#anomaly!reader

[sui-imi]

day 3: pranks | day 2: ACT to Flirt

* YOU have a feeling he's just toying with you...

PNG!sans belongs to me (@/sui-imi)

transparent / anomaly!reader belongs to @htsan

@sansxyouweek

[dearest-painter]

After both spider teens and Anomaly! Reader warms up to each other, Anomaly! Reader tries not to be too clingy toward spider teens but they still couldn't help to clings on them as Anomaly! Reader feels home when they're with spider teens. Anomaly! Reader is embarrassed that they are being too clingy(for Anomaly! Reader) around their friends.

They constantly apologize for being clingy but the spider teens don’t mind as they like that Anomaly!Reader trust them. They always reassure them that they don’t have a reason to worry about it and that they don’t mind it at all

[cavillscurls]

MESS OF MINE

joel miller x f!reader

You needn’t think—not when he’s here.

warnings/tags: MDNI. Jackson!Joel. Soft!Joel. Established relationship. Fluff. Intimacy. Praise. References to past smut. Reader is in a pretty heavy sub-space. Dom/sub dynamics. Daddy kink. DD/lg dynamics—seriously, do not read if this off puts you. Caregiver!Joel to the max. Pet names (baby, little one, good girl, darling). A smidge of grinding/dry humping. Brief reference to food aversion. Food consumption. wc: 1.8k

You haven’t left his house in three days.

Haven’t had to. Snowed in. The blizzard that’s taken Jackson by storm an absolute blessing in disguise.

And sure, you feel for Maria and the strain it’s put on organizing her patrol routes. You know plenty of mothers struggle to entertain cabin-fevered-children, and you sympathize with those who have to make treks for rations they hadn’t prepared for.

Still, you can’t help but revel in the selfishness. It’s his fault, really. What else does he expect three days of doting will do to a girl?

You’re on the floor in his living room. Tummy down on the center of the rug, socked toes facing the fire he’s carefully tended to. You’re in one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties, nothing else. You don’t need much else. When the flames aren’t keeping you warm enough, he’s happy to compensate.

There’s a soft tune buzzing from the record player, and you take the time to savor the words on the pages splayed out before you. You’ve been reading a little slower today. Everything seems to slow down when he’s got you like this.

You don’t think you could ever tire of the life you’ve lived these past three days. Joel always takes care of you, in every way, big and small. But there’s been a shift towards all that is so big, the lack of responsibility and expectations allowing you to sink deeper into the roles you both understand well.

So he takes the weight of everything big, promises to nurture it, and handle it with care. And you relish in the freedom that is feeling so small, releasing your usual tension and burdens for an aloofness that would otherwise not be acceptable. You’re not sure how long you’ll have it, and you aren’t willing to spare a moment.

Your mind wanders, less focused on the words inscribed before you and more on the images that paint your memory. That of his hands, that have gently washed your hair. That lay out your clothes—or lack thereof—and deliver you cups of tea. That glide over your skin morning, noon, and night, coaxing breath and cries alike. That hold you still, close, when he sucks on your neck and fills your womb, the remedy for all grievances. Silences your mind, the numbness bright and freeing.

“Baby?” he beckons, and it sounds like he’s repeating himself. Like you didn’t hear him the first time, and perhaps you didn’t. Too entranced by the cozy little oasis he’s created around you, for you.

You cast your eyes towards his voice, dripping in honey, the way that always makes your belly warm. He’s leaning in the archway between the kitchen and living room, a gentle smile curling at the edges of his lips.

“Are ya hungry?” he asks, and you scrunch up your nose.

Admittedly, you’ve been a bit indolent. But it’s easy to languish in the comforts of mindlessness when he makes it so easy. You haven’t cleaned a single dish, washed a single article of clothing, or cooked a single meal, in three days. You’ve hardly walked from room to room without Joel adamantly at your side. The lack of energy exertion squanders your appetite.

He tsks his tongue and slants his eyes at you disapprovingly.

“C’mon, baby. You’ve hardly eaten today. Let me make you a snack at least, yeah?”

You sigh. You don’t want to give him a hard time, even if it’s only for the sake of regaining his attention. So, you offer him a lackluster nod, and he smiles in return—something prideful, that of a man who is pleased to preserve you, and even more so when you’re willing to let him.

He disappears into the kitchen for a handful of moments, and when he returns, sets the plate of chopped veggies down on the coffee table. You sit up, and instead of reaching for it, extend your arms towards him. An overwhelming desire to be held takes you, as it has for these many days, many times. He’s been off doing chores for nearly an hour now, and you can feel yourself growing impatient, needy.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises, shaking his head and stepping back just out of reach. He isn’t fazed by the pout that befalls your lips. “Not till you finish your food.”

You huff, making a show out of crawling your way to the edge of the table and snatching one of the carrots up. You peer up at him as you bring it between your teeth, taking an aggressive chomp out of it as if to prove that even though you’ll listen, it doesn’t mean you’ll like it.

Joel shakes his head and chuckles, pleasantly amused. He approaches you while you chew, knees to your nose, and you crane your neck back to get a good view of him like this. So close, towering, and dripping with power and ease. You’ve never known anyone so mighty, yet so loving.

He reaches a hand down and gingerly pets the crown of your head. “That’s a good girl,” he muses, and the low purr of his voice sends a pang of want through your gut.

You chew a little faster now. Make sure he knows how good you are, how good you’ll remain for him and him alone.

A soft little whimper leaves your throat at the loss of his hand, and the sight of him turning back towards the kitchen.

“Just gotta finish a couple more things, darlin’,” he calls over his shoulder. “I expect to find that plate clean when I come back!”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, you think, turning your attention toward the colorful spread. As if your body means to spite you, you feel a sudden grumble in your stomach. You are feeling pretty hungry, and he knows. He always knows.

You eat slowly but steadily, determined now to finish before he returns. He’s scooped a spoonful of Tommy’s homemade hummus on the side, the flavors making you bounce a little in delight. The chickpeas are out of season, and Joel only has a handful of his share left for the winter, but he always gives you extra. He knows how much you enjoy it, and the selflessness of the act today only furthers your growing want.

Fifteen minutes pass before you hear his footsteps return towards the living room, and you’re swallowing your last mouthful. He shuffles his way towards the couch, and you watch in silent fascination as he lowers himself with a heavy groan and crack of his knees. He sighs, spreading his meaty thighs wide, and letting his eyes close for a brief moment. You know, despite how much he enjoys his time with you, the days cooped up haven't been easy on him. He’s a doer by nature, perhaps the exact reason he’s channeled all of his energy into caring for you.

His eyes find you as soon as they open, and you wait with bated breath for him to pat a palm against one of his thighs.

“C’mon now,” he murmurs. You don’t need to be told twice.

You abandon your empty plate, which he acknowledges with an approving nod, and slowly crawl your way around the coffee table. You nudge yourself between his feet, rising to your knees, flashing him wide eyes, and waiting for his hands to grip you under your arms and scoop you into his lap. You’re all flimsy limbs and needy fingers, straddling the mass of him—the stretch that you feel in your inner thighs does not go unnoticed, much to accommodate—and wrapping your arms eagerly around his shoulders. You bury your nose into his neck, slumping into his chest, and sigh.

You’re warm, and content, and full, and so small.

He hums, the deep sound rattling through his chest into yours, and you shiver both at the sound and the gentle touch of his fingertip tracing over your bare thighs. You can’t help but wiggle in closer, the rough friction of jeans against your soft cotton panties dizzying.

“Daddy,” you whisper, voice raspy with disuse.

Gentle touches turn to kneads, palm-fulls of your thighs squeezed between his fingers, one hand drifting up and taking a handful of your ass. His touch is grounding, comforting. Turns your body into molasses so you may drip into him with ease, head fuzzy, inundated by his sheer presence. Your eyes droop shut, and a little yawn creeps up through your throat.

“S’about that time, little one.” His voice is so soft, it’s hardly there. Like coaxing a baby animal out of hiding. “Should get ya settled for a nap.”

You whine a sound of protest, but make no effort to move. He’s right, of course. You could fall asleep right here, right now. Bathed in his warmth, the crackle of the fire, the soft tunes. His other hand has trailed up your spine, drawing soothing circles, lulling you in.

“M’not tired.” A lie, but you’re greedy. Greedy as your cunt he hasn’t touched all morning, that starts to grind gently against the front of his jeans. “Wanna play, Daddy,” you mutter into his neck, placing a chaste kiss on the vein that protrudes there.

A low growl settles in his chest, but his hand at your backside slides towards your hip, wrapping his fingers around it and holding you still. You can feel him swell below you, all the restraint in the world unable to stop him from reacting to you the way he does. The way he always does. He’s turned you greedy.

“How about,” he starts, his tone one of reason, though it drops an octave with desire, “you take your nap right here on Daddy’s lap, and he’ll wake you when it’s time, hm?”

You admire his restraint, you really do. You also cannot deny how good he is, tactful in the way he lets his hand trail all the way up your back until it’s woven into your hair, scratching gentle circles across your scalp, the way he always does when you need help falling asleep.

Your breathing slows, eyes still screwed shut, but you give him another humph of disagreement, and he chuckles. He presses your nose deeper into his neck, wraps a heavy arm fully around you now, and flushes you against him, using the weight of his hold to settle you.

Yeah, he’s good.

“One hour, that’s all,” he reasons.

You sigh, already nodding off somewhere between sleep and wake, the dull thrum in your lower belly overcome by the sensations of slumber.

“You swear it?” you press, and he places a kiss on your temple.

You feel his smile against your skin, brighter than the sun itself. And you’re reminded, just before you slip away, how lucky you are for the gift of mindlessness. A silent promise to yourself that when you wake, you’ll cherish the dwindling hours of the day, unsure if tomorrow holds the same luxury.

“On my life.”

[juniemunie]

more deltarune sansnomaly cuz its feeding the ideas a lot

bonus:

[majorpatheticcas]

May I have this dance? 🌹

"I gotta be honest with you, kid. I'm not the smoothest dancer, but hey, at least we're dancing, right?"

Anon design by: @htsan

[greedy621]

Sans fucked up png anomaly and dialogue idea from @htsan

[aayakashii]

got very depressed today and ended up writing a very self-indulgent comfort fic that now I will make everyone's problem ヽ(*´∀`)人(´∀`*)ﾉ

featuring 🫵you🫵, Peekaboo, and special guest Sagara Haru. It's fluff, tooth rotting fluff again. I am just a girl.

soft beats to feed your baby anomaly to

Your fingers tapped against your chin as you stood in the middle of the Jabberwock kitchen, eyes scanning all the pots that were scattered around the counter and shelves, way too wary to actually rummage through them with your hands.

“Baby formula… baby formula… baby formula…” you muttered repeatedly, as you read every label of every container, until your eyes stopped at an inconspicuous pot with no label.

Stepping closer, you opened the lid, and was met with a crumpled bag of baby formula stuffed inside.

“God, I would never find this if I only relied on the labels” you said, huffing, pulling the bag out and walking back to the living room.

A small bottle with boiled water was ready, on top of a small stool, right beside a crib that contained a very hungry and very impatient Peekaboo.

“Found it, Peekaboo!” you said, triumphantly, and slumped on the floor, bringing the stool closer.

“I can now make your bottle and feed you! I'm sorry it took so long, but you gotta tell your dad that his kitchen is a mess.” you rambled, as you began to scoop the baby formula and put it carefully in the bottle. Peekaboo chirped in what seemed like agreement with you.

As you quietly kept scooping small amounts of the powder, you finally relaxed, humming the tune to a song that was stuck in your head for the past week. At this, Peekaboo's ears twitched and perked up, and he waddled closer to you.

“Okay, done!” You finished shaking the bottle to mix the contents and Peekaboo immediately raised his little arms towards you.

“You want uppies?” you said, smiling as you noticed his expectant face. “Okay, let's give you uppies.”

With a groan (Peekaboo was heavier than he seemed), you picked him up and began to bring the bottle towards his mouth, until his arms patted your hand, pushing the bottle away.

“What's up, baby? I thought you were hungry” you asked, confused.

Peekaboo kept flailing his arms, pointing to the bottle and to you, clearly trying to communicate something.

“I'm sorry love, I don't know what you mean…”

His little face scrunched up, as he wiggled on your arms and booped your mouth and then the bottle.

“You want me to drink from the bottle too?!”

He shook his whole body, growling impatiently. For a moment, he stared at you, as if he was thinking about how he could convey his message in a way that you would understand. After a few seconds, he chirped his usual sounds, but tried hard to mimic the melody you were humming a few moments before.

“Oh! You want me to sing for you while I feed you?” you guessed.

His little face lit up, and he nodded fiercely.

“Okay, okay, but er… I'm not a very good singer, honey” you replied, apologetic despite his excitement.

Peekaboo growled, showing his huge sharp teeth and you knew there was no bargaining with a spoiled anomalous animal.

“Fineeee, fine! Okay, I'll sing, but you have to promise me you'll drink your bottle and not bite me, okay?” you sighed.

Peekaboo nodded happily again, chirping and extending his stubby little arms to the bottle.

As you titled the bottle to his mouth, his red, shiny eyes looked at you expectantly. You cleared your throat and began to murmur the lyrics to the song.

Stars shinin' bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you”

Peekaboo frowned and tapped your throat, clearly ordering you to sing louder. You sighed heavily again, shaking your head in defeat, and raised your voice.

Birds singin' in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

You began to sway gently, careful not to make Peekaboo sick with the movement.

Say, "Nighty-night" and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

The little bunny-like anomaly closed his eyes, gulping his food and peacefully enjoying the slow swaying of your body, feeling relaxed in your arms.

Stars fadin'–

You cleared your throat again, as your voice cracked trying to reach the higher tune, but Peekaboo seemed to pay no mind to how out of tune you sounded sometimes.

Stars fadin’ but I linger on, dear

Still cravin' your kiss

I'm longin' to linger 'til dawn, dear

Just saying this

The bottle was quickly emptying as you clumsily sang and danced with the small animal in your arms, and, in your concentration, you failed to notice a flash of red appearing on one of the corridors.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me

You hummed the ad-lib part of the song as Peekaboo downed the last bit of the bottle, still moving slowly and carefully as he yawned in your arms.

Stars fadin' but I linger on, dear

Still cravin' your kiss

I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear

Just saying this

Your voice didn't crack this time, and you put Peekaboo against your shoulder, giving little taps against his back in order to help with his digestion – a little burp coming out of his mouth making you giggle as you sang.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you

But in your dreams, whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me

As you finished the song, Peekaboo ended up fast asleep on your arms, and you kept humming and dancing, all while completely unaware of how Haru observed the scene, hidden behind one of the pillars of the living room.

The red-headed blushed furiously, his hand covering his mouth in order to hide a smile that was so big that could light up stadiums upon stadiums.

“Isn't that good, Peekaboo? We finally got you the other mom I've always wanted for you!!” he thought to himself, pumping his fist victoriously in the air, as wedding bells ringed into his mind after seeing the domestic scene unravel in front of him. He hadn't even confessed nor invited you to a single date, but after that, he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

[trappolia]

── NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN

(minor spoilers for season 2!) sevika. near what feels like death, sevika has a revelation and a confession.

Sevika thinks two things when the Hexcore's static passes through her scar and seizes her bloodstream.

One: she can't believe that she's writhing on the floor in agony, beaten by Vi's little Piltie girlfriend in her ridiculous beret.

Two: she might actually die today.

It's ridiculous, she thinks, how everyone has gone to absolute shit. There's a new sort of madness glinting in Jinx's no-longer-baby-blues (the odd magenta shimmer of her eyes sends a shiver down her spine) and not to mention that little shit that has tagged along in this operation, with Jinx doing little to dissuade the runt besides some sarcastic melodramatic warning and a few finger guns. And now they're here, beaten and clawing at each other's faces wildly like fucking children (she can see Jinx in her peripheral, has never seen her fight so sloppily with her little hands; she understands now why Silco had insisted her skills laid in engineering and inventions, rather than the fists that her sister wielded so boldly) and Sevika doesn't know where the fuck Isha is nor does she know what the fuck is going on with their weapons. Her new arm is fine, albeit heavy with extra weight and throbbing with phantom pain— but something had gone wrong

She's going to die. She's going to fucking die, and because of some fucking magic trick gone wrong.

Sevika doesn't fear death. Hell, she's lasted a lot longer than what her own mother thought. Life down here in the Undercity is nothing like the wealth and opulence and light of Piltover's Topside. To some, death may have been a blessing. Some days, Sevika thinks that it's better than cleaning up after Jinx's messes and running Silco's errands.

But Silco is dead, and the one thing he loved more than their city is off the fucking rails. Sevika can't die now. Not with these fucking blue bellies gassing her home with the fucking Grey again, not when there's so much left to be done.

And maybe there's a third thing in the mix too. Caught between rage and pure, genuine terror, Sevika twitches and grunts and claws at her skin, thinking: Fuck. Fuck. She's going to die like a wimp whimpering on the cold stone, and she's never going to see you again.

Sevika is not the romantic sort. Before you, she'd found simple pleasures in the smoky rooms of Margo's brothels, or pretty doe-eyed lasses she met at the bar. But now she finally finds it in herself to admit that for fucking once, she might have wanted to take you to a candlelit dinner. Seen you giggle and shit about her poor attempts at romance— not the malicious sort of giggle, no, but fond. Endlessly fond, in the way Sevika never deserved.

The thing — magic, engineering, Hextech or whatever the fuck it's called — crackles across her veins and bones, setting fire to her blood and the viscera that sits contained under her skin. Her body gives another involuntary jerk. It's certainly not her first time having the misfortune of being caught at the wrong place at the wrong time— hell, that blue explosion all those years ago is the reason she has to rely on a metal arm now. But this is different, wrong. It sinks deep into her bones, claws at the essence of her being with its arcane

Sevika tries to scream, but she can't.

In the ringing between her ears, Sevika can only think of where she could be— anywhere but here, either dying or something far, far worse. She wants to sit by your bar after a long day's work while listening to you re-tell the odd and frankly ridiculous narratives your patrons tell you when they're neck deep in drink and tab. She wants to wake up in the middle of the night when you roll over and instinctively press yourself to her side for warmth in your sleep. And maybe, more than anything, she wants to go back in time and cradle your face when you beg her not to leave, kiss you and tell you that she'll be home in time for dinner.

(She'd dismissed you then, told you that a spoiled Piltie couldn't beat her ass hard enough to keep her down.

She was wrong. So fucking wrong.)

Sevika thinks of you now, waiting at home. Anxious; oh, so anxious, because Silco is dead and Jinx has been haywire and who is level-headed enough to at least attempt to clean everything up, but she's only one woman and the Chembarons are fucking deranged and she's just— just—

"Just come home safe, Vika."

Fuck. Fuck.

From her periphery, she registers Cait — Vi's little girlfriend, that prestigious bitch — stumbling to her feet, fumbling for her glitching (why the fuck is it glitching?) rifle. Sevika moans in pain, trying to will some strength into her muscles to get up, fucking get up! Cait can't be a better shot than Jinx. No one is. But Jinx is out of weapons, having been clawing at Vi with her bare hands and pink-blue nails for what might have been just a minute or hours, Sevika's brain is too muddled to tell. But she knows Jinx, knows that she's nearly damn useless when it comes to rationality without her sanity and her trinkets, and when she's squabbling with Vi so blindly, so violently, Sevika knows Cait will have a clear shot.

And she does.

Sevika hears a cry. Pained, almost child-like. She thinks its Jinx, at first— and for a split moment, it is. Jinx, blue-haired, glossy-eyed, a finger shot straight off its knuckle. Electricity crackles over the palm of her gloved hands, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly with each breath she takes.

But then the pain overtakes Sevika again, and she clutches at her rib, her leg— everything. She wants it out, but she doesn't know where it even is.

When her eyes clear again and she can breathe semi-properly, it's Isha now. That little runt with her mop of messy brown hair and that stupid helmet that's toppled to the floor. Vi is straddling her sister-- or was, before that stupid kid ran from where she was hiding in the rafters (when had she gotten down, and how did she do it so quickly?), shoved herself between the pink-haired turncoat and Jinx.

There's two holding a gun now.

Words being spoken. Isha wails, clinging onto Jinx fiercely even when Jinx tries to shove her off, equal parts frustrated and confused by the younger girl's behaviour. Sevika thinks of you, just as quick to shove yourself between Sevika and danger when the two of you had been barely strangers.

"Come back to me."

A groan rips itself from her throat, silent but pained. Sevika pulls herself to her feet, the goddamned Devil's lightning still crackling around her limbs like some fancy magic trick gone horribly wrong (She hopes it doesn't ruin her new arm. She literally just got it this week, goddammit.) Cait's back is turned to her, the Enforcer's hands gripping her rifle like a lifeline— but too stupid, too caught up in playing hero for her fucked little kingdom to notice the heavy footfalls behind her.

She stumbles to the wall, wracks her brain for somethng. She's missing it. Sevika blames it on that damn Jinx, the way she yaps like an overexcited puppy when she's explaining her plans; and the way she never actually elaborates on them, because "Sevika is too dumb, Sevika won't get it." Stupid kid. Sevika needs to get her out of here.

"Sevika. Please, don't do this," your pretty face, your teary little eyes. You're a tough little cookie, Sevika knows, like a stubborn weed growing in their nasty streets, but you're always so quick to tears when you think Sevika's staking her bets too high.

Maybe she did. But she can't lose the game. Not now.

One more bet.

Her human arm fumbles clumsily over the flat stone wall— not one of those pillars that Jinx and Vi had so recklessly ruined in their squabble. She feels along the ridges, remembers the flares and bombs that Jinx had planted all around Topside.

There's a click.

"Don't go."

Oh, she's not going. She's got another day yet.

[hellfirenacht]

Anomaly Chapter 5

Fic Summary: You can talk to anyone in school with no problem. At least, anyone who’s not named Eddie Munson.

Chapter Summary: You and Eddie make some calls and get to know each other a little more.

Tags: Eddie Munson x Reader, one-sided enemies to lovers, one-sided pining, miscommunication trope, anxious-ish!Reader, fem!Reader, Reader is not described, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.4k

Master List

No beta, you all should know better by now.

“You’re old enough to buy your own now, you know. I’m only gonna up-charge you.” 

“What? Can’t a girl just buy some smokes from her friend?” 

“Right. Friends.”

“Fine, then I’m supporting a local business.” 

“What do you actually want, Stacy?”

“I’m just making sure that you two are going to play nice.”

“What the Hell? Shouldn’t you be telling her that?”

“She’s always nice.”

“Right, and I’m the queen of Sheba.”

“Well then, your majesty, just give me my smokes and I’ll be on my way.”

Bev wasn’t too happy that Eddie was going to be coming in an hour and a half later than expected on his Wednesday shift but she waved it off. The Hideout survived without him for god knows how long, the small dive could handle losing a busboy for a few hours on a weekday night. 

He sauntered into Ms. Benson’s classroom a fashionable ten minutes late, and a few dollars richer. You were already sitting at a desk chatting with Ms. Benson about who-knows-what before taking his own seat on top of the desk. 

If Eddie had to be here, he might as well rebel in his own way. He really would rather be bussing tables and trying to convince Bev to give him extra time on stage than do school services with someone who hated him. 

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Munson.” Ms. Benson said, ignoring the fact that he was on his desk. She pulled out a thick binder and a rolodex that looked like it would fall apart if she didn’t hold it just so. “In here, you’ll find the budget for Spring Day and all of the different vendors and events that we’ve used over the past ten years.” 

Being the smart woman that she was, she placed the rolodex in front of you and dropped the binder on Eddie’s lap. He raised an eyebrow and flipped through it casually, as if looking through the Spring Day binder would provide him with secrets to the school that he could use to force Higgins to let him graduate this year. 

“There’s a phone in the teachers lounge you can use.” She continued, grabbing her own purse. “Let me know what you come up with on Monday.” 

“Wait- are you leaving?” You asked, jaw dropped as Ms. Benson started out of the room. “You’re not gonna help?”

“There’s only one phone. Just get some quotes for vendors. All of the information is in the binder. Just close the door tight when you leave.”  

Your mouth was still agape as Ms. Benson left, which was very amusing to Eddie. It was dead silent before Eddie burst out in a maniacal cackle that echoed through the classroom and made you jump. That also amused Eddie. 

“Well well, it looks like it’s just us in charge of Spring Day.” He got off the desk and dropped the binder down where he had just been sitting. Eddie leaned over the binder and flipped through it. “I’m thinking evil clowns, adding balloon popping back but with knives, and a petting zoo with snakes and goats.” Eddie turned and grinned wide at you. 

“What, no fortune teller to tell you how you’re gonna die a gruesome death?” Your voice was flat, but Eddie could pick up the hint of amusement in your voice which made his grin widen. 

“I’m sure we can dress you up in something covered in stars. I’ll sit under the table and shake it. We’ll make a killing!” Eddie laughed. 

“A killing? Really?” You shook your head at the terrible joke and flipped through the rolodex with a sour look on your face. Eddie hadn’t meant to make a pun, but if it annoyed you he’d keep it up. 

Play nice.

As if Stacy had any say over what happened between the two of you. He barely knew either of you.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to charge for anything, anyway.” you continued, flipping through the cards almost as fast as Doug flipped through long boxes at the comic shop. 

“What doesn’t kill Higgens won’t hurt us.” Eddie pressed, not even fully invested in the idea himself. Something about his talk with Stacy just got under his skin, and the only way he could shake it was by getting under yours now. 

“I don’t think half of these businesses even exist anymore.” you said to yourself as you kept flipping through the rolodex with your good hand. Eddie sighed and figured you were ignoring him until you continued. “This laundromat shut down last year. I heard it was a front for some mafia and there was a shootout.”

Eddie perked up a little, had that been an attempt at playing along? It wasn’t completely in line, but everyone in town knew that the laundromat had just been flooded from the inside when a pipe burst. 

“There’s no mafia in Hawkins.” Eddie said, looking over your shoulder at the rolodex. “Only cults that sacrifice people to the dark forces.” 

You stopped messing with the rolodex, and Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong. You had apologized before, maybe it was too soon to joke about it? 

Eddie was usually good at reading people, but you were harder to understand. 

“So, what’s the budget that we’re supposed to be working with?” You asked, changing the subject. 

“Three pennies and an expired coupon for Benny’s.” Eddie replied, flipping back to the first page. 

“Yeah, that sounds right. I guess there’s no room in the budget when the basketball team needs new jerseys or the cheerleaders need pom-poms.” you rolled your eyes, done messing with the rolodex. 

Eddie was a little surprised at the dig towards the cheerleaders, considering your best friend was one. Had been one. Why the hell had she wanted to buy smokes from him today?

The two of you finally got up and made your way to the teacher’s lounge. Ms. Teedee, the art teacher, gave him a half hearted wave as she finished washing her coffee cup. Eddie liked Ms. Teedee, she didn’t give a shit about his reputation. Art and shop were the only classes he had ever done consistently well in, so when he was saddled with a third senior year he decided to re-take art as an easy A. 

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon calling places and taking down numbers. You did most of the talking, but Eddie took charge when you got up to use the bathroom. 

Eddie was surprised when you came back, well that you came back. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you had run for the hills and left him alone. But you did come back, two bags of chips in hand. One of them was offered to him. 

“Thanks...?” Eddie didn’t mean for that to come out as a question, but it did anyway. How was it that one minute you hated him, but another you were apologizing? You were scandalized to be left alone with him to work on this, and yet came back with food. 

He shouldn’t trust it, but he also wasn’t too good for free snacks. 

“So, what’s your deal?” Eddie asked, timing his question with you shoving a few large chips in your mouth. 

“Huh?” was your graceful reply as you covered your mouth with your hand. He could see that his timing was not appreciated, which made him feel better. 

“Your deal. Which of these fine cliques here at Hawkins Hell do you belong to?” Eddie elaborated, spreading his arms as if gesturing to a crowd when in reality he was gesturing to the table the phone was sitting on. 

You took a moment to finish chewing, giving him a glare as you finally got the chips down. Okay, maybe Eddie felt a little bad for that, as you had been nice enough to get him a snack. 

Play nice.

He was a dungeon master, he wasn’t known for playing nice. He could at least play fair though. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” you said finally, flipping through the binder and not looking at him. “I got in late, made friends with Stacy and... I don’t know. This late in the game, cliques aren’t exactly taking new applicants. Not this close to graduation when everyone has known each other since elementary school.” 

Eddie looked at your broken wrist again, looking at all the different signatures. For someone who didn’t belong to any group, you sure were on everyone’s good side. 

Everyone had some group they belonged to. That’s how high school worked. The Freaks sat with him, the Jocks sat with their teams, the Science Nerds sat with the science nerds... that’s how high school- no, that’s how the world worked, according to Eddie. 

Your response would normally have you tucked away as “new kid” or “freshman” but neither of those fit you. You knew too many people. You hung out with an ex-cheerleader, but you weren’t exactly jumping around with excitement at the last pep-rally. Stacy still dressed like a cheerleader, and was just as nosy as one but you didn’t look popular. 

Not that there was anything wrong with the way you looked to Eddie, you just didn’t look or dress like the popular crowd. He could tell you apart from the near identical wave of perms and ponytails. 

What was your deal?

When Eddie didn’t respond in an appropriate amount of time for you, you responded with the same question. 

“What’s your deal, Eddie?” His name sounded foreign coming from your mouth. 

“Huh?” he asked, shoving a chip into his own mouth, mimicking you. You rubbed your face and let out a laugh, to his surprise. 

“What’s your deal? Or, I guess what’s Hellfire’s deal?” You clarified. 

“Well, you see, it’s a fantasy game-” 

“Not a cult?” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” 

“Go on.”

You didn’t interrupt him again as he started explaining the bare basics of the game, figuring that you were just looking for an excuse to stop calling people for a moment. That was fine with Eddie, he’d happily sit here and rant about his favorite game in the teachers lounge, tainting the warden’s space with the game that they tried to hide away from the rest of the inmates. 

What he didn’t expect was for you to be listening so intently. You were looking at him, really really looking at him. If Eddie didn’t know any better, and he liked to think that he did, you seemed to be actually interested in the world he was opening up up to you. 

His eyes glanced down at your cast, and the curly signature of Chrissy Cunningham shimmered slightly on the underside of your cast. Eddie could barely make out her last name, but he could assume that the glitter gel pen signature belonged to the cheerleader. 

That reminded Eddie that, popular or not, you were still in a completely different world than him. One where people actually liked you and didn’t sneer at you for bullshit reasons. 

But then why were you looking at him so intensely? 

“So you’re playing make believe with dice and if you roll high you can do things and if you roll low you eat shit.” You said, crumpling up your bag of chips. 

It was a grossly simplified explanation of the game that Eddie had poured hundreds of hours into. 

“Yeah, basically.” At least that had killed a good fifteen minutes. 

“And you’re god.” You added, which Eddie did appreciate. 

“No, I’m Satan, remember?” He flashed you his most charming smile and you just laughed again. 

“You aren’t that bad.” You sounded like you meant that. 

“Tell that to my players, they say I’m worse than Satan.” He said with pride. 

Your conversation was interrupted by the bell, announcing that any clubs needed to pack up and leave. Eddie took that as your cue that you were done. 

You closed the binder and the notes that you two had taken over the past hour and took a deep breath. 

“Wait, shit, Mrs. Benson left. What do we do with this?” You asked, motioning to the binder and rolodex. “Do we just leave it here?”

Eddie wouldn’t have thought twice about just dumping it on one of the tables and leaving. He still had his shift to get to, but... 

“Come on, we’ll drop it on her desk.” he said, and walked out of the lounge before you could protest. 

You caught up to him a moment later, glaring at him for ditching you and leaving you to scramble with your things. Eddie wasn’t sure if he liked you more when you looked like you were hanging on his every word or looking at him with annoyance. Maybe Eddie just wasn’t sure if he liked you. He sure couldn’t tell if you like him at all. 

“It’s locked.” you said. 

“Barely. Make sure no one’s coming.” Eddie squatted down and pulled out a thin strip of plastic from his coat. He could feel his eyes on him and he looked up at you as you gaped. “Not me, look out for anyone else.” he clarified. 

Once you had looked away and down the hall, it didn’t take more than a few seconds for Eddie to jimmy the lock open. He grabbed the rolodex and the binder from you before you knew what was happening. 

Eddie had broken into the classroom, dropped the items off the desk, and slipped back out into the hallway in less than a minute. 

“How’d you learn to do that?” you asked, following him out towards the parking lot. 

Eddie just shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”

It was cool outside, the winter weather seemed to finally be on its way out. A small beep signaled you to the sleek car that Stacy drove and you waved at her. Being the good friend that she was, Stacy had offered to drive you home that night. 

“I guess, I’ll see you next week.” you said to Eddie. 

“Same bullshit time, same bullshit place.” he agreed, watching you hop into the car before heading off towards his own van and drive off. 

“Sooooo, how was your date?”

“It wasn’t a date, it was school.”

“Did you make out in the teachers lounge?” 

“No, I gave him a hand job in the janitor's closet.”

“The one by the gym, or the one by the science lab.”

“The gym. Smelled worse but at least there weren’t any dangerous chemicals.” 

“No, really, tell me what happened.”

“We called different places to get quotes for Spring Day. He also talked about Dungeons and Dragons for fifteen minutes.”

“And then you made out?”

“No.”

“But you wanted to.” 

“....Stacy, I’ve never wanted to blow someone more in my entire life.”

Author Notes: Sorry this took so long, I got so brain dead writing this. I really need to visit more of the source material. I love Eddie, but he just hasn't been talking to me much lately. Hopefully when Rise of Hellfire comes out it'll help lol

Tag List: 

 @eddiemunsonfuxks @kirsteng42 @strangereads @pedroschka @generoustrashpeach

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@amieinghigh @hazydespair @princesssunderworld

[pinechild]

𝕆𝕓𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝔻𝕦𝕥𝕪: 𝔸𝕟𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕪 𝕩 𝔸𝕗𝕒𝕓! 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

➺ ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ᵈᵘᵇᶜᵒⁿ, ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ʰᵃˢ ᵛᵃᵍⁱⁿᵃ ᵇᵘᵗ ⁿᵒ ᵐᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵍᵉⁿᵈᵉʳ, ᶠⁱⁿᵍᵉʳⁱⁿᵍ, ᵘⁿᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗᵉᵈ ᴾⁱⱽ, ᶜʳᵉᵃᵐᵖⁱᵉ, ˢˡⁱᵍʰᵗ ʰᵒʳʳᵒʳ ᵉˡᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ

In this economy, finding a job was damn near impossible. So—desperate times call for desperate measures, and working under B.O.A.D.A.C was no exception. You risk your life almost daily hunching over a computer screen, scanning meticulously over live security feed for any anomalous activity.

So imagine your surprise when you feel something outside that feed. Something not human.

Imagine feeling unseen hands crawling under your shirt to grope at your supple flesh, kneading at it in the process. Fear and confusion squeeze at your chest, knowing that you were alone in your station—or so you thought.

Imagine those hands traveling up to tweak at your nipples while you still try to concentrate on the feed, making you shiver and grit your teeth as pleasure tickles the back of your brain.

Imagine your pussy getting wet with how roughly your nipples are being tugged, enough to get the anomalous entity’s attention—invisible fingertips raking down your body before snaking down under your underwear, teasing at your clit.

Imagine hearing a guttural growl as it teases at your folds, one unseen hand clasps at your jaw to keep you from looking away at your screen. Both panic and arousal pool at your tummy as you feel thick fingers starting to stretch you out.

Imagine feeling those thick digits fuck into you, making you whimper as you loose concentration and miss a few anomalies on your feed, fingers that curl at your spongy spot and make you gush all over them.

Imagine your pants being ripped down, exposing your pussy to the cool night air before an unseen cock spears right into you and knocking the air out of your feeble lungs. Your cunt aching in both pain and pleasure as its being stretched out.

Imagine feeling every ridge and vein fuck into you as your eyes stayed glued to your screen, leaving you but to pant helplessly as your tired eyes weakly report missing furniture. Heavy balls slapping harshly at your clit as your poor little pussy gets fucked, enough to make your legs shake and nails dig into your desk.

Imagine a bulky cock head bullying at your spot, fucking it over and over until a gargled scream rips out of your throat.

Imagine being fucked through your orgasm, vision watery and no longer paying attention to anything as your eyes roll back to your skull. The same hand clamping at your jaw again as a warning, snapping you back to focus again.

Imagine hearing a bellowed gnarl as hot, sticky cum floods and balloons your womb; extra amounts that couldn’t be held in spill onto the floor below you with lewd plops.

Imagine catching your breath as hands pull away and cock unsheathing from your aching cunt, sweat beading at your forehead. As your heart settles back into your ribcage, you realize your mistake of not keeping your focus.

Realistically, you should’ve been dead by now with all your mistakes and missing all the anomalies throughout that entire encounter.

So imagine your surprise when theres no anomaly in sight as you flicker through each camera, clock striking 6 with that familiar, dull ring you know all too well.

[sui-imi]

day 5: (no) Short cuts

I was rereading IJAG and thinking about the 2 month wait

transparent / anomaly!reader, and IJAG!sans by @htsan

@sansxyouweek

[dearest-painter]

Anomaly! Reader can go to other worlds to get some free air but they don't stay in one world for very long time.

Spider teens met Anomaly! Reader, when spider teens are doing missions. (You can add some ideas)

Anomaly!Reader watch’s the spider teens on the mission very confused but interested in these teenagers, they almost feel like home…whatever that is.

[fudgelling-away]

Let's get straight to the point. Some of my posts have been reblogged with demeaning tags. And yes, I can tell if it's playful bickering or plain nastiness just fine.

I like playful. I do not like angry and condescending.

Now, I wouldn't care if those were sent to me as a private message, but tags are read. by. other. people.

Do not dare to use my art to shame other people.

And if you think I am or anybody is oversensitive (I hate that term) - people look into entertainment for a reason. Life is hard. Everybody suffers one way or another. Many people are hanging by a thread. You never know what will make somebody snap. Life is not safe, so we go and try to find a little safe spot for ourselves with some nice people. When you get attacked there, it hurts.

I remember how it feels to be vulnerable and have the thing you enjoy soiled. I remember the exact moment I left one of my previous fandoms as a child and how ashamed it made me feel. It was like 10 years ago, but I remember what was said and who said it. Nobody was speaking up. There were friends, yes, but silent when something was happening, because they were afraid to be shamed as well.

Years later I have my voice now and I'm going to speak, be it through text or art. And if my work makes at least one single person smile and feel validated, then all the hours I have spent on it have been worth it. It's always worth it.

That's why I do not tolerate pointless cruel mean comments, no matter how small or mild. Get your negativity elsewhere and fix your issues so you don't keep spreading it.

And that is the only rant I am going to post on this blog.

Only more fluff from now on ♡

[n01r-kn1ght]

A very late happy birthday to IJAG by @htsan

Enjoy this lil skele-smooch by the one and only snas understory >:3

[nino-rox]

ANOMALY | CHAPTER THREE

Stiles Stilinski x Original Male Reader | M.O

Warnings : Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT, Gore.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Woman with curly hair is Scott’s mother. Woman with straight hair and a killer gaze is y/n’s mother - inspired by Addison Shepherd {Grey’s Anatomy} Played by Kate Walsh. Thank you for the support ! Please request for part 4 ! Also doesn’t Jackson look so hot like HELLO ?? Not proof read yet!

A loud bang woke him up; the sunlight coming through his window blinded him as he opened his eyes; it took a few seconds for him to realise.

The morning arrived slowly, the pale light filtering through the thin curtains. Your shoulder throbbed, pulling you out of sleep like an anchor. The dream—no, nightmare—lingered at the edges of your mind: the cold air clinging to your skin, the scent of wet earth and leaves, those yellow, slitted eyes watching from the dark.

You groaned, shifting onto your side, but the movement sent a sharp pulse of pain shooting through your arm, travelling all the way down to your fingertips. The ache was relentless, like something festering beneath your skin.

Dragging yourself to the mirror, you peeled off your shirt. The bruise had spread overnight—dark veins curling outward from the centre, spidering across your shoulder like cracks in the glass. It looked swollen and angry, almost as if it were growing, spreading with every heartbeat.

You brushed your fingers along the edge, hissing as pain jolted through you. The skin was feverish—hot to the touch, like it didn't belong to you anymore. There was something wrong with it, something alive.

You grabbed your shirt from the floor and tugged it back on, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise. It felt like the weight of the bruise had sunk into your bones, dragging you down.

Your phone buzzed from the nightstand, Maria's name flashing across the screen.

"Still alive? Or has Creepyville swallowed you whole?"

A slight, tired grin tugged at the corners of your mouth. "Barely. Already having nightmares."

Her reply was instant: "Werewolf nightmares? Please say yes."

"Just weird pain. No claws yet."

"Lame. If you grow claws, send pics immediately," she wrote.

Her humour cut through some of the weight pressing on your chest, though the ache in your shoulder refused to ease. You slipped on your shoes, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door.

The drive to school was uneventful. Beacon Hills stretched out in front of you, all quiet streets and thick woods, the kind of place that looked normal on the surface but felt... off. The bruise on your shoulder throbbed with every turn of the steering wheel, and by the time you pulled into the parking lot, you were ready to crawl back into bed.

The school building loomed ahead, old bricks and rusted metal, students milling around in clumps. You slipped through the crowd, blending in with the chaos, your hood pulled low over your face.

When you slid into your seat in AP Biology, Stiles grinned at you from across the table, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You look like death," he whispered. "Let me guess—rough night, or did you finally meet our resident monster?"

You rolled your eyes. "Something like that."

Stiles leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Careful. Beacon Hills has a way of... finding people."

You shot him a sceptical look. "And you're, what? The local monster expert?"

He grinned. "Something like that. Stick with me—I'll keep you safe."

You snorted despite yourself. "Safe from what, exactly?"

"From everything," Stiles said, as if that explained anything. "Besides, you seem like the brooding, mysterious type. You and I? We're going to get along just fine."

Before you could respond, Mr. Harris began the lecture, pacing in front of the whiteboard.

"Today, we're discussing genetic mutations—small changes that can significantly impact an organism's structure," he announced.

The words settled uncomfortably in your chest. The bruise on your shoulder pulsed, almost like it was trying to remind you of something.

"Some mutations are beneficial," Harris continued, "but others..." He trailed off, glancing around the room. "Well, not every change is for the better."

Stiles leaned over again, whispering, "Feeling mutated yet?"

"Not yet," you muttered, rubbing absently at your shoulder. "Give it time."

Class dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. By the time the bell rang, the ache in your shoulder had spread, wrapping around your muscles like a vice. You followed the stream of students out into the hallway, your steps slower, heavier.

The locker room was warm and humid, the scent of sweat and damp tile hanging in the air. You pulled off your hoodie with a sigh, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise.

The door swung open, and Jackson Whittemore walked in, shirt already gone, his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.

Every movement was deliberate and controlled, his muscles shifting beneath smooth, tanned skin. His scent—woodsy, with just a hint of spice—wrapped around you, clinging to the steam-filled air.

He glanced at your shoulder, and for a moment, the smirk slipped from his face. Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe concern—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"That looks bad," Jackson murmured, stepping closer.

"It's fine," you muttered, though the words felt empty.

Jackson didn't move away. He stood close, too close, his shoulder brushing against yours. His presence was heavy, magnetic like gravity pulling you in.

Without a word, his hand rose, his fingers grazing the edge of the bruise. The light and deliberate touch sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the pain.

"You should get that checked out," Jackson whispered, his thumb tracing slow circles along the bruise.

"I'll live," you whispered back, though your pulse hammered in your chest.

For a moment, the air between you buzzed with unspoken tension, thick and electric.

Jackson's thumb pressed harder, dragging across your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, lingering long enough to make your heart stutter - even if only for a second.

"You should stay away from people like me," Jackson murmured, though the way his thumb lingered told a different story.

His breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind. For a second, it felt like he might close the distance between you, his gaze dark and intent.

"Like I said," Jackson whispered, "it would be safer for you if you stayed away."

"Well past safe and saving," you murmured.

Jackson chuckled, the sound vibrating in your bones. "Is that so." He whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

But neither of you moved, and the air crackled with anticipation.

It was dangerous, reckless, and utterly stupid. You knew it would end badly, but Jackson was magnetic, irresistible, like gravity pulling you closer and closer, and you would do anything to get your mind off the pain.

Your bodies were almost touching, just a hair's breadth away, the tension between you thick and electric. Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed his hand on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

The hot water blasting from the showers onto you was the only sound you could hear; the warmth was comforting, making you feel less alone, like someone else was there with you, protecting you from whatever was outside.

The water dripped off your skin, the warmth enveloping your body.

You couldn't help but wonder how this boy did what everyone else had failed, making you want him - even if just in the moment.

"What are you doing?" You whispered, though you already knew the answer.

"Whatever I want," Jackson murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pressed closer, his skin burning hot against yours. His hand trailed lower, his thumb grazing your v-line.

"Are you going to stop me?" Jackson asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"No," you whispered.

Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed itself on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

You were trapped between the wall and his body, his hands roaming freely over your bare skin.

"Good," Jackson growled, his voice vibrating against your neck.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath on your neck as he began to gently kiss your neck, his hands slowly moving downwards.

Your hands wandered down his muscular torso, exploring his body.

"I didn't think you'd actually want this," Jackson whispered, his voice thick with desire.

Jackson let out a low chuckle, his lips trailing down your neck.

"Who said I did?" you replied. However, you couldn't stop your body from responding, your arms instinctively snaking over his neck, drawing him closer.

"I know you do," Jackson murmured. "I can smell it on you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as his hand slid lower, hands squeezing your ass, pulling you flush against him.

A cough interrupted the moment. Both of you turned to see Stiles standing in the doorway, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"Sorry," Stiles said, though his tone didn't match his words.

Jackson stepped back, leaving you buzzing from the ghost of his touch, glancing before leaving you alone with the buzz-cut boy.

"Stiles, It's not what it looks like."

"Yeah, right. Whatever, man," Stiles muttered, though his tone didn't match his words.

Stiles couldn't help but wonder why all the hot guys were attracted to Y/N; he didn't mean that he had a crush; hell no, he's not that desperate; he's not gonna be the 4th wheel. But something about Y/N did intrigue him.

"Stiles, wait," Y/N called, running after the buzz-cut.

"What?" Stiles snapped, though he instantly regretted his harsh tone.

Y/N looked taken aback, his eyes wide and confused.

"Nothing," Y/N mumbled, looking away. Stiles was only just starting to notice the massive bruise on his shoulder, feeling a bit bad for snapping.

"No, I didn't mean—sorry, I just meant...look, I get it, okay? You and Jackson. And whatever. It's fine," Stiles said, his voice softer now, but you REALLY should stay away from him.

As Stiles completed that sentence, he noticed something else: Y/N was very … naked; a blush crept up his face as he turned around to leave - still upset by what he saw - he wanted to ask about the bruise…he wanted to worry, but it was just not the moment.

The ache in your shoulder followed you out of the locker room, heavier now, as if the memory of Jackson's touch had settled beneath your skin.

Later that evening, you made your way to the hospital; it felt colder than usual, the sterile scent of antiseptic cutting through the warmth that still clung to you from the locker room - Y/N would never admit it. Still, that little random thing greatly distracted him from his shoulder - and y/n was grateful.

Y/N mentally prepared himself to speak to his mother and "explain" the 2-foot bruise spanning his body as he walked to the reception. 

Y/N: Hello, I'm looking for Addison Shepherd, I was wondering if you knew where I could find her

Nurse: Hi. Are you sure you have an appointment with her?

Y/N: No, I'm her son, Y/N. I was hoping to speak to her if she's free

One thing Y/N never hated about himself was that his formal, polite social self could kick in no matter the situation…or the pain - while really, somewhere deep down, he wondered what made him such an excellent liar.

Nurse: She's in surgery; she'll be done in about 40 minutes; maybe you can wait? Oh, and also Y/N? You're Scott's new friend, right? I had no idea Dr.Shepherd was your mother! We're all so happy to have a woman of her calibre working with us.

Y/N Forced a smile instinctively.

Y/N: Haha, I'm so glad to hear that! She was a bit nervous about her first day here… oh, how do you know Scott?

Nurse: Oh well, he's my so—

Person: That's Scott's Mom

… the sudden answer caught both the nurse and Y/N off guard as Y/n turned towards the exceedingly familiar annoying voice.

Nurse: Jesus, when did you get here? You need to stop sneaking up like that.

Stiles: Awww … but it's my signature move. 

The buzz-cut boy said, grinning and making a pouty face, to which Y/N just shot a weirded-out look that said… "Ew… grow up."

(Author's Note: Scott McCall's mother's name is Melissa McCall)

Nurse: Anyway, I'm Melissa, Scott's mom. I'm glad to see that you're running about making friends so soon already

The lady said, smiling politely, a smile which racked Y/N with guilt as he didn't really consider the odd duo his friends… it's not that Scott and Stiles weren't great. It's just that, in Y/N's life, he grew to associate the term friendship with a relatively close and protective personal bond…Scott and Stiles…?….they were just… classmates.

Stiles: Well, of course, he's making friends already. Look at the great crowd he hangs out with!

Stiles said excitedly, pointing to himself, a gesture that simply made Y/N feel worse for not considering him a friend…

Y/N tried, but despite being an excellent liar, he couldn't match Stiles' enthusiastic tone when he replied to the boy, which was something Melissa was quick to catch.

Y/N knew Melissa noticed it and quickly changed the topic of conversation.

"Oh, by the way, how come you're at the hospital ?" Y/N asked Stiles while shooting him a questioning look.

Internally dreading that he was stuck in this conversation after a highly awkward morning with Stiles.

Stiles: My dad is the sheriff; Scott and I are waiting for him here.

Melissa: Scott's here? 

Stiles: Yep, he's in the cafeteria 

Melissa: Oh, I should say hi, I'll see you two boys later. Stay safe!

Stiles and Y/N waved her goodbye.

After she left, stiles turned around.

"So are we gonna talk about what happened, or— Am I Pretending that I never saw you naked in the locker room with Jackson Whittemore?" Stiles asked you sarcastically.

Y/N couldn't quite figure out why Stiles would bring it up? After he already made it clear, nothing really happened. Was he upset? Was he mocking him? Either way, Y/N was not in the mood.

Stiles: Uh, Too soon to joke about it?

Y/N: …

Stiles: Got it. So what happened with the, you know…bruise the size of Texas.

Y/N: Why the hell are you so nosy?

Stiles: Because it's the size of Texas?

Y/N: …

Stiles: okay! Wow, you are not in the mood

Y/N: It's been a day.

Stiles: Right.

The two boys fell silent, the air between them heavy and awkward. Y/N shifted his weight, and the bruise on his shoulder ached with every movement.

Stiles couldn't help but keep glancing at it. As if he could see the bruise through your clothes.

"It's fine," you murmured.

"Really? Because it looks—"

"Fine," you interrupted.

Stiles frowned. "If you say so."

Y/N didn't answer, and the air between you crackled with tension.

Stiles shuffled awkwardly; not knowing what to say, he decided to 'wing it.'

"Okay," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "Then tell me about you.

"What?" you asked, justifiably confused by his statement.

"Because that's what people do. They talk about themselves," Stiles replied, grinning.

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions?" Y/N shot back.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm bored."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide the slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"So. You moved from LA. What was that like?" Stiles asked.

"Hot," you replied, deadpan.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I bet. Must've been a big change, though."

"Not really," you said, though the words felt empty.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't press. "Okay. What did you do there?"

"Stuff."

"Omg, no shit, really? Fascinating… ." Stiles shot a look at you.

"I'm not much of a social bee personally." 

—silence—

When Y/N said "he's not a talker", he did it to try and justify why he said the word "stuff" so vaguely; since he isn't used to talking so much personally in informal social settings, it didn't come easy to him to always respond in the most appropriate ways in personal conversations - But unfortunately what it came off as to Stiles was…I really, really don't wanna be talking to you."

Stiles looked a little taken aback by what Y/N said - essentially misunderstanding the meaning as "stop talking to me" - when the truth was actually quite the opposite, and the truth is that Y/N was Just slowly actually getting used to the sarcasm and constant state of "joking-need" enjoying the little conversation, he found himself wanting to get annoyed by Stiles stupid quips - it was a new feeling for Y/N, one that scared him a bit.

With a hint of sadness, giving up on speaking to you, Stiles got up from the creaky waiting room couch, "Uhm, anyway, I think I go," he said, almost coldly, turning and leaving, giving a small wave.

Y/N couldn't help but watch the boy walk away, a strange emptiness filling his chest.

(Author's note: SOS GUYS SEND HELP. I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING; I'M JUST WRITING AS IT COMES TO ME LIKE I'M POSSESSED BY THE FANFIC GHOST)

An arm rested on his shoulder before Y/N could spiral into his thoughts and emotions.

He looked up, his mother standing before him, a soft expression on her face.

"Mom," you murmured.

"You know, it's never good when you come to see me at work," she said, her voice gentle.

"I'm sorry."

Addison sighed. "Don't apologise. Come, I'll show you my new office."

Y/N followed her through the labyrinthine halls, past doctors, nurses and patients.

As Y/N walked through the cafeteria, he saw a familiar buzz-cut, accompanied by his taller, athletic, crooked-jaw friend and Melissa.

They were having a light and carefree conversation, smiling and laughing, and the air between them was calm and comfortable. That was until Stiles' eyes met y/n's.

Suddenly, everything froze as if time itself had stopped. For a second, all Y/N could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. All he could see was the look on Stiles' face—that mixture of surprise and hurt, his mouth open slightly, as if he was going to say something, say hi.

But y/n didn't give him a chance. He didn't like how Stiles made him feel so on edge and overly concerned for someone he hadn't considered a friend; he wasn't used to feeling so...restless.

Without a word, y/n turned and walked away, the ache in your shoulder heavier than before, his gaze lingering like a ghost on your skin.

— Stiles — POV—

I think he really hates me, Stiles thought to himself as Y/N coldly walked by.

"Oh, there's Y/N and his mom, too, Scott. Why don't you go invite Y/N over for dinner tonight ?" Melissa chimed in, noticing both the boys look towards y/n.

Scott: I mean, sure, but what if he says no?

Melissa: he seems like a nice guy, and his mother is right there; I doubt you'll get a no.

Stiles: Oh, I'm so coming too. Where's my invite?

Melissa: Coming? Coming where you already basically live in my house

Stiles: Are you asking me to move in? <3 

Scott: NO, NO, SHE IS NOT, AND you can come. I'll go ask Y/N.

Stiles watched Scott follow Y/N out of the cafeteria as they turned the hallway, wondering what the boy would do. Would he casually approach the man and ask him, or would he just stand awkwardly?

Scott saw Y/N enter an office and start stalking; not wanting to interrupt, he decided to wait outside the room; though he felt like he was eavesdropping because of his werewolf super hearing, it just couldn't be helped; he couldn't really "turn it off" on a whim.

Y/N's POV —

After walking out of the cafeteria, I sighed deeply, which made my mother shoot me a questioning look.

"I'm just tired, the packing, the moving, the having no social battery left, nothing out of the ordinary." I quickly said, hoping my mom wouldn't press too hard about it because I didn't have the energy to deal with it.

"So this is the new office, not as big or fancy, but it's warm, isn't it."

The walls were a bright white, a large desk and chair sat at the far end, and a large bookshelf full of textbooks and medical journals sat behind it.

Despite the cold air conditioning, the room had a comforting and warm vibe.

Addison: Apparently, the hospital has been kind to me. Apparently, I have a reputation.

Y/N: HA That you do. And kind? I could fit two cars into your previous office.

Addison: You, young sir, must learn to be grateful for the little things.

Y/N: Yes, yes, WE KNOW.

y/n chuckled, pulling his T-shirt off abruptly; unbeknown to him, a curious Scott could see and hear everything from outside.

Addison: oh wow. What is THAT, a bruise? And a big one.

Y/N: Umm, yeah, it kinda appeared, no big deal.

Addison: No big deal? It's quite literally a 'BIG' deal. And how did you manage to get yourself into this?

Y/N: Well, I kinda don't know… I just got home and went to bed, I had a horrible nightmare, and I woke up, and this colossal mark was here, so I think maybe I was sleepwalking or something? I don't know, really, but yeah…

Addison: Are you sure it was sleepwalking? Tell me more about the nightmare. 

Y/N: I - I-Don— I don't know. It felt real, like I was awake or something. I was in bed, but then I wasn't... I was in the woods. I know it's not real, or I think it isn't because I remember the pain and getting caught in a bear trap, but I'm fine. However, there was something there when I was caught in the bear trap. It was, I don't know, this sounds crazy, it was … I don't know … it was a monster? It looked almost human, reptilian, kinda like the lizard man from Spider-Man. I KNOW, I KNOW, IT SOUNDS CRAZY, but it attacked me. My whole body couldn't move or breathe, and this is where it gets weird when I supposedly "died"/or rather "woke up" from the nightmare I was in the room, but where that ..thing… attacked me … I had this huge bruise. And I know this sounds like a cock and bull-bullshit story, but I swear I'm not lying.

Addison: Well, you are right about it. It sounds crazy, but I trust you. You know there's a thing called Phantom pain.

Y/N: MOM, I didn't imagine the pain. It's real! I have a bruise!

Addison: Oh honey, it stemming from something in your head doesn't mean it's any less real, or painful. Sometimes, when our body goes through a traumatic experience, it can leave this sort of "lasting pain." When someone gets their leg amputated, they feel a lot of extremely real pain in their "leg", the leg that's not even attached - despite this, their body produces actual pain and chemicals biologically, so the pain is very real. I'm no expert on Sleep studies, I'll have you shown to someone in a week or so, but my best guess is that the nightmare, which could have been caused by a thousand reasons like stress from moving and this and that probably inherently was traumatic enough for your body to "read it/ experience it as real pain" so even if it happened in your dream, it was damaging enough to your psyche for it to physically manifest as an actual bruise.

Y/N: So what I'm hearing is I need a shrink.

Addison: Honey, you'll realise this when you grow up, everybody needs a fucking shrink…Now I have to get back to work. I'll write you some meds for the pain, and to help it heal, don't physically exert yourself. That includes, you know, things with other people. 

Y/N: Trust me, girls aren't exactly lining up for dates right now, so you don't need to worry about it.

Addison: Aww, I love you, baby.

Y/N: Love you too.

When Y/N was done with his mother, a tall boy stood there waiting for him. It was Scott McCall.

Y/N: Uhh, Hello, Scott...

Scott: Hey, sorry, I was just waiting for you.

Addison: Who's this?

Scott: I'm Scott McCall, I am in a couple classes with your son and we were talking earlier I was just wondering if y/n wanted to come over for dinner?

Y/N: oh, umm, yeah, that sounds nice, but I wouldn't want to impose.

Addison: Oh, nonsense! He would love to come over for dinner, and it's always lovely for Y/N to make friends, isn't that right?

Y/N: MOTHER: I have friends.

Addison: Sure, baby, and that reminds me, when was the last time you called them

Y/N: Why does everyone in this world have it out for me

Addison: Mhm.

Scott: Well, that sounds great! We're leaving in 10 minutes. Can I drive you?

Y/N internally sighed. There was no winning today. Maybe Destiny just really wants Y/N to hang out with these two boys…FUCK.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! Please Like for Next Part ! Lots of Love - Nino

[kodared]

✰ Stanford & Borrower/Anomaly Reader ✰

fears not enough they have to tear him apart.

Chapter 3/?

Wordcount: 2,557 / 7,296

➤ Summary Based on the borrowers of many universes! I hope you enjoy it, and if you don't know about borrowers, let me be your guide into a world I've loved since I was young. ✰Written because I saw the severe lack of borrower content in Gravity Falls fanfic, i hope you enjoy <3 ✰ - ★Updates irregularly! I write when I want ★ ★ - Also on AO3! - ★

!!! CONTENT WARNING FOR VIVID DESCRIPTION OF PANIC ATTACKS. !!!

...

More than anything you wanted to get away from this human. Your hands finally weaseled their way out of his vice grip as you pushed at his fingers that held down your body. His thumb still pressed across your shoulders painfully as you tried to pry him off. 

“Let GO!-“ 

Ignoring his question you let out a strangled cry, if you weren’t so frantic and lightheaded you might have believed the expression on his face to be pure shock and awe. 

“I'm afraid I can't do that, you'll just take off running and I would like to ask you a few questions,” 

That was the point of being put down you quipped back in your head. Your voice lost among your emotions as you screamed internally, not wanting to give this scientist the satisfaction of a response. Your hands still pushing at his digits that curled uncomfortably around you. It was pathetic really. Being able to be pinned by the simple act of being held. His grip wasnt even all that tight anymore, adding insult to injury. 

The sheer power the human held over you just by existing made you dizzy and nauseous. 

He seemed to be lost in thought as he watched you push and practically claw at his pointer finger. He made no move to pin your hands down again so you assumed you weren't doing much damage to your dismay. 

That damned jar once again was lifted and set on the desk, before you could stop it you felt his hand tilting so your legs faced the opening. 

You tried to stop it by pushing a foot on the rim, but it was no use. All it took was Ford letting go and gravity pulled you down into the glass with a small thud. 

Your injured ankle took the brunt of the force, making you stifle a scream as you landed painfully into the glass. All the while the human just pulled his journal closer and wrote. 

Stumbling on your feet you leaned against the front of the glass, your hands balling into fists as you hit the thick and cold glass. 

“There, now that I'm not holding you does that help?” 

It almost made it worse. Atleast he wasnt picking up the jar and taking you down into his lab. 

He wasnt speaking, keeping his eyes trained on you and your heaving form. You could feel the beads of sweat practically rolling down your face. 

You were stressed. You could feel the buzz of a panic attack under your skin, your fists no longer hitting the glass as you tried to calm your frantic breathing. 

Standing was too much to ask of your body too it seemed as your knees buckled and you fell into the cold floor again. 

You only realized Ford was still speaking to you when you finally looked back up and saw almost a panicked expression on his face. Your ears rang painfully loud as you tried so hard to focus on what he was saying. 

Ultimately it didn't matter because right as you started looking up at him he seemed to panic more. Helpless to stop him you watched as he stood from his desk and you physically recoiled. Half expecting him to pick up the glass and take you down to his lab the moment you stopped being useful. 

He didn't do that though to your surprise. He just left the room. You thought that would calm you down but it didn't, the panic in your chest still raged on. 

The once uncomfortable buzz under your skin had now circled its way to your lungs. Your breathing was labored and frantic, the only comfort coming from the freezing glass walls of your prison as you pressed against it. 

Small droplets of tears glided down your face, leaving an uncomfortable dryness in their wake. You curled up as small as possible, your knees pressing to your chest. 

You had been caught. 

Your fate was sealed. 

He would drop you off at some lab for more testing if he didn't do it himself. He was probably calling someone to get you now. 

Unbeknownst to you at the moment he was making a call, but not a call to any scientist. He was making a call to the most brilliant mechanic he knew for help. 

…

It felt like it took forever for the human to come back. You didn't exactly trust your time perception at this moment though, he could've only been gone for a few minutes for all you knew. 

You stayed curled in your tight ball as you heard him sit back down at his desk. Your body is tense and awaiting him to do something. He was most definitely looking at you, no doubt writing whatever he could into his journal. 

You didn't look at him. Straining your still ringing ears to try to pick up anything that could clue you into what he was doing. 

You could most definitely hear his pen scratching away at a page in his journal. He wasnt speaking to you directly which wasnt as big of a relief as you thought it would be. 

Why did he leave the room? That was your biggest question in all honesty. 

A few more moments of silence passed between the two of you. The only sound was your strained breathing that you doubted the human could hear anyway. 

Your shoulders tensed as his voice was once again reverberating around you. Still in a whisper despite how loud it was regardless. 

“...It didn't seem to have any claws, how would It have survived in the wilderness.. Does it have some sort of venom? No, if it did-” 

…Ah. Muttering to himself. Honestly, the mark of someone who was completely sane was when they mumbled to themselves. 

You screwed your eyes shut as you blocked out what he was saying. Especially when he insisted on referring to you as an ‘it’. 

You were about to yell at him, to tell him to shut up when your ears heard a loud knocking coming from the front door. 

So he had called more scientists after all. 

The creaky wooden chair he sat on squealed against the hardwood floor as he stood. Your hands clamping over your sensitive ears before the panic that had just begun to dissipate picked back up tenfold. 

His hand reached for the jar. 

Denial. 

There was no way he was just going to turn you into the others so quickly. He had only just discovered you. Surely he hadn't taken enough notes yet to be satisfied. 

You reeled backward, your ankle screaming its protests as well as your lungs. The oxygen your brain craves so much is being exhaled much too quickly to be fully processed. 

His hand closed around the Jar. Making your body sway unsteadily as you saw the desk below you rising. The glass flooring heavily disorients you. 

Anger. 

What reasoning did he have to uproot you from your life? You weren't harming anyone. You were being turned into some scientist to experiment on you just for being born. You hadn't asked for this. 

You had just as much control over being born a borrower as he had being born a man. You didn't choose this life. 

Your hands hit against the glass as more tears began to go down your face. Hitting the floor of the jar with a faint clink. 

The human seemed none the wiser to your protests. His other hand going to cover the top of the jar as he swiftly left his room. 

Bargaining. 

Your whole body was shaking. The desperation finally made you find your voice as it cracked. 

“Let me out!- I'll talk!- I can-... I can tell you more! Don't you want answers? I can give answers!-” 

You rambled to yourself through choked sobs. The reality of your situation hits you like a ton of bricks. 

The human didn't stop walking to the main room. You both were now at the stairs when he finally acknowledged you. 

“We can all talk in a moment,” 

His voice was smooth as if he was zoned in on one task and one task alone. 

Depression. 

The realization that you couldn't stop him put a new weight on your chest as you fell into the glass wall. Not from your shaky legs surprisingly. The human just wasnt holding the jar with the most care it seemed. 

You tried to put on a brave face as he set your glass prison on the kitchen table. You were back where it all started. 

You should've been more careful that night. He should have never seen you. You should have never moved into this cottage. More than anything you regretted not being able to see your family again. 

You could hear the front door open as a second pair of footsteps joined Ford in the kitchen. 

You prepared yourself for the worst. So when you looked up and met the eyes of his colleague you stilled. 

“...You put them in a JAR?-” 

You hadn't expected that.

Ford seemed shocked at his assistants' outburst. Floundering for an excuse. 

“It was the best option! It didn't want to be held and if I put it down it wouldve-”

You could only imagine how rough you looked based on how the other human's expression softened when you flinched at the humans raising their voices. 

The other scientist Ford invited over had a very thick Southern accent. You never really heard an accent like his unless you counted the shows Ford occasionally played much too loud. 

Thinking back on it this human might have made him watch said shows. 

He took his thin-framed glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Agitated with his companion. 

“You called sayin’ they looked ill, it's not hard to see exactly why.” 

It clicked in your head now. Ford must've seen your panic as some sort of illness rather than the emotional trauma he was inflincting. 

“I wasnt causing it any harm! It even understands English, do you know how big of a find this is!” 

Ford was trying his hardest to explain his reasoning to Fiddleford. He only wanted answers from the smaller being. Fiddleford put his glasses back on and directly addressed the creature in the jar. 

You watched as he crouched down by the table, causing you to push yourself backward. Pressing against the glass as hard as you possibly could to put distance between the two of you. 

“M’terribly sorry for all this. Do you have a name? Mines Fiddleford. Fiddleford Mcgucket,” 

He didn't reach for the jar, he didn't even get closer to examine you. He just sat still, patiently waiting for you to respond. 

Ford interjected. 

“I already tried talking to it directly, but it gave me no response apart from when we were on the stairs and it was just babbling-” 

“y/n.” 

Both the humans in the room froze at your weak voice. Of course, it was rough and scratchy from your prior sobbing, but they heard it regardless. 

“Thats.. That's my name.” 

You could see the way Fiddlefords mouth pinched into a small smile. Almost one of pride at being able to get a response from you. 

Ford didn't look upset, but he most definitely wasnt pleased at the thought of the creature preferring Fiddleford over him. After all, he had been the one to discover it, it should want to talk to him. 

“Pleased to meet ya, I would offer you a handshake but… Well, I doubt you'd be able to shake more than my pinky” 

His chuckle soothed you slightly. Your chest still felt tight, reminding you of just how terrible you looked probably as you wiped your tears away finally. 

You even caught yourself trying to smile out of politeness before resting your shaking hands in your lap. 

You could see the way Fiddlefords eyebrows pinched together in concern. 

“Do ya need any water? How long have you been in there?” 

“I uh-” 

Neither of the humans heard you as Ford stepped forward again and let out a sigh. 

“I’ve only had it in there for an hour or so, if we let it out it could run.” 

It most definitely felt longer than an hour. Time must’ve been moving faster since you were in such a panic. 

Your body instinctually tensed up as Ford stepped closer. Making Fiddleford finally snap as he stood from his crouch. 

“I need a word with you alone,” 

He didn't even wait for Ford to respond before yanking him by the sleeve out of the room. Leaving you alone once more as you heard the front door slam. 

…

“Ford. Ya can't just trap someone in a jar and expect them to be okay. Mentally and physically speakin’.” 

Ford was being actively chewed out and by his assistant no less. 

He crossed his arms across his chest defensively. His hands tightened on his forearms. 

“I never hurt it! I only asked it a few questions, even the Gnome was calmer than it!” 

“The Gnome was an entirely different situation! You asked him if he wanted to come with you! You just found this… What did you call them?” 

“Parva persona.” 

Fiddleford ran a hand through his hair before reaching into his jacket and pulling out his tobacco. Ignoring the way Ford groaned to himself as the mechanic put a bit in his lip. 

“Whatever. Not their name anyway. And while yer’ at it quit callin’ them an it. It's dehumanizing.” 

Ford unfolded his hands and threw them in the air before gripping the railing of his porch. 

“Exactly my point Fiddleford! They’re not human! It's abnormal! By all rules of science, it shouldn't even be possible for something as small as it to exist!” 

Fiddleford spit a bit of his chewing tobacco off the porch before slowly getting more agitated with his partner. He could be so smart but so dumb most of the time. 

“What makes something deserving of basic decency Ford? Because ill tell ya’, its normally when they look human but smaller and can speak English. I think you even treated the Gnome with more dignity! You didn't trap him in a jar!” 

Ford didn't quip back saying he did put the gnome in a cage after questioning it for a few days to research it. He just sighed and looked off into the woods. 

“...I just don't want my discovery to run off if we let it out. If it runs I don't think ill get another opportunity for answers.” 

“Why not just talk to them? M’sure you could get them to hang around, you’d just have to accept getting answers slowly. An while yer at it stop puttin’ em in jars.” 

…That might work. If Ford could make some sort of connection with it he could get more answers than just interrogating it in the jar. Ford could see the look in his eyes and before he could stop it the other man was already going back into the cottage. 

With a heavy groan, Fiddleford spat out the last of his tobacco off the porch into the grass before following him. 

He had a feeling this would be a long night with no sleep. For both him and the creature in the jar.

. . .

TAGLIST: @i-am-tiredd

Thank you so much for reading!! More updates soon :)