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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 5 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 54

Part 1 Part 53

Months pass, slow and stretched out, like the bubblegum El’s taken to chewing. Sometimes, she’ll wrap it around her pointer finger and pull it, teeth clamped around the other side until it’s elongated – all air, stretched past recognition until it snaps.

That’s how the summer passes, foisted from adult to adult to adult. If Mom’s busy, then it’s Jonathan. If Jonathan’s busy, then it’s Uncle Wayne. If Uncle Wayne is busy, then it’s hopper. Never any of the parents who don’t know. It’s a lot of time being cooped up inside, going crazy.

For the first time, school being back in session is a relief. He’ll take the monotony of schoolwork and the stress of being zombie boy over staring at his ceiling for a second more. The party grumbles about their precious free time being sucked away, and Will echoes along, complaining about the homework and tests and boring hours, but his heart’s not in it.

When he’s home, it’s like the walls are closing in. With that in mind, he slips out his window, unnoticed. The party had talked about going to the arcade. Will hadn’t been invited. They all knew he wouldn’t be able to go; Tuesday’s were the day when no one was free. Jonathan had photography club after school, and everyone else worked. He’d be stuck at Melvald’s sitting quietly in the corner as his Mom worked.

But not today. Today, he gets on his bike and starts riding. He makes it to Mirkwood before things go wrong. He hears it: that static, horrific clicking. He falls off his bike, and it’s like he’s back in last November, scraped knees and all. He gets up and runs, bike abandoned at the side of the road.

His breathing is ragged by the time he’s back in front of his house. He whirls around, pulse in his throat, and sees nothing at all. There’s no sound, no Demogorgon stalking toward him, petal mouth opening. And it’s the middle of the day. There’s nothing at all. Will swallows, throat clicking with how dry it suddenly is.

He climbs back in through the window, disheveled and sweaty, hands shaking. He changes his dirty pants, dunks his face and hands in the abandoned water glass at his bedside. Good as new. Will closes the blinds, and sits down on his bed.

They’re probably there already, crowded around Pac Man or Dig Dug, the shape of Will’s absence a hole they always seem to leave open for him. He clenches his fingers around his knees, staring at his closed window.

What would Steve do?

Steve wouldn’t hesitate; he would’ve already been at the arcade, laughing at the center of everything like always. He wouldn’t be falling off his bike and seeing things that weren’t there.

With that thought, Will stands, walks purposefully out his bedroom door. Mom’s packing bologna sandwiches into her reusable lunch box, one for her and one from Will. He freezes at the entryway to the kitchen and watches her work.

“Are you ready to go, sweetie?” she asks, pouring coffee into her dinky little thermos, not turning around.

Will takes a deep breath. “I want to go to the arcade with my friends.” He tries to say it confidently, but it comes out wobbling all over the place.

Mom pauses, still holding the coffee pot in one hand, tilted at an angle that would have it pouring all over the countertop if it wasn’t almost empty. She stays like that for an endless moment before putting the coffee pot on the counter with a quiet click. Will wonders if it’ll burn.

She turns around, biting her lip. “Sweetie, Hop and Wayne are both at work, and you know Jonathan is–”

“Why can’t I go by myself?” he interrupts, trying not to think of how much of a disaster that’d been a few minutes ago.

Mom’s shoulders slump. She crosses her arms, hunching into herself, mouth scrunched up just like that time she’d tried a lemonhead for the first time at Jonathan’s wheedling. She’d spit it into her hand within seconds, staring down at the thing with horror.

That’s how she’s looking at Will now. Like she’s spit him out and couldn’t imagine having ever had him at all. But then it passes, and it’s just his Mom, looking worried.

“Do you think Steve and Eddie could take you?” she asks.

It’s a compromise he’s happy to grab with both hands. “I’ll call them.”

He picks up the phone, dialing the number by rote. He’s dialed it enough that he could do it blindfolded.

“Munson residence.” Steve’s voice sounds gruff, like he’s been sleeping. Or crying. Or like whatever had happened in the Upside-Down to make his voice gravely and rough in the hospital all those months ago. “Hello?”

“Will you take me to the arcade?” Will asks.

There’s a long enough pause that Will starts blushing, especially when he hears his Mom huff about phone etiquette behind him. But then Steve says, “sure, want me to come get you?”

Will glances at the clock hanging in the living room, squinting to make out the numbers. “Can you be here in ten minutes? Mom has to go to work.”

“Sure kid,” Steve says, pausing long enough that Will almost hangs up, before saying quietly. “She still not letting you stay home alone?”

“No,” Will says, just as quietly, pointedly not looking over to where his Mom is hovering by his shoulder.

Steve sighs, tinny over the distance between their houses. “Okay, see you soon kid.”

“Bye,” Will says, but Steve’s already hung up.

He puts the phone into the cradle, feeling excitement and dread burble up within him in equal measures.

“Are they coming?” Mom asks.

Will nods, walking into the entryway to slip on his shoes. “Steve is. I’m not sure about Eddie.”

His Mom hums. “What a lovely boy.” She digs around in her purse, depositing a handful of quarters into his waiting palm. “Do you need anything else, sweetie?”

Will shakes his head, tucking the loose quarters deep into his pocket. He waits by the door, like a dog waiting for his owner to come home, metaphorical tail wagging while his Mom putters around trying to find her work smock.

Will doesn’t recognize the sound of the car that pulls up; its engine quiet enough that he mostly hears it by the sound of the tires rolling over the loose debris that always covers their driveway. He does recognize the knock a few seconds later. Three light knocks, barely loud enough to reach Will where he’s standing by the door. Like Steve knows exactly where he’s waiting. Because he does.

Will wrenches the door open, already smiling. Steve’s standing there in his customary blue jeans, and a blue polo, hair perfectly coiffed, jean jacket thrown over the whole thing. “Hi,” Will says.

“Baby Byers,” Steve replies, nodding down at him, before looking behind Will to where his Mom’s now hovering. “Ms. Byers.”

“Oh, honey. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Joyce?”

Steve smiles, that crooked one he does where just one side of his mouth turns up. “At least one more time, huh?”

Mom laughs, stepping around Will to pull Steve into a hug. She hands over a few bills that Steve stuffs into his wallet with instructions to get them both something to eat.

Steve’s Bimmer is sitting in the driveway behind their own junker. It’s nice enough that it should contrast, but it’s been rotting in front of the Munson’s trailer without being washed for long enough that he can’t tell the difference. It smells musty when he climbs in. Steve stares at him pointedly until he buckles his seatbelt, and then they’re off.

They leave in a line, Steve backing up with his Mom only seconds behind. Will’s almost surprised when his Mom doesn’t follow Steve’s car the whole way. She turns off, and their cars part ways.

Will grabs the opportunity with both hands. “Can we go get my bike?”

Steve glances over at him with a raised brow, but keeps both hands at ten and two. “Where is it?”

“Mirkwood.”

Steve sighs, but turns around, and notably doesn’t ask. He finds it without prompting, the white of its body stands out in the dirt. He’s just glad no one has picked it up and ridden away. Steve grumbles as he struggles to stuff it into his trunk, before stuffing it into his backseat, muddy tires and all.

They’re back on their way, and Steve still hasn’t asked. That’s what makes Will open his mouth. “I tried to ride it to the arcade,” he says, picking at the small hole in the knee of his pants. “But I heard it.”

He can see Steve’ fingers tighten around the steering wheel from the corner of his eye. “What?”

“It was like before,” Will mumbles. “Like when the Demogorgon got me.”

Steve’s knuckles are white, but his voice comes out even when he asks, “do you think it was there?”

Will thinks back, past the panic and the running and the breathlessness. “No,” he whispers, watching color bleed back into Steve’s hands. “It was probably a squirrel, or my tires on the leaves. I just panicked.”

Steve sighs, lets the R.E.M song live fill up the silences all one its own – Did we miss anything? Did we miss anything? Did we miss anything? Did we miss anything? – He pulls in smoothly into an empty spot at The Palace.

Steve doesn’t turn off the car, so Will makes no move to get out.

Steve sighs again, reaching over to switch off his tape deck. The silence is deafening, but Steve doesn’t let it linger. “You know,” he says, not looking at Will at all. “Uncle Wayne told me it’s called shellshock.” He takes a shuddering breath before letting it out smoothly. “It’s like when something bad happens and sometimes your brain can get like, stuck there? I guess?”

He’s staring out the windshield, like he’s somewhere else. “Are you okay?” Will asks.

It takes a second for him to blink back into life, but when he does, Steve turns his head to smile down at Will. It still looks sad. “It’s hard sometimes, bud,” he says, reaching over to squeeze Will’s shoulder. “But we’re getting through it, aren’t we?”

Will’s not sure why he thought Steve and Eddie would bounce back so much better, had already bounced back, even. But Steve’s shoulders were always so squared, and even in the hospital when he’d been wan and tired, he’d seemed so strong. Unbreakable.

“Yeah,” Will exhales. “We will be.”

They get out of the car in sync, Steve slowing his pace so Will can keep up with his shorter legs. Steve reaches over his head to pull the door open, waiting for Will to walk under his arm and into the sanctuary that is the arcade.

Just like he imagined, all three are crowded around the pac man machine, Lucas maneuvering the joystick with his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. Will sneaks up beside them, Steve just behind, and the machine is in sight just in time to watch pac man blip out of sight, eaten by a ghost for the last time.

“It thought you nerds were supposed to be good at this kind of thing,” Steve says, plopping his arm onto Mike’s shoulder to peer over at the screen. “Doesn’t that mean you buttheads are dead?”

They all turn in unison, Lucus’s brow already furrowing before it smoothes out when he sets his eyes on Will.

“Will!” Lucas shouts, as all three tackle him noisily, the steadying hand Steve puts on his hand the only thing keeping him up. He’s surrounded on all sides, safe and warm.

“Wow, thanks for making me an afterthought,” Steve says, rolling his eyes bitchily until Dustin runs at him, tackling him in a hug of his own that has Steve’s eyes widening before his smile softens and he ruffles Dustin’s hair.

“Hey, Steve,” Dustin says, lisping over the T as he smiles goofily up at Steve.

Will watches the interaction, fondness filling him up entirely.

“I thought you couldn’t come!” Mike says, dropping his arms from around Will and taking a step back. The broad grin on his face takes the sting out of it.

“Mom said Steve could take me,” WIll mumbles.

Lucas looks up at Steve, that same starstruck look on his face that they’d all started to have as Will shared more and more about Steve’s heroics on the other side. “Cool,” he whispers.

Steve’s ears turn red and he coughs before immediately diverting attention away from himself. “What’ve you twerps been up to?”

WIll listens happily to his friends complain about the new player on the scoreboard, MADMAX, and how even Dustin couldn’t seem to catch up to him.

It’s been a while since they’ve had a mystery that wasn’t life or death. Will wonders who this Mad Max is and if he’d let them watch him play.

Part 55

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

#steddie upsidedown au #my fic #steddie #steve harrington #will byers

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solarmorrigan · 9 months

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They aren’t high, but they might as well be.

It’s so late that it’s early, sitting in those odd hours of motionless night when exhaustion throws a ridiculous filter over everything and it’s an effort not to laugh loud enough to alert Robin’s parents to the fact that there’s an unauthorized boy in her room.

She and Steve have been lying side by side on her bed for the last hour, both knowing they should probably go to sleep if they’re going to wake up with enough time for Steve to sneak out and actually drive home safely, but they’re not quite ready yet. Instead, they’re content to be pressed together, shoulder to ankle, hands intertwined between them, content to feel the other secure and nearby.

Robin lifts their hands and uncurls her fingers, spreading them open like a star and prompting Steve to do the same, until their hands are pressed flat together with their fingers outstretched.

“Your hands are bigger than mine,” Robin says, looking at the way her palm fits into Steve’s with room to spare and the way his fingers extend past hers by almost a whole knuckle.

“Probably because I’m bigger than you,” Steve says, also lazily gazing at the way their hands fit together.

“Yeah, but they’re, like, way bigger than mine,” Robin insists. “You have really big hands.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “They’re not that big. You just have stubby fingers.”

“Rude. You just have giant hands.”

“I do not.”

“Like mittens.”

“No.”

“Banana hands.”

“You are literally the only girl who has ever said something bad about the size of my hands.”

Robin smacks her free hand against Steve’s chest. “Ew.”

Steve is laughing. “You started it.”

“Lies,” Robin says, taking Steve’s hand in both of hers so she can continue examining it. “Why are your nails so nice?”

Steve watches as Robin traces the tips of her fingers over the even cuticles and neatly trimmed ends of his nails. “Because I take care of them, and I don’t bite them, unlike some people.”

“I never bite your nails,” Robin says, smiling as Steve groans dramatically.

“That was terrible. You’re terrible.”

“Nope, you love me.”

“I can love you even if you’re terrible.” Steve turns his hand so he can catch one of Robin’s and look it over for himself. “You’ve been biting your nails a lot lately.”

Robin shrugs. “Stressed,” is all she offers; she doesn’t really have to say much more for him to get it.

Steve frowns, threading his fingers back through hers and squeezing. “You used to paint them, didn’t you? Like, to help you remember not to chew on them so much?”

“I did, yeah,” Robin says thoughtfully. “It’s been a while since I’ve even thought about doing that.”

“You should do it again. Give your nails a chance to heal,” Steve says.

Robin hums, as if she has to think it over. “Only if you let me paint yours, too.”

And maybe it’s the fact that it’s after two a.m., but all Steve does is shrug and say, “Yeah, sure.”

Robin sits up on the bed like Dracula popping up out of his coffin, turning to stare at him with her bedhead flying wild around her face. “Seriously?”

“You want me to say no?” Steve asks.

“Well I didn’t expect you to just say yes!” Robin says in a hushed yell. “I thought I’d have to argue you down.”

Steve grins. “Go get your nail polish before I change my mind, Buckley.”

He doesn’t have to tell her twice. Robin swings her legs off the bed and goes to her dresser, digging through her makeup case and returning with a handful of black-capped bottles.

“Pick your poison, Harrington.” Robin gestures to the array of colors.

Steve is slow to sit up, stretching and groaning before he turns to sit cross-legged in front of Robin. “You pick. I’ve never had my nails painted before, so we’ll have to go with your expertise.”

“Hmm.” Robin clasps her fingers together under her chin, tapping her lips with her index fingers as if this is the most serious decision she’ll ever have to make. Finally, her hand flashes out and grabs one of the bottles, holding it up and wiggling it for Steve to see. “How about a little navy blue, sailor?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he can’t tamp down his smile. “Why not?”

“Okay, gimme your hand.” Robin holds her hand out for Steve’s, palm up and fingers making grabby curls.

Steve puts out his left hand and lets Robin place it on her knee, fingers outstretched while he waits for Robin to shake the bottle of polish thoroughly and unscrew the cap.

“Try to hold still,” Robin instructs him, biting the tip of her tongue between her teeth in concentration as she applies the brush to his thumbnail.

Obligingly, Steve holds as still as possible, content to watch as Robin works her way from his thumb and onto his index finger, coating his nails in shining wet navy blue.

He pulls his hand away for a moment when Robin has to dip the brush back in the bottle for more polish, looks over her handiwork, and lets out a low whistle.

“Wow,” he says, putting his hand back down on Robin’s knee when she gestures for it. “You really suck at this.”

Robin lets out a surprised bark of laughter, narrowly avoiding streaking nail polish down the length of Steve’s finger. “Fuck off, I do not!”

“You kinda do, Rob,” Steve says, his voice full of warmth even as he denounces her skill with a brush.

“How would you even know?” Robin jibes. “You said you’ve never had your nails painted before.”

“I know the nail polish isn’t supposed to go over the edges of the nail,” Steve shoots back.

They both pause to look at the way the polish has been laid thick over the skin on either side of Steve’s nails and has even dribbled a little bit onto the tip of one of his fingers.

“Shut up. It’s a process,” Robin finally says, taking the brush to his ring finger.

“A process, huh?”

“Yes! You paint the nails, and then you use nail polish remover and, like, a Q-tip to clean up the edges.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re just fussy, that’s all,” Robin pronounces, grinning at Steve’s little noise of offense.

“I am not fussy,” he insists.

“You kinda are, Steve,” Robin replies. “Anyway, I’d like to see you do a better job.”

“Deal,” Steve says, maybe a little too quickly for Robin’s liking. “I’ll do your nails next.”

“Well that, I have to see,” Robin says, putting the brush back into the bottle and motioning for him to switch hands.

True to her word, Robin quietly retrieves the nail polish remover and some Q-tips from the bathroom and neatens up her paintjob once she’s finished, and Steve appraises her work like a jeweler looking over and handful of gems.

“Not bad, Buckley,” he says, shrugging his lips.

Robin rolls her eyes. “What are you now, a fashion critic? Hurry up and paint my nails so I can make fun of you.”

Steve’s answering grin is unsettlingly sharp, but Robin still lets him pick the color. He settles on red—“To accent the blue, obviously”—and shakes the bottle before pulling the brush and starting on Robin’s left hand where it rests on his knee.

His strokes are smooth and even, not once straying over the edges of her nails, not even over the bitten, ragged ends, and he moves from one finger to the next with a kind of practiced ease.

“What the fuck!” Robin barely remembers to keep her voice down in her outrage. “Why are you good at this?”

Steve ducks his head, clearly holding in a laugh. “I used to paint Carol’s nails for her all the time.”

“Carol Perkins?” Robin asks, brows furrowed.

“Did I spend a lot of time with any other Carols?” Steve shoots her a look from beneath his lashes before turning back to his work.

“Why?”

Steve shrugs. “She tried to get Tommy to do it one day and he refused, so she asked me to do it instead, and… I dunno, I figured, why not? I did suck at it at first,” he admits. “But I think she just liked having someone’s focus on her for the time it took to do her nails. And I guess I just – like, it felt good, I guess. Taking care of someone else, even just in that little way. And I liked how the nail polish looked when I finally got it right.

“Any time we hung out at her house, she’d ask me to paint her nails for her, or she’d steal my mom’s nail polish if we were at mine. It was, like… our thing, I guess?”

For a moment, Robin sits in the knowledge that Steve and Tommy Hagan and Carol Perkins had actually been friends.

From the outside, the three of them had looked like a toxic hurricane of derision and unfairly nice bone structure; they were rarely seen without looks of condescending amusement or lounging around being too cool for everyone else. It had been easy to think of their arrangement as some kind of superficial bond of mutual bitchiness, but at the same time, everyone distantly knew that Steve and Tommy and Carol had been a package deal since at least middle school.

Tommy and Carol had been the only two people Steve routinely hung out with, now that Robin thinks about it. People from basketball and swim and other hangers-on came and went, but those two had been fixtures. They’d probably been his best friends.

And midway through Junior year, Steve had left them.

He’d realized they weren’t who he thought they were, or maybe he’d realized they weren’t who he wanted to be, but the fact is that he’d left behind the two people he’d known the longest and had stepped uncertainly forward without knowing if he’d have anyone at all after that.

For a while he’d had Nancy. Then had come Henderson and all the other rugrats – but as much as Steve loves them, that isn’t quite the same as friends your own age, is it?

But now, he has Robin.

And she’s going to make sure that’s worth something.

“I can’t believe I’ve had some kind of professional manicurist under my nose this whole time,” Robin laments, grinning at Steve when he glances up at her with a huff.

“I’m pretty sure you have to get paid to be a professional. Are you gonna pay me for my services?” he asks.

“I will pay you in love and affection,” Robin declares. “Money can’t buy you these things, Steve.”

“That’s convenient,” Steve shoots back.

“Isn’t it? And I’m going to paint your nails yellow next time,” Robin says.

Steve glances to the side, where Robin’s collection of nail polish sits. “You don’t have any yellow.”

“I’ll buy some.” Robin shrugs. “I think it would look good on you.”

“And you just assume I’m going to let you paint my nails again.” Steve raises an eyebrow at her as he dips the brush back in the bottle to rewet it for the last couple of nails.

“Yep,” Robin says easily.

Steve looks back down, like he really needs to focus that hard on getting the nail of her ring finger just right, but she can tell he’s biting down on a smile.

“Okay,” he finally says, quietly.

“Okay,” she echoes back, giving him a sleepy smile when he glances up.

It’s late, and it’s going to be even later by the time they can go to sleep without ruining their nails, and in fact they’re probably not going to get any sleep at all, but somehow, Robin doesn’t mind.

Even being sleep deprived together with Steve is better than anything she can think of doing apart.

[Prompt: Comparing hand sizes]

#disclaimer: I don't know how big either of these people's hands are just roll with it #stobin #platonic stobin #robin buckley #steve harrington #stranger things #solar wrote #robin paints nails like I paint nails and she is valid <3

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imtryingbuck · 4 months

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Seven part two

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky comes from a well respected family, he falls in love with a girl who prefers the simple things in life. Follow their journey through the years.

Word count: 2,948

Warnings: this one’s quite dark. fluff, angst, death, almost dying, being put into care, abuse in the care home, small mention of whipping a child. mentions of nudity of a child (just once and not detailed)

A/N: No description of reader other than she has curly hair.

Masterlist Series Masterlist

True to their word they let Y/n stay with them til Wednesday, letting her go on that day had filled them with dread.

“You can come back whenever you like, our door is always open to you sweetie” Winnie told her, meaning every word she spoke.

“Okay Miss Winnie”

Bucky had helped her climb over the fence and walked her to their spot, chewing on his lip until it bled a little he couldn’t stop worrying about Bunny.

When she arrived back to her house she was confronted by her father; by then she had grown use to his words and beatings, she knew when to scream and cry - when not too. She learnt that to make her unnecessary punishment easier was to take herself off to her special place that lived secretly and safely inside her head, the one place her father couldn’t hurt her anymore, she smiled with her eyes closed when she saw Bucky, Steve, Winnie and George in her special place waiting for her as her father’s fist slammed into her body over and over again.

Her tiny - in height and weight - body was slowly fading away as she danced along the flowery meadow hand in hand with her Ducky. Steve was sitting on the pillowy grass drawing, Winnie and George were cloud watching. Here in her special place there was fairies, unicorns, big pretty butterflies that she could ride and rainbows taking up residence in the bright blue sky. She had gasped and giggled when she saw the ducks waddling past with bunnies hoping alongside them.

That day however something was different aside from the new addition being Bucky, his parents, Steve, bunnies and ducks being there, there was blue and red lights flashing in the sky. She chose to ignore it as Ducky didn’t seem to pay and attention to it.

Bit by bit her safe place started to fade away, her eyes wide and fearful she tried desperately to keep ahold of Bucky when he too started to fade out. “No no no! Ducky come back!” She cried painfully just as everything she held sacred to her heart turned black.

She woke to blinding lights, fear overtook her whole aching body. A hospital they said, she had been in a coma they told her, when the nice nurse named Tilly told her it meant that she had been in a deep sleep, Y/n just nodded. Trying to speak but her throat hurt badly, Tilly had helped her sit up and drink some water telling her she had to take it slowly. Gently pushing the girls hair out of her face.

Y/n liked her instantly, maybe she’ll be my new friend too she thought to herself.

Doctor after doctor came in and out of the room they was in there to run checks whatever that meant. There was one doctor with bushy eyebrows who had asked Tilly to distract the girl in the bed as he took some blood, she hadn’t batted an eye when there was a sharp scratch from her arm, too engrossed in the story about the boy who stole a golden goose egg from a giant who lived in the clouds that Tilly was telling her about.

“Miss Y/n you have guests, do you want to see them?” Tilly asked softly from the door.

“O-okay”

In walked Winnie and George, Winnie gasped with tears springing to her eyes at the sight of the little girl who had stolen her heart the moment she laid eyes on her. George’s eyes dropped down to the ground, finding it hard to see the damage done to a sweet girl.

That Wednesday she had left the couple argued with one another over letting Y/n go back to the hellish nightmare that was no doubt waiting for her. Arguing back and forth that they should have done something different, Winnie pointing out that George had the money and influence to get Y/n placed into their care.

On Thursday when Bucky came back from over the fence telling them that his Bunny hadn’t showed up, they got a sense that something was wrong. The next day when the newspaper arrived Winnie dropped the cup she had in her hand at the front cover.

‘Local six year old girl attacked by her father is in critical condition’

She knew it was Y/n. Call it a mother’s instinct. But she knew.

Reading further down her heart broke at the words listing the many injuries that Y/n had, she read that the body of Y/n’s mama was found in Mexico on that Tuesday and an autopsy revealed that she had been dead for just over two weeks.

George rushed over to his wife where she stood frozen on the spot, a broken cup by her feet he called out her name and all she did was show him the newspaper. He held it within an iron grip as his hands shook. He blamed himself.

Even with George’s money and the power he held they wasn’t allowed to see her, he tried bribing the boss of the hospital who kept refusing, tried bribing the nurses and doctors but they too refused. They was told they had to wait to see if she would wake up for them to see her.

“Oh my sweet sweet angel” Winnie whimpered moving closer to the girl.

“M-Miss Winnie” even with a swollen face and bottom lip having several stitches she smiled widely at the woman, showing four more missing teeth. “Where’s Ducky?”

“Ducky’s at home sweetie, he-he doesn’t know your in the hospital darling”

“Why?”

“W-we haven’t told him yet. But we can bring him tomorrow if you’d like?”

“Yes! I miss him”

“He misses you too, a-are you comfortable darling?”

“I’m okay. Hi Mr George”

“Hello sweetheart, here we got you a present”

Pulling out a teddy shaped as a duck out of the bag the couple smiled as her face lit up.

“Ducky! It’s Ducky Winnie”

“It is, he’s super soft too”

George places the duck in Y/n’s good arm she instantly brought it closer to her chest. “Thank you so so so so much.”

“You’re welcome darling” George says sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

Visiting hours had ended so the pair had to leave her they waited until she was asleep, gripping the duck tightly as she slept.

Telling Bucky that Y/n was in the hospital was a difficult conversation Winnie had to have, his tears soaked her dress as he clung onto her. They promised him that he could have the day off from his schooling so that he could spend the day with Y/n.

That night he slept in their bed.

Bucky ran through the hallways of the busy hospital, his hand gripping the different coloured strings dangling from the many balloons he made George buy.

“Buck slow down!”

“No! Hurry up”

In the elevator he wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down. He was the first one awake, gotten himself dressed and brushed his teeth long before his parents started to wake. George tried to tell him that the visiting hours didn’t start till ten which then set the chorus of why’s being thrown at him. Bucky watched the clock like a hawk and the second the hand struck ten he was dragging his parents to the door.

“Bucky we have to talk before we go in”

“Why? I want to see Bunny”

“Son, she has serious injuries and her face is very swollen, you need to be very careful with her okay”

“Okay dad. I promise, can we go in now?”

George nodded and let Bucky open the door carelessly dragging the balloons behind him, his feet faltered a little. Winnie and George slipped into the room behind him their eyes going from their son to Y/n who was fast asleep in the bed that made her look even tinier.

“Bunny” he whispered letting the balloons float up to the ceiling. “Ma…is-is-is she gone like granddad John?”

“No, no sweetie she’s just asleep” John being her father in law who drank himself to his grave when Bucky was five years old, Margret - George’s mother - thought it was important to make James see his grandfather laying in the hospital bed just after he had died. Winnie was against the idea and so was George but Margret always got her own way.

“She’s still pretty to me” he whispers again, he was afraid to speak any louder.

“She is, isn’t she” agreeing with her son “why don’t you go and sit next to her? It’s okay I promise”

“I-I don’t want to hurt her momma” Winnie had to grip ahold of George’s hand as he called her that, it was something he always called her but stopped shortly after seeing the body of his dead grandfather. One of the many things that Winnie blamed Margret for.

“Son you won’t hurt her I promise” George says, giving Bucky an encouraging nod when he looks up at him.

Bucky slowly walks over and sits in the chair next to the bed, his hand shakily lifts over the railing and takes its place in hers.

They’d been sitting there for over half an hour when Y/n started to stir, opening her eyes she slowly adjusted to the bright lights of the room, she felt a hand in hers and she looked over.

“D-Ducky!”

“Hi Bunny”

“You are here”

“I’m here.”

“Look Ducky it’s Ducky” she says trying to show Bucky the teddy his parents had gotten her.

“Hi Ducky. Bunny look-“ asking his father to get the bunny balloon he had to have as soon as he saw it “-it’s Bunny”

“Just like me!” She giggled.

“Just like you.” Bucky agreed.

Over the next few days Bucky and his parents even bringing Steve with them - who had brought a teddy bear of his own for her - visited her. When they arrived to the hospital Bucky and Steve taking off running to her room Winnie and George saw the two boys pacing up and down the hallway.

“Boys? What’s wrong?”

“Ma we can’t find Bunny”

“What do you mean her rooms righ-“

She cuts herself off when she looks into the empty room that Y/n had been staying in.

“G-George…”

George runs to the other end of the corridor where the nurses station was, Winnie had to physically grab hold of the boys in order to get them to stop pacing.

When George returned he looked at Winnie and shook his head “S-she was taken into care this morning-“

“But she hasn’t recovered”

“They don’t care Win, she’s poor-“

“Rich, poor it doesn’t matter she’s a child!” Winnie takes the boys hands in hers and started to drag them away, when Tilly called her name she stopped and look over to the woman.

“Yes?”

“Here, they wouldn’t let her take them with her” Tilly hands over the brown teddy bear named Bear that Steve had given Y/n and the duck she had named Ducky Junior.

“Sit still and don’t move!” Snarled Kristen one of the women who worked in the care home where Y/n was taken too.

“I-I need wee wee” she whimpered.

“Do I look like I give a shit? No.”

Ever since she was brought here she’s been so lost and confused, she thought that when the hospital room door came open it was going to be Bucky and Steve just like they promised the day before but instead there was a man and a woman who didn’t look nice, she looked over at Tilly who smiled sadly at her.

Y/n didn’t like Kristen or her friend Karen at all, they were mean and hurt her. Karen had made her take her clothes off and her panties and made her stand in the middle of the room whilst the older boys stared at her. Whenever Y/n was really nervous she would accidentally wee herself, when she was at home with her father she received a beating, it was no different to being here. She had received ten lashes across her back. All the other children flinched at her cries.

She was safer at home.

Day in and day out she took beatings from the workers and sometimes the other children, she tried so hard to escape to her special place but it was just a dark void now.

Day after day she got skinnier and skinnier, her hair was matted and her skin was filthy. Every night as she slept on the cold wooden flooring she would whisper out ‘good night Ducky’.

One of the older boys had tormented her by laughing at how her father had killed her mother and had kept her body in the boot of his car for two weeks.

“No no no no no no you’re ly-ly-lying!”

“Am not! He was going to kill you too”

“Ma-mama not dead”

“Yes she is! I’m not lying!”

“M-m-my mama not dead!” She repeated over and over again as she rocked herself back and forth in the corner, her knees pulled to her chest with her hands over her ears blocking out the laughter from the other children.

A man wearing a fancy black suit came into the room she was told to wait in by Kristen, he sat down across the table from her and didn’t say anything for nearly 20 minutes.

“Is your name Y/n?” He receives a quick nod. “Do you know a boy called Bucky?” That has her looking up at the man, nodding once again.

“What does he call you?” Sighing he looks around the room and leans closer “it’s okay to speak, I promise”

“B-Bunny”

“And what do you call him?”

“Ducky”

He stands up and removes his coat before making his way around the table “stand up for me darling. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m a friend of George’s”

She stands up slowly, flinching when he puts his coat around her. “We’re going to play at little game okay? I’m going to pick you up and you need to put your head right here-“ he taps the space between his neck and shoulder “and your going to count quietly to a hundred”

“I-I only know up to ten s-s-sir”

“That’s okay, you can count to ten, ten times”

“O-okay”

“Come here darling, it’s all going to be okay I promise”

He lifts her up easily and her head goes to where he had pointed too, when he told her to start counting she did so.

Oblivious to all the men in the hallways pointing guns to the staff.

“You’re doing great darling” the man cooed into her ear. “Let’s go boys” he says, his tone much different from how he spoke to her.

The man got into a car shifting her so that she was sat on his lap, he nodded to the driver and the car started to pull away from the building of horror.

“I’m Howard Stark, it’s very nice to meet you”

The car slowly pulled up to a familiar house, Y/n looked at Howard with wide eyes smiling when he smiled at her.

“There’s a very excited boy waiting for you” he says watching her eyes shine.

“D-Ducky?”

“Yes, he’s missed you”

“I’ve missed him”

As the car comes to a halt the front door comes open, Y/n releases a small sob as she sees her Ducky come running out.

“Bunny!”

Howard opens the car door and helps the girl out just as her feet hit the ground she takes off running towards Bucky, who wastes no time in grabbing ahold of her and pulls her into his chest.

“My Bunny…”

George, Winnie and Howard stand together watching the reunion. Winnie cries freely as she sees the little girl, George tries to keep it together.

“Are you hurt Bunny?”

“N-n-no”

“Don’t lie to me Bun”

“I never lie Ducky” she giggles at his facial expression. Bucky cupped her face gently in his hands, slowly brought his head closer to hers and rested his forehead against hers.

“Y/n…” Winnie calls as soon as the pair pull away from each other. “Oh my sweet girl”

“M-Miss Winnie” she beams, looking at Bucky who nods and removes himself from her, Y/n took off running once again but this time directly into Winnie’s arms.

“My sweet angel I’ve missed you”

“I’ve missed you too”

No one notices George going inside just to return a few minutes later “Y/n” he says softly catching her attention and shes quick to pull out of Winnie’s arms and throwing herself at George who catches her easily. “How are you darling?”

“Happy Mr George”

“I’m happy too. Here these have missed you” he holds out Ducky Junior and Bear who are both instantly snatched from his hands and brought to her chest as she squeezes them, squealing with happiness that she has them back.

Winnie took her time in cleaning the many open wounds that littered Y/n’s small frame, placing kisses to her forehead every time she flinched.

Her heart broke when Y/n had told her what had happened and what that boy had told her about her mama, Winnie held her tightly when she confessed that Y/n’s mama was an angel up in heaven.

After dinner was made - where Bucky took Y/n’s plate and piled so much food onto it, he held her hand under the dining table. They let Bucky sleep in the bed with Y/n - not like they had any choice - the adults went into the living room and sat in silence when a throat was cleared.

“I would like to adopt her”

Tags: @cjand10 @unaxv @mcira @bisexualnikkisixx @kneelforloki @kandis-mom @sagebarness @sandyruston @scott-loki-barnes @nikkivillar @saltedcoffeescotch @scentedharmonymiracle @examinarei @sarcastickiddo @sadboiabby @unholyhuntress @8crazy-freak8 @ijustneedpopcorn @moonbeampillgoth @imcinnamoons @elmo-1066 @violetwinterwidow01 @suz7days @adoredire

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fiatpencey · 1 year

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watch out boys, she’ll chew you up 🥀

#me #lingerie #aesthetic

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jacksgreysays · 4 months

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(Not sure if I can qualify for another prompt after the last wonderful prompt fill but here goes:

The Academy was perfectly fine with Shikamaru’s imaginary friend Shikako, until she managed to ____.

Oh dona, there are so many things that can fill in that blank. SO MANY THINGS. And, I’ll be honest, a lot of what comes to my mind range from funny to alarming. But the on that I think is the most encompassing—without being too boring—is simply “get caught.” Because that opens up so many opportunities for what else she could have been doing before she got caught in such a way that also builds a dynamic between those who are in on it (ie, the Rookie Nine, maybe even the full Konoha Twelve since Team Gai IS only just one year older) and those who aren’t (presumably the teachers of the Academy) However, in order to narrow this fic down into something writable, I should figure what Shikako is doing before she gets caught… and, maybe this is just me, but I kinda like the idea of… now maybe this is too specific… but basically, Shikamaru’s imaginary friend Shikako, aka his literal sentient eldritch horror twin sister that lives in his shadow, just straight up eating Danzo. Just. How do you get rid of something? Eat it. Because, like… okay. My brain goes something like this:

“Hm,” says Shikamaru as they hide in the treetops from Iruka-sensei.

Normally, Shikamaru is content with being out of the classroom that, outside from telling them the plan needed to ditch and stay hidden, he stays pretty quiet either cloud watching or napping.

Chouji, in his spot next to Shikamaru and equally satisfied with just being outside, is the only one to hear him. “What is it?” He asks.

That gets Kiba and Naruto to perk up, starting to get bored after their flawless escape with minimal conflict.

“Shikako says she’s hungry.”

Good friend that he is, Chouji offers some of his chips. A tendril of Shikamaru’s shadow shakily takes one, wobbling even under that weight, but Shikako is also a good friend so she eats it.

Well. She tries, anyway. Shikamaru’s shadow curls around it, mimicking a chewing motion, but it remains unchanged.

After a moment, Shikamaru reports, “Shikako says thank you, but she might need to eat something else specifically?”

Naruto, ever curious asks, “What does a shadow even eat?”

Shikamaru shrugs. “She says she’ll know it when we find it.”

Kiba, and an Akamaru squirming with eagerness, declares, “Akamaru and I are the best and finding stuff. We’ll get it in no time.”

—

Iruka-sensei finds them before they find the ambiguous “it.”

To be fair, they were searching through the refrigerator in the teacher’s lounge, and their self assigned mission had carried them through to lunch time. So really it was their own fault.

Didn’t stop Naruto, Kiba, and Akamaru from yelling and howling up a storm as Iruka-sensei grabbed the two boys by the collars of their shirts. Mizuki-sensei at least just gestured his two charges forward, trusting that Shikamaru and Chouji would cooperate since they had been caught fair and square. And plus, it was lunch time.

Distracted as they were, none of the boys noticed Shikamaru’s shadow stretch itself to connect to Mizuki-sensei’s.

Without that context, none of them made the connection when, not even a minute later, Mizuki-sensei stumbled, nearly falling, before catching himself in an uncertain stance.

“You okay?” Iruka-sensei asked, caregiving nature winning over his desire to continue lecturing the boys.

Mizuki-sensei waved him off with a strained laugh, “Ha, I just felt a little tired—midday slump, probably.”

Kiba and Naruto, sensing weakness, re-aim their efforts from complaining to making fun of Mizuki-sensei’s age. It draws his ire, never mind that he tries to seem cooler than Iruka-sensei, but he musters a woozy, half-hearted defense at best.

Shikamaru glances at his shadow, darker and deeper than it was before.

Shikako isn’t as hungry anymore.

—

A/N: And then something something Ino and Sakura spot the boys questing for Shikako’s food and they also believe in/like Shikako anyway so they try to help out, Shino gets pulled in because they end up on Aburame territory and he’s holding his smiling baby sister and his untouchable vibes are way lowered, at some point they’re like… maybe Hinata can use her cool eyes to FIND what Shikako needs (and she’s stalking Naruto anyway so we might as well actively include her) and then Sasuke kind of feels left out ALTHOUGH… I may have a separate thing for how Sasuke gets pulled in. Anyway the kids try to figure out what she’s doing—she doesn’t eat chakra, she eats life energy, but only out of people that she wants to kill anyway and the amount she eats from them is maybe based on how much she wants to kill them? (she really does almost eat Kabuto to death the first time they encounter him lol)—and they’re like… well… we also don’t like the people Shikako doesn’t like anyway? Here’s where plot maybe comes in and maybe where Sasuke gets pulled in but basically if this is pre-Uchiha Massacre then there could be a day when Itachi goes to pick up the little Uchiha members from the Academy and Shikako is just like ??? DO I want to kill and eat him??? because he hasn’t done anything (YET) so it’s just like… the rest of the kids investigating into Sasuke to investigate into Itachi which then somehow Scooby Doo style gets them to Danzo and MAYBE he’s being a creeper and visiting the Academy to recruit future ROOT agents or MAYBE the Academy building is near the Hokage’s Tower (I think???) or Shisui and Itachi are BOTH picking up the various Uchiha Academy students and Danzo tries to use the opportunity to intimidate/threaten them both “subtly” and Shikako’s just like !!!!! FEAST MODE!!!! And fully just eldritch style swallows him whole in front of some Academy teachers :) And it’s not like Shikamaru can get in trouble because he’s BEEN telling the truth about his imaginary friend Shikako the whole time. And as far as they know it LOOKS like a Nara clan technique so they’re like… well… uh… maybe we should tell the Jounin Commander about this. And Shikaku’s just like… uh… Kasuga… what the fuck… And Kasuga turns to Sembei-obaasan and also asks what the fuck… And Sembei-obaasan has to search deep deep into the Nara oral tradition for what the fuck is going on And Shikako is just in Shikamaru’s shadow, totally pleased with herself. I’m not hungry anymore :)

#jacksgreyson #donapoetrypassion #ask box advent calendar #dreaming of sunshine #shikako nara #shikamaru nara #chouji akimichi #hungry sister

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ladykailitha · 1 month

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Batshit Soulmates Part 9

We have just a tiny little epilogue after this that will be released next week and then this story is done. I know I tend do to happy endings, but this is more ambiguous (and hopeful) and with the epilogue I'm not nice. So if you want to stop here, you absolutely can.

In Medias Res| Prologue|Pt 1|Pt 2|Pt 3|Pt 4|Pt 5|Pt 6|Pt 7|Pt 8

We get everyone safe and sorted. And Steve's the one to break it to Wayne about Eddie.

****

The hospital was in chaos when Steve arrived. Whatever had happened, had torn the town literally asunder.

Lucas ran up and threw his arms around him. “She died! I could feel her die! Then she came back, but my mark–”

Steve had shown up at the hospital after hiding Eddie at his place until the whole murder charge thing could blow over.

“Hey, hey,” Steve murmured softly. “Let’s see it.” Lucas refused to let go, so Steve gently steered him over to a set of chairs and sat him down on one.

He knelt in front of Lucas and gently removed the shoe, followed by the sock. Lucas’s skateboard wasn’t black, like it would have been had Max actually died, but it was a sickly green and pulsed eerily.

“Oh, buddy,” Steve said and threw his arms around the young boy. “I’ve never see a mark do that, have you had it looked at by a doctor, yet?”

Lucas shook his head. “I’m afraid of what they’ll tell me.”

Steve nodded, but before he could open mouth the sound of cries erupted from behind him.

Steve turned around to see Charles and Sue Sinclair standing at the front doors to hospital. He barely managed to move out of the way before Lucas’s parents scooped him up.

“They tried to kill Erica and Max!” Lucas wailed. “So I hit him. Hit him until he stopped.”

Sue took his face in her hands. “Are you okay?”

Lucas nodded, but held up a bandaged hand. “Hurt my hand, but I’m fine.”

Sue nodded. “Is Erica okay?”

“Mama!” a voice cried out and Charles suddenly had an armful of Erica.

“Baby,” he whispered, “are you okay?”

He pulled back to look at his daughter, she had bruises on her face and arms but she didn’t appear hurt beyond that.

A doctor came over. “Are you the little girl’s parents?”

Charles nodded. The doctor preceded to go over her injuries and said that Lucas was quite the little hero taking care of his sister the way he did.

“How’s Max?” Charles asked, Lucas knowing the doctor couldn’t answer, not without speaking to Susan Hargrove first.

“She won’t wake up,” Lucas sobbed.

Sue hugged him tightly. “Her body needs to heal whatever was done to her, so it’s shut down until it can function. Okay, baby?”

Lucas nodded.

Steve watched the touching scene in awe. He was about to go home back to Eddie when he came face to face to an angry looking Robin.

“Robin!” he cried and swept her up in a hug. “You’re safe. Is Nancy okay? Max got hurt, but Lucas and Erica are going to be okay.”

“Nancy is fine,” Robin said, “and I did hear about Max. I hope she’ll pull through.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “But where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my soulmate?” Steve asked with a lopsided grin.

“Not until you get your sides patched up properly and you get your back looked at.”

Steve opened his mouth to argue but knew it was futile. With a sigh he dug into his wallet and handed her a dollar. “See if you can get some quarters so you can let my soulmate know I’m getting looked at?”

She took the dollar and nodded. She spotted a vending machine and got a candy bar and the change she need for the pay phone.

Steve went up to a nurse and pulled up his shirt. “I need medical attention?”

She looked at the oozing bandages and then back up at him. She let out a long suffering sigh. And she told him to follow her. Steve did as he was told.

As she was stitching him up, she noticed the bats on his right forearm. It was pulsating black.

“You got yourself a truemate?” she asked.

Steve looked at the bats and nodded.

She chewed on her lip a moment and then said, “It’s that boy, isn’t it? The one everyone says done those murders?”

He just looked away.

“I’m not a superstitious woman,” she continued, “but my daddy was medical examiner for years, and let me tell you, there is no way one person could have done the damage the cops are saying was done to those poor kids.”

“You don’t think he did it?” Steve asked warily.

The nurse shook her head. “No I don’t. And you shouldn’t either. All this nonsense that Carver boy was spouting about your boy having demon powers or some shit, then why were there any survivors? If he could kill that McKinney boy with his mind than why did Carver and that other boy live to tell the tale?”

Steve just blinked at her in astonishment.

“And if Chief Hopper had been alive he would have put a stop to this bullshit before it even got going,” she insisted. She tapped his arm. “There, you’re done. I’ll have a doctor come in and subscribe you pain killers and give you instructions on how to take care of it.”

She yanked off her gloved and nodded curtly before vanishing out the door.

Steve didn’t have to wait long for the doctor to arrive. He went over how to take care of the stitches, when to come back and have them removed, and how to apply the lotion on his back to prevent scarring.

He nodded, taking the papers the doctor gave him as he wandered back out to the hospital waiting room.

There Robin was waiting for him, arms crossed, glaring at her parents. Almost as if she was daring them to deny her this, but from what Steve could tell, they were quietly waiting, too.

Steve called out to her and suddenly he an armful of his best friend.

“Careful,” he muttered. “I’ve got stitches now.”

She smacked his arm. “See? I told you needed to see the doctor. Now let’s get you home.”

Robin’s mom slipped into the driver’s seat of Steve’s bimmer and drove him to the pharmacy to get his medicines. Then she drove to his house where Robin and her dad were waiting.

“Take care of yourself,” Robin said into the huge, but gentle hug she gave him. “I want twice daily updates and if I miss one, I will hunt you for sport.”

Steve gave her a jaunty salute. “I’ve got someone who will take good care of me.”

“He better.”

Steve slipped into the house and sighed in relief as the pain in his arm subsided entirely. That meant Eddie was here.

And sure enough, Eddie came out of the front room and kissed him deeply.

“Are you okay?” he asked, cradling Steve’s cheek in his hand.

Steve nodded, leaning into the warmth of the touch. “I’ve got stitches and pain medicines and weird smelling lotions for my road rash.” He paused for a second. “Can it still be called road rash if I didn’t get it on a road?”

Eddie just shrugged. “I mean when you get it on a carpet it’s called rug rash, so...”

Steve frowned. “Rodent rash? Because bats are flying rodents?”

Eddie threw back his had and laughed. “Yeah, babe. Rodent rash.”

He bullied food into Steve and got him to lay down and sleep. It was a good thing Steve slept on his stomach as it was considering how torn up his back was.

Eddie radioed everyone he could reach and told all the news as far as Steve knew it.

Max’s condition was the biggest loss felt by everyone. Knowing that Lucas and Erica were fine, that Steve was fine, that settled a lot of the nerves that had been sparking through the Party.

Now all they had to do was wait.

****

Steve woke up the next morning to Eddie watching the news in the front room.

“What are they saying?” he murmured as he sat down next to him on the sofa.

“An earthquake,” Eddie murmured. “A fucking big one. Never mind there aren’t any tectonic plates for there to be an earthquake, but whatever.”

Steve didn’t know what he meant but nodded along anyway.

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asked after a moment or two of them just watching the videos of the destruction of their small town.

“I’m alright,” Steve said, leaning his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“How’s Lucas?”

Steve sat back up. “He’s fine. Or as fine as he can be considering. His soulmark is still there, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It looks like a zombie or some shit, all green and pussy.”

Eddie grimaced. “That sucks.”

Then an ad came on saying for all those that need aid or for people who wanted to donate to come to the high school.

“I don’t have much of my own,” Steve murmured, “but I think I want to donate.”

Eddie nodded.

They went up to Steve’s bedroom and began sorting things. Clothes he didn’t wear anymore or didn’t fit for one reason or another. Steve really didn’t have a lot to give considering his parents took away anything they thought he had outgrown. Even before he had actually outgrown it.

Eddie’s heart ached for this boy who waited his whole life for someone to love him unconditionally. He made a vow then and there to be that for Steve.

****

The next day had Steve picking up Robin and Dustin to go to the high school. He pulled up next to Nancy and she got out of her mom’s car.

They all unpacked their donations and went in.

Robin and Steve went up to volunteer. She lady in charge eyed them warily but put Steve in charge of sorting the clothes and putting aside the stuff that was unusable. Then she put Robin with Vickie at the sandwich station.

Steve couldn’t hear what the two girls were saying but judging from the bright smile on Vickie’s face, and soft, shy smile on Robin’s that they had finally got on the same page.

Steve smiled and looked down at the little bats on his forearm. It was a little dark, but not the massive wound from their run in with the Upside Down.

Perhaps it was the danger they both were in that made it so angry.

Steve looked up and saw Wayne Munson taking down a missing poster for Eddie. His hand went up to guitar pick necklace that Eddie had given him when he got home from the hospital.

Suddenly he had an idea.

He got one of the stickers they were using to mark the non-clothing items for donation and stuck it to one side of the pick. He wrote something down really quick and walked over to Wayne.

“Mr Munson?” he asked gently. Even though he was sure of who he was because Nancy had described him, he didn’t want to presume.

Wayne looked up at him, his bloodshot and weary. “Yes, and you are?”

Steve closed his eyes and opened them slowly. “I’m Steve Harrington, your nephew is–was my soulmate.”

Wayne’s hand went to his mouth as tears threatened to spill.

Steve handed him the pick. “He sacrificed himself to save a lot of people, Mr. Munson. He was so brave. I think he’d want you to have it.”

Wayne nodded and Steve went back to sorting the clothes. He watched as Wayne’s rough fingers caught on the sticker on the back and turn the pick over.

His eyes went wide and met Steve’s. Steve winked but went back to working as if nothing had happened.

In as tiny writing as Steve could muster, he wrote: ALIVE, SAFE, HOME

He hoped it would give Eddie’s uncle the peace he needed for the time being.

****

Epilogue

Tag List: @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369

@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi

@messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv

@wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch

@littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

@genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @oxidantdreamboat @mogami13

@samsoble @xandriumbat @ellietheasexylibrarian @lololol-1234 @y4r3luv

@disrespectedgoatman @king-zacharyy @chameleonhair @tinyplanet95 @thelittleclare

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #soulmate au

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din-miller · 7 months

Text

We’re Stronger Together

Pairing: Reader + The Bad Batch (Platonic)

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: It was an unspoken rule; you don’t go on solo missions. But when Rex asked you to aid him in taking down a slave ring, you agreed. The Batch takes an issue with that. Especially when you came back smelling strongly of foul men leaving Hunter to struggle with his heightened senses. The only way to fix that is a giant bantha pile.

Warnings: set after S2, tech is alive, harm to children mentioned, slavery mentioned, non-consensual touching mentioned, (none of which are graphic), protective batch, no romance between reader and the batch, platonic cuddling, so much sibling-relationship content, bantha pile > puppy pile, keldable kisses, female reader

You can’t remember the last time you’ve gone on a solo mission or at least a mission where the Batch hadn’t been involved. You had joined them after Order 66 and wherever they went, you went and vice versa.

Inseparable, the lot of you.

Which is why you’re here, chewing your bottom lip nervously as you watch the argument unfold in front of you. Rex said something rational and Hunter glared, then Echo huffed at Hunter’s behaviour but made no move to step in to defend Rex who's three seconds away from throwing his hands up in frustration, “Look boys, I only need her for a couple days, a week max.”

“That’s not happening.”

Honestly, Rex should’ve seen this argument coming and prepared a better speech.

“Yeah, I kinda agree with Sarge. I don’t like it.” Wrecker rubbed the back of his head, looking a tad lost. He’s never been good at picking sides during arguments and you feel bad for him.

“It’s a simple mission, boys. She’ll be in my line of sight at all times.”

“Armed,” All eyes turned to Crosshair, whose head was turned away from them, seemingly unperturbed by the whole situation. When Rex went to speak, Crosshair sneered, “That wasn’t a question.”

“We might consider it once you tell us why you need her.” Echo said, addressing the eldest clone.

“The mission requires more of a…,” Rex trailed off, trying to find the right words that won’t get him shot, “Feminine touch.”

“Absolutely not,” Hunter pushed himself to stand between you and Rex, blocking the older clone’s view of you, “Find someone else.”

“I can do it!” Omega bravely offered, “I can be feminine.”

“No!” Came a chorus of shouts causing Omega to shrink in on herself before Wrecker pulled her into his side with an apology. Hunter ran a tired hand down his face, giving his own apology to the young girl.

“As much as I appreciate your concerns, it’s my decision.” You looked over at Tech for help. Out of all of them, he’ll be the one to back you up.

Tech nodded in your direction, stepping in to join the conversation, “While I don’t particularly agree with one of us being separated, I can see logic in Rex’s thinking-,”

Wreck sent him a look of disbelief, “How?!”

“-If the goal is to distract the target with a certain female attractiveness, I do believe she’s the best candidate for the role.”

“There was never any doubt about that,” Echo stated, “The issue is that we don’t split up. Any of us. Not after Mount Tantiss.”

Omega nodded in agreement, her mouth twisting down at the mention of Mount Tantiss, “Echo’s right. We stick together.”

Tech adjusted his goggles, avoiding eye contact, “As I said, I do not agree with her going with Rex by herself, but we can not stop her from choosing to aid in this mission. The best we can do is offer our support.”

“Thank you Tech. Look, I’ll take my viroblade with me,” You promised them, moving to Rex’s side, “I’ll be fine guys. I was on my own for years before I met you, I know how to handle a few scumbags.”

“You’re not on your own anymore,” Hunter reminded you, before letting out a defeated sigh, “You will be contacting us every chance you get, you’ll report any injuries to Tech or Echo; I don’t care if Rex’s crew has an all-star medic on board, you comm us.”

“Yes, Sarge. Anything else?”

“You’ll take my blade with you, it’s sharper than yours. You will be getting a crash course in disarming bombs with Wrecker before you leave and most importantly; you will be coming home.”

You look down at the kid who’s nodding along to Hunter’s words, a serious look plastered on her face. You feel a twinge of guilt settled in your chest, but from what Rex has told you about the mission you’re not backing down no matter how crestfallen Wrecker looks.

You attempt a reassuring smile, most likely failing as that guilt shows clear as day despite your best shot at playing it cool. You promised nonetheless, “I’ll be back before Wrecker’s able to pronounce ‘worcestershire’.”

“Hey!” Wrecker cried, but a bright smile took over his previous expression and that twinge inside your chest starts to fade away.

Truth be told, a part of you yearns for this mission. To stretch your feet, to use your muscles and brains outside of your normal mundane life on Pabu. To feel useful in a more powerful way. You also understand why your boys’ are so reluctant to let you leave. To do this mission when they’ve all turned Rex down time and time again.

Hunter’s thirst for battle quickly died out when he watched how Omega thrived in her new life. At the peace she is now able to have, away from bloodshed.

Wrecker’s able to use his strength to help the town folk. Lifting crates, furniture, bags of soil and sand. He’s also taken up construction. He’s able to burn energy without bloodshed.

Tech was never one for battle and after Mount Tantiss, he was more than willing to settle on Pabu. To accept Phee’s dinner invitation. Then the key to her place. One day you hope he’ll accept the ring Phee has tucked away. A loving marriage away from bloodshed.

Echo was the one who adjusted the hardest. Whenever Rex required his help on a mission Echo was always on the front line. But one day you watched him emerge from his room, eyes red and swollen. Another sleepless night and you know he’s done with all the bloodshed.

You don’t ask, you don’t have too. You were there, you remember all of it. You remember Echo’s disbelief over your comm as he said he found Tech. You remember running into the room, seeing Tech floating inside a tube, dead bodies scattered across the floor. You remember Echo’s hand laying flat over the glass that separated him from Tech. You remember the bloody handprint left behind when Echo turned to you.

Most of all you remember the scream that rattled the walls around you. You remember how Echo’s mouth parted, Crosshair’s name falling from his lips before he’s racing down the hallway, metal legs creaking at the strain he’s putting on them.

You remember the crying, the begging, that left Crosshair’s mouth, so broken and scared, as Dr. Hemlock held a blade in his hand and Omega’s still body on the medical table beneath him. You remember the smell of blood, how the red of it dripped onto the floor.

You remember the sound of a blaster fire, a body hitting the floor. You remember Echo desperately trying to hold Omega’s stomach together as he cauterised her skin knowing there’s no time for stitches or bacta patches.

You remember it all so kriffing vividly that the crate you had been moving falls from your grip, dropping loudly to the ships metal floor beneath you, the noise drowning out your gasp as the air around you thins and your lungs ache for steady breaths.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Your head snapped up in Rex’s direction, eyes widening when you spotted the clone trying to bypass Rex and enter the ship, “Crosshair?”

The sniper doesn’t acknowledge you. Instead his attention is solely on the older clone, “You’re sending her into a cantina full of powerful, greedy, vile men who would do anything to have her.”

Rex sighed, “Crosshair-,”

“I understand not wanting the others to be involved, they’re too protective. The second anyone touches her the mission would be ruined and dead bodies make things complicated.”

Rex gave another, deeper sigh, “Your skill sets would prove to be a huge asset to the mission, I’m aware and if I thought you were any different from the rest of them, I would have asked you. I know you Crosshair, you’d be the first to pull the trigger.”

Finally Crosshair’s eyes land in your direction, the subtle pinch of his brow letting you know that the panic that's choking you from the inside is written all over your face. He stared at you, knowingly, “Don’t do this. For your own sake, don’t.”

“The man we’re after is a slave trader. Young kids and helpless women,” You said, although you figured he’s aware of that already, “If you were in my shoes you’d do the same thing. For me, for Omega. Crosshair I need to do this.”

You moved to stand in front of him and you pulled his head down until your foreheads met, an action you’ve only done once before with him. Only this time he’s leaning in instead of pushing you away with a threat of you meeting the barrel of his rifle.

“Take care of the boys and Omega while I’m gone, yeah?”

“I’m not their kriffing babysitter.”

You chuckled and pulled back to meet his gaze, “Take care of yourself too.”

Although the mission only took three days, your body – your soul – is screaming for your family. For their arms around you, their voices reassuring you that you’re okay, that you’re home. That you’re safe.

So when the front door is the only thing that stands between you and them, a weight is lifted from your shoulders. A breath you hadn’t realised you’ve been holding leaves your lungs and you draw in a new one full of relief.

You punched in the house’s code and the green light blinked, lock unlocking. You smiled, opening the door and before you’re fully able to close it behind you, you’re being pushed back against it, Hunter’s face buried in the crook of your neck.

Not exactly the welcome home you’d imagined would be awaiting you.

You looked over at the other boys, hoping to get an explanation. You start with Echo but the clone just leaned back against the couch, a smile on his face. Beside him is Tech; the clone brought a finger up to tap the side of his nose.

Right. You probably reek of–

“Testosterone.” Hunter snarled, and you can feel the way his nose scrunched up at the smell of male hormones on your person.

“Not the welcoming home I expected,” You joked, trying to push Hunter away but the clone didn’t budge, “Come on I can’t smell that badly, I had a shower on Rex’s ship. Seriously Hunter, at least let me enter the house.”

Hunter finally pulled back, eyes still locked in on the flesh on your neck. You try not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze, or the smug looks from the others. Hunter tilted your head and you're quick to give him access to the other side of your neck despite your earlier protest. He spared no time diving in, head jerking back instantly, nostrils flailing and he growled, “They touched you.”

The smug look on Echo’s face disappeared instantly and he stepped forward, eyes narrowed in on the back of Hunter’s head like he can see the skin where you had been touched through the clone’s skull.

Hunter pressed you back farther against the door, voice demanding as he asked, “Where else?”

“Hunter-,“

“I won’t ask again.”

The sound of tiny feet racing down the hallway saved you from having to answer, from having to admit that they were right. That you weren’t strong enough for the mission. Not without them. Admitting that would make the phantom feeling of hands on your body too real.

You pushed Hunter away and caught the girl just in time, your name falling from her lips as giggles filled the air when you tickled her side. Behind her Wrecker smiled at you, welcoming you home.

“You’re back! I want to hear all about the mission!” Omega said, jumping out of your arms when you tap on her back. She’s grown so much in the last few years and you’re too exhausted to hold her weight, “Sorry, I’m just excited you’re back home. Are you hurt?”

You’re able to give her a quick shake of your head before that phantom touch across your skin is back and you can’t hide the rise of goosebumps on your arms. Not from Hunter at least. The man studies your body language, breathing in the scent of foul men that lingers on your skin, even after using Rex’s refresher to shower.

“Omega, I want every blanket and pillow in this house brought out here,” Hunter turned to address the biggest clone, “Wrecker, clear all the furniture out of the living room.”

“Oh, you betcha!” Wrecker cheered with a grin, “We haven’t had a good ol’ bantha pile in ages!”

“Bantha pile?” You questioned as you watched the two follow Hunter’s orders.

“Yes, it is when a group of people all sleep and/or cuddle together. It was a way for Hunter to memorise our scents growing up. To help calm him,” Tech informed you, “It’s been awhile since we’ve had one, but given that Hunter is indeed struggling with you not smelling like us, the bantha pile is warranted. I’d even say necessary.”

You nodded. It makes a certain amount of sense but you’re not entirely sure it is warranted. To your knowledge they didn’t do this when Crosshair came back, when Tech was found or when Omega healed from her injuries at the hands of Dr. Hemlock. Or maybe they did and you weren’t there, that they didn’t find it necessary to include you.

No, it’s best not to go down that path. You’re here, your boys are crowded around you as you all await for Omega to return and that’s all that matters.

But Tech has always been able to read you and he awkwardly bumped his shoulder against yours, voice hushed, “You’re part of our alitt. You and Echo were dealing with Sid when Hunter and Wrecker welcomed Crosshair, Omega and myself home. We tried waiting for you but Hunter was struggling. It wasn’t an easy call but it was necessary to proceed without you and Echo.”

You brushed a hand over Tech’s and sent him a smile, “I understand, truly. I shouldn’t have questioned my place with you guys.”

“We won’t allow that to happen ever again, ner vod.” He promised and you believe him.

“I got everything!” Omega announced, bouncing back into the room, her voice muffled behind the mountain of fabric balanced in her arms, which Hunter quickly relieved her of. The young clone looked over at Echo, “I got your heated blanket too. I wasn’t sure if our body heat will be enough to keep you warm through the night. Better safe than sorry, right?”

“I…” Echo blinked, accepting his blanket as he fumbled for words. No matter how long you all have known Omega, the smaller clone always finds ways of surprising her family with her never-ending kindness. Echo cleared his throat, “Thank you, Omega.”

She beamed up at him, brushing off his thanks as she grabbed a handful of pillows to scatter around the living room. Wrecker and Hunter followed behind her with blankets. Eventually the room was approved for a bantha pile by Wrecker’s standards and six bodies started to settle in for the night.

With Hunter against your left side, head buried in your neck, his lips gazing the skin over your pulse point and Wrecker snuggled behind him, Echo moved to claim his spot on your other side as Tech sat cross legged by your lower right leg and Omega’s balanced on your chest leaving just Crosshair left to pick his spot.

“There’s still room.” You pointed out to him, silently hoping he’ll join.

Crosshair looked down at the pile, disgust written all over his face, “Not happening.”

“C’mon brother,” Wrecker patted the empty spot behind him, “You know you want to.”

The sniper may be rough around the edges but he’s not immune to his brothers’ pleas. He’ll cave, you know so.

“Not in the slightest. I’d rather eat glass than be sandwiched between you all.”

“Fine, but you’ll regret it.” Wrecker shrugged, snuggling closer into Hunter’s side, his large arm thrown over the smaller body to rest on your arm.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “Doubt it.”

Tech glanced up from his datapad, “I have informed Phee that I will be staying another night here,” He looked at you, “She is pleased that you have returned unharmed and has invited you for dinner tomorrow if that is to your liking.”

“Tell her there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

He nodded, “I will inform her immediately, she will be happy to hear so.”

Omega frowned, rifling through the blankets, “Where’s Lula?”

Wrecker’s head shot up, alarmed and you glanced around until you spotted her by the hallway entrance. You pointed Omega to the toy, “You must have dropped her.”

Omega looked over at her brother, eyes wide and childlike, “Crosshair? Can you get her?”

The clone looked at her, then the pile of blankets and pillows that were basically drowning her small frame, before blowing out an annoyed sigh, but he went and got the toy anyway. He carelessly threw it in her direction, which earned a cry of protest from Wrecker. Crosshair rolled his eyes in response before crouching down beside Echo, moving his blanket aside.

The former ARC Trooper’s body stiffened when a pair of hands met his pelvic. Then he flinched away from Crosshair’s touch when the clones fingers found the clasps of his prosthetic legs. You watched slightly puzzled at what was happening.

Crosshair’s fingers froze for a fleeting second before he scowled down at Echo, “Relax Reg, if I have to suffer sleeping here tonight I’m at least going to make sure my nuts stay intact.”

A puff of air met your skin as Hunter grunted, “Language Crosshair, the kids here.”

Omega giggled as she settled comfortably on your chest, “I’m not a kid, Hunter.”

Beside you, Echo flicked his youngest brother’s arm, “I don’t move in my sleep.”

Wrecker let out an loud laugh, “Ha, good one Echo!”

“You could sleep on the other side of the bantha pile,” Echo cocked his head over to where Wrecker is, “Snuggle up behind Wrecker. He doesn’t sweat that much.”

“I’d rather not. Now are you going to let me continue?” Crosshair gestured to the prosthetics.

Echo nodded, moving to make it easier for his brother to reach the clasps, “You better not steal my blanket throughout the night.”

“What are you going to do? Chase me?” Crosshair jeered, but his tone held no malice behind it and Echo for his part just playfully shoved the sniper back until his ass met the floor. Beside you Hunter mumbled something incomprehensible into the crook of your neck while Wrecker and Omega laughed as Crosshair scowled up at them.

Once the prosthetics were removed, Crosshair huddled underneath Echo’s heated blanket with him, keeping enough distance from the clone for it not to be weird. Crosshair’s words, not Echo’s. The latter couldn’t care less, especially when the added warmth helped him sleep soundly.

With them both settled in for the night Tech was able to finally curl himself against your thigh, directly underneath Echo, giving the fact that without the clone’s prosthetics there’s now room for Tech to lie down and be close to you.

“This is… nice.” You said, pulling Echo in closer to your body when he struggled to do so himself without use of his prosthetic legs. His prosthetic arm had been taken off too. Most likely so you don’t get hit by it.

“Aw, yeah it is!” Wrecker’s usual loudness is muffled by Hunter’s shirt and the older clone chuckled at the rough vibration that spread across his back.

Omega propped herself up to rest her head in her hands, her elbows pressing against your chest and you hid the wince when her pointed appendages dug into your sternum.

Her eyes twinkled as they met yours, “We’ve missed you,” She exclaimed, the twinkle in her eyes grew brighter, “Tech barely left the house, Phee brought over food for us but we ended up giving it to the shelter ‘cause Echo went bananas and made enough food for the entire village! And Wrecker built a giant shed in a day! The Unstoppable Machine they called him. Oh and Crosshair slept at the gun range every night. Echo had to bring him food and a pillow and blanket-,”

You blew out a disappointed sigh. Leave it to Crosshair to do the exact opposite of what you said. Taking care of yourself does not equal three nights at the gun range. Crosshair hid his head in Echo’s shoulder shielding himself away from your scowl.

“Hunter wouldn’t leave my side,” Omega continued, “I wasn’t even allowed to sleep over at the Hazards. It’s okay though. Truthfully, I didn’t feel like sleeping away from home anyways.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. You knew they didn’t want you to go but you never really knew how much pain you’re absent brought the six of them.

“I’m so sorry,” You whispered into the silence of the room, “I’m here now and I’m not leaving ever again, I promise.”

Omega held out her hand, little finger up, “Pinky promise?”

You locked your smallest finger around hers and brought them both up to your lips, pressing a delicate kiss to her skin, “To the brightest stars and back.”

Omega was the first to fall asleep, followed quickly by Echo; the warmth of his blanket and your body heat lulled him into a peaceful slumber. Wrecker was next, his snores unnaturally quiet for a man his size. Small blessings, truly.

Tech’s head is pillowed on your thigh, his datapad loosely held in his hand, conversation with Phee most likely cut short by his sleep. Out of all your boys your heart is warmed by him the most. He’s the only one who doesn’t live here, he’s the only one who has spent four nights away from their partner. He’s never once complained about it and you know neither has Phee; she’d let Tech spend a thousand more nights here if that’s what he needs.

Crosshair and Hunter were the last to drift off, their bodies on high alert, tracking any movement that could possibly take you away from them. Crosshair once said that nothing is ever too good to be true, but like most things the sniper’s believed, he’s wrong. Because you’re here for good, and that’s true.

You felt a nudge against your right side and you rolled your eyes fully expecting to get an ear full of Tech’s latest discoveries during your absence but instead you're met with an unreadable expression as Crosshair stared at you.

He doesn’t say anything and he looks more pissed off than before. It’s late and you're tired, physically and emotionally and the last thing you want is an angry clone glaring at you through the night.

“This wasn’t my idea,” You reminded him, tone a little rougher than it probably should be, “But I’m not going to have you ruin it because I need this. I might have only been gone for three days but I was alone for each one and you were here, with the boys’ and Omega.”

He’s silent, eyes sharp almost like he’s studying you. When he does speak it sounds like it’s through gritted teeth, “Where else?”

And, oh

You had been expecting that question from Hunter, maybe even Echo, but not him.

You sighed and let your head fall back against your pillow. Whenever the gentleman got too bold, you were able to direct their attention somewhere other than your body… but sometimes you just weren’t fast enough.

“You were right, the others wouldn’t have been able to sit and watch,” You shifted your eyes back to the sniper, “The man grabbed me, pulled me into his lap and sometimes when I close my eyes, I can feel his breath against my skin and I hate it.”

The arms locked around you tighten, Hunter's head unburing itself from your neck, his breathing falling to the softest puffs against your skin. You honestly should have known that he wouldn’t fully be asleep.

You sighed, pulling Omega closer to your chest, needing to feel her heartbeat, letting it ground you, “Rex was immediately lifting me off of him and using his body as a shield, keeping me out of the man’s sight. What was supposed to be a stealth mission turned into a full blown blaster fight. What was it you said Crosshair? ‘Dead bodies make things complicated’?”

“Sometimes complicated is necessary for survival,” Crosshair said, “It may have not gone down the way you wanted it to, but tonight there are people finding their freedom from slavery and that’s because there are good people out there willing to fight for them. People like you.”

Your throat constricted at his words and you felt the beginning of tears build up, you do your best to blink them away before they get a chance to escape.

“You’re not leaving us again, right?” Hunter’s voice was rough, and it was clear from the way he asked the question that there was only one acceptable answer.

“No, never again,” You replied, before asking your own question, “Do I smell better now?”

Hunter made a show of taking in a deep breath, pausing for a second before giving a slow nod, “You smell like my aftershave, Echo’s mechanical oil for his prosthetics, Omega’s shampoo, Phee’s perfume that lingers on Tech’s clothes and the chemical ingredients in Tech’s eye drops.”

“Wrecker and Crosshair?”

“By the morning you’ll smell like them too. I promise.”

“Good, but in case I don’t; I’m not doing anything tomorrow night.”

Crosshair pressed his front flushed against Echo’s back and threw his arm over his brother's body to rest on top of Omega’s back, “If we must, I'm making Wrecker bring the mattresses down here. I’m getting too old for this shit.”

You laced your fingers with his across Omega’s body, “Deal.”

A/N: I’ve had one rule when it comes to tbb. I don’t write for Crosshair – He’s a hard character to write – So how the heck did I manage to include him in 80% of this fic?! I’m not sure I was able to capture his personality completely but I hope I did him justice. (runs and hides)

#the bad batch #tbb #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb omega #tbb crosshair #tbb rex #tbb x platonic reader #justice joy writes #tbb fanfiction

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diresang · 3 months

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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒆𝒅 ✦․⁺ ↳ @hazbinfatales

❝ you sound like you don't believe me. ❞ husk quipped, the corner of his lip just slightly upturned. his gambling didn't seem to stop at casinos, as he had found himself in a game within a bar during his trip to cannibal town. his sleight-of-hand tricks weren't exactly popular with some of the citizens, it seemed.

❝ i doubt its unfamiliar in your town, rosie━ though, i figured it'd be polite to give you a heads up. especially since it made me late to our, uh . . . tea. ❞

sure, husk had been alive during the same era━ but he was much younger, and much more unfamiliar with the customs and style rosie ( and alastor ) stuck with. he sat on the other end of the table, glancing down at the cup set in front of him, awkwardly picking it up.

❝ thanks for inviting me. been a while since i seen you━ without it involving alastor. how have you been, sweetheart ? ❞

#hazbinfatales #❝ i don’t care if it hurts ━ i want to have control ❠ ━━「 husker | interaction 」✦․⁺#❝ watch out boy━ she’ll chew you up ! ❠ ━━「 husker & rosaline bennett | hazbinfatales 」✦․⁺#read 'em and weep! full ho━... ...━tel? ━━「 hazbin hotel 」✦․⁺#a surprise for you ━━「 queue 」✦․⁺

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barbiewritesstuff · 1 month

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Love is Patience, love is kind

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AN: I'm back! And this time it's a Benedict Bridgerton fic! Don't know if it's good or how long it'll be but I'm hoping it's a slow burn. As always, this isn't proofread.

Also this is soooo long, I'm not sorry :)

The title is still a work in progress.

TW. None I don't think but shoot me a message if you think one applies.

The servants quarters at the Bridgerton house are never quiet in the morning. It’s a miracle it doesn’t wake the household, Kit thinks, serving tea to everyone crowded at the kitchen table.

Because there are so many servants and maids, they usually do the morning food service in two goes. The Lower servants get first service, because they’re up earlier than the rest, and an hour later, the upper servants come down for their breakfast. Dinner is the opposite, with the upper servants eating first, and the lower servants eating afterwards. It’s only at lunch that everyone eats together while the Bridgertons luncheon upstairs. It’s short and rushed, especially for the Footmen who have to eat between food courses but cook is practised at her art and makes meals the boys can scoff down as they run plates upstairs. Mr Graves, the steward, doesn’t mind, so long as the boys aren’t still chewing on their food when they’re within eyesight of the family.

It’s rare that the staff finds a moment to converse around the kitchen table as a group outside of their respective mealtimes, but everyone tries for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and, like today, for employment anniversaries.

Despite being the one rushing around, serving tea, it’s Kit’s employment anniversary. She’s been employed by the Bridgertons for seven years today, and it’s gone by in a blur. She started off as a scullery maid and two years ago, moved to kitchen maid. She’ll likely stay there until Cook retires, which might be some years yet. Cook’s no spring chicken, but behind her facade of cute little old lady hides a strength and energy she only allows to be seen when something isn’t to her liking in her kitchen. The kitchen is Cook’s domain. Her kingdom. And she rules it with an iron fist and all the mercy of a dictator.

That being said, Cook really is a kind and caring woman. Which is why, unbeknownst to Kit, she’s been up for hours preparing a treat. She’s had to clear it with Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, weeks in advance and then hide it before Kit could discover her surprise, but as she finishes pouring tea and passing around the milk, Cook pulls out the plate of hot scones, cream and raspberry jam. It’s still steaming when she sets it out on the table with a satisfied grin at Kit’s surprised face.

The staff cheers but waits patiently for Kit to have the first one, watching with hungry eyes as she smears the jam on first and then drops a measured dollop of clotted cream to finish it off. They even hold off long enough for her to take a bite. As if waiting for her approval, as soon as she smiles, they all throw themselves on the plate to grab their own scone. In the hubbub, the jam spoon flies off, hitting a wall by the staircase that leads upstairs but no one notices.

Then, in less than five minutes, everything has been eaten, and the lower servants down their boiling hot teas as fast as they can before the shift starts. Soon, the merry conversations of the kitchen tables turn into orders and task lists and only the upper servants remain seated. Next to Kit, Cook pulls out her notebook and begins planning the day, and meals.

“Isn’t the new scullery maid supposed to start today,” Mrs Wilson remarks, tapping Mr Graves’ arm in order to get his attention.

He looks at his watch, a present from Edmund Bridgerton some years before, “She should be here in time for the Lunch service,” he replies, turning back to his tea, drinking the last mouthful and then shaking his cup at Kit to signal for a refill.

“Patience, you’ll be showing her the ropes,” he tells Kit, who he simply refuses to call by her nickname, stating that “Your parents put such thought in your first name, I will not show such disrespect as you call you by anything else,” and ignoring her when she tries to tell him that even her parents call her Kit. Only her brother Michael calls her Patience, or Patsy, when he’s cross with her.

Kit nods, until two years ago she’d been a scullery maid herself, and since her promotion, she had been juggling both jobs herself. It was a relief that Mr Graves had finally hired someone else, she’d be able to sleep more, and it would give her skin and lungs some needed reprieve. The cleaning chemicals she used to scrub everything clean were effective, but they were quite harsh on her. Graves’ reluctance to fill the scullery position was a mystery to everyone else too, the Bridgertons’ were more than rich enough to pay another member of staff, and even Mrs Wilson, who usually followed Mr. Graves’ instruction to the letter, had been on his case about hiring someone else.

“You should have --” Mrs Wilson starts

“I will not hear of it,” Mr Graves says, cutting her off, “I have now, there’s no need to harp on about it.”

The housekeeper throws him a look. If Kit didn’t know them as well as she did, she might be tempted to say the two were secretly courting, but as it stood, Mrs Wilson made her opinion of Graves perfectly clear. He was her superior and therefore worthy of respect and blind obedience, but privately, she thought him a self-important little man.

Before Graves could reprimand the housekeeper for the glare, the bells began ringing. Lady’s maids and valet stand up from their chairs, climbing up the stairs to the main house to assist their family member, then, the footmen stand up, finishing their tea to set the table and bring breakfast. Eventually, Humboldt and Mrs Wilson leave their place at the tables too.

After another cup of tea and a specially made jam on toast, Mr Graves bids Cook and Kit goodbye and retreats to his office, a small room to the side of the kitchen.

“I do not wish to spoil the fun of your special day, Kit dear, but we must get on,” Cook says. Springing to action, she tidies the kitchen table, neatly stacking plates, cups and cutlery by the kitchen sink and then, almost automatically, peeling vegetables.

For lunch, the Bridgertons will have asparagus soup, cold meat, cake and fruit. The soup is a special request of Violet Bridgerton herself and Cook wishes to make the Viscountess' soup of her own hands, while she busies herself with that, Kit moves on to the rest.

Then, as they finish up, the new scullery maid is announced by one of the Grooms as he walks in, traipsing mud and horse manure all over Kit’s perfectly polished floor.

Amused by the death glare she throws his way, the Groom introduces the girl, “This is Elaine,” he says, “And this is Cook,” he tells the girl, “And the Kitchen Maid,” he adds, winking at Kit, “Her name is Patience, everyone calls her Kit,” he adds.

“Except you,” Cook says, trying not to giggle

“That’s right,” The Groom smiles broadly, “My name is also Kit, short for Christopher,” he explains, “So to keep things clear, I call her ‘the lesser Kit’. So there’s no confusion,” he adds, winking at the girl. She giggles.

“I suggest you do not try to call me that,” Kit warns the girl.

“I’ll leave you lovely ladies to your work then,” Christopher says, “Happy anniversary. It’s been a pleasure to tease you for so long,” he adds over his shoulder as he walks out. Despite her best efforts, it does force a smile out of Kit.

“I’ll leave you to clean. I must go to market, and Mrs Wilson has asked me to inventory the pantry,” Cook says, taking off her apron and hanging it by the back door, she picks up her basket and then shakes the tea tin she keeps by her prized cookery books over the table and picks up the few coins that fell out. With a wave, she exits the kitchen, leaving the scullery maid and Kit by themselves.

Knowing that the dinner service needs to be prepared in less than two hours, and that the staff will descend upon the kitchen in roundabout an hour, Kit wastes no time showing Elaine where the cleaning supplies are kept and what must be done, how and when. The girl takes it in, asking any question she can think of as soon as she can. By the time Cook is back, Kit is suitably impressed by the girl.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Elaine watching all she does very closely.

“I’ll do the end of day cleaning with you for a week,” Kit says, “And then you’re on your own. You managed the cleaning fine after lunch, so I don’t think you’ll need me much,” she sighs, “Right, let’s get on with it. We start with the counters, obviously, then dusting and we finish with the floor,” Kit says, handing Elaine a brush, nodding towards the chopping block where Cook butchered the pheasant the Bridgertons ate for dinner. As the scullery maid got to scrubbing, Kit worked at the other end of the kitchen, cleaning the remnants of the staff lunch. She then moved on to the fireplace, picking up the sand they had spread to catch the grease and spills of whatever Cook had boiling in her cauldron, and then spreading new sand.

Elaine worked valiantly at the stove, braving the leftover heat of the coals to get everything clean without a word of complaint. And then, right as Kit started the yawn, the two girls set about cleaning the floor. It was the least pleasant job, in Kit’s opinion, worse than cleaning bloody chopping blocks, or sticking your arm in the warm stove. Cook despised mops and insisted that a scrubbing cloth be worked around the floor with bare feet, and that the water must be ice cold, as she thought any temperature above simply wasn’t as effective. By the end of it, Kit and Elaine’s toes were numb, but the floor sparkled, and painful feet were worth avoiding Cook’s wrath.

“Tea before bed?” Kit offers. Elaine happily agreed, taking a seat at the table while Kit pulled out a teapot and two cups.

“If your name is Patience, why are you called Kit?” Elaine asks, halfway through her cup, “If it’s alright to ask.”

Kit grinned, “My mother named me Patience Katherine Byrd,” she says, “I don’t like being called Patsy, so Kit was the next best thing.”

Elaine nods. She’s about to say something else when the door opens and someone starts down the stairs. Kit expects it to be Hyacinth on her weekly trip to the kitchen to wrestle some leftover cake out of Kit with puppy eyes and pretty pleases, but the footsteps seem too heavy.

The person stumbles, missing a step, and catches themselves on the railing with a groan and a mumbled swear. A few steps later, shoes and trousers come into view.

It’s a man. It cannot be Colin Bridgerton, for he is out of town, and it cannot be the Viscount, as he left for his own bachelor house earlier in the evening, taking his valet with him. Sure enough, Benedict Bridgerton soon steps into view. He’s white as a sheet, and barely able to walk.

“I was hoping someone would still be awake,” he says, swaying as he stands two steps away from the bottom of the stairs. Kit and Elaine stand up, remembering themselves.

“Would it be possible to have some warm milk?” He asks.

Kit always liked Benedict best of all the male Bridgerton’s. They’ve crossed paths twice in seven years but he’s always been polite to her, despite her status and in spite of his.

“Please,” he adds

“Perhaps you would like to sit,” Kit offers, pulling out the chair closest to where he’s standing. He nods, holding his hand against the wall for dear life as he walks down the last two steps. He stumbled down onto the chair, crash landing haphazardly onto the seat with a pained moan.

“You can go,” Kit tells Elaine, “Go to bed, we wake at dawn tomorrow.”

She then turns towards the stove, lighting it under Benedict Bridgerton’s watchful gaze. She warms up a pitcher of milk and pours it into a cup for him. Unsure of what to do with herself, she stands by as he sips it.

Kit’s never heard the kitchen so quiet. She could hear a pin drop from miles away but despite the awkwardness, she struggles to keep a yawn from surfacing.

“I’m sorry,” Benedict eventually says, “I am keeping you up.”

“It’s alright, sir,”

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sure you have plenty of work to be done tomorrow and I am keeping you from sleeping. I’m sorry I’ll be the cause of your tiredness,” he says, looking genuinely sorry, “I couldn’t sleep,” he eventually adds after finishing his milk, “I have such a headache, and Andrew couldn’t find the laudanum. I thought I would be okay but it’s too much.”

“If you wait here, I shall fetch you some of mine,” Kit offers, unsure of what the alternative could be. She knows just how painful headaches can get, and because she has no choice but to work through them, she keeps her side of the wardrobe well stocked with homemade laudanum.

Kit opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can so as not to wake Dorothy, one of the lower housemaids, with whom she shares the room. She steps around the bed and opens the wardrobe door, fumbling the keys and almost dropping it. She feels around for a glass flask until her fingers close around its neck. Once the medicine is in her possession, she leaves the room again. Walking to the opposite side of the corridor, passing through the door announcing the male servant’s rooms, Kit makes her way towards Andrew’s quarters. His room is all the way towards the end, as close to the main house as it can get, in case his gentleman were to have an emergency. Kit’s been here before, but never unchaperoned, and the distance between Andrew’s room and the safety of the communal corridor is a curse.

Eventually, she knocks on his door but he doesn’t respond. The Valets have been asleep for hours now, and she imagines Andrew is much the same. Wishing she didn’t have to, she pushes the door open and steps in. She walks closer to the bed, putting a hand on Andrew’s sleeping shoulder and gently shakes him. He wakes with a start.

“Say, Kit, I’ve always wanted you in my bed,” he mumbles groggily, grinning at her, “But I wasn’t expecting it to happen today.”

“Very funny, you incorrigible rake,” Kit grins back, “Your gentlemen is looking white as a sheet in my kitchen, you might want to come with in case we need to fetch a doctor,” she explains. Andrew sighs, picking his trousers off the end of his bed.

“I cannot be seen in my sleepwear, you go first, I’ll join you in a moment,” he adds, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

Benedict Bridgerton seems to only have gotten worse by the time she is back. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his palour has turned to colouring his face a strange shade of green. Seeing this, and perhaps selfishly afraid for her clean floors, Kit hurriedly pours the second eldest Bridgerton a bit of laudanum. He downs it in one go and coughs.

“Christ, that’s strong!” he says, looking surprised.

“Well, it’s homemade,” Kit explains, “It’s alcohol and opium. The doses might be different to what you’re used to but I promise it will work.”

“Yes,” he coughs, “I daresay I needn’t more than a few sips for this to knock me right out.”

“Well, you did say you had trouble sleeping,” Kit mumbles to herself, not expecting Benedict to hear her but a laugh soon bubbles up from his mouth. It’s delightful but short lived, for merely a second later he coughs again, bends over, and spills the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor.

Kit’s fury is immediate, and Benedict knows it. He stands here, green and ill, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“I did not -- I’m awfully sorry --” he sputters.

Her anger doesn’t last, there’s something about Benedict that softens Kit’s heart, much to her dismay, and as much as she would have liked to send him away with a scolding and a glare -- as she would have done with anyone else -- she steps forward instead, placing a hand over his shoulder to place his back against the chair. As she would with her own brothers, she then places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“You have a temperature,” she states, just in time for Andrew to swing the door open, dressed but dishevelled, a cowlick lifting all but one tuft of hair on the left side of his head.

“I see I’m too late,” he comments, ignoring how close his gentleman and Kit are, “I’ll take you back up to bed, sir, and I’ll ask one of the footmen to fetch a doctor.”

“I’m awfully sorry for your floor,” Benedict apologises again, looking greener than ever and as though he might be sick again.

“It’s nothing Kit’s not seen before,” Andrew says, placing one of Benedict’s over his shoulders and lifting him up to a standing position. Gingerly, Andrew walks Benedict back up the stairs and into the main house, leaving Kit to clean the floor all over again.

By the time she’s finished, the sun is shining low on the horizon, the roosters in the courtyard are crowing and Cook opens the door to start her day. She stands on the threshold, surprised.

“Don’t ask,” Kit says, throwing her cloth in the kitchen’s laundry basket, “It’s been a night.”

“I can see that,” Cook says, “Has it been a fun night?” She asks, mischievously.

Aside from cooking, Cook’s only interests are gossip and matchmaking. She has been on Kit’s case about finding her a nice young man since the second month of her employment.

“Andrew’s been up all night too,” she adds with a wink, “He’s a handsome lad.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” Kit groans, “Master Benedict came down for hot milk last night. He was taken ill. I had to fetch Andrew.”

Cook sighs, disappointed, “Well, I was certainly hoping for something else.”

“That makes both of us,” Kit sighed

“Oh does it now?” Cook grins, turning Kit as red as her hair, unaware of how her words could have sounded.

---

Everyone else is already fast asleep by the time Elaine and Kit finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down for their last cup of tea. Swearing her young scullery maid to secrecy, Kit shaves off two thin slices of cake to have next to their drink. They eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful, but much like the day before, right as they finish, the door to the main house opens, and footsteps descend the stairs.

They’re steady today, and confident, but Kit recognises Benedict’s shoes before much of him comes into view.

“Pardon my interruption,” he says, “I merely wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”

Kit can feel Elaine looking to her for an answer. She throws her a look promising explanations later. As a maid, an apology like that can have a range of reasons, from the innocent to the rakish. With the reputation the Bridgerton boys have, it isn’t hard to imagine that Elaine is thinking more on the scandalous side of things.

“I hope you feel better,” Kit says, avoiding any words of forgiveness towards her soiled floor -- after all, she hasn’t forgiven him. She’s been up since the day before at dawn and the sheer exhaustion she has felt all day is nothing she has ever experienced -- and it seems Benedict has noticed. He grins at her.

The three of them stay quiet for a moment until the silence becomes more than Kit can bear, “Well, if it’s all, sir, I think we’ll go to bed.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at the floor, “Of course… Yes. Good night, Miss. Goodnight Kit,” he says.

“Miss Byrd,” Kit corrects him before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. While calling her by her first name is a disrespect, correcting her employer so rudely is a greater offence than anything he could have done. If word of this reacher Mr Graves, Kit is in for a telling off she has never experienced before.

“Pardon me, Miss Byrd. I meant no offence,” he says, “I seem to forget my manners.”

“Well, goodnight,” she says, hoping it will make him leave. Surprisingly, Benedict seems rather unwilling to leave her kitchen despite the awkwardness making her want to run away.

He takes the hint and with a nod in either direction, walks back up the stairs.

Kit stands there, unsure of what to say for a moment, “He vomited on our floor last night. I’m rather surprised he was brave enough to face me, I thought my glare had scared him off,” she eventually says.

Elaine stays quiet.

“You don’t believe me?” Kit sighs

“No, I do,” she eventually says, “It’s just…” Elaine hesitates, “You ought to be careful.”

“How so?” Kit asks, feeling herself blush at the situation. A sixteen year old scullery maid giving her lessons, Kit should like the floor to swallow her whole.

“I have heard things about the masters. Other maids think they’re rakes,” she says, then, casting her eyes on the floor, she adds, “At my last household, one of the Masters charmed a maid. He got her in the family way and it left her ruined.”

Kit remains there speechless.

“I don’t know what I have done to give you such a poor opinion of me, Elaine, but rest assured that I am not that kind of girl. I have no desire to run around with a master of the house and ruin myself,” Kit says, furious, “I think it’s best you go to bed. I’ll finish up here.”

“I did not mean --” she sputters, “It’s just --”

“Leave.”

Elaine nods, leaving her cup on the table. She vanishes through the service door seconds later.

Kit sits there for a while, stewing in her own anger. Partly at Elaine, and partly at Benedict. If anything were to come of this, be it rumour or inappropriate behaviour, she would be ruined and destitute. No household in London would ever employ her, and she could kiss the position of Cook, and its high salary, goodbye.

Still fuming, Kit stands up, washes the teapot and cups and climbs up to bed.

“You’re angry,” Dorothy says, sleepily, “You always stomp around when you’re angry.”

“I can’t believe the little --” Kit starts, “First that spoiled ass sicks up all over my pristine floor, then the new maid suggests he might try to ruin me!”

“Seems like a jump,”

“He came back to apologise,”

“Right,” Dorothy says, “She’s just looking out for you, I’m sure.”

“She’s sixteen!” Kit whispers back, “She’s a child!”

Dorothy sighs.

“Do you know what would happen to me if Graves hears what she said?”

“Kit, that’s enough,” Dorothy says firmly, “Nothing will happen because nothing untowards has happened. Now go to bed, I don’t want to deal with your moods in the morning.”

Kit glares at her.

“You can look at me like that all you want. It won’t change anything,” Dorothy says, tucking herself back into her duvet, “Sleep tight.”

Kit climbs into bed, huffing and puffing.

“I’ll vouch for you if Graves asks,” Dorothy eventually says, on the verge of sleep.

“Good night,” Kit replies, falling asleep as soon as her eyes close.

It seems like only a second has passed before the bell rings in the corridor and Kit must rise again. She shaked Dorothy awake and gets dressed, quickly brushing her hair and pinning it up in a tight bun. Downstairs, Cook had boiled water and made tea. She serves Kit a cup, and then Elaine when she appears a moment later. Wanting to avoid Elaine as much as she can, Kit throws herself in the day’s work, speaking as little as possible.

“Out with it,” Cook orders as soon as they step out to the courtyard after the lunch service. The scullery maid is inside, cleaning up.

“Something’s bothering you,” she adds, “I could taste it in your soup.”

“What?!” Kit asks, confused and wondering what kind of cookery witchcraft Cook knows of.

“You salt too much when you’re cross,” Cook shrugs.

“Oh,” Kit sighs, “It’s nothing. Elaine gave me advice yesterday, I didn’t appreciate it.”

Cook laughs but says nothing.

“Do you think Benedict Bridgerton is a rake?” Kit asks.

“I think he likes ladies, yes,” she responds, “I don’t think he likes maids.”

Kit sighs in relief, “Elaine seems to think --”

“Elaine was previously employed by Lord Berbrooke,” Cook cuts her off, “Give her some leeway, she’s only working off of her own experiences. The Bridgertons are different, they’re a good family with kind hearts. The Viscountess and her late husband raised them right.”

“They seem nice,” Kit replies, “I didn’t like that she was implying that I would be such a… Well, you know. That I would go above my station.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was implying, Kit dear,” Cook says, patting her arm. They stay quiet for a moment while Kit ruminates on what she said.

She’s not completely naive. She knows about these things. Maybe not everything, but she’s been working a while, and before the Bridgertons she worked with another family. She saw things she hadn’t been prepared for, then. But since working for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t thought back on it. She hadn’t felt unsafe, worried or scared that a moment alone or spent with a man might result in something she could never erase from her mind.

She’d taken Elaine’s advice so personally, like an attack on her own character. She hadn’t even thought it might have been a reflection of her own experiences. She hadn’t even thought it might be a warning on Benedict’s character. And strangely, she hadn’t thought, although it felt a little true, that the attack felt so offensive because Benedict had an effect on her Kit didn’t want him to have.

Benedict Bridgerton is undoubtedly a handsome man, but more than that, it was the boyish grin and big blue eyes that charmed her. She wasn’t in love, obviously, but he did have a certain effect on her.

“I think it’s time we go back,” Cook says, grabbing Kit by the arm and gently leading her back in to see Elaine finishing up the kitchen. Just as she throws the cloth into the laundry, they start messing up the kitchen, pulling out flour, vegetables, to start on dinner. As the sauces simmer and vegetables cook, Mr Kingman walks into the kitchen holding a couple of partridges and a hare.

“For dinner tonight,” he says, smacking the birds down on the table so violently it scares Elaine, who looks on dejected at the mess they so quickly created, “And for the family, I have a nice deer coming in. The boys are a little slow with it though,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Three voices argue loudly behind him, trying to wade through the muddy courtyard. Kit leans to see what the commotion is behind him. Carrying the biggest deer she has ever laid eyes upon, she can just about see Edmund, Francis and Frederic, the three gardener’s assistants Mr Kingman has borrowed to bring his prize.

Somehow, they negotiate the doorway and manage to fit the deer inside the kitchen. Elaine and Kit spring into action, removing chairs from the kitchen table so the boys can put it down.

Cook looks on, satisfied, “That’ll do nicely, I daresay,” she says. Then, she picks up one of her best knives and hands it to Kit, “We’ll need the bones for stock, and I’ll make a nice stew out of the organs, so be gentle with it.”

“If you keep the pelt in one piece, I’ll make a nice coat out of it,” Mr Kingman says.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kit braced herself. She’d only done this a handful of times, but it never got any more pleasant. Still, under the watchful eyes of the game warden, the three boys, Elaine and Cook, Kit begins to skin and quarter the animal.

Glancing back at her audience, she saw she had gathered a few more spectators. Mr Graves looked on from his office window, arms crossed over his chest with all the concentration of a man trying to keep his lunch inside while being entirely unable to look away.

Turning back to her work, she continues her cuts. She keeps going, asking the boys to roll the animal halfway through so she could replicate her butchering. Then, once she had finished cutting off the skin and quartering the animal, she and Cook moved all the meat to the cold room for safekeeping.

As much as Kit would have liked to take a shower to wash off the grime and blood, there was no time to waste. The leg would take a while to roast, even over the fire, and the kitchen needed to be cleaned, a job which, in light of the deer, Elaine could not complete by herself.

By the time it was time to return to her quarters, Kit could only think of a nice long bath. She drew the water and brought it upstairs, careful not to spill any on the stairs. Then, she undressed and gingerly lowered herself in the copper tub.

Kit closed her eyes, letting herself relax. She breathed deeply in and out a few times, then slipped under the water. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes. From underneath the water she could see almost nothing, just the flickering light of the candle at the side of the tub. She exhaled gently, watching the bubbles rise til they hit the surface, and then pop.

She resurfaced again a moment later, wiping her hair from her face. Water in her eyes having temporarily blinded her, Kit felt around the side of the tub for the little table she had put the soap and cloth on. After a minute, she felt the soft bar underneath her fingers.

One of the perks of working for the Bridgertons was without a doubt the soap. While other households often stocked soap for their servants, it was rarely of a good enough quality that it was worth using, but the Bridgertons’ or Mrs Wilson, anyway, regarded the staff’s overall appearance as highly important and hygiene most of all. They had therefore stocked each room with decent, scented soap. A treat Kit appreciated greatly.

She rubbed the soap over the cloth to make it bubble and then washed herself with it, breathing in the smell of jasmine on her skin. Then, with the same soapy cloth, Kit washed the top of her head til it bubbled up enough to clean the rest of her long hair. Once rinsed and ready, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself off and blew the candle out. Feeling more human than she had in days, she made her way back to her room.

To her surprise, Dorothy was still up, reading a long letter by candle light.

“From your Pa?” Kit asked, eliciting a humm of agreement from her friend, “How is the family?”

“My sister’s getting married in the spring,” she replied, “She’s marrying our vicar’s son. Ma says it’s a nice match but I get the feeling Pa’s not so happy about it. I don’t see why not though,” she says, “It’s not like she can do any better. He seems nice, and he’ll provide for her.”

“That’s nice!” Kit says, excited. She’s always loved weddings, and while she’s never hoped for a love match herself, finding someone willing to provide and care for her has always seemed just as good. In her books, Dotty’s sister isn’t doing half bad.

“Do you think if I ask Graves he’ll let me go for the wedding?” Dotty asks

“I don’t see why not,” Kit replies, “He’s a pain but not a monster, you know.”

“That’s only because he likes you, Patience,” she replies, emphasising her legal name.

Kit laughs, “Say, have you ever noticed how funny his name actually is?”

Dotty shakes her head.

“His name is Robert Graves. Rob Graves.”

Dorothy grins, “Leave it to you to find that out,” then, she sighs and without a word, goes back to reading. Suddenly exhausted, Kit climbs into bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

She wakes up late for the first time in seven years. By the time she makes it downstairs, Cook is already starting with breakfast. Without a word, but with a disapproving look, she hands Kit a bag of flour, some yeast and a little water.

---

Kit’s outside for a tea break when Michael, her ten year old brother, walks into the courtyard, newspaper in hand.

“Any good news?” Kit asks, pressing a coin in his hand.

Michael shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t read it, I just sell it.”

Kit grins. She takes off Michael’s cap and ruffles the hair underneath it. It’s almost as red as hers, only much shorter and curlier. It suits him, she thinks, and paired with the freckles covering his face, it makes him look younger than he is.

He leans against her in a not-quite-hug. Michael likes to pretend to be older than he is, and very much resists any of his sister’s babying, but occasionally, especially when he’s tired, he’ll still hug her. She holds him there for a moment, savouring it.

“Have you eaten anything?” She asks him

Michael shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say anything, Kit already knows. Their father’s out of work again, and despite all of the children working, money is stretched thin. Kit hates to speak badly of her father, but she hates that he’ll let his children go hungry if it means he never has to go thirsty. For every shilling that goes into food, three go into alcohol.

“Stay there,” Kit tells him. Michael watches her disappear inside, and then reappear a moment later, holding an apple and some bread. She watches him eat it all, and then fetches him some milk to wash it all down. Once she’s satisfied that he won’t drop from hunger, she lets him finish his route.

Once she steps back inside, it’s back to work. The staff having soup for dinner and the family is divided with the eldest going to a ball, and the younger ones staying behind.

Seeing as it’s only the children having dinner, Cook has been bribed by Hyacinth to make tea sandwiches and cakes, and so, Kit spends the better part of her afternoon making cakes and breads.

After dinner, it’s time to clean. The end of her evening clean with Elaine is upon them and after tonight Kit will be able to retire to bed alongside Dorothy. She’s been looking forward to it, she’s even asked Andrew to borrow a book from upstairs for her.

There’s been very little chatting since Elaine gave her advice, and as much as Kit wants to apologise for her reaction, she can’t really seem to find the right words, and by the time she thinks she might be brave enough to try, the cleaning is done and it’s time to go home.

Tonight, though, Kit is determined to do it. She’s been talking herself into it since she woke up this morning and her chance finally appears as they remove their shoes to work the scrubbing cloth around the floor.

“I wanted to apologise,” she says, staring firmly at the floor, “I misunderstood your intentions earlier in the week and I was awfully rude.”

Elaine seems surprised, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”

“You were looking out for me,” Kit says, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” she smiles at the scullery maid, “I’ll be careful.”

Elaine smiles at her, moving as fast as she can on the cloth before her feet become numb. They’ve done most of it now and the end can’t come soon enough.

“Tea?” Elaine asks, already reaching for the teapot and mugs. Kit smiles and nods, turning around to rummage through the cupboards for jam and a few slices of fresh bread.

She spreads jam on the slices as Elaine pours the tea. They eat in comfortable silence, all awkwardness dissipated by their apologies. Right as they bite into their bread, the front door of the main house opens upstairs announcing the elder Bridgertons’ return home from the ball. They hear them climb up the main stairs, and minutes later, the bells ring for the valets and lady’s maids.

Quick as a flash, Kit hides the teapot, cups, bread and jam on one of the empty chairs. She shoves whatever toast she still had in her hand into her mouth, making sure Elaine does the same, before the upper servants enter the kitchen and file up the stairs to the main house.

As soon as they’re gone, the contraband is placed back up on the table and their chatting continues. By the time the upper servants come back down, the tea is finished, the food is eaten and Kit has washed away any evidence of their midnight snack. Elaine soon bids her goodnight and climbs up to her quarters while Kit stays to chat and gossip with the Lady’s maids.

“I say Master Colin will wed by the end of next season,” Rose says, “And I wager a shilling, he will marry Miss Featherington.”

Kit laughs, “I wager he will not. I hear Miss Featherington’s dowry has already been gambled away by her father. I doubt Master Colin would marry without a dowry.”

“Kit, you sadden me,” Andrew says, “True love will vanquish all. I say he will marry her regardless of the dowry,” he adds, earning oohs and aahs from an appreciative Rose, “But,” he says, raising his index finger in warning, “I say it takes him two more seasons.”

“And when do you plan to wed, Andrew?” Bernard, Colin’s Valet, asks with a grin

“As soon as Kit gives me the time of day,” Andrew replies, shooting her a wink. It earns him a laugh from Bernard and Nicholas, Anthony’s Valet, as they clap him on the back.

“A bachelor forever, then!” Nicholas guffaws

“I’m going back to bed,” Andrew announced, faking grumpiness, “Goodnight!”

Soon after his departure, the rest of them climb up, leaving Kit alone in a quiet kitchen. She’s about to go up when the door above the kitchen opens once more.

Hyacinth chats loudly as she comes down, leaving no wonder as to who is disturbing Kit now, but she’s not alone. Trailing not far behind is Benedict Bridgerton, wearing only sleepwear.

“Hello Miss Byrd,” he says, sheepishly smiling, “We were rather hoping --”

“Is there any cake left?” Hyacinth cuts him off.

Kit rolls her eyes at the girl, earning herself a toothy smile, “I made you three different cakes for dinner and you still haven’t had enough?”

“Please?” Hyacinth begs, putting on her best puppy eyes, knowing very well it’s Kit’s one weakness.

But she holds strong, largely because Benedict is standing right behind, and she feels that if she does not stay stern, he’d get ideas.

“Please Miss Byrd,” he eventually says, “We’re awfully hungry,” he adds, joining in on the relentless beating down.

Kit lasts only a minute longer before giving in with a sigh.

“This cannot happen again,” she says, as sternly as she can. Benedict smiles at her and much to her surprise, Kit’s knees go weak. She lets go of the plate she was holding, and it shatters all over the floor, sending bits of ceramic flying everywhere.

She immediately bends down, grabbing all the pieces she can see. Shuffling around on her knees, she doesn’t see where she’s going. Soon enough, she bumps her head against something hard and yelps in pain. Expecting to see a table leg, she raises her head only to come inches away from Benedict Bridgerton. She stands up as fast as she can, taking as many steps back as she can as he does the same. They look at each other across the room, both trying to catch their breath.

Trying to get a grip on herself, Kit slices two bits of cake and places them on two new plates. She hands them to each Bridgerton, expecting them to take it up to their rooms, but only Hyacinth does. As soon as the kitchen door closes, Benedict puts his plate down and reaches for the broom Kit had left leaning on the door.

Half expecting him to hand it to her, Kit is surprised when he starts sweeping.

“Oh you don’t -- I’ll --”

“Am I not doing it right?” he asks

“No, it’s -- Sir, I’ll take care of it,” she eventually says, “You may go up, you must be tired.”

“I am awake enough to sweep, Miss Byrd,” he smiles

“Perhaps, but you really oughtn’t,” she replies, gently taking the broom from his hands, “Go up, go to sleep. If Andrew finds out you missed out on sleep because of me, he’ll have my head.”

“Goodnight,” he says eventually, seeming unsure of what to do, before turning around and following his sister. His slice of cake forgotten.

“Goodnight, sir,” Kit replies.

---

The morning has been everything but calm from the moment Kit steps out of bed. All the late nights she’s been doing have started to take their toll and she’s starting to make mistakes, from burning the toast to cutting herself chopping vegetables, Kit is visibly perturbed, but Cook doesn’t ask and doesn’t comment. The servants live in close enough quarters that soon enough, she’ll know without needing to pry.

Kit doesn’t appreciate the looks though, and she’s grateful when tea break comes around. Cook’s made it for her, a rare treat, as she’s usually in charge of it. It’s piping hot and very sweet, the kind of cup of tea that fixes everything. They take it out in the courtyard, on a little rickety wooden table soaked through by the previous night’s rain, instead of standing by the back door like they usually do.

Cook takes out her pipe and lights it, alternating blowing big puffs of smoke and sipping her tea. The women stay silent, looking around at the Bridgerton’s garden through a small gap in the gate while a duck and two chickens circle them for crumbs.

Mr Colpher and his boys have done a wonderful job. The grass, the trees, the flowers all look as beautiful as they could be in the autumn colours.

Kit cranes her neck to see more, attracted by voices out in the garden. It’s the Viscount and Daphne, running around with their younger siblings, playing a game Kit doesn’t know. She looks on for a few more minutes until she’s rudely interrupted by the duck. Kit catches him, beak in her pocket, pulling out her handkerchief which she had wrapped around a leftover piece of bread.

“Oh go on, leave me be!” She tells him, “I'll turn you into a roast if you don’t mind your manners!”

Cook chuckles but Kit, unamused, bends down to pick her handkerchief out of a muddy puddle. She picks up the bread too, but throws it away as far as she can to spite the duck.

A few minutes later, Cook stands up, signalling that the break is over and they must return to work. Kit follows suit, energised by the tea and sugar.

When they walk in, Andrew is waiting for them.

“Ladies,” he says, with a dashing smile, sitting back on a chair, his boots on the dinner table, “Looking wonderful, as always.”

“Are you pestering the scullery maid, Mr Fitzwilliam?” Kit asks with a grin, “Feet off, I don’t want to eat whatever you traipsed on here.”

Andrew puts on a look of shock, ignoring her remark about his boots but sitting properly all the same, “Now Kit darling, you know my heart only beats for you,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “Say, Cook, mind if I borrow your kitchen maid for just a flash?”

“Only for a flash, Andrew,” Cook says, sternly shaking a finger at him. Andrew stands, knowing that Cook’s soft spot for him means he’ll face absolutely no repercussions for not keeping his word.

Andrew leads Kit back outside and leans against the wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his coat jacket. He lights one, then offers it to Kit, who refuses.

“Bridgerton asked about you,” he says, meaning Benedict, “Asked if I knew you. If you had a special someone,” he continues with a grin, “If you were always so stern.”

“And what did you say?” Kit asks, stomach in a knot for reasons she can’t quite place a finger on.

“I said you had a fiancé,” Andrew shrugs.

“Whyever would you say that?”

“What? Wanted me to tell him you were single?” Andrew laughs, “I thought you’d appreciate me shutting the questioning down.”

Kit sighs, “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Kit,” Andrew says, pushing himself off the wall, “He’s charming and he’s nice, I’ll give you that. But he’s looking to marry well so he can sustain the art career he desperately wants. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, putting both hands on her shoulders, “Besides, if Graves finds out, he’ll let you go and I don’t need to warn you of the trouble you’ll have finding somewhere else to work.”

Kit shakes him off, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it on the floor. She stomps on it with her foot until it’s thoroughly covered in mud and animal waste.

Andrew grins, “I don’t want to lose my best girl,” he says, “No one makes a cake quite like she does.”

Kit smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it get me a date?”

“Sure,” Kit grinned, “Why not, since you asked so sweetly. Where are you taking me?”

Andrew stands there, dumbfounded for a moment, “I thought you would refuse me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

She laughs, and he smiles, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “You better take me somewhere nice, Mr Fitzwilliam. After all, you are competing with a Bridgerton. Apparently…”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #original fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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ohraicodoll · 1 year

Note

Saw the prompt post. And your tags. So I'm dropping this in your lap and leaving the rest to your excellent discretion! Any fandom. Any characters.

“you’re so cool.”

Good luck! Have fun!

Thankuuuuu Cuckoo! (I was totally going to do Sandman and Dream but couldn't stop laughing over what his reaction would be without making it ooc. So more TLOU lol)

Hero Worship Joel Miller x f!Reader (Established Relationship) + Ellie The Last of Us 1k Words

“You pull it straight back until the string is almost kissing your lips,” she guided her, watching as Ellie pulled the bow string back with shaky arms, “Elbow in, not out like a chicken wing. And breathe, you’re fine.” The teen seemed to glare at the small target across the way in the makeshift target practice Jackson had crafted. She took a deep breath, released and flinched.

All three of them watched as the arrow hit the target on the edge of the hay bale. Joel chuckled. “That had to be the wind!” Ellie argued, glaring at the older man. “There hasn’t been a single breeze all damn day,” he smirked, looking up to meet her instructor’s eyes over the girl’s head. With an eye roll, she picked up her own bow and took Ellie’s spot to demonstrate, “You keep flinching. If you keep your arms straight how I showed you, the string isn’t going to smack you in the face. Look, just watch.”

Purposefully, she slowed down her movements and pulled the string back, arrow notched. Joel was right, there was no breeze and the target wasn’t very far away. Much closer than when he’d let the girl practice shooting the rifle.

Elbows in and stance proper, she released the arrow and watched it sail home to the center of the target. Bullseye. Ellie groaned. “Whatever, you both are show-offs,” she grumbled, glaring at them both now. “Mmmhmm, why don’t you go grab another set of arrows if you’re gonna run your mouth and be a sore loser,” Joel nodded towards the small shack a little bit away where one of the older men kept all the range supplies. With a grumble, they watched as she trudged away, bow practically dragging in her hand. “She’s getting better,” chewing on your lip, she leaned against the wooden fence that acted as a barrier between the shooting area and the danger zone. “Yeah she is, but you know her. Wants to be instantly good,” Joel chuckled and rested his arms beside her, knee raised to brace on the fence, “She’ll get there. Besides, I think she’d rather do this than be at the theater though I do miss the two hours we’d get on our own when she would go.” Raising a brow, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a smirk, “Yeah I’m sure you do. Ellie’s trying to persuade me to let her stay in the small house behind the property. She needs her space.” The excuse was almost laughable as only a week ago she had asked to stay in their shared room during a bad storm, blaming her window they had already fixed. His eyes burned into the side of her head, fingers adjusting against the fence until they grazed the skin of her elbow, “Wouldn’t be the worst idea.” She huffed out a full bellied laugh and turned her eyes to him, “Oh please. You’d be at that back window with the binoculars checking on her every second if you let her, Miller. Probably rope Tommy into it too.” He sighed and was the one to roll his eyes this time, “Yeah, yeah. Give it a couple more years of her going full teenager and we’ll see. She drives us nuts enough as is and I’m dreading the day she starts being interested in boys.”

She struggled to fight down a grin, not wanting to break it to him that it wasn’t the boys he was going to have to worry about. With a smirk, they both turned to look at the teen, watching as she talked to the attendant and then catching sight of the young boy very blatantly staring at her not even a foot away. The boy had to be roughly six or seven and stared at her behind large bottle glasses, eyes huge on his tiny face. His mouth hung open slightly, eyes transfixed. Nudging Joel with her elbow, she nodded at the kid and the stars in his eyes. Ellie, her arm full with a new quiver of arrows, turned and almost ran straight into the little boy who hadn’t moved an inch. She looked almost startled, brow furrowed in a way that was too similar to Joel, mouth turned down. It had taken her a bit to not be in full aggressive mode and instantly be on edge with every person that stared at them, but every now and then that tough attitude came out. She didn’t like to be stared at. The kid blinked. The two adults tried not to laugh. “What?” Ellie asked a little harshly, clearly uncomfortable. “You’re so cool,” the boy choked out with a look that was pure admiration. Joel turned his head into her arm and tried not to laugh out loud, pressing his mouth into the fabric of her coat. His shoulders shook with the effort. Ellie almost seemed taken back, unsure of what to do, false bravado gone. But then she grinned and that attitude slid back into place before she leaned towards the kid and seemed to whisper something. They couldn’t hear what she said, but could see her head turn to look at them and nod before pulling back and walking over. The boy’s face stared at all three of them star struck. They tried to act like they hadn’t been watching the interaction and went back to the lesson as normal, didn’t mention Ellie’s little fan or how her shooting got better afterwards as if she only needed a little bit of confidence. It was a moment they didn’t want to intrude on or make her embarrassed about. And a week later when she went to the girl’s room to drop off a newer pair of shoes, she didn’t bring up the kid drawing tucked between some book pages that was obviously from her admirer. All three of them were drawn in crayon, looking larger than life, with the words, “Ellie's family” scribbled at the top.

#tlou #the last of us #ellie williams #tlou ellie #tlou fanfic #the last of us fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller #raicodoll writes #series: feral #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x feral reader #writing prompts #asks #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #ellie the last of us

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jellyfishbeansontoast · 9 months

Text

10 things I hate about you

I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair

ok this is the first part of the series so i hope you enjoy!! a massive thank you to @demxters for literally everything to do with this <3 Word count: 1023

“I’m gonna do it” Mike declares at the lunch table, sliding into his usual chair in the process.

“Do what?” Lucas asks.

Mike looks around quickly before leaning into the group, “Ask her out.”

“Who? El? Good luck with that one.” Dustin teased.

“What do you mean? Do you not think she’ll say yes?” hurt and insecurity flashes across Mike’s face, his previous confident demeanour disappearing.

“Oh I’m sure she’ll want to say yes but she’s not allowed until Y/n starts dating, Hopper’s rules.”

Mike almost chokes on his sandwich “but she’s like really scary, has she ever even dated anyone?” he looks around the group in desperation “Maybe she’ll say yes anyway? Hopper doesn’t have to know?”

“You can try your luck if you want” Dustin nods his head to a vending machine at the back of the cafeteria where El’s standing, cursing at the machine. Mike stands up, anxiously wiping his palms on his trousers before walking towards El. He turns to the group before he reaches her and mouths a hurried ‘wish me luck’.

“Need assistance?”

“It won’t give me my stuff” she grumbles.

“Yeah you kind of have to-” he shakes the machine until the chocolate bar that was previously teetering over the precipice finally falls to the bottom, he retrieves the bar and hands it over to the now much happier girl in front.

“Thank you Mikey! I owe you, do you want some?” He’s caught off guard by the nickname, coughing and spluttering in a way he can only imagine is wildly unattractive, just what he needs right now.

“No, thank you though,” he fidgets with his hands “I was wondering if you wanted to go out with me somewhere-” he takes a nervous breath “like a date?”

“I’d love to,” Mike almost cheers aloud but realises it’s too soon for celebration when he notices her chewing on her lip “but Hopper won’t let me till Y/n starts dating, and there’s no way she’ll date anyone, she’s scared off like every guy who’s ever asked.”

“I get it, don’t worry about it.” he mumbles, feigning indifference. She smiles apologetically and they begin to make their way to the table, the rest of the group pretending not to have watched the whole interaction.

“So?” Dustin elbows him in the ribs as soon as Mike sits down, although he’s sure he already knows the answer.

“Hopper” Mike replies in a dejected whisper, careful not to let El hear, after all he doesn’t want her feeling bad for something she can’t control.

Dustin’s face contorts almost as if he’s in pain. “Woah you okay over there?” Lucas calls from the other end of the table, earning a few snorts of laughter from around the table.

“Shut up I’m thinking”

“Oh that’s what that is?”

The curly haired boy holds up a finger in retort, cutting him off from any further rude remarks. “What if-” he begins, a sly smile sneaking onto his face as he looks between El and Mike “we got someone to date Y/n, then according to Hopper’s rule you two would be free to date and we wouldn’t have to hear Mike pining about you anymore.” He directs the last comment towards El.

Mike hangs his head, a furious blush spreading over his cheeks “I don’t pine.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“But we don’t have anyone who’ll date Y/n” El points out.

“So quick to doubt my plan” he shakes his head with a playful tut, “Steve.”

“Steve?” comes the incredulous response from everyone around the table, even Will who had refrained from taking part in the plan making so far.

“What? You don’t think I can bribe him? The man needs the cash and also, I saw him checking out ‘Sixteen candles’ for himself the other day.”

“We’re gonna pay someone to date my sister?”

“Got a better idea?”

She shakes her head resignedly “Fine, but she can’t find out, I don’t want her getting hurt.” Dustin imitates zipping his lips before the conversation turns to something DnD related.

“Steve” The older boy looks up at the line of teenagers forming in front of him “ We need your help.”

Steve looks around the almost empty Family Video store checking for customers “You want me to rent an age restricted film for you again? I’ll do it one last time but don’t come to me when it freaks you out like the Poltergeist did, I warned you”

“We don’t need a movie.” Dustin cuts in.

“Oh? What do you want then” He rests his elbows on the counter, settling his chin on his hands.

“We need you to date Y/n.”

“No chance, anything else I can help you with today?” Steve folds his arms across his chest.

“You haven’t even heard what’s in it for you” he complains.

“I heard the last man to try and take Y/n out on a date ended up with his car keyed and his tyres slashed,” He flits his eyes towards his car in the parking lot “that can’t happen to my baby.”

“It was just the tyres” corrects El, her nose wrinkling in disgust at the pet name usage for Steve’s car.

Dustin leans across the counter, coming face to face with Steve, “I saw you check out Sixteen Candles, what would people think of King Steve renting out a chick flick?”

“King Steve is long gone, now I hang out with kids” he sighs dejectedly.

It’s Mike’s turn to beg “Please Steve, Hopper won’t let me date El until Y/n’s dating someone, you’re our only chance.”

“What’s in it for me?” finally they’re getting somewhere.

“Cash?”

Steve groans, already regretting what he’s about to do. “I’ll do it.” The group cheer in sync “But only because this lovesick thing you two have going on is disgusting”

“Yeah yeah, thanks for your help.”

Taglist: @johnricharddeacy

#stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve x you #steve x y/n #steve x reader #steve harrington #y/n will be in the next part i promise lol

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lu-vin-it · 1 year

Note

Sarah’s first day @ school ?

First Day

Baby Momma AU

Summary: You worry about Sarah’s first day at school.

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Reader

Pronouns Used: She/Her

Word Count:

Warnings: None

A/N: Thank you to @stqrfishluvr for proofreading ily bff!!!

“Y/N.. she’ll be fine.” Ellie says, hugging you from behind as you nervously watch the window. Today was Sarah’s first day of school and boy were you nervous. At first, it was your idea to put her in school. You thought moving back to Jackson and her being able to interact with kids her age would be good for her, but now you were regretting everything.

“What if the other kids are mean?” Ellie leaves a kiss on your collarbone.

“They won’t be. Besides, JJ is with her, there’s no way he’d let anyone be mean to her— I mean— you saw what happened last Winter.” You smiled at the memory.

“I got your nose!” Tommy exclaims, holding his thumb between his pointer and middle finger. Sarah frantically brings her hand up to her nose.

“Hey! Give it back!” JJ yells, stepping in front of Tommy.

“Yeah Uncle Tommy, you’re being a meanie.” Tommy lets out a breathy laugh.

“I.. I am?” The five year olds nod. “I’m sorry you guys.” He brings his thumb back up to Sarah’s nose, rubbing it before bringing his hand down.

“I know but still, I worry.” You sigh, letting go of the curtain. You turn around to face your lover.

“Well..” She leans down and kisses you. “I can think..” she pecks your lips again. “of a few ways…” And again. “to distract you.” And again, this time longer. You giggle.

“I could be persuaded to shower with you.” Ellie’s eyes light up.

“I’ll go start warming the water.” She rushes upstairs making you laugh.

At three, you and Ellie head over to the school— well— church they used as a school— and wait for Sarah to come out. You chew on your fingernails nervously.

“Momma, Mommy!” Sarah calls as she runs up to you. You crouch down and extend your arms to catch her. She stops in front of you, showing no sign of wanting to hug you. You drop your arms sadly.

“Hi, sweetheart, how was school?” You ask, covering your disappointment.

“Good! I made three friends.” You gasp and look at Ellie.

“Three!” You exclaim. Ellie crouches down too.

“That’s insane, you’re like.. the most popular little girl ever!” She giggles.

“I know! Can we go see Grandpa? I wanna tell you guys all about school and math class and Angelica.” You nod.

“Sure we can, I’m sure he’d like that.” She grins.

“Yay! Let’s go.” She grabs one of your hands and one of Ellie’s before dragging you both towards Joel’s house.

#ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #the last of us x reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou x reader

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heich0e · 1 year

Text

thaw - touya todoroki/reader (1.7k) based on this text post, vague allusions to angst, pining, unrequited love, no-quirk AU, todoroki family holiday bliss, shoto/reader is canon, no pronouns/mention of reader's gender

The kitchen is bustling with activity.

At the stove, in a shallow pot of oil, Rei tends to the pumpkin she’s carefully frying to a crisp, golden shell. Beside her at the sink Fuyumi is meticulously cleaning vegetables that she’ll pass off to her youngest brother standing at the counter, trying his hardest to work out how to use the peeler in his hands. You’re on the other side of the kitchen, having just set the rice cooker to on, watching the excitement unfold.

“Natsuo, stop eating the ingredients!” Fuyumi chastises the young man peeking over her shoulder, snagging one of the beansprouts from the draining board and popping it surreptitiously into his mouth.

“But I’m hungry,” he complains as he chews the measly little sprout he’d managed to snag, pouting as his older sister shoos him away.

“Here,” Rei says gently, a little smile on her face as she plucks a bit of tempura off the tray of pieces she’d already prepared and set aside to rest, holding it out to her middle child with her chopsticks. Natsuo perks up noticeably, leaning down to catch the little golden-brown fried shrimp in his mouth. He looks pleased as he chews away at it, skirting across the kitchen towards you while his sister grumbles about how he’s being spoiled.

There’s music coming from the television in the next room as a popular National New Year's Eve program airs live, though the family is not there to watch it. There’s an old song that’s playing, one you remember your mother singing in your childhood, and at the stove Rei starts to hum along as she plucks the perfectly cooked slices of pumpkin from the oil and moves them to the tray with the rest of her previously prepared delicacies.

It’s comfortable. Warm. Familiar in the most fundamental way.

You approach Shoto at the counter.

“You’re going to slice your fingers off,” you remark, watching as he butchers the carrot in his hand—half-peeled but knobbly from his inconsistent, jagged strokes with the vegetable peeler. “Be careful.”

He peeks at you from the corner of his eye, his lips pursed.

“Why does it look so easy when you do it?” he complains quietly.

“Because it is easy,” you reply, laughing lightly, “you’re just really bad at it.”

You watch as Shoto’s mouth flattens into an unimpressed little line, and you lean your weight against his side.

“Here, hold it this way,” you instruct him, adjusting his grip on the implement and the poor misshapen vegetable. This time when the man beside you drags the blade across the skin, it comes off in one long, graceful ribbon.

Shoto looks at you with wide, excited eyes, his expression brightening. You press a brief, inconspicuous kiss to the very edge of his mouth when you’re sure no one is looking, and pink blossoms high across his cheeks in response.

“Natsuo, come help Sho with this or we’ll be here until Obon,” you singsong in the direction of the older of the two brothers as you step away from your partner, and Fuyumi laughs as she crosses the kitchen to bring more vegetables to add to Shoto’s already impressive pile. The white-haired boy shuffles over when you call him, picking up the second vegetable peeler and setting to work.

As the three Todoroki siblings bicker over the most efficient way to tackle the workload, you spot something from the corner of your eye—a figure in the periphery of your vision, ghosting past the doorway to the kitchen out of sight.

You perk up.

You hasten in the direction the figure had moved, towards the front door of Rei’s home when you hear it gently close. It’s cold outside and you didn’t have time to grab your coat, but it doesn’t stop you as you jog along the walkway at the front of the house.

“Touya!” you call out the the retreating figure who seems to be fleeing more briskly than usual. “Touya, wait!”

Finally the eldest Todoroki son stops, seemingly resigned to his apprehension, and you watch as he stands with his back to you, his shoulders tense. You jog along the wooden walkway that lines the front of the house to catch up to him.

“Where are you going?” you ask, a little out of breath from the pace of your pursuit.

Touya turns towards you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of the jacket he has pulled on over a dark hoodie.

“I’ve got plans.”

“But it’s New Years,” you say sadly.

“Not midnight yet,” he reminds you, though not unkindly.

“Will you at least stay for dinner? We should be eating soon,” you say, fiddling the the handles of the little bag you hold in your hands.

“Is there even anything left between Natsuo’s snacking and Shoto’s hack job with that peeler?” he asks with a brow quirked wryly.

You laugh a little, because he has a point. You also realize he must have been peeking into the kitchen as the rest of the family worked to prepare the evening's meal.

“There’s still plenty,” you assure him.

It’s quiet for a moment, the still winter night around you a sharp contrast to the bustling atmosphere of the warm kitchen inside.

“Will you at least be back to come to the shrine with us tomorrow morning?” you finally ask again, a little softer than before but still hopeful.

Touya breathes out a long, low breath, and it leaves his mouth in a wispy cloud of vapour.

“Yeah, I should be back by then.”

You doubt it.

“You should get inside,” he remarks next, his tone a little irritated but in a way of concern, not vexation. “You’re not dressed properly.”

He’s right. You’re in your slippers and without a coat, and it’s cold enough that at any moment you’re sure you’ll see snow start to fall. But you’d followed him on a mission, determined not to let the eldest Todoroki slip away (like he's so good at) without at least doing this.

You hold the little bag in your hands out towards him, and Touya’s brows shoot up in surprise.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing big,” you rush to explain. “I just got you a little gift. For the holidays, you know.”

“I thought we all agreed we weren’t buying presents,” Touya looks alarmed, his mouth turned down at the corner in a way that makes the silvery lines of his long-healed scars pull.

“I didn’t buy it, technically—” you toe at the ground beneath your slipper-clad feet, shivering a little as a rush of cold wind bristles past. Your teeth begin to chatter lightly. “—I made it.”

Touya looks unhappy regardless of your explanation, but he watches the way you shiver and shake in the cold and you suspect that his concern for your insufficient attire is what makes him relent and stick his hand into the gift bag—if for no other reason to appease you and get you back inside.

From the depths of the simple little paper gift bag, Touya pulls out a long, soft, hand-knitted scarf. It's a plain grey colour you hoped was neutral and inoffensive enough not to put him off wearing it, and that you thought would compliment his colouring.

His turquoise eyes flicker from the length of knit in his hands, up to your own that are watching him eagerly for his reaction.

“It’s a scarf!” you say, wringing your fingers nervously now that you don’t have the gift bag to fiddle with to distract yourself.

“I see that.”

You clear your throat a little. “You mentioned that you don’t really like the cold, and that the scars around your neck are sensitive to it, and I just thought… w-well I already had the yarn and stuff… so I just… wanted to make it for you?” your tone climbs on the final word, like it’s a question rather than a statement of fact.

Touya’s thumbs brush against the softness of the scarf, his eyes following the delicate lines of stitches your hands had carefully purled together to make it.

He swallows.

“Thank you.”

Your stomach flutters, a great, almighty fwooosh of relief.

“Do you like it?” you ask him excitedly.

“Yeah,” he replies, grunting a bit to clear his throat before tacking on a half-mumbled “’s nice.”

A rosiness has bloomed across Touya’s cheeks when he finally glances at you again. A little shy. A little embarrassed. Though you can’t begin to imagine why.

You smile brightly, the expression stretching so wide it makes your frostbitten cheeks ache.

“I’m glad!”

Touya swallows, looking away out across the dark yard of his mother’s home.

“Alright, now get inside before you catch something. Shoto'll kick my ass if I get you sick.”

You nod, skittering off towards the front door again, eager to escape the chill. You pause just before you step inside, and turn back to see Touya standing at the end of the walkway, still holding the scarf, watching you go.

“Happy New Year, Touya!” you call back to him with one last smile and a wave.

He doesn’t quite smile back, but he rarely does that anyway. One night when you and Shoto has been laying in your bed at home, the youngest Todoroki boy had said ‘Touya’s never had much to smile about’ about his brother’s somewhat solemn countenance.

And you know he’s right.

You know Todoroki Touya has lived a hard life. Has found himself down roads most aren’t strong enough to brave, and somehow made it home again.

But there’s an expression on his face now, though it’s a bit difficult to make out in the dim light. Not quite a smile, but the ghost of one. Closer to happiness than you’ve ever seen him, even if it is still a little haunted.

He lifts his hand in parting, and you step back inside to the warmth of Rei’s home. You hear the television still blaring from the living room. You hear your boyfriend and his siblings fighting over the vegetables. The warm air begins to dissipate the chill that had clung to you outside.

You close the door and at the other end of the walkway out of sight, Touya’s shoulder’s slump like a marionette whose strings have finally snapped.

He stares at the scarf in his scarred hands with an ache kindling in his chest. He loops it slowly around his neck and turns to continue off into the cold night, a little bit warmer than before.

#touya x reader #touya x you #dabi x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #bnha writing #bnha drabble #writing

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