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the scentist
<san x fem!reader>
Your neighbour—Choi San—is such a gentleman on top of being a complete hunk and smelling so fuckin good. Especially so when he offers his hoodie when he sees you being drenched. Well, nothing could come out of such a simple gesture of kindness, right?
Genres/Warnings: perverted & obsessed scentist!San, Olfactophilia (sexual arousal from scent), masturbation on clothing, oral (F receiving), unprotected sex, cumming untouched, armlock (light) breeding, pussy drunk San💙
💙 @san-network 💜
Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess @interweab @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @ywtf @jeon-ify
A/N: WE BEEN KNEW THAT I’D LEAVE MY FAVOURITE MAN FOR THE LAST!! 😮💨 don’t be sad that this event is ending ok,, we got more to cum come 🥰 thank u for giving my fics so much love as always!!
🩷back to staying perverted
Lavender. Sweet pea. Azalea. Gardenia.
The scents of the florals fill his lab, something he’s so used to already. As the concoction bubbles, he walks over to the other flowers potted along the shelf, pressing the petals against his nose, taking in their smell before he pulls away. He pulls off his goggles, walking over to his desk, staring at the standing whiteboard, filled to the corners with flower names, chemical compounds, and other miscellaneous details. Even though he’s doing fine, he feels that something is missing. Choi San feels stale and stuck.
The rain is pattering down heavily against the pavement, he stares at the raindrops hitting the leaves of his plants. San often gets compliments on how beautiful his plants are, and how natural he is at gardening. San would don his signature smile and he would thank them for the compliment. Sometimes, his neighbours would come by to ask for gardening advice and San would gladly entertain them. This evening was no different. Another one of his neigbours who was growing greens had wanted to express appreciation by buying San his favorite fertilizers. Stacking them neatly in his cabinet, San then decides to head down to the reception to receive his parcel.
Fuck. The downpour was so sudden. It totally caught you off guard, and you were drenched before you realised it. You make it to the entrance of your apartment complex, shivering slightly from the air conditioning. You shake off the excess water off your arms, and when you look up, your heartbeat quickens—your apartment complex crush is standing at his letterbox, filtering through his mail while he holds a parcel in his arms. He’s in a grey hoodie, and for some reason, it makes him look big, and it’s driving you insane. Shit, shit, shit. You pray that he doesn’t turn around and see you.
“Hey. Good evening y/n”, San greets cheerily. You force a smile, “Good evening San.”
San has his eyes on you, and you swear he’s eyeing you down—probably judging you for being drenched and shit.
“Looks like you reached back just in time”, he teases, and you pout.
“I feel like a drenched dog. Is this how dogs feel after a shower?” You reply, brushing your hands through your wet locks, all in an attempt to stop yourself from staring at San laugh—his voice is hypnotic enough to make you melt into a puddle already. The cold air from the air conditioning hits you once more, and this time you’re beginning to shiver uncontrollably on top of struggling to open your damn letterbox and not looking like a circus in front of your crush.
You focus on fidgeting with your letterbox keys, your fingers reaching out to snatch the letters. When you close the latch, San has his hoodie unzipped, and he’s removing said outerwear.
“San, what are you-“
He’s about to hand you the hoodie, but he instead opts to put his parcels in your hands, and he fucking fits the hoodie around your shoulders, and when he does, his smell floods your senses. He smells like a mix of floral—with hints of spice and citrus, and although for a brief moment, you have it locked in some part of your brain. His fingers brush against yours as he takes his parcels and letters from you, and it doesn’t help that he’s in a black shirt that hugs his biceps, shoulders, and chest a little too well. You barely muster the strength to peel your eyes away, feeling your heart flutter when his fingers brush against yours as he retrieves his packages back from you.
You look up, hoping that the fluorescent lights don’t highlight the heat that’s rushing to your cheeks. You’re still shivering, but suddenly you don’t feel as cold as before.
“Thank you, San”, you smile. “I’ll wash it and return it to you ASAP.” San smiles in response and the both of you walk to the lift together, light conversations and laughter filling the spaces as your body and your heart gradually warm up.
San is exhausted—he’s been at the lab back to back, drafting report after report, and it’s been taking chunks out of him. Palm against his neck, he tilts his head, shutting his eyes as he stretches his neck, and then he sighs. His superiors finally approved his reports and now he has the god-given chance of going home and catching up on his sleep for the night.
The muffled sounds of his doorbell stir him up from his sleep. He doesn’t shift for a couple of seconds. Then his hands shift across the bedsheets to feel for his phone. The doorbell sounds a couple more times and San grunts in his groggy state, his fingers hitting against the edge of his phone, which he pulls closer to him to check the time.
It’s 2 pm. He crashed for 14 hours last night.
He slowly sits up, letting his sight adjust to the afternoon sun filtering through his windows before he walks over to the front door. He’s slightly grouchy from the amount of sleep he clocked in, but as he swings the door open, the remainder of his sleep dissipates when he sees that it’s you standing before him.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” You ask, rubbing your neck. “I wanted to return you this..”, you bring up a paper bag to San’s view. San is still registering this.
“But you weren’t home for the past couple of days, and I don’t have your phone number..”
San blinks. Then his hands reach out to take the paper bag, and his eyes glance downwards.
Ah, it’s his hoodie.
He looks up back to you. “Thank you. Don’t tell me you’ve been coming here every day to try to pass me this?”
“Yes and no..?” you answer with a smile. It spreads to San, who suddenly feels a shot of guilt for making you come to his unit when he wasn’t even there half of the time.
“I’ll treat you to dinner for the trouble I’ve put you through”, he says hastily. He thinks the way your eyes widen and how pink is flushing at the tip of your ears is so adorable, and then he cuts you off before you attempt to decline his offer, “Pass me your phone.”
The phone in your hand is in his now and he types in his phone number before he hands it back to you.
He leans in slightly closer, and there is a particular scent that slowly starts to make its way to his brain. Is it coming from you? For some reason, he hasn’t been able to get it out of his head since the day he lent you his hoodie. And there it was again, faint, but it was definitely there.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, y/n?”
He’s almost disappointed when he sees you shake your head, but at the same time, he has lab work to do, so he shuts the door after he sends you off with a smile, not knowing that you omitted that you wore his hoodie a couple more times after washing (mostly due to the cold weather).
He drops off the paper bag on his bedroom floor before he heads off to his home lab.
Unfortunately, the extra 14 hours of sleep still doesn’t spark inspiration for his chemistry, and he ends up spending barely an hour in his lab, mostly tending to his flowers, before he decides to call it a day.
San is back in his bedroom, and he decides to unpack his hoodie from the paper bag. His hands reach into the bag and retrieve the hoodie, and when he unfolds the hoodie, his mind immediately hazes at the scent coming off the garment. Fuck. It’s even more prominent. It’s the scent that he can’t get out of his fucking head, and now it’s pretty much in his hands.
You smell like fucking heaven, San thinks, placing the outerwear under his nostrils once more, inhaling, the smell completely entering the crevices of his mind. He groans and curses at the way his erection is pushing against his pants just from your fucking smell. It’s more than just the detergent you use—it’s so much more intimate and intoxicating than that, and it’s undoubtedly driving San fucking crazy. He’s so sure that this is the scent that he’s been chasing after.
San walks over to his bed, comfortable on the mattress while he pushes his pants past his thick thighs, his cockhead pushing against his underwear, forming a dark and wet spot. He inhales shakily, teasing himself, the precum thickening and staining more of his underwear. It doesn’t take him long to kick off his sweats and underwear completely, letting his cock spring out with a relieved sigh, before he slowly starts fucking his hand while his other hand has his head filled with your pheromones.
The thought of you on that rainy evening, the way the rain had drenched your white shirt through, your bra showing, cupping your tits so fucking teasingly. San wonders if you did it on purpose because he would have just ripped your shirt open right then and there. His repressed fantasies begin to bubble up—the thought of him inviting you to his unit instead, letting his hands feel you up, making sure your goosebumps are from his touches rather than the cold because he swears he can warm you up quickly. He would press himself against you, taking in your scent, before he’d slip his hands underneath your pathetic white shirt, cupping your tits, then sliding your pants off—he knows he can’t even wait till the both of you reach his bedroom—the furthest the both of you would go? The fucking couch.
Your smell floats, and it’s dragging him deeper and deeper. San bucks his hips against his hand, soft moans pouring out his lips, whining your name against the fragrant garment, his precum turning thicker by the minute. He’s liked you ever since he met you when you first moved in, and now you’re filling up every part of his olfactory senses. He’s desperate to fill you up with him, make sure you’re holding your shirt up with your teeth, your eyes filling up with tears as he slams his cock into your warm pussy, over and over, forcing yourself to stay quiet so the neighbours don’t hear.
Fucking hell. San’s thighs shake slightly at the thought of it. He takes another inhale, and it’s like a dopamine reset once more, perfect at the moment when he’s bringing himself to the edge. Your voice echoes in his head, the pretty sounds you’d make, the expressions that he would indulge in for himself.
Thick streams of cum bubble from his silt, and he almost suffocates himself from the sick pleasure of burying his face in his hoodie drenched in your scent, he catches his breath as the scent slowly fades when he pulls the hoodie from his face, panting from an orgasm that he knows will never be enough one time.
As San washes off his high in the warm showers, he decides to attempt to recreate your scent, wanting to keep it all for himself. And he knows just a hoodie isn’t gonna be enough.
You’ve been flipping your apartment upside down, looking for your panties. At first, you didn’t notice that one pair went missing—chalking it off as you misplacing your laundry. But when the second one you swore you dropped off in the fresh laundry hamper disappears, along with a third, you realise something was amiss. You retrace your steps—you did have a couple of people over recently, but the majority of them were your girl friends, if you minus off how you and San have been going over to each other’s places for meals ever since the both of you exchanged phone numbers. Undoubtedly, your feelings for him have grown exponentially, especially when the both of you spent time with each other in (almost) close proximity. San had always been polite and helped around with cleaning up the dishes, and he had a very endearing habit of leaning in closer to you—whether to just tease you or to hear you better—it would never fail to make you act flustered around him before you would roll your eyes and push him away.
Needless to say, the relationship had blossomed since that rainy evening. You just didn’t expect to grow so close with your apartment complex crush, and while there were nights where San’s face, San’s voice, San’s body would bubble up to the surface when your orgasms washed over you, leaving you squirming and shy once the post nut clarity hit, you thought to yourself that the relationship between the both of you was good enough for now.
You scratch your head, racking your brains as to where your panties might have magically disappeared to. You’re lost in thought until the ping from your phone brings you out of it. You go over to check, and it’s from San—reminding you of dinner at his place. Right, the panties can wait for now.
“I hope I’m not late”, you smile as San opens the door for you to let you in. San returns it, “No, I just placed the order. It’s gonna take awhile.”
You take a seat on his couch. No matter how many times you’ve been to his place recently, you always feel that it’s still so spacious.
Then he breaks your train of thought.
“Is there something you’d like to do while waiting?” You let your eyes wander around his apartment again, and they land on the potted plants on his window sill.
Your eyes dart away from how San is staring down—his body is facing towards you, giving you his fullest, and it’s making you slightly self-conscious.
“I’m wondering what you’re always so busy with.”, you say. You’re ready to be rejected when San doesn’t answer right away. Right, it’s probably something personal to him too. But you can’t help but overthink when he doesn’t reply immediately sometimes. It makes you feel so childlike.
He stands up, gesturing you to follow him. “It’s a little embarrassing”, San replies as he guides you to the tightly shut door. He presses his fingertip onto the keypad—it lights up green and San pushes the door knob down, and the door pushes open.
It is as if it is another world. The lights are dim and the air is a lot cooler, albeit slightly more humid thanks to the myriad amount of plants littered around the room. He has so many species—differentcolours and different flowers. The scents hit you next, the floral scent floating around your nostrils at different intensities.
“A whole nursery?” You exclaim, walking near to some of the flowers.
“Yes and no. It’s more of a lab”, San corrects you, walking over to the heavy desk just full of lab equipment. “Sorry, it’s kinda messy.”
You shake your head, still taking in the sight of his botanically busy room, amazed.
As you near more of the equipment, the scents grow stronger. The whole lab smells so fragrant, and you’re surprised that it’s not overpowering, to say the least.
“So, what do you do here exactly?” You ask, taking another whiff of the fragrance while staring at the rows of test tubes before you.
“I make scents. It’s just a side hobby of mine on top of my research”, San explains. He picks up a test tube and gestures you to take a whiff, and so you do, pleasantly surprised at how much the scent smells just like him.
“Then what’s your little project now?”
San pauses. He doesn’t look you in the eye for that split second. As he parts his mouth to answer, the doorbell rings, and it jumps him out of his thoughts. The food is here.
Seated across San, as you always do, San is plating the takeout while you prepare the utensils. The topic of his lab comes up again, but you completely forget about asking about his projects.
Midway through the conversation, the rice cake that you were trying to eat somehow slips off the utensil and drops onto your clothes, causing you to jump in surprise, somehow toppling your plate with the leftover sauce, on top of staining on your clothes, much to your dismay.
“Shit”, you curse, casting an irritated glance at the splatter on your clothes. The plate clatters on the floor. You stand there, slightly dumbfounded at the situation. You’re wondering if you should just head home to change out, considering that your unit isn’t too far from his. But before you have the chance to bring up that suggestion, San cuts you off.
“You can drop your clothes into the washing machine. In the meantime, you can borrow my hoodie. It should be on the clean laundry hamper.”
“San-“
He turns to you with a comforting smile. “It’s fine. Rice cake sauce isn’t the easiest to clean off when you leave it for too long. I’ll clean up the floor.”
You realise arguing with him isn’t work out in your favour, nor will it get the rice cake sauce off your clothes any quicker, so you decide to heed his words and head to his room.
Undressing yourself once you shut the door, you drop your soiled clothes into the washing machine. It was then you realise that you are pretty much naked, in Choi San’s fucking bedroom. Struggling to keep your head out of the gutter, you decide to focus on finding that damn grey hoodie. Your eyes scan his room, trying to search for the grey hoodie. And your eyes land on a thick-looking piece of garment on one of the laundry hampers. You walk over to pick it up.
You put his hoodie over, and there it is again—the spicy citrus smell. Choi San’s smell. Your thighs push against each other a little tighter this time. Then something in your peripherals catch your attention—a lace garment. You inch closer, and your heart drops.
It’s a pair of lace underwear.
Fuck. Is he seeing someone and he didn’t tell you? A thick lump forms in your throat.
And then it goes away when you start picking up another two more panties from the hamper, and the realisation hits you like a fucking truck—these are your fucking panties.
Things are not adding up in your brain, that’s for fucking sure.
At that moment, San bursts into the bedroom, and a panicked expression scribbled across his face. His eyes are blown wide open when they land on the three pairs of panties in your hands.
You stare back at him, almost mirroring his expression, the only difference being confusion for you instead.
The corner of San’s lips pull into a half smile. “Oops.”
“San, what’s the meaning of this?” You ask, feeling your face flush rapidly.
“Well”, San pauses. “you asked what scent I’m making next right? It’s yours.”
“My scent?” You echo back in question to him. San sighs, his shoulders relaxing as he inches closer to you, trapping you underneath him when you finally hit his bed.
“Yes, darling. Your scent”, his voice almost turning into a whisper, dropping octaves lower. “You’re so cruel—keeping something so intoxicating to yourself.”
You swallow hard. San’s eyes still reflect his usual gentle demeanor, but now it’s slowly being tinted with something else. Something more ominous. Despite that, it only draws you in, like a prey being slowly hypnotized by her predator. You should be shocked, terrified even, but the only thing streaming through the nerves of your brain is the internal begging for San to just eat you up right now.
You suddenly realise that the hoodie isn’t zipped up, the outerwear slipping down your arms. You remain still, your heartbeat slamming against your ribcage.
“You can run out of my apartment now. I’m giving you five seconds”, San tells you, and your mind is spinning at the thought of him even giving you a chance to leave.
Five seconds pass. You’re still staring up at the male above you, whose lips are curling into a satisfied smirk.
His fingers cup your jaw, and he tells you, “Open up.” Sparks splatter across your eyelids the moment his lips collide with yours. You pull him closer on instinct, the feeling of his thick erection behind the two layers of fabric sending you into an orbit on top of his tongue teasing yours. He pulls back, licking off the strings of saliva between the both of you. His gaze is locked onto yours.
“Please? Let me taste you. I promise I’ll make you feel so fucking good”, his request sounding more like a beg. Your mind is hazy. Choi San? In between your fucking legs? You swallow hard, and then you nod.
San lowers himself to your clothed cunt, his eyes shut in bliss when he presses himself against your pussy.
“Heaven”, is all he mutters, his eyes casting you a glazed expression that was definitely about to drive you fucking insane, before his fingers pull against the waistband of your panties, slipping them off you.
The moment you feel his tongue press against your pussy, your mind threatens to shut off. San is breathing heavily against your soaking pussy, taking in the sight, taste, and smell of what you’re finally giving to him. Every time your thighs jerk to shut at the sensation of his tongue licking you up, his hands push you open for him forcing you to take his tongue in your cunt, and it’s wiping out any remaining rational thoughts you didn’t even know you had.
Your fingers tug against his scalp, pushing your hips deeper onto his tongue, your back arched from how fucking good he feels. His tongue is lapping you up, teasing your clit over and over again once he hits the sweet spot, his fingers leaving imprints on your thighs when he hears you whine and moan his name.
All San can think about is how fucking amazing you taste—he knew it would be another fucking level than pressing his nose against the fabric of your panties and fucking into his hand for the past few weeks, but actually letting you fuck his face? He’s on fucking cloud nine.
His glazed-out eyes shift to look up at you, watching the way you’re squirming under him, the sounds of his wet tongue fucking you, tasting you, echoing around his room. Your cream and pussy are the only things he can register, and he wants to keep it for himself, forever.
“S-San-“, you cry out, your mind just threatening to blank out at every flick of his tongue. He’s building your orgasm at such a dangerous pace, and tears are pooling at the corners of your eyes when you feel something funny bubbling at the pit of your stomach. “I think I’m gonna fuck-“
“That’s it. Let it go for me. That’s a good fucking girl”, San encourages, before his tongue presses against your clit, giving you another lick before white washes over you, your cunt pulsing violently against his tongue from the sheer pleasure, then clear fluids splattering onto San’s pretty face—who seemed unfazed, considering he’s still lapping your cunt up, while you’re almost thrashing above him as the overstimulation starts to sink in. Your moans sound like cries when you beg him to stop. San doesn’t relent, and he only stops when he suddenly whimpers, switching over to kiss your thighs, decorating your plump flesh with love bites. He pushes a finger in, letting you stain and coat his fingers, enjoying your whines before he pulls out and towers over you.
“Fuck, if I’d known you’d taste this good, I would have stolen your panties sooner”, he mutters, cleaning his fingers with his tongue, desperate to taste you again.
You’re catching your breath from going through the most mind-blowing orgasm, watching San pulling his shirt over his head, and then slipping out of his sweats, your breath caught in your throat when his fat cock comes into view, thick and heavy, and covered in thick cum.
San’s fingers curl around your neck, and he lowers himself to litter kisses across your neck and jaw, it’s giving you goosebumps, your arms automatically wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.
He pauses right at the shell of your ear.
“I want to wear you over and over again. I want to lock you up in me—bottle you up so I can keep you for myself.”
“Then do it. I’m here for you to dip into your pretty little fantasies in, San.”
You swear you see something snap in the poor male, especially from the way he takes a deep inhale—shakily— before he parts your lips with his, leaving you breathless when your little steamy make-out session ends.
“You don’t know what you do to me, darling”, San cautions when he pulls back. His hair is tousled but fuck, he still looks so fucking good. “And I’m not stopping even if you’re screaming.”
Fuck.
He fucks his hand, soft sighs leaving his lips, as his cum dribbles down his length, before he lines up to your hole and pushes in easily.
You hear him groan above you, your eyes are fixated on the way he’s losing himself in your pussy, and your mind is finally growing blank the more his cock fills you up. He’s stretching you open so fucking good, filling you up to the hilt.
“You’re squeezing me so much, darling. Fuck. Are you fucking kidding me?” His eyebrows are scrunched, his hands holding your legs up while he lets you adjust to his cock.
But he doesn’t warn you before he starts moving, his impatience completely overriding any ounce of rationale he has left in him.
“So good. San, you feel so fucking good”, your moans sounding like cries whenever his hips snap against yours, the obscene sounds only adding to the tension.
“You take me so fucking well, darling”, San’s voice is ringing in your ears. “Look at your fucking pussy just swallowing me up like that.”
You don’t even reply to that, your eyes are rolled to the back of your head, and your head is somewhere in fucking heaven where San is definitely fucking you into.
Just when you feel that you were about fucking fall apart on his cock, he pulls out, and you barely manage to catch your breath when San instructs you to turn over. You do, your ass up for him, and he enters your cunt once more, before fucking into you from the back. You don’t fucking know how, but you swear that his cock feels even thicker from the back.
His hands press against your hips, fucking you deep before he lets his hands slide down your body and he stops at your neck, gesturing you to look up at him as he leans down to press his lips against yours—all while rearranging your guts from the back.
He lets you pull back when you feel your neck is growing sore, and then he puts his body weight onto you, his arm tucking underneath your neck.
“Such a good fucking girl for me. You feel so fucking amazing”, San whispers, tickling every crevice of your brain as he presses his nose against the curve between your neck and shoulder, his thrusts turning more like ruts. The arm lock around your neck isn’t cutting off oxygen thankfully, but the thought of him choking you out only drags you closer to your high.
“Cumming, I’m cumming San-“, you whimper, tears trickling from your eyes from how much his cock is constantly hitting in such deep fucking spots of your pussy.
“Me too, babe. Gonna fill you up so nice and good, that’s what you’d like, right?” San teases, his cock twitching in you before he groans, his warm cum filling you up so good right at the same time your orgasm hits you once more, making you squeeze even more cum from San, perfectly milking him dry in your pussy.
“So fucking perfect”, you hear San mutter, and you can’t help but flush, even though he just fucked every ounce of sanity out of you. His lips trail down the nape of your neck, his eyes are locked onto you, hazy and tinted with a hint of a growing obsession you could never tell.
He’s not letting go of you.
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the princess & the pea – batman: once upon a crime
[ID: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Damian al Ghul all in their respective costumes. Dick is hanging off the side of a green combine harvester that's running down Poison Ivy's overgrown weeds. Tim is sitting criss-cross on the top of the machine and is playing a Gameboy while Damian, the actual child, is driving while hunched over the wheel despite the fact that his little legs literally wouldn't be able to hit the pedal. END ID]
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batfam as new girl quotes
steph: where are you, tim? this place is fancy and i don’t know which fork to kill myself with.
***
dick (16 y/o): i’ll take you through the whole thing. i’ll be like your guide.
jason (13 y/o): like gandalf through middle-earth?
dick: ok, first of all, let’s take the Lord of the Rings references and put them in a deep, dark cave where no one will ever find them.
jason: except smeagol. he lives in a cave.
***
tim: you text me “happy monday.” what am i supposed to do with that?
damian: oh, i don’t know. maybe have a happy monday?
(he’s trying to be nice)
***
jason: would you consider us adorable?
dick: no! we’re adult men.
dick: we’re cute.
***
cass: you always see the worst in people.
damian: yeah, because people are the worst!
***
steph: i mean, bruce, we love you, but…
steph: but you’re not a man of the people.
bruce: of course i’m not a man of the people. i’m above the people.
***
cass: we’re a family. families talk about things.
jason: no, families ignore things until they go away.
***
new parent bruce: dick, do you want to go to sleep?
9 y/o dick: no way.
bruce: if you do, i’ll write you a check for $6,000.
***
duke: what are you doing in here?
tim: eating cookies and avoiding confrontation.
(in the bathroom at a gala)
***
steph: jason, come on, that’s like the president and the vice president not being best friends.
jason: they’re not best friends.
steph: come on. everybody knows they’re best friends.
***
dick: i’m in love!
damian: titus, clear my schedule. i need a word with our brother.
***
steph: duke, those shoes are not brown! they’re green!
duke: you guys are idiots! they’re as brown as money.
cass: what color is kermit the frog?
duke: brown! he’s a brown frog.
tim: duke! you’re color blind, dude.
***
bruce: darn it! has anyone seen my croquet cleats?
***
tim: hey guys, do you think i’m a good person?
steph: you’re a terrible person. it’s hilarious.
***
dick: i’m very quick on my… uh…
jason: did you just forget the word ‘feet’?
dick: feet, yeah.
(he’s been awake for 72 hours without sleep)
***
duke: i can’t believe i didn’t notice this before but damian, you are legitimately crazy.
damian: i think we’re all a little bit crazy, don’t you, thomas?
duke: no, i mean, you’re like aging ballerina, child chess prodigy, professional magician crazy.
damian: it’s my grandfather’s fault.
duke: yeah okay fair enough
***
tim: if i was doing something stupid, you definitely would be involved.
dick: yeah, you’re damn right i would be. and i would probably be there to make it even stupider.
***
bruce: has anyone seen my good pea coat?
***
steph: i brake for birds. i rock a lot of polka dots. i have touched glitter in the last 24 hours!
steph: and that doesn’t mean i’m not smart and tough and strong.
***
jason: are you insane, bruce? we’re not ready.
jason: that’s like taking a musical from rehearsals straight to broadway. you got to workshop it first.
(pushing the theatre kid jason agenda)
***
dick: you realize i say goodnight to you every night and you never say goodnight back?
dick: what is the problem, jason? do you not want me to have a good night?
jason: oh my god you’re so overdramatic
***
tim: please don’t mistake my measured blank tone for calmness, as i am filled with waters of rage.
(he’s at a gala)
***
bruce: damn it! i can’t find my driving moccasins anywhere!
***
duke: what a dumb idea.
duke: do it.
(he is an enabler)
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my mind’s been stuck on secret dolly parton fan southern!eddie and suddenly it sprouted 2k of fic so uhhh here ya go? more to follow! (unbeta’d btw) [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6 + complete on ao3]
part 1: jolene
He might not look it, but deep down, hidden beneath the leather jackets and silver chains, Eddie Munson is a good old-fashioned southern boy. If you heard his uncle talk, you’d know he’s not from around Hawkins, but Eddie has mostly hidden his roots over the years. He had traded in his faded blue jeans for ripped black ones, his momma’s country vinyls were hidden away and replaced by heavy metal tapes and his drawl only comes out when he’s drunk out of his mind, calling everyone darlin’ and sweet pea.
He misses Tennessee sometimes, though he doesn’t remember much. He misses the warmth of the people and the sunshine, he misses the cornbread his old neighbor Mrs. Carter used to make, but he mostly misses his mom. Misses her laugh and the way she tucked him into bed with a song every night, always with the same Dolly Parton song.
Maybe that’s why he always reaches out to Dolly when he’s feeling down in the dumps.
And all because of Steve motherfuckin’ Harrington.
He doesn’t really know when it started exactly. Maybe it was back in high school, when Steve just filled out those gym shorts way too nicely. Maybe it was that summer when Eddie kept wandering through Starcourt Mall, hoping to catch a glimpse of Steve in that damn sailor outfit. Maybe it was going through hell and back and somehow coming out alive, matching demobat scars and all.
He doesn’t know when, all he knows he’s halfway in love with Steve and it’s frustrating to say the least.
Frustrating because he and Steve are somehow friends now and friends apparently talk each other’s ears off about their respective love lives. Including Steve’s endless supply of flirtations with girls at Family Video, just like today.
Steve’s been sweet talking some girl named Emily for the past twenty minutes now, really laying it on thick. Telling her how nice this shirt looks on her, how pretty her eyes look, how she really should find someone to watch Sixteen Candles with. Eddie turns away so that Steve won’t see the way his eyes roll at yet another one of Emily’s adorable little giggles.
It’s not even justified, the nasty feeling in his stomach, the green snake of jealousy that slithers around his throat. It’s not like Steve is actually his. He’s just Eddie's friend. Eddie’s great, very straight, very much ladies’ man, friend. So Eddie keeps his mouth shut, grips his copy of The Thing a little tighter and pushes that feeling way deep down as the bell dings and Emily disappears through the door.
“Ha! Harrington’s back, baby!” Steve exclaims, pumping his fist in the air.
“What are we celebrating?” Eddie asks, even though he already knows the answer.
“Got a date this Friday.” Steve grins. He wiggles a piece of paper in between his fingers, probably with Emily’s phone number scribbled on it.
“Nice.” Eddie says with a tight smile, hoping to God that Steve’s still too smitten to notice the way his body has gone all rigid.
“Yeah, she’s pretty nice isn’t she?” Steve sighs happily. “Just hope she’s the one, y’know? I’m so tired of all those first dates, asking about each other’s siblings and favorite colors and I just… yeah, I just hope she’ll be the one.”
“Rooting for you, man.” Eddie says and oh my God, what kind of bro talk is that? Eddie wants to kick himself, but he just looks away instead, dropping the VHS on the counter.
“Thanks!”
And he just looks so happy. His eyes glistening with hope, his lips (oh god his lips) turned into a victorious smile, his entire body just exuding confidence. Eddie really shouldn’t be mad at him, not when he looks like that.
Instead Eddie spends the entire drive back to the trailer park fuming and thinking of little miss ‘I-Hope-She’s-The-One’ Emily. Now, his momma raised him to be a gentleman but that vicious snake that made itself home in his stomach makes him want set fire to Emily’s stupidly perfect pleaded skirts.
He’s so pissed off that he misses the exit that leads to Forest Hill, and instead he just keeps on driving. Past the luxurious villas, past the wide open fields, past the Leaving Hawkins sign. He doesn’t know where he’s going exactly, he just knows he has to leave.
He only stops when it starts to turn dark outside and he spots a few warm lamps just on the side of the road. After closer inspection, it turns out to be a roadside bar, hidden away beneath some trees. Eddie’s stomach rumbles and he realizes that he hadn’t eaten since noon, so he parks the van and walks towards the bar, aptly named Off-Road.
Once Eddie steps inside, it’s like he’s suddenly back in Tennessee. He’s seeing men in flannel, shooting whiskey at the bar. Women in plaid dresses, dancing along to some honky-tonk song that’s playing on the radio. The wall decorated with all kinds of things that just scream Americana, old-faded photos of farms, a row of cowboy hats, an acoustic guitar on the wall.
He can’t believe what he's seeing, so he almost stumbles over his own feet as he makes his way to the bar.
“Hiya kid. What can I get ya?”
Eddie looks up to see a small, but buff woman standing behind the bar. Her silver hair is cropped short and pulled back by a red bandana and the tassels on her leather vest swivel as she cleans a glass with a dishrag.
“Uh, just a Coke, I guess?” Eddie says. “Do you also serve food?”
“Yeah, mac ’n cheese’s on the menu today.” The woman smiles, busying herself with finding a bottle of coke beneath the counter. “What’s your name kid? I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Eddie.”
“Nice to meet ya, Eddie. My name’s Pat.” Her voice is low and silky smooth, with the southern twang Eddie only hears when his uncle talks. “You from around here?”
“Hawkins.” Eddie nods. “But originally from Tennessee.”
Pat’s face lights up. “No way! Me too! Small world.”
“Yeah, it really is.” Eddie says. “Pat, can I ask… what is this place?”
“Oh this ol’ place?” Pat laughs. “This is just a lil’ home away from home. I’ve moved here for Tish, she’s the one in the green dress over there.” She waves towards the other side of the bar, where a woman with dark curls is scrubbing one of the tables. “But I’ve always missed home, y’know? So, we started this place a couple of years ago,
“You and Tish are…” Eddie trails off, not sure if he’s put the right puzzle pieces together.
“Tish is my partner, yes.” Pat’s smile fades and gets replaced with a stern look. “You got a problem with that kid?”
“No!” Eddie says quickly, waving his hands in protest. “No, not at all. I’m… I’m also gay, y’know.”
“Tish!” Pat calls out, smiling when Tish looks up. “We got another one!”
“Stop adopting gay kids, Pat!” Tish calls back. “We’re running out of rooms!”
Eddie laughs. He’s gonna like it here.
-xxx-
After Pat’s absolutely heavenly mac ’n cheese, Eddie finds himself relax more and more and for the first time, he lets out his accent without any alcohol in his system. It’s not like anyone will make fun of him for it here, he thinks that Pat probably would encourage him to be as southern as he can be.
He chats with Pat and Tish and some of the other patrons as the time ticks by. Swapping stories about back down south, laughing at things the people here in Indiana just don’t understand, Eddie’s never felt more at home.
Tish suddenly excuses herself as the bluegrass music on the speakers fades away. Eddie watches as she walks to the little podium in the far back of the bar and announces that the open mic night has begun and that anyone can join. An older man immediately jumps up and grabs the guitar off the wall and starts playing a song that Eddie vaguely remembers from back home.
“D’you play, kid?” Pat asks. “You look like you play.”
“Yeah, guitar.” Eddie replies. “Not like this though.”
“I figured.” Pat snorts. “You don’t really seem like the Willie Nelson type. But you’re welcome to step up and play us something.”
Eddie hesitates. Pat’s right, the music he normally plays doesn’t really fit in here. This is not the Hideout, this is not the place for screaming bloody murder about the injustices of the world and headbang while Gareth smashes the drums.
Still, he’s feeling strangely drawn to the podium, especially when his mind provides him with a reminder why he drove away from Hawkins in the first place: Steve and perfect little Emily. And suddenly, he knows exactly what song to play.
“Wish me luck.” Eddie grins at Pat as he stands up from his seat.
“Break a leg, Eddie.” Pat winks and shoots him an encouraging smile.
Eddie makes his way to the other side of the bar, patiently waiting until the older man finishes his song and whooping with excitement once he plays the final chord. The older man smiles at him, grateful, and hands the guitar over to him as Eddie sits down on the stool in front of the microphone.
“Uh, good evenin’ everyone.” Eddie says into the microphone. “It’s my first time here, actually and I, uh, I don’t even know if I can play this song, but let’s try, shall we?”
The room is eerily quiet as Eddie tries to remember the chords from so long ago, the chords his momma used to play on warm summer days in their backyard.
“Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene… I’m beggin’ of ya, please don’t take my man.”
The words feel foreign and yet strangely familiar in his mouth. It’s been so long since he heard this song, but the words just flow out of him easily
“He talks about you in his sleep and there’s nothing I can do to keep from cryin’ when he calls your name, Jolene.” Eddie’s voice is soft, softer than it’s ever been as he tries so hard to push away the images of Steve and Emily, happily together. “And I can easily understand how you could easily take my man. But you don’t know what he means to me, Jolene.”
It feels good, cathartic even, to sing this song. Maybe even better than screaming along to Metallica’s latest album. Not that he’ll ever admit that to anyone, but it’s the truth. There’s no other song right now that understands exactly what he’s going through, that says the things that he wants to say but can’t, not out loud anyway.
“Please don’t take him even though you can…”
Eddie plays a few more chords until he finally lets the song fade out and the bar burst out into the applause. It’s not the biggest applause he’s ever had (apparently murder charges does wonders for forming a crowd at the Hideout), but it’s definitely in the top three of best post-performance feelings of his life. Maybe because these people just get him, maybe because he can just sing about his feelings for Steve out in the open and no one will judge him or ask any questions about it.
“You got some real talent, kid.” Pat nods as Eddie slides back onto his bar stool.“You’re welcome to come back and sing a little Dolly for us anytime.”
Eddie’s certain that he will.
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Thomas Hewitt going to a cook out
Right off the bat, he is really nervous AF.
He has only ever met your mom and grandma and while they were both very nice and open to him, he is not sure the rest of your family will be the same way. Especially the men and children.
Though he is not a talkative fellow, you understand through this body language that he is nervous and uncomfortable with going to the cookout.
However, you assured him that everything would be okay and between your mom, Grandma, and you no one would mess with him and stay.
Though that made him feel a little better, he still had his doubts about it, but he decided to do it for you.
You both still had a bunch of time before the event started so you decided to cook one of Thomas's favorite side oven baked macaroni and cheese to bring to the event.
Of course you let him be the taste tester and even made a big pan that could stay at home for y'all to eat later. While it was cooling off, you pulled him to the shower and washed up and got dressed. He does still like to cover his face, but instead of a hot leather mask, you were about to find a black face mask that is breathable and somehow makes him even sexier.
He still is trying to figure out what kind of clothing he likes since he usually wore the same thing when he was living with his family, so he usually just lets you pick out his fit.
On the way out, he grabbed the macaroni and cheese and put it on his lap so it wouldn't get tossed around when you're driving.
The closer y'all got to your mom's house, the more he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He has dealt with many people making fun of him because of his face and size and he just doesn't want to go back to that again.
When y'all made it to the house there were already a bunch of people there and they all looked at you both as y'all got out of the car. As everyone stared at you two, you softly grabbed his hand and led him into the house where your mom and grandma were.
They greeted him with open arms as you took the food out of Tommy's hand and put it with the others. Afterward, you headed back outside to introduce him to your other family and friends.
Thomas was very nervous and hesitant as you introduced him, but all of his fears went away when everyone greeted him with open arms or high fives.
Most of the younger kids wanted Thomas to pick them open or play some games with them which he happily did.
Some of your family wondered why he didn't talk and you just told them that he has speaking problems so you both mostly use sign language.
This interested a small number of people and they also wanted Tommy to teach them some signal language. Which he was also okay with.
For a while, he sat in a chair with a bunch of children and some adults surrounding him as he taught them whatever word they wanted to know.
When it was time to eat, your grandma made Tommy two plates full of fried chicken, mac and cheese, collared greens, loaded mashed potatoes, candy yams, black-eyed peas, and to top it off a tall glass of sweet tea. As you also got your plate and began to take Tommy to another room so he could eat in peace, your younger family members wanted to eat with you both and started to whine when you said "Maybe next time".
As they kept whining, your mother was able to calm them down and make up a little story about why they couldn't eat with the two of you and that he would play with them after we were all done eating.
After y'all were done eating, he helped clean up before he was dragged away by the kids to go back and play whatever they wanted. It is easy to say that Tommy had a good time with your family and wishes to go back soon.
When it was time for you two to leave, your grandma fixed him a bunch of leftovers and gave him a kiss on the cheek before sending you both on your way.
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Jack Harlow x Reader : CRAVINGS AND ARGUMENTS
This pregnancy was different from your first to say the least. The first pregnancy you had no cravings, so when you woke up today craving some weird food combinations you had a plan set in motion.
The only problem is? Your husband hasn’t left your side since he got home two days ago. He doesn’t let you drive and he doesn’t let you be alone for more than five minutes.
If you had to go to the restroom he made sure to be outside the door to hear in case you fell or something. He was every bit dramatic and worried, you loved that about him. But after two days, you were growing annoyed.
You were putting your sandals on when Jack walked into the living room.
“I know you’re not going anywhere right now.” He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow . “I see you have your purse and keys, were you sneaking out?”
You groan. “You and Mia were taking a nap so I was going to make a quick run to the store.”
“Absolutely not, I told you-“
“Yes, yes, I know Jackman.” You roll your eyes.
“Okay first of all, calm down.” He goes to hug you, rubbing circles on your back. “Second of all, hand me the list and I’ll go for you.”
You shake your head. “Jack, I want to go. I need to get fresh air.”
“Go outside then, I finally built your swing.”
“Ughh, okay okay. Just go.” You plop down on the couch. “I’ll text you the list.”
He bends down, lifts up your chin so you can look at him. “Don’t be moody baby.” He pecks your lips and smiles. “I’ll be back.”
******
It was thirty minutes later that Jack was walking back inside the house with two bags in hand.
You’re immediately confused. “What’s wrong? Did you forget your wallet?”
“Huh? Oh no, I’m done.” He says, walking into the kitchen. You quickly follow behind him.
“Babe, you usually take forever at the store when I send you with a list. No way you’re back this fast.”
He starts taking out the groceries from the bags and you look at the stuff in confusion. “What’s all this?”
“Your snacks and food.”
You grab a bag of green beans, “This wasn’t on my list.” You look at the peas, the wheat thins. “I definitely didn’t put this down.”
Jack doesn’t say anything. “Jack, where are my pickles? My hot Cheetos, my Dr. Pepper?” You dig through the stuff he brought home. “Most importantly, where are my spicy noodles?”
He scratches his neck. “About that.”
“What?”
“Baby, that’s all unhealthy stuff. You need to watch what you eat for the baby.”
You glare at him. “Jackman, please tell me you’re pranking me right now. Because if you didn’t bring me what I asked for, you’ll be sleeping on the couch.”
“Okay so I didn’t bring- wait before you get mad.” He goes up to you. “There weren't any noodles and babe, Dr Pepper with creamer? That’s gross so I’m saving you the disgust.”
“You don’t see me give you shit about your chicken and peanut butter.” You glare.
“Wait, that's not fair. Mia actually likes my chicken with peanut butter.”
You chuckle. “News flash, she doesn’t. She hates it and throws it to the neighbor's dog.”
He gasps. “Wow, what a way to shatter my heart.”
You glare at him and walk out of the kitchen and make your way back to the living room. You snatch your phone and sit down.
Jack follows behind you, smirking “What are you doing grumpy pants?”
You ignore him, continuing to scroll through your phone.
“Babe, are you really going to ignore me?” You stay quiet again.
“So what snacks do you want from the kitchen? I’ll cut you some veggies and fruit.”
You glare at him. “If you come near me with those wanna be snacks, I will hurt you.”
“Babe, stop being dramatic.” He chuckles, placing his hands on your bump.
“I’ll be whatever I want to be right now.” You push his hands away. “Don’t touch me.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
You roll your eyes. “You offered to go to the store for me, the least you could’ve done was bring me what I asked for.”
“That is what has you so mad?” He shakes his head. “Babe, I’m just looking out for you.”
You hum, but continue scrolling through your phone. “Who are you texting?”
“Gerald.”
“What did he say?- WAIT WHAT?” He snaps his head towards you. “You’re texting who?”
“Maybe he’ll bring me what I actually ask for.”
“Stop being petty.”
“Who said I was being petty? You can’t give me what I want, let me go ask all the guys who are in my dms begging for scraps.”
“All this pettiness over fucking food?”
“YES.” You yell. “You know I don’t play about my food, especially with this pregnancy. I crave weird things, you think I’m happy about that? I watch what I eat every other day but god forbid I get a weird craving, don’t blame me if your son comes out with a cone head.”
The doorbell rings and you get up as fast as your belly lets you and head to the door.
You grab the bags and close the door.
“Who dropped that off?”
“Gerald.” You snap at him.
Trying to head to the kitchen but he takes the bags from you. “Quit fucking playing.”
“Maybe you should’ve brought me what I asked for.” You shrug and start unpacking the bags.
You smile at what he dropped off. “He’s the best.”
“Who dropped these off? Because no way delivery got here this quick.”
“My favorite Harlow.” You bite into a pickle and do a little dance at the juicy flavor. “Your brother knew you’d pull some shit so he asked me to send him my list.”
You grab the monitor from the counter to double check Mia was still down for her nap. Once you see that she is, you continue to unpack the groceries your brother in law dropped off.
“Okay, I get it but I was only looking out for you.” He groans once he sees the pack of noodles. “I hate when you eat these.”
You shrug, “That sounds like a you problem.”
He nods and scratches his beard. “Do you need anything else ?”
You shake your head. “Oh no, I’m good, wouldn’t want you ruining anything else.”
“I’m going back to bed with Mia.” He kisses the top of your head. “Sorry for all of this.” He mumbles quietly and walks out.
You pick nothing up on his tone so you continue with putting away the groceries that you weren’t going to use right now.
In a plate you placed two pickles, baby carrots, and peanut butter. You filled a glass cup with ice and poured some Dr Pepper with creamer.
You made your way to the table, grabbing the black bag of hot Cheetos. Once you take a few bites of your snacks, dipping your pickles with peanut butter. You get a wave of emotions crashing in on you.
You can’t help but let the tears out, you push away your plate. You were about to head upstairs but you came face to face with Jack.
“What’s wrong.?” He asked, scared.
You hug him. “I’m sorry, I was being a bitch and you didn’t deserve that. I know you’re looking out for me but I just get annoyed so quickly and I hate it that I take it out on you.”
“Hey, hey.” He rubs your back. “Deep breath’s baby, you’re okay.”
You shake your head. “But I’m not, I shouldn’t be so mean to you, over snacks and food. That’s so silly.”
“I should’ve brought you what you asked for, so it’s on me.” He hugs you tighter against his chest.
“Why couldn’t you get the weird cravings again this time?” You joke, remembering how when you were pregnant with Mia, it was him with the mood swings and cravings.
He laughs, “That was a crazy time.” He pulls back a bit so he can look at you. “We’re okay baby, I understand you feel different this time around. I shouldn’t be pushing your buttons about it either.”
“I’m still sorry though, I know you’re trying your best.” You get on your tippy toes and kiss his neck. “You’ve been amazing and I’m just bitchy and moody.”
“Baby relax, everything is okay.” he places his hands on your round bump. “Let me help you”
“I’m going to hold it for a little while, is that okay?” You nod, as he quickly places his hands under your belly, lifting it up a bit.
You lean back on his chest and leave out a deep sigh. “That feels good.”
He kisses your neck, “Little man is really kicking at your side right now.”
“You know he does that whenever we fight or whenever he hears your voice.” You close your eyes as he starts swaying you both side to side.
“He’s going to be good at soccer.” At those words, you feel a big kick on your side, you and Jack chuckle at that.
“We’re good baby boy, just mommy and daddy having a disagreement.” You place your hand where he kicked.
“We’re more than okay little man.” He whispers. After his words, your son kicks again making you and Jack smile and shed a few tears of happiness.
This pregnancy wasn’t easy by any means but Angel “Ez” Harlow was worth it.
• • • • • • • • • • •
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green like her eyes (part 1) (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)
part 2
summary: you and melissa enjoy smoking weed together to blow off steam from work. this time, things get really steamy.
warnings: sexual content (18+), recreational marijuana use, some emotional/romantic story elements (fluff? more like intense mutual pining), trippy scenes and a general dark aura at times but it's cute
notes: i'm back! consume drugs responsibly, folks. this story is different from my usual content and loosely based on an ex-situationship lol. part 1 sets up the relationship between mel and reader, and part 2 (hopefully coming in the next few days) will feature some more sexual tension and smut. comments and feedback appreciated as always 💚
melissa never would have guessed that you were as young as you were when she met you. unlike other teachers your age, you had a natural air of maturity about you. you were confident but not cocky, passionate (but not annoyingly so, like janine), and smart but not smug about it. in a word, you were cool. and melissa was hooked. with the natural chemistry between the two of you, you became fast friends.
you never meant for melissa to find out about your extracurricular interest in marijuana, but it just slipped out one day. you were too comfortable around her to hold anything back.
"god, what a week it's been," you mused, sitting on her desk as you watched her pack up for the weekend. "i just need to curl up on my couch, put on some netflix, and maybe smoke..."
"smoke what?" she asked reflexively, and you knew she was a keeper.
in the conversation that followed, you and melissa made plans to smoke together that night. what started as a fun experiment soon became routine stress relief. you'd go over to melissa's house every friday night and make full use of the weed from one of her many 'guys'. because melissa cared about your safety, she never let you drive home. you'd just have to sleep over. and since she wouldn't let you sleep on the couch—'the last thing ya need at your age is back pain!'—you would just have to sleep in her bed. with her.
with the introduction of this shared interest, your relationship with melissa became much more intimate. for starters, melissa's touches were always bolder on friday nights. while she wasn't shy about touching you sober—drifting her hand along your lower back as she brushed past you, rubbing your shoulders when you looked stressed in the breakroom—the touches were different after a joint or two. hungrier.
where you were a giggly and whimsical stoner, melissa was definitely a touchy one. you two would sit on her couch, practically on top of each other while you watched movies or played video games. you'd talk animatedly about whatever was happening on the tv; she'd watch your face and trace featherlight patterns on your thighs. and your belly. and maybe also the swell of your ass, when she thought she could get away with it.
she always could.
...
after the success of ava fest, the two of you were on top of the world. tonight's would be the best sleepover yet.
"we got lots to celebrate, sweet pea," melissa had covertly whispered in your ear as people filed out of the gym. you knew what she meant and your face warmed, causing you to look away bashfully. melissa thought you were the cutest thing.
when you let yourself in the front door that night, you were met with the mesmerizing sight of melissa rolling a joint on her kitchen counter. she smirked as you faltered in the doorway, eyes lingering on her working fingers. she rubbed the flower between her fingertips, and your mind betrayed you with a filthy image.
"y/n? you comin' in?" melissa's amused voice brought you out of your trance and you kicked your boots off, closing the door behind you. melissa didn't miss the way your skirt lifted and swirled with your movements.
"looking good, chef schemmenti," you gestured between melissa and the joint-in-progress. at this she smiled, trying not to stare at your breasts and legs as you moved closer in that damn outfit.
you leaned against the counter across from her, making sure to push your tits forward while doing so. you winked at melissa, whose cheeks had turned a shade pinker, and motioned for her to continue rolling up.
"thanks, hon. this stuff's supposed to be top-shelf. gelato, i think they said," melissa's south philly accent was clear as she spoke.
you smiled in appreciation. melissa knew you liked to research what you smoked before you got high on it. you picked up your phone to look up the strain, but then you saw melissa bring the paper up to her lips.
her tongue darted out and drew a line across the paper, allowing melissa to seal the joint. she held eye contact with you the entire time, and you swore she could read your mind. it was like she knew you were thinking about her tongue sweeping through your folds and circling your bundle.
you knew it was wrong; it had to be. she was your coworker, and so much older with more experience in every aspect of life. but that was exactly what attracted you to her.
"whaddaya say? wanna light this one up?" melissa held the joint up to your line of sight, an amused glint in her eyes.
...
minutes later you were standing on her balcony, huddled together to keep the wind from putting out the flame. melissa took the first hit, blowing an impressive cloud of smoke from her full lips and into the sky. you felt dizzy watching the way her lips curled into an 'o' around the smoke.
when she passed the joint to you, you were determined to prove yourself. you took a long inhale, and in seconds you were coughing furiously. melissa chuckled under her breath, but reached out to rub your back. her touch felt electric.
"you okay, hon? i would call an ambulance, but this community doesn't need to know what ms. schemmenti and ms. y/l/n do behind closed doors," she joked, drawing circles on your back.
"yeah, i'm alright," you rasped out, brushing tears from your eyes. "my lungs just need a break." melissa paused a moment at that, looking deep in thought.
"do you trust me?" she finally asked after a prolonged silence. you nodded firmly, staring deep into her probing eyes. they were as green as the trees in her backyard.
melissa took another hit of the joint and leaned in, and before you knew it her mouth was on yours. her tongue swiped along your bottom lip, and your lips parted to welcome her in. she blew a steady stream of smoke into your mouth, and you accepted it greedily.
"there. feel better?" melissa whispered as she pulled away from you. her pupils were blown, and you felt high on the look she gave you alone. you both grinned.
the rest of the session went that way. melissa would take sizable hits of the joint, then shotgun the smoke into your mouth for you. you didn't touch the joint for the rest of the night; if you wanted a direct hit, melissa would hold it up to your lips while her other arm rested on your waist.
melissa was right about the weed being high-quality. you felt like you were floating in her arms as she held you by the waist—keeping you upright in your disoriented state. as she finished off the last of the joint, you looked out at the woods behind melissa's house. the trees seemed closer to you now, and you felt like reaching out and touching the branches as they danced in the wind.
"honey?" melissa's soft voice echoed in your head and you turned to face her. her eyes seemed to swirl and sparkle like emerald pools. but there was also a dark edge to them, reminding you of the beckoning woods.
"let's go for a walk."
...
though it wasn't your typical pastime, you quite liked walking while high. your legs moved on autopilot, and you could hardly feel them carrying you across the dark earth. there was a walking path through the woods behind melissa's house. you strolled side-by-side with the older woman, leaning on her for support when your balance failed you.
"mel, look!" you grabbed her hand and stopped on the path, your other hand pointing up to the sky. "it's a full moon! pretty, right?"
"beautiful..." melissa responded, not at all looking at the moon. her gaze was fixed on your face, which seemed to glow under the moonlight. when her finger stroked the back of your hand absently, you shivered and looked back at her. the expression on her face was soft, even peaceful. with her mouth forming a half-smile and her eyes slightly unfocused, it seemed like she had finally dropped her guard. realizing she had been caught staring, melissa quickly pivoted.
"i always liked the sun better, though," she said as you both resumed walking. the moon's shine weakened then, as if obscured by a cloud. melissa stole a glance at you, noticing how your hair looked a shade darker in the dimmer light. she wanted to stroke it, hold it up to all different colors of light and watch its hues and highlights change.
"huh. why?" you wondered aloud. melissa considered your question a while before answering.
"because you can't run from it," melissa said plainly. "i never liked hidin' in the shadows. you can do that at night. but then the sun comes up, and it's bright and warm, and you can't stay down. you gotta wake up and be somebody."
you heard her words in every corner of your head, her deep voice flowing through you. maybe you were high, but there seemed to be a strong force—almost like gravity—pulling you towards melissa. not just physically, but mentally. you wanted to tell her how smart she was, how charming and powerful and fucking sexy. you wanted to tell her that she was the sun burning brightly at the center of your world.
unfortunately, in your hazy headspace, you couldn't find the words to express all this to her. but you sure tried.
"and the sun is hot and fiery, like you," you almost whispered the last two words, but melissa caught them. she brushed off the compliment with a low laugh and a squeeze of your hand, still clasped in hers.
"sure, hon," she murmured. then you started to feel the stirrings of a rainstorm. cold droplets of water kissed your head and ran down your torso, and you looked to melissa for guidance. by now, you two were pretty far from melissa's house; you'd need to head back soon to avoid getting soaked.
melissa gave you a nod and you both began to run back towards the house, the wind howling in your ears and water beating steadily on your joined hands.
to be continued...
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Psychomanteum / Chapter 16
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)
Chapter 16: Famous Last Words
Chapter Summary: Revelations.
Word Count: 7.7k+
Content / Warnings: alternating pov, suicidal thoughts and planning, intrusive thoughts, grief, swearing, alcohol use, uncertainty, parker, angst, paranormal/spooky elements, hunger, hangover, driving, psychomanteum, ethan, drug addiction, domestic abuse, journal
Notes: Chapter title from “Famous Last Words" by My Chemical Romance. Babe I told you we'd get one more MCR-titled chapter before this was over. Chapter 17 will be the last chapter, then an epilogue. Huge thanks to @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the best 🖤✨
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The sun feels like a spotlight as you trudge your way from the bedroom to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. Nausea grips your sour, empty stomach. Your head throbs, pulse pounding in your ears.
The past few mornings, you’ve become well-acquainted with the wine hangover. It’s a love-hate relationship, you and wine. It numbs the overwhelming emotional pain, emptying your brain at night so that you can sleep. In return, it makes you so fucking sick the morning after, you think it might be plotting to kill you.
You carefully place a few logs in the fireplace and poke the glowing embers in the hearth back to life, then plop down on the couch, draping a blanket around your shoulders as you curl up with a notebook and pen.
You stare at the blank page, unsure what to tell it.
You could tell it that, same as yesterday and the day before, the aftereffects of drinking yourself to sleep have tainted your morning green. Not a cute green, either, like forest or emerald. Think Dieter’s bathrobe or pea soup. Think seasick.
You could tell it that the hangover causing every subtle noise to strike your temples like a ball-pein hammer only incentivizes you further. Nothing makes you want to die quite like a wine hangover.
You could tell it that, really, it doesn’t fucking matter that you’re hungover. If you weren’t miserable in this way, you’d be miserable in another.
You could ask it if this is what Ethan was feeling one year ago today. Sick and determined to end it all. Did he plan it out like you’ve been doing, or was it spur of the moment? When did he decide he would do it?
When did he decide to take you with him? Was it the ink? Had this been his plan all along?
All the things you never asked him in the psychomanteum seem so important now. Especially one: Why?
Sure, things were bad. Fucking awful, even. But there were still little moments here and there.
Like when the gas bill went neglected and they disconnected service. You couldn’t fall asleep because it was too cold, so he set up the only space heater on your side of the bed. He wrapped his arms around your shivering body and held you to his chest all night, keeping you warm. Or like when he was in the neighborhood of your favorite bakery and he stopped to pick up glazed donuts on his way home.
There were days when you couldn’t fucking stand to look at him. It hurt too much to see the physical toll of his addiction. How emaciated he had become, his boyish face all hollowed out and gaunt, dark bags drooping under his eyes.
But there were also days when he still opened the apartment door, calling out, “Louie, I’m home!” Like Ricky Ricardo in I Love Lucy. It was his favorite bit.
He’d jabber on about the customers, or the traffic, or the news. There were still days when he paid you compliments and kissed you like he meant it. When he brought home things he knew you’d like. Little presents here and there, nothing big, but enough to be reassured he was thinking about you.
A week before he died, he gifted you a journal.
He was supposed to pick up groceries, but got sidetracked in a bookstore and forgot the errand. When he came home holding a brown paper parcel wrapped in twine instead of plastic bags filled with food, you were furious.
“What’s that?” you asked, crossing your arms.
He tossed it on the counter as he shucked off his jacket, “It’s for you.”
“Is it edible?”
“Edible? No,” he scoffed, sliding it closer, “C’mon, open it up.”
You stared at him for a moment, at his Cheshire grin, jaw clenched and grinding. At his eyes all wide with intense excitement, the pupils blown-out and black. He vibrated with energy, his long limbs twitching in constant motion.
So fucking high.
Trying to avoid the violent downswing of his pendulum mood, you sighed and unwrapped the parcel, revealing an orange journal embossed with the phrase A New Chapter. The pages inside were buttery soft but thick, lined with delicate margins.
“A notebook?”
“A journal, yeah,” he sniffed and tugged at the tip of his nose, “I came by this rad looking bookstore and poked around a bit, thought you’d like it.”
You didn’t immediately react, so he kept talking.
“When I was out the other night, I was talking to a friend and she said journaling has helped her work through some of her feelings and all that, and… well, I know you used to journal all the time, I thought maybe it would help since you’ve been a little… out of sorts lately.”
You wanted to ask him who this friend was and why he didn’t call her by name. You wanted to ask him what else he bought with the grocery money. You wanted to ask him why he’d rather you spill your guts to a journal than to him.
Instead, you nodded, put on a smile, and said, “Thank you. It’s very thoughtful. I—I love it.”
The words felt dead in your mouth. Foul and rotten. He returned your fake smile with his own, then excused himself to his office.
You remember thinking the whole thing was a farce. A sham. A two-person act where you both pretended not to smell the decay between you.
The journal he gave you went to your bedside drawer. It remained untouched for months before you rediscovered it while spring cleaning.
At first, you didn’t recognize it. Then a gut-wrenching nostalgia took hold. A New Chapter. It felt more like a relic from a past life than a journal for the future.
Weeks went by before you wrote inside.
It felt blasphemous at first, marking the perfect blank pages with your script. Like you were shattering an artifact. But it helped to offload some of your rumination onto paper. It became a central coping mechanism for you.
There are passages going back at least six months, maybe more. Before you and Dieter ever even spent time alone in a room together. When he was just a goofy, handsome guy who lived on the other side of the country. Your long-distance friend that maybe sometimes gave you butterflies every time you talked to him. Even then, his name made frequent appearances on those pages.
The journal contains all your innermost thoughts, the long-winded rambling narrations of your waxing and waning between cynicism and optimism, the whole disgusting freak show inside your head laid out on the counter for anyone to rifle through.
And I forgot it on his kitchen counter like an idiot.
When you picture Dieter flipping through the journal, reading your school-girl crush ramblings and earnest thoughts about him, your face gets hot with embarrassment.
If you’re being honest with yourself, though, maybe it’s better he has it. Maybe one day he’ll look through it and read your crazy thoughts and know you’ll love him until you’re dust and then even after. In the next life, and the next, until the sea of love runs dry and humanity goes bust. Maybe he’ll read through it and know that you were struggling by no fault of his own.
With a sharp inhale, you put your pencil to paper and write: I miss my journal. I miss my Dee.
Then you toss the notebook aside and go to make some breakfast.
—
The first thing Dieter does when he wakes is grab his phone off the nightstand.
One eye squinting open, he plugs your name into a search engine and scrolls through the results. Nothing new, just tabloids recycling old information and speculating. Fucking vultures.
A boulder settles on his chest, cold and massive, squeezing the air from his lungs.
He should be used to this sort of feeling, considering how often he’s felt it the past few days.
Every lead they had came up a dead end. You put up an impenetrable wall around yourself, so the most he can do is scour the internet for signs of you and live in the disappointment that follows each search.
He drops his phone and looks over at the empty spot beside him.
In an alternate universe, maybe one where your apartment wasn’t raided or you didn’t run away, the two of you are probably right here in bed, all intertwined under the covers, murmuring sweet affirmations to each other. Or maybe you’re seated next to one another in some unsuspecting diner, ordering greasy breakfast foods and sipping watered-down coffee. Or maybe he’s leaning on the kitchen island, watching you throw together some kind of sweet treat that the two of you would share throughout the day.
Or maybe there is no alternate universe. Maybe this was the way this was always going to be.
While you were still here, he made plans for Christmas. They weren’t big plans or anything. Nothing too showy, just some stuff to bring you comfort on the anniversary of your husband’s passing. Figured he could make you breakfast, then the two of you could take a bath. He got you a robe, pajamas, and some slippers so you’d be at the height of comfort for a trashy reality show marathon. Smoking pot, ordering takeout, that kind of thing. Low key.
It would’ve been nice. Definitely would’ve beat his long-standing Christmas tradition of going on a bender.
Dieter sighs, reaching across the bed to pull your pillow into an embrace. He buries his face in it and inhales your lingering scent. His eyes clench shut as he tries to picture what you’re doing, where you are, how you’re feeling, but he gets nothing.
Intuition tells him he’s running out of time.
He knows you’re still out there as sure as he knows there’s a pulse beneath his skin. But if you’ve held out this far, you’ll do it today or tomorrow. You’re a romantic like that.
He prays that’s enough time for a miracle.
—
You crouch down at the river’s edge and dig your fingers into the cold, damp sand, clamping down around a gray speckled rock. It comes loose with a firm tug, leaving an indent behind. Turning it over in your hand, you admire its weight and size.
A keeper.
You toss it in your backpack along with the other rocks and zip the bag shut. Hands numb and filthy, you heave the backpack onto your shoulders and jump up and down a little, nodding in approval at the considerable effort it takes to do so.
That should do just fine.
The backpack stays on the beach while you walk back to the cabin. Once inside, you thaw your hands with hot, soapy water, then eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of the fireplace, staring at the flickering flames as you chew. Your mind is white noise. A static-screened TV. An engine seized.
After cleaning the minimal mess from lunch, you consult your to-do list, cross off Gather the means of your destruction, and move to the next item: Build the psychomanteum.
—
“I printed all the information we’ve found and put it in here,” Darlene flips open the cover of a black binder and leafs through the color-coded, tabbed off sections, “Inside, I have call logs, typed out my notes from all my interviews, made a timeline of her last known movements, and basically everything we know so far. Table of contents at the front.”
She heaves the binder closed and straightens its bottom edge perfectly parallel to the edge of the dining room table, then takes a sideways step to the manila envelope beside it.
“I printed out some pictures and wrote a detailed description of her in the event that you decide to file the missing persons report. All of that information is in the manila envelope here,” she taps the envelope and looks up at Dieter, “Why did you fly to New York the day your girlfriend went missing?”
“To bribe an elected official.”
She blinks, “Try again.”
“I thought she went home.”
“And why did you go to the opera?”
“Parker and I were following up on a lead. Someone texted me and said they thought they saw her—”
“Who texted you?”
“Uhhhh…”
“Do you have a copy of the text message?”
“I, um—”
“Exactly. Too vague, and traceable. Try again.”
“Parker told me to.”
“Bitch, what the fuck?” Parker swats him.
“Ow,” Dieter hisses, rubbing the fresh welt, “No, uhhh… I went to New York to look for her because she lives there. She always told me about wanting to go to the Met to catch a show, so we went to see if we could spot her.”
“She went missing and you wanted to look for her at the Metropolitan Opera House?”
“It was a long shot, yeah,” he sighs and scratches his chin, “Waste of time, we ended up leaving at intermission.”
“That’s… not bad,” Darlene gives him an impressed nod, then looks down at her folder and straightens it in line with the binder, “Probably enough to keep you from getting arrested, at least. What about you, Parker?”
“I helped him look for her in New York, even though I knew it was a dumb idea and told him so to his face.“
“Do you think he was up to anything, covering up his tracks?”
“No,” Parker scoffs, “Poor boy was worried sick the whole time. He wouldn’t stop beating himself up for going on that goddamn wild goose chase.”
“Good,” Darlene smiles, crossing her arms, and tilts her head at Dieter, “Are you sure it’s ok if I go?”
“Oh, yeah, go,” he waves his hand dismissively, “You’ve done more than enough, really. Thank you for everything.”
“Well… don’t thank me yet,” she mutters, taking another side step to the second manila envelope. She picks it up and holds it with both hands, pausing for a moment before passing it across the table to him. ‘
He takes it and frowns at her, “What’s this?”
“It’s her journal.”
His breathing stops. All the moisture in his mouth evaporates, tongue sticking Velcro to the roof when he opens his mouth to ask a thousand questions. Darlene speaks before he can utter a syllable.
“You gave it to me. Unintentionally, I think, but I jotted down some notes from that first morning when I was calling around.”
Dieter opens the envelope and pulls out the orange, spiral-bound notebook. A New Chapter. He traces the phrase.
“I didn’t realize what it was until last night when I was double-checking I copied the notes down right. I flipped to the front, and…”
As if under a spell, he opens the cover, eyes falling on the first line.
I am the haunted house
He closes it and stares at the cover, then across the table at Darlene, “How much did you read?”
“I went through the last few entries,” she tells him, “Skimmed them to see if she mentioned anything helpful. She didn’t, but you might want to take a closer look at them. Maybe something will jump out at you.”
Dieter glances at Parker. They exchange a look that says neither of them will make a fuss about the invasion of your privacy. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable.
“I worked backwards and marked where I left off with a tab. You should read it.”
He nods and clears his throat, then says, “Yeah, I, umm… I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
—
The Friedman family cabin had limited options when it came to putting together the psychomanteum.
It calls for a dark and preferably small enclosed space, a challenge in itself. The common rooms are open concept, with the obvious exception of the bathroom. Both of the bedrooms on the first floor and the loft upstairs have dressers in lieu of closets. Thinking about setting up in the dirt-floor wine cellar, alongside its long-term creepy-crawly residents, made you queasy.
This left you with one practical option: the cedar linen closet.
After transferring the neat stacks of towels, bedding, and pillows from the shelves, you take out the shelves themselves. You find some dark quilts to line the walls with and, through an arduous process of trial and error, accomplish a mirror-angle combination that creates the desired effect.
Throughout this process, you try to concentrate on what you would say to him, telling yourself that this time you wouldn’t spin out and lose your nerve. This time you would ask the questions that haunt your every waking breath.
Your mind keeps wandering to Dieter, though.
You think about his experiences in the psychomanteum.
About James and the river and the scars left on Dieter’s young heart. You think about the ghost that haunts him, his monster, and how it might whisper similarities in his ear. How it might coax him into the darkness forever.
The thought strikes you hard and heavy, square in the chest.
All the air leaves your body and your hands go numb. You crumple up into a ball on the closet floor and weep. Pained, warbled sobs shake your body. The noises that come out of you sound foreign and animalistic.
You cry for him, and for you, and for all the things that could have been. You cry and cry until you can't cry anymore.
It feels cleansing. Therapeutic. Like a purge to overly-ripe, buzzing nerves.
In the messy afterglow of this release, you stare up at the ceiling and wish Dieter would come barging through the door.
If he found you here, all curled up on the closet floor of your in-laws cabin, he would probably let out a big sigh of relief, then lay down beside you. He would pull you into an embrace and squeeze you tight and make you take a blood oath to never leave him again.
For the first time since you set out on this literal suicide mission, you really consider not following through with it.
Something dark flickers out the corner of your eye. When you hear the faint whisper of a noise, your breath halts.
You fine-tune your ears, focusing on each minute sound that crops up. Wind rustling the trees outside. Your heart pumping blood. The deafening silence in between.
Then you hear it.
A coarse, abrasive noise like fingernails on sheetrock. Scratching.
It sneaks.
Your pulse jumps, muscles going tense with fear. You pinch your eyes shut. Try to stay still and quiet, but each shaky breath sounds louder than the last.
Another scratch, slow and dry, from inside the closet this time.
“Leave me alone,” you whisper, “Please.”
—
I am the haunted house
Full of ghosts
Myself and others
Living in the past
I cannot escape
Neither can they
Dieter stares at the page, re-reading that first passage in your journal at least ten times before shaking his head and closing the cover.
This feels fucked up and invasive. It doesn’t sit right in his body, all hard corners stretching out his stomach. He should hurl the journal into the canyon, but something stops him from doing so.
His leg starts bouncing, jaw gnashing back and forth with indecision. He leans forward in the patio chair and flips the journal open a few pages.
I think I like him and I don’t know how to feel about that. I feel like it’s too soon and I’m not ready, but at the same time, I am drawn to him. Almost every time we talk on the phone it turns into a three-hour long conversation and even then I wish I could keep talking to him. He makes me laugh. He’s sweet and odd and insanely fucking hot. He seems to party a lot, which makes me unjustifiably nervous. The other night when I was talking to him, he mentioned another woman and I felt fucking jealous?? I’ve literally met the man twice. What the fuck am I doing. I am actually insane. I think it would be a real problem if we did anything beyond flirting, I would probably need to be committed.
Warmth and affection flood his veins.
You must have written this sometime between the party at Katie’s and the first time he traveled to New York to see you. Probably last spring when the two of you began to contact each other more and more.
He remembers how tedious it was at first.
Getting to know each other was a delicate dance both of you performed without acknowledgment. A text here and there, sporadic communication at best. He didn’t want you to think he was too eager. In fact, he didn’t want to be eager at all.
Past friendships left him jaded and waiting for the other shoe to drop. On top of that, he was going through a divorce and pretty dedicated to a full-time coke habit.
He dreaded the day you would reveal yourself as a snake. But you never did.
As the text messages grew more frequent and reliable, he couldn’t deny the temptation to let his feelings blossom instead of nipping them in the bud. Soon the messages accompanied weekly phone calls and video chats, until it became an almost daily ritual to hear your voice.
He wasn’t sure what to think or feel about you, he just knew that he always found himself wondering about you. What you were doing, who you were with. Like you, he felt a tinge of jealousy on the rare occasion you would drop another man’s name.
It’s comforting to know you felt the same way. Weary, but intrigued. Resistant to the pull of attraction, yet not entirely immune.
The glass patio door slides open, then shut.
Dieter looks over his shoulder and nods in greeting to Parker, who plops down in the patio chair next to him. With him, he carries a navy blue gift bag emblazoned with a shiny gold logo that reads Bizarre Bazaar.
“You boys have fun shopping?”
Parker holds the bag out to Dieter, letting the ribbon handle dangle from his slender fingers, “It’s for you. Merry Christmas.”
“Oh fuck off, really?”
“It was Lincoln’s idea,” he shakes the bag, “Take it!”
Rolling his eyes, Dieter sets your journal aside and takes the gift.
“You really didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know.”
He pushes aside tissue paper and pulls a black frame from the bag. A shadow box. Suspended inside the glass is a moth with an impressive wingspan. Its creamy white wings have dark stripes that zigzag close together to create an almost disorienting effect, making his vision blur into abstract.
“Thysania Agrippina,” Parker tells him, “The White Witch moth, or ghost moth. They’re the biggest moths, typically found in forests of Central and South America. Back in ye olden days, when explorers encountered them, they would try to shoot them like they did with birds and bats, but the moths would evade the attacks, making the explorers think they were witches. Really, their body is just incredibly small in comparison to their wings.”
Dieter nods, unable to tear his eyes away from the specimen.
“People see moths as a symbol of transformation and rebirth. White witch moths are especially considered good luck.”
“I need all the luck I can get,” he mutters and looks at Parker, “It's beautiful, thank you.”
Parker gives him a half-hearted smile, glancing at your journal, “Did you find anything?”
With a sigh, Dieter carefully slides the taxidermy moth back into the gift bag, then picks up your journal and flips through it.
“Not really. I haven’t gone through much, though. Here are Darlene’s notes,” he opens to a page with her sparse, neat script, and flips backwards through the pages, passing a few blanks before finding your last entry, “This is from the day before. I don’t know.”
Parker frowns, “Can I see it?”
Shrugging, Dieter hands it to him.
He watches as Parker studies the blank pages, tilting and turning the journal against the light of the overhead sun. When Parker jumps to his feet, Dieter’s stomach flips.
“What?”
“I think I see something.”
“Something like what?”
“I need a pencil.”
Dieter leaps into action, leading the way inside to a cup of writing utensils on the kitchen counter. He finds a lead pencil and hands it to Parker, who starts lightly shading over a small section of paper. Contrast carves out negative space from idents in the page.
A phone number.
“Holy shit,” Dieter breathes, stunned for a moment before pulling out his phone and dialing the number.
—
The bottle lets out a glug-glug-glug as you pour plum wine into your glass. You tilt your head, watching with dead eyes as the golden elixir fills your cup to the brim, then you set the empty bottle aside and take a sip.
Not bad. Tart well-balanced with sweet. The taste doesn’t matter as much to you as the alcohol content, but it helps.
Staring at the blank page, you remember what Dieter said when you tried and failed to reach Ethan through the psychomanteum. That you were too closed-off. You click your pen a few times, then bring the tip to paper.
I cried myself to sleep that night.
Ethan locked himself in his room after pouring the ink I gave him on the living room floor. I could hear him in there, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. A squeaky floorboard tracked his movements like a metronome.
Even though he was in his own little world, I muffled my sobs in my pillow so he couldn’t hear me. Before falling asleep, I remember feeling hopeless. I loved and hated him at the same time. It was over, I couldn’t do it anymore. That fact scared the ever-loving shit out of me.
It didn’t seem real when I woke up.
He took me by the hair and pulled me out of bed. My legs didn’t work. I kept collapsing and tripping all over the place, which made him even more angry. Each time I faltered, he yanked me up to my feet by the hair. He called me a bitch. A rat. A spineless fucking worm.
Before taking me out in the hallway, he showed me a pocket knife and told me if I screamed he would slit my throat. I believed him.
You pause here, considering whether or not to drink more wine. For a while, you watch the low flames in the fireplace dance around on ashy, glowing logs. You rise to your feet and approach it, pulling open the hearth to carefully stack more firewood atop the hungry beast. It thanks you with a crackle and a burst of heat and light, the newborn fire blazing your face and hands.
Returning to your seat, you cross your legs under the coffee table and re-read what you’ve written. The memories hold space in your chest.
This deep, dull ache starts at your sternum and spreads across your body. Instinctively, you reach for the wine, but pause before your fingertips touch the glass.
It seems important that you experience the pain, not anesthetize it.
You pick up the pen and keep going.
He led me down to the parking garage and threw me in the passenger seat. When I tried to buckle my seatbelt, he threatened me again, told me to leave it. He took off, driving like a fucking maniac. Swerving around traffic, running red lights, going the wrong way down one way streets. It was snowing and the roads were slick. Every time we lost traction, he howled with laughter as he righted his course.
I remember being fucking terrified and thinking this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t real, it was a nightmare. I don’t remember everything I said to him. I just remember screaming and crying, begging him to let me out. He ignored me. I tried to snap him out of it by punching him in the face as hard as I could. This got his attention.
The car skidded to a stop. He looked at me. His eyes were black and vacant and unrecognizable. I knew then that Ethan wasn’t coming back. It was me and his monster. I asked him to let me out. He said no. He said we had to do this together. I told him I fucking hated him and reached for the door handle to get out.
He grabbed my throat and hit me hard, his fist landing on my left eye. I saw stars, then everything went black.
When I came to, the engine was roaring. Red traffic lights zoomed by overhead. He was looking through the windshield with a blank, emotionless stare, picking up speed fast. It became very clear what he was going to do. Still dazed, I tried to put on my seatbelt, but before I could click it into place, I heard a horrible metallic crunching noise from everywhere. Everything went black again.
Hot tears burn trails down your cheeks. You drop the pen down and bury your face in your hands, releasing a guttural sob from your chest like some kind of rabid animal. It splits you in two, claws tearing at your rib cage and carving you out.
This is what it feels like to be an aluminum can. Drained of utility, crushed for scrap metal.
This is what it feels like to be a jack-o-lantern. Gutted, empty, rotting.
This is what it feels like to have your heart broken for the first and last time.
Eventually, you manage to catch your breath. Then you rise to your feet and start towards the psychomanteum.
__
Headlights cut through the pitch black night onto the highway ahead.
“In two miles, take Exit 31 to merge onto CA-41 North towards Yosemite.”
Dieter glances at his phone mounted to the dash. It estimates his arrival time as 10:53, putting him 36 minutes and 23 miles out. He punches the gas, watching the speedometer jump from 76-mph to 90.
If he’s gonna shave off more time, it’ll be here, not in the foothills. Pretty soon the roads will get narrow and curvy. Not to mention, they might be slick as it gets colder with elevation, and he’d like to make it to you alive, thankyouverymuch.
His nerves buzz at the thought, tangling in a mess of anticipation and worry and guilt.
He should have figured it out sooner. This should have been a first day call. It would’ve been if he wasn’t so fucking blind. He handed your journal to Darlene, not realizing it had the answer the whole goddamn time.
Nobody answered at first. He held his breath as the line trilled. It rang long enough for him to wonder if he died and went to hell and was doomed to exist in the moment for eternity.
Then the voicemail picked up.
“You’ve reached the voicemail for Sarah Friedman. Sorry I missed you, leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”
BEEP
“Hi, Sarah. My name is Dieter Bravo. I’m calling about my, uhh… Louella Friedman. I found your phone number in her notebook, and she’s been missing for a few days. I’m—I’m worried about her. She left a note, and, umm… yeah. I don’t know. I’m hoping you have information on her whereabouts. Please call me back. Thanks.”
He hung up and looked between Parker and Lincoln, “Sarah Friedman?”
Parker’s eyes went wide, “That’s Ethan’s mom—oh my god—” He gasped, jumping up and down, “Their fucking cabin, Dieter! Fresno—mountains, forest, holy shit—”
“Oh my god!” Dieter started jumping up and down too, only getting two hops in before bolting for the door, “I GO NOW!”
“Wait—shoes! Your wallet! And keys!” Lincoln called to him, making him circle back into the house and grab the items off the sideboard and shove his feet into a pair of crocs.
“And a charger, do you want an overnight bag? What about Lua’s things—her phone—”
His phone buzzed in his hand. Sarah returning his call.
“You have thirty fucking seconds,” he told Lincoln before answering, “This is Dieter.”
“Hi, Dieter. This is Sarah calling you back.”
“Yeah, thank you so much—Is she, Lua, is she ok?”
When she didn’t immediately respond yes, his stomach plummeted.
“I actually, I don’t know,” Sarah sighed, “I’m glad you called, because I wasn’t sure—”
“What do you mean?”
He started snapping his fingers at Lincoln, who was stumbling down the hall towards him, shoving things into a backpack.
“She’s been staying at our cabin and I haven’t been able to reach her.”
“I have her phone, she left it here. At my house.”
“No, on the landline. I’ve talked to her the past few days, but when I tried earlier the call wouldn’t go through.”
“Fuck,” he muttered, grabbing the backpack from Lincoln, “Send me the address, I’m going.”
It took him about two and a half hours to drive the some-odd 200 miles to where he is now. The most excruciating drive of his life, just him and Siri and his anxious thoughts.
“Take the exit.”
He flips on the blinker and glances in the rearview mirror, then over his shoulder before merging.
“Hang on a little bit longer, baby.”
—
Your head swims as you relax into the nest of pillows and blankets on the floor. Behind you, the electric lantern casts a dim glow, reflecting off the frame of the mirror. The mirror shows you a black abyss. You stare into it, letting your vision blur abstract.
Then you wait.
After some time, a strange feeling comes over you. A shifting, surreal sensation like you’re changing gears and reaching a higher plane of existence. Invisible tendrils slither out from beneath your skin and branch out before you, stretching into the abyss. You feel connected to it. Tapped into something larger than yourself.
“Ethan, I need to talk to you.”
Something clicks into place, like a tether coupling you to him. His presence lingers near yours somewhere within the abyss, but you gather the notion that he wants you to come closer, and lean into the strange sensation.
Static energy pulses around you on all sides as you move forward through the darkness. Light years ahead of you, a star twinkles. A single pinprick of brightness in the inky black.
You follow the beacon, gliding through the space with surprising speed.
The light grows from a pinprick to a beam, from a beam to a dinner plate, from a dinner plate to a beach ball, stretching wider and brighter with each passing moment.
You come to a halt when you realize that it’s not just a far-off daydream, but a tangible object.
An orb, roughly the same size as you, glowing with pure white light.
It emits familiar ambient noises, flickering brighter with each sound wave. Muffled car horns. Stomping from the upstairs neighbors. Ethan’s low, quiet humming in the tune of “All I Have to Do Is Dream” by the Everly Brothers.
The orb seems to possess a gravitational pull. You find yourself drifting closer. When you reach out to touch it, your fingertips brush against something warm and inviting.
In the blink of an eye, you appear somewhere else entirely.
It takes a moment to reorient yourself to these new surroundings. Your focus flickers to the steeple of your drawn-back emerald curtains, giving you a peep show of the electric blue sky. Afternoon sun pours in through the window, spilling across the bedspread.
The foreground of your vision clears to a crisp image. Ethan’s bare chest, rising and falling with breath. Beneath your ear, the steady thump-thump of his heart beats true and steady. His fingertips gently rake against your skin in lazy, comforting circles.
You tilt your head to look at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes are clear and present like you haven’t seen in ages. He looks healthy. Full of life. Reaching up to trace the curve of his lips, you whisper, “Is this heaven? Did I die?”
He huffs a little chuckle, “No.”
You grin at the sight of his smile, eyes flicking all over his face, “Then what is it?”
“It’s what you needed,” he shrugs, “What you came here for.” When you arch a suspicious brow, he smirks, “What?”
“I came here to yell at you.”
“Then yell at me.”
He stares at you, his brown eyes both sincere and mischievous. Your teeth catch your bottom lip and you glance out the window.
“C’man, Lou. Look at me.”
You do, and he shifts around a little, rolling on his side to face you, “Hit me with the truth, baby. I can take it.”
“If I ask you something, will you lie?”
“I’ve got nothing to gain from lying to you.”
You search his face for signs of falsehood, but find none.
“Were there other women?”
“Do you really wanna know?”
You nod.
He licks his lips, glancing down, then back to you, “Yeah, there were a few.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
It shocks you a little, his honesty. And soothes you. You forgot it could be like this with him. No games, no bullshit.
“Were they serious? Did you love them?”
“No,” he scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, “They were… distractions.”
You bite down on the inside of your cheek and nod, dropping your gaze.
“If you’re waiting for excuses, I don’t have any. It was wrong and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve it. Any of it. The cheating, the lies, the… the way I hurt you—”
“You tried to kill me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You did kill me. Slowly. Inside and out.” Your vision swims with tears, but you look up to meet his eyes anyway, “You broke me. You were supposed to love me and you broke me, Ethan. I don’t know if I can even love right anymore, I’m so fucked up.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looks at you with such naked anguish that you believe he means the apology with his whole heart. It still hurts.
“Please say something else.”
“What do you want me to say, Lou?”
A hard knot of emotion works its way up your throat, making your face crumble and your eyes sting with tears.
“I don’t know,” you whisper. Then, as if it’s an answer, you tell him, “I’m… I’m scared.”
“What’re you so scared of?”
“What if we’re just cursed to keep living this over and over? Loving and losing?”
You picture your dad. Ethan. James. Anika.
You picture Dieter. You picture one hundred ways he could break you beyond recognition. One hundred ways you could do the same to him.
It all seems so fragile.
“Lou, look at me,” he tilts your chin up to meet his eyes, “You will never know what the future holds. That doesn’t mean it can’t be good. That doesn’t mean you should hide from it.”
“Is it worth it?”
“Don’t you think?”
You picture the ghost trail of your ink-stained hand clasping Dieter’s and feeling his soul from the inside out. The phone calls. Hours and hours—weeks, really—listening to his voice over one electronic device or another. Him sitting next to you, eating Chinese food and watching shitty tv. His laugh, those dimples. The night at the Plaza. Big brown tootsie pop eyes. Snow angels. The ocean—the sea of love.
He smirks, flicking his eyes around your face, “You love him, huh?”
“I do,” you nod, a knot of guilt tugging at your stomach, “I love him so much. I just… what if he hurts me like you did? What if I hurt him? I—I don’t think I can be put back together if I break again.”
“Tell me something. And be honest with me, I’ll know if you’re lying, ok? If you could go back and do something different, forever changing the course of your life up to this moment… would you?”
You think about it, long and hard. You consider the different paths your life could have taken.
If your dad never developed cancer, you might’ve felt secure enough to stay in Ohio. Maybe you would have attended culinary classes in a local community college instead of running away to New York. You never would have met Parker. You never would have moved to the city. You never would have had the opportunities to establish your culinary skills the way you did. You never would have met Ethan.
If Ethan would have stayed clean, the two of you might have existed in happily-ever-after until your dying day… but you never would have met Dieter.
Dieter.
Your chest aches with love, tears welling up in your eyes. Loving him feels perfect and magical and right. Otherworldly. It feels like forever.
Every passing moment since you met him has felt like you are exactly where you need to be.
Even the bad times, like the first time you tried the psychomanteum and he lost it. You learned so much about him. He revealed some of the most tender spots in his heart. You started to trust him.
Or when you found out he slept with Katie and it felt like your world came crashing down. You learned that, even when you pushed him away, he would fight tooth and nail for you.
Intrusions from the tabloids and your mother, the interview, dinner with Lilly and Jay. All of these instances forced you both to reconcile with parts of yourselves you thought were thoroughly unloveable and come out the other side somehow more intact than you were before.
You realize that even now, with the threat of prison and the destruction of Dieter’s career lingering in your periphery, with you tucked away in the psychomanteum in the middle of nowhere, hiding from everything… it’s where you need to be. And despite the impossible odds, you believe that your love for each other will come out the other side.
You shake your head.
“No. I wouldn’t change a thing.”
Ethan nods, brushing his fingertips along your cheek, “So, you tell me. Is it worth the risk?”
—
When Dieter spots the mailbox labeled FRIEDMAN, his heart jumps up and gets lodged in his throat.
"The destination is on your right. Arrived."
He slows and turns the wheel, steering the car down the gravel driveway. Outside, the night is impossibly black. The only thing he can see in the high beams are tall pine trees on either side of the path and an occasional flicker of reflective eyes in the forest.
“Could it be any fucking creepier out here, Jesus Christ—”
Thunk
One of the tires hits a pothole, making him grimace. The car jostles back and forth in protest, then rights its path.
Goddamnit, not now.
If he breaks down out here he might spontaneously combust. Any other time, just not now, he's so fucking close. Steering around another deep gash in the path, Dieter grits his teeth and squints into the darkness.
A light in the distance makes him sit up straighter and lean forward.
It has to be a porch light, that has to be it.
Anxious energy pounds thick through his veins. He can’t clear his head enough to glean anything about your current state. Horrible images flash through his mind, torturing him.
The trees open up into a clearing.
As soon as his headlights graze the cabin, he throws the car into park and jumps from the vehicle, screaming your name as he runs up the steps onto the patio.
He pounds on the door, peeking in through the window, “Lua, it’s me.”
His voice is garbled and frantic.
Inside, he sees a fireplace glowing with warm light. He twists the doorknob and pushes it open, “LOUELLA?”
Dead silence.
White hot panic spikes his blood.
He runs numb, trembling hands through his hair and calls your name again, starting through the house.
There are signs of life. The crackling fireplace. Towels and blankets stacked on the kitchen counter. Your open suitcase in one of the downstairs bedrooms.
On the coffee table in the living room, he finds a full glass of wine and a notebook. He picks it up and starts reading, throat letting out an involuntary dry whimper as he tries again and again to read the words, but they blur and don’t make sense.
The sound of the front door opening makes him spin around.
—
Your exhale fogs in the cool night air as you pull a rock from the backpack and chuck it towards the sound of flowing water.
Ker-plunk!
Squinting into the darkness, you make out ripples on the river’s surface and smile.
The next one is heavier.
You have to grab it with two hands and heave it over your shoulder to send it launching it into the air, crashing through the water with a loud splash.
Delight shivers up your spine.
You tuck your hands in your jacket pockets and look up at the stars. With the expanse of the universe stretching across the atmosphere, you should feel small and hopeless. But you don’t. Instead, a deep sense of optimism and wonder steals your breath.
Somehow it feels like every other time you’ve crawled out of the shit, but different. Like you’re the same person you were, although not at all. Like the good parts stayed intact, but the fear sloughed off at your feet.
You feel weightless. Hopeful. Infinite.
It doesn’t matter that you don’t have transportation, or food, or anything. It doesn’t matter that your return to society might result in your arrest. All that matters is you find Dieter and face this with him.
For the first time in a long time, you have faith that everything will be ok.
The sound of an approaching car draws your attention. A beam of light scans through the night sky, then you hear a car door.
“LOUELLA!”
You gasp, voice cracking as you whisper, “Dieter?”
Your heart skitters in your chest and your feet spring into action, trudging up the riverbed as fast as they can. Chest heaving, vision blurring, you climb up the hill and make a mad dash towards the cabin.
When you reach the door and twist the doorknob, you can’t feel the cold metal on your hands. You shove it open and step into the house, every cell in your body buzzing with shock and awe and fear and excitement when you lay your eyes upon him.
“Dee?”
[ Next Chapter ]
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South Park Music HCs
What music I think the South Park characters would listen to.
Stan ✰ Kyle ✰ Kenny ✰ Cartman ✰ Wendy ✰ Bebe ✰ Heidi ✰ Tweek ✰ Craig ✰ Butters
With Spotify links!
Stan Marsh
Artists:
Radio Head
Siouxsie and the Banshees
Crywank
She Wants Revenge
System Of a Down
Slipknot
The Front Bottoms
Favourite Songs:
Atoma- Dark Tranquillity
Smokey Eyes- Lincoln
F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X- The Fall of Troy
Mr Grieves- Pixies
Misc:
Generally angsty
Gets embarrassed of his taste when he’s put on aux
He probably likes 90s dad rock
Whenever Stan listens to ‘System of a Down’ Cartman calls him ‘Syndrome of a Down’
Likes The Front Bottoms purely because he relates
Kyle Broflovski
Artists:
Dan Mangan
The Cure
Echo & the Bunnyman
Blur
Weezer
Billy Idol
Favourite Songs:
I Love You- Fontaines D.C.
Troubled Mind- Dan Mangan
The Killing Moon- Echo & the Bunnymen
Jumping Someone Else’s Train- The Cure
Candy- Paolo Nutini
Misc:
Cartman calls him a virgin for listening to Weezer
If he’s playing his music around you, he’ll sneak glances at you to see if you like it
Definitely has a poster for The Cure in his bedroom
Refuses to use Bluetooth headphones
Kenny McCormick
Artists:
Eminem
Outkast
Ini Kamoze
Car Seat Headrest
Cypress Hill
Limp Bizkit
Green Day
Favourite Songs:
Hits from the Bong- Cypress Hill
Sexy Drug- Falling in Reverse
Deadlines (Hostile)- Car Seat Headrest
Take A Look Around- Limp Bizkit
Misc:
Watches clips of Woodstock 99 on YouTube
Plays his music so loud that it spills through his headphones and gets weird looks for it
Listens to Taylor Swift and Sabrina Carpenter with his little sister
Eric Cartman
Kanye West
T-Pain
Lady Gaga (we all saw this coming)
Rihanna
Black Eyed Peas
Oliver Tree
Pitbull
Favourite Songs:
Church- T-Pain, Teddy Verseti
Meet Me Halfway- Black Eyed Peas
I Can’t Stop- Will Smith
Bury Me Alive- Oliver Tree
Happiness is a Butterfly- Lana Del Rey
Misc:
Strikes me as the type of guy who doesn’t really listen to music
Unironically likes Oliver Tree (His music and him as a person)
Rips on everyone for their music but won’t tell them who he listens to
Lip syncs to Wiz Khalifa while flexing in the mirror
Listens to T-Pain and Will Smith to make him feel tough
Prefers podcasts
Wendy Testaburger
Artists:
The Shins
Gwen Stefani
Hozier
Grizzly Bear
Nelly Furtado
Olivia Rodrigo
Elliot Smith
Favourite Songs:
Swan Upon Leda- Hozier
Lacy- Olivia Rodrigo
Stand By Me- Ben E.King
Vienna- Billy Joel
Pocketful of Sunshine- Natasha Bedingfield
Misc:
Thunder makes her think of stan so she skips it
Relates to Vienna and probably got a small tattoo for it after she graduated
Probably has an eclectic taste and loves 2010s pop
Lets everyone else play their music while she’s driving and never complains
Stares at her ceiling and listens to Elliot Smith when she’s sad
Gets ready listening to y2k pop songs
Bebe Stevens
Artists:
Jungle
Wild Belle
Dominic Fike
Kesha
Avril Lavigne
Justin Bieber (baby era)
MGMT
Favourite Songs:
Feet Don’t Fail Me Now- Joy Crookes
Back On 74- Jungle
Memory Box- Peter Cat Recording Co.
Keep You- Wild Belle
Beauty And A Beat- Justin Bieber, Nicki Minaj
Ur So Gay- Katy Perry
Misc:
Hates sad music, she’ll force herself to listen to USHER during a breakdown
Picky about her music, if someone plays a song she doesn’t like she’ll definitely skip it or complain until someone else does
Mentioned she liked Justin Bieber and then got in an argument with Cartman because of it
Never lets Clyde near the speaker
Screams Ur So Gay at the top of her lungs when it comes on
Heidi Turner
Artists:
Jack Johnson
Syd Matters
Daughter
Fleet Foxes
Rainbow Kitten Surprise
Noah Kahan
Of Monsters and Men
Favourite Songs:
Open Season- High Highs
To All of You- Syd Matters
Two Weeks- Grizzly Bear
Sitting, Waiting, Wishing- Jack Johnson
Sisyphus- Andrew Bird
Blue Ridge Mountains- Fleet Foxes
Misc:
Loves going for walks while she listens to music
Sends you songs that remind her of you
Listens to every song you send her and tells you what she likes about it
Hums when she has her headphones in without realising
Her and all of her friends love Noah Kahan
Tweek Tweak
Artists:
Billie Holiday
Billie Marten
Johann Sebastian Bach
Claude Debussy
Ludwig van Beethoven
Foals
Connie Francis
Favourite Songs:
Who’s Sorry Now- Connie Francis
Cello Suite No. 1 in G Minor- Johann Sebastian Bach
Méditation from Thaïs- Jules Massenet
Bad Apple- Billie Marten
The Lark Ascending- Ralph Vaughan Williams
Misc:
I actually think he would hater Hyper-Pop
Prefers slow/classical/instrumental songs
Listens to a lot of white noise, really specific ones like ‘Heavy Rain in Autumn Fairy Forest 9 hours’
Musical prodigy, plays piano and cello
Craig Tucker
Artists:
Nirvana
Hole
No Doubt
Foo Fighters
Pulp
Arcade Fire
Jeff Buckley
Favourite Songs:
Common People- Pulp
Malmo- Mook
Forget Her- Jeff Buckley
The Pretender-Foo Fighters
Dumb- Nirvana
Misc:
Made one playlist in eighth grade and never listens to anything else
Thinks Courtney Love killed Kurt Cobain
Hates TikTok music, like genuinely.
Somewhat of a gatekeeper
Butters Stotch
Artists:
She & Him
Blonde
Kate Bush
Dolly Parton
Regina Spector
The La’s
The Mama’s and the Papa’s
Favourite Songs:
You’ll Never Find Another Love Like Mine- Lou Rawls
In the Summertime- Mungo Jerry
Hey, Lucky Lady- Dolly Parton
The Tide is High- Blondie
Why Do You Let Me Stay Here- She & Him
Don’t Let The Good Life Pass You By- Cass Elliot
Clay Pigeons- Michael Cera
Misc:
Songs absentmindedly all the time, annoys the hell out of everyone
Quotes the songs he listens to
Developed choreography in middle school and still remembers it
Asks people if they’ve heard a super popular song that’s all over the radio and social media out of genuine curiosity
Anyways, that’s all I got for now. Re log or comment what you think they’d listen to bc I’m genuinely curious, thanks for reading!
Also it literally took hours to add all of those Spotify links so I hope you got something out of this! they wouldn’t let me add more than 100 :/
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Angel By the Wing - Twenty-Nine
Just in case you weren't aware, this blog is unequivocally in support of the liberation of Palestine.
Series Masterlist (Mobile Masterlist)
“Mom, what the hell are you doing here?” Jennifer watched as her son carefully pulled away from the two people he had been wrapped around. He stumbled around the bar and tentatively hugged her. God, she remembered when Jake was a skinny stick of a boy. His physique was all Daniel, but his heart was purer than both her or that man.
“You called, Jacob. Of course I was going to come. I wanted to see what was going on.”
Jake glanced over his shoulder at the two people trying to look casual in the way they pretended to ignore them. The man, tall and broad shouldered, held a guarded expression in his gaze as he studied the Seresins. The woman next to him was a lot shyer than she had been before the boy’s arrival. One of her hands had drifted down to rest on her shirt-covered stomach and Jennifer was sharply reminded as to why she was here.
“I didn’t say anything about needing to come down here. I was planning on inviting you and Liz, yeah, but I just needed some time to get acclimated,” Jake explained. “I don’t have the guest room set up or food prepared. I didn’t even take time off work bu-”
Jennifer cut him off. “I have an AirBnB rented for a month.”
“What? A month? Mom, I-”
“You call me and tell me that you knocked a girl up but it’s fine, you three are going to raise the baby together. Jacob, I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone until now, not to mention two people. Forgive me for being a little concerned that this was a rushed decision.”
Jake shut his mouth, his jaw clenching tightly. He inhaled deeply and looked over her head at the crowd of people that were starting to fill up the room.
“You didn’t need to come all the way here and uproot your life. We’re fine. The three of us are figuring it out together.”
“Figuring it out? Jake, this is a baby. Not an Ikea dresser, for God’s sake!”
Jake’s gaze darted over to the bartender once more and he softened at the look on her face. Something akin to determination mixed with worry seeped into the green eyes the same shade as hers.
“Let me drive you to your place, Mom. We can talk more there.”
Jennifer had figured that’s what he would offer, which is precisely why she ordered her Uber to drop her off at the bar he had so affectionately told her was the place he met the woman he knocked up.
God, this was a fucking mess.
She never expected to be a grandmother, to be honest. Liz was entirely focused on her career as an attorney and, despite not telling her mother yet, seemed to prefer partners of the same sex. Jennifer couldn’t care less about who her daughter was sleeping with, as long as she was safe and happy. Jacob, on the other hand, had made it apparent that he wasn’t the type to have a family. She knew that both of her kids batted for the other team in some way since they were younger, even if Daniel was a shitbag homophobe. But Jake never once brought anyone home to meet her. He never took a girl to more than one dance or talked about a guy more than once to her. He was a one and done kind of guy.
So when Jake called her and said he knocked a girl up that he’s only known for a few months, she booked the first flight out to San Diego. Because that did not sound like her son at all.
Jake stepped away from her to address the two people still watching them. He said something quietly enough that Jennifer couldn’t hear, but then raised his voice.
“I’ll be home before you two so I can make sure someone goes to bed on time,” he said, his voice lighter than it had been the entire time he had spoken to Jennifer. A small smile grew on the bartender’s face and she rolled her eyes.
“It’s not my fault that Sweet Pea likes QVC,” she retorted.
“Yeah, well, Sweet Pea also needs to let her momma get some sleep,” Jake said. He nodded at the man and then grabbed Jennifer’s suitcases and silently led the way towards the parking lot.
Aside from the address she gave him and the quiet voice of the navigation system, the drive was silent. Jennifer took that as a chance to both look around at San Diego and think about her own life.
In the small Texas town she grew up in, it was expected that you served the Lord, married young, and had babies. Daniel was the quintessential All-American guy. He was a church-going quarterback who helped old ladies cross the street and made Jennifer feel like the luckiest girl in all the world because he chose her. She had dreams of leaving that small town, but getting pregnant during her senior year of high school quashed any plans she had of moving to a big city. Instead, she and Daniel had a shotgun wedding and a hasty life thrown together. By the time she realized that he was a monster, Jennifer had a baby in a town where it was expected that you grin and bear it for the children.
Fuck that. Fuck all of that.
Jennifer Seresin had made a lot of choices in her life. Some good, many bad, but all of them couldn’t top her decision to raise her two children with the kindest of hearts. Elizabeth and Jake were the lights of her life, especially through the dark times. Jake had been their saving grace in getting away from that shitbag ex-husband of hers. But he shouldn’t have had to.
The guilt of her failure ate at her. She should have left Daniel years earlier. She should have never let her kids feel their father’s anger. She should have done a million things to make their lives better and yet she failed them over and over.
She would not let Jake make the same mistakes she did.
Your feet ached as you climbed the few steps up to the front porch. The world was winding down thanks to the late hour, but the soft glow emanating from inside the house let you know that at least one of your boys was still awake.
The door creaked slightly on its hinges and you made a mental note to have Jake fix that one day. Maybe you could convince the boys to do projects around the house while shirtless. It would be your own personal porno.
“Hey,” you greeted Jake quietly. He tore his gaze away from the baseball game that was clearly a rerun and looked at you. A small smile graced his handsome face, but you could see the underlying tension that rested there. You set your purse down and toed off your shoes before winding around the couch to settle in beside him.
“Roo asleep?” you asked. He nodded and pressed his cheek against the top of your head. His whole body held taut as a bowstring and you wished you had some magic wand that would make him relax.
“How was work?” It was a clear deflection and the two of you knew it. You craned your head up so you could see his face better and sighed.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” you said. It was more of a demand than a question, but you softened your voice to not make him anymore skittish. Jake released a heavy sigh and then shrugged.
“Roo and I kinda got into it when he got home. He said I dumped this on you two but I didn’t even know she was coming.”
“I know that. And he knows that. He’s just thrown off kilter. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t surprised too.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, no apologies. She seems nice, by the way.”
Jake huffed out a laugh. “When she’s not interrogating you, maybe.”
You rubbed your nose along the length of his jaw and pressed a delicate kiss to his pulse. Something warm and bright bloomed in his chest and he tugged you closer to him. Jake inhaled the sweet scent of you, some odd mixture of beer, flowers, and sea salt. Coupled with the heady taste of Rooster–oil, sweat, and sun–that soaked into the townhome, Jake found himself sinking into you.
“C’mon Tex. Let’s go to bed before you fall asleep on the couch,” you teased.
“You’re one to talk,” he grumbled. You giggled and shifted so you were straddling his hips, arms lacing over his shoulders and clasping around his neck. He fumbled for the remote and somehow turned off the TV before he slid an arm under your butt and hauled the both of you off the couch. Your grip tightened just slightly, but you trusted that he wouldn’t drop you.
Jake remembers the night he met you. You and your bright eyes, devilish smirk, and sharp tongue. He had his fair share of people that he welcomed into his bed, but there was something about you that captivated him. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t take his shit, much like another man he had known years earlier.
Maybe it was the way you loved the taste of his pancakes, his music, and his kisses.
You shushed him as he got closer to the bedroom and he gently set you down so you could stumble in and blindly search for the dresser to steal some of their clothes. Jake slipped away to check the locks and windows before he returned to find you snuggled in the middle, one of Rooster’s arms thrown around your waist.
“You didn’t waste any time, did you, angel?” he whispered. That traitorous part of his mind let his mother’s words filter in. What happens if the baby isn’t his? What happens if the baby isn’t his and you two decide you don’t need him? That you don’t want him? Can he handle that? Can he handle this dream being shattered?
“Why don’t you shut up, strip, and get in here too?” Rooster’s tired voice filled the darkened bedroom and you hid your smile against the pillow before you reached out for Jake. The blond tugged off his shirt and threw his shorts somewhere in the direction of the closet before he climbed into bed. You threw your arm over his neck and settled your face against his chest. Rooster’s fingers brushed over Jake’s bicep and he welcomed the touch.
He couldn’t fall asleep for a long time.
Tag List:
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Yesss please sam drake food/eating hcs?? Fave meals, hated meals, etc
It is with great joy and great belatedness that I post my first Uncharted piece in ages. Thank you for the lovely ask, anon. :)
⋆ Sam Drake - Eating Headcanons ⋆
Two words: scarcity mindset.
After running away from Saint Frances’s, to claim money was tight is to be telling some humorous bit, Money was borderline non-existent. And as such, came what the Drake boys do best: theft.
Liquor stores were their easiest, and most consistent source. Sam still takes great pride in telling his many stories revolving around ‘cashier meet-cutes’ disguising their proudest heist to date: a 12-year-old Nathan smuggling canned goods under a moth-holed hoodie.
Because of this, gas station snacks: twinkies, Lays chips, slurpees, etc. all tend to give him this simultaneous sense of nostalgia and nausea. Like when you’re eating eggs and all of a sudden, your body gags on the next bite.
But on an especially shitty day, expect him to be gobbling a Big Gulp and a half-frozen hot dog on the nearest street corner, with a half-smoked cigarette still sunken between his lips. It’s the way he wallows.
Secretly wants you to tell him how bad that shit is for him so he has an excuse to snottily spat back “who the ‘ell cares?”. He finds pride in not caring about anything. (He cares about everything.)
Getting fast food at the drive-thru? Man waves you off a total of three times claiming he doesn’t want nothing before proceeding to eat half of your McNuggets without asking. He loves BBQ sauce and needs Tabasco on everything like it’s his will to live.
Big fan of spicy, sour, and tart, anything that makes your mouth pucker. Pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, cottage cheese, pickles, pineapple (😉). “What can I say? I admire a fruit that fights back!” — he snorts before taking a raw bite of a lemon, just to squirm you out.
Maybe a bit of the masochist in him.
When he and Nate were able to get proper gigs (12-year-old Nathan: illegally, of course), they were able to progress to the simplest of grocery outlet options. Eggs, instant ramen packets, canned vegetables that were 9 out of 10 times eaten raw out of the can with a fork, and more nothing-but-toast-for-dinner than they’d want to admit).
Sam and Nate spent most of their childhood eating their dad’s scrambled eggs and microwaved peas. When their mom passed, and dad released them to the state, Sam decided he’d only ever eat over-easy again.
Nate still chooses scrambled. He asks for cheese and green onions to split the difference, but always ends up only eating half of it before the memories come too strong and he has to push his plate away.
QUICK eater. MESSY eater. And I mean quick and messy.
Will use as minimal cutlery as possible, and if disposable, even better.
A scooper. Tends to be a chronic careless spiller with how frequently he tries to funnel all the last crumbs into his mouth, how quickly he chugs even a glass of water. (Most shirts of his are stained as a result.)
Tends to wait till the last possible moment to eat or drink anything. Breakfast basically doesn’t exist to him.
Spills more beverage down his chin and shirt than his mouth (but a wet t-shirt certainly isn’t the worst thing to happen. Especially not to Samuel Drake. ;)
Pizza order: Meat Lover’s with extra sausage. Maybe some green bell peppers when he finally compromises with Nate during movie night.
Never, ever orders (well, non-alcoholic) drinks when eating out. And only water when he finally lets himself cave. Otherwise, he’s stealing sips from the nearest patron’s Jarrito bottle (his favorite is Tamarind).
Doesn’t bother cleaning up his fruit peels or peanut shells, even around others. That shit’s going on the floor without a second look.
Surprisingly, a king and natural on the BBQ. Despite having so little in their childhood, Sam still tried to go hard on the holidays for Nathan’s sake. Fourth of July is still Nate’s favorite holiday exclusively because of Sam’s public park-smoked ribs and the long, bumpy motorcycle ride up the highest hill in whatever city they were currently loitering in, just to see the fireworks.
A dive bar master. Nate always orders whatever grease-covered appetizer they got in the back. Sam purposely keeps his stomach empty so there’s more room for whiskey. (Since nobody asked, incredible at pool, and will offer any woman in a twenty foot circumference a lesson. Cue the leaning chest over back, cue stick fantasy.)
A love language that was a total surprise to him is his partner cooking/baking something just for him, especially if it’s from scratch. Gets that rare, soft look in his eyes as he watches them carefully place each steaming plate onto the table. And trust, he’s not looking at the food when it happens.
Loves his partner in an apron. Like… loves his partner in an apron.
Make him food, and as soon as it’s eaten, he’s eating you after. ;)
When he finally settles down post-Madagascar, it’s a fucking struggle to get him to go grocery shopping at all for the first few months.
Self-punishment, maybe.
Nathan buys them himself instead and leaves them on the porch of Sam’s trailer park home when he’s too depressed to answer the door.
Basically has to be forced to eat actual meat and vegetables. For the first few months, he reverts and eats only familiar prison food. The same single pot of chili/beans for a whole week, half portions only for each meal. Uncooked canned carrots. Microwave popcorn when Nathan calls him asking if he’s eaten, and when Sam lies, it sounds more believable with the microwave droning in the background.
However, when he finally starts to pick himself back up, when he gets his first day job since prison, finally lets Nate buy him a used truck to get around, his first solo call from Sully, that’s when he finally starts to eat.
And when he finally feels like himself again, when he finally lets himself want to live again, the first hobby that Sam Drake takes up is cooking.
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Some of you may remember me mentioning my quest to get black cherry soda and several shipments ending in tragic bottle breakage. I have been seriously craving this soda for nearly a month now.
I contacted Boylan and accused them of shoddy shipping.
They very politely informed me it was not their shoddy shipping store on Amazon.
After some additional Amazon analysis, I felt foolish about my inaccurate accusations.
They informed me there were no local distributors of Boylan brand bottled black cherry beverages. They said they had no control over Amazon shipments and recommended I order directly from them. That would make this already pretty pricey pop about $15 more expensive after shipping and tax.
I had nearly given up.
After the $220 pizza and the $250 battery replacement and an almost assured account overdraw in my future, I'd have to wait at least until next month to satisfy my soda craving.
But when I went to my local Schnucks grocery store last night I decided to check the soda aisle to see if there were any alternatives.
My first find was Schnucks' own generic brand black cherry soda.
I have to say, that is a cute label for a generic store brand product.
After some research, I discovered this is a rebrand of a classic Vess soda. I like Vess soda! They make a wonderful cream soda concoction that my grandma used to buy whenever I would visit on the weekends. And I specifically told my mom never to buy cream soda for home because then it wouldn't be special when I had it at my grandma's house.
Sadly, I was unaware it was Vess-in-disguise and I was not trusting of a generic store-branded soda. Sometimes these low-cost rebranded items can be good, but it is always a crapshoot. I mean, their generic peas are 70 cents cheaper than Green Giant, but they are also mushy as heck. So based on my previous peas experience, there was a good chance it would taste more like black cherry cough syrup than soda.
I didn't know it was Vess, okay?
REMEMBER THE PEAS, PLEASE!
I fell into a soda research rabbit hole. Vess was acquired by a company called Cott Beverages in 1994. And Cott was then acquired by a company called Refresco in 2018. And Refresco partnered with Coca-Cola and is now their main manufacturer in the United States.
So I guess it is actually a Refresco Cott Vess Schnucks brand black cherry soda in partnership with Coca-Cola.
Capitalism is fucking weird, dude.
So the possible cough syrup RefresCoVesScnhucks was in my cart. I was considering taking the risk.
But then I noticed... the Fitz's section.
A locally owned and operated boutique soda bottler.
*heavenly music*
And do you know who owns Fitz's?
Mr. Alfred J. Fitz!
(I don't actually know his first name or middle initial.)
Who founded Fitz's in 1947 as a drive-in restaurant based around his popular secret root beer recipe.
That's right. Fitz's was not enveloped by an incestuous line of conglomerates successively eating each other.
And because of that, they went out of business in 1976. The soda biz is rough if you don't have a multinational manufacturing and distribution network.
But then Fitz's was revived in 1993 by two plucky entrepreneurs who were determined to rebuild the brand using the original secret root beer recipe from Mr. Alfred J. Fitz.
Small business wins the day!
And then they sold out to The Westgate Group in late 1999.
Which then sold it again to Clayton Capital Partners in 2003.
Will capitalism please stop fucking with soda?
But then one of those plucky entrepreneurs thought the brand was being damaged by soulless investment firms and bought back Fitz's. He restored it to glory and I'm sure he will never sell it again*. He is intent on maintaining the Fitz's tradition and image as a beloved St. Louis small business that culturally enriches our famed Delmar Loop with vintage soda bottling techniques customers can watch when they visit the Fitz's restaurant. Neat!
*Unless RefresCoVesScnhucks offers him a bunch of money.
I can't believe I forgot about Fitz's. I used their root beer as a subject for one of my favorite product photos.
To make a long story as long as humanly possible my god why are you even still reading this...
...wouldn't you know it, Fitz's makes black cherry soda!
It is delicious.
Craving accomplished.
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chanel chance - part two
{dilf!/suggardaddy!seonghwa x reader}
sypnosis: after ariving to mr. parks place, you realize that he's more different than you thought he would be...
here's a link to my masterlist <3 | link to part 1 and part 3
warnings: age difference (y/n is 21, seonghwa is 29), eventual smut, language, kind of slow burn, sad attemps at humor. wc: 2.9k
"i told you he was rich," jisung says in an 'i told you so' tone. normally, you would laugh at his comment, but your mind is still trying to process what is happening. you're not just going to babysit any girl. you're going to babysit the daughter of one of the biggest law company’s ceo's in your country. to say that you're terrified would be an understatement. sweat is starting to form at the back of your knees because of the situation you’re in right now. you thank yourself for deciding to wear long trousers.
"guys, i think mr. park is the ceo of my uncle's law company." you say timidly. "obviously since he lives in this type of area," minho adds.
"wait, i thought he was just some co-worker of your uncle's?" jisung asks, confusion laced within his words. you then explain to him what you discovered. both him and minho are stunned.
minho drives further up to the gate. a tall man, dressed in a black suit and dark sunglasses approaches the car, and signals it to stop before the gate. he comes closer to the window of the driver's seat, and leans down. minho rolls down the window, while clearing his throat.
"please show me some ID," the man says in an awfully stern voice. the aura that he emits is scarier than you thought it would be. minho reaches into his wallet to hand him his ID, you and jisung follow suit.
"okay," the man speaks while distributing back your ID's. "and what is your business here," his face is so expressionless, it intimidates you enormously. you decide to speak up at his question, as you're the reason for this encounter.
"i am here to visit mr. park seonghwa. i am scheduled to babysit his daughter." you pull out your phone to show the man your texts between you and mr. park for extra conformation. “and what about these two?" the man points to minho and jisung, with his eyebrows raised. you explain to the man that since you have no car, they drove you here. luckily, he lets you through the gate, telling minho leave right after dropping you off at mr. park's residence.
you three gasp in awe at the gorgeous mansions in the secluded neighborhood. some of them looked more modern than others. various had castle-like details on the roofing. every few seconds jisung would hit at minho's shoulder and scream at the magnificence of the homes.
the further the car into the neighborhood, the space between the homes became greater. mr. park's house number is 46. as you reach house number 45, the one across it is in yours and minho and jisung’s opinion the most beautiful. "this is 46 right?" minho asks, while eyeing up the house. It isn't as big in height as the other ones. however, it reached out more than the others. it looked to be two stories high, with a rectangular shape. the top of the home stood out more, giving it an abstract look. the first floor had a black expensive tiling, while the second floor had beautiful woodwork on it, with a stunning dark brown stain to it. the second floor had massive floor-to-ceiling windows tinted in a dark blue colour.
it had a deeper front yard than the other homes, making it look bigger. tall dark green trees surrounded the home. a combination of white hydrangeas and pink sweet peas covered the front of the home.
"holy shit," is all you could say.
"how rich is this man?" minho asks.
"he's the ceo of the biggest law company in our country. he is extremely rich." you answer.
you look at the time, it read 3:47 p.m. thank god you're earlier you think. you would not want to show up late, making a bad first impression on this man could not only ruin your chances of getting this job. but, could also ruin your uncle's job.
"well, what are you waiting for? get out." minho says. you realize that you have been in the car the entire time, and not walking to the front door. you grab at your things, it really is just your phone and wallet that you had to carry, and exit the car with wobbly legs. you wave at minho and jisung, and observe them drive off. they choose not to stay and sneak a peek at mr. park because they're scared that the man with the sunglasses who greeted you would be mad.
now you're left on your own, you start walking to the front door, thinking about what you might say to a ceo. you have certainly not met anyone so important in your life, let alone be in charge of their child. what if something bad occurs? what if the child does not like your personality? what if you say the wrong thing in front of mr. park?
millions of negative thoughts are roaming through your head, of all the possibilities that may possibly come about. they take a halt once you arrive at the big black front door. it caves in the house, and a small step that makes it more secluded. there are bright lights on the top of it, shining bright on you. there are black cast iron handles that are attached to the door. you pull on them and knock lightly twice. you feel your palms start to sweat even more.
you see the door opening, and you're met face to face with a lady in an all black uniform. she has a big smile on her face as she greets you. it's quite comforting for your situation.
"you must be here for the babysitting position. come in sweetie, and don't forget to take your shoes off." you do as you are told and follow the lady into the spacious living room. the interior of the home is absolutely gorgeous. it looks like something you would see in a magazine. the floors are a beautifully stained hardwood. the walls are also made of the same material. the ceiling is black, and has built-in pot lights. the living room looks like it's double the size of your apartment.
you sit on the black leather couch, and the lady instructs you. "i'll go fetch mr. park, and let him know you're a bit early. may i offer you something before i leave?"
you smile back at her, and place your hands politely on your lap, with your legs crossed. "i'm all right, thank you very much." the lady nods her head and leaves the enormous room. you're too nervous to look at your phone, in case mr. park comes into the room, and might think you are impolite.
a minute or two passes by, and you hear the sounds of someone approaching. you correct your poster, to make sure you look as best as possible.
"we finally meet ms. L/n." you hear a man say. your recognize the deep voice, and look to the left where he came in. when you turn, your eyes meet with the most beautiful man you have ever seen. his dark hair gelled forward. he's wearing a balck suit with the buttons done up. he's wearing a while collared shirt underneath with a neatly knotted tie, and a silver clip attached to it. he has sharp god-like features, especially his dark eyes. he looks quite intimidating, you may add.
you quickly get up, and place your hands at your sides. "hello mr. park, it's nice to meet you." you say while smiling, trying to look and sound as polite as you can.
"likewise. i will get my daughter in a second, i would just like to talk to you first." he says, while smiling. aa second ago, he looked like the most intimidating person, but when he smiles he looks as if he wouldn't harm a fly. you're trying your best to concentrate on what he's telling, but it's difficult due to his beauty.
"of course sir."
"great. can i get you a drink?" he asks. this time you feel like you should accept the offer, not wanting to seem rude.
"yes thank you, may i have a water?" you answer.
says to follow him into the kitchen. so he can get you a water bottle. "you know, your uncle is a dear friend of mine. he talks about you whenever he gets the chance. so when he told me that you offered to babysit my daughter, i had hardly any doubts," he says. his voice is so relaxed. he's speaking with you as if he'd known you for years.
you on the other hand, are trying your best to not freak out. "oh really? well, i'm very happy you chose to consider me mr. park. i will do my best,"
he laughs, while opening the huge stainless steal fridge, and grabbing two water bottles. his laugh is probably the prettiest sound you have ever heard, it's deep and a bit contagious. however, you're a bit confused by his reaction. "your uncle told me you would say something like that."
just just laugh a little, and can feel your cheeks turning red at his comment. he hands you the cold water bottle, and beckons for you to sit. "so, i hear you're currently studying pharmaceuticals?" you simply nod, and answer with a polite 'yes'.
"that is so fascinating. you must be quite bright? i find that medicine is too hard, so many terms, i would be so confused," he says, while turning his head around acting like he's confused.
you both had talked for a few minutes, and you must admit, mr. park is quite funny and charming. he cracks little jokes every-so-often when he or you says something. despite your earlier feelings, you're starting to feel more comfortable the more you speak with him. you never would have expected mr. park to be so good-looking and down to earth at the same time. it's making you feel better about the job, and fall for him even more.
-
after saying your goodbyes to mr. park as he leaves the house to attend an important meeting, you're now left alone with his daughter jieun. you had your doubts about taking care of a child for three hours, however she is the sweetest girl to ever exist.
she's quite a smart girl. already so advanced in school than her other classmates. and when she speaks she smiles so brightly, you can't help but fall in love with her immediately.
-
the next three hours went by rather quickly, you and jieun spent most of the time paying games, and watching her favourite cartoons. she would point out to you all the names of the characters, even dancing along to the music played for intos of the shows.
then she brought out all of her little artworks, showing you the various pink and red scribbles. she said one of them was a cat, but it really was a circle and two dots. but who are you to say no to such a sweet girl like her? you just agree and praise her for her artistic skills. she smiled shyly at your words, her cute cheeks turning a shade of pink.
you hear the door opening, picking up your phone and checking the time, you realize it 8:05 p.m. you also see that minho and jisung had texted you, saying that they're outside of the gate waiting for you. they are also asking how is it going.
dumbass (minho):
[5:16 p.m.] how's it going? is mr. ceo nice? do i have to beat him up yet?
dumbass's boyfriend (jisung):
[5:18 p.m.] is he a dilf? pls we need details y/n (and is credit card info-)
dumbass (minho):
[7:59 p.m.] since you're not answering, we're by the gate with the guy who has a stick up his ass. let me know when you're out
you:
[8:00 p.m.] i'll be at the gate in a few minutes. i have so much to tell you omfg
-
you see mr. park entering the house, as you finished putting away jieun's pencil crayons and colouring books.
"daddy! you're home!!" you hear jieun say, while running up to mr. park. he takes her in his arms, and lifts her up easily to his eye level. he gives her a kiss on her forehead, "daddy missed you sweetie. did you miss daddy?" he asks, in the sweetest voice. the expression on his face is filled with adoration for his daughter. the way he holds on to her, making sure she's secure, and could not fall. you can't help but smile at the two., while standing just beside them.
"yes i did!" jieun says while grabbing onto her dad's jacket that is now unbuttoned.
"aww. and how did you like spending time with y/n?" he asked.
jieun smiled brightly and said, "i like her a lot, she said my cat was pretty! and..." she whispered into her dad's ear, "she's very pretty."
you were able to hear her last comment as you were standing next to them. you smiled and turned a little red in the face at the cute little girl's compliment. mr. park nods his head in agreement saying a little 'yes', while looking at you with a warm smile. you had to metally remind yourself that you cannot scream right then and there with what mr. park had just done.
"why don't you say goodbye to ms. L/n, and go to your room, i'll be up there in a few minutes okay jieun?" mr. park says. the little girl waves at you and says an adorable 'bye bye' and goes upstairs to her room.
now you are left alone with mr. park again. this time you start speaking. "i should probably get going now," you say, looking at any place that is not mr. park's gorgeous face, and eyes.
"don't leave yet," he says. you're a bit intrigued now, wondering at what he will say next. "i still have to pay you for taking care of jieun." you laugh at the realization that he hadn't paid you yet. of course he would say that, why were you thinking of something else. he reaches for his wallet in his pants pocket, and pulls out the money to give to you.
"i think this should be enough, let me know if you need more," he hands you the money, you take a look at it, and it's 70$. this is already way too much, and he asked if you wanted more?
"this already more than enough mr. park, thank you." you say while putting the money in your pocket, and putting your shoes on. as you head for the door, and say your final goodbyes to the man behind you, he says something.
"you have a ride back home yes?" he asks. you explain that your friend dropped you off and picked you up for today. "oh i see, it's getting quite dark out, let me walk to the front gate at least."
"oh no, mr. park, i'm okay. i would not want to waste your time," you answer waving your hands in front of you.
"please, i insist." he gives you a pleading look that you just can't resist. plus if a man this good-looking and rich would want to walk you, who are you to say no?
-
you and mr. park engage in a conversation about jieun. you tell him that you adore his daughter, and cannot believe how inteligente she is at such a young age. he just answers with a laugh, and continues about how he doesn't understand how smart she is as well. he goes on a little more about his daughter. you don't really pay much attention though. you're too focused at how young he looks, his skin is the definition of perfection. you wonder how much he looks after it.
as the silence between you both starts to become a bit awkward, he asks you a question.
"is your friend always going to drive you here?"
"he usually has work, so not really. i know the bus stop is only a five minute walk from here, so i can just get here by that. i will have to make sure the guard at the front of the gate will let me in," you say half jokingly.
"oh yeah, i know john can be quite intimidating sometimes. i'll tell him that he will be seeing you quite often from now on."
you get excited at what mr. park had just said. does that mean you got the job? "seeing me quite often?" you ask, a little unsure.
"yes, you have the job ms. L/n" mr. park says.
-
a/n: omg guys part two is done!! I never expected so many people to be added to the tagslist for this omg <33 i’m in love with writing this story right now!!
and just to give a bit more clarification, this will be very similar to a slow burn, and the plot will evolve more. there will be smut, but that will be in the later chapters. i am also thinking of adding on different things to this story as well, (it will be a ff of seonghwa’s pov of the story) but i’m not so sure if i should do it or not.
for anyone who would like to be included in my tagslist please leave a comment, or message me!! it is never too late to add you. also please tell me what you think of the story (if you’d like to!). i see every comment, and notification <3
tagslist: @miamyre @luabahngg @flowersiinherhaiir @vvsmydiamonds127 @prodsh00ky @jhmylove @sunwoosberrie @jenotation @m4rsluv @seonghwasstar @zwiehe @kodzukein @aurumness
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assuming they were normal citizens of the world, what kind of ig users do you think svt would be? like who would post stores about you all the time, who would soft launch you, who would only post during anniversaries, who would post cheesy ass things, who wouldn’t post you until y’all are engaged, etc lol. thank you! 😍
i feel like some of these still have an air of fame to them… like some of this shit fans would eat up/they have a feeling of being shared with an audience of strangers
seungcheol: he posts adorable videos of you that make everyone swoon. the most recent is you barefoot at his cousin’s wedding reception dancing in the grass with a glass of champagne in hand. you look heavenly, and his captured ooos and laughter are heart melting. in the corner of every video posted is a little *i have consent to share* because in some clips, it’s clear that you have no idea he’s filming, and that makes them even sweeter
jeonghan: you’re a complete weirdo, and he’s so amused. he doesn’t document all the wacky shit you do, but some of the best moments make it to his instagram
joshua: the only time you’re on his social media is when you’re driving and singing pocketful of sunshine. it’s basically your version of sunday morning
jun: he has a highlight dedicated to everything you bake, and he does wholesome zoom ins with the perfect background music
soonyoung: he’s documenting his life on social media but is respectful of your disinterest in being perceived, so your face is rarely shown. captured conversations are always amusing because the camera is focused on his expressions, and he always :] when you ask if he’s recording
wonwoo: he has a story dedicated to the summary screen when you’re gaming together, keeping track of wins, and adding cute emojis whenever you beat him atta girl
jihoon: he has an anime highlight where you share ratings and recommendations. you’ve probably started an anime commentary podcast together
seokmin: he’s dating a musician (cello player) and has a highlight dedicated to your recitals. every evening of a show brings the same trio of pictures: a flower bouquet held in his hand + i hope she’ll like it, you on stage, and one of him hugging you afterward backstage. so fucking adorable and the captions are so wholesome: “i’m the proudest boyfriend” “🥺🥺😭😭❤️❤️😘🖤🤧😍🫠” “everyone stared at me when i whistled from the first row, but i don’t even care”
mingyu: almost every picture he posts was taken by you, and he makes hearts melt with captions like “taken by my love” or “she did good, huh?” someone stop him
minghao: he met you at a yoga studio because you’re an instructor, and classes at dawn end as the sun rises. he always shares that moment on a monday as vibrant colors consume the sky, starting off his week right, and sends good vibes to followers
seungkwan: he posts pictures of you flipping him off at the dining room table—it’s an ongoing saga—because you haven’t had your coffee yet. we’re two peas in a pod. you film videos of him running, calling out encouraging words, and promising to give him a massage afterward even though he’ll want a donut instead
hansol: he alludes to having a significant other but is never forthcoming. the pieces come together quite easily because of his flirty replies to your comments, and any time he travels the location is the same because you’re long distance. the reveal comes when you’re graduating from grad school, and he posts candids fixing your cap, kissing your cheek, and beaming as he embraces you.
chan: even as a normal citizen, there’s no way this man wouldn’t be dancing, and you always bring meals to the studio, so he posts pictures of the impressive spread before eating. he’s quite public about his relationship. also posts pictures of you strolling through the farmers market, along with posts of you wearing matching bunny headbands featuring green face masks
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Hi! How about one where Rick takes reader out to dinner or to another planet or something and it’s totally a date but he won’t admit it & they have a nice time together
Loved this prompt! I left it gender neutral so there will only be Y/N to describe the character. Hope you like it!! Feedback is appreciated. xx
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"COME ON, COME ON, PLEASE PLE- YES!!" You exclaimed, finally beating Morty in Street Fighter. You slam the controller down and pump your fist in the air.
"Noooo, dammit! Rematch me immediately Y/N!" Morty wailed out in response.
"Don't be, like, the sorest loser ever Morty. Y/N is clearly THE Street Fighter God" Summer said from her seat on the recliner.
You and Morty were sat on the Smith's couch, and had been playing this game for about an hour or so.
I laughed. "Well Morty, I would love to, but y-"
"BuUUUUT Y/N is gonna be coming with me now so you'll have to find something else to preoccupy your pea sized prepubescent mind" Rick burps, entering the room.
You and Rick have been seeing each other for about 2 months now. And you phrase it that way because you're not officially a couple, but you think both of you would like to be. Unless you're just delusional. For now you guess that you could just call each other good friends. Great, even.
"A-aw geez Rick, y-you could at least let me get a shot at redemption" Morty protested.
Rick rolled his eyes. "From what I heard through the walls, you will never have a chance against ANYONE in this house-somehow including Jerry- let alone Y/N."
You snickered at this, which made Morty wail some more and Rick give you an approving smile.
"AnyyywaaAAAY, bottoms up!" Rick yelled and shot his portal gun at the floor, grabbing you gently and pulling you through with him.
"RICK, WHAT THE F-"
"Don't worry sweetie, I gotcha" he reassures you as you land on what looks to be a blue cloud in the sky with tiny, white lights in it.
You turn to him kind of sternly. "Why did you have to do that? And where are we?"
Rick rolled onto his stomach dramatically, also placed upon a cloud. But his was green and had little pieces of candy around it.
"B-because it's more fun than taking the ship a-and we're in Javastellar, where you can move on f-fucking clouds!" He put his arms around the cloud he was perched on and it moved forward.
"Whoa, what the fuck?"
You took this time to look around fully and saw what must've been an infinite amount of clouds, each different shapes, sizes, and colors and adorned with unique items. Squirrel looking people and regular people like you and Rick were floating amongst them, laughing and talking.
Below the clouds was a lit up town, complete with tall bridges and art sculptures. The streets were bustling with stores and restaurants and you noted that no one was using a car or bus, as the clouds sufficed as transportation.
You gently placed your hands on the cloud and moved towards Rick, who was watching the town. You felt light as a feather, you were literally floating.
"Wow Rick... this is amazing" you said, gawking at everything.
You didn't catch it, but he was staring at you lovingly, pleased that he made the right decision to bring you here. He wasn't gonna let it show though.
"O-okay well enough of this already, I'm fuUUCKing hungry. Let's go" he belched and lightly grabbed your hand to yank you onto his cloud. Typical Rick.
You closed your eyes in fear as he steered downwards towards the town, driving the cloud like a racecar. You had no choice but to wrap your arms meekly around Rick's waist and hope he wouldn't eject you both into the buildings he was looming over.
He stopped at the edge of a rooftop restaurant, getting off and snickering at your shaken up state.
"P-please Y/N, you're fine. You should be used to it by now."
You both sat at a table, to find out that it had wine prepared and a hologram of a heart displayed in the middle with the words "Lovers Special" displayed over it.
You felt a blush creep up as Rick sat across from you and scoffed.
"I-I-I had no idea that was a thing here, d-don't get the wrong idea" he spoke.
The waitress, suited with a long bushy squirrel-like tail, waddled over to the table and gave you both a big smile. "What will the beautiful couple be dining on tonight?"
Rick slightly choked on the wine that was brought up to his mouth and started stuttering more than usual.
"J-just u-uh we're not a c-couple or anything okay, we'll just take the b-"
The waitress cocked her head a bit. "But Mr. Sanchez, you were in earlier this week to reserve this table specifically."
A deep blush now grew on his cheeks as you smiled and laughed playfully.
"I-I didn't know it would be THIS cheesy, I mean Jesus fucking C-"
"So it's a date then, Rick? That's what this is?" You nudged his legs gently under the table.
He sighed and gave a look of defeat but also hopefulness.
"No. Yes. If you want it to be, I guess" he said, raising his glass to drink more wine.
You smiled warmly now, leaning forward.
"Absolutely."
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