#i made pasta and garlic bread maybe life is good today
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1 am, gotta rant
gahhh, so much has been on my mind.
In-particular today, to be blunt its my dads homophobia.
We've been having such a good relationship for the last few weeks, so the tiny events and comments of last night unfortunately set that back by a bit. It made me not have the energy to put in any effort anymore, or fake it.
Last night he was sorta in a mood, tipsy and being extra explanative of dinner, micromanaging how I use the microwave to keep it clean. The microwave I scrubbed clean for 20 minutes earlier that day, without a proper thank you. He sits on the couch to eat dinner in front of the TV (we've never ate at the table as a family, in my entire life) I'm in the kitchen making my plate. I'm silent like most nights, normally I just make the plate, walk to my room and give them a nice thank you. like truly I'll say thank you two sometimes three times. Sometimes I'll often sit at the table, still alone, but almost in the same room as them. As I'm in the kitchen last night he chooses to ask me from the couch "so who you votin for?" "charlie crist" I say. He mumbles something about him being governor before yadada. "how about you?" I asked back. "desantissss!" he says like he has won gold. A moment passes, I ask "what about you mom?" "i don't know, probably wont vote"
I take some breaths. My heart is already racing. I've put this election into the back of my mind. I cant have it consume me, it already terrifies the fuck out me. Like seriously I fear I will be forced to move states for my own safety. Forced to move away from Cecilia in order to have the kind of jobs I want to have. My mind rambles to if Desantis wins again, and how his chances of winning when he runs for president would then be higher as well. All terrifying thoughts for me.
I step slightly out of the kitchen and say " you guys know I want to be a teacher right?" ... "yeah" says mom. "and you realize with the Desantis agenda "protecting your kids" includes making it legal for LGBT people to be openly discriminated against and not eligible for that profession, he openly wants to do that"---- basically cut off with my dad with the " I don't have a problem with gays, but kids should not be taught to be gay" "i agree" says mom. *big sad face and eye-roll*
totally missing the point, fully being a fucking idiot to be honest.
"nobody wants to teach kids to be gay, it's not something to be taught, it's about safety to be who you are." I try and explain that if kids are in a loving household, and show signs of being gay, that will be allowed to be reported and those parents could be punished or forced into programs that are basically conversion therapy!
It's quick explanation though, I'm shaking, my stomach has turned, I loose my ability to fully think straight on the matter. I've shut down and I don't want to talk about it. I throw my buttered bread onto the wall of the kitchen. (they cant see) and... I stand there. Feeling defeated, unaccepted, unloved, feeling like I lack their protection. I clean the butter off the wall, pick up the toast from behind the cookie jar that my mom fought for so hard when her mom died that her and her brother don't even talk anymore. I cant eat. I've buttered this bread I was once excited for, and now I cant eat. I was starving in my bedroom a moment ago. I normally take a while to make my plate. Tonight I got right in there and began making it. Even making a bowl of their (in my opinion) nasty salad. It has grapes, and olives in it. Bleh.
"would you guys like a piece of toast" I ask kindly from the kitchen. They're still eating their salads. Warm garlic toast just in time to begin on the pasta. Maybe they'll jump on it and say "yeah!!" I think. The facade I have gotten so good at turning on sickens me.
"nah i'm good" mom says
No response from dad, which means he's not interested. ?
"are you sure? I've got two made here?" I walk into the living room to their tv trays, plate in hand with two pieces of bread. "I don't really want it right now, it's just gonna go bad"
"no, why don't you want it?" mom says. "I just don't anymore."
I bring the plate closer to my dad, he gestures his hands up in a manner of *fuck i guess* and says "sure" he takes a piece. "are you sure mom, I don't want to throw it away."
"No you eat it."
"It's ok, i'm not hungry anymore" I say calmly.
Then it truly begins. Dad gets loud with laughter at my ridiculousness, moms grunts, A "Seriously?" and some yadahayahas mumbled from dad, "and why is that??" I step a bit out of the kitchen and make eye contact, "It's not a big deal, I'm just not hungry now" He's heated for a moment, bitching about it. Dad says "let me get one thing clear none of the politics matter. our votes mean nothing" blah blah blahs., Mom agrees.
I tell them to drop it, I'm not talking about it, it doesn't matter. Although, it clearly does. I tell them "yep, all I can do is hope"
"That's right" mom says, ok contradicting queen.
"Hope it matters somewhere" I say.
It's over. I ended it, other than a few statements from mom frustratingly saying she's going to bed. A few seconds later they are also on a facade of attempting to act like tensions weren't just at a high a few moments ago. But I cant even walk back into my bedroom because I don't know what to do with myself. I clean the kitchen to kill time, I take some extra time and care into cleaning to procrastinate it even more. I realize I have laundry In the dryer I can take to my room and fold. Perfect. I can walk to my room and hold the basket to where they cant even see my face.
"the salad is really good zak, mom says" while I'm on my way to my room.
"thank you" I say.
Why did I said thank you? I have no idea. I didn't make the salad. I didn't eat the salad. My brain is just too fogged.
Now a few things I took from that as I cooled down by folding and putting away all of my laundry. He had an annoying day, and he choose to stir a pot. He knew what pot that question was going to stir, he knew it would upset me, and it wasn't an open conversation.
What has always gotten to me on the politics topic is with them, if they really believe none of our votes matter, than why is he so prominent on speaking voting for someone they know upsets me so much, and wonder and hope that if they opened their minds to whats truly on this mans agenda, he would feel its actually the opposite of a direction he really wants. But if they really believe it doesn't matter, then why do you want to talk about it at all, when you know it will just bring down your own child on what they are passionate on. I have nothing to take from it other than at the end of the situation it shows me, he isn't really in my circle. This is the contradiction to his often "no problem with gay people" statement. He still hates that I'm gay.
This forces things that happened in my childhood/ youth that were down right abusive/unloving to a young child's upbringing resurface. At times I want to bring these things up and discuss them, but a large part of me believes he would shrug it off and say "pshh that never happened" because thats just how it goes for those kinds of things. I wish so badly to be able to have that open calm conversation that could open his eyes. I fear I will never get that, and I'll always have this version of him. So unfortunately I believe thats defiantly how it would go if I were to remind him of the time he told me in the 7th grade "if I ever found out you're a gay, I'd punch you so hard in the face your jaw would break" He'd either tell me that didnt happen, or perhaps worse try and justify it.
Looking back, thats probably why I never came out and discussed it with my dad. It wasn't until years of being out, my sophomore year of high school. It came up when in a screaming match. Me yelling at him telling him he didn't know me at all. Which at times still is true. Yet for the benefit of making him feel better, I told him that wasn't true and took it back that night. A night of many where I was the one truly apologizing and not them. They only ever half assed apologize, the kind that are just more excuses to their behavior.
I can accept my father for who he is. I'm grateful everyday for him and love him with all of my heart. Even though I'm not going to get the version I dream of. I respect and care for our relationship enough that I don't stir pots or call out things that haunt me. I wish he could do the same.
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sometimes it's just you and your little pot of pasta against the world
#i made pasta and garlic bread maybe life is good today#pasta#garlic bread#bread react#og#chaos brewing#good shit#fr#cottagecore#??? how does this have 1k notes what the fuck guys#hit post
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Maybe I lied and I'm actually going to carry on about Bucky again.
Training with Bucky and then after the training reader goes to shower and whatnot because training. When they come out Bucky is (attempting) to cook dinner. He's got tunes going, he's so hyped for the surpise but as he's preparing the reader is already there watching him vibing with his cooking and music.
He's mildly embarrassed but the happiness outweighs it so he pulls reader to join him.
Date night, Bucky Barnes
masterlist
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Summary: Bucky tries his best
Word count: 447 words
Contains: fluff.
Notes: i just love Bucky so much and the gif is killing me
Minors do not interact
Requests are closed
not my gif
“I’m gonna go and get cleaned up, afterwards, i’ll get started on dinner. Sound good?” You state as both you and Bucky get your breathing to return to normal. Training together was always a good way to challenge yourself and Bucky didn’t mind at all, the more time spent with you, the better in his opinion.
“Alright doll, see you up there.” He smiles as you retreat into the changing room. He waits till you're fully gone before sprinting to your shared apartment within the tower. He’s convinced he’s never moved this fast in his life but he really wanted to surprise you.
As he gets into the apartment, he goes straight for the shower. In and out, dried and dressed. Absolute record time. Now that's out the way, onto the next part of the plan. Bucky makes his way to the lounge, putting on one of his favourite vinyl’s on the player. The soft music of the Ink Spots fill the air as Bucky moves to the kitchen, getting out what he needs for dinner.
“I’ve got this.” he thinks to himself.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Back in the changing room, you focus on unwinding from training. Cleansing yourself from the sweat and smell of the rubber mats. You finish up and get dressed before leaving and starting to head up to your apartment.
As you near the front door, you hear Ink Spots’ “We’ll meet again”, making you curious about what's happening.
Is today something important? Is it an anniversary? Oh my god, did I need to get a gift?
Panic fills you before you decide to shake it off and head inside.
As you walk in, you notice the absolute state the kitchen is in. Pot of water, bubbling over. The smell of burnt garlic bread in the air. Splatters of pasta sauce on the bench and stove.
And there Bucky is, right in the middle. Sweat running down his forehead, hands on hips, looking around absolutely confused.
“Baby, what are you doing?” Amusement laces your tone as you make your way over to him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest as you look up at him.
“I was trying to make dinner but, clearly something happened.” His arms wrap around your shoulders, holding you close as he looks around at the chaos around them.
“How about you turn off the stove and oven, and we can just order dinner, put it in a pot and pretend you made it.” You smile up at him, pure love and adoration on your face.
“You’re not just a pretty face, are you Doll?” He laughs, placing a kiss on the top of your head.
#wannabemurdock’s asks#filthy friday#🔪 anon#marvel#marvel fandom#marvel imagine#marvel fluff#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fluff#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x reader fluff#winter soldier x reader#winter soldier fluff#winter soldier x reader fluff#winter soldier
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Hi! I would like a request about Derek from teen wolf, please. The reader is trying to approach him, taking care of him "because Derek is too busy taking care of the others", BUT IT'S BEING SO HARD because of all of his past. Derek and the reader argue one night because of the overprotective nature of the reader about him, and when she tries to leave the loft, completely upset with Derek, he tries to fix things between them. Could you do this with a lot of angst and, then, tons of fluff? Thanks!
Ignored
Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader
Warnings: Angst bbyyyy, and some fluffy goodness at the end, not checked over (so probably a crap ton of spelling errors)
A/N: hello hope you enjoy, sorry it took forever! I’m so busy with work, college and personal issues that writing has been put on the back-burner.
When the name Derek Hale was mentioned- one immediately thought of the broody, salty, sarcastic young man who lived by himself after the tragic Hale house fire.
Nobody would ever associate the name Derek Hale and caring. It just wasn’t in his nature. Because under no circumstances could Derek be remotely kind, caring or soft in any way possible.
That’s what people thought of Derek. But not you- or the majority of the pack for that matter.
Yes, you saw where others came from with their ideas and judgement (Derek’s lack of colour in his wardrobe obviously didn’t help either).
But to you when you heard the name Derek Hale, you immediately thought of the kind hearted man who would give up anything for the safety of his friends and family (as much as he claimed otherwise).
You knew him differently, you knew him like the back of your hand. You knew that his favourite food was Spagetti Carbonara without the mushrooms, that he didn’t like Coca Cola, that he secretly loved watching trashy tv shows like keeping up with the kardashians, and most importantly that he was running himself ragged.
He had bitten off more than he could chew when it came to helping everyone out. He was the one giving lifts and helping with homework and hosting pack nights, and handling Isaac’s nightmares, all of this happening at the same time as some supposed lizard creature being on the loose.
You had been ignored by Derek Hale for approximately 72 hours. Now this wouldn’t be bad if it weren’t for two things.
1. He wasn’t aware that he was actively ignoring you.
2. The idiot wasn’t your husband of 2 years.
Over 68 hours ago you hadn’t minded, you had even brushed the silence and distance off- knowing that Derek liked to have a little time to himself.
But when it hit the 5 hour mark of the 4th day, frustration and disappointment had begun to set in.
There was one more thing that made the whole situation worse. He was blatantly ignoring you- and only you.
It hurt. You could admit that to yourself easily without any qualms at all. It hurt.
Whether that was to do with the whole ‘mate’ side of things you didn’t know- all that you did know was that Derek Hale was drowning and he wasn’t going to swim until everyone else was okay.
-
Thud, thud, thud, creaak
“Der please sit down”
“I can’t. I gotta figure this shit out before the school finishes for the day.” Derek grunted from his spot in the middle of the room. His head firmly stuck in the thick, dusty book that he had been pouring through for the majority of the afternoon.
“Der please, take a break.” You pleaded with him, begging him to just stop for a second and relax.
“I can’t,” Derek murmured again, before he pivoted in his heel and walked away up the staircase.
His heavy footfalls retreated upstairs, the musty book still clutched in his grasp.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you willed the tears in your eyes to stay put and to not roll down your cheeks in fat drops.
Why couldn’t you be enough for him?
-
The next plea came around 2 hours later, when you brought a bowl of homemade pasta and garlic bread up to Derek. Hoping that just maybe it would strike up a conversation, that maybe he would utter more than two short sentences to you.
“Babe- I made you lunch.” You elbowed your way into the room, balancing the bowl and plate in your hands.
“Just leave it on the desk.” He motioned to an empty slot on the overcrowded surface.
“I just thought that maybe we could have lunch together, have some time with each-other.”
“Y/N/N’s I would- but I have so much to do. Stiles and Scott are already on my ass about the damn lizard freak in town.”
“Der, you need to take a break.” You placed your hands on his shoulders. Instead of feeling them relax you could feel his muscles tense up.
Shrugging your hands off, he pushed the fresh plate of food away, “I can’t.” He spoke simply.
“But-“ you tried to object in protest, trying to plead with the broad shouldered man in front of you- hoping that maybe, just maybe he would come to his senses.
He did not.
“I said no Y/N.” Derek ground out, “I’m busy. Please for the love of God stop bothering me.”
The words stung you, causing you to stumble back in shock. Derek had a hard exterior, everybody knew that. But he had never spoken like that to you.
He had promised on your wedding day that he would always be kind, that he would be your biggest supporter and largest source of love.
But all those words felt like lies now. You felt alone, like an empty shell of yourself. Why couldn’t you just be enough?
-
Hours flew by, the watch on Derek’s wrist occasionally beeping to signify the new hour. If he were being honest- he had lost track of what the time was.
The only signifier was that Stiles, Scott and the others were in his presence- meaning it was at least 4pm
And judging by the sky outside of his office window, it was late evening, as the sky itself had melted from cool blues into a fantastic array of oranges and purples.
But besides the low chatters and bickering coming from Isaac and Stiles, the house felt almost too quiet.
There was no tv hum coming from the living room, no occasional flush or running of water from the restroom, no sizzle from food coming on the oventop, no sound of a page in a book turning. Nothing. Just silence.
“Hey Derek,” He looked up to see Scott staring at him, “Where’s Y/N?”
“Well-“
“Yeah, I haven’t seen her yet today.” Isaac chimed in.
“I’m not actually too sure.”
Derek was met with a sea of blank stares.
“I’m sorry- there’s a kanima out there roaming Beacon Hills, the very same kanima that is killing more people by the day. And you don’t know where your wife is?” Stiles asked incredulously, “Are you kidding me.”
“Well I’ve been so caught up on this research that I haven’t been spending as much time with her.” Derek attempted to defend himself.
“Derek, please tell me that you haven’t been ignoring your wife.”
Everybody had there eyes on him again.
“Well-“
There was an uproar of protests, all of which were yelling at Derek for ignoring and deserting his wife.
“You better find her Derek, before something happens and you regret it for the rest of your life.”
-
You really didn’t know how long you had been out here for. All you knew was that the night was closing in and the chill was setting in your bones.
But you didn’t want to go back to the loft, you honestly didn’t think you could handle seeing Derek after his outburst earlier.
The cold, damp ground soaked into your body- sucking all the warmth out of your body at a creeping pace.
The spot you sat in, hadn’t changed much since your first date with Derek. It was still isolated and it gave off the best views in Beacon Hills. Nobody knew about it but you and Derek.
Sighing deeply, you looked out over the viewing point- watching the tiny specks of light flicker in the distance. Every single light showed a different life that was being lived, each one with their own struggles. Beacon Hills was something else to say the least.
“I knew I could find you here.” A familiar voice broke your train of thought.
You kept silent, staring straight ahead, willing that your bottom lip wouldn’t start trembling and the flood gate wouldn’t open in your eyes.
“Look I’m sorry.”
You sniffed, still unable to look your husband in the eyes, “Are you though?” You briefly shut your eyes to stop any tears from breaking through, “or are you just saying that to get on my good side.”
You could feel Derek’s presence settle down besides your own. His breath creating little puffs of mist under the dark sky.
“I didn’t realise you were trying to help me, until it was too late and you’d left the apartment” He muttered, “It’s my fault, I should’ve taken your advice, I should’ve listened to you.”
You listened intently, knowing his words were sincere and heartfelt, “Why didn’t you listen to me then Der?” You responded bitterly.
“Because accepting help means showing weakness, and showing weakness is something I haven’t done since before the fire.” Derek’s voice was small now, “Before I met you, accepting help was off the table- I was a lone wolf, with no pack or family. And now I’ve found you and I’m desperate to not lose that again, I can’t lose you to this new threat in town- I can’t be alone again.”
Silence hung heavy in the air as your husband’s words set in. It made sense to you; why he was studying non-stop, why he had barely slept or ate.
It was apparent that while he was trying to protect his loved ones, he was also pushing them away in the process. That needed to change.
“You won’t be alone Der,” You lay your head down on his shoulder, “I promise that much- it’s you and me forever.”
“Through every supernatural event that happens in this town?”
You giggled softly, “Yes, and every single thing in between.”
#derekhale#derek hale#derek hale x reader#derek hale x you#derek hale imagines#teen wolf imagine#teen wolf masterlist#teenwolf#teen wolf#requested
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Actually, Truly, 14k - Buck/Eddie, Helena POV, post-s4 (AO3)
Isabel calls to tell them Eddie's been shot on a Thursday afternoon and by lunch on Friday Helena and Ramon are landing at LAX. When they land, they learn Eddie's already home recovering and has been for two weeks.
----
Or, Helena (and Ramon) tries to find a way back into Eddie's life and doesn't know what to make of finding Buck around every corner she turns.
Isabel calls on a Thursday afternoon and by lunch on Friday Helena and Ramon are landing at LAX. Their son’s been shot, again, in the line of duty. But this time, instead of being thousands of miles away and out of reach, he’s just a short plane ride away.
Isabel insists they come to her house before going to the hospital but she doesn’t blame COVID protocols for keeping them away from the hospital, so they spend the car ride over imagining the worst.
A complication with surgery.
Permanent damage.
A coma.
The news they receive is that Eddie’s fine, and he’s been home and recuperating for two weeks already.
Helena retreats to the living room while Ramon and his mother fight in the kitchen. They’re yelling in Spanish and for once she wishes she’d never learned.
“Escúchame, Ramon,” Isabel tries to interrupt. Listen to me.
The yelling continues because Ramon doesn’t listen. It’s not his strong suit. Nor is it Helena’s.
Helena paces the length of the living room and holds her phone in her hands, thumb over Eddie’s name in FaceTime, not pressing down.
Eddie’s been home for two weeks.
Isabel hadn’t told them for two weeks.
But Eddie hadn’t either.
They hadn’t seen him in person in nearly two years, and he hadn’t called them since their last fight over a month ago.
Still, Eddie was shot in the streets by a sniper and he didn’t call them.
Mom, listen...
The last time they spoke, it was a phone call, not a video chat, maybe because at that point just the sight of each others’ faces was enough to set them all off. In that phone call, Eddie spoke of a friend whose family was somehow worse off than their own, but who, miraculously, were finally making the effort to fix the broken ties between them in therapy.
“Mom, listen… I spent a long time being angry with Shannon instead of trying to reach out to her and now Christopher is never going to have her in his life again. I don’t want that with you,” Eddie said, his voice brusque but calm, measured. “I don’t want to grin and bear it when you call or when we visit. I want to be glad to pick up the phone, I want to be excited to see you all at Christmas, I want you to be part of our lives. But I can’t do that without you meeting me halfway.” He was resolute, but he was pleading too. “I don’t want to spend the next ten years of our lives like this.”
But the idea of therapy was anathema to the Diaz family and it took only Ramon’s dismissive scoff to reinforce her own distaste of the idea. They called Eddie back to say they had no intention of paying a stranger to tell them everything was their fault and he was blameless.
They didn’t get another call after that.
“— my son!” Ramon yells at Isabel in the kitchen.
“Because, mijo, when you come here, you don’t see your son! You don’t see him living here, growing, Christopher thriving! You don’t see how when you come up here you bring sadness and misery when you should bring joy and comfort.” The words are too close to what Eddie said for them not to have spoken about it together. “By the time I knew he was hurt, he was already out of surgery and doing well. If he wasn’t, I would have called immediately.”
“Oh bueno, so you’ll tell me my son is dying but not that he’s okay?”
“Ramon! Escúchame.” It’s not often that Helena gets to bear witness to the steel in Isabel’s voice, the one she passed down to both her kids. It’s in fine form today. “He was doing well, and had all the help he needed. As soon as things stabilized, I called you. Keep acting like a fool and see if I call you at all next time.”
“If you call? Are you —”
Mom, listen…
“Ramon!” Helena snaps, surprising them all.
“Ramon,” she repeats, more calmly this time. “Listen to her.”
The shock on Isabel’s face almost makes her smile, but her heart is too heavy to commit to it.
“Helena, two weeks she —”
“Our son was shot, and he didn’t tell us.” Helena says, her voice trembling. “Our son was shot, he could have died, and the last thing we would have told him is we weren’t willing to fight for him and Christopher. Weren’t willing to — what? — put our egos aside? Our pride? For one fucking minute to listen to him. To listen to what he needed.”
Ramon’s eyes widen and he hangs his head with a sigh.
Helena faces Isabel, her phone tucked in her palm against her stomach.
“What can we do? We’re listening.”
——————-
Ramon walks it off and Helena helps Isabel in the kitchen in exchange for a promise they’ll go over to Eddie’s for supper. She’s been making care packages for Eddie and Christopher since the shooting, and she’s working on a pasta sauce while Helena starts on her famous banana brown sugar bread — Eddie’s favourite.
“How is he, really?” she asks once her dish is tucked into the oven.
“As well as can be expected,” Isabel replies, throwing spices into the pot with an ease Helena never grew into. “He was tired for the first few days, but now it’s like a broken arm. Uncomfortable but not so painful.”
“How long is it supposed to take to heal?”
Isabel casts a suspicious eye her way as if she can anticipate the date of Helena’s return flight adjusting already, but answers, “they say 6 to 8 weeks. It’s for the bone to heal, mostly, in his back. The rest should be sooner.”
Helena broke her wrist years ago, when the kids were nearly teenagers, and it was three months of hell trying to manage a household one handed while Ramon spent most of that time travelling across Texas.
Who’s helping him? Is Carla back in the picture? Is she working overtime? How can he afford that on sick leave? Is Pepa or one of the cousins going over? Is his girlfriend there? Who’s helping with Christopher? How is he managing?
The questions — all genuine and well-meaning, all a shade too accusatory — are on her tongue, pressed to the back of her teeth to keep from escaping. She’s entitled to answers, even if she doesn’t like them. She knows she has the right to at least know how her son is caring for himself and her grandson while he’s injured. If he’d told them when it happened Helena could have been here in a heartbeat to help, but no, Eddie’s just as stubborn as they are, just as prideful. He’d rather suffer alone than accept their help. Fine. But she’s still his mother, and Christopher’s grandmother. She raised them both. She has a right to—
Mom, listen…
Helena takes a deep breath in, anchors herself in the mixed scents of the rich sauce and the sweet bread cooking, and breathes out. Isabel sends her another look but says nothing.
————-
Helena cries when she sees Eddie, and cries a bit harder when she sees the apprehension in his eyes. Her baby boy looks a bit pale, but he’s standing on his own two feet and answering the door himself.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, wrapping him gently into her arms, mindful not to press into the sling or his back.
“Hi, mom,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to gentle the stiffness in his voice.
She releases him, but not before pressing three kisses into his temple, always three. One for each of her kids.
Ramon steps into the space she leaves when she continues into the house and from the corner of her eye, she sees him cup the back of Eddie’s head and take a good look at him. For Ramon, it’s the equivalent of collapsing to the floor in tears.
Helena quickly toes off her boots and makes room at the entrance for the others behind her, which also puts her first in line to catch a sight that nearly knocks her down.
“Who is this young man I see?” she cries, throwing her hands wide to gesture at her grandson. “Last I saw you, you were just a little tyke. Now look at you, you must have grown three feet!”
Christopher giggles and Helena smiles in return as she folds him into her arms, but it’s forced. She’s not lying — he’s grown so much more than she expected. She hasn’t seen him in person since Eddie’s graduation and while video chats are priceless, they didn’t capture this growth spurt.
She can’t believe she let this happen. That she went from spending most of everyday with this little boy and now she’s missed out on two years of his life. Can’t believe Eddie kept him fro—
Mom, listen...
Supper goes well enough. Eddie never truly shakes loose the tension in his shoulders; he trades many looks with Isabel, seemingly spooked by his parents’ behaviour. He talks a lot more than he usually does, probably out of nervousness. But overall, they let Christopher take the reigns; they’re all more comfortable with that. It’s been too long since they’ve last spoken and Christopher is full of stories about his school and his friends.
“Buck says we can go to the Griffin soon. It was closed because of COVID. But before, I went with my class and they made a comet right in front of us!”
Buck. It’s the third time his name has been dropped at the table since they sat down.
She first met him, briefly, at Eddie’s graduation, but didn’t really register him as someone in her son’s life until Eddie and his crew stopped off in El Paso for dinner on their way home from fighting Texas wildfires. Buck had been cropping up in Christopher’s and Eddie’s stories for months by then and she was curious to properly meet him in person. He had seemed...young, she remembers.
“The Griffith Observatory,” Eddie corrects fondly. With Christopher, at least, it’s impossible for him not to soften.
Eddie’s only eaten half the pasta on his plate but Isabel seems satisfied. Helena bites down on the impulse to encourage him to eat more. To remind him he needs his strength to heal quickly for his little boy. She does lift the basket of garlic bread in his direction, because she can’t help herself. He eyes the basket warily as though he expects her to do more, but when she doesn’t, he shakes his head with a small smile of thanks.
“Yeah,” Christopher agrees, “it was cool but we didn’t get to stay long enough to see everything. And if we go later, Buck says we can see real meteors in the sky.”
Fourth mention.
“Christopher is on an astronomy kick,” Eddie adds redundantly.
“Wait, I gotta show you —” Christopher is sliding out of his seat before anyone can stop him and racing down the hall to his bedroom.
“Oh, honey —” Helena grips the arms of her chair out of reflex to jump up and help him — he doesn’t have his crutches, he’s only using the wall for support and he’s wearing socks — but Eddie looks over when her chair creaks.
He can’t really expect her to just sit here while Christopher—
Mom, listen…
They can hear Christopher make it to his bedroom without injury, so Helena slowly settles back in her chair and Ramon clears his throat. “He seems...okay. More okay than I would have expected.”
Eddie keeps his eyes on his father for a beat too long, assessing the comment for any hidden messages.
“He’s a resilient kid. Buck stayed here with him while I was in the hospital, so his routine wouldn’t get messed up. I think that helped a lot.”
Fifth ment— wait.
“Buck stayed with him?” The words — the tone — are out of her mouth before Helena can stop them.
On the shortlist of people she expected to hear stayed with her grandson to watch him and care for him, alone, while his father was in the hospital — Isabel, Pepa, Carla, or even Ana — Buck’s isn’t a name she expected to hear. A coworker — an unrelated man with no children of his own, over Christopher’s family? Over Christopher’s own aide? Over a schoolteacher?
Eddie’s jaw squares up and he sits up in his chair. Like light gray rain clouds suddenly turning dark, weighty with an incoming storm, a heavy tension builds in the air between them.
“Look!” Christopher exclaims as he rounds the corner, nearly throwing a thin, blue hardcover book on the table. Eddie catches it before it can slam into Christopher’s leftover pasta and sets it down on the table for him. “It shows all the things we can see in the sky over the whole year!”
Christopher climbs back into his chair and opens the book up to a random page, describing everything he seems to have nearly memorized already. By the time he reaches the upcoming meteor shower, the tension at the table has dissipated enough for Helena to excuse herself to the bathroom and not have it come off like a passive aggressive storm-off.
She washes her hands with soap pumped out of a fish-shaped dispenser that wasn’t here the last time she visited and trains her eyes on the basket of gauze, scissors and tape tucked away on the shelf above the toilet. That wasn’t there last time either.
Her baby boy was shot by a sniper. In LA.
A bullet tore through the body she created and almost took her son from her forever.
Mom, listen...
But only after she’d almost pushed him so far away he might never come back.
The tears well up again and she sniffs through them, blinking up at the ceiling until she’s back under control.
As she pivots to turn the light off, she spies a purple toothbrush resting on the ledge just above the sink. The other two toothbrushes are electric — one adult-, one child-sized — and stand on the counter.
—————-
Helena and Ramon meet the infamous Ana by accident.
When they leave Eddie’s house on Friday, Helena sends a text message to say what she couldn’t manage to say to his face — that they’re here for him, in whatever capacity he needs, that they’ll take their cues from him, even if that means giving him some space.
To that, she receives a, Thank you.
When she asks for the contact information of the therapist he had scoped out for them, she gets a phone call.
“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth,” her son says, “but are you just doing this because I got shot?”
“Honestly? Yeah,” she laughs mirthlessly. “I’m sorry to say it took our baby boy nearly dying to get our heads out of our ass.”
Eddie huffs a laugh on his end. “Well, I’ll take that silver lining.”
After that, Eddie invites them to a restaurant for brunch on Sunday, but when they reach his doorstep, they find it already occupied by a woman who’s just rung the doorbell, holding a casserole dish in her hands.
When the door opens, Eddie takes in the three of them, his eyes wide and apprehensive.
“Ana, I wasn’t expecting you,” he says, his eyes darting over her shoulder to his parents. He’s smiling, though there’s a clear strain in the corners of his eyes and mouth. They’ve been critical about Shannon for so long — and with good reason, nothing will change Helena’s mind on that — no doubt he’s expecting them to hate this new woman on sight.
“You’re Ana!” Helena exclaims with a wide smile, imbuing her voice with as much welcome as she’s capable. “Hi! It’s so good to finally meet you!”
When Eddie releases the breath he was holding, she knows she was on the mark. Ramon follows her lead and invites Ana to brunch with them on the spot and won’t hear her protests about intruding.
Eddie, of course, doesn’t protest at all but invites them in so Ana can store the casserole in the fridge — it takes both Ana and Helena’s organizational skills to find a spot for it among Isabel’s and Eddie’s tupperwares already invading all available space — and he can finish getting ready. He was already dressed in a nice polo and jeans but when he comes back from his bedroom it’s in a smart button-down he must have struggled with out of sheer stubbornness. Both his parents and his girlfriend are in the house and still he didn’t ask for help.
Eddie and Christopher decide to hop into Ana’s car and Helena asks loudly for directions to keep Ramon from insisting they should all ride together.
“So how long have you kids been seeing each other now?” Ramon asks when they’ve been seated at the restaurant.
“Nearly 7 months now, I think, isn’t it?” Ana replies, looking at Eddie with a dazzling smile — she truly is gorgeous. Eddie was still talking to them when he started dating her so they know she’s a schoolteacher turned vice principal but to meet her in person blows all their other expectations out of the water. She’s lively and sweet, patient and understanding, Latina — a big plus in Ramon’s books ironically. Eddie picked well this time.
Eddie hesitates a moment and nods. “Yeah, that sounds right.”
Every now and again, he squirms in his chair, like he can’t quite settle in and Helena wonders when his last painkiller was taken. But when he catches her face, she smoothes her worry out into a cheeky smile that says I like this one. He smiles back and there’s nothing she can pinpoint exactly but something about it makes her uneasy.
Eddie’s too quiet as they wait for their food, his face pinched, and just when Helena’s about to break, Ana does her the favour of asking gently, “Are you feeling okay? Do you need to take anything for your arm?”
But Eddie shrugs off her concern. “No, thank you. Next one isn’t until noon.” He taps his phone twice and she smiles.
“Sorry, I forgot. He’s got them all on timers with a special ringtone. He’s so organized,” she tells Helena and Ramon with a sunny smile, rubbing her hand down his good arm. “I have one multivitamin and I forget to take it half the time.”
“Buck set it up,” Eddie defers, and Helena schools her face not to react; even at brunch Buck is with them in spirit.
Ramon either takes no issue with the mention or doesn’t register it. He takes the opportunity to share how his new pharmacy pre-packages his heart and arthritis medications into AM and PM slots and Ana listens attentively. Eddie’s fingertip taps absently against the phone case until their food arrives.
Christopher ordered a waffle, and with Eddie indisposed, Helena is already moving to help him when Ana beats her to the punch again. Helena tucks a smile away as Ana leans over and starts cutting the waffle up into smaller pieces.
“He can do that,” Eddie says when he notices Christopher sitting back in his chair, realizing only when Ana startles that his tone is sharp. His voice is softer when he follows up with, “Right, buddy?”
“Yeah,” Chris agrees, picking up his own cutlery with enthusiasm despite his hands being nearly too small for them.
Eddie throws an apologetic grin Ana’s way and brunch continues peacefully, though the stiff line of Eddie’s shoulder never does quite soften.
Mom, listen…
————-
Their first therapy session takes place in Isabel’s kitchen at Eddie’s request. Isabel thinks it’s so he has the option of leaving when he needs to (in other words, when he gets fed up and runs) but Helena hasn’t missed how Eddie has been careful to keep them away from his home since the first day they saw him.
They’ve seen Eddie and Chris numerous times in the week and change they’ve been in LA — more than they’ve seen them since they left El Paso — but always outside of the house. Sometimes they pick Chris up from school, sometimes Eddie and Chris come to Isabel’s for supper, sometimes they go out to restaurants or other outings, but they haven’t been invited back to his home again. She wanted to believe it was because he was hiding the news that Ana had moved in but that’s been shot out of the water both by her ringing the doorbell and an errant comment at the end of brunch about how she hadn’t seen him since the welcome home party.
So it’s out of pettiness, then. Stubbornness. Out of pig-headed inability to accept that he needs help and willingness to believe that they’re making an effort to meet him on his own terms.
She tries not to let it rankle her, tries to find some of that resolute commitment to letting things be and not push. But the next thing she knows, she’s yelling about it to a stranger at Isabel’s island counter.
To be fair, the session with Dr. Jamieson wasn’t going great to begin with. It’s awkward as hell, the three of them balancing on stools, squished in next to each other to try to fit into the screen, but also trying to keep the laptop close enough to still hear her and not have to shout. It’s happening while Chris is at school so they don’t have to worry about keeping him distracted but they can’t exactly ask Isabel to go wait in the LA sun for an hour so she doesn’t overhear, so it’s basically a given that she’s the fourth person on this virtual couch from the next room over.
And beyond that, Helena has kept her mouth shut for over a week which is frankly more time than anyone would have bet on, including herself, and given the opportunity to express herself freely...well…
“You want space? We’ve given you nothing but space since we got here. How much more can we give you, Eddie? You’re hundreds of miles away from us already. Forgive us for feeling the need to check in on our only son who almost died last week,” she yells, her hand nearly colliding with her coffee mug as she gestures.
“Last week?” Ramon echoes with a bark of dark laughter.
“Oh, no, that’s right,” Helena picks up. “I’m sorry! Not a week ago! Nearly a month ago! Because apparently we don’t warrant even a text when our only son almost dies, but that’s not enough space?”
Eddie rakes his fingers aggressively through his hair, his lips pursed.
“We have to move to Mexico,” Ramon continues blithely. “Is that enough space? No, better yet! Sweden! Your family still lives out there, no? We can live on their farm. Completely different timezone, we won’t even be reachable.”
“Yeah,” Eddie bites back, a sour grin blooming on his face, “that’s what I want. I ask you to give me some breathing room — to respect me, my life — and you translate that into living in a fucking commune in Sweden. And you wonder why we’re in therapy. I can’t talk to you, you don’t listen!”
Mom, lis—
“Listen to what, Eddie?” Helena yells, getting out of her seat to pace. “Listen to the months of silence you’ve sent our way? Because we either get on board and blindly cheer on every mess you get yourself into or we don’t get to know you anymore? Don’t get to know our grandson?”
“I never kept him from you — you have our number, the phone didn’t ring. That’s not on me.”
“Because you would have picked up?” Ramon exclaims, pushing away from the island to better look back at their son. “Easy to claim when it’s after the fact in front of the doctor.”
“So now I’m a liar! You raised a liar?”
“I think we’ve gotten off-track,” Dr. Jamieson’s tinny voice interjects from the laptop.
In the bottom right hand corner of the screen, only Eddie remains in the frame.
————
Firehouse 118 was a lively crowd at Eddie’s graduation but it’s nothing compared to the party thrown at the Grant-Nash house in honour of a new probationary firefighter.
Dr. Jamieson pointed out the self-fulfilling prophecy that Eddie protecting himself from criticism and pressure by withholding details about his life in LA was leading to his parents’ growing insecurity over not knowing anything about their son and feeling the need to intervene more and more.
The solution? Let them in on his life and trust that they could hold themselves in check.
For that, even Ramon was in agreement that maybe therapy wasn’t a load of shit after all.
So here they find themselves welcomed into this beautiful and loud home nearly three weeks into their stay in LA. They were allowed to pick Eddie and Chris up so they arrive together but Christopher peels off immediately to find kids his own age.
It’s impossible not to feel the warmth of family radiating from every inch of the home so when Eddie’s shoulders seem to loosen a little as they walk in, Helena can’t find it in herself to begrudge him.
“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” a woman around Helena’s age drawls, crowding into Eddie’s space for a delicate hug he doesn’t hesitate to return. “Though I could have done without seeing another one of these for a few hundred more years,” she says, gesturing to the sling. “How much longer?”
“Another month if everything checks out,” Eddie says, releasing a sigh.
“It better,” she warns with a twinkle in her eye that says if she learns he’s been aggravating his injury there will be hell to pay.
The woman, they find out, is Athena Grant-Nash, wife of the 118’s captain and consummate host. While Eddie splits off “for a minute”, she leads them to the main area for drinks and introductions before leaving them to mingle. Captain Nash — Bobby — meets them with appetizers and introduces them to the Lees, the de-facto parental figures of the young man who just joined the team.
From the spot she claims at the edge of the dining room, Helena keeps an eye trained on Eddie outside. She feels an itch under her skin knowing it’s been nearly twenty minutes and Eddie hasn’t checked on Christopher, but she knows she shouldn’t go herself. Eddie can do everything on his own, right? He can look after his own kid at a party.
She can, however, go to the washroom and take a peek at what Christopher’s up to while she’s wandering, and that’s exactly what she intends to do.
But for now, she watches as Eddie criss-crosses through the crowds of the patio, prompting a localized burst of cheers at each stop as he reunites himself with teammates he hasn’t seen since the shooting. She recognizes the woman who was on the trip to Texas but the rest conjure only the vaguest memories of Eddie’s graduation and the occasional picture on Instagram — before he stopped posting that is. Just one more way they’ve been iced out.
But he seems happy, almost carefree in a way she realizes she hasn’t seen with her own eyes in...longer than this trip, actually.
Probably years, if she’s honest.
And it occurs to her, slowly, creepingly, that her son is outside, smiling freely and easily, surrounded by people he’s made his new family, while Helena stands inside watching his life through a glass window in a stranger’s house.
Mom, listen…
She swallows past the lump in her throat and sighs. Ramon’s arm comes around her waist and without looking at him, she knows he’s had a similar revelation.
Their next therapy session is in a few days, and they’re not going to fuck it up again.
There’s a late arrival to the party, one of the only people in Eddie’s life she can recognize — Buck. He’s as tall as she remembered but he looks a shade less young now maybe. He greets everyone with a hug or kiss on the cheek as he moves through the party, and bestows a cheer and an enthusiastic hug on Albert, the guest of honour.
When he moves on to the patio and approaches Eddie’s circle, however, the cheerful, long-awaited reunion of best friends she expects doesn’t happen. They catch each other’s eyes for a few beats and share a welcoming smile, then the conversation resumes as if nothing of consequence has happened. Buck doesn’t even linger long, heading back into the house after a few minutes.
When the cake starts being doled out, Eddie returns to meet them at the table and accepts the plate Helena offers him. Helena is scouting the yard for a chair he can sit on to eat when Buck reappears.
“He couldn’t be pulled away?” Eddie asks in surprise.
“Nope,” Buck replies with a grin before turning to them. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Diaz. Good to see you again!” Before they can return more than a smile, Buck continues, “he’s cheating at Unicorn Temple with Harry. Not even cake can pull him away.”
Eddie rolls his eyes and smiles. “My son is not a cheater.” To them, he says, “Buck thinks that whenever he’s losing at a video game, it’s because his opponent is cheating.”
“Not always! Just when they are,” he replies with exaggerated emphasis before scooping a piece of cake onto a plate. “I’m gonna go hide this in the fridge for him for later before it’s all gone.”
Eddie ducks his head and smiles down at his plate, and the questions are building up behind Helena’s teeth again.
Christopher’s been playing video games all this time? Is it an age-appropriate game? Why is Buck checking on your son? Why is Buck saving him cake when nobody asked him to? Why—
But Eddie looks up with an uncertain expression and says, “there’s a table out there if you guys want to join me.”
So Helena stows her questions and says, “that’d be great.”
They eat the overly-sweet cake in peaceful silence until Ramon casts an eye around and says, “you must be glad about the new firefighter. You won’t be the baby on the team anymore.”
Eddie snorts. “I’m 33 and my kid is nearly a teenager — and that’s totally not freaking me out at all,” he adds wryly. “Besides, I was never the baby of the team. Buck is younger than me and forever a kid at heart so I was never in any danger of it.”
“Oh god, don’t remind me that Christopher’s growing up,” Helena only half-jokes. “I can still barely believe he’s old enough to hold his own head up.”
Eddie huffs a laugh and Helena banks it as a win.
“Do any of your coworkers have teenagers?” Ramon asks. “Might have some words of wisdom to share.” Since you won’t ask us, is unspoken and politely ignored by all.
“Athena’s daughter May is just leaving the teen years now, but after her, Christopher’s the oldest. Harry, Athena’s son is 9 and Denny, Hen and Karen’s son just turned 8. It’s great for play dates but not for getting advice on what’s coming up unfortunately.”
“Karen,” Ramon echoes.
Eddie’s fork pauses on its way to scoop some excess icing off his cake and his back straightens.
“Hen’s wife,” he says curtly, daring.
Helena wants to roll her eyes at the posturing. It’s 2021, who cares who anybody loves. She knows Ramon doesn’t, not really, not anymore. It’s a 50-year-long reflex to make a comment, one they’ve been working, if only to have some semblance of a civil conversation with Sophia while she works through a degree in women and gender studies.
But she knows that excuse isn’t going to fly with Eddie.
It hasn’t flown since Eddie was 20 years old and realizing he’d lost a good friend to his father’s caustic words. And Helena can’t ever go back and examine the hurt in Eddie’s expression with fresh eyes. Shemanages to forget about it most of the time until something happens to dig it out of the cold, hard ground and shove it in her arms.
Mom, listen...
But she’s come to LA because she wants to be in her son’s life, in her grandson’s life and she can’t be a coward now.
“They’re a gorgeous couple,” she says, almost too loudly in her enthusiasm. “Are they thinking of having more kids?”
Eddie turns his assessing eyes to her and is mollified by her effort. “Yeah, they’re foster parents now. They’ve fostered three kids so far.”
“That’s great,” she says sincerely. Then, accidentally on purpose and only in part to bring Ramon back to a safe topic, she asks, “Does Ana want a large family?”
Eddie sees through her attempt, but nods. “Yeah, she loves kids.”
Helena doesn’t miss Ramon’s approving nod, or the dark look that passes over Eddie’s eyes when he catches it.
“Was Ana not able to come tonight?” Ramon asks.
“I didn’t ask her,” he answers, his voice a shade too casual. “This is more of a team thing.” As if they hadn’t just been discussing the other families all around them.
“That Ana—” Ramon begins but is interrupted by the arrival of Christopher with a hint of blue icing on his nose and Buck following behind him with two paper plates filled with cake.
Christopher sits backwards on the picnic table bench and uses his arms to lift his legs over while Eddie watches but doesn’t offer to help, and when Christopher is set, Buck places one of the plates in front of him with a plastic fork stuck in the top like a flag.
“Buck was finally able to pull you away, mijo?” Eddie asks as Christopher digs in.
“No, May took her room back so we can’t play on her tv anymore. Harry’s gonna ask his mom if we can play in her room.”
“Yeah...” Buck draws out, sharing a dubious expression with Eddie over Christopher’s head, “I wouldn’t hold out for that, bud.”
“Maybe you can teach the others how to play Scrabble!” Eddie suggests.
Christopher’s nose wrinkles, “Scrabble is boring.”
“Hey!” Buck protests and takes a forkful of Christopher’s cake in retaliation, which prompts Christopher to yell and attack Buck’s cake back, taking much more than a forkful.
The commotion draws attention to their table and Helena’s gearing up to tell Christopher to settle down when she catches Eddie’s eyes on her, waiting.
Helena looks back out to the backyard to say, People are staring.
Eddie looks back impassively as if to say, Let them.
Mom, listen...
Helena swallows her impatience, her anxiety, her embarrassment.
“Hey,” Buck calls, his mouth half full of icing, “did you take your 6?”
Eddie hesitates and that’s enough for Buck to swallow and look put out, already turning and lifting a leg out of the confines of the picnic table.
“Did you turn off your alarm again?”
“I didn’t turn it off the first time, I don’t know what happened.”
“What happened is it woke you up at 6am and you turned it off because sleepy Eddie makes bad life choices.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “You don’t have —”
“Right pocket?” Buck interjects, already walking away.
“Yeah,” Eddie sighs.
Christopher looks at him and shakes his head with exaggerated disappointment.
“Don’t you start,” Eddie warns, scooping a fingertip of icing and dabbing it on his son’s nose too quickly for him to duck.
Christopher shrieks and reaches for his cake fingers-first.
“Oh no, no,” Eddie laughs, catching Christopher’s fingers with one hand. “Truce, truce.”
Christopher doesn’t look interested in a truce and Eddie’s other arm is in a sling, so Ramon quickly pulls the cake out of Christopher’s reach, and then Buck’s abandoned piece and Helena does the same with Eddie’s.
“Not fair!” Christopher cries, still reaching.
“Your dad’s hurt, mijo, you can’t attack him with icing while he’s healing,” Ramon says reasonably. “Wait till he’s all better.”
“He’s fine!” Christopher declares with the confidence of a trauma surgeon as he tries to climb up on the bench.
Eddie’s not in a position to pull him back down and Helena doesn’t know how far they can take their non-interference but she’s not about to let her grandson hop over a table to fall into three plates of cake. She’s half-decided she’s going to pick up the cake and walk it back inside when Buck returns, depositing a glass of water on the table and a small white pill into Eddie’s palm before swooping in and tickling Christopher’s sides.
He shrieks loudly, gaining looks from all around the backyard, but it gets his butt back down on the bench and Buck sits back down next to him, boxing him in between himself and Eddie.
“What happened to our cake? How’d it get all the way over there?” The plates are very easily within Buck’s reach; it’s a question for Christopher’s benefit.
“Dad got me like you did!” Christopher cries indignantly, pointing to his nose. “I’m getting him back!”
“Oh man,” Buck nods seriously before his finger darts forward, swipes the icing from his nose and brings it to his mouth. “Mmm, this is better than the one I got you with. You sure you don’t just wanna eat it?”
Christopher looks unconvinced.
“How about this?” Buck ducks down to whisper loudly. “You call a truce with your dad, and then I’ll steal all his icing and we’ll eat it.”
The icing on Eddie’s cake is mostly piled in a corner of his paper plate. He’s never been able to stomach the pure sugary sweetness of store bought icing.
“Okay,” Christopher nods back, reaching out again for his plate but without making grabby hands.
Ramon assesses him for a moment before taking the chance to push the plates back within reach.
“Hey, Eddie,” Buck calls deliberately. “You should take your medication now.”
“Thanks, Buck,” Eddie replies with a smile that conveys an eyeroll. “I’ll do that now.”
While Eddie pops the pill and takes a very long drink of water, Buck “sneakily” pulls his plate towards them and scoops all the piled icing onto his own plate before pushing the cake back to Eddie’s side of the table.
Christopher laughs and pushes Eddie’s plate an extra few inches away out of spite.
Eddie plays the disappointed victim passably well with a half-hearted gasp and a shake of his head. “You little thieves.”
As promised, Buck doles out some of Eddie’s icing to Christopher who immediately protests at the amount left on Buck’s plate.
“Hey, when you’re a big guy like me, you get more icing. Keep eating your proteins and you’ll get there in no time.”
Christopher accepts that easily enough. “I’m gonna be tall like dad.”
Buck scoffs, “Aim higher, kid. Literally.”
“I am barely two inches shorter than you,” Eddie laments, not for the first time, it sounds like.
“It’s practically three. Are you really going to lie in front of your parents?”
Wouldn’t be the first time, is on Helena’s tongue because it’s been hours since she could speak her mind, but she holds it in.
“How was the trip from Texas?” Buck asks them suddenly, bringing them back into the fold of a scene they'd never left but somehow stopped being a part of. “Flights have new restrictions on them now, don’t they?”
Mom, listen...
When the party is winding down and they walk outside to the driveway, Eddie surprises them by offering them both a hug.
“Thank you for coming,” he says sincerely, though Helena hears the underlying “and behaving” and can’t help but bristle.
“Thank you for inviting us, mijo,” Ramon says; his turn to save Helena from herself.
And when Eddie lets them know he and Chris will be getting their ride back from Buck, Ramon takes Helena’s hand and they smile almost sincerely as they say their goodnights.
—————-
The next week happens to be Isabel’s 80th birthday and Helena and Ramon keep themselves busy by helping to throw a party that will reunite every vaccinated member of the family in the area (they’re not about to take a chance on Isabel’s health).
Things have been getting better with Eddie. They had a second therapy session, again at Isabel’s island counter, where they lasted a good 25 minutes before devolving into yelling. The next day, Eddie asked Ramon for a ride to physical therapy, and easily accepted his father’s offer of lunch after the appointment.
Then, when Helena asked if she could pick up some groceries for him and Christopher, she was refused — in no small part, she thinks, because he still won’t let them in his house — but instead of going off on him, she channeled that anger and resentment into nearly buying out Costco for Isabel’s party. It felt like progress Dr. Jamieson would be proud of.
That’s why, despite the party officially kicking off around 11am, they’re just past supper time and all tables and counters are still nearly buckling under the weight of the food. They’ll have to send everyone home with leftovers if the flow of people stops. Isabel’s front door has been a turnstile since this morning and Helena knows from experience it’ll likely stay that way until the late hours of the night. Most recently, Helena’s daughters made their appearance, and it’s not at all the reason Helena is back in the kitchen.
Despite coming from opposite ends with different travel distances, Adriana and Sophia arrived within a half hour of each other, a move Helena saw through instantly. The idea that her children coordinated to arrive together instead of risking the possibility of facing their parents alone sets a fire raging in her heart, and she realizes suddenly that she isn’t prepared to be hypervigilant of her every word with all three of her kids here now to push her buttons.
So, she retreats to the kitchen.
She doesn’t expect one of them to follow her in.
“I heard you guys were doing therapy,” Adriana volleys as she approaches.
Helena cracks open the tray of chocolate chip cookies and starts plating them, her face angled down so any kneejerk expression of distaste isn’t as visible. “Apparently, that’s what the cool kids do nowadays.”
“It is,” Adriana agrees, the bangles on her wrists clinking on the countertop as she reaches for the box of oatmeal cookies to plate. She’s a year into her Master’s in communication. What she intends to do with that is a mystery to them. So much of their kids’ lives are a mystery now. Helena closes the lid of the cookie tray hard and relishes in the snap of the plastic groove into the tongue.
“Paying a stranger to tell us when and how to talk to each other is cool,” she bites. It’s not posed as a question, just a bitter acknowledgement.
Adriana is quiet and Helena starts plating mini quiches onto the cookie platter just to stay occupied while her daughter walks away. Sophia is a yeller, she stands her ground and gives as good as she gets. Adriana, however, is a runner, just like Eddie.
But Adriana doesn’t leave in a huff. She turns to the counter and grabs a second platter, moving the mini quiches onto that one.
“It’s cool that you’re open to trying,” she says. “I think that, in any family where there’s love, there’s going to be hurt. And the longer we stay stuck in that hurt, the harder it becomes to talk about it without causing more. We get stuck in patterns that we can’t break out of, and people on the outside can be the best ones to point out those patterns and help you break out of them to get to what you actually, truly want to say.”
Helena knows what she actually, truly wants to say. That’s not the problem. The problem is that none of her kids want to hear it.
“I see a therapist,” Adriana continues. Helena stills and looks at her daughter, calmly arranging the mini quiches into concentric circles. “Since my last year of undergrad. When things got really hard and I couldn’t understand why. They helped me. A lot. Helped me figure out what was wrong and how to get myself through it.”
“You didn’t tell us,” Helena says, her voice thick.
“I know,” her daughter replies simply. “I didn’t know how. I’m telling you now because what I actually, truly want to say is that I’m proud of you and dad for doing this. And maybe if you don’t hate it...maybe we could try a session later too.”
There’s an offer in her daughter’s words, an open hand reaching out. But in that hand, Helena sees her failures as a parent, the judgement of the world for failing her kids, and she doesn’t want to reach her own hand out.
Mom, listen…
Helena looks at her eldest daughter, almost a stranger to her, with an entire life Helena is only starting to realize she has no part in. It hurts — it always hurts when the kids pull away but to realize she didn’t even know the extent of it...she wants to hurt back.
Mom, listen…
But she’s trying so hard to break those patterns Adriana speaks of. So instead, Helena thinks of the therapist’s advice leading them into a piece of Eddie’s life they wouldn’t have otherwise gotten to see and swallows past the indignation in her throat to reach down and find the words she actually, truly wants to say.
“You say when, and I’ll be there.”
———-
The sun is setting when Helena finally agrees to get off her feet and just enjoy the party outside while the cousins take over the serving and cleaning. There are four generations of Diazes gathered around but for the first time ever, most of the cousins are young adults, not teenagers, and it’s nice to be able to pass on the hosting responsibilities to them for a bit.
The sky is clear, the sunset resplendent from Isabel’s backyard, and the conversation is flowing easily. It’s a beautiful evening, warm with a gentle breeze cool enough to let her lean back against Ramon in his lounge chair, one of his arms wrapped loosely around her hip.
For the first time since getting Isabel’s text, Helena feels something like peace wash over her and she almost feels bad for the thrum of vindication in her stomach when she spots Eddie slumped comfortably in an armchair, his legs propped up on another chair.
He’s at home here.
Yes, he was at ease at his captain’s house but this is family, this is where he can really sink into the love and comfort and rest. With his aunts and uncles, cousins and sisters around to take care of him. And Christopher, who spent the afternoon running around and chomping down on all the sugar he could get his hands on, slumped against him, nearly asleep. This is family.
She knows he could find that peace back in El Paso, they both could. Eddie had friends there, and his parents, who knew his son better than he did for most of his life. And there are fires in El Paso same as there are in LA, but less smog, less general insanity.
But Eddie’s a lot like his parents, too much like them maybe, and once he’s decided on a course of action he can’t be swayed. So Helena has made peace with it. Rather, she’s made peace with pretending to be okay with it while she waits for him to come to the realization that he should move back.
And in the meantime, if they can mend this thorniness between them, then maybe she and Ramon can make more of these impromptu trips. Maybe even convince Eddie to come home for Christmas this year. At the very least, go back to regular video chats.
But all that ruminating feels far away right now. She’s moving gently with the rise and fall of Ramon’s chest, and she’s so close to slipping away to the feeling of contentment when a new arrival makes her open eyes she didn’t realize she’d closed.
“Feliz cumpleanos,” she hears someone say in half-decent Spanish from the front door on the other side of the side yard fence.
She doesn’t recognize the voice as yet another cousin or uncle, but Eddie shakes Christopher’s shoulder gently, and says, “hey, guess who’s here.”
It takes a moment, but the words penetrate Christopher’s sleepiness. His eyes pop open and he shimmies out of Eddie’s lap and into his crutches to power walk over to the gate just in time for it to open, admitting Isabel, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and a sheepish looking Buck behind her.
“Buck!” Christopher yells.
Buck’s smile widens and he immediately opens his arms. “Hey, superman!”
Buck crouches down and Christopher throws his arms around his neck, crutches and all. When it’s time to break apart, Christopher’s still hanging on and Helena feels a stab of dark vindication at what’s about to happen, and the look Ramon sends her way tells her she’s not alone. Because Christopher is now officially in the double digits, and while he’s always been an independent kid, becoming 10 years old was a big deal for him and his perceived level of maturity, and apparently the year he decided no one was allowed to carry him anymore.
And now Christopher’s tired and in the grip of a powerful sugar crash. He’s not going to suffer any indignities, and Helena knows she should feel bad about not trying to stop Buck. About just watching this play out to see him be rejected. But she wasn’t expecting to see him here, in this safe haven of Isabel’s backyard, in this space for family and loved ones, and it rankles her. It feels like everywhere she turns in LA, she finds him there. And his being here is just another nail in the coffin of Eddie stubbornly refusing to let his parents back into his home. That he would call his friend to this party just to avoid letting them give him a ride…
So she’s a little bitter, a little resentful of the persistent, low-key rejection. Sue her. Eddie has made it clear he doesn’t want them interfering anyway so this is on him.
“Christopher,” Eddie calls, a warning to not make a scene.
Buck looks over Christopher’s shoulder and smiles. “He’s fine,” he says.
Then he’s heaving Christopher’s body up into his arms and onto his hip and Christopher…
...Christopher slumps down over Buck’s shoulder like a baby koala. No sound of protest leaves his lips. His face, if it shows any displeasure, is hidden behind Buck’s neck.
And when Eddie gets up, it’s not to intercede, it’s only to grab the errant crutches before they hit something, and to pull his own armless chair out for Buck to sit on because apparently Buck is staying, and apparently Christopher is staying with him.
“He’s a bit old to be carried around, no?” Ramon says with a bite, because he can’t help himself.
Eddie, who’s been watching his son fondly, barely bats an eye. “He gets cuddly when he’s tired, and Buck’s nearly the only one left who’s big enough to carry him.”
“Ah, that’s why you spend so much time developing these,” Pepa says with a sly smile as she pinches at Buck’s bicep. The same familiar pinch she gave her own grandkids’ cheeks.
“Gracias a Dios,” Isabel adds meaningfully.
“That was adrenaline,” Eddie dismisses with a teasing grin.
“That was 100 squats and 50 pushups a day,” Buck returns blithely. “...and maybe a little adrenaline.”
“What’s this?” Ramon asks before she can.
Instead of prompting more teasing, the mood falls slightly and everyone looks to each other.
Finally, Eddie sighs. “When I got shot, Buck army crawled under a ladder truck to get me out and lifted me into the truck to get to the hospital.”
It strikes Helena suddenly, shamefully, that in the shock of finding out they’d missed the event itself, the hospital stay, and two entire weeks of healing, that they’d never circled back around for details on what actually went down the day it happened.
She never thought to wonder how he got off that street. How he got to the hospital. Who might have saved his life.
And she wishes she were a better person then. Wishes that learning Buck saved her son’s life overpowered her irritation at having him sitting here in Isabel’s backyard like he belonged here when Helena herself barely felt like she did herself. It does help, though.
“They released the street footage of the shooting,” Pepa continues quietly. “It’s on YouTube. Before I even knew it happened, Marguerita from church just sent me a link saying ‘they said it’s a Diaz, do you know him?’ and I saw.”
The idea of her son’s shooting being passed around like a cat video makes Helena sick, but Pepa lamenting how she hadn’t known when she learned about it in a matter of hours and sat on it for weeks…
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Pepa says decisively. “But they have an angle where you can see our Buck here go and get Eddie, pick him up like he doesn’t weigh a thing and get him into the truck to get to the hospital. Probably why he’s alive today. So gracias a Dios for those squats.”
Eddie and Buck are both looking away, both looking safely at Christopher while the table digests the news.
“If you were looking for a story of something really dumb, I can point you in the direction of another video of Buck,” Eddie says, his tone jovial but his eyes strained.
“You need to let that go,” Buck says in a definite whine.
“Do I?” Eddie asks. “Abuela did you see the video of the firefighter who went up the crane all alone?”
“Dios mío, Buck,” Pepa laments.
“Did you send it to me?” Abuela asks her, pulling out her phone and her glasses to check.
“No, mamá, it was an idiot firefighter but I didn’t realize it was the one we knew.”
“In the middle of an all-out declaration of war on firefighters,” Eddie begins, quietly for Christopher’s sake, but impassioned, sitting up in his chair, “this idiota and his squat count climbed up a crane ladder, completely exposed and defenseless—”
Buck looks pained. “I was wearing a bulletproof vest and a helmet. And that’s the job sometimes—”
“The paramedics’ job, actually, which you aren’t. So, no, that wasn’t the job.” Eddie’s tone edges into something darker without his meaning to. He takes a drink of his lemonade looking for all the world like he wished it was a beer. “And you know that or I wouldn’t have found out about it from Chim a month after the fact.”
Helena clenches her jaw tight and squeezes Ramon’s hand even tighter so neither of them can say, So you have a problem being left in the dark too?
“Buck,” Isabel sighs with disappointment.
Buck winces. “It was before— ” He cuts himself off, his wide eyes darting towards Helena and Ramon of all people.
“Hmm,” Isabel answers noncommittally, as if to end the conversation.
Just then, Sophia brings out a platter of bite-sized desserts, making the rounds of the whole circle for people to pick at before leaving it on the table. The opportunity to move on is there. That doesn’t mean they’re interested in taking it.
“Before what?” Ramon asks, his tone is forcibly casual.
The silence that greets Ramon’s question is heavy. Guilty. When Helena casts her eyes around, she’s greeted by stiff shoulders and a mix of apprehension shared between her son, her mother- and sister-in-law, and Buck.
Mom, listen...
“Before what?” Helena repeats, her voice uncompromising.
———-
The fight they have in Isabel’s guest bedroom is a Hall of Famer. It’s a screaming match, no doubt about it. The doors from the bedroom to the yard are all closed but there’s no question every member of the family — and Buck — can hear every word.
“Do you really hate us that much?” Helena demands. She’s crying but she doesn’t know if it’s heartbreak or fury, she just wishes it’d stop so she could lean into her anger. “Genuinely, honestly, Eddie.”
“I don’t hate you,” he protests, keeping his own voice down, making it seem like they’re irrational for their anger.
“Bullshit,” she spits.
“You must!” Ramon adds. “You hate us so much that you have to hate your sisters too? Your cousins? You would rather leave your only son to a stranger, some gringo coworker, than with family? That’s how much you hate us? Hate our name?”
“Our name?” Eddie shoots back incredulously. “What are you talking about, our name? We’re not royalty, papi, and Chris’ name would never change.”
“You would leave him to your coworker,” Helena stresses, disgust dripping from her tongue.
“To my best friend,” Eddie retorts, “who Christopher adores, if you haven’t noticed. And who adores Christopher right back.”
“That’s not normal, mijo,” Ramon warns.
“Jesus christ,” Eddie seethes. “Please do not star—”
“What kind of single adult man bonds with another man’s child like that?”
“You’re describing a tío, you understand that right? What, you think it’s weird that Pepa loves me like her own? You think Sophia should stay away from Chris too?”
“That’s family,” Helena argues.
“And they’re women!”
“Ramon, shut up,” Helena snaps.
“Buck is our family, and he’s a man, and he’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. If anything happened to me, Christopher would be taken care of like if I was still here.”
“Buck, the one who nearly got him killed in the tsunami? That’s the same guy right?” Ramon throws out, his eyes a little wild as he paces.
“The one who saved his life in that tsunami, despite being injured and then some. And the one who’s saved my life more times than I can count, including from being gunned down on the street. We’d both probably be dead if not f— ”
“Isn’t he the one who’s family is worse off than ours?” Helena recalls. “So he has no family, no support, no girlfriend even! So a worse position than you’re in now. That’s what you want to leave him with.”
“He doesn’t need a girlfriend to raise Christopher right, I don’t! And he has a great sister, he has the 118, he has Carla, and he has our family. You think Abuela and Pepa would shut the door on him? He’d be here every Sunday, with Christopher, just like I am.”
“And what does your girlfriend think of this?” Ramon presses. “The vice principal, she thinks this is normal?”
“Ana doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Eddie says, frowning.
Helena balks. “You think the woman you’ve been seeing seriously for nearly a year has nothing to do with long-term decisions about your son? You think maybe she wouldn’t want the option of taking Christopher in if something happened to you?”
“That’s not happening, he’s going to Buck and that’s final.”
“What’s going on with you and this gringo?” Ramon asks suspiciously. “Are you even going out with Ana or was that another lie?”
“Ramon, don’t go there,” Helena sighs, her heart clenching. That’s all they need in this clusterfuck, that layer of pain.
“No, let’s go there because you know what?” Eddie asks darkly. “There is no one on this planet I trust with my son more than Buck and yeah, if we need to lay it all out there, that includes the two of you. I know you love Christopher, just like I know Shannon loved him, but that’s not always going to be enough. Buck isn’t going to fill my son’s head with ideas about the wrong kind of way to love someone. He’s not going to tell him he’s not good enough for his family to love him or support him. Buck’s going to make sure Christopher grows up to follow his heart and find whatever makes him happiest in the world, no matter what that looks like.”
“How could you think—”
“What if he grows up to be gay?” Eddie asks pointedly, staring his father down. “You’re telling me you’re going to be the one to help him pick out a suit to go to prom with his boyfriend?”
Ramon purses his lips but tries, “it’s a different world now,” as if he hadn’t just tried to make crass insinuations just to hurt his son.
“Okay,” Eddie says, not believing him for a moment, “what if he’s trans? Tells you at 15 that he’s a girl and he wants to transition. You’re going to get him on hormone therapy?”
“Eddie that’s not—”
“What if he’s 20 and he tells you he got a girl pregnant by accident and he doesn’t know her enough to love her, and he’s not ready to be a father let alone a husband?”
Helena tries to speak but her throat is suddenly too tight for words to get out.
“You gonna tell him he’s not a man if he doesn’t marry her anyway?”
Ramon says nothing.
“Christopher is going to Buck, and that’s final.”
——————-
Helena and Ramon don’t show up for the third therapy session.
Their plane tickets were only for three weeks, originally, and as the days run out, they don’t talk about extensions.
———-
Helena is sitting out in Isabel’s backyard, trying to conjure up that feeling of serenity she got to bask in for all of two minutes the night of the birthday party.
It’s not working.
They’re going back to El Paso tomorrow, leaving their relationship with Eddie in worse straits than when they arrived.
There’s always been a tension between them and Eddie, but there’s also always been love and respect, and that love and respect formed a polite barrier around the things they couldn’t talk about. It kept their relationship safe. Kept them from getting too close to real honesty where things hurt in ways that couldn’t be walked back.
It feels now like that barrier has fallen. That Eddie’s finally reached the limit of what he could hold back and now there’s nothing to help them pretend everything is okay. Nothing to help Helena believe this is all something that could blow over.
That’s to say nothing of Christopher, who’s never felt as far away as he does now, even while they linger in the same city, only a couple dozen blocks away.
Helena scrolls listlessly through her phone’s camera roll for the last few weeks. There are pictures of Christopher mostly, but Eddie and the rest of the family are there too. It hurts to notice how Eddie is markedly happier in the shots where he’s looking away from the camera. Away from her.
Mom, listen…
Helena opens up Instagram and lets herself forget for a moment that anything is wrong. On Instagram, there is only joy and fun. And Buck.
Eddie hasn’t posted anything to his account in months but starting from the end and working backwards, Buck features heavily. He’s in at least a third of the pictures, usually with Christopher. One of the posts includes a short video that she watches. It’s of the day they unveiled the adapted skateboard, and it nourishes her soul. There’s no sadness here, or tension, only pure radiating happiness and excitement. It’s magical.
And it’s meaningful.
Mom, listen…
Helena is out of her chair and pocketing Isabel’s car keys before she can talk herself out of it. The drive to Eddie’s house is made with a carefully blank mind. She knows if she lets herself think about what she’s going to say, she’s going to spiral and get to a place where all this fear and sadness turn dark and ugly, and she can’t afford to risk it.
Finally, she’s knocking gently on a front door she’s only seen three times in the weeks she’s been here.
Buck answers the door.
————-
The house is quiet when Helena steps in.
She doesn’t bother taking her shoes off this time, she’s not sure how long she’ll be allowed to stay. But she notices that the space where her shoes would have gone is taken up by a pair of large boots she imagines fit perfectly on Buck’s feet.
Buck disappears into the living room and she follows quietly after him. The lights are off but the muted tv glows brightly enough for her to see Eddie reclined on his back on the couch, sleeping, and Buck sitting down on the edge of the coffee table to shake his arm.
Eddie’s always been a light sleeper, especially after the army and Christopher. He doesn’t wake easily now.
He’s wearing the sling, but it’s the only indication that anything is amiss with him. There’s no sign of pain or worry on his face, no tension in his shoulders. He’s practically melted into the recesses of the couch. He’s a picture of comfort. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s in his home, away from family, from expectations, and judgements. Just him and Christopher. And Buck.
Eddie finally takes a deep breath that shows his body is coming around but his eyes stay closed. Buck is murmuring something but she only catches, “ — mom — here.”
Then, at last, Eddie’s eyelids part, and the deep laxness of his body disappears almost in the blink of an eye.
“What?” he croaks, already trying to sit up.
Buck’s hands are already moving to support his back.
“ — says she wants to apologize.”
Eddie scoffs and sits upright, feet firmly planted on the floor as he blinks himself awake.
“Mom?”
“I’m here,” she says, stepping closer into the light of the tv.
Buck catches Eddie’s eye and they have an entire conversation in five silent seconds that ends with Buck nodding and getting up from the table, watching Helena warily as she approaches further.
“Watch your eyes,” Buck says quietly to Eddie before flipping the wall switch and illuminating the room. He lingers for a moment, clearly undecided about leaving, before saying, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Finally, Helena is alone with her son in his home. The quiet is almost peaceful, she doesn’t want to break it. Eddie does instead.
“Buck said you wanted to apologize, so I’m assuming he misheard,” Eddie says wryly.
There are pillow creases on the side of his face and Helena can’t remember the last time she saw him look so disheveled, so at home. It makes her heart ache for the days when she’d have to force him out of bed at noon on weekends, drive him to wrestling practice early in the morning, watch over him as he slept sometimes, just to make sure he was okay.
“Shockingly, no,” she smiles sadly.
Eddie blinks up at her for a moment before shifting down on the couch, leaving her some room to sit. She takes the invitation, but once she’s sitting down with Eddie’s full attention on her, she realizes not preparing what she wanted to say might have been a mistake. She has no idea where to begin. What scab to pick at that won’t cause more bleeding.
Then she remembers Adriana’s words.
What is it, under all the posturing, all the hurt feelings, all the history and baggage...what is it she actually, truly wants to say?
“I’m sorry I missed therapy.”
Eddie huffs a surprised laugh. “Of all the things…”
“I know, I know,” she rolls her eyes. “But I am. I…” She forces herself to slow down and consider her words. “I realize that therapy was an olive branch for you. One we took way too late and I’m...I’m just so fucking grateful we were able to take it at all, in the end.”
The tears are coming and there’s nothing she can do to stop them. They gather in the corner of her eyes and she tries to blink them away but has to settle for wiping away the ones that fall anyway.
“You were right,” she says. “You said — and your sister said, and the therapist said — that there’s a lot of hurt, and it’s become too hard to...to connect with each other because of it. And therapy is probably the only bridge through that. So even though I was pissed at you, I should have showed up.”
She hazards a look up at Eddie to find his brown eyes wide and cautiously wondering.
“Therapy is what’s going to help us and the only way to fail at it is to not show up.” It’s what the therapist had said in their first session. It had sounded like an easy thing to do then. “And that’s not okay. I’m not going to do that again.”
Eddie nods and looks away. His fingernails are flicking nervously against each other — a habit he picked up from her. “Is dad on the same page as you?”
Helena takes a deep breath, and blows out, “No, your dad is looking for a match to light the page on fire.”
Eddie rolls his eyes but there’s heavy hurt behind the indifference.
“I hid all of them,” Helena offers, “and left Abuela with the fire extinguisher.”
That gets a small smile.
“I really expected you to be more pissed about it than him,” Eddie says, he reclines against the arm of the sofa but no part of him looks comfortable with this conversation.
“Oh, I am—” The rage swells up in her. The outrage and indignation. But again, Adriana’s voice comes to her. “I...am...really, truly hurt, Eddie. I feel...I feel like you told me I’m not good enough to love Christopher how he needs.”
Eddie’s face collapses with disbelief. “You mean the way you’ve been making me feel since he was born? Are you kidding me?”
“What?”
“Since the moment Shannon got pregnant, you’ve both been hammering it in on us that we’d never be enough, we’d never be good enough for him. Why do you think I joined the army? Why do you think Shannon ran?”
The accusation makes her breathless, it makes that familiar rage bubble up closer to the surface. “Shannon made her own choices, you’re not going to pin that on us. And so did you.”
“No, I can’t pin that on you. She did choose to leave,” he concedes, his voice hardening. “But you spent five years telling her over and over that nothing she ever did was good enough, and when I got back you did the same to me! ‘Don’t drag him down with you.’ Does that ring any bells?”
“I spent five years helping her, being a second parent to Christopher when she was in over her head. She needed help. She wasn’t cut out—”
“No, she wasn’t,” Eddie agrees. “Neither of us were. We were stupid fucking kids who barely knew each other. She was supposed to get back on a plane to California when the semester was done and instead we got married in the backyard because you told us that’s what we had to do.”
“Jesus Christ, Eddie. You want to blame me for Christopher being born? For raising him in a family with two parents?”
“You’re not listening,” Eddie spits.
“I’m listening to you say over and over how I ruined your life because I didn’t let Shannon get an abortion. And that’s somehow the reason to keep us out of Christopher’s life now?”
“No, you’re not—” Eddie closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. “I love Christopher with everything I am. If I had the chance to go back and do everything differently, I wouldn’t. I would never. Being his father is the most important thing I’ve ever done.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I was a kid in over my head and my parents didn’t know what was best for me. Didn’t know how to help me. And I figured that out on my own, I grew up and became the man I am now on my own.” She wants to argue but he’s on a roll. “And that’s fine, no parent is perfect. I know I’m going to make mistakes and I hope to god Christopher can forgive me, so I need to forgive you yours. But I need you to see me, now. I need you to look at me and realize I’m not that kid you put in a suit in the backyard. I’m not the kid that signed up to get shot at instead of facing his life. I’m not that kid anymore, mom. I’m not.”
“I see that, Eddie.”
“No, you don’t. Because if you did, you wouldn’t constantly be telling me I need to move back to El Paso to take proper care of Christopher. You’d see that our lives are here now. I have a job I love and pays what we need. Christopher loves his school, his friends. He’s a popular, genius kid. He’s happy. I’m happy. And we’re doing good. But you don’t see that. You see that dumbass, scared kid making his next mistakes. And I’m sorry but I’m not going to let you drag me back into that spiral. If you need to be the parent to that kid, I can’t be the kid you’re parenting. I’ve grown up, mom.”
“So,” Helena clears her throat, hoping the waver in it will clear too. “That’s what the guardianship is? We...lost sight of you growing up. We didn’t give you what you needed. So you’re punishing us?”
Eddie sighs as if she didn’t understand.
“No, you know what? No, I’m sorry,” she switches tracks, her voice hard, “how are we supposed to see this new person you’ve become, Eddie? You left El Paso, left us behind, you won’t come home for holidays, you even stopped posting on Instagram, and when we come here to see you’re alive you won’t even let us into your home. So how? How are we supposed to see this magical transformation when you won’t let us in?”
Eddie watches her for a moment, weighing his words. “You show up for therapy.”
And that takes the wind out of her sails.
That’s what she came here for.
To apologize.
Not keep yelling.
Mom, listen…
Helena takes two deep breaths and crooks a smile. “Yeah.”
“You yell a lot.”
Christopher’s voice startles them both, pulling a short grunt of pain from Eddie as his shoulder jerks back. Christopher is leaning against the wall into the living room, wearing the disgruntled pout of someone who was woken up for no good reason.
“Christopher…” Eddie begins, trying to leverage himself off the couch.
Helena pushes him back down, and turns to Christopher, opening her arms.
“I do,” Helena admits softly, as Christopher comes over and leans into her side. “I do yell a lot. I’m...trying to yell less.”
“Dad never yells.”
Eddie smiles tiredly.
“Hmm,” Helena agrees, “I think there’s a lot of things I need to learn from your daddy.”
Christopher nods, his eyes drooping. “He’s the best,” he says, snuggling into her shoulder. She’s getting on a plane tomorrow so she takes the opportunity to relish in this hug, and press a long kiss on his curls.
“Ah, I thought I heard an escape artist on the prowl,” Buck says as he turns the corner.
“We woke him up,” Eddie says redundantly. “We’ll keep it quiet now, buddy.”
“K,” Christopher mumbles.
“Okay, buddy, let’s get you back to bed” Buck says quietly as he leans over to carefully scoop him into his arms. Christopher’s arms loop around his neck like he’s done it a million times, and his head falls to Buck’s shoulder.
“Buck’s the best too,” Christopher mumbles.
Buck’s ducks his face away.
“That’s what I hear,” Helena allows in a tone she hopes is gracious.
As they leave, they can hear Christopher say, “they stole your bed.”
Buck responds but it’s too quiet for them to follow the rest of the conversation.
Eddie ducks his head and sighs.
“That’s why you were keeping us away?” Helena asks, her voice more gentle than she thought she could muster at this point. “Because Buck’s crashing on your couch?”
Now that she’s looking, she spots the folded duvet stacked on the chair in the corner, the pillows tucked neatly below. It only makes her more aware that she found Eddie sleeping soundly on the very same couch.
“I didn’t — I didn’t want questions. I didn’t want dad’s look, the same look he has every time Buck comes up. The same look—” Eddie sighs harshly. “I didn’t feel like fielding questions. He was here for Christopher when I was in the hospital and when I came home… He helps. A lot.”
Helena nods pensively, and surprises herself by finding a kernel of gratitude towards Buck burgeoning in her chest.
“So, speaking of fucking up as parents,” she begins with a crooked smile that fades by the end of the phrase. She doesn’t know how to finish that sentence so she starts a new one. “The...hurt that piles up, that makes it hard to talk through...does some of it come from Matty?”
She can see an instinct flare up in her son to shake his head and dismiss the topic, but he doesn’t let it take hold. It’s time to face this.
“It didn’t help,” he admits.
Eddie and Matty met in sixth grade and became best friends almost instantly. They spent weekends in sleepovers, fought off other classmates to be each others’ group project partners, and spent every summer going to the same camps. Matty was an honorary Diaz before they even hit their teens.
Five years later, Matty came out to his family, and then to theirs. His parents took it well, Eddie’s parents didn’t.
The sleepovers stopped, the summer camps stopped, and if Ramon could have sent Eddie to another class he would have.
The day he came out to them was the last day he stepped foot in the Diaz home, a natural consequence of Ramon having run him out with caustic, angry words.
“We…” Helena licks her lips and looks away to gather her thoughts. “There’s a lot of reasons we reacted the way we did. Ignorance, more than anything. It really was a different world back then. But...the world has kept turning, things have kept changing and we can’t pretend to be ignorant anymore.” She looks Eddie in the eye to say, “we were wrong. We were wrong to chase him away. And if the day comes that Christopher is gay or trans or any of the other words we haven’t learned yet, we’re going to love him just as much as we do now.”
Eddie keeps her gaze for a moment before nodding. “I’m glad to hear it.” The way his shoulders gather near his ears says he doesn’t believe her though he’s trying.
Because when Eddie and Matty stood shoulder to shoulder to tell Ramon and Helena the news, Matty wasn’t the only one crushed. And they know, somewhere deep down, that their reaction was as extreme as it was because they were never fully sure if the hurt in Eddie’s eyes was on behalf of his best friend, or if they exploded before more news could be told.
And it still scares Helena to this day, to this very moment sitting on her son’s couch. It’s why they welcomed Shannon at first, the first girl Eddie really brought home, even though they didn’t approve of her overall.
But she knows now that there’s nothing anymore, not her pride, not her ignorance, that will stop her from trying to bridge the gap between them. So she continues deliberately, “and if this new, grown up version of you comes with any of those words, we’re not going to love you any less either.”
His eyes widen and for a moment she’s looking at her 17 year old son in the living room, eyes wide as Matty runs out of the house. She wishes this moment could replace that one, stamp out that mistake forever. But it can’t, so she has to make this one count even more.
“I’ll still be here, and I’m listening. I...I see you,” she says. “You and Christopher. I see you settled in so well here, even now with your injury.”
Eddie remains quiet, but apprehension creeps across his face and his eyes dart behind her where Buck and Christopher disappeared.
“I see the boots at the entrance,” she continues, her voice pitched low, “the extra toothbrush you forgot to hide away. The tupperwares full of food Isabel and Ana didn’t make. But more than anything, I see Buck. Everywhere.” A smile creeps up her lips. “The only place I didn’t see him was at brunch with Ana and call me crazy but I feel like you would have preferred he was there too.”
Eddie’s lip is being chewed to within an inch of its life, and his eyes are trained on the couch cushion.
“Hey,” she taps his knee. “You...grew up to be a good man, and a good father.” The words are so many years too late but she’s grateful to see them land as Eddie’s eyes begin to shimmer. “And you deserve everything you want for Christopher. Happiness, whatever that looks like.”
Eddie swallows thickly and clears his throat. “And dad?”
“Dad...has his head too far up his own ass to see or hear anything,” Helena admits. “But he’s due for a colonoscopy soon so I’ll work on it.”
Eddie chokes on a laugh that catches him off-guard and suddenly they’re both laughing, quietly so they don’t wake Christopher up again.
When they recover, Eddie invites her to the kitchen for a drink, where Buck is packing Christopher’s lunch for school tomorrow.
When she leaves, her stomach is in knots she imagines won’t smooth out for a few weeks yet, but a weight’s been lifted off her chest and her heart is full in a way it hasn’t been in years.
When she lands in El Paso, her phone pings with a message from Eddie: Hope you had a good flight. Free Friday for a call?
———-
When Friday comes, after catching up with Christopher, Eddie tells them he broke it off with Ana.
Helena digs her nails into Ramon’s knee instinctively, but she prepared him well and despite his continued reservations, all he says is, “That’s too bad, mijo.”
———-
Two months of virtual therapy and video chats later, Eddie tells them he’s bisexual. They react the way they should have all those years ago, and Helena tries to be grateful they got to have this moment at all instead of mourn for the years Eddie lost because of them.
There’s no mention of Buck, but Eddie’s eyes flit fondly over the laptop screen every once in a while at Christopher and someone else off-screen.
The call takes place at 8am LA time, and the sling has been gone for nearly three weeks.
———
At Christmas, Eddie and Christopher are waiting for them with smiles on their faces at LAX’s baggage claim. When they get home, Buck is there opening the door and helping them with their luggage.
Isabel isn’t there to mediate but supper that evening goes smoothly. The tension that lurks is anticipatory on all sides, a feeling of this being too good to last. But by dessert, everyone is sitting back in their chairs and smiling. And when Buck rounds the table to start the clean up, he places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, his thumb brushing the back of Eddie’s neck, and Helena watches as the last bit of strain melts out of his body.
The basket of gauze is nowhere to be found in the bathroom, nor is the purple toothbrush. Instead, there’s a third electric toothbrush standing in line with the rest.
Helena’s been keeping an eye out for opportunities to follow Adriana’s advice. To find the words she actually, truly means, and say them before she runs out of time. So before turning in, she takes Eddie aside and tells him, “I’m really happy you found your home here in LA. I’m really proud of the family you’ve made.”
And when she closes her arms around him, she can feel him fold into her like he used to as a kid, no polite distance or anxiety. Just comfort.
#buddie#buddie fic#helena diaz#eddie diaz#evan buckley#christopher diaz#my fics#my posts#y'all I struggled so hard to get this up before the premiere#please understand I woke up at 7am on a Sunday to get it done#my soul is weary#i hope you like them#omg I'm so sorry I forgot the readmore originally#it's up now
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i have never once been jealous of park chanyeol in my entire life
ϟ pairings and aus :: oh sehun x reader, college au, friends to lovers au, fluff
ϟ word count :: 2.3k
ϟ author’s note :: this is technically a part of a (now completed!) au i’ve been posting, but it can also be read as a stand-alone!! so, i hope you enjoy!! i’ll link things later, if necessary :) more notes at the end!!
Sehun hears you before he sees you, sending a panicked text to Junmyeon before you come crashing through the front door.
Except you don’t.
Sehun swears that he’s hearing your voice, though, loud and clear. He shoves his phone into his back pocket, ignoring the repeated notifications from his elders, and trudges towards the window.
Sure enough you’re there, alright, and that is your voice. Through the small hole he’s made in the curtain, he sees you opening the back door to a car, obviously searching for something inside. His eyebrows pinch together for a moment, unsure of what you’re looking for, or who’s car that is, but he’s not left wondering for long.
Because Chanyeol rounds the rear of the vehicle, playfully shoving you out of the way as he reaches into the backseat himself. He can hear the two of you talking, laughing, but he drowns out the words; too focused on watching the scene in front of him.
Chanyeol pulls out two white plastic bags, full of what appear to be containers of food, but that’s not what Sehun sees. He sees your bright-eyed look of affection, the cheek to cheek grin painted on your face as you take a bag from Chanyeol. He hands you another one, a grocery bag this time; the exchange is quick, but Sehun feels like he’s been watching for a lifetime.
Chanyeol must have said something funny, because he has you laughing again, gently nudging his hip with yours before giggling himself. You have him goodbye with your free hand, before turning to head for the stairs to the front door.
He rushes to close the curtains, almost trips over a pair of Baekhyun’s shoes on his way to open the door for you.
“Hey, there you are!” you greet him, shoving the door closed with your foot. Sehun smiles back, taking the bags of food from you while you take your shoes off, following him into the living room after.
It’s easy banter as you help him unpack all the food. You hand him the bubble tea, and excited, waiting grin on your face. It’s almost childlike, the way you glimmer up at him, waiting for him to take the first sip—like a kindergartner waiting for their parent to taste a cupcake they decorated.
It’s good, of course. It’s his favorite, and Sehun’s satisfied smile seems to be all the approval to you need.
“I got spaghetti, and ziti, and three types of garlic bread—and also carbonara. We probably won’t finish it, but if there was this deal going on and Chanyeol insisted we should buy as much to get the discount, and I figured Baekhyun would probably—”
“I think you should ask Chanyeol out.”
If Sehun surprised himself with the words that came out of your mouth, he surprised you ten times over. At least, so he thinks, judging by the way you completely freeze, wide eyed with an aluminum foil take-out container barely maintained in your loosening grip.
“You—what? Why would I ask out Chanyeol?” you question, blinking slowly and setting the container on the coffee table.
Sehun shrugs, preoccupying himself with opening the rest of the food. He’s careful to avoid eye-contact, lest tears threaten to spill from his own. “Chanyeol’s a good guy,” he says, words quiet, slow, deliberate, “And he seems to like you a lot.”
“I mean—yeah, Chanyeol’s great, but I, um, I don’t think he likes me like that, though.”
“He probably does,” Sehun pushes, “He has no reason not to.”
“Hun, where is this coming from?” you ask with a chuckle. You shove his shoulder playfully, forcing him to look up from twirling pasta around his fork.
He shrugs again, bringing your mood down a notch. “I just—I don’t know, I think you deserve to be happy and date someone if you want. And Chanyeol’s a good guy.”
He’s twiddling his thumbs, biting his lip: telltale signs he’s anxious or lying, or in this case, both. He notices his actions, but stops them too abruptly, insighting disbelief on your features in the form of crinkled eyebrows.
“What—I mean, does something give you the impression that I’m not happy now?”
“No!” Sehun’s tone is pitched and jumpy. Then quiet and somber, “I’m just saying, you know. If you like him, you should go for it.”
It’s silent for a while, too long for Sehun’s comfort, filled only with longing stares and curious eyes. He dares not say anything else, untrusting of the sound of his own voice and his ability to swallow his sorrow; forces himself to stuff food into his mouth as a distraction.
“Thank you for looking out for me.” You scoot over, sitting directly next to him on the couch before wrapping your arms around his torso. Sehun borderline chokes on his garlic bread. “You’re a good guy, too, Hun,” you add, head resting against his bicep, words eerily close to those Junmyeon was murmuring to him just hours ago.
Neither of you say anything for a moment more, Sehun trying his best will away the scratchy feeling in his throat. He closes his eyes briefly, and sighs. It’s not that he didn’t know it before, but the realization that he’d do anything for you crashes into him. It hurts just a much as it gives him a sense of relief.
He can’t hear the way your heart beats in your chest, can’t hear the whirlpool of thoughts threatening to overflow in your mind, but maybe it’s for the best.
“Well! Come on then,” you startle him, words breaking through the silence. You lean forward to reach for the food, “This pasta isn’t gonna eat itself!”
A few days later, Sehun sees you off to your study session with Chanyeol. Study-date is probably the more appropriate term. If you hadn’t texted Chanyeol at all over the weekend to say something, Sehun was sure you’d speak up today.
Because, like a self-inflicting fool, Sehun brought it up just before you opened the door to exit his car; and completed his act by sending you his best smile and most supportive words. After confirming you’d safely entered Chanyeol’s house, he proceeded to slam his forehead against the top of his steering wheel for approximately seventeen minutes straight, before driving himself to Junmyeon and Minseok to wallow in his emotions. As per usual.
“So, you told the girl you’re in love with to ask out some other guy, and now you’re upset that she might have gone and done just that,” Junmyeon ponders, looking down at his lap where Sehun attempts to bury his face into the pillow resting upon it.
Sehun groans, kicking his feet a little like a child. Minseok tuts at him from the loveseat, “When we said talk to her I thought it was clear that you were supposed to ask her out. Not encourage her to ask someone else out.”
Sehun continues moping, laying dramatically on his back, half of his limbs falling off of the small couch. Maybe encouraging you to ask out the guy he’s extremely jealous of wasn’t the brightest idea he’s had in terms of his goals to ask you out—but if you wanted to date Chanyeol, then so be it. Sehun wasn’t irrational enough to try and push the taller out of the picture due to spite.
“Part of me admires you, Sehunnie,” Junmyeon starts, tapping his fingers against the younger’s forehead, “But I can’t help but think that you’ve been reading this wrong.”
“You mean like he’s been reading everything wrong,” Minseok scoffs, “Sehun can’t tell when certain people are in love with him. No wonder he falsely assumes the opposite for others.”
“You’re extra sarcastic today,” Sehun grumbles. “It’s not appreciated.”
“Sorry I’m not team watch Sehun’s existential crisis unfold,” Minseok grins, “I told you the only way this is ever going to work is if you talk about your feelings.”
Sehun whines this time, flipping himself onto his stomach to resume burying his head into the pillow. The older boys laugh at him, Junmyeon doing his best to comfort his friend with pats on the back, but it makes Sehun feel like a patronized toddler.
“I need a drink,” the youngest mumbles soon after, pulling his face from the plush, “Or food. Or both.”
Lazily, he pushes himself from the couch, turning in the direction of the kitchen. The others follow suit—Junmyeon out of concern for both their liquor and food supply, and Minseok for purely entertainment purposes.
A curious knock on the door stops all three of the boys in their tracks. Junmyeon and Minseok weren’t expecting anyone else over—anyone who knocks that is. That ruled out the possibility of it being Baekhyun immediately, and with Yixing away visiting his parents, neither of them could rack their brains for an expected guest.
Still, it’s Minseok who makes his way towards the entrance, gingerly stepping up on his toes to look through the peep hole before opening the door with a knowing grin.
He’s greeted by your even smaller, fuming figure. Hands balled into fists with a kindergarten-esque scowl on your face.
“Where is he?” you demand, marching into their apartment before receiving an answer.
Minseok simply chuckles, letting you storm into the living area, and closing the door behind you. Shocked, both Sehun and Junmyeon are at a standstill. The older is equal parts confused and concerned, but Sehun is petrified.
You stop abruptly in front of him, and Sehun opens his mouth to start spewing apologies—for whatever it is that you’re upset about, he’s not sure, but he knows a few are due—but he doesn’t have the chance to, before you’re fisting his shirt in your hand, and pulling him down into a kiss.
If Sehun could describe the feeling of an out-of-body experience, it would be this. Kissing you, being kissed by you; something he’s imagined, dare he say dreamt of. Despite his eyes fluttering shut, it’s like he’s watching himself being kissed,unable to wrap his head around that fact that you stood in front of him, pulled him towards you, and kissed him.
He doesn’t have time to consider relishing in the moment, either. Because he hears Minseok and Junmyeon wooing in the background, loud and obnoxious, and because you pull away, parting your lips from his.
There’s a storm of emotions brewing in your eyes, a similar phenomenon happening in his own; but before he has the chance, to act, to say anything, your scrunch your nose, and jostle his shirt in your hold.
“You think you can just tell me to go ask out Chanyeol—which I didn’t by the way, because I’m not exactly keen on looking like a clown—and then come here and sob into Junmyeon’s lap?”
Sehun blinks. “Well, it’s not that—I—”
“You are the biggest idiot I know,” you say, “Who tells the person they like to go ask out someone else?”
“A fool!” Minseok hollers. Sehun doesn’t even have the clarity of mind to toss him a glare.
Flustered, cheeks a little red, and neck very warm, he sputters, “I thought you liked him!”
“Hun, I don’t get it,” you frown, untwisting your hand from his shirt in favor of running your palms along the length of his arm, “Why would you want to see me with Chanyeol if you like me?”
Sehun sighs before inhaling deeply. Slowly, he bends his arms to rest his hands on either of your shoulders, gently tugging you closer. He stares at you, eyes watery with a mix of emotions even he couldn’t hope to make out.
Carefully, his hands tread upwards, gently cupping your jaw in his hold and tilting your head upwards. “Because I love you.”
“Exactly,” the word leaves your mouth in exasperation. Sehun watches the confusion dance in your eyes. “It clearly made you upset, so why encourage it?”
“I already told you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips, “Because I love you.”
“I don’t—you’d make yourself sad because you love me?”
Minseok’s right about a lot of things—(as much as he hates to admit it)—so maybe, just maybe, saying what’s on his mind will end this once and for all. For better, or for worse.
So he sighs, then lets out a breathless chuckle, before stepping just a millimeter closer. “I just want you to be happy. And if Chanyeol could have made you happy, I would bear the pain.”
He thinks you might cry, with the way your eyes grow cloudy. If you were going to, you do a good job at sweeping the tears away, offering him an ironic chuckle instead.
“I’m happy now, Sehun. You make me happy, idiot. I’m sorry, though, if I didn’t make that clear before. I should have just said it—and I was going to that day, but then you started talking about Chanyeol, so I figured you didn’t like me like that and—“
“I do,” he cuts you off quickly, thumb padding against your lower lip, “I love you.”
The tow of you just stand there, staring at each other, blissfully happy for a little bit, before Minseok reminds them you of his and Junmyeon’s presence.
“So, are you going to kiss her this time, or?” Minseok chimes in, the dirty grin on his face never left. From beside him, Junmyeon chuckles, eggs on the teasing to hide from the fact that he was ready to cry moments ago.
Sehun pulls you into him with a roll of his eyes, squeezing you into a hug. “Fuck off,” he mumbles, giving Minseok the finger behind your back.
The older chuckles, opting to further his embarrassment by snapping a picture. Junmyeon’s loud laughter permeates the living room, as he immediately receives the image. Sehun’s phone pings in his pocket and he groans, letting his chin rest atop your head—that means Baekhyun and Yixing have that picture too, which means Sehun’s life is over. Unfortunate, because he feels like it just began.
You pull away first, not before leaving a fleeting kiss against the fabric of Sehun’s shirt—and even so, the action makes him warm inside. He could get used to this.
“They’re never going to let me live this down,” he mumbles, peeking as the elders chuckle at something on Minseok’s phone. Sehun’s going to have to remove himself from every group he’s ever been in.
“Do you wanna get out of here,” you pull his attention back to you with a laugh, gently lacing your hands together, “Maybe get boba or something?”
And Sehun grins, squeezing your interwinted hands before dipping down to kiss the crown of your head, “Absolutely.”
He doesn’t even care to grab his jacket from the kitchen stool, opting to snag Junmyeon’s cardigan misshapenly strewn over the couch. With your hands tied, Sehun makes quick work of heading for the door, leaving his older friends chuckling at his tinted cheeks and hasty mannerisms.
He should have known trying to get out without one last jab would be borderline impossible.
“I hope boba is code for go home and make out!”
“Minseok!”
ϟ more author’s notes :: this is the first (and probably one of the very few) times i’ll ever formally write on this blog, mostly because it took me a year and day to even plan and begin to write this LOL i think i’ll stay in my lane and stick to fake texts and instagram posts, i’ve learned my lesson. ps: hope all you team sehun anons are happy—and if it wouldn’t have taken 5k more words of writing, i would have made her talk to chanyeol about it too just to create some drama :’)
#exo smut#exo scenarios#exo reactions#exo fluff#exo imagines#exo fake texts#sehun scenario#chanyeol scenario#sehun fanfic#sehun x reader#exo x reader#chanyeol soft icons#sehun fluff#chanyeol fluff#baekhyun fluff#baekhyun smut#chanbaek#chanbaek smut#jongin smut#exo fake quotes#exo soft hours#exo fic#nct smut
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In Death (Josh Washington x Reader)
Description: You take care of him.
Notes: posted this wrong had to correct it here it is
Word Count: 1.8k
+
He wasn't weak when they found him. Scared, yes – but not weak. He fought back and he hurt them, but they controlled him, and sent him to the hospital where he was contained for a month. For the better half of that month he was not allowed visitors, not his parents, not his friends, but you visited him anyway. You weren't allowed inside his room, but you stood outside with your face pressed against the glass. He breathed deep when he slept – almost normal, with a Joker-like tear in his grin, teeth like a shark, and blood dripping from the wounds that refused to heal.
He turned to you and did not grow angry. He turned to you and he almost smiled – almost human – and the doctors let you in. So you sat at his bedside, talking nonsense and reading him stories. Unfortunately his condition had fed a sickness to his mind, and though you showed up every day, he did not remember his time in the hospital.
His memory started to work like any other's only when he returned home from the hospital, kept in his room he recognized so easily. No one could tell if it was a conscious recognition or just a comfort in a familiarity he couldn't decipher, but it kept his tantrums and screeching at bay, and the sight of you sitting on his bed was one that calmed his temper. He didn't know why that was.
You spent all your time in his home, growing a fair enough relationship with his parents as you took care of him. Both his mother and father were busy, and as much as they wanted to be there for him, they couldn't fund his medicine and spend time at home. That was where you came in; you moved into the bedroom beside his and you took care of him.
Running the bathwater, you peeked out into his room, where he sat entranced with the poster above his head. A small smile came to you before you turned back to the adjacent bathroom, dropping lavender and honey scents into the steaming water. Once it filled halfway you put in bubble mixture, watching as mountains of it began to appear, stopped only when you turned the faucet off.
"Josh?" You called softly, looking out to find him still staring at the poster. Quietly you made your way to him, taking his hand in yours and pulling gently. "I ran you a bath."
You couldn't tell if he understood your words. No one did, but nonetheless he followed you, a half smile on his face, which was as much as he could do with the scars healing across his cheeks. They were a horrific sight, still gaping and scabbed but you'd grown used to it.
Sitting him down on the edge of the tub, you raised his arms, pulling his shirt off of him while he looked up at you as though you carved the moon into the sky. He often looked like that around you. You knelt in front of him, helping to pull off his socks and jeans before removing his boxers, all of which you kept in a pile on the floor while you helped him step into the warm water.
Immediately a rough sigh left him, his eyes closing as he sank into the bubbles. Rolling up your sleeves you grabbed a nearby cup, dipping it into the water before pouring it gently over his head, watching carefully for any sign of distaste. Like usual he enjoyed it – you supposed you'd enjoy warmth too if you were stuck in winter mountains for six months.
"Do they hurt much today?" You asked him, your soothing voice always a helper in your interactions.
With a water-soaked hand you cupped his cheek, running your thumb ever so gently over the injuries, helping the biting cold dissipate. He shook his head – a simple no, but when you tried to withdraw your hand he pulled you back, placing your warmth over his scars and melting into your touch.
"I'll need that soon, but alright," you murmured with a quiet giggle, an expression that had him smiling a crooked, broken smile.
Once more you ran water through his hair, letting him keep your hand sandwiched against his cheek (he still hadn't moved his hand away from yours) for another minute or so before moving to the shampoo.
"You're quiet today," you noted in a hum, massaging the shampoo into his scalp in just the right way. You'd gotten a lot of practice.
Like usual, he didn't respond, at least not in words. Despite his appearing to have forgotten english, you kept talking to him like normal – maybe it was laziness on your part, but you liked to believe he could understand you. Eventually he'd gain the consciousness to speak again. After all, he was getting slowly better, and with each passing week he grew more civil.
"Close your eyes," you said, preparing to run water over his sudsy head. He did so, and as your cup spilled warm water down his neck, he hummed pleasantly.
You went slow till you finished up, reaching low into the tub to release the plug. Even though your sleeves were rolled up nearly to your shoulder, you still managed to soak your shirt, bubbles still resting on your chest and stomach. Not that you minded, but you'd have to change shirts to make lunch.
The doctors told you one good meal a day – vegetarian of course, and snacks were allowed throughout the day. You kept to their words, though you could tell it annoyed Josh. He must've missed his old favorite foods quite a lot. If he remembered them.
Stirring the tomato sauce, you eyed Josh sneaking out of his room, making his way over to you. He looked over your shoulder and you could feel his breath, a warmth that only grew when he wrapped his arms around your middle, his chest against your back. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he hummed a tune you couldn't quite identify, pressing his cheek against your neck and jaw. You chuckled.
"Pasta or baguette slices?" You asked, looking to the unopened box of spaghetti and the freshly baked baguette his mother had gotten from a nearby bakery.
Unwinding himself from you he knelt at the counter, coming to eye level with the two objects. After a moment of looking between the two, he reached for the baguette, handing it to you.
"Alright," you said as you took it, offering a smile before he left the kitchen.
You sliced about half the baguette up, setting the pieces on a tray seasoned with olive oil, salt, and a hint of garlic. The tomato sauce would go well on it, and since the sauce already had garlic in it, you didn't need too much for the cooking sheet. With the sauce and the bread boiling and cooking away, you cut up broccoli and brussel sprouts. Those soon went into a pan, before being seasoned with olive oil and jalapeno slices. Fresh vegetables always took a shorter time to cook, though Josh liked them a little overcooked, which was a little harder for you to enjoy. Still, you found comfort in the routine, always happy to help him.
When you finished you called Josh over, who quickly jumped over the couch and rushed to your side, looking over the food with a hungry look. To be fair, he usually looked hungry. You helped him load food onto his own plate before getting your own, joining him on the couch, where you pulled up Hatari on the television. A classic.
He couldn't sit through the whole movie, so at the midway point you paused, taking care of the dishes before joining him in his room. For the most part he stayed up there, and this time was no different as you found him lying on his bed. In his hands he held an ADHD fidgeting toy covered in scratches from his claws which, to your surprise, were fading at the same pace of his scars. No one expected them to go away, but it was a pleasant revelation.
"I brought cookies. You know, the ones I made a couple days ago," you said, climbing onto the bed with him and placing the cookie box between you. "There aren't any more heart shaped ones, though. Sorry. I only made three of those."
One for his mother, one for his father, and one for him.
Scooting across the sheets, he leaned against you, his posture much lower than yours to the point where his head was almost in your lap. You placed your arm over his head, resting your hand on his shoulder and tracing tiny shapes on his shirt.
"We'll need to go take your medicine soon," you reminded him softly, something that had him burying his face deeper into your waist. "You can sleep for now, though."
He loved touching you, that much was obvious to anyone who observed your interactions for more than a minute. Something in his mind told him you were safe – you couldn't be more thankful for that little memory, as faint as it was.
He never said your name. He didn't always recognize your voice if you called from another room. When he had nightmares, he didn't realize it was you waking him up unless you turned on the lights. But sometimes, he tried to sing to you. Weird, yes, and according to his friends and family he never sang before the incident, but it was sweet, and... lonely. There weren't any words, and despite that it still put an ache in your heart. Other times he tried to massage you, but you couldn't bear him doing that for very long, what with his claws. He clung to you when you sat beside him, especially in bed – he'd wrap his arms around your waist or chest, slinging his legs over the lower half of your body till there wasn't even a chance of escape. Over everything, you found it endearing. His parents found it embarrassing.
He didn't remember when you first spoke. He didn't remember driving you to the outskirts of town just to ask you on a date – he didn't remember you saying yes, and he didn't remember how you made him banana bread when he mentioned that he liked it. He didn't remember that you kissed him, and he didn't remember kissing back.
He didn't remember anything to do with you or any of his friends, or really any part of his life.
No, he didn't remember you, but he recognized you.
Only you.
And to him, when you murmured 'I love you' into his ear, you were all that existed.
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Love at First Bite
Rayla is taken by a client to eat at the Italian-Korean fusion place in town and falls in love with the food, and later, the chef.
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Rayla smiled at her client as they waited for their server to come. Her boss had told her that they had to keep the contract with the client’s company no matter what, and if that meant going to a Korean-Italian fusion restaurant that would probably be too spicy for Rayla’s Scottish, fried-food-loving taste buds, so be it. The client, Ms. Danvers, had been hyping the restaurant up all evening. “You said you like potatoes? This place as amazing kimchi-style potatoes and potato pancakes.”
Rayla nodded. “My grandmother is Irish and there are always potatoes cooking in her house.” Rayla subtly looked around the dining room. The walls were mostly white with a few panels a beautiful red. There was artwork on the walls, ranging from sceneries to portraits. They all looked to be done by the same artist but Rayla couldn’t place a name to them. The air was warm and smelled of spices and herbs and cheese. Rayla could see a row of cheeses on one of the shelves. “Do they use a lot of cheese here?”
“Korean food pairs wonderfully with cheese. There’s a rumor that all the vegetables here are from the local farmer’s market as are most of the cheeses. It’s fusion, but it’s as domestic as possible, too.”
“You’ve really been talking this place up.”
Ms. Danvers flushed. “It’s my favorite restaurant. I come here for lunch once a week and get take-away whenever I’m having a bad day. This place is known for Korean-Italian fusion, but they make a delicious Thai laksa and a vegetarian Tom Yum that is to die for.”
“Really?” Rayla didn’t know that much about Asian food, but she knew that Tom Yum was common in Thai eateries.
“The chef is a quarter-Thai and a quarter-Korean, his grandparents being from Thailand and South Korea. He knows the flavors well and plays with them, but when he goes authentic, he’s the best in town. He will also make almost any dish vegetarian if you request it.”
“How accommodating.”
A server came up, a smile on their face. “Good evening and welcome to Sarai’s Place. Any wine to start this evening?” Rayla shook her head, surprised when Ms. Danvers asked for Thai iced tea for the both of them. “And what can I get started for you?”
“Ms. Burrows?”
Rayla looked down at the menu again. “Hmm. I’m not sure what to get. I don’t have a very high spice tolerance.”
The server nodded. “Scale of 1 to 10?”
“Maybe a three.”
“Do you like kimchi?”
“Never had it.”
“Then I recommend trying the kimchi potatoes, if you like potatoes, or the risotto, which features chopped kimchi, sesame oil, and garlic. The chef makes two kinds of kimchi, one mild and one spicy, so he’ll use the mild for you. For the main dish, if you enjoy cheese, a pasta dish that has mussels, a Korean chili paste and tomato sauce, and fresh parmesan. Everything that can be local, is local and if you eat vegetarian, the mussels will be taken out and instead you will get mushrooms.”
“My grandmother is Irish so I’m very snobbish with my potatoes.”
“I would rate his potato pancakes a ten. He takes the traditional Korean recipe and adds parmesan cheese and some rosemary and its cooked with the house chili oil, so when you cut into it, it’s cheesy and subtly spicy. The house chili oil is made with both gochugaru and the type of dried chilis usually used to make olio di peperocino.”
“I’ll go with the pancakes and the mussels pasta you suggested.”
“Excellent choice. And for you?”
Ms. Danvers smiled. “Did he make Tom Yum or laksa today?”
“Laksa.”
“I will take a bowl of laksa while Ms. Burrows is eating her pancakes and I will also take the mussels pasta. Can we also get an order of garlic bread?”
“Of course. I’ll get your Thai iced teas ready. Anything else today?”
“What’s the dessert of the week?”
“Since it’s summer, mango pudding, Thai coconut pudding, and strawberry-lime cheesecake.”
“We’ll each take a slice of the strawberry-lime cheesecake.” The server nodded and walked away after reading back the list. “I hope you don’t mind me ordering dessert for you, but he only makes that cheesecake when the strawberries are in their peak season and it’s worth it.”
Rayla nodded. “No problem, Ms. Danvers. I wouldn’t really know what to order otherwise.”
They chatted while they waited, pausing when the garlic bread came to the table. Rayla had been expecting the kind of garlic bread Americans seemed to adore, buttery and almost artificially garlic-y. Instead, they got small, fresh loaves that had pieces of roasted garlic and thyme baked into it, served with the house chili oil and garlic that had been cooked until it spread like butter on the bread. Rayla was impressed with the flavor and how the pieces of garlic were not overpowering.
When the potato pancakes came, Rayla could smell the spice but trusted the server had not led her astray, eyeing her glass of Thai iced tea just in case. One bite and she was in heaven. The cheese and the heat from the chili only enhanced the potato flavor as did the light smattering of soy sauce and vinegar-based sauce. Rayla almost ignored Ms. Danvers when the pasta came, inhaling the dish. At the end of the meal, once the excellent cheesecake had been finished, Rayla was in love with the food. “Well, Ms. Danvers, I suppose I should be thanking you for introducing me to my new favorite restaurant.”
Ms. Danvers chuckled. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“I would marry the chef in a heartbeat if I got to eat like this every day for the rest of my life.”
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Rayla brought all her clients and her coworkers to Sarai’s Place in the following months. She tried almost everything on the menu, though she was still mildly terrified of the spiciness of the laksa if the smell alone was anything to go by. Every Monday and Thursday, she got take-away and ordered the dessert whenever she ate in on Saturdays. She was thankful she was single or else she would have to come here every week with someone and she liked dining alone in the quiet restaurant.
Sometimes, they played classical music, other times K-pop, and Rayla would always remember the night they had played an opera medley when several people with the Katolis Opera Company had dined that night. The chef seemed keenly aware of who came to his restaurants at what dates and times and played music to fit their tastes but also made sense with the theme.
It was a popular spot with not only Foodies and high school kids, but a lot of Asian-Americans dined there. Rayla had looked up the reviews and had seen it was highly recommended by the Katolis Korean and Thai communities, the Katolis restaurant circles, and the Commission for the Promotion of Local Ingredients and Farmer’s Markets. No one said anything bad about Sarai’s Place without at least ten people defending the restaurant’s choices.
And now Rayla was sitting with her boss, Ahling Patel, and having to stop herself from inhaling the food in front of her. The risotto was so satisfying and paired with chicken breast stuffed with kimchi, perilla, and ricotta. “What do you think, Mr. Ahling?”
“It’s delicious. I’ve always felt that fusion was a gimmick, but I’m sold by this young man’s food. Young lady,” Ahling called the server, smiling good-naturedly when she nodded at him and finished up with her current customer. When she came up to their table, she greeted them again. “Is there anyway we can speak to the chef?”
The server blinked before nodding. “I’m sure I can arrange it. Dinner service is almost over and there are only you and two other tables. Can I bring you dessert while I’m talking to him?”
“What do you recommend?”
“Our pastry chef made yakgwa, which are little honey pastries made with pine nuts, ginger, and sesame oil and they also made a yuja polenta cake and a play on Italian lemon cake, but with yuja.”
Rayla ordered the yakgwa and Ahling got the polenta cake and waited for the news. Rayla couldn’t recall having ever seen the chef even though she came there at least twice a week, closer to three. She hadn’t seen any pictures of him, either, surprisingly enough. He was said to keep to himself and shunned the limelight, which is why he never made TV appearances.
A few minutes later, it wasn’t their server, but a man who looked be about 26 arriving with their desserts. His green eyes were striking, as were his cheekbones and sharp jawline. He gave them both an awkward smile as Rayla noticed his ring finger was bare and didn’t seem to have a tan line. Was this the chef? His coat would seem to say so. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Callum Evans, the owner and executive chef here at Sarai’s Place.”
Ahling smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, young man. I’m Ahling Patel and this is my employee, Rayla Burrows.” Rayla nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Your food is delicious. How on Earth do you even think of this?”
The young man flushed, looking down at his feet. “Um, I’m not that special. Many people before me found that Korean and Italian food go well together. Most of my recipes are riffs on family recipes and all my Thai dishes are family recipes. I was originally going to go traditional Korean or Thai but there were no fusion places in the area and I’m part Irish and German on top of being a quarter-Thai and a quarter-Korean. It felt…right, I guess. I’m mixed and grew up with a variety of food cultures in my house, so why not do fusion? Korean and Italian just made the most sense, so…” He looked embarrassed at the praise, rubbing the back of his neck.
Rayla leaned forward a bit. “I’ve eaten here at least twice week for the past six months. I can tell you, without a doubt, it’s my favorite place to eat.”
“Thank you.”
Ahling cleared his throat. “Are you single, Mr. Evans?”
Callum flushed even deeper. “Ah. Yes. Being a chef requires long hours and running a restraint requires even more.”
“You need a good partner to help you find balance in your life!”
Rayla remained quiet as she watched them talk. The only thing going through her mind was ‘I’m going to marry this man for his food. I’ll eat well for the rest of my life.’ She stayed when Ahling said good night and while the restaurant emptied out. Callum stayed at the table, fidgeting under her gaze. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“A date.”
Callum blinked. “We have a sticky rice made with dates-”
“No. A romantic excursion. An outing.”
He gulped, looking her up and down. “A date? Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I fell in love with your food almost immediately after I tasted it and would like the chance to know the man who cooks it.”
Callum blushed. “OK.” They exchanged info and Rayla smirked as she left with his number in her cellphone. There was no way she would be letting this one go.
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After four months of dating, Rayla could confidently say that she was now just as in love with Callum the man as she was with his cooking. Learning that his restaurant was named after his mother who died when he was in high school had endeared him to her, as had the knowledge that all the art on the walls were his paintings. Was there anything he couldn’t do?
They were currently in Callum’s kitchen, him developing a new recipe while Rayla took down notes for him. Even on his days off, he was always thinking about what he would do next and Rayla admired his passion to his craft. When he brought her up to try the dish, she groaned. “I will marry this man if it’s the last thing I do,” she muttered.
“I can hear you, you know,” Callum chuckled.
Rayla raised a brow. “Then why haven’t you accepted my proposal?”
“Because you proposed to my food?”
“I hardly see the difference.” Callum laughed at her, shaking his head. “Hey, move in with me.”
“We’ve been together for four months.”
“Is that a problem? Too short?”
Callum stared at her. “You’re serious.”
“I told you; I fully plan on marrying you to eat your cooking ‘til the day I die.”
“So, it’s my cooking you love?”
“When have I hidden this?” Rayla reached for his hand, pulling him closer. “I’m serious. Move in with me.”
“Why?”
Rayla shrugged. “I’m happy when we wake up next to each other. I like the idea of coming home to you or you coming home to me. I don’t like sleeping alone, and, for the past month, the two of us have been alternating sleeping at each other’s places and it doesn’t make sense to pay rent on two places when we could be happy together?”
“That and I’m the only person willing to put up with your stubborn ass.”
Rayla gave him a mock offended looking, giving his arm a playful smack. “You love my stubborn ass.”
“I do.” Callum leaned down and captured her lips, letting her taste the dish he had been working on for the past hour. When they pulled apart, he looked down into her eyes with his bright green ones. “I think I love you.”
“That’s good, because I think I love you, too.”
Rayla would take that for now. And in two years, when she would be standing next to him in front of their new house, matching rings on their fingers, and a very pregnant belly, she would remind him that he had his food to thank for their relationship. “I fell in love with your food first.”
“I’m glad you did, because you kept coming back.”
“Lucky you.”
“Lucky me.”
#moonbase fanfics#rayllum#rayllum fanfic#the dragon prince#au#love at first bite#this was just for fun
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Chores
Sorry it's so short
Day four is @ohshc-week : gift giving or living together
The hosts had decided that while they were in university, they were going to rent a house together, and 'live like commoners'. At least that was how Tamaki had put it, Haruhi had insisted that they were doing no such thing, they still had bottomless bank accounts and could actually afford rent. This had definitely made most of the hosts sulk for a bit, namely Tamaki and the twins.
They'd all come into their own, they were living in America now, so it was hard for anything to get back to any of the boys' parents. So, with their new found freedom, the hosts had really begun to find who they were- or at least we're experimenting. Not all of it was good however.
"Who's whiskey is this!?" It was Tamaki's turn to take out the trash, and it seemed he'd found yet another bottle, for the third time in a row. Most of the hosts were sitting in the kitchen, though Honey was upstairs taking a nap, and Kyoya was… god knows where. They all looked between each other, Mori was sat at the breakfast bar and enjoying a milkshake, the twins were sat on the carpet near the TV, doing their homework, and Haruhi was rewatching legally blonde.
Hikaru looked up from his sketches, rolling his eyes, "probably Kyoya's, it was his last time wasn't it?" Well, Hikaru wasn't wrong, the last two times a bottle had been found in the trash, it had belonged to Kyoya- his brother kept buying him drinks. Oh yeah, that was another detail, Akito was also here, he lived on campus, though that didn't stop him from coming and bothering them every now and then. For some reason he decided it was his mission to give Kyoya a social life, and that included buying him alcohol for some reason.
"Oh no, that one's mine," Kaoru spoke up, causing everyone to glance at him in confusion, he shrugged, "Kyoya gave me the bottle, he said he didn't want it."
"Well that's good," Tamaki started, tying the bag closed, "if it was Kyoya's again then I'd have to have a word with him, or maybe I should have had a word with Akito, it is his fault after all."
Hikaru scoffed at that, "yeah, good luck boss, I wouldn't threaten the guy with a nail bat." To be fair, Hikaru had a point; not only did Akito have quite the deadly weapon, but he was known to have the worst anger issues of all the siblings- though Kyoya had given him a run for his money in later years.
Tamaki had to concede that Hikaru was right, there's no way he'd object to anything Akito did, the guy was too scary. He just sighed, heading to put the trash in the bin. It was a warm day, and he felt the sun on his arms. A glance down the stress saw a couple of folks sitting in their doorways, just enjoying the sun- the glance also told him that Kyoya was returning, just heading down the street with his bags. He sighed, waving, "Hiya Kyoya, where've you been?"
"Ugh," Kyoya seemed exhausted, wearing his brother's jacket and literally no shoes, "Akito dragged me to a party, even though he knew I had a class this morning. I just had to attend class, with no shoes."
Tamaki paused, tilting his head slightly, "where are your shoes?"
"I have no idea, I had them on when I fell asleep. I'm fairly sure someone stole them." He rolls his eyes, "has anyone made breakfast?"
"Kyoya, it's midday…"
"Lunch then, I just had a class, I have no concept of time, I just want to eat something and go back to sleep." He huffed, pushing past Tamaki to enter the house, ignoring the other hosts in favour of heading towards the stairs.
"It's your turn to cook dinner tonight, don't forget."
"If I'm awake in time then sure, otherwise let Haruhi do it." He rolls his eyes, storming up the stairs.
Tamaki sighs, sitting down, "alright, who wants to wake him up later?"
"Not it!" Was the almost unanimous reply, clearly it was Tamaki's job. But he had a trump card he had yet to play:
"I have a class then, I can't."
The reaction from the others was instant dread, realising they'd actually have to decide who had to do it- instead of leaving the duty up to Tamaki like was the usual plan. Tamaki had to grin at that, he didn't enjoy his classes, but they were a hell of a lot better than waking Kyoya up. Haruhi sighed, running a hand through her hair, "well I've got homework to do anyway, so you'll have to wake him." She shrugged, ignoring the twins questions of why she couldn't do her homework now.
Mori stood up, checking the time on his phone, "got class." He let them know where he was going before grabbing his bag and coat, taking his milkshake with him. He left, locking the door behind him, which was unfortunate for Hikaru, who had lost his key and was now unable to leave.
Haruhi had to make lunch, she'd just made some slices with the leftover stew from last night, she rolled out her premade pastry, tucking the stew inside like making a bed, adding a little pastry flower on Tamaki's and a rabbit on Honey's, it made them both very happy when she did so, though the others were a little too mature for such things. She did add a bit of chili powder to Kyoya's, heaven knows he likes spicy things. She put his back in the fridge once it was done, he could microwave it when he wanted it. She served it with the usual sauces, and some coffee. She had the way they all had coffee memorized, and the way they liked their pie.
Tamaki was always the first to grab his coffee with caramel and his pie with the flower, he never added sauce- he claimed the flavour was enough on its own. Then came the twins; Kaoru with his black coffee and pie with red sauce, and Hikaru with his one sugar and his mix of red and brown- they always ended up sharing the sauce though. Honey had woken up from his nap by now, grabbing his extremely sweet coffee- four sugars, Haruhi didn't think it was healthy, but who was she to argue? His pie was the one with the bunny on it, he liked to have it with mustard, which was strange considering his love of sweet things, but she couldn't blame him; it was really good.
Haruhi herself had it with a bit of ketchup, and her coffee only had one sugar, she sat at the breakfast bar to eat it and watch the TV from where she was sitting. She had to analyse a fake murder case for her homework, Kyoya had agreed to help her in return for not having to spend time with his brother, she'd figured that was a good enough deal. It was Kyoya's turn to cook, and then he and Tamaki would go over the rent and bills they had to pay, as Tamaki had refused to hire an accountant- he thought it would be fun to live like commoners.
When the night came, and all the bills were paid, Kyoya and Haruhi sat in the living room, going over the paperwork she'd gotten from her professor. The room still smelled of garlic from the pasta Kyoya had made them all, the twins were washing the dishes. Honey sat at the breakfast bar, eating some cookies, he was supposed to be grabbing snacks for him and Mori to study with, but he'd decided to have a couple for himself before heading upstairs again. Tamaki had gone to bed early, considering he had a class very early the next morning, Kyoya had made a batch of his extremely caffeinated pudding for him, for a during lesson, before breakfast snack.
The sun rose before she went to sleep, starling both her and Kyoya as it came through the window. "Oh fuck, what time is it?"
"Time to start making breakfast." Kyoya had shrugged, standing up as he headed over to the kitchen, opening the fridge with a sigh.
"But it's nowhere near the time where anyone wakes up?"
Kyoya took out some eggs and cream, grabbing a bowl, "it'll take a few hours to make the egg pudding, I might make some bread too."
Haruhi paused, frowning and going to sit at the bar, "where did you even learn how to make all this stuff?"
"Oh, well a mix of Fiyumi when she was fixated on learning how to do wife things, and watching the cooks because there was nothing to do when I was a kid." Kyoya responded bluntly, cracking the eggs into a bowl.
Haruhi had decided to go to bed, she had no classes today so she was happy to sleep until she felt better- though she was woken up by the gang getting up and being increasingly loud in the face of breakfast. She had to come downstairs to tell them to shut the hell up.
#ohshcweek#kyoya ootori#tamaki souh#hikaru and kaoru#takashi morinozuka#mitsukuni haninozuka#haruhi fujioka#aktio ootori#(mentioned)
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City Sidewalks - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction
I opened my eyes, looking around the room. The sunlight pouring through the sunflower yellow curtains created an orange glow that danced off the walls. I rolled over to kiss my husband, but he wasn’t there. I would assume he got a late start on feeding the animals, but it’s Saturday, so he could have possibly gone to the grocery store for me. I stretch my arms and sit up, checking my phone as I always do.
“Good morning, pretty lady,” Jeff appears in the doorway, wearing his flannel robe and his hair is perfectly disheveled. He’s holding a plate of what appears to be muffins and two cups of coffee with a grin on his face.
“Baby!” I laugh, putting on my glasses. “What did you do?” Jeff makes his way to the bed, crawling back in carefully as to not spill anything.
“I made you muffins,” he kisses me, handing me the cup of coffee and setting the plate between us.
“You’re so sweet,” I take a bite of my muffin and a sip of dark roast. “And so are these! Cranberry orange, yum! Good job, honey! So what’s on the agenda, today?” I glance over at my gorgeous husband.
“If I had my way,” Jeff pushes my
hair back and begins kissing my neck deeply. I set the coffee mug on the nightstand, basking in the pleasure of his lips and stubble rubbing against my skin. “I would spend the whole day in bed making sweet, passionate love to you.” My body quivers at his touch.
“Jesus Christ, you make me weak,” I whimper, my legs shaking slightly.
“You can just call me Jeff.” I roll my eyes with a smile and kiss him, pressing my hand against his chest. Breakfast in bed was soon forgotten about as Jeff climbs on top of me. “I love you so damn much,” he moans against my lips.
“And I love you,” I run my fingers through Jeff’s graying hair, tugging it slightly. He bites his lip and moans, slipping his robe off. I take off my pajama shorts off and look up at my husband, wondering what his next move is going to be. I keep my hand in his hair as he kisses me passionately.
“God damn, you’re soaked for me, aren’t you?” Jeff licks his lips, planting sloppy kisses down my chest and stomach. I nod and look down at him.
“Lick me clean, Daddy,” I whine. He smirks, pulling my black underwear aside and licking aggressively. I grip his hair and gasp, my whole body exploding with ecstasy. “Jeff,” his name barely ekes out of my mouth. I can hardly think straight as sinful sounds of Jeff’s tongue and lips against me fill the air. He slides two fingers inside me, moaning against my clit. The vibrations of his hot, wet mouth are indescribable. “Jeffrey, oh god. I’m going to cum, baby. Yeah, Daddy, right there. God, I fucking love you so fucking much,” I curse under my breath. Warm fuzziness overtakes my whole body as my orgasm hits, fucking Jeff’s mouth by rocking my hips. My husband crashes onto my chest, I begin stroking his soft and shaggy hair.
“I love making you cum. It’s one of my favorite things,” Jeff rasps, tracing the curves of my body with his fingers. “I love teasing you. I love the way my name sounds coming from your lips. I love your body, your soul, your caring heart. I love you with everything I have,” he buries his face in the crook of my neck, giving deep kisses and whispering, “I love you.”
“I love you. You’re mine, forever,” I hold his hand as we both drift back off to sleep, tangled in each other’s arms.
____________________________________
Jeff yawns and puts on his glasses, his head still resting on my stomach.
“So much for breakfast in bed, eh?” he laughs, gesturing to the plate of muffins on the nightstand. “I found something yummier to eat anyway,” he plants little kisses on my stomach. “What time is it?” I sit up in bed and look at my phone.
“It’s only nine,” I reply, massaging his scalp. ”Maybe we should get some Christmas shopping done today.”
“I’m going to spoil you rotten for Christmas. It’s our first Christmas in New York after all,” Jeff says with a sweet smile.
“Oh, hush. You don’t have to do that!”
“Maybe I want to!” Jeff playfully sticks his tongue out.
“If you must,” I roll my eyes with a grin. “Ooh, Daddy! Can we go ice skating in Rockefeller Center? I mean, if we are going shopping in the city, might as well make a day out of it! I’ve always wanted to go there!” Jeff sits up in bed and grabs his laptop. I kiss his cheek and rest my head on his shoulder.
“I don’t see why not. Maybe we can go to dinner after too, I want to explore the city with you. Let me see here, it looks like you can buy tickets online. I love you, baby.”
“I love you too, Jeffrey.”
____________________________________
Jeff tightens his scarf around his neck and pulls on his gloves.
“You ready?” he holds out his hand and steps onto the ice, steadying himself. I clutch his hand and he pulls me against him. “Merry Christmas, darlin’,” he kisses me deeply, I grab onto his waist for support.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Jeff says with a smile. He holds my hand as we skate around the rink, weaving in and out of tourists.
“This is a dream come true,” I say as Jeff twirls me around. “I’m with the man I love, it’s my favorite time of year. Could life be any better?”
“I don’t think so, doll,” Jeff replies. “Life is so fucking good with you in it.”
____________________________________
“Is it just me or does a big ol’ plate of pasta sound amazing right now?” Jeff asks, readjusting his shopping bags.
“Or pizza. Or garlic bread. Or anything carbohydrate loaded,” I laugh. I get out my phone and set my bags down. Jeff glances down. “Hey! Don’t peek! Sneaky, sneaky!” I playfully slap his chest. We had gone our separate ways for an hour or so to buy each other things.
“I wasn’t!” Jeff laughs. He gets out his phone and adjusts his glasses, “Let’s see what’s near here. Ooh, Olive Garden. That’s some fine dining!” he jokes.
“Where I’m from, you’d be surprised how many people feel that way!”
“Oh my god, this looks so good,” he shows me a picture. “It’s in the direction of the train station too, so it works out well.”
“That DOES look good, how far is it?”
“It looks like only a few blocks,” Jeff grabs my hand. “I’m surprised my old bones aren’t sore from skating!”
“Oh hush, you act like you’re ancient or something,” I laugh.
“Fifty four is getting up there, hon!”
“You’re a sexy silver fox, shut up,” I pull my husband in by his collar and kiss him. Our age gap actually turned me on more than anything. I finally had found a sensual, loving, considerate sweetheart of an older man to care for me and I couldn’t be more content. I didn’t know what I was missing in my life until I met my Jeffrey. He completes me.
____________________________________
“I’ve yet to find to find a time where Italian food doesn’t hit the spot,” Jeffrey remarked, kicking off his boots.
“Very true,” I nod, “What a delicious dinner.” I glance over at him as he takes off his belt. I bite my lower lip as he strips his jacket and unbuttons his shirt. I slip out of my jeans and v-neck, revealing my matching bra and panties. My eyes are still locked on my handsome husband. He catches me staring in the floor mirror.
“What do you want, pretty girl?” Jeffrey cups my cheek in his hand and kisses me deeply. I look him up and down, his opened shirt and messy hair have me absolutely in a state of rapture. I pull him in, begging for more. He teases me, leaning in for a kiss, then pulling away. The only thing I feel is the warmth of his breath ghosting against my lips. His fingers trace ever so lightly over my exposed skin, goosebumps forming instantaneously. I can hardly stand it. “Tell Daddy what you want.”
“I want, oh Jeffrey, fuck,” I whine as he begins sucking my neck and collarbone.
“Come on, use your words,” Jeff teases, knowing that he’s driving me absolutely wild. He pulls my bra off, sucking on my chest, glancing up at me with a mischievous grin.
“God damn it, take your clothes off! I’m so fucking wet for you, babe. Make me yours. Show me who I belong to. Please Daddy, please!” I grip his hair and raise my voice, not quite yelling, but finally giving in to his teases. He lets out a throaty chuckle.
“Well, now. Was that so hard? I don’t know why you have such a hard time using your words like a big girl,” Jeff smirks, giving me a light spank. I gasp, my whole body is quivering with anticipation wondering what he’s going to do next. He places his glasses on the nightstand. I lay back on the bed as he undresses completely. I look him up and down, licking my lips at the sight before me. Jeff climbs on top of me and I give his ass a squeeze as his throbbing cock slides inside me. “Holy shit, darlin’,” he grunts, “You’re so ready for me,” He kisses me with burning desire, his lips flavored with the finest red wine the restaurant had to offer with the faintest hint of tobacco from his post-meal cigarette. I begin stimulating myself as he sinks deeper into me, pulsing around him.
“Oh my god, Jeff. Jeffreyyy,” I whine, “Harder, Daddy. You make me feel so fucking good” Jeffrey stimulates my g-spot with his cock, his pace quickening. I push his sweaty hair out of his face and give it a light tug. His eyes roll back in his head.
“I need to cum so bad,” Jeff groans. His hands grip hard on my hips.
“Cum inside me,” I moan, pulling him deeper inside me and kissing him. “Fill me up like the little slut that I am. I’m Daddy’s little princess. I love when I’m dripping with your juices. Mmm, Daddy. It’s a reminder of who I belong to. I love you.”
My husband’s chest flushes and his heart rate pick up speed.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ are. I love you too, my little princess. You’re such a good, good girl. Oh fuck, baby!”
Jeff lets out a growl as he spills out inside me, my muscles clenching around him as my orgasm intensifies. He pulls out, collapsing on my chest, gasping in ecstasy. I stroke his hair and kiss his drenched forehead. He tilts his head up and kisses me, then rolls off to my side. He wraps his arms around me.
“I’ve... never... Jesus Christ,” Jeff pants.
“Use your words, Daddy,” I tease breathlessly and smile. I rest my head on his hairy chest and run my fingers down his stomach as he catches his breath.
“You got me there,” Jeff laughs. “I’ve never came that hard,” he gasps. “I love when you dirty talk to me, my gal.” He intertwines his long fingers with mine. “How did I get so lucky with you?” Jeff plants a soft kiss on my lips.
“I wonder the same thing, Jeffrey,” I curl up in the crook of his neck, “I love you,” I kiss his neck.
“I love you too, sweet girl.”
#denny duquette#fanfic#fanfiction#greys anatomy#jeffrey dean morgan#negan#the walking dead#older man younger woman#john winchester#supernatural
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Overnight Gone Wrong (Colby Brock Imagine)
Okay, so I’d been toying with this idea for awhile and I finally just caved and decided to do it. I’m trying to be more active this break and get some stuff done for you guys! Sorry my schedule is *ahem* nonexistent but thank you for sticking with me! Anyway, my requests are still open for Sam, Colby, and Jake so you can send them in! Hope you guy enjoy!
——————————————————————————
“Whats up guys? It’s Colby and today, I’m doing something dangerous,” he announced with a spooky voice. “From my earlier video, I stayed in Sam’s apartment without him knowing, and it was a success, except for me getting out. THIS time, I have an escape route and all my supplies I need, except for snacks. I really have no good food in my house,” Colby remarked with a sigh. “Oh, and if you didn’t know, I’m going to be staying in my girlfriend’s apartment. I’m going to store my stuff in the closet and I’m going to start getting ready.”
Colby turned off the camera and then he loaded his stuff into his car and started the drive to your place. He had a key to get in and he was able to stash his stuff in your closet. He checked his phone and saw that it was close to the time that you would be getting home. He quickly threw himself in the closet and shut the door, moments before you opened the front door. He knew that you didn’t have too many plans tonight because he had checked in advance.
You walked in and you set your stuff down near the door. You liked your job, but you were really tired and wanted to go home. You went first to your room to change into some comfy clothes and then you came back down to the kitchen. You checked the time and it was 5:45, so you decided that you were going to start dinner. You could’ve ordered food in, but you decided to be spontaneous and cook.
It took everything Colby had in him to night chuckle when you started humming your “cooking song.” Sometimes, when you cooked, you would start to hum this random tune and it always made Colby smile.
While you were cooking, you decided that you would FaceTime your best friend, Kat. She didn’t have anything going on that night and you wanted someone to talk to. You would’ve called Colby, but he said that he was going to be doing something with Jake tonight and you didn’t want to bother him and interrupt his “bro time.”
Kat answered after two rings.
“Wassup, girlfriend!” Kat shouted when the call connected.
“Wassup,” you chuckled back. “On today’s episode of (Y/N)’s Kitchen, we are making pasta!” you announced to her. She laughed and then you guys talked about your days.
“Where’s Colby?” Kat asked when you guys had a quiet moment.
“He’s out with Jake,” you sighed. Kat snickered and you looked at her and waited for her to explain.
“You guys are just so cute and you missing him is adorable,” she answered. A slight blush rose to your cheeks as you started thinking about your boyfriend.
“He’s just so sweet,” you started, and Kat hummed as she waited for more details. “Like just the other day, he bought me flowers for no reason. Just said that he was thinking about me. He writes me little notes on the mirror while I’m taking a shower about how he loves me or that he finds me beautiful. When he takes me out, he always makes me feel so special. He just makes me feel so...” you trailed off, trying to find the word, “whole.”
Colby wanted to jump out of the closet and hug you right there. He wanted to wrap his arms around you and kiss you all over. But he forced himself to stay in the closet. He wanted to finish what he started.
Your timer went off and you saw that your food was done. You showed Kat and then you said your goodbyes before you hung up. You got your food and you tried to make it look super fancy. When it looked somewhat satisfactory, you took a picture and you started eating. You sent the picture to Colby.
“Missing you! Maybe I’ll save some for you when you come over tomorrow, considering you’ll probably be eating something you found on the side of the road for dinner...”
Colby opened his phone and smirked. Luckily, he had turned his ringer off before hand.
“I miss you too. And that looks delicious,” he replied.
You chuckled to yourself and then sighed.
“See you tomorrow. Be safe and I love you!” you sent. Colby smiled at your message.
“I love you too.”
You closed your phone and then started to eat your pasta and to be honest, it was pretty good. If only you had thought to make garlic bread to go with it.
When you finished, you packed up your leftovers, putting a sticky note saying “For Colby” before you put it in the fridge. You then grabbed your speaker and decided to jam out.
Colby couldn’t help but chuckle while he was hiding out. Typically, he thought your singing was actually pretty good, no matter how much you insisted it was bad. But this was a different type of singing. This was your I-don’t-care-who’s-listening type of singing and it made him smile. He could just picture you doing your dance moves while you rocked out to your music.
After you listened to your music, you decided to shower. When you got out, you went to your living room and you surfed through Netflix, trying to find something to watch. You finally found something that looked interesting to you, so you snuggled up in a blanket and clicked play.
Colby, luckily, had prepared for this situation so he found his earbuds and started watching Netflix on his phone. He wasn’t too worried about battery percentage, considering he had a portable charger.
Somehow, you had drifted away into the timeless vortex of binge watching, so when you checked your phone for the time, it was around 12:30. You had gotten up earlier than usual for work that day and you were pretty tired. You gathered your things and went to your room. After you were ready to go to sleep, you texted Colby to stay safe and that you were heading to bed with tons of hearts and kisses. He had grinned when he received it and sent you a goodnight text as well with almost double the amount of hearts and kisses. You had a warm smile on your face when you plugged up your phone and closed your eyes to sleep.
Colby waited about 15 minutes before he stood up in the closet and stretched. He was preparing himself to go out. Almonds really were terrible snacks and that food you had been cooking earlier smelled absolutely delicious.
Carefully, Colby cracked opened the door and listened for any sounds of movement. Sometimes, it took you awhile to settle down to sleep. Colby confirmed that there were no sounds and quietly, he stepped out into the hall. He walked and cringed at the sounds of his feet on the hard wood. He didn’t think that you would hear it, so he proceeded with caution into the kitchen, camera in hand.
When he arrived at his destination, he set the camera down on the counter and gripped the handle on the refrigerator. He made faces at the camera as he pulled open the door and it made some noise. He found the leftovers he was looking for and set them on the counter near the camera. The bag opened with a small popping noise and he looked around and listened for footsteps. Nothing happened, so he dished out the food, closed the bag, and as gently as possible, closed the refrigerator door. Colby opened the microwave and cursed at the loud noise it made when he closed it. The number buttons beeped terribly loud and Colby froze. Still, you were asleep. He turned it on and the microwave whirred to life, heating up the food.
It was the buzzing of the microwave that woke you up. The rhythmic hum was enough to stir you out of your sleep. With wide eyes, you sat up in your bed and looked around. Quietly, you got up and walked out your door and down the stairs. Someone was there, in the dark, with their back turned to you. You crept close to the counter and grabbed the first thing you could find, which happened to be a rolling pin. This surprised you, because you had no clue that you even owned a rolling pin.
You tiptoed closer to the figure and just when you got close enough, they started to turn around. As they turned, you rated back and swung as hard as you could and hit the person in the side with your pin.
“OW!” the person screamed. You went to swing again but you paused. You knew that scream.
“Colby?” you asked incredulously. You went over to your wall and flipped the switch. Colby was standing near the microwave, clutching his side. Your hands flew to your face as you rushed over to your boyfriend. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry are you okay?”
Colby started laughing and then wincing when it hurt.
“What’s so funny?” you asked as you examined his side.
“You attacked me with a rolling pin,” he started laughing.
“Why were you even here?”
“Remember that thing I did to Sam when I stayed in his apartment without him knowing?” You nodded and he continued. “I was trying to do it to you. I don’t know how you didn’t wake up earlier because I was being so loud.”
“You really are an idiot, Brock,” you said and kissed his cheek.
“Now that you’ve injured me, can I maybe sleep in your room instead of the hall closet?” he asked and looked at the floor.
“Of course you can. Now I’ve got to cuddle my baby back to health,” you said with a smile. You grabbed his hand and tugged him up to your room. Before you got to it, you stopped and ran back to the kitchen, grabbing the rolling pin. When you got back, Colby quirked an eyebrow at you.
“What? It’s a good weapon against criminals that break in to microwave leftover pasta,” you said with a smirk. Colby just shook his head at you before crawling in the bed and opening his arms for you. You crawled in next to him and snuggled in close to him. He kissed the top of your head before whispering something to you.
“Just so you know, I heard what you told Kat earlier, and I love you so much and I just wanted to remind you how amazing you are.”
You smiled against him before getting even closer to him.
“You’re even more amazing but thank you for the reminders they are greatly appreciated.”
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too,” you responded before you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.
———
Taglist:
@sp00kybrock @yikes-xander @daddydobrock @trapbrock-local @thenameisbabe @far-to-many-bands @lyssaholic @wacky-webber-458 @colbysbaby @katiaw2 @brocks-girl @chesterbenningtonaremylife
#colby x reader#colby brock x reader#colby brock fanfiction#colby brock fanfic#colby brock imagine#colby brock#colby fanfic#colby imagine#colby#colby fanfiction#imagine#x reader#fanfic#fanfiction
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Gunpoint
Chapter 2 of Lucky’s story.
Things do not go as planned.
TW: Verbal abuse, physical abuse, blood, gun, death threats, BBU, human trafficking, modern slavery
Taglist: @shapeshiftersandfire @slaintetowhump
By the time Tyler came home, Lucky was antsy with anticipation. He strained against the chain as soon as he heard the car pull in and the door open. Tyler laughed when he opened the bathroom door.
“Hey Luck! Eager to get going tonight?”
Lucky nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir!”
Tyler unlocked the chain, and Lucky scrambled to hug him. He laughed more, hugging Lucky back. “Missed me that much, huh?”
“Mhm!” Lucky wondered when a good time to ask his question would be. He knew he still had to wait a bit more—Tyler was probably still a bit frazzled and burnt out from work. He’d get a much better shot later. Lucky unwrapped himself from Tyler’s arms and picked up his water bottle and the remains of his lunch. “How was work?”
Tyler shrugged and sighed melodramatically. “Work was work. My coworkers were a pain, but at least the workload itself wasn’t bad.”
Lucky nodded sympathetically, despite not being able to relate in the slightest. He wished he had coworkers to talk to throughout the day. Even annoying ones would beat staring at the bathroom wall and pretending to have a person’s life all day.
Tyler straightened, loosening his tie. “Anyway. I was thinking we could have linguini for dinner?”
“Right on it, sir!” Lucky scrambled to the kitchen. He put the water bottle in the sink, and threw out the remains of his lunch. What else could he do to make Tyler more likely to agree with his idea? He picked up a pot, filling it in the sink. The sound of running water relaxed his mind as he explored the possibilities. Some garlic bread on the side of dinner, maybe? Tyler liked garlic bread. He could even make a special dessert! Chocolate pudding would be easy enough to prepare, especially if he used the microwave.
He put the pot on the stove, salting the water and pouring the pasta in. A few rooms over, he could hear Tyler flicking through news channels. Lucky half listened as he prepared the sauce and garlic bread.
When he was putting the bread in the oven, he heard news that made him freeze.
“Tonight, a lost pet was found injured on the side of the road,” the local news anchor proclaimed in a nonchalant, almost chipper, tone. Tyler wouldn’t skip past this one. In the year or so Lucky had been in the house, Tyler had never skipped past the ones about bad things happening to stray and runaway pets like he skipped past the ones about wars, injustices, and the rare case of pet abuse that made it on television. Tyler turned up the volume. Did he know Lucky listened?
The microwave beeped, and he ran over to take the pudding out. The newscaster prattled on. “The pet, referred to as Reese, was found a couple miles south of his home. He sustained a few broken ribs and internal injuries.” Lucky put the pudding in the fridge to set, listening intensely. “Fortunately, his owner was quick to report his disappearance and law enforcement was able to find him before his condition could get any worse. His owner, an esteemed member of WRU’s marketing department, is shaken but relieved. I imagine I’d be relieved too if my company had such a good pet insurance policy after something like that!” The newscaster stopped to laugh at her own joke before returning to a more serious tone. “Police advise owners to install protective measures to keep pets from wandering off. Even if you feel your pet is well-behaved, it never hurts to be safe!”
Lucky let out a shuddering sigh. He wished Tyler wouldn’t play stories like that. Tyler worried about him running away so much, even though he’d never even had the chance to. It was unproductive to worry about himself ending up dead or hurt in a ditch, so he tried not to think about it as much as Tyler seemed to.
He started to plate the food, giving his owner a noticeably bigger portion. There was no time to feel sad over the news. He had a goal to accomplish, and if it involved being perfectly cheerful to placate Tyler’s worries first, that’s what he’d do.
“Dinner!” Lucky called, bringing out the plates to the dining room and sitting down. The TV shut off.
Tyler walked in, stopping to smell the air. “Smells good in here.” He looked at the food and his eyes brightened. “Wow! Looks great, too.”
Lucky smiled. He thought it looked pretty good too, especially after he put in the effort to put the flaked parmesan on top and garnish it with a few herbs. “I felt like doing something extra good tonight.”
Tyler sat and took a bite, nodding. “You’re on a roll today, Luck.”
Lucky could barely contain his excitement. It was working. Tyler would definitely be more open to listening to him now. He squirmed happily in his seat, starting to eat his own food. He wondered when he should bring it up. He figured he should at least wait until he brought the pudding out, otherwise the extra effort to make it would have been pointless.
Tyler shook his head. “Terrible what happened to that pet, huh?”
Lucky forced a bite of pasta around the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Yes, sir,” he said in a small voice. He had stopped thinking about it. Why did Tyler feel the need to bring it up?
“Wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t feel the need to run away. You’re too smart for that, huh, Luck?” Tyler looked at Lucky expectantly.
“Of course, sir. I’d never do that to you or myself.”
Tyler smiled. “Atta boy.”
Lucky’s mood brightened a bit again. He said the right thing! Not only that, but he couldn’t remember doing a wrong thing all day! If he asked the right way, this just might work. For the rest of the meal, he mentally reviewed all the ways he might possibly bring up his idea.
When all the food was gone, he stood up to collect the plates. “I made dessert too!”
“Wow, really? Awesome! What is it?”
“I made pudding! We can eat it when we watch TV!”
“Alright!” Tyler pumped a fist into the air, then laughed a little self-consciously. “I’ll wait for you and the pudding on the couch!”
Lucky went to the kitchen, humming a jingle he heard on TV. He put the plates in the sink and walked to the fridge. It was almost time! A sudden spike of nervousness struck him. Oh, gosh, it was almost time. He stopped, one hand on the refrigerator handle. Did he really want to do this? What if it went badly? What if Tyler took it the wrong way? He shook his head and steeled himself. It was a great idea and he knew it. It would benefit both of them, including Tyler, so Tyler would have no reason to say no.
Still, Lucky put whipped cream on the pudding before carrying out, as a last touch. Just in case that made a difference.
The living room was almost a relaxing area, with a worn couch across from a large flatscreen, but since it was the room closest to the front door, Tyler kept a gun attached decoratively to the wall above the couch. The gun effectively made the room unsettling to any guests that Tyler invited, but Lucky loved it. It was the spot he felt closest to Tyler, the spot he watched the people on TV with their better lives, the spot he almost felt normal.
Lucky settled in next to Tyler on the couch and handed one of the pudding bowls over, Tyler eagerly accepted it, putting a heaping spoonful into his mouth.
“Mmm!” Tyler picked up the remote and flicked through Netflix, looking for something to watch.
Lucky stared into his pudding bowl, using his spoon to poke at the dessert. He took a deep breath. Now was the best time.
“Hey, um, sir?”
“Yeah?” Tyler barely seemed to be listening.
“I was thinking… so, um, some people bring their platonics to work to help them with disabilities? I think, um, I think we should maybe do that.” Lucky hadn’t looked up from his pudding once while he spoke. Tyler was completely silent, so Lucky went on, hoping to fill the tense silence. “I mean, you wouldn’t have to worry about being scared at work, and—”
“Is this not good enough for you?” Lucky cringed into the couch. The spoon kept clinking against the bowl in his shaking hands. No, no, no, no… this wasn’t how it was supposed to go!
He forced words out of his frozen mouth. “Of… of course not, sir, I just think it would be good—”
“Bullshit!” Tyler slammed his pudding bowl on the coffee table so hard, Lucky cried out at the noise. “I’m the owner here! I know what’s best! Don’t you dare forget which one of us is in charge!” Tyler grabbed Lucky’s hair, yanking him forward. Lucky yelped in pain, dropping his bowl on the ground. It broke. Tyler yelled louder. “Now look what you’ve done!”
Lucky reached down, trembling, to pick the pieces up. “I’m, I’m sorry sir, but you’d be less scared, and I—”
Tyler shoved him onto the ground. His arms were cut on the broken pieces of the bowl, pudding staining his shirt.”You what?”
“I don’t want to be locked up all day!” Lucky blurted. The reality of what a damning thing he said hit him, and he started sobbing, choking out more words around his cries. “Please, sir, I...I can be useful...let me clean, at least… please…”
Tyler stood up, face twisted in harsh fury. “You know.” He raised his voice. “You know why I keep you there, and you still insist on leaving?” He laughed, but there was no humor in his voice. “I want to protect you!”
“I, I know, I’m sorry—”
“Do you want something bad to happen? To wander off, get lost, and die alone? To be murdered if robbers break in? To be stolen and hurt? Is that what you want, huh?”
“No—”
Tyler laughed again, voice rising hysterically. “Well, if you have such a death wish, why don’t I kill you right now?” Lucky tensed, horror rising in him as Tyler took the gun off the wall. “I could do it, you know. No one would care. You aren’t as important as you think you are, Luck.”
Lucky tried to force his voice to remain steady. Tyler was right—if he were shot right now, no one outside the house would care. Most likely, no one outside the house would even find out. “Sir, please—”
Tyler swung the gun to point at him. Lucky whimpered, curling up on himself. His heart hammered so hard he felt like it was going to burst from his chest. How had this gone so wrong? It felt like the room was closing in, leaving him no escape. He vividly imagined bullets blowing him to pieces, and curled up even tighter.
“Oh, so now you’re nice and obedient. It’s too late for that, you know.” Lucky looked up at the man who was going to be the end of him. His vision was blurred by tears, but Tyler almost seemed to be smirking.
Lucky tried to force himself to beg, but all that could escape his throat was the word “please”. He said it again and again, barely above a whisper. He raised a weak, trembling arm, trying to put a hand on Tyler’s foot. It was over. He was going to die. Oh god, he was going to die.
“You’re getting blood on my socks.” Lucky recoiled his arm. It was covered in smeared blood from his cuts. He curled back into himself. Begging had only made it worse. All he could do now was wait.
He mentally detached himself from his body. A heart still pounded somewhere, but it didn’t feel like his heart. Eyes watered, but they no longer felt like his. Even the bleeding arm felt disconnected from his existence. He’d mentally run away like this many times in the Facility, but this time would be his last. The ability had served him well, anyway. He waited outside himself for the fatal shot.
It never came.
Suddenly, Tyler was carefully pulling him back up on the couch. Lucky’s head spun. What was happening? He blinked, glancing around. The gun was back in its place on the wall, as if nothing had happened. Tyler gently held him, running a hand through his hair as he cried. He was such a helpless mess, sobbing, covered in snot, blood, and pudding, yet Tyler, still well put together, was pretending not to notice.
“Shh. Shh. You didn’t think I was really going to shoot you, did you?”
Lucky couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even think clearly enough to string together a coherent sentence. He simply buried his head deeper into Tyler’s shoulder, sobbing out his fear and confusion.
But he couldn’t believe Tyler. He was certain that Tyler really might have killed him, no matter what reassurances he was muttering now. He knew what had happened, even if Tyler didn’t want to admit it to himself. He was sure of it.
#Lucky#Tyler#BBU#Box Boy#boxboy#box boy universe#verbal abuse#tw verbal abuse#physical abuse#TW physical abuse#blood#tw blood#gun#tw gun#gun tw#tw human trafficking#human trafficking tw
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got tagged by @night-dark-woods , hiya lol. ty for the like, thing to do lol. im supposed to tag 9 more ppl i want to get to know better but im only gonna tag a few. @maplespicetransgirl @draciallia @kobold-lesbian @y2k-lesbian
1. top 3 ships: uhhhhhhhh, im gonna say currently rather than all time, glimmer x adora x catra, idk lol its a cute idea and theres a bunch of cute art of them together lol. ive been rly enjoying my next life as a villainess, the mc, catarina, doesnt realise she has at least 2 girls in love with her with a 3rd on the way. i wish i could believe it will resolve in polyamory but. maybe we'll at least see her get a gf. bc. its been very blatant about her friends being in love with her. one of them, mary, has been in love with her for years and is trying to sabotage anyone else falling in love with her, and the other, wont say who bc spoiler, is her reincarnated best friend (its an isekai show) but doesn't realise it, and in the last episode some magic made her speak without inhibitions, and the first thing she does is tell catarina she loves her in like, the romantic way. so you know, fingers crossed. other than thaaaaaat... uhhhhh.... oh i guess poppy and barb from trolls 2. i like that movie. wish it was as gay as it clearly wants to be. also i need to keep watching rwby, ruby/weiss/penny is rly cute.
2. last movie i watched: i watched. half. of osmosis jones with friends earlier today. very gross movie. last complete movie was probably the cgi tintin movie..?? good but idk. before that was trolls 2, for the 2nd time. those movies are great.
3. last book i read: i cant read. well i have adhd so i dont read much anymore. i miss novels but i do listen to audiobooks. currently listening to interesting times by terry pratchett with my gf. last physical book i read was uncaged vol 1, a book of queer dnd adventures with a focus on like, uhhh, monstrous women iirc. its good. def recommend. havent read the whole thing tho.
4. food im currently craving: idk how to answer this lol. i could rly fuck with some mcdonalds or burger king. anything salty spicy and deep fried.. im a glutton and i have sensory issues with food. i tend to eat mostly comfortable or safe foods with good textures and tastes. anything outside my comfort zone usually bad stims me, which is like. horrendous. it makes food hard but also like. good food is rapturous. i like stir fry a lot. my gf cooks stir fry a lot and i always love it. and i like putting condiments on things. bbq sauce, soy sauce, and like, if i can get it theres this rly good peri peri salt they sell at nandos. god i love salt and spicy things. i had a korean burger once that was so spicy i couldnt finish it in one sitting and god i want another. it had a black bun and the chicken was bright red with spices, it was great i miss it. theres this spicy burger mcdonalds did once that had like. battered and deep fried jalapenos on it and spicy salsa and chicken and it was godly. oh and the spicy shaker fries. miss those. dream burger would be something like, korean spicy chicken with some kind of sweet tangy spicy sauce, battered jalapenos, bacon, salad, and a hashbrown coated in some kind of spicy salt. i used to like subway a lot but idk now. i also love donuts. and pastries. and oranges and citrus fruit in general. pears are great too. im not usually into like, candy or chocolate tho its too sweet. oh i love chinese food. noodles and rice and meat and vegetables and sauces, all packed with flavour and amazing textures... chinese food is so good. sushi and japanese food in general tends to be my jam too. most things with rice are rly good. not curries tho i cant eat many curries, i like butter chicken tho thats always good. i could keep going lol i love food. oh turkish food is good. and greek? lots of good meats. tho i cant deal with uhhh... tabouli, parsley kills me on contact idk. and cilantro. but i love souvlakis those are great. pasta is alright, i like tortellini and ravioli and gnocchi with lots of cheese. oh and pizza. with everything on it. especially anchovies. i love anchovies and olives and feta... and pepperoni... and garlic bread. cured meats in general are very good. root vegetables too. capsicum and chillis are yummmmm. im sure i could go on... food is. so good. its euphoric. oh i love ramen too! and uhhh, ramyun i think its called?? i think its korean? its spicy and very good. thicker noodles too. anyway i should stop this is too much lol.
ty for asking my opinion lol
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Now you are here forever
Brie Larson x Reader
Summary- Being in a long-distance relationship now Brie wants to take it to the next level
First-year:
Brie is a struggling actor and DJ, she is behind on rent and she is avoiding the landlord. It's been a month that she hasn't got a gig and auditions are brutal.
She decided to teach guitar lessons on the internet and she put up an ad on craigslist.
Days later, she got an email from you. She starts to read it and she wrote back, gave you the price and schedule.
~The next day~
Brie and you got on Skype and greeted each other.
”Y/N, have you ever played the guitar?” Brie asked.
”No. I always wanted to try it. I actually got this as a gift, so um yeah” You said.
”Alright, I will show you simple steps. First, watch my hands and I tell you about chords” Brie said.
”Okay,” You said.
Brie is teaching you the basics and you try to copy her.
”Take your time. You don't have to rush” Brie said.
”I’m just nervous,” You said.
”Why?” Brie asked.
”I get nervously easily,” You said.
”You don't have to be nervous with me,” Brie said.
”I will try,” You said.
Brie goes back to teaching you the basics. She starts to sing and admittedly, you fell in love with her singing.
”Wow, you really can sing,” You said.
”Thank you. Now you try to do the same chords I did” Brie said and she smiled at you.
You nod. You try to do the same chords she did but it wasn't the same. She encourages you to keep trying and tells you to practice every day.
For the past couple of weeks, Brie is still teaching you to play the guitar. You are getting better and conversations are no more one-word sentences. You and Brie are getting to know each other on the basic stuff. Sometimes, you and Brie make each other laugh. Even when the lesson is over, you and Brie stay on just to talk.
Today, Brie called you on Skype but you don't pick up. You just ignore it and go back to bed.
Brie is starting to get worried about you. It's the first time ever, you don't pick up when she calls. She sent you a text and you start to read it.
Brie- Y/N, here is my phone number. Call or text me anytime you want, we can talk about anything you want.
You kept looking at the screen. You start to think about it then you text her.
You- it's Y/N. I had a terrible day. I just want to hide in my bedroom.
Brie saved your phone number and you saved hers.
Brie- if you want to talk about it, I'm here for you.
All night Brie has been comforting you by text. You told her what happened and she did everything trying to make you feel better.
-----------
Second-year:
You and Brie are starting to know each other a little deeper. Now, texting every day and she is still giving you guitar lessons and you have improved.
Brie always smiles at her phone when she gets your text. She has fallen for you and she wants to tell you, how she feels about you. She called you but you didn't pick up because you are busy. So, instead, she starts to write about how she feels about you. She starts to write down everything why she is fallen for you.
She stares at the screen, she starts to think to send it or not. She bites her bottom lip and starts to think fast. She closed her eyes and she pressed send. Now she waits for you to reply back.
You have read the text over so many times, you lost count. You are actually speechless, you actually thought that she meant that for someone else.
But you smiled at the screen. You are thinking she actually likes me. You text back and told her how you truly felt and you can't stop smiling.
-----------
Third-year:
You and Brie are officially a couple. The long-distance does suck but will try to make it work. You two are always text, facetime, and talk on the phone. You know that she is trying to become an actress and you always support her in anything. She supports you all the time, even you don't know what to do with your life.
Today is Valentine's day and it does suck that you two live far away from each other.
Brie looks in the mirror and she starts to fix her hair.
”Brie, I thought you didn't have a date today?” Rachel asked.
”I do have a date. It's with Y/N, remember?” Brie said.
Rachel laughed.
”Long-distance relationship doesn't work. You two might as well give up. Do people really find love on the internet?” Rachel said.
”Well, I don't care what anyone says. Yeah, it sucks that we are in a long-distance relationship but we truly care for each other. So, you can leave now because I don't want you to bring me down” Brie said.
”Whatever” Rachel said and she left.
Brie heats up the food then she called you on Skype. You answered and you two can't stop smiling at each other. For Valentine's Day, you two will have dinner together on Skype.
”Wow, Brie you look really beautiful,” You said.
Brie blushed. ”You look hot. So, what you are having for dinner, my love”
You blushed when she called you my love.
”Tonight, I am having pizza. What about you?” you said.
”I am having, pasta and garlic bread. Happy Valentine's Day, babe. I do wish we were together” Brie said.
”Me too. I kinda envy those couple who spend time together. But at least, today we got to spend our first Valentine's Day together on Skype” You said.
”I feel the same. My friend Rachel thinks our relationship won't work because we live far apart. I don't believe that. I feel it work if we both put in our part and our relationship will last. Have you ever thought about living in California?” Brie said.
”To be honest, no. I thought about visiting and going to Hollywood and take many pictures. Why?” You said.
”Just asking. Any dessert?” Brie said.
”Ice cream and chocolate,” You said.
”Did you get the gift I sent you? Because you should open it now” Brie said.
”You should open your gift too,” You said.
At the beginning of February, you and Brie sent each other a package. But promised each other to open it on Valentine's Day, at the same time together.
You and Brie start to open the package. She sent a plush teddy bear with a shirt that says I love California, magnets, pictures that she took with her polaroid camera and a shirt and socks.
”Wow, best gift ever I love it,” You said.
”I love my gifts too. You are the best. Y/N... I-I-I know this is cliche to say it on this day but I don't care but I'm actually in love with you” Brie said.
Your eyes opened wide and you start to stutter.
”No way... Wait really?” You said.
”Yes, I'm in love with you. I wish we can see each other and spend the whole day together. I'm sorry if I scared you I didn't mean to. But I wanted to let you know” Brie said.
”I feel the same way. I didn't say because I was afraid to say it out loud. Yeah, I do wish we can see each other, hold hands and kiss each other and other stuff. The distance does suck, I know one day we will see each other hopefully” You said.
You and Brie smiled at each other. Stayed up, very late and just talked about the future together.
-----------
Fourth Year:
Brie has told you about some of the movies she has been doing. You would go to the movies to see it or buy it on DVD. You and Brie do send packages to each other. But the relationship is getting harder since she gets the part for the movie, she would travel and work long hours. Sometimes, she can't text all day with you. But she does send you, good morning and goodnight texts, but she never forgets to send you, I love you texts.
Brie has saved up enough money to visit you but she doesn't want to tell you. She actually wants to surprise you and lied of where she is going.
She finally got off the airplane and she is feeling exhausted. She got her luggage then went to get a cab. She is feeling super nervous and excited.
Brie- I love you
You- I know
Brie- lol did you just Han Solo me?
You- Maybe...
Brie just smiled and she arrived at your place. She paid the driver then got out of the car. She went to the building and she knocked on your door. You looked at the time and it's 1:53 am. Brie knocked on the door again non-stop.
You opened the door and Brie hugged you very tight.
”Holy shit,” You said.
You hugged her back. After the hug, you helped Brie with her luggage.
”Why you didn't tell me? I would have picked you up at the airport” You said.
”I actually, wanted to surprise you. I saved up for months, I really wanted to surprise and kiss you” Brie said.
Brie pulled you into a kiss. She pulled you closer and you don't stop kissing her.
”I love this surprise. I’m so glad you are here” You said.
”Me too, Y/N,” Brie said.
You took Brie to your bedroom. After she took a shower, you lend her your pajamas and socks. The apartment is cold because tonight it started to snow heavily. You made hot chocolate for you and Brie.
”How long you will stay?” You asked.
”Three weeks. Now, we can be together like what we talked about” Brie said.
She kissed you.
”Yeah. You can sleep on my bed” You said.
”Good, because I really want to cuddle with you,” Brie said.
The apartment is getting cold. You and Brie cuddle in your bed.
”Live with me in California. Y/N, I don't want to be far from you again. You don't have to answer me right now but at least think about it” Brie said.
”I will move in with you. I mean it, I don't want to be apart from you. I think we should give it a try. I will try to save up then I meet you in California” You said.
Brie kissed you again.
You and Brie didn't stay up long. Quickly fell asleep holding each other. She is definitely keeping your pajamas.
Next day, you and Brie couldn't go outside because of the blizzard. So, you and Brie watched movies, mostly talked about everything and cuddle a lot. And did try to cook together and just making each other smile.
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Chapter 10 - My Time To Shine
From the time I was seventeen I've been responsible for the meals prepared at the biggest holiday of them all; Thanksgiving. It's taken over as my personal favorite because I get to spend the day doing what I love, and what I do best. When it comes to me cooking for thanksgiving, my family has learned a few things. I know what I'm doing, don't distract me, and don't change my music. We got the week off from school, so I stayed up at my parent's house to get prepped for the upcoming event. Everyone was curious as to what kind of stops I was pulling out this year, but as always I wasn't saying. I'd come up with some new ideas I wanted to try out, and this was as good a time as any.
When my siblings moved out I had my choice of which room I wanted to call my own. I picked Selena's room since it came with the best sunset views, and got the best night time breezes. When I got to be around sixteen I made the decision to paint the walls from the dark purple to a red. I hoped Selena wouldn't be too upset at what I'd done to her room. When I moved out, our parents kept the room relatively the same, but now there's not a bunch of clothes on the floor like I'm used to seeing it. I woke up early Tuesday with the task of doing the shopping on my mind. I called up my siblings to see which one of them could accompany me. Only Natalie was available, so I waited for her to come and pick me up. Natalie unlocked the door and let herself in with baby Lexi in her arms. Before I could get up for a hug, she forced Lexi into my arms.
"GOTTA PEE!" She screamed running to the bathroom. Lexi smiled at me as I held her close.
"Your mommys so crazy Lexi. Did you know that?"
"Yeah." She said laughing. Lexi can answer yes or no questions, but to whether or not she knows what it means remains to be seen. Natalie emerged from the bathroom looking relieved as ever.
"Okay we ready?" She asked.
"Yeah." Lexi said again putting her hands up.
"Aha I guess that's a yes, let's get going!" I put Lexi in her carseat behind me. Natalie plugged in her phone and turned on the car. As the engine started the radio turned on. What came on wasn't music, but was some very intense whispering that sounded like it could be right in your ears. I gave Natalie a confused look before she practically slammed her hand into the off button. She fumbled around with her phone to put on actual music. "Um..what the fuck was that?" Natalie's face was turnning red.
"Just some..patreon audio.."
"What who's voice is that even?"
"Dude it's so crazy it's this chick that does anime voices, but y'know makes them say bad things.."
"Oh my god Natalie you're a freak haha." I palmed my face laughing hysterically.
"Shut up! We all have our little things. This one just happens to be mine."
"So..it's like audio porn?"
"NO ABSOLUTELY NOT." She smacked the back of my head. "You little shit head.."
"Ow!"
"I am still your big sister y'know! Need to show me my respect!" We continued our drive to the store. When we got there Natalie just followed behind as I pulled items into the basket. I was on a mission to get everything i needed. I didn't look back a few times, and at times lost Natalie through the crowd. "Elizabeth! Slow down a little!" When we finished checking out we went back home to put them all into the fridge. "Jesus how big is this turkey?"
"Fifteen pounds." I answered looking through the vegetables, and looking through my checklist.
"Can I just say I'm so glad you're good at cooking?" She hugged me.
"Aha you could stand to mention it more often." The front door unlocked by Selena with her kids and Sam.
"Helllo?" Selena called out for anyone home.
"We're in here!" I answered. The kids rushed into the living room diving onto the couches. "Excuse me boys!" I stood there hands on my hips. Cole and AJ looked at one another before making their way towards me. I leaned down.
"Hi aunt Liz." They said together hugging me, and kissing my cheeks on each side.
"Love you guys." I smiled mussing up their hair as they walked back. "Well hey sister, excited for thanksgiving?" I turned to Selena.
"Always! Gotta break out my fancy maternity pants so I won't lose a button."
"Oh my god haha." I started taking out bowls to do as much prep work as I could before hand to make my life easier. That meant dicing up my mire poix, dry brining my turkey, making my compound butter, and cutting up bread for stuffing. My sisters both gathered around like I was doing magic, when I was just peeling vegetables. They continued looking on amazed as I chopped vegetables so easily and at times without looking. It might be stupid but it really does make me feel special. It's not that my sisters are bad cooks, I think it's just the fact that I'm going to school for cooking they think I have some more efficient way of doing simple things. Which I totally do.
"Lizzy are you sure you don't need any help?" Selena looked at me worried. I put down my knife and shook the aches out of my hand.
"Yeah yeah I got it. You know me, I like doing it all."
"Mm well if you say so. We can help too.."
"I know I know, and I will need some help in the next couple days and maybe using you guys' ovens."
"Jesus Liz what's all being made?"
"Top secret!" Both Selena and Natalie rolled their eyes while I rubbed my hands together smiling devilishly. "Though if you really are set on helping these are some recipes you guys can do, and I made them as easy as possible."
"Are you calling us stupid?! I HAVE A MASTERS DEGREE ELIZABETH!" Selena said faking getting mad. I rolled my eyes and went back to my cutting board.
-Thursday-
It's the big day and everything needs to go as planned or else I might kill somebody. I'm usually more go with the flow and easy going, but when it comes to cooking there is only one way to do things and it's my way. I was up around 5 am to start slow cooking some of the bigger proteins like the turkey and beef wellington I prepped the night before. Before putting the turkey into the oven I massaged the smoked garlic compoud butter underneath the skin. It's not the nicet feeling thing to do, but it makes a whole hell of a lot of difference down the line. I was still a bit sleepy, so I turned on the tv to wake me up a little. I flipped through the literal hundred of channels trying to find anything, but nothing was on. I turned on my newest favorite podcast and listened to "dead meat with James and Chelsea". I'm the only one of my family who is a huge horror movie buff. The only person I can get to go with me is Nathan, but he's not a addict like I am. Mom came down about an hour and a half after I did.
"The only day I can expect you up this early." Mom laughed.
"Well what can I say I love you all that much." I flashed a big smile to her.
"Mm well happy thanksgiving my little head chef." She kissed the top of my head before going to get a cup of coffee. Nathan dropped by first around eight, and like the caring brother he is, he brought me breakfast.
"Special delivery." He smirked handing me a bag of donuts.
"Thanks brother!" I stuffed one in my mouth while giving him a hug. "Dinners gonna be ready about 4!"
"Alright I'll have the girls all dressed and ready to see what you've come up with this year."
"ITS FINNA BE LIT!" I smiled jumping up and down.
"Right right..lit." Nathan not the one for today's slang terms. "Soph is making pies by the way!" Nathan said walking out the door.
"Oh sweet! I knew I could trust one of you."
-11 am-
I was starting to get a little tired, but it wasn't anything I wasn't used to. I opened the fridge for the perfect remedy of an energy drink. I'd changed from my morning pajamas to a pair of jeans and my chef's coat to really feel the part.
"Just like your father." Aunt Camryn said from behind me. I practically spit all over the fridge.
"JESUS CHRIST." I put my hand over my chest. "I didn't hear anyone come in! My hearts like racing now."
"Mm well thats from your lil energy nonsense. Drink coffee like an adult."
"HUMPH. No coffees gross."
"Peasant." Aunt Camryn muttered sipping her coffee.
I turned my attention to the stove where I had potatoes, pasta, and stuffing working. Aunt Camryn peeked over my shoulder to see what I was working with, but I shielded her off.
"No peeking!" I practically shrieked as aunt Camryn took a step back.
"Good lord Elizabeth you're not re-inventing the wheel here."
"This is the one time I get to show out and I want to surprise. So please shoo." I even gave her a little hand wave motion. Aunt Camryn looked like she was about to smack the life out of me. Mom walked in probably saving my face.
"Nicole! She just told me to shoo!" She couldn't believe my audacity.
"Haha c'mon Camryn leave Elizabeth to do her thing. You good here sweetie?"
"Yeah I got it mom." She winked at me before guiding aunt Camryn into the other room. Selena walked in carrying trays of appetizers to appease guests while I finished cooking.
"Well how's it coming along baby chef?" Selena smiled giving me a hug.
"Everythings on schedule for 4 pm dinner."
"Awesome, well I brought something special for you sincey you're being so great." She rummaged through the bags and pulled out a bowl of macaroni and cheese. It's my ultimate comfort food, and Selena would always make it for me when she would babysit.
"YESS!" I ripped off the saran wrap and dug right in. I forgot I even had a hunger need until the first bite hit.
"See not the only one who can cook. I also made more for dinner later for an extra side."
"See you're helping!" I said like I was talking to one of her boys.
"Funny." Selena looked at me arms crossed. I got up and gave her another hug and kiss as a thank you. Although I didn't wipe my mouth enough so Selena had bits of cheese on her. "*sigh I expect things like this from my kids, not my adult sister." She pulled out wipes for her face.
"Oh! I have stuffing in that tray that needs to be finished off, can you do it in your oven please?"
"Yeah sure, anything else?" I took a minute to run through the list in my head.
"There's a tray of biscuits that need to be baked there. They're all portioned out, just put them in at 375, and brush the butter on top when they're done."
"YES CHEF!" Selena saluted to me smiling.
"Damn right yes chef!"
"Okay we'll be back around 3."
I pulled the turkey and beef at the same time to let them rest. The smell was absolutely intoxicating, roasted garlic, lemon, parsley, and bacon. It all was coming out the way in envisioned it. Mom helped me get all the serving plates while dad and uncle Logan set the table. Aunt Camryn "supervised" along with her glass of wine. My siblings all began to arrive with their families, so I stood at the door awaiting my tolls from the kids.
"Happy thanksgiving auntie Liz here this is for you!" Daisy smiled happy as always. She hugged me tight and handed me a card she made of her handprint drawn into a turkey.
"Thank you Daisy!" I squeezed her tight before moving onto the next in line. "What you got for me Julian?" I smiled down at him. He didn't say anything at first going straight into the hug.
"Love you auntie Liz." AJ and Cole were next.
"I wonder which of you loves me more..?" I said twiddling my thumbs. They shoved their way into my arms hugging as tight as they could. "Aha okay okay I see you both love me a lot." They laughed letting go.
I looked at the table with the all the food I'd prepared along with sides prepared by everyone else, and marveled at it all. When everyone finally got a look at it they did as I did and were in awe of it. Along with the two stars of the show there was grilled asparagus, roasted brussel sprouts with pancetta, butter poached shrimp, pumpkin risotto, roasted acorn squash, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, stuffing, baked macaroni and cheese with a parmesan crust, and garden salad. The smells mixed together in the dining room and I could see everyone starting to salivate just a little at the sight. The dessert table looked just as amazing with the contributions of my sister-in-laws and siblings.
"Elizabeth this looks so good. You did a great job." Selena putting her hands over my shoulders.
"Yeah good job Liz it smells incredible." Nathan said looking over all the choices spread across the table.
"I can't believe you did this on your own.." Natalie smiled. They all surrounded me in a big group hug before we all joined hands. Dad looked to me and nodded.
"Thank you god for bringing us all together and allowing me to show my family just how much they mean to me with a skill you've blessed me with. We give thanks for all the food we're about to have and pray for a good end to the coming year. Amen."
"Amen." Everyone collectively answered back. Mom handed me my carving knife and I made the first cut into serving everyone. When everyone had a full plate we took our seats around the house. I plated up last and sat at the table between Sophia and Selena.
"I'm so glad I've got my stretchy jeans on Liz. Cause definitely going back for more." Selena smiled eating. As dinner went on everyone would walk by and drop compliments to me and say thank you. It's what made it all worth it. Everyone seeing what I could do, and being recognized for it. I didn't care that my legs hurt from standing all day, my fingers had blisters from the knives, or I was tired beyond belief. Knowing that everyone enjoyed it so much made it worth going through. The kids dropped by me again to say thank you before starting dessert.
"You did real good hon." Dad said kissing the top of my head as he walked towards the sink.
"We'll all get the dishes sweetie. Take a break finally." Mom nudged me over to the recliner.
"Yes will definitely do that." I collapsed into the chair, putting my feet up. The pain in my legs slowly subsiding while my body began to relax. I didn't move for a good twenty minutes before Selena walked by with two plates of pecan pie slices for the both of us. She handed one to me and we cheers'd our forks. I wasn't a pie person growing up, but they've grown on me. After dessert hit me everyone began contemplating the next step. My siblings finished off the dishes, and the kids were all starting to look sleepy. I cracked open another energy drink and split it with Selena.
"So are we doing this?" Natalie asked eagerly.
"Can you watch the kids?" Selena turned to mom. "We'll just put them to bed. We won't be gone more than a few hours."
"Aw man guys go without me you know I hate it." Nathan waved off.
"BABE! No way you gotta we can get a new tv." Sophia nudged him. Nathan's eye's lit up.
"Yeah the kids can just sleep here while you're out. Oh
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Want
Part 18 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)
My taglist is a separate post so let me know if you want to be added or removed! This is v long chapter because I love.... so many of these scenes... I hope you will enjoy it. Also happy Henrik appreciation week he deserves better I love him <3333 and also you for reading <3333333
Edit: yo @florenceisfalling made SUCH A LOVELY JAMIE AND CHASE PIECE with a tiny bit of inspo from this chapter and I love it so much!!! you can see it here
tws for self-hatred, panic attacks, and weight mentions/food
also major abuse themes sorry i should have included that right away this whole fic has major abuse so please be careful
He thinks that maybe all that he hoped for has come to be, and yet...
“Well, what do you need now, Jameson?”
“What do I need?”
“What do you want to do, I mean? We can get some food in you, you can lie down, maybe we need some more ointment for that throat of yours – where did Chase put that, he might have something for your ear infection too – well, whatever you feel like. What sounds good?”
“What – you want me to choose?”
“Yes, we have time for anything. We have a lot of time now. What would you like?”
Jameson stares up at Henrik, still sitting in the warmth left on the mattress as they slept.
“You sure you want me to choose?”
Henrik stops bustling around and turns back to him. He tries to smile but he can’t make his mouth move, just tries to look warm. “From now on,” he says. “You get to choose what you do and who you are. How does that sound?”
Sounds like breaking the rules. He bites down hard on his lip, closing his eyes, trying to banish the thought of all that Anti would do to him if he knew he was anything other than a prisoner here.
If he knew that he was beginning to be glad that Anti let him go.
“I want,” he says. “To go back to Anti.”
Henrik closes his eyes, breathes in deep. “Well,” he murmurs. “That is the one thing you cannot do.”
Jameson stares down at his scarred hands.
“Come on, Jamie.” Henrik steps closer, hands outstretched. “What do you want to do?”
What do you want to do? What do you want? What do you want to be?
“I want,” says Jameson.
He has to pause, has to pause to choke, overwhelmed just for an instant, as he realizes he has never once in his life signed the word.
“I want,” he repeats. “I want a shower.”
“A shower,” says Henrik, and smiles. “Well, I think that much can be handled.”
He's staring at his hair.
“What did you think it looked like?” Chase laughs, presenting him with a clean t-shirt.
Jameson ducks his head down, nervous with a stranger beside him, but his eyes flicker up again, and he's staring at his hair.
Staring at his face, clean.
“When was the last time you got to wash it?” asks Chase, frowning now. He reaches out to touch Jameson's hair and then thinks better of it, drawing away politely. Jameson tries his best to smile at him. If he's gentle and harmless, Chase won't hurt him, right?
“Long time,” he manages, his hands stammering as they tremble.
There are three different showers in the house that Marvin made. The one in the bathroom across from the spare room is, in two words, absolutely spiffing. Jameson's not really supposed to use old words – Anti said they made him sound stupid and didn't make sense to sign anyway – but for the remorseless pressure of the steaming hot water, where he stayed for two hours, rubbing shampoo into his hair and scraping his skin clean with soap the scent of oranges, he makes a mental exception.
Besides... Anti's not here.
He tries to smile at his reflection in the mirror. His hair has dried into a warm, earthy brown color. Its stiffness is gone and the streaks of dust and filth that used to make him feel so disgusting have vanished into a warm coconut smell. It even curls, just a little – tumbling gently over his forehead in a fine coil of brown and teal.
He's clean. He's clean and so is the house. Everything's clean. Even his nails are picked into white crescent moons. Finally, finally.
“You look good,” says Chase, and Jameson flinches to be mocked, but then he turns his gaze and sees only sincerity in Chase's face. “Here, want your shirt?”
“My shirt?”
“Yeah, sorry, I haven't had time to go buy you anything new yet. Just went to work and came back today, didn't even visit Jack. Schneep's feeling a little jumpy still, but when he chills out, I'll take you out of the house and we'll go buy you a whole wardrobe. Yeah?”
“Yeah – really, clothes all for me? – wait, can I – can I visit Mr. Jack sometime?”
“I like that sign for him.” Chase laughs and copies him, making the sign for infection over his eye. “You're kind of sassy, aren't you, Jay? I don't see why not.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, dude! He's, uh. Not great company, but still... I like to think he'd be glad you came to see him. I like to think he's glad when I come to see him, you know?”
Jameson doesn't know. Coma patients do not rejoice for a visit in his understanding. But the thought of finding Mr. Jack, of seeing him, of knowing where he is and how to get to him – that sounds amazing.
He chooses that. Henrik says he can do what he wants. He wants to find Jack. He's been wanting to know him his whole life, so a few days? That's nothing. He can wait.
He grins at his reflection again, easier now, and tugs Chase's shirt – no, no, it's his shirt now, Chase said so – over his head.
“How about some food?” offers Chase. “You want something to eat? Skinny little guy, I gotta tell you. Schneep says you probably need to put some weight on, which is great for me, cause I really like to fucking cook.”
Chase talks a lot, and never with any malice. Jameson kind of likes listening to him.
“Sounds good,” he agrees, a little less nervously.
And when Chase grins and reaches out, Jameson accepts his hand in his own, and lets him tug him towards the kitchen.
He's hungry so he gets something to eat.
That's just how things work here. It's bizarre.
Bizarre and wonderful.
That first meal they share together is pasta, if only just a little, to go easy on his stomach. Chase presents it to him with garlic and chicken and sweet alfredo sauce and basil and tomatoes.
“Does that look good?”
Jameson can't even sign “yes.” He is gripping the fork too tightly. He puts a mouthful of pasta in his mouth and then he reaches up to hold his head in his hands, crying over a fork’s worth of penne.
Chase reaches out and takes his hand and tells him, “Hey, hey, calm down, it's okay! It's okay, bud. It's all okay.”
Jameson says “I'm sorry” and Chase says “don't be, it's just pasta” and Jameson says “not for that, for everything, for trying to kill you, for hurting you – ”
And all Chase says is, “Oh, well.
That's okay too.”
Over the course of the next few days, Chase makes sandwiches with pesto and feta and savory pork with spoonfuls of yellow rice and zucchini fried in bread crumbs, brings home ice cream with big chunks of chocolate, drizzles fruit in sweet sauce, cooks fish and American burgers with barbecue sauce, bakes fresh bread, gives him protein and fats and sugars according to the diet Henrik helped them decide on, and asks him, every day, if there's anything new he'd like to try, anything he didn't get to have before.
“Sorry, I just like spoiling you, cooking is like the only thing I'm good at and I always cook for my family, you know? Is that weird to say, that we're family? Really, I think we should have been brothers a long time ago, like, right away, but then – see, but you're here now, so we're brothers, right? Anyway, here, I'm making a grocery list. What do you want, JJ?”
No one's ever asked him what he wants. No one's ever called him JJ. No one's ever cooked for him. He thinks he might love Chase. Anyway, he nods when he calls him “brother.” He smiles when he calls him brother.
Yes, he thinks they should have been brothers a long time ago. Isn't that what Anti told him? That if Chase hadn't been Mr. Jack's for so long, he would have been a good puppet too, and they could have been brothers a long time ago?
Jameson would have liked that. He tries to be grateful for right now.
Things are good.
Things are unbelievably, impossibly good.
And he doesn't deserve any of it.
“Can I sleep with you?” he asks Henrik on that first night after he has called him his brother.
“Oh,” says Henrik. “Look, Jameson, I had some dependency issues when I came back from – well, I've had some dependency issues too, but I wonder if it wouldn't be healthier for you to sleep on your own.”
“Please,” Jameson begs. “Please, it's too cold in my room and Jackie is across the wall from me. I'm frightened. I want to sleep in here with you.”
Henrik's face is blue and white with bruising and exhaustion. His chest hurts badly. He has just re-stitched one of the cuts on his stomach, not that he told anyone it tore open.
Jameson isn't the only one who could use comfort.
“Okay,” Henrik admits, sighing and flopping down onto his pillows. “Yes, alright, you can sleep in here. Come lay down and let’s get some sleep.”
The bed is warm. There are no bugs or bloodstains. During the night, nothing bites him or attacks him or crawls, unexpectedly, into bed beside him, dragging static-electric hands along his flesh or kissing at the side of his throat, whispering promises of torture for later if he doesn't behave –
The nice thing about his panic attacks – Chase has been trying to teach him about having a positive mentality – is that they are silent and stiffer than a frozen tree, so he doesn't wake Henrik up four times a night like he would otherwise.
He thinks about Anti often, about all the things he should have done so that his big brother wouldn't have had to throw him out. His brain has also begun to play a cruel trick on him where suddenly the warm memories he had with Anti become sinister.
Do you remember the time he gave you your knives? You were so happy. (He also threw you down the stairs once for missing the target twice in a row, and your head split open and you bled and bled and bled.)
Do you remember the time you were so hungry you could not rise from your bed, and then he brought you – oh, they were so tasty – real donuts covered completely in sugar? You wept for joy. (The only reason you were starving in the first place was because he thought it was funny. He could have brought food for you anytime.)
Do you recall Christmas, when he brought you your blanket? You loved that thing. Slept with it every night and dragged it around after you everywhere you went. He called you his baby and you smiled. (That thing was filthy and disgusting and I hate being treated like a child, I just played along because it made him smile, and anyway Chase and Henrik have a dozen blankets a hundred times better than that one, my only fucking comfort in that god-awful – oh, oh, what am I thinking?)
He is scared that he will no longer want Anti if he stays here.
And that is the worst thought of all.
The thought that maybe – just maybe – Anti didn't actually – Anti wasn't actually –
No, no, no, no. He can't admit it. Can't even think it.
Because if Anti never really loved him, what was he doing all these months?
Anti loved him. He knows that. He's sure. It was all worth it. It must have all been worth it. He cannot accept that his suffering was meaningless. Impossible. Unthinkable. Terrible.
He loves Anti. And this place? As wonderful as it is, it is not where he belongs.
He's afraid of what it will turn him into if he stays.
Sometimes he hears Jackie moving around downstairs. This noise alone is enough to make him tremble harder than before, and bury his face against Henrik's chest, wondering if the doctor is powerful enough to protect him from the hero, when the time comes for Jackie to kill him.
He's allowed outside whenever he feels like it.
He and Anti had to hide, so, at the old house, there were only certain times he was allowed outside, and only for so long, and anyway it was winter. But this?
This is spring and he is free in it.
He doesn't know where they are. All he knows is that it's as beautiful as the glimpses of stars he used to catch through his window.
They live in the midst of a grand forest, creaking with age, where trees stretch up to the sky like God has invited them to the best garden party ever and they're trying not to be late. The branches are full of hollering birds and budding leaves and there are these fat little chipmunks scurrying along the forest floor like a kid spilled a whole box of fluffy brown marbles, and the air is clean and good and warm and Jameson – Jameson –
Jameson is in love.
He walks through it often and his brothers don't even ask him where he's going or when he'll be back. They just let him wander. His favorite spot is a river, among the trees, where he likes to come and just stand, rolling up the jeans Chase gifted him and watching the water sighing past his feet, cool and clear. The rocks press against the pads of his feet.
Once, he saw a white cat, there on the bank of the river.
He got so excited he nearly slipped, and, anxious and delighted, he signed a shaky “hello!”
The cat looked at him with big, clever blue eyes.
He reached out to touch it, but it ran away.
He still hopes to find it, one of these days. He thinks Chase feeds it in the morning, but that feels like cheating, so he waits until the sun is high in the sky, and walks every day, watching, wandering, free.
He plans to escape by way of the forest.
He'll be sad to see it go. Maybe someday he can bring Anti back here, and they'll walk through the trees together, and no longer have to hide.
“Okay, like that – yep, turn a little!”
Jameson curves the remote.
“Yeah, yep! There, now you're in the right direction. Okay, hit – yeah, that button there – and you're off! Okay, watch for the ledge!”
He sees the ledge getting closer and closer, but can't turn in time. He watches with a disgruntled twitch of his mustache as Bowser Jr. plummets to his death once again, only to be resurrected by a flying turtle.
Chase is laughing. “It's okay,” he says. “It's okay. Want to try again?”
JJ straightens up, the frown melting away. Chase never gets angry with him for fucking it up. “Yes,” he nods quickly, lifting up his little remote again. He'll keep trying til he gets it right.
“Okay, turn, then button – there you go. Can you get around the hill? Curve it – good job, bud! I'll show you how to drift in a second. Watch out for the – oh!”
Baby Bowser successfully swerves his motorcycle out of the way and continues through Moo Moo Meadows.
“Good job!” cheers Chase.
JJ puts his remote down, laughing. His clock reads eleven o' clock in the morning. “You have to go to work,” he reminds Chase warmly.
“Damn, you're right! Guess I have to say goodbye.”
JJ grins wickedly, scooting forward. Chase watches with raised eyebrows, slowly beginning to get up from the couch.
Jameson tackles him back down, grabbing a pillow to slam it over his head, and Chase yelps out a laugh and grabs him around the waist, heaving him up and off him. “Help, help,” he cries, shoving Jameson halfway off the couch, so his head hangs over the edge. “A dork with a hipster mustache is attacking me again!”
Three days ago Chase had tried to go to work and Jameson had grabbed his hand and refused to let go, grinning mischievously as Chase struggled to get free. It was the most emotion he had shown Chase thus far, and he was so delighted that he tussled with him for a full hour and then stayed home from work.
Fuck videos. He's got a little brother now. And Jameson smiles easier every day.
“I love you,” mumbles Chase, leaning down to press their heads together.
“Asshole,” signs JJ, cheekily.
And then he presses his forehead against Chase and smiles, closing his eyes and pressing the word “love” against his brother's chest.
Chase smiles til his face hurts.
“What are you morons up to now?” asks Henrik, appearing at the top of the stairs with three used mugs hanging off his hands, only now being mercifully returned to the washing machine after days of neglect.
“I was trying to teach Jamie to play Mario Kart.”
“Ah, I hate that fucking game.”
“He only says that cause he's bad at it,” Chase whispers to Jameson.
“Aren't you late for work?” asks Henrik, washing his mugs off in the sink. Jameson rises and steps towards him, soaking in the sunlight wandering in through the glass-windowed door to the patio.
“I set my own schedule!” says Chase. “And by that schedule, yes, I'm late.” He lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back. “I’m distractable lately! Jamie, toss me my shoes? Good throw – got it! – oh, shit – ah, barely caught that one!”
“Stop throwing shoes!” Henrik snaps, turning to glare at his giggling brothers.
“Bye, guys!” calls Chase, clutching the door handle. He leans his head towards it for a second, closing his eyes, and then steps through.
Weird. That door's always locked when JJ tries it. Shrugging it off and tidying his mussed hair carefully, Jamie moves towards Henrik and sets his chin on his brother's shoulder, watching him rinse out the cups, still stained with coffee at the bottom.
“How are you doing today?” asks Henrik. He moves the mug in his hand and the water splashes up towards them, getting water in Jameson's face.
Jamie shoves his shoulder playfully and falls back, shaking his head at Henrik's laughter. He comes closer again and takes a coffee-free mug from his brother, turning to set it in the washing machine.
“Actually,” he admits. “There's something I wanted to ask you.”
“Don't keep me in suspense.” Henrik hands him a second mug and picks the third one up in his hand, turning to look at him as he signs.
Jameson puts the mug in the washer. “When are we going back to Anti?”
Henrik drops the mug.
Flinching hard at the awful shattering of the glass, Jameson backs away.
The whiteness of Henrik's face only makes him flinch harder, cowering, a long-conditioned fear waking up in his stomach, making his heart pound a harsh reprimand against the inside of his ribs. He is terrified, suddenly, of the old stories Anti told him about all the things he would do if the others were his puppets, how he would bring his prisoners to the doctor and make him name each one of their bones as they shattered, keeping them alive for weeks after Anti had made them beg to die, and Jameson sees Henrik before him as he was in that cold basement only two weeks ago, covered in blood and subject, completely, to Anti's will, and terror burns at the back of his throat like whiskey.
“Get the broom,” whispers Henrik.
“What?” signs Jameson, and then he panics, realizing he's questioned an order, he didn't mean to, it just happened, he reaches up a hasty first to circle a “sorry!” around his heart –
Henrik reaches out and grabs his hands. “Just go get the broom,” he rasps, closing his eyes.
Jameson dashes towards the laundry room. He brings the broom back right away, but in the seconds he was gone, Henrik has collapsed in on himself. His hands, stiff on the kitchen counter, are keeping him standing, but his face is so pale Jameson drops the broom and reaches forward to hold his shoulders, anticipating a fall.
Henrik grabs his shoulders in return, looking up at him with exhausted eyes as blue as the ocean where the light hits the water. “Why would you ask that?” he asks.
Tears fill and overflow and come running down his face.
“I thought,” he whispers, trembling, holding onto his little brother as tightly as he can without hurting. “I thought you were happy here. Or becoming, anyway. I thought you wanted to be our brother.”
“I do, I do!” Jameson resists the urge to tear at his hair, panic rising like a bonfire in his stomach. “Don't be upset with me, please! I just thought we would go back to Anti together! You and Chase and I could all be together still. We could all go back!”
“Go back to Anti together,” Henrik repeats.
He is no longer whispering. He shouts.
“Go back to my torturer? Go back to your torturer? And bring Chase Brody? Bring my fucking little brother? Bring my friend?”
“No, no, no.” Jameson shakes his head so fast it hurts. “Not back to a torturer, he wouldn't torture us if we came willingly!”
Henrik shoves him away, gasping on the despair in his throat, and Jameson falls back like he's been struck, covering his face with his hands and collapsing to the floor, huddling back against the patio door, crying so hard he can barely breathe.
“Oh, God, why?” pants Henrik. He wants to turn away, he's scared of what he'll do if he looks at him, but it's not fair to turn away from his signing. “Oh, God. You don't – you don't understand anything.”
“I understand plenty,” Jameson protests, trying frantically to wipe the tears off his place. “I understand that being in this place has already made you forget who we belong to.”
Henrik screams aloud, slamming his fist against the counter.
“How can you say that!” he howls. “After all he put you through! I thought you were happy here! I don't understand! How can you say that!”
“What the fuck is happening?” a voice interrupts them, and Jameson stiffens like a rabbit that just heard a gun go off.
Jackie stands in the entryway, eyes wide.
Eyes angry.
“Henrik, what's wrong?”
“Nothing,” fumbles Henrik, barely able to speak. He is stumbling away from Jameson, his eyes flickering desperately from wall to wall. “Nothing, it's not his fault, he doesn't know, it's not my fault, I didn't know, I was just trying to be his, I just didn't want to get hurt, I was just trying to survive and he told me I was his but I don't believe him I don't believe him I don't believe him – ”
Jackie moves forward to grab him as he falters, gripping his hands firmly and leading him back towards the couch as his brother unravels, drowning in his own terror.
He doesn't even look at Jameson.
Stiff and silent, shaking in the corner, alone.
His scarred right hand rests on the handle of the patio door.
Henrik will not come with him. He understands now. His brother has been through too much. The bad blood between him and Anti can't be settled. Jameson will go without him.
And Chase, too, he must leave behind. It was selfish, thinking he could bring him. Anti always talked about slaughtering him like a pig. Chase is too far gone, too loyal to Mr. Jack, his old friend, sleeping sound. Yes, Jameson must go without them.
It will break his heart, but he must go without them.
He’s trying to work up the nerve.
Anti didn't love you, says one part of his brain.
This part of his brain has told him this since he was perhaps two days old. He has ignored it every time. Repressed it. Swallowed it down. Told it to shut the fuck up and wondered if he could cut it out of the side of his head before Anti sensed his disloyalty.
But that night, beside a forgiving, bone-weary Henrik, with Chase across the hallway, both sound asleep, both watching over him –
For the first time in his life, the rest of him answers that part of his brain: I know.
But I must go back anyway.
I don't deserve this.
To be clean and fed and free and happy.
To be loved.
I don't deserve them.
He wants them. Wants all of it. Wants to be theirs and his own, but never again Anti's. He wants it so much it makes his heart hurt and his hands shake and his eyelids have to squeeze tight together to stop tears from falling.
He wants it, but he doesn't deserve it.
He begins to plan his escape.
#jameson jackson#chase brody#jse egos#writersofjack#tw self hatred#tw panic attack#tw ptsd#food tw#thought about titling this 'this chapter doesn't deserve a title'#and also 'god answered my prayers and i told him to fuck off'#but i decided against them lol#bee writes#hey thank you so much to all of you who give me comments they make me so happy#i think about things you've said as i write#it gives me comfort you know???#anyway ty ly :)#tw aggressive reaction
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