#and they’re both so dumb but they aren’t even stupid

[ghostgirl-22]

It’s November so… uh Happy Halloween 👻

18+ !NSFW! Explicit

Day 31: That one time at the Halloween Party

Pair: Artrick + Tashi

It ends upstairs in the bedroom of some star baseball player, Tanner Mulligan, he’s got a full ride to Stanford just like Tashi. Patrick has no idea who the fuck he is but both Art and Tashi seem to know him. It’s how they got invited to his Halloween house party in the first place. There were so many people, hell Patrick probably had a full conversation with him but he doesnt remember much before the bedroom.

He remembers what they dressed up as. He was Mario, red sweater, blue jeans, gloves, a dumb cap and mustache that kept dropping off so he gave up. Tashi was the princess peach in a short little knock off pink dress with frills and a crown. And Art matched him in green but still so blonde he could’ve been a princess too.

It was supposed to be a couples costume but obviously Patrick would never choose if he could get away with it. So they all went together. Art still desperate for his girlfriend and Tashi still playfully amused about it.

It doesn’t matter though. Patrick can handle him. At least that’s what he thinks.

Art is popular among the tennis team but everyone at Stanford seems to adore Tashi. So it was just easier for Patrick to spend the night with Art and watch Tashi work the room. Besides he’s got prime real estate, a spot next to Art crowded onto one of the sofas.

Well it’s not easier, Art’s sitting between Patrick and one of his tennis friends that clearly has a huge crush on him. It’s so fucking obvious to everyone… except probably Art.

It’s ironic actually.

Patrick would go commiserate if he didn’t hate the guy. He’s working on Art, when Patrick’s not even there and Patrick thinks he’ll lose it if someone else gets to fuck him first.

Thankfully Art’s oblivious to the fact that the boy is steadily bringing him drink after drink to get him drunk. Something Patrick might do if he imagined they could make out at the end of the night. It annoys him though that this guy seems to know this about Art.

So Patrick takes Art’s drinks when he’s half done nearly every time to slow the process. It does earn him several frustrated glances from Art’s new boyfriend to which Patrick smirks in response. If he wants it he can get in line. Art’s conveniently oblivious to their silent feud, though. He’s busy pointing out girls in slutty Halloween costumes.

“Isn’t she your type?” Art asks about at least three different girls. Patrick thinks maybe Tashi has broken him because as hot as some of these girls are they aren’t really on Tashi’s level for him.

Even more amusing, Art must notice him watching, when Tashi chats with a group of 4 or 5 boys dressed as zombie football players because he leans over and whispers. “Brandon is the quarterback, he has a crush on her, they’re in the same biology class.”

“Shut up,” Patrick says.

“What? I’m just saying…they work in the lab together. He’s kinda handsome, right?”

Patrick looks at him, smirking. “You’re such a manipulative little shit.”

“I’m not being manipulative, I’m just literally telling you about him,” Art hiccups, snatching his drink back and taking a sip. He’s already drunk. Such a fucking lightweight.

“Yeah Patrick, I think he’s right. You should go check on your girl. I mean… they are standing kinda close.“ It's Art’s crush. He really wants Patrick to leave and Patrick really wants to tell him to fuck off.

“So I go over there and fly off the handle. Tell her she can’t talk to any boys and she tells me to fuck off and comes crying to you right?” Patrick says to Art and he shrugs, shit eating grin on his lips.

He’s not wearing the Luigi cap or mustache any more, boy crush playfully snatched it so Art would take his hat and so he’s got on this Indiana Jones Fedora. He looks stupid cute. If anything Patrick would tell him not to talk to any more boys. He trusts Tashi… at least enough to know she wouldn’t fuck around without telling him. But Art would do it and think nothing of it. They aren’t dating after all…

Tashi walks over then with another friend, some pretty girl with long braids, dressed like a vampire in thigh high stockings just like Tashi’s except black instead of white.

“This is my boyfriend, Patrick,” she says smiling at her friend. “Patrick this is Olivia. She’s my RA.”

”Hi,” Patrick says, trying to focus on her face and not their legs. He’s had enough drinks though that he’s fantasizing about them tangled up together. Tashi’s clearly tipsy or something, one of her white tights is slipping down her calf, her crown is on crooked, her eyes are glassy and she looks dangerously close to spilling whatevers in the red solo cup she’s holding.

“I’ve definitely seen you before, trying to sneak around so you could spend more than three nights in a row in her dorm room,” Olivia says laughing.

“She’s the reason we got away with it,” Tashi grins, she lifts her sleeve back up on her shoulder and it immediately drops again.

“I love you,” Patrick tells her friend and she smiles.

“Look I love her but don’t do it again. I need this job,” Olivia says.

“We won't, he's staying with Art tonight,” Tashi says.

“Technically the rule goes for the whole building but I’ll just pretend you didn’t say that…since I’m not his RA.” Olivia says.

“And that’s why we love you,” Tashi links their arms and they start chatting two feet in front of them. Art’s not being subtle, he’s looking at Tashi’s thighs while boy crush asks him if he wants another drink.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Patrick asks Art.

Art hiccups and points over at a line of people waiting near a closed door. Patrick groans. “I don’t think I can wait.”

”There’s another one upstairs you can go to,” boy crush says. “I’m sure there’s no line.”

“Come with me,” Patrick says to Art.

“But then we’ll lose our spot on the sofa,” Art points out, his eyes drifting back to Tashi’s long legs.

“I can show you where it is,” Tashi says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Thank you,” Patrick gets up. And of course Art stumbles to his feet too and Patrick smirks. “I thought you wanted your spot.”

“I uh.. I might have to go too,” Art says.

“The group costume is so cute,” Olivia laughs looking over the three of them.

“Thank you,” Tashi curtsies adorably in Olivia’s direction and Olivia grins. Tashi takes his hand and he reaches for her cup before she almost spills. “My bad,” she giggles and she gives it to him. “It’s rum and coke.” Tashi says in his ear.

He takes a sip as they go upstairs. And the alcohol seems to hit him harder as they’re walking around. The second bathroom is full. It seems like there’s a couple hooking up in there. Tashi giggles as she presses her ear against the door.

“I think there’s another bathroom,” Art hiccups.

“Lead the way,” Patrick says.

That’s how they end up in Tanner’s bedroom in varying degrees of inebriation. Tashi sits on the bed to pull up her white knee high socks she can’t stop giggling and it makes Patrick smile.

”How do Mario and Luigi even know a princess anyway? Aren’t they plumbers? And what’s with all the turtles?” She’s cracking herself up and it makes him and Art laugh.

“And…” Art adds. “what the fuck is yoshi?”

”He’s a fucking dinosaur,” Patrick says.

This cracks them up even more. Everything is so funny and Patrick thinks if he doesn’t catch his breath and go in the bathroom soon he’ll pee his pants. But the funniest part is when Art leans in and kisses him. It’s just a little at first, and then again. Then he’s pushing his tongue in Patrick’s mouth.

“Mm,” Patrick steadies him. “Hold that thought while I pee.” He whispers.

Tashi giggles. “You two are fucking now, huh?”

“God, imagine,” Patrick rolls his eyes.

Art blinks like he’s just realized where he is and what he’s done in front of her. “I didn’t mean to…” he starts.

“I know,” Patrick smirks. “It has been well documented that you didn’t mean to every single time it happens.”

Art rubs his face. “I’m really drunk,” he groans.

Patrick can’t hold it any longer. He goes in the bathroom and when he comes out he’s not surprised to find the two of them making out. Art’s doing exactly what he might do to Patrick when he gets dizzy drunk. Trying to get on top, straddle her. And Tashi is playing her fingers into his hair pulling him closer.

If it was anyone but Art he’d probably be pissed. Instead he’s having trouble catching his breath.

He walks closer to the bed and plays with a strand of Tashi’s hair. She seems a bit startled and she pulls back looking up at him a little guilty. “Dont be mad… you kissed him first.”

“It’s okay…it’s hot,” Patrick says, quietly. He feels dizzy, his cock is already full in the steps it took for him to reach the bed.

Tashi bites her lip and pulls her hair back squeezing her thighs together. Arts licking his lips… they’re all messy covered in her gloss. His mouth now stained the same color as hers. He stares up at Patrick, lips parted, eyes dilated. Patrick’s one step away from blue screening.

“Are you two gonna fuck?” Patrick asks.

Tashi sits on her hands, crossing her legs. She can’t sit still… it’s such a tell. “I thought you two would.”

Art shrugs and Patrick snatches the fedora off his head, as cute as he looks Patrick kinda hates that he’s wearing it. “You know he wants to fuck you right?” He tosses it on the bed.

“Who Carter?” Art sniffles. “No he doesn’t. You think everyone wants to fuck me.”

“No he does,” Tashi says, grinning. “I thought you wanted him too. You guys flirt all the time.”

“Because he can’t help himself,” Patrick says, teasing his fingers into Art’s hair.

“He’s my friend.” Art says.

“How many times have you kissed him?” Patrick asks.

“Only twice,” Art hiccups. “Mm and I was really wasted and confused. So it doesn’t count.”

“What the fuck?” Tashi giggles.

“He’s a menace,” Patrick straddles him on the bed. Art leans back on his elbows.

“Mm not being manipulative.” He murmurs.

“No of course not,” Patrick leans over him and takes his mouth. It tastes good, the way Tashi’s lipstick tastes. He licks Art’s lips and Art licks his tongue, pushes it inside Patrick’s mouth deepening the kiss. He can hear the beat of the stereo thrumming through the house and Tashi taking light breaths. He feels Art getting harder as he grabs Patrick’s face, he’s such a good kisser. It’s not surprising that Carter wants him drunk to do it again and again.

Patrick moves his hand down to unzip Art’s jeans and grips his swollen cock. Art gasps, licking his lips as Patrick pulls back. “I get to fuck you first,” Patrick whispers. “Right?”

Art moans as Patrick works on him. “I’m not even… oh fuck…he’s just my friend, Patrick.”

Tashi takes a breath and crosses her legs again.

“I know, and you’re such a good friend Art. Till you're tipsy in his bed with your mouth on his cock.”

“No,” Art breathes. “It’s not like that…He’s not like you.”

“Not like me how?”

“Patrick,” Art says breathlessly as Patrick stops touching him.

“Not like me how?”

“Mm so drunk,” he whines, squirming and stretching out beneath Patrick. Patrick traces Art’s mouth with his fingertips and he opens up right away. Sucking them inside while staring up at Patrick.

“Jesus Christ.” Patrick breathes. He ponders what to use for lube because he needs to fuck him right now or he might go insane.

Tashi lays on the bed next to Art. And Patrick slowly pulls his fingers out watching her.

“You’ve never had anything inside you?” She asks, softly playing with his hair..

Art closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I promise it feels so good,” she whispers. “Really fucking good.”

“God,” Patrick breathes.

Art opens his eyes and turns to look at her shyly. She grins, touching his cheek and he kisses her. Patrick grips him again, he’s gentle with it. He doesn’t want Art to come yet but he’s dripping, dripping, dripping wet from the tip. Art sighs as Tashi pulls back, her fingers lingering in his hair.

”You’re such a pretty boy,” she says softly. “You should let him fuck you.”

“Your boyfriend?” Art says.

“Mmhm,” Tashi says, quietly. “Or maybe… you want to fuck him?”

Patrick thinks he’s in love with her.

Art bites his lip and reaches for Patrick’s zipper. Patrick doesn’t waste time waiting for him. He undoes it himself before getting Arts jeans all the way off.

Art gazes at him and hiccups, grinning. “You want to put it in me?” He’s come apart like a little slut, legs spread wide, flushed all down his neck, cock so full, heavy. Patrick starts to grab at his sweater and Art lifts it off. Patrick doesn’t have lube but Tashi has a condom that’s covered in it in her bag so Patrick kisses her. She grins against his lips and helps him take his sweater off.

Patrick then looks at Art beneath him, nothing but raw, needy, anxious energy. He nudges Arts thighs further apart and kisses him. Slowly. Letting it build.

Art lets him, stretched out beneath pushing his tongue in and out like sex and moaning till Patrick can’t take much more. He positions himself and feels Art starting to tense. He presses…slowly… and Art starts to react as the tip enters.

“Wait…” he breathes. And Patrick thinks he might kill him. Just take the pillow and smother him. He slips out again and licks his top lip forcing himself to calm down.

“Yes?” He says breathlessly.

“What if someone tries to… tries to… is the door locked?” Art asks.

“I can lock it,” Tashi says.

”She’s gonna lock it,” Patrick says, and Art nods. Patrick goes to try again and Art sighs.

“Patrick wait… have you ever… have you ever done this before?”

Patrick presses his lips together trying to find the best answer that will lead to the least amount of follow up questions.

“Art I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” Tashi says, climbing back on the bed.

“Okay,” Art breathes.

“Okay?” Patrick says raising his eyebrows.

“Can you go slow? I’ve never…” he trails off and he sounds oddly lucid.

“Yeah I’ll go slow. But you’ve got to let me fucking go or you’re gonna kill me,” Patrick says.

Art nods again and adjusts his head on the pillow. Patrick bends over so their faces are inches apart and he cradles Arts face in his hands. “Just close your eyes. I’m only gonna fuck you like a friend. A really good friend.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Art says, biting back his smile. Patrick licks at his mouth and Art opens for him. Another kiss and a moment later Patrick starts again easing into what is honestly deliciously tight wet heat. Art is squeezing right away which feels insanely good. Fuck. Maybe he’s having a religious experience. He’s wanted this for so fucking long. He’s halfway in and Art is pulling his legs up on either side of him.

“Oh fuuck… Patrick…” Art moans breathlessly. And Patrick thinks he’ll probably embarrass himself and come on one or two strokes if Art's voice continues to sound like that.

When he gets fully inside Art is holding his breath. And Patrick smiles and slowly pulls back. When he’s mostly out, Art breaths out again. He’s fucking shivering.

Patrick pushes again and gazes at him, rubbing his stomach. “Okay?”

“Mmhm,” Art says, tense.

“Relax. Breathe through it,” Patrick says, probably talking to himself more than anything.

Art nods and tries to let it out. Patrick is pretty proud actually for lasting this long. He goes for it again and Art’s breathing so deep and then he moans.

“Is it okay?” Patrick asks. The sound is going to kill him. Make him nut inside all prematurely like he’s fucking sixteen.

“Yes,” Art says. He’s still shivering. “Mm fuck… yes, yes, yes,” Art moans into his ear.

Tashi sighs and Patrick can see she’s got her hand between her thighs. And fuck, this moment is gonna do permanent damage to Patrick’s brain. He thinks he might die actually.

Patrick is something like five strokes in before Art breaks him completely. He’s watching Art’s tummy rise and fall when Art begins moaning for it in earnest and clenching so tightly.

It’s so fucking delicious that Patrick knows he won’t last much longer… he thinks of death, dying, his sister, his mom, his stupid brother…anything to keep himself together but nothing is fucking helping. So he grips at Art’s cock and starts jerking him… thankfully it only takes twice before Art’s spilling all over himself, his hips jerking up erratically and the sound, the sounds he can’t tell who’s doing what anymore…even his own voice is foreign to his ears. Patrick just loses it. Just fucking can’t anymore.

“Fuck,” Patrick groans, collapsing on top of him.

Art takes shallow breaths. “Mm Patrick?” He tangles his fingers in Patrick’s hair.

“That was,” Tashi whispers, her voice still pitched with arousal, she’s trying to catch her breath. “Did you like it?”

“Mmhm,” Art hums.

“I told you.”

Patrick can hear them kissing again.

He’s ready to fall asleep right here. Listening to them. Listening to Art's heartbeat. He thought that this would fucking cure him but he might actually be more sick over Art than he was before he fucked him. He’s certain everything that just happened in Tanner's little bedroom will be permanently etched into his memory. Even if the rest of the day isn’t.

He knows they eventually got dressed and that maybe they mixed up the red and the green. He doesn’t know what the fuck happened to the fedora or Carter for that matter. He remembers going back to the dorm. Watching Rocky Horror picture show. Tashi falling asleep in Arts bed while he slept on the floor with Art. And he remembers Art doesn’t pull away when he links their fingers together.

———————-

Thank y’all for reading. Master list is here.

[raddestrose]

i HAVE GOT to get back on that tdtbpf grind. It’s so good, ive got like 80 chapters left.

[tempestmothstorm]

Ok since Monika still has her admin powers in the side stories you think she could just discover them accidentally or use them without realizing

Anyways au where Monika and friends discover her admin powers but dont know about the wider context of what it means. So they just go around thinking Monika has magic and try practicing with a bunch of silly fun shenanigans because they figure it’s some chosen one bloodline stuff and not like. A product of their reality being a constricted digital science experiment.

This au will not end well

[unequivocallyreid]

Do You Get It Yet?

hi guys!! this is one day late, but i literally fell asleep trying to proof read last night, so… you win some you lose some.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid is your professor and you really, really need help. If only he wasn’t so distracting.

warnings: smut, little bit of fluff, professor/student relationship, unprotected sex w/ talk of contraceptives, age gap (both parties of age), breeding kink, choking, and some light degradation

this is a fun one guys! let me know what you think!

You swear you aren’t stupid. Really, honestly you aren’t. You’ve done well in school your whole life, not always outstanding, but you’ve always done well.

Right now however, you feel completely dumb. You’re in you third year of university, and up to this point, you’ve done good. Your classes are challenging but rewarding, and you have a wonderful group of people in your life. You have a cat and an apartment to yourself. You have wonderful friends, Lena and Eden, who’ve been with you since your freshman year and who you loved like sisters. Everything in your life was going right, except for your stupid, stupid criminal psychology class.

You should love it. You’ve taken classes like it before and they really weren’t a problem for you, but for whatever reason, you can’t wrap your head around the subject matter at all. Everything you learn seems to morph together and you can’t get it to sort itself out. Your teacher, Dr. Reid, is incredible. He is a genuine genius, member of the BAU (your dream job), and to top it off, he is incredibly attractive. Not just to you either! Half the class is auditing, which probably contributes to your troubles. It’s hard to focus when everyone around you is constantly whispering about how fucking hot the teacher is.

You try to avoid it. You sit at the front of the room, not the first row, but still front and center. Even so, right behind you are two or three girls who will not stop talking about him. Sure, they’re saying what you’re thinking, but good god does it get annoying. You’ve tried pointed looks, a few aggressive hair flips and humphs, and even a few well timed shushings, but they will not let up. You’d move seats but the class is full and everyone has seemed to have already found a place.

So, really, your lack of understanding was not only on you. Dr. Reid us distractingly hot, the girls behind you will not shut up, and the subject matter is just plain tricky. All of this leads you to spend a big chunk of your free time in your professors office hours, which always seem to be full.

You get it. Girls, and some boys, show up looking their best and asking all sorts of questions, and honestly if you were in a different position you’d probably do the same thing. But, you aren’t, and you really need help. You go to his room completely disheveled with a notebook full of questions that for the most part stayed unanswered. You’re lucky to get five minutes of his undivided attention. Again, you get it, those minutes are the highlights of you week, but, your grade is starting to slip.

Finally, it gets to be too much, and you find yourself spending nearly the whole class building up the courage to ask to speak with him privately. Right when he concludes his lecture you spring up out of your seat and go straight to him, surely annoying some of your other classmates.

“Dr. Reid?”

He looks up from his desk, “Hi! Ms.?”

“Y/n. Or Y/l/n, I guess. I was hoping to talk to you privately if you had time?”

“Oh! Um, sure, of course. Let me just wrap up here. You can wait in the seats.”

This has already gone better than you thought it would. Half of you expected the only thing that would come out of your mouth would be gibberish.

“Thank you so much.”

You hurry off to take a seat and wait, and wait, and wait. Around five other people stay around to try and speak with him, and while you catch him anxiously glancing over at you, each conversation still seems to stretch on and on. Finally, after close to 15 minutes, the final student leaves and it’s just you and Dr. Reid left in the room.

He looks over at you and motions for you to join him at his desk, “I’m so sorry that took so long. People tend to have a lot of questions after my lectures.”

You take a seat in front of him, “It’s no worries. That was actually part of what I wanted to speak to you about.”

You pause, wondering how you should word what you want to say. He looks at you, waiting for you to go on, but he doesn’t seem impatient.

“I’ve come to all your office hours, and it helps, I’m just still struggling and I, uh, I just feel like it’s not enough time to get my questions answered, I guess?”

You’re looking at anything but him at this point, “I’m sorry I’m just kinda out of my element. I love this subject and normally it clicks for me, but it’s just won’t. I have a notebook full of questions and I’m worried I won’t be able to figure anything out. Sorry, I think I’m just rambling at this point.”

“No, don’t apologize, I understand. This class is challenging, and a lot of the subject matter is hard to research.”

He stops to laugh, “My office hours do tend to be pretty full. I’m, well to be honest I’m not sure why. A lot of the questions people have tend to be things I explained in my lectures.”

Without thinking, you cut him off, “I think people just want to be around you.”

He looks surprised at your words, and you are as well. You didn’t mean to say that at all.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. It’s just with a teacher that looks like you, god, no. I mean with a teacher like you-“

Your cheeks grow hotter by the second, “You know what, I think I can figure this out on my own! I’m sorry for-“

He stops you before you can finish, “Y/n, I’ve taught this class before. Half the people are auditing. I’ve gathered what that means.”

He cracks a smile at that and you feel your heart flutter.

“I meant I’m not sure why people would waste their time trying to, uh, impress me at office hours. They’re meant for students like you.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

“Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can do on that front. My hours are open to anyone.”

Your shoulders deflate a bit at that, worrying you’ve wasted your time and his for nothing. He doesn’t let you stay like that for long though.

“I want to help you though. Truly. I know reaching out for help is hard and I’m glad you did.”

You look up at him then, “I can set aside some time for you once a week if you’re comfortable? We can review everything you’re not sure on until you’re up to speed.”

You were not expecting that. You thought he’d look over your questions and give you some articles and journals to review at best.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

“You aren’t. I’m offering, Y/n.”

“Then I think yes, I’d like that a lot.”

“Great! Email me some times that work for you and we’ll get started.”

~

This is all, admittedly, a bit above your pay grade.

Despite your best efforts, you are not a chill girl. You’re not very cool. There’s nothing wrong with that usually! You’re shy, but still manage to talk people’s ear off. It’s normally a non-issue: that’s just how you are. Today however, you are meeting with Dr. Reid and you are so not chill about it.

You had his class yesterday, and while you feel better knowing you’ll finally have help, you couldn’t focus on anything but today, so you retained nothing. All you can think about is saying something stupid or off putting and having him start to despise you.

You know you shouldn’t worry this much. He’s a professional, you’re trying to be, it should all go smoothly. They’re just the issue of the colony of butterflies who have taken up residence in your stomach. You’re nervous, so nervous, and you are not the type to get this crazy over some guy. Yes, Dr. Reid is probably the hottest person you’ve ever met, but he’s still human! You think… the fact that he’s some sort of super genius with multiple (multiple!) phds does not help to calm you.

Your entire walk to Dr. Reid’s office is spent worrying over all of this. In fact, you’re so caught in your head you find yourself barreling into someone’s back as you walk through the door of the psychology department.

You rush to squeak out an apology while picking up your notebook, but are stopped short when you look up. It’s Dr. Reid. Of course it’s Dr. Reid. You seem unable to be in the same vicinity of him without making a fool of yourself, so why would today be any different. You’d hoped to be able to manage yourself for the better part of an hour, but your professors unbelievably solid back has literally knocked you on your ass.

You do notice a ghost of a smile on his face when you look up, and you’d like to think he’s admiring you clumsiness, but it’s not likely.

“Hi,” you manage to say after a near excruciatingly long silence.

“I’m really sorry, I clearly wasn’t looking at where I was walking.”

He laughs a bit, “It’s no problem honestly. You were the one knocked off your feet, so I really can’t be upset aside from the fact you may have hurt yourself.”

This makes you breath hitch a bit. Maybe you are incredibly starved for attention from the male gender, but the slight affection of his words made you blush.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

If you were any more articulate you’d be a public speaker, but at least you always seem to make the man in front of you laugh.

“I was on my way to my office to meet with you, but since I already have, you can walk with me.”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground, then blush again when you realize you had this entire conversation on the ground.

The walk is silent, and you’re sure it’s more uncomfortable for you than it is for him. Any question you had has completely exited your mind, and all you can think about is how good he looks in a suit, and how much staring you can reasonably get away with.

Your first session is sweet. You manage to hold it together in Dr. Reid’s presence. He is incredibly helpful one on one, and you feel more confident about the class than you have in weeks. Before you finish, he asks if you’d like to meet again.

“Yeah, if that’s alright. This helped so much, but I think I still probably need to do some more catch up work.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Y/n, I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

He pauses for a moment, like he’s considering something, before going on.

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to give you my cell. I want you to be able to reach me if you need to reschedule, especially if we continue meeting, and it’s a bit easier than email.”

You’re a bit stunned but manage to reply, “Of course! But, um, is that allowed? I don’t want to over step.”

He looks away from you for a moment before replying, “I’m honestly not sure. Maybe we just don’t tell anyone?”

You have to bite back a grin, but you nod nonetheless and exchange numbers.

Although you know you shouldn’t be, you’re giddy the entire walk home.

~

So far, you’ve met with Dr. Reid three times and haven’t had to use his number once. Not that you’d been looking for an opportunity to though! It just hasn’t come up at all until today.

It’s been raining all morning, which normally you wouldn’t mind, but you’re slightly under the weather and the thought of walking to campus and risking getting more sick doesn’t sound appealing in the slightest. Though it’s not normally an issue, moments like this make you really wish you had a car.

You’ve asked everyone you knew for a ride, but they were all busy.

Currently, you were on the phone with Lena, listening as she tries to calm you down.

“He gave you his number, Y/n. Just text him and say you’re sick and can’t make it.”

“It’s the day of though! I don’t want to come off as unprofessional.”

“Babe, again, you have his number. Your relationship isn’t exactly the most profesh in the first place.”

“It’s not like that, Lena.”

“Just text him. Over explain everything like you know you want to. He’ll probably think it’s cute, maybe he’ll even offer to come take care of you.”

You can hear the teasing lilt in her voice, but, still, you rush to defend him.

“You know it’s not like that.”

“Whatever you say, babe. I gotta go, but text him. It’ll be fine.”

You say your goodbyes, and deep down you know she’s right. About texting him, not the shy sort of seduction act she thinks you have.

After contemplating for a few more minutes, you type out your message and hit send.

You: Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Y/n from your criminal psych class. I know we’re supposed to meet today, but I’m feeling like I have a bit of a cold coming on and don’t want to risk walking in the rain.

You: I’m sorry it’s late notice, if I could get there I would, scout’s honor.

You were never in girl scouts. You don’t actually know why you said that at all, but it’s too late to take it back now.

As much as you try not to, you watch your phone screen, waiting for a response.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait long. You see a typing bubble pop up, then disappear, then pop up again, before finally two messages come through.

Dr. Reid: I completely understand. Don’t worry.

Dr. Reid: I could come to you? If you’re comfortable.

When you read that, you feel your stomach drop to your ass. You decidedly not expect him to offer anything like that. A few things fly through your mind, but mainly that Lena may have been right, and having your professor come to your apartment is, at least, frowned up by admin. Still, the image of him in front of you, in your home, with your cat, is too much to resist.

With shaking fingers, you text him back.

You: That would be wonderful if you’re sure you’re okay with it.

You: Friendly warning, I have a very affectionate cat.

Dr. Reid: Good to know. Is 4 still alright?

You shoot him back a quick yes and your address, and then get to cleaning every square inch of your apartment.

~

Dr. Reid is an angel on Earth.

When you hear a knock at your door, you have to stop before answering to regulate your breathing. When you finally do, you see your professor in front of you in a cardigan (a fucking cardigan) and togo cup of tea that he immediately hands to you.

It’s all like a hopeless romantics wet dream. Hot professor, in the rain, at your house, who clearly cares about you in some way? It’s like he’s trying to kill you.

You step aside to let him in and move to your couch, “You really didn’t have to do this.”

He stands for a moment before sitting at the opposite end and saying through a laugh,“The tea or coming over?”

“Both, I guess? I just feel bad that Ive take up so much of your time. I feel like a bit of an inconvenience.”

“Y/n, please stop worrying so much over this. I want to help you learn, it’s not an inconvenience or a both or unnecessary.”

You really look at him then, trying to read whether or not he’s being genuinely. He just seems too good to be true, like he’s a fiction character made just for you. Well, not just for you, but in your fantasies that’s how you’ll think about it.

The next couple hours are spent reviewing material you are sure he taught weeks ago and stealing glancing at his mouth when you are sure he is not looking. Your kitty makes a few appearances too, and seems to have formed an instant attachment to the doctor. You are not as sly with your staring as you’d like to think, and get caught a few too many times. Honestly, you are trying desperately not to think about anything but academia, but he makes it so unbelievably hard. Not to put the blame on him for your insatiability, but jesus fuck. Intelligence has always been incredibly sexy to you, and it oozes from him

Despite the distraction, you’ve been doing good in terms of building your understanding. Now however, you are on the verge of tears, chocking down a knot in your throat as you try to make sense of anything coming out of Dr. Reid’s mouth. This has to be the third time he’d tried to explain it to you, and while this is the entire point of these meetings, you feel like a failure.

The doctor is lost in his own world, trying desperately to explain the concept in a digestible way, so he doesn’t notice your state. That is, until you sniffle, just slightly, and immediately avert your gaze.

He cuts himself off, “Y/n? Are, are you okay? What’s wrong.”

It’s too much, so too much. What kind of dick asks something like that, with that much care in his voice. You can’t help the tears starting to fall.

“I’m so sorry. I just, I can’t understand it.”

He looks at you with his beautiful eyes and says, “Y/n, it’s okay-“

“No. God, you must think I’m a fucking idiot. No, not fucking, I didn’t mean to say fuck in front of you. God this is terrible.”

You’re fully crying at this point, and you can’t bear to look at Dr. Reid.

He stays silent for a moment, before you feel movement on the couch and look up to see he is much closer to you.

“You’re incredibly intelligent, Y/n. I, I would never judge you for needing help.”

You bury your face in your palms, and, very eloquently, try to speak through them.

“Sir, you really don’t need to say that. I know I should have been able to grasp this weeks ago, all of this.”

“Spencer.”

You look up, “What?”

“My name is Spencer. You don’t have to call me sir or Dr. Reid. I’d like for you to call me Spencer.”

“Well, Spencer then. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I really don’t know why I thought any of this would help, clearly there’s something seriously wrong with-“

You’re cut off by a hand on your jaw, guiding you to look up. Dr. Reid’s hand. Spencer’s hand, and it’s gentle and he’s staring at you, and you feel like your skin is on fire underneath his palm.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Y/n. You’re one of the most capable, intelligent people I’ve ever met. I’m breaking nearly 20 different codes of contact by being here, but I can’t help it.”

You feel all your words caught in your throat, and all you can fucking think about is his hand and his eyes and his lips. You don’t know what else to do, so, in an act of unusual bravery, you push forward and press your lips to his.

The response is immediate. All thoughts in your head are gone and replaced by a mantra of Spencer’s name. You feel his hands move to the nape of your neck, holding you to him, and his lips pressing yours open so he can glide his tongue over yours. You’re breathless and ruined, and when he pulls back you’re too struck by him to speak.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Y/n. I’ve never wanted anyone like this before”

Your forehead is pressed to his and you breath out, “Show me.”

The hand on you tightens its grip, but the man before you pulls back a bit, and it becomes your only point of contact.

“I, I can’t. I’m your teacher, I’m nearly 20 years older than you. I shouldn’t have even kissed you.”

“I kissed you. I want you, this. I want whatever you’ll give me.”

“It’s wrong, Y/n.”

“I don’t care. I want you, Spencer.”

Hearing you say his name must break his resolve, because in a moment his lips find yours again, and he’s pulling you into his lap.

To recap, you’re in your home, on your couch, straddling the hottest man you’ve ever seen, and his lips are trailing down your neck and over your clavicle. You put your arms around his neck, threading your hands through his hair and experimentally rolling your hips against his.

His hands grab your hips, stilling your movement, and breaks from his assault on your neck to say, “I won’t be able to control myself if you do that, Y/n. I need to know what you want.”

“I want all of it, doctor.”

The honorific must do something for him, because he growls low in his throat before once again connecting with your lips. The same hands that just stilled your movement now guide your hips to press into him harder. You feel his length beneath you and moan into his mouth.

You’d fantasized about this for months, but now it’s actually happening and it’s so much better than you could have ever imagined. You feel him every where, and he knows exactly what to do and whisper in your ear to drive you fucking crazy.

You move your hands from his hair and break from his lips to pull your shirt off. You make eye contact with him and then reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, leaving that part of yourself entirely exposed to him.

“Fuck, Y/n.”

The expletive takes you by surprise for a moment, but you snap out of it quickly, taking one of his hands and bringing it to your chest. He moves quickly from that point, cupping your breast in his hand and toying with your nipple. Your lips find his again, and you feel him move to flip you, but you stop him before he can.

“Bedroom, Spencer. Please.”

He nods and you climb from his lap. On your way to the room, he discards his shirt. You can’t help but ogle his frame. He’s slender and sinewy, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. The angles and curves of his frame fit

together to create the perfect portrait of a man. He has scars littered over his arms and torso, but they don’t phase you.

You’re under him on the bed now, your core raising to meet his desperately.

“You’re so beautiful. So beautiful, I’m so lucky.”

His words cause a blush to form on your cheeks, which you can barely focus on as his hands are in the process of pulling your shorts and panties down your legs.

“God, Y/n, you’re soaked.”

You whine as his fingers make contact with where you need him most.

“Is this all for me, Y/n? Tell me.”

“You. Only you.”

“Jesus, Y/n.”

If someone had asked hours ago you what you thought your professor would be like in bed, this was the last thing you would’ve said. Not that anyone would ask… but still. He’s nerdy and adorable, and while his looks are literally to die for, he doesn’t scream ‘I’m gonna fuck your brains out’.

His fingers pick up their pace on your clit as you find yourself trying to undo his belt. You’re desperate to see him as bare as you are. He stops to help you get his pants down, and when you see him in his full glory you feel a little faint.

“You’re so big.”

He lets a little whine slip through, “Yeah? Biggest you’ve had?”

You blush a little at his tone. As much as you’re trying to fake it, you don’t have as much experience in this field as one might expect for a girl your age.

“I’ve only been with one other person, so yeah.”

Your candor is decidedly not sexy, and you really have no clue why you would say that right now. The man above you does not seem deterred though, if anything it spurs him on.

“Fuck, Y/n. Didn’t know you were so innocent.”

You blush again, but reach to grab him, trying to prove how good you can be. He’s heavy in your hand, and part of you worries how he’ll fit. You know you’re programmed to accommodate, but the thought is daunting.

He must sense your concern when he says, “Don’t worry, love. Gonna stretch you out for me.”

With that, his fingers resume their previous task, and he slowly moves down to trace your entrance with his middle finger. The sensation has you spinning, and let breathless moans leave your body he slowly starts to open you up. His fingers are long and precise in their movements. Every time he thrusts into you, they graze a spot that sends sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’re doing so good for me, Y/n. So, so good for me.”

You can barely breathe, and your climax comes closer with every passing second. When his thumb moves to press over your clit and his other hand presses firmly on your lower stomach, you’re done for.

“Good girl, Y/n. Coming so pretty on my hand.”

Your orgasm is stupefying, and all you can think or say is Spencer’s name. You grab at him, desperate to find something to ground you, and you hear him moan as your nails dig into his back. He doesn’t stop for a moment, continuing to press into you and riding you through your high.

Once you come down, though you can still feel your legs shaking, you want more. You want all of him. You take him in your hand again, pumping up and down his shaft at a lazy pace.

“Spencer, I need you to fuck me.”

He laughs, his hand still on your core, “Ask nicely, Y/n. You come on my fingers and all of a sudden your manners disappear?“

You didn’t want to admit it, but he’s right.

“Please, Spencer. Please fuck me, I need it.”

“Good girl,” he takes your wrist and leads your hand to your mouth. “Spit.”

You aren’t exactly sure what he’s doing. You think he might be teasing you more, letting you work him over until you beg, but he answers all your questions quickly.

He guide your hand back to grab him, helping you jerk him off before he grabs himself and lines up with your entrance.

In his first Dr. Reid like moment in the last hour he stops and asks, “Fuck do you have a condom? I obviously didn’t think we’d do this, so I don’t have anything on me.”

You’re panting with anticipation at this point, but still manage to get out, “I’m on the pill and I’m clean. I trust you.”

His eyes go soft for a moment, before he continues his previous mission. He lines up again with you, before teasing your slit with the head of his cock. If you didn’t want him so bad, you could’ve come like this, but you are desperate. You push your hips up, hoping he gets the point, and he does.

“I could play with you all day if you’d let me, Y/n.”

You want to protest, and tell him to get on with it, but you don’t have to. You feel his tip

slowly pushing into you as he lets out a groan.

“You’re so fucking tight.”

He’s slow and careful, and you can’t remember sex ever feeling this good. You know he isn’t all the way in, but you already feel so full. When he does reach the hilt, you let out a low moan at the feeling. He’s completely inside of you, filling you in a way that is unbelievably good. He stays still for a moment before slowly pulling back and thrusting into you.

You can tell he’s being gentle, but hard enough and fast enough to have your legs start shaking more heavily again. You already feel a pit in your stomach, and you know you’re going to come, for a second time, embarrassingly fast.

“Fuck yes. So good for me, Y/n.”

The way your name sounds in his mouth drives you crazy. The only thing you can think about is how badly you want this moment to go on forever. Everything about him is perfect. Even now, while fucking your brains out (literally, you could make yourself say a word even if you wanted to), he’s cupping your head in his hand and telling you how beautiful you are.

Now that you’re more accustomed to the size of him, he takes your thigh, pushing it up to your chest, and starts too fuck into you faster and harder. His pelvis rubs over your clit with every thrust, driving you crazy. Your hands are in his hair and down his back, grabbing and clawing at him.

“You love taking this cock, huh baby? Can’t even talk, huh?”

His words go straight to your core, but you know what you need to come again. You guide his hand up near your sternum and manage to cry out a few words.

“Please, need it. Need you.”

He takes your request to heart and moves his hand to your neck, squeezing the sides. You feel yourself get light headed in the most incredible way. Tears are forming in your eyes. The feeling is so intense.

“So perfect for me. Such a smart girl and you’re just gonna let me fuck you dumb?”

You’re close, and you can feel the pit in your stomach start to spread and take over. Spencer’s hand on your throat tightens slightly, and it only take a few more thrusts before you’re coming on him.

“Coming. Fuck, Spence you’re making me come.”

“That’s right. Come all over me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Your vision is going white at the edges and you feel like your whole body is shaking.

“Fuck, gonna come just watching you. Gotta pull out, baby.”

You grab him before he can, “No! Want it inside me.”

He groans above you and you feel his hips stutter.

“Fucking Jesus. Want me to fill you? Make this you mine?”

You nod, the tears now falling down the sides of your face.

“Gonna come, baby.”

You can feel when he does. His dick is pulsing in you, filling you completely, just like he said he would.

When he comes down, he pushes his lips to yours, kissing you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. For a while, he just lays there, kissing you.

“Gonna pull out now. Gotta clean you up.”

You whine, but nod regardless. You feel empty at the loss of him, but you don’t have much time to think about it before you feel a warm towel wipe around your centre.

“You gotta go pee, Y/n. Don’t want to develop a UTI.”

Five minutes ago this man was coming inside of you, and now he’s back to being the man who came to your house in the rain with tea. You do know he’s right though, so you pull yourself out of your bed on shaking legs and make your way to your bathroom.

When you come back in, you find Spencer with his pants back on. Your heart breaks a little.

In a small voice you ask, “Are you leaving?”

He looks up at you then, “Do you want me to stay?”

You don’t know why you wouldn’t.

“If you don’t want to you don’t have to.”

You can feel tears welling up again, but these are different from before; he notices immediately.

“Baby, baby don’t worry. I don’t want to go, I just didn’t want to over step.”

You laugh a little at that, wiping your eyes, “I think we’ve gotten over all the steps, Spencer. I, I want - Just please stay.”

He nods and moves to take off his pants before sliding into place next to you. His arm wraps around your waist and you feel a tingle in the spots where he touches you.

“I don’t want to have this be a one time thing,” you blurt out.

You feel him hold you a little tighter then.

“I was never planning that, Y/n. Now, sleep. We can talk about how much I’ve come to adore you tomorrow.”

END!! i hope you all love it!

tag list! (leave me comment if you want to join and i’ll add you): @sabage101

[burningfairytales]

People look at Bokuto and see a happy-go-lucky, carefree ray of sunshine and think, oh, he is a fool.

I mean I know people love him, but I am so, so upset that that is what he is reduced to.

Because Bokuto may be simple-minded, but a fool he is not.

(Let’s not even talk about the fact that Fukurodani seems to be a renowned private school and Japanese high schools have entrance exams. We know this, because Kageyama failed to get into Shiratorizawa, okay. He failed the exam.

So Bokuto getting into Fukurodani doesn’t exactly scream “idiot” to me. So he struggles with Japanese and Maths. Hell, if everyone was deemed stupid who didn’t excel in literally all of his classes, this would be a world of fools.

He also goes on to college and graduates. So he doesn’t know how taxes work. Hell, Sherlock Holmes didn’t know the earth revolves around the sun. People retain knowledge of stuff that they care about damnit. No one gives a shit about taxes.

I’m not calling him a genius here. He’s probably not exactly a top tier student. But please stop dumbing him down.)

But what I’m really talking about is that Bokuto is people-smart, okay. Like tell me he didn’t know exactly what made Akaashi tick. Tell me he didn’t know exactly what was wrong with him the second Akaashi started faltering.

He knew.

And he called him out on his bullshit in the exact same way Akaashi calls him out on his.

(It’s not just Akaashi btw. He knew exactly what was going through Yachi’s mind during the dumpster battle.)

And listen. During the training camp arc, Fukurodani vs Karasuno, where we first get to see Bokuto’s emo mode? It’s heavily implied by both Takeda and Ukai that Bokuto isn’t aware of how the team dynamics work, and as a reader, we believe this - because Bokuto appears to be so simple-minded. Because there don’t appear to be any hidden depths.

Because we never actually get to see the world through Bokuto’s eyes, but rather always Akaashi’s.

But being simple-minded doesn’t make you an idiot either. It just means that you have a different way of prioritising.

And then later, Bokuto has his moment. His “time for me to just be a regular ace” moment.

And we find out that he did know. He was completely aware that his team (and Akaashi, in all his well-intended manipulation) were coddling him.

(Don’t come for me; I ADORE Akaashi.)

Point is, he knows. And it was fine, because hey, it was easier anyway, and he knew he could count on his team to have his back.

But then Akaashi falters, and his team is struggling, and it’s Bokuto saying “you had my back all this time. Now let me have yours.”

Bokuto is not oblivious and he’s not a fool. His cheerfulness and optimism aren’t a sign of ignorance. They’re carefully cultivated. Because he knows what being lonely is like. He worked so, so hard towards his dream - not just to go pro, but to have fun playing volleyball. To become better at it so that he gets to enjoy it just a little bit more.

His good-heartedness is a goddamn choice, not some cradle-given virtue.

In this essay, i will-

[jenosbigtoe]

NEED NEED NEED another one shot with jeno and dumb sluts 🥹🥹

mdni. nsfw 18+ (read part 1)

pairing: lee jeno x reader x na jaemin

warnings: everyone here is still a freak, recording of sexual activities, so much sex, nomin are kinda sleazy and reader is kinda slutty so match made in heaven

jeno has your contact name saved as “slut❤️” and jaemin has it under “SLUT🙇‍♂️”, without even knowing what the other already put. when they saw what the other had your contact saved as, they gave each other a high five.

jeno and jaemin are so competitive and possessive over you. jeno is the only one allowed to call you his baby, and if jaemin calls you baby it turns into (another) big argument. and jaemin is the only one allowed to call you princess, or else it will, again, lead to another argument. however, they have an unspoken agreement to both call you babygirl because you’re their babygirl duh.

they make it competition to see who can make plans with you first before the other one can.

jeno: baby come over tonight.

you: sry jen

you: jaem invited me over first

jeno was punching the air after that.

or jaemin would snap you a pic of his veiny hands grabbing his very obviously hard dick through his sweatpants with the captioned “thinking about you princess. come over”

you snapped back a picture of a fake pout saying “i’m at jen’s rn”. jaemin could see a shirtless jeno hugging your back behind you in that pic, causing him to see red.

they try to one up each other on absolutely everything. asking you questions like “okay who do you see more though?” and “who gives the best head?” and “whose dick game is stronger?” you never give them an answer, obviously, because you think it’s fun when they try to go even harder than the other to beat each other in this made up competition.

whenever you hook up with either of them, they will snap pics and take videos to gloat to the other. like jaemin will send jeno a pic of your naked bodies tangled up together after a good fucking captioned “😁” or jeno will send jaemin an uncaptioned video of you deepthroating his cock.

when jeno and jaemin hang out one on one, their new favorite thing to do together (besides you duh) is compare the suggestive snaps you send them or the sex tapes you made with each of them.

“jaemin, look at this lingeries pic i got last night ooh aren’t you so jealous?”

“jeno, hate to break it to you dude but she literally sent you that pic right before i ripped that off her and fucked her stupid.”

then he’d show jeno the video he got of you letting him tittyfuck, his cock rubbing so deliciously between your plump tits as you licked and sucked on the tip.

“fuck you jaem, lemme show you the time she let me take her ass then.”

all this competitiveness works out in your favor of course. you know about everything they do, from sending pics and videos of your hookups to comparing them when they’re with each other. all you have to do is tell jeno “ugh jaemin had me in this position last night and i have never felt so good” before jeno will seriously have you twisted like a pretzel and fucked dumb with his cock until you’re a sobbing mindless mess. or you’ll tell jaemin “jeno hit so deep in me earlier i could feel him in my lungs” before jaemin will take you on the wall, the mattress, the counter, the washing machine, the bathtub, and MORE balls deep and slapping your clit every time.

to switch it up every so often, you’d invite both of them at the same time over to your place, conveniently neglecting to tell them that the other would also be coming over.

you’d be lying on your back, legs up in the air, as jaemin ate and fingered your drooling little cunt when jeno would walk in, tutting and snarling at the sight.

“well, looks like this greedy little slut did it again. invited us both over because she can’t go a day without getting stuffed by two cocks.” jeno rips his clothes off and crawls onto the bed, grabbing your face into his strong grip and pressing a crushing kiss on your lips.

jaemin wouldn’t even look up from eating your pussy like a starved man, he’d smirk into your cunt and continue licking and sucking on it.

they’d do a rock paper scissors to see who gets to fuck your pussy first (jaemin won this time).

“what a fucking slut, jeno,” jaemin would pant, rutting his hips fast and deep into yours as he took you on all fours.

you were too busy licking and sucking on jeno’s cock in the front. “yeah, our slut. only we get to see her like this. isn’t that right huh babygirl?” jeno stroked your cheek affectionately.

you loved being a slut for jeno and jaemin.

[dabiloveln]

☆‧₊˚🎤✩ ₊˚🎸⊹♡✮˚｡𖦹 °✩ | part THREE❕finally ❕

being Fuyumi’s bestie and Touya’s girlfriend headcanons !! [ everyone is ooc ]

[ you are Fuyumi’s co-worker teacher and Touya is a rockstar ]

[ weeks later ] “sooo… will you be my girlfriend?” Touya asked you while he nervously walked from side to side in his room and waited for your answer through his phone. “Yeah… i mean… why not !!”

you agreed to help him with his upcoming solo project and to be a part of his music video as a “girlfriend” for his character, like you know, with the most basic storyline

[ the day the music video was released] You were sitting next to Touya looking at the screen and reading the comments and GOD it was so embarrassing you turned red, Fuyumi sat behind and was laughing at both of you

[ some comments under the music video ] they’re like a real couple :0 / OMG ? WHO IS SHE ? TOUYA GIVE US HER NAME / uhmm… i know they’re just pretending to be a couple but the way he looks at her…. i’m jealous / THE KISS SCENE DUDEEEEE / oh imagine if they’re dating oops / and more…

“Damnn… who knew we would look so good as a couple huh?” Touya said rewatching the mv once again, “and stop blushing, i’m just teasing, or not” he winked at you.

[ 01:17 ] You were walking home accompanied by him, discussing every topic possible, his further music plans, your work, his family, then laughing at cringe moments you remembered from filming the music video

he walked beside you and you glanced at him and GOD he was so gorgeous. under the moonlight his turquoise eyes looked even prettier than usual, his white hair and shiny piercings, literally everything about him was mesmerizing

as you reached your home you both stood awkwardly, not wanting to separate from each other and asking each other dumb questions just to talk more 😭

“uhmm… y/n, aren’t you having a day off tomorrow? maybe we can walk a bit more? if you’re okay with that, of course” minutes later you both reached the nearest beach

you both slowly walked by the shore admiring the beautiful view you had there “we should have filmed the kiss scene here” he was teasing you again but damn, you wished he wasn’t

once you were tired Touya sat on the sand, putting his jacket next to him for you to sit on it. you didn’t know what made you feel so nervous. maybe you were just cold? or maybe the feeling of something bad coming?

“y/n… i got to tell you something, but promise me you won’t beat the shit out of me okay? i mean you can, but please do not, hah” he was looking away from you, his voice sounded shaky, you never saw him so nervous before. “sure”

he made himself comfortable turning to you: “you know… i’m not really serious when it comes to flirting or teasing, i’m actually very bad at these things, call me a loser if you want. i’m so used of being alone and distant from people, not counting my family though, but it’s not about them. i never had close friends, or lovers or anything like that, i just… didn’t care about it. maybe i just wanted to think so, but then there’s you in my house, being so sweet and kind to a guy who barely speaks to you, showing me your interest in my music and becoming someone who’s willing to help me… even if it’s just dying my hair hah, you feel so comfortable to be around with. Every time we spend time together i find myself craving for more and more… like what the heck? i never was serious but i am right now. i actually suck at this game, i’m so unromantic and stupid, but… y/n. i like you, i REALLY do. it feels like you’re the only one i’m not scared to be open with. and i want you to feel the same about me… i know i can’t force you but i just-” he couldn’t finish his speech as you shut him up with a kiss.

you both confessed your feelings that night. “so, will you be my girlfriend? oh shit, wait, no… will you let me be your man?” Touya held your hands.

he even told you he enjoyed reading the comments about how good you two look together ;)

he proudly called you a rockstar girlfriend when you started dating (his dream came true) even in front of his family

they already know you as Fuyumi’s colleague and friend, but they just like you even more now 🥺 mama Rei treats you as her second daughter and always asks you to stay overnight, Enji is like… as always (but deep down this man felt actually glad his son is happy with the right person)

you were added to the family chat !!

Touya decided it would be better if you both kept your relationship as a secret, at least your identity. your safety was his responsibility and he doesn’t want jealous fans bother you

THIS MAN SPOILS YOU SO MUCH 🤚🏻 you want to see your favorite band? he will get you the best VIP tickets. you mentioned that one black dress that caught your attention? check your wardrobe the next day. you never needed anything for him, but he was taught to take care of the loved ones (mama Rei and Fuyumi give him the best advices)

COUPLE PIERCINGS with the matching accessories is a must.

of course you’ve got the endless free pass ticket for his concerts, and of course he sings the songs which were written inspired by the relationship while searching for you in the crowd

bonus:

[months later]

Touya is lying on your chest holding you tightly while you’re caressing his head and playing with his now dyed black strands of hair. You’ve moved into your own apartment recently and nights like this one are usual. Both tired of work just spending quiet hours together.

Touya speaks softly, “you know, lately i’ve been thinking about what would be if we never spoke. i’d probably still be in my room rotting lonely..,” he looks up at you, “but i’m glad i don’t have to worry about it when i can feel your touch in moments like now”

little did you know he already knows your finger size and he’s planning to spend the rest of his life with his little rockstar.

guys i’m so sorry for taking so long with part three, but i hope you like it even a little bit 🤍 thank you for reading !! i’m not a writer at all but i really wanted to make this a thing and bring some delusions hah (if there are mistakes please forgive me)

part one part two

taglist: @sikuthealien @briethekitsune @cici-sunshine @moonchild701 @greenmanshoe @miikalias @ravenredwine

[inawickedlittletown]

What Do You Mean, A Plane (BuckTommy) - 8x03 coda

Read on Ao3

“I really hope those idiots get a huge fine,” Tommy said. 

Lucy bumped her shoulder against him. “I think they will.” 

“How many incidents like this is it going to take before people figure out that it isn’t a good idea to use a freaking explosive to find out the sex of their baby?” Tommy asked. 

Lucy sighed. “In premise it’s a cute concept if it’s like a cake with pink or blue frosting inside but it has gotten out of hand.” 

“And what if the kid is nonbinary? Or trans? Then what, the parents went through all this trouble just to then realize that they were wrong the whole time. I just don’t get it. And considering how dumb they and their offspring are likely to be, what if they go and have a different gender reveal and set off another fire even when they’re told that the dry climate isn’t the time or place to do something like this.” 

“You’re just a grump today, aren’t you,” Lucy said with a grin. “Lighten up, I think we should be good to go home in a bit. And hey, at least now I know I’m not expecting a gender reveal party whenever you and Buck wind up having kids.” 

Tommy decided to ignore her second statement. It was way too soon to think about kids even if Tommy could picture it. 

Lucy gave him a nudge. “Too early?” 

“We haven’t even moved in together yet. Yes, too early.” 

“Yes, but you want him to move in, don’t you.” 

She was not wrong. Evan was at his house all the time as it was, but the times when he wasn’t it felt emptier and far more quiet than Tommy preferred. 

“That’s not a denial,” Lucy said. “Come on, Kinard, this was not that bad.” 

It wasn’t. Tommy had been in the air to start dropping retardant and also helping smokejumpers get to the fire from the inside. Then, he’d been told to bring the copter down and join the ground crew. He’d found Lucy there. 

“Any idea why they brought us down?” She’d asked. 

“I guess they needed more hands down here,” Tommy said, but took note that there were no other helicopters or jets flying over the fire.

It had been a long day, but the fire was basically out, some smoke still rising into the sky. He really did think going home sounded perfect. It’d be even better if Evan was there, but Evan was on shift probably still dealing with calls related to the killer bees. Evan had said the weather had likely sent them on their way and Tommy supposed the smoke from the forest fire had calmed them too. Probably. No more bee-nados. 

When they did get cleared to go, Tommy just let out a huge yawn. Maybe it was the lack of sleep making him feel grumpy. Except that he would still be pissed at stupid people and gender reveal parties if he was fully rested. He and Lucy wound up hitching a ride with another company and they were all far too tired to talk to each other. 

Tommy checked his phone instead of making small talk. There were a few emails. Promotional garbage, a couple of bills that were on autopay and a few other random things. Nothing that required his attention. Evan hadn’t called or texted since the morning, but Tommy had seen and responded to that text. 

Evan: I don’t know what’s bothering me more today, Gerrard or the noise from the construction. 

Tommy: Tune them both out? Hang in there. 

When they got back to Harbor, he ignored the way that some of his coworkers seemed glued to the tv in the break room in favor of going to get cleaned up and out of his sweat drenched clothes. By the time he was done, they all seemed to have scattered again. The last he saw was a helicopter going up into the sky. 

He made it out to his car and found that there was way more traffic than should be normal especially when he wasn’t getting on a highway, so he put on a podcast and didn’t mind the longer drive. He made it home in one piece and then after warming up some of the leftovers went straight to his bedroom, got out of his clothes, and climbed into bed. He sent Evan a text before putting his phone on do not disturb. 

Tommy: Fire’s out. I’m home. Come over when you’re done with your shift, I’ll probably still be asleep when you do. Be safe out there. 

Then, he passed out. 

Tommy woke up when he heard his front door open, but stayed in bed until Evan made it to his room, sitting up slowly and blinking at him. 

“Shit, did I wake you?” Evan asked, voice low. 

“It’s okay. Hi, Evan.” 

“Hi,” Evan said and he crossed the room to lean over to kiss Tommy. 

“What time is it?” 

“Little after two,” Evan said as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m actually surprised we were allowed to go. They’re still working on clearing the plane. I guess if you call out half the firehouses out they had too many of us to keep all of us.”

Tommy blinked a few times. “What do you mean, a plane?” he asked. 

“The one that landed on the 110?”

“What?” Tommy asked. “A plane landed on the 110?” 

“Yeah,” Evan said, “why do you think everyone was grounded? Weren’t you? Anyway, Athena landed the plane on the 110 after Bobby and I cleared it for her. Everyone made it. Well…not the Captain I think they said she was pulled out through a hole. The co-pilot had a heart attack.”

Tommy was at a loss for words. And then, it hit him…

“Did you just say Athena landed the plane?” 

Evan nodded. “But don’t tell anyone. Bobby says she wants to remain anonymous. She’s happy to just be the passenger that saved the day.” 

“Evan, we’re going to have to backtrack to the beginning. I haven’t heard about any of this.” 

“Oh,” Evan said, eyes widening. “How? It was on every news station.” 

“I was at a fire,” Tommy said.

Evan went through it. An in air collision that wound up with Athena of all people in the pilot’s seat with a kid that was at most twelve. How the 118 had spent most of their day talking people on the plane through triage and first aid for other passengers. How Evan had been trying to reach Bobby the whole day and then just went to get him instead. Lucky decision as it turned out. 

“Who talked Athena through all of it?” Tommy asked. 

“ATC got a flight instructor on the phone,” Evan said. “It worked even when the plane couldn’t be turned.” 

“The plane had no rudder?” Tommy asked.

“The plane had at least two holes and caught on fire after landing,” Evan said. “Sure add not having a rudder.” 

“Evan,” Tommy said because it was not the time for joking. 

“Bobby, Brad, and I were on the phone with Athena trying to get to the airport when she found out it wasn’t going to turn, so we wound up clearing the highway for her to land. It all worked out.” 

Tommy let out a breath and he reached for Evan’s hand. It did work out. Tommy had clearly missed the whole thing, but it had worked out and that was very important to him especially because it meant that Evan had come home to him. Still, a small part of him did wish he’d been looped in. Tommy had never flown a commercial passenger plane or anything, but he did know how. At one point he’d even considered that a possibility after the Army. Tommy didn’t know how much help he could have offered from the ground, though, and Athena had already been connected to a flight instructor. Still, that didn’t meant that he didn’t feel a little left out maybe. 

“Wait, you said you had to clear traffic on the 110,” Tommy said. “How’d you manage that?” 

“Borrowed a motorcycle,” Evan said. 

“Borrowed a motorcycle,” Tommy repeated. 

“Needed to get there somehow,” Evan said. “Bobby and I already stole a truck from the set of the show.” 

Tommy let out a small laugh at that. “What?” 

“How do you think we were at the right place at the right time.” 

They talked a little more about it. How Bobby had taken a firetruck off the set of Hotshots and how they were joined by one of the actors. How it took a while for anyone else to arrive. How Buck had felt the windstream of the plane as it came down. 

“It was so good to see Bobby take charge. I missed him so much, Tommy.”

“I know,” Tommy said. “I know you do. Where was Gerrard during all of this?” 

At that, Evan pulled away, he turned so he could look directly at Tommy. 

“He was — probably still is — in the hospital. They never did get back to us on how he was.” 

“The hospital? What happened to him?”

Evan went stiff. “Uh…so he got in my face again. Started just ranting at me and then I heard one of the buzzsaws come loose. Well, no, I don’t know if I did. I pushed Gerrard so hard he hit his head on the ground. There was so much blood, Tommy. Hen thought he was concussed.”  

Whatever he felt about Gerrard, and whatever that man deserved, he didn’t like what this was doing to Evan. Tommy sat up a little more, letting his sheet pool at his waist. He pulled at Evan until Evan scooted next to Tommy, leaned into him. 

“The buzzsaw would have hit him?” Tommy confirmed. 

Evan gave a nod. “I just acted. Pushed him. But I was so angry so I don’t — I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know if I did it to save him. I don’t know.” 

Tommy wrapped an arm around him, brought Evan right into him and kissed the side of his head. 

“I know you, Evan, and Gerrard has been taunting you and driving you crazy for months, and while I think he can hit nerves — he’s good at it — you wouldn’t turn to violence even against him. I think you saved him.”

Evan groaned. “I’m going to get fired, aren’t I?” 

“Why?” Tommy asked. “You saved your Captain’s life even if you did injure him and you were instrumental in saving a whole bunch of people both on and off that plane. I really can’t believe I missed it.” 

“Well if not fired, then how much worse is Gerrard going to be?” 

That Tommy couldn’t predict. Gerrard was a loose cannon, a bigoted one that didn’t approve of anyone and had certainly had it out for Evan from day one. Tommy hated how powerless it made him feel, but he could be the shoulder that Evan leaned on. 

“Hey, whatever he does, I know you can handle it. Now, tell me again about you stealing a prop from a set, how does that even work?” 

“Apparently they use real trucks even if they’re not outfitted with the right tools,” Evan said. 

“And the motorcycle. And why is this the first I’m hearing about you knowing how to drive one.” 

Evan laughed, leaning into him. “Tommy, I’m so glad I could come here after all that madness.” 

“Me too, Evan. Me too.” 

The next morning, when he finally got around to watching the footage of the whole thing he figured it was probably better he hadn’t known until after the fact, when he already knew that Evan was alright and that so was everyone else. 

[astro-ellie]

thinking about being abby’s best friend and absolutely hating owen. you don’t think he deserves abby at all, he’s such a douche. he’s just not good enough for her, that’s it.

it’s totally not because you’ve been hopelessly in love with your best friend for the past five years. nope, it’s cause she could do so much better than that. owen is an idiot. he’s not her boyfriend yet, but they’re definitely past the talking-stage now. just a matter of time before they make it official.

when abby shows up at your front door for your weekly sleepover, snacks in hand and her bag hanging off her shoulders, you push your thoughts about owen to the back of your mind and focus on her instead. focus on abby, focus, focus, focus.

when you’re both laying on your bed, watching some old romcom on your computer, you don’t notice the way abby looks at you. you’re fully focused on the screen, but abby’s eyes never leave your face. it’s not until she reaches over the pause the movie you look up, and the look in her eyes is enough to have you blushing.

“hey…” abby nibbles on her lip before continuing; “is something wrong?” there’s a concern in her voice, and she looks genuinely worried. you stay silent for a few more seconds while your eyes dart around her face. you hope, hope she doesn’t notice the way your eyes linger on her lips.

“what do you mean?” you’re playing dumb now, you know she’s not really talking about tonight. you’ve been acting weird lately, avoiding your friend group and when you do actually spend time with them you don’t really talk too much anymore.

but how can you tell abby it’s cause her stupid boyfriend is there and you hate his guts? that something is wrong, and that is that she’s with him and not with someone like you.

“c’mon, something’s off. you can tell me, we’re friends right?” and abby bumps her shoulder into yours, and nibbles on on her lips again. just hearing the word friends is enough to make the feeling of disappointment spread in your chest. letting out a defeated; “yeah, we’re friends.”

abby just keeps on looking at you, waiting for an explanation why you’ve been weird. you can tell she’s not going to drop it so eventually you cave in. “just don’t do wanna get in the way, or like i don’t want to… third wheel? just don’t wanna…”

it’s a lousy excuse. really, how can you be the third wheel when manny’s always there? you’re like, the fourth wheel.

you feel a little bit embarrassed when looking at abby, but she just seems confused. “who you third wheeling?”

“uh, you and owen?” now you’re the one confused. who else could you possibly be talking about? are you missing something, or has abby been hit by a sudden wave on amnesia?

the embarrassment you felt earlier just grows stronger when abby starts laughing at you. it’s not a mean laughter, more like a surprised one. still stings though.

“me and owen aren’t- we’re not together or anything.” abby just leans her face closer to yours, and you can practically feel her breath on your own lips.

a bitter “yet” is all you let out and abby can’t help but smile at the pout on your face. she lets out a breathy laugh, bumping into your shoulder once again. “oh my god, me and owen are not going to get together. ever.”

“but i thought-“ and before you can finish your sentence, abby interrupts you. “i’m not even into owen like that. i like someone else” abby’s words has you speechless, feeling your cheeks heat up in frustration. so it’s not owen that you need to worry about, but someone else. great.

somehow it felt worse that it was someone else. because owen has always been a douche. it’s easier to compete against an asshole like him than someone who’s actually nice, and funny, and pretty. three boxes that this mysterious crush probably ticked off.

“what? who?” your hands are on her shoulders now, and you playfully shake her. abby just smiles mockingly at you before she presses the space bar on your computer, the movie you had forgotten about how playing again.

“hey! you gotta tell me, we’re like best friends, best friends tell each other everything” you wince after speaking, cause you don’t tell her everything. guilting abby into telling you about this crush when you haven’t told her about your crush feels low, but it’s too late now. your words are left hanging in the air, until abby suddenly starts speaking again.

“okay, okay. i actually thought she knew i liked her, been into her since forever.” she completely lost you the moment she said “she” instead of “he”. ever since you two first became friends all abby ever had eyes for were boys. and you had learnt to be fine with that, knowing that she would never look at you like she looked at those guys.

you didn’t know if it made you happy to hear this, if it felt good knowing you had more of a chance with her than you initially believed. it did feel a little bit like you were playing in the same league now that you knew she had eyes for women as well.

but you knew that there was no guarantee that she one day would reciprocate your feelings just because she liked women. it felt bittersweet, and lost in your thoughts you didn’t even notice abby had stopped talking. slowly, she closed your laptop completely and moved it further away from you two.

when she moved in front of you and into a sitting position, you finally snapped out of it. sitting up as well, trying to play the way you zoned off. “sorry, you were saying?”

“i said, i thought she knew. that i liked her. but i’m not sure anymore” it almost felt as if she was teasing you, with her head leaning to the side and that small playful smile on her lips.

“really? why’s that?” clearing your throat, trying to make yourself sound casual and cool. abby leans forward a little bit, and whispers as if she’s telling you her biggest secret. “she keeps on inviting me to her apartment for weekly movie dates. but i’m starting to suspect that she thinks they’re friendly hangouts and not dates”

if there’s one thing abby anderson has always been good at, it’s making you speechless. tonight is no exception, and if honestly takes you a good minute to manage to get any words out.

“oh my god, abby! you’re totally fucking with me!” it does feel a little bit humiliating, but obviously abby doesn’t know you like her like that. so how would she be able to know about the hurt her joke left you with?

“no, i’m not!” all she does is laugh at you, grabbing onto your shoulders before letting out a soft; “it’s you. i like you”

and before you know it, abby presses her lips against yours. it’s a soft and quick kiss, innocent and pure, but it’s enough to make butterflies spread through your body.

”wait- why, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” it’s hard to get the sentence out, all you can focus on is the way abby’s staring at your lips.

“like i said, thought you knew. until you started getting so jealous over owen” and you open your mouth to deny the accusations before you realise there’s no point. also, abby likes you back. who cares if she knows you were jealous of owen? “even manny knew, said he could see it in my eyes and all. didn’t realise you’d be so oblivious-“

“abby, just shut up and kiss me again.” and abby grins at you one last time before leaning in, your lips so close they’re almost touching. she mumbles something against your mouth before pressing another kiss, this one much longer and less soft.

“yes, ma’am”

[formosusiniquis]

my @steddiesummerexchange gift fic for @oh-stars! I was so excited to work on this prompt: penpals through childhood until they both graduate -- road trip to meet one another in person. Epistolary fics are always a favorite of mine. oh-stars is such a brilliant writer and bright spot in the fandom, I was excited to be able to write a little something for her, I hope you like it!

October 13, 1976 Dear Eddie,

Mrs. Simpson says I’m supposed to thank you for volunteering to be my partner even though you’re a fifth grader. I don’t know why I should though since now I actually have to do this stupid pen pal project. I know she only paired me with an older kid cause she thinks I’m dumb. But thanks for the extra work I guess.

She said she wasn’t gonna read these before she sent them off, just that she was gonna make sure they were a page front and back like they were supposed to be. But I don’t really believe her. So I guess I should actually write this right.

Hi Eddie. My name is Steve Harrington. I’m 10 years old because I got put in Kindergarten late cause my parents were too busy in wherever my dad does his business stuff and my au pair -- that’s fancy for babysitter who lives in your house -- couldn’t do it. My birthday is in September, almost at the end (the 27th), so I guess that’s why it was okay. When’s your birthday (Mrs. Simpson says a friendly letter is supposed to ask questions.)

My favorite things are yellow and sports. I’m the best at red rover and kickball, Tommy says it's cause I’m the oldest and biggest in our class but he’s a sore loser and couldn’t even break through the girl side of the red rover line. Do you play games? Mrs. Simpson talks about your Hawkins like it’s on a different planet but you’re just in Kentucky. It’s right across the river. I’ve been there a couple times when Dad likes me and we’ll go watch Louisville play basketball. Basketball is my favorite sport but the only outside court is at the park and the big teenagers are always on it.

When you write back you can tell me what sports and games you like. Does your Dad ever bring you to Indiana to watch stuff? The Pacers only played okay last season and they lost to Kentucky in the playoffs. Is that who you root for?

Oh and I’m supposed to ask you about school since this is like homework. I kinda already did that at the beginning, remember. Do you like English or something? Is that why you asked for extra work? Or was your pen pal last year just a super dud?

That’s front and back now.

Sincerely (cause we aren’t friends), Steve Harrington

October 25, 1976 Dear Steve,

First of all I didn’t ask to have to write a letter to some fourth grader. I was told because I’m the only kid who didn’t do it last year that I had to be your partner. I do like English but extra work isn’t fun for anybody. I’ve never had a pen pal before so you’re the best and the worst one I’ve ever had. Are teachers allowed to call people dumb at your school? Mine just look at me like a really weird bug on the road or something.

Your teacher sounds like a real pain in the side, that’s what my Uncle Wayne would say. I think it’s cause he’s pretending he doesn’t know the word bitch. She talks about this Hawkins like it’s on another planet because it’s in the Appalachian Mountains and people think everyone here is stupid and marries their cousins.

Some of them are stupid but they would be like that anywhere it’s not because they live out here.

I’m actually from Lexington though so it isn’t even my Hawkins, but my Uncle Wayne lives here and he has to watch me for a little while.

You didn’t really ask me anything good about myself. I’m Eddie Munson, I’m going to be 11 when it’s my birthday this year (Halloween the coolest birthday cause everyone gives you candy). Red and black are my favorite colors. I don’t like any sports at all, they’re all stupid but everyone knows about basketball here, it's more important than church. Everywhere has games but when you get to fifth grade you learn which ones are for babies.

I like imagination games the best cause then I don’t have to worry about anyone else playing with me. There’s lots of woods here so I can go in them and hunt monsters or dragons or be an elf like in my favorite books.

Wayne’s looking over my shoulder and says I’m supposed to ask you a question. So what’s your favorite book? Do you like fantasy, that’s my favorite but the science fiction stuff with aliens is cool too.

I know you asked about my dad but since I live with Wayne I’m gonna use him instead. He hasn’t ever taken me to Indiana cause “his truck weren’t meant to leave these hills” whatever that means. He said he roots for The Colonels but he wishes your Pacers luck this season. What’s a Pacer anyway?

Do I have to ask you about school too? I don’t think this is homework for me more like extra credit. If you don’t like English what do you like? Don’t say recess or lunch those are cheating answers.

Not your friend either, Eddie Munson

Continue on AO3

[yourpeepysucksdotorg]

Looking back on my syscourse days with the wisdom of age, I feel as if I can pinpoint a single psychological concept that explains why syscourse is so prevalent to begin with, and why it’s so toxic and inescapable; group polarization. Basically, people are more likely to come to extreme conclusions or make risky decisions when in a group with those sharing the same ideologies, even though most members of the group will have the same core beliefs that aren’t nearly as radical.

In syscourse, this most often occurs when people debate the validity of endogenic systems. It also makes it impossible to have a good-faith discussion on the matter.

I’m not endo-neutral, and while my thoughts on the matter can be found elsewhere on my blog, I’ll remain neutral for the sake of this post making it to as many people as possible, because I genuinely believe so much fighting could be stopped if we just recognized the unhealthy patterns we’ve fallen into. Disordered systems who are anti-endo seem to blame endogenic systems for a lot of things, and while I’m not endogenic, I can pretty accurately guess that having a bunch of strangers tell you that you make their lives worse by expressing your identity makes you feel shitty. This keeps the two communities separated outside of verbal spats, and of course, after these spats, members of both communities will want support. Once again, I can’t speak from the endogenic perspective. But I know that anti-endos will continue to perpetuate that endos are bad, that you didn’t do anything wrong, that they’re just dumb and stupid. Which, I can assume this keeps endogenic systems in constant defense mode, as they constantly have to check which system blogs or servers are or aren’t okay to interact with, out of fear of being attacked by other systems, or worse, becoming some kind of lolcow for singlets.

When both sides feel like they’re being attacked, no productive discussion can be had. Once again, I do have my own opinions on the matter, but right now, I’m really just advocating for all systems to treat each other like living beings. If someone is being terrible to you, there’s no pressure to fight back. Just block them. While that one person might be an asshole, there are so many more people who care about you, support you, and want you to exist more than you even know. This is a saying as old as time, but don’t feed the trolls. Don’t aggressively retaliate, because you’re just giving them more material to bend to their will. And if you’re the one perpetuating assholery, just stop.

Maybe I’m just being an optimist, but I believe that so much syscourse could become irrelevant if we realized that the world isn’t black and white, and there aren’t good and evil systems. We’re all in this together, singlets are still gonna treat us like we’re nuts. We need to stand united rather than push each other further and further away.

[werepuppy-steve]

like june, august was also a rough month. work has been kicking my ass more and more lately, leaving me little to no time to enjoy my hobbies. i've been playing video games more recently to get my brain to relax and unwind more than i've been reading, admittedly. but we're trying our best.

something new this time: a gen rec section where i rec any non stranger things/steddie fics i read for the month!

<- july fic rec • more fic recs • my ao3

you were warm when everything was cold - G, 5.4k, complete @lesbianrobin

tags: lumax, background steddie, established relationship, masculinity crisis, lucas centric

There’s something about watching Steve and Eddie that makes his chest ache, just a little bit. Something that feels like it’s just out of reach, like if he could just jump an inch higher he could grasp it and know what it is, have a name for it, figure out what feels like it’s missing with Max. He never felt like something was missing with Max before. She was perfect. She is perfect! Like, sure, not actually perfect, because nobody’s actually perfect, but she’s perfect for him just like he hopes he’s perfect for her, and they’re perfect together. Maybe Lucas is overcompensating.

Sweet Boy - E, 2/2, complete Ghost_ing_Temptations

tags: dom/sub, puppy play, accidental subspace, good boy steve harrington

Steve is used to it by now, the teasing 'good dog's thrown his way, the occasional 'fetch.' He's not sure when the idea of him as the Party's resident guard dog started, but he's gotten over the swirling feeling in his stomach at those words... pretty much. Regardless, Robin is capable of convincing him of anything. So here he is hosting a Halloween get together dressed in ears, a tail and the real kicker - a collar. What could go wrong?

Horny for Horsepower - E, 2.5k, complete Oralmystery

tags: crackfic, transformers au, masturbation

Steve is a transformer and Eddie is the mechanic in love with him. Dustin accidentally spills soda all over Steve’s backseat and Eddie has to clean it up. In spite of Eddie's best efforts the sticky situation only gets stickier.

future in your hand (signed, sealed, delivered) - T, 10.3k, complete formous_iniquis

tags: no upside down au, penpals, childhood friends to lovers, appalachian eddie, road trips

Dear Eddie, Mrs. Simpson says I’m supposed to thank you for volunteering to be my partner even though you’re a fifth grader. I don’t know why I should though since now I actually have to do this stupid pen pal project. I know she only paired me with an older kid cause she thinks I’m dumb. But thanks for the extra work I guess. Sincerely (cause we aren’t friends), Steve Harrington --- Assigned to be pen pals elementary school, Steve and Eddie find themselves growing closer than they could have imagined as children. Sending letters where they become confidants, friends, and more over the years they write to one another. Nearly a decade after they start an incident sends Steve himself to Eddie. The two leave Hawkins and road trip together to their Happily Ever After.

Burnin' for You - T, 7.1k, complete @soaringornithopter

tags: no upside down au, modern au, t4t steddie, mutual pining, getting together

During a record breaking heatwave, the residents of Hawkins are forced to endure rolling blackouts. Eddie learns he can't handle the unbearable heat and takes steps to try to improve his situation. While on the hunt for work, he repeatedly crosses paths with Steve, who decides to invite Eddie over to take a break from the weather by enjoying the Harrington's pool and reliable central air conditioning. It may take a few visits before they finally get what they both want.

crush notes - T, 4/4, complete @steddiecameraroll

tags: post-s2, secret admirer, getting together

“So, you’re getting love letters?” “Well, I wouldn’t call them love letters, more like crush notes…” Eddie Munson has a secret admirer. He has no idea who it could be, but maybe his new friendship with the one and only Steve Harrington can come in handy.

honeysuckle - E, 2.4k, complete (ao3) @hawkinsbnbg

tags: dom/sub, breeding kink, cock cages, face slapping, daddy kink, good boy steve harrington, overstimulation, prostate milking

Eddie didn't look upset per se. He looked— Amused. Like he knew exactly why Steve acted that way and was more than ready to make it worse.

hidden lace - E, 2.8k, complete (ao3) @steddieas-shegoes

tags: lingerie, secret relationship, car sex, public sex, top eddie, bottom steve

Steve is pissed at Eddie. Like, genuinely pissed. Not that cute, haha my boyfriend was being annoying but I love him, pissed. The kind where if he saw him right now, he’d do something really stupid, like yell or break up with him. And he knew he didn’t actually want to do that.

Bark At The Moon - T, WIP @evillittleguy

tags: pre-series, canon rewrite, werewolf steve, pining

He just wants to go home. He doesn’t even know what home is anymore. He rolls onto his butt and sits in the dirt. Alone in the woods he lets himself cry.  After the worst of it is over and he’s sniffling away the snot and the tears- wiping with his sleeve- he realizes he’s being watched and freezes. In front of him only a few feet away a small honey-brown wolf is poorly hidden in the underbrush.

Coming home to you - E, 1.3k, complete @just-my-latest-hyperfixation

tags: established relationship, post series, fluff and smut, soft dom eddie, sub steve, dry humping

Eddie is halfway through composing an absolutely sick riff when the front door slams shut. The sound rattles the walls of the apartment and sends one of their framed photos askew. Eddie blinks, pulling off his headphones and taking a few moments to get his bearings. It’s starting to turn dark outside and his stomach is rumbling. Shit, for how long was he out?  “Stevie? You home?” he calls, but the apartment stays quiet, bar for the creak of the bedroom door and the thud of a body hitting the mattress. Eddie frowns, setting the guitar aside and padding across the hallway.

don't' want to move on - E, 3.1k, complete (ao3) @steddieas-shegoes

tags: modern au, exes to lovers, frottage

If Steve knows one thing, it’s that Eddie knows how to get under his skin and in his bed. Ever since their breakup, a disaster of epic proportions for the entire friend group, Steve’s kept his distance from every possible interaction with Eddie. He’s made sure to find reasons to miss group outings and put himself on the schedule at work on the nights when he knew Eddie would be at movie nights or dinner. He purposely scheduled pool parties for days and times he knew Eddie would be busy. But he couldn’t get out of this one. And now he has Eddie’s eyes on him from across the room, staring into his soul, reading his mind probably.

Heartache to Heartache - E, 1.7k, complete (ao3) @steddie-island | kintsugi_kid

tags: established relationship, make up sex, top eddie, bottom steve

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Eddie had asked. His hands shook with his anger, his frustration, with the desire to grab this stupid beautiful boy by the shoulders. "What the fuck, Steve?" "I was helping," Steve said, clearly confused. "I just wanted to help—" "No, you were just using Daddy's money to make problems go away again." Steve had winced at that, but then he'd straightened his spine. "Yeah, I used my dad's money. So what? Why does it matter how it got paid for?" or Steve and Eddie have a fight. And then they get to make up about it.

Do it for him - T, 1.5k, complete (ao3) @steddie-island | kintsugi_kid

tags: established relationship, medical trauma, hurt/comfort

"I'm worried about you," Eddie had whispered in bed one morning, when Steve was in that soft space between sleep and wakefulness. "I know your hearing is getting worse, and you need glasses… I know you didn't get looked at after everything, and I get why, but…" He'd kissed Steve's hair, his temple, his cheek. "I can't lose you. Please, Stevie. For me?" That was all it had taken for Steve to finally give in. or Eddie helps Steve face his fears and get himself checked out.

Safe With You - E, 4.8k, complete (ao3) @hotluncheddie

tags: established relationship, daddy kink, under-negotiated kink, hurt/comfort, soft dom eddie, sub steve

‘Tell me something.’ Eddie says between kisses, quiet and deep and Steve feels like there’s whisky in his belly, thrumming through his veins. Drunk on Eddie Munson. ‘Tell me what you like, show me. Let me help baby.’ His hooded eyes pull Steve in, fingers stroking hairs away from his forehead and lips pressing kisses to his cheekbones. Steve doesn’t know how to answer, how to ask for something he wants. ‘No, I. Te-tell me what you like.’ He says, pulling Eddie’s shirt up and off, giving himself a moment away from eye contact, away from the vulnerability Eddie draws out of him. Eddie lets his T-shirt be tossed away, pulling Steve close and swaying them again gently. Slowing the moment once more. ‘Mmm, I like lots of things. Like making pretty boys feel good, for one.’ He ponders, hand soothing up and down Steve’s back. ‘And you, honey, are the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.’ He smiles, teeth glinting in the soft lamplight. Steve ducks his head as his cheeks flush, smiling, hiding in Eddie’s shoulder. (Or Steve and Eddie try something new, it doesn't quite go to plan, but they talk it through.)

Beautiful Decline - M/E, series, WIP Izzy_Grinch | @troublemakingrebel

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr, rough sex, age difference, secret relationship, good boy ceolbert, falling in love, fix it fic

On a celebration that takes place the night after his father has been crowned a new King of Mercia, Ceolbert feels unwisely bold and seeks Ivarr's company.

Of Dandelions and Nettles - E, 22.3k, complete Izzy_Grinch | @troublemakingrebel

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr, friends to lovers, age difference, first time, ivarr lets ceol-baby get away with so much and everyone is shocked, drunk sex, morning after, flower language

Even when Ceolbert messes up Ivarr's game of Orlog, his plans to pass out drinking and his intentions to wake up alone, Ivarr lets him, as he lets his own hands wander into Ceolbert's hair and down his pliable skin.

Hay Fever - E, 5/5, complete Izzy_Grinch | @troublemakingrebel

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr, age difference, friends to lovers, not so secret relationship, time skips, sexual tension,they fuck in so many stables yall

All it takes is a snap of the last straw. Over the course of five chapters, Ceolbert walks a path from his father's son to a Prince, to an Ealdorman, to a King, each milestone celebrated with Ivarr by his side in the questionable privacy of the local stables.

The Skillful Hunter - M, 5/5, complete hapaxlegomena

tags: assassin's creed valhalla, ceolvarr + ubba, age difference, impotence

Ivarr and Ceolbert pass a year together. Hunting, learning the art of war, and other things a man has to know.

[symptomofgout]

the narrative of kaveh being an idiot is so baffling to me because he is, quite literally, canonically considered a genius…? why is the popular consensus “6000 IQ alhaitham and his lovably stupid roommate kaveh” when every npc commenting on kaveh refers to his intellect & talent, the literal god of wisdom says kaveh has an “almost-perfect grasp of what it truly means for sumeru to be a nation of wisdom” (whereas she questions alhaitham’s wisdom in her line about him), and alhaitham’s own story profile calls kaveh a genius multiple times??? like the whole point is that he’s alhaitham’s intellectual equal despite having entirely separate worldviews and demeanors, which frustrates alhaitham to no end — ‘how can someone so smart do all of these things that, to me, are so evidently stupid?’ the takeaway from their dynamic should NOT be kaveh is dumb, but rather that empathy and emotion aren’t actually the opposites of logic and intelligence, but sadly both alhaitham and the realm of academia as a whole are too blinded by their own definitions of logic to fully realize that.

tl;dr kaveh is not dumb by any standards and i will prove it

(under the cut: quotes/screenshots/etc proving this + more. please spread the gospel and dispel ignorance. amen)

some npc voicelines (there are more but i’m lazy):

these are pretty self-explanatory — kaveh is a widely-renowned scholar, architect, and engineer throughout sumeru. he graduated from the akademiya with flying colors, students were desperate to take his classes, etc.

nahida’s voicelines:

both are intelligent but only one is wise: kaveh. alhaitham is too restricted by his narrow definition of wisdom (read: what he deems ‘logical’) to look beyond himself and grasp that there’s more to intellect and knowledge than pure cold rationality. he can’t comprehend that empathy and intellect aren’t fundamentally incompatible — in fact, they’re best when put hand in hand. kaveh is one of the few scholars capable of valuing emotions, empathy, and artistic endeavors, while the rest of the akademiya closes themselves off to that entire realm of knowledge from the get-go. this is what makes kaveh uniquely wise, and what alhaitham lacks. until you understand that emotions and logic can and should coexist, you won’t be successful in the true pursuit of knowledge.

last but not least:

alhaitham’s profile (worth noting that profile stories are pretty much the most reliable source of information on characters’ true beliefs and opinions — their voicelines are still them putting on acts in front of the traveler, but these stories are told from the perspective of an omniscient narrator and are likely closer to the truth):

“two geniuses.” and even after their falling out, “neither of them will deny the other party’s exceptional brilliance” — meaning alhaitham considers kaveh to be exceptionally brilliant. point blank. in the text bro

hilarious line — it’s basically alhaitham saying he doesn’t understand how someone with kaveh’s talent and intellect could have a personality/worldview so different from haitham’s. ‘how can someone that smart be so annoying!!!!!’ and ofc by values we know it’s referring to kaveh’s idealism, empathy, and affinity for the arts

alhaitham considers kaveh to be “another genius,” someone who is so much his intellectual equal that he’s “an excellent mirror” for alhaitham. it’s like an experiment for him — the initial question is “how can someone as smart as me care about all of these things i’ve always believed to be worthless,” the subjects are kaveh and alhaitham, the controlled variable is their intellect. because their intellect is the same, alhaitham is able to study their differences (can’t attribute said differences to varying intellect). alhaitham would never say it out loud — and luckily he doesn’t need to bc his character story tells us — but he’s deeply fascinated by kaveh bc kaveh’s very existence is a threat to haitham’s worldview, & he’s letting kaveh stay with him bc through kaveh, alhaitham learns about not just himself but the outside world and humanity as a whole, and as a scholar, there’s nothing more valuable. (also because he feels comfortable with kaveh [“he’s a familiar face”] and they’re both lonely [“similarly lacks familial attachments”] lol these two are never beating the We Know You Don’t Actually Hate Each Other allegations but that’s a different point so i digress)

IN CONCLUSION:

this is all just the TEXTUAL evidence — people saying “kaveh is smart” — and doesn’t even include all of the obvious implicit signs of kaveh’s intellect (no one who graduates from the akademiya w honors and teaches classes there could be anything other than incredibly intelligent, al “i don’t do anything that i don’t want to do” “i’m not going to bother explaining it to you because you won’t understand” haitham not only puts up with but actively seeks out debates with kaveh which he absolutely would not do if he didn’t respect him or consider him to be of roughly equal intellect, look at the debates he has w alhaitham on sumeru messageboards and TELL ME those messages sound like they were written by an idiot or itto or something [you cant], etc etc etc).

and also this is all from 3.3 (+ 3.4 alhaitham leaks)! we don’t even know kaveh’s rarity yet, that’s how far he is from being playable, but there’s already this much information on just how smart he is! it’s the main thing we know about him — 1) he’s smart, 2) he’s passionate/driven by what he feels is right! why does that keep turning into “LOL HOTHEADED HIMBO”??!

okay look. this is all so extra i know. BUT. i must set the record straight now (god knows it’ll only get worse the closer we get to kaveh’s release) because this sudden-onset mass illiteracy within genshin players is going to send me to an early grave. feel free to use as a resource and educate the ignorant so kaveh does not end up reduced to a one-note meme dumb guy when literally that’s just… not even in the game. i mean at least other annoying OOC fandom interpretations have basis in the game but genshin literally tells u every time it gets the opportunity that Kaveh Is Just As Smart As Alhaitham Because Cold Rationality Does Not Equal Wisdom/Intelligence and losing that would be such a crime because it is by far the most interesting n promising thing hoyo has done with new characters in ages! like, not only are they funny and entertaining, not only are they fascinating incredible foils for one another, but they’re used to make a much-needed argument against the prevalent hegemony of mindless rationality and our “logical” society’s illogical fear of emotion/empathy. but yeah sure, theyre just itto & ayato 2.0, i guess. god. the lack of reading comprehension among genshin players is literally an epidemic

[obsidiancreates]

The Smartest Dumb Person She's Ever Met (Shules Shawn Genius Reveal Fic)

“Shawn, this is ridiculous.” Even as she says it, Jules knows her smile completely undercuts her protests as Shawn sets out more and more and more plates of food.

“Babe, I told you, we are finding our new go-to takeout spot tonight,” Shawn insists. “We’ll just dump all the leftovers on Gus! He’ll love it, maybe even more than he loves watching debates about rash cream side-effects.”

“I don’t think he loves watching those, Shawn.”

“Then why does he spend hours on it every few months?”

“Well, maybe, because he has a day job. We’re not all so lucky to be employed by spirits and whims,” Jules teases lightheartedly as Shawn sits down and starts putting together a sampler plate. “Speaking of which, we didn’t talk about what I should expect from living with a psychic.”

“Aside from constant swooning and daily hair updates?”

“Aside from those.”

“Well, Jules, I’m afraid I can’t tell you what to expect, because I don’t know either.” Shawn hands her the plate, and sniffs. “Truth be told, this is uh… this is the first time I’ve moved in with somebody.”

Jules smiles softer. “Mine too. But I just mean… how often do you have visions outside of cases? And what about your dreams, are those affected?”

“No, not as far as I know- but I have been told I talk in my sleep.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Because you know me.” He kisses her before dishing up his own plate. “But uh, yeah, no psychic vision dreams for the most part.. … Well, sometimes, but not usually. And I can control the visions at home, don’t even worry another second about it.”

“Really? Because I thought you were completely beholden to them at all times.”

“Ehhhh… more or less.”

“Shawn.”

“Alright, so maybe a minor one here and there- but I’ll save the big stuff for the cases. No dramatic psych-outs in the living room.”

“Thank you.” Jules takes a bite of one of the various dishes on her plate, and coughs. “Oh my god, they used so much black pepper!”

“Let me try- hck! Oh my- ekch! That is just stupid, how much there is-”

“Get some water-”

“On it, on it, holy-”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn doesn’t have psychic visions or dreams, just like he promised.

But he has something else going on.

Jules starts noticing it after the first few days of lovey-dovey, disgustingly happy mushiness finally starts to settle into domesticity. She sits at the table and Shawn has a big stack of toaster waffles already drenched in syrup ready for both of them, even though he’s not a natural early riser, because it’s a day they both have off and it’s more Brunch than Lunch, and Shawn… isn’t eating.

His head is tilted, his eyes narrowed, and that usually means he’s having a vision. But this morning he’s just barely reading the newspaper- Jules is sure he’s not actually reading it, his eyes aren’t moving right for that, in fact they’re barely moving at all. They’re narrows and still, taking the paper in as one whole picture, probably absorbing nothing.

And she starts to realize he gets that look a lot, with no visions following them. He gets it when the delivery guy drops off their food, he gets it when the news comes on, he gets it when Lassiter comes over to drop off something Jules left in his car during a stakeout, and again and again and again.

And then it just goes away, and he doesn’t say anything. And she assumes, well, it’s a minor vision. He has them a lot more often than she had previously thought, clearly. Small, apparently unimportant visions that he just brushes off.

And then he tells her that they should stop getting takeout from the place two blocks away because the delivery guy is about to quit from being overworked. There’s no fanfare, no hand to his head, no sharp inhale- just an offhand statement that slips out right after he closes the front door.

It’s not the first time she’s heard him make a random prediction, not even close. But something about the understated nature of it makes her pause, and after a second she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve seen the state of that car they have him driving, it's one rough road away from falling to pieces. Plus his shoes are completely tattered, and his jeans, basically everything that’s not given to him as part of the uniform, but they’re also all stiff still- he just bought them and they’re already wrecked because of how many deliveries he’s making. That’d piss anyone off enough to quit, especially at his age.”

She hadn’t noticed that- at least, not all of it. She knew the car was a piece of junk, and the clothes were tattered, but thinking back she sees what Shawn means by them still looking stiff and out-of-the-box new. And somehow, somehow, she feels like if she points out that she hadn’t caught onto all of that herself, something… big, would just… slip away.

“That’s a shame, I like him,” is all she says instead. “He has a nice smile.”

“He just got his braces off, he’d probably literally skip for joy if he heard you say that,” Shawn says, handing over her food. Again, no fanfare, no theatrics- he just says it, unthinkingly, almost distracted as he digs into his honey cashew shrimp and chicken. 

It’s different. 

It has to be a vision, but it’s different. 

And again, Jules gets a feeling that pointing that out would break… something, about this moment. So she makes a note, and tucks it away in her mind, and hopes she’s able to remember to follow up later.

“Good for him.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn talks in his sleep most nights, as it turns out. 

It’s not very comprehensible majority of the time- usually all she can make out, when she’s even awake to hear it, is Shawn mumbling something to or about Gus. At first it’s a little offensive, frankly, that her boyfriend dreams about his best friend constantly and she never hears her own name, but it quickly becomes just… normal. Like most of Shawn and Gus’s codependency. Some days she feels like she’s dating both of them, just a little bit. It bothers her less than it probably should, certainly less than she would expect if she was an outside observer. Gus was Shawn’s original rock, his strongest pillar, his tightest tether, and she knew she’d never truly be able to match that even before she and Shawn got together. 

She should probably ask Gus about some of Shawn’s more daily psychic dealings, actually- he’s known Shawn for their whole loves, so he must have lots of advice for her about how to deal with it. And how to deal with the rest of Shawn’s… quirks. Which she loves about him, she truly does, as messy and intrusive as some of those quirks are in their lives. Psychic visions, murder scene dates, fearing that Shawn’s going to get himself killed with his daily recklessness. She had kissed him on that Canadian overlook expecting all of it, thinking she had finally come to learn everything she needed to learn about him.

And then, all those months and years later, she’s laying in bed unable to sleep and reading a book to try and calm down when Shawn mumbles out something shockingly understandable about the case they’re both working.

She freezes, as though her silent eye movements while reading could somehow disturb the moment.

“Doesn’ ma’ s’nse,” Shawn mumbles in his sleep. “Th’ t’re tr’cks…”

Jules slowly lowers her book.

Shawn rolls over, facing her now, still fast asleep, lightly snoring. Jules watches him like a deer caught in headlights.

“T’res don’ ma’ch,” Shawn mumbles out. “Tr’d too w’de…” His brow pinches, his lips pursing a little. There’s a long beat of silence.

Jules holds her breath. Like with the delivery boy, something about this moment just feels… big. Important.

Shawn’s face smooths out. “M’gn’ts.”

Magnets. 

Jules thinks about the case that they’ve been working together all week, a hit-and-run. They’ve got one witness who got a whole license plate number, they’ve got the plate number matching a car of that exact description, and the only problem is they’ve also got  a suspect who vehemently denies ever driving that route in his entire life. And like always when things seem straightforward, Shawn had declared that he wasn’t convinced they had the right guy. 

But that doesn’t help her figure out what magnets have to do with anything. After a moment she doesn’t have to figure it out on her own, because Shawn makes a soft noise of sleep-laden realization.

“Th’ s’x an’ th’ n’ne.” His hand twitches, roughly tracing out the numbers on the sheets. “Fl’p ‘em…”

Magnets. 

License plate number magnets. Moveable, alterable plate numbers.

“S’me car m’ke, s’me num’er, diff’ren’ t’re.” There’s a note of satisfaction, even in the sleep-slurred mess that is Shawn’s voice. He smiles a little in his sleep, and moments later… he’s snoring.

Jules sits, book almost falling out of her nonexistent grip, stunned into silence.

Shawn just cracked the case. In his sleep. With logic and authentic detective deduction. 

… But that’s not possible.

Shawn doesn’t work like that. He doesn’t pay attention to clues, reason out possibilities, connect dots. He receives visions, he relays them, he makes connections with the help of his abilities. And maybe she’s seen some times that contradict tha belief, but- but it’s just not how he works. She would know.

… Maybe he does get psychic dreams. Maybe he just doesn’t know he gets them? But there was a thought process there, and a natural one for it to come to him so easily in sleep. She’d heard every step of the process, followed him on each conclusion.

… But the tire treads not matching? Jules relaxes, closing her book and turning off the lamp. That had to be psychic. No-one else noticed or said anything about tire treads through the investigation. How would he even pick out and remember that detail, anyway, without spiritual guidance? He’d seen only photos of the crime scene, and not great ones at that- darn trainees.

… Psychic dreams. Has to be.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jules, look at that.” Shawn smiles and points at the ducks in the pond they’re having a picnic by. “There’s a bunch of baby ducks over there.”

Jules gasps and looks over eagerly, but quickly frowns. “Where?”

“Right there, in those tall hot-dog looking things.”

“Um, the reeds?”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

Jules squints, searching for signs of ducklings. “Where are you seeing them?”

“Right there, look.” Shawn leans and points harder , like that will help somehow. “You can totally see the hotdogs moving.”

“I think that’s just the wind.”

“No, look, the moms are circling the hot dogs and luring the feeders over to them.”

“What?” Jules looks at the edges of the pond now, and realizes that, yes, the ducks are luring the people with the food towards the reeds- and finally, the ducklings swim out into view.

“Told ya.” Shawn takes a bite of an eclair. 

“How did you even see that movement from here?” Jules looks back at Shawn in awe. 

“You kidding? They were totally moving all over.”

“But it looked like the wind.”

“The wind is blowing the total opposite direction. Look, you can see it in the ripples.”

“Huh.” Jules looks back at the pond. “That’s really impressive, Shawn. I had no idea your eyesight was that good.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been asked to be studied by science for my eyesight, but they said it would drain all the color out of them, and then of course I’d have to become a supervillain.”

“Or a mysterious warning corpse in the basement of a haunted mansion.”

“Neither of which I felt up for.”

“Right.” Jules giggles, and looks back at the pond. 

She has no idea how he noticed that. Not unless it was psychic, somehow. And further, she has no idea why he’s acting like she should be able to notice it, too. And, like before with the delivery boy, it’s not the first time he’s done this. But it’s the first time it feels…

Like something she needs to pay attention to.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn?” Jules sets down the bowl of brownie batter when she realizes he’s stopped licking the spoon and is staring, eyes glazed, at the wall. It’s probably just a vision. She should just consider it a vision. There’s no real reason to think it’s not.

“Shawn,” she tries again, shaking his arm slightly. He startles, just a bit, and then clears his throat and puts the licked-”clean” spoon down on the counter. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” His eyes flick back to the wall. “... Jules, uh, does the wall look…” He pouts a little, shrugging. “Suspicious, to you?”

“Suspicious?” She looks at the same spot. “It’s… a wall.”

“Yeah… but there’s something a little off, isn’t there?” Shawn walks over to it, and taps his knuckles against the plaster. “... Sounds off, actually. Come here, listen.”

She obliges, leaning in close. Shawn taps one spot on the wall, and then the spot he said sounded strange.

“... What am I supposed to be hearing, Shawn?”

“It’s more hollow over here.” Shawn taps the first spot, and then taps the second. “Right here, it sounds more uh… almost like wet cardboard.”

She listens again. “Okay… I think I hear it now. But you didn’t hear the wall from over at the counter, did you? Was it a vision?”

“There’s a ring around this spot,” Shawn mumbles, like he didn’t hear her. He smacks his lips, and then jerks away from the wall as the focus suddenly drops away into his usual energy. “Man, we’ve got a leak in the walls! I knew that landlord was lying when he said it was all up to code.”

“A leak? Shawn, we tapped the wall a little bit, that doesn’t really tell us anything.”

“Yeah, maybe… but I’m calling someone, tomorrow, just- remind me in the morning.” His eyebrows twitch up, his mouth forming an ‘O’ as he realizes something. “If I play this card right I might be able to knock a bit off our rent.”

“Shawn, you are not blackmailing our landlord over a leak that might not even exist.”

“I’m not! Not yet! Just planning to, possibly. So we can have more money for date nights!”

“It’s illegal.”

“Alright, alright. …How illegal, exactly?”

“Shawn.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s trickery. It’s lying. It’s wrong.

But she had been sitting at her desk, reviewing the latest round of new Detective’s Exam scores, when she’d remembered Shawn saying years ago that he had taken the exam when he was 15, and got 100.

A perfect score.

And maybe that meant very little to her once, when Shawn was just the strange somewhat charming guy who came into her life only on occasion to make a case more interesting. But now, dating Shawn and seriously considering spending the rest of her life with him, now as soon as she had recalled that tidbit it began to haunt her. Every time she watched Shawn around the house, and even in the station. It echoed in her head while she watched him look over reports, scan crime scenes, even while he was just watching movies and predicting things about their endings. 

I got 100. … Why? What did you guys get?

He hadn’t even been bragging. 

So now she sits on the couch, a thick binder in front of her, guilt twisting in her stomach at what she’s about to do. 

She’s about to lie to her boyfriend, with the full intent of tricking him into the taking the exam again, just to see.

When he walks into the house, slightly out of breath and carrying something that looks suspiciously like the pineapple statue put into evidence during the last case, he startles upon seeing her and hides the statue behind his back. But his excuse dies in his gaping mouth when he sees how stressed she looks.

“Babe? Everything okay?” He sets the statue- it’s definitely the same one put into evidence- aside as he moves to sit next to her.

“Fine,” she sighs. “Just- Chief Vick asked me to help review the Detective’s Exam after someone complained there were errors in it.”

“Hmm. That person should either pass immediately, or be barred from detective status forever.”

She giggles softly. “That’s a little extreme. It’s just, this is going to take forever, and I was hoping to go out today and finally try that spa that opened up.”

“Well you totally should!” Shawn looks at the binder. “Just, leave it for another time, it can’t be that pressing. After all, Santa Barbara already has it’s best detective.”

She rolls her eyes fondly.

“And, she just so happens to be dating an equally awesome but more brunette psychic detective.” He kisses her on the cheek. “So she should go out and treat herself while her awesome boyfriend tries to divine if there’s actually a mistake.”

“Oh, the spirits know that kind of thing?”

“Some of them, some of them.”

“Well, let them know I’ll still have to check their work, so they better show it.” She gives him a kiss back and stands. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The guilt gnaws at her as she drives to the spa, as she picks her treatment, as she gets her facial and her massage and her body scrub. She knows she had to- she knows Shawn well enough to know he’d never retake the exam if she just asked him outright. He’d be suspicious why she was asking him to, and she’s not sure she can tell him without making him think she’s doubting him.

She’s not. He is psychic. 

But he might also be more.

And if he is, he’s hiding it- maybe not as much as he did when she would only see him at the station, or planned dates, but he’s still hiding it. She sees him seeing things, noticing details, making connections, and when he does he never seems to…

She’s not sure. She just knows that he treats these moments like they’re something a normal person can do when they can’t, or like they aren’t happening at all, or even…

Even like they’re psychic.

She takes the long way home, breathing deeply the whole time. Shawn lies to her every day- she’s not blind to that. Usually about a case, usually because he’s more than likely doing something she could get reprimanded for just knowing about. She doesn’t like it, but even though he lies he doesn’t trick her, at least as far as she knows. 

When she gets home, Shawn isn’t there. She finds a note on the coffee table, stuck to the binder. Gus called, be back soon, XOXO.

She smiles, takes a deep breath, and opens the binder.

There’s mostly Doodles. His artistic skill on display ranges from shockingly masterful to shockingly kindergarten-like, some doodles belonging in a gallery and some not even qualifying for the fridge under a free pizza place magnet. Aliens, dinosaurs, scenes from movies, random invention ideas…

No answers, at first, which disappoints her. Until she notices that one doodle seems to coordinate to one of the questions, and it’s like a Rosetta Stone.

Not all, but many of the doodles seem to relate to the answer to a question in some way, and where there’s not doodles there’s not-answers that show knowledge of the actual answer. There’s snark and quips and jokes that contain answers, and every once and a while she even finds something straightforward smushed among the almost deflective content of the pages.

Deflective.

He’s deflecting that he knows the answers. The more she flips through, the more she sees it. Shawn went out of his way to answer without answering, to show his knowledge without admitting he has it. He couldn’t just not answer, and he couldn’t just pretend not to know- but he couldn’t outright show it either.

“Oh my god.” Jules closes the binder and puts her face in her hands. “Of course. Henry.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jules finds Henry’s detective’s exam score a week later. It’s high- not perfect, but high. She finds Shawn’s score to compare. Like he’d said. It was perfect.

She goes digging through the file archives on her lunch break, and finds the actual exam itself- someone preserved it, because a fifteen year old got 100.

It’s not like the one Shawn did in their living room.

It’s still got doodles, tangents, signs of distractibility- but the answers are much more plain. Forthright. It reads like an actual potential detective, taking the exam seriously, trying his best.

And she’s pretty sure she knows who gave Shawn that exam.

Of course, of course. His dad was a cop, a revered one, of course Henry taught Shawn some skills- more than some! How did that never occur to her? It feels silly now, to think Shawn wouldn’t have at the very least picked up a few tricks of the trade, even if Henry hadn’t taught Shawn outright.

She puts the file back, smiling and satisfied with knowing she was right and Shawn does have genuine, non-psychic detective skills like she’d suspected.

… The smile fades when she starts to wonder why he pretends he doesn’t.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Carlton, can I ask you about something?”

Lassiter looks up from his paperwork and sets his pen aside. “Anything to save me from the banality of filling another report out.”

“You… met Shawn’s mom, right?”

Lassiter’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes going a little wide. “This isn’t anything about you and Spencer’s… relationship progress, is it?”

“What? … Oh, god, no! No, I’m not looking to propose or anything.”

He sags (well, relatively- Lassiter never truly sags or loosens up) with relief. “In that case, yes, she did my last psych eval.”

“Right. And you-you talked with her a lot?”

“As much as was required by the situation.”

“Was she… like Shawn, at all? It’s just that, well, even though she’s been in town three times now, I’ve never actually talked with her beyond some passing comments.” She’s barely involved with Shawn’s life- if Jules didn’t know how absent Madaline is from her son’s existence prior to dating, she’d have assumed Shawn’s mom hated her by how little they’ve actually interacted.

Lassiter thinks for a moment, looking out into the bullpen, and then looks down and picks his pen back up. “Not really, no. Closest she came was recognizing the Clint Eastwood movies I was telling her stories from. She was generally professional, somewhat soft-spoken, and somehow got me to open up without even half of the pressing nature of her son.”

Jules nods. “Did she… mention Shawn at all?”

“Only at the end, after I shared my innermost thoughts. … You know, I take it back. That was the most Spencer -like thing she did during our sessions.”

“Huh.” Jules looks down at her own paperwork. That answers nothing about why Shawn is pretending he isn’t a good detective. It can’t be his dad, Henry would be much softer and more proud if Shawn showed off that skillset, surely. Madaline seemed like a good lead…

“She was weird, though. Outside of the relation to Spencer. She didn’t even record our sessions, she claimed to have… dammit.” Lassiter frowns as he tries to remember. “Something about being able to remember everything she hears with almost perfect accuracy.”

Jules’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I thought she was bullcrapping, but I got ahold of the file and didn’t actually find any errors in the quotes she included- she must’ve tapped the room or something.”

“Carlton, go back. Perfect memory? Shawn’s mom?”

“See, I believed her about it until I learned that. With Henry’s recall, and a mom with perfect memory for sounds, there’s no way Spencer should be as airheaded as he is. Not unless his brain short-circuited from overwhelming competency it just wasn’t built for.”

“Oh my god.” Jules puts her face in her hands. “Carlton, what if that’s exactly what it is?”

“What? What are you on about?”

“Nothing, just- it’s nothing.” She fixes her ponytail and then stands up. “I’m taking my lunch break, I’ll bring you back a coffee.”

“Uh, and a danish.”

“And a danish.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Henry swings the door open with a readied scowl, but it drops away when he sees it’s Jules standing on his porch. “Oh, Detective O’Hara.”

“I’m here on a personal matter, actually.” Jules smiles a bit. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure, sure, come on in.” Henry steps aside. “I actually just grilled up a catch from this morning, if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you, that sounds great.”

Minutes later they’re both sitting at the table, Jules sees a little carving in the top of the old piece of furniture, a shaky scratching of Shawn and Gus Club right by her elbow. It makes her smile.

“So, ah, what is this about?” Henry gestures at her with his fork. “Shawn’s treating you right, isn’t he?”

“We’re great,” she assures. “I just wanted to ask a few questions about Shawn’s gift.”

Henry leans his head to the side, frowning. “I uh, can’t really help you there, Juliet.”

“Not the psychic one.”

Henry pauses, his frown deepening. He looks up at her with something… unreadable, in his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“I’m not doubting him,” Jules rushes to reassure, and it does seem to loosen something in Henry’s twisted expression, but not by much. “I just… I’ve always known Shawn was a little smarter than he let on, you know? But I’ve had reason to believe, since we moved in together, that it’s much more extreme of a mask than I thought.”

Henry puts his fork down entirely. “What’d he do?”

“Just… little things, that I used to think were maybe minor visions or feelings, but sometimes… sometimes he just says things that blow my mind. He notices way more little details than he used to let on, for example, and then today Carlton mentioned that his mom has an um…” She take sout her phone to look it up again.

“Eidetic tonal memory,” Henry fills in before she can even begin typing. “She does. I have a visual one.”

Jules looks at him, quickly tucking her phone away. “And then Carlton said that maybe Shawn struggled with handling that- well, he didn’t say it in those exact words-”

“Shawn does not struggle with his memory, except for when he wants to.” Henry’s mouth is puckered, like he’s eating a lemon dipped in sour dust. “You’re saying you think he’s faking visions.”

“Not all of them.” That’s just not possible, with everything he figures out. “But some of them, and I just- I just can’t figure out why he would fake them for some of the things he does. I mean, the other night he talked in his sleep and basically walked me through his process step-by step by accident, and then the next day he came into the station and pretended it just came to him when he reexamined the scene photos.”

“Shawn has always had an overenthusiasm for drama,” Henry starts, speaking quickly and with heavy exasperation. “He likes things to be public and dramatic as much as possible, especially when it’s an embarrassment to himself and to me.”

“That’s a little harsh, I think.”

“Trust me, it isn’t. Shawn has never wanted to embrace his full potential, Juliet- yes, he has both a visual and tonal eidetic memory, and on top of that I trained him to be a detective for his entire life. I knew, I knew he had the ability to be the best detective this department has ever seen, if he just-!” Henry stops himself and rubs one hand over his head. “But he likes living in a fantasy more. He likes slacking off, and refusing to apply himself, and avoiding responsibility, so he… indulged his psychicness, over his actual detective skills.”

“... I’m not sure he has,” Jules says carefully, watching for Henry’s reaction with a readiness to run. 

Henry laughs a little, bitterly, and looks up. “He’s not a real detective, Juliet. No matter how much I want him to be, or how much he insists he is.”

“Just because he’s not on the force, it doesn’t mean he’s not a detective.” 

“It might as well.”

“... You should be proud of your son, Henry. He’s helped solved a lot of cases we’d have had to let go cold without him.”

“I am proud.” He says it quickly, defensively- but not inauthentically. It occurs to Jules that this is the first time she’s heard Henry declade Pride in Shawn, in all seven years she’s known them both. “I am. Just not of his methods.”

“... Well, um, thank you, for the food, and-and the information.” Jules stands up. She’s starting to form a new theory about why Shawn hides his skills. “Do me a favor and, don’t tell Shawn about this? I just don’t want him to feel weird that I’m, well… investigating him.”

Henry shrugs and pretends to zip his mouth and throw away the key.

“Thanks.” She gives him a smile that has to be forced out, and leaves.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Well I bet you can’t quote every line from The Breakfast Club without looking it up.” They’re playing a game of low-stakes wagers while they make baked mac ‘n cheese for dinner, and Shawn is losing badly- mostly because he’s only making bets that have Jules showing off her best skills.

Shawn looks at her, genuinely offended, before it smooths out into acceptance. “You’re right, I can’t. Not unless I’m given a big buzzing button, to replace the slurs.”

Jules nods. “Fair. How about you just point to me and I’ll make the noise for you?”

“Now that is a plan.”

She feels bad about tricking him again. She does. But she watches him run through the whole movie script, doing the dances, dramatically flailing around the room- and she sees something she’d been completely overlooking for years. 

She laughs as he finishes it off, sweating and panting but grinning at her. “How do you remember all of that but the other day you couldn’t tell me if you’d even locked the front door?”

Well I remember important things, Jules.”

“Home security is important, Shawn.”

“When you’re not a detective dating a psychic, maybe.”

“Ha-ha. I’d still rather not come home from a date to our TV missing.”

“... True. Fair. I’ll work on it.”

“Seriously though, Shawn, sometimes your memory makes no sense to me. Do you think ADHD medication would help with some of the… little details?”

“Uh, no.” Shawn shakes his head. “No can do, tried it once and swore it off forever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it uh… stuff filtered in but didn’t filter out, you know? Like Gus at a buffet.”

“Gross.”

“It was, it was gross. Both the meds and the buffet.”

“I can’t imagine. It would be awful, just… being unable to stop things sticking around in your head.” She watches him from the corner of her eye as she pulls the dish out of the oven.

Shawn’s posture tenses a little. His mouth parts and the tip of his tongue comes to touch the middle of his top lip. He shrugs, and nods. “Yeah. What a-” he interrupts himself with a chuckle that Jules can only tell is bitter and nervous because of how long she’s known him. “What a sucky thing that’d be!”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Shawn, this is too much,” Jules says as he leads her, his hands covering her eyes, somewhere for a date. 

“Are you kidding? You saved my life on this case, again, and you totally prevented a huge disaster with getting the detonator away from that guy.”

“And you are the one who noticed he had a detonator in the first place.”

“The spirits noticed, Jules. But I will take credit for this.” He moves his hands away from her eyes, and she gasps.

They’re in some kind of outdoor dining area, an archway of flowering vines set up above a table covered with a floral cloth and light-blue chinaware. As Shawn comes around to her line of vision she sees he’d hidden a nice suit under his usual jacket when he first told her he had a surprise planned, and his tie…

“Shawn, are you recreating the play?” It had been a particularly great date, for a variety of reasons- but mostly, because Shawn had actually managed to sit down, watch the play, and not turn it into a criminal investigation. He’d still kept up a running commentary and restless fidgeting of course- Jules would have been worried if he hadn’t- but otherwise it had been proof to her that he could take this seriously.

“Maybe.” He offers her his hand and leads her to the table. 

“Shawn, these plates are exactly like the ones from the date scene, how did you-”

“I may or may not have, solved a little case for the owner of the theatre and taken payment in the form of old props.”

Jules laughs, picking up the menu on the table. “Is this the actual menus too, then?”

“Unfortunately, no, but I think Gus- I mean, I, recreated them pretty well.”

“Mmm. Let me guess, you ‘managed’ the recreation, and Gus did the work on it?”

“I also turned on the printer.”

“Basically did the whole thing yourself.” She looks over the menu again- it had been held up briefly during the play, a larger version of it shown on a projection screen behind the actors, and she wouldn’t have remembered it if asked before this moment but now, seeing the recreation, she’s almost certain it’s exact.

It had been on stage for maybe one minute, maybe less.

“How did you even remember this?”

“Psychic recreation, Jules. I traveled back to the past in ethereal form. Your future self was there too- clearly, my gifts rub off on you fifty years from now.”

She laughs again, softer. He’s lying of course- he likes to lie for the humor, and the fun, and because no-one can truly call him out on his powers because even he doesn’t understand them as he often admits. But it feels different now.

He’s not lying entirely for fun. Partly for fun, sure- but he remembered the play, he remembered the menu, because he has an eidetic memory and can’t forget things and in the days since she spoke with Henry to confirm it that fact has been haunting her.

She has trouble sleeping some nights- it’s gotten better since Shawn moved in, having someone curled around her making sleep feel safer- because of the things she’s seen, experienced, endured. She still has nightmares about the clocktower, about sitting in a hospital bed waiting to hear if she has Thornburg, about desperately hunting down clues to Shawn’s whereabouts with Gus and having no idea if they’d even find him alive by the end. The images, the emotions, the sounds… they all stick with her, forgotten until the moment they strike.

What is that like for someone with Shawn’s memory? If her memories push in unwanted, what about his? The looks into the distance, the glaze over his eyes right before he reveals something, the visceral reactions when he remembers something he doesn’t like- it breaks her heart now, knowing that at least some of those are because his mind shoves near-perfect flashbacks at him. 

And with observation, she’s realized that it’s usually unwanted and not sought out- just like his visions. It’s hard to tell them apart from the outside, which just makes her even more concerned- does he even know the difference most of the time? Does it affect all of his thoughts, his imagination, the way he fills in blanks? Is that why sometimes his “visions” are so wrong, because he’s so used to them working the same way as the rest of his mind that he can’t tell what’s Him and what’s The Spirits?

“Hey.” She’s jolted out of her spiraling thoughts by Shawn reaching across the table and taking her hand. “Are you okay?”

She plasters on a smile. “Fine. Just- thinking about how lucky we are. To be here, after everything we’ve gone through.”

Shawn smiles back and pats her hand once before withdrawing his. “Lucky, or just awesome and unstoppable as a team? You, me, Gus, sometimes Lassie- we’re literally a dream team.”

“We are.” She tries to push her concerns about her boyfriend out of her mind, ordering food from a waiter wearing a costume clearly not sized for him- Shawn is always making seemingly impossible things happen, and Jules has no idea how he roped a real restaurant into this, aside from it being either a favor or a blackmail- but Shawn doesn’t blackmail people as far as she’s ever known, so probably a favor.

Shawn is impossible. More and more so every day. And the most impossible is his contradictions. She watches him fumble with his napkin, and remembers him leveling a gun with a steady confident hand on more than one occasion during a case. She listens to him recount a completely wrong story that she keeps correcting the details of, and looks at the perfect recreation of a scene from a play they saw once, months and months ago. She watches him exclaim in surprise over realizing the plates have a design of playing labradoodles at the edges, and thinks about how he saw the reeds moving in a different direction than the wind was blowing from almost impossibly far away to pick up on such a detail.

“Shawn.” She sets her fork down and interrupts his gushing about how cute the design of one of the puppies on the plate is. “I need to tell you something.”

His smiles drops, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ shape, eyes alight with panic. 

“I’m not breaking up with you.” The quick assurance makes Shawn sigh and slump in relief. “And-and I want you to know before I say this that I’m not doubting you either, or your psychic abilities.”

The tension in Shawn returns. “What?”

Jules bites her lower lip. “I just… can’t pretend not to know anymore, Shawn. Because it’s been just… awful watching you do everything you can to pretend you’re not intelligent.”

“... Jules, I-I don’t-”

“I talked to your dad.” She immediately wishes she’d started with anything else, the way Shawn shuts down and clams up. “No, that’s not what I- Shawn, I know you have an eidetic memory, and that you’re probably hyperobservant, on top of being psychic.”

Shawn’s mouth is tightly pursed, eyes searching, body language just withdrawn. Jules plows forwards, swallowing thickly.

“I’ve been seeing it since you moved in. You’re so smart, Shawn, and-and your detective skills are amazing. One night you solved a case in your sleep, and you mumbled the whole thing, and I was just blown away by how you were able to come to those conclusions and connect those dots.”

Shawn looks down, briefly licking his lips. “Chief Vick never asked you to review the detective’s exam, did she?”

“... No. And, you just proved my point. You made that connection so fast, Shawn.”

Shawn shrugs. “What-what is this? Why right now? On our date?”

“Because I love you.” She reaches over, pries his hands away from his sides and holds them. “And I want to understand why. Why do you pretend you’re not one of the best detectives I’ve ever seen? Your psychic visions are one thing, Shawn, but your skills… they’re genuinely incredible.”

Shawn won’t look her in the eye, traveling his sharp gaze around anything else around them. “You know me. I just uh, love putting on a show.”

“That’s what your dad said.” She feels his hands tense in hers. “But I don’t believe either of you. Well, I believe that’s part of it, but not the full thing. … Your dad said you’ve never really embraced it.”

“Of course he did.”

“But you do, embrace it. You do every day. I watch you get completely antsy and out of your mind without a case, and I used to think it was because you were just… chaotic, and-and bored, and maybe some kind of psychic restlessness but it’s not, right? It’s because you need to be able to solve something. Because you like being smart and solving cases, but you don’t like people knowing. Why?”

“Jules…”

“I’m not asking you to bring me in on your process, or to admit to anyone else when you solve instead of divine. I’m just… trying to understand you, Shawn, because I want us to work. And for us, this, to last… we have to know each other, and I feel like I’m just learning about you all over again.”

Shawn is silent for a moment, and then takes a deep breath and meets her eyes, reluctantly. “Gus knows,” he admits. “You probably figured that, but, he does.”

Jules nods. 

“Did my dad… talk about uh…”

“... He mentioned he trained you since you were young.”

“... Yeah. … I don’t know how to, uh…”

She waits. He seems… lost.

“... I learned how to properly stalk a perp through a hideout before I learned how people get sick from each other,” he says. Jules blinks in confusion until he continues, “I learned most things about being a cop before I learned everything else. And it wasn’t… he’s not proud of me, you know? When I was a kid I wanted to be just like him, and I couldn’t be, and he was disappointed in me. Eight years old, I could close my eyes and tell you the clothes anyone in the room was wearing, could tell you who was married and who wasn’t, how… how many hats, were in the room, and it didn’t matter. It was…” He scoffs. “Adequate. That’s it.”

Jules rubs her thumb along the back of his hand. “You got bitter about it.”

“Bitter’s a strong word.” It’s not- it’s just right. It’s in his voice, his eyes, his posture. But he doesn’t like these words, she knows that about him. He doesn’t like these words and these feelings, and he likes to pretend they don’t exist, and he doesn’t experience them. And how hadn’t she realized that was a problem before now? How had that just settled in her perception of him without setting off alarms that maybe something wasn’t okay?

“Shawn, you’re more than adequate. Your dad said so himself, he told me he is proud of you.”

“... He-he did?” The genuine surprise, it makes Jules’s heart shatter all over again.

“And more importantly, we’re all proud of you. Me, Gus, Carlton is even if he won’t admit it either- The Chief, she’s so proud of you and the work you do! Even when you mess it up or cause major problems, she still defends you and knows you do good work.”

Shawn’s mouth finally untightens, slightly, one corner twitching up for a brief smile. But it fades all too quick. 

“What’s the rest of the reason, Shawn? It can’t just be because your dad didn’t give you the credit you deserved. You’ve been doing this for years.”

“Well, like I said Jules, it’s not as fun. You know? You-you solve something psychically and everyone is in awe! Throw in some jokes, make a scene, plus the bad guys always seem to confess way faster when they think I divined certain things, it’s just better!”

“You could do the same with your deductions! I mean it, Shawn, they’re amazing, the way you solved that case with the hit-and-run was incredible. I don’t even know how you came up with the magnets.”

He puts a finger by his temple and gives her a somewhat prodding, questioning look. She frowns at him and raises an eyebrow, and he puts his hand back down with a defeated nod.

“... I don’t want to be my dad.” Shawn shrugs. “I don’t want to be my dad, and as amazing as he is I don’t want to be Gus, and I don’t want to be Lassie, or even-even some… ideal, me. I want to be… me, Jules.”

“I’m not asking you to not be you.”

“Not on purpose, but- this is me, Jules, this is who I am. I can’t live my life with everyone expecting me to remember everything completely perfectly no matter what, or asking me about every little detail of everything all the time, or saying I should know things or be smarter than what I did or-or have to be better than that-”

It’s like when the last piece of a case finally fits into place.

“Oh.” Jules squeezes his hand, and he cuts himself off to look at her with pinched brows and still parted lips. “Shawn… that kind of pressure is insane to put on a child. I’m so sorry.”

He blinks, frozen, and Jules stands up to come to his side and kiss his forehead. She crouches down by his chair. “You, are more than a detective,” she assures. “You are funny, and fun, and sometimes you’re so stupid and reckless that it literally hurts to watch, but that doesn’t mean that what you do right doesn’t matter. You don’t have to match your stupidity to your intelligence just to balance them out.”

“That’s not what I do.”

“Isn’t it? … Oh, my god, and after-after Yin you started going more overboard-”

“Jules-”

“-because he called you out and you had to hide even more-”

“Jules.” She looks into Shawn’s eyes and they’re… glassy. Red. Watering.

“You, being good at what you do, did not put me in danger,” she says softly, reaching up to brush her thumb over his cheek. “You being intelligent will not push me away, or change what I expect of you, or make you lose anyone you care about. But it might make us lose you, if you keep trying to bury it and compensate for it.”

“... I-I…”

“You know you’ve gone too far the opposite direction a lot these last few years, don’t you?”

He’s silent.

“... I understand these feelings run very deep, and all the back to your childhood. I understand that you probably resent what made your dad tain you just as much as you resent him and his training.”

“I don’t resent-”

“Shawn.”

“... I’m… working on not resenting him. Especially after he got shot.”

“I know. But you’re not working on how you feel about yourself because of him, are you?”

“... This is… very uncomfortable.”

“I know.” She wipes away an escaped tear. “You don’t like people being able to really know you, do you?”

“I like you knowing me. And Gus.”

“Do you? Because I had to figure all of this out on my own. Shawn, are you so used to hiding what you could be to be what you want to that you don’t even know how not to hide anymore?”

He flounders, opening and moving his mouth with no words, looking at the ground to her side. “I-I don’t know,” he finally gets out.

Jules nods. “And that’s okay.” Has he ever heard that before, in response to him not knowing something? Maybe. She won’t know unless they keep talking about this. She hopes they keep talking about this.

“... But you uh…” He presses his wrist, sleeves pulled down and gripped in his palm, to his nose for just a second, and sniffs. “You’re not saying you don’t believe I’m psychic anymore?”

“No, I’m not.”

He nods. “... You know, uh… Lassie is the whole reason I even got started, on the psychic detective thing.”

“Really?”

“Really. We still have this uh, table and everything for a few more hours, if you want to hear the story.”

She recognizes it for what it is. You know now, I’m uncomfortable with it, but I’ll try to not be, for you. So she sits back in her seat and listens to Shawn describe how he figured out a case through watching the news, and when Lassie didn’t believe him about it he claimed it was a psychic vision, and then he realized that works.

It recontextualizes even more things for Jules, even more of what Shawn must feel and think, and she wonders if she’ll ever fully figure him out. 

She’ll just have to spend her entire life with him, she supposes.

[riality-check]

come get part 4 of platonic hellcheer coparenting! part 1, part 2, and part 3

Chrissy is trying very hard not to be scared out of her mind. For all her effort, she’s failing miserably.

Three separate tests sit on the counter. Three separate tests from three separate brands. The odds of all of them are astronomically low, and she should know. That Google search is the most recent tab on her phone.

(For a moment, when she was typing, she stopped herself, reminded herself that her mom tracks her search history. Then, she shook herself out of it, remembered that she’s twenty years old and hasn’t lived with her mother for a second since she turned eighteen. Then, she kept on typing.)

But oh, God. She’s twenty years old, and there’s three positive tests sitting in front of her.

She’s twenty years old. She can’t even legally get a drink - she’s got a good fake though, and that bartender never looks too hard anyway - but she’s supposed to have a baby? A baby?

She can barely take care of herself. She’s working a terrible minimum wage job, taking phone calls at a truly mediocre pizzeria, but that’s not enough to support her and a kid. Never mind the fact that there’s no place for a baby here, not with a roommate, and she can’t afford this place without her roommate-

Someone knocks on the door, shaking her out of her thoughts.

“Coming!” she calls, and she gets up off the bathroom floor, wipes her tears, and answers the door.

It’s Eddie. True to his word, it’s only been ten minutes since she hung up on him, and it looks like he spent every minute of it sprinting over. She’s pretty sure his shirt is on backwards, and both his shoes are untied, and his hair is thrown up into a bun that honestly just looks like one big knot.

They’re both such messes. How the hell are they supposed to have a ba-

“You okay?” he asks.

Not hi or can I come in or screw you, you’re on your own.

You okay? he had said.

Chrissy can’t help it, she starts crying again right there.

“Woah, okay, yeah,” Eddie says, coming in and immediately hugging her. “Yeah, stupid question. Sorry.”

She hugs him back, clinging onto him because, honestly? She doesn’t have much else. Jason sucks. She’s not going back to him, ever. And her parents-

Oh, God. Her parents. They would want to know, even if she hasn’t spoken to them in years, and-

“Not stupid,” Chrissy says between sobs, just to get her mind off that particular track. “Not a dumb question.”

“I think I should have been able to tell that you aren’t okay,” Eddie says gently, leading the two of them to the couch.

“No,” Chrissy says, pulling back. She wipes off her tears, puts on an intentionally fragile smile, and says, with her nose almost completely clogged up, “I think it’s a perfectly reasonable question.”

That makes Eddie laugh, which makes her laugh, and it feels a little bit better.

They sit down together, and Chrissy watches as Eddie keeps himself quiet by toying with one of the many rings on his hands. It’s the one on his right ring finger, the one he keeps playing with, the one with a big stone in the middle. It doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of them.

Chrissy wonders where he got it from.

Neither one of them says anything, until Chrissy surprises herself by breaking the silence.

“So,” she says, and that’s all she’s got.

“So?”

“So, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” Eddie asks, tilting his head to the side in confusion. “What do I think? This isn’t up to me, Chrissy. You say how this goes. I’m just along for the ride.”

Oh.

“So, if you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. If you want to, I’ll do it with you. If you want to but want me to get lost, I’ll do that-”

“Why would I want you to get lost?” she asks, interrupting what’s clearly become a nervous ramble.

Eddie stares at her. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“What?”

“Chrissy, I’m a twenty-two year old high school dropout who tried to start a band with his friends and got scammed by a shitty record company. I live with my uncle in a trailer park, I’m studying for the GED, which is way harder than it has any right to be, and I’m never going to be able to love you the way that you deserve.”

Eddie spreads his hands out in a ta-da! motion, and while he’s smiling, Chrissy can see how it’s strained at the corners of his mouth.

“You done yet?” she asks. 

“What do you-”

“Eddie, I’m a twenty year old who hasn’t spoken a word to her parents since the second I turned eighteen. I’m working the world’s worst minimum wage job to try to pay for community college, I used a fake ID at that bar where we met again, and I spent way too much of my life in an unfulfilling relationship because I couldn’t see another option for myself. And, newsflash, I also can’t love you that way.”

“At least you’re in college,” Eddie points out.

“You’re getting your GED,” Chrissy counters. “So you’re no slouch, either.”

“Looks like we’re both wrecks.”

Chrissy laughs, and it quickly turns into a cough, reminding her that, oh, yeah she’s spent a lot of the last half hour just crying. Eddie lets her cough it out, then grabs one of her hands. He toys with it like how he was toying with his ring earlier.

“I think,” Chrissy says slowly, “that if we’re both wrecks, then we should be wrecks together.”

Eddie’s fingers freeze where they’re wrapped around her own. “Are you serious?”

Chrissy thinks for a while. Thinks about the fact that while this is still scary, it’s been significantly less scary since Eddie got here. Thinks about the fact that he’s just as scared as she is. Thinks about the fact that, even though she is scared, this kid will at least grow up with way more love than she ever had.

She already knows she’ll never track internet search histories and calories. Ever.

And, while she doesn’t know Eddie all that well, she thinks that there’s some stuff he’d never do, too.

“I think misery loves company,” Chrissy says.

“I don’t think we’ll be miserable. Not if it’s the two of us.”

“Just the two of us?” Chrissy asks instead of pointing out how Eddie is probably right in a way that makes her heart hurt.

That night, after they’d gotten it over with, was good. Because Eddie is sweet and makes things easy in a way that Chrissy loves.

She thinks it’ll be hard, but she can’t imagine being well and truly miserable with him. But maybe that’s just young adult optimism, since it definitely isn’t the blindness of young love.

“No, of course not,” Eddie says. “My uncle is a fucking saint, he’s gonna try to help out in every way possible, whether we want him to or not. And the guys are all back, and while we’re taking a bit of a break - living and working together for a few years means we just need some space - they’ll help out.”

“I don’t have anyone,” Chrissy says. “Like, at all. I don’t talk to my parents, and I’m never talking to Jason again.”

“Okay. What’s mine is yours, then,” Eddie says, like it’s no big deal. No big deal at all that she can’t have anyone help out the way that Eddie’s friends and family are.

“I’m sorry,” she says. For not doing enough, for not being enough, for choosing the hardest option, even though she does think it’s the right one.

“You’re sorry? You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Eddie says. “If anything, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Derailing your life. Since we’re doing this, right?”

“Yeah,” Chrissy says, and she surprises herself by not hesitating, not even for a second. “Yeah, we’re doing it.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, letting out a long sigh.

“And you didn’t derail my life. I think I derailed yours, but-”

“What kind of life do I have?” Eddie asks. Chrissy wishes she could wipe that self-deprecating smile off his face. It makes him look too sad. 

Sad and Eddie shouldn’t belong in the same sentence, she thinks.

“Let’s not say derailed,” Chrissy says. “Let’s say… switched tracks. We were running on different ones, and now we’re on the same one.”

“When trains do that, they crash,” Eddie points out.

“We’re better than that,” Chrissy says. 

Eddie snorts, but he doesn’t have anything to say to that. 

“So, new track?”

She puts her hand out to shake, but Eddie doesn’t grab it. He just wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for a tight hug.

“New track,” he says, and both of them ignore how he sounds a little choked up.

part 5 exists and so does part 6!

[fruitsoxs]

Hello different anon here to request one of my favorite things: reverse jealousy. How would the two lads feel about the reader feeling jealous over them?

sorry this took so long to do!! I made it a bit longer to make up for it <3

pairings: vash x reader , wolfwood x reader

warnings: once again there's some angst, insecurity, self doubt, swearing, wolfwood has some feelings, reader is a bit of a dumb ass in vash's part haha

notes: i kinda went off with this?? it didn't go where I thought it would that's for sure haha.

Vash

There’s a small fire that builds up inside of you every time this person touches Vash. It’s an anger you can’t really describe. It has you feeling jittery and useless. They aren’t being forceful with him, and he seems okay with the soft touches. That just makes you more uncomfortable as you walk behind the two of them. 

They’re probably just thankful. Vash did just save their life. Anybody would be thankful if a handsome stranger ran in and ripped you away from a bunch of bandits. Especially on a planet like Gunsmoke, where everybody is only worried about themselves. There aren’t very many selfless heroes like Vash, so when they come around you tend to be thankful.

But there’s something about the way their hand lingers on his arm after they stumble closer to him. Or how they keep interrupting you, making it feel like you can’t talk. They seem to be pushing you into the background as you walk across the desert planet towards the nearest town. Despite there being enough room for you to join the two side by side, you feel like your place is behind them. 

Glaring at both of their backs with, you clench your fists lightly. The town is close enough, you can see the buildings in the distance. Soon this person will be back home, and they’ll be just a minor detail in Vash’s adventure. While you’ll be by his side, helping him the entire way. That thought should help you feel better. It should help calm your nerves.

But then, their fingers reach out towards his hand, and you feel the fire build up again. 

Jealousy rears its ugly head.

The worst part? You aren’t angry that they’re flirting with him. You’re angry that you can’t be this bold. You have been traveling with him for months now. You’ve become one of his closest friends. He trusts you. He cares for you. He has proven that he will do anything to keep you safe. And yet, you can’t even find the courage to hold his hand. This stranger, who’s known him for a few hours at most, is doing something you have always wished you could do.

RIght before their fingers touch Vash’s metal ones you clear your throat. Vash turns to you with a smile. He arches an eyebrow, probably able to read your bad mood. “You okay back there?” he asks softly. The stranger retracks their hand and looks at you too. 

“Uh yeah. I was just wondering how you ended up out here anyway.” You mumble. Embarrassed, you try to find a conversation starter that makes you look less stupid. The person shrugs and looks ahead again. “Sometimes I come out here to find spare parts. You’d be surprised how much useful junk is just laying around in the sand.” They explain looking up at Vash.

Vash nods. “Yeah that makes sense. Sorry you got caught up with those guys. They didn’t hurt you did they?” he asks, looking the person over. “Maybe a few bruises, but I’m tough. You managed to save me just in time!” They exclaim. Vash rubs the back of his neck, blushing a bit. “We couldn’t just leave you out there!”

‘I could.’ you think for a second, before guilt floods your senses. Why are you acting like this?

You pause for a second, and watch the two continue to walk. They don’t even notice that you’ve stopped walking. The stranger says something that makes Vash laugh, his cheeks turning red. They step a bit closer to Vash, and he doesn’t seem to mind. This is too much for you.

You continue walking, a few steps behind them now. Your head hands low, and your heart drops. 

As the three of you walk towards the town, the suns start to drop. The air gets a bit cooler, and the world goes eerily quiet. The town is already empty, except for a few drunken wanderers who stumble through the streets. There’s probably a bar or tavern somewhere that’s filled with idiots drinking and singing.

The stranger leads the two of you up to their doorstep. They turn around and face Vash. “This is me.” they smile softly, their eyes only on your blonde companion. “Glad you got home safe.” Vash responds, a sense of relief in his eyes. “Thanks for making sure I’m okay. I owe you.” They whisper, and you know they aren’t talking to you. “It’s really no problem. It’s what I- It’s what we do.” It’s sweet how he tries to include you even when you’re clearly not wanted.

The person smiles, and leans in close to him for a second. They pull him down to their level and press their lips against his cheep. Your blood freezes, and you look away.

“Stop by the next time you’re in town. Okay?” They mumble before leaving you and Vash standing there. Vash is a bit awestruck, his face a bright red. You feel like you might punch the next person who walks by, or break down and cry, Whatever comes first. The situation has left you completely and utterly upset. Every fiber of your being wants to run off into the night time and scream.

Instead you just stand there with your jaw clenched tightly.

“They were really nice…” Vash points out turning to you with a smile. You find yourself scoffing. “Yeah to you.” you point out and begin to walk away. Vash follows you closely, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, and you feel a little bad. He looks like a little puppy who’s just been yelled at.

“I mean they clearly were happy that you specifically saved them. You know?” You mumble, a bit softer now. He stops and looks back, a bi of confusion woven into his features. “What?” he asks, looking at you again. “They liked you, Vash.”  You explain fully. His eyes widen and his cheeks turn pink again. “I-I don’t think so. I think they were just thankful I saved them-” He begins to rant, clearly flustered.

You sigh and stop to look at him. “They made it pretty obvious. I mean, they sure didn’t kiss my cheek. Did they?” He looks at you shocked, his brain jumping through hoops to try and explain the kiss. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks down at your sour expression. 

Suddenly a small smile stretches across his lips as he steps forward. He’s put your sour mood since you saved that person together now. He knows you’re jealous. “Well, I guess I’m flattered then. But…I’ve got my eyes on someone already.” he tells you a certain look you can’t place in his eye. 

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “What? Who?” You ask, a bit too quickly. He laughs and shakes his head at you. “Someone pretty cool. They’re basically my best friends.” He explains. Your eyes widen as a new type of pain floods your senses. So he likes someone else, AND he has another best friend?

“Who is this person?” You ask, completely upset.

Vash just sighs, a small smile on his face. He walks closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. His hand gently combs through your hair

Your heart is suddenly leaping within your chest. 

“It’s you.”

Wolfwood

Your finger nails dig into the soft skin on your thighs softly as you watch the scene in front of you unfold. You watch silently as Wolfwood mutters something in this random girl’s ear, making her giggle. She responds by leaning in close, giving him a shy smile. He wraps his arm around her and whispers something else- something you couldn’t hear if you tried. They’re too close now, and you feel your heart plummet into your stomach.

This shouldn’t be much of a surprise at this point. This man does this a lot. He likes to walk off the moment the group finds a place to rest, and try his luck with whoever will give him the time of day. Most of  the time his advances are accepted because, as much as you hate to admit it, Wolfwood is handsome. He’s got a nice looking face, and a well toned body. Plus he can be sickeningly charming sometimes, with his unmatched wit and cute little nicknames. Anybody would fall for him. 

Despite how common this little scene is, it still makes your chest feel tight. You’re uncomfortable, but you can’t look away. The drink you had ordered to help cool you off is left untouched, growing warmer by the second. You just don’t feel like you can stomach anything right now. You feel sick, and upset. 

You’re…well, you’re jealous.

It’s something you’ve come to terms with awhile ago. You have feelings for your weird and mysterious traveling partner. You can only share so many tender moments with him dressing your wounds (or vice versa) before affections arise. You’ve shared enough moments with him where your heart beats uncomfortably fast to understand your feelings. It sucks.

The others have left you to stew in your feelings, knowing that once you get this way there’s no pulling you out. Meryl has tried so many times to convince you to let loose and ignore Wolfwood. She’s tried telling you to go dance with a stranger, or flirt with your own handsome man. “You’re attractive.” She would say. “Anybody here would be on their knees the moment you tried talking to them.” You can’t though. Not even if you wanted to.  There’s a deep insecurity that takes over your brain every time you watch the man you love flirt aimlessly with another. It makes you doubt yourself to a degree you have never experienced. Are you not good enough? Not pretty enough? Are you boring? What is it about you that isn’t enough? These thoughts seem to flood your mind, and no amount of alcohol could subside them

Your eyes drift down to his arm resting on the girl's side, his fingers lightly pressing against her. It makes you want to vomit. You wish so desperately to be the one he touches like that, and it sickens you. How stupid are you? Pining after a man who flirts with other people so easily. This man would never give you the time of day- despite how sweet he can seem sometimes.

You grab the drink from the table and hold it to your lips, drinking it all in one go. It burns your throat. It’s not enough. Without missing a beat, another cup lands in front of you. You give a thankful nod to the bartender, then down that drink too. Your thoughts are getting clouded and fuzzy as a light buzz starts to overcome you.

You look over at Wolfwood again. This time though, your eyes meet his. He smiles when the eye contact is made. A sly smirk that makes your blood boil. It’s like he knows your feelings, and he’s rubbing it in your face. You frown and turn away. 

What an asshole.

What should you do? You clearly aren’t having fun. The alcohol isn’t helping you loosen up, it’s actually making things feel worse. That girl is pressed up against Wolfwood, and you’re sure you might throw up or cry if you continue watching. Maybe you should leave. Go find a quiet place to relax? Yeah that’s a good idea. You leave your payment for the drinks on the counter and walk out of the building, into the chilly night air. For how hot it normally is on this harsh planet, the nights can get deadly cold. 

You lean against the railing and sigh softly. It’s just not your night.

The sound of a door opening and closing brings you out of your little moment of peace, and the familiar smell of cigarettes makes your nose wrinkle. Wolfwood walks up next to you, flicking his lighter. He rests his elbows against the railing and leans forward.

“Why’d you run off?” He asks after a couple minutes of silence. 

You look at him through the side of your eye for a moment, taking in his features. He looks so soft in the moonlight. Far different right now than how he always seems. A hint of warmth under the cold exterior he seems to always parade around. A side of him that he only lets you see.

“Needed some fresh air.” You finally answer, looking away. He’s really the last person you want to see right now. “Aren’t you missing somebody?” You ask, the alcohol makes you bolder than normal. There’s a sense of anger in your voice you can’t hide.

“You mean that girl?” He asks his hand going to his chin as if he’s thinking. “Just wasn’t feeling it. Why?” That sly smirk is back. “You feeling a little jealous?” His voice is quiet. He’s not looking at you, not entirely. He sometimes flickers his eye over to you, probably to see how you react.

Your eyes snap up to him, and a new anger surges through you. You can’t believe this man! He’s such a…a.. “You’re an asshole.” You say out loud, turning to look at him. Tears threaten to fall from the corners of your eyes.

“Is that a yes?” He goes to tease you, but when he turns to face you he stops dead in his tracks. His eyes meet with yours. His smile drops and a myriad of emotions go through his eyes. Confusion, surprise, then worry. He turns his body to you, and lets the bud of his cigarette fall to the ground. You remain tense, and quiet. You find yourself unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh.”

That’s all he says for a while. It seems he understands your feelings now. His hands clench and unclench, as he looks away. There’s a silence that takes over now. It’s awkward and tense. 

You grow tired of the moment, and let out a soft sigh. You knew he’d react like this. You knew there was no way he’d feel the same way. It’s still heartbreaking though. Your stomach is in ruins, and it feels like all of the air has been sucked out of you. Curse whatever created you for making you feel so utterly helpless in this situation.

You turn to leave, but his hand finds your wrist and he pulls you back. “Don’t- Just give me a second.” He sighs, and his hand slips away. You stay put, despite the fact you desperately want to escape. He pulls out another cigarette and holds the lighter up to his lips, lighting it. The glow shows off his conflicted eyes.

He takes a deep breath, and then lets it go.

“You’re too good for me.” He says finally. “I”m…not  the type of guy you should fall in love with.” His words are filled with an emotion you’ve never heard from him. This is a new Wolfwood. “I’ve done stuff…” he cuts himself off and looks in the opposite direction of you. “Sweetheart I…I…” he’s struggling to find the words. He takes a deep breath and then-

“Fuck it.”

He whips around. He grabs the cigarette from his lips with one hand, and the other clutches onto the back of your head. It happens too fast for you to understand completely , but he pulls you close and his lips catch yours. It’s a soft kiss. 

He pulls away and leaves you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. His hand is still cradling the back of your head. He stares down at you, his dark eyes trying to convey to you what he’s struggling to say out loud. He loves you too.