#I GOTTA STOP MAKING AUS GODDAMN

[timaeusterrored]

Scream au but Ghostface is V and Judy, Judy makes the calls and V does the killings

[spaceratprodigy]

Ooh palettes 🥰 Jasper and Faith in either Malabar squirrel or cherry pie?

@darkfire1177 — [ palette prompts ]

✨ The Unplanned Variables ✨

[jenosbigtoe]

brother’s best friend!lee jeno x reader

minors dni

summary: your overprotective big brother's best friend is just too irresistible. too bad you have to keep your relationship a secret from him. established relationship au!

warnings: jeno is a freak lowkey, creampie, breeding kink, possessiveness, unprotected sex, size kink (if you squint), mating press, jeno fat cock, jeno is a simp, squirting, pussy eating, literally just pwp

wordcount: 2.4k

a/n: intentional lowercase (i hate autocaps) and not proofread so if you see any grammar mistakes lmk. IK THIS IS A WORN OUT TROPE BUT IDC BROTHERS BEST FRIEND JENO FTW this is just so self indulgent so if its ass um ☠️

pretty pink lip gloss, fresh set of french tip acrylics, short white mini skirt, strawberry scented lotion, and a pink lacy camisole. you, na y/n, were going to be the death of lee jeno.

"dude stop looking at my little sister like that you freak," jaemin threw a dirty sock laying around at his best friend's face as jeno stared at your plump ass like a piece of meat while you were in the kitchen making yourself a snack.

"shut the fuck up man," jeno grumbled as he proceeded to knock jaemin off course in moo moo meadows in mario kart.

you smirked knowingly with your back turned. you knew exactly what you were doing. it was 10 pm on a friday night, meaning jeno and jaemin were having their weekly guys night and would crash in the living room, playing video games, drinking beer, and eating pizza.

and it also meant you would get to dangle yourself like a piece of meat in front of your boyfriend and oblivious brother as you watch your hungry boyfriend try to behave himself.

"jaem let me have a turn," you whined, inviting yourself into the living room, and sat between the two boys on the verge of beating the shit out of each other over mario kart.

"y/n you know damn well you're shit at these types of games now why would i let you play when im about to rock jeno's shit," jaemin didn't even look over at you and continued to focus on the screen. "FUCKKKK JENO THOSE GODDAMN SHELLS. FUCK YOU DICKFACE”

jeno on the other hand glanced over at you, eyes never looking once at yours and instead focused straight on your plump titties popping right out of your push up bra. and he drove right off course, leaving jaemin to yelp in victory as he finished in 1st place.

"fuck you jaemin. here y/n you can play on my controller," jeno rolled his eyes and passed his controller to you. his character was already pink yoshi, making your heart melt because he knew that was your go to.

“thank you, jeno. at least some people are actually nice and considerate,” you rolled your eyes at your older brother.

"well okay you asked for it. prepare to get your ass kicked like our dear jen over there, y/n," jaemin said with an evil glint in his eyes.

as the game was about to start, you suddenly had an idea and paused the game. "wait jaem, i don't really know how to play. can you go easy on me?"

"hell no. you wanted to play with the big boys so now you gotta face the consequences."

you turned to look at jeno, who was very obviously just staring at your tits the entire time. "jeno, jaemin is being a bitch to me. can you teach me how to play since he doesn't want to go easy on me?" you tilted your head and pouted your lip in a way that you knew he liked.

you knew damn well how to play and beat the shit out of jaemin at mario kart but you also knew how good you looked right now and how this would be the perfect opportunity to tease your sexy boyfriend.

"aw hell no that's cheating, y/n," jaemin whined.

“too bad. it ain’t up to you, sore loser.” you gave jeno a smirk with a knowing look in your eyes.

"well i don't mind. plus you won the last round anyways, jaem," jeno spoke up, shifting around and subtlely fixing his sweatpants. you were teasing him so bad and it was going straight to his cock.

jaemin looked at jeno, then you, then right back at jeno, narrowing his eyes a bit. "hey since when did you two get so chummy?"

"jaemin stop being a bitch and let's just play. i don't even know how to play and jeno helping me isn't going to suddenly make me become a mario kart god."

jaemin rolled his eyes. "whatever man."

jaemin unpaused the game and the race started. you pretended to freak out, not knowing where to go as jaemin left you in the dust.

jaemin started laughing his ass off as he quickly climbed the ranks as you were left in dead last. "kiss my ass, y/n."

jeno leaned over to show you the controls but you took this opportunity to yank him to sit behind you, causing you almost be sitting in his lap as his arms wrapped you. "now show me the controls," you grinned evilly and shifted around so your ass rubbed against his dick.

jeno was stunned. doing this literally right in front of your brother? who forbade you two from ever seeing each other? he could just smell your sweet strawberry perfume, which had him wanting to just gobble you up. and your cute little outfit, god he just wanted to rip it right off of you and mark your body up, claim you as his. and not gonna lie, the thrill of being right next to your brother and his best friend had his heart pumping blood straight to his boner.

you both were lucky jaemin had tunnel vision when it came to video games, his face literally glued to the screen. otherwise he would've seen how your little white skirt rode up your thighs and your panties were literally grinding against his best friend's cock.

you let jeno take the controller and pretended to still be the one playing, occasionally screaming out curses at your brother and let out cheers when you hit him with shells. meanwhile you were really just shifting around on jeno's cock through his sweat pants as you ran your manicured nails up and down his veiny arms that were wrapped around you. his hands just looked so big and meaty on that controller, had you fantasizing about what they would be doing to you tonight.

as you neared the final lap, you in 6th place and jaemin in 2nd, you suddenly grabbed the controller out of jeno's hands and shoved him back beside you. he let out a loud grunt as he fell to the ground. jaemin suddenly took 1st place and finished the round. you were 8th. you gave jeno a fake apologetic look as he glared at you.

“oops,” you whispered, sticking your tongue out.

jaemin looked over at you and gave you a triumphant look. "now what did i tell you?"

you rolled your eyes and stood, your skirt rode up almost all the way and on the verge of exposing the little cream panties with red hearts on them that you knew jeno loved. the way jeno was sitting, you standing up gave him the perfect view of the way your puffy pussy fit in your little panties, making him even harder than before.

"whatever loser i'm heading back to my room. have fun being bitchless on a friday night." jaemin threw a pillow at your turned back. you sauntered back to your room, making careful sure to sway your hips as you knew jeno's eyes were trained straight on your ass.

it was 1 am and you were still up, bored out of your mind and scrolling through your phone. he should've been here by now, you pouted. you got frustrated and started ripping your clothes off, leaving you in just your push-up bra and panties when a voice from behind startled you.

"baby, you already starting without me? i'm hurt," jeno wrapped his arms around you, pressing his body against yours, and whispered softly in your ear, causing you to shiver.

you puffed out your cheeks. "waited for so long. was about to go to sleep because my shithead boyfriend left me needy over here."

jeno started groping at your body, squeezing your juicy tits and lightly grinding his erection against your barely clothed ass. "sorry sweet girl. jaem wouldn't fall asleep because that girl from his econ class finally texted him back, corny ass." he left a trail of kisses down your neck and sucked at a particular spot on your collar bone that had your knees weak.

you smiled to yourself. you couldn't pretend to be mad at him for long, not when you're so whipped for him. you turned around and looked up at him, admiring your sexy boyfriend. he finally listened to you and dyed his hair back to black, leaving it long and messy just how you like it. he was wearing a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants with the simple gold chain you bought him for his birthday. he knew just how you like it. what a fucking manwhore. you were ready to devour him whole.

you smashed your lips on his, messy and hot, tongue everywhere and spit dripping down your connected mouths. suddenly, you pushed him down on your bed and started straddling him, grinding your pussy directly on his cock through his sweatpants, causing him to groan into your mouth. one hand gripped at your hair and the other groped your ass.

"baby i need you. i missed you so much," you whispered, looking into his eyes.

he connected his lips to yours with a renewed fervor. clothes started flying off as you kissed each other passionately. he reached for a condom in your nightstand but you stopped him.

"raw baby. i need you in me right now." you grinned at him.

he cursed, flipped you over on your back and used his weight to press you against the mattress. his thick, muscular body pressing you to the mattress had you breathless and in need for more. "is my baby needy? is my baby needy for this cock?"

he reached down and began to lightly caress your pussy, gathering your leaking juices and spreading it around. his fingers teased your hole, rubbing circles around it and occasionally deciding to stick one in for one pump before going back to rubbing and teasing.

"had me thinking about this pussy all night. fuck. love you so much baby. you're so sexy and you get me so hard. no one does it for me like you. you looked so cute today, just wanted to eat you up. didn't care if that shithead was there, just wanted to love on my girl." he continued to tease your little pussy and alternate between fingering and rubbing you.

then he crawled down until he was facing your wet pussy directly. staring at your pussy like a piece of meat in front of starved lion, he gave one long lick all the way up your cunt and started sucking, making sure to make lewd noises. your legs were shaking with need as you gripped his hair.

"fuck you taste so good. all wet just for me. this pussy is mine," he groaned into your cunt.

at this point, your pussy was gushing so much you felt a puddle beneath you. his fingers and lips felt so so good on your pussy but you were tired of his teasing. you got up and suddenly looked down at him seriously. "jen if your cock isn't in me in the next 5 seconds i'm seriously going to break up with you and fuck haechan or something."

this lit a fire within jeno, whose eyes darkened. he lifted his body and gave his impossibly hard cock a few pumps, rubbing your juices all over his massive cock. he grabbed your thighs, lifted your legs over his shoulders, and shoved his cock into your little pussy with one big thrust.

you both moaned out, your pussy leaking happily as he bottomed out, balls deep. he set out on a fast past immediately, pounding your pussy deeper and harder with each thrust. you could feel his heavy balls slap against your ass.

"yes, jen yes yes yes! oh god more more! love you so much baby," you grabbed at his hair as he pounded your pussy into oblivion. in the deep mating press he had you in, you could feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. his cock was just so so big, you could never get enough of it.

you could see the veins pop out of his neck and his beefy arms were pinning your hips down as his hips were pounding you with each powerful thrust. he looked so so so sexy and he was all yours.

"god baby your pussy was made for me. love you so so much. mine. all mine. everything about you all mine, just for me," jeno kissed you passionately, both moaning into each other mouths.

he used one of his hands to press down on your lower belly, making your pussy leak and throb around him. "you feel that, princess? you feel me deep in your tummy? only i can do that to you, only me."

your mind was blank at this point, body completely numb to everything except the pleasure he was giving you. you could feel yourself about to get sent over the edge, your pussy spasming and clenching hard around every vein on his cock.

"bout to cum baby don't stop don't stop!!" you orgasmed with a loud scream, pussy squirting all over his stomach.

jeno continued fucking you through your orgasm, grunting at the feeling of your little pussy spasming all over his cock. "baby m close too, fuckkk."

fat tears rolled down your face at the overstimulation of pleasure. "jen please cum inside please."

jeno groaned, thrusting every harder and deeper than before. "such a slut. you like that huh? you want your boyfriend to knock you up? you want to have a baby with your brother's best friend? fuck. how about you just get pregnant? he wouldn't be able to disapprove of us when you're already round and waddling around with my baby."

with one loud groan, he bottomed out inside of you and let out his thick load. he collapsed on top of you, cock still balls deep inside, crushing you under all his weight with your face pressed against his sweaty chest.

you stayed like that for a few seconds before you tapped on his back, signaling that you couldn't breathe. still keeping his cock deep inside your leaking pussy, he flipped you over on your side and cuddled your back, wrapping one arm around your waist and the other pushing your hair out of your face. you panted, eyes closed in bliss. jeno drew circles on your arms and left kisses up and down your jaw and neck.

"just saying, you would look sexy as fuck pregnant with our baby." jeno whispered.

you opened your eyes to turn back and swat at his chest but what you saw made your blood run cold in horror.

it was your brother standing right in the open doorway staring at your naked bodies with a look of fury, surprise, horror, and shock that you had never seen before.

the three of you screamed at the sight of each other in unison.

a/n: i intentionally wrote the ending like that because i'm unsure if anyone would even want to continue reading this lmaooo so lmk what you think

[pinkie-quinns]

rocker eddie/actor steve | exes to ???? (they're fucking but Steve doesn't have to be happy about it) | slightly nsfw | fame au p4

p1 p2 p3 p5 interlude p6

He sees Eddie again. He sees Eddie all the goddamn time.

Part of Steve wonders if Eddie’s like, drugged him or something. He feels all itchy when he’s not around him.

He likes sex, always has. But he’s never craved it like this. Never felt out of his body when he wasn’t being fucked into.

And sex has always been easy to find for him. Ridiculously easy with the fame. He could have literally anyone. Anyone.

He only wants Eddie.

It’s like his body is being rewritten, coded and encrypted. Your dick CAN get hard but only if your asshole ex is touching it.

He goes to work buzzed. Phantom of Eddie’s hands on his skin. It’s distracting.

Everyone else feels so dull in comparison. He picks up a guy at a club. He goes on a date with a co-star’s friend.

The only good thing about that one is Eddie fucks the ever-loving shit out of him when the pictures of her & Steve end up in People.

And yeah, it only makes the self loathing calcify in his kidney.

He’s letting this happen. He’s actively pursuing it. He can’t stop even though every 3am sneak-out makes him want to drive right off the Hollywood Hills.

He’s too old for this. He is. They barely even talk when they see each other. Steve keeps that way. If they’re doing this (and fuck him, they’re doing this), it can’t be more than sex. He deserves that much. He needs to have that much respect for himself.

He’s careful about it. Has to be after the Globes.

He doesn’t stay the night- ever. It’s not like Eddie’s famous enough that he’s gonna get papped leaving his place. Maybe if it was New York- but here? It’d be a waste of TMZ resources. Still, he’s careful.

It’s gotten to the point where he’s there more nights than not. Where he’s given up on trying to see other people. It’s gotta end. It’s gonna end. Eddie’s gonna leave on his tour & all the momentum will be gone and they’ll never see each other again & Steve will be grateful for it.

It comes faster than he’s expecting. Faster than he’s ready for.

Their rendezvous have drifted later and later into the night. Eddie caught up at rehearsals. Eddie dead-tired afterwards. And nights turn into just laying there, holding each other. It's dangerous.

Eddie’s leaving for Arizona the next morning. It’s their last night. He's been so exhausted lately. He should be focused on getting a good night’s sleep. But it's 2am and he’s kissing Steve like his life depends on it. Like he’s going off to war.

There’s something different in this, as it builds, as Eddie lays Steve down on his bed. As he caresses him.

It doesn’t feel like fucking. It’s not rough and desperate and mean the way it usually is. It’s sweet. Achingly sweet. It feels almost like… almost like…

He’s murmuring nothings as he kisses down Steve’s torso.

How beautiful Steve is. How lucky he is. How he wants them to stay right here forever. Wants them to never leave this room. And it’s– Eddie’s just caught in the moment.

Steve still feels all choked by it.

Then Eddie pushes into him and suddenly he’s 18 and he’s never done this before so they’re taking it slow and laughing and in awe of each other and Eddie’s talking him through it and he’s holding him tight.

The orgasm takes him by surprise. He cries out something he doesn't mean. That he can't mean.

Eddie doesn't hold him to it. He lights his cigarette when they’re done, just like always, even though Steve mumbles about lung cancer each time. He’s being casual. Cautiously casual.

“You should come to the New York show.”

“What?”

All that faux-distance is gone in a second.

His expression twists vulnerable. “Come to the show. Please. It’d, um. It would mean a lot.”

Steve scoffs, “That’s not what this is.”

“I know. Just um, figured. No harm in asking…” He trails off. Steve knows he’s hurting. He wears it so plain on his face.

Steve fights that awful urge to reach out, kiss him, comfort him. It’s not his job anymore.

“Don’t know if you remember, Munson, but I did the groupie thing for years. Didn’t exactly work out great for me.”

Eddie shuts his eyes tight, “Yup. Sorry. I know you did.”

They’re quiet for a long while. Eddie’s arm is around him, tracing patterns at his shoulder.

“Why New York?” Steve asks.

Eddie cringes. “I’m, um. Renting a place there right now. So, you know. Privacy. I, um, I might move after the tour’s over.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Eddie breathes, eyes blank, laugh cold, “Don’t you worry, Harrington. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

There’s something awful bubbling inside him. He says, “Sure, man.”

Eddie nods in agreement, puffs his way back into silence, “Needed a change of scenery.”

And it’s fine. They’re adults. They’re not anything to each other, anymore. It's not like they're together. Eddie can do whatever the hell he wants.

But Steve can’t shake the feeling that he’s running again. Can’t shake the feeling that he shouldn’t be.

[justagalwhowrites]

Halcyon - Ch. 12: It Doesn’t Need to Mean Anything

You and Joel take Sarah to the concert. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 11, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Joel and Goldie are still morons. Also... mild smut 🫠 Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 10.7K (no one look at me)

A/N: So much thanks to my beautiful bestie @dundienominee, official Swiftie Consultant for this chapter. She was integral to song selection and Eras Tour outfit choices because I am too casual of a fan to have the knowledge to do that well. Thank you thank you thank you for this and for always letting me bounce the angstiest shit off you, Bestie! Love you!!

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You stopped sleeping over at Joel’s. 

The distance took more adjustment than you’d expected and it wasn’t something either of you had explicitly stated, it just felt… necessary. You were getting too close to Joel - not something you would have even considered possible, once upon a time - and you needed to pull back before you ended up wounded and alone like you’d been more than a decade earlier. 

He began separating from you that night, when his hand was still holding your face and your body was still tight against his. You kissed him until he pulled away - not wanting it to end - and when he finally broke the kiss, your faces stayed close together for a moment, close enough that your noses touched and you could see the reflection from the sparks of the fireworks in his eyes. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the heat of his palm at the small of your back, the roughness of the callus under his fingers at the nape of your neck. If someone had asked you, in that moment, where you were, you couldn’t have told them. 

And then a gunshot cracked through the air, making the both of you jump and shock away from each other. 

“Fuckin’ assholes,” Joel snapped, looking around as though there was anyone else around you at the water’s edge to blame. “Shit’s dangerous and there are still idiots who decide to shoot guns in the air just because the goddamn calendar changed, fuckin’ morons…” 

There were a few feet between you now and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were in pajama pants and a long sleeved t-shirt and your nipples were pricked from the cold and the kiss and probably visible through the thin cotton. You crossed your arms over your chest, hoping Joel hadn’t noticed. 

“At least we’re in the middle of nowhere,” you said. “Less chance of the bullet falling on a person…” 

“Still,” he muttered, crossing his arms too. “Makes me nervous. Dumbasses like that should have their guns taken away, don’t act right…” 

You tightened your jaw but nodded, still watching him. 

“Sorry,” he said. You weren’t sure why. “We should probably get back inside, though. Gotta get the kid to bed, she’s cranky if she don’t get enough sleep….” 

“Can’t have a cranky Sarah,” you smiled a little. 

Joel looked at you for a moment and, for a delusional second, you half expected him to kiss you again. Then, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his flannel pants and rocked back on his heels once before starting up the hill toward the house. For the first few steps, he walked to the side almost as much as he did forward, until there was a good five feet between the two of you. You ignored the pang of hurt inside your chest and gave him a tight smile as he held the back door open for you, finding Tommy and Sarah on their feet and yelling at the TV as they raced in Mario Kart. 

He sat as far from you as he could at breakfast the next morning, taking the spot beside Sarah and across from Tommy at the kitchen table and pressing himself against the wall in the hallway when you ran into him there and needed past, making sure your body didn’t so much as brush against his the rest of the holiday weekend. 

When you went back to normal life, it reminded you of the few days after Joel had accidentally seen your shirtless selfie: radio silence. 

This time, you refused to crack first. If he regretting kissing you, that was on him. It wasn’t like you’d begged him to. Hell, you hadn’t even asked him to. He’d offered - after kissing you out of the blue just the day before no less - and now he couldn’t even look at you. Or text you, apparently. 

But you were starting to get a few steps beyond anxious when you still hadn’t heard from him by Friday afternoon. You hadn’t spent a weekend without Joel since you’d found each other again. You weren’t really sure what to do with yourself if you weren’t with Joel. Even though there was definitely a book you should be writing, doing that when you weren’t sure where you stood with your best friend seemed impossible. 

Still determined to not be the first one to reach out but not willing to face the prospect of being alone in your house with your cat - and with the temptation to call your almost ex-husband who actually had texted you since you’d last seen him - you got on Tinder. 

You swiped during a break between classes after triple checking that your age parameters wouldn’t catch any students, largely striking out until you found Stephen’s profile. He was a professor, too, but at Austin Community College. There was a picture of him in Napa Valley in his profile and one of him with a little girl (one he said was his niece) sitting on his shoulders. You smiled at that. You didn’t think you’d ever have children - though, really, you wanted some - but there was something about knowing a man was good with kids… 

You swiped right and got the alert that it was a match. He’d already swiped on you. Your heart sped up a little. Maybe you weren’t completely undatable, after all. 

Stephen messaged you just a few minutes later. 

Hi! How’s your Friday? 

You were working on typing a reply when another message popped up. 

Not to be a creep but… are you really who you say you are? 

You frowned at your phone for a moment. 

Hi back! It’s alright for the first Friday of a new semester. How about you? And yes, the last time I checked. Why?

It took him a little longer to respond that time. 

Let me know if I’m failing on the creep front but I may be what you call a fan. 

You laughed once. 

A fan? 

A fan. Your writing is brilliant, I can’t help it. 

Well, I have good editors. 

I’m sure you do but editors only get you so far. Trust me, I teach the intro English classes, I know. 

You laughed again and the two of you messaged back and forth until you had to go teach your last class of the day. When you finished, you checked your phone before leaving the lecture hall and there was a message waiting for you. 

I hope this isn’t too fast but can I take you out tomorrow? I’m sure you already have plans but on the off chance you don’t… 

You smiled. 

No plans that don’t involve my cat. What did you have in mind? 

Stephen, as it happened, had plenty in mind.

After getting a drink and chatting for a bit, he took you to salsa dancing night, something you’d never had thought to do yourself in a million years. The music was loud, the room was crowded and the energy of it all made your skin pebble as you smiled. 

“C’mon,” he held his hand out to you. “Let’s dance.” 

“Oh, no,” you waved him off. “I can’t.” 

“I’ll show you,” he smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

He led you to a quiet corner of the dance floor and showed you the most basic steps and you let him guide you through it as you watched your feet and tried not to step on his toes. By the end, you were laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe and he was laughing, too, putting an arm around your shoulders and guiding you to a booth in the corner. 

Stephen got you a cocktail and settled in across from you, the two of you talking about the semester so far and books and your favorite places to travel. 

You were surprised to find that you were having… well, fun. You hadn’t really had fun out with someone who wasn’t Joel in so long the concept seemed almost foreign to you. And Stephen was smart, you had shared interests, he was sweet and funny and insightful. You liked him. 

But… he wasn’t Joel. 

That was the thought you were trying to shake when he left you alone at the table, excusing himself to the bathroom and to grab another round of drinks and you decided to check your phone. 

Gale had texted you, seeing if you wanted to get coffee. Like the last few texts he’d sent, you didn’t respond. You knew, if you did, you’d end up back in his bed and you’d never be able to move on from him, not really. Hell, you’d let yourself become the other woman while he carried on with your younger, prettier, thinner replacement, keeping her on his arm at every faculty event and book release he used to bring you to while fucking you on the side. A mistress to your own husband. Pathetic.

But the temptation to respond was still there. If there was one man besides Joel who’d been able to hold your attention, it was Gale. When you’d met him, you hadn’t been sure you’d ever recover from loving Joel. It seemed like he would be there, as some part of you, forever. And that was true, he never really left. It was more that you seemed to find room inside yourself to love someone who wasn’t Joel. You realized now that it hadn’t been able to love him as much as you did Joel - or even, really, in the same way - but you did love him. That, now that you were faced with the intensity of how Joel seemed to take hold of you, seemed miraculous. You didn’t expect to find that feeling again so easily.

You looked toward the bathrooms, where you knew Stephen had disappeared to. Stephen, the man who you had every reason to have feelings for, who had taken you out for a great date, who could be someone that could pull you out of this hideous pattern with Joel and Gale if you just gave him the chance. 

You sighed and closed your texts just as a new one came through, this one from Joel. 

Your heart stuttered. You hadn’t heard from him in so long that just seeing his name hit you hard. You glanced up. Stephen was just coming out of the men’s room and heading for the bar. 

You opened the text. 

This radio silence shit sucks. 

You scoffed a little. 

You started it. 

He responded immediately. 

You at home? Come over. Sarah’s about to go to bed, we can watch the next Curtis and Viper commentary in the marathon. 

Sorry, I can’t tonight. 

You looked up to the bar again, Stephen still waiting to talk to the bartender. By the time you looked back down at your phone, Joel had texted back. 

Why not? Puck will behave for a few hours, promise. 

You frowned. 

Believe it or not, I’m not home with my cat on a Saturday night. 

Bullshit.

Is not. I’m on a date, actually. I do have a life outside of you, you know. 

Stephen was just getting to the bar to order when your phone screen lit up, Joel sticking his tongue out at you taking over the whole of it as he called you. 

You sighed and answered it. 

“Hi.” 

“Who the fuck are you on a date with?” Joel demanded. “It had better not be fucking Brad…” 

“So good to hear from you,” you said. “How have you been for the past, I don’t know, WEEK.” 

“Five days. Answer the question, Goldie,” he said. “Are you out with your goddamn husband?” 

“No,” you rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see you. “I’m out with a guy named Stephen, he’s very nice actually…” 

“Who the fuck is Stephen?” 

“I met him on Tinder, thank you very much,” you said. 

“What?” Joel said and you could picture him leaning forward on his couch, his elbow on his knee. “Wait, when? I didn’t vet some fucker named Stephen…” 

“You don’t get to vet people when you don’t talk to me for a week,” you hissed into the phone, glancing at the bar to see Stephen paying for the drinks. “Besides, I don’t need you to review my damn dates like some kind of baby sitter…” 

“Five days. And you have shit taste in men,” he cut you off. “So yeah, you do.” 

“Yeah, well, when you ghost me…” 

“I didn’t fuckin’ ghost you!” 

“When you GHOST me for a week…” 

“Five days!” 

“…you don’t get to judge me for my life choices!” 

“I didn’t ghost you,” he snapped. “I thought we could both use a little space…” 

“Uh huh.” 

“And I didn’t think you’d do something stupid when I left you unsupervised for 30 goddamn seconds!” 

“OK this isn’t stupid,” you said. “He’s a nice guy, he’s an English professor who likes wine and has actually asked me questions about myself…” 

“Look at you go.” 

“Fuck off,” you said, watching as Stephen headed back to the table with drinks. “He’s coming back, I have to go.” 

“No, hold on…” 

“Bye!” 

You hung up and slapped the phone face down on the table with a little too much force as Stephen smiled, setting your cocktail in front of you. 

“If that’s a friend calling to get you out of this, I promise I won’t give you a hard time,” he said, a slightly teasing edge to his voice. 

“No,” you laughed. “Well, I mean, it is a friend but no, not calling to get me out of it. Just a friend with a history of just the worst timing and a total inability to read the room.”

“She sounds great,” he laughed back. 

You didn’t correct him on the gender, instead just laughing with him and taking a sip of your drink.

The two of you closed the bar down and went to Waffle House after, sitting on opposite sides of the booth so you could stretch out and put your feet up as you pushed your syrup soaked chocolate chip waffle around on your plate. 

“So,” you said as you watched Stephen from across the table. “Not to put a damper on things but… I feel like you should know that I’m not looking for anything too serious right now…” 

“Oh,” Stephen frowned a little. “Can… Can I ask why?” 

“My life is kind of complicated at the moment?” You said it more like a question, as though the difficulties were somehow negotiable. “My divorce isn’t finalized yet, my sister is pregnant and I’m her only support system, I have a book deadline later this year…” I can’t stop thinking about kissing my best friend. You didn’t say that. “I don’t feel like I can really be a great partner to anyone right now. But I would like someone I can have fun with when I can? If you’re OK with that?” 

He nodded slowly, looking at his mug of coffee for a moment. 

“Do you know how long it’s going to be complicated?” He asked. “Just… Cards on the table, I already really like you. I don’t want to get in over my head here.” 

“Another few months at least,” you said. “But not forever. At least, I hope not forever.” 

He nodded again, turning his mug slowly on the table and you watched as the handle went back and forth. 

“I can handle a few months,” he said eventually, looking over at you. 

You smiled a little, wishing that him saying that made your heart pick up the way it did when Joel touched you. 

“Good,” you said. “Me too.” 

When the two of you left the restaurant, he went to kiss you goodbye but you dodged it, kissing him on the cheek instead. By the time you were home, you had a flurry of texts from Joel, the last one demanding to know when you made it home safely. 

I’m home, you control freak. 

It was so late you didn’t expect a response but one came through anyway as you stood at your bathroom sink taking off your makeup. 

Glad you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere. 

Why are you still up? Go to BED! 

I can’t sleep if I know you’re out there with some random! 

You rolled your eyes. 

Well now that you know no one has stuffed me in the trunk of their car… 

I’ll try to care less in the future. 

“Jesus,” you muttered to yourself as Joel texted again. 

Lunch tomorrow? 

Tomorrow Sunday or tomorrow Monday? You wrote. It’s after midnight.

Lunch Sunday, he said stop being a dick.

You laughed a little at that. At least things weren’t that different, even if you wished they were. 

Lunch the next day felt normal, even as Joel demanded to see Stephen’s Tinder profile and look at some of his messages. Most things went back to normal after that, too. Everything except for the sleepovers. 

But now that you were getting ready to leave for Dallas for the concert, you were nervous. You had one hotel room, a small suite the two of you had picked out together, one with two beds in the bedroom and a pull out sofa in the living room. When you were booking the trip, it made sense. Sarah could sleep in a bed with either of you or in the living room on her own and either way, you and Joel wouldn’t be beholden to the bedtime of an 11-year-old. It’s not like you needed space from each other then. 

Now, things felt different. It had been three months since you’d last shared a room with Joel. The casual intimacy that had existed between you had evaporated like mist and you wondered if it had always been a causal, ephemeral thing even when it had felt so grounding. 

At least, you thought, you’d have the separate beds. You’d booked the room before sharing a bed was quite so commonplace in your friendship. At least you wouldn’t need to be quite that close to him knowing how he felt about it. That was a comfort. 

And you were looking forward to some distance from your sister. Now that she was getting closer to her due date, you were together all the time. From lamaze classes to parenting seminars to going with her to AA and NA meetings as moral support, you were with Anna more now than you had been since the two of you were girls and it was summer vacation and you had nothing else to do. 

“I swear to God that one old mom thinks we’re a couple,” she snickered as the two of you got pancakes after a lamaze class one day. 

“What?” You gaped at her. “Ew!” 

“Oh, for sure,” she said, reaching over and stealing a piece of bacon off your plate. You glared at her and she shrugged. “What? I’m eating for two.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“But she definitely thinks we’re lesbians,” she continued. “She was giving me the stink eye before you came in today. I think she thinks you’re the scary one, by the way, because she definitely stopped when you got there.” 

“Jesus,” you shuddered. “Wrong on so many levels. One, you’re my baby sister and that’s just gross. Two, you are definitely the scary one.” 

“Oh, for sure,” Anna nodded seriously and then laughed. “Besides, if you were my girlfriend I definitely wouldn’t be letting you run off with some old flame for the weekend…” 

“Joel is not an old flame,” you rolled your eyes. 

“Sure,” she said in a teasing tone. “And Stephen is fine with this?” 

“Stephen doesn’t get a say in what I do,” you replied. “We’re just seeing each other now and then, he’s not my boyfriend.” 

“Whatever you say,” she said, giving you a look that you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with. 

You hadn’t told her about the kiss with Joel. You hadn’t told her about losing your virginity to Joel before you left for college, either. But somehow, she seemed to know. Your sister, for all the distance you’d forced and all the troubles she’d had, just knew. 

And that made you more nervous than you should have been for spending the weekend away. 

But you packed a bag - featuring a costume for the concert picked from your closet by Sarah - and headed for Joel’s, Puck in his little cat carrier on your passenger seat. 

“Aunt Goldie!” Sarah rocketed out of the house, her curls flying as she ran for your car. “It’s here! We’re really going!” 

“We are!” You said with a laugh, catching her as she threw herself at you. Joel followed behind her, getting your duffle from the back seat. 

“Did you remember your outfit?” She asked, pulling back and looking up at you with wide eyes. 

“I absolutely did,” you smiled at her before looking at her dad. “Hey Joel.” 

“Goldie,” he gave you a nod. “You ready for this?” 

“For a road trip with my favorite kid?” You asked. “Absolutely.” 

You got Puck settled at Joel’s - his neighbors, the Adlers, promising to look in on both cats while you were away - and got loaded into Joel’s truck, a bag of snacks and cooler of drinks sitting next to Sarah in the back seat. 

“We’re listening from the start of the discography,” she said, leaning forward and grabbing the input for her phone. “We need to make sure we know all the eras before we get there.” 

Joel looked like he was trying not to laugh. 

“Whatever you say, baby girl.” 

It was easy to fall into life with Sarah and Joel, even just for the few hours in the truck. Sarah dramatically performing into an imaginary microphone in the back seat, Joel reminding her to buckle back in every time she undid her seatbelt for a particularly big dance move. You stopped in West for pastries and chocolate milk and, by the time you pulled into the hotel on Friday evening, the three of you were a little hopped up on sugar and in desperate need of real food. 

“Oh this place is fancy,” Sarah said, a mocking and overwrought English accent on the last word as you looked around the lobby. 

“Well, needed a room with space for the three of us…” Joel said, voice trailing off as he looked for the check in counter before spotting it. “Don’t go wanderin’ off, alright? I’ll get us checked in, we can drop the bags and figure out something besides junk for dinner…” 

“But I like junk” Sarah said. 

“Yeah, I know you do,” he said before looking to you. “Keep her out of trouble, will you?” 

“Bold of you to assume she’d be the problem.” 

“Knew you’d be trouble,” he smirked a little before going to get in the check in line. 

You stuck close to Sarah, who was using the short wall of the lobby garden as a balance beam as she worked out the pent up energy from the hours spent in the car. 

“How many songs do you think she’ll sing?” Sarah asked after the spun on the end of the wall, her sneakers squeaking on the polished stone. 

“I dunno,” you said. “Probably a lot since the concert is a few hours long.” 

“I don’t want to see spoilers but my friends keep sending videos,” she said. “I haven’t watched any of them, I want to see it all in person.” 

She did a jump like she was imitating a gymnast, making you instinctively reach for her, trying to hide your hiss of fear as she landed smoothly on the narrow wall. She looked at your worried expression and laughed. 

“Please be careful,” you said as she started walking the wall again. “If you get yourself killed I’ll have to go through the hassle of selling these tickets online…” 

Sarah snorted. 

“You’d miss me,” she said, teasing. 

“That too,” you smiled a little before looking toward the check in counter. Joel was at the front now but he looked to be in deep conversation with the man behind the desk. You frowned. “Stay put, kiddo.” 

“Keep jumping on the wall, got it.” 

You shot Sarah a glare before heading for the desk. 

“No, that’s not going to work,” Joel was saying. “I booked the room I booked for a reason, I need two beds…” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller,” the man said. “I’m afraid we’re completely full this weekend and this is the only room I can put you in…” 

“What’s happening?” You asked, eyebrows knitting together and looking between them. 

“They don’t have the room we picked,” Joel said, eyes darting quickly to you, almost like he was afraid to look at you. “They only have rooms with one bed…” 

“Wait, what?” You looked at the man behind the counter. “Seriously? We have a confirmation number, we…” 

“I know, and I apologize,” he said. “With the concerts, we’re booked solid this weekend and there must have been a mixup with an earlier check in. I can’t move someone who’s already checked in. I already looked at our sister property across town but they’re completely full, too…” 

Joel looked at you, his eyes a little wider than you were used to seeing them. Almost like he was going to panic at just the thought of sharing a bed with you. 

“We can make it work, right?” You said, watching him. “I mean… it’s not that bad, is it?” 

“Right,” Joel said. “Yeah, you’re right…” 

He turned back to the man. 

“I guess we’ll take it,” he said. “Three keys, please.” 

Your stomach knotted a little. You knew the situation was less than ideal, that the two of you had been actively avoiding that level of contact in the months since the new year, but it’s not as though you’d never shared a bed. Was kissing you really so bad that Joel was on the verge of a panic at the thought of sleeping next to you for two nights? 

Maybe it was. Maybe you hadn’t fully understood his level of disgust at it.

You weren’t stupid, after all. You knew what he thought about kissing you. And if you hadn’t already known, you knew for sure when you overheard him talking to Tommy about it. 

“It was a mistake,” he’d said when he thought you couldn’t hear. “It won’t happen again, I’m done doing stupid shit with her and then regretting it…” 

Being close to you - touching you - was stupid shit. Even under the guise of friendship it was stupid shit. That had stung. 

It shouldn’t have.

You’d known he felt that way, you had for years. It shouldn’t have made your chest tighten and your stomach turn the way it did. He’d made it clear - since the first time the two of you had ever done anything physical - that it was a mistake. You weren’t about to risk losing him by pressing it, no matter how much you wanted to scream that he was the one who kissed you, not the other way around.

But, you supposed, it didn’t really matter. If he didn’t want you that close to him, you weren’t about to force it on him. He was still happy enough to be your friend, even if he didn’t want to sleep next to you anymore. That was fine. You could live with that. And you could share a bed with him for a weekend without blurring that line again. 

Joel got the keys and you got Sarah from her makeshift balance beam before heading up to the room. He shifted his weight awkwardly from foot to foot on the elevator ride up and you tried to keep from grinding your teeth as Sarah bounced eagerly on the balls of her feet, shooting off like a rocket the second the doors opened. 

“Room 1521!” Joel called after her as she took off down the hall. “Jesus, I swear that kid has the energy to power a small city…” 

She beat you there and Joel handed her a key and Sarah did the honors of letting you into the room. 

“Oh cool!” She squealed, running in. “I get the couch bed right?” 

“Uh…” Joel’s eyes darted to you. 

“There’s a TV by it!” She ran to it. “Oh and the fridge is in this room! This one’s mine!” 

You just shrugged at him and he sighed. 

“Sure is, baby girl,” he said. “You wanna get changed before we go get something to eat?” 

“Nope!” She said, kicking off her shoes and jumping from couch cushion to couch cushion. “But if we get back early enough, can we go swimming?” 

“Sure,” Joel said. “Give me n’Goldie a minute and we’ll head out…” 

You gave Joel a tight smile and led the way to the bedroom. 

The bed, at least, was a king sized one, bigger than yours or Joel’s at home. You could keep to your separate sides of it well enough. 

“I’ll take the side by the door,” he said. You were about to protest - that was the right side of the bed and he always slept on the left - but kept your mouth shut. You didn’t have a side of the bed with Joel. Or, you shouldn’t, anyway. “Did you need to change?” 

“Just out of these leggings,” you said. “I only need a minute.” 

“Right,” he said. “I gotta use the bathroom anyway, so…” 

He stood there, awkward, for a moment before heading to the attached bathroom. You set your bag on the long, low dresser and unzipped it, rifling around for a moment until you found your jeans. You peeled off your leggings and folded them up, setting them beside your bag when your phone started vibrating in your jacket pocket. 

You frowned. You almost never got phone calls. You pulled your phone out and saw Anna’s ID picture and you answered quickly. 

“Anna?” You said, heart racing. “Is everything OK? Are you OK? Is the baby OK?” 

“What?” She asked. “Yeah, everything’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?” 

You relaxed a little. 

“You just don’t usually call,” you said. “What’s up?” 

“Oh,” she laughed. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean freak you out. I just got an email from the OBGYN, they need to move my scan next week, can you do Wednesday afternoon?” 

“Is Thursday an option?” You asked. “I have more afternoon classes on Wednesdays…” 

“You decent?” Joel called from the other side of the bathroom door. 

“Looks like they have Thursday,” Anna said. 

“Hang on!” You called to Joel, still standing there in your pale pink satin panties, before turning your attention back to Anna. “Thursday is better, just let me know a time and I can adjust some office hours.” 

“Great!” She said. “I’ll text you the details. Have fun at the concert!” 

You were about to say your goodbyes when the bathroom door opened and, suddenly, you were standing there in your underwear in front of your best friend. 

The two of you just stared at each other for a moment, Joel’s eyes wide and ranging over you as you stood, frozen with your phone clutched to the side of your head. 

“Sorry!” Joel said quickly, turning around as you scrambled to hang up the phone and cover yourself. 

“I said hang on!” You said, grabbing your jeans. Joel glanced back over his shoulder before whipping his head back around. 

“I thought you said come on!” He said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…” 

“It’s fine,” you said, jumping into the pants as quickly as you could, trying to wrestle the denim quickly over the swell of your ass before buttoning them. “There, you’re safe.” 

“Sorry,” he said again, turning around cautiously. As though you were a grenade that might explode if he caught a glimpse of your bared skin. “I wasn’t trying… I’m sorry.” 

“I said it’s fine,” you grabbed your purse. “Let’s get something besides junk food in Sarah otherwise I’m sure we’re going to pay for it later.” 

“Right,” he nodded. “Let’s go.” 

Joel was still tense next to you at dinner and you damn near chugged a glass of wine in the hopes it would help untie the knot in your stomach. 

Thankfully, you’d brought beer in the cooler from Austin and you grabbed two of them - putting the cans in koozies to cover the labels - when taking Sarah to the pool after dinner. The two of you sat and watched her play with other girls who, you assumed, were also in town for the concert. 

Joel relaxed a little then, just the two of you tucked into a corner of the hot tub with a beer in his hand. 

“Who knew I’d feel so old at 33,” he groaned a little, leaning his head back so it rested on the edge of the hot tub. “Just drove a few hours and I’m already wonderin’ how I’m gonna keep up with her tomorrow.” 

“We do have to keep her busy most of the day,” you smiled a little, watching as she lined up at the edge of the deep end of the pool next to three other girls. They jumped in one by one, each girl doing some kind of dramatic twist or funny hand gesture as they fell toward the water, shrieking and laughing as they came up for air. “It’s going to be a challenge.” 

“Thanks for doin’ this,” he said, tone more serious as he looked at you. “It really does mean a lot. We don’t have a lot of people, always felt like I’ve let her down by not having more. I’m glad she’s got someone else who cares about her, you know?” 

You smiled a little. 

“Of course I care about her,” you said. “She means the world to me. You both do.” 

His eyes traced your face and your heart beat a little faster in spite of yourself. 

“Hey Dad!” Sarah called, pulling you away from each other. “Aunt Goldie! Watch this!” 

“We’re watchin’!” Joel called back. 

Sarah looked to her new friend - a girl who looked to be about her age with red hair in a braid down her back - and they gave each other a nod before running for the edge of the pool and jumping for the water, the girls twisting in the air to slap each other’s hands before they splashed down. You laughed and clapped as they surfaced, Sarah beaming. 

“Looks great, baby girl,” Joel said. “But no runnin’ by the pool, just like at home. It’s not safe.” 

Sarah rolled her eyes as she swam to the side of the pool and going back to her new found friends. 

Things felt almost normal as the three of you headed back to the room, towels over your shoulders and a trail of water behind you in the elevators. Sarah settled quickly once you were back in the hotel room, Joel telling her she couldn’t have any more soda or juice after she brushed her teeth but he did let her pick a movie to put on the TV as she settled into the pull out couch, looking like she was getting away with something as she watched Legally Blonde from her bed. 

Joel stayed in the bathroom far longer than you thought he’d need to as you both got changed into pajamas. You’d seen him go through his nighttime routine enough times, you knew he was trying to make sure he didn’t accidentally see you in your panties again. 

You had, at least, planned ahead for sharing a room with Joel, packing a fairly conservative set of sleep shorts with a matching shirt and changing quickly so you could spare him the sight. You climbed in bed when you were done, staying as far on your side as you could reach, a book propped open on your knees. 

Joel knocked before opening the door, anyway, and you winced as you replied. 

“You’re safe,” you said. He still opened the door cautiously, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw you tucked below the covers. You smiled tightly at him as he climbed in bed beside you, his curls still damp from the pool. You tried not to just look at him - you shouldn’t want to just look at him, he was your friend - as he got settled and scrolled his phone for a moment before he looked toward you. 

“Want to watch a shitty movie?” 

“God, yes,” you said, putting your bookmark in. 

Joel laughed a little and turned the TV on, finding the Hallmark channel with some particularly insipid movie you didn’t need to know the plot of to keep up with, even coming in half way through. 

By the time it was over, the two of you had drifted closer on the bed, both of you a little breathless from laughter. You turned out the lights and lay down, more beside each other than against each other, and you stared at the ceiling for a moment, trying not to think about the fact that the warmth soaking into you came from Joel. 

“M’sorry about the room mix up,” he said quietly into the dark. “I hope it’s not… I don’t want you to feel weird.”

“I don’t,” you said quickly. “It’s fine.” 

“Good,” he said. “Because the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable…” 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, either,” your voice dropped low enough that it was almost a whisper. 

“You don’t,” he said, almost as fast as you’d responded to him. 

“Good,” you said after a moment. “Goodnight, Joel.” 

“Night, Goldie.” 

***

Joel had a hard-on when he woke up. 

A goddamn boner pressed against his best friend’s ass, an ass he’d seen barely concealed by the softest looking fucking satin or silk or whatever the fuck women’s panties were made of, a sight he couldn’t seem to shake. Not that it was that different from seeing you in a swim suit but there was something about the intimacy of seeing you in a state of undress when he knew - or was pretty damn sure, anyway - that he was the only man who’d seen you that way in months. He liked that sight being reserved just for him. 

He needed to get the fuck over that. 

He was trying to. Really, truly, sincerely he was trying. He’d managed to get some distance from you - though that had helped less than he really expected. But he couldn’t bring himself to just cut you off. 

Even though that would probably be the smart thing to do. 

Clearly you didn’t feel for him the way he felt for you. He’d kissed you - twice - and you acted like it was nothing. Hell, you’d jumped on Tinder as soon as you got home from the cabin and found fucking Stephen. His stomach had twisted in on itself when he saw that text. Consciously, he knew you didn’t feel the same way he did but fuck, he’d hoped it would take you longer than a few days to do something like resort to Tinder after he kissed you. 

And now here he was, his dick against your ass as you slept tucked against him. He wondered what had done it. Had he dreamed about you and those pink little panties only to forget it when he woke? Had he just felt your body against him as you slept, all curved back into him and making your home against his torso with your legs all tucked up toward your stomach so the lush of your ass was nestled right against his cock? Had he just smelled your hair from where you’d moved in the night, the scent of you all close and beautiful driving him to a step beyond wanting? 

It didn’t really matter, he supposed. All that mattered now was making sure you didn’t know it happened. 

He adjusted himself delicately, his cock aching and leaky in the cotton of his pajama pants, rolling slowly onto his back and leaving the arm you were currently using as a pillow below your head. Joel tried to gently extract his arm, hoping he could make it to the bathroom and - after locking the doors - jerking off fast and hard to the memory of you in those little panties

No such luck. You stirred then, uncoiling yourself and stretching out with a satisfied little moan that seemed to have a direct line to his hard cock, making it twitch in the confines of his pants. 

“Morning,” you said, voice groggy as you adjusted, lifting off his arm and arching your back before relaxing down into the mattress. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cramp your space…” 

“S’fine,” Joel said quickly. The two of you lay in awkward quiet for a moment. “Should probably get movin’…” 

“Yup,” you said, getting up quickly. “Big day ahead of us.” 

The three of you got ready to go - Sarah already eager to get into her concert outfit and you had to talk her down - before heading to breakfast. Joel just watched you and Sarah talk about her favorite song lyrics over bacon and eggs and wondered how the hell he was supposed to move on from you when you were like this with his daughter. 

You went to the aquarium that day, you and Joel just hanging back as Sarah pressed her face against the glass at every exhibit, finding the fish she liked best and trying to learn everything she could about them. 

Joel found himself watching you almost as much as he watched his daughter, the streaks of refracted light from the water catching on your eyes and skin and hair.

“What?” You asked when you caught him, a puzzled smile on your face. 

“Nothin’,” he shrugged, looking toward the tank. 

“OK,” you laughed a little. “Weirdo.” 

“That’s me,” he smiled, shaking his head a bit. 

“Well, as long as you’re aware.” 

The three of you went back to the room with plenty of time to get ready and Sarah practically shoved Joel into the living room the second they were there. 

“You’re a boy,” she said before she closed the door. “We have a lot more to do than you.” 

There were a few seconds of quiet before the Taylor Swift started playing and Joel laughed a little, distracting himself with a phone game while you and his daughter gave each other makeovers in the bedroom. 

“Dad!” Sarah poked her head out a while later. 

He set the phone down. 

“Yes baby girl?” 

“Are you ready?” She said. “Because we have to do a fashion show.” 

“Fashion show it up, kiddo,” he said. “M’ready.” 

“OK, put New Romantics on,” she said. Joel frowned and she rolled her eyes. “We need a soundtrack, Dad, just do it!” 

“Alright, alright,” he said, going into Spotify and finding the song. “Ready when you are.” 

“Presenting the eras of Sarah and Goldie,” she said with dramatic flair before throwing the bedroom door open and jumping into the living room in a pink shirt covered in sequins and her white skort. Her hair was in two what she liked to call “space buns” on the top of her head, pink plastic hair ties holding them in place. Her springy curls were covered in glitter and she had on bright pink, sparkling eyeshadow and gem stones on her cheeks as she beamed, her arms over her head as she showed off her outfit. “I’m in my Lover era because it’s the best one, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Joel tried to keep himself from laughing. “That’s a lot of glitter, kiddo.” 

“It’s a concert, Dad,” she rolled her eyes as you poked your head around the door to look into the living room and he caught a glimpse of your much darker makeup. 

“It’s just a spray,” you said. “It’s supposed to wash out pretty easy.” 

“No, don’t show yourself yet!” Sarah shoved you lightly back behind the door. “You have to do it all at once to get the full effect!” 

“Sorry!” You called and Joel heard the hint of a laugh on the edges of your voice. “You tell me when it’s OK to come out.” 

“Thank you,” Sarah said, turning back to Joel and striking a pose. “Lover is the best because it has the most pink AND it has Cruel Summer on it.” 

“Sure,” Joel nodded seriously even though he had no idea what she was talking about. “You look great, baby girl. Very pink.” 

She beamed. 

“And now, Aunt Goldie -” she stepped to the side of the doorway and threw her arms out with a flourish - “who is in her Reputation era!” 

Joel didn’t know what the fuck that meant, either. All he knew was that he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut as you stepped around the door, a sheepish look on your face as you turned in a slow circle to show off your entire outfit. You were in black jeans that hugged every curve of your legs, heeled black boots, a satiny shirt that was low cut enough that he could see a hint of the black lace bra below and a black leather jacket. Your eyes were dark and your lashes were long, your lips blazing red and all he could think about was how much he wanted to ruin that fucking lipstick. He was so busy staring at you like an idiot, he missed what Sarah was saying. 

“I’m sorry, kiddo, what was that?” He asked, not looking at Sarah. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you. 

“She’s in her reputation era because it’s the most badass - sorry Dad - one,” she said. “And she’s definitely badass. Sorry.” 

“I tried to tell her that no, I’m definitely not,” you said. “But she wouldn’t listen.” 

“Nah, she’s right,” Joel said, hoping he didn’t look like too much of a fucking idiot as he stared at you. “You…” he tried to find some way to describe you that didn’t make him sound like a dumbass. “You look great.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Thanks,” you said. “And what are you wearing?” 

“Oh, right,” he said, getting up from the couch. “Sarah picked somethin’ for me too…” 

He ducked around you into the bedroom and resisted the urge to run his hand over your stomach to the curve of your waist and pull you against him. He changed his shoes into his cowboy boots and got his cowboy hat out from its place in his bag before emerging. 

“What era is this, baby girl?” He asked, his hands awkwardly shoved in the pockets of his jeans. 

“That’s the evermore era,” Sarah said knowingly. Joel frowned and she rolled her eyes. “Cowboy Like Me. Duh.”

Joel saw you press your lips together as you tried not to laugh. 

“Duh, yes,” Joel said. 

“Oh! And…” She scampered to her bag and opened the side pocket of her duffle, pulling out fistfuls of plastic beads. “Friendship bracelets!” 

She put a few on herself before holding clusters of them out to each of you. 

“You’re supposed to trade them with other people at the show! I made a bunch!” 

“Thank you!” You said sliding the cluster of them up your arm and turning them in the light. “I didn’t know concerts required so much prep work…” 

“We ready to go?” Joel asked. “I know parking’s gonna be a nightmare…” 

“Yeah!” Sarah damn near bounded toward the door. “Let’s go!” 

The concert was packed, awash with bright colors and excited squeals as the three of you settled in, Sarah immediately striking up a conversation with a girl about her age in a purple dress, trading bracelets with her. 

“Oh, right,” you said, leaning around Joel to see what Sarah was doing. You started looking over the mass of beads on your wrist and selecting one, passing it over to him. “This one seems good.” 

Joel took it, most of the beads letters that said Call It What You Want. He made a mental note to listen to the song at some point. He smiled a little, putting it on the wrist that didn’t have any bracelets yet so he wouldn’t accidentally give it away. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking at his own wrist until he found the one that made the most sense to him and handed it over before he could think better of it. “Here, in trade.” 

You smiled and took it before laughing a little. 

“You Belong With Me, huh?” You asked. He shrugged and you traced your thumb over the letters before sliding it on your wrist. “Thank you.” 

“Dad!” Sarah grabbed his arm and held up hers. “Look! She gave me her Lover one!”

“That’s great, baby girl,” he smiled at the glittery pastel beads, Sarah’s eyes wide and bright. 

It was impossible to not love how happy Sarah was here. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her smile quite so huge or seen her eyes quite so bright. It was like she was getting everything she had ever dreamed as she chattered away to every girl around them as they waited for the show to start. He drank it in, trying to make sure he remembered clearly, sharply how it felt to see her so happy. After a while, he looked to you to find you watching Sarah, too, a look on your face that was almost as happy as hers and you looked so beautiful he almost wasn’t tempted to look at the plush swell of your lace clad cleavage below your satin shirt. 

Almost. 

“What?” You laughed a little, gaze meeting his just as the lights dimmed. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For wanting to make her happy.” 

You just smiled gently before taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, Joel’s heart skipping a beat as everyone’s attention turned to the stage and cheered, the music starting. 

He didn’t pay much attention to the music during the concert, more interested in watching Sarah have fun and you indulging her, happily dancing along with her and clapping excitedly when she did. 

But there was one song in a slower section that he couldn’t help but notice. You’d been swaying along to the music and Joel had been appreciating the guitar when your head drifted over and rested on his shoulder. He froze for a moment, looking at you with the small smile on your red lips and your eyes all soft as you watched the stage and fuck he wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you and he wanted it to be unlike every other time he kissed you, each of them full of driving want or couched in some pretense. Instead, he wanted to kiss you all soft and slow, gentle and earnest. He wanted to take his time and memorize the taste of you and the way your body felt when cradled against him just so. 

But he couldn’t do that so he tried to focus on the song but the lyrics cut him to the quick. 

One night he wakes

Strange look on his face

Pauses, then says

You're my best friend

And you knew what it was

He is in love

The words were striking in their familiarity, like they’d been written just for him. It was a moment he’d had a long time ago, almost 20 years back now, a lightning bolt that made him stare straight up at his ceiling in the middle of the night, right at the spot over his bed that had some Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition model poster tacked into the popcorn plaster. The model didn’t hold a candle to you and your slow building smiles and the way you grabbed his bicep for support when you laughed. 

Because he loved you. 

He’d never loved anything outside of his family before but he loved you. The realization swallowed him up, swift and devastating, because he knew - even at 16 he knew - that it would never work. You were too smart, you burned too bright, you wouldn’t have your feet glued to this place the way his were. You’d move on after high school and go change the world and he’d be able to read your name in the paper and say that he knew you once. 

Except he’d always assumed that, eventually, he’d move on. That he’d love something else, find some slice of that all encompassing feeling in another woman. He was just 16 then, after all. Who the fuck married someone they met in high school these days? He’d move on. 

But he didn’t. He’d just poured all the love he had into his daughter until he was struck by you again and realized that no, it hadn’t faded. He still loved you in a way he’d never loved anything else and in a way he didn’t think he’d ever love anything else again and he still knew - even at 33 he knew - that it wasn’t going to work. And he couldn’t risk pressing it, not when life was this much better just because you were close. 

But what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to spend the rest of his life trying to pretend that he’d find someone else to feel this way about? Was he supposed to steep himself in this torturous proximity until he lost himself to it? Was he supposed to try to bear finding distance from you - when he couldn’t even last a few days not speaking to you - so he could manage it? 

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he would ever really know. 

“Joel?” You stepped back from him, your eyebrows knitted together. “You OK?” 

You lifted a hand and pressed the back of it to his cheek. 

“M’fine,” he frowned. “Why?” 

“You look pale,” you said, moving your hand to the other side of his face. “But you don’t feel warm…” 

“Just gettin’ too old for the concert life,” he smiled a little. “Don’t worry about it.” 

You took your hand back. He wasn’t sure if it was a kindness or a cruelty. 

“Better get used to it if you’re going to start playing again,” you said, facing back toward the stage. 

“Yeah,” he said, heart clenching a little. “I’d better.” 

You and Sarah got him to dance and he memorized the look on Sarah’s face as the show wound down, all happiness and joy at getting exactly what she wanted.

After a seemingly endless wait for an Eras Tour t-shirt and the traffic jam to leave the parking lot, the three of you made it back to the hotel, Sarah asleep in the back seat. You went to wake her but Joel stopped you. 

“I’ve got ‘er,” he said quietly, lifting her delicately from the back seat. She groggily put her arms around his neck and nuzzled into his shoulder and he smiled a little. She might be getting big but at least he could still carry his baby girl to bed. 

The two of you tucked her in together before tiptoeing to the bedroom. 

“Thank God I talked Sarah out of glitter for me,” you said quietly as you took your makeup off, already in your pajamas in front of the bathroom mirror. Joel tried to resist the urge to trace the curve of your legs and ass with his eyes. “I’ve barely got the energy to take this off…” 

“Her hair’s gonna be a nightmare tomorrow,” he said, smiling in spite of himself. 

“Yeah, but she loved it,” you looked at him in the mirror. “Worth it.” 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Worth it.” 

When you got in bed, the two of you ditched the pretense of distance that you’d started with the night before. You lay close but not touching, close enough that he could feel the warmth of you under the blankets. 

“So,” you said, yawning. “How was your first concert with Sarah?” 

“Anything that makes that kid that happy is great in my book,” he smiled a little, his eyes tracing the dark outline of you silhouetted in the dim city light that filtered around the curtains. “Seriously… thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.” 

“Thanks for letting me be a part of it,” Joel could hear your groggy smile on your voice. “And I had a few Christmases to make up for missing.” 

He laughed lightly. 

“I missed you, Joel,” you said, sounding so tired he wasn’t sure that you knew you said it. 

He was quiet for a moment. 

“Missed you too, Goldie. So much.” 

You hummed in response before your breaths shifted to the quiet, easy cadence of sleep and Joel drifted off, letting himself savor the closeness of you. 

That indulgence, he thought at first, was what sparked the dream. 

You were in a hotel room with him in his head, too, but it was different. It was just the two of you and it wasn’t because you had to be. No, you were there for each other. 

Joel took his time with you then. He undressed you slowly, his lips trailing over your neck and shoulder as he slid the straps of your bra down your arms. He kissed you the way he wanted to at the concert, holding you to him as his tongue dipped into your mouth and he could smell your shampoo and feel the silk of your skin below his fingers and his cock was painfully swollen. His kiss grew more desperate, desire shifting to necessity. He was drawn hot and tight inside his skin and wanting you was a distant memory now because he was far beyond that. He needed you. 

He rutted against the soft warmth beside him, seeking some kind of relief, your body relaxed and pliant against him, your breath hot on his skin and it was the little whimper you made that woke him up. 

It was still early, the light coming in from around the edges of the curtains not bright enough for it to be the light of day yet but that didn’t seem to matter, he could see things just fine. You were close and tight against him, his aching cock pressed to your stomach, the root of him against your clit, your pussy so hot he could feel it through your pajamas and his own. Your leg was hitched over his hip and you rocked your hips against his length and your head was tucked below his. He could smell your shampoo and feel the heat of your breath on his neck. He froze against you and you gave a soft, strangled moan. 

“Goldie,” he whispered, only then realizing that he was panting for breath. “Think… I think you’re dreamin’, should wake up…” 

You didn’t respond. You just moaned, high pitched and needy, and worked your core against his length and Joel worried that he was going to come then and there. 

“Goldie,” he said again. HIs voice sounded strangled, like he was choking on the words. “Gotta wake up baby, can’t…” 

Your leg tightened on him and your hand found its way to the back of his neck, playing in his curls as you ground yourself against his cock and he thought he might burst if he didn’t find some kind of relief soon and… was it really wrong if you started it? If you were practically fucking him in your sleep, was it so bad to give in to what you wanted? 

His resolve weakened, falling into nothing in a matter of seconds. His hands spread over you, one between your shoulder blades, the other cupping the lush globe of your ass and he pressed closer to you, grinding against your hot slit that you kept pressing against him like you wanted him the way he wanted you. 

Joel’s hand traveled down your ass and over your thigh, the feeling of your skin below his fingers almost too much when taken with everything else you were offering and fuck he wanted to feel you come. He wanted to bury himself deep inside of you and feel you get lost in your pleasure while wrapped around him. He resisted the urge to at least slip a finger into those wet panties - he knew they’d be wet, knew you’d be fucking dripping - because that, for some reason, was a bridge too far. You hadn’t started that. You had started this. 

“Goldie,” he managed again, forgetting all pretense and just fucking his cock against you now. “Need you to wake up…” 

You buried your face in his neck and moaned, the motion of your hips picking up for a moment before you pulled your face back from him, eyes open wide and glassy with want and shock. He froze, his hands still on you and his cock still pressed against your core. 

“Joel,” you breathed, eyes searching his. “What are we…” 

“Want me to stop touchin’ you?” He asked, praying you wouldn’t say yes. 

“No,” you whispered. “I… I want…I need… but we… we can’t…” 

His heart cracked open at that but he shoved it aside. He could deal with the pain of that later. 

“Don’t gotta be anymore than this,” he said quietly. “It’s OK baby, promise. It doesn’t need to mean anything, it’s OK…” 

You just nodded quickly and buried your face in his neck again, clutching him close so every line of you was tight to his body, your hips working in earnest against his cock. He moaned at the feel of it, needing to press his mouth into the crown of your head to muffle the sound. He rutted himself against you, his leaking cock making such a mess of his goddamn underwear that it almost felt like he was inside you, the slick of his precome and the heat of your pussy intoxicating. 

The two of you rocked against each other like teenagers in heat, terrified of what that next step would mean but too desperate to stop yourselves now. Joel was getting dangerously close to spilling into his pants and was trying to stave off his orgasm, needing to come with you, when you spoke - voice small and hot and needy - from your place tucked against his skin. 

“I’m gonna come, Joel,” you panted so quietly, like your pleasure was a secret. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna come, I…” 

“It’s OK,” he said, holding you a little closer, a little tighter, working his cock against you a little harder. “Just come, it’s OK, I’ve got you, it’s OK, just come for me baby, just come.” 

You rutted yourself against him once, twice more before your body seized up and he could feel the throbbing of your pussy against his cock even through the layers of clothing. He closed his eyes and thrust up, letting himself imagine that he was deep inside you and coming there, his orgasm hitting him so hard it made his head spin. 

Your body went limp in his hold after as the two of you panted for breath, limbs tangled around each other. He just held you, tight enough to feel close but loose enough that you could pull away when you needed, until you leaned back from him. Your eyes were still wide but more in shock, now, than want. 

“Joel,” you whispered. “What did we do?” 

He could hear the panic edging into your voice. 

“What did we just do?” Your breaths were coming in fearful little pants now and he ignored the pain in his chest as he brushed your hair back soothingly. 

“S’OK,” he said softly. “It… it doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s OK. Just… shit happened, it wasn’t anything crazy, it’s OK. It don’t have to be anything it’s not, it’s OK.” 

There was a look in your eyes he couldn’t quite place but then you nodded. 

“You OK?” Joel asked after a moment. 

You held his gaze for a second before you nodded once. 

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s OK.” 

His alarm went off and he scrambled to turn it off, praying that, this time, it really would be OK. 

Next Chapter

A/N: I'm going to keep building that tension because I love to torture them apparently.

Don't ask me what my problem is. If I knew, I'd tell you.

Thank you so much for reading about these two idiots! I love them so much. Even if they're idiots.

[avonne-writes]

oh my god now that the show and the war is over I NEED domestic buck and bucky fics bonus points if buck is sick and they cuddle all day😅😅

I can’t wait to write this AU, but I have to finish Reverie first, so I hope you’d still like to read to it after 🩷 But until then, here's a snippet I've just written:

It's cold. So cold, that Gale thinks he’s back in Germany for a few seconds, locked in the filthy hopelessness of the stalag, with no end in sight. He’s swimming in sweat but his body trembles nevertheless. Icy pain rolls down his neck in waves. He can’t get any air through his nose so he tries to sleep with his mouth open, but that just makes his throat ache that much more. He wishes he could stop breathing long enough to fall asleep, but no such luck. The duvet doesn’t wrap around him tight enough. Curled up miserably on his side of the bed, he can’t do anything but convalesce. Even his bones hurt.

The front door opens downstairs, but it's too early for John to be home. Robbers? But there’s no sound of clinking china or cabinets being opened, only the jiggle of keys and then familiar, heavy footsteps up the creaking stairs. The bedroom door opens softly, then the world's most annoying voice whispers into the stale air of the room.

"Is our pretty little patient still with us?" When Gale ignores him, Bucky's socked feet thread across the carpet to the bed. His fingers drum on the wooden footboard. If Gale had the strength, he'd kick him. "Or did he become a butterfly?"

"What the goddamn hell are you talking about?" Gale gripes, his voice hoarse as though he was dying. He doesn’t open his eyes. He has no interest in seeing Bucky's mug when he’s getting on Gale's nerves like that.

"Well, you look like a giant caterpillar all cocooned up."

Gale doesn’t deign that worthy of a reply. He pulls the duvet the rest of the way over his head. There’s nothing he wants to see in the room anyway. He just wants to be left alone. Glass thuds on the bedside table.

"Got you some cold syrup."

The cover is pulled back from Gale's face and a pleasantly cool, dry palm presses to his forehead. Bucky sighs. When he speaks again, the joking tone drops from his voice. "That’s gotta be a fever."

He wipes the sweat from Gale's temple with his hand, then the bed dips by Gale's side. He hears clinking and banging, then a large palm slides under his head and pulls to prop it up. He cracks his eyes open to slits only to see Bucky bent over him with a spoonful of vile medicine in his free hand. Gale tries to push it away.

"Don't be a child, Buck, open up."

"Says the one yapping about caterpillars." Gale mumbles, so slow that he thinks Bucky won't let him finish the sentence, but he does. He looks amused, despite the tinges of worry around his eyes.

"Someone ought'a have a sense of humor."

"Wouldn’t bet on us." Gale squints at Bucky again, satisfied to see the flash of his grin.

But still, Bucky doesn’t let up - he holds the spoon in front of Gale's mouth until Gale sighs and swallows the syrup in it. "There."

Gale sinks back into the cushions and turns away from him, rolling closer to Bucky's side of the bed. It’s tempting to steal his pillow but with the clogged nose, Gale wouldn’t be able to smell him anyway. A hand rests on his shoulder, Bucky's thumb stroking.

"Care for some company?" Bucky asks. When Gale remains silent again, he continues filling the quiet. "I phoned my boss, told him I was sick."

"What, we share a body now?" Gale grumbles. "What if you do get sick?"

"Then I didn't lie, did I? If I get sick, I'd have caught it anyway, what with this narrow thing you picked." He pats the bed.

"You gave me the wrong measurements."

"Just admit that you wanna sleep in my arms."

"Did you get something for your head?"

Bucky laughs to himself in low chuckles, then Gale hears the rustle of clothes, the clink of a belt. The duvet pulls away from his back, leaving him freezing where the sweat-soaked pyjama shirt sticks to his skin. But he doesn’t have to suffer for long. The bed dips further, then a warm, naked chest presses to his back. Bucky tucks in the covers around them, them slips his arms around Gale to hold him close. It feels like heaven.

Gale sniffles. "I'm disgusting."

Bucky sighs as though he’s happy. He kisses Gale's overheated neck. "Course you are, you little caterpillar."

Gale grits his teeth. "Go away."

"No can do." He holds Gale tighter to his chest, and the shivers subside. "I'm sick, after all."

Gale decides not to say anything else. He remains irritated for two more minutes, then Bucky's warmth starts seeping into him through his clothes. He breathes out and falls asleep.

[anxi-aashi]

ok i dont have the energy to put this into a fic rn but i CANT stop thinking about college au! childe almost walking in on you while you're getting yourself off.

like he'd still knock of course, but it would scare the absolute shit out of you. instead of hanging out with your roommates that he's friends with (who are most certainly NOT gathered in your room) he'd be all "hey pookie can i come bother you I'm bored," while you're fully sat on a dildo.

and bc you wouldnt want to seem suspicious, you'd say sure, just a sec! and immediately run to throw the sopping wet toy into your bathroom sink before letting him in.

and he's just too observant for his own good. "hey you ok? you seem out of breath" yeah because you were.... working out! "really? you're not sweating though?" CHILDE DROP IT OMFG but he wouldn't. he just asks so many goddamn questions and you honestly can't tell if he's just fuckign with you or if he's just genuinely concerned for you. what were you doing? pilates? so thats why you're walking a bit weird? how tf were you not sweating after pilates? oh you just started? well sorry to interrupt!

yeah.... you're sorry too -_-

but hes here now so you offer to watch a movie and hang out, nevermind the cum threatening to run down your leg. "sure! you pick smth out and ill go to the bathroom real quick!" he says and curse your post-orgasm clouded mind for not being quick enough to warn him bc now he's standing in front of you, dildo in his hand, looking at you knowingly.

youre mortified obviously. the two of you are cordial but not THAT close and god you can almost picture the slick and cum that's smearing all over his hand now. why is he holding it for fucks sake???

childe wouldnt be merciful either -- this is a fucking gold mine for him. "well, i guess this is a workout" and you would like the earth to swallow you up so that you don't have to look at him with that shit-eating grin that's creeping up his face.

hed switch the dildo to his other hand and start opening and closing his fingers together, making webs of cum string in between. "you said you just started?" no, you'd have to refute, that part was a lie.

"and you were getting off with this?" and now WHAT was that supposed to mean bc there was truly nothing wrong with the dildo size!!! it was perfectly fine, it did its job. sure it could be a tad bit longer, but you had bills to pay. he lets it go (with a judgemental eyebrow raise), but when he opens his mouth again to ask "what were you doing?" you almost wish he had kept making fun of your tiny ass toy. "were you using your hands or the suction cup?"

god he'd have a dangerous look on his face by now, lidded eyes looking at you like you were gonna be his next meal; pitching his voice just a tad bit lower just to see you squirm.

"you don't have to answer, but i would really, really like to know." aaaaaand there it goes. there's goes the last bit of your sanity bc huhh?? huuuuhh??? dear lord i would fully melt into a puddle we love a man that can make consent sexy.

fuck it, right? yeah, you were using the suction cup. "yeah? you like riding dick?" SHFBAN;DNSJF;F GODDDD

"you got any other toys?" yes sirrr yes I do, got a vibrator right over there in the nightstand. and duh now he's gotta follow up with "ever use both?"

which you have. who hasn't? but you usually only use it for quickies, you say. don't want it to be over too fast, ya know?

but then. thennnnnn he'd hit you with this: "you still horny?"

lorddddd you have NO idea, but you don't say that lest it get to his head (but lets be honest, he knows what he's doing; he knows how desperate he's making you). so he walks up to you, finally, and hands you your dildo, all sticky and starting to dry by now.

"well don't stop on my account."

and he plops down on your bed, manspreading just the tiiiiiniest bit to where you can see the tent in his pants.

which is how you find yourself back in your desk chair, thighs burning from fucking yourself on a dildo you now know is much smaller than whatever childe is packing while he just watches, palming his cock over his pants.

anyways gonna go work on my wips now lolololololololoolo

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 89

Part 1 Part 88

Listening to only one side of the conversation would drive Eddie insane if he wasn’t already. It’s worse because he’s not sure if Steve is even answering back. If he even can. Supergirl’s just vague enough that he can’t tell if she’s just trying to reassure a silent, suffocating Steve.

What if he’s still there, just choking? But, no. That was the Upside-Down. Now that the thing is here in Steve, is he still there at all? Or is he trapped in the small corner of his mind that he has left?

Still, Eddie chokes out a wet laugh when El’s lips tick up as she says, “Eddie calls me Supergirl.” She’ll always be his Supergirl. Even if she can’t help this time. 

She looks so young, even with the eyeliner smudged all around her eyes and the slicked back hair. In her black trench coat she’s badass and metal and so goddamn small Eddie wants to throw up about it.  

She’ll always be Supergirl. It hangs over her brows as a weight she carries, a weight they keep adding onto with every plea for help. 

All that drifts away when she asks, “how do we help?” That’s not a question you ask someone who can’t answer. The wait  between words stretches beyond credulity for Eddie. Everyone’s looking at Steve like he’ll open his mouth and speak. 

It’s El’s voice that cuts in. Eddie gasps with it. “Make you warm?”

His neck hurts with the speed he turns his head to meet Will’s gaze. “He likes it cold,” Will whispers. “That’s what he said.” 

Eddie opens his mouth, ready to speak before he thinks, but then El says, “I will save you,” voice floaty, like she’s waking up from a dream. “Stay here while we come.”

El’s removing the half-assed blindfold from her eyes when Eddie looks back toward her, smiling softly as she says, “he recognized me.”

Eddie, knee walks toward her, desperate and wanting. He can feel a bit of glass stuck in his knee, but he doesn’t stop. Can’t. “Stay where?” he demands, hands out like he wants to shake El before he curls them into stupid, futile fists. “Is he okay?”

“He is where he is last time,” El says before raising her hand and tapping the top of Steve’s head gently, running her fingers through his hair as she says, “but in here.”

It takes Eddie a second to connect “last time” to anything tangible. As usual, Will beats him.

“He’s in his closet?”

El nods. “Yes, with clothes.” She runs her fingers through Steve’s hair one final time before dropping her hand and standing. “He said to make him warm.”

“And that’ll fix him?” It’s Perkins who answers, clearly done with being left in the dark. Eddie can’t blame her. 

El stands, staring at Steve the whole time. It takes her too long to answer. “No, he will come back.” 

“Who’s he?” Perkins demands. Everyone else already knows. It’s written in the silence. In the way the van’s so silent that no one is even breathing. “Hello?”

“Gotta break the connection. Close the gate,” Wayne says. He’s gruff and quiet, looking down at El like he’d rather be anywhere else than asking a little girl for a little salvation. “Can you do it?”

El meets his eyes. Eddie wants to hug her, or strangle her, or stuff them all into his trunk and flee the state and hope that’s enough to save them. But then El nods, walking out of the van with too much purpose for anyone to stop her. She turns back around, looking at all of them stuffed into the too-small van. 

“I will close the gate,” she says, looking from face to face to face before asking, “where is Hop?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mama Byers says, following her out of the van so she can engulf her in a hug El doesn’t return. “He was in the lab.”

El flinches back at the word “lab,” flinches back further when Lucas explains, halting and nervous about the Demodogs that had overrun it. Then something steals over her, resolves into a determination that shines. 

“I am going,” she says, ignoring Mama Byers beseeching hands as she turns and starts walking away, like she’s going to hike all the way there on foot. Frodo Baggins without even a Samwise Gamgee. 

Everyone flutters out of the van. Eddie stays by Steve and Will’s side,watching it all unfold. 

It’s Mike that gets her to stop because of course it is. “We’ll go with you!”

El turns around, hope shining in her eyes. Wayne cuts through it like a scalpel through vocal chords.

“No,” he says, quiet, but harsh enough to make El stumble back. Eddie can’t see his face, but his hands are raised placatingly in that same spooked horse stance he’d used a lot when Eddie first moved in with him, and then later, when Steve did, too. “None of ya kids are going with ‘er.”

All the kids protest except Max, who’s frowning between everyone, unsure of who’s side to stand on. 

“She can’t go alone!” Dustin says, putting his hands on his hips in a perfect imitation of Steve every time he’s on kid wrangling duty and fed up.

Wayne copies the stance, much more effectively at his stature, and replies, “I’m going with ‘er.” When Dustin opens his mouth to further complain, he turns away toward Barbara and asks, “don’t s’pose I can borrow your car?”

Barbara throws the keys toward him without a noise of complaint. Wayne walks toward El, looping his arm around her shoulders and leading her toward the car. “C’mon, kid,” he says, squeezing her into his side. “Gotta stop by the trailer for a couple a’ guns.”

El nods, looks back at them, meeting Eddie’s eyes to say, “keep him warm.”

Like the words break a spell on him, Eddie bolts from the van, tugging his connection on Steve to make sure he stays during their separation. Wayne almost loses his footing when Eddie barrels into his back, arms clutching at his chest tight enough to hurt.

“Stay safe, old man.”

Wayne huffs, reaching back to ruffle Eddie’s greasy hair. Eddie tucks his nose into Wayne’s neck, holds onto him for a second longer before letting go. 

Wayne doesn’t turn around, but he stands still just for a second, like he can still feel the warmth of Eddie’s arms. He sounds choked up when he says, “you too, son,” before walking away without turning back.

Eddie watches as the pair get in the car and drive away, feeling oddly bereft.

He’s got all these people now, who love him and he loves back. But Uncle Wayne was the first, always. 

He better come back. 

Part 90

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @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 @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb

[unclewaynemunson]

The final part to the Wingman Wayne AU is here! (And I also decided to publish the whole thing on ao3!!!)

'You got somethin' you wanna tell me?' asks Wayne when he steps out of the trailer to join Eddie for a smoke, the door creaking behind him.

Eddie still can't believe how that man never fails to be one step ahead of him.

'Um... Can I um...' He clears his throat. He doesn't know why he's being so nervous all of a sudden – it's just Wayne, after all. 'We're having dinner together tomorrow, right?'

'Always on Sunday,' Wayne confirms. His perceptive blue eyes wander over his nephew’s face like he's concerned about something. Then, a strong hand lands on Eddie’s shoulder.

'You know you can tell me anything, right?'

Of course he does. He breathes out, thinks back to that excited look in Wayne’s eyes when he first gave Eddie that number. Wayne’s safe. Always has been, always will be.

'Can I invite my boyfriend?'

His uncle arches an eyebrow, deepening the lines on his forehead. 'Your boyfriend, huh?' he repeats. 'Is he named Chad?'

Eddie bursts into laughter. Of course he would react like that.

'No, he's not,' he answers. 'He's named Steve.'

'Ha! I knew it!'

Eddie only rolls his eyes; of-fucking-course this was going to happen.

'So I take it you wanna tell me you learned to never doubt your old uncle again, huh?’

Eddie snorts. 'Need I remind you that I only met up with him to stop your ridiculous matchmaking?'

'And now that you know how wrong you were ‘bout that one, you wanna apologize to me for bein’ as stubborn as a goddamn mule and beg me to not stop my matchmaking after all?'

'No, I very much still want you to stop that,' Eddie retorts. 'I'm actually planning to keep this one around long enough for you to never have to play matchmaker again. But you know what, Steve has this lesbian friend, I'm sure she'd love to be set up with a cute girl who “looks like a lesbian” to you.'

Wayne doesn't seem to register the sarcasm in Eddie's voice or the teasing twinkle in his eyes; he frowns, looking like he's deep in thought, before his face lights up all of a sudden.

'I met this nice young lady who works for the Gazette, she did some article 'bout the working circumstances at the plant a couple weeks back. Was real polite, actually listened to what we had to say for a change... I'm sure she'd get along just fine with Steve's friend.'

Eddie starts cackling. 'Don't let it get to your head now, old man.' He pauses. 'Or actually, maybe you should. You could become, like, the psychic of the gays. Earn lots of money with it.' Eddie wiggles his eyebrows as he says it.

Wayne merely shakes his head at him, but an almost invisible smile is tugging at his lips. Suddenly, he brusquely pulls Eddie in for a sideways hug.

'I'm happy for ya, Ed. You better keep your Steve around for a while, alright?'

-------

As soon as Steve arrives at the trailer, Eddie launches himself into in his arms and immediately gets himself a taste of the most delicious kind of strawberry known to mankind, because he might as well profit as much as he possibly can from the fact that he can actually do that now.

Steve gapes at him, his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyebrows raised in bewilderment. 'Dude. Did you just lick my mouth?'

Eddie shrugs. 'Tastes like a lollipop.'

It isn't until he takes a step back that he properly notices the parts of Steve that aren't his pink lips: he's wearing a dinner jacket and holding a bunch of flowers – which by the looks of it got mildly maimed by Eddie's enthusiastic greeting.

'What the fuck, Stevie.' It slips out before Eddie can help it.

'What?' Steve gives him another confused look.

'I mean, don't get me wrong, you're looking insanely hot right now, but... Why are you dressed like we're about to go to the opera?'

'Meeting the parents for the first time, gotta make a good impression!'

'You already met Wayne,' Eddie blankly points out.

'I didn't meet him as your boyfriend, though.' Your boyfriend. It feels fucking unreal to hear Steve say that. And judging by the way it makes Eddie's stomach all floaty and his mouth unable to stop smiling, it's gonna be very bad for that scary metal image he's been working so hard on crafting for himself.

'He's already, like, your number one fan,' Eddie says. 'You need to fuck up real bad to not make a good impression here.'

An adorably relieved look crosses Steve's face at those words.

Eddie squints at Steve's clothes, from the baby-blue button-down to the neatly polished fancy shoes that already got completely ruined by the muddy trailer park ground.

'Dude, you know where we are, right?' he says. 'Just – take a look around you. Do you think we are the kind of people that care about formal clothing and fucking flowers? We were barely able to fit a third chair around the dinner table, we're literally gonna be eating canned macaroni.'

Steve furrows his brows. 'Are you trying to scare me off?'

'No, I'm just giving you the facts. Because you look like you were expecting cloth napkins and, I dunno, maybe the Queen of England.'

'Not really. Just wanted to do it properly.' He shrugs lightly and suddenly seems smaller, like Eddie is not the only one who sometimes gets overwhelmed by figuring out this whole relationship thing they have going on. 'It's important to me. And honestly, your uncle deserves even more respect than the Queen of England, for getting you into my life, you know.'

And Jesus, if that isn't enough to make Eddie melt into a puddle right on the spot... He hopes Steve doesn't notice how rapidly he's suddenly blinking.

'So, you gonna take these or not?'

Steve holds out the flowers, almost hesitant, like he's half expecting Eddie to refuse them. As if he could ever refuse anything Steve would gift him.

'Why thank you, my darling,' Eddie says with a bow. 'You're actually the first guy who ever brought me flowers.' He lets his fingers linger around Steve's as he takes the bouquet from him.

A soft smile crosses Steve’s face. 'And you're the first guy I ever brought flowers to.' He still doesn’t pull his hands away, but instead leans in closer to give Eddie a peck on his lips. And maybe, just maybe, there's something about the whole thing – the jacket, the flowers, the sweetness – that Eddie could actually get used to.

'You wanna get inside and say hi to my uncle?'

'I'd love to. Can't wait to thank him properly for being the greatest matchmaker on earth.'

'Please don't tell him that,' Eddie says with a chuckle. 'He really doesn't need any more encouragement. I'm pretty sure he's already scheming to set up a queer dating agency or some shit.'

‘You should know by now I can hear everything you're sayin' from here!’ Wayne’s voice yells from inside the trailer.

Steve grins as Eddie grabs his hand tighter to lead him inside.

‘It wouldn't hurt you to show him some more support in following his dreams, you know,’ he mumbles to Eddie under his breath.

‘Jesus H. Christ, I can’t believe you’re already teaming up with him to bully me before you even met him!’

He should probably be mad about it, but Steve squeezes his hand and gives him such a precious smile that the only thing he can do is smile back at him.

Holy shit creating this silly little AU has honestly been such a wild ride thanks to all your reactions to it, i can’t say enough how happy all those notifications have made me and I still can’t believe there were SO MANY OF YOU who asked to follow along!!<3333

Taglist: @phantypurple @love-kurdtt @eddiemunsonswife @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @swimmingbirdrunningrock @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @yourebuckingkiddingme @th3-r4t-k1ng @messrs-weasley @moonshadows-13 @im-sam-fucking-winchester @xjessicafaithx @yournowheregirl @henderdads @lwhoscribbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @rainydays35  @cassaloopa @skeliiix @thesuninyaface @silversnaffles @jestyzesty @4nemo1egend @ace-of-foxes @harringtonsgother @thegingervulcan @snapshotmaestro @thereindeerlady @jillfriend @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @gamerdano @spectrum-spectre @zerokrox-blog @00biscuit @mixsethaddams @steve-the-hairrington @episcogoth @caligularib @gaydrieeen @winterbuckwild @bookbinderbitch @daysarestranger @nonbinary-eddie-munson @fangirltofangod @solalasoforth @obsessivlyme @slit-wrist @fxndom-hoe @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @joruni @roastingdragon @lenore1232 @princessstevemunson @cuips-not-cute @munsonsuccubus @justalittlefungi @cherrycolas-things @nitrilexam @thepainisspicy @hopefulslothcollecter @whatisreggieshortfor @doctorqueensanatomy @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sadcanadianwinter @iamsotiredman @orangeandthefairroadkill @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @b-icetea @freddykicksasses @faery-god @poleaxed-aloe @mamaclownhunter @paperbackribs @blvckwidow @mightbeasleep @butuglypeoplefucktoo @lolawon @angryavocadofrog @iwouldsail @livelaughlexa @magpiemuseum @shushuac  @ravnlinn @homohomohoe @kissaphobic-kas @cmackz93 @your-greatest-queen @alltheweirdkidsinoneplace @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @ceaselessly-watching @anaibis @enchantedlandcoffee @fluffy-alpaca-of-darkness @nelotegreitic @mollymawkwrites @evix-syne666 @redfreckledwolf @ajamlessbaby @connected-dots @nothisisntmyname @steddieassheg0es @anxiouseds @summer1066 @loopholesinmydreams @mareydi  @lillemilly @this-is-moony-lovegood @qomrades @mad-h-w @gay-stranger-things @blanketlicker @fandomcartographer @adankrivervalleynearyou @undreamingscatworld @theysherobinbuckley @i-wanna-combust @stranger-poets-society  @fanshipgirl88 @nonhetbts @literallyjustarat @knitsforthetrail @limpingpenguin @spoopy-rayvynnnox @impeachy @ashwinmeird @7boxesofcheerios @nonsense-of-dimitri @azreadytodie @fuctacles @fuzzyduxk @pluto-pepsi @bornonthesavage @what-am-i-doing-with-my-non-life @alanna342 @jinxjinn @ali-just-ali @piningapple @captain-daryn @namelessssho @doltclassic @elsarenard @ramyayaya @my-heart-is-stopped @lightwoodbanethings @goblin-eddie @indie-npc @alienace @satan-is-obsessed @booksandscience @shrimply-a-menace @hammity-hammer @mits-ki @sharingisntkaren @dbquills @electrick-marionnett @thecherryslush @nuttychaosface @grtwdsmwhr @ceph-the-mothman @gay-little-bitch @brassreign @ninjapirateunicorns @quickenedheartbeat @infrogulous @breealtair @hellomynameismoo @ecarliethic @sultrypickle @lovelyscot @ladydorian05

[booppooo]

ok so hear me out.. abby and/or ellie sexting or having phone sex?

Over The Phone.

Abby Anderson & Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader Headcannons

AN: ANON...I love you.

Warnings: sexting obvi, talk of nudes, crude language, text lingo?, modern AU ofc

-

Abby

Okay so the community has established that Abby is a personal trainer, paramedic, or physical therapist right?

I'm going with physical therapist - stick with me

Our girl is big and burly and so beautifully handsome

She's been helping a basketball player who recently busted her knee, and the athlete has been trying to put the moves on Abby

Abby isn't having it: "Hey, listen, I have a wife - you have to stop this. Our relationship is professional, nothing more."

And Abby is texting you about this on her break

Abby: I haven't been asked out in so long I almost didn't know what to say

You: I'm surprised more people don't ask you out, you're quite the catch

Abby: Oh, is that right?

You: Ofc it is...especially in bed ;)

Abby: Stop it, I'm at work.

You: Technically you're on break...

There's like a five minute pause and you thought maybe she had to rush off back to work. Oh, how you were wrong.

Abby: What would you do if I came home early?

You: What for?

Abby: To fuck you dumb? Why else?

You: Are you sexting me right now?!!

Abby: Yeah, go with it

You: Yes ma'am.

Abby: Goddamn - I could tear you apart right now

You: You know where I am baby, I'm always ready for you

Abby: Are you now? Show me.

Cue you sending some scrumptious nudes.

You: Are you sure you can't come home early? I want you so bad it hurts :(

Abby: I wish I could sweetheart. When I do get home I'll make up for it, trust me.

You: How you do plan to make it up? ;)

Abby: With seven inches of silicone

You: omg...go back to work

-

Ellie

We all know Ellie is a hard ass, she doesn't beat around the bush either

I think we've also decided she's a tattoo artist

And that's where it starts - you text her about an appointment to get another tat...but it quickly becomes more

You: *1 image attached* think you can do something like this on my arm?

Ellie: totally, when can you come in?

You: Anytime really, I don't have a time preference

Ellie: how's 12 sound? i'll get you smthin to eat too

You: You'd do that for meee?

Ellie: duh, gotta keep my fav girl fed

You: Ellie...are you flirting with me?

Ellie: no, if I were flirting with you, you could tell

You: Okay, prove it

Ellie: you'll see when you get here and there's only food for you

You: Uhhh you lost me

Ellie: why would I need anything to eat when I have you?

You: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU JUST SAID THAT

Ellie: sure you can

You: Dude...

Ellie: *daddy

You: STOP IT

Ellie: you sure? you didn't come yet

You: This is getting ridiculous

Ellie: get your head out of the gutter i'm talking about showing up for the appt

You: Seriously?!

Ellie: no, just teasing you

Ellie: i will give you head tho

You: ELLIE.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Okay I’ve been toying with an idea for a Six of Crows au post-Crooked Kingdom where Van Eck won for a little while now and yeah idk but I had a scene idea come to me just now so I’m gonna write it here to see what you guys think and if there’s any interest then I might add it to my list of fics to write

This feels like a weird introduction but, er, here we go:

Inej knew the moment Kaz got home. There were no longer any crowds in the house to come to attention at his entrance, or if there were then no-one had bothered to come down to the half-room and tell Inej, but she could hear his voice drifting through the vents as soon as the door upstairs banged shut behind him.

“Where’s Inej?”

“Where do you think?” Matthias’ reply came roughly, and Inej could all but picture the disapproving grimace that must be crossing his face about now.

Let him judge. She didn’t need to leave the half-room, and for as long as that was true she wouldn’t. The vents did not give her every room though, and she did miss gathering her secrets. She wondered if there was anyone else in the house, but the five of them. Five? She stopped and counted them on her fingers. Yes, five. Hopefully still five. Inej had not bothered to leave the half-room in days, and no-one had been down to see her since yesterday morning.

She heard the door click open behind her, of course, but she did not bother to look up as Dirtyhands entered the room.

“Wraith,”

“Don’t you read the papers, Kaz?” Inej asked, without turning, “The Wraith is dead,”

She stood up, hand wandering across the table for her little pot of jurda. It tasted like shit and it wasn’t nearly as strong as she wanted it to be, but it took less than a month for the price of the blossoms to surpass the height of the stars so she’d have to make do with whatever they had left.

“Inej-”

“They found her body on the steps outside the Church of Barter almost three months ago, remember?” she finally turned to face Kaz, unscrewing the lid on the little silver pot as she did so, “Killed by some mercenary called the White Blade, who still hasn’t been found by they way in case you haven’t seen the latest. I guess it’s difficult to catch a ghost,”

Difficult to catch a wraith.

“We’ve had this conversation several times, Inej-”

“And we’re going to have it again,”

Inej placed an orange jurda blossom on her tongue, then offered the open container to Kaz. It was almost empty. He waved her off.

“I thought you didn’t go in for that sort of thing,”

Inej shrugged.

“Gotta stay awake somehow, haven’t I? We’re busy,”

“We’re not on a job”

“We’re never on a job. Unless the reason you’ve bothered to grace me with your presence is a proposition?”

Kaz shook his head.

“I just wanted to tell you there’s no news,”

Inej looked away. There was never any news. And yet somehow she always expected differently.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Probably,”

Inej caught another jurda blossom between her fingers. She needed to stay awake, because if she slept she would see him. She would see all the ways she’d failed.

“It wasn’t your fault, Inej, we’re having the same conversations on repeat can’t you see-,”

“And we’ll have them again,” she shrugged, “We will have this conversation again, Kaz, because I made a mistake and you are coddling me like a child who won’t be able cope if you tell them something was their fault. Tell me it was my fault, Kaz! We both know that it’s true,”

Kaz shook his head.

“I’d rather repeat the previous,”

“Then let’s,” snapped Inej, because hell if this jurda wasn’t strong enough to keep her awake then maybe an argument would be, “Let’s repeat the goddamn conversation, Kaz, because you’re right. We have the same two conversations on repeat and do you want to know why? Because I am owning up to the mistake I made and I am trying to deal with the consequences of it, but you had no right to do what you did, do you understand me? You messed up and you need to take some damn responsibility, because if you think-”

“You always knew Tailoring Dunyasha’s body to look like yours was a possibility for your escape option,” said Kaz, calmly.

She hated how quiet his voice was, how slow and deliberate he sounded next to the and ramblings that she could not stop from stumbling out of her.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she hissed, slamming her jurda back down on the table.

“I couldn’t have done anything to stop that,”

“You could have tried,”

“Inej-”

“Shevrati,”

Know-nothing.

She waved a hand vaguely at the door.

“Get out,”

Kaz turned to leave, then paused.

“I am sorry, Inej. They’d like to see you upstairs, you know. Nina misses you,”

“Nina can come down here then,”

“Inej… I can’t do anything for you but apologise,”

“Keep you apologies,” she snarled, and when the door had closed behind him added: “Choke on them,”

Kaz could apologise all he wanted. She would not forgive him. What right did he have to expect anything different from her than this? Did any of them? Kaz had not had to watch his parents cry, as they carried home the body of a child that wasn’t theirs. Kaz had not had to feel the ironclad grip of the person he thought he’d trusted most in the world as they held him back and told him to swallow his sobs and keep quiet. Kaz had not given up and gone limp in their arms, a mess of tears and useless prayers, as he saw his parents slip from his grasp once again and knew that he would not have the chance to tell them truth.

Kaz had also not failed the others, and did not have to feel the truth of that choking him every time he saw them. Kaz had not spent almost three months barely daring to venture out of the half room, just so he would never have to lock eyes with Jesper Fahey. There was a scream inside Inej that had been slowly building itself since the day of the auction, and if she did not find a way to release it soon it may very well eat her alive.

[merlinmarvelandother-oneshots]

Hi! Your requests are open right? If so could you write undertale headcanons about a reader who selfharms? Nothing too graphic or anything ofc and totally understand if you're not okay with this :)

I also saw that you did Au's so would it be okay to do this but with the skeleton brother's from undertale, underfell and underswap? (Not the version where people think blue acts like a kid tho please)

Again if you're not okay with this I 100% understand and won't be upset at all :) I write my own headcanons but I prefer reading other people's (I'm not stealing tho dw)

Sorry it's a lot of text and have a great day/night :)

you got it, anon! it totally bothers me when people write blue like he's a child, too.

(my first request on tumblr let's go)

undertale, underfell, and underswap skeleton brothers with a reader who self harms

TW for self harm. if you self harm, there is help. it can get better. talk to a friend or a loved one, or my DMs are open.

Undertale:

Sans:

-he had noticed you acting weird lately.

-distant, almost.

-when he finally pressed you about it, you broke down into tears and told him you self harm.

-"oh, kiddo. c'mere."

-he wraps you tightly in a hug.

-asks you what you use, and asks you to hand it over.

-he tells you that if you ever need anything, or even just to talk, he's free. it doesn't matter what it is, he'll make time for you.

Papyrus:

-he asked you for several weeks what the matter was

-you finally caved and told him

-he was frozen in shock. what could possibly make you do that to yourself? he doesnt understand.

-he suddenly engulfs you into a hug.

-"i will help you get better, human! i promise!"

-he asks you that while you start to heal (both physically and from whatever was going on mentally that made you do it) that you dont do it again.

-he starts cooking for you. like, a lot.

Underfell:

Sans:

-it was an accident that he saw it. your hoodie sleeve rolled up while you were grabbing something and he caught a glance of your injuries.

-he harshly grabs your wrist.

-"who the hell did this to you?"

-you were barely audible when you said that you did it to yourself.

-the harshness in his eyes softened.

-"kid... c'mon, there's better ways to cope."

-he won't admit it to you, but after the monsters were freed from the underground, the stress of it all brought him to self harm for a period of time, too.

-which is why it's all the more important to him that you stop.

-becayse he knows what a slippery slope it is.

-"kid, you gotta promise me you'll cut that out. we can get you help. i ain't much of a therapist, but goddamn it, for you, i'll try."

Papyrus:

-he had to pull an aggressive monster off of you.

-he knew that because he was a member of the royal guard, and therefore disliked by many, that you would be a target.

-he had to take your hoodie off so he could tend to the wounds on your arms.

-"it's fine. don't worry about it," you had said.

-"no, you must let me do this. it is my fault he hurt you. you must let me help you."

-knowing he wouldn't give in, you relented.

-it was when you took your hoodie off that he saw your injuries, even though you tried your best to hide them.

-"human, these have been here for quite a while. who did this to you?" anger was evident in his tone, though he tried to hide it, so you wouldn't think it was directed at you.

-he obviously didn't believe you when you said it was an incident with a stray cat.

-"it's... i do it to myself, dammit!" you said. tears filled your eyes and your voice wavered.

-"that is unacceptable! you must quit this right now, do you understand me?"

-he didn't mean to sound so harsh, only stern. but if it got the point across, it didn't matter much to him.

-"now, tell me, why is it you do this?"

-he listens closely as you open up to him. he'll make you feel better, one way or another.

Underswap:

Sans:

-he knew something was off about you. what it was, though, he couldn't quite figure out.

-so, he asked you.

-"it's nothing," you had said. "nothing you need to worry about."

-"but don't you trust me?" he asked.

-that made you hesitate.

-a few days later, you told him. you didn't show him, but you told him.

-"but why would you do that to yourself? you are amazing, human! you have so much good in you. can't you see that? can't you see that you don't deserve it?"

-but you told him that you didn't know what he saw. you didn't see the good in you. and you're you! don't you know yourself best?

-he started listing off your great qualities, arguing with you when you wondered what the fuck he was going on about.

-he vowed that, no matter how long it took, he would make you see yourself as worthy again.

-but until then, he just made you promise to stop.

Papyrus:

-he had his suspicions for a while.

-the way you always wore long sleeves, no matter how hot it was.

-how distant you were, never telling anybody how you felt.

-he knew something was going on. so, he decided to see if his suspicions were true.

-it took a little coaxing, but you confirmed them. you were, in fact, self harming.

-he (like Fell Sans) also used to self harm. and he told you that.

-he asks you why, and he listens carefully as you tell him.

-he rubs your back from his position next to you on his couch as he says, "i need you to stop, okay? i understand it's going to be hard. i understand that it feels like you have to. but you can't, okay? you just can't. only once you stop can you start feeling better about yourself."

-he takes whatever you use away from you, and watched you closely, occasionally asking you to let him look for more scars.

[yuri-is-online]

I know you said that even though Epel is most likely alive in the Bad Timeline(tm) he would probably never meet Yutu because Mount Moln is so isolated, but I can't stop thinking about Harveston being so isolated that they just... don't even realise the apocalypse happened. Two farmers are just passing eachother on the road to town like

"Business been slow for you too Hans?"

"Yeah Freddy, and the TV's still busted" (it's not, just no channels airing anymore and phones are down😔) like Mount Moln is meant to be like, far far northern Europe so even if a Blot Zombie does shamble into town, its no weirder than the other things that wander out of the forest, just gotta let your ma know to bring the cat in so it doesn't get eaten.

(So I also imagine Epel learning about the end of the world when Yutu and their merry band of misfits travel to Mount Moln tracking a phantom/Grim and Epel comes in on horseback to save them Lone Ranger/Cowboy style. Like Epel's almost guilty how relieved he is that it's the end of the world, actually. So business has halted because nobodies alive to buy apples? His friends didn't ghost him after Yuu disappeared? He's a daddy!? Logically, he knows he should be horrified, but it's just do goddamn nice to finally have answers (and finally meeting his kid!) Meanwhile Yutu and Co are more distracted by being fed and given some quality food. Fresh produce! Home-baked meals! They've secured a food line for Sage Island! Finally a win for the bad future! (Until a phantom comes along, that is...)

Finally a win for the bad future! (Until a phantom comes along, that is…) pretty much describes everything that happens in this au tbh

I think this would happen to a degree. They know there are increased monster attacks and that the ability to ship produce has been interrupted, but your mind is never going to jump immediately to "wow the world must be ending" unless you are a very specific type of person that everyone ignores anyway.

Epel riding in on a horse to save the day... Epel! Yutu is going to have a stroke from how cool that makes his dad look to him. So much so I am stealing it for his post that I am working on right now ( ` ꒳ ´ )✧

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as abuse, gore, blood, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your marriage is marred in misery with no escape in sight... until he shows up at your door. (Part of the Illuminate AU)

Characters: Adam Warlock

Note: I hope ya'll like this one. I know it's a new and not so popular character.

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The bin crashes down into the shrapnel of plastic and trash littered across the kitchen tile. Shane kicks an empty yogurt cup as you stare down in futility as the mess. If he didn't insist on the cheap bags, they would tear so easily but you're not stupid enough to say so.

"I work all fucking day and come home and you want me to take out the goddamn trash! Now look!" 

You gulp, batting your eyes at him, paralysed in fear. You can't make your body move. You should grab a new bag and clean it all up, insist that he go sit down and you'll do the work. He doesn't give you a chance for all that as he lunges at you.

You step back on your heel with a squeak, caught around your neck as he spins and swings you around with him. He hooks a foot around yours, bringing you easily to your feet, bending you over the stinking potato skins as your arms shake. You fight to keep him from mashing your face into the garbage.

"And where's dinner? What am I supposed to eat? Maybe you should swallow this all up and you'll realise the sort of bullshit I gotta come home to," he snarls, "stupid fucking bitch."

“I’m s-sorry,” you croak, throat scraping as you try to swallow a sob, “I’ll… I’ll clean this up–”

“Damn right you will,” he barks and jerks you as he rips his grip from your neck, “useless…”

He kicks a plastic tray at you before he stomps off, leaving you to stare at the mess. You sit back on your heels, quivering, and exhale slowly. You shift and reach behind you, opening the cupboard under the sink to retrieve a new bag.

You peel it open and gather up the garbage, piece by piece, focusing on the task as you ignore the odor and the occasional moisture that smears on your hand. As you get it tied up, you stand, choking on your tears as they spill out unstemmed. 

You sneak out the back door and carry the bag around the side of the house. You keep your chin down, hoping your neighbours don’t witness your despair. You come up to the gray bin and lift the lid, shoving the bag inside and letting it close with a thunk.

You grab the handles and wheel it away from the siding, the large container rattling as you force it along the uneven grass and onto the walkway. The wheels bounce on the cracks in the pavement and you stop to pull open the white picket fence, paint flaking away beneath your touch.

You continue on and guide the bin to the curb, letting it rest there as you sniffle and try to shake away the last of your weeping. You can’t go back inside like this. If he sees you crying, it will only make him angrier. 

You look across the street at the other houses; they’re all nicer than the rundown rental you share with Shane. Where the leaves are strewn in a layered carpet across the mulch of your lawn, the others have the autumnal canopy neatly raked into piles. When you asked for him to grab the rake, his answer was especially bruising. So you’ll see if you can’t get to it tomorrow.

You sigh and turn on your heel, squeaking as you nearly collide with another. You didn’t hear or see the man approach. There was no shadow in his approach, no footsteps scuffing to warn you. You press yourself to the bin as you look up at him. Your chest compresses under some unseen force as the air is forced from your lungs.

You try to apologise for your carelessness but your lips can only form the singular stutter, ‘s-sorry’ as your voice is trapped in your breathless throat. You stare at the man. It’s almost as if he had been waiting for you to turn around.

The leather jacket, the patch sewn on the left-side of his chest, the cool confidence of his posture, they all assure you of who he is. Of the danger he carries with him. You blink up dumb, waving in front of your chest as you try to eke out a single noise, pleading with him not to be angry.

His pale blue eyes twinkle as his smiles, a soft crinkle beside his eyes as the dimming night limns his long face. If Shane saw you standing here with this man, of any, he would lose his mind. You have to get back inside. You have to get away from this stranger.

“No sorry,” he says, his voice rocky but not unkind, “I am in your way.”

He slowly steps aside, retreating as he goes to rest his hand on the post of the white picket gate. He waits expectantly, waving you within as his smooth, deliberate movements fill you with dread. There is a carelessness in him which betrays fearlessness. You will never know what it’s like to not be hounded by inexorable dread. It both irks you and scares you.

You make yourself move. You cross the sidewalk and enter through the open gate, as he looms over you. His gaze is hot on you, clinging and suffocating. Your heart hammers with adrenaline. If there is anyone you fear more than Shane, it is these men and their black leather shadows.

“Have a good night,” he says as he pulls the gate shut between you, “I hope whatever makes you sad does not keep you awake…”

You can breathe again. You gulp in air and fold your hands in front of you. You turn to the man and nearly gasp. There’s something eerie in how he lurks, in how he is both draped in shadow but shines among it.

“Good night,” is all you can get out.

“No moon,” he says as he draws his hand away from the wooden post, “it will be a good night for rest.”

He puts his hands in the deep pockets of his leather jacket. His breath fogs around him, billowing over his shoulders as he strides through it. You watch his silhouette as he departs, his footsteps make no noise and the night seems to close in around him until you can see him no longer.

You shudder and hug yourself as you back up. You turn, fighting a tugging that tries to keep you outside. You head back between the house and the fence as a chill creeps up your spine. 

Your stomach pits as a sudden desolation overwhelms you. You feel hollow and heavy, as if you could collapse right there. You can’t, you have to make dinner. You won’t get much sleep if Shane goes hungry.

🌑

Shane leaves at the usual time. His shifts at the factory are your only escape. They don’t always feel like that as you spend the hours worrying about his return. About what mistake he’ll find when he gets home. So your time is spent still keeping him happy, though you’ve never managed that.

Along with the endless list of chores come those thoughts. Those regrets and questions of how it ended up like this. On when he started to hate you. On when you decided to accept that.

You pull on one of his flannel shirts and a pair of jeans. You dig out some gardening gloves from the shed and take the rake with you as you put your mind to clearing the lawn. The autumnal air is crisp but fresh. It’s almost refreshing.

You come out to the front of the house, starting at the walkway, clearing it of the leaves, brushing them onto the grass. From there, you drag the teeth of the rake away, pushing the growing pile towards the corner of the fence. 

Sweat beads on your forehead and dampens beneath the layers of clothing. You huff out a thick hot breath into the cold air. The briskness sneaks down the back of your collar and chills you.

“The winter is close,” the statement startles you from your work.

You plant the rake and grip the handle, facing the figure outside the fence. It’s the same man. Your lips part but you can’t say a word.

“Can you feel it?” He asks.

Your jaw chatters. His eyes fall to your lips as you try to hide it. He steps forward and sets his hands on the points of the fence, leaning in.

“It’s colder when you are alone…” he says.

You furrow your brows and shake your head, “I am not…”

You look back at the house and he chuckles. You turn back to him and bring your other hand to the wooden rake handle. He considers the leaves on the ground with interest. He pushes himself straight. He seems taller than before.

“Are you not?” He asks cryptically. “This is a lot of work for only one.”

You shrug, unsure how to answer.

“I can help.”

Your mouth is dry and your tongue is sticky. You make yourself talk.

“I don’t know you…”

“Adam,” he says pointedly, “my name is Adam. Tell me your name, then we will know each other.”

You speak before you think. As if you didn’t have a choice. Even if reluctance needles at the back of your mind, knowing that Shane would not want you to speak to this man, your name tumbles out as if you owe it to the stranger. Adam.

“Beautiful,” he remarks as he nears the fence, reaching over to the clasp, “let me help.”

“N-no,” you drag the rake with you and catch the gate as he lifts the latch, “please–”

“You must rest,” he shows his palm in a strange gesture, sweeping it in front of you, “you are dizzy and feel unwell. You need to sit down.”

Silver stars speckle in your vision and you feel the world shift under your feet. You look down and clutch the rake tight, feeling as if you might fall over. You let go of the fence and take a step back as you touch your forehead.

“I am… lightheaded,” you admit, confused at how suddenly it come upon you.

He pushes the gate inward and enters. He shuts it with a gentle metal clink and grips the rake above your hand. You recoil, letting him have it as your limbs grow heavy. He leans the tool against the fence and turns to you again.

“Please,” he puts a hand on your arm, the contact filling your head with smoke, “sit down, bunny.” He ushers you to the front steps and helps you sit there. He braces your shoulders and bends over you, “you will not move until I bid.”

You look at him, confused but comforted by his touch. You nod. He pulls his hands away, caressing your cheek before he stands straight. You shiver and hug yourself.

He lingers as his zipper cuts in the air. He shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and swings it around you, the smell of leather surrounding you. He tugs it snug around you and retreats. You can’t help put pull it tighter as another scent tickles your nose; him.

His boots mulch across the leaves and grass and he grabs the rake. He resumes your work, easily heaping up the clutter, the steady scrape of the tines easing you. You look up and watch him. He is unbothered by the cold despite the thin cotton of his black tee shirt. His muscles tauten beneath the fabric as he works.

You feel sleepy as the pale sky blurs around his stark figure. You’re hypnotised by his steady motions, his easy strength. A strand of his golden hair falls forward as he focuses on the ground, gathering up the leaves with diligent care. Your lashes cling to each other and your eyelids itch. 

You hug the jacket closer and dip your nose behind the collar. The weight of fatigue settles over you and coaxes your eyes shut. The rake continues to scrape in your ears even as you sink down into oblivion.

🌒

You wake to blackness. Dark lines trim the corners of the room as slowly your vision lifts to a dull gray. The night stares in through the windows, frosted with the slow creep of winter. The wind howls and rattles the pane in the frame. The cold looms outside like a spectre but does not enter.

You are warmer. Too warm. Your body heat enshrines you beneath the quilt pulled to your chin. Despite your want to escape from the stolid cocoon, you do not move. A languid weight keeps you at peace despite your discomfort.

You’ve never felt like this, so calm. There’s a dull tapping at your skull that tells you to worry, to be afraid, but it’s quickly smothered and forgotten. Why should you be? You are home and safe in bed.

You let your eyes close and hum. You just want to sleep, to slip away and never wake up. You drift, mind skewing as if you’re floating on a tide. Then it swells and crashes over you with the dark growl that seeps in through the wall.

Your breath hitches and your lashes snap open. Your ears itch as you listen, trying to hear through the plaster. There are soft, muted murmurs but nothing discernible. You quiver as you hang in the limbo; do you stay or get up?

Slowly, you bring your hands up and pull the quilt away from your face, peeling it with effort past your chest. Cool air sweeps over you, urging you to nestle back beneath the patchwork. You hear it again, like a beast it grits deep through the air, gravelly and harsh.

Sitting up is difficult. That same dizziness blurs your mind. You squeeze your eyelids shut and bid away the echoing auras. When you look again, the world is steady. You stand without reaching for the lamp. You wade through the darkness like quicksand, each step impeded by unseen bounds.

At the door, you wait, hand on the knob, brass cold to the touch. You inhale and taste the air wafting in around the frame. It’s sharp and frigid. 

You turn the knob and lift the door on its hinges. You peek down the hall, it’s dark but for the orange flicker glowing from down the hall. That house, the place you call home, the walls you could etch from memory, is suddenly strange and sinister.

You let go of the door and tiptoe out, the voices drawing you in. The conversation garbled in your fuzzy ears. It isn’t until you get closer that you can make out the words. That you recognise the familiar tones.

“What.. are you… waiting for?” Shane’s words are interspersed with moist gulps and groans.

A snicker, short and stony. There’s little humour in the laughter. Adam replies, “justice.”

“You…criminals are all the same,” Shane utters through laborious breaths, “bunch… freaks… like you… should leave… this town.”

“We own this town,” Adam says, “there would be nothing but dirt if it wasn’t for us freaks.”

A hork and the wet splat of spit on the floor jolts you. You stop just before the doorway, shuddering as you hesitate and look back down the hall. You can go back to bed and hide. If you do, you might wake up and realise it’s all just a rotten nightmare.

“Come on, bunny,” Adam calls to you.

You spin back, finding yourself still alone with only the lip of the wall between you and the flickering amber light. You put your hand on the plaster and your other on your chest. He cannot mean you.

“I hear you,” he says evenly, “we’ve been waiting for you.”

You put your foot out and slowly reveal yourself. You turn and face the room from the doorway. You see the single taper burning on the mantel and the tall shadow beside it. Adam lurks with his straight-shoulder but slack posture. 

There is another, in one of the wooden chairs from the dining set, slumped and held up by knotted leather belts. You can see only the back of Shane’s oily black hair. You come forward, eager but terrified to see more of him. 

His right eye is swollen shut, a cut weeping beneath, and his lips dribble blood down his chin. He leans forward, kept upright only by his bounds. His breathing is rickety and shallow. He looks at you with his left eye and grunts.

“...bitch…” he mutters under his breath, “slut…I always… knew…”

“Ah ah ah,” Adam tuts and makes himself taller. Shane flinches and swallows loudly, choking on his split and blood, “you mustn’t value your tongue very much.”

Adam reveals a long dagger, the orange glint of the candle reflecting off of it. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen before. The metal is both dark and gleaming, a perfectly forged fuller down the middle of the blade.

You turn as you stand transfixed by the sight of your husband. Only then do you notice the scarlet leaking down the front of the wooden armrest, staining deep the veins of the wood. There are three fingers remaining on his right, and one less on his left hand. You cup your mouth behind your hand, catching a scream before it can erupt.

“Shhhhhh,” Adam hushes as he presses himself to your back, “I only had a sampling…”

“What have you done?” You whisper as you gape at the ruin of the man before you. His clothing is shredded so that it reveals the long gashes on his chest and the slices down his thighs. “Why…”

“The strong should protect the weak, not harm them,” he bends and nuzzles your hair, “but more, the weak are not helpless.”

“I don’t understand…” your eyes sting as Shane clenches his jaw and glares at you. How often you saw that same glimmer in him. That sheer hatred that made you wonder if he ever loved you.

“You understand,” Adam’s hand trails down your arm and he pulls you around. He presses the handle of the dagger against your palm and closes your fingers around it, “you know exactly what must be done.”

“Please, I can’t…” you whimper, “you… you hurt him. You’ve…” you look at Shane again, “how could you?”

“I could have cut his heart out by now,” Adam sneers, “but I do not own that.” He squeezes your hand, “it is not mine to take.”

“What…”

“I know what he does. He will not stop. Not until you are dead,” Adam insists as he raises the dagger, his hand still around yours, “or he is.”

He drags you towards Shane and aims the tip of the blade at the slouched man’s chest. He holds it there as you shake, whining as you try to free yourself. His strength is unbending and unbroken. He puts a hand on your back, gripping you tight as he keeps the dagger steady.

“I cannot free you, you must do it yourself…”

You close your eyes. This must be why the townsfolk whisper of the men in leather. Why they scatter at the sight of them. Murderers! Monsters!

“Please–”

“He has made you weak,” Adam purrs into your hair, “I have come to make you strong.”

“No–”

“Yes, you must,” he growls along the rim of your ear, “remember all he has inflicted on you. The names he’s put upon you; bitch, slut, useless, nothing…” he hisses as his hand crawls up to your neck, “how he broke your nose on your wedding night.” 

Your heart races, pounding in your ribs. How could he know that?

“How he put your hand on the lit burner when you forgot to buy milk,” he continues, your shaky grasp tightening as your tears crest and fall free. 

“Or how just the other day, he would have rubbed your nose in garbage like an incontinent mutt–”

“Stop!” You cry out, “stop! How do you know–”

“I know a beast when I see one,” Adam turns his head, his cheek against your temple, “I know a rabid one should be put down before it can maul again.”

“But… but… I love him,” you sniffle.

“Do you?” He lets his hand fall away from yours but you don’t rescind your reach, you don’t move the dagger away from Shane, “does he love you?”

You know he does not. He never did. You were only ever the stupid girl who fell for him. You realised too late what he really was and now you were trapped for life. 

You would be miserable with him until the day you died. Not because he loves you, but because he loves to hurt you.

The tip sinks through the flesh without resistance. You're stunned as you do not stop yourself from letting it further, from pushing it through the layers of fat and muscles, leaning into it until you can’t force it any deeper. You watch the steel bury into him as blood spurts out around your hand and sprays up your sleeve. 

Shane does not scream. He cannot as you pierce his heart. His head falls forward and his body goes limp. You keep a hold of the hilt and jerk it as try to wrench it even deeper.

Your hand is slick with his blood and slips off. You raise a fist instead and hit his lifeless shoulder. You hit him again on the head, another strike to his stomach, and a kick for good measure.

You bring your hands up and look at your blood stained hand, your other palm streaked with flecks of his death. You heave and try to scream but you cannot. You collapse to your knees and keel over onto your elbows. 

You should cry but you cannot. Your tears evaporate as grief eludes you. It should hurt. Why doesn’t it hurt? You’re not sad, but you’re not happy. No, you are free.

The floorboards creak and you raise your head as Adam kneels beside you. He touches your chin as his other arm slings around you. He pulls you to him and presses his lips to your temple.

“They will find him,” he caresses your cheek as he speaks, “but they cannot take you if you are with me.”

“Take me?” You ask dumbly.

“They will call you murderer, they will lock you up,” he coos, “I will keep you safe, bunny.” He dips his hand back down and nudges your chin up. He looks down at you, eyes shining silver in the candlelight, “I will keep you happy.”

[rosewaterandivy]

Everyone But You - a Life as We Know It au

Ch. 2 - I've Got That Lefty Curse

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Summary: hey, you know what a funeral is decidedly not for? gettin' your dick wet. | OR eddie munson's no good, very bad lay. Pairing: e.m. x f!oc w.c.: 4.9K warnings: NSFW / MDNI, immersive second person narration w/ a name and background but no physical description mentioned, grief, character death, funeral, jason carver mention, badly repressed emotions, poor emotional regulation skills, bathroom antics inspired by the moves of Paris Geller and that one scene from Catch & Release tagging: @powderblueblood for coming up with Eddie's nickname for the rover 😘

The garage door trundles open as Eddie twirls the keys in a flourish. You squint behind your sunglasses, bringing your phone closer to avoid the sun’s glare as you triple-check the directions to CPS.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Eddie grouses as the car comes into view. It’s big, some kind of SUV, a Range Rover apparently, if his grumbling is to go by, one that is impeccably clean.

“What’s the problem?” You walk toward the car as it chirps to unlock, “Keys,” You point to his outstretched hand, “Driver,” You point to him and finally gesture to the car, “Vehicle.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Right, sure. Lemme drive this car that’s worth more than my life, that’ll go real swell!” He choruses in false cheer before his face falls, “Yeah, no. Think fast,” He lobs the keys toward you which you step to avoid, and the pair of you watch as they rattle to the floor.

“Well shit, Sherlock, y’know you’re supposed to catch things as they’re thrown at you.”

You roll your lips between your teeth and raise a brow, “I don’t drive.”

“Riiiight,” Eddie says, scooping down to collect the keys. “Of course you don’t, your majesty. Wouldn’t want to sully ourselves with something so pedestrian.” He yanks the driver’s side door open and hauls himself inside.

Settled in the passenger seat, you buckle your seatbelt and pair your phone to the bluetooth in the car. Eddie adjusts the seat and mirror before deciding on a Sirius station for the fifteen minute journey to downtown.

“For the record,” He says, pulling out onto the residential street, “I have a driver’s license, not a boating one. This thing is a goddamn behemoth.”

The car lurches forward as he navigates toward the stop sign at the end of the block, the seatbelt seizes against your chest, jerking you backward into the seat.

“Munson, sort your shit out! There’s going to be an actual baby whose well-being we’re responsible for in here, you know.”

He kisses his teeth and huffs in exasperation, “Sorryyy, I can’t figure out the damn clutch on the S.S. Fuck The Planet, princess. Jesus H. Christ.” 

You make a mental note to have the insurance policy switched over and update the title on the cars as well. Swiping over to the notes app, you tap out a reminder and add a trip to the grocery store for good measure. The list is titled: HOW TO SURVIVE IN HAWKINS and has such gems as: whole foods - where?, research moving co.’s NYC, check out brownstone, contact attorney & set up will, utilities & electric??, and baby books!!!

While you prepped for the impending arrival of Zoë and a prolonged stay in the Midwest, Eddie prattled through the house like Jacob Marley’s ghost shuffling from one vacant room to the next. He’d sent something off to his agent and editor via email about pushing the deadline back for his current novel, and had thrown his duffle in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, the one furthest from Chrissy and Jason’s room, naturally.

You’d settled in a room close to the nursery and across the way from Eddie. The guest bath was conveniently at the end of the hall just before the staircase. Neither of you bothered unpacking after Max left, just threw your bags upstairs and scrambled to the garage to pick up Zoë as soon as possible.

The ride smooths out, eventually, Eddie seeming to get a hang of the clutch or whatever it was, and soon enough you’re being escorted back to the caseworker’s office at CPS. 

She instructs you to sign the form with your intention of temporary custody just until the court can set a date with the judge to award full custody. Until that time, a caseworker would be checking up on Zoë and your care of her, the findings of which would be presented to the judge at a later date.

“And if you’ll sign here as well, Mr. Munson.” 

Eddie scribbles off his disaster of a signature just as Zoe is brought in.

“Oh,” You sigh, relieved as you rise from the chair. “There she is.” You adjust the strap of your tote on your shoulder and leave the room, gently taking her from a woman with a nod of thanks. Keeping your voice soft and low, you greet Zoë. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi sweet girl!”

It’s rare that Eddie ever hears you like this, voice pitched just so as not to hint at any sadness you may be grappling with currently. And Zoë, she looks so pink and cute— footsie pajamas decorated in little hearts. 

“Oh, honey. It’s so good to see you.” You brush back her downy blonde hair just as she begins to fuss, blue eyes falling to Eddie, who is rendered speechless in the office. He sniffs to clear any welling tears and quietly thanks the caseworker before joining you in the waiting room.

“I know, I know,” You soothe, rocking her back and forth, watching as Eddie steps beside you. 

Zoë continues her soft cries, not nearing meltdown territory yet, but rather expressing her confusion or discomfort. Eddie’s hand cards through her wisps of blonde hair as you turn and say, “Hey, look. Hey, look – it’s Uncle Eddie!” Which seems to placate her somewhat, as chubby arm reaches toward him.

Lifting her from your hip, you continue to narrate: “Wanna go see him? Good, he’s right here.” And place her squarely against his chest, his hands coming to grip her sides as she tucks herself against him, little fingers gripping the worn fabric of his shirt.

You watch as he holds his goddaughter, her soft cries falling away to nothing as she nuzzles into his neck. “Okay,” You breathe, “We should really get her home.”

The car seat, however, proves difficult. Eddie has grimaced and groused his way through various belt to lock combinations, determining all of them to be useless.

“Who designed this thing, a fuckin’ Space X engineer?”

Leaning against the car with Zoë, you decide fifteen minutes is more than enough time for Eddie to dick around with the car seat. “Shove over Elon, this is getting ridiculous.” 

Seamlessly, you set Zoë in the car seat and buckle her in. “See?” You ask, a taunting lilt to your voice, “Was that so difficult?”

“Well, that’s because I eliminated all other possibilities, so obviously you—”

“Shut it, Munson. And drive.”

You’re nearly back to Loch Nora when a cop lights up behind the rover. “Really, today? C’mon man!” Eddie pulls off to the side of the road, going for his wallet before stopping short. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit? What do you mean oh shit?!” You whisper frantically, “This isn’t really on ‘oh shit’ type of moment, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“God, would you shut up for, like, two seconds so I can think?!”

“Please, let’s not pretend you think.”

An intentional elbow jabs into his ribs with enough force for him to hiss. He’s about to snarl something not fit for tiny ears back at you when two raps on the window shocks you both into silence.

Eddie reluctantly rolls down the window with a pained smile. 

“Morning officer, what seems to be the problem?”

There’s a pause before a bellowing laugh. “Munson!? Well, of all the gin joints in all the world—”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, “Uh, right. Hi there, Hop.” He clears his throat, “How are… things.”

“Bout to ask you the same thing, kid.” He pockets his aviator glasses and leans against the door, propping one arm to rest on the roof. “D’you know you rolled through that light down on Main before turning onto Pinebow?”

“Uh, no. Sorry, must’ve been distracted.”

“I’ll say,” The officer peers into the car, gaze falling on you. “Morning ma’am. Mind getting me the registration from the glove box?”

“I, uh,” You supply, uselessly. Eddie leans over to do it himself before you can ask what a registration would even look like. Your eyes dart back to Zoë still sleeping soundly. 

“I need to level with you Hop,” Eddie says, handing the paper over to him. “This is not my car, this is not my beautiful wife, and my license is expired.”

“It is!?” You ask, furious. How could he be so irresponsible? There is a child riding in the backseat! Before you can rip him a new asshole, the officer chuckles.

“Can’t say I’m surprised Ed. Shame about the wife bit though.” He reads the registration and passes it back to Eddie. “But considering the circumstances … I’ll let this one slide.”

“The circumstances?” You prompt, wondering how the hell a traffic cop would know about Chrissy and Jason’s accident.

“My condolences,” He says with a frown and furrowed brow, as if the very idea of their absence unsettles him. “It’s a small town, I’m sure everyone’ll know by day’s end.”

Hop puts his glasses back on and steps back from the vehicle. He nods to you with a small smile, before his eyes narrow on Eddie. “You need to get this taken care of, Munson.” Slapping the roof of the car, he turns on his heel and walks back to the cruiser, “See you Friday!”

Eddie waves him off and pulls back onto the road. Offering positively zero explanations as to why this man you’d never met before today would be showing up to the house later this week.

“Munson, why does that cop think he's coming by the house later?”

“Hmm, oh, Hop? He’s not just a cop, he’s the Sheriff.” 

As if that made it any better.

“Do I want to know why you’re friendly with the boys in blue, er, khaki? Thought you were the commander and chief of ACAB.”

“That,” He says, punching the button to open the garage as the house comes back into view, “Is a story for another time. But for now, just chalk it up to the fact that Hawkins is a verrrry small town, princess.”

By Friday, your bags still remain unpacked by the door to the guest room. It would be so easy to call a car, book a flight and just leave, like it had never happened in the first place.

You’re pretty sure that’s what Munson is expecting you to do. He doesn’t trust you, nor you him. How can you? It’s not like you were ever friends. And it’s not like you’ve seen him in that way since—

A soft knock from the door has you turning to find him holding Zoë in the crook of his arm. She’s smiling and sleepy, fresh from her bath. One that had left you positively drenched, prompting a hasty retreat to find a change of clothes.

“They’re, uh, driving up now.” Eddie mumbles, and though he hasn’t said it, hasn’t complained one bit, you can see how exhausted he is. Essentially dead on your feet from your first night with Zoë. 

She’d cried and wailed all night, or so it felt, and you were sure you’d wake up to a noise complaint or violation of the HOA’s quiet hours or some such shit. Eddie had volunteered to stay with her that night, elected to sleep on the couch in the nursery because he’s “slept on worse.”

He’s said it as if he didn’t already have dark circles under his eyes, as if they hadn’t been awake for over 24 hours, and you want to refute it, to say you can keep the baby monitor on you instead, but the look in Eddie’s eyes tells you this isn’t just about staying the night with Zoë. 

It’s that he wants to make sure Chrissy’s daughter is safe, to protect her daughter in the way he wasn’t able to protect his best friend last night.

“Could you just sleep in—” You tilt your head toward Chrissy and Jason’s room, it’s closer to the nursery anyway. But you don’t get to finish your thought before he’s swept in to the room and settled Zoë in her crib for the night. The conversation effectively over.

“Right,” You say, peeling off the door frame to leave, “Forget I asked.”

But that was last night, and you’d be remiss to say that you’d made it much longer on your own. The room was far too quiet, the sheets too stiff, and you couldn’t find your sound machine to save your life.

It’s two o’clock when you stumble into the nursery, nearly tripping over Eddie’s prone leg because he’s too tall for the small couch, but he doesn’t wake. You make yourself comfortable on the plush white rug, the one Chrissy had sworn felt like a cloud and rest your head on the pillow you’d snuck in from the guest room.

Maybe it’s the white noise machine looped to Zoë’s crib, or maybe it’s the proximity of being close to her that brings a sense of calm that’s enough to lull you into sleep. And maybe, it’s the soft snores and snuffles that fall from the tangle of limbs precariously close to slipping off of the couch.

Regardless, you and Eddie had somewhat survived your first day as guardians. Had struggled through feedings and diaper changes, nap time, and seemingly endless loads of laundry. You’d read Chrissy’s parenting books and ordered more to be delivered tomorrow. Eddie had returned victorious from a Target run and you’d each set about slapping sticky notes and scribbling furiously on a huge tear away calendar— you’d even assigned colors: you were purple, Eddie was neon green, Zoë was pink, naturally.

Max, Eddie’s friend and the estate attorney, had apparently rallied the troops for a family dinner for that evening. You and Eddie were to do nothing, under strict instructions from someone named Nancy to relax and focus on Zoë. You could hear the front door opening as people made their way inside for dinner. 

Gently, Eddie passes Zoë off to you and helps you wrap the sling around your torso. After watching several tutorials on YouTube, you felt confident that everyone would feel more comfortable this way. Plus, your arms were killing you— who knew carrying a baby around could be so tiring?

Once downstairs, introductions are made. Eddie names off everyone in attendance as they stare at you like a new exhibit at the MoMa, or maybe the zoo is more accurate. Immediately, you can see that you don’t belong. Everyone is dressed down casually in jeans and t-shirts, their shoes kicked off by the door.

Whereas you, on the other hand, announce your presence with the click-clack of your heels on the floorboards. Swan into rooms with impeccable posture and sport dresses never more than a season old, unless they’re archival vintage, of course. A bold lip and manicured nails, not a hair out of place.

To the assembled people of Hawkins, you sure cut the figure of a Stepford wife.

“Hi,” A voice pipes up from the man to your right, “I’m Ste—”

A metallic clang sounds out, muffling whatever he had to say. Quickly followed by an exasperated, “Oh, goddamit!”

You smile at him, “The pleasure is all mine. Dean, you said it was?” 

“I, uh,” He stammers out, unable to land his gaze anywhere on your person.

“Right,” You say primly, hearing more cursing from the kitchen, “If you’ll excuse me.”

And, of course, the source of the cacophony is none other than Munson himself. He’s got the hood fan going on the stovetop, and there’s smoke pluming from the oven. Company has been here all of ten minutes and he’s already going to burn the house down.

You grab the sheet pan he’s using to dissipate the smoke from the alarms on the ceiling and narrowly avoid smacking him upside the head.

“I never took you for an arsonist, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.”

He coughs into his shoulder, his hand waving through the air uselessly. But before you can tell him to shove over and let you handle things, people stream into the kitchen. Eddie is shuffled from the stove by a kind woman named Joyce, only to be pulled away by an older man, his uncle Wayne, while Hopper takes over in the kitchen.

Windows are opened by Max and Lucas, allowing the smoke to dissipate. And eventually, Joyce offers to take Zoë and put her to bed after her dinner of mashed peas and carrots. Begrudgingly you let her, dropping a kiss to her downy blonde curls before she’s whisked away.

Dinner is nice as is the company, even if conversation is a bit stilted and awkward given the circumstances. You don’t say much and no one expects you to, but every so often Wayne will catch you gaze and offer a small smile. It’s easy to appreciate his silence, to see it as a comfort because god knows his nephew is normally anything but.

You’re on your second glass of wine for the evening, listening to Robin as she details the various hijinks of what she refers to as the Scoops Troop. But she keeps mentioning someone named Steve and you have half a mind to ask her who that could possibly be. Dean, for all his lack of being mentioned in these stories, laughs along good-naturedly.

It’s when you yawn for the second time in five minutes, that Eddie suggests: “Hey, you should go up and get some sleep.”

You scowl, confused and pleasantly buzzed but stand up all the same. “Fine, but no promises, Munson.”

It had been decided that you’d give the eulogy for the service today. Eddie sits with Zoë in his lap – she's dozing off and you’re thankful – and when Eddie stares up at you, you can feel your heart in your throat. Initially, it seemed that Eddie would deliver the eulogy, this was, after all, his hometown and this church was full of people he’d known most of his life.

But when he’d come to you two nights ago after Zoë had finally fallen asleep, shaking like a leaf with crescent hollows beneath his eyes that the moon would envy, and he’d said in a voice so broken and empty: “I just can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

And so you didn’t.

Halfway through, while the crowd is chuckling sadly, politely, at your anecdotes about Chrissy and Jason. Things are going well until Zoë begins to hiccup and throws a tantrum. Ellie, Chrissy’s mom, scoops her up into her arms easily and carries her out of the church. Over her shoulder, Zoë’s arms stretch out toward the front of the church, her face crumpled as she cries for her mommy and daddy.

Me too baby girl, me too.

You force yourself to look back at Eddie, and his eyes meet yours. It's a moment of understanding that goes straight to your gut and steals the breath from your lungs; Chrissy wasn’t ever coming back.

The wake is held at the house, a tasteful catered affair courtesy of Jason’s parents. Everyone thought it best for Zoë to be in a familiar setting to try and stick to her routine. People mill about downstairs stopping every so often to shake your hand and offer their condolences, thoughts and prayers, or claim that their hearts are with you during this difficult time.

It’s all you can do not to scream as you hold Zoë like a life raft. So, instead of snapping something at someone’s handsy uncle who has had you cornered for the last five minutes or so, you talk to Chrissy in your head.

What were you thinking Chris? This wasn’t the plan at all, in fact, you’ve jumped the gun by about sixty-odd years y’know. If you care to recall, we said we’d outlive our husbands and buy a place on the Cape. Descend into spinsterhood in style, and then haunt the shit out of that property, as is our right.

Ellie checks in on you with a soft touch to the arm, ushering pervy uncle toward the hors d’oeuvres. Small miracles. You can feel the tears gathering on your lashes, and you know that your tolerance for these platitudes is quickly dwindling. You haven’t seen Eddie since he fed and changed Zoë an hour or so ago.

He’s been distant since that night, the one where you’d refused him and drawn your line in the sand.

Catching sight of Robin, you tell her that Zoë is going for her nap and she promises to make your excuses. She latches on to that guy she seems permanently attached to, (Dean, you wanna say?) and they begin to spread the word in an attempt to clear everyone out.

You take the stairs slowly, not wanting to shift the dozing girl in your arms too much, as you step onto the second floor landing. Turning into the nursery, you set her down on the changing table and rid her of her funeral dress.

No little girl should ever have one, much less be given the opportunity to wear it.

Back in her comfy pjs, you sit on the rocking chair and kick off your heels. Zoë nuzzles against your neck as you hum softly. Sooner than you’d anticipated, the rhythmic rocking to and fro has eased her into sleep. Rising as gently as you’re able, you lay her down in the crib, turn on her sound machine, and step out of the room with baby monitor in hand.

Downstairs, you can hear rumblings of conversation overridden by a male voice: “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” 

Chuckling, you duck into the guest bathroom before any of the hangers on can spot you as they take their leave. Back hitting the door, you allow yourself a moment or two to breathe. Surrounded by people all day on what has arguably been the worst day of your life to date. Smoothing down the skirt of your dress, you pull the shower curtain aside and step into the basin of the bathtub. Once settled, you draw the curtain closed again and let your head rest against the tile wall.

“Why did you leave me alone like this, Chrissy?” You say, voice ricocheting off the bathroom tiles. “You know I can’t handle anything without you.”

Not two minutes later, and someone comes barreling in. Huh, guess you never did lock that door. 

Before you can alert them of your presence, a high-pitched giggle sounds out followed by the scuffling of feet. The door is shut, and the lock is thrown as the giggle turns into a high, breathy gasp. They sound closer now, if the wet sounds of tongues battling for dominance is anything to go by.

Rearing back, you sink into the corner of the tub and will it all to go away. The noxious, ringing laughter continues unabated only punctuated by the sounds of a belt buckle clinking against the sink, a zipper being pulled down.

If you were so inclined (which you are decidedly not), you could simply turn your head to the left and feast your eyes on the shadow sexual escapades of one—

“Oh, Eddie.”

For fuck’s sake! As if this day could get any worse.

But, oh wait, it does.

“Sock it to me!” 

Biting the heel of your hand to quell the rising laughter, your eyes blow wide at her litany of ‘sock it to me’s’ – it’s as if that’s the only thing her poorly wired brain will allow her to say mid-coitus. Eddie’s laughter, understandable given the circumstances, devolves into an attempt to shush his conquest from what has got to be the most unimaginative dirty talk you’ve had the misfortune to be privy to.

When she finally reaches her peak (“Yeah! That’s so good!”), you’ve already mentally catalogued the ways in which you could have a) killed yourself in the interim, b) killed Eddie, and c) killed this poor woman, in all likelihood saving her from a life of mediocre sex at funerals.

“Thanks.”

Well, at least she’s polite.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Eddie sounds embarrassed, voice tight and you can imagine he’s doing that thing where he drums his fingers against his thigh, impatiently waiting for this all to be over. His lips are probably tucked between his teeth while she washes her hands, eyes anywhere but on her.

There’s the sound of the door being unlocked and the throw away line of “Call me,” and with that, she’s gone.

The sink runs again, Eddie muttering to himself under his breath, and for the briefest of seconds when you dramatically pull the shower curtain open, you could’ve sworn you saw something akin to regret (or was it disgust?) as he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck!” 

He jumps back, startled at your Houdini-esque appearance. All too calmly, you step out from the bathtub, gaze fixed on him all the while. You pluck the joint from his fingers and stow it in your pocket. 

And you haven’t launched into him yet, so maybe this isn’t the verbal crucifixion that Eddie thinks it’ll be. There’s a curl to his lips that says he’s going to be a problem, that he’s going to make a joke out of this, as if he hadn’t buried his best friend earlier today and then gone and screwed a cater waiter in the bathroom of her house during the wake.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my Lady Disdain,” He drawls, arms loosely crossed against his chest, “Are you yet living?”

It is only in deference to Zoë that you don’t go scorched earth on his ass right then and there. There’s a soft squawk from your other pocket where the baby monitor is as she likely rolls over in her sleep.

“I am only going to say this once, Munson, so you better get it through that abomination you call a skull.”

Briefly, someone attempts to enter the bathroom, the door nudging open only to be forcefully shut as you, in an impressive feat of balance, slam one Manolo Blahnik clad heel against the door and shove it closed.

“Occupied!”

You wait a beat or two, leg slotted against the door to be sure that whomever was on the opposite side did not attempt further entry. 

If only your yoga instructor could see you now.

Releasing your hold on the door, you flip the lock and take measured steps back to Eddie who is now crowded back against the pedestal sink.

“Did ya have some fun? Get you rocks off? Add another notch to the bedpost?” You seethe, and he knows better than to interrupt when you’re like this. “What a fitting way to send off Chrissy, huh? By defiling her home because you lack something called self-restraint.”

“Hey, that’s not—”

“What, is that not accurate Munson? Because from where I was sitting, it sounded like you couldn’t wait bust your nut into the next woman who batted her lashes at you, who maybe, juuuust maybe,” You take one step closer, a mere breath away from him. “Suffers from an undiagnosed brain injury and lowers herself to slum it with the likes of you.”

“Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart,” He sneers, “All those years of therapy seem to be doin’ wonders for your self-esteem. Because you’re too high and mighty to count yourself one of the crowd, right?”

“You have no right—”

“I have no right? Are you kidding me? I'm not the one who shuts down at the first opportunity, who would rather run away than stay here and deal with this!"

"It's not like I’ve left! I'm here, aren't I?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" He demands. "We are not just playing house here! And you can’t pretend that we’re not partners in this. If you’re so scared, why didn't you say anything?”

You storm toward the door, unlocking it as you turn the knob to leave. To get away from him and his pitying looks, his judgment.

"Because I don't need you!"

Eddie’s hand covers yours, “Maybe I need you!" He snaps, almost shouting. "Maybe I need you to work with me instead of against me. Maybe I need you to stop doubting yourself, because there's already so much to worry about and I can't help worrying about you. Maybe I need you to stop being so damn independent and self-absorbed. Maybe I need you to realize that you're not the only person here who lost a best friend."

The heartbreak on his face is so painfully clear that you can feel it in your chest; you can't believe you didn't noticed it before.

The door creaks open.

"Hey, are you guys – oh, sorry."

You turn from Eddie to see Robin on the stairs, hesitating. You clear your throat and blink away any tears, as you step through the door. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," You say, turning toward her and smoothing down your dress.

"Okaaaay." She looks doubtful. "Everyone’s cleared out, leftovers are in the fridge. I checked on Zo and she’s still zonked out."

You nod, “Thanks, for everything.”

“Happy to help.”

You wait until her footsteps fade away, and the front door shuts. Gritting your teeth, you watch as Eddie steps away from you and avoids making eye contact, your jaw clenched tightly enough to hurt.

There's something empty and aching at the base of your throat, and no matter how much you swallow, it won't go away.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Helloooo sleepy! What are we going to do after MW franchise (finally ends)? Let's be honest, fanfiction writers can write better stories than the actual devs and it pains me to say this but it is true to a great degree. It's like they just threw these characters at us and said "Yeah now make out of them as you will" smh

Hmmmm considering the fact that the MW game is most definitely going to continue with Modern Warfare IV in the future, I don't think it's going to end soon, but when it does, do not fret. It's a fandom. As long as the source material exists, people will not stop writing about it. Look at the OG!Modern Warfare that finished by the year 2011. Before MW 2019 came out, i see lots and LOTS of people still making fanfics 7 years after the game finished. Be it a spinoff, be it a fix-it fic, be it an AU or combined with other fandoms. The ideas will never stop, so don't worry too much about it! ᕙ⁠(⁠ ⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠•⁠ ⁠ ⁠)⁠ᕗ

Yes, some fanfic writers can write really good and even can formulate better stories than the devs it's mindboggling. (Then again, the devs are rushed and gotta meet their unrealistic deadlines by the higher ups. I do think that they can absolutely create better stories than this. They just don't have enough time) 😫

However though, I must disagree with you on the devs 'throwing the characters at us and said "yeah now make out of them as you will".' Because whether or not we think the stories in the game is good or bad, they are the source material, and we must respect it to some degree. Why? Because the result of people willingly ignore them is some of the most unhinged and disturbing stuff that i've ever seen.

What do I mean by that? What I mean is, when someone replaces Gaz with König in 141 for no reason at all/because Gaz is "boring" (which is abhorrent, btw), or when someone just plainly write Alejandro or Ghost being extremely abusive, or when someone unironically is a literal Makarov apologist -- Sure, you can write about anything and everything you want, it is our freedom as a writer, but when you're willingly and consciously so obtuse/ignorant about the source material, you're just making up another story at this point, damn.

Yea yea yea I know CoD is a military propaganda but who doesn't know that at this point - It means that we gotta be critical, careful, most of all wise of the things we create, not an excuse to just treat this characters like ragdolls that you can just switch out or put in, or just extremely ignore the story however you like it.

The fact that there's some aspect in the stories that I don't like doesn't mean I can disrespect the source material. I can dislike what the devs did with the characters, but I also still gotta stay loyal to the story. Doesn't mean I can't write AU's or fix-its, it just means I don't attack the writers/the actors in an attempt to change the goddamn canon, jeez 😭

Got on a little rant there, but yeah that's what I thought about 🥳 Don't forget to be happy!