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the-fiction-witch · 3 years

Text

Boy You Gross

REAL LIFE: SCANDAL COUPLE: TBS X READER RATING: FUNNY AF

"Hello everyone! what am I doing today!" Y/n smiled from her dining table with Thomas sat in the other chair beside her "I know I set up a shooting space! are you proud of me?"

"A little, assumed we were just going to see the vlogging camera like you usually do" Thomas said "But all you did was clear your table, turn a light on and put your camera on a tripod"

"Shhhh... shhh your noise hole," she says putting a hand over his mouth "Right. The point of the video! we are going to be trading.... let's call it wash products. for one month"

"I'm gonna smell like you"

"You are Thomas. and I am going to smell like you.... why did I make this a video concept?"

"I don't know, why did you do that?"

"I thought it would be interesting." she says "so, Shampoo. body wash, handsoap, lotion, razors, deodorant" she explained "It was also going to be toothpaste and then I realized that I can't trade that with you because I have allergies"

"Ohh shit yeah... I didn't think about that."

"Yeah I didn't until about five minutes ago while I was making us cups of tea" she explained "Are you excited to... have my stuff?"

"Slightly I'm excited about your shampoo because your shampoo is amazing,"

"Do you have any theory about this next month?"

"I think I'm going to be sweaty because from what I have been informed women's deodorant isn't as strong as men's, and I also think I'm going to not like the amount of stuff I'm about to have stuffed in my bathroom"

"I think I'm going to get mad. Because I worry about not having my own shampoo not having my own lotions, I am a fancy lady and I don't think I'm going to like the... like Superdrug bullshit you probably have," she explained "I think my hair and my face is going to get really mad about this, alright let's get going gentlemen first. also because I think you have less tuff them me"

"I also think I have less stuff then you" he laughs grabbing something from under the table and slamming the blue bottle on the table

"and this is?"

"uhhhh.... wash. of some sort" He answered

"it says shampoo.... Ohh no." she laughed taking the bottle "3 in one. ohh god my hair is not going to like this. any woman who has thick hair knows the pain I currently feel in my heart. why is all men's stuff like this?"

"I don't know, thing is I'm like the only one of my friends so has specific shampoo and body wash like separately every other guy I know they're the same thing"

"Yeah because you like having fluffy hair" she laughs "that and your mum I assume would have been very strict on that matter, I have met your mother I feel like that something she would enforce"

"very much so"

"Hang on?.... there's only like half a bottle in here do you only get half a bottle?"

"no, I've been using it"

"wait- Thomas did you just take this from your bathroom this morning?"

"yes..."

Y/n then starts laughing like a crazy person "I went and bought like a set like of everything I usually use. I wasn't going to just give you the ones out my bathroom"

"Ooohh..."

"Are they all just literally picked up from the bathroom?"

"Yes. none of them are new"

"you dick"

"I was not informed that was a rule"

"It as heavily Implied Thomas!"

"fine, I am still mad though" Y/n sighed moving it to the side "You want your shampoo?"

"Yes!"

"You already know what it is" she laughs putting two red bottles on the table "Shampoo and conditioner, you are going to have to condition your hair"

"I condition it... like every six months when I can be bothered"

"You gonna be so fluffy"

"I am, this is what I need though, so I'm not weird for like sniffing your head. I need to just buy a bottle of this"

"just to sniff?"

"yes, because it sells amazing"

"Also don't throw the bottles away"

"why not?"

"Because you can go back to the shop and they'll refill it for you so you reuse the bottle"

"They do?"

"yeah, you don't pay as much either for a new bottle. better for the environment"

"you are such a hippie"

"Ohh we haven't even got to the most hippie parts yet" she says "Next?"

"body wash right?"

"yes thomas"

"here you go. this is the current one anyway it changed every... so often mostly what's cheaper, what I can get, what people buy me for Christmas"

"Ummm you didn't smell like this last year" she laughs "Ohh dear fucking god" she complained picking up a hair from the bottle "This better be off your head. or I may murder you, Thomas"

"I think so, I don't really grow hair anywhere else so..."

"Alright, Boy you gross" she complained "Here, go nuts" she sighed handing him the blue bar of soap

"yes!"

"He also steals this. often. like every time you stay and have a bath at mine you always steal my soap"

"I do, your stuff smells nice. plus it makes your skin go blue for like five minutes which is great because you know if you missed anywhere"

"Because it's fancy" she smiled "You actually bought me this. I think for my birthday, or Christmas one year this particular soap and I have been using it religiously ever since because it smells great"

"Yeah I did buy you it. because it was Christmas and I was doing my shopping and I was wondering around oxford street and I had done everything else I needed one more thing for you and one more thing for my sister, and I thought about you being a little hippie so I went to lush's massive store in oxford street, and a woman working there said it was good so I grabbed it and got ava like a bunch of the small bath bombs they do around then."

"I don't adore lush. but this soap is good. they'll probably discontinue it in six months"

"If they do I'll go and just buy you in in bulk just like all of it that they have"

"Aww thank you, right next I use that for my hands so It's just you"

"yes, it has a fish on it" he smiled

"Does this come from like Tesco?"

"yes. Sainsbury's actually."

"Goddamit Thomas" y/n sighed "I knew this as what I was getting! I fucking knew it" she complained "I can't even recycle the bottle because of the type of plastic. I'm so mad at you right now" she whines "I will reuse this. somehow... I will fin a use for this bottle"

"Can't I have it back?"

"No!" she complained "lotion time, this is actually only half my lotion stuff because there is no reason for me to give you the other one I use2

"why not?"

"Because its specifical tattoo lotion and you do not have any. I will keep that because I still have one healing so I need it"

"That's fair, you get to use this" he smirked

"Nooo..." she whines "You and goddam plastic bottles Thomas, this is just face though?"

"I know, but I use it for everywhere because I don't shave that often"

"That is perfect just... man logic. its lotion so I can use it everywhere, its soap it washes all of me. I don't know why men think this way."

"I have no idea. but we do"

"you do, it all smells like you though. to be fair they have all been sat in your bathroom for god knows how long so that's going to help. deodorant!"

"here, you steal this from me. so often it's unbelievable. anytime you around mine and you think you smell bad you instantly steal this" he laughs

"I do, men's stuff is way stronger, plus this... this is Thomas' smell like bottled. just add like motorbike oil to this smell and. that is what he smells like"

"See I do smell nice"

"It's not nice. like I'm not going to say its a pleasant smell because like most men's stuff its aggressive and manly so it's not nice. but its.... comforting. I think because I associate the smell with you. so it's like getting a hug when I smell it, want your's" she smirked and dropped a box on the table

"the fuck is this?"

"This is deodorant"

"No... it looks like a block of cheese!"

"well that's what is going to stop you smelling like sweat"

"I would... like to preemptively apologize to anyone who is going to hug me this month," he says "How do I use this? do I need to wet it like soap?"

"No, you just rub it on you" she laughs "You wanna see the razor now?

"Hit me," he asked she then put on a safety razor "The fuck is this?"

"your razor for a month this is what a lot of people used back in the sixties and such before plastic razors were as much of a thing. also, plastic razors can fuck off"

"oh... well. here's your plastic razor"

"Noooo! Thomas!" she whines "Please tell me it's new"

"The pack of them was in my bathroom, but I have not used this one"

"Alright. I'm mad though. You can keep that because I bought it for this. No more plastic razors Thomas!"

"Aww thank you. its scary though"

"it is. but its better. better for the turtles"

"yes, like straws... I have a glass straw now that I carry around in my car because of you"

"good."

"Goddam hippie"

"You also have a bamboo toothbrush which again I bought you. because... plastic bad"

"It is nice though. it has a little turtle on it"

"You are such a child, Honestly I'm surprised none of this was star wars themed"

"I have star wars themed bubble bath"

"Do you?"

"Yes, its in a Darth vaders head-shaped bottle"

"You god dam five year old"

#tbs #thomas #thomas sangster #thomas brodie sangster #thomassangster #thomasbrodiesangster

11 notes · View notes

gingerwritess · 5 years

Note

So. This happened to me like, two days ago. I have a friend who has 3 little demons (but I love them). And the situation she was in made me wonder how would Loki react to coming home slightly later than he had intended, only to find his wife trying to do twenty things at a time, in the verge of tears, with a crying Frigg with soap in her eyes, and Elliot trying to console them both, and terribly failing. A dash of angst in there if you may. Love you!! 💕💕💕

ok let’s get some cONTENT up in this blog

here’s that screaming frigg fic y’all were so worried about heheh

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Loki’s out tonight, and the kitchen is flooding.

It figures that it’d happen tonight of all nights, a night when you have a six o’clock appointment the next morning and are trying to get everyone to sleep a little earlier, a night when everything already seems to be going wrong.

There’s a leak in Elliot’s room that just started up again, and in rummaging around under the sink for a pot to catch the water, he’d bumped a pipe with his elbow and the sink had promptly exploded.

Hands full of dirty clothes, you were on the phone with the landlord about the first leak when he sheepishly knocked on the laundry room door, dripping water with every step.

You thought that might’ve been the worst of it, trying to wrap the broken pipe in towels and stop the stream of water, but then a blood-curdling scream comes from the bathroom where you thought Frigg was brushing her teeth.

“Everything’s fine,” you’d assured the landlord, dropping the towels and rushing to the bathroom. “Just my little one, something—oh, god.”

“MY EYES, MOMMY MY EYES—”

Her eyes watery and bloodshot, she’s screaming and furiously rubbing her eyes with two little hands.

Two little bubbly hands.

“One second,” you say into the phone, handing it to Elliot and grabbing Frigg. “What happened?!”

“Soap,” she sobs, pointing at the handsoap, “soap, it ‘mells good, b-but it burns…”

“You rubbed soap in your eyes?”

She nods, a fresh wave of tears enveloping her in shaking screams, and through them you hear Elliot on the phone:

“It’s just my baby sister. Nah, she’s washing her eyes. You married? You got any kids? ”

You grab the phone from him and stick it under your ear, holding it between the side of your face and your shoulder as you swing Frigg under one arm and rush back out to the kitchen.

“Sorry, so the leak—yeah, sure, we can call someone about it.” Still trying to maintain a civil conversation, you grab the pot and run it to Elliot’s room, sticking it under the leak and hurrying back to the kitchen to get to work on the sink. “This falls under the covered maintenance charges, though, right?”

The front door opens just as the landlord gives you a slow “not exactly…” and Loki walks in.

You’re almost relieved to see him until you take in the sight of him, tuning out the landlord’s explanation of how much you’re going to have to pay and Frigg’s consistent screams of pain just to focus on the mess of a husband that just walked through the door.

His shirt hanging open and unbuttoned save the bottom three, hair a sloppy bun behind his head, wide, shocked eyes sweep the room until his mouth opens and—

“They’re supposed to be in bed!”

You choke back a sob and Loki knows he just fucked up.

“Let me call you back,” you croak into the phone, letting it slide off your shoulder onto the floor.

It cracks on the tile, but you couldn’t care less at this point.

“Are they supposed to be in bed, Loki?” You step towards him, wiping your nose on your sleeve as you drag a wailing Frigg along next to you. “Really, are our kids supposed to be asleep right now? I had no idea.”

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“You think I don’t know that?? You think I haven’t been trying for the past two hours—”

“Let me help,” he offers, rushing forward and grabbing Frigg. “What’s she going on about?”

“Soap in her eyes, go help her wash it out.” You gladly hand her over but she just screams louder, thrashing around in Loki’s arms as you run to the kitchen.

“It’s gettin’ worse, mom.” Elliot points at the overflowing sink, a nice puddle of water sloshing around at his feet. “I tried to stop it but it’s comin’ too fast for the towels—”

“LOKI!! Get in here!”

He hurries in, setting Frigg on the counter—still screaming bloody murder—and promptly slips in the puddle of water and falls flat on his back.

You shriek. He laughs.

“Aren’t I graceful,” he giggles, pulling himself back to his feet and flicking water in your face.

Wait.

Giggles??

“Fix the sink,” you groan, head dropping to your chest. “Please.”

“Gladly, m’lady.” He narrows his eyes and holds up his hands, and whoosh—all the water in the sink gathers into a giant wave and washes over the three of you.

At least now your tears will blend in.

“I said fix it,” you grit out, trying not to raise your voice at his stupid grin. “You’re not being funny, Loki, just fix it.”

Elliot looks about ready to cry, too, now in pajamas soaked to the bone with water dripping from his brow.

“Sorry,” Loki chuckles, reaching up to wring out his hair. “My magic doesn’t get along well with alcohol.”

You freeze and Elliot takes a step back—something about this tells him this won’t be pretty.

“Loki?”

He turns to you with a smile and brings a hand up to cradle your cheek. “Hmm?”

You smack his hand away. “You’re drunk, aren’t you.”

He bites his lip with a small grin. “I brought some home for you, too, for once the children are in bed.”

“MOMMY, IT HURTS—”

“Get out of here,” you hoarsely tell him, tears pooling in your eyes. “I can’t deal with you right now, Loki, get out.”

He just blinks, brow furrowing at your tears. “Why are you crying, my love?”

“Dad,” Elliot pipes up before you can explode at him, cautiously placing a hand on Loki’s arm. “You should go, um, take a shower.”

“Why—”

“GET OUT!!” You shout, pushing past him to scoop Frigg off the counter, abandoning the sink issue until the screeching daughter has been stopped.

Drunkenness aside, Loki seems to know what’s best for him, given how he nods and quickly retreats to your room, already shedding his soaked shirt before the door shuts behind him.

“Sorry, mom.” Elliot trails behind you as you take Frigg to the bathroom, helping her out of her pajamas and turning on the shower. “I don’t think dad means anything by it, I think he just came in at the wrong time.”

“Don’t worry,” you sigh, wiping off a mix of sink water and tears with your sleeve. “I’ll talk to him, there’s just too much going on right now. Frigg, sweetie, screaming isn’t going to help, just put your face under the water.”

She shakes her head, teary eyes squeezed shut.

“C’mon, Frigg, you have to get the soap out of your eyes.” You try to guide her under the stream of water, but she fights against you and shakes her head again.

“NO!”

“It’ll make your eyes feel better,” you promise, trying again to pull her into the water. “Elliot, take all the towels from in here and start drying up what you can in the kitchen, okay?”

He nods and gathers up all the towels, taking them out to the kitchen as you give up and climb in the shower with Frigg; you’re already soaked from Loki’s little sink display.

Picking her up, you carefully step under the water and hold her close when she tries to hide from the water, trying to let the gentle stream land on her face.

“See? It’s warm, it won’t hurt you.” You reach over and start gently rubbing her eyes, carefully trying to lift her eyelid to let the clean water rinse away the soap. “Mommy’s got you. It’s just gonna hurt for a little longer, I promise it’ll go away.”

Thankfully she falls slack in your grip and the screams reduce to quiet sniffles, her little arms tightly hugging your neck as you gently wash off her face.

“There we go! Doesn’t that feel better?” Shutting off the water, you step out of the shower and reach for a towel—oh.

Elliot took all the towels. That’s right.

“Now m’all cold, mommy,” Frigg mumbles, hugging your soaked shirt closer.

“Let’s go find dad.”

You really don’t want to have to see him yet, but if all the towels in the house are being used to block a broken pipe, he’ll have to do.

You carry Frigg to your bedroom, knuckles rapping on the door before you step inside. Loki’s wrapped his waist in a towel, digging around in a drawer for a change of clothes, and he looks up with a bright grin when you walk in with Frigg in your arms.

“There’s my girls!”

“We’re out of towels,” you say curtly, stopping before you reach him. “Dry us off?”

His face falls when you won’t round the edge of the bed, but he nods and gives you a sheepish grin as he comes over to place a hand on Frigg’s back.

“Can we talk?” He asks quietly, warm air surrounding you, Frigg nuzzling deeper into the crook of your neck. “I know you’re mad.”

“Not right now,” you mutter, hoisting her higher on your hip. “I’ve got kids to put to bed. And a house to fix. And a drunk husband to take care of.”

“I’m not drunk anymore,” he promises, running his hands up and down your arms with a sad lift of his eyebrow. “I’ll explain everything.”

“Later.”

He doesn’t argue, just sending one more wave of warm air over the two of you and leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead before you can duck away.

“Thanks.”

Hugging Frigg a little tighter, you carry her back to the bathroom and help her into her pajamas. The sound of rushing water seems to have gone down, hopefully meaning that Elliot figured something out with the sink, so you tuck Frigg into bed and kiss her goodnight before going out to check on him.

“Fixed it,” Elliot proudly announces, spreading his arms towards the flooded sink.

Sure enough, by some miracle, the stream of water at least has stopped spraying.

“What’d you do?” You drop to your knees and help him finish drying off the floor, gathering armfuls of soaked towels into your arms and lugging them off to the laundry room wth Elliot trailing behind.

“The water was on,” he explains with a quick snort of laughter, helping you dump all the towels into the washer. “I just turned off the faucet ‘n tied up the pipe with a towel.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No,” he giggles, shaking his head at the smile starting to hint at your lips. “We’re just that dumb.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, reaching over to ruffle a hand through his wet hair. “Thanks for everything, Elliot. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime, mom.” He wraps an arm around your waist for a wet hug, following you back out to the living room. “Is Frigg okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. “Had to rinse her eyes out, but she’s asleep now.”

“She told me she thought the soap smelled good,” he giggles, stopping in his bedroom doorway to look up at you. “So she wanted to see if it looked as pretty as it smelled.”

You shake your head with a grin as he doubles over with muffled laughter. “Okay, maybe she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed,” you laugh, running a hand through his curls. “Yet. She’s only three.”

He just cracks up again, leaning against the doorway to catch his breath. “Gosh, I love her,” he grins, a hand to his heart as a few stray laughs escape. “Oh, and mom? Don’t go too hard on dad, please? He’s really sorry, I can tell.”

You wrap your kid in a hug, pressing your lips to the top of his head. “I won’t,” you assure him. “And I’m not mad at him, it was just a whole lot of bad timing. I’m sorry I shouted at him.”

“S’alright,” he replies softly, hugging you tighter. “Just make sure he knows that. It’s tearin’ him up inside.”

* * * * * * * *

You feel like you’re about to scold one of your kids, with the amount of guilt etched across Loki’s face.

He shoots to his feet when you open the door, lifting a halfhearted hand to you. “I am so, so sorry,” he blurts, “I never should’ve left you—”

“No, don’t be.” You wave away his apologies and trudge over to him, glancing anywhere but at his face. “You have a good time?”

“Don’t brush this off,” he frowns, gently placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head towards him. “Be mad at me. You’re too forgiving. I’ve done plenty tonight to constitute your being upset with me.”

“It was just bad timing,” you weakly argue, crossed arms falling to your sides. “Sorry I shouted at you.”

“I came home drunk, left you to care for our children, I insulted you as a mother and my wife. You should hate me.”

“I just want to sleep,” you whisper, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and pulling his hand away. “I’m so tired, Loki, let’s just go to bed.”

You shrug off his hands and crawl in bed, your back to Loki, reaching over to turn off the light before he can say anything else.

“G’night,” you mumble, blinking back tears.

Crap. You forgot about the leak in Elliot’s room. That’ll have to be tomorrow’s problem.

Loki doesn’t come to bed that night. You hear him get in the shower—again, you guess, he’d already showered once to sober up, but you’re not going to question it—and then he leaves the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

After about an hour of tossing and turning among the empty sheets, you give up and drag yourself out the door.

The carpet in the living room is still damp from all the water you, Elliot, and Frigg had dripped across the house, squishing under your toes when you see Loki curled up on the couch, eyes tightly shut.

Idiot.

You give his hips a good shove to make some room, lifting his arm and tucking yourself back against his body as he quietly grunts in his sleep.

“You could’ve stayed in bed with me,” you whisper, pulling his arm tight around your chest.

“Don’t deserve to.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

The arm around you tightens and he buries his face in the curve of your neck, placing one single soft kiss there. “Agreed.”

You’re asleep within minutes.

There’s a weight on your chest when you eventually wake up—and it’s definitely well past six in the morning.

Your eyes fly wide open.

You were supposed to be somewhere by now.

Immediately trying to worm your way out from under the dead weight on your chest, you realise it’s Loki and he just grips you tighter, his head on your chest and arms tight around your waist.

“I cancelled it,” he grunts, holding you down until you finally go slack under him, slightly breathless.

“That’s rude,” you huff, smacking weakly at his arm. “I needed to go to that, Tony was counting on me—”

“No, you needed to rest.” He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, eyes still closed. “I already took Elliot to school, Frigg’s still asleep.”

“…thanks.”

“Mm.” He nuzzles into your neck, thumb brushing along your wrist. “I also need to speak with you.”

“Nooo,” you groan, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t wanna talk about it, let’s just move on.”

“Don’t move.” He squeezes your waist with his arms, planting a kiss on your collarbone. “You don’t have to respond, but I want you to hear my apology.”

You don’t reply, but your fingers tangle in his hair, so Loki keeps talking.

“I’m so sorry for not being here for you,” he murmurs. “I have no excuse. The same responsibility you carry for our family should fall on me as well, yet I threw that away last night for a few drinks with my brother. I was careless and self consumed, and I am so, so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Picking up a chunk of his hair to braid, you focus on that to avoid his gaze. “I’m not mad at you for going out, y’know. It was really just a whole lot of craziness and bad timing.”

“That’s no excuse,” he quietly replies. “I’m so sorry. How can I make this up to you?”

“You don’t have to.” You smile down at him, poking a finger into his cheek. “Really, it was just bad timing. I mean, when have you not gone out with Thor and come back tipsy? Plus he said he needed to celebrate, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.”

He smiles, just the corners of his lips curling into your skin. “Fair point, but I think that just means you should be upset at the both of us.”

A content silence settles over the living room, the two of you huddled on top of each other to not fall off the couch. It’s a blissful moment of peace and quiet before Frigg wakes up, a moment of just the two of you that’s become increasingly rare.

Fingers lost in Loki’s hair, your mind wanders back to the leak in Elliot’s room and the broken pipe you’re going to have to pay for yourself.

“Loki?”

He opens one eye to glance up at you. “Hm?”

“I think we should move.”

At that, he shifts, practically laying on top of you to stare up at you playing with his hair. “Where to?”

“Anywhere.” Still focused on his braid, you don’t look him in the eye. “This place is too small for our family, and we shouldn’t be living in conditions like this. Plus you’re like, a king, so I feel bad for putting you in a dump like this.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Loki frowns, shaking his head at you—and messing up the braid.

“Hey!”

“Sorry.” He winces and quickly lowers his head again, letting you start braiding again. “Don’t you dare feel bad about me, I couldn’t have even begun to dream of having a life as wonderful as this.”

“But you always say that.”

“Because I mean it,” he mumbles into your neck, eyelashes brushing your skin as his eyes close again. “Would you like to move to Asgard?”

You fall silent, just crossing one little strand of hair over the other over and over and over.

It sounds great. In theory.

Moving a family of four to a different realm is a much more daunting task than it seems—there’s a bit more than just a time change involved.

“We’d all have to become immortal, right?”

“Only if we choose to become royalty again,” he replies.

“Is that even an option? After…y’know.” You swallow thickly, wishing you hadn’t brought it up in the first place.

“All I’ve done?”

You just nod, glad his face is in your neck, hidden from sight.

With the churning of his insides, Loki doesn’t want to answer you—and luckily, he doesn’t have to.

Little footsteps come clambering into the living room before either of you have a chance to say anything more.

Frigg’s crying. Again.

“Why you not in bed??” She sobs, lifting her arms up to Loki, little fingers grabbing for him. “Daddy, you not in bed!”

Sitting up, he chuckles and lifts her into his lap, quickly wrapping her in a hug. “Your mother and I slept out here. See? Now we’re just closer to the kitchen for breakfast.”

“I looked for you,” she sniffs, nuzzling into his chest. “You weren’t there.”

“We’re right here,” you assure her, “we’ve been here the whole time. Are you hungry?”

The little girl nods, rubbing her face into Loki’s shirt. You bite back a laugh; he silently blanches, his look of feigned disgust morphing into a chuckle at the tear-stains and snot-stains now striping his shirt.

Never would’ve thought he could be so thrilled to have snot rubbed across his favourite cotton shirt, but if it’s coming from his little girl, he can’t complain.

“Come with me, Frigg.” He presses a kiss to her forehead, pulling himself off the couch to carry her towards the kitchen. “What would you like to eat?”

“Waffle,” she mumbles, one little hand mindlessly winding itself into Loki’s hair. “M’still sleepy, daddy.”

“You can go back to sleep, sæta,” he murmurs—you sit up, trying to keep an eye on them—and when she nuzzles closer into the curve of his neck with a sleepy nod, your heart melts at the soft smile on Loki’s face.

“I’ll wake you when your waffle is ready.”

Damn it.

Nothing works quite like a little kid to remind you just how much you love someone.

“And you, my love?” His daughter dozing off on one hip, he pokes his head out the doorway. “What would you like?”

“Didn’t you say last night that you brought something home for the two of us?” You yawn as you stretch, pulling yourself to your feet.

He laughs with a nod. “Shall we start our day off with a drink, then?”

“Please.”

The two of you work your ways around the kitchen, Loki holding Frigg in one arm as she naps and he cooks, you pouring the strange liquor out of the elegant Asgardian bottle into two glasses and carrying them back to the couch.

Loki joins you a few moments after, setting the plates on the coffee table and carefully lowering Frigg onto the couch as she stirs.

“Cheers, my love.” He smiles, situating himself next to you on the couch and picking up his glass.

You lean back onto him with your own glass, clinking it against his as he presses his lips to your temple, an arm winding it way around your chest. “Love you, Lokes.”

“HEY!”

Frigg jolts upright before the rim has even hit your lips, a chubby little finger pointed right at the two of you. “Can I haff some?”

Loki laughs, gently pushing you off of him to stand back up. “Give me just a moment, sæta.”

“Loki,” you call out after him, hurrying to set your glass down, “she’s three, she can’t have this—”

“Apple juice,” Loki replies with another laugh, reemerging from the kitchen with a green sippy-cup in hand. “It’s just apple juice. The best drink for when your three years of life are already adding up.”

Frigg reaches for the cup with a quiet whine, little fingers scrunching up as she bounces. “Thank you!”

Grabbing his wrist with a laugh, you pull Loki back over to sit behind you so you can lean against him again. “Well, it’s tough being a three year old, isn’t it?”

“Mm. The absolute worst.”

“What a life,” you chuckle as Frigg tears into her waffle, not bothering with syrup—or a plate, for that matter. “Think she would like it on Asgard?”

He takes a sip of his drink, wincing at the burn of it going down. “Oh, she would love it. Have you seen the way she looks at the world? I can’t take my eyes off of her for one second when we’re outside, she’ll go anywhere she hasn’t been and probably never come back.”

Frigg’s bright, green eyes flit up to look at the two of you watching her, gnawing absently on the straw of her sippy-cup.

“There’s no better place to feed a child’s curiosity,” Loki quietly continues as he looks at her, thumb rubbing slowly over your shoulder. “Though some of my worst memories are housed there, it does me no good to dwell on them. Asgard is not to blame.”

“What about Elliot?” You lean over to Frigg, helping her rip apart a particularly stubborn chunk of waffle. “Seems like it’d be good for him. He’s not the biggest fan of this planet, I don’t think.”

Loki laughs, drawing you back into his embrace. “Do you remember the first time he experienced Asgard—besides as an infant, of course? I’ve never seen him so excited.”

“Yeah,” you smile at the memory, the stars in his eyes and dimples like craters on the moon. “We should ask him how he’d feel about moving.”

“We should. There’s no rush, love, we can leave for Asgard whenever we see fit. If there is any hesitation, I say we wait and continue our lives here, and if it is meant to be part of our journey, it will be.”

Your phone buzzes then, shattering the peaceful air resting over the morning.

Ah. The landlord’s texted you the plumbing company he’d like you to hire—“for your water problem,” the text reads. Oh, so helpful.

“Tell you what,” you sigh, tossing your phone back onto the table and settling back against Loki’s chest. “We give Earth two more years to impress us. If no obvious signs have shown up, no clear reasons for us to stay, we move.”

“And if we do stay?” Loki plants another instinctive kiss to your temple, eyes still trained on your daughter eating.

“Then we just…stay.” You tilt your head up to steal a kiss, fingers running along his jaw. “I mean, it’s not like this isn’t the dream life, either. I love what we have. Let’s just…keep open minds, yeah?”

Loki smiles, raising his wine glass. “You have yourself a deal, my darling.”

You clink your glass against his with a grin, undeniable butterflies already fluttering around in the pit of your stomach about what may come. “Deal.”

“Wait, I wanna, too!” Tossing her waffle aside, Frigg grabs her apple juice and scrambles over to plop herself right in front of the two of you.

“And are you in agreement, Frigg?” Loki chuckles. “Any terms you’d care to add, or is this a deal?”

“Deal,” Frigg giggles, raising her little sippy-cup to bump into your wine glasses.

“Well.” Loki takes one last sip of his drink before pouring the rest into your glass with a soft smile. “There’s no going back now, is there.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

feel free to send me ideas!!

if you enjoyed…what if i linked my venmo…haha no i jest…no obligations….just in case….u don’t have to ha ha…….unless… ??

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys @highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri @nildespirandum @thefallenbibliophilequote

#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #loki requests #dad!loki #domestic!loki #loki x reader fluff #loki laufeyson #loki series #lokakids!!#elliot lokason #frigg lokadóttir

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jacensolodjo · 4 years

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Shaving Facial Hair, Especially for Newbies

Just in time for “No Shave November”, tips for new to facial hair ppl as well as those who might consider themselves veterans but want to try new things. Wet shaving only will be discussed.

Perhaps you want a ‘clean slate’ for November? Since that’s essentially what people do. (Also I know this probably will just look like an infomercial for West Coast Shaving halfway thru but they’re who I got most of my stuff from anyways so... Listen they have good deals. Once we get to beard care it’ll swap to being most Monster for Men. I get paid absolutely nothing from either. Nothing and no one especially not me is saying you MUST buy from either. Simply that they’re easy to navigate and aren’t gonna break your bank like some other companies. And also if you’re sensitive to scents and stuff like me you get a wide range of choices when it comes to soaps and oils.)

What you need (Details to follow):

Razor

Blades

Brush

Shave Soap (NO not just regular soap. Keep reading.)

Preshave (Not absolutely necessary but again keep reading.)

Aftershave (Also not TOTALLY necessary but your skin will thank you keep reading.)

Facial Hair Scissors

Get a nice razor that is absolutely not disposable. I use a closed comb safety razor. You can use a straight razor if you’re like... that confident in your skill if you’ve never even done regular wet shave with a disposable much less a safety razor. Which, ‘safety razor’ is kind of a misnomer because it is very not safe when you’re changing the blades but whatever. I suggest for your first one to be a Merkur. Many, many folks stand by it as a good starter, just be careful not to get one with a handle that is too chunky for your first time doing this because it can get unwieldy. You want a thinner one. Like the Merkur 33C or the 78S from West Coast Shaving.

As for any disposable versus metal kinda deals, it really is much more cost effective to buy the handle+head then get the blades changed out at least once a week (some people say every like, 3 days if you’re consistently shaving every day but it’s really up to you and how concerned you might be about dulling. The blades are relatively resistant to it and can also stand being left on the handle for weeks if not months at a time depending on where you store it.) Bulk purchase of 100 blades (which can last months) can be as little as $10. I know not everyone has that option to spend $30+ on a razor handle+head then another few bucks on blades and that’s okay! But this guide is for wet shaving w/o consideration of disposable razors. You will get similar results, of course, but the fact of the matter is while they like to brag about having so many blades it isn’t actually that healthy for your skin. More on that in the ‘actually shaving’ part.

Also, slant is another option for safety razor head but it... it is like a grandmaster wet shaving level of razor. And yet it is also wonderful for those with sensitive skin (or otherwise hard to shave hair like many with curly hair deal with thru the sheer virtue of having curly hair even on the face). I don’t use it but I probably should with how sensitive my skin is but eh... maybe later. Anyway. Here’s a comparison of how they look:

(source: 10 Facts About Open, Closed, & Slant Razor Heads That You MUST Know Before Buy [sic])

Get a nice brush, silvertip badger hair/synthetic hair are usually what you want to get. Be aware that the real badger hair brushes can get a little... stinky for the first few times using it. Though, because of my super senses perhaps I just notice it far more than others might. But I suggest a nice synthetic on your first outing because it’s easier to understand how lathering works with the synthetic and it can be cheaper than the ‘real deal’. Don’t let the wet shaving elitists out there make you break your bank when a cheaper option works just as well. Because real badger IS more expensive no matter the handle to the brush.

Find a shave soap you like. Lots of the big suppliers have samples with generous sizing but they are not always free (a lot of the suppliers are working with smaller businesses anyways so you have to think of that). I’ve mostly gotten mine from West Coast Shaving. But there are tons of other folks out there. You may feel like supporting smaller businesses which is cool! Etsy of course has some great shops. There are also shops like Phoenix Artisan Accoutrements that feel a little more high end and for the more experienced shaver. The main thing you want to remember/realize is that shave soap is indeed quite different from hand soap (or any other soap). The secret is of course, in the lather. It has to be nice and foamy that looks almost like Cool Whip which regular handsoap just doesn’t create. Next to that, shave soap is formulated for your face and the removal of the whiskers on said face. Go on, try to use regular ol’ hand soap and see how much your facial skin and hair hates you after. (Some people like my dad use regular damn soap and then wonder why they get razor burn and ingrown hair and cuts. It’s because you used goddamn hand soap with like no lather to it.) However, it CAN go in reverse. Shave soap can be used as hand soap, just not with the same benefits. What to look for in a shave soap besides what smells good: high fat (aka tallow) content (30-50%) and glycerin are the main ones followed by things like soy, cocoa butter, coconut oil, and shea butter.

As a note, shaving cream is also an option. But not the stuff in the can you spray on. A lot of shaving cream will come in containers similar to what shave soap does. It makes creating a lather much easier, obviously, and so cuts down (haa pun) on how long your shave routine is taking.

Get a shave bowl, preferably a shatter resistant one (especially if you are just starting to learn how to balance it while in the shower or w/e or you’re just prone to dropping stuff). I use this 2-piece shave bowl that can be dropped quite often and still not even crack and it makes lathering a breeze. It is also relatively easy to hold in the shower (or by the sink whichever way you prefer). Some people manage to do the whole lather process with just one bowl and honestly I can’t figure out how. 2 bowls is the absolute minimum for me but maybe you’re a grandmaster shaver.

Some people, especially if they aren’t going the complete bath/shower routine or have especially stubborn hair, will use pre-shave oil/gel. It’s pretty much what you’d expect from the name, you slather some on before you shave. The oil helps keep the shaving experience go smooth as silk and prevents snagging, tearing, stretching, etc., of the skin and follicles. Some people DO use only the pre shave oil, but I don’t recommend it because again, shave soap is specially formulated for shaving and has more benefits than the oil itself.

Aftershave! It gets a bad rap. I’m sure your mental picture of using aftershave is hissing and wincing as the alcohol/witch hazel seeps in (to skin that may be slightly sensitive). Generally witch hazel actually isn’t supposed to sting like alcohol but it can definitely go on cold regardless of how warm the bathroom you have it in is. Aftershave can come in a spray, as well as a gel in addition to the common mental image of putting a few drops in your palm, rubbing briskly then patting onto your face (with y’know... hissing and wincing in pain and making funny faces). Non-Alcohol aftershaves are most commonly called ‘aftershave balm’. Keep reading for why the common image of aftershave application shouldn’t be a common sight in YOUR bathroom mirror.

Okay so we all have our ‘ingredients’ for a great shave, right? Good. Preferably shaving should be done fresh after a bath/shower, when your hair has been softened by the hot water and your skin has been cleaned by the appropriate products (face wash and beard wash/conditioner is my preference but I guess regular soap is fine). As mentioned, not everyone has the time or desire to take a full on shower before getting to shaving. That’s cool! That’s why we have our buddy the pre-shave gel/oil. It IS suggested that you at least wash your face first if only so in case you do make a micro-cut in your skin any kind of ick on your face won’t seep into the wound. Anyways, step pre-1 out of the way. You can also choose to forgo the preshave stuff entirely if you want. It’ll just make your face happier if you give it this little shield.

While you have been showering/bathing you should have been soaking your shave brush. You can put it in a cup if you want but if you got the two-bowl setup mentioned earlier one of the bowls is meant for softening your brush while the other holds the soap. Dump out the water you have been using in that second bowl because that’s where you’re going to lather that soap after you have ‘loaded’ it from the other bowl. Loading is just the act of rubbing the soap briskly with the brush until you start getting the beginnings of a lather going then you swap to the other bowl. You need a good ratio of water to soap, otherwise the lather will be too watery to build on your face which is no bueno. Remember: Cool Whip. It must be creamy, thick, and not drip off the brush when you hold it up. You may need to gently squeeze the brush to get excess water out, you want the brush soft and pliable not damp. If you can flick that sucker and splatter water on the wall (or... mirror I guess?? why are you doing that you look silly aim at the sink/shower drain!) there’s too much damn water in the brush.

Time to slather it on your face! Some people say to do it in circles but honestly I’ve never been able to do that and it’s more often for those who forgo the bowls/scuttles entirely and ‘work on the lather on the face’. Broad, slow strokes back and forth works and feels a lot better (and can be rather soothing). Now’s as good a time as any to say that while media does show the whole shaving entire full beards off, it is a lot better if you trim that sucker down some. Your razor is not a pair of clippers. and this is related to the overall idea of using this kind of razor: less hair, not all of the hair. Don’t try to keep taking pass over pass on the same strip of skin. You’re just going to give yourself razor burn, micro-tears, all sorts of bad stuff. Until you get your technique down you may have to live with there being one little patch not quite as smoothed down.

Go with the grain, not against. Some people say it’s better to go against because of how the hair is not going to naturally lie against the skin, but it can cause irritation to shave against. Follow the line of your jaw on the first pass, then start to go from cheek down to jaw. Be sure to add more soap for each pass. Although, you can do lines from cheek to jaw first, it just depends on you and what feels best. There are no hard and fast rules on this.

As for holding your razor, with safety razors especially you basically want to let it do all the work. Let it slide down under its own weight, as it were. Keep an easy grip on it, preferably like you might hold a pencil. Then just let it glide on down and around. Too much pressure can increase the chance of microtears and cuts, which leads to wincing and hissing in the mirror when you put on your aftershave (especially the alcohol based ones), along with the classic razor burn of irritated skin.

Now, when I mentioned trimming down your beard before actually shaving you can use clippers if you want or it’s easiest for you, but you can also use facial hair scissors. The scissors can be used for ‘pruning’ your facial hair (such as snipping down an especially longer than its neighbors hair), and the clippers can be used for styling it (such as getting a neat rounded look of your facial hair). In general it’s a good idea to ‘prune’ your facial hair while it’s growing in. If only so it’s even easier to manage to later on. This helps to make it less unruly and you don’t look like a cave dweller.

In the end, your routine does not need to be set in stone. Nor do you have to always buy the same products. Feel free to experiment not only with scents but with actual products along with the combinations (shaving soap+pre shave oil or just the soap). But hopefully this gives you a jumping off point for learning how your shaving routine should work.

#Текст #wet shaving #shaving #long post #jacen's recs #shaving tutorial

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gwaciechang · 4 years

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Love Run (4/10?)

“Welcome to my table, bring your hunger”

Yes, I know that line’s from The Horror and the Wild. Deal with it.

Once again, trigger warnings for Bobby Hayes’ life and everything involved in it. This chapter also involves a character with OCD whose rituals lead to an argument with the POV character, the discovery that an addict is keeping drugs in a recovering addict’s living space (a brief line that will be discussed later), and a heavy discussion of the POV character’s past drug abuse and recovery. Read at your own risk below the cut.

“Home sweet home,” you breathe a sigh of relief. Behind you, Bobby is tense and unhappy. That doesn’t change when he steps inside. You wince when you notice the mess. God, why didn’t you clean up before?

Well, missing the bus, making a friend, and killing a hitman might have had something to do with it. You shake yourself out of the memory before it can overwhelm you. You're literally too tired to have a panic attack, how sad is that?

You start scrubbing the dishes you left from breakfast that last morning into the sink. The handle falls off the mug, and you curse. That had been your favorite, too, because it’s the only one your ex didn’t give you when you two moved into this place. The only glue you have in the house is a children’s gluestick that couldn’t hold two pieces of paper together, assuming you could even find it. You resign yourself to a trip to the store. Bobby would probably insist on his own set of dishes anyway, and you do’'t blame him, you're the one who let this place become a sty, after all.

“D-do you mind if I help?” Bobby asks shyly.

“No, of course not. Just, um, just let me know where you put things later, and, uh, try to keep similar things in the same place. That’s dish soap in the handsoap dispenser next to the faucet, by the way. I have a gallon jug of dish soap under the sink next to the trashcan that I refill it with, it’s just easier.” When you realize you’re babbling, you shut your mouth with a click.

“That's smart,” Bobby’s smile is pained. “That’s normal person smart.”

“Normal?” you hold up your hands, which are still covered by his gloves.

Oddly enough, this actually makes him smile, and he gets to washing the dishes with his bare hands, even though it means having to touch four-day-old egg, or whatever that yellow crusty thing is. You go to your bedroom and try to organize your clothes, or at least get them off the floor. And that’s when you realize.

“Shit!”

“What is it?”

You poke your head out to say, “I don’t have a couch, and there’s only one bed.”

His face is grim and he fidgets when he says, “If you don’t mind, I could take a spare blanket and sleep on the floor.”

”I can’t let you sleep on the floor, Bobby, shit.” You take out your thickest blanket anyway, and go to the gaming room your ex set up to dump on the reclining chair. “I’ve fallen asleep here before,” you lie, you’d never used this room before. Bobby’s not paying attention, he’s too busy staring at your ex’s computer.

Right, he’s a fucking computer expert, and your ex, for all his uselessness, was very much into getting the latest technology for League of Warcraft or whatever it was he played.

“Yes, it is most likely whatever model of computer you’re thinking of. I don’t know exactly, since I’ve never used it,” you roll eyes and busy yourself with trying to figure out how to get the reclining chair to actually recline.

“I thought you said you’ve fallen asleep here before.”

Ah shit, you need to be more careful. “Um, yeah,” you hide your face carefully. “When my ex would fall asleep here, I’d usually come join him.” That actually isn’t a lie. “I hate sleeping by myself in that big bed.”

Bobby makes a sound, and for a second your heart beats fast with the hope he’s going to offer to sleep in the bed with you. But then he opens his mouth. “Have you considered getting a large stuffed animal?”

The idea is appealing. You hadn’t held a stuffed animal even close to your size since you were maybe five, but you’d be damned if you let Bobby knew that.

“I will throw this chair at you,” you threaten.

He honest-to-god smirks. “You can’t even lift it.”

You do your best and succeed at tipping the chair over right into the window. The headrest smashes into the blinds and starts to go through the glass as well, but Bobby catches it at the last second and very carefully tips it back.

“Well, fuck,” you say, examining the crack in the glass.

“I don’t usually sleep at night,” Bobby says suddenly. His fingers are tapping that nervous pattern against his elbows again. “We could take turns sleeping in the bed?”

“Actually, that might be a good idea,” you remember what Harry said. “One of us should be on alert, just in case somebody tries to break down my door, too.”

Bobby tenses at the reminder, and his eyes flick toward the door like somebody’s about to jump out right now. “I will,” he promises, rubbing the sores on his arms. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I can stay awake for a long time.”

“Well, so can I,” you think ruefully of being so high on meth you wouldn’t even realize a week passed by until the high ran out and you crashed, starving, hallucinating, for days.

“Don’t take anything, please. Don’t take anything that’ll keep you awake, and I promise I won’t take anything,” Bobby’s eyes are fierce.

“I won’t,” you promise. “I’d rather die. I’m not joking, I’d rather die.”

He gets closer to you, one inch at a time. “Well, don’t do that either,” he lays a reluctant hand on your shoulder.

“I think I’ve done a pretty good job of not doing that,” you try to force some levity into the situation. “Now come on, you barely have any clothes, and my groceries have probably gone bad.”

It turns out to be a mistake, because you forgot it was Friday and not Monday, and the shop is crowded.

“I don’t need anything,” Bobby says sullenly. He flinches every time someone brushes past him.

“Is it because the police took your money? That’s fine. I can afford it for a couple days,” you walk in front of him so you’ll deal with the crowd and he can avoid people in your wake. You also fail at trying not to think about work. You’re missing almost a week’s worth of income, and you don’t even know if Bobby has a job.

“No, I brought the box. I don’t like it here. It’s too loud.”

“Okay, let’s go home, and then you can make a list for me of things you need, and I’ll get it,” you start to turn him to the exit.

“No,” he takes your hand. “I’m not leaving you alone.” Does he realize he’s humming to his usual six beats?

That gives you an idea. “Here,” you take his gloves off and hold them under his face so he can see them.

“They’re yours,” he still doesn’t meet your eyes. “They keep you from scratching.”

“I’m not scratching, they worked. Now put them on.”

He does, and with his hands covered, he doesn’t stop tapping, but nor is he flinching when people pass by him. You’re not arrogant enough to believe it’s because you’re holding his hand now.

He closes all the blinds once you get home, then opens them to close them again.

You leave him to it, opening up the refrigerator door to toss the rotten carrots and a bag of things that could be kiwis or apples out. The cherries are a little soft, but they look edible, and so do the wrinkly oranges, so you put the green bananas in between them to help them ripen faster.

“I’ll do it,” Bobby yanks the groceries out of your hands and starts rearranging your food.

“Can you leave the fruit where it is? I want the bananas to ripen faster.”

“You could’ve just bought ripe bananas,” he says.

“Yes, but I don’t eat them that fast,” you try to keep your temper in check.

He takes the bag of cherries. “These are old.”

“They’re still good,” you argue, trying to keep him from throwing them out.

“They’re old,” he insists.

“You’re not the one who’s eating them!” your voice is getting higher now.

“I don’t want them in the refrigerator. They get old and they become breeding grounds for bacteria.”

“It’s my refrigerator!”

He throws the cherries at you before storming out of the room, and you just barely catch them. He’s tapping his fingers so hard against the wall that you’re afraid he'll break them.

“Bobby-”

“SHUT UP! STOP TALKING!” he screams. His eyes are clenched shut and he’s doubled over. You wonder if his injuries are still bothering him, and all your anger drains out.

You drop the cherries behind the bananas so they’re hidden from view. “I’ll leave the groceries to put away how you want,” you say as you walk off to your room. You close the door quietly to avoid disturbing his rituals, turn around, and find his box at the top of his dresser.

You know this is invasive, but you need to know. You of all people know how tentative the hold on sobriety is, and if someone has hard drugs that you know is triggering for you, you have to protect yourself. Still, knowing that doesn’t make you feel any less awful to start singing Bonnie Tyler again to hide the sounds of you opening the box.

Well, that’s a lot of cash and not a lot of heroin, maybe. You can’t smell it like this, but you know what it looks like.

You leave everything where it is and close the box in favor of something you can control: sorting the laundry. That’s how Bobby finds you, and he lets out a little sigh of relief when he sees his box hasn’t been disturbed.

“There was so much noise,” he says harshly, and then he winces.

“I understand,” you try to reassure him. “Your life just got turned upside down, you lost your apartment, you’re in a whole new living situation with another person, your life is in danger by people you don’t know, and shopping in big crowds can be stressful. You’re trying to get your control back.”

“So are you,” Bobby insists. “You’ve got a new roommate, that roommate’s reminding you of the worst time of your life, and you’ve still got nightmares of that man you killed for me. I should let you have your comfort food, it’s not my comfort food.”

“Which is why I put the cherries somewhere harder to see,” you say. “And if there’s anything else I can do, let me know, alright? We can compromise as long as we talk to each other.” You take tentative steps toward him. “Thank you for being honest with me. Thank you for not hiding or getting high to avoid having this conversation.”

“You shouldn’t be proud. I'm just doing something you’ve been doing for years.”

“Well, too bad, because it's my feelings and I get to feel whatever I want,” you say, standing up. “Now, I’m going to make myself some food. Coming?”

He does, like you hoped. Honestly, that boy needs some meat on his bones.

“What do you like?” you ask, getting your cooking utensils out and leaving the doors open so he can rearrange them the way he likes. He’s doing you a favor, really, you don’t have any organizational system for most of your kitchen.

“I want to know how to make your favorite.”

You can’t help yourself from clutching your chest. “Lu mian it is,” you say, taking out the yellow bean sprouts from the fridge so you could snap the roots off. “Could you take the shredded beef out of the freezer and put it in the microwave to thaw?”

He obeys immediately, the sweetheart.

“Great. Now get me the big metal bowl and a plate from the dishwasher. The bowl’s on the top shelf, the plates are on the bottom, and you can organize it however you like after that.”

“Okay, you see that big three-layered pot in the corner? Take the top two pots off, fill the bottom pot about halfway with water, and then put it on any of the stoves and turn the heat to medium.”

The water turns on, then off, and the pot clinks against the stovepot. Only once.

“What else?”

“Get a porcelain bowl from the dishwasher, top shelf. And then you see the sauces next to the stove? One of them says ‘light soy sauce.’ Pour about a tablespoon of it into a bowl. When you're done with that, there's garlic in the fridge in the same place you keep your butter in your refrigerator. Dice five or six. The cutting board is next to the sink. Then mix the garlic in with the sauce, and when the beef’s thawed, pour it into the bowl and mix it again.”

The microwave dings, and he pours the beef into the bowl. “Like this?” he asks.

“Exactly, perfect.”

Is that a blush?

“Alright, what’s next?” he asks when he finishes.

“Next? Next you listen to me thank you for following my directions perfectly.”

Bobby blushes. He’s so beautiful.

“Is the water boiling yet?” you ask as you wash the sprouts.

“Um, it’s getting close, it’s bubbling.”

“Okay, take two chunks of noodles out of the freezer and put them on the plate. 30 seconds in the microwave should thaw them out enough for you to separate them.” The microwave dings right as you pour the water out of the sprouts. You leave the sprouts next to the sink, separate the top two pots, and walk up to Bobby as he takes out the noodles. “Okay, do exactly as I do,” you say, taking one chunk of noodle from him to unravel into one of the pots. He, of course, follows your instructions perfectly and his pot is much neater than yours, the show-off.

“The water’s boiling," he says, looking at the stove.

“Perfect,” you put your pot over his and put them over the pot already on the stove. Then you grab a pot and pour about two tablespoons of vegetable oil into it, and crank it up to high. “Okay, pour the beef and garlic in here,” you point.

He’s already brushed the mixture into the pot by the time you realize you didn’t give him the spatula, so rinse it out quickly before stirring the mixture with it. Steam hisses, and you roll up your sleeves.

That was a mistake.

You cover the scars as soon as you can, but Bobby is already horrified.

“It’s not that bad,” you focus on making sure the garlic doesn’t stick to the pot. “They were uglier before they healed,” you try to joke.

Bobby rolls up his sleeves, too, so you can see his bruised injection sites. He makes eye contact the whole time, daring you to call yourself ugly again. You nod in acquiescence, and he takes over stirring for you. “How long do I do this for?” he asks.

“Until the meat turns brown,” you say, grabbing the bowl of sprouts. “Move over, I'm going pour this in.”

“Do I mix it in?” he asks. You’re so close to him that you can feel his warmth.

“Yes,” you squeak with a dry mouth. You don’t want to move. “A little more than that,” you say, peering at the pot. “A little more,” and technically this is good enough, but you don’t want to move. “A little more.”

The dry hiss of the noddle pot tells you that it needs more water, snapping you out of your stupor.

“Take the top two pots off,” you say, filling the metal bowl with water to pour into the bottom pot. Then you take the top pot off and put it on the bottom pot. “Now put yours on top of mine.” Man, you would love to say that in a different context.

When the noodles are done, you mix them into the meat and sprouts, and then you both sit down to enjoy your meal. Neither of you have rolled down your sleeves.

“I can’t remember when the noise really started getting to me,” Bobby says suddenly. “I remember the first time I lost my tooth, I kept counting my teeth. I don’t think anybody knew what I was doing yet. And then I had to do more and more. At some point, whenever I went out, I had to count all the trees, and if they weren’t in six, I couldn’t go to where I need unless I counted enough trees to fit six. So I stopped going out, things were just too scary. I broke my fingers one day, to try to keep myself from counting, and the doctor gave me Valium. It made me feel like I was floating, and when it wore off, I had to feel it again. When I’m on heroin, the world isn’t so scary anymore. But the noise always gets through again.”

You reach halfway across the table and lay your open hand down. “When I was thirteen, one of my friends had expired pills they let me take, because I was tired all the time and I didn’t know why. And I still don’t know. I just had to keep taking more and more of it to just stay awake, and then I started mixing other amphetamines. And then when I was fifteen, one of the people I used to buy from said he had something better than expired pills. He gave me crystal meth. He told me he’d inherited this mansion from his uncle, and it was full of the stuff. It was probably just an abandoned building, but it was always full of people using everything he sold.”

Bobby’s eyes are wet, but they’re looking right at yours, and he takes your hand. “How did you stop?”

You chuckle. “Honestly, my sister. My entire family stopped talking to me after they found out I was a tweaker. And one day, when I was too tired to care how much I took, I ended up having a heart attack. I still don’t know how she found me, but she did, and she called an ambulance and kept me alive until it got there. When I woke up, she was next to my hospital bed. She didn’t speak to me, but she locked me in her apartment while fluids poured out of me from both ends, and you have to really love somebody to do that while they’re screaming about how much they hate you.”

Bobby swallows. “Does your family talk to you now?”

“Yeah, eventually. It took a while to get my dad to come around. But having Chloe around to vouch for me really helped,” your eyes are blurring. You rub the tears away roughly, but they’re soon replaced by many more.

Bobby lifts his fingers and wipes them away.

“Thanks,” you say into your noodles.

“I’m sorry you were alone,” he says with way too much feeling.

“Well, once you get past the ‘Holy shit I almost died’ thing, you stop being so scared of things that aren't likely to kill you right this second,” you try to smile. It feels wrong on your face.

Your ex’s chair squeaks when Bobby stands up. You’re not sure what he's doing as he walks around the table, but his face is determined, so you don't say anything as he opens his arms and covers you in a hug.

#lucky man fanfiction #bobby hayes #joey i am literally begging you not to look through this tag

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