so you can ask anything you want too! I had fun reading your letter and I’m glad we can be pen-pals even if we don’t get to see each other! Maybe next time we meet in person I’ll be able to say something, but writing would still be fun too so I guess it doesn’t really matter, right?
Love Robin c:
ps. I’m keeping the funny photo of you yelling at your dad and there’s nothing you can do about it!!
pps!! I don’t have a way to print out photos yet otherwise I’d have sent some new ones. Dad gave me an old polaroid ages ago but it’s still broken, his friend said he might be able to fix it though so hopefully I can use that next time. Mom said you can have some of our old ones and the ones from her disposable camera whilst we were on holiday for now though so I’ll send those to you as soon as they come back!
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refined-by-fire · 6 months
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austin city limits | part 1
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pairing: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader
summary: the hottest summer in texas. four months of freedom. your handsome neighbor. what could go wrong?
word count: 8k
contents: (eventual) explicit smut, minors dni, modern au, no outbreak au, tags will be updated as we go - so just be mindful with each new chapter
a/n: omfg I really can't believe I'm doing this. after over a decade of being an active Tumblr user, and a fic author, this is my very first time sharing anything I've created with the world. it's terrifying, as I'm sure every writer can attest to, but after reading so many incredible stories - specifically inside the fandom for The Last of Us - I finally decided to throw caution to the wind, commit myself to finishing at least one chapter (baby steps, alright?), and see where this unplanned adventure will take me. thank u in advance to everyone joining me on this wild ride. I do it for love of Joel.
endless thanks, love and kisses to @scenaaario and @macfrog for the beta! 💞
(gif by @perotovar)
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.
You had a path, you had a life map— a five year plan that would culminate in your successful achievement of adulthood. You got your Masters degree, you got your boyfriend, you got an apartment in one of those trendy, artsy neighborhoods with coffee shops and boutiques on every corner.
You were good, your life was set.
Until it wasn’t.
Until the shit hit the fan. Suddenly, the internship applications were rejected, the roommates wanted to lease closer to downtown, the so-called man of your dreams decided he “wasn’t ready for a serious relationship” after three fucking years, the landlord smacked you with a $1,500 rent increase because “times are tough I’m just trying to make a living”, and the savings account was quickly dwindling.
Mom and dad were more than happy to offer your childhood room as a refuge— you’re always welcome here sweetie, you know we’d love to have you, right? It’s as long as you want it to be, there’s plenty of work here until you find your feet, no pressure, come home—
As if this offer was meant to sooth you; as if their thinly-veiled enthusiasm for you to move back in didn’t feel like a betrayal of all the hard work you put into leaving that place. The shame stings like bile in the back of your throat, rolls around in your stomach until you think you’ll be physically sick from it. You can’t quiet the white noise inside your head saying you’ve failed. All these years of working yourself into the ground have amounted into nothing. Your roommates did their best to console you in their own halfhearted ways: it’s not your fault the job market sucks right now, it’s not your fault landlords are money hungry scumbags, it’s not your fault that Josh is a giant piece of shit and really fuck Josh because he was never good enough for you anyway we all thought so he was a total loser and you deserve better…blah blah blah.
You hear their words, but nothing sticks. They’re just trying to be kind, but you can’t help hearing what they aren’t saying, what you already know to be true: you’re the common denominator here. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together. As soon as they suggest that going home for a bit might be a smart thing to do (short term of course!), you want to cry.
One night, after too many glasses of wine and your roommate Sasha rubbing your back as you sobbed into the living room rug, you concede that things look bad. You’re nearly broke, you’re jobless, and very soon-to-be homeless.
You don’t really have a choice then, do you?
By the time you booked the one way ticket to Austin, your eyes stung so bitterly from crying that you could just make out the 4 hour and 21 minute flight time between swollen lids. You’d need to put spoons in the freezer for tomorrow if you didn’t want to look like an absolute freak in public.
Heart pounding, stomach rolling and clenching with unease, you texted the details to your parents. Hey guys, I’ll be coming home on the 30th. Booked my flight and everything! I don’t have a lot of stuff coming with so thankfully I’ll only have a few suitcases to lug around. Can’t wait to see you guys <3 hopefully you didn’t paint my room an ugly color lol
Needless to say, they were ecstatic. Absolutely over the fucking moon.
It’s not that you and your parents aren’t close. It’s just…complicated. As you got older, you realized more and more that they didn’t necessarily understand you— your inherent desire to live somewhere that felt alive and important was something of a mystery to them. Your mom had always been supportive, wanted you to be happy and fulfilled even if that took you hundreds of miles away. Your dad on the other hand, not so much. You chalked it up to his being old school: stay close to family, find yourself a practical, steady job that would secure you financially, and keep close to home. He wanted you to be happy, of course, but why did you want to leave so badly? Why couldn’t you be fulfilled there, with them? It was frustrating every time you tried to articulate yourself, explain how it wasn’t them that you found lacking. You just wanted something different, something more for yourself.
After graduating high school, you had agreed to two years at a junior college to earn your AA, but once those credit hours were fulfilled, you applied to every English program on the east coast. UMass Boston was the first to accept you. The six years that followed had been both liberating and isolating. The program had been demanding, your roommates in off-campus housing were nice enough but you never got close. You worked part time at the campus bookstore, but all it did was pass the time.
Then, there was Josh. Tall, lanky, green-eyed music studies Josh. But you can’t think about him right now.
The only upside to this whole mess, was the frenzied pandemonium among the group chat of your high school girlfriends— Maggie, Raquel, and Quinn. Your three ride or die sisters who had befriended the new girl from Florida in ninth grade and never looked back. They had loved and supported you through everything: they threw you a party when you were accepted to UMass, even flew halfway across the country with your parents to watch you walk across a stage and accept your diploma. That had been a year ago, and now you were flying back to them for the foreseeable future.
Through weekend Zoom calls and an endless text thread, all three of them worked overtime to smooth things over. They made sure you didn’t have a shred of doubt that they would make sure your homecoming, unplanned as it was, would be nothing short of an amazing side quest on your journey. They promised girls nights with cheap wine and barbecues and pool days and obviously you’ll come work with us, Quinn had texted one night as you were fitting books between folded jeans and shirts like Tetris blocks. There’s an opening for a part-time barista position and we already told our boss you’d be perfect IF u want it :)
As winter began to loosen its grip on Boston, and spring started to seem possible, April 30th stared mockingly from the calendar across your bedroom. You tried– genuinely tried– to remind yourself that this was a minor setback. Maybe you can just live out of one or two suitcases and spend every waking moment looking for a new place, a job, fucking anything that would keep this ordeal to a bare minimum. You could stomach a little summer break, right? Your parents aren’t strict by any stretch of the imagination, you’ll be reunited with your girls, and between job application submissions and possible shifts at a coffee shop, maybe a couple of months in the sunbaked suburbs of Austin won’t be hell on Earth?
* * *
Your dad is waiting for you at the airport. Trying to keep some semblance of balance lugging three suitcases behind you and frantically trying not to bump into other travelers, you make your way towards him. The arrivals terminal of Austin-Bergstrom International Airport isn't too crowded in the middle of the week, but your dad would be hard to miss even in a crowd of hundreds.
Tall, burly, and holding a sign above his head that reads, “WELCOME HOME BOO!!!!” in various colors of highlighter marker and rainbow streamers taped to the corners. Despite everything, you fight the smile threatening to spread across your face. Boo has been your parent’s nickname for you for as long as you could remember, and they have no qualms about using it in public, despite your constant reminding them that you are twenty-seven years old.
You’re closing in on him, and you can see even from a few yards away that he’s trying to keep it together. You know he’s a big old softy when it comes to you, his little girl no matter how old you get, but it’s hard to remember sometimes when he gets in one of his my-way-or-the-highway moods. His stubborn nature is one of the reasons why you’ve never felt super close to him, and it made moving all the way to Boston that much harder when he’d spent your last weeks at home trying to convince you it was a bad idea. You’ve tried to forgive him over time, tried to tell yourself that he was scared for you in his own way and that he ultimately just wants what’s best for you; even if it’s not exactly the way you need him to show it. Despite all this, you know he would drop everything in a heartbeat to be there for you, just like he is now, dropping the sign he made and pulling you into an all encompassing bear hug, your face smashing into his shirt a little too tightly.
“Oh my baby’s home,” he raggedly exhales into the top of your head.
“Hi, papa.” Wrapping your arms around him, you feel him shaking with unshed tears. You wait for it to pass, allowing him to be in the moment with you. Now that you’re here, you get the feeling he doesn’t want to let you go, like you’ll suddenly change your mind and walk right back through the terminal demanding a seat on the next flight east. You slowly try to pull back, and much to his reluctance, he releases you.
“Flight was okay?”
“It was fine, made it here in one piece.”
“Yup, thank goodness.” Dad reaches for your bags and you try to shoo him away, but it’s useless. He’d carry everything for you if you let him, which you don’t, but he swipes two of the three bulging suitcases from you and he’s ushering you towards the escalators down to the exit.
Even in late april, the knit of your cardigan was almost insufficient against the lingering Boston chill. Here in Austin, that eighty degree heat hits like an oven blast, and any notion of keeping the knitwear on is quickly abandoned as you roughly shove it into your bag.
Your dad skillfully maneuvers you both through to short-term parking, towing two of your suitcases behind him. Three weeks of preparation, sleepless nights and an untold number of breakdowns later, you’re here. You’re actually back in Austin. The whole thing feels absolutely bizarre. It’s surreal in the way that everything around you feels odd. Did you fall through a wormhole? Did you accidentally enter the matrix? Everything moved so damn fast, your carefully laid plans and dreams slipping through your fingers like sand before you even knew it was happening.
The first fourteen years of your life had been spent in Orlando, spoiled by weekend trips to Disney and visits to the Kennedy Space Center; your childhood filled with beach birthdays and pool parties.
Then, in the summer before ninth grade, your parents sat you down and told you they had decided “as a family” to uproot. They said it was better for dad’s business, better for finances, better environment to grow. Dad explained they chose somewhere that was expanding, in need of massive additions to infrastructure. Your dad’s construction company— Dividing Line— was winning bids for all kinds of factories and retail space out west in Texas, and with opportunities starting to dry up in central Florida, he and your mom had settled on Austin.
You felt ambushed. You were confused and upset and didn’t give a shit about infrastructure or construction bids or whatever he was trying to convince you was important— how had this been a family decision when they never even talked to you about the possibility of moving? How was this the best choice for all three of you when it had been completely out of your hands?
You cried and sulked for weeks, begged them through snotty sobs and screams not to take you from the only friends— the only community— you’d ever known. The prospect of starting over again was terrifying.
Looking back now, everything worked out, but at the time it felt incredibly unfair. Austin was a very different culture from Orlando, and you worried, as all new kids do, that you’d be ostracized and mocked for dressing differently or liking anything aside from country music and line dancing. But you actually adjusted really well. You met Raquel and Quinn, then Maggie joined your little group, and suddenly everything was fun again. Maybe you still harbored a tiny chip on your shoulder even all these years later for your parents cutting you out of the conversation to move in the first place, but in the end, you got your three best friends out of it.
Dad still has the same truck, a gigantic Ford, and as he opens the trunk to pile your suitcases inside, you notice it takes him a couple attempts to get enough momentum to swing the first, then the second bag up. It’s unusual enough to catch your attention, and a small twinge ripples through your chest. You think he does look a tad older than when you last saw him. His face is still full and jolly, but his hair and beard are nearly as white as his car, and he hasn’t been walking as hurriedly as he usually does. There’s a weird twist of guilt that comes with these observations— you’ve been gone a long time, and you’ve missed something.
It’s all gone by so fast…maybe too fast.
“What the hell did you bring with you?” He’s shaking out his hands once he manages to fit the bags securely in the trunk. “Good thing you didn’t ship any furniture down.”
“Well the blue bag is full of books,” you shrug.
He just shakes his head, but you can see he’s smiling. “Priorities, huh?”
“Yup."
* * *
The drive home starts out routine enough, dad asks how your flight was and if you were able to wrap everything up at the old apartment with your roommates. “Everything’s taken care of?” His tone has your shoulders bunching up in annoyance immediately— you know what he really means. That’s his way of asking if you’re sticking around, if this is you officially moving back and not just seeking temporary refuge from life’s little hiccups. In nearly every phone call and text exchange you’d had with your dad since telling him you’d come stay in Austin, you had made sure to emphasize how temporary you intend this to be. You made sure to use key phrases like “short-term” and “for now” and “until I get my shit together” so he understood in no uncertain terms that you are not moving back in.
Another thing you and your dad always butt heads about: his selective hearing, especially when it comes to you wanting to spread your wings and take things on under your own steam.
You respond with short but pleasant small talk about the weather, the night out at your neighborhood bar with your roommates as their send off. It’s not until the words come out that you realize none of them had seemed exactly sad to see you go. They hugged you and cheered you on saying you’ll figure things out or don’t worry you’ll be fine, but none of them had said I’ll miss you so much or we’ll text all the time or you’ll be back and I can’t wait or keep us posted on how it goes, okay?
How had you missed that?
After that, dad starts a debrief of sorts, like he’s running down a checklist of everything he thinks you should know before you reintegrate into the neighborhood. You start to tune him out almost automatically, the moments of silence when he expects you to answer drag on and the tension is almost palpable between you when he goes quiet with your lack of reply.
Bypassing the exits for downtown, your parent’s little corner of the world is about a twenty-five minute drive from the city center. As you continue to roll down the highway, he starts up again. “They cleared out the old trailer park,” his sudden interjection makes you jump. You’d been so lost in thought that you hadn’t realized he’d been silent for almost ten minutes. “There’s a nice little green space there now, with a fountain and park benches. Looks really nice.” You finally make a noncommittal sound in the back of your throat.
He takes a right lane exit, and you’re rounding the offramp into the suburbs.
You feel yourself slipping into something vaguely familiar, like wearing an old shirt you haven’t seen in a while. There’s a version of you, a pre-college you who had skateboarded down these streets and had six years worth of memories that you’d put into storage. Unbelievably, as the concrete highway morphs into vegetation and domesticity, it all just looks so…unchanged.
You expect to be overcome with nostalgia— an overwhelming wave of warmth inside as you begin to spot certain landmarks and places you recognize in the back of your mind. It’s as if the whole community has been frozen since the moment you drove away to catch your flight east. You pass by the hardware store, Tires Plus, the Walmart super center, even the ancient ice cream shop you and the girls would visit every Friday after school for $1.50 cones still stands sentinel on the corner— the swirl of vanilla ice cream that crowns the top of the roof just as weather-beaten and chipped as it was in high school. It’s all passing by in a blur behind the tinted glass of your dad’s passenger window.
The feeling doesn’t quite hit. Maybe it’s the growing nervousness that’s pooling in the pit of your stomach, twisting knots inside you at the thought of returning to a place where you’d felt stagnant and trapped. You fear being trapped again. You’re terrified of reverting to that old you who felt small and voiceless. You take a deep calming breath and try to push the spiraling thoughts out of your head. You’ve been here for less than an hour, you can’t fall apart this early into the trip.
Quiet neighborhood lanes with pristine sidewalks and immaculately trimmed lawns give the impression that Ranchwood Grove is a deed restricted community straight out of Norman Rockwell’s dreams. It’s a sweet little place, quaint and cozy with its 70s and 80s style ranch homes, eccentric neighbors with garden gnomes and cheap little flags for the local sports teams. Aside from a few speed tables and a brand new roundabout main entrance, this too, is frozen in time.
“What time does mom get off of work?” You ask as your dad navigates the turns deeper into the grove. Your street is near the back of the neighborhood, on a little cul-de-sac south east of downtown; you had spent countless summer nights with Raquel on your roof, passing a joint or bottle of cheap moscato back and forth watching the skyscraper lights twinkle in the distance.
“About five o’clock. Should take her twenty-or-so minutes with traffic to get home.” Your mom had spent the majority of your formative years at home raising you, but when you moved to Austin, she figured you were old enough that she could afford to get back into the workforce. She’s been with the same company in their HR department since your junior year of high school.
You round the final corner onto the dead end street you once called home, and it all comes rushing back: the daily rides home from school or back from the mall and movie theater. You can’t help but laugh a little despite yourself. It’s like you’re sixteen all over again.
The house, #15, is beautiful as ever thanks to your mom’s weekend gardening sprints. She’d text you pictures every Sunday showing off her latest mini tree from Lowe’s or when she’d refresh the mulch under the bay window in preparation for new seasonal foliage. Always a gloved thumbs up in the left hand corner, always a series of smile, flower, and heart emojis sent in quick succession. Thick aloe plants and desert flowers nestled in amongst bleached pebbles and dirt beds, two old whiskey barrels flanking the front step overflow with wildflowers. The soft gray-blue paint looks freshly touched up (Behr’s ‘French Colony’, recalling how your mom fell in love with the fancy name), and three cherry red Adirondack chairs strategically placed face the road. The whole picture pulls another little smile at the corner of your lips. The three musketeers, that’s what your dad always calls your family unit.
The truck lumbers up the cement driveway, and before your dad can even shift the gear into park, there’s movement at the corner of your eye just outside the passenger window. Turning your head, there’s a figure barreling towards you from the house next door: an amazon of a woman with a mane of ink black hair trailing behind her. You’re opening the door and running before your brain even realizes you’ve unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door.
A high-pitched squeal greats you as Raquel practically flings herself at you, wrapping her long arms around your waist and literally hoisting you off the ground. “BESTIE!” She screams and rains loud smooching kisses on top of your head. Your heart is pounding, eyes stinging, and your whole body is buzzing with affection. Raquel has lived next door at #14 since before you arrived, and she instantly sought you out the day you moved in and declared you would be best friends for life. Nearly fifteen years later, it was still the case.
“Oh my God, I’m so happy you’re here! I didn’t know your flight got in this early!”
You try to articulate a response while she’s squeezing the life out of you, “I told you the flight time, you didn’t text me back, dingus.”
“Oh, sorry,” she’s not sorry at all, “you know I never look at that thing.”
“For God’s sake,” you mumble once she releases you, a giant grin splitting across her face. You can hear a car door shutting behind you, and turn to see your dad making his way towards the trunk. “Are you working tonight?”
“There’s a private event at the shop, so I have to head in early to set up.”
“Text later, once I’m settled?”
“Yeah, absolutely! Go, go, rest you must be exhausted, I’m just so happy you’re here!” Then she’s sweeping you up again, the best hugger in the world.
“Me too,” you answer automatically and you find that you mean it.
With a wave in your direction, she’s gone again, and you walk back to the car and help your dad unload your suitcases.
The inside of your house hasn’t changed either in the past few years, every stick of furniture and picture frame in the exact same spot you remember from your Thanksgiving and Christmas visits in college. It even smells the same. The dark herringbone floor extends all the way through the living room, open dining area, and back towards the sliding glass doors leading to the yard. The kitchen was updated a few years ago, and the giant flat screen tv mounted to the wall is playing baseball highlights, of course.
Your room sits at the front of the house, with a perfect bay window overlooking the street. Your dad had joked for ages about turning it into a workout room when you moved out, but you knew he would never do such a thing— he’d keep it ready just in case you decided Boston was overrated and came home. Even six years later, he still believed that. Honestly, the room isn’t in too bad of shape. The carpet could use a deep clean, and your parents have painted the walls a washed out light blue, but your old IKEA bookshelves are still here, along with your dresser, queen size bed and sun-bleached posters of Sinéad O’Connor and Stevie Nicks. “Home sweet home,” you mumble under your breath.
Leaning against the doorframe, your dad looks at the space expectantly, “We had to move the treadmill and all those weights I put in here.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” you roll your eyes but laugh against your better judgment when he bellows out an overdramatic chuckle as his own joke.
“Well…if you need any help just holler.”
“Okay, thanks dad.”
“I’m really glad you’re home.”
The warble is back in his voice, that emotional pinch from earlier when he’d hugged you at the airport. That same wave of guilt from earlier crashes over you again, but you put every ounce of sincerity you can muster into a tight-lipped smile as you turn to him, “Me too.”
He taps the wooden frame twice and turns back towards the living room, leaving your door ajar just enough in case you need him.
You let out a long, steadying breath in the quiet of your old room. You had stayed here during the twice yearly holiday visits you could afford during college, but knowing this is it— that there’s no charming pre-war loft apartment or boyfriend or literary agency internship waiting for you nearly two thousand miles away— makes the four walls feel smaller somehow. This little space is the only one in the entire world you have to call yours. Your only safe haven. You wish it was more comforting, but it just makes your chest feel hollow.
Clothes are tackled first, released from the confines of your stuffed suitcases and laid out according to category on your bed: delicates, everyday wear, jeans and shorts, pajamas, and thick winter wear (not that you’ll be reaching for anything in that last pile anytime soon). Once everything is more or less put away, you get as far as emptying the third suitcase of the books you’d brought with you from Boston. You would think someone with a Masters in English Literature would have shipped a hundred boxes full of books, but with the demands of a graduate program and a part time job eating up every minute not spent sleeping, reading for enjoyment wasn’t something you found yourself doing much of the past few years. As a teenager, your bookshelves used to be overflowing with all kinds of material, and now your collection barely fills two and a half shelves.
Packing your luggage like Russian nesting dolls, you open the closet to store them away when a beige lump catches your eye. A bulbous mass of something is hidden beneath an old painter’s tarp. Pulling back to multicolored fabric, a smile breaks across your face. Your old pottery wheel is tucked into the corner of your closet, and either your mom or dad has made sure to keep it at least semi dust free and safe.
The wheel had been a very expensive sixteenth birthday present from your parents after you started taking ceramics in high school. You and Raquel would spend hours every weekend elbow-deep in clay creating all kinds of wonky mugs, cups, and vases for friends and family before bringing them to a local shop to have them painted and fired. You loved how you could just tune everything out and hyper focus on the rhythmic spinning and molding of the clay, how it would squish and bend beneath your fingers into whatever shape you wanted. When you got accepted to UMass, the wheel and all your clay had to stay put in Austin.
Another little piece of yourself that had faded over time, and you hadn’t even realized it.
You’re suddenly so damn tired— crashing down from the anxiety of moving, flying, the emotional turmoil of coming back home— your body’s been stuck in fight or flight, sustained on nothing but caffeine.
The platform bed, with its crisp fluffy sheets and fresh Downy smell instantly seems like the most inviting place in the entire world. Laying down for a couple minutes won’t hurt, right? Just a little break, then maybe you can go out into the living room and watch baseball highlights with your dad. Okay, more like sit next to him and scroll through Instagram while he watches highlights, but still, that counts as bonding time, right?
Closing your eyes against the early afternoon sunshine peeking through the curtains, you slip under the duvet and snuggle into the pillow face-first. A tiny break, that’s all, then you can go back out and…and…
Sleep takes over before you can finish your thought.
* * *
Your eyes flutter open, and there’s your mom— beautiful and glowing like the sun with her tanned skin and blonde curls and smelling like your childhood, that combination of hair spray and patchouli and coconut lotion which shouldn’t go together but it does because it’s her and all you want to do is burrow deeper into that safe nostalgia and go back to sleep. “Hey boo bear, welcome home,” she whispers. She’s knelt down next to your bed, gently rubbing the round of your shoulder.
“Thanks mama,” you mumble drowsily. Your mouth tastes stale, eyelids sticking together from sleep. How long have you been out? Midday naps always feel so disorienting. “How was work?”
“Oh, you know, same shit different day. It was fine.”
You move to get up, mumbling something noncommittal about what’s for dinner and how you have to be sociable, but your mom’s hand firmly keeps you in place.
“No, no, you stay right here and sleep as long as you want. I’ll bring you dinner if you get hungry, you’ve had a long day.”
It’s easy to relent, to fall back against the mattress and will yourself to sink into its soft depths. You must have some sort of look on your face, one your mom doesn’t like, because she immediately tries to reassure you it’s okay to rest.
“Listen, I know this isn’t exactly what you wanted, but I don’t want you to worry, okay? You’re gonna figure this all out and your dad and I will do everything we possibly can to make sure that happens.”
“I just…” your throat tightens around the words. You feel tears starting to well up in the corners of your eyes and you squeeze them hard to stave off crying. “I feel like I failed,” it’s a whispered confession, one you hadn’t shared with your parents because you didn’t think they’d understand, thought they would be offended and take it personally as though you were blaming them for all this.
“No, honey, you didn’t fail. Come here,” she immediately envelopes you in a hug and by some miracle you don’t immediately break down. Your mom sighs, and you can feel her shaking her head against you. “This is just a setback. It’s temporary. Nothing in life is ever simple, or easy, and this is just one of those things that happens. You are the most amazing person in the world and I know for a fact that you didn’t fail anything or anybody, you understand? Just take a deep breath, take some time to refocus, and things will work out exactly how they’re supposed to. They always do, I promise.”
You manage a nod because speaking would inevitably lead to tears. Your mom lays a gentle kiss on the top of your head and says something, but you don’t hear it, your mind is already swimming again with drowsiness. It doesn’t take long for sleep to swallow you whole yet again.
* * *
Turns out, the nap was a bad idea.
It’s well into the night when you wake up again. The house is dark and quiet, your parents asleep long ago. Your stomach is growling fiercely with hunger, so you sneak out into the kitchen. They must have ordered Chinese take out, you find telltale signs in the fridge in the form of white cardboard containers full of chicken lo mein. A minute in the microwave, and you tuck into dinner with the tv on a midnight run of House Hunters International.
Leftovers turn out to be another bad idea.
Less than ten bites in, your stomach suddenly sours. Your mouth fills with saliva, your heart beating too fast and— shit you’re gonna be sick. Running to the sink, you wretch into the basin, throat burning and choking as you turn the faucet on to drown out your gagging.
After a moment, your breathing settles and the nausea abates. You dump the lo mein into the trash and shuffle back into your room. Maybe your body is just too exhausted to function right now, maybe you need to hibernate for a solid twenty-four hours and do a factory reset?
Crawling back under the covers doesn’t help. Tossing and turning for what feels like hours, and no matter how comfortable your sheets or how many times you flip your pillow to the cool side, nothing helps. You’ve grown accustomed to the ambient noises of a busy city at all hours, the constant hum of cars lulling you off to unconsciousness had been a comfort back in Boston. Here, however, the silence of midnight is near deafening. You aren’t used to the groans and rumblings of this house anymore— the metallic knocking sound when the fridge refills the ice tray jolts you in bed more than once. You had been exhausted by the trip, but the front of your skull still throbs with a dull headache and your brain just won’t give it a rest. You pop a Unisom around 1:30 A.M.— what usually knocks you out in twenty minutes winds up taking forty. Fitful half-dreams and endless readjusting keeps you just out of arm’s reach of oblivion until nearly six in the morning.
You can’t settle. Everything feels off.
At some point close to sunrise, you give up and roll out of bed. It’s still too early for either of your parents to be up on a Saturday, so you tiptoe as quietly as possible through to the kitchen straight for the Keurig. Thankfully your parent’s bedroom is all the way on the opposite end of the house, otherwise you might worry the obnoxious spitting noise coming from the machine as the coffee shoots into your mug will wake them. A healthy dose of sugar and milk dye your coffee a light caramel brown, and you take the steaming drink with you outside on the back porch. The backyard is spacious, with plenty of lush green lawn surrounding a sparkling blue pool. You can tell you dad has recently pressure washed the pavers around it. The perimeter fence looks only half done, there are large gaps on the south and left sides where the boards haven’t been nailed up yet.
You can count on one hand the number of times you’ve been awake early enough to catch the sunrise. Today, the misty pre-dawn clouds are cruising south so fast you can see them moving if you stare long enough. Behind them, the sky is starting to brighten into a beautifully pastel, almost romantic blush of pink and lavender.
Tucking yourself into a wicker chair and pulling your too-large shirt over your knees for a little warmth, the dewy silence of the early morning soothes you into a loose-limbed relaxation compared to how uneasy you’d felt inside yesterday. You still have a million things to do— finish unpacking, edit your internship resume for the hundredth time, respond to the influx of invitations to hang out that are currently flooding your inbox—
But for right now, in this moment, all that can wait. The world is still sleeping, and you can afford to steal a few minutes to just bask in solitude.
The coffee is simply divine, caffeinated warmth spreading throughout your entire body instantly, and a contended hum escapes your lips as you tilt your head back and watch the sky clear and sharpen into a pale blue as the sun rises.
You can feel the tension draining from your muscles with every sip, the morning birds chirping, no inconsiderate roommates closing doors too loudly, no horns honking in the alley. It’s all so peaceful—
“Shit.”
The gruff exclamation sends you skyrocketing.
A yelp bursts out of you as you scramble out of the chair so fast you nearly tip the thing over, your coffee sloshing wildly over the rim of your mug and splashing onto your toes. You whip around to find the source of the disturbance is standing only a few yards from you, stock still, through the giant unfinished side of fencing.
He’s tall, you can tell even from this distance that his collarbone would be at your eye level if he were standing toe to toe with you. He’s broad, too, in an appealing sort of way where his dark shirt fits snugly around his chest and arms. He has long sweatpants on with the Texas Raiders logo, the bottom hems rolled up exposing his ankles and bare feet. His one hand is held out in a defensive posture, as if he were about to apologize for scaring you, while he holds a coffee mug in the other. Now that the sun has broken over the horizon, golden rays of light cut across the yard in the space between houses, illuminating the details of his face enough to make out a plush mouth, dark facial hair, and a gently sloping nose.
To your internal mortification, you remember you’re only wearing a white t-shirt three sizes too big, the frayed hem barely skimming the tops of your thighs. You’re unkempt, rolled-out-of-bed shabby ass is pantsless in front of a very random, very handsome, very noticeably shocked stranger.
You’re frozen in place, staring, and so is he.
It must be the breeze that sets your skin prickling, goosebumps spreading all across your neck and shoulders, down your back and arms south towards your legs.
There’s a funny little feeling inside your chest. Not a twinge, but a tightening, like you’re looking at something important but you don’t know why.
Off in the distance, a car’s engine is revved, and the spell breaks.
You seize on this momentary distraction and bolt for the sliding glass door. You hook inside and firmly lock it before sliding against the wall, away from view, away from prying eyes. Your heart’s beating so fast you can see the fabric of your shirt fluttering with each erratic thump.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” you wheeze into your now empty mug.
* * *
Once mom and dad come strolling into the living room a good two hours later, they’re surprised to see you're not only awake, but showered and already deep into another revision of your cover letter. Your dad offers to make breakfast, but you politely decline— you’re not big into eating this early in the morning. Back in Boston, all your graduate classes had been in the first half of the day, and you only had time for a quick run to Starbucks or Einstein Bagels. After four or five years of a jam-packed lecture schedule, your desire for anything breakfast-related was reserved almost exclusively for 11 A.M. brunch on weekends with your roommates (when they remembered to invite you).
You put your headphones on, the universally understood sign meaning I’m busy, and get back to work on refining your qualifications for a position in publishing. Time passes without you taking much notice, the bouncy click of your laptop’s keys creating a rhythm you can zone out to. You’re in the thick of it when a waving gesture catches your periphery. Looking up from the screen, your dad is standing in front of you, hat and sunglasses on. You slide one of the headphones from over your ear, “What’s up?”
“Did you see the fence yesterday, when we pulled in?”
A beat of awkward silence. “No…?”
“The old one was rotting away, wouldn’t have survived another bad storm. I asked a buddy of mine to do it— you remember him right? The young contractor across the street?”
You’re only half listening, distracted by the bright light on your screen and a desire to get back to work. The sooner you get this thing looking perfect, the sooner you can find a job, the sooner you can get out of here and back on track. “Can’t say I do, sorry dad.”
“Come look real quick,” he motions for you to follow as he heads towards the front door, “It’s almost finished, looks real nice and he’s cutting me a deal on the wood since we’re neighbors—”
“I’m—uh—kind of in the middle of something.”
“It’ll take two seconds, please?”
He’s doing that thing again: looking at you expectantly. Hoping you’ll indulge him. He won’t move until you give him the answer he wants to hear. Choose your damn battles, you think to yourself. Just do what he wants. Taking a deep breath, you shut your laptop a little too forcefully and hop up off the couch, “Okay, fine.”
On your way out the door, you grab an old baseball cap off the hook— one of your old ones, you realize— and roughly shove it onto your head.
It’s another hot day. Not even noon and it’s over eighty degrees. The driveway is baking, and you already feel a light sheen of sweat forming on your lower back from a mere ten seconds outside. You hadn’t noticed the fence when you arrived yesterday, but now that your dad’s pointing it out, explaining how this wood is treated better than the last fence against the elements and termites, you see the brand new slats stick out starkly against the deep green of the front lawn. You make sure to nod along and make affirmative noises as dad continues, again mentioning how there’s still a few gaps to fill before it’s finished.
“Who’s building this again?” You bring the front of your cap up to rest on your head, dragging the back of your hand against your forehead to wipe at a droplet of sweat before it runs down your cheek.
“Hey Joel!” Your dad’s voice goes booming across the cul-de-sac like a crack of thunder.
You turn in the direction of his inordinately loud greeting, the sun blinding you for a moment before you shove the brim of your cap back down.
Whoever it is, someone directly across the street from you, your dad is now waving him over. Oh Jesus, really? Great, now he’s coming over, fantastic. You don’t exactly feel like putting on a social facade right now, especially when you have work to get back to. You toe at the ground awkwardly as the figure walks across the street and towards your dad.
“Afternoon.”
It’s gruff, that voice, but not in an unfriendly way. The timber of it is nice, really nice actually, low and relaxed and slightly twangy.
You lift your head just as the neighbor crosses over into the yard, and your whole body locks up in recognition.
Tall, broad, tan muscular arms beneath a snug cotton shirt, rough jeans instead of sweatpants this time. It’s him, it’s the guy from this morning, from the gap in the fence, who saw you without any pants on—
Your dad is shaking his hand, saying something you can’t make out because you’re staring at him again but now it’s in the full light of day and he’s so much closer than he was this morning and—
Oh fuck. He’s even more good looking close up if that’s even possible.
His muscles are obvious, but there’s a slight roundness to him, evident in the soft sliver of tummy that pokes through the bottom hem of his shirt. The tan skin of his neck slopes into broad shoulders. His dark hair isn’t ruffled like you thought when you stared at him from between the fence— it’s curly— delicate little flips and waves frame his face so sweetly.
His nose is a strong feature, elegant in the way it curves. His mustache and patchy beard are sprinkled with salt-white strands that add a kind of ruggedness to the small smile on his very pink, very plush lips. The sun is almost directly above you, which casts a shadow along the generous fan of his lashes. Those eyes— sweet lord— are a rich brown. Like russet, like walnut, something earthy and bottomless. 
“Haven’t had a chance to introduce you yet, this is my daughter. Just got home from Boston. This is Joel Miller, the contractor I told you about. The one who helped me out with the flour processing plant a few years back.”
Your dad is talking faster than your brain can process all the information flooding in. You vaguely remember your mom talking about a job your dad had finished when you were still in school: Euro-Breads or Euro-Bake-something, a giant processing building for dough. The last name Miller sounds familiar, but you’re not sure. Has he always lived here? You think you would remember a neighbor as striking as him, even as a teenager.
Joel says your name, the vowels rolling around in his mouth like he’s testing it, tasting it, and that shouldn’t send a zip of electricity straight through you.
“Nice to finally meet you, your dad talks about you all the time.” He extends his hand out between you, and you accept it without hesitation.
“Nice to meet you, too,” you’re fucking amazed you articulate as well as you do given the circumstances. His hand is much larger than yours— surprisingly warm and dry, long fingers extending to wrap around the delicate skin of your wrist. You squeeze, and he squeezes back. Everything inside you melts.
You force your hand into the back pocket of your shorts. Your palms feel strangely tight and itchy.
“Both our little girls are all grown up, aren’t they?”
Joel has a very direct way of looking at you. Not in a harsh way— his eyes are too soft and round for them to be piercing. But they’re expressive, clear, like he’s seeing right into you. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone look at you as if you’re important. 
“They sure are,” he replies.
Your dad mentions how you’re home for the summer, taking a break from city life until you can find a steady job. Joel doesn’t look away from you, his brown eyes squinting in the sun. The curls at the front of his face and nape of his neck are starting to shine with sweat.
“Well I’m usually around so just knock on my door if you ever need anything.”
The polite thing to do is say thank you, the polite thing to do is smile and say you appreciate the kind gesture. All you can muster is a weak smile and an overenthusiastic nod.
Your dad reaches over and gives you a hug and kiss, breaking you out of the haze. “We’re heading to the hardware store for a couple things. Need anything while I’m out?” It takes you a second to realize he’s speaking to you.
“I’m good, thanks.” It’s a squeak of a reply, but your dad doesn’t seem to notice as he starts towards the car.
“It was nice seeing you again,” Joel’s smile is polite if not a little strained, and before you can reply, he’s off following your dad.
It’s boiling hot out. You’re sweating through your shirt and hat, but you end up standing in the front yard watching them pile into the truck, start the engine, and pull out of the driveway towards town.
Can one get heatstroke this quickly? Your entire brain feels like one giant pile of scrambled eggs. Only a few thoughts buzz through your head over and over again— You have a hot neighbor. When the hell did that happen? And how hadn’t you noticed Joel Miller before?
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