#all I'm saying is they were pitching it right across the plate

[lookmomitsmytmblr]

I just realized... In Partners In Crime we have Donna explaining why she and the Doctor wouldn't be a couple:

And then four episodes later in The Doctor's Daughter we have her explaining why they couldn't be a couple:

It seems to me like she's putting a lot more emphasis on external factors and deflecting her own feelings about it??

Then in the next episode they kiss and episode after that she calls him pretty ("Oh that came out a bit quick...")

Okay girl, whatever you say. Sure you went from "You are the most repulsive unattractive person I could possibly imagine, and an alien to boot" to "Well if we got together someone might arrest us so we're just friends." But I'll take your word for it.

[nightdiary]

first dates with enhypen

word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!

✧ heeseung - tinder date

you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.

there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.

the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.

you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.

then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.

as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.

you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.

you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.

“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”

“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”

snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.

but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.

“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.

as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”

your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”

you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.

as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.

you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.

“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”

stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.

with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.

maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.

✧ jay - rollerskating rink

for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.

you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.

“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”

your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.

“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”

“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.

“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”

the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.

“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”

jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.

“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.

as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.

“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.

jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.

snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”

✧ jake - bowling

“you know what they say about men and bowling?” 

“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”

“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”

but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.

“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”

jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.

unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.

“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.

“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”

jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.

you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.

but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.

“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”

the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”

✧ sunghoon - laser tag

your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.

the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.

surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.

the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.

in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.

taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.

your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.

“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”

“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.

looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.

sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.

“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.

“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”

there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.

so that’s what you do.

“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.

seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.

sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.

“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.

“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.

“victory kiss?”

✧ sunoo - picnic

ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.

they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.

your hands itch to reach out and trace them.

“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.” sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.

you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.

“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”

"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”

“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.

“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”

groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.

“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”

sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.

“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”

reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”

sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.

your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.

he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–

“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”

pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.

“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."

✧ jungwon - boba place

in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.

“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”

jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.

“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.

you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”

jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.

“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”

you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”

jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”

“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.

still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”

“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”

you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.

jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”

you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.

“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”

jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.

“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."

“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.

“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”

“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.

jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”

✧ niki - arcade

“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.

the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.

“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.

the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.

“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.

you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.

“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”

“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.

with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.

“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.

after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.

“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks. 

the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.

“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”

staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”

the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”

laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.

you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.

“so– fried chicken?”

[libraryofgage]

Decided to combine 4 and 12 of the prompt list! Something about these two prompts was giving me major Addams Family vibes, so I rolled with it lol

If there are any other prompts you want to see written, lemme know!

4. “You know I’d do anything to have you stay by my side, right? Anything.”  

12. “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Wherein the Munsons are branches on the Addams Family tree, and Steve finds himself the object of Eddie Munson's flirtations and devotion.

---

When the Munsons move in next door, Steve sits his brother down in the living room and says, "Don't bother them, Dustin. Wait, like, three days before asking for their life stories."

Dustin looks offended, to say the least. "I wasn't gonna ask for their life stories, Steve. I was gonna ask where they got all the bats and birds that hang out on their roof."

Honestly, Steve would love the answer to that, too, but that seems to be encroaching on the "life story" territory, considering the sheer number of flying creatures the Munsons brought with them. He'd been outside getting the mail when the Munson kids, a boy his own age and a girl Dustin's age, had opened a tiny cat carrier, and a veritable storm of black wings and feathers and screeching had somehow come streaming out of it.

The girl was watching them with a smile, and the boy turned around like he'd felt Steve staring. Their gazes met, and Steve's awkward wave was returned with the boy's eyes raking over him before winking with a grin.

"Look, ju-"

Steve's words are cut off by a banging on the door, the person knocking out a beat that he can't follow. He shoots Dustin a look to stay put before he opens the door to find the Munson boy on the other side. He's got that same playful grin and a plate of pitch-black...something in his hands.

"Uh, hi?"

Somehow, the boy's grin gets wider, and he shoves the plate into Steve's hands. "Heeeellooo, big boy," he says, his voice almost lowering into a purr that makes heat flood Steve's cheeks. "Wayne wanted me to drop off some of his famous arsenic and chocolate chip cookies. You know, since we're neighbors and all."

"Wayne? Arsenic?" Steve mumbles, looking down at the cookies warily.

"Our uncle," the boy says, leaning on the doorway and crossing his arms as he looks Steve up and down again. "Don't worry, it won't kill you. Yet. That's a friend of the family privilege, at least, and you just ain't there yet."

It must be a joke, and Steve lets out a strained laugh. He balances the plate in one hand and holds his other one out. "Right, well, uh, nice to meet you. I'm Steve. You'll probably meet my brother, Dustin, later."

The boy takes his hand, but instead of shaking it, he brings it up to his lips. Then he turns Steve's hand over, brushing his lips across the meat of his palm before nipping. Steve jerks, yanking his hand back and holding it close to his chest, his heart beating erratically as the boy says, "I'm Eddie, my sister's name is El, and I'm going to have so much fun with you, Stevie."

And with that, Eddie turns on his heel and saunters back to the Munson home, which had been painted pitch-black (just like the cookies) at some point. Steve doesn't move from the open door, feeling a faint tingling in his palm, until he hears Dustin shout that he's going to let all the cold air out.

The arsenic and chocolate chip cookies had not, in fact, killed either of them. And, despite their burnt-to-coal appearance, they were soft and chewy. It had immediately put the Munsons in Dustin's good graces, which he happily proclaimed while Steve's head and heart were still reeling from Eddie's introduction.

In the following weeks, Eddie kept popping up whenever Steve left the house. He never overstepped, though. He'd appear at a distance, wait for Steve to wave or say hi, and then approach with that big grin with canine teeth that looked a little sharper than they should. Sometimes he'd offer more baked goods from Wayne (always with some schtick to them: eye of newt brownies, hag's breath toffee, cyanide and cherry pie). On one notable occasion, he'd offered a baseball bat with nails stuck through the end.

"El let out a demodog the other day, so you probably ought to be careful. I'd hate for you to get hurt by something that wasn't me," Eddie had said as Steve confusedly took the bat.

He blinked when he had processed the words and looked up. "You would hurt me?" Steve asked.

Eddie had leaned close, his ringed fingers ghosting over Steve's side and inching closer to his waist, and whispered, "It wouldn't just hurt, Stevie." His words had sent a shiver down Steve's spine, his mouth suddenly dry as Eddie pulled away.

And their interactions had escalated from there. With every meeting, Eddie strayed closer, lingered longer, spoke softer, and Steve couldn't escape the growing devotion and fascination in his eyes. At some point, Steve knew, things were bound to boil over.

So, he definitely wasn't surprised when they did at the neighborhood's annual Fourth of July cookout. Eddie had waited until El and Dustin were distracted by their other friends, checked to make sure Wayne was sufficiently busy with helping at the grill, and then kidnapped Steve to a hidden corner of the Byers's yard.

Which brings Steve to the present, the Byers's house casting a long shadow over him and Eddie so nobody notices them. The sound of other kids screeching with delight and parents discussing summer camps fades when Eddie leans in closer.

"You know I'd do anything to have you stay by my side, right? Anything?" Eddie asks, tilting Steve's chin up as he crowds him against the wall.

Steve presses back against the cool brick, silently holding Eddie's gaze. There's a stark seriousness to his words, and Steve can't help his curiosity about just what anything encompasses. "Would you kill for me?" he asks, his voice soft.

Eddie practically lights up, a feral grin pulling at his lips. "Gladly, sweetheart," he purrs.

"Would you die for me?"

"I'd tear out my heart and present it on a fucking silver platter for you. In fact, I can do it right now, if you'd like." A knife appears in his hand from seemingly nowhere, and Eddie brings it to his own chest only for Steve to stop him by grabbing his wrist.

"Then, what about living for me?" Steve asks, carefully taking the knife from Eddie and smoothly returning it to the holder tucked into his jeans.

Eddie leans in until their noses brush, his hand cupping Steve's jaw. "I wouldn't even dream of dying without your permission, Stevie," he whispers.

And Steve would fucking love to meet the person who could withstand Eddie Munson's attention and flirting and gifts and care and sheer devotion without falling head-over-heels for him. Steve would want to put that person in a jar, study them, see if their indifference is something he could mass produce. He's sure Eddie would be thrilled to help him do it, too.

"I have one request," Steve whispers back, reaching up and pushing his hand into Eddie's hair, warmth rushing through him when Eddie leans into the touch.

"Anything. Say the word, and I wouldn't hesitate to crawl through hot coals and broken glass." Steve has zero doubts Eddie would; in fact, he knows Eddie would be ecstatic to do it, if only for the chance to make Steve smile.

"I want one of the bats. And Dustin wants a demodog, but you better make sure it doesn't hurt him, or I'll make you listen to bubblegum pop and watch a Disney marathon."

Steve can feel the shudder that goes through Eddie, his eyes revealing a mix of horror, pride, and love at Steve's words. "You, Stevie, have perfected the art of making threats. Consider your two requests granted and me sufficiently...threatened," Eddie breathes, somehow managing to press even closer.

And Steve can't make either of them wait a second longer. With a grin that can easily rival Eddie's, Steve kisses him and begins to think of names for his bat.

[briefalpacashark]

~Hangover~

Synopsis: Titles pretty self explanatory.

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The next morning you were happily cooking away, watching the minutes pass by on the clock. Usually the boys would have been up half an hour ago. You would have to wake them up soon, though. You all had a mission briefing soon. Now you are a good person. But last night they did have you running across town and dealing with police because of their antics. So you set up a speaker in the hall, turned it on full blast and played an obnoxiously loud ‘Can Can Dance’ song. Hearing the cacophony of groans, you smile, returning to the kitchen. You watched as Gaz, Jonny and Price all dragged themselves into the wreck room heads bowed and pinched nose bridges.

“Well good morning sunshine’s and daisies!” you made sure to hit your voice with a slightly higher and louder pitch, making most of them flinch and groan.

“Shhhhhh,” Price hushed in your general direction. Hearing the speaker suddenly die out, you peeked around the corner to see Ghost standing there with his eyes barely open and a now impaled speaker on the end of his knife.

“Good morning,” you smirked. He looked at your smile, giving a grunt before walking to the table, throwing his defeated opponent upon the table, the bang making them all wince.

“Well well well. What happened to you guys' last night?” you asked, placing two large plates on the table. Full of food they might or might not want to eat. 

“We, uh, we had a few drinks,” Price said.

“Of, a few?” you asked, piling up your plate and beginning to eat.

“Yeah, I think,” he murmured, grabbing a plate for himself.

“How's your chest Jonny?” you asked. Jonny looked up at you with an accusing look, wondering just how you knew about the bald patch on his chest.

“Don't know what you mean, doc,” he grumbled.

“Aha sure. How's the head Simon?” you asked.

“Fine,” he muttered. Everyone looked at his head and to the slight bulge on his temple that the mask failed to hide.

“Got to say didn't pin you as a booty shorts type of man Gaz,” you added turning to Gaz. His face paled as he recalled the pink bedazzled pants he had quickly thrown into the bin. Your smirk widened impossibly wider. You were having way too much fun.

“And sir,” everyone went silent as you turned to Price. He looked up at you with a slight warning.

“I'm sorry about the hat,” you said. Everyone was silent for a few moments as they took in your smug grin.

"I'm to fucken old for this shit," he grumbled reaching for his tea.

“Alright you know what happened last night don't you?” Jonny asked.

“Who me? How could I know? I wasn't there remember,” you said. They pondered. That's the thing. They couldn't remember a damn single thing other than starting a drinking competition with the airforce boys.

“Did. I um d anything embarrassing?” Gaz asked bashfully. You pretended to think.

“What do you define as embarrassing?” you asked. He groaned, and Jonny chuckled.

“What are you laughing about Jonny?” you asked, taking a bite of food. His smile fell as he quickly shut up.

“You came to get us?” Price asked. You nodded.

“So, what happened?” Gaz asked.

“You know I don't think you would believe me even if I did tell you,” you hummed.

“Try us,” Ghost said.

“Right, ok,” you cleared your throat pushing your plate away. 

“So I get a call at 2 am in the morning. You rang me from a random phone, at a phone booth, that you didn't use and you have my contacts up on Gaz phone that you also didn't use. You were all just sitting on the curb eating a shit ton of Macca’s. It was an event to get you all in the car. Then when I did get you all in we went to a bar to pay of your tab. A bar that takes away your left shoe to make sure you don't run out on a tab. Which you guys did. Oh, wait sorry. I forgot the part where you all took a dip in a fountain to save ducks from drawing. Well Simon saved the ducks, Jonny tried to help but somehow started to drown in knee high water. Gaz tried to save him but couldn't and then Price apparently saved you both. Anyway so across from this bar is a police station. And you brilliant genius’s tried to pick a fight with a whole police force. Because apparently one of them tried to arrest Gaz. And the only reason why was because Gaz stole a stun gun. Then when I threatened you with lazwell finding out you all legged it down the street. Ghost almost took out a low hanging beam and Jonny and Gaz took out each other. I then had to track you all down again. You all put up a fight thinking I was working with the police. I had to tie you three up and put you in the back. Captain you were in a fucking tree. Honestly don't know how you got up so high. And Simon was in the trunk the whole time. So half way back to base you somehow managed to convince yourselves that you were kidnaped and jumped out of said car. I looked for you again and you called me to inform me you all had been arrested. Lucky for you I'm a sweet talker and got you guys off with a warning. Then I got you back and had to lug all your asses back to your beds,” you finished of the story with a smile. The boys all stared at you, first processing your words and then flat out denying them.

“Bull shit,” Jonny said in denial.

“Well, have a look at this and say that again,” you pulled out your phone and showed them the photo. Their faces fell as they took it in.

“Delete it,” Ghost ordered.

“What? Fuck no. Do you know the shit I had to go through last night? I earned this,” you stated.

“Sargent, I order you to delete that photo,” Price commanded.

“Captain, can i just say you have the cutest sweetest little giggle I've ever heard in my life,” you cooed. Price's face snapped into a glare.

“Giggled?” Jonny smirked.

“Captain's a giggling drunk,” you nodded. 

“Delete it,” Ghost ordered again.

“Make me,” you challenged. A scream left your lips as they all pounced on you, successfully pulling the phone from your grip and deleting the photo. 

“You all assholes,” you grumbled, taking your phone back.

“Not a word about last night to anyone,” Price ordered, pointing at you.

“Yes sir,” You gave a mock salute, grinning ear to ear.

“What's that?” he asked, pointing to the smile.

“What's what sir?” you asked innocently.

“That smile. What have you done?” he asked.

“Nothing sir,” you smiled, batting your eyelashes before walking away. 

Across the base, Laswell had just entered her office, tea in hand. Sitting down at her computer, she opened her emails going through the more important once before finding one from you. Reading the topic of blackmail, she moved closer, taking a sip of her tea.

As she opened it her eyes went wide at the picture she saw spitting the tea out in a mist.

Later that day you found Ghost sitting on the couch rubbing his temple. 

“Here,” you said, holding out some tablets to him with a drink of water.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” you asked with a smirk. He shrugged, hiking his mask up to his nose and taking the tablets. You were slightly taken aback seeing the half of his face. And from the half you could see he was handsome. What you loved more was the stumble he wore. Yep he was definitely blond. 

“Huh,” you hummed.

“What?” he asked, pulling his mask back down.

“Knew you had a stubble. Jonny owes me a tenner,” you smiled. Again, the Dajuvu washed over you. Ghost thought back to the time you were in the hospital. To the time you held his face so tenderly and looked at him so softly. He wished you would do it again. 

“Hey, wanna hear something worth its weight in gold?” you asked, your cheeky grin taking over. He nodded, and you slotted yourself next to him, your arms pressed against each other. You opened up your phone going into your recorder. Shuffling impossibly closer you held the phone up between your ears. 

“What?”

“Shhhhh,” you hushed him, your hand unknowingly dropping to his biceps to pull him closer. He leaned down, his head gently knocking on the top of yours. It was comedic really. His whole upper body was bent over while you were just sitting there. 

Softly a giggle sounded from your phone.

“What the hell is that?” Ghost asked as he continued to listen.

“That is our dear captain giggling,” you chuckled. Simon couldn't help the laugh that burst from his mouth. And not one of his half chuckles. No it was a real laugh. I mean, who wouldn't be amused by it. Your smirk turned into a warm smile as you looked up at him. 

“Fuck, That’s hilarious. That's really Price?” he asked. You loved it, the way his smile reached his eyes.

“Yeah, but not as amusing as you tighty whities,” You grinned, patting his leg and getting up. He froze. Sure, he wore tighty whities when he was in civics. They were comfortable. 

“So you took advantage of me when I was drunk and unconscious?” he asked teasingly.

“Oh yeah definitely,” you grinned back with a wink. You went to leave but paused, stepping back to face him. “I didn't see your face if that's what you mean. I kept my eyes closed when I took your mask off,” you added. 

“I know,” he muttered. You frowned and were about to ask about it when Price called the two of you for the briefing. 

“Come on,” he said, walking up to you and putting you in a headlock. Which wasn't hard. He practically dragged you out.

“Don't go telling anyone about my tighty whities. Copy?” he asked.

“Sure thing, Sir,” you grinned tapping out. He smiled, releasing you. You walked side by side. Something you hoped one day you would always do.

“You owe me a speaker by the way,”

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=COD Master List Here=

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[mournings-stars]

Could I request an Alastor x reader? mostly smut, however i love fluff with aftercare and such

I was thinking the premise being of a reader who was and old friend from cannibal town coming to the hotel maybe? (cis fem reader)

hellohello! i personally don’t write smut for alastor but here’s a little fluff for you/how im comfortable writing for alastor!! its a bit of an ambiguous relationship but i hope thats fine :)

alastor x cannibal town fem reader (i may make this into a multi-part fic)

There was more than one reason Alastor brought Charlie to Cannibal Town — yes, it’s important she met Rosie, but he also had business to attend to while she did. He excused himself, heading down the street, several shops down, and into a narrow alleyway where he opened a hidden door to a small shop.

It was two small rooms and a back kitchenette. The walls of the first room were lined with bookshelves that made a narrow aisle to the back of the store. There, was an open seating area with sofas, armchairs, and a roaring fireplace across from the small register in the corner. It certainly wasn’t supposed to feel like a store where you had to buy something, but one where you could if you really wanted to.

“Welcome in!” A very sweet voice came from the back of the shop, a hint of an old, long-lost accent that made Alastor’s smile widen. “I’ll be right with you!”

“Take your time,” he hummed, and immediately heard shuffling from the other room before you stumbled into the front. “Hello, my dear!”

“Alastor!?” You gasped, lifting the hem of your skirt to rush over to him and hug him. He stiffened, a high pitched radio frequency sounding from his microphone and making you step back. “Sorry—“ You straightened out his suit jacket with a smile tugging at your lips as he watched you. When your fussing became too much, he placed a very calm hand over yours and gave you a gentle smile. You laughed under your breath and stepped back. “Sorry—“

“You said that already, my dear — and there’s no need to!” You nodded as he squeezed your hand before letting it go. “No need at all!”

“Right, right… How are you? Where have you been? I’ve… missed you.” Your excited tone dampened as you finished, clearing your throat and offering a smaller smile when it faltered. “But I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“You were always too kind to me!” He said cheerily, walking to the second room to have a seat on the couch.

“Can I get you anything, Al?”

“Just a bit of precious time,” he said a little too sweetly, waiting for you to sit across from him. But you made yourself busy, pouring hot water over tea and preparing a plate of sweets for the two of you to share. “Tell me how you’ve been!” He said impatiently as he watched you go anywhere but toward him.

“Ah… where to start?” You hummed, leaning against the countertop. “I thought you might’ve…” You waved your hand dismissively, but as he’d gone missing just after an extermination, he understood and hummed along. “And since you never told me anything—“

“It was all so sudden, I would’ve left you a note—“

“A note?” You scoffed, but moved on when he nodded, going to get teacups for the two of you. “Anyway, I met someone.”

“Did you?” He sounded unimpressed, watching you get sugar and spoons; anything to avoid sitting down. “So quickly?”

“It took a few years.” He hummed along. “And it didn’t last—“ He laughed snidely. “—It felt very… wrong—”

“I'm sure,” he was almost too quick to say.

“And… They were exterminated, anyway.”

He looked very happy to hear that fact, but said nothing until he got his expression under control. “Shame,” he said, tone crass. “I would have loved to have met them.”

“I’m sure,” you repeated, throwing him a pointed look that he beamed at. “The years have become a bit blurry,” you continued.

“Have they?”

“I spend most of my time here, talking with Rosie. Missing you.“

“Ah, yes… You said that.” His smile dampened. “Surely you moved on?” But he was hopeful you didn’t, and he knew his hopes were answered when you stayed quiet and poured your tea. You remembered how much sugar he liked, and how much cream, not even bothering to ask before you put the cups on the plate and walked to the couches. “I always thought of you,” he admitted, taking the cup you offered, “but I could never go to you… I watched from afar.” He cleared his throat, sipping his tea and forcing his smile to stay put. “And I felt…” His eyes drifted to nothing as he thought back on those seven years. “Excruciatingly bored.”

You laughed. “Does that mean you missed me too?”

He narrowed his eyes, taking the plate from you before you could get anything else. “Why don’t you have a seat next to me?” He set the plate on the end table. “I didn’t come here to be served; I came to, finally, get the chance to see you again.” And then he offered his hand, and the small gesture of vulnerability made you understand that yes;

He missed you very much.

[keelywolfe]

With Tongue (short)

Crowley and Aziraphale discuss the angel's most recent assignment during 'The Arrangement.' This does not go in the direction Crowley expects.

~~*~~

"So how did it go?" Crowley asked idly. Not that he was particularly interested in the details, basic temptation and all. If there'd been any issues, he had no doubt Aziraphale would have brought it up before the waiter even arrived with the menu. But it was good to keep the angel talking during dinner, he was wont to become a little too absorbed with whatever was on his plate and ignore his dining companion a tad too much for Crowley's tastes.

Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before he answered, lest any cake crumbs escape. "It was actually terribly easy."

"Eh, usually is,” Crowley drawled. He idly tipped his wine glass up on the rim of its base, rolling it across the tablecloth like a crystal wheel. “A nudge here, a wile there, most of them fall pretty quick."

"Hmm,” Aziraphale took another bite of cake, some unholy concoction piled high with white cream. Crowley was making a sincere attempt at not showing he was deeply invested in watching each bite disappear between the angel’s lips, with limited success. “Honestly, he was rather demanding about it."

"Demanding?” That made him frown. The humans he was sent after were usually readily susceptible to the mildest of suggestions; certainly the tasks he offered to Aziraphale were on the low end of the difficulty scale. “Really? How so?"

Aziraphale hummed around his fork, though whether that was in agreement or appreciation, Crowley couldn’t tell. He dabbed at his mouth again, wiping away a tiny, distracting smear of cream from his upper lip. "Mm, yes, and entirely too much tongue about it as well."

His focus on the angel’s lips was broken as his thoughts came to a screeching halt and the only thing that kept his wine glass from topping over to spill a lovely Cabernet across the white tablecloth as the sudden convulsive clench of his fingers. "....wha...tongue??"

"Well, yes, of course,” Aziraphale frowned at him in mild disapproval, “however do you kiss them?"

"K--kckkkc---ki--" The word caught in his throat, lodging in there like a bit of cheese or undigested potato. He managed to raise his glass to his mouth without slopping the lot of it down the front of his shirt and gulped it down, wheezing as half of it chose to be defiant and traveled down the wrong pipe.

Aziraphale’s frown deepened into concern, enough that he actually set his fork down. "Gracious, are you all right? I know you were a serpent, but you might want to save swallowing things whole to food rather than wine glasses."

"I don't—” Crowley rasped, trying to get past the betrayal of his corporation’s vocal cords when he needed them the most. He managed to splutter out, loud enough for the nearby tables to cast them a variety of askance looks, “You kissed him??"

"Of course I did.” It should be impossible for those words to sound so prim coming from an angel, from his angel, who now that Crowley didn’t seem to be able to choke to discorporation, was returning to his cake with polite enthusiasm, his napkin back in full force before he added, “He was quite agreeable afterward. And I won't have you say I'm not trying my best to keep to the standards of our arrangement."

"Angel!?" Too loud and the pitch of that single word was high enough to send a tremble through the crystalware in the entire room.

Aziraphale was frowning again. "Dear me, are you quite well? You're very red, Crowley, here, let me get you a glass of water."

He started to rise and Crowley snapped out, "Why, so you can stick your tongue down the waiter's throat?"

"Tch, you're being silly,” Aziraphale sighed, “I would do no such thing. The water is free."

"ANGEL!!?!” This time every wine bottle in the dining room shimmied an inch to the right. The other patrons were focused intently on their dinners and not at all sneaking glances to the veritable gossipy show unfolding before them.

Aziraphale sat back down with a sigh. There was the faintest pull of a smirk at the corners of his mouth. "Do you know, you're quite gullible at times, my dear."

"…gullible,” Crowley repeated. Was this how humans felt right before insanity struck? He suspected it might be, wondered if Hell allowed for time off due to unexpected mental health crisis and what form he’d need.

"Mm, yes,” Aziraphale picked up his fork again and took a rather unseemly large bite of cake that left a smear of cream on his upper lip that he licked away, a pink flicker of tongue heralding the arrival of his napkin. “Also, I have a blessing to do next week in Bristol, I believe it's your turn."

"Gullible. Bristol. Tongues." Obviously his mind had broken, Crowley decided, and his reset button was currently out of reach.

"Hm, I do believe I'll get you that water, after all,” Aziraphale decided. “Don't wander off, who knows what might happen if you start babbling about tongues to a human all willy nilly. Ta!"

Crowley watched the angel make his way to the service table, leaning in what Crowley thought was entirely too close to the young man in his quest for water. Revenge, he decided abruptly. He was a demon being taunted by a reckless, impudent angel and this would not stand. There would have to be revenge for this and he’d begin planning quite soon.

Right after he watched Aziraphale finish his cake.

-finis

[gingerjunhan]

Hellooooo!

It's 🧈 and I wanted to request smthg with Jun han.

So like Jun han x reader where Jun han is just. Idk how to explain it😓

Like as if he has the vibe of his live where he played the guitar. Like he was so cute and I just wanted something that kinda embodies how he spoke and interacted with people on the live.

Like he's just so real and super sweet to reader and they're in front of the rest of xdh being verbally affectionate and being cute together.

Not really shy Jun han since he's not as shy as he once was, but just real Jun han. Like he's a best friend first and boyfriend second.

Reader and Jun han just have a lot of chemistry and are just making xdh melt at how perfect they are for each other.

Also kinda like his bubble video where I think he ate a bug? His vibe in that video was just so light hearted.

I just need light hearted, best friend bf, verbally and physically affectionate, and just overall just a super real Jun han.

Feel free to dm if you don't understand what I'm trying to say😭😭

☆彡🧈anon this is literally SO CUUUTE :( I love this idea! I've literally watched the Instagram live you're talking about so many times. I'll like it here if anybody wants to watch it 🫶🏻

word count: 795 | pronouns used: none | genre: fluff, established relationship | cws: petty friendly banter, Jun (jokingly) calls reader "babygirl", there is not a moment of peace in this house, this was actually proofread‼️💪🏻

Another night in the Heroes dorm rolled around, and you were no stranger to their company. You all had known each other for a while- becoming friends with the group right before it was announced that they were going to debut. Now, roughly three years of friendship had passed, and you were basically the 7th member of the household. You could show up at roughly any hour of the day, and nobody would bat an eye. You’ve always been especially close to Hyeongjun, so when you both announced to the others a while back that the two of you had started dating, nobody was surprised.

The evening was going on as normal. Jooyeon and Jiseok were playing some game together in the living room, screaming at both each other and the TV. Jungsu seemed to be playing moderator between the two of them. You’d eventually hear a “Jiseok, calm down!” shouted from Jungsu, which was always followed by Jooyeon’s distinct laugh. Gunil, who was also a bystander to all of this, only seemed to be egging the two boys on with his own laughter, Seingmin, who was sitting in the corner, scrolled through his phone, and seemingly wanted to have nothing to do with the entire ordeal.

“How much time is left on the oven?” Hyeongjun asked you. It was his turn to cook, so you decided to pitch in and help him.

“Roughly 10 minutes,” you answered. You gave Hyeongjun a smile as he made his way across the kitchen towards you. He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head on your shoulder as you chuckled. “You hungry?”

He nodded, grimacing a bit. “The food smells so good,” he whined. You couldn’t help but chuckle again.

“I know,” you rubbed his back. “Just a couple more minutes.”

As the two of you basked in each other’s embrace, you heard a voice come from the doorway into the kitchen.

“Ew,” they said simply. You and Hyeongjun pulled apart to see Seungmin. “Can you guys go be cute somewhere else so you don’t spoil my appetite?”

Hyeongjun laughed. “Sorry. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Thank god,” Seungmin scoffed. “Maybe Jiseok and Jooyeon will finally shut up while we eat.”

“I heard that!” Jiseok called. Just as Seungmin was about to make a snarky joke, the timer on the oven went off.

“Foods done!” You called. The others came racing into the kitchen, grabbing plates and serving themselves. Everybody sat down and began to eat together, marveling at how good the food was. Lighthearted banter took over the room as everyone ate.

“This food is amazing,” Gunil spoke up, looking to you and Hyeongjun. “Thank you for cooking.”

“Yeah,” Hyeongjun added. “Thanks for your help, sweetheart. Everything tastes great.” One of his hands found its way to yours, giving it a squeeze.

“Aww, sweetheart,” Jooyeon teased, batting his eyelashes. You couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped you. Hyeongjun laughed along as well, being used to the younger ones' antics.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Hyeongjun defended in a teasing way. “Unless you want me to use other names. Like, babygirl, or-”

“Nope! That’s enough!” Jooyeon gave up as you and Hyeongjun started to laugh harder. The two of you didn’t use pet names often, but when you did you were commonly made fun of by the others. So, sometimes, you guys would call each other the cringiest names you could think of just to mess with the others. After that, the dinner banter shifted again, finding it’s way to a new topic of conversation.

Once dinner was over and everything was cleaned up, everybody went back to their own separate activities. You and Hyeongjun made your way to his room, tucking yourselves away for a long night of doing nothing in particular. Hyeongjun turned on a show, and you started rooting through his clothes, looking for something new for you to steal. You found a shirt that you liked and threw it on. Hyeongjun smiled adoringly at you, and then there was a knock at his door.

“Hey,” Jiseok called from the other side. “Can I borrow your tuner? I left mine at the studio.”

“Yeah,” Hyeongjun called back. “You can come in.” Jiseok opened the door and was instantly met with you in your new shirt. He looked over you.

“I like your shirt, (Y/N).”

“Thanks,” Hyeongjun answered before you could, handing Jiseok his tuner. “It’s mine.”

Jiseok let out a sigh, “Of course it is.” With that, he turned and left, closing the door behind him. Hyeongjun once again made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you. You returned the favor, relaxing in his hold. Hyeongjun sighed.

“You’re taking that shirt home, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you giggled.

taglist: @dazzlingligth , @mini-mews , @mxlly143 , @somethingaboutcheese , comment to be added!⁎⁺˳✧༚

[elfqueen006]

What You Can't Have (1/?)

Sunny Day Jack x "Puddin" x Shaun

---

A self insert I been dwelling on and only thought now was the best time to write during my cold.

This is just something I'm doing for fun.

“Good morning!”

I freeze when he greets me. He smiles at me and everything goes haywire. My insides turn to jelly. My skin burns. And it becomes hard to breathe. Still I give him a curt nod and smile before continuing to the living room.

“Aren’t you gonna have breakfast?”

Right. I’ve been trying to ignore the savory scent of melted butter and salted pork coming from the kitchen. But now that he’s openly acknowledged it I can’t just turn it away. It’d be rude considering he went through the trouble to cook anyway. I give a brief mhm and hurry to the dishware but he insists on fixing me a plate. He’s really hard to avoid when he’s so nice.

I’m practically drooling as I take my first bite of the golden pancakes, the ends perfectly crusted and crunching softly in my mouth. Sunny Day Jack sits across from me. Head rested in his hands as he smiled warm and adoring. I can’t help the upward twitch of my lips when I glance up. He’s just so infectious. Still, I try to hurry and eat. If Shaun saw me I’d never hear the end of it…

Creek. Speak of the devil.

Shaun sees me first and yawns, “Morning.” Then he sees the plate. And then Jack. He casts a long stare at the latter.

“Who… made breakfast?” Shaun asked.

“I did!” Jack chirped, his sweet smile now tighter than before, “Would you like some?”

“I think I’ll pass.” Shaun replied bluntly. I glance between my two roommates, watching for any sudden movements or change in expression.

“I-It’s really good.” I mutter, trying to alleviate the mood.

Shaun walks past me and pinches my stomach fat, “I can see that, puddin’.”

I frown and swat his hands away. He never let me live down that stupid nickname since he’d read it in a convo with my mom via text. Since then he used it more in his vocabulary than the ABCs.

Jack watches him silently as he heads into the kitchen and fixes himself some coffee. He glances over to me and sips his beverage for a painstakingly long time.

Jack spoke up, “You might as well get yourself a plate, caffeine if practically all you have in the mornings.”

Shaun shook his head. “Got a meeting today. Olivia wants me there as soon as I can be.”

Jack’s brow twitches at the mention of her name, “Olivia?”

Shaun says nothing, heading back to his room presumably to get dressed. I swallow my last chunk of food, fork tapping against an empty plate. “He must really be in a hurry.” I said.

“Olivia works him too much…” Jack replied, taking his own sip of coffee in a mug. For those wondering, Olivia was Shaun’s agent. She booked him meetings, forwarded his pitches and scripts to very important people in the movie business and sat in on all his calls and overlooked his contracts. I didn’t know much about her but presumably they were very close before then. They shared the same fashion sense and interests so it’d make sense…

From the looks of it she cared a lot about Shaun, so she pushed him harder. Jack didn’t seem to like that.

“I-I should get going too.” I said, standing up. I nearly fell off my chair trying to get away from the table. Once I’m dressed for work I make a beeline toward the door, where funny enough Shaun was waiting. He was dressed in a turtleneck sweater and dark trousers with dress shoes. His locks were wrapped up in a high ball. His eyeliner and eyeshadow were more prominent, though skillfully applied.

Jack followed behind me and smiled at the two of us. “You both look great!” He said, “I could accompany one of you to work if you’d like!”

“We’re fine,” Shaun said, still giving him a stony look. He turns to leave and immediately I follow his lead like I’m some kind of lackey. It’s slightly pathetic of me, but Shaun wasn’t a guy to keep waiting when on the clock. I cast a glance at Jack’s somber face as we left. I didn’t even get to thank him for the breakfast.

I wish it didn’t have to be like this.

It was three months ago. Summer had reached its end.

I visited a local thrift shop around the corner from my apartment. I wasn't there to buy clothes or anything… I had that much dignity! But they often held the coolest antiques and trinkets you couldn't find anywhere else. When I got to the checkout stand the cashier that rang me ended up tossing something into my bag. She hadn't even charged me for it.

I guess I should've caught that something was off then, but I paid no mind and went on my way.

When I got home I finally got a good look at the tape. It black and had the words '84 Incident written on it in dark red scrawl.

There was definitely something shady about this tape. I should've gotten rid of it then, but the first thing that came to mind was how much I thought Shaun would've liked something like this. It could easily be used as a prop in one of his horror projects. And I was already holding on to something of his before he moved in. I decided to hold off on it…

October soon came, along with my new roommate. We exchanged our pleasantries and got him settled in until finally I showed him the tape. It hadn't warranted the exact reaction I was hoping for. He said the aura around the tape wasn't right… I knew the situation was dire now. Shaun was a witch. Or … I think the proper term is Wiccan? Whatever the case, he knew a lot more about this spiritual stuff than I did. And he decided to sit in with me while we watched the tape.

Apparently after a minute or so, we both blacked out. And then Jack was there. I remember that day vividly, because as soon as my friend laid eyes on Jack he screamed like a madman and left the apartment.

I didn't see him for a few days after that. I got more acquainted with Jack within that time. But that proved to be a mistake by the time Shaun returned.

"Is it still here?" He'd said. Shaun's eyes were bloodshot and baggy, likely from a lack of sleep. I confirmed that yes, Jack was still there, and Shaun steeled himself for any further interactions that occurred between him and what he deemed "The Spectre".

[toriaurorawriter15]

I can see you: Chapter 16: Daphne's curiosity 

Riverside County Villa stands in complete silence as Anthony, Ben, Eloise, Franny, and Colin sit together while they wait for everyone else to come out from the rented estate.

The sound of guitar strings being tuned up by Anthony, scraping off a Cajon Drum Portable Hand Beat Box Drum Percussion Instrument being pushed by Benedict as he grunts from the heavy instrument, and several chords playing on the keyboards by Franny begin to feel the air.

The rest of the family gathers around the campsite firepit as they set up their positions to make smores with their small family.

From the corner of Colin's eye, Ediwna has Penelope sit on his right as she takes his other side while they wait for his siblings to begin their acoustic playing.

"Hi." Penelope shyly greets him while she sits on the many park chairs that Kate brought for their vacation.

Colin acknowledges her greeting with a smile before hearing Daphne Hastings yelling from across the firepit to grab his attention, "COLIN!"

Colin looks at his pregnant sister while Daphne asks, "Can you come over and help me with Auggie's marshmallow rod? I would ask Simon, but he is in the villa's office with paperwork up to the ceiling."

"Yes, of course!" He replies before getting up from his previous seat and follows Daphne to the picnic area.

Once the two siblings are out of earshot, Colin asks his sister, "What is that you want to ask me, Dap?"

Daphne grabs one of the many wire hangers from one of the three picnic tables to hand it to Colin to unravel into a rod while she replies in a teasing way, "And why would you think that way, Colin?"

Colin looks away in amusement before returning his gaze towards Daphane in a 'Are you for real' side look.

Daphne sighs in frustration, "Colin, what do you think of Penelope?" she began to ask while staring at all of the condiments on the table, " I noticed that you both came out together and were joking like you have been friends for a long time."

Colin finishes strighting the wire from its previous hangar frame while he states to his nosy sister in a warning tone, "Penelope and I are just getting to know each other, Dap. Nothing is going on between us."

Daphne grabs a bowl to place a batch of marshmallows, "Colin, I am bringing this up because I may have a way for you to get to know Penelope better. That is if you would be willing to listen."

Colin grabs one of the white marshmallows to eat and nods, 'Okay. I am listening." while chewing on said substance.

"If I were you, Colin. I would get to know Penelope better by using her passion for writing. As a woman, I would prefer a physical way to write to them instead of social media because I know it will deepen the friendship with said person." Daphne begins to say as she allows Colin to take one more marshmallow before hitting his hands to back off.

Colin shrieks in a high pitch, "Ouch, that hurt!" before pausing and asking Daphne, "Penelope loves to write?" with a smile on his curious face.

Daphne looks at her older brother with a strange look on her disguised face at seeing him eat and talk, "Penelope didn't tell you that she is a published writer?"

"Penelope and I were busy talking about something else we overhead," Colin confesses.

Daphne gives an awe in understanding before asking, "What did you two talk about?"

Colin nods no, "That is a conversation between Pen and me." in a no-nonsense tone, "Don't change the subject, Dap." he begs, "Answer my question." in a dramatic request.

"Alright," Daphne gives up, "Penelope is a published writer," Daphne confesses with causation behind her words. "She doesn't like to tell people about her career due to the criticism from her family. Now, what do you think about what I said?"

Colin hums yes, " I'm willing to give it a shot."

"Good! Now, you can stop sending us long postcards about your so-called amazing travels." Daphne teases him as she gets a flat daisy plate and piles it with gram crackers.

Colin put his right hand over his heart in an 'I am wounded' gesture, "No one appreciates me."

Daphne retorts back, "Well, Penelope is different."

"How so?" Colin asks as he prepares two bowls.

One plate is for himself, and the other is a subconscious for Penelope.

Daphne looks behind them to see no one come over before admitting in a whisper, "Penelope loves listening to other people talk about their lives. Edwina told Sophie, and I overheard her saying how Pen loves hearing and reading about other people's lives. She said something along the lines, 'Penelope loves to listen to and read biographies with passion!'. According to your best friend, It is like watching a story come to life for Penelope."

Colin looks at Daphne with an O expression while thinking over everything he is learning about Penelope Featherington.

'Could Daphne be on to something?' Colin thought while his mind imagines the many scenarios of Penelope receiving a postcard from his travels.

Some were great, and others not so much.

If there is one thing that Colin has learned from his previous relationships is that he is afraid of rejection.

Not knowing what the future has in store for his relationship with Penelope has Colin torn with his next decision. It can bloom or wilter. But Daphne has given Colin a creative way to interact with Penelope without Eloise breathing down their necks.

By the end of his conversation with Daphne, Colin takes his proportion in both of his large hands before hearing Daphne say in a warning tone, "Colin. Be careful with Penelope. She had a heart of gold." She pauses to catch her breath from walking too fast due to being pregnant with her second child before softly begging Colin, "Think about what I said, Col." Daphne then looks over at her brother from her right shoulder and finishes stating her final thoughts, "Perhaps, Penelope Featheringtion may help you with the next chapter in your life."

Colin nods okay to Daphne's words of wisdom about their family friend and watches her rejoin their family. Previous Chapter

[wordsvomit101]

3. Dinner and after

(3 months after the death of Mr and Mrs Lee)

"Raon, dear, is my food not good?" asked Mrs. Kim, who stared at Raon with a mix of concern and affection, noticing the half-full plate of curry in front of her. Raon sat beside Minhyeok, looking as if she might bolt to her room at any moment.

Raon responded in a soft voice, attempting to dismiss Mrs. Kim's worry by saying, "No, it's nothing, Ajumma. I just don't have an appetite". Minhyeok could see Raon's face get paler as she observed the downturn of his mom's eyes.

However, Mr. Kim kept looking at Raon with a sympathetic yet inquisitive expression. It was apparent that she had been feeling down for a while. "You've been down lately. Is there something we need to know?".

"N-No, it's really nothing," Raon quickly attempted to brush it off and curl up deeper to herself when everyone at the table looked at her with varying degrees of concern. As much as Minhyeok wanted to ask, it was better to stay silent for now. Raon had been withdrawn for the past few months, she would often run to her room if any of them asked.

Mrs. Kim gracefully rose from her seat and gently placed her right hand on Raon's, "Then how about I make something else for you, hm? Then we can talk about what's bothering you while we eat? How about galbi jjim-" Minhyeok is sure his mom must have noticed the tension in Raon's hands and the twitch in her eye.

Mrs. Kim paused for a moment as she looked at Raon's face and then quietly withdrew her hand. Raon slowly looked up at Mrs. Kim with anxiety in her eyes, "I'm sorry Raon. You must be tired. You don't need to worry about the dish. I will clean up later, so go rest up, sweetheart", Mrs. Kim smiled sadly at Raon.

Raon jumped up from her seat, "No! I-it's not like that! I-" She paused and looked around the room to see the expressions of the people around her. Her tongue became heavy again, and she whispered, "... I understand. Please eat without me today. I will go up now".

Raon's shoulders slumped as she dejectedly pushed herself away from the table and turned towards the staircase. Her footsteps dragged softly against the plush carpet, each step echoing the weight of her disappointment. As she made her way upstairs, the light from the dining room chandelier cast long, dancing shadows across the walls. Minhyeok and his family watched her retreating with a mix of sadness and concern.

Once they heard the thud of the door closing upstairs, Mr. Kim slowly spoke up "Minhyeok, talk to her again tonight", as he looked back at Minhyeok, expectant yet already know the answer.

"I would even if you don't tell me, old man" His dad chuckled lightly at him, reading through him as easily as always.

The atmosphere during the rest of dinner was more solemn than usual. When it was time to clean up, they all pitched in to help his mom.

Tonight it was his turn to do the washing. As he stood by the sink washing the dishes, he was overcome by a sense of comfort as he felt his mom's gentle presence beside him. Together, they worked in silence, the sound of the water and clinking dishes filling the air.

"She wants to talk" His mom taught him and his brother to be responsible since they were young, while not as strict as his dad, her eyes are quite a powerful tool to motivate people, or at least make them feel bad enough to do what she wants them to do. Mrs Lee seems to be the only one not affected by it.

She is a hard-to-read woman but not as frustratingly as his dad, "Is it about Raon?", he asked and his mom only let out a sign, only stop her action for a bit before continuing.

"I was worried since she was not willing to reach out to any of us this past month... but I perhaps have overstepped my boundaries."

As he gazed up at his mother once more, he noticed a tinge of sadness in her eyes that even her gentle smile couldn't hide. It was apparent that her thoughts had turned again to her dear friend, and the weight of Raon's situation had weighed heavy on her heart for a long time now.

Turning off the sink and cleaning his hands, he patted his mom's hand reassuringly as she looked at him, "It gonna be fine Eomma," he wasn't sure what to say next but words got out his mouth before his mind could catch up, "Raon... I, I don't think it what she wanted either...", his next words come out like a confession when his mom reach out to pat his hair, it always comforting when she does it.

Minhyeok took a deep sigh, worry and uncertainty gripping him, "I don't know if she would appreciate me reaching out either. I'm worried about her too. She's been going through a lot lately, and I don't know how I should help her". He hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, voice quiet.

"What if I make it worse?"

As they sat on the couch, he noticed a strange look on his mother's face. Her eyes were glistening and she appeared to be lost in thought. Just as he was about to ask if everything was alright, she placed her hand on his head and let out a soft sigh.

"This brings back memories," she said, raising her left hand to examine her wedding ring before turning back to Minhyeok with a look of apology. "I'm sorry if I've burdened you, Minhyeok", before giving him a kind smile.

"Someone once told me that people often become angry and run away in moments of fear and pain, but it's okay. Give her space and time, Minhyeok, but be there for her. I also own her an apology for today"

He doesn't know what conclusion his mom has come to, but she seems more at peace now.

With a hopeful expression, he asked, "Do you think it would be a good idea to bring her cookies as an offering?" His mom couldn't help but chuckle at the question and replied, "Of course, give it a try tonight Minhyeok"

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

End notes:

"Ajumma" is a Korean term used to respectfully address middle-aged or older women. It's commonly used to refer to married women or mothers.

"Eomma" is the Korean word for "mom" or "mother." It's a term of endearment used to address one's own mother or to refer to someone else's mother respectfully.

Galbi-jjim (braised beef short ribs) is one of the most popular Korean dishes. It’s made with beef short ribs and is often prepared for special occasions.

[karmas-chameleon]

Me after I finish the first part of a short: The inspiration is back! I can write now and will never have writer's block again in my life, this is the best thing I've ever-

(or, a late Day 3 of the Awwgust prompts: Music!)

I'd never thought it would be so difficult to tell the difference between close friends and sworn enemies, until I saw Manfred and the chief of police spending time together. Gant seemed to do everything in his power to annoy my boyfriend, and yet the prosecutor notorious for his refusal of any nonsense continued to tolerate his coworker. I'd asked Manfred why he'd want to share a space with Gant for any period of time, and he explained that the chief of police, being such a vital piece of the justice system, had to be given some leeway.

When I asked why we were going out to lunch together on his day off, Manfred didn't answer.

So I found myself seated between the two powerful figures at a counter in a place I would've sworn my boyfriend considered beneath him. Our plates were in a sort of descending order: Gant’s was piled high with fries and a burger I was surprised even he could fit in his mouth, mine only held fries, and all Manfred had was a glass of water. Though despite that meager order, it didn't stop him from reaching past me to mooch off of the police chief. I'd offered him my fries, but he insisted on taking them from Gant.

The restaurant was also playing pop music somewhat loudly, and it was this that led to the next disagreement between the two men. Manfred had just finished a minor diatribe against the state of modern music when he looked to me for feedback.

“And you, Miss Martin? I'm sure you've got better taste than this.”

“Uh…I mean, I don't listen to pop stuff a lot,” I said, fidgeting with a fry in my hand. “But I doubt you'd like what I do listen to much more. It's mostly power metal. I like classical music some, I guess, though it's been a while since I heard much outside of driving to work.”

Classical music was always Manfred's choice whenever his chauffeur drove us - be it to or from work, or the courthouse or anywhere else - and I enjoyed listening to it in the background, but I couldn't name a single thing played.

“What’s your opinion on violins?” Gant asked me, and I turned to stare at him with a fry in my mouth.

“...Violins? They're, um…alright.”

“Ooh.” The chief of police hissed as though he'd been wounded, and grimaced at me. “Just ‘alright’, huh?”

“Well, they're not bad, I mean- I don't hate them or anything. I'm not a music person or anything, but they're so high-pitched, and whenever I'd go to the symphony with my dad, we'd sit right in front of the violin section because those were the cheapest seats. It was nice and all, but very, uh, heavy on the violins.”

After staring intensely at me the entire time I was talking, Gant finally nodded to me and returned to his casual smile. “I see. And how do you feel about, say…pipe organs?”

“Pipe organs?” I stared back at him, puzzled. “Like the things they have in churches or something? It's been a while since I heard one of those, but I think I liked it.”

“Ah, d’you hear that, Manny? A glowing review!”

As Gant clapped his hands together, I looked back to Manfred and saw him glaring daggers across the counter. The chief of police had managed to irk him yet again, though I had no idea how.

“Manfred? Are you alright?” When he was too intent on his scowling to answer, I turned back again. “Mr. Gant? Did you say something to make him angry?”

“Me?” Gant's eyes were averted as he twirled his hair, looking suspiciously innocent. “I don't believe I said anything wrong. It's just that Manny here is a violin player, and I happen to have an organ in my office. You're welcome to drop by and have a listen, if you'd like.”

“You are not subjecting her to your instrument of torture,” Manfred said, drawing my attention back to him. “He hasn't told you the purpose of having that thing in his office, Miss Martin. He uses it to punish disloyal subordinates, playing the damn thing at such a volume it'll nearly deafen them.”

“I'll lend her some of my earplugs, Manny.”

“That's not the point. You're corrupting the very purpose of music, using it like that. And there are better ways of penalizing failure - I'm perfectly capable of striking fear into a lousy detective without causing them physical harm.”

“Hmm, and you'd think I was the nice one, from what I hear around the police department.”

I could already anticipate the two of them arguing for the rest of lunch, and attempted to put a stop to it with a hand placed gently on Manfred's arm. “You could play for me at home, if you want. I bet if anyone could make me love the violin, it would be you.”

“Oh, Manny's quite good,” Gant commented.

“Of course I am,” Manfred huffed at his coworker before finally turning his attention to me. “And I'd love to serenade you, dear. At a reasonable volume, with a quality instrument.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” I said with a smile. My boyfriend leaned over to kiss my cheek, pulling back with a grin - and another of Gant's fries.

[bullshit-bulltrue]

Hawk Talk

Okay so sorry if this is a little jumpy I'm having a so far two-day long anxiety attack anyway-

We got assigned seating in history and i got sat next to the biggest cunt wad i have ever met i fucking despise her and she's my desk partner

she was cordial and so was i but she has not fucking changed at all

And the cute boy from years ago is still cute and shy and such a sweetheart but he sits behind me ish and to the very far right

So I can't even look at him anymore without anyone noticing :(

And nyxie darling (@whennyxfallsinlove) was right, i was looking at him like a deer staring at headlights the first day because holy shit i REALLY *REALLY* liked him (still do) because he was one of the only genuine boys I met at the time and I was having a really difficult time and yk hanging out with him helped me out since things were happening in my home life that were difficult to say the least

So then the rest of class went smoothly

For math, there is no cute guys

But thats fine because I really like my teacher and he's taught ways to do math that are so much easier

Not only is he funny, but he also REALLY goes into depth of equations and helps out a lot!!

Sooo yeah

I had a mini heart attack bc after I left class I thought my phone fell outta my pocket but the pockets on my jeans are high (since the jeans are high-waisted duh) so it turns out my butt just didn't recognize the feeling since majority of my jeans don't have wider pocket space

But yeah

Anddd then I went to English class

And if you saw the recent small Hawk Talk posts of me interacting with nyxie, you'd know that there are two boys that are lowkey cute 👀

Idk they're cute by my standards but probably not everyone else's lmao

So I feel like I should call these guys smth??

So umm let's call one of them Baseball guy bc he likes baseball and I also didn't wanna ask his name but when I do, I'll probably make a nickname to refer to when I post about him

And the other we'll call D/Dee ig??

So yeah D was funny as usual

And the baseball guy talked more and lanie, him, and I were going through this box

It was a worry box and my English teacher (we'll call her Mrs. K) basically had a chest and put it at our table to write our worries on an index card and put it in there (anonymously, but some kids put their names so now we have Blackmail™️ . Probs won't need it, but it's good to have information on people)

And like she said that we could NOT under ANY circumstances go through it..

But we did 😘

So yeah that was fun because I didnt get caught

so i'm her favorite student while also being a little shit

🙃

So me and Lanie started following Cute Baseball Boy™️ to his locker because we're nosy bitches

But then I lost lanie so I sat on the floor until i was found like a 7-year-old who lost her mom at the supermarket

Aaand then we had lunch together !!

But then I found out she thought baseball guy is cute too :(

And idk how to feel about that

So I'd anything happens between them I'm gonna be kinda bummed bc I don't want her to get the wrong idea about me thinking he's cute

So im gonna have to find a way to not like him ig??

Or just keep shit to myself (with the intention of telling y'all every little detail)

Gonna je bummed if they start dating or smth but I'll be supportive nonetheless because they're both my friends and if they're happy then that's all that really matters to me

So anyway

Thus guy across from us at lunch was fucking hilarious

His friend kept putting a plate of school food someone forgot to throw away in his face and he let out the most high pitch ear piercing scream I have EVER heard lmaooo

Same bro, same

Felt that

And like I looked at him like wtf was that dude

And his eyes got SO wide

He kept frantically pointing to the girls that were sitting near him and even his friend 💀

So like that was funny

And then we got to gym !!

We didn't get to actually do anything :(

Basically what happened in PE: got gym clothes, got gym lockers (mine and lanie's are next to each other!!), and watched boys get play basketball (D was playing and he wasn't that bad)

Sooo yeah

Ik I said that I went basic white girl mode and watched the boys play

But like half the time I was just taking selfies on snap and scrolling through tumblr memes lmao

But the other half me and lanie were laughing at the boys clothes and haircuts bc they look like they rolled out of bed and asked a 5 year old to make their hair the shape of a fucking broccoli spout or whatever tf you call it

y'all it was that bad

(we also laughed abt that shit at lunch too)

Oh forgot something

While we were all going into the girl's locker room of the gym i thought lanie was right behind me but when i turned around i had to tilt my head up and look around for her head because she's way taller than me and she was at the very back of the crowd

So i went to the side and waited for her to get close to me

And she literally fucking said

L: damn girl i keep losing you, you're really speedy

Me: yeah i'm short but it means i walker faster than you, you're a fucking giant

L: well yeah to YOU. but like i'm tall enough to be your mom

And I lost it. I laughed so hard bc of the way she said it lol

Soo yeah that was the end of my school day

Hope you enjoyed <3

Oh and tagging people that wanted to hear about my day and/or have been reading my Hawk Talk posts (if you dont wanna be tagged lmk and i wont anymore, and lmk if u do wanna be tagged in the full day hawk talk posts!) : @cereal-is-a-soup100percent-true @whennyxfallsinlove @dizzeners @cau-lee-flower215 @sp1rit-realm

[godlizzza]

prompt: teen danbert, herbert attending one of dan's baseball games, maybe celebrating a win for his team

It was a hard game to balance for Dan. On one hand, he was poised and ready, the solid wood of the bat gripped in his hands. He squinted against the glaring sun streaming directly into his eyes at the shape of the pitcher, equally poised, before him. Dan kept his eyes trained on the ball gripped in the Fansville player's hand, knowing that if he lost focus even for a second the guy would pelt a fast ball right by his ear.

However, Dan was finding it hard to focus because, on the other hand, he knew Herbert was in the crowd.

For a while Dan had been casually dropping it into conversation that he was sure Herbert would enjoy Baseball if he ever actually sat down and watched a game. He said how all the other guys' girlfriends had been lukewarm to the sport too, but still found the will to sit in the bleachers and cheer. He tried to keep his tone nonchalant as he said it, but keenly watched for Herbert's reaction out of the corner of his eye.

"Sounds tedious," was all Herbert had said around a mouthful of celery as he read his book.

The words deflated Dan and by the sharp look Herbert turned on him it must've shown.

"It's really not," Dan mumbled, crossing his arms and feeling suddenly self-conscious.

Herbert snapped his book shut and narrowed his eyes at Dan. "You're doing that thing again."

Dan sat up straighter, mind racing. "What thing?"

"That thing where you want me to do something without just coming out and telling me," Herbert huffed. "It's really annoying. Some might even say vexing."

"Vexing," Dan echoed, trying in vain to fight back a smile. He couldn't help that Herbert's particular brand of talking always had him grinning. "Well, we can't have you getting vexed."

Herbert pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "We're halfway there, so why don't you just tell me what you want?"

"Fine," Dan said with a sigh. "I want you to come to one of my games."

Herbert blinked, looking genuinely perplexed. "Why?"

"Because," Dan said with an incredulous laugh, "I want you to watch me. It'd just be nice, knowing you're there. Having an audience always makes you try harder at something."

"You'll already have an audience," Herbert reasoned. "Aren't there always crowds at those games?"

Dan rolled his eyes and shuffled over until their knees touched. He reached for Herbert's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, but I'm saying I want you there, not just random people from school and their families. I wanna be able to look over to the crowd and see you."

"As if you don't see me enough," Herbert grumbled. He glanced away but his cheeks were dusted with pink.

Dan grinned and threw an arm around Herbert. He drew him close until their cheeks were squished together, and Herbert was weakly pushing at him but Dan didn't budge.

"I could never see enough of you," Dan said in a simpering voice, then pressed a long, loud kiss to Herbert's cheek.

So, Herbert had come, and it was taking everything for Dan to concentrate on the pitcher in front of him. The pitcher reared his arm back and Dan gripped the bat tighter, digging his feet into the dirt. The ball came hard at Dan, soaring straight for the mitt behind him. Dan's arms tensed and then he was swinging, connecting with the ball with a crack like a clap of thunder. The ball soared across the pitch, Fansville players racing to catch it as Dan ran.

He pelted from the home plate, his heels kicking up clouds of dirt as he flew past first base. He could hear the roar of the crowd over the blood pounding in his ears, the cheers surging him on, making him pump his legs faster. He rounded second base, keeping his ears open for the voices of his teammates and the opposition. The ball was out on the grass somewhere, making its way from the glove of an opponent, back to home, and Dan had to beat it.

The toe of his shoe hit third base and he briefly pondered if he should go for it and try for a home run, but he hesitated. He knew his hit had been good, but he wasn't sure if it had been that good. But still, he was tempted. Tempted to put on a show and do something dazzling while Herbert was watching. It might have been childish, but he wanted to impress him.

It was the thought of Herbert however, that made him stop and stay at third base. If he didn't make it, Herbert would roll his eyes and make some comment about Dan being over-eager or something. A moment later, the ball flew past him, and would've definitely hit the home plate before him, had he chosen to keep running. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked to the crowd.

Herbert stared back at him, shoulders bunched up around his ears as he sat, squished between two people cheering loudly. Herbert squirmed in his seat, aiming a dirty look at either side of him at the two jostling figures, but then he was staring back at Dan. He held his hand up, lifting the foam finger Dan had given him and bouncing it slightly. Dan laughed at this display of 'enthusiasm', but grinned happily anyway.

He wanted desperately to jog over to the bleachers, lean over the rail, and kiss Herbert the same way all the other guys kissed their girlfriends at the end of the game. But he couldn't exactly do that, so instead he settled on blowing him a kiss. Herbert rolled his eyes but held up his free hand and mimed catching it.

Dan couldn't wait to see him after the game, even if they couldn't kiss over the fence.

[steviewashere]

Snippet From WIP Chapter 3 of 36 Easy Steps to the Man of Your Dreams

(Keep in mind that I'm still writing the rest of this chapter, but for context, Steve and Eddie are doing the 36 Questions to Fall in Love. It isn't published until 1997 or so, but shhh fanfic is make believe.) Read the snippet below!

The next morning, Eddie finds himself awake just as Wayne leaves for work. Something around eight. He knows that Steve hasn’t made his way out yet, the Beemer sitting shiny and too pretty in the Munson’s driveway. 

So he goes to the bathroom and showers. Brushes his teeth. Scrunches his hair and ties it up into a loose bun. Waltzes back to the kitchenette and makes eggs. Waits. At the breakfast nook with two plates of food on the table, two cups of coffee, and that stupid fucking magazine.

It’s not until eight-thirty that Steve stumbles out of Eddie’s room. Hair ruffled from the pillow. Clothes wrinkled. Drool crusted to his bottom lip.

“Morning,” Eddie greets into his coffee cup.

Steve hums. “Morning,” he mumbles back. Plops himself in the other dining chair across from Eddie. But he doesn’t pick up his fork. Just stares down at the plate. A hand wraps around the now cold coffee mug, but the lip never comes to Steve’s mouth. “Think I’m gonna burn that thing,” he states. Harsh. Loud in the quiet of this early August morning.

“Why’s that?” Eddie asks nonchalantly, flipping one of the pages. Reading something about young women in tennis. Another flip. They’re interviewing Donald Trump. Blegh, he thinks. Scrunches the paper at the corner and taps at the new page staring up at him. The questions.

He hears a huff come from Steve. “Stupid magazine is causing us to fight, that’s why.”

Eddie’s eyes dart up. Frantically finding Steve’s soured face, still turned to the dining table’s surface.

“What, did you think I’d forget how you treated me last night?” Steve’s voice clips. “Think I’d forget sobbing until my head hurt and then passing out in your bed? Which—“ His head finally snaps up. Eyes heated as they burn into Eddie’s own. “—You didn’t even wanna lay with me. We always share the bed when we smoke. Always. And you—“ His voice pitches upwards and cuts off. Clicks his tongue, shakes his head, and looks back at the table.

Flabbergasted is the only way to explain how Eddie feels right now. But, though there’s confusion, he is also simmering with easy anger.

“You know what, Steve?” He spits. “I did kind of think you’d forget. I thought you’d forget all about how you were fucking with me. Touching me all sweet. Saying all that stupid, flirty shit you've probably used on all the girls around town.” He knows he’s sneering now. He knows that if he were a dog, he’d be baring his teeth with no trouble. Maybe there’d be some snarling drool. Foam at the mouth. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t—“I don’t think we should smoke together anymore. It—We do this thing where our hands go places where they shouldn’t. We say things we don’t mean. Fuck, if I were anymore stoned last night, I’d tell you that I love you. That’d be a fucking waste.”

He stands from his chair. Takes his dirty dishes and scurries to the sink. Drops them into some hot, soapy water and scrubs like he’s been hired as Wayne’s personal dishwasher.

Eddie can feel Steve’s eyes burn into his back. Lasering two identical holes into his bare skin.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Steve practically growls.

Instead of answering, Eddie scrubs harsher. Faster. Messier. The plate’s clean, but he can sense a new spot of egg. Can materialize a new stain if he looks hard enough.

“What does that mean?” Steve whines.

Twirling around, Eddie shouts, “It means that I don’t love you, Steve! Not when you treat me like this! Jesus Christ!” His chest heaves. Blood boiling. “It means that I’m tired of doing this thing where we’re best friends in daylight, but behind closed doors at night I’m some fucking—I don’t know—some statue to ogle! I—Steve, this—Either we’re friends or we don’t talk, that’s it.”

“Those can’t be our only options,” Steve argues. “We can be friends and fuckin’ hold hands and still talk! I don’t see how things need to—“

“I don’t want to hang out anymore, man. We can’t.”

“Can’t or don’t?”

“For now?” Eddie questions aloud. Steve nods. “For now, we won’t,” he chooses. Pushes himself off of the counter he’s been leaning on. Strides to the table and snatches up that magazine. The cursed thing. He slams it into Steve’s chest. “I read the question we didn’t answer last night.” Fingers clench at the front cover, effectively crumpling and ruining the image of Estelle Lefébure. “If I make it to ninety, I hope I keep the body of a thirty year old. Maybe my brain will have forgotten about you by then.” He steps away from Steve. Glaring. “Finish your eggs and coffee, get changed, clean up. You look like a mess. I’m having a smoke,” he relays cooly.

And now he’s sitting on the porch. A second cigarette sitting between his lips. He knows that Steve shouldn’t be taking this long. So he gets curious, looks over his right shoulder into the window that the breakfast nook peers into. But Steve isn’t there. In fact, he’s shuffling out from the bathroom in his clothes from the day before. Holding that thing in his hands. Like it’ll protect him from demo-creatures if there were anymore.

He comes through the trailer’s front door and Eddie whips back to look out beyond the porch. Steve stands near the couch. Hovering.

His shadow isn’t quite as tall as it usually is. And out of the corner of his eye, Eddie can see how his previously golden skin has paled. His hair still mussed. The timid hunch to his back.

A part of him wants to reach out and hold Steve. Wants to be touched again. But he can’t have that. Not with how he just treated him.

“I read it for myself,” Steve whispers. “I don’t want to forget about you, Eds. That’d be a terrible thing.” He shuffles a little bit. A nervous thing that he does, Eddie has kept track.

But, Eddie can’t respond. Doesn’t think he knows how without saying something awful. He can’t keep hurting Steve, it’s not fair.

“I love you, y’know?” Steve murmurs. He sniffles. “Stupid—I’m so stupid for thinking this would work,” he whispers once again. 

That’s when Eddie hears it, the tumbling of the magazine. The loud plop on the porch. All the pages falling open, probably getting crushed by the force of gravity. Then, Steve turns around, fast enough that a gust of wind whooshes. He begins to stomp down the stairs. 

He says, “I’m sorry,” before getting in his car and speeding away.

[nothingofvaluewaslost]

STORY: Put Her Down

Dark. Katja grows up in an emotionally abusive foster home. The thing keeping her sane is her beloved cat Qetesh, but her foster-parents notice and use the cat to blackmail her.

Don't expect any happy endings.

I'm doing something a bit different this time. The germ of this story was a letter to an advice column in a youth magazine, many decades ago, from a girl in a similar situation. Because I would feel terrible using a situation real children go through purely for my own inspiration, I will donate all proceeds from this story to the NSPCC.

If you've been lurking here, consider subscribing to my Patreon at least this time. It can be found here.

Put Her Down, by Christina Nordlander

The first time Jörgen and Malena used the threat was when Katja was ten. Qetesh must have been one year old; Katja had been nine when she’d got her. She wasn't a kitten any more. If she'd been human she would have been a young woman.

It wasn't the first time they’d used Qetesh to win a fight. She hadn't got any birthday presents because they'd given her the cat. She paid for the cat food with her allowance, and when she asked for more, so she'd be able to afford something for herself, Jörgen said:

“It's your cat. If you can't afford to care for it, you didn't have to keep it.”

They'd finished supper. It was already pitch black, the yellow light was dirty on the blackness in the windows. Jörgen had asked if she was going to do the washing-up. It had sounded like a question, not a demand.

“I don't think I can make it tonight,” she said. “Can't I do it tomorrow instead?”

She had a maths test tomorrow that she needed to study for.

“Right,” Jörgen said, grabbing the table edge to get up. “If you're going to be like that, we might as well put Qetesh down.”

At first she didn't get what he was saying, as if he was speaking another language. It took some seconds to get through and then she felt cold.

Last time she'd seen Qetesh she'd been lying on Jörgen's and Malena's bed. If she ran up to her, he might think she was going to leave the dishes. She washed up, the plates and glasses and the pan where dried bits of boiled potato had stuck, but almost once a minute she turned her head towards the hallway. She would see if they carried Qetesh out to the car. She would hear when they opened the front door.

As soon as she was finished she ran upstairs and carried Qetesh into her bedroom. She put her down on the folded blanket on the bed and hugged her so hard that Qetesh yelped like a squeak-toy and scratched her.

“No, don't be mad at me,” she whispered, so soft that Qetesh would understand from her voice. “It's their fault.”

Such a disgusting expression, 'put her down.' Why couldn't they say 'kill'? It meant the same thing, but it wasn't as cowardly.

Qetesh leapt down from the bed and went to the door. Katja had to let her out. She sat on the bed in the unlit room and watched Qetesh nosing her way out into the hallway. Nobody hurt her the next day either.

It was raining when she walked home, a steady rain that made all surfaces as grey as the sky. The terraced estate was almost across the road from school. Qetesh was lying under the leaves in the flowerbed and meowed when Katja opened the gate. Her black-and-white fur was a bit tufted and discoloured at the ends from the wet. Her eyes were large and almost completely round like on a kitten, her nose was unusually small.

Katja put cat food on the plate in the back room. While Qetesh was smacking up the food, she got some kitchen tissue and dried her. Qetesh flicked her ears every time.

Jörgen and Malena were still at work. The unlit hallway was full of shadows, the light was silvery.

In her bedroom, a couple of moving crates and a folded old iron bed were pushed in front of the window. She sat down at her desk and started her English homework. Qetesh jumped onto the desk, and she pushed her off. She had her back to the window, but she could hear the clear dripping outside. If the rain stopped she could go outside, for a long time, maybe past Mor Saras Väg and along the forest road. She wouldn't have to be home until supper.

She was twelve, she would start seventh grade in autumn. In three years, nothing would be keeping her in Smedby: she would have finished compulsory education. As soon as she finished ninth grade she could get to grandma in Lund. They'd gone to see her when mum and dad were alive. She remembered a tall brick house and a glazed corridor that was a jungle of spider-webs and kitchen herbs in flowerpots. If she and the cat got to stay, she would do any housework that needed doing in exchange for food and a bed. Jörgen and Malena weren't likely to come for her; if anything, they'd be happy to get rid of her.

How much would it cost? She only needed a single ticket. If she couldn't afford to take the train she could hitch a ride. No, the biggest challenge was waiting three more years.

She finished the homework, and the rain hadn't stopped. She got her coat anyway.

Malena had told them that her co-worker's cat had had kittens.

“I wish we could buy one,” Katja had said.

“You wish so much,” Malena had replied, as if she was a spoilt little brat.

But one or two days later, Malena came into her room with a corrugated board box with a kitten peeking over the side. It wasn't newborn, but still so small that Katja could hold it in her hands. Its fur had large black and white spots. Its tail was a little point that stood straight up while it ran around on the quilt.

“The litter box is in the car,” Malena said. “I don't want to hear any whining about cleaning up after her.”

Katja hugged her angular shoulders. Maybe she should have hugged Malena more.

The cat was female. She named her Qetesh, after a slim silver purebreed she'd seen in a video. She used to sleep in Katja's bed, and a few times she crawled in under the quilt so that Katja could feel her glossy fur against her soles. Those were the best nights. She pulled the quilt over them as if they were the only population in their own world. Sometimes she pretended that they were sleeping in a little boat or a spaceship.

In the encyclopaedia it said that female cats could live for fifteen years. That was short, but she would still be twenty-four when Qetesh died. Then they would have moved out of here.

“Why are you looking so grumpy?” Jörgen said over supper.

She hadn't been grumpy. The food was good, spaghetti with bacon and little transparent cubes of fried onion.

“I'm not grumpy. It's just because I'm tired.”

“Tell you what, if you're going to look like that, I would prefer not to see you at the table.”

She got up and took her plate. She walked fast, because if she looked relieved he might not let her leave.

She put the plate on the desk and lit the angle-poise lamp. She'd been eating for a few minutes when she heard his footsteps in the stairs, heavier than Malena's, then in the hallway. Perhaps he would keep walking. She kept cutting the spaghetti so he'd hear, but she couldn't swallow.

The door-handle clattered too loudly when he opened the door.

“What were you trying to achieve? With that display.”

He'd told her they didn't want to see her. She sat still, staring down into her plate, as if he would lose interest if she didn't move.

“And don't just sit there gaping!”

He yanked her right twin-tail until she had to raise her head. She didn't look at him, just at the light in the hallway over his shoulder.

“Soon you won't have to see me any more, at least,” she said.

He must have looked stupid with astonishment.

“As soon as I finish ninth grade, I'm going down to grandma in Scania. Then you'll be rid of me.”

He laughed. That meant that at least he wouldn't hit her.

“What, when you're fifteen? And can't work... not even people who've graduated can get a job in this country nowadays, no, you need a university degree. So you would live with a seventy-year-old pensioner who can't walk and expect her to support you?”

“She's got money! I would clean for her and work in the garden... and everything else she wanted...”

Her voice went high. She had to stop; she was hitching for breath like she was going to start crying.

He laughed again.

“Of course, sure,” he said. “You don't even know how to switch on the oven.”

At least he went after that. She closed the door and ate the last grease-shiny bits of spaghetti. The spices still tasted good, after this.

She was twelve, and would have to stay there for six more years. Six years might not sound long when it was a number on a piece of paper. She could go outside, but there was more homework now that the summer break was approaching. The teachers could have let her stay in school all afternoon to do that work. The classroom would only be lit by the pale light from the windows. It would be so quiet she could hear the footsteps in the corridor.

Sometimes she sat next to the sleeping Qetesh and told her everything she couldn't tell anyone else. She wasn't a human, but at least she was something alive. Sometimes it felt like all the things she said ran down into the cat's deep ears and would collect in lumps in there.

The term finished. She didn't have anywhere else to go. She went outside, long hikes where she pretended that she wouldn't have to go home, but when she got back Malena yelled at her for avoiding them.

“But I'm on holiday.”

Then it had turned into a fight, but it barely even counted as fights any more, her crouching where she sat while Malena screamed at her that they hadn't had to foster her, and while she caught her breath Katja screamed:

“Throw me out in the street, then! That's better than living here!”

Jörgen had got up.

“Then I'm taking Qetesh to the vet,” he said. “We warned you that this would happen, didn't we? No, crying doesn't help any more. We're putting her down.”

She ran after him into the cork-lino hallway, and into the living-room, and into the garden and to the shed where they kept the cat carrier, and she hung by his jeans leg, dragging after him in the wet grass and mud and crying until her head was throbbing. He had his hand on the doorknob when he gave in.

“I won't do it this time, then,” he said. “But next time you behave this way you know what will happen. Do you understand?”

Qetesh would live, so she thanked them, asked forgiveness, whatever the hell, the words were so shapeless with sobs it didn't matter what she said. It felt like it took all evening. After a while it seemed like she slipped out of the blubbering muddy child down there, as if she didn't want to acknowledge herself after all the things she'd said.

That night was the first time she threw up without being ill.

She behaved better after that. She wore clean clothes, washed her hair every other day, pressed her face into a metal-hard mask that always smiled. They didn't want her to be grumpy, but they didn't care whether it looked natural.

She'd started putting Qetesh out as soon as she got up in the morning, because if they couldn't get her right away they might not bother. But Qetesh was such a fucking house-cat, she kept to the front yard and barely even crossed the road. Perhaps she saw it as being loyal.

Run away? She'd had her plan of getting to Lund, and it hadn't worked. Even if she'd had any plan for surviving outside Fältvägen, not to shiver in a rainy forest or be abused by adult men, she couldn't have taken Qetesh with her. She would have had to carry her all the way.

She lay on the bed without crying, because she'd just get a headache and they would notice that her eyes had gone red. Malena was chopping something down in the kitchen. It sounded like the ticking of a large clock. If she went outside, Malena would see her.

Something creaked, but it was just Qetesh pushing the door open with her nose. She rubbed against the desk, then took a fluid leap into the bed and curled up. She was warm against Katja’s leg.

Katja crawled around in the bed so she could hug her. Qetesh's breath was a thin cool draught against her forehead.

“I wonder if you'd understand that I love you.”

Her voice faltered and didn't sound like hers any more.

She got up and took the knife from the desk, a Swiss Army Knife that she'd got as a bonus when she was selling door-to-door for the World Wildlife Foundation. The handle was a shiny saturated red. Qetesh reacted when she got out of bed, but didn't run. Katja closed the door and sat down. She stroked Qetesh to make her lie still. She felt her purr.

Jörgen was still at work, but she couldn't put this off. If she put it off she would never do it.

After some time Qetesh stretched out on her side so that you could see her belly. If only she could fall asleep before it started.

She stuck the knife into Qetesh's throat, but her skin was stronger than she'd expected. She drew blood, but Qetesh wriggled out of bed with a sound she'd never heard before and ran for the door.

Oh God. Katja crept towards her across the rug with the knife. The cat mustn't run under the bed; she would have to lure her out, and she couldn't lure. She had to finish it now.

She got up and yanked out a drawer. Qetesh scrabbled at the door. Katja let the drawer fall on her. She heard the sound. She raised the drawer and struck it down. It had to be over now, right? She put her hand on the soft belly. It was still warm, but she couldn't feel a heartbeat. There was blood on the lino and the rug. It didn't matter any more.

As she carried it downstairs she noticed that her arms were bleeding. Qetesh had clawed her in long scratches. She didn't feel the pain.

Malena didn't turn around when she entered. Katja laid the body on the table, and a little blood got on the tablecloth.

“Things are going to be different,” she said.

THE END

[aidanezra]

Failure? Tony Stark x Son!Reader (Part One)

Prompt: During dinner one day, the topic of Y/N’s grades comes up.

Themes: angst, eventual father/son fluff

Pairings: son!reader x father!tony stark (also pepper is reader's mom!)

A/N: I started writing this back in 2019 and just now finished it but this is still my first piece of writing posted here, so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Plus, what's a first post without some angst? I hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: angst, depression, a representation of my shitty ass eating habits + lots of friggin swearing

Words: 1,028

Part Two

Part Three

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

My body felt slow like quicksand as I moved to the dinner table. I hate this. I know what my Dad is going to say the moment I answer his nightly question of “How were your classes?”, Shit Mr. Stark, absolute Shit, with a capital ‘S’. I despise papers, I hate the classes I write them for and I hate the papers too. Before we know it, maybe my Dad will hate me too?

I sloppily fall into my chair at the dining table, right across from my father, who, at the moment, is staring blankly at a screen. His eyes don’t even gaze my way when my chair makes the most annoying high-pitched sound, he doesn’t even acknowledge me. Well that sounds about right.

Mom yanks the clear, glass, electric screen from Dad’s iron grip, “Come help me bring dinner to the table, will ya?” she chirps and I can almost hear my Father groaning in annoyance. 

Once the food has all been brought to the table and put on everyone’s plate, my Dad finally looks at me. It’s a cold look, stern too, but I still want to search for the ounce of love he may have for me in those brown eyes of his. His mouth opens like he’s going to speak, but recoils, and purses his lips.

He begins to speak again, “So, kiddo, how were your classes today? Anything new happen?” 

“They were fine. Boring and uneventful, but fine.” I spin my fork around in my pasta, procrastinating the thought of having to bring the fork up to my lips. He pauses and drops his own fork, causing a clink sound to erupt, furrowing his eyebrows as hs eyes stare straight at me.

“What grade did you get on that paper?” He raises an eyebrow at me and then gently pushes his plate aside.

“What does it matter?” 

“Well, I would like to know if you worked hard enough on it to get an acceptable grade.” He crosses his arms over his chest and I can almost feel the large amounts of varying emotions boiling up inside me, ready to burst and roll right off my tongue.

“I got a D minus,” I flinch, prepared for the worst possible outcome, but instead of yelling and screaming, I get silence. 

“Go to your room, you’re rewriting that essay and turning it in tomorrow at noon.”

“What? That’s not nearly enough time! You-” I’m cut off by the sound of my Dad’s chair scratching against the tile floor as he moves to stand. He gestures towards the hall, and I take that as my que. I retrain from running and semi-calmly walk towards my room. Accidentally slamming the door behind me. My hand grazes against the doorknob before swiftly locking it. 

My feet bring me to my unmade bed and I plop myself on the side of it. I feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes, begging to be let go. I seem to give in because before I know it, wet hot tears are pouring down my cheeks as I let out sobs and pull my legs up to my chest.

It’s just a stupid grade, yet, to my Dad, it’s everything. I get good grades, then I’m good for him, otherwise, I'm just something he can throw away when I’m no longer useful to him or the Stark legacy. Its. Just. One. Stupid. Grade. Yet at the same time, it’s my worth as a person and a member in this family. I hate this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony’s POV

Y/N's door slams shut and I flinch, beginning to regret sending him to his room. Did I overreact again? Was I too harsh? Should I be easier on the kid?

I'm ripped from my thoughts when Pepper chimes in a moment later:

"You shouldn't be so hard on him. He's trying."

I grimace, Pep's right. But I dont want to admit it. "He needs to work harder. He's slacking."

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Tony, he's a kid, your kid. No, our kid. And he needs your support, not your constant criticism."

I cross my arms, sliding down my chair, my gaze directed down the hall at Y/N's room. I'm not criticizing him, I'm only helping him. Teaching him self discipline. If I don't, he'll turn out like me and have to do it on his own.

"I'm not criticizing him, Pepper. I'm being a father."

"Not the greatest." She mumbles under her breath, I pretend to not have heard her and continue our meal. In silence. Agonizing silence..

As I finish my plate, Pepper gets up, heading to the kitchen to begin the nightly chores. I get up behind her, meeting her at the sink, "I've got it, Pep."

"Thanks." She smiles, a small but genuine smile and heads back to the dining room, retrieving the rest of the dishes. I begin to separate them into dishwash and handwash, starting to load up the dishwasher. My mind running a thousand miles per hour.

Am I becoming my father? Am I hurting my son? Am I doing something wrong? Am I the bad guy?

"He didn't touch his plate, again." Pepper cuts my thoughts short, yet again. I cringe as she scrapes the plate clean, following by her handing me the plate. I smile to myself as I take it from her hand. Y/N's used the same plate since he was 5, the same one he and I made together. He decided he wanted to have his hand print and mine together, his is in blue and mine in red. I remember it like yesterday, his little giggles as I painted his hand a bright blue. I'm sure to gently wash it, to not accidentally wash off the 10 year old hand prints placed on it. I rinse it and put it aside, continuing with the rest of them. Letting my mind run free yet again.

I'm not a bad father. I'm doing what I have to. I'm protecting him and nurturing his potential. My criticism is constructive, not harmful. Did I hurt him?

I couldn't have hurt him. Did I?