#My brain hasn't stop running yet
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setokunslullaby · 7 months ago
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I found fanart of KagePro x Dark Woods Circus and my brain went "Dark Woods Circus AU" as if I didn't have that AU for almost every other fandom I'm in (Pokemon/PokeSpe, MysMes, Elfen Lied[Never really talked about that one BC not many people were in that fandom], Dragon Ball...)
I need to stop and just make one huge Dark Woods Circus AU for my fandoms. Similar to how I lowkey made up a multifandom verse/universe for my main fandoms.
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rin-may-1103 · 7 months ago
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The Wrong Robin Au (part three)
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Danny never said he knew what he was doing, but he thinks he's doing something right if the kid hasn't started crying yet. so you know, that's great. now, he just needed to get the kid out of here, so Danny could have a moment to mourn his retirement plans.
He wasn't going to blame the kid, ancients know Danny would have gone back to hero work eventually. He just couldn't let things go if he could help it, and he could in this situation.
"Alright, here's the plan." Danny announced, slapping his legs as he stood up. "it's late, you're a kid who needs sleep. let's get you home, then we can get a game plan on how to do this."
Tim had been nodding his head, even if it was reluctantly, before freezing in sudden realization. Danny raised his eyebrow in question, wondering what was wrong now.
"you want my help?" Tim asked, absolutely gobsmacked.
Oh, the kid thought Danny was just going to send him away like any reasonable adult would. Ha, Danny wished. but no. He had no clue what he was doing and this kid was his only trump card for making any of the half-assed plans still forming in his head work. AND he had a feeling if he didn't keep Tim close by, the kid would run off and do something stupid.
"Yep," Danny snorted, "you were smart enough to figure out who Batman was, and then you decided to take it upon yourself to help him; whether by convincing me to do it or yourself."
"Now then," Danny said as he walked over to the couch and pulled his hoodie from under Sam. Sam, to her credit, told him to fuck off and went back to snoring. Tucker, somehow having heard her, responded with a 'Go fuck yourself'.
Shaking his head, Danny turned back to Tim. "Let's get going. It's-" Danny turned to look at the clock, his eyes narrowing when he found it; 4 am. The kid was up and coherent enough to try and blackmail someone into being Robin at four in the morning. "-four. you seriously need to get some sleep kid. It's a school night." actually, what day was it???
Tim rolled his eyes but started to follow Danny out the door. "It's Saturday, and I've stayed up longer," he grumbled.
Danny snorted, "So have I, but we still need to sleep." He should probably try and prevent the kid from staying up longer than he should. Danny knows what years of not sleeping properly does to someone. The kid's obsessed with Batman and Robin, right? He'll just use them then.
"Robin needs all the sleep he can get. Otherwise, Batman will bench him. If Robin is benched, then who is out there helping Batman?" That's convincing, right? Does Batman even have the power to bench Robin? From the sounds of it, Robin is his kid's vigilante name. Which means he totally has the power to ground them.
Wait...
If Danny was going to be Robin, does that mean Batman would think he's his kid?
Oh, hell naw. He was not going to be adopted by another fruitloop! If Bruce Wayne even thinks about it, Danny will be out of there so fast even the Flash couldn't stop him.
Tim stumbled, his eyes wide in surprise. "Really?" he asks, turning to look at Danny in horror. Danny blinked, brain failing to remember why the kid would be surprised.
shit, what were they talking about?? Robin... It's four am... Right!
"Yep," Danny chirped, leading the kid to his car. "Now, I know everyone says not to get into a stranger's car and all that jazz, but it's the only way I'm getting you home. So, hop in."
Tim didn't even hesitate to jump into the passenger seat, pulling the seat belt across his chest. Danny stared at him for a second, before opening the car door and sitting down.
"kid, you do know you're not supposed to get into strangers' cars, right?" Danny asked, closing the door and buckling up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his keys and started the engine.
"Well, yeah?" Tim replied, turning to face him, "But you're not a stranger. You're Robin. You protect people not hurt them."
and well? Danny can't argue with that, now, can he?
"Right, fine. Just promise not to get into strangers' cars. I don't care how much you think you know about them. It's not safe, and you could get hurt."
Tim hummed, thinking about it for a moment before nodding his head. "Yeah, alright. I promise."
"good." Danny sighed, turning to look at the road to see if it was clear. then he sighed again, "Don't tell strangers where you live, please."
Tim looked at him in amusement, a small smile spreading across his face. "Drake manor. 1015 Mountain Drive. It's in the Crest Hill community."
"You're killing me here, kid." Danny groaned, hitting his head against the steering wheel. Then he slowly lifted his head and turned to stare at Tim, "Kid. How the hell did you get all the way over here? Mountain Drive is all the way over in Bristol??? That's, like, twelve miles outside of city limits?"
"I have my ways."
Danny narrowed his eyes, "You bribed someone, didn't you."
Tim looked away from him, fiddling with his fingers.
sighing, Danny sat up and started driving down the road. They sat in silence for a while, just listening to the chaos that was Gotham City as they drove. Tim eventually slumped over, his head resting against the window.
It took a good thirty minutes before Danny could turn onto the bridge out of town. The traffic wasn't heavy, just the occasional car here and there. It was almost peaceful.
"Turn here," Tim suddenly instructed, startling Danny.
"Tim!" Danny cried, turning to look at the kid, then back at the road. although, he did do as the kid instructed. "don't do that! you'll give me a heart attack or something! Ancients!"
Tim blinked, then shrugged. "ok," he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"my house is the one with really stupid-looking ducks carved into the gates." Tim supplied, waving his hand at the road ahead of them. "Bruce's is the one with bats, but you knew that."
"Right," Danny agreed. What were the chances that Batman happened to live in a place called Gotham and in a house with black iron gates covered in bats? It was almost as coincidental as Danny's last name sounding like Phantom. Fate really had quite the sense of humor, didn't they?
after they passed a few more dirt roads, Tim pointed at a specific one, "Turn here. The gates a little further back than everyone else's."
Danny hummed, turning the car onto the road. What was his life at this point? Driving children to their huge houses at four-thirty in the morning? agreeing to become Robin? coming out of retirement because a kid asked him to?
Bruce Wayne better appreciate all the effort this kid was going through...
A tall gate slowly popped into view, making Danny slow the car down until he could stop right in front of it. "Alright, kid. You're home. get some sleep. Go to school, I don't know, what do you rich kids do on the weekends? actually, you know what? It doesn't matter, do you have a phone?"
Tim blinked as he slowly unbuckled, "yes?"
"One that's not monitored by your parents or anyone else?"
"..."
Danny sighed, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone. "Here," Danny unlocked it, went to settings and pressed the factory rest option. Once the phone finished the reset, he quickly scanned through it to make sure it was all gone before adding his second phone number. once done, he tossed it over to the kid. "here, should work for now. Don't let anyone else have it."
If this was any other situation, Danny would have gone straight to the kid's parents; but considering it was past four in the morning and there wasn't a city-wide amber alert? He has a feeling the kid needs a safety net, and well? What better than a direct line to him?
"I can't just take your phone!" Tim cried, catching the phone before it could fall to the ground.
"It's my backup one. I tend to break my phone pretty often, so I always keep an extra one on me. my current number is saved on it, you can reach out and get in contact with me now." Danny waved off the kid's concern, reaching into the back of the car to grab a bag.
with how often his phone had broken during ghost fights and how frequently his parents dissected his phone for parts? It's a habit at this point to have a backup. or Ten. Pulling the bag to the front, Danny showed the kid what was inside.
"..." Tim blinked, then looked up at Danny. "why do you have a bag of broken phones in your car?"
"Because my phones keep breaking and I figured it would be easier to just keep them for extra parts than toss them. Now," Danny tossed the bag into the back, ignoring how it tipped over and spilled the contents all over the seat. He'd clean it up later. Maybe. "It's early. You need sleep, I need sleep. We can pick another day to sit down and build a game plan."
Tim sat in silence for a moment, staring at the phone in his hands, before glancing up at Danny. "You really mean it?" he asked, turning the phone around anxiously, "you really want my help?"
"kid, Tim," Danny started, tilting his head so he could make eye contact. "with how bad you say Batman's gotten? I'm going to need all the help I can get. Who better than the one who went out of his way to try and actually do something about it?"
Tim's eyes watered as he looked back at the phone. "ok," he whispered, nodding his head. Reaching up, he wiped his face clean before taking a deep breath and letting it out.
"ok," he repeated, voice stronger now. "I'll help. I want to."
"Good," Danny nodded in agreement, then smiled. "get some sleep kid, you need it."
"I don't need it," Tim grumbled, turning to open the door and get out. "but if that's what it takes for you to allow me to help, then I guess I can take a nap or something."
Danny snorted, watching as Tim closed the car door and started making his way to the gate.
as soon as the kid was out of view, Danny slammed his head onto the steering wheel and groaned. He had definitely jinxed himself earlier. How hard can being Robin be? Yeah right. He hasn't even gotten to meet Bruce yet and he's already stressed.
...
Glancing up, Danny watched as the clock glitched then turned to five am.
...
Well then, he might as well do something productive since it was unlikely he'd be getting any more sleep if he went back. Sam would be up by the time he got there, which meant he'd have to answer all of her questions... which would wake Tucker up, which would mean Danny'd have to explain all over again.
Glancing around, Danny suddenly realized something.
Batman.
Bruce Wayne was Batman.
Bruce Wayne; as in, Gotham's own himbo billionaire.
Who lives in Bristol.
Which is where he is right now. Logically speaking, he'd be able to find it pretty fast if he just looked at the gates. It's probably just a few houses from Tim's too, now that he thought about it...
Oh, this was a terrible idea, but when had that ever stopped Danny?
Jazz was so going to kill him for this.
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moongothic · 1 year ago
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Crocodad AU where immidiately after having left Dragon and his baby boy Crocodile finds an 11 year old Robin. And while he's 100% only recruiting her so they can make a beeline for the Poneglyph and Pluton in Alabasta by the two of them... Crocodile accidentally sorta kinda adopts Robin.
At this point Robin's been running for her life from the Government for three years so her deep trust issues and fear of betrayal are starting to take root in her little heart. Like perhaps they haven't taken fully over yet, and being still a child I'm sure Robin might've still had that genuine hope that she could find a safe place to stay in. But I'm sure the though of "what'll he'll do with me once he gets what he wants?" would be nagging at her at the back of her mind. Meanwhile Crocodile's struggling between the pain and hurt he's already gone through and given him his trademark trust issues, as well as the aftermath of The Dragodile Divorce. But he also has his Fresh Paternal Instincts and probably misses his baby. So when given a small, scared child who is running for her life, being chased by the very same Government that'll want his son dead if they ever find out about him... Yeah that might fuck with your brain a little
You know this post was supposed to be just that first paragraph and just a few footnotes from the following two paragraphs. And then I kept on Having Thoughts. And I kept on writing them down. And oh no what happened when did this post get so long (Look I was going to either kept on writing my Additional Thoughts in the tags or I just put them in the actual fucking post)
Like considder this: based on this one SBS, we can kinda tell that if Crocodile was given a chance to raise a child, that child would be a spoiled little shit, right
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So in this scenario, where Crocodile's looking after lil Robin, would he be kind of torn? Unsure how to feel about her?
Because on one hand, this strange child would have the potential to not only ruin his plans, strip him of his Shichibukai Privileges by outing him and his plans to the World Government, but also put his son in grave danger by extension (if she found out about him having been involved with the Revolutionaries and/or having a child). But on the other hand, his paternal instincts could make him want to spoil this poor little girl rotten. But only because he needs to (perhaps literally) buy her trust so she'll behave. No other reason, he doesn't feel sorry for her one bit, no sirree. (But maybe he did feel sorry for her, since his son could very well end up exactly like her. Poor little thing) (Which is why he needs to nuke Marijoa out of orbit as soon as possible, no matter the cost, and this child can't get in the way of Crocodile protecting his son) (But also this is a child. Like how bad could she be. Besides all he really needs to do to win her trust is be nice and make her feel safe, right?)
Of course, while I'm suggesting Crocodile could have some parental instincts, realistically, he hasn't actually spent any time being, you know, a father to a child (looking after his newborn for an unknown though short amount of time aside), so it's possible he wouldn't even know how to parent Robin even if he wanted to, would he? (Like taking care of a newborn and an 11 year old kid aren't the same either) So if he was kind of just emotionally flipflopping between No Trusting Ever and It's Just A Kid for God's Sake, Crocodile trying to be nice to Robin to make her feel safe and then telling himself to stop being so soft and vunerable... Yeah that would make for an absolute mess of a relationship. (Not to mention, let's be real, dude's a scary motherfucker too, and a bloody giant compared to itty bitty baby Robin. He could keep on accidentally scaring the shit out of Robin (who would be On Fucking Edge To Begin With) by just Being Himself. Like for example, can you fucking imagine if he caught Robin trying to cheer herself up with a little "dereshishishi" only to tell her to stop because "it was stupid"? 'Cause I can imagine him doing that, and boy howdy would that make Robin feel bad)
Or who knows, maybe Crocodile was just Born To Be A Dad, maybe he just Fucking Gets It. Like Crocodile is canonically pretty good at manipulating people to do what he wants them to do (see: how he played Vivi like a fiddle), so knowing Robin's position and understanding how she feels, maybe he COULD completely nail how she needed to be treated. Not being too familiar but still making her feel safe and happy, knowing exactly when to be stern and when to spoil her, etc. Dude just goes off and wins the Dad of the Year Award while being a deadbeat dad himself. The only thing Crocodile would have to worry about then would be making sure HE doesn't get too fond of her. And certainly that could never happen, he's so in-touch with his own feelings and so grounded, he's not a softie, get outta here. Or maybe he does but never realizes until it's too late and good luck backpedalling on those emotions now dumbass
Alright so, the reason I went on that whole rmble is just that like. I'm so interested in the relationship Robin and Crocodile already have in canon. I'm so facinated and curious about how the two feel about each other, considdering they did spend 4 whole years of their lives together as criminal business partners, though neither ever trusted the other. A partnership that was only ended because Robin betrayed Crocodile, out of her own trauma. (God, I want to see these two "reunite" so bad, I want to know how they feel about each other now after the timeskip and Robin joining the idiot in flipflops who foiled Croc's plans)
My question here is just that... if they had met 13 years earlier, would things have been different? Especially if Crocodad Real? Because as I mentioned in the begining, Robin would've been on the run for only 3 years by this point, as opposed to 16 years before running into Crocodile. Simultaneously, this would be before Crocodile went onto spend an entire decade all alone, slowly losing his marbles in his emotional solitude. They'd both be emotionally traumatized, yes, but would it have been as bad in this scenario? Like I did start this post kind of joking about Crocodile adopting Robin, and for clarity's sake I don't think they'd have like a father-daughter relationship nececarily. But it would be a strange relationship still, because we'd have two broken people, both struggling to trust anyone. One who had lost her mother and her only friends, leaving her all alone and afraid while running for her life. The other a father who had just given up his son whom he probably missed dearly. Both having these holes in their hearts from loss of family, holes that could not be filled with replacements. But could they find comfort in each other anyway, because they still as people occupy similar roles to their respective loved ones? If they both could just get over those trust issues?
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Okay I've been going off on the Emotional Side Of Things for this AU Concept, THERE'S PLOT TOO
So if Crocodile did pick Robin up like 19 years ago, that should be before he set up base in Alabasta, long before he had built is homebase and financial empire etc.
Now the thing is, while we don't know when, where and how Crocodile learned about the Ancient Weapons, Pluton specifically and how the lead on it would be in Alabasta... Considdering Crocodile did once upon a time aim to become Pirate King, it would make perfect sense if he had learned about Poneglyphs during his past adventures, as he would have needed to get the Road Poneglyphs to find One Piece. And while the World Government did bury the truth about why Ohara had been burned down and why Robin had been given her bounty (remember, the WG claimed it was because she had sunken a fleet of battleships, which she had not, it was because she could read the Poneglyphs), considdering this is a Crocodad AU specifically, you could totally make an argument Crocodile could've learned about what actually happened to Ohara from Dragon and co. So, just to make this AU work, you could just assume Crocodile learned about the concept of the Ancient Weapons from Dragon. And who knows, maybe he overheard the truth about why Robin had been given her bounty from Dragon too (maybe Dragon was able to get intel from Garp in secret) or while going to Marijoa himself to attend a Shichibukai meeting or something IDK.
Maybe he learned about Pluton being in Alabasta before finding Robin by accident, and maybe they made a beeline for Alabasta the second Croc recruited Robin. Travelling takes time and the guy would've most likely had to find an Eternal Pose to Alabasta just to get there (also canonically Robin didn't enter the Grand Line until her 20s so they should've met in West Blue probably, since that's where Ohara was) Or maybe Crocodile had to haul Robin around for a few months while looking for That Missing Piece of Information that would lead him to Alabasta. (Imagine the two travelling from like island to island, library to library, Crocodile trying to find that leads while Robin's just so excited about ALL THESE BOOKS (she's helping too with the research) (but to her, research is playtime, so she's just having the time of her life) (Also, notice how Crocodile's Theoretical Child is a fucking loser ass nerd? Yeah Crocodile would encourage Robin reading and studying, surely. And that would be fucking cute))
But like, once they set sail to Alabasta...
Sure, Crocodile could try to do it The Slow Way that we know he tried in canon, building trust and creating his little empire etc. But also, in canon, Crocodile couldn't have jumped into action head first because without Robin, even if he had found the Poneglyph he couldn't have read it and found the location of Pluton. Crocodile choosing to do it the slow way may have been partially because he didn't have much of a choise and it could've felt like the smarter move long-term.
But in this scenario, he already has Robin. Yes, he could do it the slow, secure way.
But what'd be there stopping him from infiltrating Cobra's palace and kidnapping him (in the night, when nobody suspects a thing), demanding Cobra to spill the beans lest Crocodile kills him and/or his pregnant wife* (*Vivi was born 10 months after Luffy so depending on how long it's been between Crocodad leaving Luffy behind and this scenario... Yeah either the wife is there, still pregnant, or there's a newborn Baby Vivi)
Like it'd be a risky move but depending on how ballsy Croc's feeling and how confident he feels in being able to kidnap the king without being noticed... Yeah he could probably do it. And I'm sure he'd have no problem killing Cobra either, if anything it'd be required if he didn't want the Government to find out he was out to find Pluton, and god knows Cobra would tell on Crocodile if left alive. I could see Crocodad being maybe a little iffy about killing Baby Vivi though (it's not like the newborn baby could report him to the WG anyways), but if nothing else, he just needs to be able to pull off the bluff of his life to convince Cobra to do as he's told. And we all know Crocodile's good at convincing people.
The only question is, how would Robin take that?
Watching Crocodile go into Full Murder Mode, hearing him say he'd kill a pregnant woman/a newborn baby if he didn't get what he wanted? Like yeah, I'm sure 11 year old Robin would be fine with that, that wouldn't make any alarm bells go off in her head at all, it'd be fiiiine. IT WOULD NOT BE FINE, SHE'D BE SCARED SHITLESS. That fear of "what will he do with me when he gets what he wants"? Well, Robin may not have found the answer to that question in particular, but she certainly found the answer to the opposite question, and it's not good
So say Cobra, kidnapped (perhaps with Baby Vivi) by Crocodile in the night, guides the two to the Poneglyph under the tombs. Crocodile puts Cobra out of his misery because he's not needed anymore. And he asks Robin to read the Poneglyph for him.
Robin, who has spent the last little while, be it weeks or months with Crocodile, him having become her "guardian", the thing keeping her safe. Crocodile, who has now shown how cold blooded and cruel he can be. Robin, who might be scared out of her mind. Of him.
And the Poneglyph says Pluton, the thing Crocodile wants, isn't there. It's in Wano.
What's she going to do?
EDIT: I wrote a sequel post, enjoy
#Moon posting#OP Meta#Sir Crocodile#Crocodad#Nico Robin#THIS POST WAS AN ACCIDENT. I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. WHY DID I WRITE THIS. WHAT DEMON POSSESSED ME#I'm sure someone's written this already right#Right#Surely this fanfic already exists#Please tell me it exists#I dunno what to tell you I am not immune to a Juicy AU#Anyway on a more wholesome side of things: Robin accidentally calling Crocodile ''dad'' and he just inhales and swallows his whole cigar#Nearly chockes to death. Gets burns on his throat.#Robin feeling less alienated because of her DF ability because Croc has seen weirder AND is made of sand himself#If anything if they're literally by themselves then Robin being able to literally lend a hand to Croc at any time could be extremely useful#Like. In regular life situations. 'Cause Croc only has one hand. And Robin as many as she wants. Perfect duo.#(Also if they were travelling on like a small ship then it'd probably be built for a Tall Motherfucker like Croc right)#(Robin's ability would just make the ship more accessible to her and Croc would find that independence good)#Robin still gets a codename because Croc can't have anyone realize who she is. Maybe she even wears like a mask or summin' in public#If Crocodile's openly trans and the news of him transitioning recently broke out. Like. No avoiding that convo eh#Baby Robin's like ''...I read in a book once that some reptiles can change sex but I didn't know crocodiles could do it too''#''💦.../Humans/ can't do that normally either''#''Hmmmm. Weird. I don't think being a girl would suit you though'' // ''...I'll take that as a compliment''#I just. I think they could have really cute interactions if they warmed up to each other after a little while#And I'm Extremely Normal about that
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elusivedew · 3 months ago
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💌 | Cubitum eamus ?
✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.
✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k
Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?
Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really. 
Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days. 
He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June. 
The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up. 
Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking. 
It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work. 
And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain. 
By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.
That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.
Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call. 
Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad. 
“Agent Reid.”
Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.
“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.” 
“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?” 
He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.” 
You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it. 
The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other. 
To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends. 
But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now. 
“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.
“Yeah, thank god.” 
“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.” 
Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.” 
“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice. 
“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other. 
“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?” 
The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.” 
You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.” 
He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.” 
“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?” 
Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you. 
“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on. 
“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?” 
The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that. 
“I could never lie to you.” 
“You literally just did.” 
You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first. 
“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.” 
The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back. 
Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.
“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?” 
It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.
It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far. 
And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different. 
But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you. 
“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.” 
You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.
The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life. 
But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.
And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding. 
You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night. 
Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.
He is so fucked.
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Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent. 
She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does
But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork? 
It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly. 
It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.
When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either. 
They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee. 
Spencer Reid is in love.
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There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.
You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.
He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it. 
Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it. 
You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy. 
It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it. 
It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.
When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.
The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.
Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.
“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”
God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful. 
He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.” 
Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned. 
“Oh shut up, never do that again.” 
“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.” 
His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time. 
“God, you're so mean to me.” 
Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile. 
You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.” 
You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.” 
Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.
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‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick. 
You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting. 
Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.” 
He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably. 
“What do you think of this?” 
You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response. 
“My mom loved that one.” 
He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student. 
Something he’s never been before.
Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you. 
And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?” 
That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.” 
You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?” 
Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?
“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.
You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer. 
“Oh my god.” 
You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.
Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad. 
And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.
“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?” 
You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder. 
“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.
She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.” 
That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you. 
“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?” 
You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself. 
“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.” 
Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you. 
She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave. 
“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying. 
“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again. 
“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.” 
“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.
You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date. 
“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?” 
You nod in understanding, you do know. 
And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.
“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself. 
Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?” 
“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you. 
You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship. 
“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.
Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.” 
Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.” 
Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest. 
A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.
“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.
You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…” 
He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.” 
You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand. 
“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?” 
You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.” 
Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.
Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love. 
“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.” 
The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.
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The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.
Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you. 
And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home. 
When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed. 
When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.
“Is everything okay?” 
You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night. 
“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it. 
You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.” 
Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing. 
“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you. 
“Yes?” 
Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?” 
Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him. 
“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter. 
“I think you know what you want.” 
You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about. 
“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car. 
True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you. 
You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps. 
The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.
“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.
If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.
“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.
You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”  
He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.” 
You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?” 
That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.
“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?” 
He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned. 
Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it. 
It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years. 
He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?
You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture. 
“Spencer.”
It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.
“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.” 
You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching. 
“You know what I want to say, don't you?” 
He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.” 
He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.
Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.
You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity. 
He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.
You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door. 
The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway. 
“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling. 
“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.” 
“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?” 
He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.” 
You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation. 
And you're scared. 
You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate. 
Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.
But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him. 
Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom. 
You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing. 
You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back. 
“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.” 
Slow and stead. 
“I'm listening.” 
You lick your lips. 
“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?” 
He nods.
“Well, I lied.” 
He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?” 
You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.” 
You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.
You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.” 
He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss. 
You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.
But that reality is different now. 
He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body. 
You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him. 
He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.
But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.
“God, you're so… ridiculous.” 
The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?” 
His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.” 
You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could. 
“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing. 
“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.” 
Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.
You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.
You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look. 
“Hey, you never said you liked me back.” 
He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?” 
You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.
He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.” 
You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else. 
Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore. 
“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close. 
“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…” 
He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.
“You can't do this.” 
You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either. 
“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?” 
If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise. 
“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.” 
“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.” 
“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.” 
He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.” 
“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.” 
He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working. 
Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on. 
“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?” 
“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.” 
“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.” 
You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.” 
He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.” 
You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.” 
At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs. 
“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey. 
You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?” 
His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.” 
Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could. 
When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.
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gor3-hound · 1 year ago
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addicted to hurting
ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader
cw: 18+ content, hate sex, one bed trope(love it idc), p in v, mean leon, huddle for warmth n that, fingering, p in v, creampie, degradation ig, one use of good girl
a/n: request for @princesspalac :) sorry it took so long, um... my brain didn't want to work for this. guys don't question the title i hate naming fics... this one especially but it's from drugs by eden
word count: 1.6k words
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It was an undisputed fact that you and Leon did not get on well. Everyone knew it - the both of you made it very clear with your constant bickering.
But you were also both very competent agents, and that often meant you got assigned to missions together. It was usually fine, you both had enough professionalism to suck it up and get on with it, but he really seemed to want to wear your patience thin this time around.
It had been snowing heavily, and the chopper wouldn't be able to get to the extraction point. You'd been told that you should try and find shelter for the night, and when the snowstorm cleared up tomorrow, you'd both get evacuated. You had secured all the mission objectives and found an abandoned cabin to hole up in for the night, but the cold air nipped at your skin and made it impossible for you to relax.
You complain a little about having to stay here, shivering slightly as you settle on a worn down chair, the wood looking like it's halfway to rotting. You're surprised it hasn't given up under your weight at this point.
Eventually, Leon snaps.
“Jesus Christ. Do you ever shut the hell up?” He grumbles, running a hand through his hair, his brows pulled together in frustration. You scoff at him, your arms wrapped around your waist to keep you warm.
“It's fucking cold, and your attitude has been pissing me off all day. Apologies if I'm not a ray of sunshine.” You bite back, trying to ignore the chill settling deep in your bones.
He just glares at you before moving away, checking the perimeter and securing any entrances to the cabin. You take the opportunity to explore the other rooms, your heart sinking when you realise one very important detail.
There's only one bed.
Great. Fucking amazing. As if this day couldn't get any worse. You hear footsteps approaching, and you can sense the moment Leon realises the same thing by his sharp intake of breath.
“No. Absolutely not.” He says quickly, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway of the bedroom.
You dislike this just as much as he does, but it's probably a blessing in disguise. The both of you were too proud to admit it, but you'd likely freeze to death if you didn't huddle for warmth. The sun had only just set, and it was already this cold. You didn't want to imagine what it'd be like later.
“We're going to need to share it.” You say simply, approaching the bed and lying down facing away from Leon, staring at the wall as you wait for him to do the same.
“Well?” You say after a moment, noticing he hadn't come any closer. He hadn't moved from his spot, just staring distasteful at the empty spot in the bed. “Are you going to join me? Or did you drag your ass through herds of infected just to freeze to death?”
That gets a scowl from him. He kicks off his boots before approaching, settling on the edge of the bed and doing his best to keep his distance from you.
“You're going to need to come closer, or we're both going to be out of commission.” You say through gritted teeth, already frustrated with his attitude.
He lets out a soft grunt, but he shifts closer. He's practically spooning you, now, but you can feel the cold radiating from him. Neither of you had the chance to warm up yet, and you can't help but shift slightly in the bed, trying to get your blood circulating so you can warm up.
“Can you stop your squirming?” He hisses, his hand clamping down on your hip to still your movements. He seems so much closer now, his warm breath brushing the skin on the back of your neck and giving you goosebumps.
“I was just trying to get warm.”
“Then come here.” With that, he tugs you into his body, wrapping his arms tight around you. His nose presses against the crook of your neck, and you feel your heart racing. You feel warmer, sure, but you can't ignore the feeling of his muscles tensing as he holds you.
You don't mean to keep moving, but there's something uncomfortable about Leon of all people holding you so close. You try to put some distance between the two of you while staying close enough to feel his body heat.
“For fuck-” He lets out a deep breath from his nose, and then he's gripping you tighter, pulling you back against him. “Didn't I tell you to stop moving?”
You open your mouth to speak, but it's quickly stopped by a palm pressing firmly against the lower half of your face. “No. I'm so sick of your shit. All you've done is bitch the entire mission about being cold, and now I'm trying to help, you're being a fucking brat about it.”
His fingers push past your lips. He frowns slightly as you keep your jaw clenched, so he reaches his other hand around to squeeze the sides of your cheeks, prying your teeth apart so he can shove his fingers into your mouth.
“Ah, that's better. Get them nice ‘n wet for me. You gonna let me fuck that attitude out of you, huh?” You whine around his fingers, but you're already soaking your panties, nodding before you even realise what you're agreeing to.
He reaches down to free you from your pants, tugging them as far down as he can be bothered before he's yanking his fingers from your mouth and shoving two of them inside of you without any warning. He likes the way your face twists up at the burn, a grin spreading across his face.
The way he fingers you is almost clinical. He's not doing this for your pleasure - he just lazily scissors his fingers open until he deems that you're stretched enough for his cock. He doesn't bother undressing, just pulls his dick out after he unzips his cargos, pulling your hips up so you're face down, ass up.
“Fuck… surprised you're this tight… thought everyone in the office would've stuck their dicks in you by now.” He grunts as he bottoms out, immediately setting a brutal pace, his hips smacking your ass with every thrust.
“Fuck you, Kennedy.” You hiss, glaring at him over your shoulder. That look is hardly intimidating when he's pounding you into the mattress, and his hips stutter slightly as he barks out a laugh.
“I think you're mistaken, princess. See, I'm fucking you.” With that, he grabs the back of your head, pressing your face into the pillow to shut you up.
“God, that's better. Just take it, that's it. Good fucking slut.” He groans, his balls smacking your clit as he fucks into you with more vigour, low moans spilling from his lips as he uses you to chase his own pleasure.
He growls as he feels your pussy flutter around his cock, pulling out suddenly before yanking your head up by your hair. Your eyes water as your scalp stings, making you whimper softly.
“Ah-ah.” He tuts softly, his cock kicking against his stomach. He hates to admit it, but your cunt is one of the best he's had, and he's already close to cumming. “Not so fast. You gonna say please? I'll let you cum if you ask nicely.”
“You're such an… an asshole.” You say through gritted teeth, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as you press your palms on the mattress, trying to alleviate some of the pressure on your scalp from him tugging at your hair.
“That's not very nice, is it? Wanna try that again?” He asks you, his tone mockingly sweet. Makes you want to smack that stupid grin of his face. You don't get the chance, ‘cause he pulls even harder on your hair, your neck craning back painfully.
“Fuck… fuck, okay. Please, let me cum.” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut. He presses your face back into the pillow, pushing down on it as he lines himself back up with your drippy hole, resuming his rough pace from before.
“Good girl. Look at you, capable of following orders. All it took was a little dick.” He coos, angling his hips so he's bumping against your sweet spot every time he pushes his hips forward, groaning at the way it makes you tighten around him.
You cum around his cock, your moans muffled as he keeps fucking into you. He clenches his jaw as your walls spasm with your orgasm, drawing his own out of him seconds later. He buries himself as deep as he can get, his tip knocking your cervix and he cums, heat filling you up and coating your insides.
He pulls out once his dick stops twitching, tucking himself back in his pants and zipping them up. He can hear the rustling of sheets as you pull your pants up, but he's staring at the ceiling. He's sweating, hair sticking to his forehead. At least it helped warm him up.
He can feel your gaze on him, and he frowns, tilting his head to the side to look at you. He raises a brow, his gaze flicking over your face. You really are too hot to be as annoying as you are.
“What? I'm not gonna cuddle you. It's warm now. Go to bed.” He glances at you one last time before turning his back to you, lying on his side and closing his eyes.
He's out like a light in a minute flat.
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sophsicle · 4 months ago
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I'm Sorry I'm the One You Love
Part II (Part I)
He doesn't know what wakes him up. Or. Well. He does. It's James. But it's not as though the other boy is making any noise. And yet for some reason Sirius feels his eyes blinking open in the middle of the night, staring sleepily at the canopy over his fourposter bed.
Something in his chest pulls, yanks, tugs, throws a fit. Grumpily he sits up, scrubbing at his face, considers getting a glass of water, going to the kitchens for something sweeter. He hasn't got an actual plan when he pulls back the curtains around his bed, pausing when he spots the silhouette sitting in the window.
He knows who it is, of course.
Even in the dark, half-asleep.
Ah, he thinks. As though this is any kind of explanation for his sudden insomnia. It isn't. And it is. The pair of them tied together with a piece of string. Always pulling on one another. Come here. Come closer. Look at me. Look at me. Look at me, me, me.
"This seat taken?" he whispers, stopping in front of the window. James starts, tearing his eyes away from the glass and blinking up at him.
"Shit, did I wake you up?"
"Nah," even though he isn't sure it's true, squeezing himself into the spot across from James. The other boy is tense, Sirius can feel it immediately, his shoulders all the way up his neck, hands tapping manically at his knees, jaw clenched.
"You okay?" Sirius asks eventually, when it becomes clear James isn't going to say anything.
"Fine."
Sirius arches his brow even though James isn't looking at him, eyes back out the window.
"You wanna try that again?"
James huffs, shooting Sirius a weak smile. "Sorry," running a hand over his face. "Sorry, nothing- or - I don't know," he lets out a breath, and Sirius finds himself reaching out, wrapping his hand around James's ankle and squeezing. That earns him another smile. It's brittle though. Sirius hates it.
"I didn't fly very well last game," James says finally. Sirius would laugh if it weren't for the fact that James looks so serious about it. "And my essay for potions was crap. And like, I think I've done something to piss Lily off but I don't know what it is, and I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to have to ask, you know? And my mum's written me twice and I keep trying to answer her, but every time I start writing I feel like my heart is going to choke me and I don't even know why-"
"James," Sirius tries to sound as soothing as possible, he's not sure he's exactly made for it. Soothing. Softness. But he does his best.
"-and the full moon is coming up and I think Remus is feeling it more than he's letting on and I keep trying to help but you know how he is. He was definitely in pain today though, and I just keep thinking that I should have pushed more-"
"James."
"-like make him lie down or take a pain potion or something. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe he would have been grumpy about it but at least he wouldn't have been in pain anymore which is worth it. I-"
"Oi!" Sirius hisses, letting go of James's ankle so he can grab hold of his wrists and give him a shake. James looks at him, startled, but at least he's stopped spiralling. "Breathe."
"I am breathing."
"Bullshit. Breathe. Four count, okay?"
And he thinks James is going to fight him, but then he inhales, the pair of them counting together. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. After a few times James drops his head.
"Sorry," he manages.
Sirius makes an unimpressed noise. "Don't be stupid."
"My brain just...won't stop."
"I noticed."
A half-hearted laugh as James looks up at him again. Sirius isn't sure which one of them does it, or if it's both of them. Neither of them. Some natural occurrence they have no control over. But Sirius's grip shifts, their fingers slotting together so that they're holding hands.
"Sorry," James says again.
"Please shut-up."
"Right."
"You were brilliant in the last match," he goes on, James giving him a skeptical look. "You're always brilliant. We lost because Ravenclaw's beaters are maniacs, not because you weren't good enough."
"Sirius-"
"I said, shut-up," James does, obediently, though this time there's a hint of amusement. "Your essay is going to get perfect marks like every damn thing you write, Evans has not, in all the years I've known her, been afraid to tell you when she thinks you've done something wrong, if there was a problem I have no doubt she would let you hear about it. Your mum will understand that you can't answer every letter. You'll write her when you have less on your plate. And Moony's a bloody masochist, I honestly think he gets off on the pain at this point. Regardless, there is nothing you could have done to make him take care of himself properly and you know it."
James is staring at him with a stupid expression on his face. Sappy. Dripping all over the place. It's absolutely disgusting. Sirius hopes he never stops looking at him like that.
"Anything else?" he asks, with the smallest twitch of the corner of his mouth.
"Yeah. Stop picking at yourself. You're perfect."
That gets him a real laugh. "Perfect?"
"I said what I said."
Before Sirius has time to react James is yanking on their hands, half pulling Sirius into his lap, wrapping his arms around him, Sirius's face landing in his neck. It's not exactly a comfortable position. But Sirius doesn't complain. Can't even contemplate moving.
"I love you Sirius Black," James murmurs, arms too tight.
It's inadequate. But it's what they have.
"Yeah, I love you too."
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hey so it's exactly 10 days after what i added to @cherrychapsticksteve's post, and it hasn't left my brain SO! Murphy, this is for you. i hope enjoy this full version!!!
pairing: steddie | word count: 7,536 | rated: T
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-🎸-
Eddie's chest heaves as he sprints farther into the woods.
It’s not the first (and certainly won’t be the last) time he runs from Hawkins’ finest. This time, Hopper and Callahan had busted him after he ran a stop sign (it wasn’t his fault, okay? He had to change the tape and didn’t see the sign or the patrol car stopped at the damn cross street).
The ‘failure to obey traffic signs’ was the least of his problems though, not after his damn lunchbox dropped out of the van when they asked demanded he “Take a step out here, Munson.”, and the last crumbs of the stock he’d gotten from Rick the week before last spilling out at Hopper’s feet.
They get him in cuffs, of course, but the second they turn their backs on him, he fucking books it.
Hands cuffed behind him, wallet chain jangling around his hip in time with the zipper of his jacket hitting the lowest button of his vest, both officers are wheezing way too soon after he starts playing getaway. He twists and spins out of the way of their grasps, but Callahan gets a second wind and nearly catches him, so he bolts; Tears off past his van and into the woods.
He's got some sense of where he's going, they busted him on Cornwallis and it should be a clear cut through the forest past Loch Nora and to the park, but it's even darker as he gets under the treeline. The fading twilight blocked out by the canopy above him.
Still, he took off into the woods on the west side of the street so as long as he keeps going straight, he'll be fine. 
Joke's on him though, nothing about him has been straight since before he came to live with Wayne (since he was born if what his science teacher Mr. Clarke once told him is to be believed), so it's no fuckin' wonder that he's gotten off course.
He dismisses it at first, the gradual incline he's following at more of a jog than a sprint now, but when he hears sirens go off way too close and he finds himself crashing into a meticulously trimmed backyard, it makes sense.
What doesn't make sense is why of all the gallivanting through the woods he'd just done, over and under fallen logs, rocks, through bushes and thickets, that his feet betray him on the half inch concrete lip of patio he hadn't yet slowed himself enough to avoid altogether.
The toe of his sneaker clips the very corner, his feet try to right themselves, but he's already hurtling toward this person's inground pool. 
In the split second he's falling, Eddie's brain does three things almost simultaneously: 1) realizes that whoever's house this is, there's only one light on. an upstairs window that must be a bedroom. Good. Maybe then he can pick himself up after this what-would-have-been super embarrassing fall and get the fuck back out of their yard without them noticing.
2) It has enough sense to turn his body to the left to take the fall onto the concrete on his shoulder instead of his face, though it means he'll definitely be rolling into the pool now. Damn. 
And 3) a simple thought of 'Aw, fuck.'
What his brain didn't account for was the edge of the pool. And that it should have considered its boney housing's downward momentum in the fall.
His temple collides with the edge where plastic meets stone, and Eddie Munson, freshly concussed and all but dead to the world, falls into the water.
-🍦-
The night Steve Harrington officially meets Eddie Munson is like every other.
At home, alone, waiting for it to be a reasonable time to go to bed. 
He’s leaning his desk chair back on two legs, his feet propped up on his mattress, flipping through the new June '85 edition of Vogue that came in the mail that day addressed to Linda Harrington.
Halfway through reading about Eric Stoltz in that new movie Mask (and seriously debating somehow guilting his parents into sending him one of these watches for a late graduation gift because shit that's a nice watch), he hears a splash from outside his window.
The sound makes him jump from how unexpected it is, and he would've for sure tumbled ass backwards off his chair if the wall hadn't been behind him.
He jumps up and yanks open his blinds to look out at the pool below.
There are fresh ripples weaving across the normally still top, and a shadow of something bubbling up from the bottom.
His guts twist up immediately; of course, it could be just some stupid deer, but it could also be any number of insane hell creatures, one of which had once used his pool as it's front door before.
"Shitshitshitshit," Steve snatches up his bat from under the bed and launches himself out his room and down the stairs in record time.
By the time he gets to the edge of the pool, the ripples have dispersed significantly, and the..whatever it is.. at the bottom is releasing bubbles slower than ever.
It takes about a second more for him to parse out the very obviously human shape crumpled under the water and--is that blood?
Steve dives into the water directly across from the bright red smear on the plastic lining.
His eyes burn with the chemicals, all he makes out of the person is a pale face and dark hair.
He hooks an arm under theirs and across their chest, and pushes up from the bottom.
Steve finds a foothold in the shallows and powers over to the stairs as fast as he can, pulling the limp man up onto the concrete.
He gets to work on them immediately, checking for a pulse, checking for breath..nothing.
"Fuck Fuck Fuck!" Steve starts compressions on his chest, counting in his head before sucking in a deep breath, pinching the guy’s nose shut, and sealing his mouth onto the blue lips below him.
Nothing.
"C'mon Munson," Steve starts counting compressions again. "Don't do this to me, man." It surprises him that this is when his brain pairs the pale features and dark denim to Hawkins' Super-Senior, but it's him alright. The vest is a giveaway, though he definitely looks like a completely different person without his bangs hanging over his forehead, or that dumbass grin he has when he's going on some tirade at lunch.
Steve closes his lips over Eddie's once again and this time, it works.
Eddie pitches forward, spewing chunky water all over the ground in front of him.
Steve supports his back as he does, "Shit, man, let it out, let it out." He looks down then, finally realizing Eddie's arms have been completely incapacitated by a pair of cuffs this whole time. 
His breaths are ragged, gagging while he takes in shaky breaths.
He continues to pat Eddie's back, smacking his palm over some demon-looking thing on the back panel of his vest.
"Breathe, Eddie, you got it." The older boy's dazed gaze turns to him then, "You back with me?"
"Harrington?" it comes out a wheeze.
“Hey Munson, you okay?”
Eddie looks around at Steve’s yard, to the pool, “Yeah I—Yeah..” he looks back at Steve, “What happened?”
“You fell into my pool, dude.” he chuckles, “I pulled you out and you weren’t breathing.”
“…huh.”
That pulls another snort out of him. “Yeah, ‘Huh.’.”
Eddie looks off into the woods, then back to his face. “And what happened before that?”
Steve pulls lightly on the cuffs. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”
“I don’t–I don’t know what..” he glances around, panicked, “I don’t know why I’m in cuffs, I–”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay man. You’re okay.” Steve rubs gently over the same spot he’d been patting, “Let’s get you inside, alright? Get some food maybe?”
Eddie takes a couple more breaths then nods, “Yeah…yeah okay, Harrington.”
He leads Eddie inside after he’s calmed down a bit more, sitting him down on one of the chairs at the breakfast nook and dashing quickly to the laundry room off the kitchen for a towel.
"Eddie, hey, y'gotta stay awake." he says, wrapping him up and giving him a light shake, "I'm gonna make you something to eat soon, but I wanna get you outta your cuffs first. Can you tell me how to get them off?"
"Yea-yeah," Eddie smacks his lips dryly, thinking hard, "Do you have a bobby pin?"
Steve studies him while he quickly searches his brain for where the last time he might've seen one. He's still dazed, still out of it (which is fair, honestly, he almost died after all), and is starting to shiver despite the towel.
He goes to the sink and pours a glass of water. "I think my mom has some. Let me help you drink some of this, and we’ll get you upstairs, okay?" he says, turning back to Eddie and keeping his voice soft, as if he'd scare him off if he spoke any louder.
Eddie's face scrunches in confusion, so he continues, "I’ll get you out of those cuffs and into the shower so you can warm up."
He watches Eddie’s expression morph as he registers what was said to him. His eyes go hooded, his cheeks tinge pink, and a smirk tugs at his lips. "Y'wanna get me naked, big boy?"
Steve rolls his eyes, his own cheeks prickling with heat. Eddie's hot okay? Objectively. He doesn't have to be into guys to know that. And flirting is flirting.  Sue him. "Shut up man," he laughs.
He holds the glass to Eddie’s lips and lets him drink as much as he wants, then sets the glass down on the table. He pulls gently on Eddie’s bicep, hooking an arm around the other man's waist, under an arm, and when he finally feels like he's got a good enough hold on him, they head to the steps.
They make their way up the stairs slowly, Eddie mumbling to himself the whole way. Steve hears a grumbled "Naked..", something that sounds like "..Gotta be dreamin',", and his own name, drawn out as if in disbelief "Steeeve Harrington...".
Finally, they make it to the master bedroom and Steve deposits Eddie on the edge of the bed. He immediately falls over onto his right side.
"Ow! Shit.. that fuckin' sucks."
"Your shoulder?" Steve asks, grabbing up a pin from his mother's vanity and turning back to the still damp man on the bed.
"Yeah, I–I must've fallen onto it before I went in." Eddie reasons, "Also, my head hurts."
"I bet," Steve nods, climbing up behind Eddie, "Now, you gotta tell me what to do here, man." he turns the cuffs slightly where he can see the little keyhole. "I've never picked the lock on a pair of cuffs."
"Ya don't say..'' he drawls sarcastically, "Just put the pin in my hand and I'll do it.”
Steve watches Eddie's fingers fiddle with the bobby pin; twisting it every which way while he feels out which side is which, which end of it he wants, prying it open with only a couple fingers, twisting into his hair, the pads of them ghosting along his lips, how they might feel opening him u--
Steve jumps up off the bed, causing Eddie to complain about the movement fucking up his concentration or something.
He ignores him, heading into the ensuite to start the shower.
Holy shit.
What in the actual fuck was that? He shakes his head, hard, willing his brain not to think those thoughts again. He is not gay or anything, everyone has thoughts like that sometimes. Tommy said so.
After starting the water and grabbing a new towel from under the counter, Steve takes a breath and steps back out into the bedroom.
He lets the breath out in relief when he sees Eddie's hands separate from the other, one palm pressed to the left side of his face and his other hanging loosely in front of him off the edge of the bed.
His soggy white Reeboks have also joined him on the bed, feet dangerously close to the pillow.
"Up n’ at 'em, Munson, gotta get you cleaned up." Steve calls, relishing briefly in making Eddie jump in surprise. "Can you get up on your own?"
Eddie groans, but slowly lets his feet drop back down to the floor.
Steve is back on Eddie's side of the bed before he's upright, offering a hand.
His open palm is puzzled at for a few long seconds, then Eddie places his hand in Steve's.
"Okay, up we go," he pulls Eddie to his feet, singing his arm around the other man's waist again and pulling Eddie's arm over his shoulders.
"Dizzy." Eddie complains.
"I know, I know," he soothes in return, "It's this way."
They shuffle into the bathroom and Steve lowers Eddie onto the closed lid of the toilet.
"We gotta get you out of your wet clothes, okay Eds?" The nickname slips through his teeth, but Eddie doesn't seem to mind it, nodding slowly.
Steve kneels in front of him, "Shoes first. Can you get your jacket and vest off for me?"
“Pushy, pushy,” Eddie teases, starting to pull his jacket off, “You really wanna get me naked, don’t you.” 
“Oh yeah. I am just itching for ‘pale, scrawny asshole’.” Steve deadpans in return, unlacing Eddie’s sopping sneakers and placing them in front of the counter.
“Oh now you wanna see my asshole? Buy a guy dinner first, Stevie.”
Steve tries to ignore the soupy feeling in his stomach at the nickname. It’s not even a new one, Tommy’s called him that before too and it never made his guts all squirmy like this.
It’s gotta just be because he and Eddie aren’t friends like he and Tommy had been.
That’s all.
But that’s not all, is it? His brain betrays him again, taking only half a second to imagine going on a date with Eddie, taking him to dinner, a movie, whatever. Taking him home, giving him a kiss goodnight.
The scenario is imagined, but the swirling feeling in his stomach is all too real.
He’s felt this before, the nerves and excitement of taking out a girl he really likes, getting to talk to her, get to know her, the possibility of getting to kiss her (and maybe more) at the end of the night.
But now it’s Eddie Fucking Munson that his gut’s all soupy for. Does he like Eddie? Does he want to Date him?
Steve feels his face heat up, his knees feel wobbly despite being on stable ground, his stomach erupts in butterflies—aw fuck. He likes Eddie. 
“Be careful with this, Harrington, It’s worth more than you’ll ever know.” Miraculously, Eddie managed to get his jacket off with the vest still wrapped around it. He passes the bundle gingerly over to Steve, like it's breakable.
He looks down at the crumpled clothing in his hands; he can see a couple patches that are hand-sewn into the denim, a broken zipper on one of the sleeves of Eddie’s jacket that has been pinned shut, a single button worn shinier than the rest. He believes him.
“I’ll take care of it, promise.” Steve says, placing the bundle up next to the sink gently. “Now, do you need help with the rest?”
Eddie immediately looks like he’s going to say no, but he seems to think better of it. “Uhm, can you help with these?”, he pats his legs, “I’d do it myself, but they’re gonna be a bitch to get off since they’re all wet and I’m still dizzy and don’t really want to bend over to pull off the bottoms but–y’know what just forget it, I’ll—”
Steve interrupts his rambling, “Eddie, it’s fine! I offered, didn't I? Help me out?” he gestures to Eddie’s zipper with his chin and starts to pull at the legs of Eddie’s skinny jeans. “I don’t get it man, why squeeze into these–”
The jingle of Eddie’s belt buckle pulls his focus, his eyes darting up to catch a flash of the buckle being undone. He averts his eyes, but a split second later, his brain registers what he’d seen and his gaze snaps back to it.
“Handcuff buckle? Really?”
“Don’t diss the buckle, Stevie,” Eddie chides, working the buckle loose. It continues to jingle as he works at it.
“How good of a buckle can it be if you can’t even get it undone?” Steve says, getting the second leg of Eddie’s jeans pulled down under his heel.
“It keeps me virtuous.” Eddie grits out, then huffs out a “Finally..” as the mini handcuffs fall open.
It was a bad moment to be done with what he was doing. Because Steve looks up just as Eddie unbuttons his fly and pulls the zipper down.
Steve shoots up off the floor, “Need some help standing up?” He asks, trying to cover for his minor freak-out. Eddie didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, thanks,” Eddie takes his hand and pulls himself up, “Don’t let me fall okay? I’m still feelin’ kinda…loopy.”
“Sure, man.”
So Steve stands there, gaze averted politely, as Eddie shimmies his jeans off and pulls his shirt off over his head.
He leaves him to it after that, pointing out the shampoo and soap, where he’d hung the new towel for him, and escapes to go find Eddie some new clothes.
He fishes a pair of black sweats out from one of his drawers, a pair that had been too small for him since sophomore year, and a plain black undershirt. He grabs up his personal favorite hoodie too, a Hawkins High Swim one, and a pair of thick fuzzy Christmas socks Mrs. Henderson had given him this past year.
After agonizing over whether or not to grab a pair of boxers too (he does, a new pair from the back of his top drawer), Steve wanders back into the master bathroom and deposits the pile on Eddie’s vacated seat.
The frosted glass door and added steam cloud Eddie’s form, but Steve can see the vague outline of him, standing just at the edge of where the water must be falling.
“I’m gonna start a quick load of laundry with your things, okay? I left you some stuff on the toilet.”
“‘Kay.” Eddie says softly.
It’s after he’s gathered up Eddie’s chlorine scented clothes that he notices, thinking belatedly to grab the discarded towel off the bed on his way back downstairs, but when he turns to grab it, he’s stopped short by a darkening stain puddled up on one end.
Right where Eddie’s head had been.
It all clicks. The smear of blood on the edge of the pool, Eddie’s complaints of his head hurting, of feeling dizzy and lightheaded.. And now Steve’s left him standing on his own in a hot-ass shower?!
He’s not sure how he heard it, but there’s a soft “Steve?” called out from the bathroom before a loud thump echoes out into the bedroom. 
-🎸-
At first, the shower felt fan-fucking-tastic, but not long after stepping under the hot, wonderfully pressured stream, he’d started feeling (even) more light headed.
He takes a deep breath, and leans on one hand at the back of the shower out of the spray while his head clears enough.
Operating in much the same way through the rest of the shower, he scrubs himself down, washing the chlorine from his skin and hair, wincing slightly when he stretches his shoulder the wrong way and when he scrubs over his right temple. There’s a knot there. Great.
He continues through the motions, taking as deep of breaths as he can, but rinsing the shampoo out of his hair is what does it. His arm stretched up, the more concentrated steam, the tilting back of his head…he bobbles forward out of the stream, hand on the wall again.
Where the hell is Steve? He’s gotta get out of here, gotta turn off the shower..somehow? Eddie’s vision blurs. Fuck.
“I’m gonna start a quick load of laundry with your things, okay? I left you some stuff on the toilet.” Steve says, back in the room as if summoned by Eddie’s desperate thoughts.
‘C’mon coward, ask him for help! He’s right outside the door!’
“‘Kay.”
‘No! Damnit!’ He’ll be fine, he just needs to breathe again, needs to sit down..
“Steve?”
Then he’s out (again).
-
When he comes to (again), he’s back on the bed, under the covers, and still kinda damp. And dressed.
“What the fuck?”
The bedroom door opens then, and he tries to sit up. Shit, why is he so sore?
He blinks away the fuzziness in his eyes only to see Steve goddamn Harrington hovering over him.
Steve pushes him back down onto the pillows. “Oh no nono you don’t. You stay right there.” he chastises.
“What the fuck, what happe—” The memories of the last couple hours roll over him all at once, along with heavy mortification that presses him further into the pillows. He covers his face with his hands, “Jesus H. Christ..did I pass out in the shower?”
“I’m sorry Eddie,” 
“Sorry for what? That I’m a klutz?” he mumbles out from under his palms. “Don’t think that’s your fault, Harrington.”
“You’re not a klutz, dumbass, but you do probably have a concussion…” Steve snarks back, and Eddie feels the mattress sink beside him, “Though I don’t know, maybe you always pass out in the shower?” 
Eddie can’t help but laugh. He scrubs his face a couple more times, then drops his hands “Only in the showers of my own personal saviors.”
He swears Steve’s face tinges pink at that, “Well aren’t I a lucky guy.”
“Well, seeing as how I’m dressed, and last time I remember, I wasn’t..” Steve’s face is blazing red now. “I think you must be, if you got a look at the goods.”
He waggles his eyebrows teasingly when Steve glances up at him, “Shut up man, I didn’t look at your junk any more than I had to.”
Eddie sputters at that, “How much looking is in your definition of ‘had to’?”
Steve rolls his eyes, “You passed out in my shower man, I had to get you out didn’t I? And I’m not about to leave you cold and wet so..I wrapped you up in a towel and got you up here.” he gestures to the bed, “Got you dressed and under the covers so you could sleep somewhat comfy while I made you something to eat.”
Eddie continues to eye him suspiciously, “So you got into my pants and then got them on me? That seems backwards…and sounds kinda fishy, Steven.”
“Oh my god..” Steve throws his head back in exasperation and scrubs his own face with his hands. “I got your pants on while you were still wrapped up in the towel, asshole, now do you want something to eat or not?”
“Wow…the kiss of life, a personal scrubdown (“I didn’t scrub you down!”), and now I get breakfast in bed? If I’m dreamin’, don’t wake me up.”
“Your dreams include getting concussed and passing out?”
Eddie shrugs, “To be fair, there’s usually less clothes and more making out, but I’m holding out hope.” He waggles his eyebrows again and Steve’s face flushes red, scoffing lightly 
“Don’t hold your breath.”
He feigns being shot in the chest, hamming it up and falling limp further into the pillows, “You wound me Steven, am I to be laid up for the rest of my days? Does his royal highness not believe in true love’s kiss?”
“I’ve already kissed you once, dumbass, Is that not enough for you?”
“It musn’t be, for my head and heart still ache!” he continues to bemoan, flailing a hand to his forehead. He’s honestly not quite sure why he’s still keeping up with the bit, painfully straight jocks like Steve don’t normally take well to his dramatics, and he’s not keen on getting punched right now.
But Steve doesn’t punch him. He laughs. 
He laughs and says “How ‘bout you eat something first, and if your head and heart still ache after that, I’ll give you a smooch.” Steve says, standing from the edge of the bed.
Eddie gawks at him, but allows himself to be helped up after his stomach growls loudly not a second later.
Steve walks down the stairs in front of him half-sideways in case he decides to pass out again, then helps him up onto a stool at the Harrington’s long kitchen island.
“I made eggs and toast, but I can get you something else if you like?”
Eddie’s stomach rolls at the thought of eggs, “Just toast, thanks.”
Steve nods, and passes over a plate with plain buttered toast stacked at least a half a loaf tall and a new glass of water. He takes a slice gratefully and munches on it slowly.
Suddenly, something clicks. “Wait, rewind, concussed? You think I might have a concussion?”
“You hit your head didn’t you?” he asks, rounding the counter with a plate of his own and perching on the stool next to him.
“Well yeah, but concussion?”
Steve shrugs, “I mean, I’m not 100 percent sure, but you definitely hit it pretty hard,” he gently pushes the hairs of Eddie’s right temple up and back, touching the fingers of his other hand to the knot he’d felt in the shower earlier.
“Sorry,” he says when Eddie winces, “There was a cut there too, but it wasn’t that deep so I cleaned it up and used a couple butterfly strips on it. Definitely looked worse than it was, but you said you didn’t remember what happened, that your head hurts, you’re dizzy, and I’m guessing the thought of eggs made you nauseous didn’t they?”
Eddie blinks at him once, twice, “I think I have a concussion.”
Steve barks out a laugh, tossing his head back with it. He looks back down at Eddie, still grinning, and time seems to freeze for a long moment.
Steve Harrington’s always been attractive, okay? And Eddie is only a man. The soft swoop of Steve’s hair, messy and flatter than he’s ever seen it in any normal circumstance, but it still looks good, the moles he can see scattered across his neck and arms and legs that Eddie’s always seen a big ol’ ‘KISS HERE’ over each, the relatively new softer smile he’d seen after Hargrove showed up and King Steve was tossed from his throne..
Eddie’s been so gone on Steve for so long already, and now he’s literally saved his life.
He never thought he’d ever want to be the damsel in distress, but now is, and he’s here, and Steve Harrington is his knight in shining armor.
It’s not just the possible concussion making his head swirl.
“Thanks, Steve.” he says, coming back to the present again–was he always this close? Do not look at his lips, Munson, stay focused. “Never thought this’d be how I’d ever be in your house though.”
Steve’s eyes flash to somewhere below his nose (‘Wait.. did he just–’), then he takes his hand away, dropping it back to his lap from where it was all but wrapped around the back of his skull. He didn’t even register that Steve was still holding him (‘Fuck!’).
“How d’ya think you’d ever be here then?” he asks, taking a large bite of runny egg.
“Oh y’know me, peddler of wares for any manner of frivolities my liege may hold.” He attempts to give Steve a bow, but gets dizzy almost as soon as his head tips forward.
Steve’s hands reach out to steady him, but drop when Eddie sits back up. “Yeah I didn’t get any of that.”
“Party favors, Steve-o, pills, ganja..all that fun stuff.” Eddie continues on at Steve’s understanding expression, “That’s what got me cuffed earlier.”
“Ah, so you do remember.”
“For the most part. They wouldn’t’ve even pulled me over if my tape hadn’t ended. I was trying to swap it out and ran a stop sign.”
Steve snorts, “What, did you try to bribe them with drugs?”
“I wish; that'd’ve been a much better story,” Eddie laughs, taking another bite of toast, “My stash fell out at Hopper’s feet when I got outta the van.”
Steve winces, “Bad break, dude. So what, you just decided to run? Why not before they cuffed you?”
“I dunno, man, I just bolted into the trees. Those old men couldn’t’ve caught me if they tried.”
“So you got pulled over, got cuffed for having drugs in your car, evaded capture by running through the woods in the dark, fell into my pool shoulder first,”
“Well I rolled into it, actually. I tripped on your patio, couldn’t catch myself on my hands, obviously, so I fell onto my shoulder first and kinda skidded slash rolled into the pool. Must’ve hit my head then too.”
Steve winces again, “That’s why the “Sorry” earlier.. I saw that blood on the lining and I didn’t even check where you could be bleeding.” He shakes his head in disappointment, “I shouldn’t’ve put you into the shower like that, it’s not good for you. And I know my way around a head injury.” Steve mutters.
“Sportsball will do that to you.” Eddie nods, grabbing a second slice of toast.
“It wasn’t basket–” he sighs, “Nevermind, is there someone you need to call or anything?”
Eddie’s stomach sinks. “Trying to be rid of me already, Harrington?”
Steve waves him off, “Nah. Your clothes are still in the dryer.” he says, standing up and passing around the island to the far counter where a phone book lays open. He picks it up and brings it back to Eddie, “I looked up Munson in case someone would be wondering where you are, but the only Munson here didn’t answer. A Wayne Munson?”
“My uncle,” Eddie explains, “He wouldn’t, not at this time of day. He’s already at the plant for the night.”
“Ah.”
“You can just give me a ride home, we stashed a key on the porch.” he tries to stand, pushing through the dizziness.
“Oh no you don’t. You’re staying right here, Munson. That’s an order.”
Eddie sinks back into his seat.
“Concussions are tricky, you know; You have to check on the person periodically while they sleep to make sure they’re not getting worse. If there’s not going to be anyone at home with you, you’d better stay here.”
“Whatever you say, Doc.” Eddie gives him a two fingered salute, and relishes in the feeling of making Steve smile again. 
-🍦-
It was easier than he thought it'd be to convince Eddie to get back to bed, this time in the guest room across from Steve’s own bedroom.
He’d thought the surprisingly charming weirdo (he was apparently already smitten with) would fight him on it, but he’d followed him back upstairs without complaint after a third slice of toast, though he had gotten a bit woozy about 2/3rds of the way back up.
“What, no smooch? I have to settle for common drugs?” Eddie grumbles as Steve shakes a couple Tylenol into his palm. Steve just rolls his eyes, ignoring him (and the giant swoop of his stomach), “I’ll be up for a little while longer, I have to get your shit outta the dryer and get ready for work tomorrow, so I’ll wake you up before I go to bed and wake you up again in the middle of the night.”
Eddie takes the offered glass of water from him, gulping down the pain meds, “I’m gonna be super grouchy at you, you know.”
Steve smirks at him, “I know, but it’s gotta be done.” He takes back the glass and sets it on the nightstand. 
Eddie’d nodded through a long cracking yawn, smiled, then murmured a light “G’night Stevie.” that made Steve’s heart squeeze.
“‘Night Eds, I’ll see ya in a bit.”
Steve, however, did not get to sleep as easily, lying awake in his room after waking Eddie the first time. 
He set his watch to wake him in three hours to check on Eddie again, and he’d already wasted a good half of it staring at his ceiling and thinking in circles about everything that had happened, everything he’d felt and thought about the town freak sleeping across the hall.
He’d started with gathering all of it up and trying to cram it away to some corner of his head and leave it there, lock it away from even himself, but to no avail. The…he supposed you could call them feelings...for Eddie had grown much too big already for any one of the lock boxes in the back of his brain.
Then he’d tried to rationalize them again like he had at first. Tommy had told him, very confidently, that everyone has gay thoughts sometimes, it’s normal to realize when a guy is just objectively attractive. To realize you’d totally hit that if you had the chance. 
Harrison Ford was the first person Steve’d brought up during that conversation, and Tommy agreed. So that was it, Eddie Munson was just the same as Harrison Ford. He’d definitely sleep with Eddie if there was ever a chance.
And was there? There’d always been rumors about Munson, at least since Steve’d started at Hawkins High, maybe even before, but were they true? How would he even ask that? “Hey Eddie, heard you might be..y’know..into guys and I think I might be too. Do you maybe wanna do something about that? Together?”
Yeah. Not likely.
And Eddie hasn’t looked at him any different than he ever had before, at least not in the handful of times he’s caught the older teen looking at him across the cafeteria or from down the hall.
Should he just..start flirting and hope for the best? What if he doesn’t like it and decks him for it?
Steve scrubs his face again, this is so much easier with girls.
…And that’s another thing, what about girls? He still likes girls. A lot, actually. So is he even allowed to like Eddie? He reasons it’s at least possible to because he does like Eddie. Wants to date him too, but that’s definitely not allowed.
He’s no closer to figuring out what he’s supposed to do when his watch beeps to life again.
Sighing, he throws his covers off, stands up, and sneaks across the hall to Eddie’s room.
“Eddie..hey! Eddie!” Steve whispers, gently shaking him awake. Eddie’s bangs are sticking straight out from his forehead, the rest of his hair fanned out in a mess below his head, his morning breath already starting to form…how can this be so damn attractive?
“Mmm…Hm?” Eddie’s eyes squint against the low light filtering in from the hallway, “Steve?”
“Hey, how are you feeling? Is your head feeling better?”
Eddie sinks back onto his pillow and lets his eyes fall shut again. “Uhm, it hurts, but less than it did earlier.”
“Good, that’s good.” A split moment of bravery comes over him then. “How about your heart?”
“Still aches,” He slurs sleepily in response.
Steve’s bravery and Eddie’s wakefulness fade with each second, so before they’re both gone, Steve leans forward and presses a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. “See you in the morning, Eds.”
-🎸-
When Eddie wakes up the final time the next morning, it’s on his own and from an amazing dream involving an epic battle, injuries, and a healing kiss pressed to his forehead by a soft-haired paladin.
He sits up, already significantly less dizzy than he’d been last night, and chugs down the glass of water Steve must’ve left last time he was up here. 
He gets dressed slowly, grabbing his freshly de-chlorinated Iron Maiden tee and trusty black jeans from the neatly folded pile on the nightstand. 
He’s wondering where his jacket and vest are when the sweet smell of breakfast hits him, “Oh, fuck yeah,” he says aloud to himself like a loser.
Eddie pulls on his socks, mismatched but bundled together anyhow, and steps out into the hall.
Steve’s voice filters up the stairs with a mouthwatering buttermilk smell, “Good morning Mr. Munson, I’m sorry if I woke you.”
What time is it anyway? Eddie winces internally on Steve’s behalf if it’s anytime past 8. 
“My name is Steve Harrington, sir, and I—” Steve sighs, “Yes sir, that Harrington.”
Eddie actually winces this time, halfway down the stairs now.
“No, no no, of course not, no trouble at all Mr. Munson, I’m calling because of Eddie.”
Oof, nope, that’s not gonna help ya, Stevie.
“I didn’t—no, not complaining about—no, he got hurt an–”
Eddie can hear Wayne’s voice through the phone now, even from where he’s stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
“I think he might have a concussion and—no, no! I wanted to let you know so you can—”
He decides to save Steve from the Wrath of Wayne and walks around the corner into the kitchen. He holds his hand out for the receiver, and Steve gratefully passes it over, turning back to his waffle maker (a whole-ass waffle maker! Lucky sonofabitch…).
“--And if you don’ tell me righ’ this minute how he got hurt–”
“Calm down, old man, I’m fine. Though I think Steve would’ve denied me waffles if you went on any longer.”
“Theodore Munson, you tell me what’s goin’ on right this second.”
“Whoa! Full name privileges are revoked for you,” He jokes, unable to resist riling up his uncle more. He pulls the cord around the corner and back into the hall, “Wayne, seriously, I’m fine. I just fell into Harrington’s pool a little. No big deal.”
“No big deal huh? Why’n the hell were you concussed in Loch Nora?”
“It’s a long story, but short version is I fell into Harrington’s pool and smacked my head. Steve made sure I was okay, and,” he cringes, “and Hopper might show up on our doorstep in the next couple hours.”
Wayne heaves a long sigh, “Goddammit, boy.”
“It’s all good, I’ll be home soon. I’m gonna pilfer some breakfast and get Steve to drive me home.”
“Wait, wha’happened t’yer van?”
“Okay, bye Wayne! See you soon!”
“Theodore Wayn—”
He breathes a sigh of relief when the phone is back on its cradle.
“Your uncle is scary, man.”
Eddie turns back to Steve’s voice, sitting on the same stool he did last night. Steve passes him a plate with two large golden brown waffles.
“Nah, he’s a big softy. He just worries ‘bout me.” he picks up his fork, digging into the fluffy waffles. They are unfairly good. “Thanks for breakfast, Steve, this is great!”
“You’re welcome man, y’want strawberries?”
They eat quickly, it was later than Eddie thought and Steve has the opening shift at his new-ish job at Starcourt’s ice cream parlor.
“Oh, um.. Ice cream’s good, right?”
Steve grimaces, “I feel like it’ll be very not good after this summer. Plus I have a dumb uniform I have to wear.” he gestures to the backpack he’d grabbed on their way out and tossed in the backseat.
They’re in Steve’s BMW now; his shoes and vest are still kinda damp and he’s gonna have to re-condition his leather jacket after the damn chlorine got to it, but that’s a problem for Future Eddie. “No college for you then? I honestly figured you’d be outta here as soon as you walked across that stage.” 
“I uh, didn’t get in.” Steve says, “Dad decided I should get a job at Scoops to teach me a lesson or something. As if I didn’t feel bad about not living up to his expectations enough already.”
Eddie doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but his silence seems to make Steve nervous. “It’s whatever though, I shouldn’t be dumping this all on you, sorry.”
“Hey man, it’s cool, sounds like King Harrington of Hawkins expected a lot of the Prince.” They’re turning into the Forest Hills trailer park now; Eddie has a fleeting thought about how he’s finally made it to where he’d been heading last night, and something about how a twist of fate (of feet?) diverted him to a whole new course he hadn’t expected, but was glad had happened.
Steve snorts, “Yeah, don’t think he appreciated the Prince parading around pretending to be King prematurely, huh?”
Eddie grins at him as the wheels crunch on the gravel pad outside his home. “A savior and a Prince is better than a King any day.”
He gets a grin in return, then it falls slightly as he glances up at the trailer. “Well, here you are, Munson. It was, uh, weird? But nice to meet you…Officially, anyway” he tacks onto the end, “Just don’t accidentally fall into my pool again.”
“Hmm, I dunno Stevie, it was nice to be pampered.”
Steve’s eyes crinkle up again when he laughs, “How would you rate your visit to Casa Harrington, sir? On a scale of four to five stars?”
“Hmmm.. probably a 4.7 out of five.”
“4.7?! Ouch Eds, that hurts.” Steve clutches a hand to his chest, “After all the waffles and wakeup calls,”
“Hey, I didn’t ask for those wakeup calls.”
“4.7…” he mutters again, shaking his head, “What would’ve given me a full five then?”
“Well you gotta lay off the wakeup calls for starters,” Eddie says, starting to count on his fingers, “More options for toppings at your waffle breakfast bar,”
“You had strawberries and chocolate syrup! What more do you need?!”
Eddie continues on as if he hadn’t heard him. “There was no lifeguard on duty, my towels weren’t warmed up for me, I believe I was promised a True Love’s kiss at some point and never got it, the concierge antagonized my uncle—”
He’s interrupted from his rant by a quick press of something to the corner of his mouth.
He whips his head around and Steve’s face is mere inches from his. There’s a blush high on his cheeks, his eyes are wide (and they’re hazel, how’d he not know that?!), “Did you just—”
“Eddie! Get your ass up here, now.” Wayne calls from the porch, causing them both to jump.
“Better get goin’ Eds.” Steve whispers, swallowing hard.
“Yeah, I–” he glances down at Steve’s lips, he has a few seconds, right? Enough time to—
“Eddie!” Nope.
His eyes stay trained on Steve’s nervous expression while his hand scrambles for the handle. He finally finds it, all but spills out of the car, and closes the door behind him once he’s out fully.
Without any more preamble, Steve backs out of their driveway, and leaves the park.
-🍦-
Steve doesn’t see Eddie for a couple weeks, wasn’t even sure Eddie would want to see him again after that stupid move he pulled, but when he finally does, it’s just before closing on a random Wednesday at Scoops.
“You missed, Harrington!” Eddie calls from the entrance to Scoops. He sounds like he’s out of breath.
“Eddie?”
“You missed!” he walks forward at a normal speed, despite seeming like he’d rushed to get here. He’s also shaking his finger at him, chiding.
“Where’ve you been, man?”
“Had to take care of the whole ‘evading arrest’ thing, but that’s not important. You missed Stevie.”
“Stevie?” he hears Robin mutter in disbelief.
“Missed what? I mean, yeah, I missed you too man, but what—?”
He’s cut off when Eddie finally reaches the counter, grabs his face in both hands, and kisses him square on the mouth.
Robin yelps in surprise, but that is the furthest thing from his mind at the moment. 
Eddie’s lips are chapped, but they slot along Steve’s so easy it makes his head spin.
After forever and no time at all, Eddie pulls back, dropping back to his side of the counter. “There. A real lips to lips kiss. None of that sly cheek shit, Harrington.”
Steve’s still a bit dazed, “Much better than the first one.” He leans closer to Eddie again, lips searching, but he’s held still.
“Whattya mean, ‘the first one’?”
It clears his head a bit, “Uh, the one where I saved your life? Obviously.”
“That doesn’t count!” Eddie’s hands leave his face, and he misses them already.
“It was lips to lips! Isn’t that what you just said?”
“It was CPR, Steven!”
“I can count it as our first kiss if I want to, Edward.” Steve crosses his arms across his chest.
“My name’s not Edwa—”
The long squeal of marker-on-whiteboard cuts him off, and he immediately flushes red.
Oh yeah, Robin…aw fuck.
He turns slowly to the window behind the counter; a single tally mark has been drawn into the left side of Robin’s YOU RULE / YOU SUCK board.
She caps the marker, sets it down, smirks, and says “Congratulations, Dingus.”
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this is also on AO3!
tagging a few of the people in the tags of the original who seemed interested in more! hope that's okay!!!
@inthewychelm @tboyeddie @brbsoulnomming @henderdads @ajs624 @sleepy-steve @eddiesdoeeyes @steddie-island @themeanderingty @hammity-hammer @spicysix @steddieasitgoes @willowworkswithwords @farahsamboolents @shares-a-vest @klausinamarink @fortheloveofgodletmein @sharpbutsoft @perseus-notjackson @zombiethingy @tchackdaw @eddiethehunted @smoothiecas @donttellunclesam @allyricas @living-force @xandriumbat @himbosandhardwear @everything-is-the-answer @sidebarre @m-owo-n @warmsole @occasionaloverboy @whoopssteddiefeels @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @extra-transitional @cecil5683 @makeadealwithdean @huymadovan
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bones4thecats · 1 year ago
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hellooo can i request a hades , Poseidon , and Hermes with a Dum Dum orange cat type of reader(female)
How would they handle the reader , and how would they just try to get the reader to not just do anything dumb enough to injure or kill her tyyy
Type of Writing: Request Characters: Hades, Poseidon, and Hermes Name: {Character} with their Dumb-Dumb! Reader Requester: Anonymous
A/N: Honestly, I kinda vibe with this reader. My brain just shuts down whenever I finish a task and I look back going, 'how the hell did I do this?' like five seconds afterwards.
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💀 He was one of the smartest Gods known anywhere, Valhalla and Earth alike. But you, you were known around Valhalla for your 'idiocy', as declared by many
💀 Now, as rude and sad as that may sound, your husband somehow couldn't fully disagree with those claims
💀 Hades would just be working on some paperwork given to him by Zeus when one of his guards would walk in with a tired expression to announce to the God that you had gotten into an accident
💀 And by accident, I mean by you were just walking around and somehow stumbled into multiple different paint cans and got covered head to tow in the multiple colors of paint
💀 Your husband has gone to many measures to make sure you didn't somehow injure, or worse, killed yourself, because of your moments of flat-mindedness
💀 He had gotten some, in other's words, baby-proofing materials installed, including covering electric outlets, since one time you stuck a fork in there for who knows what reason, and a place to keep medications and vitamins out of your reach
💀 Needless to say, one time you saw your daily vitamins on the counter-top and you pushed the bottle over to get more to fall out
💀 And when Hades saw that nearly one fourth of the container was gone, he nearly had a heart-attack because of how much he was overthinking
💀 Whenever someone asks why your vitamins were locked up in a closet with the key being constantly around Hades, he would just answer with
" To keep it plain and simple, my dear S/O had gotten into the old container and nearly gave me a, what humans describe, heart-attack. "
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🔱 He was put off by how, in his words, 'mind-numbingly ignorant' you were when it came to, well, literally anything
🔱 Poseidon is a very serious individual, even among the God's standards, he was very stoic and cold appearing. So, when you have that information and you compare you to him, it's a surprise he hasn't tried killing you yet
🔱 Unlike Hades, he discovered your idiocy quite fast, since he didn't really act, he preferred to watch and observe how people act
🔱 Your husband, like his brother, was normally busy with different things, from making sure his ocean's waves measured well according to schedule, to making sure that the paperwork he had to commission to his oldest brother was done, this guy was on average fairly busy
🔱 Though, whenever he would get a fair amount of time off, he would head off to his S/O and make sure they were okay
🔱 This guy had been dealing with your actions for many years, and in that time you haven't stopped getting a bruise every week, whether it be from hitting your tow or running into an object, he had never gotten a week off from your injuries
🔱 While he may not show it, Poseidon really does care about you, but, unlike his oldest, he protects you in another way
🔱 He doesn't baby-proof his home, he finds that to be dumb. If there is a creature that dumb in the world, they don't deserve life, his words, not mine! Though they do change if you guys have children
🔱 Instead, Poseidon just puts either a couple guards to be by your side to make sure you didn't somehow mess up an entire room just by getting scared by a, in your words, 'flying cucumber', or, he'll have you positioned around him so he could watch over you
🔱 The latter happens more often, though. And whenever you have to be around him, he'll make sure that you have something to mess with, just so you didn't end up destroying something else somehow
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📨 Unlike many beings that you and him have met, Hermes loves how you get into trouble at random, it gives you an aura of mystery and difference, and he likes that
📨 Hermes loves to, when he can, watch you as you just walk around and get into trouble, like that one time where you ended up getting chased around by geese because you fell out of a tree while playing with Heracles and Ares when you were younger
📨 Whenever you would end up getting into trouble with another Deity, your husband would appear out of nowhere and distract the person as you escaped
📨 This guy loves writing songs in devotion of others, take the human fighters from Ragnarok into account, and for you? He has nearly five folders full of songs dedicated to you
📨 One of his favorite memories of you was when he was coming home from work and he stumbled upon two of his father's allies, Shiva, the head of the Hindu Pantheon, and Apollo, the Greek's God of the Sun
📨 The two men ran up to him dounced in a mixture of paint, glue, and a ton of multi-color glitter, and that alerted him that something happened, and it definitely would give him some kind of blackmail
📨 So, when they asked where you were, Hermes just chuckled and pat their shoulders, making sure his gloves didn't get any of the colorful mix on the white fabric, and he told them you were staying with Aphrodite for the night, despite knowing you were at home hiding from the angry duo
📨 When he eventually arrived home, he ushered you out and began to comfort you from your scared faze, which was understandable. And, when he asked if you wanted to see the photos he sneakily took, he chuckled as your eyes lit up
📨 You may be quite danger-prone and not the brightest star in the sky, but, he loved you for that
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toweroftickles · 6 months ago
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Hi (:
What do you think about characters of "Inside out 2"? Do we have some lees here?
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Ok I somehow didn't experience the original Inside Out until like 2 weeks ago, and then immediately rushed to theaters for the second one, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it since! Of course the first thing I started daydreaming about was the chaos that would ensue in Brain HQ during tickles. So yes, I've definitely got headcanons. XD
EMOTIONAL * RESPONSES
When Riley Gets Tickled
Joy squees, claps, bounces up and down, the usual. "AAAH Tickle time! Awww, our girl is still so adorable..."
Disgust: "Mm-mm. I hate this. Hate it. Majorly messing with my zen."
Sadness: *confused and a little uncomfortable*
Fear: *open-mouthed and deeply uncomfortable*
Envy gasps and hops up to the screen. "Omigosh omigosh they're touching us. That means they like us and think we're cute, right? Right?!"
Anger: "Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, huh?! You want a fight, kid?! I'll give ya a fight! Right up your -"
Anxiety: "Wait! There's a million possible variables in what'll happen if we decide to fight back! Accidentally punching them would be devastating to our network!"
Joy's not paying attention, she's too busy laughing and hammering the serotonin injector.
"I-I got it! Scream! Just holler, really loud!"
"GUHH, get out of the wayyyy; stop hogging this thing! We have to run! Come on!"
Ennui: *exists in French*
*Meanwhile Embarrassment is just spread out like a starfish and rolling his entire girth back and forth across the keyboard.*
When Riley's Tickling Someone Else
Joy takes the wheel here. The others know not to disturb a master plying her craft. She's an expert tickler, so she feeds Riley a whole bushel of fun ideas, and Envy is her eager troublemaker minion.
There is in fact a dedicated "Tickle" command button. The plastic is slightly stuck in the slot because it hasn't been used much.
Anger keeps trying to grab his levers and switches, but Joy usually shoves him to the side with her foot.
*tries to wrest control from Joy and rein her in*
*barfing in the corner somewhere*
When a Tickle Scene Pops Up in a Movie
Joy giggles happily and squirms in her seat, then boops the control panel so that Riley follows suit.
Disgust is a tiny bit antsy...she's not influencing Riley yet but she's on standby in case stuff gets weird.
Embarrassment gingerly taps the console at increasing intervals until Sadness pulls his arm away.
Ennui: Probably watching something else. Or doomscrolling.
When Someone Asks Riley if She's Ticklish
*screams like a little girl*
*hides, bangs head on the desk*
"That is NOT funny!"
"Oh no! What do we do; whaddawedo?! Riley's way too ticklish! What if they tickle us and don't stop for the rest of eternity?! What if they think Riley's laugh is weird and we're socially ostracized and forced to get a job in a fish cannery?!"
“Ew ew ew ew no. Lie. We have to lie right now!” *jumps for the controller*
*Joy grabs Disgust's arm* "Whoa whoa whoa, eeeaasy there. Let's just calm down...this is a fun question; we're having fun..."
Envy: "Ooo, what if they're ticklish and they want us to tickle them?" *already wiggling her fingers in the air*
"But if we misread that signal and make them mad at us, then..."
Ennui: *groans and taps her console app*
Riley, being super casual: “Meh…a little. Not really.”
Suddenly Riley's eyes dilate. Her throat hitches and there's the tiniest bit of pink in her cheeks. Everyone turns their heads to look at -
“EMBARRASSMENT!!! *dry heave* WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
"Ohhhh boy. There it is. We're doomed now."
When They Get Tickled Themselves
Come on, we all know that Joy always draws first blood. (Er...first giggle?) She's such a switchy monster. Tickling is her default method of cheering others up. It's canon. Case closed.
As someone whose default setting repels positivity, Sadness is not ticklish at all, and this actually upsets her.
*silently grabs the tickler by the neck and tosses them out the window*
Nobody protests like Disgust. She gets mad. She slaps. She hurls insults. She runs away. Disgust is both extremely ticklish and extremely touch-averse, so this is Code Red for her.
Fear is the type who doesn’t so much “laugh” as “have a shrieking, spastic outburst and breakdance like Sonic the Hedgehog in a malfunctioning taser-testing facility."
At first, Anxiety is overcome by stressful jitters, miserable and whimpering, and her whole body contracts. After a few moments of tickling, though, she starts to let all that tension out and relaxes into nervous vibrato laughter. It becomes sort of a therapeutic stress release, like her special chair.
It's not exactly the physical sensation of tickle torture that Envy craves, it's the attention. The sound she makes when tickled oscillates between wild, snorty cackles and the dulcet hoots of a baby owl trapped in a pinball machine.
Ennui is dead. No reaction. Her body is a neurological cemetery. ...EXCEPT for her heels and the back of her knees. (And if you thought phone loss made her experience Vietnam flashbacks...)
What do you think Embarrassment does? He plops himself down on the floor and pulls his hoodie so tight around his face that no one can tell if he's laughing or sobbing.
Misc.
As Riley's primary protector, Fear is always scouting ahead for any potentially-tickly environmental hazards, and gently nudges her away from catastrophe ("you forgot your shoes! put them back on before you walk on grass;" "don't lift your arms up around Bree and Grace;" "those massage chairs in the mall are actually full of rusty knives and drug dealers sleep on them;" etc.)
When Riley gets tickled, the emotions don't "feel" it, exactly, but they perceive something of a contact buzz.
These are typically how the reactions go, but they're not universal. If Riley's been in a bad mood, Anger might be more proactive in grabbing the handles. Embarrassment may have more or less of his body mass pancaking the buttons, depending on who's tickling her. (Like...a boy?! Or Val?! Or -) Standard variations like that.
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Riley
Riley has an extremely ticklish tummy! She’s sensitive all over, but that's her death spot. (Just the vibe I get; IDK.)
Bree and Grace are really ticklish too, but Riley is the weak link... the member of the trio that the other two team up against. Lots of tickle fights and sneak attacks.
She obviously loves to laugh and goof around with her friends, but probably isn't over-enthused by that last part.
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Val
The most popular girl in school, the tough athletic one - her adulating devotees wouldn't think it, but beneath that too-cool exterior, Val is very vulnerable to tickling.
All the other Firehawks know, and like to tease Val by poking her.
She's a good sport about it and takes it like a champ - just yelps and laughs and pushes back. They have fun.
Her biggest weakness is her feet.
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Lance Slashblade
Crop top alert. The abs are asking for it. (Just sayin.')
The thought of being tickled is intolerable to him. Even in this...what should be a moment of joyous camaraderie...he is haunted. Forced to laugh like...like some sort of...clown swordsman?! How could he be so weak...so degraded...so unworthy to carry the holy blade of his ancestors, they whose destinies were written in the stars ere these centuries long past? Will he never be a true warrior, with the strength to stem the tide of encroaching night? It is too painful to think about...the icy whips of humiliation, always ravenous and bitter in their lashes, strike! and cast him into the shadows and okay the joke's over now we're getting long-winded and edgelordery big words drama sparkling vampires and junk
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(Also, yes, he Morph-Balls himself.)
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littleplantfreak · 5 months ago
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Grocery Shopping Headcanons 1
I said I'd do these a while back and someone requested I do them when I was taking requests for my 100 followers event so uwu)/ one request fulfilled!! There will be a part two with the others coming eventually...Once I get through the rest of my requests.
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Umemiya Hajime
-One of the funnest people to go grocery shopping with tbh.
He's talking you into buying a few extra snacks/food by holding them up in front of you and puppeting them at you, asking in a silly high pitched voice if you'll please buy them because they've heard your pantry is the best vacation spot in town! He gets so silly with it.
-The older people in town tell him when and where the best sales are, which makes budgeting a lot easier. Don't tell anyone, but sometimes if one of them is in front of you in line, they'll have the cashier use their senior discount for your stuff as well. Don't try to fight them on it, though; they'll insist the only thing they need is for you both to visit them every once in a while, which you planned to do regardless.
-Gets upset if he hasn't found you in the store for a while after leaving to pick some things up. Once he does see you, he acts like it's been weeks and refuses to leave your side for the rest of the shopping trip. He's quite literally stuck to you like glue.
-The type to have really funky or cute looking reusable bags.
Choji Tomiyama
-Can't stay on task to save his life. If you're pushing the cart, he will stand on the other side of it being pushed around. He insists he'll take turns, but he gets a bit too enthusiastic with how fast he should be going through the aisles. Nearly runs a few people over before you decide maybe just pushing it normally works best.
-Do not let him disappear on you; he'll end up at some other grocery store two miles down the street.
-Sometimes he knows your tastes better than you do. If you're deliberating over trying something new, 9/10 times he's correct about how you'll like it. He actually pays a lot of attention to what you like to eat and drink.
-Calls Togame and not only asks him what he wants from the store, but tells him to come down by the time you guys are done to help carry your stuff. He hasn't said no to Choji yet.
-He's feeding you both all the samples he can find until you realize you snacked so much you're not even hungry for dinner anymore.
Suo Hayato
-He's pretty relaxed compared to the other two. He'll let you take the reins for the most part since he's got all the stuff written down and knows each aisle it's in. He doesn't often stray from his normal foods so it's almost muscle memory now.
-When he does try something new, it's weird stuff. Like you didn't know this was in the store weird, what aisle does that even go in? You look around to see, and find nothing. He either took the last one or he was in the forbidden part of the grocery store.
-Sometimes, if he knows you're getting a lot, he brings the collapsible grocery wagon. (don't even play with me, this is the hottest thing someone could do for grocery shopping.)
-Watch out if you lose sight of him or he goes to grab something without you, because he WILL jumpscare you and you WILL have to try to smother your yelp.
Nirei Akihiko
-Extreme couponing Nirei edition tbh he's got it down to a science
-Knows a surprising amount of recipes by heart, so if you're trying hard to remember what you need for what you wanna make? Don't even get out your phone to struggle with finding enough bars (because for some reason grocery stores are iron fortresses that don't have cell service?) Nirei has it all up there in his beautiful brain.
-He's never in a rush and doesn't really separate from you (why would he want to?) He's just thrilled to spend time with you.
-Also one to have a bunch of different reusable bags.
-If you have a certain diet or need a certain ingredient, he knows all the specialty food stores around and is more than okay with making the extra stop with you.
-He has a certain type and brand of ice cream he likes to get as a treat every time, and although he tells you he doesn't need it, if they happen to be out of stock, he deflates a little.
Sakura Haruka
-You wouldn't think someone could be bad at grocery shopping, but....he's bad at it. An excess of meats and carbs is what comes home if you send him by himself, so it's best just to go together.
-Also you could swear he's giving a nasty look to the vegetable section hoping you don't pick any terrible ones up (though what's terrible to him is most of them)
-You catch him trying to hide if he sees someone he knows because to him, it'll just make it a longer grocery trip, and honestly, he just wants to go home with you. Point out who he's hiding from and say hi and watch the look of betrayal as he's turning red and grumbling.
-It takes him a bit, but after a few trips he starts to get the hang of things. He can tell the better meat cuts, and now knows to check the eggs to make sure they're not cracked. Sometimes, he texts you a picture of the vegetables you're looking for to make sure they're the right ones or to make sure they're your preferred ripeness if you're not there
The self checkout becomes his best friend, that way he doesn't have to worry about making small talk. He's screwed when he picks up meats, though, because the scale never picks up the weight properly, and then he's sweating waiting for one of the workers to come help him out.
-Refuses to let you carry the bags in, and is also one of those people who insist on loading up all the groceries on his arms at once. There will be no second trips to the car.
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a-pastel-edgelord · 6 months ago
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The Traveler
major spoilers for kny/demon slayer ending reader beware
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Sanemi Shinazugawa is as close to content as he can be but he's learning the hard way that there is more to life than what's in front of him. The possibilities, on this summer morning, are endless. The sun is only just rising and the haze of noise from insects is already in full swing. He's traveling, he can't feel comfortable settling in one spot, not after years of going from one town to the next. Sanemi will stop when he feels at home, and he's perfectly fine with never finding it. For now, he has no destination.
A scream tears the peaceful lull apart, and Sanemi is moving before he can blink. His hand travels to where his sword should be at his hip (he long since returned it to the Ubuyashiki family). His heart is in his mouth before his brain finally catches up. There are no demons. The thought brings security—another scream—but it does not comfort him.
He goes careening around a bend in the dirt road, spotting a house on a hill through the trees. A normal person probably wouldn't have heard the screams based on the distance from whence he arrived but that's not important. Sanemi hasn't been able to give up total concentration breathing constant yet and he's glad of it at this moment.
The retired Wind Hashira pauses in the clearing. Should he go around back? A person crashes through the sliding paper doors. It's a man, probably thrice his age, with a fresh black eye blooming on his face.
"You bitch! I'll throw you out on your backside!"
"Try it then, you old bastard!" Comes the shrieking reply, "If you put your hands on him again, I'll gouge your eyes out!"
The first time Sanemi claps eyes on you, you look like a wreck. Your lips are bleeding and there are bruises splattered all over your visible skin. Your summer yukata is torn in a couple places and a size too small like you outgrew it a year ago. Chest heaving in exertion, you bare your teeth and there's a throbbing vein in your neck.
Sanemi is so entranced that he almost misses movement behind you. It's a child—children who all resemble one another and are visibly young. They inch forward, still in the shade of the house, as if stepping into direct sunlight is dangerous.
You take two steps forward, the light of the sunrise throwing your face into sharp relief. Your back is straight, your chin is high, and your eyes are cold as they look down your nose.
It might seem nearly inconceivable that you must have been the one who tossed this man through the shōji doors. But Sanemi knows better. You step down off the veranda into the grass. You move with intent, your shadow falls across the face of your prey. "Get out of my house."
"You don't order me around!" The man spits and reaches out to grab the collar of your clothes.
A scarred hand snatched up his wrist, and Sanemi isn't surprised to find it's his hand (missing fingers and all). "Get lost, old man." The words themselves aren't threatening, and neither is his tone. However, his grip tightens enough to cut off blood flow. He's sure the older man can feel the creak of bones under pressure.
"Ah! G-get offa me!" The man wrenches his arm free, back peddling before stumbling away from the house. "I'll be back—don't go thinking you're safe, you wretches!"
Sanemi watches the man run down the hill and out of sight, unmoving. When he decides the old bastard is gone, he turns to you, and you're already looking at him.
Evaluating and cautious you approach. The previous moment's emotions are still coursing through your body. Sanemi sees the way your hands shake, but your face betrays nothing. "Who are you?"
Your words are rude, but Sanemi can't bring himself to stand on propriety. "M' just a traveler. I heard a commotion, so I happened by."
You blink and remember proper manners. "Would—would you like a hot meal? We don't have much in the way of interesting fare but..."
"Don't think you owe me. That man was already runnin' scared by the time I did anything."
"I—" You glance back at the house, and Sanemi follows your gaze. Four children of a variety of ages stand at the end of the veranda, the youngest looking a little worse for wear. Their eyes are bright and curious. One of them nods. "We, would like to offer our thanks. Please eat with us."
Sanemi Shinazugawa is sure there's a future where he leaves. Where he never shares food with you and your siblings. There's a version of him who doesn't get to see you smile when he fixes the door in exchange for a place to sleep the next night.
But this isn't that future. "Pardon the intrusion." He nods and follows you back to the house.
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thelastwalkingsoul · 2 years ago
Text
Curse you, big bang, for stealing all my brain worms! But I do have something new today. I don't think I've ever shared my little headcanon for steddie rings, so here you go :)
(Now on AO3!) ----------- "Eddie, I'm home!"
Steve closes the door with a weary sigh. It'd been a long day at work, but his special errand had almost made up for it. Steve was really just aching for a cuddle with his wonderful boyfriend.
"Eddie?" As he walks into the living room, he sees the man in question slumped on the couch with a book. He looks comfortable (and adorable) in his hoodie and sweatpants, but Steve can tell something is up. "Hey, what's wrong?"
Eddie pouts, eyes meeting Steve's. "I still can't find it."
"Oh, babe," Steve sighs, feeling a spike of guilt. "It'll turn up soon."
"You said that yesterday," Eddie whines.
Steve can't help but chuckle. "Exactly. It's only been a day."
Eddie crosses his arms. Combined with his jutting lip, he's a spitting image of a pouting child. "That's a day too long," he grumbles.
"It'll show up," Steve promises, bending to kiss Eddie's forehead. "Now, what do you want for dinner?"
It only takes a couple more days for the ring to show up. Eddie almost gives Steve a heart attack from the sheer volume of the yell he lets out. He's bouncing on the spot when Steve enters the room, grinning wide and sliding the ring onto his middle finger. Steve's barely prepared as Eddie launches across the room and slams into him, forcing all the air from Steve's lungs. He steadies them both and wraps his arms around his boyfriend. "I'm happy you found it, love."
What Steve didn't anticipate (but absolutely should have) was Eddie spending the rest of the day and night insisting, "Yes, Steve, I did check the couch. I checked the couch at least a million times. How is it there now and not before?"
Steve simply agrees with a smile, secretly happy that Eddie's smart brain hasn't yet connected the dots.
When the day finally comes, everything is going to plan. Steve gets out of work early, runs his special errand, and is home well before Eddie. He wants tonight to be special, but not too much. Just enough effort for his prepared gift. As much as Steve is excited, he's also incredibly nervous that Eddie won't like it. But he pushes that aside to get ready.
Steve picks out a favourite dinner of theirs that Eddie especially likes. He gets to work chopping and seasoning, setting up their small dining table, and lighting the few candles they have. By the time Eddie's due home, their apartment is filled with the aroma of dinner and illuminated by soft candlelight.
Steve's whole body feels like it's vibrating in anticipation as he hears Eddie's keys in the door. He tries his best to relax in his chair, nerves humming.
"I'm home, sweetheart!" Eddie calls, closing the door. Steve can hear him moving closer. "God, that smells amazing, Stevie. Why did you-" He stops, face melting from surprise to a soft smile, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "What's all this for?"
Steve can't help the excited grin that slips onto his face. "It's a surprise."
"Oh, is it now?" Eddie drops his bag and comes to sit across from Steve. He looks beautiful, with his big eyes and kissable lips pulled into a smile, hair pulled half up and escaped strands framing his face. Steve wants to kiss him.
So he does. Leans over the table and kisses Eddie softly. "It is. Now eat up."
They talk softly over dinner. Eddie tells Steve about his day, and then Steve tells Eddie about his. It feels domestic and nostalgic, and it's everything Steve never knew he wanted until Eddie. His nerves slowly ebb away as they eat, his love for the gorgeous man in front of him replacing any and all worries he'd had. Steve's not sure why he was so scared in the first place; Eddie will love it.
He waits until they're both finished, until there's a natural lull in the conversation and pushes their dishes aside. Steve places both hands on the table and doesn't start until Eddie puts his hands in Steve's. It gives him confidence, so he speaks.
"Eddie. I wish I could show you to the world. I wish we didn't have to hide. I wish I could hold your hand on the street without fear. And I know we can't, and that's fine. But I want you to be mine and I want to be yours." Steve pauses. He can see the adoration in Eddie's eyes and hopes he's showing his too. "I wanted something for us. Just us. So it can be a promise, or- or a wish. But I got these for us. And I hope you like them."
He hands Eddie the open box before he can psych himself out of it. It's a wooden box and inside sits two rings. One is dark silver with a band of gold running through the middle, and the other is the opposite, gold with a dark silver band. They're a matching set, simple enough to be passed off as just a ring but to anyone who looks closely, they're undeniably a set.
"Steve," Eddie breathes, hand hovering over the rings. He doesn't say anything more, and before he knows it, Steve's rambling. "I wanted to get them engraved with something, but I wasn't sure what, so I haven't gotten that done yet, but we still can, so just let me know and-"
"Steve. I can't even- They're amazing."
Eddie's smiling that gorgeous smile of his. The same one Steve fell in love with several years ago. He watches that smile as he picks up the box, pulling out the mostly dark silver ring and sliding it onto Eddie's ring finger. Eddie does the same to him, and they link their hands together, admiring the sight. Steve's sure they're both a little teary now. He'd spent far too long agonising over the rings, but seeing them sitting together in the candlelight, he knows he made the right decision.
It takes Eddie a few hours before he finally connects the dots.
"Wait. Is that why my ring went missing last week?!"
Steve laughs so hard that he cries.
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azrielsshadows42 · 27 days ago
Text
Hollowed out
Azriel x Eris
This is the fic I made for my giftee; @gravitysthrall! I'm so excited and happy I got to participate in this and a big thanks to all the amazing people who organised it. Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears
Word Count: 6039
Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, some suggestiveness, brief panic attack/breakdown
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The halls are quiet. It is to be expected, given the late hour, most are in bed by now, yet here I walk, up and down halls, waiting. For what? Eris, the High Lord of Autumn, to finally come out of his hobbit hole of an office and take a break. My pace slows as I cross that door, the royal bed chambers. Neither Eris nor I have used them since Berons' death. It bears too many bad memories, haunts the residents of the forest house.
My gaze lingers on the ancient wood arch, the intricate pictures carved meticulously by skilled hands. It must have taken hours, such a shame that the details get overlooked by everyone because of a reputation left by someone else.
My footsteps continue on silently as I make my way to my mate, guided by that golden thread. He has blocked his side of the bond. Again.
I try not to let the hurt creep in, I understand he's a High Lord now, his duties and responsibilities have grown exponentially since the war, he can only split his time between so many things. The logical part of my brain tries to convince me of this, but my heart cries out for help. Lately, the bond is blocked more often than not and between paperwork and my missions, physical contact hasn't been available either.
I stop in front of his door. If it weren't for the wards, I'm sure I'd hear the furious scratching of a quill on paper.
Pushing aside the barrier, I walk in, making my steps audible for his benefit. Eris doesn't lift his head, or hum, or acknowledge me in any way shape or form and my heart cracks a little more. It's been like this, cold and unfeeling, for far too long, I don't know how much more of it I can take.
"Eris?"
Nothing.
My jaw tightens.
"High Lord" I grit out between clenched teeth. Is this really what I've been reduced to? Just another fae begging for the favor of his Lord instead of the love of his life, his mate, his husband.
"Yes, Azriel?" I swallow down my rising anger, I didn't come here to argue, and the sound of my name on his tongue almost drowns my temper anyway. The soft care in my voice comes naturally.
"Eris, don't you think it's time to take a break? You've been in here for hours, you haven't eaten or had something to drink since this morning, come, have dinner with me" The time for dinner has long since passed, but I'd do anything to make him walk out of this room, where he has unknowingly imprisoned himself.
"Please" The desperation in my tone isn't subtle, and I can't bring myself to be embarrassed about it because that's what I am. Desperate. A child begging for scraps of attention.
He stays silent for what feels like an eternity longer, the clock ticking, time running through my fingers, unable to grab hold, just swept along with the tide like dust under the carpet.
The scribbling of his quill pauses, he sighs, looks into my eyes, and for just a moment, I see the affection he once had for me. For a moment, hope squeezes my heart and I don't want it to end.
Eris's amber orbs study me, then wander back to the paper, however the reluctance to do so is the thread I grasp to tug him back to me.
"I promise the paper's will still be there when you get back, an hour is all I ask" I wanted to ask for two, but I feel I'm already asking for too much. At this point, I'd cherish ten minutes.
He sighs again and rubs his eyes, the bags beneath them a stark contrast to his sallow skin. Even his freckles seem to have lost their vibrancy.
"Alright, I'll have dinner with you, right after I finish this document, I'll come down to our room" In any other situation, I would have bristled at how he made spending time with me sound like a chore, but I was too happy with his acquiescence.
I walked calmly out the room, giving my mate a smile, which he returned in a grimace like fashion. Once I crossed the threshold and was out of Eris's line of sight, my shadows hurtled themselves toward the kitchens. I invited Eris to dinner, but I didn't actually have anything prepared, and none of the staff would be awake, it's almost one in the morning.
The shadows were giddy, skittering along the walls and floor, some of them climbing the ceiling. Their voices all flooded me at once, fighting for space in my head, they were yelling about what to make. One of them suggested a three course meal and they were all too happy to jump on that idea.
We don't have time to make a feast, and Eris certainly won't have time to eat all of it. Think simple, we'll prepare a charcuterie board, gather some crackers, bread and cold meat, then we'll return to the room.
They grumbled their dissatisfaction, but complied anyway. They scoured the kitchen, slicing sourdough, whole grain, flat bread, and gathering different crackers, as well as an insanely wide assortment of cheeses. They had ham and pulled pork and salami, plating it as if it were to be presented at a banquet. They had always loved doing these sorts of things for Eris, and after being deprived of it for so long, they were going to turn simple into gourmet.
They helped me carry it all to our room, the bed was still made, telling me that Eris hadn't slept at all last night. Servants weren't allowed in our room, I was on a mission, and Eris never made the bed, he didn't see the need if you were just going to mess it up again the next night. I closed my eyes, letting the memory wash over me.
"You don't make your bed in the morning?" Eris rolled his eyes.
"No. Not anymore at least, not since I was the general" He picked up the pillow I had just placed putting it askew again and I huffed.
"Why not? You're a neat freak with everything else, but your bed is the only exception?"
"I see no point in making our bed when we mess it up so frequently" He pulled me toward him by the arm, wrapping his around my neck when our bodies collided. He guided the both of us backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed frame, Eris spun us around mid-fall so I was pinned under him. He leaned in so close we shared each breath and his eyes darkened, flitting between mine and my lips. I surged up, closing the distance, and threaded my fingers in his red locks.
The bed was indeed, messed again.
I set down all the plates, leaving enough room for Eris and I to sit against the pillows, the shadows fussed over every detail while we waited for my mate.
Ten minutes passed.
Then thirty.
Then an hour. Still no sign of my husband. I couldn't even feel the exhaustion, the anger was too great, but still I stayed.
The sun was starting to peak over the horizon when I finally decided to leave. The shadows drooped like wilted plants, my wings dragged slightly. I tried to figure out what I was feeling.
I had every reason to be angry, to be furious, but I wasn't. Was I worried? Did some part of my subconscious think something had happened to Eris? It didn't feel like it. My mind raced through all the options, as I trudged to one of the spare rooms. I didn't want to sleep in our bed, so I lay awake in another, but it wasn't till the first bell rang, signalling five am that I found the word I was searching for.
Hollow.
That's how I felt. Hollow.
It sent a pang through my heart and I wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but I had no tears left. Day after day, night after night, Eris and I had become strangers and it hurt. It fucking hurt.
My eyes wandered over the mahogany ceiling aimlessly, my mind swimming in doubt and shattered expectations. Expectations. I scoffed at myself in my head. More like childish wishes.
The pain seeped back into me, and I made my decision.
I have to leave.
Leave Autumn, leave Eris, leave this entire mess of a life. Just for a bit. Just for some space to think and gather myself, to figure out my next move because if this is to be my life with him, my mate. Even in my own thoughts, my voice cracked.
Then I'll have to- I couldn't complete the thought. Rejecting the bond, ending what Eris and I had spent years building... I don't think I could survive it. I don't think I'd want to.
I packed a bag. It didn't contain much, just some clothes. I still had a few pairs back at the cabin, but I preferred these, they were more comfortable.
And they smell like Autumn! The shadows pitched in, I ignored that comment however. I didn't want to admit that even while angry at him, I still sought out Eris for comfort. I did not need to be reminded right now that I need him much more than he needs me.
Usually when I wanted to clear my head, I'd fly, but the weight in my chest was so heavy, I feared I'd plummet like a rock.
The shadows swarmed around me, pulling me from my empty bedroom, to the empty cabin. The second I had fully materialised, Rhysand was in my head.
Azriel? What are you doing here? Are you alright? Did something happen?
It had taken time for the inner circle to accept my mating with Eris; they had eventually come around, but none of them really trusted him, especially not Rhys. He was always just waiting for something to happen, waiting for Eris to do something so that he could take me back to the Night Court.
I knew it was because he cared, and that the worry in his tone was genuine, but I was too tired to explain to him what was going on.
I'm fine, everything's fine.
I could feel him lift his eyebrow, could picture the 'Do you think I'm a blind idiot' look on his face.
I just need a break from... From what? Eris? I couldn't say that, not because it wasn't true, because technically, it was, but because it would hurt to admit it.
I decided to forgo the rest of my sentence. Is it ok if I stay here? Just for a few days.
A pause ensued, then in a much softer tone, an understanding one, he said; Of course Azriel, you will always be welcome here.
And I felt in my bones that it was true, I just didn't want to think about what that might mean for me.
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Eris's Pov
I was going to break that infernal clock, tick tick ticking in the back of my head like the pressure of how little time I had wasn't enough already.
I had just finished the paper I was working on, but one more couldn't hurt, it would just mean less work for tomorrow, maybe then I could spend some time with my mate. Liar, there is always more work to do the next day.
I pushed the voice down, trying fruitlessly to smother it. Azriel was right, I needed a break. And right after this paper, I'd get one. Azriel and I would have dinner, and maybe, just maybe, we could fall asleep in each other's arms again. What I wouldn't give for that?
I finished putting the last signature on the bottom of the page to approve the project. It was for some agriculture thing, I didn't have enough head space to really go into too much detail, just enough to know it would help.
I got up from the desk, stretching, but my eyes got caught on another document. That one is quick to fill out, it will take me five minutes at most, Azriel will understand, he always does.
I haven't thanked my mate enough for the patience he's had with me, I haven't had the time to, but I will. Once all the things from my father's reign have been sorted, I'll be able to show him how much I appreciated his love and support.
The clock continues its ticking, and I'm only vaguely aware of the time passing, pulled once again into the onslaught of paperwork that buries my desk. One report turned into two, then to five, then a stack.
I'm pulled out once again when a thud is heard to my right. My head snaps up, eyes locking with the target. It's one of the early rising servants, dropping off another stack of papers and documents for me to sign. I whip around to look at the clock to see it is indeed eight o’clock in the morning.
I look back at her and she smiles sheepishly, then leaves. They may be light footed, but I should have heard her open the door. Had she been an assassin, I'd be dead. The lack of sleep really is getting to me.
I run my hands over my face and pick up the quill again, resigned to another day filled with endless words on paper and that bloody clock.
Sliding over the next thing, I can't help but pause at this nagging feeling that I've forgotten something. It claws at my insides, churning my gut, but I have to focus on what's important, I have to-
Azriel
Shit!
I completely forgot. I drop my quill, and shove the doors aside. I'm walking so fast that it could be considered a run but I need to see Azriel, my mate. I need to apologise, to explain, to-
The room is empty save for the spread of meat and cheeses with an assortment of bread and crackers now plagued with flies. My head pivots, searching for any hint of Azriel, the only sign he'd been here was his lingering scent.
I took a moment to breathe it in. Night chilled mist and cedar. Cauldrons I loved his scent, and his wings, and his smile. I just loved him.
His wingspan could sometimes be a pain in my ass (literally) but cauldron boil and fry me, it felt heavenly.
I opened my side of the bond reaching out, but all I was met with was solid walls. My heart stopped. Have I finally pushed him too far?
I tug harder, but am met with no response, dread settles in my stomach. What have I done?
I get the creeping feeling of being watched, and a few of my mate's shadows twirl into view. Usually the sight of them would reassure me, but something about their presence now was foreboding.
"Where is Azriel?" My voice is a mere whisper, but it seemed to echo in the room. They just sat there, dancing on the spot, never still, never motionless. It was unnerving. The slow fluidity of this dark entity, nothing in nature moved like that.
They finally left that spot on the floor, racing down the hall. "Wait" They did not.
I chased after them, barely keeping the swirls of black in view, every time they turned a corner, I thought I'd lose them. They slithered under one of the guest bedrooms, and without question, I flung the doors to the side.
Nothing.
No Azriel.
I looked to the shadows in question. "Why have you brought me here?" Obviously they gave no verbal response, they couldn't, but they just... disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Leaving behind a note in Az's handwriting. I just looked at it, thinking of all the effort he'd put in to be able to write in fancy script.
I picked up the note, reading it quietly to myself. Then reading it again, and again until it stuck.
Dear Eris,
If you're reading this, you've finally come out of your office. You do not need to worry about me, I'm safe in the Night Court, Rhysand knows I'm here.
Don't come get me. When I'm ready, I'll come back, but for now, I just need some time to think.
Sincerely, Your Shadow Azriel
In so few, simple words, I felt my heart crumble. I desperately clawed at the wall blocking me from my mate, but it held strong.
I could feel the panic rise within me, my breath coming in short gasps. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. This can't be happening. I can't- I can't do this without him. I can't. I need him, I need my mate I-
My knees gave out from beneath me, and I hit the floor hard, the sudden bite of pain becoming a small drop in what was quickly gathering to be an ocean.
Azriel left. My mate left.
The words clanged through me with such clarity, I couldn't have stopped the tears if I tried. I broke down for the first time in centuries. Azriel was gone and it was all my fault, I drove him away, I neglected him.
Just like my father did to my mother.
That was the last straw. Loud ugly sobs fell from my lips, my body caved in on itself. How could I let this happen, how could I do this to him?
I stayed there for hours, until I had no more tears, until my throat was raw and no sound could come out. I crawled up onto the bed, curling my body around the pillow he'd used on his last night here. He said not to go after him, that he needed space. I could give him that. I will give him that. Even if it hurts.
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3rd person Pov
Eris got up the morning after, feeling more tired than he had all month, his bones felt like they were made of granite but as frail as sandstone.
Days passed by painfully slow. He tried to focus, to tackle those papers that had driven him from his mate, but everything felt overwhelming. The sun was too bright, the stacks too high, his bed too warm, nothing felt right. Eris couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, he couldn't breathe. He felt like he was suffocating, choking on his own actions and he just wanted his mate back in his arms. He was prepared to do anything to bring Azriel home.
But alas, no word from the shadow singer had reached his ears. It had been twelve days, neither Az nor anyone else from the Night Court had told him anything. It was driving him mad. Had something happened? Or was this really the end?
Another tear slipped out. His eyes burned from all the crying, all the sleepless nights filled with worry and anxiety. There was this perpetual feeling of nausea that he couldn't seem to shake, no tonic or pill worked.
He couldn't take it anymore, he needed to know. Eris winnowed into the town house. He knew Rhysand didn't live there, but it would get his attention.
He didn't have to wait long before the High Lord and Lady of Night as well as the general stood before him, all with scowls on their faces.
"Eris" Rhysand said tersely, his jaw clenched. Eris's eyes were bloodshot, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.
"How is he? Is he alright?" The High Lord's voice came out soft but clear.
"Azriel will speak to you when he is ready" Feyre spoke this time, eyes narrowed.
"I know, I'm not here to force him to see me, I just- I need to know he's ok" The waver in his voice was slight, but there. They all picked up on it, however, had no intention of faltering.
Cassian was about to add his two cents when Azriel appeared in the shadows.
His face was unreadable, but the knotted black curls and massive eye bags were a testament to how much he had been struggling despite being the one to have initiated the space.
Eris swallowed but didn't speak. Just stared at his lover with desperation.
Everyone stared at Azriel, waiting for him to say something.
"Thank you for defending my privacy, but I would like to speak to Eris alone" It was not lost on the red headed fae that Azriel had called him by his name, instead of saying 'my mate' like he usually would have.
Rhysand, Feyre, and Cassian slowly left, they didn't winnow away, just vacated the room, and Rhysand put up wards to give them privacy, staying close in case Eris tried anything.
For a long time, they stood in silence, neither knowing what to say until Eris cleared his throat. "Are you sure you're ready to talk to me? I did not come here with the intention of forcing an interaction between us." The words hurt him, he didn't want to leave without his mate, but if that's what Azriel wanted, he would give him that.
"If you need more- more space then-"
"No"
"...No?"
"I'm done with space. We need to figure this out. Now or never."
Eris nodded, but he was unsure if he should say something, or wait for Azriel to speak first.
Azriel sighed, and sat down at the table, motioning for Eris to do the same. Somehow, this felt worse than standing, but he complied nonetheless.
Azriel rested both arms on the table, fingers interlocked. He raised his hazel eyes to look into Eris's amber ones.
"I'm going to ask you a question, Eris, and I need you to answer honestly, can you do that?" He nods.
"Do you still want this bond, or would you rather have us reject it?”
How could he say that? Eris was appalled, he knew he'd been neglectful, but Azriel couldn't actually believe he regretted this, regretted them, could he? No, it was unthinkable, Eris refused to believe it.
"Azriel, you don't mean that, you can't." He shook his head, his heart felt like it was being squeezed to the point it might explode.
"Answer the question." Azriel's voice was devoid of emotion. Eris grit his teeth, not liking the tone his mate was using on him. That voice was for prisoner's, not him.
"No, Azriel, I don't want to reject the bond" There was a little bite to his voice before a realisation hit him. His words came out small, and meek.
"Do you?"
Eris prayed that wasn't the case, he would beg on his hands and knees if he had to, he would burn those papers, and close off his office if that's what he wanted. Eris was prepared to give up his throne if it would make Azriel reconsider.
"No, I don't, I never have" The relief flooded Eris, the grip on his heart loosened just a bit, just enough for him to breathe again.
"But things cannot go on the way they have. I am tired of not being your first priority, of not even being your tenth!" The spymaster raised his voice for the first time that night. "There is always something that needs to happen. There's always paperwork; documents, complaints, reports, there is always some tradition in one of the villages that people barely remember because Beron forbade it that suddenly wants you to attend."
His breathing was growing heavier with each point, and it was clear he'd been keeping this bottled inside for a long time. "Then finally we find a time in which our free times could align through no small effort, and out of nowhere, the Lords call for an emergency meeting, to discuss their decreased cash flow."
Everything he was saying was true, Eris couldn't defend himself, not that he had any ground to stand on in the first place, so he just listened to Azriel lament.
"And I know, believe me, I know that being a new High Lord is a lot of pressure. I don't pretend to understand what you have gone through nor what you are currently going through, and I've tried to be patient but-"
Azriel's voice cracked mid sentence. He took a deep breath, and Eris had to strain his ears to hear him now.
"I can't. I can't live like this. Barely seeing you for weeks on end just to be brushed off I-" He was visibly shaking now, the tremor in his words reflected his state and his eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes had taken on a glassy sheen.
"Eris, it should pain you to be away from me-"
"It does" He promised, staring at Azriel's face, committing every detail to memory like he was going to slip out of his grasp.
"Not like it hurts me" Az was shaking his head, his heart on his sleeve.
Eris scoffed. "What are you talking about? I hate the distance just as much as you do, more, even. This week especially has been so painful-"
"Clearly not painful enough!"
"What do you mean 'Not painful enough'? It has been excruciating for me! How would you even know? You haven't been around-"
"Because you're not the one falling apart!"
"Of course I'm falling apart Azriel! You left! How was I supposed to feel about that?!"
"Nothing. You were supposed to feel absolutely nothing"
"What the fuck are you trying to say?" Eris was seething now. How dare he insinuate that this hadn't been hard on him too?
"That you. Don't. Care, until there are consequences"
Eris opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted before he could. "I was gone for three hours. Three hours, Eris, before you even noticed I'd left. Three hours before you came out of your office like you'd said you would. 'My word to you will always be true, this I promise' that was one of our vows to each other, and I cannot count the amount of times you've broken it."
He was stunned into silence, the weight of it all crashing down on him hard. "You had been blissfully unaware while I second guessed our mating"
Tears were streaming down both their faces, wild and unrestrained. Their breathing was ragged, and despite the cacophony of emotions, they both just wanted to comfort the other. But too many feelings left unresolved prevented them from doing so, instead, they stewed in the silence, the only sounds being the occasional sniffle or sharp exhale.
"Azriel I- I'm so sorry. I didn't realise what all this was doing to you. I should have known, should have seen the signs. As your husband, as your mate I should have- Cauldrons Azriel, I can't express how sorry I am, words don't do it justice, but I will find a way to make it up to you. I will. I don't know how, yet, but that, I can promise you."
The shadow singer nods. Eris wants to ask what happens now, does he return, or will he stay in the sanctuary of the Night Court? He waits for him to say something, but is left empty handed. He is the one to nod this time, winnowing back to his court.
Eris lies awake, thinking of ways to make it up to Azriel. If it were anyone else, he'd formulate a plan to execute some grand gesture, but this was Azriel. Azriel does not do grand gestures. It should make it easier but instead, it leaves Eris walking circles in his head, tormenting himself with wanting to do more, but knowing his lover wouldn't like it, and everything else just feeling like it would fall short.
It wasn't until well into the night that Eris felt Azriel return to the forest house. He held his breath, both wishing for him to take the corridor to the bedroom he occupied (It didn't feel right to sleep in their shared bed without Az there) and praying he didn't. What could he say? He was nowhere near ready to talk to Azriel, yet that was all he wanted to do.
Azriel went to a different bedroom, one just a few passageways to the left. His heart sank, however he scolded himself saying it was for the best, and that he hadn't earned being in the same bed yet.
Although when a small little shadow crept up, twining itself in between Eris's long fingers, he couldn't help but bring the little creature closer to his face, and smile.
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Time skip
Over the next two weeks, Eris tried his best to earn Azriel back, he had started by showing up at his door and asking him out on a date. He half thought that Azriel would decline and slam the door in his face but by some miracle, the shadowsinger found it in him to take Eris's olive branch.
That first date seemed to open the flood gates. Every other day they'd be out, in the forest, a village, they'd even gone out of Autumn once or twice. The Lords made sure to make their displeasure known and the piles of paperwork were stacking up again faster than Eris could make them go down, but he ignored it in favor of his mate.
He obviously couldn't neglect his High Lord duties completely, he still held audiences when requested, and he did what paperwork he could, but he'd finally taken a leap, and removed many of the lords from the board.
He still hadn't found replacements for all of them, but it was some much needed progress. Having people he could trust to surround him and try to guide his rule instead of the power hungry toads admittedly made it quite a bit easier. Eris felt like he was in control of his responsibilities for the first time in years, since he started his reign, actually.
But it wasn't until recently, that Azriel truly forgave him.
Eris had walked up to Azriel's door, just like he had numerous times in the past fortnight. He waited nervously for him to answer, running his fingers through his hair and smoothing out his clothes. He loved Azriel, truly, but he absolutely hated how he was reduced to a twenty year old with no experience every time he asked him out.
The door opened, and there stood the love of his life donning Autumn finery. They had gotten into many teasing arguments about the garments over the years, Azriel always claiming it was over the top and Eris countering that he was technically a High Lord now too, even if he didn't bare the title (Because Azriel had refused, not because Eris hadn't offered) so the clothes were befitting someone of his station.
Azriel had laughed uproariously at that.
"Hello," Azriel said from inside the door frame. "I don't believe we had a date scheduled, unless I'm mistaken?"
"You're not, mistaken, that is. I wanted to surprise you, if that's alright?" Azriel wasn't overly fond of surprises. To be frank, neither was Eris, but he'd think this might be an exception.
Azriel raised both eyebrows. "Consider me surprised"
Eris blushed. Fucking. Blushed. What in the name of the mother did this male do to him?
"Would you- ahem- Would you please come with me into the dining hall?" Eris said, clearing his voice when it came out a bit too timid.
Azriel nodded slowly. "Sure, just let me change into something else"
"No one else will be there, so just that is fine." He insisted, because if he waits any longer, he might get cold feet and back out.
Once again surprise spreads across the Illyrians face, usually it is Eris who is so adamant on being 'properly adorned' for such occasions, even in the comfort of their own home.
"Alright" He says, closing the door behind him. "Lead the way, High Lord"
Oh, Azriel was trying to kill him, wasn't he? He never calls him High Lord unless he's angry, or wants Eris's attention on him for... other reasons. Much more pleasurable ones. He really hopes it's the second option and gulps as he steps in front of his mate to lead.
He holds the door as his beloved shadow steps in, taking in the spread laid out before them.
"Apologies if it's not on par with the usual cuisine served, I'm not the best cook, even with specific, and detailed instructions."
The male whips around staring at him. "You made all this?"
Eris nods "I did. Figured I had to make up for the dinner I'd missed. And, you know, all the ones before that." He breathes in deeply, preparing himself for his next words. "Look, I know that what I did was wrong, even if I never meant to hurt you, I did. And I'm not afraid to admit that I still don't quite know how to fully bring you back to me, but I-"
The air is knocked out of him by a body colliding with his, preventing the rest of his speech from leaving his lips.
"You just did" The words are mumbled into the junction of his neck, but he hears them just fine. The stress, and tension melts away as he wraps his arms around Azriel for the first time in way too long.
Tears of joy appear in the corners of his eyes but they are wiped away by his mate's thumbs as his scarred hands cup Eris's face. The words he so desperately needed falling effortlessly from the spymaster's lips.
"I love you, and I forgive you." Their emotions flood the bond and they fall to the floor together, holding one another in a tight embrace.
"Thank you, I promise, I will never treat you like that again. Never."
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A few days later
Sunlight fell through the curtains onto their faces, gently waking up the two lovers. They were having a slow morning, it was ten and they still hadn't even gotten up for breakfast. They chose to instead lay in each other's embrace, enjoying the tranquility of it.
Tranquility that was broken by a knock. Eris sighed, running his hands over his face. He stretched and quickly threw on some pants along with a robe to at least cover himself a little.
He opened the door, shocking the servant on the other side who hastily lowered her gaze upon realising her High Lord was shirtless, choosing instead to speak to the floor rather than look him in the eyes.
"High Lord, I'm greatly sorry to disturb you, but the Lords are requesting a meeting on an improved payment plan for the agricultural contributors of Autumn, as well as some trade routes."
He nods, thanking her. When he walks back, Azriel is still in bed, eyes closed, the covers only concealing half of him. Eris smiled and dreaded leaving him.
"The lords want to hold a meeting about a few comings and goings of Autumn." He was sure Azriel had heard, especially with the little shadows constantly whispering information to him.
His mate only hummed, the picture of relaxation. "It's alright, you can go" Damn Azriel and his uncanny ability to read him, of course he knew that was the real reason why he'd repeated the information to him.
"Are you sure?" He asked, he never wanted to feel that again, never wanted to drive his mate away, so he just had to ask one more time.
"Yes, I'm sure." Eris accepted this. If Az really wasn't ok with it, he would say something.
Eris busied himself with getting ready, he took a quick shower, combed his hair and got dressed. It wasn't until he had just finished primping and was almost out the door that Azriel spoke up, calling Eris's name.
"Yes, my love?"
"I'm going to organise lunch for us, so I'll be waiting for you in the dining hall, go there once you're done." Eris stayed in the doorway, sensing there was more. "And afterwards... would you like to mess the bed with me?" A mischievous grin painted his face.
"Always"
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A/n: That's the end! I hope you enjoyed, it was a bit longer than I thought it'd be but I'm just glad it's done on time. This was the first fic I've ever written proper angst for, hope it wasn't horrible.
Have a very Merry Christmas
From: @azrielsshadows42
To: @gravitysthrall
Thank you @acotargiftexchange
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natalie668 · 9 months ago
Text
Lost Girl
Lost boys fanfic, will be multi-chapter fic.
Lost boys (Michael as well) x reader.
Watching them through your dream had you worried, most people have 1 or 2 soulmates. You believed 3 is the max amount recorded, yet here you are dreaming of 5 men, well if you can call guys in their 20's men.
Sitting up in bed, you peered over at your phone. It hadn't long stopped beeping its annoying tune, it's 7am and you had to hurry up and get ready for work. Rubbing your eyes you swing your legs over the side of the bed, you peer down at the 5 names written on your arm; Michael, David, Marko, Paul & Dwayne. Supposedly the order of names in when you will meet each of them.
You have yet to meet a single one of your soulmates, but you guessed that having only just had your birthday 2 weeks prior it wouldn't really give you much time to have met them anyway.
Walking out of your quaint little bedroom, you make your way over to the bathroom, stripping off you begin turning the knob on the shower toas hot as it can go, (which really is pitiful) the landlord still hasn't been and fixed it even though you had alerted him to the fact its been playing up since you had moved in when you'd turned 20. You guess you can't rush these things.
After you've gotten yourself ready, you set off to work, you've been working as a receptionist in a Library since you had turned 18. You had been to college and finished between the time of finishing high school and turning 21.
As you make your way through the busy town, you can't help but sigh seeing the various couples holding hands making their own ways to work. Every day you see it, heck you even see it with working in the library. You can't help but just wish that one day you'd meet your own soulmates.
The work day went quickly, answering phones, scanning books through which people came and dropped off, passing books onto those who placed them on the correct shelves.
There was a thunder storm wracking through the sky as you made your way home, you were not going to spend a fortune getting a taxi and get stuck in traffic just to go 7 streets over. just as your were rushing past a tree when an almighty bright light shot straight in front of you hitting the tree a massive crack was the last thing you heard and an almighty pain and didn't see again.
~*~*~*~*~
The first thing you heard was screams, and the second thing you noticed was the fact you were lying on a beach, you could feel the grains of sand underneath your fingers, peering down at yourself you were wearing the same clothes you had gone to work in, yet you were nowhere near home, the nearest beach was 200 miles away and you don't think you would have not noticed going in a car to get there. So where the hell were you.
Standing up brushing the sand off my clothes, I looked towards where I could make out some steps, I set off to see where the hell I had turned up.
As soon as I got to the steps I could see rides, people dressed like they were from the 80s and a lot of people running around. I stumbled forward heading towards a shop which I could see had a newspaper stand out front like I'd seen in American movies. I peer in and spot the year 1987, I stared in shock, I looked to the top corner, it said 'Santa Carla' I felt like I was going to throw up, I could feel myself getting light headed. I stumbled over to a bench and placed my head in my hands.
I had somehow ended up in America in the late 80s, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!?
I peered around trying not to throw up, my brain was going a million miles a minute, how the hell had I gone back in time. The last thing I remembered was walking home in the thunder storm and seeing a bright light and then nothing.
I panic, feeling my chest, my arms trying to find burn marks, nothing appeared to be on me, 'I must have died' I couldn't help thinking. 'How else would I have ended up going back in time, to freaking America'. A sob escaped my lips, I couldn't believe this was really happening, I pinched myself sharply on the arm to double check I wasn't dreaming.
I stand up from the bench when I finally feel like my heart isn't going to beat out of my chest, I slowly walk down what appears to be some sort of boardwalk, I get towards the end and lean against some metal bars which over looked the sea. Wiping the tears from my face I start to worry about where I am going to sleep tonight, how I'm going to live.
A sharp pain slices through my arm, I look down at my arm, the name 'Michael' is practically glowing red'. Turning around I spot another person grabbing their arm in pain, his eyes meet my own, his head turns to look me in the eyes as he steps towards me, "Hi, I'm Michael," he says as he takes a tentative step towards me. You can tell he's nervous, hell; I'm nervous. I've just gone back in time, and now I'm meeting on of my soulmates?!
"Uhm, nice to meet you, I'm Y/N" I say stumbling over my words, I look him up and down, he's pretty; wild dark hair, dark eyes. He's beautiful. I can't help but feel plain while stood next to him.
He steps towards me, his hand caresses my arm, in the spot where my soulmate mark is, he looks towards my arm and spots the names written on there. A frown marred his features, he slowly takes in the names; his frown turns into a scowl. It makes his face seem to take a different look, his eyes seeming to yellow out of nowhere, which surely must be the light?
His fingers grasp my wrist bringing it closer to his face, he looks up at me, "I think you should come with me, y/n." he says as he looks around at his surroundings like he's expecting someone to jump out at any moment.
Chapter 2
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emepe · 4 months ago
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— Pairing: Eren x Reader, friends to lovers
— General info: series, 18+, modern AU, serial killer AU, smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort
— Summary: Fate is a tricky thing. Certain situations can’t be avoided as much as certain people’s lives can’t be kept from intertwining. With a serial killer on the loose, and unexpected relationships blooming, how will the universe intervene?
— Chapter summary: The first 48 hours are crucial when a person goes missing. Eren can only pray it’s enough to reach you..
— Content warnings: emetophobia, mention of assault.
— Notes: Helloooo!!! Welcome to TV Friday number 12 <3 I thought about posting earlier but I thought best to keep up our little tradition ^^ Please read the notes at the end for extra notes about TV’s future. Don’t be shy to stop by my ask box <3 If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list, lmk. Happy reading!
Links: Read on AO3 | Chapter guide | Masterlist
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Forty-eight hours
Hour One
A missed call shouldn't have been enough to raise an alarm, but his gut instantly told him something was wrong. And yet he tried his best to remain calm — stepped out onto the street and made his way to the bus stop where you should've been dropped off, glancing into convenience stores just in case, hopeful that the bus was just running a little late. But when the bus you would've taken showed up — allowing Eren some time to sigh in relief and shake his head at his own presumptions — and you were nowhere to be found among the few people to scatter onto the sidewalk, it only confirmed that previous gut feeling.
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Hour Two
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
There's a stiffness to Eren's breathing that makes the process more painful than its intended effects — his lungs feel too big for his ribs, which seem to be pressing them against his heart, pushing his brain into hyperactivity to keep him from imploding.
Where does he even start? Where should he even go?
If there's a proper protocol to follow to find you, he's no idea of it and he's strangely aware that his anxiety might lead him in the wrong direction when there's so much he has to do — so many places he has to be — at once. It's infuriatingly difficult to not have a cool head when you really need it.  
He didn't think to bring his car — perhaps it's for the best, considering his vision continues to blur and it's not a sign of good condition to hear your own frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears. 
His eyes anxiously scan the faces of every person in his path. Paired with his dazed footing and the sick expression on his face revived every couple of minutes from the nausea stemming from some sort of sensed doom that he continuously swats away, there hasn't been a shortage of odd looks and aversions since he ventured into the dark streets in hopes to find you fine and well out of thin air.
It's been too long to dismiss as a casualty since his calls stopped going through, and yet he insists on redialing your number each time he's met with the automated message that only further fuels his dreadful symptoms, hopeful that your voice will reach his ears again, for that comforting sound to put an end to the infernal crescendo of his insides. 
Just as he's about to redial once more, his phone starts buzzing first, and for a split second his body is at peace and his heart soothed in the spare moment that it takes for him to accept the call and bring the phone to his ear. 
“Have you heard from her yet?” 
The voice on the other end causes his stomach to plummet to his feet for what feels like the tenth time tonight.
It takes a moment for his brain to assimilate that it's not you on the other end and another for him to hate himself for not checking who was calling and stupidly spit a response to an Armin who has no fault in anything, especially for not being you.
Armin, as understanding as ever and assuming the more collected role for Eren's sake, dismisses the frustrated tone in his friend's voice, fully aware it's nothing personal. 
“The security guard says she left a little over an hour ago and Mika called me a minute ago and said she hasn't been home. Are you sure she wasn't going to make any stops on the way?” 
“No, Armin, she would've told me. She would've come here first or she would've at least texted me.” Eren's voice cracks. “Something is wrong.” 
The weakness in Eren's voice is enough to fracture Armin's composure for a fraction of a second.
“Let's go to Levi.”
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Hour Three
Being in the police station feels more reassuring than Eren would've imagined. At least this means he's doing something — and something right, at that — and the drive over spared him enough time to ease his nerves, even just a little, as he continued to repeat inwardly to himself that everything is going to be fine. 
Time is everything and frankly, he can't help but feel a bit dumb for not thinking about getting some help from Levi in the first place. He'll find out what's going on — if there was an accident, if you got mugged and that's why no calls go through, or even if your bus broke down and that's why he hasn't seen you when he should have by now. Even if it turns out to be a misunderstanding, better to cause a scene than to sit on his hands. Though three hours without any sign to say otherwise can't be a misunderstanding. 
Eren hunches over, resting his forehead on the edge of Levi's desk, not minding one bit as it digs a dent into his skin. His knee bounces every couple of minutes as he and Armin wait for Levi to get back to them. 
“Eren Jaeger?” 
He looks up to find a tall blond man instead of Levi. 
“Yes?” 
“I'm Captain Erwin Smith. Come this way please.” 
Eren stands to follow the man's lead, only sparing a nervous glance to Armin, who replies with a comforting one from his seat, only morphing into a more accurate depiction of his worry once Eren turns his back to him.
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“Where's Levi?” 
Eren's eyes wander the barren space he's been led into. Nothing but a table and a pair of chairs set opposite of each other. 
“He'll be here in a moment. I just want to ask you some more questions about the missing person's report you're filing.” 
“Of course.”
Doing his best to hold in his exasperation at the ticking clock in his head, he dutifully replies to every question he's already answered for Levi when he first walked into the station — what made him come to the station, his relation to you, your description, what happened before he lost contact with you, amongst other basic things to paint a picture of the situation.
“Was there ever any trouble in your relationship?” Erwin asks.
Eren's brow furrows.
“What do you mean?” 
“I'm asking if there was any indication that your girlfriend,” he makes a vague motion with his hands as he reads your name from the folder in his hands, “might’ve been upset with the relationship. Did you ever argue or have any trouble? Perhaps something in the past few days? Or ever?” 
Eren hardens his jaw in an attempt to remain calm. He knew he'd have to spend a while at the station, answering questions more than once — as frustrating as the lengthy process could be, he expected that much. 
Erwin's tone has remained neutral for the entirety of the questioning, and it's only natural to want to rule out any immediate suspects, but it doesn't make the implication of the captain's words any less offensive and borderline cruel. 
“No,” Eren chokes out, horrified by the mere idea that either of you would walk away without warning. That isn't you. 
“So no reason for her to break off contact with you.”
“She didn't break off contact,” Eren spits, growing heavily frustrated at the sudden turn of events. “We were supposed to meet, she was on her way already. I saw her just this morning and she called me first to tell me she was coming home.”
“Maybe she only said that to throw you off?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Just tell me what you might think,” Erwin replies, voice stern. “You say it's only been three hours since you last heard from her but she's a mentally stable, healthy adult. Unless she has any conditions that could put herself or others in danger, chances are she's safe and sound somewhere and this is all a misunderstanding. Was there anything suspicious or weird about her?”
Eren's shake of his head grows more and more frustrated as Erwin does little to conceal his skepticism, which only shapes as a misunderstanding from Eren's increasingly impatient point of view.
“What's suspicious and weird is that she never made it to our date at all and it's been three hours and I haven't gotten a single word from her.”
Eren's expression is one of pleading, yet Erwin's remains neutral and made of marble.
“And it's not like that,” Eren murmurs. “I was going to ask her to live with me tonight. She called me after she left work to tell me she was on her way.” Eren can feel his heartbeat start to pick up as his ribcage begins to close in on his lungs once more as more anxious words continue to spill from his mouth in increasing pace and volume. “She told me she had news and that she loves me. Why would she tell me that if anything was wrong? Why would she say that if she wasn't going to make it to our date?” The crack in his voice comes at the same time as the stinging sensation behind his eyes and the uncomfortable tickle in his nose. “I was making dinner for us. I had this whole thing planned. I wanted to surprise her with all her favorite food and the pictures from the new apartment. I wasn't going to tell her about the pink bathtub because I want it to be a surprise when we move in. She…” He curls against the table, hands gripping his hair in frustration, pulling at the strands to make sure he still feels something because there are just too many sensations overwhelming him as he tries to get through to the man in front of him. “She really wants a pink bathtub.” 
Eren doesn't lift his gaze, just remains quiet and unmoving until he catches a flicker of movement in front of him. It's only when he takes the tissue offered by Erwin that he becomes aware of the tears streaming down his face. 
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Levi nearly had a heart attack when he first caught eye of Eren's and Armin's familiar faces walking into the police station. The frantic green eyes and anxious expressions made it clear something awful had happened and hot flashes of searing dread burned inside his stomach. That is until nobody pronounced his niece's name. After that, the flame of pain withered to ashes of guilt, consuming him from the inside in such a manner that it was hard to face his niece's friends knowing he'd felt relief it wasn't his family who'd been affected tonight. 
Levi's known Eren since he was a kid — a bit childish and whiny, but ultimately a decent man with a kind heart. It's been a pleasure watching him grow up and knowing he's remained a good friend to his niece. 
Levi's only met you once. It was at Jean and Mikasa's engagement party earlier this year. If Jean and Mikasa were the happiest couple there, you and Eren were a close second. It was easy to know just how much he adored you, and how attached you were to him. Eren was rarely in a dark place, but next to you his smile was blinding. 
After finding out Erwin conducted the interrogation to rule out a possible runaway case — and how he did it — he still hadn't ridden himself of enough guilt to apologize for making the situation more stressful, no matter what the rules say. 
It's no secret some sudden disappearances hold more danger than others. An abducted child, an older person with dementia, a mentally and emotionally unstable person who's looking to cause harm to others or themselves — they demand a higher sense of urgency than logging the missing person into the system and following up when there's nothing more pressing on the police's plate.
The desperation consuming Eren's features when Levi finally walks into the interrogation room is enough to kick off his own instincts. 
It's upon Levi's insistence that patrols are dispatched immediately. 
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Hour Five
When a loved one's safety is on the line, any efforts from authorities never seem to be enough and yet one remains oddly hopeful that the people with a proper protocol should know how to better handle situations that leave one frantic and lost. 
Calls to the nearest hospitals, pings from cellphone towers, two patrols dispatched to the last known location and its surroundings, questions to potential witnesses who have nothing to report or are rather too invested to go back to whatever keeps their attention inside to provide some detailed tips, one patrol leaving because of a nearby break-in and the remaining one left with nothing more to go off of than one grainy clip of CCTV footage that shows your figure walking down the street, and a second clip from a convenience store's outside surveillance camera where you don't show up at all, but the lack of witnesses lead to nothing in between. 
Keeping up the search when there's been nothing gained starts proving to be more difficult when obstacles continue to pile on. Aside from the growing boredom of those in police cars from the lack of fresh information to keep them motivated, the heavy clouds that hover over everyone's head threatens for the case to soon be abandoned for the night. 
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Hour Eight
Levi is hesitant to leave. But with no leads — no CCTV footage, no unknown numbers blinking on Eren's screen, no mother, an estranged father, no sign of a struggle at the last known location, and so much yet so little more — there isn't much he has to do than drive back with the pair of worried men to the station for more questioning in case of foul play, while constantly eyeing his notifications for any incoming messages on an assault victim found in an alley not too far away from where your phone was last still on.
Eren refuses to leave. Despite Levi's efforts to persuade him that going back to the station was necessary, knowing he was so close to where you'd last been was enough for Eren to stand his ground. Getting into Levi's car means going back miles worth of steps. It means straying from what feels so much like the right path already. And as ridiculous and futile as it is with no leads, it means losing his grip on something much more solid. 
How easy it would be if a last known location means he can find you just by looking behind a tree or having someone point and say “yes, she's right there”. 
So when Levi makes another plea for Eren to come back with him — he doesn't mention what for to not stir any more nerves — and Eren says no while steering himself down the block for what feels like his hundredth recon of the area — just in case you really were behind that tree in the small playground all along, playing a nasty prank on him — Levi chooses to go back to all the nearby twenty-four hour convenience stores one last time before the downpour begins. 
Armin gives Levi a grateful nod before lightly jogging to catch up with Eren, who's already turning onto the next street. 
“You can go,” Eren calls over his shoulder after catching a glimpse of his friend's blond hair beside him. “I'll keep looking by myself. Besides, it's gonna rain soon. You'll get wet.” 
“What about you?” Armin looks down at his friend's bare arms. “You don't even have a jacket.” 
Eren looks down at his sides, like he just noticed his lack of a coat. He could've sworn he had one on him when he walked out his apartment. You would've been upset with him otherwise, that small pout forming on your lips while your brows are weighed down with disappointment. 
The instant of amusement he feels is quickly consumed by the ache of why he's out on the street with no jacket to begin with. 
The food must be cold by now. He'll have to heat it all up once you're back home.
Light raindrops brush against his skin with a small gust of wind. 
You're still not behind the tree.
It's nearly half past two in the morning. Any civilians with useful information have been asleep for hours, and any passers-by would've reported anything had they seen it, Armin thinks. 
It's chilling to walk down streets so quiet and empty, with the only reminder that this isn't an alternate universe being the sparse cars that drive by. Surely the people inside might find it strange to see the pair walking up and down the streets, turning, looking, flashing their phones to make out shapes in the dark.
The tickle of rain on skin is no longer, but the temperature continues to drop. 
Armin takes on one side of the street while Eren tackles the other. He receives a polite nod from the security guard of a small daycare center, who fails to conceal his look of pity. Levi interviewed him around an hour ago, so he has to know what's going on. 
Armin averts his gaze, his cheeks burning at the thought of some stranger pitying him and his friend when everything is going to be just fine. 
The rain starts up again. Eren isn't around anymore. With one quick scan of the street, Armin spots him rounding the corner to the next street — pace firm but anxious. He's quick to follow. 
By the time Armin catches up, the raindrops have grown in size, a reliable sign that this time, it's for real. 
“Eren,” Armin calls him carefully.
Eren continues walking, flashing a light behind a dumpster in a narrow alley between a family restaurant and a bookstore. 
“Eren,” Armin calls him a bit more firmly to get his attention, but to no avail. 
With brows knit more in desperation than concern, Armin quickens his pace and pulls Eren by the shoulder just before he rounds the corner to the next street. 
“Eren!”
“What?” 
The anger and volume in Eren's voice shrinks Armin in his place for a brief moment. 
Embarrassed by his own reaction, Eren exhales an apology. But his face hardens once more when Armin suggests it's time to go home.
Armin steps back, surprised to have caught a swear word from his best friend among the words he spits back in a negative response. 
But when Eren turns, ready to resume his search, Armin pulls at him again.
“Eren, stop!” he half-yells, quickly readjusting his volume before speaking again to not cause any disturbances to sleeping strangers.
“You don't want to pick a fight with me Armin, I'm warning you,” Eren's voice grows low, but still reaches Armin with the same anger and menace.  
Eren harshly pulls away and continues to storm down the next street, leaving Armin to stumble behind. 
The rain is heavy enough now to spot the pavement faster than it takes for each drop to dry. 
“We need to go back, we aren't going to find her like this,” Armin calls after him. His hands do little to shield himself from the rain. Thankfully, Armin thought to bring a jacket along but it won't do much for either of them when it's bound to be sopping wet in just a few minutes. 
Eren's shirt is already clinging to his skin in large patches down his back, and yet he continues walking with purpose down the street. 
Armin's shivering now under his jacket as he looks around to gather his surroundings. This street isn't far from the office. It's poorly lit which, paired with the rain, is best explored in daylight. There's a single street lamp that's meant to illuminate the area at night, but it's been broken for months and either nobody has reported it, or laziness has kept it from being repaired. 
“Come on,” Armin insists, lightly jogging now and losing his breath under the cold shower as he tries to keep up with Eren, who still refuses to listen. “We'll come back in the morning! You need to get some rest if you're going to keep looking! I'll come with you, okay? But we need to go!”
Armin suddenly crashes into Eren's chest as the latter abruptly turns around in a sudden fit of pure rage. 
“I already told you I'm not fucking leaving!” 
Armin stumbles back, teeth chattering, muscles drooping from his wet clothes and vision blurred by the heavy rain. 
“You can leave if you want to! That's what the fucking police is doing! Just go already! But I'm staying because I care! I don't give a fuck about the rain, I'm going to find her!”
Eren's words pierce through Armin's chest, and the next moment he's tackling Eren to the ground. It's not so much to stop him from leaving this time, but out of indignation. 
Eren falls on his ass with a wet thud, his palms painfully pounding onto the pavement as Armin falls on top of him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt in his hands.
“You think I don't care? Why do you think I'm here, you idiot?” Armin yells in Eren's face. Had the pouring rain not been a factor, he would've been red in the face. But had the rain not been there, Eren also would've easily seen the tears streaming down Armin's face, and that would've taken away from his blue glare. 
“She's my best friend! I'm just as worried about her as you are! You can't decide you're the only one affected by this! That only makes you a jerk and you're not!” 
Eren is tense all over as he holds Armin's surprisingly threatening glare. His chest heaves as a twinge of guilt surges inside of him at his friend's pointed remarks. The stiff breathing makes its return.
“But we have to go,” Armin's voice softens — it cracks and begs. 
And Eren breaks down in sobs. His scraped palms come to his face, aggressively digging the heels against his eyes as if to force his tears back in while his shoulders tremble in cold, grief and guilt. 
“You don't understand!” he cries, his shirt still crumpled under Armin's grip. “I fucked up, Armin. This is all my fault!”
Unsure of how to react to this abrupt change in attitude, Armin remains frozen save for his teeth, which continue to chatter under the deafening rain.
“I was supposed to pick her up. I'm never late,” Eren hiccups. “But I didn't come today and now I don't know where she is! It was me, Armin! I did this! This is my fault!” 
“Eren,” Armin murmurs gently, eyebrows upturned in sympathy as he finally softens his hold on his friend. 
“I can't find her and I don't know if she's hurt or scared or if…,” Eren's words drown in another wave of sore sobs, his lips refusing to let the thought of the worst to escape as a spoken word — to think that someone might have caused you harm and that's what's kept you tonight. 
“I need her to be okay,” he whimpers finally, lips trembling as his body begins to react to the harsh cold surrounding him. “Where is she, Armin?”
It takes a while for Armin to gather his thoughts and catch up to the workings of Eren's mind from this hellish night. 
He often leaves the office with you, stays behind some evenings when he notices you're close to wrapping up your work and can ride the elevator together. Sometimes even accepts Eren's offer for a ride when he's too tired to deal with the overwhelming setting of public transportation — tired enough to not mind third-wheeling for a short while. If the last place your phone was turned on was before you even had a chance to take a bus, surely he could've done something to prevent this mess too. Why didn't he think to stay behind today, too?
“It's not your fault,” Armin finally says, his voice just barely audible amidst the rain and thunder. He blinks up from the ground to his friend. “And we don't know what happened. We'll try the hospitals again later, we'll keep calling her in the meantime. We have Levi helping us, right?”
Eren blinks back at him, slowly gathering that Armin is trying to encourage him through reassurances, and finally nods in response as he does his best to ignore the tight lump in his throat. 
“It's like three in the morning, Eren. I'm not asking you to stop. But we can't keep going like this.” He motions vaguely toward the incessant rain from above and the wet clothes sticking to their skin. 
Armin stands, relieving Eren from his weight as he pushes back his hair with one hand and offers the other to his friend whose reluctance casts a shadow over his usually bright features. 
Eren trains his gaze on the ground, leaving Armin's helping hand hanging for the while longer it takes for him to convince himself that Armin is right and this doesn't mean he's failing you. 
Finally, Eren accepts his friend's hand, who hoists him up just as they both spot Levi's car pulling into the street from the farthest corner. 
Armin motions for Eren to follow him toward the car, to which he responds with a weak nod. But just a couple of steps in, something crunches and gets caught under his shoe. Naturally, he looks down, forgetting the deluge falling over him at the moment to frown at the foreign object. 
Armin glances over his shoulder, sensing his absence, and turns around fully when he realizes Eren is kneeling on the ground, cautiously picking something from the ground that ultimately dangles from his fingers once it's fully suspended in the air. 
Armin retraces his steps, kneeling next to his friend to find his face pallid, and green eyes wide with fear as he stares at the broken chain between his fingers, from which hangs an angel cast in silver with a broken wing. 
His features contort in horrified realization. It's almost ridiculous to turn to Eren for confirmation of what he already knows and can already begin to imagine. But when he does, the latter is already hunched over in the opposite direction, emptying his stomach onto the wet pavement while the nearing lights from Levi's car come to blind him.
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Hour Fifteen
Mikasa, Jean, and Sasha step into the elevator wordlessly, the only sounds on the way to Eren's floor being the inevitable rustles from the plastic bags with food in Mikasa's hands. 
Jean offered to take them, but Mikasa insisted she'd hold onto them. Maybe it's because of her cold hands, but it might also be because she needs something to help keep her grounded — literally; she feels as though she might float away otherwise. Because if anyone were to ask her, nothing has felt real since last night after Armin's call. 
The elevator’s hum ceases as it comes to a gentle stop and the doors slide open. 
The same somber silence continues to hover between the trio as they mechanically walk down the hall to Eren's door. Jean takes out his copy of the key from his jeans pocket and pushes the door wide open, gesturing for the girls to enter first before quietly closing the door behind them.
Spare keys aren't rare between them. It was chain reaction that stemmed from Eren's father's passing. Everyone wanted to make sure he was okay. The rest is history. 
“In case of emergency.”
“Can you please water my plants while I'm gone?” 
“Can you check something for me?”
“I'm really sick, just let yourself in.”
“Just keep it.”
Jean's copy has rarely been used. In fact, not many of them have made use of Eren's key once he started dating. Not that it's been a dramatic change, but now there's not much need to be wary of barging in on something they'll all laugh about later. And today, after Eren passed out on the street in the rain, it seems crucial to brush the dust off an old habit for their friend's sake.
The trio is careful not to make any excess noise — Eren might still be sleeping —, but the further they venture into the apartment, they realize their efforts are in vain. 
They expected Eren to be lying on the sofa where Jean and Armin had so carefully helped him settle down, still fast asleep considering it's only been a few hours since. Although Eren's sudden nausea was a mere reaction to finding the necklace, Armin still spent a couple more hours watching over him as a precaution while he cleaned up the kitchen and dining area, and quietly left for his apartment to make another round of calls before work. 
They're met with the view of their friend bustling around his work area in a corner of the living room, his brow furrowed and eyes laser focused as he refills the ink tanks on his printer. Stacks of missing person's posters cover his desk with a handful of faded ones having been scattered and crumpled on the floor as evidence of the ink shortage he's tending to. Your face occupies nearly the entirety of his immediate view, which is why a single glance is enough to distract him from his task that he doesn't notice his friends present in his apartment, nor when the ink begins to leak.
At the instinctive curse word that leaves him in a frustrated huff, Jean rushes over to help him. 
“I'll handle this,” he assures Eren, who only blinks in surprise as he realizes he's not alone. 
Mikasa and Sasha walk over to him unsure of whether a hug is appropriate as a greeting. In the end, they choose to speak the words instead. 
Sasha leaves the conversation in exchange for helping Jean clean up the spilled ink. An irregular blob-shaped stain is left behind on the ash gray wood. 
“Are you– How's your stomach?” Mikasa asks. 
An uneasy grimace makes its way onto Eren's face.
“It's fine. It was just… Yeah.” He shrugs it off, unsure of how to properly explain the incident without triggering more discomfort. 
Mikasa nods in understanding. 
“Armin said you're going back to the police station later.”
Eren huffs at a humorless puff of air from his nose. 
“Yeah. More questioning,” Eren replies, his head continuously shaking in disbelief, to which Mikasa frowns.
“What's wrong?” 
It takes Eren a couple of tries to let the words out, his mouth opening and closing with hesitancy. 
“They all left, Mika,” he softly murmurs, a hint of helplessness infecting his fragile voice, that births an ache in Mikasa's chest. “Nobody could say anything and they got bored. What kind of excuse is that?” 
Mikasa drops her gaze to her shoes, submitting before the hurt and impotence Eren's words awake in her. 
Then she shakes her head briefly, recalling a good thing. 
“Levi's on the case… and there's evidence for foul play now, there's a lead,” she says, trying her hardest to appear more hopeful at each thing on her list. “He'll find her, Eren. This'll just be nothing but a bad memory soon.” 
She smiles, but it comes out sad from the red that tints her waterline. 
Eren doesn't have the energy to try to appear cheerful from her encouragement, and limits himself to a nod. 
“Eren, how long have you been up?” Sasha asks with concern from his desk, where her eyes scan over his computer screen and the stacks of paper with your face printed front and center. 
“A few hours?” Eren replies with a shrug, to which everyone else exchanges concerned glances.
Jean breaks the silence with a loud clap, refusing to make way for any awkwardness in the air. 
“We brought you some food, buddy. Come on, let's eat.” 
Sasha eagerly nods, her enthusiasm a bit too stiff it almost seems rehearsed, as she encourages him to follow them to the dining table.
Eren allows himself to be tugged along for a couple of steps before he tethers himself to his spot for a moment and then decidedly takes a step back under everyone's puzzled expressions. 
“I'm not really hungry,” he murmurs, shaking his head.
“Are you sure?” Mikasa gently asks.
“We got your favorite soup,” Jean smiles, though Eren is too busy staring at a blank point to notice. “Minestrone.”
“Extra parmesan,” Sasha adds.
“It's fine.” Eren assures them with a forced smile. “You guys eat. I have a lot of things to do.” 
“Well, you can't do them on an empty stomach. Let's eat and then we'll go through your to-do list together,” Jean insists.
“Yeah,” Mikasa agrees, shooting a grateful smile to her fiancé. “Jean can drive you to the station after breakfast and Sasha and I can handle the rest.”
Every offer is sensible and comforting, but Eren still refuses. He can't eat, not when you still haven't come home. 
“No…” his voice trembles ever so slightly as his eyes wander around the room, as if looking for an excuse. He ultimately makes his way back to his desk, where the stacks of posters await him. “I'll just head out now. I'm gonna hand some of these out before going to the station.”
The rejected trio exchange another round of anxious, meaningful looks. Mikasa's the first to break away from the group to join Eren in gathering a stack of flyers and a roll of tape from the black metal organizer on his desk.
As her hands roam around the surface of the ash gray wood, the jewel on her finger catches the sunlight peeking through the curtains. 
Eren's movements grow slow as his focus is stolen by the silver engagement ring. 
Mikasa notices the pause in his movements from the corner of her eye, and looks up at him to assess his status. Eren tears his gaze from her ring — embarrassed —, but not fast enough for it to go unnoticed, nor does he remember to ease his hardened jaw afterwards. He moves in silence and sets a fast pace toward the door, leaving an anguished Mikasa to trail at his heel. 
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Hour Twenty
It takes a handful of hours for Eren to get back home from the station, with a significant reduction to the baggage he left with. The stream of questions would've been fairly simple had he not been charged with so many uneasy feelings as to why he was doing all of it in the first place. It certainly didn't help that he had to face the same people who had simply left this morning. But he has to do things right — even if it means swallowing his anger to contribute with any useful information.
Social media presence, daily routines, bus routes, habits, friends, family situation.
Saying you know someone like the back of your hand is an odd saying, he thinks. He's not that vain to spend lengthy periods of time observing himself. In his case, it suffices to say he simply knows you — all he's done is look at you. 
He knows your hands quite well. The shape of your fingers, the curves of your knuckles and the warmth of your palms when they latch onto his heartbeat and manipulate it to your will. And now what's been left since last night is a painful cavity. It's all wrong. Your hand should be here, filling his void. 
The apartment is empty, Jean and Sasha long gone. The plastic bags have been folded into neat triangles and the counter has been cleared. Upon opening the fridge, Eren finds stacks of containers that have been added to those Armin helped put away the previous night from the uncelebrated dinner. 
He stares at his packed fridge for a long time, any energy to step away vanishing into thin air and leaving him stuck in place, looking straight ahead until he no longer recognizes the shape of anything inside, and he grows numb at the cold air that slowly envelops him. 
A ring from his pocket is what finally pulls him out of his daze and he's quick to whip the device out and accept the incoming call with pure urgency and no thought. 
“I'm only assuming you've been too excited to call me to tell me how it went last night,” Carla's playfully accusing tone comes through the speaker. 
“Mom,” Eren pronounces in a voice so soft, yet empty as he only acknowledges it's her, but any word that bounces off his tongue is devoid of meaning until he can speak the name he wants to.
“So,” Carla's enthusiastic grin is evident through the phone. “Was she thrilled? What did she say?”
Eren's voice fails him. 
In all the anxiety and chaos, with all the things he's had to do within the last twenty hours, he completely forgot to tell his mother what had happened and that moment is catching up to him now. 
His lips roll inwards, a habit reserved for when he's feeling shy because of things you say or do, and now has come back because of his lack of words — or rather the will to expel them.
His hand comes up to his hair, his fingers brushing his hair back as he struggles to find his voice. 
It's only when Eren takes a second too long to reply that a shift in mood can be sensed from Carla's end of the line.
“Eren,” she calls him carefully, which only makes the lump in his throat grow. “Honey, what's wrong?”
“Mom,” is all Eren can muster, voice cracking as he pushes the word out.
“Did you have a fight? Is everything okay?” Carla's concern amplifies through the speaker, as something rustles in the background, a sign that she's taken on a more alert position.
“You didn't break up, did you?” 
Out of all the things that could've gone wrong last night, Eren wishes that had been it. At least he wouldn't be as helpless. At least he'd know where you are. At least it's something he could reverse.
“No.” 
The word comes out choked, his throat instantly sore for the second time. 
His monosyllabic replies must be getting to her, because Carla takes a deep breath before trying again. 
“Eren, honey. You have to speak clearly, okay?” Carla's voice grows gentle, as it always has whenever Eren would have trouble speaking his mind. Granted, that's been lost as he got older, but Carla's sweet attention hasn't. “What happened?”
Her patient voice finally manages to coax the lodged words from Eren's throat. 
“I don't know where she is. She's missing.” 
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Hour Twenty-four 
Rain is bad for detective work. Eren heard about it in a documentary or a podcast, or maybe he read it somewhere — he can't remember. But it supposedly washes away any evidence, making easy cases tricky and difficult cases nearly impossible. Considering the silver angel necklace was found in the midst of the sky falling, it comes as no surprise when he comes home from a casual meet up with Levi at a nearby coffee shop with the news that no DNA or signs of a struggle were found on site after a thorough search in the light of day. The other half of the broken angel wing was found stuck on the edge of a sewer grate, though. Eren would feel any comfort at all if it meant it would lead to something. But at least the necklace can be fixed for when he finds you and this is all over.
The necklace is pretty much a dead end, but it'll remain under the police's hold just in case. 
Eren has never gone so long without seeing your face. Now that the clock has found its way back to the hour you were supposed to walk through his door, it's unbearable to know that you won't. And still he looks over in its direction every few minutes, expecting you to burst in and throw yourself into his embrace, marking the end to a day-long fever dream. 
That's probably it. A dream. No, a nightmare. It's nothing but a wicked play of his subconscious — to teach him a lesson on appreciating you more. Maybe to scare him into doing a better job of protecting you. Maybe he's gotten too lax, too careless. After all, the city hasn't been terrorized by any violent crimes in the last few months. But that's no excuse to dismiss the possibility of danger. Right… There was a killer last year. Two murders. No suspects. No arrests. And there was a burglary just last night. So what if…
No.
Eren pulls at his hair, agitated by where his mind is leading him. He pulls hard on the strands, like they're the reins of his thoughts that he needs to redirect onto a less horrifying path. 
His phone dings as if on cue with a text message.
I'll be there soon, honey. Get some rest, I'll call you tomorrow. I love you.
A tap on the attached file opens up a copy of a plane ticket for the day after tomorrow under the name Carla Jaeger.
His heart feels a tad lighter. 
It'll help to have his mother around for a few days. He types his gratitude into his phone and presses send. 
He lets his face fall into his hands as he hunches over his desk.
Everything will be okay, he repeats to himself in his head like a mantra. 
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Everything will be okay.
Outside, rain starts to fall. 
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Hour Thirty
The rain has been on and off for hours. 
By the time Eren reconnected with his surroundings, ready to go out and look for clues on his own around the area, the rain was nearly as heavy as it was at three in the morning. 
He sits by the living room window, watching the downpour. His phone is charging on a wooden stool next to him, taking a break from another round of calls to nearby hospitals to ask for any patients bearing your name. Still no. 
His stomach has been growling for a while, but any energy he possesses isn't the kind that'll get him off his chair and into the kitchen — it's the kind that's meant to be used to stare out the window and grow numb over any trivial needs.
It's fine, he thinks. It'll pass. 
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Hour Thirty-seven
All five of his friends come through the door a little past seven in the morning, with bags of fresh meals to share. 
Eren sits down this time, allowing Mikasa to fix him a plate and Connie to pour him a glass of juice. 
Nobody mentions the dark circles under his eyes, and Eren's gaze is too lost on a blank point to sense the meaningful glances exchanged all around him. 
There's not much room for conversation. Any sense of normalcy is lost in the thick air. It seems equally wrong to create a lighthearted break for the length of a meal as it is to talk about the empty seat across from Eren when everyone is trying so hard to make sure he's at the very least feeding himself. 
Eren merely pokes and stirs at his food with his fork the entire time. There's a fresh stack of flyers on his desk that demand more urgency in his eyes than sitting down to eat. 
His demeanor is easy to read by everyone at the table, yet another round of concerned glances and subtle nods in his direction being tossed around with silent messages. 
In the end, nobody says a thing and the groups is broken off in pairs to tackle the surrounding neighborhoods.
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Hour Forty-five 
Nobody has called. Not him or the station. As the only person outside of the police to be contacted for any updates, his phone should've rung at least once. But aside from yesterday's encounter with Levi and his visits to the station to see if his presence alone will bring something up, there's been a drought in leads. And despite his determination in making sure every person he passes knows anything, there's still nothing. 
It's been hours since his stomach has demanded his attention. It's finally reached the point where it's so empty, it's gone numb. His body is running on nothing more than sheer will and water. 
He should at least try to eat, test if he can hold any food down. 
The fridge remains packed with food, even more now thanks to what's been gathered from his morning visits. 
Ever so slowly, with overly cautious movements, he takes out a container, transports it to the counter and peels off the lid. It's from the dinner you were supposed to share two nights ago. 
His lips tremble, eyebrows upturning for the split second it takes him to grasp back at his composure. An outsider would think he's glaring at his leftovers, disgusted at whatever is inside, completely misunderstanding the mental ordeal he's traversing as he takes several deep breaths.
He pulls out a stool from the breakfast bar, sits down and stares.
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Hour Forty-eight 
It's been two whole days since Eren has stepped foot in his own bedroom. 
His feet drag him toward the bed without stopping to flip the light switch. Though the night is cloudy, signaling another shower for tonight, the moonlight still finds its way into the room just enough for his eyes to take in the most basic shapes of his furniture.
He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, and his gaze zeroes in on the neatly folded white cotton fabric set on the corner. It's the shirt you slept in two nights ago, the one that's the wrong size because it's his and he likes his clothes to be just a bit baggy. 
It's the shirt he gently tugged off your body to feel your skin pressed against his. The one that you take care in folding even if you're in a rush and even though he'll throw it in the wash anyway.
His fingers slowly reach out to collect the fabric.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
It still smells like you. Just barely — a mere scrap of notes that have faded over the last two days. A mix of vanilla, citrus and a faint trace of eucalyptus fabric softener. 
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale. 
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Breathe, Eren.
It doesn't work. The air is too thick. It gets caught in his throat and forces a choked sob on its way back out. 
His face contorts in anguish as he falls onto the bed, curled up in an attempt to make himself as small as humanly possible, with your shirt clutched in his hands as the world outside darkens and he simply weeps.
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Minors and ageless blogs who interact will be blocked
Notes: Tunnel Vision will continue, just not with the same schedule it had before my hiatus. I’ll be adding word count and progress updates in the chapter guide in case you want to keep up with the story in that way (It’ll also give you an estimate of when the next chapter will be posted. I have ideas for some ficlets, which I’ll do my best to post in between TV updates just so I don’t leave you all hanging with Eren content. It’ll depend a lot on whether I see any enthusiasm for it or not though (aka comments and reblogs that aren’t… well… empty). In the meantime, thank you for the support and feel free to slip into my ask box to chat :)
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createdbytragedy · 10 months ago
Text
LOVE
Pairing: Lee Minho x reader Warning: A few curse words, mostly in Minho's pov , Genre: Fluff Synopsis: Minho hasn't found the right word to explain his feeling to you yet, so in the meantime love will have to do.
"I love you." For him, meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time and realizing instantly that it will become his favorite. You came into Minho's life like a fucking savior in your white dress and halo. You looked at him like there was anything in him worth looking at. You made him feel so many things he can't explain.
You understood his feelings when he didn't understand his own. That's why you were the one to confess to him under the moonlight that day. "I love you, you know," you said so casually while looking at him with a smile on your face. Like it didn't make his heart thump so loud and fast he swore you could hear it, like it wasn't what he was longing to hear all those years. When Minho just stared at you with eyes you couldn't actually read just this time, you smiled. Taking his hand. "You don't have to say it back. I didn't tell you that to hear it back. I only said it so you know. That I'm always here for you. " If only you knew what goes through his mind that night. The look you couldn't read in his eyes were because no one has ever looked at you with so much love and adoration. It was love, different than the rest. Minho didn't love you. Oh, no. He feels things for you much beyond what love can explain. So, he stayed quiet that night. It was the same night he laid in bed, tossing and turning with nothing but you on his mind. Your eyes, where he sees all the stars shining together . Your hair that blows along with the wind the day he first met you. You had a smile worth dying for but, oh, when you laughed. Minho remembers reaching under his pillow for his phone that night, staring at your contact before gaining the courage to click it. The brightness on his phone illuminate the dark room and the call echoed through the quiet room. His heartbeat paced up and he feels this immense feeling he never felt before. "Hello?" your voice made his brain go fuzzy, he sprang up, feet touching the cold floor as he sit on his bed, holding the phone to his ear as he struggled to control his heavy breathing. "(y/n)," he called, your name sounding so divine and celestial on his tongue. He heard you shift. You were probably in bed. Obviously it's 3:00 in the morning. Only an idiot in love would be up at this hour. "Minho?" your voice sounded groggy and a little bit concerned, " what's wrong, min?"
Minho tried. He tried to find a word stronger than love that could explain his feelings. A word that could enlighten you the things you do to him and how much he loves it. A word that could capture the beauty he sees in you or at least come close to it. But, he found none. So, he guess, love, is the word this world has to offer to such a divine and ethereal beauty like you. "I love you, too......" he breathed out. His heart was beating so fast and loud it almost hurt. You went silent for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't say it back earlier but I -" "Don't tell me that through a phone, you coward," you had said half laughingly. He could feel the joy in your voice and it made a smile crept on his face," Meet me at the bridge and tell me that right at my face." Minho has never gotten to his feet as fast as he did now. A full on smile gleaming on his face as he did so. "On my way, my love. " he heard you laughing through the phone, probably getting ready too. The most beautiful sound in the world.
With that he threw a jacket over his white tee and dashed to the door. For once, he didn't stop to pet his cats as he wore his shoes and slammed the door shut.
That night, he ran. He ran for love. He ran for you. He ran to you. The bridge wasn't far and the chilly winds of October hit his senses. It seemed like all his days spent at the gym was for this moment. To run to you. He feels himself breathing heavily but he didn't stop. The fast beating of his heart was from either the tiring race he was running right now or the fact that he was racing to you. Both seemed like a valid reason. His feet come to a halt when he sees you already standing there. You smiled at at, looking at him, panting and hair disheveled from the wind. And he looked at you, standing under the moonlight once again like a fucking angel in your grey sweatshirt and plaid pyjama pants. He feet took slow steps towards you, breathing returning to normal but his heart was full of a catastrophic whirlwind of emotions – overwhelming love that may be unbearable. With each step, the growing pain in his heart started to intensify.
Before he knew it, you opened your arms and he fell into them like the snowfalls in December.
It felt warm. You felt warm and it felt like home, right between your two arms. The blowing wind and the occasional passing of vehicles filled the short silence of the night as Minho bathed in your warmth. You were there and that was all he needed for the rest of his life. Hesitantly, he pulled away to look at your gorgeous face, adorned with the smile he'd die for. He couldn't help but return it. And now he knew why there were no stars in the sky that night because they were all inside your eyes, shining at him. And he knew why the moon always looked so beautiful, it was because the moon is just a reflection of your beauty. "I love you," Minho tells you while looking into your eyes, just the way you tell him to and he didn't need you to say it back. Your eyes already told him so, that's why his arms pulled you closer and attached your lips with his. He kissed you. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it but simply because he couldn't have done anything else to make up for the lack of love his words needed. He closed his eyes and so did you. His left hand held your face with tender hands and his other hand held your palm to his chest. Right where his heart was located. And you can feel it beating trough your palms, telling you all the things words can't say. And he held your waist as you snaked your arms around his neck and said," I love you too." He smiled. Contently. Happily and purely.
Then, you stood at the bridge, looking at the moon while he was looking at you.
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