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trashmouth-richie · 6 months

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masterlist

eddie x fem reader

chapter summary: how sweet it is, to be loved.

series summary: You were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

special thanks: to anyone and everyone who read a single chapter or kept up with this series to the end, thank you so much- this story wouldn’t be possible without your support.

author’s note: I can’t believe this is the final chapter for this series, I’m feeling so many emotions right now but mostly just love for Eddie and Tooty and everything in between. Thank you to anyone who has helped me beta ( @sweetsweetjellybean especially!)this story or fan girled with me over upcoming chapters. To any of the very talented artists who have made any art for this series, thank you so very much, each and every piece holds such a special place in my heart. To anyone who is mentioned in this story, thank you so so much, @loveshotzz @chechelia @carolmunson @mopeymopeymouse and everyone else— thank you for allowing me to include you in this series. To everyone who has liked, rb’d left a comment or interacted in any way with this series— THANK YOU. This series has brought such joy & heartache to me, and I’m so lucky to have people enjoy it. 🖤

Cereal

Hotdogs

Bananas

Jelly —grape, not strawberry

Bread

Crackers

Toothpaste

Noodles

Chicken thighs— babe are you making fun of me?

Heartburn medicine

You tap the chewed cap of your pen along the lined paper of a scribble heavy grocery list. Desperately wishing you had x-ray vision to see inside your cabinets and remember what you were in need of, you chew the cap again.

Giggling to yourself every so often at Eddie’s notes on the grocery list. Crossing off items he thought weren’t needed, mostly vegetables he didn’t like. And always making sure you got his favorites. And not, “that healthy bullshit cereal, give me sugar or kill me babe, I will not eat Raisin Bran”

Peanut butter

Sunny D

Thyme

Heavy cream

Basil

Carrots

Onions

Chicken stock

Hey sweetheart can you please get me some candy? I like skittles but you know I love m&ms.. and twizzlers, it’s for the shop. :)

The lady behind the desk chirps a name again, but you are still racking your brain on what else was needed. The soup you had planned on making tonight would be perfect for the chilly weather rolling in. November was coming in like a lion, ferociously cold and temperatures already dipping below zero.

Eddie loved your potato soup, so much that he begged you to make it after another long, grisly week at the shop.

He loved everything you made, even your chili that he doctored up by adding sour cream and Doritos to it. Bon Appetit he would say with a smirk on his lips, a heaping bowl steaming in front of him.

The clerk behind the desk tutted and huffed, the schedule was getting behind.

“Tooty Munson! Is there a Tooty Munson here?”

You glance up quickly at the sound of your name, “shit,” you breathe, “here, yes,” you scramble shoving the list and pen into your purse, buried amongst the gum wrappers and a spilled container of tic-tacs.

The receptionist clicks her papers against the formica counter and holds her nose in the air, as if this job and you were beneath her.

“He’s ready for you now.”

—-

“…alright, Ed, did ya look o’er those applications yet? ‘Tween you D and Mike I don’t think we are going to be able to keep up everything that we got on the schedule.”

Wayne’s eyebrows are raised as he looks over the bifocals perched on his nose. He had been scouring over the schedules and the books for the better half of the afternoon since lunch hour—trying to figure out how to swing their overloaded schedule.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t do the work, they were simply short handed. After Boom closed his doors in Hawkins, he had recommended to his regulars that they travel to Bridgeport to Master Mechanics to see Eddie and Wayne. Business was booming, and the Munson’s could barely keep up.

Early on, Wayne and Eddie decided they would only be open until noon on Saturday’s but now with the packed schedule, they worked til almost dark every night of the week, including some Sundays.

Wayne rubs his short nails through his scratchy mostly white scruff, “we can’t have these boys workin’ like this, they’ll quit on us before you can slap a tick.”

Eddie was leaning against the doorway, a bottle of Coca Cola held limp in his hand, a greasy rag stuffed in his back pocket.

“Yeah,” he yawns, stretching out his back, “let’s hire ‘em all, we need the extra hands, or I’m gonna need an extra back.”

Wayne grunts in confirmation. The highlighter squeaks as it’s drug across the phone numbers on the applications, “I’ll call ‘em first thing in the morning,” he straightens up his desk and shoves the papers into a drawer.

His glasses clink as he folds them up and lays them next to a picture of the newlywed Munson’s. He leans back in his chair, the leather crinkling beneath his worn coveralls, “I’m callin’ it for the day,” he exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, “it’s been one helluva week and I’m shot, tell the boys to go home to their wives.”

“and you too,” he points, “go take care of your wife, Ed, tell her I hope she starts to feelin’ better.”

Eddie’s curls bounce as he nods his head, completely drained from the week, shit maybe he was getting sick too? “she went to the doctor today, probably just the flu, Max told her it was going around.”

“Well then,” Wayne says, standing up and clicking off the table lamp, “take tomorrow off and rest–

both of ya, hear me?”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

—

Eddie’s tires crunch on the ice and hard packed snow of the driveway, a silent serenity, meaning he is only moments away from holding you in his arms, seconds away from kissing your lips, and if he was lucky, minutes from eating something delicious to fill his grumbling stomach.

He throws the truck into neutral, killing the engine and tossing the keys around his finger. Tracks from your Jeep tires lead into the garage he had built last spring. A huge project that your friends were paid in beer and a bonfire when it was all finished.

Thrusting his sore hands into his canvas coat, he ducked his chin into the zipper and braved the asthma inducing gust of wind to the front door as it whipped through his curls.

The house was oddly quiet, only the hum of the refrigerator making any sort of sound. Usually when he came home you’d be playing the radio, or talking on the phone to Max or Nancy, greeting him with a pop of your head around the wall in the kitchen or from the hallway, the prettiest smile put on your lips.

“Princess?” he called out in endearment as he untied his boots and put them on the shoe rack. His coatwas already hanging on its hook, usually next to your purse but your purse was thrown onto the arm chair, and your shoes were in the hallway like you had walked right out of them.

He undid the buttons of his work blues, letting them hang at his waist like a mechanic cape. Socked feet trudge down the carpeted hallway, you must not be feeling any better, probably too exhausted to make it out of bed.

But Eddie was wrong.

You were perched on top of the comforter, coat still on but unzipped staring at the door waiting for his arrival, fuzzy socks on your wiggling toes.

“Hey, handsome,” you said, trying to keep your pitch even.

“There’s my girl,” his velvet voice wrapping around you like a hug as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for your left hand and kissing the finger that adorned the prettiest ring he’d ever bought, “how’s my beautiful wife?”

It had been five months since you said I do. A June wedding in your own backyard, filled with friends who had served as family for years, gathered by your sides.

“I forgot the potatoes,” you say blankly, a weird little smile on your face.

Eddie sits down next to you, rubbing your thigh back and forth and letting out an exhausted yawn, “That’s alright, I can make us some grilled cheese if you’re up for—”

“I was looking at my grocery list, and couldn’t remember what I’d forgot.”

Eddie’s confused, but wants to reassure you that its no big deal, he’s a grown man he can certainly make supper for himself and his wife. “Sweetheart it’s okay, don’t beat yours—“

“Can’t make potato soup without potatoes.” And this time you laugh, kind of whimsically and in disbelief.

His brows turn inward, still he just keeps reassuring you that everything is fine, “It’s okay Tooty, seriously. Let me go make you some—”

And for the third time tonight, you interrupted him, “doctor said that’s normal.”

He’s exhausted and is honestly more confused than he would like to admit, “what? The flu?”

“No, no. “ you say, a twisted little smirk on your face, “forgetting things, throwing up in the morning, being exhausted… totally normal.”

“Babe?” He moves to touch the back of his hand to your head, wincing when he realizes that he’s probably freezing.

“I was so scared the last time,” you whisper, teary eyed, “terrified.. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but now—.”

Eddie reaches for your cheeks, holding them softly, his eyes searching yours, desperate to figure out what the hell is going on, “what am I missing here? It’s normal to have… the flu?”

“No, it’s not the flu,” you finally admit, looking up at him and rubbing the back of his hands with your thumbs,

“Eddie, I’m pregnant.”

—

You could fill an empty pool up from the tears that sprung from Eddie’s eyes that night. He was overjoyed, holding you tight while he wept into your hair. Kissing your belly and whispering to the baby. Small streaks of tears flowing down your swollen skin and the faded scar across your lower belly.

Each month that ticked by, Eddie’s worry only doubled.

The day after you had found out, he woke early. Watching as your chest rose and fell as you slept soundly in the original mock up of his hellfire shirt.

It was threadbare, cotton worn so thin it was practically see through— but you claimed it as your own back in the early days of your new relationship, hands on your hips and the infamous pout on your lip as you playfully argued with him about how it was now yours.

Dusk painted the diamond covered ground from the fresh snow over night. Falling as delicately as his lips allover your skin. Soaking up the dainty noises from your throat when he carefully slid into you, tears spilling from both of your eyelashes, love filling the room more sweetly than it ever had before.

The soft cotton of the blankets hugged your curves, and he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he gazed down at his beautiful— now pregnant— wife.

His sweet Tooty, carrying a gift more precious than gold.

Kissing your cheek—he dressed quietly, scribbling a note on the bedside table about going into town for a bit, but to just relax in bed until he got home.

You were having a dreamless sleep, not even sugarplums could dance in your head with the overwhelming exhaustion that your body was trying desperately to catch up from.

Something cold then silky smooth brushed against your cheek, and a velvet voice sang a little good morning greeting into your ear. Your loving husband. Pressing sweet angel kisses behind your ear and on your eyelids.

Your bedroom was lit with the glow of a warm sun in the afternoon light. Playing a yellowed hue of warmth across your comforter, pulling the caramel color from Eddie’s curls and making his eyes look like a dreamy cup of coffee swirling with creamer.

His lips hug yours, both smiling into one another. Heart swelling more than your toes would in the months to come.

C’mon, got a surprise for you, princess.

The spare bedroom that was once a room for band equipment, then Max’s bedroom for almost a year before she eventually moved in with Gareth and Will, now held storage, was completely organized, and held a wide array of items.

A crib, brand new and still in the box, a pack n play, a swing, every box of diapers ranging from size 1 - 5, baby gates, outlet covers, fancy locks for cabinets and drawers, rubber bumpers for sharp corners and edges of tables.

A bookshelf full of baby books, how to’s for new parents, nursery rhymes by mother goose, books suggesting baby names and their meanings, and a guide on how to quit smoking.

Tucked into the corner of the room by the bookshelf and near the window, was a rocking chair.

“Eddie,” you gasp, running sleep from your eyes, “wh-what is all of this?”

He’s smiling ear to ear, trying to curb his enthusiasm a tiny bit. “I might have gotten a little carried away.”

Turning towards the shelf you see a plastic sack, full of candy and bubble gum, and mints. “Edward Joseph Munson.”

“Don’t scold me, mama,” he jokes, grabbing onto your hips and kissing your hairline, “I’m just spoiling our baby.”

God you loved this man, he’d break his neck to give you the world. He was the most loving husband, and now you got to see him step into a new role. One completely foreign to you both, only have shared the idea for a few moments before it was ripped away.

You lean into him, holding him tight and working your nose into the crook of his neck. “You’re gonna be the best dad, Eddie.”

He doesn’t hide the tear that slips down his cheek, just lets it slide and collect under his chin, his voice is quiet when he asks, “you really think so?”

“I know it.”

—

Wayne and Karen followed behind the new family in his pickup all the way home from the hospital. They were going to stay for a few days, help you both get adjusted to life as parents.

Karen and Nancy had filled your freezer with casseroles, soups and fresh bread. It was a hot July day when you were scheduled for the c section, and when it was all said and done four days in the hospital was more than enough and you were ready to be at home, snuggled up with your new family.

It was a battle of which Munson man could shed the most tears. Eddie and Wayne were both wiping away tears for hours. Overjoyed with emotions that everyone was healthy.

“No you don’t,” Wayne said as you reached for the back door to grab the diaper bag, “you go right inside and get comfy, get them legs up!”

You do as your told, leaving Wayne, Eddie and Karen to carry the load in. The hospital stay was overwhelmingly sweet, but you knew Eddie was itching to get back to normalcy, still not liking the way he felt cooped up in the hospital even though it had been years since you both had the horrifying visit.

Bags and suitcases are carried in and set into your master bedroom to be unpacked later, bottles and diapers are stacked and put into their respectable places. Karen starts warming up the chicken casserole she had prepared earlier that day. Wayne fussed around with the new dishwasher that he and Eddie had installed the month prior.

Throughout the commotion you had fallen asleep, legs propped up in the recliner, but you woke to the sound of the front door closing, and there he was.

Eddie was holding them both, large hands cocooned around their swaddled little bodies, crooked into each of his arms. Something he was nervous about but slowly getting the hang of, the nurses told him he was a natural, and Wayne wept into Karen’s shoulder when Eddie introduced the twins to their grandpa.

His normal obnoxious voice was murmuring low and quiet like a soft lullaby so as not to stir awake the sleeping little babies.

He looked at them both, adoration and tears springing into his eyes. He had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. How he could have helped make something so small and delicate, he wouldn’t understand. But, he didn’t need to.

A boy, born first— with his dark eyes and brown hair, and later the little girl, almost identical to his Tooty, and just as stubborn, both already wrapped around his fingers.

He murmured their names, and caught your eye as he said it, a smile so wide on his face that you were sure new dimples would bust through his cheeks, and you only heard the end of what he was saying.

If you would have told yourself five years ago that you would one day own a home, get married to and have twins with Eddie Munson, you would have laughed on the spot. That loud mouth jackass of a guy you had once regretted letting move into your home, had moved right into your heart and never left.

The demons inside you both were finally at bay, finding solace in one another in more ways than you had thought possible. Being loved by Eddie was everything you had thought love should be like.

And you pinch yourself to make sure it's real, and each and every time, it is.

“…babies,” he says, a smile on his lips and tears in his eyes as he looks over at you, his family, “we’re home.”

The end

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @crybabyddl @zenathebeautiful @astela17 @taintedcigs @bettyfrommars @munsonsuccubus @munson-blurbs @hollandweather @serasvictoria @steviesgrl @curiositydooropened @ashyyboyy @urlbitchin @sllooney @lame0o @ali-r3n @bangaveragewhitewine @b-irock @enam3l @luxaeterna13 @manda-panda-monium @elthreetimes @joejoequinnquinn

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #honey i’m home #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #stranger things

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archangeldyke-all · 4 months

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Outlaw cowboy sevika who fell in love with a good woman or a woman she is partner in crimes with?

i'm done writing the big fic, so i can finally start doing requests again!! starting with this GENIUS idea tysm anon <333

men and minors dni

the parlor doors swing open, and a shadowy figure wanders into the tavern. behind the bar, you bite your lip, watching patrons scatter as the cloaked figure struts over to the bar, a jingle decorating every one of their footsteps as their spurs twirl on their boots.

they knock on the bar top to get your attention, like you haven't had your eyes trained on them since they strolled in. you grin.

"how can i help ya?" you ask, already reaching under the counter to pull out a glass and bottle of whiskey. you pour them a big glass and slide it across the bar, not moving your hand when they reach forward to grab it.

when your fingers meet, you gently brush yours against theirs, then slowly, slowly trail your fingers up their arm, before grabbing the rim of their hat and flicking it up.

there she is, you think as sevika's face is finally revealed to you. she's smiling just as wide as you are.

"got any vacancies?" she asks. you chuckle.

"fully booked, sorry miss." you tease. she snorts. "but maybe if you work for it i can arrange a place for you to sleep." you add on. sevika rolls her eyes as you grab two buckets and gesture for her to follow you. she does. she always does.

you wander out of the tavern and into the small side garden you tend to in your free time. shoving a bucket into her arms, you gesture at the well. she meanders over to it and begins pumping the spout until water comes spurting out. you watch in amusement as she gets sprayed and curses.

you walk through your rows of crops, harvesting a few ears of corn, a couple of potatoes, a handful of carrots.

your tavern/inn is located on the main street of a small shanty town in the middle of nowhere. the only people who travel through these parts are up to no good, so when you came to own the place after the previous owner died and left it in your name, you made a few policy changes.

for one thing, you don't ask questions. patrons can come in riddled with shrapnel and bleeding, their faces identical to the 'wanted' sketches that are plastered around town, and you simply turn a blind eye and serve them a hearty bowl of stew, fill 'em up with liquor, patch their wounds, and give them a bed. in exchange for your discretion, you've made plenty of shady friends, who often pay for their time spent in the tavern with stolen and smuggled goods like pretty jewelry, gold bars, or premium cuts of meats or cheeses.

the locals don't give you much trouble, too scared to piss off any of your friends, too happy with the imported rare goods they bring to town with them to complain about the occasional stand off or shootout.

you wander out of the garden, stopping by the small stables and greeting sevika's trusty mare shimmer. the horse whinnies at your appearance, tail swinging happily as you scratch her ears.

"hey, shimmer." you whisper to the horse. "here, baby." you say, hand feeding her a few carrots. "how much trouble'd she get you in this time?" you ask the horse. shimmer doesn't respond, too busy crunching on her treats.

behind you, sevika's hand wraps around your waist. you smile as she presses a kiss against your head.

"missed you." she mumbles against your temple. you laugh and gesture to the tavern.

"c'mon." you say. "i'll canoodle with you once these chores are done."

you and sevika spend the afternoon tending to the tavern. she distributes the water evenly among bedrooms, filling the wash bowls and pitchers patrons can use to hydrate and clean themselves.

you tend to the stew, chopping and stirring in your vegetables, adding a few pinches of dried garlic and onion powder to the bubbling pot of perpetual stew, stirring and tasting and adjusting until you're happy with how it tastes.

it's the slow season. travelers are rare in these parts, but even more so during the scalding hot summer. a few neighbors wander in for a quick drink, and the few patrons you have retire to their rooms once sevika's done refreshing them.

once the sun sets, the tavern is empty, except for you and sevika.

she's staring at you adoringly from across the bar, her chin propped up in her hand as she watches you sweep. you scoff at her expression.

"what kinda trouble'd you get yourself into this time, huh?" you ask. sevika chuckles.

"you didn't see it in the papers?" she asks.

"that train robbery?" you ask. sevika shrugs with a smile. you laugh. "you're gonna get caught up one of these days." you say as you begin wiping down the bar top. sevika rolls her eyes.

"you got no faith in me, darlin', it breaks my heart." she says. you laugh and turn off the oil lamps, before starting up the stairs. sevika follows behind you.

the second floor is where your patrons sleep, but you get the whole attic/third floor to yourself. it's a nice little studio space, two windows on either side, big enough to hold a double mattress and two sets of drawers, a few chests stuffed full with treasures and valuables sevika's brought back to you.

sevika sighs as she enters the space, hanging her hat and poncho up on two nails you'd slammed into the walls for her years ago, shoving off her boots and stripping down to her undergarments. you sit at your desk and watch her strip with scruitny, making sure she doesn't have any new wounds or scars. she washes herself down with a wet rag, sighing as the grime and dirt of her travels slowly washes away. once your sure she's not injured, you allow your gaze to become appreciative, taking in her muscular back and arms as they scrub her body down.

you rise from your seat and approach her, slinging your hands around her waist and tucking your chin over her shoulder. she sighs and leans back against you.

"three weeks is too long." you mumble against your lover. sevika hums.

"i know, darlin'." she says. you take the washcloth from her and begin to scrub her back for her, occasionally kneading and massaging at the knots and tension that riddles her muscles. she melts. "i missed you." she sighs. you kiss the nape of her neck.

"i missed you too. had me worried, you know." you mumble against her. she turns in your arms to wrap her own around your waist, gently swaying the two of you back and forth as she soaks in your features.

"i've been yours for how long?" she teases. you roll your eyes. "five years now?" she asks. you smile and nod. "and you're still worried about me? you know i always come back to you darlin'." she says. you sigh and roll your eyes. "gonna give yourself an ulcer at this rate." she teases. you chuckle.

"wouldn't have to worry if you stuck around." you say.

you and sevika have had this conversation a thousand times now. she's made more than enough in her time as a bandit for the two of you to live comfortably together until the end of time.

still, she always leaves. you don't blame her, before she met you sevika spent her entire life wandering the west, all alone, never staying in one place for longer than a week.

but then, one fateful night all those years ago, she stumbled into your tavern bloodied and battered, staring at you with a sparkle in her eyes as you patched her up. and since then, she's been circling back to you after each and every one of her jobs.

the longer she's had you, the more time she puts between her heists. you'll get her to stay eventually, you just have to be patient. but patience is hard when the love of your life has such a dangerous occupation.

sevika swoops in to kiss the frown off your lips. you sigh against her and wrap your arms around her shoulders as she slowly uncinches your corset and helps you out of your layers.

when you're both naked, you guide her to the bed, plastering yourself to her side as you continue to kiss her. tears well up in your eyes as you get your hand in her hair, and she notices, pulling away with a frown.

"'s wrong darlin'?" she asks. you hide your face against her shoulder.

"what if you die out there, sev? a hundred miles away all alone in the desert... nobody'd find you until you were just bones and dust. and i'd be here waitin' for you to come home for the rest of my life." you say, your voice wobbly. sevika wraps you up in her arms and sighs against you. you reach up to gently trace the scars littering her left cheek.

"fuckin' ruining the surprise." she grumbles against you. you blink.

"what surprise?" you ask. sevika rolls her eyes and darts forward to kiss your forehead.

"the train... it was a cargo train. one of the cars was headed to a bank, padded wall to wall with cash 'n gold. enough for a hundred people." she says. you gulp and blink at her, hesitant to assume lest you get your heart broken.

"so?" you ask. sevika chuckles.

"so, i'm retiring." she says simply. "fuck do i need to keep robbin' and lootin' for if i'm already filthy rich?" she asks. you blink at her, your heart swelling, tears falling down your cheeks as you soak in her words. "plus... i met a girl i'm hopin' to settle down with." she says, smiling shyly at you.

you let out a shaky breath then launch forward, pinning sevika to the bed as she laughs and gathers you in her arms.

"are you serious?" you ask against her. she chuckles and kisses your head.

"deadly." she responds. you melt against her, clinging to her like your life depends on it. "you think you might need a new employee here?" she asks. you snort against her.

"i can figure somethin' out." you say. "gotta work on your people skills, though." you tease her through your tears. sevika laughs and smacks your ass.

"y'know..." she starts. you pick your head up from her shoulder to look at her, and she looks away, nervous. you kiss her lips and she sighs, her anxiety melting away under your touch. "i met a pastor while i was out wanderin'." she says. "said he wouldn't be opposed to marryin' two women if someone were to give his chapel some donation money." she whispers.

you study sevika for a moment as she anxiously nibbles on her lip. "you askin' me to marry you?" you ask. sevika shrugs.

"i mean... i've already given you hundreds of rings." she says. you smile.

"you have." you say. she smiles up at you.

"so?" she asks. "his chapel's a day's ride from here. figured we could go now during the slow season, make it a little vacation?" she asks. you grin and launch down to kiss her, and sevika sighs against your mouth.

"there's nothin' in this world that would make me happier, baby." you whisper against her lips. sevika grins.

"sure you won't mind bein' an outlaw's wife?" she asks. you laugh and smack her shoulder.

"a former outlaw." you correct her. she chuckles. "and no, i won't mind. 'specially when that outlaw's as handsome as you." you say. below you, sevika blushes.

"fuck off." she grunts. you laugh.

"that's no way to talk to your wife." you tease her. sevika grins.

"you're right. 'm sorry, darlin'."

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666

#cowboy sevikaaaaaa #in case ur wondering... she gives up her life of crime to become a rancher on the local cattle farm so she can still ride and wander #but now she can come home to her wife at the tavern every single night :)#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #i'm so excited to be back to writing prompts i've missed this!!! eeeeek!!

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tiredwitchplant · 8 months

Text

How to Use Herbs : Rosemary

Hwello there. We have talked about rosemary and its uses in a previous post. If you haven't read it, please click here: Rosemary

Now I shall provide some spells, tonics, recipes and etc on where you can utilize it. Let us begin :)

Author's Note: From I noticed a part is usually a teaspoon. You can add more according to your needs, but I would always start with that measurement first.

Alchemist Formula for Binding:

One part benzoin gum (Saturn, binding)

One part patchouli (Saturn,binding)

One part Solomon's seal (Saturn, protective)

One part rosemary oil (Saturn, protective)

One part frankincense oil (Sun, success)

Mental Focus Magical Tea:

I part rosemary

1/2 part spearmint

1 cup of boiling water

Mix herbs in a small jar

To brew, pour 1 cup of boiling water over 1 teaspoon of the herbal blend.

Steep for 5 - 7 minute. Strain and drink.

Spells:

Remembrance for Lost Love (Heartache Healer)

6 drops of rosemary oil

3 drops of peppermint oil

1 drop of lavender oil

White candle

Add the oil to the top of the candle, one at a time, in a clockwise direction around the wick.

LIght the candle and gaze into the flame

Visualize your fond memories of the person who left your life. As you do this say, "I thank you for the time we had together, I thank you for the love we shared, I thank you for being an important part of my life. We have parted, we move on, we remember. I wish you the best life has to offer and hope you have found happiness."

Allow the candle to burn out of its own and dispose of the remaining wax away from your home or bury it in the spot you and the past partner enjoyed together.

Broom Cleansing Spell

Use one or any combination of the following botanicals: broom, cedar,fennel, hyssop, rosemary, sage, vervain.

Arrange the botanicals and tie them to the bottom of a branch withraffia, visualizing, charging and knotting. (Any branch may be used,however an ash branch is considered particularly powerful.)

Sprinkle with salted water or any preferred purification formula.

Sweep the area.

Disassemble the broom outside, away from the cleansed space.

Bury the components in the ground or toss them into living waters, flowing away from you.

Ghost Keep Away Spell (Boundary Line Spell)

Place three peeled cloves of garlic in a bowl, together with one handful of sea salt and one handful of fresh rosemary leaves.

Grind and mash the ingredients together.

Sprinkle them to create a boundary, as needed.

Bad Habits Bath

Add the following to a tub filled with warm water:

Essential oil of clary sage

Essential oil of frankincense

Essential oil of lavender

Essential oil of lemongrass or May Chang

Essential oil of rosemary

Enter the bath and inhale the fragrance, and accompany with affirmations and positive visualizations.

Kitchen Witch Recipes:

Super-Quick Bonus Recipe for Gwion’s Red Onion Pickle Bliss

Fills one pint-sized jar

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cooking Time: 20 minutes, plus 30 minutes to cool in the fridge

1 medium red onion

3 tablespoons sugar

1/2 cup water

10 black peppercorns

2/3 cup white wine vinegar,

rice vinegar, or apple cider vinegar

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 sprig rosemary

1 clove garlic, peeled and halved

Slice the onion very thinly and place it in your clean, dry jar. Set it aside.

Add the rest of the ingredients to a medium saucepan and bring to a boil until the sugar has fully dissolved. Stir carefully so you don’t break the rosemary. The sprig is in there to add flavour, and you’ll discard it before the next step.

Let the pickling mixture (the water, vinegar, and spices) cool down for about 10 minutes. Discard the sprig of rosemary and pour the remaining

ingredients into the jar of onions. Make sure all of the onions are submerged

in the picking liquid. If you have to, use a spoon to push the onions down in the jar. Seal the jar and put it in the fridge to cool. The onions are ready to eat once they are cool, about 30 minutes.

Serve them on avocado toast, burgers, salads, or just with a fork straight out of the jar. Remember to kiss your partner or partners before eating the onions out of the jar, unless they’re into pungent kisses.

Goat for a God: Roasted Goat Leg with Grape Molasses

Great for Deities: Dionysus, Pan and Thor

Serves : 6

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cooking Time: 2 hours and 30 minutes

1 goat leg (about 3 pounds)

1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon olive oil

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon cumin

2 teaspoons black pepper

4 tablespoons grape molasses

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon coriander

2 sprigs fresh rosemary

1 cup white wine + one glass for sipping and toasting while cooking (use mead if you're cooking this for Thor)

1 bay leaf

2 large carrots, chopped into

1" chunks

1 celery root, peeled and chopped into 1" cubes

Open the bottle of white wine or mead and take a hefty drink. (This is optional but deities do like when you drink with them but they can respect if you don't partake.)

Preheat the oven to 375° F.

Liberally season the goat leg with salt and pepper.

Rub the minced garlic all over the goat leg too. If it helps, poke a few holes in the goat leg so you can get the garlic right into the meat.

Place the rosemary sprigs and bay leaf in the bottom of a large roasting pan and put the goat leg right on top. Add the carrots and celery root around the edges. Pour the olive oil all over the goat and rub it around. Coat the carrots and celery root too.

Pour the white wine around the bottom of the roasting pan.

Loosely cover with kitchen foil and put the whole pan into the oven for 2 hours.

About an hour and forty-five minutes into the cooking process, it’s time to make the glaze.

Mix the grape molasses—which is a super-condensed syrup made of grape must—in a bowl with a tablespoon of olive oil, the coriander, and the cumin. You can substitute honey for the grape molasses if for Thor.

At the two-hour mark, pull the roasting pan out of the oven and paint the goat with the grape (or honey) and spice glaze.

Pop the goat and veggies, uncovered, back into the oven for another 20 minutes or until the internal temperature reaches at least 145° F.

When you’re ready to serve this dish, scoop the veggies into a bowl (fornow) and put the goat leg on a platter. If you have access to one, get a cedar plank and serve the goat on it.

Medical Tonics and Infusions:

Infusion- An infusion is the simplest way to prepare the more delicate aerial parts of plants, especially leaves and flowers, for use as a medicine or as a revitalizing or relaxing drink. It is made in a similar way to tea, using either a single herb or a combination of herbs, and may be drunk hot or cold.

Pot Infusion

For a cup:

1 tsp (2–3 g) dried or 2 tsp (4–6 g) fresh herb (or mixture of herbs) to a cup of water

For a pot:

20 g dried herb or 30 g fresh herb (or a mixture of different herbs) to 2 cups (500 ml) of water

Warm the pot, then add the herb.

Pour in water that has just boiled, replace the lid, and infuse for 10 minutes.

Strain some of the infusion into a cup. A teaspoon of honey may be added if desired.

Storage:

Store in a covered jug in a refrigerator or cool place for up to 24 hours.

Tonic Making

Standard Quantity:

200 g dried or 300 g fresh herb chopped into small pieces to 1 quart (1 liter) alcohol—vodka of 35–40% alcohol is ideal, although rum hides the taste of bitter or unpalatable herbs

Standard Dosage:

Take 1 tsp (5 ml) 2 –3 times a day diluted in 1 tbsp plus 1 tsp (25 ml) of water or fruit juice.

Place the herb in a large, clean glass jar and pour on the alcohol, ensuring that the herb is covered. Close and label the jar.

Shake well for 1–2 minutes and store in a cool dark place for 10–14 days, shaking the jar every 1–2 days.

Set up the wine press, placing a muslin or nylon mesh bag securely inside. Pour in the mixture and collect the liquid in the jug.

Slowly close the wine press, extracting the remaining liquid from the herbs until no more drips appear. Discard the leftover herbs.

Pour the tincture into clean, dark glass bottles using a funnel. When full, stopper with a cork or screw top and label the bottles.

Storage:

Store in sterilized, dark glass bottles in a cool dark place for up to 2 years. An amber glass jar is the best option.

Sorry this post is so long @_@ But please enjoy and use wisely. Bye byes~

Sources

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pathetichimbos · 6 months

Text

First Meeting - Part Five

((part four here)) ((part six here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

tagslist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92 @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @aleracrovn

---

You’ve run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

Luda Mae didn't say much else after your confrontation, only directing you on where they kept the empty egg cartons once you were done drying the eggs and which fridge to put them in.

She tasks you with helping with dinner, leaving you in charge of cutting the vegetables she needs for the beef stew she was planning to make later in the day.

Okra, onions, tomatoes, potatoes, carrots, celery... This stew was packed full of everything, a big and filling meal, a recurring theme you could already see playing out in this house.

The Hewitts clearly didn't lack in food, making enough for everyone and more, their fridges stockpiled with everything any person could need, from fresh fruits and vegetables to drawers full of home packaged meats.

Luda Mae begins preparing lunch as you chop the vegetables, the radio filling the silence between the two of you as you think of something to say, trying to find a way to fix the awkwardness you had created.

Before you get the chance, however, Luda Mae breaks the silence herself, "Go fetch Monty and Thomas for lunch."

"Right." You drop the last of the now chopped vegetables into a large bowl with the rest of them, "...Where are they?"

"Monty'll be on the front porch, with that damn yappin' mutt of his. Tommy'll be in the basement, straight down the hall."

"Ok, where do you want me to put these?" You grab the bowl off the counter.

"Put 'em in the fridge for now."

"Yes ma'am." You do as you're told, going to the front porch first.

You push the screen doors open with a sqeual, the two wooden doors already wide open to help air flow through the house.

You step onto the porch, swinging your head right to the empty swing, then left to see Monty at the other end of the porch, sleeping dog curled up in his lap.

"Hello?" You ask, as he doesn't seem to react to your presence at all.

No response.

You step closer, and the faint sounds of snoring make it apparent he's fallen asleep. You take another step, reaching a hand out to touch the back of his wheelchair in an attempt to wake him.

But, instead of waking him, you wake his dog, who jumps up as soon as your hand touches the chair, barking ferociously at you.

You jump back, pulling your hand away as Monty wakes up with a jolt, looking around confused.

"What the-- Roxanne, shut up!" He hollers at the dog before spotting you, already grumpy at being woken up, "What the hell are you doin' here?"

"I, uh... I'm supposed to tell you lunch's ready?" You take a step back, unsure of what else to tell him.

"Aw, hell." He huffs, turning towards the front door and making his way across the porch, yelling out, "Luda Mae!"

You step out of the way to let him pass before quickly following behind, making sure to reach up and open the screen door for him.

"I don't need your damn help." He mutters, pushing the other screen door open with his cane and making his way inside, "Luda Mae!"

"What the hell are you yellin' about now, Monty!?" She calls back from the kitchen.

"What is this person doin' in my damn house!?"

"Your house!?"

You ignore the rest of the conversation, quickly walking past the kitchen as they argue, following Luda Mae's previous instructions and going straight down the hall.

This end of the hall is dark, a stark contrast to the rest of the house. There's a single step into a small room, and when you try the switch it doesn't work.

The large metal door is daunting, not like any basment door you've seen, towering over you in the dark like a threat.

Just like a horror movie... You can't help but to think, stepping forward and looking for a door handle.

You don't find one, your fingers running across the cold metal in the dark, feeling for a way to open it. Instead, your fingers catch on the side, and with a little more looking, you realize it's a sliding door.

Gripping the edge of the door, you pull as hard as you can, the heavy metal scraping as it slowly pulls open, working against you as if it didn't want you to open it at all.

You give up once you get enough space to squeeze through, leaving it partially closed as you step inside.

You're immediately met with a faint, foul smell, and a wooden staircase going down into a wall before turning into the rest of the basement hidden from your view. You can hear someone moving around down there, a faint light creeping up the stairs.

"Thomas?" You call out from the top platform, shifting in place. The basement was already terrifying you, and you hadn't even taken the first step down, "You down here?"

You hear metal clatter, and something drop before heavy footsteps make their way over to the stairs. Thomas comes up to the second platform, a rag in hand as he wipes off his hands and arms. You can't see what he's wiping off, and you're sure you don't want to.

"Lunch is ready." You tell him, Luda Mae's and Monty's yelling loud enough to echo into the basement as you give an awkward smile, trying to make light of the situation, "...I don't think Monty likes havin' me here much."

Thomas lets out a small amused huff, well aware of his uncle's habit of looking for a reason to have a problem.

"Are you coming up?" You ask, and he nods, tilting his head towards the basement as if to say he'd be up in a minute, "Alright, I'll tell Luda Mae."

You step back out of the basement, barely managing to push the door shut again.

You can hear the arguement finishing up as you head back into the kitchen, managing to catch the end tail of Luda Mae shutting it down, "...Sit down and eat so you can shut the hell up. Ain't no damn reason for you to be mad right now."

Monty grumbles something else too quietly for you to hear as you step back in, already stuffing his mouth full of the lunch Luda Mae prepared.

"Thomas says he'll be up in a minute." You break the silence, tension thick as you take a seat at the kitchen table.

Monty rolls his eyes, smacking around a full mouth, "Oh, what'a big help you are."

Taken aback by the sudden insult, you look between the two of them, beginning to pick at your own plate of food.

"Ignore him. He's just mad at nothin'." Luda Mae sets two more plates down before taking the seat beside him, "Don't talk with your mouth full, you damn fool."

He huffs again, glaring down at the plate of food as if it's responsible for everything wrong in the world, though you had an inkling suspicous he was directing those feelings towards you.

Another minute passes in silence, as the three of you sit and eat, your plate signifigantly less full than theirs, a request you gave Luda Mae earlier as to not waste any food you couldn't eat.

"...This is really good." You finally speak up, the silence driving you mad.

"Thank you. At least someone's appreciative." Luda Mae gives Monty a pointed look.

"Ain't suppos'ta talk wi'f my mou'f full." He makes a point of talking around a large bite of food.

It's her turn to roll her eyes as she turns back to her own plate of food.

"Why are you here anyhow? You get kicked out of your own house for bein' a druggie or somethin'?" Monty abruptly asks.

"Damnit, Monty--!"

"No, it's alright." You shrug, "I don't mind."

The smug look on his face almost makes you want to take it back, but you ignore him as you start explaining, "Mama drinks too much and Dad ain't around. Just seemed easier to go out on my own than to try and fix someone who doesn't wanna change."

"And it's also none of your damn business." Luda Mae points out.

"It's my damn business when it's in my damn house."

She scoffs, about to say something else when Thomas walks in the room, opting instead for saying nothing else, simply giving Monty a silent warning glare not to say another word.

"Hi..." You mutter, looking up at Thomas as he sits down, unbelievably relieved to have him in the room.

He looks around the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife between Luda Mae and Monty, creating an awkward environment for everyone in the room.

You stare down at the table, picking at your plate as you steal glances between the two of them before catching a glimpse at Thomas, who was doing the same as you.

You look at him, and then back at the other two. He nods, apparently sharing your thoughts.

You bite your lip, glancing between the two of them and Thomas. Perhaps it was the overly exaggerated look of anger on Monty's face, or the way Luda Mae continues making annoyed facial expressions, as if she was still arguing with him in her head, but suddenly you find yourself struggling not to laugh.

Thomas seems to be thinking the same thing, food untouched in front of him as he tries to fight off a smirk under his mask.

You place your arm on the table, hand coming up to cover your mouth as you look away, almost visible shaking from trying to stifle your laughter. It was like being a kid again, sitting between your parents trying have a serious arguement over the stupidest thing they could possibly think of, completely aware of how much trouble you could get into for laughing but unable to stop yourself from chuckling at their overdramatic antics.

The rest of the meal is spent in silence, you and Thomas stealing glances at each other and stifling your amusement at the two.

After everyone finishes you gather the dishes, helping Luda Mae wash them, the awkwardness long gone since Monty went to his room to take a nap.

You wash the plates and silverware in silence, Luda Mae drying and putting them away.

It's still early in the afternoon, and she's got nothing else to do, giving you plenty of time to grab your book and settle on the living room couch.

Luda Mae sits on a love seat on the other side of the living room, crotcheting something you couldn't quite make out. Perhaps it was too early in her project, or perhaps she was just shit at crotcheting. You don't bother to ask, content with reading over your book as an old song drifts through the air, dripping with static as the old radio pushes it out of it's speakers.

You pull your feet onto the cushion, leaning on the arm of the couch as your eyes read over the familar words for the hundreth time.

It's easy this way.

Easy to not ask questions.

Easy to pretend everything's normal.

Easy to forget what happened yesterday.

At least, it was.

The words are too familar, you know them too well.

They begin to blend together on the page, losing your focus as your mind begins to wander, the words changing and shifting until you're back in the pantry, watching Katie cry and plead for her life, helplessly yanking against her constrains.

You clench your eyes shut, her screams echoing in your mind as you shake your head, pushing the memory to the back of your mind, letting it settle in your chest like a gnawing guilt, reminding you that you could have done something different.

You're caught off guard when Thomas walks in the room, taking a seat on the couch and catching your attention. He's changed out of the grimey clothes he had on before lunch, now adorning a clean, navy blue dress shirt and jeans.

You look back down to your book, trying to refocus on the words and keep your mind away from yesterday, away from the thing that made you scared of him.

It doesn't work, and you close it, setting it down beside you as you sit up, leaning back and letting your head hang back as you stare at the ceiling.

You feel a tap on your hand, and you look over to see a concerned Thomas. He takes your hand, writing out his question, "A-R-E U O-K?"

You stare at your hands for a moment, letting his question roll around in your head for a moment before nodding, "Just tired..."

He nods as well, letting your hand go.

It feels cold for a moment, and you almost miss the heat of his hand against yours.

The rest of the afternoon goes on rather slowly, with not much to do, you're left to distract yourself.

Luda Mae shows you where the washer and dryer are, helping you get a load done so you can finally take a shower and feel clean.

It's a dream, clean clothes on clean skin, finally given the chance to run a brush through your hair, fighting against the tangles that have made their home there over the past several weeks.

You almost don't know where to start, staring back at yourself in the dingy mirror of the downstairs bathroom, wet hair clinging to your skin as you face the daunting task ahead of you.

You try your best to brush through the mess on your own, brush pulling at the knots harshly, leaving your arms tired and wrists hurting as you barely brush a few of them out.

"You alright in there?" A sudden knock makes you jump, grip tightening on the old hairbrush.

"Y-yea," You sigh, opening the door for Luda Mae, "Just havin' some trouble with my hair..."

She looks you over through thick glasses before sighing herself, "Well, come on then."

That's all the warning you get before she's walking down the hall and back towards the front of the house.

"Huh?" You blink in confusion, quickly following behind.

"Sit." She takes a seat on the couch, pointing to the floor in front of her, "Come on, now, I ain't got all day, supper's gotta be made."

It takes you a few seconds to realize what's happening, but none the less you do as you're told.

Luda Mae takes the brush from your hands as you cross your legs, leaning against the front of the couch and giving her access to your hair. Thomas isn't in the living room anymore, but the one sided conversation you can hear Monty having on the front porch gives you an idea of where he may be.

Luda Mae's hands are gentle as she works, slowly but surely brushing through each knot with much more ease than you had yourself. It's obvious she's done this before.

You close your eyes, letting them rest as she combs through your hair, humming a quiet song.

"...It's been a long time since I've brushed anyone's hair," She speaks up, "Thomas won't let me do it no more."

"You used to brush his hair?"

"Mhm. Every mornin', since he was just a little baby. Then Hoyt and Monty started teasin' him for it and now he does it himself..." Her voice is sad as she explains, carefully working through a particularly difficult knot.

"...You're a good mother." You're solemn as you lean your head forward, giving her better access to the back of your head, "He's lucky to have you."

You hear her hum in response, unable to see the small smile gracing her face,

"...There we go." She finally states after a few minutes, pulling the brush away from your hair, "All done."

You sigh in relief, running a hand over your hair just to feel the difference, "Thank you, it feels so much better."

"You can thank me by helpin' with supper." She pats your shoulder, and you take that as your sign to stand, following her into the kitchen to help make dinner.

#first meeting #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

Note

Despite Aemond being a prince, he fell in love with a servant and they have been in secret relationship. Can you please write an angsty fic where he breaks the news to her that he has been announced to have a betrothed? Deep down they know this day would come, but neither are ready to end what they they have created together.

Star Crossed ~ Aemond x Servant!Reader

note: love this request! hope you enjoy it, I'm sorry in advance for the angst! I'm working on more requests now, everyone has such creative prompts these have been so fun! 💚 word count: 1.3k warnings: descriptions of Aemond's eye injury, angst 💚requests are open💚

You had resided in the Red Keep for most of your life, though Aemond did not take notice of you until after the incident that claimed his eye. You were a scullery maid, mostly confined to the kitchens and occasionally the great hall when the cook needed you to rush up a dish that was left behind.

The first time you truly interacted with Aemond, you had been alone in the kitchens and the prince had come walking in. His eye was still in the first stages of healing, the stitches spanning the majority of the left side of his face. The stitching was red, and the cheekbone was swollen. You had tried not to stare as he scowled at you.

“May I assist you with something, my prince?” you ask, wiping your hands on your apron. You curtseyed quickly, elbow knocking a yellow onion to the floor. You felt your face flush with embarrassment.

Aemond sized you up, not yet speaking. You shifted nervously from one foot to the other but did not avoid his gaze. You did not look threatening, simply a child about his age he guessed. He did not recognize you.

“What is your name?” Aemond said, lips barely moving. It pained him to move the muscles of his face so he tried to move his lips minimally when he spoke. It avoided the tugging of his stitches.

“Y/N, my prince,” you told him, smiling earnestly. Aemond did not return the kindness you afforded him. You could feel the smile slipping from your face.

“I wish for a meal,” Aemond told you, and you nodded. Aemond had been avoiding his family, taking his meals in his chambers when he returned from Driftmark. He was bedridden with pain for the majority of the time. He had awoken with hunger pains gnawing at his stomach and a desperate need to leave his chambers. Aemond was not a child who enjoyed being cooped up.

So here he was, down in the depths of the kitchens searching for a meal. He had thought of having food delivered to him in the great hall, but the thought of interacting with people in his maimed state nauseated him. He already could not stand the pitiful looks of lords and ladies.

But your look did not pity him. In fact, when he told you why he had come, you nodded enthusiastically, beckoning him to take a seat. You went over to a large pot and ladled a bowl full of steaming rabbit stew. You brought it over to him with a chunk of bread.

Aemond took a spoonful and brought it to his lips. The liquid burns him and he flinches.

“Careful, my prince,” you said, softly, handing him a handkerchief. Aemond took it, watching as you gathered a bowl for yourself and sat across from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, taking another bite. Your eyes are kind even when his words mean to be cruel. Aemond does not understand you.

“I do not wish you to eat alone,” you tell him, slurping the stew, “it is terribly lonely.”

Aemond continues to watch you eat before picking up his spoon once more.

“Yes it is,” he agrees.

Aemond joins you in the kitchens for his meals, and you grow quite close. As his eye heals, he begins to cover it with an eyepatch.

“You do not need to wear that around me,” you assure him when his face twists in sadness.

“It upsets ladies,” he tells you, his pale cheeks reddening.

“Well I am not a lady,” you quip back, causing Aemond to give you a stern look.

“You are to me.”

The years go by, and Aemond returns to meals with his family as the humiliation of his wound begins to fade. Aemond grows into his dangerous looks and begins to take pride in the vengeance he seeks for the wrong done against him. He does not stop his visits to you in the kitchen, often breaking his fast with you before he trains early in the morning.

“I brought you something,” he tells you one morning. He slides a small package towards you, wrapped in cheesecloth. You narrow your eyes, taking it from him. As you open it your lips part with shock. A necklace lays in front of you, set with a small sapphire.

“Oh Aemond,” you say, eyes wide, “you’re too good to me.”

He stands and beckons you to turn, helping clasp the necklace around your throat. You aid him by holding your hair out of the way.

“I have several years to make up, to match the kindness you showed me,” he tells you, “you were gentle to me, long before I showed you any affection.”

You turn towards him, hand to your throat.

“You owe me nothing,” you tell him, as he leans down, placing a kiss on your lips. Your whole body tingles. This is not the first time Aemond has kissed you, though you feel as though it will always feel like the first time. The fluttering in your stomach never seems to ease.

When he pulls away he can’t help but smile at your rosy cheeks, the grin that stretches across your face. You are a ray of sunlight on his darkest days. He does not know what he would do, or who he would be without your kindness.

You cannot help but feel giddy when Aemond leaves, still admiring the sapphire pendant that adorns your neck. Though even in your happiness you cannot stop the fear that gnaws at the back of your mind in moments when you are alone with your thoughts. Aemond, your Aemond, is a man of duty, and a prince. He shall be forced to marry sooner or later. You chase the thought away, by keeping yourself busy.

The day comes sooner than you thought.

Aemond comes to the kitchens late in the night. You had waited for him, knowing he journeyed to Storm’s End. You waited in anticipation until he made himself known. You could hear him come down the steps, the sounds of wet leather echoing in the air. You ran to him, throwing yourself into his arms.

Aemond was frozen, soaked to the bone, and you quickly ushered him toward the hearth. He shook off his leather jacket and removed his boots, his face grief-stricken. He would not speak of what occurred, the incident too fresh in his mind.

“I am to marry Floris Baratheon,” he told you, when he finally spoke after a bowl of stew. You froze, eyes wide. Be brave, you told yourself.

“We knew this was going to happen,” you tell him, voice a hushed whisper. You can feel your throat constricting, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Aemond stands coming to face you, bringing his hands to caress your face.

“I do not want her,” he tells you, “she shall be my wife in name, yes, but nothing more.”

“Aemond-” you say, shaking your head.

“Nothing needs to change,” he assures you, and the tears spill over.

“Everything is changing,” you sob, clutching his chest, “what am I to do?”

Aemond holds you against him as you cry, the hot tears mixing with the wetness his shirt still holds from the rain.

“You shall marry, and sire babes, and you shall care for her,” say through your tears, “because you are a kind man, Aemond, a dutiful man.”

Aemond feels his heart breaking in his chest at the sound of your voice, so hopeless.

“I shall take care of you,” Aemond promises, stroking your hair. You close your eyes against him and for a moment allow yourself to believe him. To believe the fantasy that nothing shall change. That you may sit in these kitchens together, eating and laughing, and that he is yours.

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x y/n #aemond angst #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond oneshot #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen angst

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moralesmilesanhour · 10 months

Note

Hello hello!! How you doing?? Hope you're doing good cause I got a fluffy request!

Could be either 1610 or 42 miles, but, that miles has reader over cause he wants to impress her with his cooking but fails miserably and nothing goes as he wants it to be and reader is entertained 😆

Doing this w Miles G because something abt that is funnier to me (also he is making Ivorian food bc that's just where my brain went so you're getting African!Reader today 😭 also this is based on what I seen my parents do so idk the standard way to cook anything whoops)

You felt your phone vibrate and grinned upon seeing the contact name 'Gonzalo' flash across the screen.

"Miles?"

"Ion know who else it could be," the boy's voice filtered through your phone’s speakers. "You busy?"

You shook your head, then remembered that Miles couldn't see you.

"Nah, I'm just hanging out."

"Come over, I got a surprise for you."

The sound of something hitting a surface repeatedly in the background catches your attention, as if someone's chopping vegetables.

"Ooh, is your momma cooking? Hey Mrs. Morales!" You attempt to call out.

"She not here," Miles laughs. "I'm the one cooking. You coming over or not?"

You raise an eyebrow at your screen, and he notices the brief pause.

"You know, I can hear your lack of faith in me."

Still, you stand up in front of your bed and slip your crocs on.

"Guilty as charged, Gonzo. I'm coming over anyway to make sure yo' ass don't burn down Rio's kitchen. She doesn't deserve that," you joke.

"I'm not gonna–aye, what'd I say about that nickname–?"

"Bye!" You sung as you hung up.

Miles set aside the last of the veggies he was dicing with a dull scrape. With a swift movement, he slid the pieces of onion into the frying pan with the filleted fish already cooking in it.

The boy took a step back for a second to assess his work: the attiéké you had brought him last week to try out was soaking in a large bowl, waiting to be drained as the scent of simmering vegetables and spices began to spread across the kitchen. Miles grinned, feeling accomplished.

It all went to shit once you rang the doorbell.

"Hey, ma," he opened the door to you grinning in the hallway, arms crossed.

He enunciated the greeting you had taught him carefully, "On...dit...quoi...?

"Very good!" Planting a kiss on Miles' cheek, you quickly slipped your crocs off before stepping inside. "What's with the apron?"

He looked down, and remembered he had borrowed his mother's 'Kiss the Cook' apron.

"Cuz I'm a professional and I do this," he replied, locking the door behind you.

"Are you sure? I don't think 'professionals' leave the stove on unattended."

You laughed as Miles' eyes went wide and he spun around to dart back into the kitchen, cussing under his breath.

"It smell good, though, don't it?" Miles called out over the sound of sizzling.

It does smell good. And familiar.

"You making what I think you making?"

You popped your head into the kitchen and gasped with delight.

"M-hm," the boy nodded as he stuck the bowl in the microwave. "It is supposed to go in here, right?"

"Yup, I'm shocked you remembered."

Miles stuck out his bottom lip in a pout.

"C'mon, you don't believe in me?"

The smell of smoke and caramelized onions wafts beneath your nose, and worry slowly creeps onto your features.

"Baby, watch the stove!"

"Shit!"

Miles sighed as the two of you leaned on the counter. His stretched out his fingers, having had to wash the remnants of burnt fish and onions out of the frying pan.

"It's fine," you reassured him, rubbing circles into his back. "At least we still got the attiéké, right?"

"Yeah, it's still up there."

Despite attempting to sound casual, the disappointment in Miles' voice was audible. You reached out and toyed with one of his braids before gently tilting his chin towards you.

"Hey, we still got a few hours 'till your mom gets home. You got anything else in that freezer?"

Miles' eyes lit back up as he replied, "Hell yeah, we got a couple chicken thighs left. Round two?"

"Yup," you pecked him on the lips, "but I'm doing the frying this time."

#earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #remember to always keep the stove under close supervision kids #requests #moralesanhour

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rubywolf0201 · 9 months

Text

Incorrect Honkai Star Rail Quotes because I’m bored lol

*WARNING: May contain some OOC moments as always*

Fu Xuan: You stole my hairpins!

Jing Yuan: No, I didn’t.

Fu Xuan: Liar liar, plants for hire!

Jing Yuan, exasperated: It’s ‘pants on fire’…

Fu Xuan, crosses arms and huffs: You would know… liar.

—————————————————————

Blade: “Kafka, no matter what I've said, I've always sort of liked you!”

Kafka: Bladie, I’ve used your sword to unclog my toilet!

Blade, shocked: WHAT?!?!

—————————————————————

Yanqing: Blade poisoned our water supply, burned our crops, and delivered a plague unto our houses!

Sushang: He did?

Yanqing, frustrated: No! But are we just gonna wait around until he does?!

—————————————————————

Blade: “AH HA HA HA HA! I GOT YOU NOW!”

Dan Heng, cornered: “W-What are you gonna do?!”

Blade: “I... don’t know…”

Dan Heng: “What?”

Blade: “I never thought I’d get this far.”

—————————————————————

Welt Yang: “Okay, Sampo, you can go back to the Astral Express.”

Sampo: “Okay.”

Sampo: *gets in a car and drives away offscreen*

Jing Yuan: Was that his car?

Dan Heng: No.

—————————————————————

Silver Wolf: “I WANT SOUP!”

Blade, clearly losing his paitence: “HERE YOU GO! *It's alphabet soup*. I made it special.”

The soup: (says "GO OUTSIDE FOR ONCE")

—————————————————————

Bailu: Hey guys, watch me do "The Grouchy Helm Master"!!

Yukong: Stop naming moves after me!

Bailu: [imitating Yukong] Everybody's an idiot except for me.

Yukong: Well, it's true.

—————————————————————

Pela: I'm very busy!

Serval: Well, I'm sure you are.

Pela: I don't like your tone!

Serval: *High-pitched voice* I'm sure you are!

Serval: *Normal voice again, smiling back at Pela* How's that?

—————————————————————

Gepard: I am going to give that crook Sampo a what for and there’s nothing you can say to stop me!

Luka: Oh yeah? What if I said… blargen fezibble nohip!

Gepard: …well, I gotta admit that slowed me down but I’m still going!

—————————————————————

Dan Heng: Thanks for nothing.

March 7th: You're welcome.

—————————————————————

Kafka, in a dramatic tone: He understands everything I say, and I understand him! He's my partner in crime...

Blade: *smirks*

Himeko: “D’aaaw...*sniffs and looks down* Hey, who left this bowl of onions here?”

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imtherain · 1 year

Text

Soup

So here I am again, having feelings about a man who kills people.

This is for, about, around Simon “Ghost” Riley. From Call of Duty, a game I never in a million years thought I’d care about. But here we are.

Warnings? Hurt/Comfort I guess. Some female mentions for “you” (mentions being an auntie etc.) A lot of sort of sad feelings. Talk of trauma, injury, near death, all that fun stuff. Allusions to past relationships. No pancakes. But hey, there’s soup.

I apologize if you misread the title as Soap, as I have a few times. He’s lovely too, but this one is for Ghost.

Anywho

It was one of the hardest things you'd ever done, but after that last mission, you hadn't really had a choice. You'd been just about blown apart by a rain of gunshots. There was an explosion you didn't remember and three weeks of time you lost. Another three lost to a coma.

~~~~~

You had left the 141 six months ago.

And while you carried the scars and some pain the doctors said would never go away, what hurt you most was the look in your lieutenant's eyes when he told you you were going home. The way his eyes were hard chips of stone behind his mask when he told you he wouldn't let you come back.

That was the last time you'd talked to Ghost. And you tried not to think about how much his silence hurt you. You had been so close to him for so long. He always had your back and you always had his. You couldn't count the times you'd spent nights together, trying to deal with all the shit you had to do, there were too many. Maybe there were all of them. Then there were the times when you fell into each other's arms because there was nowhere else to go.

And he sent you home without saying anything that even resembled goodbye.

But that was half a year behind you. You had begun to pick up the bits of your life that could be salvaged. Your sister helped a lot. She was the only family that knew you were back, that even knew you were alive. She lived across town from your apartment, but she made sure to stop by to check on you as often as she could.

You had taken to making food when the things in your head got too loud. You made beef stew and thought of Soap. How he always told you to add more potatoes and made jokes about the Irish in good humor. You made chicken noodle soup for cold nights in safe houses. Leek soup for when it rained and for stomach aches. And you made cakes and pies and cookies for Price and Gaz, both of which had terrible sweet tooths and always tried to steal the batter or taste the dough.

You left a bowl empty for Ghost because you didn't know what else to do.

Tonight you made turkey soup. Lots of root vegetables from a friend of a friend who had a farm south of the city. Good fresh earth still clung to the turnips when your sister brought them to you. She had a whole bag full of turnips, parsnips, carrots, and rutabagas. Onions from the store.

You made the broth with the carcass of the turkey you shared with your sister and her husband two nights before. At their place with their kids. The house, full of color and joy and laughter and life. You got to be Auntie y/n and not a soldier. Not a broken thing left for eternity to find left behind.

Sometimes it was easier to forget the 141 when there was laughter around you.

Sometimes you drove home and cried.

The soup was delicious, warm. Tasted like the stuff that kept you alive with a hug.

You'd gotten good at making soup, as though it was the only thing you knew how to do. Your sister always made bread. Your whole apartment smelled like a Hallmark movie. You sat together at the table, three bowls, two now dirty, and all three empty.

Your sister had stopped asking why a while ago. You figured she knew it was a type of mourning. She always knew you in ways you didn't tell her. Knew how you only wore earrings when you wore dresses. How there was always a knife close at hand. How you slept with a gun, loaded, strapped to the side of your nightstand.

How you always made soup when you missed them.

You had picked up your bowl and your sister's when you heard a knock at the door. All of your alarms went off, thinking the worst at first. But then you remembered how there was a single mother down the hall who you often told could come asking for dinner when she smelled it. Knowing she needed good food sometimes for her and her twins. Remembered just how far your sister’s bread recipe could carry down the hall.

You covered the peephole with your hand before looking through it. In case whoever it was had a gun waiting for you.

There was a shadow outside the door. Tall, broad, black sweatshirt. They were looking down the hall, towards the exit sign that glowed faintly red along the white parts of his mask.

You opened the door and he turned to you.

"Who is it?" Your sister called. You were frozen in the doorway.

"I shouldn't have come," was all he said, turning with his duffle bag to head towards that glowing red light. You caught his sleeve before he could flee.

"Can you do me a favor?" You call over your shoulder back into the house. "Go hide in the bathroom, I'll let you know when you can come out," you stepped out into the hall and closed the door enough that she wouldn't see him. You knew how he was. How he liked his privacy.

"What? Why?" Your sister's confused voice.

"Just do it, I'll explain later," you call back. Ghost hadn't tried to pull away yet. You just held his eyes while you both listened to your sister grumble as she did as you asked.

"You have company," his voice was gravel, just like you remember it. The accent slides around his words like silk.

"She's my sister, she watched my place while I was gone." You told him. You hadn't talked about family, there had been no room for it amongst the gunfire. "If I ask her to go, will you stay?" You didn't want to feel the hope that tried to block your throat. You didn't want to admit how badly you missed him. How being apart had made you realize just how fucked you were, falling in love with your LT.

But he wasn't your LT anymore. Not your commanding officer in any way. So what was he?

"Simon?" Your voice is smaller than he remembers it but hearing his name in your throat brings him back to earth.

"Affirmative," he said. His voice was smaller than it used to be too. As though he didn't want you to hear it. You pulled on his sleeve.

"You can go to my room while I send her home, she wasn't going to stay much longer anyway." You tell him when he resists your tug. "You can take a shower if you want, it'll feel good. Or you can just…" whatever other suggestions you had died in your throat. "Just, don't leave, ok?" This time he only nodded.

He pulled off his boots inside the door and followed you to your room. You didn't see him look around your apartment, didn't see the way he took in the mismatched furniture, the loudly colored rugs, the blankets and pillows that filled the arm chairs. You pointed him into the darkness of your room, flipping the switch to light the lamp on your bedside table. The only light you kept in your room these days.

He looked somehow more massive in the space of your room. He glanced at the dresser which had a mess of body sprays and lotions your sister kept bringing you. There was another chair, filled with clothes this time. The bed was made up with bright colored blankets and more pillows than he'd ever seen in one place before.

"They say the more pillows you have the lonelier you are," He spoke like it was a joke.

"That they do," you didn't agree but you knew better than to lie. "I'll be back in a minute," he dropped his duffle on the floor next to the bed and nodded.

You sighed heavily and went to kick your sister out.

She was worried about leaving you with Ghost. You had told her more than enough to make her nervous about him. But you trusted him still, even if he had sent you away. Even if he hadn't said goodbye.

She promised to call you in the morning and you locked the door with all three locks.

When you came back to your room, you could hear the shower running. The duffle was opened and a few pieces of black fabric were spilling out. You weren't surprised that he wore only black when he played civilian.

"She's gone," you called through the door of the bathroom. "Take your time," you added.

A few minutes later the bathroom opened and Ghost came out. A simpler Balaklava over his face now, a black long sleeved shirt, black pants. The steam from the shower spilled out into the room and backlit him with the harsh light over your sink. He was barefoot as he stood on your carpet.

You didn't know what else to say to him.

He went to his duffle and put his things back. You thought of all the times you'd imagined him here, how he'd look amongst your things. Mourned how you'd never find out. But here he was.

He stood and faced you.

"I didn't know you knew where I lived," you finally said. You weren't surprised he could find you, but you didn't know how else to break the silence.

"I've known for a while," he replied.

"So why now?" You had your arms crossed as you watched him think of what to say. Maybe you imagined it but there was something sharp in his eyes, something like fear or loss or… something.

"I had to see you…make sure you were ok,"

"Why?" You didn't want him to know how fast your heart was beating.

"I had to know," you felt anger flare at his attempt to answer you without telling you anything.

"Had to know what, Simon? Had to know if I was still alive? Had to know if I was still going to the doctor's, to rehab? Had to know if I was living alone or with someone who would actually fucking care about me?" It wasn't fair to accuse him. You knew that. But it had hurt so much when you were sent away. Hurt like a battery acid injection. Hurt like a thousand paper cuts that could never figure out how to heal.

When he didn’t say anything you laughed. Of course he’d stay silent. He never quite figured out how to talk unless it was to give order, to tell off color jokes, or to grind out dirty words into your ear.

“It hurt like hell when you told me to go home,” You said. “Did you know that? It felt like you were kicking me out of the 141, out of all of your lives…out of your life. As though you couldn’t stand to so much as look at me.” You weren’t looking at him anymore, so you missed the way his eyes snapped to your face.

“You almost died, y/n,” He said. “Because of a bad call I made. I had to watch you get shot to shit, watch you bleeding out while Gaz did all he could to keep you from dying. It was a miracle we got you to a hospital at all.” You felt tears gather behind your eyes, pulling angrily at your throat as you tried to keep them inside.

“I never blamed you for that,”

“It doesn’t matter if you did or not because I fucking did,” Ghost snapped. “And then I had to see you hooked up to all those fucking tubes and machines, not moving.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” You tried to ignore the way your heart clenched at his words.

“Three weeks. I had to see that shit for three weeks before you opened your eyes again.” He took a step forward and you watched him cross the space until he was before you. You looked up at him, his frame so large in the dim light. You knew people who would be terrified of being so close to him. But not you. Never you.

“And first chance you got, you told me to get the fuck out… forced me to retire,” His face was hidden by his mask, but you could see the way his shoulders fell as your cheeks grew wet. You wiped at your eyes with your hands and pretended it didn’t kill you for him to see you like this.

“I couldn’t…I couldn’t see you like that again,” His voice was soft now. When you didn’t look at him, he sank to his knees, his hands coming up to touch your legs, gently, as though he was afraid you’d break. “Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you laying there, bloody or plugged up with so many machines…” He shook his head as if to displace the memories. His hands moved up your sides. You didn’t want to forgive him, didn’t want to understand.

“You told me not to die, and I didn’t,” You said. “And you paid me back by leaving,”

His head dipped down into your lap as his arms closed around you. He was hurting too. Just as much as you were. Your hand moved to the back of his head, wanting to comfort him even after all this time. You knew he wouldn’t be here if it didn’t matter, if you didn’t matter to him. But it hurt so much for so long.

“Didn’t know what else to do,” A confession at the altar you built to hide your heart from the world. You felt the walls, the temple you haunted, start to shake and crumble.

“Why are you back?” Your voice was small as your hand traced the back of his head. You’d never seen him like this before, and it meant something to you. It had to.

“Soap said I was a dumb fuck for letting you go,”

“That’s all it took?” You could almost laugh. You used your hands to bring his face up so you could look at him, but frowned when you saw his eyes, dark as always, but more haunted than normal.

There was more to it than just Soap talking shit. “Tell me what happened, love,”

“Bad intel, shit went sideways.” You felt your heart clench.

“Who?”

“Whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was you all shot to shit, bleeding out like you were in a hurry to die,”

“Simon,” You pressed.

“Me,” He finally said. You had his face in your hands, but he pulled away and ripped the balaclava off, showing you his face. You’d seen him before, but seeing him now, his eyes angry and wet, caught you off guard. There were no new marks on his face, but you studied him just to be sure. “I was the one bleeding out… and you weren’t there to see it.” Your heart dropped like a nuclear bomb, but when it hit bottom it didn’t explode. It just sat there, heavy.

“But you’re ok now,” You said. You were telling yourself just as much as you were reminding him. “And me, I’m here, I’m safe too,” Your thumbs brushed his cheeks, something that, even when you were together, you’d rarely gotten to do.

“I thought it would be better if you weren’t there,” He continued. “That I wouldn’t keep looking for you,” You wondered how long he’d been keeping this to himself, knowing he didn’t usually open up to anyone. You wondered if he’d told Soap, and that’s why he’d called him a dumb fuck.

“It sucked being here without you,” You said. “Not hearing from you. Soap calls once in a while, checks in. Price even offered to come visit. But I told him no.”

Simon looked at you for a long time, not saying anything more. You held his face, knowing he’d run out of words. After a while, you just sighed and leaned down to kiss his forehead, holding the kiss for three counts too long.

“Should I go?” He asked. Your hands were on his shoulders now, his still along your waist while he knelt on your floor. You shook your head.

“I made soup, if you’re hungry,” You told him instead. He thought for a moment before he nodded. It took him a minute for him to pull away from you enough to stand. You picked up his mask and handed it to him before taking his hand. He laced his fingers with yours.

If he was going to stay, you were going to have to start over. And if you were going to start over, you’d do it right this time. Soft touches, gentle kisses. Not fast fucks in the desert. Not sloppy quickies behind the barracks. Not moans concealed by gloved hands.

He dutifully followed you to the kitchen and took the chair you offered him. You went about reheating the soup, as it was cold now. You didn’t say much, and he didn’t say anything. But his eyes followed you, face still open and empty of his mask. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen his face this long in a single go before.

It was nice.

“My sister made the bread, it’s fresh,” You told him, handing him a thick slice. You couldn’t help but touch his face one more time before turning back to the stove with his bowl.

You sat with him while he ate. Watching as he dipped the bread in and brought it to his mouth. You wondered if he liked any specific soup best. Maybe squash soup, or tomato, or mushroom bisque.

“What?” He asked after you’d stared at him too long.

“I missed you,” You said, knowing better than to lie. His lips threatened to turn into a smile.

“Missed you too,” He speaks carefully, as if the words were new, before returning to the soup.

You were content, for now. He was here, he was clean, he was eating. You could touch him.

And the empty bowl was full.

[Masterlist]

#simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #hurt/comfort #simon ghost riley #soup #imtherain #lackofpamcakes

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siouxiesiouxtryhard · 1 year

Text

sweetheart - (eddie munson x reader)

Ch. Sixteen - Eddie’s Girl

summary: eddie finally gets the balls to ask y/n the question he’d been avoiding for months

cw: 18+ (minors dni) this is obnoxiously long, unfortunate use of y/n, afab!reader (i’ve been meaning to put this one in) language, fluff, like tooth rotting fluff, mentions bruises left from abuse, billy’s dad, implied smut at the end -i think that’s all-

author’s note: it’s been such a long time omg sorry it took me so long to upload this but a ton of shit got in my way and i haven’t had the time to do much but edit the chapters i already wrote or uploaded. but this one is out finally soerrr enjoy it lol love you <3

<<Part 15 --- Part 17>>

Eddie woke up to an empty bed the next morning much to his dismay. He groaned, running his hands down his face. He got up, went to the bathroom, and put on some pajama pants before deciding to try and find something to eat. “Morning!” Y/n chirped, flipping over an omelet in a pan. Wayne lifted up his mug in greeting and smiled up at Y/n when she served him his breakfast.

“Thank you, dolly,” Wayne said, sipping his coffee before cutting into his omelet. Y/n smiled sweetly at Eddie and took the pan back to the stove. Eddie followed and leaned on the counter next to her. He was silent for once as he watched her and looked her up and down. Dark purple love bites showed down the side of her neck and just under the collar of the shirt she was wearing that she stole from Eddie’s closet. A faded Dio shirt and a pair of black shorts she also obviously stole. Eddie glanced at Wayne who pointed between him and Y/n and gave him a thumbs up. Eddie smiled and flipped him off, making Wayne chuckle and take a drink of coffee.

Eddie came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “I thought you left,” he mumbled. Y/n smiled, whisking the eggs and mushrooms in a bowl.

“No, I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Also, I like it here, why would I leave?” She asked, smiling at him sitting on her shoulder. Eddie grinned and let her go to grab a plate from the cupboard. Y/n poured the omelet mixture into the pan and watched it. This just confirmed what Eddie was hoping was the truth: Y/n liked him too. Why else would she have stayed?

Eddie furrowed his eyebrows and took her arm, staring at the dark purple bruises on her wrist. They contrasted so brightly against her skin he was surprised he didn’t see them before. He stuck out his bottom lip, gently running his finger over them. Y/n raised an eyebrow at him, “You good?” She asked.

Eddie blinked and nodded, still carefully examining the blotches of purple and yellowed skin. Y/n bruised like a peach, but Billy always loved to leave his mark.

“What, uh… what happened?” He asked, rubbing soft circles on them. Y/n shrugged nonchalantly, plating Eddie’s breakfast for him.

“Billy was pissed we were hanging out again. It’s nothing new, don’t worry,” she said, kissing his cheek and moving to the fridge. Eddie closed his eyes with a sigh, and he cut into his omelet.

“It’s onions you don’t like right?” Y/n asked. Eddie smirked and nodded; his cheeks red at the fact she remembered. Y/n grinned and gave him a thumbs up. She poured herself a glass of apple juice, smiling at him over the rim of the cup. Eddie squinted and shook his head, “Behave,” he mouthed.

Y/n bit her lip and shrugged cheekily, prancing off to his room. Wayne leaned back in his chair, watching her until she closed the door behind her.

“So… how long has that been goin on?” He asked his nephew, smiling suggestively. Eddie smiled, poking at the last bite of his breakfast. “About twelve hours. You know, Wayne, I-I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this way about someone before. It’s soon, I know, but…” Eddie trailed off, turning red up to his ears. Wayne smiled, patting the table across from him. Eddie sat down, scooting in close and waiting for Wayne’s words of wisdom.

“Just be careful, Ed. Treat her good. You know better than anyone how easy something can hit rock bottom. I know you like her a lot, I can tell she likes you a whole lot too. Just take care of her. Keep her safe… Watch out for her. Okay, son?” Wayne asked, nodding at him.

Eddie smiled, looked at his bedroom door and nodded. “I will… I promise I will,” he said. Wayne smiled, pat Eddie’s shoulder and stood up, wiping his hands on a paper towel. He closed the blinds and set up his bed, bidding Eddie a goodnight before he got comfy for a nap. Eddie took a breath before going back to his room where Y/n had been hiding out.

She was laying in his bed against the wall, apple juice still in hand as she read a random book she found on his nightstand. “Hey…” Eddie said, grabbing her foot and wiggling it. Y/n snickered, turning the page in his copy of The Hobbit.

“You like The Hobbit?” Eddie asked, crawling over to lay beside her.

Y/n smiled and shrugged, “I don’t know, I’m only one chapter in. I’ll let you know when I decide,” she said.

Eddie laid his head on her shoulder, reading the pages that he practically had memorized at this point. Y/n wrapped her arm around him, letting him lean into her side and hug her tight. Y/n ran her fingers through his hair, making him let out a content hum as he shut his eyes.

“Will you read to me?” Eddie mumbled. Y/n giggled, hummed a ‘sure,’ and started the next paragraph.

“And of course they did none of these dreadful things, and everything was cleaned and put away safe as quick as lightning, while the hobbit was turning round and round in the middle of the kitchen trying to see what they were doing. Then they went back and found Thorin with his feet on the fender smoking a pipe. He was blowing the most enormous smoke-rings, and wherever he told one to go, it went…”

Eddie smiled softly to himself, burying his face in her shoulder. “Is Wayne asleep?” Y/n asked when she finished the page. Eddie nodded, a sleepy ‘mhm’ coming from him. Y/n grinned and put the book on the table before she threw her leg over him and straddled him, sitting on his stomach. Eddie smiled; his eyes still closed as he trailed his hands up her thighs to take her hands.

“We can’t be doin’ that right now, babe… He’s right out there… it’s Saturday,” Eddie mumbled, rubbing circles into her hands with his thumbs. Y/n smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to a hickey she left on his collarbone.

“No sex! I just wanna kiss for a bit…” Y/n said, leaning down and pressing her lips to his. Eddie smiled, sliding his hand into her hair as he kissed her back. They made out lazily in his bed. Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck while she was seated in his lap. Eddie ran his hands up her back, rubbing calming paths up and down her spine. Eddie groaned softly, peeking an eye open before he wrapped his arms around her and flipped them over until she was lying beside him. Y/n giggled, looking into his big brown eyes. Eddie smiled softly, brushing his hand across her cheek. Y/n’s eyebrows twitched, seeing that he looked deep in thought as he stared at her.

“What?” She smiled.

Eddie squinted, “W-what does this mean?” He stuttered. Y/n tilted her head like a confused puppy, simply not understanding what he was asking.

“Like, what does this mean for us?” Eddie repeated. Y/n shrugged, very lightly pinching his wrist. She wanted him to ask her. She needed him to ask her. Just… really quickly ask her out. Even if he said something like, “You wanna just keep having sex?” That would be fine too! Though Y/n would really like to be his girlfriend. She could only imagine by the way he treated her as a friend how much better he would treat her as a partner.

“What do you want it to mean?” Y/n asked, smiling softly at him. Eddie bit his lip, hesitating before pulling her impossibly close, not wanting to pop the bubble they’d surrounded themselves with. They both had it in their heads that talking about what they were doing meant that everything had to change, and they didn’t like change. But Eddie’s been told before that sometimes the change was good. That the change didn’t always mean that everything was going bad. Just a new road to go down.

But Eddie was scared. He really liked this girl, and he was afraid if he told her how he felt, asking her out, everything would change. And he didn’t figure for the better.

“W-well, I don’t know, I guess…” Eddie trailed, “I mean… if I asked you to go out with me, like be my girl and stuff… would you say yes?” He mumbled, clenching his fist in her shirt nervously.

Y/n smiled and nodded, tossing her arm over him, and snuggling into him. “Yes?” Eddie asked excitedly. Y/n giggled, “Yes, Eddie, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Eddie’s face broke out into a huge grin and he pulled her forward, pressing his lips to hers again. Y/n smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck as his went around her waist. He let Y/n break the kiss first but set his forehead on hers to ground himself.

Y/n smiled, soothing her thumb across his cheekbone. “You okay, pretty boy?” She giggled.

Eddie grinned and hummed, afraid that if he opened his eyes it would all go away. That none of it was real and he was dreaming. That she wasn’t real. But, as if to prove him wrong, Y/n snuggled closer to him, kissing his neck as she nestled as close as she could get.

Eddie drove Y/n home around dinner time, and she made sure they held hands the whole drive. He drew imaginary circles over the back of her hand, listening to her mindlessly talk about something Robin said in gym class.

Eddie walked her up to the door after parking the van in the street. “So… I could pick you up on Monday? For school, I mean,” Eddie said, twirling his hair around his finger. Y/n smiled, looking at her feet but shook her head.

“I wish I could. I gotta be there for Max…” she said with a sad smile.

Eddie snapped and tapped his foot, “Damn… I forgot about him. Fucking shithead. Keeping me away from you,” he giggled.

Y/n laughed and nodded, mumbling ‘yeah, such a shithead’ before Billy stomped out onto the porch. He glowered at them, pushed past Eddie and went straight to his car.

Y/n ran a hand through her hair with a sigh, “I should probably go inside… I’ll see you soon, okay?” She said, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. Eddie smiled and pulled her into a hug. He leaned back and gave her a peck on the lips in goodbye, not missing the surprised look on her face.

“Are we good?” He asked.

Y/n nodded, “Better than good. Bye, love,” she said, stepping inside.

“Bye, babe,” Eddie replied, walking back to his van. Y/n smiled and shut the door, laying her back against it and biting her lip. She covered her face with her hands and giggled into her palms.

“Why are you so happy,” Y/n’s stepdad Neil sneered from his spot on the couch. Y/n’s mom Susan sat next to him with genuine interest in her daughter’s happiness.

“Oh, nothing! I just like it here,” Y/n said, waltzing back into her room. Neil rolled his eyes and turned back to the TV.

Monday morning Y/n walked into first period with a sigh. She almost didn’t do her makeup that morning since she had absolutely no motivation, but she liked making other people uncomfortable with the way she looked.

Eddie was there early that morning for one and he was waiting for her in the chair behind hers. They didn’t get much of a chance to talk because Mr. Mundy called Y/n up to his desk to talk about her grades on the last couple of tests. Once she finally caved and agreed to tutoring from Chrissy Cunningham, class started. Eddie was disappointed but he still got to see her. After class Eddie had a deal, so again, he didn’t get to talk to her. He would just have to watch from afar…

He sighed, leaning against his van and smoking a cigarette during what was supposed to be study hall. Eddie blew out smoke, deciding to sit in the back end of the van and read whatever Stephen King novel Y/n forgot in there.

The second the bell rang, Y/n jumped up from her seat and booked it to the science wing where she knew Eddie would be. And there he was. Digging around in his locker for his history book that was wedged in pretty good with all the other stuff that got shoved in.

“Munson!” Y/n hissed, meeting him at his locker. Eddie smiled down at her, his heart rate picking up when he saw her. “Hey you! I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said, tossing another book in his messy locker.

Y/n ignored her flaming cheeks and smiled, reaching in to pry his history textbook out for him.

“Oh! Thanks!” Eddie laughed, covering his mouth when he snorted.

Y/n giggled, pulling the book away and out of his reach as he reached for it so he could go crawl into a hole and die. “What do I get in return for this act of pure kindness?” she smirked, hugging the book to her chest. “You don’t do anything out of pure kindness, babe,” Eddie replied.

“Just kiss me,” she sighed, leaning up and kissing him.

Eddie smiled, pulling her closer by the belt loop. He was still floored by the fact that she wanted to kiss him like this. On her own. Not because of a dare, not to make a joke of him, but because she wanted to. In front of everyone. Y/n pulled back, setting their foreheads together and scratching the stubble on his jaw. Eddie grinned, placing his hands on her hips.

Of course, the moment had to be ruined by something…

“Okay, lovebirds, let’s get to class!” Mrs. Click said, waving at them to move on. “Come on!” She urged shooing them. Eddie rolled his eyes and stood up straight before he grabbed Y/n’s hands and started walking towards their fourth period. Y/n pulled him to a stop once they rounded the corner with a sinister smile on her face.

“I was thinking of skipping… maybe check out the back of your van?” She giggled, lacing their fingers together and biting her lip to seal the deal. Eddie’s eyes widened and he smiled widely, “You’re a succubus,” he laughed, but still pulled her towards the back parking lot where his van was parked.

“You don’t seem too upset by that,” Y/n said. Eddie turned to her with a huge grin.

“Why would I when I’ve got the prettiest girl in Hawkins for a girlfriend?”

taglist: @sisgotdemons @tlclick73 @deafeningmoontragedy @marjoriea13 @playfuloutcast @twosluttychains @leetaeilsnecktattoo @lil-quinnie @razzles-bottom-lip @originalstar1 @yessargeantbarnes @bebe07011 @shotgunhallelujah @uselessastheginlasagnaa @mynameismothra @niragis-right-hand-rabbit @shecagobaby @moviefreak1205 @munsonmunster @chonkzombie @sadbitchfangirl @screaming-blue-bagel @urdad-hot @kjaxm @xxaestheticboyxx @ok-boke @coffeeaddictednymph @ohmeganav

small author’s note: hey y’all it’s been the longest time omgg I’ve just been really busy with theater and work and school and all kinds of stuff just gross icky shit. But I’m back okie? I say that every time but i mean it for real. Ok love you <3

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superiorsturgeon · 1 year

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Yang: Blake, I confess! I love you! 😭

Blake: *sniffles* Oh, Yang! I love you too!

Yang/Blake: *tearful embrace*

Weiss: *sniffles* 🥺

Weiss: Hey! Who left this bowl of onions here?! 🧅

——————————————————

Ruby: Penny! I thought I would never see you again! 😭

Penny: Friend-Ruby! I’m so glad I found you! 🥰

Weiss: *tearing up*

Weiss: *notices onions again* What-?! Would you get out of here?! 🧅

——————————————————

Ren/Nora: *finally kiss and discuss their relationship*

Random Atlesian: 😭

Random Atlesian: *turns* Hey!!

Weiss: *helpfully holding out onions* 😅 🧅

#rwby #ruby rose #weiss schnee #lie ren #nora valkyrie #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #penny polendina #bumblebee #yang x blake #renora #ren x nora #source: spongebob squarepants

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bluberrie-hedgehog · 4 months

Text

Hey, who left this bowl of onions here?

#I’m so calm right now #IM SOO CALM #HELP #sonic the hedgehog #project: shadow fan film #shadow the hedgehog

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wooahaes · 2 years

Text

under the sun [the8]

pairing: non-idol!the8 x gn!reader

prompt: darl+ing inspired fic.

word count: 10.5k~

warnings: food mentions. skinship. minghao + reader have a disagreement. someone gets injured (sprained ankle). also someone gets killed in a game of mafia but it’s fun. talks of (unfounded, but it’s acknowledged as such) fears regarding another person getting hurt and/or abandonment. someone disappears for a few days.

daisy’s notes: hey i have an eye appointment in less than 12 hours and i still need to shower before i go to sleep. here’s hao fic.

summary: It all starts when you wake up in a field without a name or any memories to define yourself with. Thirteen men take you in as one of their own, and slowly you begin to wonder what is going on within this world... and between you and one of them.

< day 3 || masterlist ||

Out of pretty much everyone there, Minghao was positive he was the only person who wasn’t entirely warm to you yet. If he had to pick another, he’d say Jihoon--more from a lack of knowing pretty much anything about you. In his opinion, you were fine. You worked hard and Minghao deeply appreciated that. Sometimes you could be a little more quiet, too, but you’d come more into your own over the past week. He attributed part of that to Chan keeping you close by every time you weren’t doing chores and learning the ropes: Chan was younger than all of them, sure, and the newest member before you. He had yet to fully settle into this way of life like he had (but Minghao couldn’t blame him: he was uncomfortable and likely would have grown more attached to the next newest person had Seungkwan not shown up half a year later), and Minghao knew making the adjustment to living with thirteen other people must be hard. It was better that you were being more social than he had been, since he only imagined that helped the process along.

You approached him a little after you’d been there for a week while he was making soup for dinner. Seokmin was meant to be working on another part (a salad, Minghao thought, but Seokmin had gone off to see what they had available that went with the soup he was making), but maybe you’d been waiting for Seokmin to step away. Minghao was waiting for the vegetable stock he made beforehand to boil, all the vegetables he needed were already sliced and ready.

“Joshua said you could help me dye something,” you said, toying with the thin fabric in your hands. It was the blindfold you’d woken up with, same as everyone else. “Someone left me this little stuffed mouse and I think I want to give them a bow.”

Minghao didn’t know exactly what you were talking about save for maybe the one time he saw it (he didn’t leave it for you, and he assumed someone else did), but he asked what color you were thinking. He expected something like maybe a pink (which would take beets, in his experience), or orange (yellow onion skins), but you said black. He paused in his actions while you said something about how it’d contrast your gray and white mouse nicely, in your opinion, and it’d match the eyes.

“Are you sure?”

You stopped short of saying something about how you’d show him the mouse later, if he wanted, because it was cute. “Is that impossible?”

“It’s... a little hard,” he admitted. “You have to find the roots of irises. We don’t grow any here since they take some extra care.” The pot in front of him was beginning to boil, and he looked over to the bowl of vegetables. “If you want to do it, you’ll have to help me find them. They’re hard to find sometimes.”

“I will!” You agreed without a second thought. “I’ll help you, I promise. Just tell me where to look and when we’re going.”

He... really didn’t expect you to agree so quickly. The last time he stumbled upon them by complete chance while out with Jun and Joshua, and he’d studied the picture in Wonwoo’s book enough time to know it when he saw it. “I’ll have to draw a picture for you so you’ll know what it looks like,” he said. He could always trace it. “I’ll ask Wonwoo where the book went.” He went quiet, stirring idly. He wanted this recipe, so he was put in charge of it.

You didn’t leave when he thought you would.

“I dyed mine black, too,” he told you after you continued to stand there, watching him cook.

“You did?”

He nodded. He raised his right hand where he’d tied it there for the day. “Sometimes I use it as an accessory. It looks nice.”

You noticed that Minghao always looked so put-together. Everyone did, in a sense, but Minghao had an eye for fashion. Maybe that’s why you always felt like you looked decent: Minghao had been the one who found your clothes. Or maybe it was the universe stepping in to make sure you weren’t a complete disaster.

... You thought it might actually just be Minghao, to be honest.

“What are you making?” You asked, watching the liquid come to a boil. “It smells good.”

Minghao gave you a sideways look at that. It was vegetable stock at the moment, nothing else added, but maybe that was your way of just being nice. He nodded toward the recipe book he had open and pushed away far enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about any splashes wetting it. “It reminded me of home,” he told you as you started looking over the ingredients. “It’s just a vegetable soup recipe.”

“Do you like cooking?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. You can watch, if you want to learn how to make it.”

A silence lulled between the two of you after that. You stood there, watching him work quietly--adding in his ingredients, careful with any spices he was adding. He noticed you humming after a moment. Was that one of Jihoon’s songs? It sounded like it. After a few minutes of stirring, he decided to taste-test it to make sure he didn’t need to make any adjustments. He paused after a moment, looking over to you before offering up the spoon for you to taste for yourself. No point in serving it to you later if you disliked it.

Yet you lit up once you tasted it, and it made him smile. “Is it good?”

You nodded eagerly. “It’s really good!”

Cute, Minghao thought to himself as he turned back to the soup. Then he realized... This usually took almost half an hour to fully make. Which meant it’d been almost half an hour since Seokmin disappeared into the storeroom to figure out dinner plans. It couldn’t have taken him that long--and if something fell, Minghao would have heard it. Maybe it would have taken him a few trips to get all the ingredients he needed, sure, but...

“Can you go see if Seokmin needs help?” He asked you, nodding toward the storeroom. “He should just be getting ingredients.”

You agreed and disappeared to go fetch him, thankfully not noticing the way Seokmin scrambled back into it to look as casual as he could. Seokmin made up some excuse about being really indecisive today, but enlisted you (and Minghao, when the two of you returned) to help with this portion of dinner. The soup was left at a simmer as Minghao was pushed a little closer to you. Seokmin noticed the gentle way Minghao corrected one of your knife cuts.

It was a step toward a better relationship, that was certain. It made Seokmin smile to himself as he continued to work. Good. You weren’t as quiet as you were when you first came, sure, but Seokmin admittedly worried about you the same way he worried about Minghao during his first few weeks. It was nice to see the two of you getting along better now.

You’d finished with your chores before Chan did one day, and set off to do.. Something. Anything. With Chan still busy and you not in the mood to wait, you ended up flitting from place to place to see if there was anything you felt like doing. You were too restless to fully stop in one place for too long without something to preoccupy you, and yet you managed to stop when you spotted Minghao sitting at one of the walls. It’d been painted blue and green a few days ago (a sky and a field, you thought), and he had a set of paints sitting next to him with both Jeonghan’s name and his own on the side. You’d seen the box before--you had moved it aside plenty of times while cleaning before putting it back into its spot, lest you want to hear it from Jeonghan about how they went “missing“ through being a few inches out of sight. He did nothing, sitting there with his paintbrush being passed from hand to hand as he debated what he wanted to do.

He shifted uncomfortably, looking around before spotting you standing there, watching him. He nodded toward the wall. “Do you want to help?” Before you answered, he already slid the paints a little closer to him to make room for you. “You can, if you want.”

You always assumed that painting was one of those things Minghao preferred to do by himself--or, rarely, with Jeonghan. You kneeled down slowly, nodding, though. “I’m not any good at it.”

“That’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to be. Everyone’s contributed somewhere.” He nodded toward the other paintings staining the walls. “Maybe I’ll show you one day.”

“Do you remember all of them?”

You could see a little pride in his eyes when he smiled at you. “I do,” he looked down at your hands for just a moment. “Everyone also has a hand print everywhere, by the way. You should find a spot for yours.”

You followed his gaze, looking down at your clean palms. “Why?”

Minghao didn’t have an answer for that, to be honest. It started as an accident, actually. Jeonghan had pressed a paint-stained hand against something without thinking, leaving behind bright red. Minghao had said they could always paint over it, but Seungcheol was the one who liked it. It made the place a little more their own with their own mark on it. Seungcheol had left his own mark closest to the entrance, and Minghao noticed that he would gently tap it when he walked past unless his arms were full or he was too preoccupied. Everyone else did, too, actually--it became a little habit they’d all picked up over time. Almost as if saying “I’m home” to no one but themselves, even though everywhere they were could be considered home. Mingyu’s was underneath the rock they used as a dining table, and he joked that it was his own little blessing to ensure everything was delicious and filling. Hansol’s had been near Seungkwan’s, because they’d done theirs at the same time (and Seungkwan also walked away from that with a handprint on his ass, because Hansol had made the joke that it was his “favorite part” of Seungkwan--only to slightly get chewed out because they did have to wash paint out of his pants... even if it was funny).

“Where’s yours?” You asked when you received no answer. His lack of a response told you that maybe they didn’t have a reason: they didn’t really need one, to be honest.

He looked up at you with a hum. “In the main room. It’s a little hidden.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I liked the placement and didn’t think about the fact that no one would see it without looking.” He actually liked that, though. He saw the appeal in placing them in public spots to be seen and high-fived casually. After all, it was amusing to see the way everyone would high-five Jun’s mark: it was right over the entryway to the main room, and most people would reach up to tap it whenever they passed through. Minghao liked his requiring a little more effort to find and appreciate.

You merely nodded. “Then I’ll find my place,” you said. “Should I just find you, then?”

“Or Jeonghan,” Minghao said. “They’re our paints, not just mine.”

“Okay...” You looked back at the painted rock. They’d prepped it a few days ago, and you assumed that Minghao was initially going to be painting it with Jeonghan. He must not have felt like waiting, or Jeonghan gave him the go-ahead. There were still plenty of places anyone could paint anyway. “What are you going to paint?”

Usually Minghao liked to paint flowers nowadays. He liked abstract art, sure, but something about being there always made him feel a little more connected to nature. He sketched flowers and leaves and rocks on loose-leaf paper that the others found for him. Yet... He was painting this with you. How was it fair to impose his own vision onto you when he’d never even considered yours?

“I’m still deciding,” he half-lied. “What about you?”

He watched you sit back, staring at the wall for a moment, humming to yourself. “I... kinda wanna paint some ducks.”

He lit up with amusement at that. “Ducks?”

“They’re cute,” you defended your idea, no malice behind your words. “Maybe we could add in a little pond around here?” You pointed toward a spot right off center in that green space. “And I could put little ducklings outside the pond...”

He could see it. “That’d be cute,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. He was already reaching for the blue paint to open it up. “I can add the pond, if you want.”

“But what about you?” You asked. “You don’t have to stick to my vision if you don’t want to--”

“I want to,” he said. He genuinely did. “I like it.”

He liked it because it was yours and Minghao liked being able to bring other peoples visions to life sometimes. How many times had he painted his own onto those walls? Even if the others pitched in, he laid the groundwork for them. The colors could have been influenced, but what about the fruit in the trees he decided would be apples? Or the pink paint he’d slide over to someone painting a flower, uncertain of their own choice until Minghao made it for them? He wouldn’t fight back if they decided they’d rather have an orange flower, or a yellow, but he typically gave his suggestions to what he thought would fit best and the less artistically-inclined would usually go along with it because they trusted his word. A pond with ducks sounded like something so you to come up with in comparison to the places with abstract colors he’d painted on the walls.

So the two of you worked on your little scene in silence, no need to talk to one another. He painted in a pond with thin layers so it’d dry faster, adding in little rocks around the edge. He liked your little family of yellow ducklings following after a white one. They might have been a little wonky in shame, but it was easy enough to identify them once you carefully added orange bills to them. It was cute to see how focused you became, slowly painting in little details where you could. Maybe he’d teach you more one day. Thankfully, the thin layers of blue for the pond dried fast enough that Minghao could add a little yellow duckling of his own into the water. He watched the way your eyes lit up with joy at it, only to see you add another one next to it.

“So they have a friend,” you smiled at him.

(He didn’t notice until later that you painted a family of fourteen ducks in total: the two in the water with the others gathered outside it, on their way to join them. They were small, sure, but they were together. Wonwoo had been the one to point it out a few days later, calling it cute before asking whether it was Minghao or Jeonghan who painted it. Minghao was proud to say that was all you--he just helped.)

He watched you focus on adding a little lily pad in darker green to the pond, and decided to preoccupy himself with adding a sun into the sky. The two of you created a happy little scene of ducks and flowers and fluffy white clouds around these little ducks preparing to go swim. It was cute, to put it simply, and warmed his heart to see just how sweet you were.

It wasn’t until Mingyu called you to come help with dinner that Minghao realized you’d added a little frog onto that lily pad. You thanked him for letting you paint with him before you went to go wash your hands, carefully washing out your brush as he showed you earlier. Minghao mixed up a pale gray to add a tiny mouse next to the frog once you were gone.

Just so he had a friend, too.

Minghao meditated for what he considered a pretty good reason. Living with now thirteen other people could get stressful on its own, and he appreciated being able to go out and have alone time when he needed it. Even if he didn’t sit down for the minimum of ten minutes he wanted every day (sometimes he managed to net five minutes of just sitting and breathing), it helped him tremendously. He knew that you knew this, too: he overheard you quietly asking what he was doing one day when he went off to sit by himself for a while, and the way you understood after Chan explained that he liked to meditate. Minghao didn’t always meditate alone (sometimes he’d get someone like Joshua joining him), and he’d admittedly led the group through group meditation before. That second one he swore off, though, after Seungcheol and Soonyoung had both fallen asleep during it. It was close to a celebration, and therefore he found it understandable that they’d get relaxed enough to rest (they, along with Jihoon, always seemed to stress the most about making each celebration special), but they should just take a nap like normal people rather than letting him go through his whole spiel. The others enjoyed it, sure, but he wasn’t risking them falling asleep again.

“Can I join you?” You asked one day. He merely nodded and remembered to grab the egg timer from the kitchen--he’d return it later. Minghao just knew it was harder for beginners to just... let go and meditate. He found that out the hard way. The timer made it easier for people to sit still and breathe in the future when five or ten minutes passed faster than they expected that first time.

Sure, it meant his own meditation would get disturbed, but he usually sat out longer whenever he needed it. Even a few minutes every day helped, after all, and the longer Minghao had to just sit and breathe, the better off he’d be later. He let you pick the spot, though: he always thought it helped. All he told you was to pick somewhere calm and quiet where the two of you wouldn’t be disturbed. When you pitched the idea of sitting in the shade by the river, he was more than happy to let you guide the way there.

Minghao gently talked you through it--or, rather, the set-up part of it. All the two of you would be doing was sitting and breathing, but some people found that difficult. He told you to find a comfortable position, to focus on your breathing, that it was okay if your mind wandered (his did, too, sometimes)--but to just be kind to yourself and let yourself breathe for a bit. With ten minutes on the time (Minghao draped his sweater over it to muffle the sound when it’d inevitably ring), and let himself breathe, too.

He could hear your slow inhales and exhales, the sound of the river, the wind... and he was just there. Taking this little moment with you to just exist. It was comfortable. Other people might complain at some point about slowing down so much, but he was thankful you didn’t. He saw the appeal in living a fast-paced life with something to do, sure, but sometimes it was important to take a moment and be mindful. To treat oneself kindly by letting yourself breathe.

The timer went off before he knew it. He told earlier that it was important to think about how you felt when time was up, and he assumed you had decided to do it based on the way he couldn’t hear you move. He looked up, letting you know that you were welcome to leave. He’d stay out a little longer and be back up before sundown.

Yet you stayed there. You said nothing to him, just letting him go back into meditating, but you never left. There was no crunching grass or the quiet strain of standing up after sitting for so long. You just stayed with him until he was ready to return to the group. He felt no pressure to “hurry up” and stop: just the comfortable feeling that he wasn’t alone. It was nice, to be honest. You’d only been there for almost three weeks, and yet you were so mindful of him and his boundaries. If he wanted you to go, he would have said it. Instead, you let him take time for himself and stay to make sure he was okay--or because maybe you didn’t want him to have to walk back alone.

Now that he was thinking about it... you always were mindful of him. You noticed when he wanted to say something while conversation was flying, quieting down the others or making it clear that you were listening to him. Everyone always made sure he felt heard, but you? You had just shown up, and yet it felt like you’d been there far longer. He felt heard and cared for with you around, even though he knew he was equally as heard and loved by the others (all of the quieter members of the group could relate to that). Sometimes he just wanted to sit back and listen, but he could always feel nothing but love (both as someone receiving it and someone feeling it) when people went out of their way to care for him.

He slept next to you that night, and he smiled to himself when he noticed the way Jun had decided to curl up close to you. He dreamed of unfamiliarity and uncertainty in the worst ways that twisted his stomach, a gap too wide between him and the faceless, yet familiar, people that surrounded him. He tensed up, voiceless. It scared him to feel so... powerless. So weak. It woke him up, and he turned to face you. You’d still been asleep, yet your hand brushed against his just for a moment as you shifted in your sleep. Despite having Jun cuddled up close to you, he noticed the way you subconsciously tried to pull the blanket up.

Minghao fixed it for you, hesitating for a moment. He gently nudged you awake, watching you stir and answer with a quiet “Hm?” as you found his gaze in the dark.

He didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted. He wanted, deep down, to hold you, or maybe to be held--the way Seokmin always would hold him. The way anyone would gladly give him the physical comfort he sometimes needed. “Can I hold your hand?” He said after a moment. He was testing the waters with you, and that felt safe.

You nodded, hand sliding into his own before you settled back in to sleep. He could see where Jun had draped his arm around your waist, face buried in your back. Could he be that close to you? All you did was gently squeeze his hand, and it was enough to reassure him. Maybe someday. He instead nuzzled a little closer, forehead inches from your own as he settled back in to sleep.

He slept better from that point on. Even if his dream felt... abrupt and out of nowhere, no one truly expected nightmares... Right?

The next day after chores, Minghao called you over to use that space between then and dinner to show you a few things. The first thing was the corner he had left a handprint in. It was technically out of sight, but all you truly had to do was turn a corner and look for it. His had been white in a stark contrast to the plethora of colors that had painted the wall behind it: blues and greens and pinks. He watched you reach up, pressing your own palm over it.

“It’s lonely.”

It was. Just a little out of reach from the others. Sure, Minghao knew that Chan’s and Soonyoung’s both weren’t too far away from it, but his was left hidden and alone. Maybe he should have placed it closer--but he truly did like it being its own little hidden gem.

He watched the slow way you drew your hand back. “Can I put mine next to it?” You asked after a moment, hand hovering just inches away. “You can say no,” you continued as Minghao looked up, trying to visualize it for himself. “I just feel like it shouldn’t be so lonely.”

He let you. He painted your hand sunshine yellow (the color reminded him of you) and watched you firmly press it against the space next to his own. Your thumb barely touched his own marks, and when you pulled away, he could see where a little bit of the paint bled over onto it. But it was sweet, and Minghao liked it.

He honestly liked it more than he thought he would. He stared at it a moment longer as you disappeared to wash your hand of paint, fingers tracing over his own dried spot. As if maybe he could feel the warmth from when you placed your hand over it. Would your hands be warm? Minghao thought they would be. You certainly had a warm heart.

He went to find his dyeing supplies, pulling out the book he had tucked away with it. A few days ago, he sketched over the iris that was in the book, and showed it to you once you returned to him with dried, clean hands. He’d sketched out a vague map next to it, too.

“I went looking for it last time,” he told you, sitting on the floor. Your knee pressed into his, and he turned his attention away from the contact. “It was out here,” he pointed to the sketch of the forest, symbolized by little trees as you’d expect it would be.

“We’re still going?” You asked, visibly confused. “It’s just... I dunno. I thought you weren’t interested in it anymore since we never really talked about it anymore...”

“Do you still want to dye it black?”

You nodded. If he wanted to tell you no, he could have. Yet..

“I’ll go with you sometime,” he said. He leaned forward, just enough to press a soft kiss against your temple. A sign that he cared. “Don’t go alone,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”

Your fingers brushed against his as you looked at the drawings. “I won’t.”

Minghao played games with the rest of the group often enough. Just because he could be quiet and valued his alone time when he could get it never meant that he wouldn’t have fun--and he appreciated the way you would always find him and ask if he felt up for a game. Sometimes it’d be one of those word games, with the tile pieces, other times it’d be cards. He never felt pressured to do it if he didn’t want to, but you always extended the invitation to him. On the rare occasion it was mafia (which apparently Jeonghan had been the one to remember and teach everyone--but that’d been before he came, once the group had enough people for a solid game), he’d usually tag along to at least watch. He liked the way you found amusement in the game, too. It was always entertaining with such a big group. Not everyone would play, especially if it was before dinner, but he was always open to join if you needed a player.

Yet... Minghao thought he might be feeling Something with a capital S for you. He sat there, cross-legged and watching you and Soonyoung argue over why you definitely weren’t the mafia (Minghao knew you weren’t: he was one of them). You tried to turn the accusation back onto Soonyoung, who openly claimed he was the police (Minghao wasn’t sure of that one yet), and Minghao suppressed a smile at watching how into it you were getting. He shared a glance with Seungkwan, who he was pretty damn sure was the doctor--he’d nod toward him when he and Jeonghan were deciding who to take out next. You openly claimed that if you were the mafia, you would have likely taken him out soon enough because he talked too much--a behavior you were attributing to him being the mafia. In the end, Seungkwan stuck up for you and said he was positive you weren’t the mafia. You would have taken out Minghao early on because he would have figured you out by now.

Soonyoung made a comment about how he thought you were definitely working with Minghao as the mafia, and that if he died in the night after letting you live that everyone should take you out immediately. The group agreed to it with the plan to let you live, and Minghao took note of the opportunity. If they took you out, then it potentially maybe shifted some blame toward Soonyoung (or someone who would want him to look guilty--they just had to find a way to spin it). They take out Soonyoung, they take out both someone who’s potentially the police as they fully throw suspicion onto you.

Minghao looked over to you when Seungkwan pointed out that Soonyoung was being extremely pushy that you were guilty. Almost like he was guilty for something like killing Joshua in the middle of the night. Minghao mouthed a “is it really you?” to you, and watched you shake your head.

“You believe me, right?” You mouthed back.

He nodded in response, hoping his smile was reassuring enough for you. He had no reason not to, after all.

Night fell in the game and Minghao raised his head alongside Jeonghan when prompted to. Wonwoo watched the two as Jeonghan immediately nodded toward Soonyoung, and Minghao found himself hesitating. If Seungkwan really was the doctor, then it was entirely possible that trying to take out Soonyoung would result in Seungkwan saving him--because, honestly, that wouldn’t be the worst play. They take out Soonyoung, he ends up saved, bam: suspicion thrown completely onto you while they still have an extra player in the game.

Minghao nodded toward you, taking notice of the way you were drumming your fingers against your leg. Jeonghan mouthed back an “are you sure?” while Wonwoo continued to watch all of this go down. Joshua sat, smiling like a bastard about all of this, completely invested in how this was going to go down. They take out you, Seungkwan could potentially blow up and out himself as the doctor...

Wonwoo made a comment about the mafia making their decision.

Jeonghan looked toward you, and he and Minghao came to an agreement. Minghao was pretty positive on Seungkwan: he correctly saved Seungcheol during that first night, after all, and Seungcheol never seemed to last too long in these games. That had been Jeonghan’s idea. Minghao nodded, Wonwoo gave the two mafia members a thumbs up, and they put their heads back down.

Soon enough, day rose and you were proclaimed dead. Just as he expected, Seungkwan gasped and immediately rose out of his spot as he stared down Soonyoung.

“I saved you because I thought they were the mafia!” He said, fully outing himself as the doctor. “You were just trying to pin the blame on someone else--”

“No, I’m really the sheriff!” He claimed.

Minghao suppressed a smile as Soonyoung continued to try and defend himself. He could hear Joshua laughing from his seat and Seungkwan grew more heated, claiming that he just watched an innocent person die, while Minghao looked over to you. You were smiling until you met his gaze, and then realization clicked.

He just looked away, still thoroughly amused at how the accusations were piling up on Soonyoung. Jeonghan offhandedly mentioned that he thought Soonyoung was acting like he usually did when he was the mafia--accusations and questions and a little too unhinged compared to his normal civilian behavior. Soonyoung was soon enough voted out (and proven to not be the mafia) as the round came to an end, night falling again. Minghao looked up to see that Soonyoung was mouthing apologies to you, almost fervently begging for forgiveness as you rolled your eyes. It was all for fun, sure, but Minghao would pay for pictures of Soonyoung’s face the moment he saw him raise his head. He instead leaned forward enough to make eye contact with Jeonghan, treasuring the smile he saw on your face.

You might be losing, sure, but at least you were having fun. He thought you were cute. Was he getting a little soft? Maybe, but then again he did just technically kill you in cold blood. The mafia ended up winning that game, and Minghao was just happy that you had fun. He was glad you included him. Everyone did, sure, but it meant a lot that you went out of your way to do it. During dinner, you sat next to him, and he felt... comfortable. That was the only way he could describe the way you made him feel.

Minghao realized he might just be falling for you, to be honest.

“About the flower...” You asked him while doing dishes that night, not looking up from where you were scrubbing a plate clean. “When do you want to go?”

After your celebration had always been his plan. Minghao had started hoping that they’d just... appear one day. Going out was one thing, but into the forest? He’d thought about it a lot more over the past few days. What if you got hurt? He wasn’t strong enough to help you back if it was bad enough. He knew the others would come looking for the two of you in time, but what about how he felt? How was he supposed to face you afterward if you got hurt? How was he supposed to face the others, who he knew would entrust your safety to him as much as they entrusted his to you?

So he started stalling a little. He mentioned having to ask Seungcheol, just in case the two of you took a few days to find it. It was an excuse, and he felt a little bad, but... He wanted you to be safe.

Minghao was not going to fall for you just to lose you.

You ended up going to Seungcheol the next day. When you explained it to him, he seemed a little wary at first. Even with Minghao, he was worried about the dangers the two of you might face. Sure, people weren’t exactly something to worry about--but what about the weather? And wildlife? Seungcheol didn’t tell you outright, but he knew that Minghao knew alternate ways to get a black dye. He’d been stubborn, though, when it came to his own attempt: the scraps of fabric he dyed before weren’t black enough. They never looked quite right, and he only had the one blindfold. He wasn’t going to just dye it and be unhappy, Minghao was stubborn. Seungcheol started to wonder if you were, too.

“I just want to make sure you both pack well,” he said. “If you aren’t back in a few days, we’ll come looking. Safety first.”

Seungcheol also knew that you and Minghao were growing closer. The looks the two of you gave one another, the way Minghao seemed to gravitate toward you throughout the day... He thought that maybe Minghao was opening up to you in ways he hadn’t with the others. He was affectionate when he wanted to be, and he talked to people when he needed to, but with you...

Things were different. Seungcheol had started to wonder whether Minghao was starting to fall for you.

“If you leave tomorrow, we’ll find you before the celebration,” Seungcheol warned you. “You can always wait.”

He could see the impatience in your eyes. You wouldn’t. “You’re right...”

“Just promise me you’ll be safe,” Seungcheol took your hands with a sigh. He chose his words carefully: “Let us all know when you two are leaving together, okay?”

You promised you would, and then you left to go find Minghao. Seungcheol sighed, and went to check their bags. If you were going to try to go sooner rather than later, he might as well make sure that the two of you could be properly prepared. Seungcheol was positive he could keep the two of you from leaving until tomorrow morning: plan out the way and be prepared, and everyone else would be prepared to look if the worst came to fruition.

Minghao was... less than thrilled when you told him that the two of you could leave the next day and be back in time for things. It wasn’t that hard to find it, right? You had the picture, he knew the way, you two would be together. He put it off with an excuse that he barely remembered later on about something he wanted to do with Jun and Seokmin. It became a cycle over the next few days: he busied himself, claiming to be trying to map things out better before telling you he was busy. He had to cook. He was looking for another book. The day before your celebration, you were frustrated with him.

“If you don’t want to go anymore, then just say that.” You hugged your arms close to yourself, closing yourself off from him. “It’s fine if you don’t want to help me. I’ll just find someone else and come back--”

“I do,” he told you. “We can’t just go now. I told you I wanted to wait until after your celebration because we’ve had work to do preparing.” It wasn’t a full lie, thankfully: there were dried flowers and whatnot that needed to be done. The smell of them always made things sweeter. “I can’t just go when you want to.”

“Seungcheol told me that we could have left--”

“Both of us leaving would have affected the group,” he folded his arms across his chest. “It’s a lot of work, and it would have been wrong to skip out on it because you wanted to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” You recoiled back at that, brows knit tightly together. “Seungcheol told us we could have gone. You said you’d help me and you can change your mind if you want--I just wanted you to say that. I wasn’t going to get mad, Hao.”

You didn’t get it. “It’s dangerous,” he insisted.

“We’d be together! If one of us ended up getting hurt, we could have just gone to get help--”

“It’s dangerous to leave someone behind,” he said. Minghao wasn’t the kind of person who would get shouting-angry without being pushed to that limit. Instead, he was colder to you. More closed off than he had ever been with you. “You’ll just have to wait...”

You shut down immediately. “Okay.” He couldn’t detect any emotion in your voice when you agreed, nothing on your face giving away your thoughts. “Then... You can wait,” you said. “I get it. After the celebration, right? You promise?”

He did. He promised it to you, a small smile tugging at his lips when you extended your pinky. “After the celebration,” he reaffirmed. “I’ll meet you that morning, alright?”

“Okay,” you said. “Thanks, Minghao.”

When you turned to walk away from him, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d hurt you. How was he supposed to say that he was terrified of never coming back? And the idea of no one ever coming to find him? It was silly, but some fears were. He knew they’d look for him. This was his home now, and his family, too. But what about you? What if you got hurt? He didn’t know how he could ever face himself.

You were distant from him for the rest of that day. Seungcheol tried to bring up your celebration, trying to prod you to join the conversation and see how you were feeling. It wasn’t going to be much--just the normal drinking and dancing and singing. They were going to let loose tomorrow, and you eventually put on a smile. Soonyoung made the comment that he wanted to share a drink with you first, which set off conversation about how he got whenever he drank. He was affectionate, so if you needed to push him off onto someone else, just do it. They could all handle him, after all. You refused to meet Minghao’s eyes, though. Fuck, he had hurt you. He should have just been open with you: you wouldn’t have judged him. Maybe you would have called him a little dumb for thinking that no one would come find him, because all of you loved him so much, but he could live with that. For a moment, he thought he’d talk to you after dinner. But he watched how you ended up getting pulled away by Chan after dinner, going to talk about how his celebration had gone a month ago.

He’d apologize to you in the morning, and he’d tell you the truth.

You were gone.

The next morning Minghao woke up, and he noticed you were missing. At first, he thought that maybe you’d gotten up for breakfast (it certainly wouldn’t have been assigned to you the night before considering today was your day), but no one else was awake yet. You were nowhere to be found, the spot next to Seokmin and Chan empty with nothing but your mouse laying there between them. Minghao pulled himself from his blankets, going off to find where your private spot was. Maybe you retreated there for the night. Seeing the space empty only reminded him that he saw you asleep next to Seokmin. He saw you because he knew you were upset with him for not listening, for not talking to you properly. He should have. He shouldn’t have slept on it, he should have just faced you and told you outright that he was scared and been open. He turned, not bothering to find his shoes as he hurried up the path to the church. Maybe you were in the attic, or maybe you went for a walk. He called your name as loud as he could, and he heard nothing in response.

Breakfast was check-in for the day, ultimately. Chores were assigned, everyone got to see each other before they parted ways. You knew that. Everyone knew that. So where were you? On your day of all days? Fuck, how stubborn were you?

Seungcheol met him midway on the path to the church while Minghao was making his way back. “Mouse is gone,” he said. “Did they tell you where they went?”

Fuck. Minghao shook his head. “No.”

Seungcheol frowned at him, a quiet “Hao...” falling from his lips. He looked back toward the main room. They’d all be gathering for breakfast soon and dividing up tasks to set-up for the night... or, at least, they would be. “We have to tell everyone.”

“They’ll be back,” Minghao said. He had faith in you, even if he wanted to be mad at you.

“Minghao.” Seungcheol looked at him. “Today?”

Minghao said nothing. Seungcheol was right.

“That’s if they don’t get hurt, too,” he said. “What happened?”

Minghao spilled the entire story. You’d been wanting to go on the little trip with him to find the irises you needed because they didn’t grow in the gardens there, and he kept holding off. He kept his reasoning close to his chest, though. He knew it was silly, and he knew Seungcheol would tell him that they’d always come for both of you. That they’d never hold it against him if one of you got hurt.

“We found them last time by coincidence,” he said. “What if we didn’t find them this time?”

Seungcheol saw through him. He always did, somehow. Maybe it came with watching this group come together. “Is that it?”

“I didn’t want them to get hurt,” he finally admitted. “If something happened to them and we were too far away, I don’t think I could help them.” And then it’d be his fault whatever came next. “I can’t lose them.”

Seungcheol masked his surprise well. “You won’t,” he said. “I’ll put together a search party. We’ll find them.”

Plans were canceled as Seungcheol broke the news to the group that you had disappeared. Most of the group was put to work looking for you, the only people left behind that day in order to prepare for a bigger search if they couldn’t find you. Seungcheol put Minghao in his own team to look for you, because he knew Minghao wouldn’t accept anything else. That he would have gone out on his own and searched for as long as it took if Seungcheol didn’t keep an eye on him. They make a promise to not stay out after nightfall: they’d need to regroup and prepare for a proper search the next day if they couldn’t find you.

And on that first day, they turned up nothing. It was almost like you disappeared entirely, but Minghao checked his dyeing supplies. You’d taken the entire book itself, map and drawing included. You’d taken everything because you were fed up with him, weren’t you? You went to search by yourself. What did you have to prove by doing that? By not waiting for him to be there to catch you if you fell? You’d already been gone for several hours that morning, how far would you go? He told you the path he took, where the flowers he found were. Beyond that lake Joshua had shown you. He knew the woods grew thicker after a while, and he knew what wildlife still existed there. What if you were lost? What if you got injured?

What if you were lying out in the grass somewhere, hurt and waiting for him to come find you?

He left after breakfast the next day with a bag of food and one of the flashlights they reserved for emergencies. The stronger ones that Seungcheol had found a while back, with a pack of batteries tucked into his bag as well. He was going to find you. He had to.

Minghao made it to the lake, stopping long enough to look in for a few minutes. He pushed the thought aside, and turned to face those woods that he’d gone into the day before with the others. Jun called out to him, and when Minghao looked up, he was there with Seokmin in tow. Minghao felt more at ease. He wasn’t alone.

So they went looking.

The woods were thick. Minghao wondered why he didn’t just give up on that shade of black. Why he didn’t just convince you to dye it some other stupid color. Why he didn’t just take the lengthy process of dyeing it a deep indigo and then rust red over it so it looked black. It wasn’t the same, and he knew that, but it was the safer option. If he had convinced you, you would still be there with the others. Maybe he would have woken up with you in his arms that morning. He felt guilt rise up in his stomach, thick enough that it’d choke him if it rose any higher, at how he kept putting you off. He listened out for you as best as he could: for a whimper, a groan, a moan of pain that told him that you were at least alive. If you weren’t, it was his fault and he didn’t know how he’d live with that guilt. You would have ran away and disappeared and then died because of him.

They turned up nothing. If it weren’t for the fact that your bed was there, your little plush mouse still stayed in the middle of the room--a reminder of their missing member--Minghao would have thought that maybe he dreamed you up. But everyone knew you, they knew your face, and your hand-print still stayed right next to his. The little mouse in his drawing was still sitting with the frog. Seokmin and Jun had to coax him to return and sleep that day, outright telling him he would be no use to you if he didn’t get some rest. He barely slept, though, despite the way that Seokmin had cuddled close to him. Seokmin held him through the night: reassurance that Minghao wouldn’t try to slip away and find you again all on his own. He could only dream of you broken and crying for him, and it made him want to break down.

His shoulders shook at one point as he inhaled sharply, trying to stop himself. Minghao didn’t like to cry, especially not when he could wake everyone else up. He didn’t want to talk through his feelings: he just wanted you there in front of him, holding his hand so he could sleep. Seokmin nuzzled closer to him. He was awake.

Minghao let himself break down as he turned over, getting pulled into Seokmin’s chest so he could cry. Just to get it out and clear his head so he could sleep. It helped, too. He drifted off soon enough, body exhausted from worry and guilt.

Everyone was out looking for you by that third day, bags packed and people ready to take as long as they needed to. Minghao returned to the woods with Mingyu and Jihoon that time. He thought that maybe Jihoon was making up for the way he treated you to begin with, subtly. Minghao understood that personally: he had been cold to you, too, at first. Just out of caution: everyone that came after him could recount the way he was wary of them. Seungcheol had caught up with them soon enough, saying he had a feeling about this. He didn’t elaborate on whether that was good or bad, only that his intuition was strong that you were there. The others only searched elsewhere in case he was wrong.

No one spoke that entire time. He could tell that they wanted to, just so they could reassure him that everything was going to be okay. You took water with you because several bottles had been gone. As long as you stayed hydrated, you would be okay. Minghao thought to himself that you wouldn’t last long if you were injured, especially if you were bleeding out. But he let himself believe that you were strong: he knew you were. You were kind, and there was strength in being kind. You wouldn’t have stuck around him for so long if there wasn’t.

Jihoon grabbed him by the arm, fingers digging into his skin as he pulled him to a stop. Before Minghao could question it, he heard it, too: the softest hiccup before a sob. Minghao tore his arm away, stumbling back, and he called out your name loudly. He heard you. Another cry, no syllables to form his name or a real word, but he saw that the others were alert as well. They parted ways, each calling out for you as Minghao started looking fervently. Your name choked past his lips over and over in a mantra, and then he found you--nearly tripping over a root. You’d curled up next to a tree just ahead of him, your bag hugged close to your chest. You looked fine, actually, but he collapsed to his knees beside you the moment he was closer to you. He pulled your bag away, dropping it next to you as he started to look over your face, fingers pressed into your hot skin. Your face was puffy from crying, but that was fine.

“Are you bleeding? Did you break something?!”

You sniffled, shaking your head. “Hao--” You whimpered. “I fell.”

“You... fell?”

Your voice was sharper, “I can’t fucking walk.” You wiped at your face harshly, and he wanted to chastise you--the fabric of your shirt was too scratchy. It was only going to make you more uncomfortable and mess with your skin. “I thought--” You took a deeper breath, “I thought I heard something so I panicked and I ran and--and I fell over a big fucking root and it really hurts.”

His gaze softened. Oh. He gently pulled away after wiping away your tears, pressing a kiss against your temple. “It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice as soft as he could. “I’m here.” He leaned back, looking toward your ankles. “Which one did you hurt?”

You didn’t answer, instead roughing wiping at your face again. “I’m sorry I’m being a big baby over a twisted ankle.”

He didn’t have to ask again, now that he was looking. He could see where one of them was puffy from the swelling. All he did was brush his fingers over it before you jolted, and he apologized immediately. He reached forward, wiping away your tears again. “If you can’t walk on it, it’s a sprain, my love,” he said quietly. His fingers caressed the curve of your face. He thought he would have wanted to cry, to yell at you for being stupid and at himself for being stupid, too, and not apologizing sooner, but he could to that later if he needed to. You were scared and hurt. “The others are with me, okay? Give me a minute--”

Before he could get up, your hand shot out and caught his own. He could see how afraid you were. “Don’t,” you hiccuped again. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I’ll be right back,” he promised. Mingyu and Seungcheol were both strong enough to carry you at least part of the way back. “I told you I would come get you.”

You forced a smile. “You’re late.”

“I know,” he pressed a kiss against your forehead. He said he’d be there yesterday morning.

You squeezed his hand. “Hao...” You wiped at your face once more. “I found them.”

Of course you did. You were you. He felt tears well up, though. “You’re so stupid,” he mumbled, pressing his forehead against yours. He was so, so tired from all the worrying, and yet he broke down into a quiet laugh. “You’re so stupid,” he repeated. “But I love you.”

Despite how you thought hearing that might make you feel, you managed a broken laugh, too. “Hao...”

He could hear his name called out, and he turned away to call out an “I found them!” to sound off his location. “Let’s go home,” he pressed a kiss against your forehead. “Don’t do this again, okay? Don’t go without me.”

You’d calmed down so much since he came to you, and you nodded despite the way he pulled you closer into his chest. “Yeah,” you said. “I won’t. Let’s go home.”

Mingyu worked out for a reason, apparently, and it wasn’t just to keep up the “rugged, hot guy” appearance that he seemed to have. With a little help from Seungcheol and Jihoon, you were hoisted up onto Mingyu’s back. If he felt any strain, he didn’t say it. Minghao thought that maybe it was because Mingyu knew you were injured, and it was easier than letting you hobble your way back or he and Seungcheol carrying you the entire way. Minghao carried your bag as he lagged behind with Jihoon, listening to Seungcheol as he tried to get the story from you. You admitted to your small disagreement with Minghao and wanted to make it up to him by finding the stupid flowers yourself because you thought that maybe he didn’t want to actually spend time with you. That, despite the fact he clearly had a soft spot for you, he somehow didn’t like you. Like the meditation and the games and the painting were all things he was merely tolerating all this time.

He thought you were an idiot for that.

Seungcheol gently scolded you despite the audience he knew the two of you had. Minghao had seen him be stern with people before, and it wasn’t surprising now. If they hadn’t found you, something else could have. What if a bear got to you? Or a snake? Or something else just as dangerous? You were lucky that Jihoon had heard you and Minghao found you first. You didn’t seem to respond too much aside from your apologies and promises to not leave without telling anyone again. It was dangerous and stupid, and you knew that especially now with a sprained ankle.

Mingyu mentioned making adjustments to Seungkwan’s old crutch when they went back. He’d injured his foot a few months ago, and they could make it work for you. Someone else would break down multiple chunks of ice so that they could ice your ankle. Even when you were in trouble for your impulsive decisions that resulted in you getting injured, you were clearly being cared for. Seungcheol took over for the rest of the way back. Minghao could see the sweat on his brow and the strain on his face from having to carry another person, but he said nothing to you other than his continued talk about how they’d handle it. Just so that you were on the same page.

You asked if you ruined your celebration. Seungcheol called you dumb outright for thinking he’d just take that away from you. Minghao nearly snorted at that: Seungcheol didn’t always call people things like that, but it truly meant you were a part of the group if he reached that comfort level with you. They’d do it when you were better. No doubt you’d be put on bed rest for the next few days, just to give yourself the best chance at recovering sooner.

The others had gathered back in front of the church already, the sun setting over the horizon. Minghao could see the collective relief on everyone’s faces at seeing you again, even if you were injured. They rushed over to where Seungcheol was letting you down, supporting you as best as he could so that you wouldn’t have to put too much weight on your ankle. You were hit with question after question about whether you were okay, why you decided to leave so impulsively, but Seungcheol warded them all off. You were hurting and they needed to tend to that first. Explanations could wait: your well being couldn’t.

Minghao sat nearby as Joshua was handed a towel with broken pieces of ice inside of it. It’d been cushioned enough to avoid direct contact. Wonwoo had found this book of first aid things forever ago, and had been reading off a few things they’d already known--and Minghao suspected it was just to keep you aware of every step they were taking to make sure you would be okay. Wonwoo kept glancing up at you for a reason, after all.

Joshua looked up as he pulled out the roll of compression bandages from the first aid kid they’d managed to put together. “This is going to hurt for a moment, okay?”

You whined a little--you’d been in enough pain, thank you--and Minghao offered his hand to you. You didn’t hesitate to take it, fingers clasping tight around it while Joshua propped your leg up enough so he could wrap your ankle snug. Thankfully, you were able to put a little bit of weight on your foot, as they had found out once Seungcheol let you down. Joshua still sentenced you to two days of rest, just so you could recover faster. You hadn’t reported any pops or tears, at least, and you probably would have been in worse pain otherwise. Joshua wrapped the towel around your ankle, asking if you could feel the ice. When you nodded, he merely proceeded to readjust pillows to keep your foot elevated.

“You’re going to want to keep it elevated above your heart,” he told you. He then looked to Minghao: “Make sure they do that.”

He almost wanted to say that he wasn’t your nurse. Minghao knew he wasn’t going to leave your side right now. “Joshua...” He looked away from you. “Is Mingyu done cooking?”

Mingyu and Seokmin had opted to make dinner for everyone, making sure that they made something filling for you. You had eaten over the past few days, sure, but that wasn’t going to stop them from making sure you were hydrated and well. Minghao had heard mentions of soups and things that were heartier for you. He’d give you his own portion if he needed to.

Joshua already knew what he wanted. “We’ll go check,” he said, looking at Wonwoo and nodding to leave. They could run interference, too: Chan probably wanted to see you, as did Seungkwan and Hansol. Minghao thought it was sweet how close you were to them still. He still wanted his moment alone with you.

Soon enough, it was just the two of you alone. He sat there, still holding your hand. He’d left your bag just out of reach.

“Why?”

You looked up at his sudden question. “Why what?”

“Why did you think I don’t like spending time with you? I do.”

“I don’t know...” You frowned. “It just felt like you kept putting it off because you didn’t want to go.”

“I put it off because I was scared,” he told you outright. “I know the others would have come looking for us if we didn’t come back, but...”

If he watched you get hurt and couldn’t help you, he wouldn’t want to face you or anyone else again.

“I love spending time with you,” he said. “You always listen to what I have to say and make sure I feel heard. The others do it, too, but...” It was like you just knew how to make him feel valued and loved within your first few days there. Like you just knew him. “It’s different with you.”

“What you said before,” you hesitated for a moment. But you decided to ask what was on your mind: the things he said hours ago that still stayed with you throughout the pain. “When you called me stupid... Did you mean it?”

“That’s--” He shook his head. “I was upset--”

“Not that.” You worded it wrong. You took a deep breath. “That you loved me.”

“No,” he said, smiling at you. “I told you I love you. Present tense.”

Sunshine yellow had been perfect for you: your smile was as invigorating as sunshine itself. “You’re dodging the question,” you teased.

“Am I?” He ran his thumb along the back of your hand. “Isn’t that your answer?”

You only laughed softly in response, enamored with him thoroughly. “Maybe,” you said. “But I think you should tell me again.”

He smiled at you, only to lean in and press his lips against yours a moment later. It was gentle, partially because he was afraid of doing anything that might hurt you. He pulled away after a moment, one hand cupping your face while he held your hand tightly. “I love you,” he declared, and it felt like a promise, too. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” you pressed your forehead against his. “I love you, too.”

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