Hello!! For The Mini Fic Asks I Would Like To Request D) Subtle Kindnesses, Roy Siblings (any Dynamic

this broken design, ch11

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: kidnapping, canon typical blood/violence/gore, mentions of animal dissection (just the words "animal dissection")

You fall in and out of consciousness. One moment, you’re roughly dragged along the ground past Alana’s house; the next moment, there’s a blindfold secured over your eyes and you’re situated in what you guess to be the trunk of a car. You feel every minute bump in the road and you swear the driver is intentionally hitting potholes, if only to jostle you around more. At some point, you feel your vision fading—even amidst your best efforts to remain awake. You know you need to stay conscious to escape, but your body refuses to obey your commands.

The next time you wake, you’re met with an incessant, throbbing headache. You wearily blink your dry eyes open, wincing as light sears into your vision. Left with nothing but a buzzing silence and your thoughts, you berate yourself for letting your guard down. You had forgotten the nature of the people you were investigating. You’re in danger. You take a deep breath around the gag in your mouth and try to remain calm. Thankfully, your blindfold must have been removed at some point. 

Surveying your surroundings, you find a dilapidated dining room with dusty trinkets lining the walls. There’s a fanciful chandelier hanging over the luxurious dining table, which has seven empty seats. You’re located at the back head of the table—your wrists bound to the arms of the chair you were placed in. There are mere ropes holding you to the chair, but somehow, you can hardly even move, let alone try to get out of them. You must have been drugged—with something potent enough to remove all traces of physical resistance from your system. You can’t do anything more than make your fingers twitch from where they’re resting on the edges of the chair arms. Moreover, when you do manage to move them, your hand twitches sporadically. That’s definitely not a good sign.

It’s hard to stay awake, even though you know you need to be conscious and aware of your surroundings to keep yourself safe. There’s nothing to occupy you except for the monotonous ticking of a clock in the hall behind you, your blurred vision, and your aching limbs. 

At one point, when you drag yourself out of the void of unconsciousness, you find that you have a companion. Frederick Chilton is sitting in the chair on your right. You blink at him blearily and try to get his attention, only to remember that you’re both gagged and nearly unable to move. Upon closer investigation, it looks like he’s unconscious. You don’t stay conscious long enough to learn anything about Chilton’s situation or see your captor. Weirdly enough, your captor has been strangely absent—leaving you to decay amidst molding walls in solitude. Each time you fight off unconsciousness, you notice that Chilton is more roughed up. Your captor has a grudge against him, and it doesn’t take you long to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Ironically, by trying to protect Alana, you only ended up putting yourself in more danger. If you had the strength, you’d shake your head in disbelief. 

The opportunity to speak with your captor finally comes the next time you wake. The man, evidently finished with torturing Chilton for the day—judging by the blood soaking through the man’s shirt—tightens the ropes around Chilton’s wrists. This is your chance. “Gideon?” You feel yourself asking. It comes out muffled because of the gag. Your voice is dry and raspy; your entire mouth is dry and the words almost seem to bounce around restlessly. 

You blink at the figure. It looks like Hobbs. But, no, it can’t be Hobbs—Hobbs is dead. You blink and try to peel away the Minnesota Shrike’s cloying visage. The sickly emerald tones in his eyes fall away to reveal a sharp blue-eyed gaze. Dr. Abel Gideon is looking at you with interest; Chilton is no longer the subject of his attention. You cast a hateful gaze at Chilton’s prone form, feeling a momentary stab of satisfaction at seeing him hurt. You have to rip yourself from those thoughts to focus on Gideon, who is now standing next to you. 

“I must say, you were out for quite a while,” Gideon hums. You can’t tell if he’s speaking to himself or to you. He turns your chair ninety degrees to make you face him. “Perhaps I overdid it with the drugs. I haven’t been at the operating table in quite a while…” His focused musings are eerie. The man is treating you as if you’re an experiment—an animal on his dissection table. Eventually, Gideon sighs and removes the gag from your mouth. 

“Why did you take me?” You ask immediately. That’s the first thing you want to know. You can justify Chilton’s presence here—he worked with Gideon in the past and nearly convinced him he was the Chesapeake Ripper. You’ve never done anything of the sort, however. You’re not a mental health professional, nor have you even spoken to Gideon aside from the single conversation you had through the bars of his cell. 

Unsurprisingly, Gideon doesn’t answer your question. You’re not even sure if he can hear what you’re saying. “Say hello, Frederick.” Your assailant says instead, momentarily stepping aside to make sure you can see the man in question. Frederick Chilton cannot say hello, since several of his organs have been evidently removed and he is unconscious. You grimace. You don’t like the man, but you don’t think he deserves to be mutilated so cruelly. You swallow hard. “Might as well have some fun before I dispose of you properly.”

It takes you a moment to comprehend that statement. You look up, only to find that Gideon isn’t looking at Chilton anymore—he’s looking at you. You take a rattling breath in. Gideon walks away for a treacherous moment. Your heart is racing in your chest, so loudly that its rhythm reverberates in your ears. He’s back a moment later with a knife in hand. His fascination with Chilton is gone. The psychiatrist lies neglected in his chair, unconscious but ignored. For the first time in your life, you envy Frederick Chilton.

“Dr. Lecter is rather fond of you. Perhaps if I…” Gideon breaks off. Quick as lightning, he drags his knife along the skin near your left eye. You scream and writhe in your bonds, but he only smirks. You know that’s going to leave a nasty scar. That must be the point, you think to yourself faintly. He wants to leave a mark on you. “I forgot how enjoyable this was.” You want to kick at him, but Gideon must sense your thought process because he quickly steps out of range. 

You’re left to slowly dissipate in your chair, the uncomfortable sensation of warm blood trickling down your face. At one point, you feel droplets fall from your eye in a manner rather similar to tears. The next time you blink, your vision is crimson-tainted. Your vision doesn’t seem to be affected, other than the blood falling into your eyes. The entire left side of your face is stinging. This time, when you feel your eyes slip shut, you don’t fight it. 

You have no idea how much time passes after that. It’s clear that the drug is still in your system, because you can’t keep yourself awake for more than what you assume to be an hour or two. Chilton remains a steady, silent presence at your side. Each time you wake, you realize that he looks no better than before. You can hardly focus on him, though—not when it’s been several days (you can assume) since you’ve had anything to eat or drink. Your limbs are cooperating with your commands a bit more than before, but you know you’re still nowhere near your usual level of fitness. 

The ugly sound of a chair scraping against the ground jerks you out of your thoughts. Gideon is dragging a chair towards the table—a chair that is inhabited by a redheaded woman that looks far too familiar. It doesn’t take you long to recognize where you know her from—she’s Freddie Lounds, the same reporter who has been dragging your reputation through the mud all these years. Gideon pushes her to a place at the table at your left, opposite Frederick Chilton. Dread stews in your chest. This feels more significant than you can currently comprehend. Gideon stands at the other end of the table, his gaze contemplative as he looks from Chilton to Lounds, before finally settling on you. You immediately dislike the strange resolve in his eyes. 

“Choose.”

“What?” You say. 

“Choose,” Gideon repeats. There is nothing short of complete, utter sincerity in his voice. “Choose who lives and who dies.” You stare at him in disbelief, wondering if you misheard him. Evidently, you didn’t—Gideon is holding a gun in his right hand and seems to be waiting for your command. There’s an entertained smile on his face. He must be enjoying this spectacle—seeing you come to terms with the fact that you will be the cause of an onlooker’s death. 

You glance between Freddie Lounds and Frederick Chilton. Who should live? Who should die? You have both of their lives in your hands right now. Freddie shoots you a wide-eyed look. Frederick looks equally terrified and his eyes are begging you for help. You experimentally tug at the ropes binding your wrists to the chair. Unsurprisingly, they don’t budge. You try to think of a way out of this. It takes you a few moments to remember that you do have a weapon—a dagger concealed in your boot. However, it’s nearly impossible to reach without informing Gideon of its presence. It seems you’re well and truly cornered. You have no choice but to kill. 

You contemplate who to save. It’s a macabre thought, but a necessary one nonetheless. You’re sure that your hesitation would only encourage Gideon to kill both Lounds and Chilton. You take a deep breath. Chilton worked with Gideon on numerous occasions, and manipulated him into thinking he was someone else. Lounds wrote some unsavory things about you, but she’s ultimately innocent in all this. She’s nothing but a bystander—a civilian in the wrong place at the wrong time. You take a shuddering breath in.  

Gideon is waiting expectantly. You return his gaze and incline your head towards Chilton. In a true show of cowardice, you can’t say his name. You don’t want to utter his name—don’t want to succumb to the reality that he will die because of you. The smirk on Gideon’s face widens impossibly, showing crooked pointed teeth and a truly maleficent elation. You watch as he pulls a gun from his belt—evidently stolen from his prison transports—and cocks it. Gideon steps around the table and moves to stand a mere few feet away from Chilton—far too close for him to miss. The gun is steadily aimed at Chilton’s temple. 

Gideon’s finger squeezes the trigger. Your heart is thundering in your ears, but you know what you need to do. Your arms are trapped but, thankfully, your ankles aren’t bound to the chair. You lean forward and kick Chilton’s chair as hard as you can. 

The gun fires. 

Chilton falls to the ground. The bullet resides in the wall behind him, leaving the drywall to crumble around the entrance point. You wait for a puddle of crimson blood to grow on the floor, turning the carpet red. Nothing of the sort is present. Frederick is unscathed. 

“Well, well,” Gideon remarks, putting the gun on his belt for a minute to deliver a slow, mocking clap. The applause echoes in the hollow space around you, creating a horrible rhythm. Freddie’s eyes are wide and the expression on her face is indecipherable; it almost looks as if she’s truly seeing you for the first time. “You think you’re clever, do you?” You don’t elect to respond. 

“Fine,” Gideon remarks. “You’ve made your choice.” 

Gideon cocks his gun and pushes it against your own temple this time. He raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to utter your last words. You stare back at him defiantly, heart in your throat. Just as his finger squeezes the trigger once more, you rock your chair to the side with enough momentum to send you crashing down to the ground. You sense the cold metal of your dagger resting against your ankle, and it only takes a second of manipulation for the dagger to fall down to the floor. From there, you twist and lean back until you can grasp at it with your bound hands. You maneuver to the side and duck under the table to guard yourself from the onslaught of gunfire. With the momentary coverage, you’re able to cut through the ropes binding your wrists to the chair. The effort is rather awkward and certainly hurts, but you’re miraculously able to get your hands free. You idly wonder if Gideon is giving you this time to break free of your bonds, if he wants the thrill of the hunt. The thought makes your stomach turn.  You crawl under the table and jump out at the side. You’re quickly met with the business end of Gideon’s gun and a malicious smirk. You dive to the side and roll, swiftly getting to your feet and wielding your dagger. 

In a gunfight, the person with a dagger is far outmatched. Right now, Gideon has the upper hand, since he has a gun. You need to fight offensively—fighting defensively will get you killed here. You also need to be unpredictable—fight dirty, use common household objects as weapons. Perhaps most importantly, you need to move the fight elsewhere. Otherwise, Chilton and Lounds could be injured in the conflict. Knowing this, you decide to turn and duck down the hallway behind you, confident that Gideon will follow after you. Sure enough, you hear his footsteps follow you through the hall. You sprint down the hall, ducking around corners until you come across a small supply closet. It’s just barely big enough to stand in and you do so, before pressing your lips together and holding your breath. 

“Ready or not, here I come,” Gideon announces, his footsteps echoing in the eerily silent hall. The floorboards in front of the closet creak and you have to put a hand over your mouth to stifle your breathing. The killer pauses in his tracks just outside where you’re hiding. 

You duck down instinctually and a bullet rifles through the closet door where your head had been just seconds ago. Gideon shoots another bullet a short distance from the first and it nearly skims the top of your head as you’re bending down. Eventually, he must decide that you’re not in the closet, because he continues walking forward. 

You take the gifted opportunity and shove the closet door open, before lunging forward and stabbing Gideon in the back of the neck. He lets out a pained hiss and claps a hand over his neck, before turning around and firing at you. That shot seems far too close for you to dodge, but soon Gideon is lunging at you and the thought slips to the back of your mind. You bend low and manage to tackle him to the ground, before making a grab for the gun. Your effort fails as Gideon throws you off of him with ease. Quick as lightning, he pushes you into the ground and chokes you. His gun meets the side of your head and his grip on your neck tightens, effectively robbing you of breath. 

Your vision is beginning to blur. You know you’re near the end; you don’t have much air left. You try to kick out at him, but Gideon doesn’t budge. Your hand scrabbles for purchase on his relentless grip, trying to free your airway. In the scuffle, you somehow lost your dagger. You blindly reach behind you with your free hand, praying that it fell to the floor behind you. To your surprise, your hand closes around something sharp—your dagger. You don’t hesitate to stab upward into his left eye. Gideon screams and instinctively loosens his grip on your neck. His hold on his gun is loose; you twist to the side, ignoring the inexplicable stab of pain in your side when you do so, and rip it from his grasp. Gideon’s left hand covers his eye and his right hand reaches out towards his gun, which you’re now holding. You don’t give him the chance to get it back, instead putting the pistol to his temple and firing. 

Gideon falls backward, hitting the ground with a loud thump. You push yourself up to a sitting position before twisting to kneel, desperately hacking and coughing as you regain your breath. You’re certain you’d never been closer to death than in that awful moment, with Gideon looming over you with a devilish smirk on his face. You must’ve bitten your cheek somehow, because there’s the coppery taste of blood in your mouth. It hurts to swallow. Once you regain your breath, you stumble up and brace yourself against the wall. Gideon’s corpse burns into your vision. 

Laughter reverberates in your ears. Garret Jacob Hobbs stands further down the hall, a brilliant maniacal smirk on his face. There is nothing but malicious glee in his eyes. Your first victim regards your latest. You blink and Hobbs becomes Franklyn Froideveaux. Franklyn stares at you with hollow, unseeing pits for eyes. His skin rifles outward, exposing the mess of bloodied organs residing in his chest and stomach.

For a fraction of a moment, the pendulum swings before your eyes. Gideon’s body is still in front of you but, when you blink, it’s gone. You hiss and grit your teeth hard, trying to rip yourself out of this reverie. This is your design. This is your design. Your bullet carved a neat hole in his forehead, allowing crimson droplets to flow down his face and onto the ground. The wound on his neck must be adding to the accumulating puddle of blood. 

There’s a stifled yell from behind you and you’re broken from your thoughts. You turn your back on Gideon’s corpse and run back to the dining room, only to meet the eyes of Freddie Lounds. “Miss Lounds,” you remark, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The effort to speak feels slightly uncomfortable. You continue anyway. “I’m sorry, let me help you there.” You move toward her and use your dagger to cut the ropes binding her wrists. Then, you cut the gag off from where it’s knotted at the back of her head. Freddie doesn’t say anything, but she does rub her wrists with a pained grimace. You immediately feel guilty. Somehow, it feels as if it’s your fault that she’s here. 

There’s a strange expression on Freddie’s face as she regards you. She almost looks… worried. “What’s the matter?” You feel the need to ask. Freddie wordlessly points at your torso. You look down and grit your teeth, feeling a brutal pain ripping the breath right from your chest. 

There’s a bullet lodged in your side—the oblique, you remember from your lectures. You immediately remember the shot from earlier—the one that came far too close to dodge. In the heat of the battle, you hadn’t noticed. Now, you wince and bring a hand down to exert pressure on the wound. Freddie’s staring at you in disbelief. For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence as the two of you remain quiet. Then, Freddie inexplicably moves towards the table and grabs a napkin. She hands it to you and you thank her, pressing it up against your side. Unsurprisingly, the fabric is quickly growing bloodstained. You take a deep breath and try to look over your shoulder, despite the pain it triggers in your side. It seems the bullet didn’t exit your body. 

You weakly grasp at the wall, before slowly sliding down until you’re seated on the ground. There’s a bead of sweat trickling down your neck. Your adrenaline was pumping before, bringing your attention away from the inexplicable discomfort at your side. Now, however, all you can focus on is the throbbing pain. 

“Freddie,” you remark. The reporter raises an eyebrow. “Can you…?” You break off, looking at the phone mounted to the wall in the other room. It’s just barely visible from your current position on the ground. Freddie seems to understand what you’re saying, because she runs over to the phone and dials 911. You raspily tell her to mention Jack Crawford and she does, from what you can hear. 

“They’re on their way,” Freddie says. It’s the first time she’s spoken since Gideon first brought her into the dining room. Your vision is blurry at the edges, but you can still make out the shell shocked expression on Freddie’s face. She looks completely out of her element—startled and disturbed, as if the world has just flipped on its axis. Guilt finds a way into your heart again. 

“I’m sorry.” You manage to say, past the bloody taste in your mouth. 

“Why are you apologizing?” Freddie asks. She’s squinting at you in suspicion. 

“My fault,” you respond through gritted teeth. Somehow, the effort to talk is now met with a harsh twist of pain that bolts through you like lightning. You continue to apply a rather shaky pressure to the wound, grimacing when you see the napkin is now crimson. Freddie gets up and grabs a few more napkins, before squatting down next to you once more. 

“It’s not your fault,” Freddie murmurs, shaking her head and averting her eyes. She looks relatively unharmed—at least, physically speaking. She is justifiably shaken by the events that transpired. Freddie changes the napkin in your hand for a fresh one. You whisper a word of gratitude and she nods, her lips drawn tight in a flat line. 

Time drags on. Everything around you is fuzzy. Freddie hovers over you, a surprisingly worried expression on her face. You try to reach out to her, weakly reassure her that she’ll be okay, but you can’t move. Everything burns. The adrenaline you had earlier must be wearing off, because now you’re intimately aware of all your wounds. Blood trickles down your lips, likely creating a rather gruesome picture—if Freddie’s expression is anything to go by. 

It feels like it takes years for help to arrive. You know it can’t be more than fifteen minutes, yet it feels as if you wait for an eternity. When you finally hear the distant sound of a door getting kicked in, you can’t help but let out a small relieved breath. Admittedly, even breathing hurts. You feebly adjust the napkin against your side. You hear the familiar words of agents announcing their entrance to the building. In moments, there are several agents entering the room. A tactical medic approaches you within moments. There’s blood seeping down your skin and soaking through your clothes. You don’t have the strength to do anything except exert a weak pressure on your wound. Your breaths are harsh gasps and increasingly hard to come by. You blink.

It’s hard to be aware of your surroundings. You manage to fight the urge to remain in this dreary darkness and your eyes flutter open. You’re reclined on a stretcher in an ambulance, with several straps preventing you from movement. Your vision is swimming, but you can vaguely make out faces looking over you. You blink a few times in an attempt to clear your sight; when your vision finally returns to normal, you feel fear strike through your heart. Hannibal is sitting at your side, a sharp gleam in his eyes. His brows are pinched in what you assume to be manufactured concern. There’s a paramedic at your side asking you questions, but the words all sound garbled. When you look back to Hannibal, you swear you see him smirking. A trick of the light, you tell yourself. Your heart starts thundering in your chest and a machine begins to beep incessantly. You don’t want to be so vulnerable in front of the Chesapeake Ripper, but you don’t quite have a choice. Your vision falls to black within a few moments. 

You manage to catch glimpses of the starry night sky, then the white ceiling of what must be a hospital. When you realize you’re being wheeled through a hospital hallway, you can’t help but grow more nervous. You’re tightly secured to the stretcher and you feel trapped. There’s an oxygen mask secured over your mouth and nose. You grimace instinctually from the pain shooting through you, rippling up your torso and down your skin. You try to move your hand, but you can only slightly bend your fingers. Alarms are blaring. 

Several nurses hover over you. They’re trying to speak to you, you think. You can’t answer. There’s nothing but overwhelming pain. Your fingers are twitching again. A tear slides down your cheek. The light above is blinding. Your hand is restless. You can’t stop fidgeting. 

Suddenly, Hannibal’s hand is on your forearm. His grip is incredibly loose but the pressure is somehow—regrettably—reassuring. Before you can contemplate the meaning behind the gesture, you’re slipping into unconsciousness once more. This time, however, you don’t wake. Instead, you’re left to drown in your own dreams and nightmares, removed from reality. 

taglist [comment if you'd like to be added/removed]: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown

So I’ve been in and out of hospitals as my condition is getting bad to worse

I am a 29 years old woman living in Hungary, possibly the worst political and economically set back EU country. Our healthcare among with many other things like public education, wellfare or transport is crumbling under Orbán’s shitty policies 

This year in February I was diagnosed with MNGIE (Mitochondrial neurogastrointestinal encephalopathy) a condition that affects several parts of the body, particularly the digestive system and nervous system. Currently I am entirely deaf, underweight and in chronic pain. I am doing CAPD at home (peritoneal dialysis) and on the liver transplant list. . 

Yet my condition is worsening as I am suffering from gastrointestinal pain, vomiting and hypokalaemia. 

My doctors pretty much gave up on me. Theyre not treating my pain or my surfacing symptons or even expalining it to me. I have reached out to several clinics (one in Germany and one in the UK), but so far I haven’t even got a reply. I am without any help in this and I feel like its consuming me. 

I am without a job and my monthly income is around 80k HUF = 195 EUR = 195 USD. With current horrible inflation, that is not enough to last me through meds, the dialysis attachements, monthly trips to Budapest and my special diet. 

Please donate to my paypal if you can  paypal.me/gameofstyle

Reblogs help as well

Thank you so much!!!

/some pictures after the cut

Weiterlesen

Do you know what, at least Käärijä will be the new Verka Serduchka. But Loreen? She'll be hated by so many people now and most won't even remember that she won.

Does anyone remember who won when Verka performed? No. But everyone remembers Verka.

Dependence Pt. 5 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Alternatively Titled: We Ain't Angry At You Love, You're The Greatest Thing We Lost I am getting this lyric tattooed on my body I'm dead serious

Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Logan

Word Count: 1,879

Inspired By: We'll All Be Here Forever by Noah Kahan

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: All I have is the snippet to listen to and it makes me sob every time. I'm thinking of moving 1k miles away from my family, from my home, from everything, and every bone in my body wishes they felt the way this song feels. Every nerve in my body wants them to feel this way. I hope they'll miss me that much. Anyways, it reminded me of Baby Roy and the Succession finale. Yes I did cry while writing, what about it lol!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 1 / Dependence Pt. 2 / Dependence Pt. 3 / Dependence Pt. 4

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

You’re gonna go far, he says into you, his arms tight around you. You try to stop yourself from crying. Again. Sniffling into him, into his shoulder. Everything about this moment makes you want to turn around. To call the whole thing off. But then, how can you call off an entire lifetime? Your bags linger at your feet, everything you could fit into two suitcases. You didn’t start out like this, the day didn’t start out like this, but as it progressed, as things fell into place, you realized there was no place for you. In their lives, of course. Connor promised you your old room again, if you ever wanted to visit. But this place, this apartment, this city, it wasn’t yours anymore. It wasn’t home. You’re not sure it ever was to begin with. You remember to call me when you land, okay? An,whenever you need someone to talk to, I’m always here. He has this shake in his voice, the kind that tells you he’s doing his very best to keep himself together. Composed. You can’t say anything, the words getting caught in your throat. Instead you just nod, sobbing into his sweater. He holds you tighter, rubbing your back. When he stops, he cups your face, meeting your teary eyes, wiping your cheeks. Pops would be so proud of you. He wouldn’t. He never was. But at some point you have to stop chasing something that never existed, something you can never have. You smile for Connor’s sake. Maybe he really believes it. Maybe he’s just saying it. Either way, you’re glad you went to him. You’re glad you told him. You’re gonna so far, you have no idea. He sighs, as if the words have been sitting on his chest for a long time. As if this is the first time in your life he’s felt real, genuine relief. You want to be held a little longer. You want to be loved the only way a father, a father by choice rather than blood, could ever love their child. Without conditions, without restraints, without a ceiling or a floor. Infinite. Beautiful. You’ll have to let go eventually, part ways, but for now he holds you like he did when you were an infant. Never could he have imagined the life you’d live. It was a fantastic surprise. You were a fantastic surprise. 

You continue to awe him every single day. 

You catch him at the bar, nursing a martini. Your hands begin to shake, but you settle them at your side, sitting beside him. You can do this. He wasn’t expecting you, sliding his drink away from you. You’re okay, you’ll be okay. You can be around it, you have to in order to say goodbye. He notices the luggage before you have the chance to say anything. Going somewhere? You bite your inner cheek. Yes, actually. He turns to you. His stitches have opened, the wound bright and red. Angry. You try to read his expression. There’s a hint of fear. He saw you in that bed, screaming, crying, begging not to be alive anymore. You knew he meant it out of love, but you couldn’t face it anymore. You couldn’t be looked at like that anymore. If you wanted a fresh start, a real one, you had to get away. You had to find somewhere with people who saw you for you, not your mistakes, not your darkest moments. Somewhere inside him, he understood that. Somewhere inside him, he wanted the same thing. Leaving for him wasn’t an option, though. Is that so? What does Mummy think about that? He sips his drink. You don’t want to roll your eyes at him. You don’t want to be annoyed with him. You’re not sure how long it’ll be before you’ll see him again. I, I didn’t tell her. I’m not telling her. He lets your answer settle for a moment. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. You never have been sure. Roman could be so unreadable, so unpredictable. You keep talking, trying to fill the silence, a lump developing in your throat. You’re speaking so fast, almost hysterical. You have to explain yourself. You have to explain yourself or you’ll die. I have to get away. I’m not sure for how long, I just, I can’t be here anymore. I have to stay sober and I can’t do that here. It’s not because of you, because of any of you, I want you to know that. I’m, I’m sorry if that upsets you or makes you ang- But he interrupts you, leaning over, hugging you. Not as tight as Connor. It’s as if he’s afraid to touch you still, afraid to hurt you. Gentle. You feel his muscles tense then relax. Whatever you gotta do, you do. Just don’t scare me like that again. You promise him it will never happen again. 

It won’t. It doesn’t. The hurt from home doesn’t follow you, wherever you go. 

You can’t reach the other two. You try calling, the deja vu twisting your stomach. The last time you tried to reach them, the last time. . . No. Stop it. This isn’t that. You’re better now. Shiv picks up, waiting for you to talk. You don’t care what happened. You don’t care what went down in that boardroom. You don’t care that he’s CEO now, that you lost. She’s your sister. The same sister that comforted you after nightmares, who iced your bruises, who wanted the best for you from day one. Whatever happened couldn’t change that. She gave you so many chances, time after time, and you let her down. You let everyone down. She still cares, she always would. You would, too. The words come up, out, before you can stop them. How much you love her, how much you’re going to miss her, how badly you need this, how much you wish you could be with her right now. You hear her take a sharp inhale in, a shudder in her voice. I’ll come and visit, yeah? Wherever you end up, I’ll be there, okay? You nod. Yeah, yeah of course. You can feel your eyes well up again. She was your big sister, the only maternal figure you’d ever known. It wasn’t your mother who shushed you to sleep at night, holding you close. It wasn’t your mother who gasped at the bruises you gave yourself in a fit of rage. It wasn’t your mother who climbed into that hospital bed with you when you were sick and scared and didn’t want to fall asleep alone. It was Shiv. You're Shivy. Your sister. Do you have everything packed? Always fretting, always worrying. Yes, Mom. You laugh. You know she’ll be a good mother. Maybe she doesn’t think so, maybe Tom doesn’t, but you do. She took care of you your whole life. She’s still trying to. You um, you have your chargers? Extra socks? Do you need me to- I’ll be okay, you interrupt. You’re both quiet for a moment, taking one another in. You can feel her wanting. Wanting to reach through the phone and kiss your cheek, to hold you so close your hearts beat at the same time. Wanting to keep you there forever, not wanting to let go.

She always knew this day would come, though. You’d always had big plans. You could never be confined like the rest of them. 

You couldn’t reach Kendall. It went straight to voicemail. So you sat in the lobby of Waystar, trying to figure out exactly how to put it. Every thought in your mind, every thank you and I’m sorry and forgive me and I forgive you. Everything that’s ever sat between you two into a compact, meaningful message. You didn’t want to worry him, that was the last time you wanted, for any of them. You sat and watched everyone pass by. They were celebrating the new owner, one of the biggest deals they’d ever made. Some on their way to get drunk, others drunk already. Too much champagne. Finally, after a long time, you called again, listening to his voice play the message. Kendall, it’s me, you start. What next? You’re sorry. You’re sorry for putting them through all that you’ve put them through. The alcohol, the drugs, all those scary nights where they didn’t know where you were, if you were okay. All those nights where you weren’t sure where you were, if you’d make it out. You were sorry for calling him that night, for putting the blame on him if anything happened. You were sorry for blaming him. For not being the baby sibling he deserved. He deserved better, he expected better. I’m uh, I’ll be out of town for a while. You forgave him. You forgave him for all those outbursts, all those times he hurt you and Shiv and Con and especially Rome. You forgave him for turning into your father, the man you despised, the man you feared, the man you loved. I’ll be okay. I won’t, I’m not, I’m clean. I’ll stay that way. You loved him. You loved him despite the fear, despite the outbursts, despite the narrow path he chose to take. You loved him, and love him, because he’s your brother. He begged for you to stay awake, stay conscious. He wanted you to live even when you didn’t. That night, he looked like a ghost. I’m gonna miss you. A lot. Thank you for taking care of me, for loving me, for being there, you want to say. Thank you for being the best brother you could given the circumstances. Thank you for protecting me from him, from everyone. Call me when you can. I love you. Bye. 

This isn’t some magic answer to your sobriety. This isn’t a cure. Hell, it might be you running away again. Who knows? But you can feel it, finally. The anger, the rage, the wrath. That burden starts to feel less heavy day by day. It won’t disappear completely. You’re a Roy, it’s in your blood, in your genes. But it gets easier to carry, to hold, to take with you everywhere. You don’t want to cave in, not as much. Sure, a strong drink would help, but you made promises. You made promises you’d like to keep. Promises to yourself and to your family. You’d call Connor when you landed, wherever that is. You’ll tell Shivy, too, so she can come and visit. You’ll check in with Rome and give Kendall another call. Hopefully this time he picks up. Hopefully this time you can have a real conversation, you can talk to him, really thank him for all that he’s done. But you know your place is not here. Your people are, they always will. That mausoleum will be waiting for you like it waits for them. Eternity you’ll get to spend by their sides. Now though, now you have the choice. The choice to get better. The choice to get away. The choice to be free. You’ll see them again, you always will. They’re your brothers, your sister, the people who raised you. You’ll see them again despite the distance.

They can’t get rid of you that easily.

above average. (4/?)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson desperately needs to graduate this year, and you're the only tutor that hasn't turned him down. (this is part 4 in this series. I have no idea how to add links to the other parts, someone pls teach me)

warnings: cursing, fighting, mentions of drugs, jason carver being a shithead, slightly sexual (minors dni pls), angst, eddie being a meanie (he would never)

a/n: I would like to formally apologize if this breaks your heart or makes you cry. you're welcome to yell at me in my messages. I promise the next part will be nicer! (and ~spicy~ wink wink) thank you all so much for all your sweet words of encouragement on the first parts! as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated! please let me know if you would like to be tagged!

tags: @uraveragequeerqueer @rosaline-black @willowss055 @lovsersclub @bellegirl16

The door to my locker was slammed shut with a clamorous bang, causing me to squeal loudly and jump nearly two feet into the air. I clutched at my chest, trying to steady my breathing and preparing to hurl insults at whatever jackass had sent me into cardiac arrest when I was met with the sight of none other than Eddie Munson himself, beaming down at me with a mischievous grin. 

“Eddie! What the-”

“I’m above average.”

A crease formed at the center of my forehead, my brows crinkling as I stared up at him in confusion. I had gotten to know Eddie pretty well over the past month that I had been tutoring him, but I was still struggling to learn his language. I often had to enlist one of the boys to help me translate his “Eddie-isms”.

“Huh?”

Eddie retrieved the crumpled piece of paper that was trapped between the door to my locker and his large hand, shoving it directly in front of my face. It took a minute to register that it was an extra credit quiz Mrs. O’Donnell had given him on Monday. She had agreed to give him extra credit assignments to help him pass as long as he kept up with our tutoring sessions. She really wanted him out of her classroom. I was almost certain that if Eddie was going to repeat his senior year a third time, she was going into early retirement.

I was drawn to the bold, red ink scrawled at the corner of the paper that read ‘C+’. My eyes shifted swiftly between a grinning Eddie and the indeed above average grade at the corner of the page.

“Oh my god..Eddie! You passed! All on your own!”

Here’s the thing most people did not understand about Eddie Munson: he was not stupid. He was in fact very smart. He simply wasn’t engaged in any of his classes. To be fair, none of them were exactly riveting, and neither were the teachers. If there’s anything I’ve learned from tutoring, it’s that a good teacher can make all the difference when it comes to comprehension. 

Eddie's interest was not easily captured by less than thrilling subjects, and he had a hard time sitting still. Eddie was a creative person. He wrote incredible pieces of music and created elaborate campaigns for his club. He thrived the most when he was able to use his creative side on the task at hand, but when he really focused his attention and applied himself, Eddie could do anything.

He slapped his large hands against the metal of the locker doors, as if imitating a drum roll, and pumped his fists into the air triumphantly.

“Fuck yeah I did!”

Eddie’s strong arms suddenly wrapped around my waist, lifting me into the air and hugging me tightly against his strong chest as he twirled me around in a victory lap. I gripped onto the denim that covered his shoulders with a squeak, hanging on for dear life. My face flamed promptly from the closeness, and the judgemental stares of everyone around us. I could feel the warmth of his body against the thin material of my dress, feeling immensely grateful I had chosen to wear tights today. I was overcome with wonder of what his bare skin would feel like under my fingertips.

“Eddie! Put me down!”

“Not until you say I’m above average!”

My authoritative tone was lost throughout my fit of giggles. Eddie’s unruly curls seemed to twirl along with us as he continued to move our bodies together in a giant circle. As much as I didn’t want him to let go, I did want everyone to stop staring.

“Okay, okay! You’re above average!”

True to his word, Eddie quickly set me down on my feet, not bothering to take a step back. He leaned against my locker with a grin that stretched across his entire face, causing deep dimples to indent his smooth cheeks. I loved this smile. I loved his dimples. I loved the twinkle of happiness that was shining in his eyes. My chest constricted with complete adoration for the boy in front of me. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, I had gone from only knowing of Eddie Munson through whispers and rumors, to falling ridiculously, helplessly, and irrevocably hard for him. Like jumping out of a plane without a parachute and praying to whoever would listen there’s a soft landing, hard.

I wasn’t even sure how it had happened. That first day in the tutoring center, he sparked something within me, something I didn’t even know was there. A simple ember of a crush started to burn, and every minute I spent with him, the flames grew higher and higher and eventually exploded into a blaze that I didn’t even think God herself could put out.

I was completely enamored with Eddie Munson. I didn’t even know I could feel this way about a person. I like to think of myself as a realistic and reasonable person, but there were nights I contemplated if I really was under some kind of spell. Maybe Eddie really did know black magic. I’d had a somewhat “serious” boyfriend before, but it never felt like this. The logical part of my brain desperately tried to make sense of what was happening to my heart, and between my thighs.

Thoughts of him created a dull ache that I couldn’t will away. Everytime he spoke, my eyes fixated on his plump lips, craving the feeling of them against my own. On my skin. Anywhere he wanted them. I followed his hands as they danced in conversation, imagining how much better they would feel than my own. I’m not ashamed to admit that I had touched myself more than once to fantasies of Eddie Munson. The desire he created within me could not be ignored. It conjured sinful visions of him in my dreams, waking me out of a dead sleep covered in sweat, my body feeling as if it was on fire. I craved his touch, more than anything. I wanted to be twisted up in my bed sheets with more than just the ghost of him. I wanted the real thing.

“I’m so proud of you, Eddie.”

There was a light shade of pink that coated the tops of his cheeks, dipping his head for a moment before he met my gaze again with a tender smile on his lips.

“It’s all because of you, you know?”

“You did it all on your own, Eddie. You should be proud.”

“Well I have even more to be proud of, because I did the impossible.”

“Oh really? Do tell.”

“So, since I’ve been passing all my assignments and actually showing up to class and shit, I convinced Mrs. O’Donnell to let us cancel our session after school on Friday.”

“Oh. Um..well, that’s..” Awful. Horrible. Terrible. “That is an impressive feat. Um, that’s great Eddie. You uh, you deserve a break. You’ve been working really hard.”

“It’s actually a huge relief since I uh, gotta restock some..supplies.”

“For Hellfire?”

“Um..well..no. Not..exactly. It’s for my other..uh..extracurriculars.”

Eddie glanced anywhere but at me, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck. The action caused the bottom of his Hellfire shirt to raise up just slightly, granting me a perfect view of the dark patch of hair just above the handcuff buckle of his belt. Focus.

“Oh. Oh.”

A deep hue of scarlet took over my features when it finally clicked what Eddie was talking about. He’s talking about drugs, you idiot. I internally cringed at how sheltered he must think I was. I honestly often forgot that Eddie was a drug dealer. It wasn’t that I didn’t know about it, he dealt to a ton of people at school. It just never came up in conversation between us.

“Well uh..good luck?”

Eddie snickered as he looked down at me, tilting his head in a playful manner and crossing his arms across his chest. His eyebrows knit together in the center of his forehead.

“Thank you?”

I scrunched up my nose as I smiled shyly, nibbling on my bottom lip. Good luck? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?

“I..sorry. I’m not really sure what the proper etiquette is when it comes to..um..that. ‘Break a leg’ seemed a bit..much?” 

The smile on Eddie’s lips stretched into a grin that seemed to cover the entire lower half of his face, putting all of his teeth on display. My beloved dimples once appeared at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue against his cheek.

“You are..incredibly adorable. You know that?”

My breath hitched in my throat and my knees suddenly felt like they were going to give out at any moment. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at his lips. Say something. Say something. Say something!

“I..um..uh..well I guess I’ll..s-see you Monday then.”

I tightened my grip on the strap of my backpack, prepared to turn and bolt away as fast as I could before I dropped dead from embarrassment. Eddie, sensing my apprehension, quickly reached out to grab onto my shoulder with a laugh as I was about to make my getaway.

“Hey, wait! Listen I um..I..I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh..okay. What is it?”

Eddie retracted his hand from my shoulder, twisting one of his large rings around his middle finger slowly. I had come to learn this was a nervous habit of his. What was he nervous about? Eddie averted his gaze down to his worn sneakers. A frown settled on my lips as I gently placed my hand on his wrist to get his attention.

“Eddie? What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing, no nothing’s wrong. I just..well..since you don’t have to tutor me after school on Friday, and my uh..restock..won’t take very long..I was just..I was gonna ask..well I was wondering if you know..maybe..um..I was wondering if you would maybe want to-”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing freak?”

Any indication that Eddie was nervous completely vanished the second Jason Carver shoved his way in between us. The tender smile on his lips sank into a deep frown, his eyes narrowing down at the blonde as he stood up straight. He made Jason look small when he stood to his full height. It was no secret that Eddie and Jason absolutely hated each other. Jason was convinced that Eddie was some evil, devil worshiping, cultist that was a danger to all of Hawkins. Eddie hated Jason mainly because he hated him, but also because he was a narcissistic bully to anyone who dared to be different.

I couldn’t see over Jason’s shoulders. I attempted to force myself in between the two boys before an all out brawl ensued, but Jason shoved me forcefully back behind him, which only seemed to piss Eddie off even further. As he took a step closer, I gripped onto Jason’s arm to yank him back.

“Jason, stop! I’m tutoring him, you know that.”

“Just because you’re tutoring this freak doesn’t mean he should be touching you.”

“What can I say, I’m a hands-on learner.”

I tried to shoot Eddie a pleading glance, but his attention was solely focused on the jock in front of him. God Eddie, please shut up. Please for once, don’t be a smartass and just shut up. I should’ve known better. Eddie practically created the term “stubborn”.

“I’m going to tell you this one time, and one time only. Leave her alone, freak. Don’t talk to her. Don’t come near her. Don’t even look at her. This, is done. Walk away. Next time, there won’t be a warning.”

The hardness on Eddie’s features dissipated slowly, and a wicked smile grew over his face, covering his lips like ivy. There was a vexatious glint in his eye that made me nervous. Eddie clasped his hands together behind his back and gave a light shrug of his shoulders.

“Okay.”

A sharp gasp escaped my lips. I wasn’t expecting that answer, and clearly Jason wasn’t either. I snuck at glance up at him to see surprise written just as clearly over his features as it was on mine. The other three jocks that had formed a circle around us all exchanged their own looks of disbelief. 

“I’ll make you a deal, Carver. I’ll leave her alone..if..you can tell me her name.”

My eyes widened in shock at Eddie’s boldness and I was certain my jaw had hit the floor. Jason whipped his head down to stare at me incredulously, frantically searching my eyes as if they held the answer. For once, I was glad he didn’t know my name. I stared up at him innocently, as if I wasn’t in on the joke. His eyes darted over my face, my books, even my locker, looking for something, anything that would clue him in.

“Well? Go on. It’s a simple answer, really. I mean she’s only helped your dumbass what, seven times? Eight? Ten? Surely you know her name. You know, since you care so much. Surely you’re not the kind of asshole that uses people for your own personal gain without having the common decency to learn their fucking name.”

It all happened so fast. One second Jason was standing in front of me, the next he was lunging forward at Eddie with balled fists. Eddie managed to shove Jason roughly against the lockers before two of the jocks surged to pull him off. I didn’t know what to do. I was frozen in place with fear. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I took a step forward. I wasn’t sure what I was planning to do, but I was instantly tugged back by one of the jocks that had pulled me hard into his chest with one arm.

“Let go of me! Let go! Help! Someone please, help! Stop them!”

I tried my hardest to free myself from the boy’s strong grasp. I looked around at the crowd of students that had gathered around to watch the spectacle that was taking place. I screamed at them, pleading with them for help. I could hear punches being thrown and lockers being slammed. I was terrified to see who was on the receiving end.

“Carver! Munson! What the hell is going on?”

The sea of students parted instantly to let Mr. Scott through. The group of boys didn’t hesitate to pull apart and untangle themselves to meet the man’s pissed off gaze. Fuck..Eddie’s going to be expelled..and it’s all my fault.

I finally managed to break free from the boy’s iron grip, angrily pushing my way through the crowd of students and took off down the hallway. I slammed the door to the tutoring center shut behind me and leaned forward to grip onto one of the chairs. Hot tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I threaded my fingers through the roots of my hair, tugging roughly.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Eddie was going to be expelled, and that thought made my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. It was all my fault. All his hard work, down the drain. He wasn’t going to graduate. I should have never agreed to tutor him. I should have never said yes. He’s going to hate me. I ruined everything. 

“Jesus, there you are! Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Eddie cupped my cheeks in his large hands, tilting my head up so that he could frantically search my face for any sign of injury. His eyes were dark and wild, his usual untamed curls even more unruly framed against his face. I could see a faint bruise appearing on his left cheekbone. The sight at first made me want to cry, but it only fueled the anger I felt. I braced my palms against his chest and shoved him back with as much force as I could manage.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“What?”

“I can’t believe you! Why did you have to do that? I..how could you be so stupid Eddie?”

His face was a mixture of shock and hurt. He blinked a few times as he stared at me in bewilderment.

“Wait a second, are you seriously mad at me right now for what happened back there?”

“Of course I’m mad, Eddie! I’m furious! Why would you do that? Why?”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do? Just stand there and let him be a complete asshole?”

“You were supposed to walk away!”

“Fuck that! I wasn’t about to just stand there and let him treat you like shit. He fucking pushed you, I had to do something!”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! God Eddie, you’re not my boyfriend, I don’t need you to defend me like that!”

I regret the words the second they left my mouth. I hated the way they tasted. They were bitter like vinegar and made my stomach twist into knots. Silence lingered heavily in the air. Eddie’s chest rose and fell quickly to keep up with his accelerated breathing. Anger still rolled off of him in waves. There was hurt in his eyes, but his face was stone cold. I had never seen him like this before, and I hated it. But mostly, I hated that he was looking at me like this. 

His beautiful features contorted into an expression of repulsion, and a dry, humorless laugh sounded from the back of his throat. The edge of his lips curled into a sneer as he took a step forward to stare down at me.

“Boyfriend? Are you fucking kidding me? I may be the freak of Hawkins, but I’m not that much of a freak that I would date the fucking tutor girl.”

Eddie’s venomous words rang loudly in my ears. I could feel my bottom lip beginning to quiver and in that moment I hated myself for looking so weak in front of him. As much as I willed myself not to cry in front of Eddie, I couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears from washing over my cheeks. I took a step back from him, as if his words had physically slapped me, and clutched at my stomach.

Eddie clenched his jaw as he stared down at me, quickly looking away so that he didn’t have to see my face. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and shook his head quickly, beginning to back away towards the door.

“You know what, Y/L/N, I don’t think I need your services anymore. I can do this on my own. I don’t need you.”

Eddie slammed the door shut behind him, leaving me crumbling to the floor with a choked sob ripping through my chest. The pain was everywhere, all at once, and I didn’t know how to stop it. My body felt like it was made of lead, and I couldn’t move. I was stuck in the spot he broke me. I didn’t even care if anyone walked in and found me sprawled over the floor like a shattered piece of glass. How had things gone so unbelievably bad, so fast?

For the first time ever, I went home early. And I didn’t go back to school the day after that. Or the day after that.

Connor sitting on the plushsofa in one of the smaller livingrooms of the estate enjoying a hot cup of tea and a rare moment of silence when a 14 y.o Kendall, 11 y.o Roman and 8 y.o Siobhan (age heacanon from me idk open to other ideas!) come barging in, kendall slapping adoption papers on the coffee table "You're our dad now, bitch"

Succession Preference: Handmade Presents From S/O

Requested: Preference: How the Siblings react to their S.O giving them a handmade gift? (maybe a bouquet of flowers they thoughtfully picked out at a florist themselves, baked goods, a coffee/tea mug they decorated or a homemade meal?) i hope this sounds good!! ♡ - anon

A/N: This is so cute my love!!!! Thank you for requesting!!! I really hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Connor appreciates your home cooked meals to no end. He thanks you forever. It doesn't matter if it took hours or thirty minutes, Connor won't let you live it down. He brags to his siblings all the time about how thoughtful and caring and considerate you are. You try to shrug it off like it's nothing, but he won't have that. Seriously. The only time he ever got anything home cooked was when he was a little kid, maybe once a year if his mother made him eggs or a grilled cheese. You go above and beyond when you cook. You never mind, you love sharing it with him. He compliments everything, making you laugh. Food is how you show your love. Sometimes, when you have the time, you make extra and send it with him to give to his brothers and sister. They love it, too. It's like they've never eaten before. They're all full of compliments and it makes them like you even more, which doesn't hurt either.

Kendall loves when you bake anything, but especially when you bake something he loves. You've been doing this since you were dating, but now that you're married it's become a rare occurrence. With work and life you don't always have the time. When you do, you like to send him to the office with everyone's favorites. Logan's blueberry muffins, Gerri's lemon squares, Karl's cinnamon rolls. You make extras of Kendall's favorites so he can have them at home and at work, surprising him when he gets home and the Tupperware is empty. It makes him feel so loved, so appreciated. He's a menace in the kitchen, always wanting to taste the raw batter and lick the icing. When you do it, it means you really thought about him, what he likes, what makes him happy. Not many people have done that in his life. But you? You make time for him and his happiness and that is priceless. It reminds him that he is capable of being loved.

Shiv isn't sure what to say. It's perfect. A bouquet of all her favorite flowers and colors in a vase she didn't even know either of you owned. Next to it is a little card with her name wishing her a good day. It sits on her office desk, just waiting for her. No one had ever done anything like this for her. Not her family, not Tom. She wasn't even sure he knew any one of her favorite flowers, and yet you had them all. You didn't sign the card, but you didn't have to. Tears well up in her eyes, but she's quick to blink them away. It's beautiful. She doesn't want to touch it or move it out of fear that petals might fall off. Once word spreads that you got specialized flowers sent to the office, the jokes start flowing in. She doesn't care what anyone has to say about this, especially her father and brothers. She feels so loved and seen, the most she's ever felt in her life. When she gets home she talks lightly of it, thanking you, but you can see the smile she's trying to hide. This small act means the world to her.

Roman is shocked. He doesn't know what to say. You start to feel insecure, like this wasn't something he'd like let along love. Under the ribbon and wrapping paper is a handmade mug with the date you officially became a couple. It was a little misshapen, but other than that it was perfect. You'd picked out the perfect color palette, too. All his favorite colors. No one had ever done anything like this for him before. No one has ever thought about him so thoughtfully. Roman holds out his hands, careful, scared he's going to break it. He looks it over a few times and holds it close before realizing who he's supposed to be. This fucking thing, it's, it's- thank you. That's the last thing he says about it. You catch him using it almost every day, holding it with both hands, hand washing it. He truly loves it. So much. It's his most prized possession. He never says anything about it again, though you catch him going through every cupboard looking for it, mumbling to himself. It's right in front of you, Rome. He breathes a huge sigh of relief. If he lost it or broke it he's not sure what he'd do.

"girls, boys, neithers, boths, and in-betweens" is actually rificulously inclusive and will forever be better than any variation of "guys, gals and non-binary pals"

♥♥♥

T4T.

pairing: trans!eddie munson x transmasc! reader

type: fluff <3

cw: nothing (:

other: some eddie t4t hcs while I work on requests

# met during pre-T

# supportive wayne bro, helped him come up with a name

# sweetest bby

# you take your T shots together <3

# wayne taught him how to shave. he prefers a smooth face and finds the facial hair too itchy

# loves when you look after his scars and make sure that they heal right

# before surgery you had to remind him a lot to bind properly, a lot of the time he would forget because of his campaigns or whatever else was going on in his life

# you had to tell his ass to stay in bed after surgery

# he was extremely mopey because he had to stop taking T postop, so you'd remind him how handsome he is. you just lay in bed with him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear to get him through it

# adores the fact you took care of him during his recovery, so he did the same. never leaves your side after surgery

# if he's feeling dysphoric you drop whatever it is you're doing to comfort him. even if it's important. you'll call him at any hour and tell him you're coming over, and smother him in love

# if you feel dysphoric he tries his best to distract you, mostly by playing his guitar or pampering you

# not many people know that you two are trans. mostly close friends and family for obvious reasons. eddie does like showing off his scars though, so maybe the occasional people know

# he was picked on a lot (before taking T and getting top surgery), so he got called a faggot or a sissy. a lot of people mistook it for him not going through puberty

# style his hair for him <333

# he gets excited whenever bottom growth happens so expect a lot of excited screaming

# sock packers (:

# he gets so happy when you call him handsome (:

masterlist.

Two’s company, three’s a family - Part three

Summary : As a cupid, an angel of love, your mission was to make sure everyone was paired up with the right person. Yet you couldn’t get your two most ancient clients to finally end up together. And despite the 6,000 years spent on the case, you couldn’t bring yourself to give them up, not oblivious to the reason.

Pairing : Aziraphale x Crowley / GN!Reader x Crowley / GN!Reader x Aziraphale (polyamorous relationship).

Parts : First - Previous - Next (coming next week)

Warnings : Reference to "Red Flags" (Tom Cardy), quick s3x mention, non-con touching (not s3xual), depiction of anxiety, foul language, slow burn, english isn’t my first language.

Words : +3k

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The sweet light of a summer day pierced through the branches of the surrounding trees. The sky was unexpectedly blue, and the air was just starting to heat up, tingling your exposed skin. It was so enjoyable; as you basked in the environment, you were almost forgetting your clients.

You were currently sitting on the storefront awning across the cafe where the date was occurring. It was going really well, and their bond was amazing too. It took you six years to find your client's perfect match. You won't deny the fact that you were picky; however, you weren't going to apologise for it either. If your clients had to spend their whole lives with someone, you should at least try not to pair them up with the most infuriating person that God ever made (I'm looking at you, Joey !).

But dang, you had to admit, she was fantastic ! They were literally made for each other. They were so in sync, it was truly adorable. When two people were obviously made for each other, it was your duty to make sure Eternity would welcome both of them. Never to be apart. You rubbed your stretched-skinned right arm.

Ooh, you're going to get so much love from this, your numbers gonna skyrocket...

You send a wave of curiosity your client's way, inciting him to question her more; the more interest he shows in her, the more pleased she'll be. He reached out and rested his hand on hers.

"By the way, do you have a favourite film ?" He asked, eager to see if they also had the same cinematographic tastes. She was so cultured and sophisticated; it was really refreshing to encounter someone of her kind. Yeah, she was one of a kind, alright. Oh, how could you have foreseen what she was about to answer ?

"Oh yes, just basically the best movie of all ! A masterpiece of art, really. You may have heard of it." She was trying to hide just how much she was yearning to scream the name of that movie. Anxious even, for some reason.

"Mmh. Interstellar ?" He tried to guess playfully. But she was jubilant; you knew she wouldn't be able to play along. You frowned, becoming fairly worried, wondering if she would implode.

"Mh-hm ! Wrong !" She giggled, ecstatic. Now you're just scared. You gulped in sync with the client as she stood up and slammed her hands on the metal table. As she exclaimed, finally freed from her own guilt, you thought that some people should have a warning of their own. For the good of society.

"It's Human Centipede !" She clapped and beamed.

Oh, for the love of God... Obviously, your guy was rightfully alarmed since he believed he'd never see his mom again. You left your perch and flew their way; right now, you had to prevent him from running away. Both of your hands settled on his shoulder.

"Custom disguise was truly a highlight, but I mostly liked it for the plot." How can someone so cute fill you with so much dread ? Although your hold was already firm, you couldn't help but twist Arlo's shoulders. Yes, Arlo was his name, but he was closer to Denver, personality-wise.

"I'm not quite familiar with the plot, actually." Oh, you poor unfortunate soul. He didn't know, or maybe he'd rather live in full and hurtful denial his entire life than relive that abominable day when his soul was shattered into a million pieces... Mmh, he probably just didn't know.

"In a nutshell, a German doctor sews three people's asses to their mouths." Her wide brown eyes seemed to belong to the deadliest apex predator. Send help, please. Blinking was out of the question; turn your eyes away for a second, and she'll stab you right in the throat. You darted your eyes towards the butter knife. You exclaimed sharply and miraculously removed it. Better safe than sorry.

You exhaled; you felt so puzzled right now. Every human deserves love, despite having a passion for obscure and particular forms of art. But was this truly the best person for him ? The last thing you wanted was their misery. What if her interests were real signs of psychopathy ? Of future abuse ? She didn't give the impression of abusive behaviour.

You squinted your eyes and started analysing her heart through your own. Contrary to humans, your heart was nested in the very centre of your chest and could be used as a filter. Usually you'd pick up the scent—yes, every emotion had a smell, and thankfully it was faint when you weren't using your heart—guide it towards your chest, and find what you were looking for. Your heart is a great multi-function machine and an amazing tool to achieve your goals; you were thankful for it.

A relieved sigh passed your lips when you didn't sense any brutality or cruelty. And what you felt was passion, ambition, eagerness to start something new, quite a bit of lust, and straight-up horniness.

Mmh, you had to admit that this demon of lust was a talented lad.

"The narrative of character growth comes from a genius mind ! The Human Centipede is a wonderful tour de force; you should watch it. Or, we could watch it together, and I'll show all the little details."

You rolled your eyes and smirked. She was just quirky, but she was looking forward to hitting it off with him. But, still, you wanted it to be his choice; you wouldn't force someone into a relationship and spend eternity with someone they didn't belong with. But it might be the only true relationship they will ever have. You looked over to him and were honestly surprised to see him blush and watch her with such attention. Alright. You shrugged. His mind was sent.

You nodded, even though you knew he couldn't see you. You flew away, leaving enough distance to let them take off themselves. You stretched your arm, aimed, and silently hoped it was not morbid curiosity on his part. And finally shot.

Yay ! Right in our hearts!

Nice shot; you praised yourself.

They flinched and smiled brightly. The deal is sealed. Suddenly, the clocks in the watchmaker store struck eleven a.m. You struggle to swallow. Alright, here goes nothing.

You went down to the street corner and called out the invisibility spell. You walked casually through the street but couldn't help but overhear the lovebirds conversation.

"My dream wedding would 100% be themed "Human Centipede"." She laughed so joyfully. Everyone around was looking so distraught but didn't dare say anything. Mmh.

"That would be so cool! Imagine just how much we could save on the catering bill." He burst out in laughter; it was hilarious.

And that's another wedding you will not attend. Thank God they weren't in your department anymore.

Good luck with that, Adriel...

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

You had arrived before Aziraphale, so you would have time to report to Chamuel. Yep, the Archangel of Love himself. No pressure... You weren't the same rank as Aziraphale; he was a Principality. You ? You were under the order of a Principality. Jophiel, to be exact. So meeting up with the Archangel was a big deal.

You rode the escalator while poking random fingers on your chest to calm your nerves and erase all of your emotions. You hoped they wouldn't notice the change. You hoped Chamuel didn't show up during the reunion concerning the Anti-Christ. You hoped that everything would be alright.

You exhaled for a long time, entering the endless building of light. Steadily, you made your way towards your bosses. Impassive. Calm. You spotted Chamuel and your principality, and you stopped a few feet away.

"Hello Y/N ! How are you today ?" What a dashing smile he had—too white to be human. His deep green eyes were scanning your own. His attention was nerve-wracking.

"I am fine; thank you, Chamuel." Your tone was as neutral as you could manage. Your posture was rigid, trying to stay as still as possible.

"I too hope you two are doing well."

"We are, thank you... Now, how's your heart ? Has it caused you any problems ?" His pale hand suddenly patted your mid-chest, too rough for your liking. You flinched but didn't dare say anything. Mmh. Behind him, Jophiel was looking at you up and down, keeping her distance. She still gave you a brief, tight smile.

"I am fine, thank you." You sounded straight-up robotic.

"Good !" He clapped his hands together and shook them. He took his place beside the dark-blond angel, his vivid blond hair harmonising with hers.

"Your recent results have been quite impressive, Y/N. Very good fuel for the upcoming war". Jophiel praised you while never fully looking your way.

You simply bowed your head, despite how geedy you actually felt. She didn't praise a lot, so you were delighted.

"Even from just a few minutes ago ! You are doing an excellent job. I appreciate the constant flow of love; it almost keeps the Bound together." He laughed heartily. You bowed your head again; you knew he didn't mean it.

The Bound is what holds everything together. Literaly everything. Earth, humans, animals ect. And Love is the fuel it needs to thrive. But when Armageddon starts, all cupids shall stop the love, let the Bound unfold, and fight along side the other angels, filled with the... ugh, power of Love. So cheesy... Help.

"Our sources have also confirmed the punishment of two demons who were prohibited from working on Earth for the remaining years; great job ! The least nuisance in the way, the better.."

Despite his sinister aura, he did appreciate your work. You just couldn't bring yourself to be happy about it.

"Now !" He slapped his hand on your shoulder and made you turn around. You grunted quietly. "I believe you must attend another meeting, right? I wouldn't want you to be late. Go on." He pushed you forward, and you had to catch yourself before reuniting with the floor.

"So... Darachiel and Requiel are up next..." Jophiel said it absent-mindedly, already forgetting your encounter.

Brief and concise, exactly what you prayed for. As you were leaving, you passed Darachiel and Requiel, on their way to their report. They observed you from afar, doing their best not to get too close to you. You just stared right in front of you. You didn't want to hear their gossip. It was almost as if their mouths had only been designed to talk behind your back. You teeth clenched. Focus.

You'll just have to deal with three more archangels, convince them the boy is turning into a saint, and hope they will not mention your role as a cupid. It didn't really bother me that Azirphale and Crowley might find out about your job; it's just that you were quite... private and wanted to make sure they wouldn't realise what your mission was. Be cautious.

You didn't want to lie to them. You sighed. Nevertheless, you comforted yourself, remembering that you wouldn't be alone against them.

Still, your heart echoed through your ears; the drumming was hurting your ribs and chest, like every fibre of your bones wanted to crawl their way out of your throat. You kept walking. Your breath was laboured, and your eyes were watering, blurring the awful images that rolled before you. Your gaze fell down, shielding yourself from the memories and those fucking intrusive fights. Mmh..

"Y/N ?"

The sweetest feather touch grazed your forearm, the concerned voice abruptly grounding you back into the dazzling reality of Heaven. Lost, you revolved slowly, and your pleading eyes searched for reassurance.

"Oh, Y/N..." Aziraphale whispered softly to not startle you.

"I'm sorry, I just.. I've never..-" You had to hold back a sob. The blond shushed, caressing the side of your arms.

"I know, dear... It's a lot." He smiled at you, tender. He delicately lifted your chin to meet your eyes. "But I'm right beside you; you won't have to face them on your own. You are the most intrepid angel I've met; you will blow us all away!" He jested.

"Mmh." You gave him a sheepish smile for an answer.

"Come now." He gestured forward into the meeting zone, not touching you. He walked beside you. "It's going to be just fine. I must confess, I've fooled them quite a lot before." His confession caused me to smirk as well.

Angel ? No, he was quite devilish, alright.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Mmh..." Aziraphale moaned, his mouth full of cream. You never thought you could bless someone through your Parfait. Your recipe was Aziraphale's favourite dessert, which he desperately tried to copy but could never get right.

Your afternoon was spent at Aziraphale's bookshop, sitting cross-legged on the comfiest couch, reading your latest acquisition. The anxiety was slowly draining its way out your veins. You turned another page and smiled softly. You have loved astronomy ever since you were created. You didn't have as much knowledge about space as Crowley, but the beauty enticed you so much that you couldn't help but be saddened by its upcoming destruction. You also cooked for the angel to really thank him.

"It's truly fantastic, Y/N." He took another spoonful. "You're sure you don’t want to share your secret ? Confess and feel even better." He teased.

"Confess, huh ? I should rather put a copyright on my recipe, you little thief."

Eden, thankfully on your side, was pushing Aziraphale's thigh, sticking her tongue out to get a lick.

"No, Eden, we were not talking about you- No !" He lifted his arm way up. If he thought it would stop your mini cow, he was deeply mistaken. She put all her efforts into her desperate attempt to steal the sweet, climbing on his leg. Aziraphale made a muffled squeal; Eden had her hooves digging in his flesh.

"Help..." He begged in a strained voice.

You giggled and got up. You took your time, really, dusting a shelf and bouncing quickly on your left leg. His eyes were almost stern as he observed your smug face. You waited a few seconds. You smiled innocently, petted Eden's head, and snatched the glass from his hand.

"Oh ! Y/N !" Alright, that gasp was just comical. Your lips let out a joyful giggle, and you jogged away, tasting the dessert with your fingertip.

"Mh.. Yum ! What a talented cook I am." You contemplated your work. Still, you saw the two hungry fellas in the corner of your eye. Too emotionally drained to play, you turned around and handed back the dessert.

"Thank you." He shook his head but smiled gratefully.

Eden nudged your right arm, demanding a treat as well. As you tossed it to her, you spotted Aziraphale stare your way. You stared back, confused. Caught in the act, he didn't back down and directly asked you what was on his mind.

"Did you hurt your arm ? I never noticed that scar before."

Oh.

You looked down your right arm and saw the tiniest bit of scar sneaking out of your pulled-up sleeve. You covered it back down.

You never thought he would notice that.

"I got cut by a demon claw. It never really healed properly."

"Maybe I could help... Let me see." He reached for your arm. You didn't mean to flinch, but still, you backed away.

"It's okay, Aziraphale. Really, it's fine."

You were charging your charm to chase him off, but the door suddenly burst open, and Crowley entered like he owned the place. He noticed the two of you, and his face went stolid. The three of you stood here for a minute or two before the angel broke the weird silence.

"Hello Crowley, How was your day ?"

The demon found his scrunched expression back.

"Awful. As expected... Some people just apparently can't believe that humans can be bad enough to end up in hell without having to be murderers! Ugh."

He sat nonchalantly on his designated chair and went limp to try and get rid of all of his frustration. He hated having to visit Hell, as one could understand. He didn't belong there. You don’t belong anywhere. You cringed. Mmh. He weakly waved in your direction.

"How about you guys ?" He hummed.

"Mmh, well, Azi' will tell you. I should get going !" You forced a smile and reached for Eden, petting her to calm her. You felt Aziraphale's eyes on you while Crowley tensed up slightly.

"Already ? Have I scared you away or something ?" He asked.

"Oh, don't be silly, Crowley; of course not ! Eden's tired; I've got to put her to bed."

"Well, can't she use the backroom- ?"

"Oh, by the way." Whoosh, quick, unnoticeable charm. "Here ! I finished it !" You threw your book on his lap, earning a grunt. "I hope you'll show me a real one day." The suggestion was true, but you knew it wouldn't happen. You didn't have the right to. Mmh.

"Bye bye ! Smooches !" You sang your way out of the bookshop under the concerned and puzzled looks of your clients.

You waited until you were around the corner before finally collapsing against the facade. Overwhelming—yeah, that's the perfect word to summarise your day. You brought your hands up to your head and rubbed your face. What am I so upset about? Why was your heart aching, burning your skin away? Why did their stares and comments feel like daggers in your back? You just wish you weren't alone. The light did nothing to warm up your frozen face as tears threatened to roll down. Mmh...

No... you didn't want to go back to this... You just couldn't.

The firm grip you had on your shirt snatched a bit of skin and twisted it. It had at least the benefit of shaking you enough to act.

You exhaled sharply and slapped your own cheek to knock some sense into yourself. You have no time. Eden was still rubbing her head on your leg when you bent down to kiss her forehead.

You straightened up, activated your blindness spell, and manifested your bow and arrows. Taking off from the ground and positioning yourself to get a good view of your clients You aimed with your right arm and lined up. Your breath was taken away by the glimpse of a scar that shone in the disappearing sun. You frowned, growled, and struck. Upper arms.

Alright, now shit was about to get real.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

I guess we all have to learn about our own back story, right Y/N ?

Anyway ! I promise we will see more of the ineffable husbands in the next part. You just needed a little bit of time for yourself.

Hope you enjoyed it ! Bye !

Parts : First - Previous - Next (coming next week)

Tag list : @legendary-maddie @kpop-athena @drugs-for-memes @emo-queer-boi @cunning-girl @mochikofi @brain-has-left @cup-of-tee007 @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @somekale08 @liyacreate @msyolocat-blog