#anyways ill post my second half after you post yours :)

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 The Other Ghost Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

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Summary: When you start avoiding Spencer in the hallway, he thinks it's the end. But maybe your cat can prove him wrong.

Words: 7,1k.

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of anxiety attacks. angst. hurt/comfort. painter!reader. post prison reid with almost all his past traumas. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I'm so sensitive because THIS IS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER, and I can't believe it yet😭, but I hope I can post you the end of the series this week along with a couple of extras. I have an oral exam on Thursday (I'm a law student getting crazy), and after that I'll be more free.

Spencer Reid had grown used to the people he loved disappearing just when he needed them most. Always right after he’d let his guard down, when trust came naturally, and when things finally felt safe. That was when they left. Always.

But you don't.

It was a pattern he had identified throughout his life but stopped with you. Because you never left him.

You didn’t walk away the first time he told you about his work, when chilling details of old cases slipped out mid-sentence because his nerves got the better of him. You didn’t flinch when he recited gruesome facts with clinical precision, not realizing how heavy they sounded in a quiet kitchen at night. You didn’t leave the first time he launched into one of his long-winded explanations, full of theories and statistics you couldn’t quite follow but listened to anyway, because it mattered to him. You didn’t leave when he had to cancel dinner—for the third, fourth, fiftieth time—because the job called, because someone out there needed saving more urgently than he needed a warm meal or a quiet night with you. You stayed when he stood in your door with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, crying for the first time as he told you about the parts of himself that made him feel broken. You stayed when he talked about his mother—her illness, her mind unraveling—and the helplessness he carried like a second skin. You didn’t leave, not even when he tried to push you away, when the fear of being loved and then left again made him cold and distant, when he tried to make you angry enough to walk out.

You stayed. Every time.

And yet, he didn’t love you simply because you were the only one who stayed. Spencer loved you for you.

For the way you were always willing to help others without hesitation, stepping into people’s pain like it was your nature to offer comfort. For how you could take the dullest palette—whether a room, a canvas, or a person—and breathe something vibrant into it, as you had quietly and irrevocably done with him. For the way your heart held space for everyone, no matter how broken or distant they were. For how gently you loved your cat, speaking to her like she was family.

And of course, for how you had fallen asleep on the couch this night, curled under a blanket beside his godson’s bed, trying to soothe his fevered restlessness. Spencer had found you there, half-lit by the dim nightlight in the room, your features softened in sleep, your hand still resting near the child’s arm like a silent guardian. You looked so peaceful, so entirely present even in rest, and it had struck him then—undeniably and with a quiet ache—how beautiful you were.

God, the smile on his face and the way his eyes sparkled at the image were impossible to ignore.

“Let her sleep a little longer,” JJ said softly at his side, her voice warm and quiet now that she was seeing Henry resting. Her eyes flicked to the couch where you lay curled up, the soft rise and fall of your breathing matching her son’s. A small smile touched her lips. “They look so peaceful, don’t they?”

He nodded, his gaze still lingering on you with a mix of relief and something softer, something like admiration. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice low. “They really do.”

After a moment of quiet watching, they both stepped softly into the living room, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as the first light of dawn seeped gently through the curtains. The room felt warm and lived-in, wrapped in the hush that comes just before the world fully wakes. Spencer lowered himself into the familiar armchair with a slow, measured breath, a strange calm settling into his chest, like something held tightly for too long had finally begun to loosen. Across from him, Jennifer eased onto the couch, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, studying his face and every subtle shift in his body, the way only someone who truly knew him could. Like a profiler, yes—but more than that, like a friend who already sensed his change.

“Now we can talk,” she said gently, folding her hands in her lap as she leaned back into the couch.

Spencer frowned, his brow furrowing as his gaze dropped briefly to his hands. “About what?” he asked, with his voice low and cautious.

JJ tilted her head slightly, her eyes warm but perceptive. “About you,” she said softly.

He shifted in the chair, uncomfortable beneath the weight of the question. “What about me?”

She gave him a small, knowing smile. “You look…happy, more relaxed than the last time I saw you.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came, or at least not at first. They caught somewhere in his throat, tangled in the mess of thoughts that always seemed to surface when he least wanted them to. His mind, unbidden, drifted back to you. To the quiet, undeniable way you had started to change things in him.

Because the last time his friend had seen him—just three days ago at his firearm requalification—he had been a different version of himself. More haunted. His eyes had been distant, unfocused, like he was staring through paper targets and into something he couldn’t quite name. He had lingered in the office afterward, pretending to be busy, shuffling files that didn’t need sorting, letting the clock drag so he could avoid returning to his apartment. Because going home meant walking past your door. It meant risking the possibility of seeing you in the hallway, of catching your eye and feeling like a soulless person.

But now, everything felt different. He had released those fears and allowed himself to be close to you again. Closer than he’d been in a long time, if he was being truly honest. And even though it had only been a few hours in your presence, something about being near you had already begun to dull the sharp edges of his worries, like a soothing balm on old wounds. For the first time in a while, he felt…almost numb to the weight he’d been carrying.

“I’m trying,” Spencer finally said, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Trying?” JJ echoed, leaning in a little, her eyes soft but insistent. “Come on, Spence, give me the real story.”

His cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink, and his voice softened, almost shy. “Something good happened,” he admitted quietly, like sharing a fragile secret. “She knows how I feel…and, well, it’s mutual.”

A full smile bloomed on JJ’s face, sincere and full of relief. “I always knew it,” she murmured, her hand reaching out to squeeze his arm, grounding him in the moment. “I’m really happy for you two.”

He smiled too. But then it faded, like the flicker of a candle disturbed by a sudden draft. He looked down again, shoulders contracted and his friend's full attention on him.

“But…?”

“She doesn’t know everything yet.” Spencer said it as if it physically pained him to do so.

JJ didn't speak right away. Her fingers intertwined again in her lap as she watched him, calm and steady without trying to get too much in the way. But the slight wrinkle between her brows said it all and more.

“Then she knows how you feel about her,” JJ said carefully, “but not everything that happened while you were gone?”

He nodded once. “No.”

The silence hung, but not heavily. Not accusingly. Just waiting for the voice of reason.

“You’re supposed to be honest if you want to build something real with someone, Spence,” she said gently. “You want that, don’t you? Something real?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the soft spill of morning light seeping through the curtains, casting long golden streaks across the living room floor.

He thought about the mornings when the scent of coffee lingered in the kitchen and your sleepy smile was the first thing he saw, framed by sunlight and messy hair. The quiet afternoons spent doing nothing and everything, folding laundry side by side, sharing half-finished books, the soft sound of your laughter carrying through his apartment. The nights when he came home late, tired and worn, and found you curled on the couch with a blanket ready for him, the lamp still on because you were waiting. Always waiting. How lovely it had become to return to that—to you—even in the middle of the night, when the world felt heavy on his shoulders. How grounding it was to know that when the sky turned gray with dawn, you’d be there, soft and warm, pulling him close like home was something he could hold forever.

That thought alone made his chest ache.

“I just want to do this right,” he said quietly, his voice nearly lost to the stillness of the room.

“Then be honest.” JJ leaned forward, her voice dropping even softer, almost like a secret. “Don’t keep shielding her from your past like it’s something she’s not strong enough to see.”

Spencer finally nodded, the movement slow and heavy, like it took effort just to admit the truth to himself. Her words settled deep in his chest, sinking into the hollow space he always felt when he thought of you: the ache of not being fully known and the fear of losing you if he ever was. His hands curled into fists in his lap, the skin stretched tight over his knuckles, trembling with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. It wasn’t just guilt. It was longing. Desperation. The quiet, aching hope that maybe honesty could still be enough.

“I want to be honest,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with something like resolve. “But it’s hard. I’m afraid—”

“Afraid she won’t understand,” JJ finished gently, her eyes never leaving his. “Afraid she’ll walk away.”

He met her gaze, vulnerability raw in his eyes. “I’m scared I’ll lose her.”

“Then don’t wait,” she said softly. “Be the man you want her to see, and that will be okay.”

A long breath escaped him. Somewhere deep inside, a flicker of hope stirred, fragile but undeniable.

Maybe he just needed to find the right moment to tell you everything.

It was hard, especially because it was all his fault, being locked in his apartment knowing that you were next door wishing with all your might to never see him again. It was hard, it was painful, and it was so frustrating. It felt worse than anything that had happened to him before, worse even than any of the abandonments he had suffered earlier in his life, because this time, he himself had caused you to leave.

His own home had lost its warmth and familiarity, feeling hollow and foreign without you there. Two weeks had passed since you left, but the absence hung heavy in every corner. Your scent, the faintest trace of it, clung stubbornly to the air, though he fought against admitting it was fading. The candles you used to light, their soft glow once comforting, now sat nearly burned down to stubs, consumed by the many times he’d lit them. His favorite mug, the one you always used, remained untouched and perched in the exact same spot on the kitchen cabinet, making fun of his misery. Even Mittens, your beloved cat who once curled up at his feet without hesitation, had stopped coming by so often. It was as if even she sensed the distance between you two, as if she, too, was quietly mourning the rift his mistakes had created.

Because he never found the right time.

Every night since the last time you’d spoken to him, Spencer found himself haunted by the quiet of his apartment: an unbearable, echoing silence that seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. Without fail, he wandered aimlessly from room to room, his fingertips grazing the places your presence still lingered.

He’d run his hands along the worn armrest of the sofa where you’d fallen asleep countless times, your head resting against a pillow you’d claimed as yours. His eyes would linger on the small stack of books you’d half-finished, your place still marked by a folded receipt or a pressed flower. He hadn’t moved them. Couldn’t. The floral-embroidered blanket remained crumpled over the armchair, untouched since the day you left. The sight of it was like a punch to the chest. He could still remember how it looked draped over your shoulders, how it smelled faintly of your perfume. Because every inch of the space was saturated with you.

And from time to time, when the silence grew too loud and unbearable, Spencer would reach for the old records you used to play, the ones you’d eagerly recommended, full of warmth and nostalgia. He’d set them spinning on the turntable, letting the familiar crackle and soft melodies seep into the empty spaces of the apartment. But no matter how beautiful the songs were, they could never quite reach past the weight pressing down on his chest. The notes floated through the air like ghosts, brushing against memories instead of skin.

Even sometimes, in moments of weakness, he’d find himself picking up his phone without thinking, scrolling through your messages, staring at your name as if willing it to light up with something. Anything. Even a cold, angry “I hate you” would’ve been better than the aching silence. Or maybe a mistake, an accidental call you didn’t mean to make but hadn’t stopped because you missed him, too.

But the screen stayed still. Black. Lifeless.

A blank reflection of your absence.

And every time it didn’t ring, it was like losing you all over again.

Because he never found the right time.

With each memory dug deep into his ribs like glass, aching with the kind of pain that made him want to scream. But he never did.

Not even once. Not even after the first time he really saw you since that morning in his car.

When Spencer stepped out of his apartment at just the wrong moment, he found himself caught off guard. Across the hall, your door creaked open after two long days of silence, two days where you hadn’t even ventured out except to grab your food delivery. Time seemed to slow as he spotted you emerging, hair still damp from a recent shower, loose strands clinging softly to your face. Your skin was bare, save for the faintest touch of makeup that usually framed your features so gently, now barely there. You wore your favorite worn-in clothes—the ones you always claimed were your “comfy armor”—soft, faded, and unmistakably you.

He wanted to say something. Anything. But his mouth remained closed, his voice buried under the guilt and the sharp pain of watching you from afar. He needed to come closer, to say how sorry he was and beg for forgiveness until maybe you would understand.

But now you weren’t alone. Your best friend stood beside you, chatting softly, her eyes flicking knowingly toward him. She gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod, an unmistakable signal that he was there. Her presence made you seem even smaller, as if she were your shield, silently guarding you. The way she looked at him made it clear in an instant: she already knew everything. Because you had cried to her. Trusted her. She had picked up the pieces while he stood in the wreckage, unsure of how to fix what he’d broken.

You didn’t look at him.

Not even once.

Your gaze remained firmly ahead, like you’d trained yourself not to see him, like acknowledging him might unravel the hard-won peace you were barely holding onto. You didn’t rush, didn’t flinch, but you might as well have been walking past a stranger.

The elevator dinged, the doors slid open, and you both stepped inside. You never turned around.

But your friend did.

Just before the doors closed, she looked at him one last time: stern, protective, almost telling him it wasn't time.

Because he never found the right time.

And then the elevator was gone with all his happiness because you, finally, were avoiding him in the hallway.

“I’m just asking for the sake of asking,” Spencer lied, the words barely convincing even to his own ears. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, fingers threading through tangled thoughts, trying to smooth down the frustration that had built up again.

It was the third—no, fourth—time this week that he’d called his friend and boss, not to catch up, not to check in, but to ask the same question he’d asked again and again, dressed up in different words. He needed to work. He needed to get out of his head and out of his apartment before he went completely mad. The isolation, the guilt, the endless, suffocating silence…it was all too much. He needed the chaos of the job, the clarity of having a purpose, of being needed by someone, by anyone.

On the other end of the line, Emily sighed, heavy and audible through the speaker. He could almost hear her setting aside the file she’d been reviewing, its papers rustling softly like leaves in the wind.

“I want to have you back,” she said, her voice low but honest, carrying that familiar note of empathy only Emily could pull off while still sounding like a boss. “We all do. But I still don’t have an official answer yet.”

He knew what was coming before she even reached for it.

“I’ve been reviewing the return files,” she continued, flipping through something on her desk. “According to this report, you’re still missing your full psychological clearance.”

Spencer froze, jaw tightening.

Of course. The exam. The one he’d sat through half-awake, unshaven, raw with heartache, and haunted by too much truth. He had been too honest. Too transparent about how hollow he felt, how guilt clung to every inch of his skin like a second layer. He’d spoken as if he were still bleeding, and maybe he was. It hadn’t occurred to him then that honesty could work against him. He just needed to say the truth at least one time.

“I understand,” he muttered. “Maybe I should…do it again.”

“Again?” Emily asked, confused, before the implication landed. She went quiet for a beat. “Spencer…”

There was no judgment in her tone, just concern. And maybe a little sadness.

“I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready. You know that, right? You don’t have to prove anything, we can wait for you.”

“I’m ready,” he insisted, though even he heard the crack of uncertainty threading through his voice. “I need to be back.”

Emily didn’t reply right away. He imagined her studying his file, weighing the truth in his voice against the data on paper.

Finally, she exhaled. “Okay. If you say so…maybe I can talk to the Bureau psych team. Try to arrange something. A follow-up exam, maybe. We’ll see how it goes.”

Relief surged in his chest like a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you,” he said, and meant it.

“It’s nothing,” she replied. “But Spencer?”

“Hm?”

Her voice softened, the way it always did when she was threading careful empathy between her words. “JJ mentioned something…and if you need to talk—”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Loud and frantic. His head whipped toward the front door of his place. The knocking came again, sharper this time, rapid like whoever was on the other side couldn’t afford to wait another second.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Someone’s at the door. I should check—”

“Of course,” Emily said at once. “Take care of it. And…take care of yourself.”

He ended the call and rose to his feet, heart already hammering again. Something about the knock, it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t someone delivering a package or a neighbor with a complaint. It was desperate, and that made his heart beat faster and imagine the worst scenarios.

And when he finally reached the door and opened it, what he saw on the other side stopped him in his tracks. It was bad, very bad.

You. Breathless. Eyes glassy with tears. And barely able to speak.

He was in shock, seeing you after an entire week apart. Seven long, aching days where he’d tried to convince himself that the idea of you showing up at his doorstep again was impossible. That whatever bridge had once connected the two of you had finally burned, quietly and without ceremony.

You stood there, framed by the dull glow of the hallway light, hair messy from what looked like hours of pacing or tossing in bed, and your eyes red-rimmed and glistening with fresh tears. You weren’t dressed to be out long; just slippers, soft sleep pants, and one of your worn-in shirts. The one you used to wear curled up beside him on his couch. The sight of it made Spencer’s stomach twist and made his fingers tighten around the edge of the door.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked instantly, his voice edged with panic as his eyes swept over you in a frantic scan, checking for blood, bruises, any sign of harm. His heart was already racing, thundering in his chest as his mind jumped to the worst-case scenarios. He stepped forward slightly, instinctively, as if ready to catch you should you collapse right there in the doorway.

But you shook your head quickly, breath stuttering. “Have you seen Mittens?” you asked, your voice cracking like it physically hurt to speak. “Tell me she’s with you.”

“No,” Spencer said, panic creeping into his own voice as he quickly scanned the hallway behind you, as if she might magically appear. “No, I—I haven’t seen her in a while. A couple of days maybe.”

“No?” you whispered again, like you couldn’t believe it, like the word itself might shatter you. Your shoulders shook as another tear slipped down your cheek, and you clutched your arms around yourself like you were barely holding together.

“She loves you,” you went on, the words tumbling out in a rush. “She always runs to your door. She likes your books and your blankets, and she sleeps on your couch sometimes when I’m gone. She feels safe with you.” You looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Please…please, tell me she’s with you.”

But she wasn’t.

And for a moment, Spencer wished more than anything that he could lie. That he could tell you what you needed to hear, just to take that pain off your face.

“Please.” You whispered, trying to calm the trembling of your hands. “Please tell me she is with you.”

He stepped forward instinctively, hands lifting halfway like he meant to take your shoulders to steady you, but stopped just shy of touching you, as if he wasn’t sure he still had the right.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” he said softly, his voice low and careful like he was trying not to scare you off. “Breathe. You’re shaking.”

His eyes searched yours, desperate to ease some of the panic etched across your face.

“Come inside, okay?” he said, stepping aside and holding the door open for you. “Sit down. Tell me everything, and I’ll help you. I swear I will.”

His tone held no hesitation, only quiet urgency: the kind of calm he used at crime scenes, the kind he only used when everything was falling apart and someone needed to hold it all together. Only this time, it wasn’t a stranger. It was you. And God, it wrecked him to see you like this.

You hesitated, but the weight of it all—the panic, the grief, the bone-deep exhaustion—was too much. Your knees were already starting to give, so you let him guide you in. The moment you stepped across the threshold, a familiar ache hit Spencer in the chest. You hadn’t been here in weeks, since that night you two kissed, and still it felt like you belonged more than he did.

You sat on the edge of the couch like the floor might give way beneath your feet if you leaned back too far, your whole frame tense and folded inward. Your hands wouldn’t stop moving, as if they were trying to keep your heart from spilling out of your chest.

“She’s gone,” you whispered, the words barely making it past your lips. Saying it out loud seemed to make it worse, like admitting it gave it more power. Your voice trembled, thin and raw. “I was staying at my best friend’s place for a few days, I couldn’t—”

You stopped yourself, but the silence that followed said more than your words could.

You couldn’t be in your own home because he was next door. And he knew it.

“I came back two nights ago, and she wasn’t there,” you went on, swallowing hard. “At first I thought she was hiding or maybe mad at me. That she was anxious or curled up somewhere weird like she does when she’s nervous. But I’ve looked. Everywhere. I’ve torn the whole apartment apart. I checked the windows, the closets, under the bed, and behind my paintings. I’ve walked the hallways and talked with our neighbors—”

Your breath caught, and you shook your head, eyes filling again.

“She’s just…gone.”

Spencer’s heart clenched painfully in his chest. He knew exactly what Mittens meant to you. She wasn’t just a pet, not by a long shot. She was your comfort on sleepless nights, the quiet, steady presence that stayed when everything else felt too loud. You’d adopted her six years ago, during one of the darkest periods of your life, and from that moment on, she had been your anchor. She had curled up beside you through heartbreaks and anxiety attacks, padded softly after you through every apartment move, and greeted you at the door like you were the most important person in the world. She was your family. Your safest place. And the fear of losing her now, after everything, felt like the final thread pulling loose. He could see all of that in your eyes, and it made his chest ache.

He knelt in front of you, trying to meet your eyes. “Okay. Okay, listen to me. Cats, especially indoor cats…they get curious, they slip out through open windows, sneak down the hall, and hide in tiny spaces for hours. And sometimes they come back after two or three days like nothing happened.”

“But she’s never done this before,” you said, shaking your head furiously. “Never. She always waits at the door for me. Always.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice gentle and steady. “But it doesn’t mean something bad has happened. Cats are incredibly smart. Remember that study I told you about? A cat traveled over two hundred miles just to find its way back home. They navigate using scent and memory, it’s amazing how strong their instincts are.”

You let out a shaky breath, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, brushing your sleeve across your wet cheeks. “Please, not the migration theories right now…I can’t think,” you whispered, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

“I’m not trying to be clinical,” he said gently, his voice steady. “I just want you to hold onto hope.”

That was so him. Always trying to be your calm in the chaos.

Even when his own heart was breaking, even when you were the storm at his door, he’d steady his voice, soften his eyes, and make space for your pain like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He suddenly stood and moved to grab his phone. “I’ll call Garcia. She can help us make flyers and maybe put together a post for local missing pet pages online. I’ll print them myself. We’ll check every vet and shelter within ten miles, I swear. We can even look into pet tracking services or security footage from nearby buildings if she slipped outside. Whatever it takes.”

You stared at him, trembling, overwhelmed, but grateful. “You’d…you’d do that for her?”

Spencer met your gaze, and for a second, you both just looked at each other, everything unspoken thick in the air. “I’d do it for you.”

Silence.

Then, with your voice barely a whisper, you said, “I’m sorry for showing up out of nowhere…I didn’t know where else to go.”

Your words hung in the air, fragile and trembling, like they were afraid to exist. You weren’t just apologizing for the timing; you were apologizing for the heartbreak between you, for the silence that had stretched too long, for all the things you hadn’t said but had felt every day since you’d drifted apart.

“It’s okay,” he said gently, his voice warm and sure. “You don’t have to apologize.”

And for the first time in weeks, as you let your forehead fall into your hands and your shoulders shook in silent relief, Spencer felt something shift, something he hadn’t let himself believe in for far too long. Maybe he could still be someone who mattered. Someone you could lean on when everything else felt too heavy. Maybe, in all the quiet unraveling of the last few months, someone still needed him. And God, he needed that more than he could ever say.

He moved quietly through the kitchen, his every motion careful and deliberate, like he was afraid that even the clink of a spoon might shatter what little calm was left in the room. His long fingers reached for your favorite mug: the one with the faded constellation print he’d memorized long ago. He cradled it gently, thumb brushing over a tiny chip near the rim, as if the act of holding something so familiar might anchor him, too.

He busied himself with the tea, pretending his hands weren’t trembling ever so slightly, pretending he didn’t keep glancing back at you. You were curled in on yourself on the couch, your shoulders drawn tight, your hands trembling softly in your lap like you were holding something fragile, your hope, maybe. Spencer’s heart ached at the sight. He wanted to say something, to reach for you, but instead he turned back to the kettle and let the silence stretch, trying, so desperately, to be the calm you needed when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

Then, boom.

A sudden clap of thunder cracked the silence, and a second later, rain started tapping sharply against the windows. Not a light drizzle. Not a gentle mist. This was full, cold, heavy rain, washing over the street like it had something to prove.

Spencer paused, staring out the window at the downpour. And then he heard it: your breath catching behind him.

He turned just as you stood abruptly, already making for the door.

“No, no, no,” you said under your breath, panic spiking in your voice as you rushed toward your shoes, your arms fumbling into the sleeves of a hoodie that wasn’t even zipped. “She hates the rain, Spencer. She hates it. She’ll be terrified out there…what if she’s cold, or trapped, or trying to get back and—”

“Wait, hey,” he said quickly, abandoning the tea and moving toward you. “You can’t go out like that.”

“I have to!” You snapped, the fear laced in your voice so sharp it nearly broke him. “She’s alone. She’s out there, and it’s raining, and she doesn’t know how to be alone!”

“You’re in slippers and pajama pants,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not even zipped up. You’ll get sick. You’re shaking.”

You were already trying to pull open the front door, but he reached gently across and closed it with his palm, keeping it shut, not with force but with care. Your eyes flared with desperation, tears streaming freely again now, but you didn’t resist him. Not really. You just looked defeated.

“I can’t just sit here,” you whispered. “I’ll go insane. I keep thinking…what if she’s waiting for me to find her?”

“I know,” he said, softer this time, resting one hand lightly on the doorframe beside your head so you didn’t feel caged in. “I know. That’s why I’m coming with you.”

Your breath hitched. You blinked at him.

“I’ll get dressed, grab an umbrella and a flashlight, and I’ll drive,” he said, already mentally mapping out the search radius and already calculating the best routes and how many flyers they could distribute in the area in under an hour. “You can direct me to the places she might go: quiet spots, favorite windows, bushes where she hides. But you need to be warm. You need to stay safe too. I need you safe, okay?”

That last sentence slipped out before he could stop it, but he didn’t take it back. He meant it. You mattered to him. And he would search every alley, every corner of this city if it meant bringing Mittens home and easing that sorrow in your eyes.

Your lip trembled, and then, finally, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

Spencer squeezed your arm gently. “Go grab a coat and real shoes. I’ll bring the tea in a travel mug, and then we’ll go.”

And as you disappeared down the hallway toward his room, he turned back to the kettle, which had just started to hiss with steam. He poured the tea carefully, screwed the lid onto the mug, and looked out the window again, watching the rain streak down the glass in frantic lines.

He didn’t know where Mittens was yet.

But he did know one thing with absolute certainty: he wouldn’t stop searching until he brought her home to you.

The rain hammered relentlessly, a steady drum against the city’s darkened streets and the car’s thin windows. You’d searched every alley, every hidden nook you could think of, places where Mittens might have slipped away to hide. Your voice was raw from calling her name over and over, hoarse and cracked, fading into the night air with no reply. The cold crept into your bones, soaked through your damp coat, seeping into your sleeves and chilling your arms. Your pants clung uncomfortably to your legs, heavy and cold. Strands of your hair stuck to your forehead and cheeks, plastered down by the rain. Your fingers trembled, not just from the chill, but from the gnawing, desperate worry that tightened your chest like a vise.

Spencer sat quietly behind the wheel, his eyes flicking between the road and you in the passenger seat, worry carved deep into his features. He wanted to say something, something to ease the storm inside you, but all he could do was keep driving, letting you search, hoping somehow you’d find her.

Hours seemed to stretch and blur until your voice finally broke through the silence, shaky and fragile. “Let’s go back.”

The words were barely a whisper, and you didn’t mean to sound like you were about to break, but the tremor in your voice gave you away. Spencer reached over, gently resting his hand on your arm. You flinched for just a moment, overwhelmed by exhaustion, but didn’t pull away.

When you arrived back at your apartment, the heaviness settled in like a physical weight. The air inside felt colder somehow, emptier than it had before you left. Spencer stood beside you, still dripping wet, umbrella forgotten by the door, curls matted and clinging to his forehead. You peeled off your coat with numb fingers, the fabric clinging to you, soaked through. Water pooled quietly on the floor beneath your feet as you moved toward the bathroom, your movements slow and heavy.

“I’m just going to dry off,” you muttered, voice hoarse.

Spencer nodded, his expression gentle. “I’ll put the kettle on again.”

You barely acknowledged him and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind you. You were ready to strip off your wet clothes, to let the warm water wash away the cold and the worry, to let the tears fall freely, maybe to sob like you hadn’t been able to before.

But then, something.

A low, soft purr drifted through the stillness.

Your breath caught in your throat. The bathroom was dark, but in the dim shadows, movement caught your eye.

There, nestled inside the bathtub, curled into a perfect little ball of gray fur, was Mittens. She was wrapped in something soft and achingly familiar, one of Spencer’s sweaters. Maybe he’d left it behind during one of his quiet visits, or maybe you had taken it for yourself long before things between you began to fall apart. Either way, it still carried the faint, comforting scent of him—books and soap and warmth—and somehow, that was what your cat had chosen to curl up in.

For a moment, you just stared, breath hitching in disbelief. The ache in your chest loosened just a little. “Mittens, my baby…”

You sank slowly to the tile floor, the chill of it bleeding through your soaked clothes, but the cold didn’t matter. Not now. Your hands trembled as you reached out, barely daring to believe she was real. But then your fingers sank into the soft, familiar fluff of her fur, and you let out a sound that was equal parts relief and disbelief.

You gathered her gently into your arms, cradling her against your chest like something sacred, your cheek pressing into the warmth of her tiny body. She was damp but purring: loud, steady, and unbothered. Her eyes blinked up at you lazily, like she hadn’t just broken your heart by vanishing. Like this was all just a nap to her. As if she’d been waiting here the whole time, perfectly content, wrapped in the one thing that still smelled like home.

Her purring vibrated through your bones. You clutched her tighter, your body beginning to shake as the weight of the last few days hit you all at once.

“Oh my God…” you whispered, voice cracking. Tears spilled freely now, hot and sudden as relief and love overwhelmed you.

She was okay.

She. Was. Okay.

“Spencer!” you called, your voice cracking sharply through the apartment. It wasn’t loud, but it was urgent, raw with emotion, with disbelief, with the kind of relief that made your lungs ache.

Footsteps echoed almost immediately, fast and worried. Spencer appeared in the doorway a second later, breath catching as he took in the sight of you: soaked, kneeling on the bathroom floor, cradling Mittens in your arms like something fragile and precious. His eyes darted from you to the bundle of gray fur, then back to your tear-streaked face.

“She was here,” you whispered, voice shaking. “The whole time. In the tub. With your sweater.”

Spencer blinked, and for a moment, his mouth parted like he didn’t know what to say. Then a soft, stunned smile tugged at his lips, the kind that made your chest squeeze.

“Of course she was,” he murmured, stepping inside slowly, crouching beside you. His eyes were warm, soft with understanding. “She missed you.”

You let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but not quite. “I tore this place apart,” you said, voice hoarse. “Twice. And she was just…here. Curled up like she never left.”

He reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair gently from your face, his fingertips barely grazing your skin. “Cats hide in the places we forget to check. They go where they feel safe,” he said, his voice quiet.

“I feel like such an idiot,” you whispered.

“No,” Spencer murmured gently, his voice quiet but unwavering. “You’re not. You were scared. That doesn’t make you foolish.”

You exhaled shakily, your breath catching on the edge of another sob that didn’t quite make it out. Slowly, you sat back, your arms still wrapped protectively around Mittens. You looked up at him: eyes swollen, red-rimmed, but steady in the way that only comes when exhaustion has stripped away every layer of pretense.

“You can go now,” you said quietly. Your voice was soft, barely audible, but the words landed between you with surprising weight. “Thank you…for everything. Really. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he cut in gently, but didn’t push further. He just nodded once, slowly, like he understood that you were done for tonight. That anything more would only stretch the fragile thread you were barely holding onto.

He moved toward the door, his steps hesitant. One hand found the frame as he lingered there, half in shadow, half in light, like he wasn’t sure which side he belonged on anymore. His eyes stayed on you, something unreadable flickering in their depth.

After a long pause, his voice broke the silence.

“I know this isn’t the right moment,” he said. “Maybe it never will be. But I have to say this before I go.”

Because he never found the right time.

You stayed quiet, watching him through the dim light.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer continued, the words quiet but cutting through the air like glass. “I really am. For all of it.”

He exhaled slowly and met your gaze again, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “You were right. About me shutting you out, about pushing you away. If I’d let you in…if I’d let you be there with me, maybe things would be easier for me to bear.” He shook his head slightly, a bitter smile ghosting his lips. “But I’m not sure it would have been better for you.”

Your throat tightened. Still, you didn’t speak.

He took a step back, then gave a small, almost defeated smile, like he was apologizing for all the mistakes you both had made. “I’m sorry for lying to you. Not for trying to protect you, because that’s who I am, I guess. Always trying to be the protector, even if it ends up hurting the people I care about most.”

You looked down at Mittens, who had settled quietly in your lap, utterly oblivious to the wreckage of hearts above her.

“Have a good night,” Spencer finished, and this time, he meant it like goodbye.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked away. The gentle click of the door closing behind him was painfully final in the quiet room. You stayed sitting there, clutching your cat close, feeling the warmth of her small body against your chest and the weight of everything he had just said settling deep inside you, lingering like the fading echo of his footsteps down the hall.

For the first time since you had discovered the truth, you were no longer angry and hurt because he had just put a band-aid on your wound.

Because maybe he found the right time.

Sadly, what you didn’t know, what neither of you could have known, was that this moment, this moment together brought on by your cat's antics, would be the last time you would see him for what would feel like an eternity. At least for three more agonizing months.

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[astolfofo]

…I had a thought about the halovians(specifically sunday) and want to know peoples opinions. do u think he has nesting instincts? :3 thank u for listening to my ted talk.

hi (i did say i was gonna answer this 2 weeks ago unfortunately I forgot i'm so sorry.) But anyways, thank you for your ask, and 100% he does.

tw: non-con, forced pregnancy, dark content. truly the unedited sleep deprived trying to write.

Okay i finished writing this i know you didn't ask for acutal writing but i went ahead and did it anyways because why not hope u don't mind

also excuse the fact that thus was posted at 4am and I was half falling asleep already while writing this.

There were three days in your life that you could have called the worst.

The first one was the day when Sunday took your life away from you, and claimed you to be his "wife". The second was when first time he chose to be intimate. The third was when you got pregnant as a result.

Nothing had ever stuck to you like the day after that. You felt like washing the sheets until your hands would bleed. You wanted to submerge yourself in bleach until every fiber of your body burned, shriveled up, and died.

You wanted to forget that it happened. That the events in the previous night ever happened at all.

But the soreness between your legs was a constant reminder. And even though the pain went away after a few days, it was replaced by something much worse. Something you feared.

You saw the signs from the second you got them. Your body felt heavy. You were constantly tired. You had lost interest in eating. It was obvious what was going on.

And for a few days, you tried to hide it. The longer Sunday didn't know, the better it was for you. That way, you could slowly while away your last few moments in peace before everything was taken from you in entirety.

After a few weeks, you couldn't hide it anymore. You remember staring at the double line on the pregnancy test.

You almost instantly broke down into tears. It wasn't anything that you hadn't already know n, but maybe part of you still just believed you were ill, that maybe there was another reason why you had missed your period that month. That the pain you kept experiencing was just from some kind of illness.

The last thing you could keep away from Sunday was taken away from you that day. The sense of freedom you could've had.

To Sunday, you suppose this was the final step he needed to take to bind you to him. Another way to control you. Another way to keep you in his arms, and make sure you wouldn't let go.

And if you didn't want to get murdered by the press, if you didn't want to further sabotage both your own and Sunday's public image, you knew to take it.

You had no choice but to take it. You were no more than an insect trapped under his thumb.

-

out of the two of you, there was only one person that was particularly enthusiastic about having a child.

It certainly wasn't you.

Ever since you had first found out about the pregnancy, you had felt empty. As if someone directly sucked the soul out of your body.

You weren't yourself anymore. You hadn't been for a long time.

Sunday didn't seem too bothered by it though.

You weren't sure if it was just his own parental instincts, or whether he could tell that it was almost time for you go into labour. Maybe it was a combination of both. You didn't care. You couldn't care less.

All you knew was that his presence was suffocating. Overbearing. Invasive, even.

You couldn't do anything by yourself. Sunday felt the need to assist you with everything you did. Even basic tasks such as grabbing an object, he insisted that he would get for you.

But what set you off the most, was his intense urge to keep the house in order. You had never seen him having such intense urges to organize a room even when just the slightest thing was out of order. He couldn't stand seeing the slightest speck of dust, he couldn't stand seeing the furniture just an inch out of place.

It drove you to madness.

If you had even slightly misplaced something Sunday you would notice Sunday getting slightly agitated.

From the moment he came home, to the moment he would fall asleep, he spent every waking second making sure the house was perfectly in order, before obsessing over you. At some point you just wanted to wave him off. Lock yourself in the bathroom and sleep for a long period of time, until you had no concept of reality anymore.

You didn't have it in you to keep going. week after week, month after month, Sunday's final goal had always to perfect you into an obedient wife that would do as they were told. And no matter how you tried to fight it... you were always forced back into obedience.

There's two cold fingers touching your chin, and lifting your face up, until you're forced to meet a pair of eyes.

They're bright. Everytime you see them, you can't help but try to look away. They were as bright as the sun, and just like the sun, you felt as if you were going to be blinded jfyou looked at them for too long. You guess it could've also been a sentiment to the power he held over you too.

"Dear, did you hear a word I just said?"

It's an obvious answer. But, you know better by now just to answer the question. You slightly shake your head, which supposedly satisfied him enough, to let go of the fi gers holding your head up.

He sighs, you're not sure in annoyance or in disappointment.

"If you keep acting like this, I'm going to need to resort to drastic measures..."

You look at him one more time. You remember how when you first saw him, you thought of him to be beautiful. To be almost ethereal.

You regret falling into that hypnosis. You regret looking at him at all.

Look at where it got you.

[akascow]

fave jayvik hc so far is that jayce knew how to make a rlly good leg brace from basically scraps bc he helped in designing and crafting viktor's own brace🫠👍🏻

^^ "scraps" is kinda mirroring them probably having to make mock ups and test runs while trying to perfect viktor's brace so there were a bunch of prototypes with random parts they had lying around trying to make it work ahaaaa

like obviously jayce is extremely talented and smart when it comes to engineering so he very easily coulda come up w the design and mechanics of it on the spot (meaning using what he had on hand, rather than actually coming up with it in a few hours bc,, well he was down there for at least a few weeks HAHA) but idk its nice to think about i guess lmfao

plus itd make a lil bit of sense, like why go somewhere else to get a leg brace when your perfectly capable and willing partner is right here lmfao.

also we only see viktor has the leg brace after working with jayce. and yeah u could chalk it up to his illness getting worse so he wouldntve needed it until now. and obviously im not trying to ignore the fact that viktor is extremely capable to make it himself and if he did maybe since hes more than an assistant he actually has the tools and means to make it himself now lol.

but idk it seems like jayce was one of the first if not only person to care about V and include him in things ("people didnt believe in me, a poor disabled kid from the undercity" "i dont want to spend my whole life as an assistant" "our hextech dream" "arent you the professor's assistant" "you should be up there with me" etc) so i can totally picture him see viktor working on it or even a glance at a few crude sketches as a start and want to help his partner yk?

and from what we see hes like extremely nice and caring and at the risk of this sounding too fluffy bc thats not the point rn you can picture viktor walking around the lab, jayce noticing him wincing whenever he tries to correct his position and offering to help him with a mobility aid and they have all the means necessary to build it right here right now and shit happens and here we are now lol

hes constantly making an effort to show and tell people that hextech is not JUST his doing, but viktor's too. which, as someone who seemed to revel in the attention, jayce easily could've forgotten to mention, but never does

so in my head it makes sense that he would be the first person to propose the idea of helping him in creating a leg brace that would make walking a lil less painful (it keeps his foot straight, u can see he has to correct the angle himself in s1 act1)

anyway i think its a neat theory lmao

these didnt fit in anywhere else so im put it it here pft👇🏻

also jayce has two different braces- during and post anomaly. so while there may just be some place in piltover that makes them i’d like to think he just whipped it up all quicklike in his lab the second he got back bc like.. the blueprints are right there lol

his and viktor’s arent entirely similar ofc bc they serve two different functions,, viktors helps to keep his leg/foot facing and moving foward, and jayces kinda just stabilizes/supports his leg i think ? uh but they both help in general to reduce pain

n then viktor, having a leg that didnt develop akin to typical human anatomy, is clearly shown as not the easiest to walk or put pressure in on lmao, especially when he only really got to correct it at like age 30, so like, habits (for lack of a better term) have already been deeply rooted in his posture by now lol

bc, well,, putting any weight on that fucked up Broken In Half shin bone that Definitely Did Not heal correctly (if its even fully healed at this point in the first place) probably causes a bunch of Ouch- hence the supports in the front of his leg,, post anomaly tho, during anomaly its at the sides which was probably just to straighten the injury while it was healing idk.

i cant find a good answer as to why the lower leg support is in the front now but my main guess is so it doesnt put too much strain when he bends his knee/ankle downward, which u can kinda see in ep8 when he blasts viktor and the knockback breaks the part resting on his shoe away, and its hard to see but i think his ankle bends slightly more after the gear breaks ? so thats what i can assume.

clearly im not well versed in the art of KAFO support braces and i tried to look up to the best of my abilities but came up empty handed HAHA who knew itd be so hard referencing similarities between the homemade parallel reality fictional sci fi gear braces and modern irl real orthotic braces LMAO

[myslutwritings]

Hello? Ah, I think I put my requests in the wrong area, I got confused and put them in 'Submit A Post' instead! My apologise, Ahem! I shall repeat one of my requsts here. If it's not much of a bother....So, my first request was how would the upper moons (Plus Hantengu clones) react to an S/O who is allergic to the sun? Like they have Solar Urticaria which gives them, and I quote here, 'causes an itchy rash or hives that appear on any skin that has been exposed to the sun' and it hurts them a lot

➤ Uppermoons with a S/O who suffers from Solar Urticaria

➤ SFW headcanons

including: Muzan, Kokushibo, Douma, Akaza, and Hantengu clones

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(not proof read)

Muzan

Your first mistake was giving a chance to the demon king himself and your second was keeping this little illness of yours a secret.

Literally your explanation behind for not being honest about your situation is mostly because you’re scared shitless of this man half of the time..

Because you’re a human and Muzan’s adored S/O he does also have high expectations for you when it comes to looking for the blue spider lily.

You’re human, walking in broad daylight shouldn’t be an issue? He sees no problem whatsoever! This will benefit him after all.

So, when you’re hesitant to walk outside the man grows immensely confused?

First of, how dare you disobey him and what are you not telling him?

There is absolutely no reason to keep it hidden because sooner or later Muzan will find out eventually so what’s the point? He isn’t an idiot.

Just the main explanation he didn’t notice at first is because he was focusing on more important matters. He’s an extremely busy man after all.

Soon, you inform him of your ginormous problem.

May feel a tad bit guilty for not noticing at first and on his end it’s embarrassing for coming off so dense.

Your condition is not that entirely different to a demons.

Anyway, congratulations, you just gave him the perfect opportunity to turn you into a demon.

Probably won’t be too happy if you refuse.. Muzan hates when those disagree with him because this man has the mentality that he’s always correct despite his tactics being morally wrong..

Kokushibo

Kokushibo is an introverted, an expressionless, and quite eerie demon. But do not let that fool you for him being a brainless fool.

Koku happens to be very observant.

Cares for you strongly despite his severe lack of affection. He always has a sharp eye on you.

So it doesn’t take him too terribly long to take notice of your avoidance to the sunlight.

Yeah, now he’s going ti be curious.

But instead of immediately asking you first, instead he’ll observe you from afar to find out for himself, analyzing your every move, waiting for your darkest secrets to spill at any given moment.

His plan was a complete fiasco because in turn he found out nothing. Only came off as a creepy stalker.

He may become frustrated, give up and just demand answers from you himself. Wont even ask, just will straight up demand you to tell him everything.

No point in lying about it because he isn’t idiotic.

Kokushibos reaction whenever you inform him of your allergy will be somewhat similar to Muzan’s.

Offers to transform you into a demon because it isn’t like they’ll be a striking difference, you know?

However, Kokushibo is shockingly not the type to force you into demonic nature if you’re against losing your humanity.

He may view your reason as dumb and “typical human behavior” but it’s safe to say that he’ll still love you and won’t turn you without your consent or knowledge.

Instead, Kokushibo will help you deal with your allergy in other ways which are actually beneficial.

Douma

Takes awhile to notice, out of all the uppermoons he’s the most dense, especially with inability to feel proper emotions.

With his consistent work he has to perform in the cult he has very little time with you in general.

But whenever he shares those little moments with you he savors them. It’s his only escape from the cult he unknowingly despises so much.

Douma is another observer, but in the most creepiest way possible. Makes it known that he’s a full-on stalker.

One thing he will immediately notice is that you’re repulsed by the sun. You even prefer colder weather and only ever exit the temple in the dead of night!

How cute, you’re the most demonic human he’s ever met!

Douma isn’t too fascinated by it at first nor does he care until he finds himself frequently fantasizing about it all the time.

As the thoughts nag on, Douma just kindly asks you himself.

Ah, so you’re basically allergic to the sun? Haha! how eccentric.

Cue the horrendous jokes, an increase in teasing.

Deep down, an unknown part of him is surprisingly worried about you. But of course he’ll pretend he’s not. After all, these emotions are foreign to him and he ain’t too fond of this paranoia he’s experiencing which only grows stronger.

You are Douma’s beloved S/O, his prized possession!

And like the others this menace will offer you to give up your humanity and join the demons to hopefully rise to the upper ranks.

I mean, you’re no different from a demon! Douma sees absolutely no problem with this!

This is his own special little way of him ‘helping’ you.

Besides, he does desire for you to be at his side for all eternity!

If you accept his offer, he’s beyond thrilled, overwhelmed with joy.

If you decline, Douma is visibly disappointed..not satisfied. Isn’t too fond of this feeling he’s experiencing the moment you reject his kind offer.

Very well, be that way. His feelings for you won’t change! However, so expect him to be extra overprotective. He makes sure to keep you away from the outdoors and the two of you only visit the great outdoors when the sun is down.

Akaza

Akaza is already overprotective enough as it is. Once he finds out of your condition his overprotective behavior will only increase.

There was a time where you did take a step outside on a warm summer day and immediately you break out. You feel lightheaded, break out in wrenched rashes, your delicate skin grows irritated, you look like Nezuko burning in the sunlight minus the flames.

Panicked boyfriend mode=activated.

Immediately, you and Akaza retrieve indoors. Demons and their speed. You didn’t even notice you were picked up and brought to safety until you were surrounded by the interior of your lovely home.

Akaza is astonishingly experienced when it comes to treating others who are ill or have conditions. No, he’s not a doctor. Akaza just knows how by heart.

Now, he doesn’t know everything. But he knows enough to make you feel better and not break out again!

As he treats your pruritus and erythema, Akaza keeps in mind to be very gentle with you. Even if you possess a high pain tolerance Akaza will ALWAYS be benign when it involves his lovely partner.

Poor baby is still shaken up, therefore his hands are having a mild seizure as he treats you.

Moving on, after that unfortunate incident your boyfriend has a couple questions for what the actual fuck just occurred today

He’s a commutative partner and is a bit disappointed you didn’t inform him prior.

Akaza won’t be mad forever though. He just loves you too much to stay mad at you so therefore your apology if accepted.

However, please tell him things next time. You aren’t aware of how much they really matter to him.

Yes, he as well is a cold hearted demon but at least he has a heart. Unlike his subordinates who have an insatiable hunger for human flesh like yours.

Akaza is able to control himself, possess morals to this day, no matter what happens he is always going to care about you and will take care of you whenever it’s needed!

Hantengu Clones

Sekido

He found out about your condition by accident on one unfortunate day.

Springs into action by dragging your ass back indoors and treating your delicate skin which reacted as the sun made contact with it.

However, afterwards he puts off his caring act and grows increasingly frustrated and concerned.

He only expresses anger so fuck the concerned bit. Doesn’t even admit it. But you can tell he’s worried for you in a.. angry way?

Sekido’s temper only rises the moment he realized you kept this a secret from him.

You two have been together for how long? Yet you still keep secrets? why? Do you not trust him?

Immediately assumes the worse of the worst and lashes out at you.

Yeah, he isn’t too happy and being understanding isn’t his strong suit either.

Communication has always been a problem for him.

He is mostly just lashing out because deep down he’s hurt you didn’t tell him.

Sekido is terrifyingly protective over you so there is yet again another reason he’s pissed off you never told him of your Urticaria prior.

Doesn’t want you hurt physically or emotionally in anyway.

He’s hurting you right now emotionally thought but literally screaming at you-

Moving on, you finally manage to calm this angry bastard down.

He doesn’t know a lot of your condition so you elaborate it to him.

Honestly, he understands, especially being a demon and all. Y’all are basically similar.

Sekido finally calms down the further you explain.

He loves you so he’s understanding. Be sure to stay telling him things though please😔���

Aizetsu

As y’all’s relationship began, you inform Aizetsu of your condition, knowing well it’s important for him to know of this due to him being your beloved boyfriend.

Aizetu’s brain stops out of sheer panic.

I swear, he’s always so worried about you in general! Now it’s only increasing!

Pities you.

What a pity that you’re a mere human and can’t even set foot outside and feel the warm sunlight on your face..

He honestly makes you feel worse about it which is a red flag in your opinion.

Like hello?? you just need him to understand. You don’t need all that pity nonsense!

You just simply explain to him how that doesn’t help and it only causes him to feel more horrible.

Fortunately for you though, he apologizes.

Becomes even more protective of you then he already is.

Thankfully you never had an incident because you take good care of yourself.

Aizetsu also keeps a sharp eye on you even though you don’t need it.

Like Sekido, he relates to you.

Lowkey craves for you to become a demon like him.

But at the same time he doesn’t want you to lose your humanity because he knows that’s very important to you. Plus, it would upset you. Aizetsu despises seeing you upset.

Karaku

To put it bluntly, Karaku may come off as a horrendous dumbass and menace but he isn’t actually an idiot.

Knows what’s going on, what he’s doing, he isn’t exactly dense nor misunderstanding. Especially when it comes to his precious S/O.

So whenever you inform him of your condition, explain to him what it means, etc. He confesses he already knew something was up prior but waited for you to tell him yourself.

Karaku is honestly happy to know that at least you two can relate with the whole sun dilemma.

He even teases you about it here and there. I mean, he’s a demon so what do you expect?

Earns a slap in the face if he ever taunts you or teases you.

Ok, ok, for your sake he’ll stop with the immature jokes. 🙄

Karaku is highly aware on how your little condition upsets you and how you deeply desire to feel the warm sunlight beaming down onto your delicate skin without having this troubling condition.

He is always there for you to cheer you up whenever you get insecure about it!

Even becomes even more protective of you.

He knows damn well you aren’t stupid enough to walk outside on purpose but he still loves the feeling of looking out for you and being there for you.

He’s cocky about it too.

Karaku always reminds you that he still loves you despite your condition. He knows how insecure you are about it and you always overthink that he’ll get bored of you and leave which isn’t the case. He loves you for you! Even though he teases you like hell.

Urogi

Similar to Karaku, this mf is cocky as hell about it.

Says shit like; “Damn really? Guess we have more in common than i thought baby.”

He’s so goofy. A silly lil demon. 💀💀

Also one positive wack. Attempts to help you develop a slightly more positive mindset. He knows how negative you can get due to your condition which you have a burning hatred for.

Deep down, he’s lowkey a upset for you, he wishes you and him could walk under the sun together. But covers it up with his happy facade.

Reminds you that you’re like him and that he doesn’t see the problem. I mean, he still loves you and has even more in common with you!

He tries his very gosh-darn hardest to make you feel better about it.

Since you cannot appreciate the sun, Urogi and you go out in the evening and have wholesome small dates!

Unfortunately, y’all can’t really go into town cause of his demonic form

BUTTTT you both have picnic dates under the moonlight. He finds a way to make you appreciate the night/the moonlight instead of sun.

Constantly reassures you that it’ll be alright!

Urogi will also pick you up and flies you around on his back to have fun!

Now for the semi-red flags: He has the strong habit of teasing you. Not intentionally because he enjoys hurting you or anything.. He just assumes ahead of time that it’ll make you feel a tad bit better!

Is always on a mission to witness you at least crack a smile at his childish humor.

By the way, his teasing doesn’t benefit you in the slightest..

If you’re okay with his jokes and are able to joke with him then you two just bond over that and you soon get over your insecurities.

However, if you cannot handle it and are sensitive, which is completely valid in your case. Urogi will tone it done and search for other solutions to help you out!

But he does sometimes find it amusing when you proceed to call the sun ‘evil’ and hide from it when you’re in a bad mood..

Yeah the sun is evil. Bro agrees with you. 😡😡

Omg, sorry this took so long to finish! I hope i wrote these headcanons met your expectations and i hope you enjoyed reading them:) bye-bye! (also this ain’t proof-read so sry if there are any typos)

[autumnmist101]

Wild Life Fanfic

Hi! This is a story that's rattled around in my brain for the last couple weeks. Before you read, there are a few things to note.

On breaks and in-between sessions, the server is turned to peaceful, all cameras are shut off, and wild cards are deactivated. This is to preserve food and lives. Any lives lost during these times are restored back to the player before the session begins/continues.

Pearl has L.I.M.S. (Lag Induced Muscle Spasms) I seen a post by @hermitcraftheadcanons and they talked about how lag is an illness and how Aussie ping could be like a chronic illness in the Minecraft universe. I took this and ran with it.

These are in fact the characters not content creators. The characters are staying in their Traffic personas during recording but being themselves off camera. This will make more sense as you read.

Nothing happens if they do go out of character, but because the sessions are timed, they need to get as much usable footage as possible.

Enough of the author rambles! Onto the story!

_______________________________________

“So, you two have been going around, mildly making people our enemies and neither of you two are on red yet!” Scott scolds to the two mischief makers in front of him. Pearl rolls her head back, tuning out her teammate’s voice. The session had already been rough for her and now they have a fight to deal with.

“I’m close enough to red to warrant some mischief, and it’s not like everyone’s gonna stay allied to the end anyways.” Pearl states, silently wishing their comms would go off alerting them of the break, until then, they needed to remain in character.

“Still though, we don’t want to be making mo-” Cleo starts before freezing. Pearl mentally readies herself for the onslaught of pain she was about to endure.

“-more enemies.” They finish once the lag spike passes. Pearl leans onto the sheep fence as a sharp stabbing pain shot through her abdomen. Cleo lifts a hand from her hip, before placing it back. Good. Stay in character.

“We’re friends with literally most, if not half, the server. I-I’m sure we can do with some enemies.” The Aussie defends checking the time. Two minutes till break.

“Pearl, making enemies is how we die! And with the wild cards, who knows what kind of things they can do to us!”

“You worry to mu—” Pearl’s voice caught in her throat. Another spike. A sharper pain now.

“Much, Scott.” She finishes, now gripping onto the fence, her nails digging into the wood. A moment of concern flashes into Scott’s eyes before he blinks it away. Stay. In. Character.

“I worry just enough, and I don’t want you two putting our team in danger. We can do that when we all get to red.”

“But Scott, it’s been going so well!” Impulse finally chimes in, “Get one here. Get one there, and little by little we get to the end.”

“Yeah, then we have to fight each other.” Cleo brings up as Pearl looks back at the clock. One minute.

“Not like you haven’t killed your teammates before.” Pearl huffs as the pain slowly begins to ease.

“You're one t-” Pearl flinches as the pain shoots through her again.

“To talk, Pearl.” Cleo says, doing her best to ignore Pearl’s swaying as Impulse checks the time. Thirty seconds.

“I . . .” Pearl breathes doing everything to ignore the pain of her stomach, “didn’t kill a . . . a teammate, Cleo. . . I . . . killed . . . an enemy. . . You. . . and Scott. . . back. . . backstabbed me.”

“We would have had to fight each other anyways.” Cleo waves off, “It was us, Gem and Martyn. She was going after him, and you were the closest one too us.”

“St– Still . . . a backstab . . . though.” Pearl breathes before all of their comms buzzed. Pearl lets out a pained whine as she drops to her knees holding her stomach. Her friends immediately race to her side.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” Cleo says before another spike comes. It was a long one this time, a solid 20 seconds. Once the world unfreezes, Pearl falls onto Scott.

“Get her in bed!”

“Cl-Cleo.” Pearl whines as her soulmate lifts her.

“Impulse, best be making– Oh you are.” Cleo stops turning to find the imp already with bowls and ingredients over a crafting bench.

“I got it, but best let Grian know we'll need a bit longer of a break.”

“That’s not necessary.” Pearl’s voice rang out, sounding almost too pained to speak.

“It is necessary, and we are doing it. One way or another.” Cleo says, their voice stern. She heads to the far edge of the island before looking at her comm to see she had missed some messages.

Grian> Everyone okay after that lag spike?

Renthedog> All good here.

Ethoslab > that was a big one.

GoodtimewithScar> *couf* Thats waht she said *couf*

SolidarityGaming> Good here

Gem> Me and Joel are alright.

Grain> Impulse? Cleo? How’s your group?

Cloe takes a breath. Hoping their message wasn’t going to have the whole server come sprinting over.

Zombiecleo> Impulse, Scott, and I are okay, but the lag hit Pearl pretty hard. She’s in bed now, but may need a bit longer of a break.

Pearlescentmoon: I’m fine!

Grian> omw

SolidarityGaming> same

“Hey.”

“Ah!” Cleo screams turning to find BigB. They slap his arm. “BigB! You know I hate that!” The man giggles.

“Sorry. Sorry. Forget you scare easily.” He pauses, “How’s Pearl?”

“Her stomach seems to have gotten the brunt of it. She’s lying down now, at least, she should be.” Cleo explains looking into the distance. They bite their lip for BigB to pat their shoulder.

“Hey, she’ll be alright. I mean, yeah, she’ll need to take it easy on this next part of the session, but. . . She’s tough. She’ll make it through.”

“Yeah.” Cloe breathes before the two start their way over to the others. They find Tango, Skizz and Gem had decided to pop over unannounced. The latter coming to apparently shake the daylights out of Grian.

“FIX. YOUR. GAME! FIX. YOUR. GAME! YOU CRIPTIC BIRDMAN! SO HELP ME!”

“G-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-m!” Grian tries to say.

“The lag spike nearly killed me! It nearly killed Joel! It practically could have killed the whole server! And I know you had something to do with it! So, you’re going to fix it, you feathered freak!”

“Alright Gem, no killing the bird man on break. Save it for the cameras.” Cleo says for the fox hybrid to release the red sweatered avian. She storms back to the patient at hand for the zombie to look at the main admin.

“So, what exactly caused the spikes to happen?”

“Heh, um,” Grian chuckles, ducking his head, “would you believe me if I said chickens?” Cleo pauses folding her arms.

“Strangely enough, yes, but I have a feeling that wasn’t the case this time.”

“That’s because it wasn’t.” Grian smiles nervously, “Creepers were blowing up our chests. We were lucky none of us died on that last one.”

“I’m sure you’d replace the lives if you had. I mean the break was already called before it happened. Just needed time for the mode to change.” Cleo pauses looking over at the small crowd of nurses tending to their begrudging patient. “Will her recovery be long? She'll be insistent on getting back to work.”

“With a spike like that, she'll need to take it slow for a while. Probably two, maybe three days. Should be back to normal by then, that is, as long as no more spikes happen.” Grian explains before the two walk over to join the chaotic party.

“It's dandelion so it will help more than regular. Just remember to drink it slowly.” Impulse says giving a bowl to Pearl as Big B sits on the end of the bed, looking in his inventory.

“Muscle relaxer Muscle relaxer. Hmmm, maybe if we combined pufferfish and glow-berries? Or snow and carrots?”

“What got hurt Poppers?" Skizz questions, standing overhead, "Head? Stomach? How many fingers am I holding up?” He holds up two fingers before Jimmy chimes in.

“Are you warm enough Pearl? I can craft a blanket if you'd like.”

"And I can get a campfire going." Tango states going to chop down a tree as Scott starts up a brewing stand.

"Are you sure it was just your stomach muscles affected? Your back's fine? What about your limbs?"

“Oh my Notch.” Pearl says, looking away from the group. Gem chuckles before turning to the mother hens.

“Hey guys?” The men stop what they're doing and look at the Canadian, “Maybe you should try to find some snow? It will help relieve some of the pain in her joints.” There's a pause.

"Powder snow for Pearlie!" Tango yells rushing off the island.

"For Pearlie!" The others cheer racing after him, dragging Grian along. Cleo chuckles before turning their attention back to the disgruntled Australian.

“Did you enjoy the attention, Love?” They joke sitting on the side of the bed. Pearl rolls her eyes, hoping her face wasn't too red.

“When’s the break supposed to end?” She questions as Gem pets her hair back.

“Soon enough. As of now, you need rest.”

“I need everyone to stop making such a big deal about this.” Pearl huffs, wiping soup from her chin. “It was just a spasm. It’s gone now. I’m fine.”

“Pearl, you had four of them. Back-to-back I might add. and with that last one I thought you were going to pass out.”

“According to Scott, I did.” She huffs, rolling her eyes again, “But look, I’ll take it easy for the next part of the session. I have that storage room I want to build anyways.”

The two red heads glance at each other. They knew Pearl well enough to know that, while she could spend twenty minutes deciding on what flower to put in a flowerpot, she was also likely to get a build burst and expand said storage room twenty blocks in all directions.

“How about this,” Cleo pauses, brushing some hair from Pearl’s face, “build the storage room, but you have to take five-to-ten-minute breaks every thirty minutes.”

"Can't it be every hour?"

"Nope." Gem pops, "Every thirty minutes, that way you're not overworking yourself."

"Fine." Pearl sighs, not happy with the arrangement but it was better than staying up here and farming.

"Good." Cleo smiles, cupping Pearl's face. "We worry about you, Love."

"I know." Pearl mutters, snuggling into their hand, "I jus-" The world stops again.

"Ah!" Pearl whines curling inwards. Gem takes the bowl as Cleo helps her to lay on her side.

"Ah. Guess they. . . . found snow."

"I'll kill them when they get back." Gem states rubbing circles on Pearl's shoulder. Cleo questions if there's anything they can do to help.

"Magma cream might work?" Gem pauses, "Heat is best for stomach muscles. Honestly, I should have thought of it earlier."

"Ah, with the lot that was here fussing about, I don't blame you for not thinking of it." Cleo says opening a chest. "I'll be surprise if they don't come back with a mountain's worth of snow for you, Pearl."

"Great, build a snow tower out of it." She hums, "Did Griba extend the break? Felt like it should have ended by now."

"He did. We have ten extra minutes." Cleo comes back and sits down, "Meaning you have more time to rest."

"Easier said than done." Pearl pauses as she turns onto her back. Gem runs her fingers through the Aussie's hair as Cleo applies the cream. "Why did it have to be L.I.M.S.?"

"Because the universe needed to nerf you somehow. You're too powerful otherwise." Gem explains, pressing a gentle kiss to Pearl's forehead, "Now rest up. Gonna be a long rest of the session if you don't."

"Gonna be a long rest of break." Pearl pauses before giving a small smile, "Thanks for this though."

"Of course, Love." Cleo says, smiling down at her before their comms buzz.

Grian> Incoming!

Tango> Stack of snow blocks for Pearlie!

Skizzleman> And we picked up more visitors! :D

“Oh, for the love of Void!”

Hi again! So, I've been half MIA for the last. . . . idk how long. . . . and there are reasons. Family stuff, Halloween things but also . . . the toxic-ish GGG discourse at the start of WL . . . Didn't like it. Didn't like seeing it. Didn't like how reading it made me feel and I didn't want to be dragged into it by posting my own head-cannons and such. Luckily, things have cooled down. So, I will possibly be back to posting when I can.

As for this story, I wanted some hurt/comfort, and to be reminded that while they may fight on camera, at the end of the day, they are all still friends who love and care for each other, and that's what matters. <3

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “You’re So Weird, I Like You Anyway” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Unhinged Tenderness.

[Early evening in your shared friend circle’s group hang, a mix of couches, drinks, and too much laughter]

“Gosh, you’re like a gremlin in love.”

That was Bailey. Always narrating like she’s an innocent bystander. Fork mid-air. Judging.

Reneé was curled on the floor beside the beanbag chair you’d claimed, elbow digging into the side of your thigh like it was a couch arm made for her personal lounging. One of her hands—ice cold, inexplicably—was resting flat against your shin like you’d short-circuited and needed grounding. And her cheek? Fully pressed against your knee. No warning. Just splat, contact, affection, and no regard for personal space.

You didn’t even blink anymore.

Just lifted your glass with your free hand and muttered, “Let her cook.”

“She’s not cooking,” Bailey said, voice full of secondhand discomfort. “She’s—obsessed. She just licked your arm.”

You looked down. Sure enough, a suspicious smear of spit glittered faintly against your forearm.

You turned your gaze toward her. “Did you lick me?”

Reneé smiled, smug and unapologetic. “You looked dry.”

“You’re insane,” said Nxdia, flopping dramatically onto the couch. “It’s like you’re a golden retriever and a horndog had a baby.”

“Thank you,” Reneé said brightly. “I love my girlfriend.”

You choked on air. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

Reneé just nodded thoughtfully. “Yet.”

The worst part? No one was surprised anymore.

There had been a time—a brief, flickering phase—where her affection still caught you off guard. Like when she first licked your cheek to wake you up during a group vacation and your soul momentarily left your body. Or when she whispered “I love you so bad it makes me ill” after she dared you to down an entire jar of olives and you actually did it.

But now?

You were used to the chaos.

The nonsense. The unhinged sweetness disguised as absurdity. Her version of romance didn’t come with roses or serenades. It came in sneaky touches and jumpscare intimacy.

Like how she’d kiss you mid-yawn. Like, wait for it. Watch your jaw drop. And then smack—mouth to mouth like a chaotic toddler discovering affection for the first time.

You’d tried once to warn her that it was disgusting.

She replied, “Then close your mouth faster.”

[Flashback: a week ago, late morning, your apartment]

You were half-conscious on the couch. One eye open. Blanket tangled around your legs like a creature had died there.

The scent of coffee drifted lazily from the kitchen, where Reneé was banging around like a drumline.

You cracked your jaw in a yawn.

Big mistake.

Because three seconds later—while still yawning—Reneé flew in from nowhere, slid onto the couch beside you like a lizard in socks, and kissed you right in the middle of your yawn.

Mouth wide open. No warning. No dignity.

You screamed.

She laughed so hard she spilled coffee on her hoodie and didn’t care.

You told her she was deranged.

She told you to stop yawning like a Victorian ghost and maybe she wouldn’t be tempted.

You didn’t speak to her for ten minutes.

Then she licked your face.

You’ve never recovered.

[Present day, group hang continues]

You’re drowsy again.

The post-dinner haze settling over the group. Everyone’s full, sun-drunk from too much time on the balcony, and the TV is softly playing some Netflix original no one is really watching.

You curl into yourself, knees drawn up slightly on the beanbag. Reneé doesn’t miss a beat—she sits on the floor beside you and starts softly tracing nonsense patterns on your leg with her finger.

You let her.

You always let her.

Then you feel it.

That hum. The shift.

She’s watching your face. Waiting.

You fight the yawn crawling up your throat.

Too late.

It slips out—and so does she, lunging like she’s possessed.

“Don’t—” you begin, but it’s done.

A kiss mid-yawn. Again. Violent. Tender. Deeply annoying.

Bailey groans from the couch. “I’m begging you two to break up even though you’re not even dating.”

“I’m reporting this to HR,” Nxdia mutters, eyes squeezed shut.

Reneé just grins, entirely pleased with herself. “I’m not sorry.”

You glare. “That was my soul leaving my body, and you caught it with your mouth.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugs, “I didn’t want it to go without saying goodbye.”

[An hour later, the group has gone home. It’s just the two of you.]

Silence settles around the apartment like a blanket. You’re cleaning up the dishes, and Reneé is sitting on the counter, swinging her feet like she’s eight years old.

She’s quiet.

Which is rare.

You glance at her. “You good?”

She nods.

Then says softly, “You don’t mind it, do you?”

You blink. “What?”

“The weird. The licking. The… yawn crimes.”

You look up.

She’s biting her lip. Trying to seem nonchalant. Failing.

You set the plate down. Wipe your hands.

Walk to where she’s perched.

Stand between her knees.

Tilt your head up to look at her properly.

And you say, “You’re strange, Rapp. Deeply, unapologetically strange. You’re like a walking fever dream in Doc Martens.”

She smiles a little.

“But,” you add, gentler, “you’re also the only person who’s ever made me feel completely wanted without ever needing to say it out loud.”

Her brows draw together slightly, almost vulnerable now.

You reach up.

Touch her jaw.

“Your weird is love. I know that now. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

She exhales shakily. “Even if I yawn-kiss you on your wedding day?”

You nod. “Especially then.”

Reneé pulls you close by the waist and whispers, “Then you better be the one I marry.”

You blink.

She blinks.

You both break into violent laughter.

And then—just for good measure—she licks your cheek again.

[seeingivy]

the met gala

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

content: the end contains some possibly triggering content. toxic man moment/unsafe situation so dni and protect ur peace if you need to.

an: fan service to the highest t. you want laufey? i'l give you laufey. you want sukuna? ill give you sukuna. did you ask for catoru gojo? no but i'll give it to you anyways. and the end is a nice yummy lil eren little fdklsfjdksljfkdlsjfkdsjk. also I changed real life met gala lore idgaf if they don't do real perfomances there bc they do now

songs mentioned: death of a bachelor by panic at the disco, seven by taylor swift, promise by laufey, and dorothea by taylor swift

previous part linked here

--

Eren waits for it in nervous anticipation. Because despite everything Hyla and Lana say, he knows for a fact that you won’t be staying silent. That Danny and Sareen wouldn’t let this slide and neither would you. 

And it eats at him while he waits for the real response, beyond that video Connie posted of you, Mikasa, Connie, and Jean dancing to Girlfriend and your tweets about how much you loved the song. 

He’s positive that a forty second video can’t be all you’re doing. People loved it and thought it was funny. But surely that can’t be it. 

“I can’t believe all your friends sided with her. I thought you were close with Connie.” Lana mentions. 

“I was. Before you did that.” Eren responds, clenching his jaw. He can feel anger surging through his blood, every minuscule fraction of frustration building even more - like it had been for the past three days since the awards show. 

It's irritating how quick things crumble down. He figures this is what Sukuna was talking about. Because the last time he talked to Connie was when Mikasa called him and it was nothing short of irritating. 

Eren’s phone rings in the middle of the night and he’s nearly scrambling out of his bed because he thinks it’s you. Nine hours after the awards show and you’ve finally gotten the chance to respond.

Except he sees Mikasa’s name flashing across the screen, accompanied with her contact picture which is you and Mikasa sleeping.

“Mika? What’s wrong?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you Eren?” 

“Mikasa. Okay, I can ex-” 

“You can explain? You can explain why you just humiliated Y/N in public? Are you serious?” 

“I-I know it’s bad and she hasn’t picked up my calls and-” 

“Eren. Is there something wrong with you? Because I don’t even recognize you right now. You would never do something like this, let alone to her of all people.” 

“Did you just call me to yell at me Mikasa? You don’t think I feel bad enough about it already? You don’t think I would have stopped it if I had any idea it was going to happen?” 

He hears the line get quieter and Mikasa murmuring over the phone, only to be met with Connie talking to him now. 

“Hi Eren. It’s Connie.” 

Eren sighs, the fact that Mikasa’s so put off she won’t even talk to him sitting wrong with him all together. 

“Hi Con.” 

“You okay, man?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, is she okay?” 

“Mika? You know her, she gets mad so fast and-” 

“Not her.” Eren whispers. 

“Oh. No, no that’s why we called. She won’t talk to any of us. We called to see if you would know what to do because we’re coming short on ideas.” 

The words die on Eren’s tongue. The first line of defense when you get like this is always him, because he can always get you to talk. 

Could always get you to talk. 

“You tried Levi?” 

“Yes.” 

“Her brothers. You need to fly Falco and Colt out now. I’ll pay for the tickets. Get the shin ramen from the store, it’s her comfort food - put half of the spice packet in because she can’t eat it too spicy, make sure you boil the egg for six minutes because she likes it when it’s still a little runny, and chop ONLY carrots and green onions for the vegetables. And put on Spy Family, it’s her favorite show. Her favorite episode is nine, I think. It’s called Show Off How In Love You Are. ” 

“Okay, that’s all great man. Really. Thanks.” 

“Connie?” 

“Yeah?” 

The thought crosses his mind so fast and suddenly he's asking it.

“Do you hate me?” Eren asks, the whisper in his voice sounding so pitiful that he’s almost embarrassed. 

“No, Eren. I could never. Just, I have to be here because she needs us right now. You get that.” 

“No, no I do. Take care of her, please. Tell me how it goes.” 

“Yeah man. Sure.” 

Connie hangs up and the guilt eats at Eren. 

Eren hears the resounding pounding of footsteps - only to be met with Myka, Hyla, and two other people he’s literally never seen before - standing in his bedroom. 

The first thing he learned quickly about filming with these people? They have no concept of personal space or time. 

“What?” 

“Ricky and Y/N. They made a music video. Put it on.” Myka states, the group of them crawling onto Eren’s bed as he starts pulling up the video. 

The thumbnail already has him sick to his stomach. It’s you kissing Ricky’s cheek. The video starts with you and Ricky’s hands, playing the piano together, and it takes Eren all but three seconds to realize that this is the horrible, gut-wrenching response he was waiting for. 

His first cue? Not only are the two of you playing the piano together, but you and Ricky are wearing matching, beaded bracelets with each other’s names on them. Like the ones you and Eren have, the one he keeps on him at all times. 

The camera pans up to the two of you and Ricky starts singing, which earns him a nice list of profanities from Lana at his side. 

Do I look lonely? I see the shadows on my face People have told me I don't look the same Maybe I lost weight I'm playing hooky with the best of the best Put my heart on my chest so that you can see it, too I'm walking the long road, watching the sky fall The lace in your dress tangles my neck, how do I live?

His second cue? The dress you’re wearing in the video, the one with the lace, is one he knows all too well. 

“Okay so, Eren. I have to find a dress to wear for the album premiere tomorrow. And it's my first album and it's special and I want it to be perfect. Something kind of soft and casual, since it’s just going to be just fans. Can you help me pick?” 

Eren nods as he flops back onto the soft plush of your bed, eyes focused on all the little pictures and knick knacks littered over the walls of your childhood bedroom. Participation awards for sports, signed letters from your teachers, and pictures of you and Colt doing karaoke. 

“Ew, Eren. Don’t look at those.” 

“What do you mean? You were such a cute baby.” 

Eren hopes your kids don’t inherit your messy hair genes as you walk up to his side and look at the picture - of you and Colt with little pink microphones in your hand and the little plastic crown on your head. 

“You know, you still do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Everyone else holds the microphone at the top, their fingers nearly wrapped around the wire. You’re like the only person I know who holds it at the bottom - like you’re doing in the picture.” 

You roll your eyes as you gesture to the dress, asking for his opinion. Eren stands up, grabbing you by the wrist, to spin you around in the air. And he loves the sound of your laugh and how you berate him immediately after. 

“Eren. Be serious. What do you think?” 

“Perfect. Wear this one.” 

“But it’s black - it doesn’t really fit the vibe that I wanted to go with.” 

“Good point. No one should see you in this but me. Try another one on.” Eren states, placing a kiss on your neck before walking over to your bookshelf. 

"You're no help." you whine.

"I'm biased. You look good in everything, sweetheart."

He’s running his hands against the spines of your books, clearly bent and broken from reading them so much as you try on the next dress. 

“Love?” 

“Hm?” your voice comes out, all muffled from the sound of the closet door. 

“How many times have you read the Goblet of Fire? This spine is demolished.” 

He feels your limbs wrap around his neck and a kiss on his cheek as you lazily murmur into his skin. 

“Lots. Cedric Diggory was my first love.” 

“Oh? Really?” 

Eren turns around and makes it a point to pointedly glare at you, which you return with the sweetest, cheesiest of smiles as you tease him on. 

“Oh, of course. I’ve always had a thing for Hufflepuffs.” 

“Would you look at that? I’m a Hufflepuff too.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re a Ravenclaw, Eren.” 

“I was expecting you to say Slytherin.” 

“No, I feel like that’s a cop-out answer. You’re intelligent, creative, and clever. Ravenclaw.” 

Eren smiles as he brings his hands down to your wrists again, spinning you in the air again. He brings his hands up to your hair to tuck your hair behind your ears before responding. 

“Nope. Very pretty, but too formal for something small like this.” 

“I appreciate the honesty this time, mon chéri. I only have one more, so it better be the one.” 

Eren leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“What was that for?” 

“I love it when you speak French to me.” he whispers. 

Eren watches you roll your eyes as you disappear into your closet again. He settles into the seat at your desk, flipping through the song lyrics in your bound notebook.

And he doesn’t miss the polaroids you have taped into certain pages - the one of the two of you at the vow renewal on your invisible string page and one of him at the piano on the New Year’s Day page. 

“Okay, Eren. Good?” 

Eren turns around to find you shyly smiling at him, hands tucked behind your back. It’s a soft white dress, with a lace neckline. Eren thinks it makes you look like an angel. He makes it a point to stand up just so he can push you onto the bed behind you and lean right over you. 

“Eren.” 

He leans forward and starts peppering kisses all over your cheeks and your face, leaving longer lingering ones in your neck that leave you in a fit of nervous giggles and saying his name so softly it only sets him off more. 

“It should be illegal-” 

Kiss. 

“To look like this.” 

Kiss. 

“You’re doing this on purpose.” 

Kiss. 

“Doing what?” 

“Trying to drive me crazy, love.” 

“Am not, Eren. It’s just a dress.” 

“It’s never just a dress with you. Be serious, Y/N.” 

He watches your eyes go wide, a soft pink dusting your cheeks. Your hands are resting on his face and he swears they’re shaking, your arms trembling along with them. Eren brings his hand to your cheek, softly brushing across the skin once. 

“Hey. What is it?” he whispers. 

“You said my name.” 

“I say your name all the time.” 

“No, no. You always call me love or sweetheart.” 

“Do you like it when I say your name, Y/N?” 

He watches the blush spread across your cheeks again as you nod, the sweetest smile on your face. 

“I like how you say it. Y/N.” 

“I love your name. Though, it’s missing something.” 

He watches you frown, the confused look spreading across your face. 

“What’s that?” 

“My last name at the end.” he responds, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“Ew, Eren. That was so corny.” 

He brings his hands down to the side of your dress, where the zipper lies and starts pulling down. He watches the shock spread on your face, immediately pulling back. 

“Are you crazy? Falco and Colt are still here even if my parents aren’t.” 

“Falco is sleeping over across the street. And Colt is definitely at a party and pretending not to be. Who takes limes and salt to a study session? He definitely needs those for the drinks, silly girl.” he responds, sliding the dress off your shoulders and burying his face in the crook of your neck, leaving lazy kisses all over your skin. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?” 

“Chelseaiswatching.” you murmur. 

“Huh?” 

“Chelsea is watching.” you whisper.

“Who the fuck is Chelsea?” he asks, the panic laced in his voice. 

You point over his shoulder and he immediately rolls his eyes when he sees her, bringing his hands up to pinch your cheeks. 

“Are you being serious? You can’t kiss me back because your stuffed animal is watching?” 

“Eren. It’s weird, I’ve had her since I was a kid. And my dad bought her for me.” you whine. 

“And you think she’s going to narc on you?” 

“No. It’s the principle, Eren! Don’t do inappropriate things when kids or kid-like things are present.” 

Eren stands up, making it a point to pick up your stuffed animal and bury it in the back of your closet before he returns, hands on his hips. 

“Okay. Anything else? Do I need to put tape over your posters of Loid Forger doesn’t watch us doing it?” 

“Now that you say it, it’s actually-” 

“Too bad.” 

And well after being tangled in the sheets together, Eren pretends not to be offended when you pull on a hoodie and immediately get out of bed and reach for your notebook and your pen instead of cuddling with him after. 

You crawl back in the bed next to him, where he immediately rests his head in your lap and starts groaning. You reach forward to push the messy hair out of his face and make a mental note to cover up the purple skin on his neck later so Colt doesn’t hang you at the cross whenever he comes back. 

“Did I get you that inspired that you can’t hold me right now?” 

“Basically. You’re my muse, Eren.” 

“What’s the song called, Y/N?” 

“Dress.” 

“Clever. I wonder what it’s about.” he responds, pressing kisses along your thigh, consecutively going higher with each kiss. 

“Eren. Are you serious? It’s only been like ten minutes.” you respond, the nervous jittery feeling growing in your stomach. 

“It’s like vitamins. Can’t go without it.” 

“Do not refer to it as vitamins. And you can technically go without vitamins, if you’re like really healthy.” 

“Quit being a know-it-all. You know I meant like medicine.” 

“Eren.” you respond, a warning tone in your voice as you keep scribbling your lyrics out. 

“You get two minutes to finish what you’re writing and then I’m throwing that book out the window.” he responds, his breath on the inside of your legs tickling you. 

Eren knows you’re trying to drive him crazy and not in the way he likes. And it’s working. And Ricky’s all too agitating singing voice doesn’t make it any better. 

The death of a bachelor Oh oh Seems so fitting for Happily ever after (woo) How could I ask for more? A lifetime of laughter At the expense of the death of a bachelor

Eren watches you and Ricky dancing through the streets, while Ricky sings on and on about happily ever after, and he can’t help but slam the computer shut and all but push the group of them out of his room. And when he closes the door, all he can do is cry and hope they can’t hear him.

--

You peek out the window and count seven black cars and fourteen different people standing on the block, anxious faces craning up with shining black cameras in their hand. You feel a hand on your shoulder and know the ice cold hands can only be Ricky. 

“Hey.” 

“How many?” 

“Fourteen.” you groan, giving him a frown as you yank your shoulder out from under his hand and walk past him. 

You head to the vanity, where you’re going to place your last finishing touches on your outfit. Ricky’s quick to follow and lean into your space, with a smirk pressed on his face. 

“Ricky.” 

“Yes, babe?” 

“Ew. Do you need something? Or are you all up in my space for fun?” 

“For fun! You smell really good.” 

You make it a point to lightly shove him back, which you both laugh at as you clip on the sparkly necklace, making it a point to not move suddenly at all from this moment forward. 

It would be infinitely embarrassing if you ripped the first designer dress you wore. Especially when you have to return it later. 

Ricky swings his hand around you from the back and holds a cupcake in front of your face, a glimmering blue candle lit in the middle. You give him a questioning look in the mirror. 

“Baby’s first Met Gala!” 

You snort as you blow out the candle, taking it from his hands and pulling the wax out. 

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Ricky says. 

“For?” 

“The cupcake! And getting you invited to the Met Gala.” 

You smack his shoulder, giving him your angriest look, before you both laugh. 

“You’re a prick. I got invited all on my own.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” he responds, sarcastically. 

“What flavor is the cupcake?” 

“Chocolate.” 

“Eh. I like vanilla.” you respond, swiping the frosting off the top with your finger. But before you can lick it, Ricky reaches for it first and swipes it right off your finger. 

“I mean, I was going to eat that, Ricky.” 

“I only like the frosting of the cupcake.” 

“Well, I only like the frosting too. Especially when it’s not the flavor of cake I like.” 

You hand Ricky the rest of the cupcake and grab your purse as you head out. You press the button on the elevator and both slide in when it opens, the anticipation of the fourteen people waiting outside for you and the hundred more who will be at the event sitting on you. You must be making some weird face because Ricky catches on to it super fast. 

“Just relax. It’s just paparazzi, not flying to the moon.” 

“I know that. I just feel like I’m not entirely here at the moment. And they’re all going to ask me about Girlfriend and you and Eren and I just-” 

You still haven’t encountered the press after the entire thing, despite most of the tabloids writing things in your favor. Because rehashing the worst thing that’s ever happened for you in the two seconds the paparazzi talk to you and have it become a whole convoluted story is not something you’re ready for. 

After the entire thing went down, you retreated to your room for one day. One day. With full intentions to mope for the rest of your life, because you would never live this down. And because the entire ordeal was so overstimulating, so stressful that you need to rest.  

Until Danny and Sareen dragged you out by the legs and forced you to film a music video with Ricky. Then go to his debut of the song and the music video in Times Square. And then they granted you your beauty rest, but then that stupid voice in your head got the best of you and you couldn’t help but watch what everyone said about the entire thing after the event. 

People thought the entire Girlfriend thing was really tasteless. Because it was. Ricky did a bunch of interviews, where he just talked you up and how the entire thing was ridiculous in his opinion. They thought it was sweet of Ricky to come to your defense with Death of a Bachelor and that your official debut as a couple was one for the books. 

You’ll take a win where you can get one. 

Everyone sided with you, which was nice. Fans wise but also from your real friends. Connie, Marco, Mikasa, and Jean were at your side the entire time, which you appreciated. 

Connie was the one that convinced you that “you had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever” and filmed a video of you, Jean, Mikasa, and him dancing to Girlfriend and posted it. 

Which was your favorite part of the entire thing, not because of the song, but because they were there for you through the entire thing. That Connie could make something mortifying funny for you. A bad memory a good one. A true testament to his support. 

Unlike some people. People’s inquisitive eyes leave no stone untouched and now rumors of a fallout between you and Historia are flying around, when she’s the only one to not publicly come to your defense. And you get it, she doesn’t have to. What you don’t understand is why she won’t return any of your calls. 

Ricky reaches down and grabs your hand, locking his fingers in yours as he gives you a smile, bringing you back down from the thoughts. 

“I won’t leave you, okay? Danny and Sareen said I should handle all those questions anyways.” 

“And if Lana comes up to me?” 

“Spit in her face. She’s really annoying.” 

“And if Eren comes up to me?” 

“I’ll give you a big kiss.” 

“Ew. Don’t do that.” 

“I love it when you act disgusted by me.” 

You snicker as the elevator rings and the door swings open. You’re immediately flooded with a mound of flashing lights as Ricky grabs your hand and drags you through the crowd into the fresh air. And it only gets worse outside because not only are the cameras outside bigger, but the reporters are louder. 

Are you and Ricky official? 

Eren and Hyla are rumored to be dating. Do you have any comments on that, Y/N? 

Can you tell us anything about your upcoming record, Ribbons? 

Ricky ducks your head into the car first before sliding in himself, tapping on the seat ahead of him as the car speeds off. You let go of Ricky’s hand, wiping the sweat against your dress, immediately freezing when you remember you’re supposed to return it at the end of the night. 

“Now was that so bad?” Ricky asks, giving you a winning smile. 

“Literally, yes! I wasn’t expecting them to be in the lobby.” 

“Cmon, you nailed it. I was there, wasn’t I?” 

“Quit trying to flirt, Ricky. You suck at it.” you grumble, which he laughs at. 

The car comes to a screeching halt and you give Ricky a weary smile as he walks out first, making it a point to open the door for you on the other side. You wrap your arm around his as you both walk the carpet, giving glimmering smiles every time you walk a few paces. 

You make mental notes of those standing on the steps behind you and you catch sight of them. Eren and Hyla, in the center of the carpet. Eren’s lifting his hand to twirl her in the middle, with consecutive clicks from the cameras. And you can see Sukuna right behind them, pretending to gag with Maki and probably ruining all the picutres.

You smile, making it a point to sit with Sukuna later because he’s so wildly unserious that it’s probably the only thing you could tolerate on a day like this. And it would really piss off Eren.

Mikasa and Jean are smiling at you from behind the ropes, Mikasa giving you a sweet smile and mouthing that you look great. She points at a spot towards the left and you nod, signaling that you’ll meet her there after. 

Out of the periphery of your eye, you catch sight of it. The giant cat in the middle of the runway. You tap Ricky on the shoulder, pointing it out to him. 

“Oh god.” 

“At the Met Gala? That’s so unserious.” you respond. 

“Ten bucks it’s Gojo.” 

“That’s such a lame bet. I know for a fact that’s Gojo. He’s the only type of dumbass to show up to the Met Gala dressed up as a big white cat with blue eyes.” 

You both lean closer together, making a point to make sure the paparazzi are taking pictures of you two all close to each other. The head of the cat pops off and surely enough, a very excited Satoru Gojo is now running in circles around in the middle of the carpet. And blocking every girl standing on the side.

You don’t miss Geto standing ten paces behind with Shoko, the two of them very loudly declaring that they, in fact, do not know or associate with that man.

“You owe me ten bucks.” 

“I never agreed to that, Ricky.” 

Ricky leans forward and plants a warm kiss on your cheek, earning a nice symphony of cooing from the photographers on the other side. 

“Oh?” 

“We both got it right. So we both get a reward.” he responds, tapping his left cheek. 

You roll your eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek and consequently wipe your glittery lip gloss off his face after. You give the cameras a smile and wrap your arm around his again as you walk farther down the carpet towards the interviewers. 

“Y/N. You look gorgeous!” 

“Thank you! So do you.” 

“Is there anything you can tell us about your third upcoming album, Ribbons? What’s your favorite track on the album?” 

“Thank you for asking! I think Ribbons is a mix of a lot of feelings I’ve had lately - specifically good, warm, and positive feelings. I-I think that being negative is something that’s really easy to do, especially when you’re in my position, but I try to keep my music feeling like sunshine on a nice day, because who likes to focus on the bad when you can just be the good. My favorite track on the album is seven, a song that I’ll be performing inside later today with one of my best, best friends who I wrote it with.” 

“That’s sweet. Are any of these positive feelings a consequence of your new beau, Ricky James?” 

And right on cue, Ricky’s on your side, tilted eyes glimmering in the camera. 

“I know for a fact they are. She loves to write songs about me.” 

“That’s a bold statement coming from you, Ricky.” you respond. 

“I’m a bold guy.” Ricky responds, giving you a wink. 

“Speaking of writing songs, Y/N. How do you feel about songs being written about you? Songs like Girlfriend?” 

The reporter looks way too excited at this part now. You look at Ricky before answering, who gives you a subtle nod. The answer you practiced with Sareen and Danny. 

“I think it’s flattering.” 

“Really?” 

Ricky slides his hand around your waist and smiles, finishing off the rest of the answer for you. 

“Oh, it’s totally flattering. I mean, I’d be really intimidated if I was comparing myself to someone like Y/N here too. She’s quite literally at the top of her game, in every sense, and it’s easy to feel less than when you’re comparing yourself to a future triple threat. So we get the thought process behind it.” 

“Ricky.” 

“It’s true, Y/N. Personally, I think they should pick London Boy from her discography as the song selection. But that’s just me.” 

You smile at each other as you give the interviewer a polite nod, giving each other a thumbs up as you walk around the floor. You finally get to stop near Jean and Mikasa, who are very obviously already wine drunk, from the way their cheeks are tinted pink. 

“Wow, Jean. It hasn’t even been two hours yet.” you respond, placing your hand flat against his cheek to see how much his skin is burning. 

“I hate this type of shit.” Jean responds, grumbling. 

“Jean. How drunk are you? Don’t tell me you’re imagining cats walking around are you?” you ask, feigning concern. 

“Huh? That cat isn’t real?” 

“You’re actually seeing cats?!” Mikasa asks, catching on. 

“THERE’S A REAL CAT HERE, MIKA. LOOK.” Jean says, pointing at Satoru who is now lying face down on the red carpet. 

"Jean."

"Y/N. MIKASA. I'M SO SERIOUS I SWEAR THERE'S A REAL CAT. IT TALKED TO ME EARLIER. IT TOLD ME I SHOULD HAVE DRESSED UP AS A HORSE WITH IT."

“Oh, sweetheart. We should go inside, you’ve had too much. You always do this, Jean.” Mikasa says, shaking her head as she leads him in. Mikasa turns her head over her shoulder and gives you a wink, before she walks straight into the venue. 

Geto and Shoko come up to your side after they catch you staring at Gojo - who's now doing the worm in his cat suit on the floor - as they both give you polite hugs. The three of you stand against the wall to watch him take the spotlight away from anyone who was hoping to have it. 

“Can you believe you’re married to that guy?” you ask Geto. 

“Please don’t remind me. It pains me everyday.” 

“He wore the cathead to my house the first day he got it. I was hosting a vigil for one of my neighbors.” Shoko states, placing a cigarette between her teeth. 

You snort at the thought of Gojo, in his fully exuberant energy, trotting into a room of people mourning with the cat head on.

Megumi and Yuuta join the group of you as you now watch Yuuji - whose actually dressed in a nicely styled suit - have a dance off with Cat Gojo on the red carpet. 

You nudge Megumi in the side. 

“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?” 

“We’re breaking up.” Megumi responds, earning a laugh from the group. 

“I can’t tell what’s worse. The fact that they’re dance battling at the Met Gala or that Yuuji is horrendously losing to Gojo wearing a twelve pound cat-suit.” 

“Yuuji losing.” you all respond in unison. 

“I think Cat Gojo is going to haunt me in my dreams.” you respond. 

“Get this, Y/N. It’s not Cat Gojo. It’s Catoru.” Yuuta responds. 

“Don’t tell me he trademarked it already.” 

“He did.” they all respond in unison. 

"Geto. Shoko. When you burn that thing in the flames of hell, I want a video." you state.

"That's a promise, kid." Geto responds, with Shoko giving an affirmative nod.

You turn to your left to find Ricky standing at your side, with his arm wrapped around John. Historia’s ex-boyfriend. You give the group of them a polite nod as you walk away and join Ricky at your side. 

“Y/N. This is my friend, John. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.” 

“Hi. Y/N.” you respond, making every effort to emphasize the flatness in your voice. 

“John. Nice to meet you.” he responds, holding his hand out which you refuse to touch. 

“Play any chess games lately?” you ask, making a pointed reference to Historia’s song. 

He glares and you watch the smile on Ricky’s face drop. You give your best, sickly sweet smile as you wait for a response. 

“That’s right. You acted in Attack on Titan so you must be friends with Historia.” 

“Very good friends.” you respond. 

“Okay John, we’re going to go in. I’ll see you in a sec, yeah?” Ricky responds, hands increasingly hard on your biceps as he drags you a few paces away. 

“Ouch, Ricky. Get off.” 

He’s leaning close to you, whispering in your ear earlier like you two were when Satoru came in, except this is nowhere near as fun as last time. 

“What’s your problem?” 

“What’s yours? He’s not a good guy, Ricky.” 

“I’ve made every effort to be friends with your friends. You could and should be doing the same for me, Y/N.” 

“And I will. For your friends who aren’t groomers, Ricky.” 

Ricky glares at you before giving you a smile and pressing a kiss to your forehead with the paparazzi so close, before dragging you into the venue with him. You settle into your seat next to Ricky, craning your neck to see where the rest of your friends are sitting, all the way on the other side of the room. 

You turn to the girl sitting next to you and whisper in her ear. 

“Hi. I’m Y/N.” 

“I-I know who you are. I’m a big fan.” 

“I’m really sorry to ask you this then. But you see that guy right there, pink hair, those two little scars near his eyes. Could you go and switch seats with him? He’s sitting in between Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuta Okkotsu, so I can at least promise it’s a better seat than this one.” 

She looks over and gives you an affirmative nod. You squeeze her shoulder as you watch her stomp over, Sukuna turn back to give you a questioning look, before letting the girl take his seat and striding over to sit next to you with two cups in his hands. 

He sits on the chair to your left, making it a point to spread his legs as far as he can on his chair, and glare at Ricky as he sits down. 

“What do you want, doll?” 

“Nothing. I got bored.” 

He shrugs as he places the second cup in front of you, which you pick up. And then immediately spit back up, because it’s just straight vodka. 

“Shit. My bad, doll. That’s mine.” 

“You’re drinking straight vodka? No chaser?” you ask. 

“Imagine doing this shit sober. I’d drive myself half insane.” he murmurs. 

You switch the cups and drink yours again, pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet latte. 

“Sukuna. How’d you know?” you ask. 

“Eren told me.” 

You look over at him, giving him your best glare. 

“As if you’d talk to Eren.” you snort, craning your neck to find him on his phone, next to Hyla’s who is fixing her hair. 

“We talk. It’s just not pleasant.” 

“Yeah. My preferred coffee order is just so horrible to talk about.” 

“You wouldn’t believe it. Poor guy mopes about you so much it even makes me depressed.” 

Ricky taps aggressively on your shoulder, leaning over into your space.

“I’m going to go sit with John.” Ricky states, angrily. 

“Okay?” you respond. 

“Okay? That’s it, Y/N?” 

“Do you need a formal, written invitation? Or does she need to hold your hand and walk you there so you don’t get lost?” Sukuna responds, glaring at him. 

Ricky gets irritated at Sukuna’s response and storms off, which just has Sukuna moving his chair so that you can both prop your legs up on it. You’re both switching off on sharing your drinks - mixing Sukuna’s alcohol with your latte and watching all the performances. 

“Are you performing?” Sukuna asks. 

“Yeah. With Marco, right before Eren.” 

“Real cute. Is it that same fluff shit you always write?” 

You smack him hard on the shoulder. 

“Asshole. That fluff shit is Multi-Platinum, dumbass.” 

“I get that. But I’m saying, you should write something more serious than that. Instead of penting up all that rage in your forehead, you should write it in a song. Quit letting real stupid girls call you stupid in songs.” 

“I can’t. My record doesn’t really like the idea of that.” you respond. 

“So? You’re the artist and it’s your music. Write whatever you want. Don’t be a chickenshit.” 

“It’s not that simple, Sukuna.” 

“No. It literally is. You’re just chicken.” 

“It’s not about chicken, Sukuna. My record was the one who took a chance on me and to some extent, I have to follow that. And they’ve made me Multi-Platinum so far so who am I to not listen to them?” 

“God. You’re pathetic.” 

“And you’re an asshole, Sukuna.” 

“Do you want to kiss now?” 

You reach forward to smack his face, which elicits a laugh from him. 

“You never change, do you Sukuna?” 

“Best thing about me, doll. You should learn to piss people off like I do. It’ll actually relieve some of that tension. And flirting is good for your health.” 

“We can’t all afford to be feather rustlers like you.” 

“You could. I’m sure people would eat it up - the whole sweet girl saying her mind type thing. I’ll give you lessons on how to talk your shit sometime instead of letting idiots like that do it for you.” 

He points over at Ricky, whose glaring bullets at the two of you. You give him a gesture, which he completely ignores as he turns over to whisper in John’s ear. 

“Out of all guys, you had to pick that one? When you tweeted that you were charged with murder, I thought you were being serious and got really excited for a second.” 

“Danny and Sareen picked him. That’s not my fault.” 

You feel a tap on your shoulder and see the usher, signaling that it’s time for you to perform. You nod and turn to Sukuna, who's already getting up from the chair. He presses a kiss to your cheek before you walk off to the other side where Marco’s waiting. 

--

Eren’s sitting towards the end of the bench, hands pressed under his legs, when he watches you take the stage with Marco, a glittering smile on your face.

And in your billowing, white dress, there’s only one thing Eren can focus on. The fish tattoo, right on display. He instinctively reaches for his own, hidden under the fabric of his clothes, and thinks about how your sweet, flowery smell was always overwhelming, even in a disgusting tattoo parlor. 

And when Eren catches sight of Marco at the piano, Eren knows you’re a temptress to everyone and not just him. Exhibit A? You convinced Marco to sing in public with you. 

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N.” 

Everyone breaks into a loud applause and Eren thinks that the wolf-whistling in the corner is Mikasa, who he’s convinced is shit-faced by the way her cheeks are glowing pink. 

“Thank you. Um, can we just take a minute to give a second round of applause to my sunshine boy, Marco, here? He’s not a big singer and I’ve all but forced him to do this with me, so let’s all give him some love.” 

The crowd claps again and Eren knows for a fact that the wolf-whistling this time is Jean, who is actually plastered. 

“This song is off my new album, called Ribbons, and it’s called seven. The idea of this song kind of came up randomly. I told Marco that it was kind of sad that I don’t have any of the childhood friends I did when I was a kid anymore. And Marco just responded by saying, ‘what do you mean, we’ve been friends since we were seven?’ And long story short, I jumbled out a nice mess of lyrics with Marco and Armin produced it after that and the song was finished. We hope you like it!” 

Marco starts playing a soft piano tune, accompanied by your light strumming on the guitar, and some part of it is so familiar, so you that it makes Eren’s heart ache. Not that Eren’s a big hater of your new, more pop songs like London Boy, but Eren’s always enjoyed your soulful, soft songs like this more.

They remind him of the soft parts of him that you only shared with him, when you used to be next him when he slept at night. 

Y/N:  Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

Eren fights the urge to snort. Of course, there’s still beautiful things. You’re standing right there.

And Eren knows he’s way too sensitive for this because hearing your soft, echoing voice when he’s about to sing a song about the last time he kissed you has him pushing his face into the table. Because there are tears in his eyes. 

Y/N:  Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

Marco:  Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

When you both finish, Eren watches you give Marco a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as you both walk off together. And then Eren’s trailing up to the stage where Historia’s waiting, the orchestral suite setting up their instruments and he feels his hands shaking at his sides. Historia gives him a smile, which he appreciates as he takes the front stand.

He hates it up here. He knows that flowery scent in the air is you. He manifested it by thinking about it and now it's suffocating him.

You lean against the wall with Marco, hands linked together, as you watch Eren readjust the microphone to his height and Historia sit at the piano. You make a fleeting second of eye contact with her and give her a smile, which she halfheartedly returns.

Eren’s hair is shorter, he’s cut it from the last time you’ve seen him. And he looks kind of tired, though you’re sure you look no better. 

“My name is Eren Jaeger. This is my new song, Promise, that I co-composed and wrote with my friend, Historia.”

You lean your head against Marco’s shoulder, who is giving you a warm squeeze on the shoulder, as you listen. 

I made a promise To distance myself Took a flight, through aurora skies Honestly, I didn't think about How we didn't say goodbye Just see you very soon

You pinch your eyes shut as you feel the breath constrict in your throat and tears warm in your eyes. 

“You okay?” 

“It’s Eren. Of course, I’m not okay.” you whisper. 

No matter how long I resist temptation  I always lose  It hurts to be something  It’s worse to be nothing with you I’ve done the math  There’s no solution  We’ll never last Why can’t I let go of this? 

As Eren goes on and on, that soft voice that’s lulled you to sleep hundreds of time is haunting you. And Marco’s reflexes to wipe your tears away fast are the only reason that people don’t catch on.

When Eren finishes, his green eyes meet yours and he gives you a painstakingly long look, before walking away. 

You don’t see him again that night. Or for a while. You figure it's better that way. Being in the same room but not talking is like nails on a chalkboard.

--

You lean over the counter, scrolling through the set of pictures Ricky just took, as you wait for the timer on your computer to count down.

Ricky circles his arm around your shoulder, as you both watch the seconds on the timer run out and the little display of confetti go around the screen. 

You refresh the tab on your Apple Music and you see it - your name and album cover displayed in bright colors right at the top banner. 

“How does it feel?” Ricky asks, watching you refresh your Spotify on your phone and watch the songs turn from grey to white, meaning they're now able to be played. 

“Good. I hope Historia calls me after she realizes that dorothea is about her.” you murmur, the notifications on your phone buzzing from Reiner, Levi, and Mikasa. You open Levi's first.

levi: We love the record, kid.

you: it's been out for five seconds.

levi: Just shut up and take the compliment, sometimes.

you: I love you, levi. give kisses to hange. i'll call you guys tomorrow.

“She will. Just relax.” Ricky states, as he watches you push up on the counter, legs dangling in the air after putting your phone down.

He reaches for the lowest drawer, pulling out a dark black box and placing it flat in the palm of your hand. 

“What’s this?” 

“A gift, before you go on tour. And I wanted to ask you something.” 

You nod, encouraging him to go on, as you look at the bracelet - a chain-linked, chunky silver bracelet with a heart charm right in the middle. 

“That’s custom made. From Tiffany, because it’s your favorite right?” 

“Yeah. Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“Well, I’m really proud of you. Ribbons is a great record and I’m sure you and I will be competing for Record of the Year in a few months.” 

You smile as Ricky leans closer, hands on both of your sides of the counter. 

“I think you’re really great. And-and I know we’ve been pretending but some part of this became really real for me and I think it did for you too. So I think we should quit playing around and do this for real.” 

You feel your throat dry as Ricky smiles at you, so excited and earnest, that you almost feel bad. For how you’re going to shoot him down. 

“Ricky. Oh. Um. Listen. You’re really great. I-I really like you. But I-I don’t know if I can do that right now.” you respond. 

“That’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you and I’m willing to be patient and all that. We’ll figure it out.” he responds, yanking the chain out of the box and reaching forward to secure it around your hand. 

“Listen. I-I don’t know if it’s all that. It’s just, I don’t. I like you Ricky but not like that. I just can’t do that right now.” 

Ricky leans back in confusion, dragging the necklace off your hand as you give him your most sincere smile. And you can’t help but feel bad for not liking him back. When he’s helped you out more times than you can count, with red carpets and defending you when he didn’t have to. 

But you can't help these sort of things.

“Listen. I-I can go home. I’ll take the trash and then leave so you can be alone, yeah?” 

“Okay. I appreciate that. Thank you for being honest.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Of course. And thank you for taking it well, I still appreciate what you’ve done and have a lot of love for you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder as you walk past. 

You take the half filled bag of trash and walk out to the garage to swing the door open. There’s a decent amount of rain pouring down and you quickly scamper out admist it. You throw the bag over your shoulder and quickly run over to the chute to throw it down before running down to the door. 

Except when you reach for the handle, it doesn’t pull down. You jam it down, more aggressively this time as the heavy drops start matting your hair to your forehead. Giving up on the door, you run to the other side and rap your knuckles against the window, where Ricky’s back is still turned. 

He turns around and gives you a look, half opening the window. 

“Hey. Sorry, I accidentally locked the door on the way out.” 

“That wasn’t an accident. That was me.” Ricky responds, glaring at you. 

“Huh?” 

“That was me.” he responds, again. 

“Listen, I can’t really hear you and it’s really cold outside. Can you just let me in?” you ask. 

“Sorry, Y/N. I really like you but I just don’t know if I can do that right now.”

"Ricky."

He closes off the window and walks away all together. 

You can feel the panic setting in your chest - at the fact that you’re standing in the pouring rain in Seattle and you don’t know where to go. And that Ricky, nice and sweet Ricky, just locked you out.

You hunch over on your knees, yanking your phone out of your pocket to call Mikasa. She picks up on the first call and you can hear her and Jean screaming through the speaker. 

“TOP TEN ON THE CHARTS I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT.” they both scream, the sentence going over you’re head. 

“Mika. Mika, wait.” you whisper, the tears starting to fill your eyes. 

You’re thrown off by the screeching of tires and doors closing and you march over to Ricky’s side door. You lightly crack it open and spot seven paparazzi cars, parked straight on Ricky’s porch. 

Meaning. Not only did Ricky lock you out of his house in the pouring rain but he made sure to call the paparazzi so they can catch you the first chance he got. You quickly shut the door and run to the backside of the house, into the back streets by Ricky’s neighborhood. And the panic's starting to make your legs shake.

“Mika. You’re not still in Seattle, are you?” you ask, the panic laced in your voice. 

“No, babe. We’re in Tampa right now for Armin and Annie’s thing. We left a few days ago.” 

“Do you know anyone who is? This is urgent, Mika.” 

You hear Mikasa murmuring over the phone and suddenly Jean’s on the line, his voice more firm and collected than Mikasa’s. You can suddenly hear her panicking in the background, talking to a third voice you can’t identify. 

“Marco says your options are Eren or Historia. They’re both still in Seattle, though I think Eren’s closer to where you are. Call us when you’re safe. Immediately, Y/N.” Jean says. 

“Okay.” 

You can hear the sound of raised voices from the direction you came and you quickly hunch to the side. You try your best to wipe the wetness of your phone as you scroll for Eren’s contact and dial. 

He picks up on the first ring.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice raspy like he was sleeping. 

And at the sound of his voice, months after the fact, when you’re soaked to the bone in the rain, you can’t help but cry. 

“Eren?” you ask, voice breaking. 

“Y/N. What is it?” he asks, voice suddenly louder. 

“I need your help.”

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"No. No, I'm not hurt, but I could be? I don't know, Eren I-"  

“Say the word. What-what is it? I-I’m there. Just tell me what you need me to do, love."  

“I need you to come get me, Eren.” 

“I’m coming. Stay exactly where you are and on the line with me.”

--

--

next part linked here

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lmk if you want to be added to the taglist by either commenting on this or the masterlist <3

[frankiebirds]

i need to talk about the goalpost scene or i'll explode. tw for the sexual assault of a minor, because. that is what reid is describing here, honestly:

i tried to gif it but the scene is quite long (especially because reid is constantly pausing to compose himself :(( ) and i realised while doing it that it's hard to gif a monologue, so instead here it is in text.

REID: I was in the library and, um... Harper Hillman comes up to me, and she tells me that, uh... Alexa Lisbon wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Lisbon's like, easily, the prettiest girl in school. MORGAN: So what happened? Alexa wasn't there? REID: No, she was there. So was the entire football team. They... stripped me naked and tied me to a goalpost. So many kids were there, you know, just watching. MORGAN: Nobody tried to stop it? REID: I begged... I begged them to, but they just... just watched. And... finally, they got bored and they left. It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom had... mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late. MORGAN: You never told her what happened? REID: I never told anybody. I thought... it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday. MORGAN: Oh, Reid, you don't need an eidetic memory for that. You know, we forget half of what they teach us in school, but when it comes to the torment and the people who inflicted it, we've all got an elephant's memory.

i think about this a lot and honestly it makes me feel ill. because correct me if i'm wrong, but this is sexual assault, no? like yes reid is relating to owen as someone who was also severely bullied but he's also relating to owen as someone whose bullies committed a sex crime against them

something that i think gets missed a lot—reid was at the very oldest, twelve. again, correct me if i'm wrong, but football teams are big, right? reid even says "so many kids were there". just an unnecessary amount of people to restrain a pre-teen and a horrifying amount of people capable of standing there and watching. that is some stephen king level bullying honestly. not that ""normal"" bullying would be okay, of course, but just. jesus.

the implied length of the ordeal hurts too. a few things:

"they got bored and they left" to me implies that they left without untying him. had they done so, it would have made more sense to say "they got bored and they let me go." the phrasing reid uses implies they left him there and he had to get himself free. how long would that have taken?

reid also uses the word "finally" which. yeah. you know what the word finally means

the part that hurts the most is where reid says "[my mother] didn't even realize I was late." late. not gone. as in reid didn't go home inbetween speaking to harper and going behind the field house. this wasn't a "hey alexa wants to meet you behind the field house. nine pm" and the whole ordeal is "only" three hours. at best, it was right after school let out. at worst, he left the library and went straight there. so, at best, we're looking at...what, eight hours between going behind the field house and getting home?

this all happens in nevada. specifically vegas, which, from my understanding, is surrounded by desert. if it's winter/fall, the sun goes down relatively quickly and reid spends several hours freezing (i think? wikipedia says nighttime winter temps in vegas average at 4.4C/39.2F. is that cold in that region? canadian, sorry). if it's spring/summer, the sun takes a longer time to go down and reid spends several hours in the heat. ive usually headcanoned the second but the first is equally painful. but anyway, point is: take your pick. preteen reid gets either hypothermia or heatstroke. (also part of the reason i hc it was spring or summer is because i headcanon the goal post, which would have gotten very hot in the sun, scarred him. sorry to anyone whose day i just ruined <3)

sidenote: im always a little surprised by how calmly morgan reacts in this scene. not that he has a bad reaction, or isn't visibly troubled, but given how protective of reid he is normally...the first time i watched this scene i expected him to pull out a pen and paper and ask for names. so im headcanoning that the reason he's so calm in this scene isn't because he is calm, but because he's a good friend who knows that that isn't a productive response at the moment. and then he goes back to the bau and has garcia hunt them down (without telling her why) and uh. i dont know. maybe she destroys their credit scores or something.

[bloodlessbelmounte]

Eternity Will Bring You Near - Chapter 4

Masterlist

Summary:

Wade understood that Logan was from a world where Alpha, Beta and Omega were everyday terms, not exclusive to red-pilled incel fuckheads who kept inventing new performative male genders. Wade would’ve been classified as a Beta. Logan, however, was an Alpha - Wade’s read enough fanfiction and yaoi manga to know what that means. Though it doesn’t explain why Logan keeps sniffing him.

Pairing: Alpha!Worst Wolverine/Deadpool Genre: A/B/O, Smut, Domestic-ish Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Blood, Lots of Logan Biting, Anal Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Anal Fingering

Beginning Note: I have been afflicted by the AO3 curse yet again. Illness (I literally threw up after making the most progress on this chapter), Migraines (Another week long bitch), Injuries (Woo I had a trip to minor injuries). I was going to have chapter 4 be longer to make up for the delay but I sincerely believe that it is cursed and thus to lift that curse I must get it out into the world as quick as possible. So I've essentially split my plan for chapter 4 in half and that remaining second half will be released as chapter 5. Unbeta'd as usual so sorry for any mistakes.

Cross posted to AO3

We’re back again baby! Another chapter for you thirsty hoes. Hopefully in this chapter I’ll finally be screaming into a pillow in pleasure instead of you screaming into one in embarrassment, Belmounte.

Hey, writing that JillxCarlos after a year of not writing smut and SOBER was difficult okay.

Well I’m glad you don’t have to get wasted to write about me getting dicked down. Though I don’t forgive how you ended the previous chapter. And between then and now, September Seventeenth, you did no writing. Bitch your enby ass went to a carnival.

I shot down nine out of ten targets and got three prizes for my efforts. One of the carnies was even surprised by my speed. I got called a cross between you and the Hulk. Very proud of myself.

Bet you are. High praise to get compared to yours truly. Did you guys know that excellent marksmanship is listed as one of my superpowers? And I’m able to lift eight-hundred pounds canonically.

Anyways, let’s not leave the readers waiting any longer.

The main area of the cabin was wrecked, gouges clawed into the walls, floors, bed frame and mattress; smatterings of blood and cum splattered and smeared across various surfaces – even the ceiling; the couch was tipped backwards, the TV smashed on the floor and the coffee table shattered. Not even the kitchen was unscathed with cupboard doors hanging off their hinges, crockery in pieces and the sink filled with dirty plates. On the last days of Logan’s rut things had settled down a bit, the breaks between fucking getting longer but don’t get it twisted, the sex was intense as ever. It also meant that Logan was verbal again, no longer reduced to grunts (hot as that was for Wade) as his instincts were being satiated.

Logan had Wade in a mating press – his knees pinned down by his ears on the shredded mattress, bent in half as Logan straddled his ass – balls deep. Wade was cock drunk, words tumbling out of his mouth unfiltered while Logan’s cock rearranged his guts.

“Fuck Lo- so fucking deep,” the merc babbled between panting moans, clawing at the Alpha’s shoulders, “feels so good. Love your cock. Love you.”

Ah. Shit. He hadn’t meant to say that. That was an inside thought. They hadn’t broached the whole feelings thing since the ‘We Saved The Multiverse’ party months ago. Logan stilled above him, eyes wide and clear of the Rut’s haze, and Wade tensed in response. Shit shit shit shit shit!

“Say… say again, Bubba?” Logan murmured, staring into Wade’s fucking soul.

Wade gulped, looking away from the man above him, “L-love your cock?”

Logan frowned and grasped Wade’s chin forcing him to make eye contact – voice firm, “Not that, Wade. Say. It. Again. Y’know what I want to hear.”

Wade took a deep shuddering breathe, “L-love you.” He squeaked.

Logan gave him a wolfish grin, fangs peaking out as he purred, “Love y’too, mate.”

Oh.

Oh. Wade had read enough Omegaverse to know exactly how significant that last word was. He may or may not have blown his load then and there.

When the Rut had ended, the older mutant had insisted on cleaning up their bodily fluids and dishes during the early hours of the morning. Wade complained the entire time, turned out the TVA owned the cabin. So why in the ever loving fuck did they have to tidy? He was greeted to the rare sight of red dusting Logan’s cheeks as he grumbled about it being bad enough he had wrecked the walls, floors and furniture with his claws, they didn’t need to subject the poor clean up crew to their cum. Which, by the way if you didn’t know, smells bleach? Something Wade came to realise after hours of scrubbing. Luckily the time cleaning gave his Switch enough time to charge for the journey home. Also seeing Logan bent over on his knees in those tight jeans made Wade internally pray to whatever God is listening for a chance at fucking that ass. Sadly, he had that annoying eight hour drive instead.

Mary Puppins yipped and jumped up at Wade’s legs as he and Logan stepped through the door in the evening. Take-out boxes littered several surfaces, and plates and pots were left in the sink. Seemed like the girls hadn’t been too keen on keeping the place tidy in their absence, even with Vanessa’s check ins. Wade picked up Mary who eagerly lapped at his face in greeting as Logan scowled. He immediately set to scooping up the trash to grumpily shove it in the trash can before shrugging off his jacket, rolling up his shirt sleeves and setting to work on the washing up.

“Girlies! We’re home~!” Wade sang.

Blind Al shuffled out of her bedroom, parking herself on her recliner, “’bout damn time you motherfuckers got back. Vanessa just dropped off the rat. Laura’s out. Went for her classes a couple hours ago. Girl can’t do chores to save her life. Felt one bit of wet food while washing the dishes and she completely abandoned them.”

Wade sat on the couch, “See Angel Baby, I told you we need to get the both of you tested for autism.”

Logan only grunted in response as he tried to scrub off a particularly dried-on bit of sauce.

“Yes, yes I know. Pot calling the kettle black because undiagnosed ADHD. The difference here is that they’d try to medicate me which we both know won’t work because I’d metabolise a week’s worth in twenty minutes, so what’s the point?”

“So did you fuckers finally elope? Didn’t exactly explain why you disappeared for a week.” Al asked, feeling around for the remote.

“Oh my dear Althea, to elope we’d have to know we’re in love first. We just had a week long fuckfest and professed our undying love to each other while deep in the throes of passion. No, our elopement will be in a couple weeks time I’m sure.”

Al made a disgusted noise, “Every time you open your mouth, I wonder why I moved in with you.”

Logan dried off his hands and joined Wade on the sofa, arm slung around the merc while petting Mary’s tuft of fur, “Because without us, y’would have to spend y’social security checks on rent instead of gamblin’.”

Wade gasped dramatically, “Took the words right out of my mouth, Honey Badger!” He placed a wet kiss on Logan’s cheek.

Al finally found the remote and flicked on the TV, the beginnings of a Columbo episode appearing on the screen. The three settled in with Wade providing descriptions for Al. All the while the idea of eloping was floating round his head. Logan had already called him mate, surely proposing wouldn’t be that big of a leap. Sure they’d only been together for a few months but what’s that in the face of forever? Fuck it. About an hour later Laura arrived home, slinging her backpack onto the floor and slumping onto the couch beside Logan. Her head came to rest on his shoulder as she sighed in what Wade assumed was contentment.

“How was school, kid?” the elder mutant queried.

“Boring, a lot of things the classes are covering are things I was already taught at the lab. And I’m surrounded by people mostly a decade older than me.” Laura stated with a shrug, “No offence Papi, but I’m not going to ask how Canada was. I feel like I wouldn’t want to know what you and Wade got up to.”

Logan grunted his affirmation and took a swig of Dr Pepper. Where did that come from? He didn’t have that when he joined him on the couch. Did he grab it while Wade was distracted with thoughts of marriage? Again Wade wonders how someone who weighs four to five hundred pounds can be so stealthy.

“Anyone here have the energy to cook? Cause MJ knows I don’t after that car journey.” Wade asked, stealing some of Logan’s drink.

Al looked in Wade’s general direction, the old bat’s echolocation malfunctioning as always, “Michael Jackson?”

“Marvel Jesus you uncultured cretin.”

Logan breathed a long suffering sigh and stood up, passing his drink to Wade and making his way to the kitchen, “Come on kid. ‘Bout time I teach y’some basics.”

“Maybe you could show her how to bake a birthday cake as it’s October Twenty-Eighth as Belmounte is writing this line of dialogue,” Wade suggested off-handedly then turned towards a camera only he could see, “Which means it’s their Twenty-Eighth birthday today. They’ve been very slow in writing this chapter. They started it in early September.”

Logan flipped him off but mostly ignored the merc and pulled out shelf stable ingredients for spaghetti bolognaise. Laura, who had by now gotten used to Wade’s rambling, huffed a laugh. So much like her father.

“Maybe you should encourage them to do a time skip and get a move on then,” She responded before hopping off the sofa to help her Papi.

That night Wade struggled to get to sleep despite being wrapped in hunky tree trunk arms. Sure there were nights were he woke up to the wrong kind of penetration when Logan inevitably had one of his night terrors, but what’s the point of having a healing factor if he can’t stubbornly cuddle the traumatised bastard through it. This was not one of those nights, apparently being a non-stop fuck machine for a week with little sleep lead to sleeping like the dead when it’s over. No what was keeping Wade awake, despite his own personal weighted blanket, were the thoughts of being Mr Wade Winston Wilson-Howlett circling round his brain like a chunky vegetable soup down a drain. Shit he liked the sound off that far too much. Fuck it. He was going to do it. Wade was going to propose to the old timer. Hopefully there’d be no fatal diagnosis to ruin the occasion this time. And shit he’d need something other than a sentimental Voltron ring. Logan was a tad too serious and classy for that.

Wade carefully lifted Logan’s arm off his waist and slipped out of bed, if he was going to do this properly, he’s going to need the other’s ring size. He tiptoed out of their bedroom and down into the spare bedroom – which he had turned into an armoury and costume repair centre. He rifled through the drawers of his desk and pulled out his snail shaped tape measure and a pen then crept back to Logan. After a brief moment of reminding himself which hand was left and which was right, Wade gently wrapped the tape measure around the sleeping man’s ring finger. He jotted the measurement onto the back of his hand then deposited the items in his bedside drawer and crawled back into bed, snuggling back into Logan’s warmth. With his resolve made, the scent of pine trees, cigars, sandalwood and musk which had steadily been growing stronger finally sent him off to sleep.

Come morning, Wade was awoken to Logan placing a kiss on his forehead. He was already dressed in his grease monkey uniform with his backpack slung over a shoulder. God he loved how considerate Logan was, some people would wake up their partners when they woke but no Logan let him lay in, only waking him when he was ready to head out. Wade mumbled his greetings and well wishes, staying awake just long enough to hear Logan return them before promptly falling back asleep as Logan shut the bedroom door behind him. When Wade did actually wake, it was roughly in the afternoon. He stretched out, joints popping and clicking, then rolled out of bed padding barefoot into the kitchen. He scratched at his naked chest, nails catching on the valleys and ridges of his scarring. Laura stood over the stove and flipped the grilled cheese she was making.

“Mornin’ morra. That’s Spanish for ‘kiddo’. Apparently out of all the languages our Wolvie boy can speak, Spanish is not one of them for movie plot convenience.” Wade grabbed himself a bowl and poured in a mix of Lucky Charms and Unicorn Fruit Loops. He wanted to have a theme for the start of his day if his Pinky Pie lounge pants were anything to go by. He added the milk then sat down at their dining table. Look not every meal is had in front of the TV. And it’s useful for board games night.

“Buenas Wade. Any plans for today?” Laura greeted, checking the underside of her sandwich to see if was to her liking.

Wade swallowed his mouthful, “Actually yes, I do and I’ll need your help.”

Laura grunted in satisfaction and transferred her grilled cheese onto a nearby plate, “Who’s the target?”

“Your Papi, I’m going shopping and need your opinion on an engagement ring,” Wade said simply with a shrug.

The ketchup Laura had been artistically serpentining over her sandwich suddenly jetted onto the counter top in an eruption.

“¿Qué? ¿Compromiso? ¿Le propusiste matrimonio a papá en Canadá? ¿O papá te propuso a ti?” Laura took a breath and wiped up the mess with a sponge, “Is that why you went to Canada for a week? Some sort of romantic get away.” Once the counter was clean she joined him at the table.

“Not quite. More like because your Papi is from another universe he has certain biological impulses that he doesn’t want you to be witness to. And while we were away he said a certain word that in his universe pretty much meant he sees me as his life partner. The Brits in the Omegaverse must have it tough cause its a way to address even a complete stranger in slang. How are they supposed to know when their partner is being serious?” Laura stared at him blankly, “Ah, I’ve been side tracked. Whoops. Circling back, I figured, why not y’know? Now seems like a pretty good time to shoot my shot and I rarely miss Mini Wolvie.”

Laura took a bite of her grilled cheese and hummed happily, “And you need my help to choose a ring?”

“Thought it’d a good bonding experience as future step-father and daughter.”

“No pawn shops.”

Wade held up three fingers to his temple, “Scouts honour.”

About two hours later, after Wade got ready to go out in the baggiest hoodie he could find, they found themselves in a small family owned jewellers after nearly every other one turned them away. Seemed like this was the only place willing to work with the adamantium ore Wade had stolen from the TVA when no one was looking. See, the ring had to be adamantium otherwise Logan’s kitty claws would slice through it like a hot knife through butter. But this little independent business agreed with no questions asked as long as Wade was willing to part with a small chunk of cash on top of the asking price for a custom design. A design Laura helped him to settle on, as well as a design for himself. Sadly, with them being custom designs, the proposal would have to wait until the rings were completed. For Laura’s silence until the deed was done, Wade bought her some gelato. As many scoops and flavours as her heart desired. And perhaps he had promised her that she could accompany him on the odd job here and there if she was feeling particularly cooped up or angry.

In the meantime, Wade officially returned to mercenary work. Sister Margret’s was now owned by Buck after Weasel had finally pissed off someone with enough criminal connections to make him leave the country. So Wade would mosey on down to the bar and collect his little gold card with the necessary intel on his target then dispatched of them and any goons. But only if the target was subject to his new moral standards. After all, what would Spiderman do? Kill the unredeemable fucks as long as they weren’t his friend. Seriously, Harry gets Gwen killed and Peter let him live but he kills the Electro for trying to syphon New York’s power supply, how was that fair? All of that and the kid wasn’t even getting paid; unlike Deadpool who was getting enough from each hit to only need to take up a mission about once or twice a week. Which was a good thing because most criminal activity started in the evening when Logan would get home from work, meaning on work nights Wade would not have seen his man for the whole day. That makes for a cranky much more violent and efficient Deadpool who just wanted to get home.

Wade had completed two assignments by the time he got the call to collect the rings. It was a Saturday. Perfect. Logan was at work so he could step out and grab them without worry then Logan had the following day off. Also meant Laura didn’t have classes. Wade threw on one of the iconic flannel shirts owned by his beloved, the lingering scent making his shoulders relax as the tension he hadn’t realised he’d been holding seeped from them. Lately being away from Logan put him on edge. With a quick “See ya” to Al and Laura, Wade clipped Mary’s leash to her collar and caught the subway to a stop that was just a short walk away from his jeweller. Yes, they’re his now because the rings they handed over to him were exactly what he asked for. And fuck it he was going to pull out all the stops for this non-public proposal. Public proposals are a type of manipulation tactic, that is a hill he is very willing to die on. One he nearly did die on with the cancer pre-mutation actually. A quick Google Maps search showed him where the nearest wine merchant was which he made his next stop whilst he was out.

By the time he returned to their apartment, he had a sleeping Mary Puppins under one arm and a bag of various bits and bobs under the other. The items included Cava de Paraje Calificado – also known as the superior Spanish take on Champagne, confetti for Laura and Al to throw, candles and candelabras and the things he needed to put together a very fancy charcuterie board. Setting Mary down in her bed, he unclipped her leash and put the bag on the counter. Wade strode into his room to grab the sound proofing device and handed it to Laura.

“I have about an hour to get everything prepared before Peanut gets home. Take this and go into Al’s room. If he says yes, I’ll text you the all clear and you gals come out with the confetti. If he says no… I’ll uh… take him on a walk or something and text you,” Wade explained, showing her where the power button was on the little machine.

Laura nodded her affirmative, expression serious like she had been given a critical mission – she had lightened up quite a bit now that she wasn’t in constant peril. Al, who had overheard the conversation, started to get up off the couch and gratefully accepted the younger woman’s help to stand.

“How about we continue watching Gilmore Girls? We won’t have those fuckers cynical commentary over it,” Al suggested, patting Laura’s arm affectionately.

Wade pouted, “My critique of Lorelai’s relationships and the example she sets for Rory is valid!”

Laura ignored him.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Wade huffed and got to work on making the living room a cosy den of romance because who the fuck enjoys their spread of meats and cheeses at a fucking dining table? Fucking no one that’s who. He fluffed the throw pillows, fixed the blankets and set out a delicate tablecloth he had picked when buying furniture for their shared home. He inserted his candles into the candelabras and strategically dotted them around the space, only to be lit when there was five minutes before Logan got home. The merc quickly popped into their bedroom to make sure he was ready for any explicit celebration they would surely have in private. Wade then headed into the kitchen and prepared the meats and cheeses. By the time he placed the artfully spread board in the centre of the coffee table, he had just enough time to light the candles and turn of the lights.

Wade stood by the couch, looking towards the front door, and wiped his hands on his thighs. Him, nervous? More likely then you’d have thought. The sound of jingling keys sliding into the lock made his heart skip a beat. This was it. The moment that will determine the path of their relationship. He doubted the rejection would break them, he knew Logan wouldn’t let that be a possibility. But that didn’t stop the queasy roiling in his stomach as the door opened to show a freshly showered Logan – he always showered at work after Wade chewed him out for tracking engine oil into the carpet, it was a bitch to get out. Logan shut the door behind him without turning, his head cocked to the side, brows furrowing in confusion.

“What’s all this, Darlin’? Y’bein’ sent off to take out a politician or somethin’?” Logan half joked, hand cuntily on his hip.

Wade gulped and reached into his pocket before dropping onto one knee. He opened the ring box revealing a total of four round rubies and black sapphires set flush into an adamantium band. Simple in design really but one he knew the older mutant would appreciate. Logan’s jaw fell slack, eyes wide in surprise.

“Logan, I know in the grand scheme of things we’ve only been together for what, five months?” Wade’s voice shook as he spoke, “But these five months have been the best part in my life for the last six years. And I want this for as long as I live. Which as we both know will be forever. In Canada you called me ‘mate’ so I’m pretty sure you want the same thing to. Now sadly, you can’t bite me on the neck and claim me in a bond as you would in your original universe, but in this one we have this little legally binding ceremony called a marriage,” Wade took a deep breathe, “James Logan Howlett, will you marry me?”

Logan closed the distance between them in a few long strides, joining Wade on the floor and cupped his face between his hands, “I know what a marriage is dumbass.” He stated bringing Wade into a scorching kiss that the merc reluctantly pulled away from as Logan chased his lips.

“So is that a ye-”

“Of course it’s a fuckin’ yes.”

Wade squealed in glee and took Logan’s left hand to slide the ring onto his finger. Logan was about to pull him into another kiss but Wade stopped him which made the older mutant growl in protest.

“Hold on, Peanut. There’s one for me too.” Wade fished the other ring box from his back pocket and gave it to Logan, “I’ll let you do the honours.”

Logan opened the box, fingers gently running over its contents. Nestled in red satin was another adamantium band but instead of rubies and black sapphires, it was inlayed with yellow and blue sapphires. He gingerly plucked the ring from it’s cushion as if he was afraid he’d somehow break it and gave it a closer inspection.

“Aren’t they gorgeous? The gems are lab grown, just like us. Did you know rubies and sapphires are made of corundum, just different trace elements resulting in different colour presentation? Oh the tumblr girlies could write paragraphs about the symbolism of these rings.” Wade babbled, needing to fill the silence.

Logan grasped Wade’s hand and slipped the ring onto his finger with a satisfied purr, “Can’t believe you beat me to it, Red.”

He went to pull Wade into a kiss and yet again Wade stopped him, “Wait, wait, wait. Hold your horses, Angel Baby. One, I’d like to share the good news. Two, I have spent the past hour setting up a nice romantic space for us to relax and enjoy. I just know that if you start tongue fucking me now all my efforts will go to waste and our apartment will burn down around us whilst your balls deep.”

That got a laugh from the older man. Logan placed a kiss on his temple and pulled him up to stand with him. Wade quickly shot a message off to Laura.

[💍🎊🎉]

The door to Al’s room was thrown open milliseconds later, Laura barrelling out of the room to tackle the pair into a hug before releasing them and throwing handfuls of confetti over them.

“Congrats, Papi! You better treat each other right.”

Al was slower as she waddled out, using her cane to locate were the trio were huddled. She threw up her confetti and to her credit, most of it went in the correct direction.

“No fucking on the couch you freaks. I don’t care if you are engaged now, that’s still a no cum zone.”

She was met with three different responses:

“Of course not Althea, we’re not animals.”

“¡Ew! ¡No necesitaba esa imagen mental!”

“Oh come on! Can’t we get a pass just this once?”

Three guesses as to who said what.

Wade handed Laura a wad of cash, “How about you, Al and Mary go on a girls night for a couple hours? Papi and I need alone time now.”

Laura made a disgusted noise but nonetheless retrieved Mary, her carrying bag and leash. Al looped her arm through Laura’s free one and shuffled out with her, suggesting they go to her regular bingo hall. Wade had a suspicion Al had a dealer there she was hitting up in secret. She hadn’t shown as many withdrawal symptoms lately. As the door shut behind them, Wade led Logan to sit on the couch and popped the cork on the Cava with baby knife. The cork went flying off and hit the ceiling then ricocheted to God knows where. They’d probably find it cleaning at some point during the week.

“I know we’re trying to be sober at the moment, Peanut, but this is a special occasion so I think we can make an exception for today.” Wade declared, pouring it into the flute glasses he had set out.

He handed the first one to Logan and clinked his against it in a toast as he sat beside him, squirming slightly. Wade grabbed a slice of Stilton and dipped it into one of the chutneys he had bought and popped it into his mouth.

“Oh that fucks,” he moaned and grabbed another piece, dipping it and offering it to his fiance.

Logan leaned forward and took the offering between his lips, teeth grazing over Wade’s fingers, eyes dark even in the candle light. He let out an appreciative hum and Wade’s breathe caught in his throat. Oh, his romantic efforts were going to be wasted weren’t they? Maybe he should’ve waited till after the romantic meal to propose. Wade gulped and reached for a piece of thinly sliced pancetta that had been rolled into a rose shape, only to have his hand playfully slapped away. The rose shaped meat was pressed to his lips, Logan’s eyes trained on them as he opened up to receive the offering. They continued like that, hand feeding each other, until the board was cleared. Their attentions now turned to their forgotten flutes of Cava. Wade couldn’t tell you how it tasted, entirely too distracted by the man beside him that he drained his glass in seconds. That got a chuckle from Logan who had been happily taking his time until his flute also ran empty.

Wade jumped in surprise when Logan stood up with a muttered “I’ll be right back.”

He watched as Logan made his way into their bedroom, heard him open drawers and shuffle things about before shutting them and returning. Logan carefully picked up the candelabra – which had been placed in the centre of the coffee table – and set it aside on a corner table. He took the now empty board into the kitchen and set the bottle of Cava on the floor beside the coffee table. To say Wade was baffled would be an understatement. What on earth was he doing? Cleaning? No if that was the case he wouldn’t put the bottle on the floor. Wade yelped then laughed as Logan lifted him off the couch, span him round then set him down on the coffee table.

“Why the change in seating, Honey Badger?” Wade giggled as he looked up at the other mutant.

Logan shrugged off his shirt, leaving him in his classic white under-shirt and jeans. His tags glistened in the flickering candle light, capturing Wade’s attention as Logan pulled them over his head and retrieved another pair out of his pocket. Wade’s throat went dry. He knew exactly whose those were.

“I found these in y’sock drawer when we were unpackin’. I don’t expect every vet to wear theirs with pride but y’could at least store them somewhere dignified.” He said, dangling Wade’s tags in front of him.

Wade shrugged and tried to keep his voice steady, feigning nonchalance, “Dishonourable discharge from the Special Forces. Not exactly my proudest moment.”

“I was quite glad to have found them. Meant I could do this.” Logan slipped his tags over Wade’s head, making the merc shiver when the cold steel slipped under the flannel collar and met his bare skin. He grasped Wade’s palm and placed his tags in his open palm. “Now y’do the same to me.” Logan leant forward and Wade did as instructed, giving him a peck on the lips as he did so. “This was how I wanted to claim y’, when the time was right. But y’just steam rolled ahead as y’always do.” His lips quirked into a smile that Wade could only describe as fond, no bite behind his words.

“If this is all you wanted to do, why did you sit me here? Could’ve stayed nice and comfy on the couch,” Wade asked, wrapping his arms around Logan’s shoulders.

Logan gave him that fucking wolfish grin, the one that caused his little fangs to glint in the flicking glow of the surrounding candles, “I believe we were forbade from fuckin’ on the couch. Althea said nothin’ about the coffee table bein’ a ‘no cum zone’, Princess.”

Wade moaned, his hands eagerly tugging Logan’s under-shirt up and over his head, “Oh you are an animal. Can the wedding be next week? Need you to wife me up ASAP.”

Logan shucked off his boots, jeans and boxers leaving him almost as naked as the day he was born were it not for his socks, which he had elected to ignore in favour of undoing the zipper of Wade’s pants. Wade lifted his hips So Logan could shimmy them down to his thighs while he followed the other mutant’s lead and shrugged off his – Logan’s – flannel. Logan’s hands froze on Wade’s muscular thighs, pupils pinned as his gaze was firmly locked onto the deep red thong that was doing a shit job at covering Wade’s raging hard on. A low rumble emanated from Logan.

“Does my big bad Wolvie like?”

Logan nodded, seemingly unable to form words as he fell to his knees – taking Wade’s pants the last of the way down with him – to mouth at the material on scarred hips. Wade instinctually threaded a hand into Logan’s hair when sharp teeth pinged the material against his skin.

“How do you want this Angel Baby? From the front, the back, cowgirl, pretzel, wheelbarrow, caboose, butter churner? I have a lot more ideas where those came from if you don’t like them. Oh! Would you like the panties to stay on or come off?”

Logan chuckled, trailing his tongue over Wade’s cratered abs, “Hmmm, I’ll keep those suggestions in mind for when we take this to our room. Right now though, where’s the fuckin’ lube?”

Wade let go of Logan’s hair to point over to a drawer in the corner table that he had moved the candles to. Logan turned, fishing it out with a triumphant grunt and wasted no time in popping the cap off to smother his fingers. With his free hand he hooked Wade’s thong to the side. Wade jolted when he felt two cold wet fingers circle his rim before pressing in. He tensed at first but Logan’s subtle scent of of pine trees, cigars, sandalwood and musk seemingly intensified and mixed with something heady making Wade relax. It was like even his smell could issue commands.

“Y’ve become so soft and pliant for me, Darlin’. Didn’t think that was possible with how tight y’were during the start of my Rut.”

“I thought my healing factor reset things like that,” Wade moaned, “All those months of you fingering my ass and I was tight as ever, but you get your cock in and suddenly you have an all access entry pass.”

Logan crocked his fingers and began thrusting and scissoring them inside the merc. Wade wiggled and squirmed on the table, Logan was so close to brushing against his prostate, just needed him to go that little bit deeper. The older mutant used his free hand to hold down Wade’s hips, stopping him from moving, and smirked. Wade groaned in frustration. That teasing fuck was doing it on purpose. Wade grasped Logan’s hair again and tugged Logan down into a slow yet demanding kiss. Four-hundred pounds of adamantium skeleton and relaxed muscles rested on top of him, the coffee table creaked in protest making Wade break away with a chuckle.

“Sorry Honey Badger, I think the table can’t support you. Guess we can’t have you on top of me like this- ah!”

Logan chose that moment to slip in a third finger and nail his prostate dead on, making Wade gasp for air, “We’ll make do.”

Logan’s scruff tickled his jaw as he trailed kisses and nips down his neck, continuing passed his collar bones on an oh so slutty path towards one of Wade’s nipples. Wade whined as Logan mouthed at the still surprisingly sensitive nub while his fingers continued to tease his prostate and stretch him out. Precum leaked from his twitching cock in a constant stream on to his cratered abs and against Logan’s stomach through the red lace where it was trapped. A particularly harsh nibble from Logan’s fangs had Wade groaning like the masochistic little whore he was as blood beaded up from the short-lived wound. Blood that was swiftly lapped up and smeared across to his other scar covered nipple to give it the exact same treatment. A forth finger slid in, Wade’s last shred of patience snapped as the stretch threatened to send him over the edge, heat rapidly building in his gut.

“Logan. Fuck- Enough foreplay. Need- ha- Need you. Gonna cum.”

Logan broke away with a wet pop, a trace of crimson on his smirking lips as he retracted his fingers. He placed Wade’s legs over his shoulders and raised to standing. The Alpha lined up his cock with Wade’s slick hole, “Not yet. Where can my mate cum?”

Wade tried to push onto him but a hand on his hip kept him in place. Not to mention the angle made it awkward. Reverse wheelbarrow, both a blessing and a curse. He keened in frustration and gave Logan the answer he knew he was waiting for, “On your dick.”

“Attaboy.”

Logan slid down to the root in one hard precise thrust that sent Wade careening over the edge, taut like a strung bow, his load shooting hot down his chest, neck and onto Logan’s dog tags with a punched out cry.

“That’s it Princess, just like that. Such a good boy for me,” Logan praised, a hand going to Wade’s still hard – Thank you healing factor –cock to wring the last dribbles of spend from him.

Sparks of oversensitivity bolted through his nerves, making him flinch and wriggle away from the touch. Wade’s eyes rolled back as Logan’s scent washed over him, once again lulling his muscles to relax. The Alpha withdrew until just his tip remained inside and thrust back in, hitting just a deep, setting a slow and deliberate pace. Breathy little “ah ah”s escaped from Wade every time he felt the bulbous head of Logan’s cock bumped against his prostate.

“Y’ve got another one in y’ for me don’t y’?” Logan cooed down to him.

Come on Wade, you’ve only gotten started, you can’t be reduced to a moaning mess already. The merc thought to himself.

“F-F-Faster.”

Wade reached behind him, gripping the table’s edge to stop him from sliding off it thanks to the table cloth. It creaked in protest beneath him, its rocking speeding up as Logan gripped Wade’s hips with both hands to pull the him into his thrusts. Wade crossed his ankles behind Logan’s head, tightening his hole around the Alpha and dragging a low moan from the both of them at the pressure. Fingers reached down to trail through the cooling cum on his chest, near enough folding Wade in two, the cock inside him hitting impossibly deeper. Wade looked down and saw those same fingers wrapped back around his cock slick and sticky and a very noticeable bulging in his stomach. That shouldn’t be physically fucking possible. Wade threw his head back with a whine, pleasure bleeding through his senses from both sides, overwhelming him too fast yet again. For fuck’s sake Wade is meant to be a good shot not a quick shot. Logan didn’t look like he would last much longer either, sweat beading in his hair line, breathing harsh as he stared down at where they were joined with pupils blown wide.

“Bet y’ would’ve taken my knot so well. So perfect for me. Love how well you take it. Need you to come again for me, Darlin’” Logan growled out before turning his head to sink his fangs into the meat of Wade’s calf.

The sharp sting of pain was what he needed to push him through the overstimulation and into his next orgasm, his vision going hazy as tears welled up and spilled over with his release which caught his cheek and the table this time. His nails scratched against the table cloth, tearing holes into it. He could distantly hear the wail he let out barely registering that it was him making that noise. Warmth flooded inside him as Logan buried himself as deep as possible, head falling back with his own porn worthy moan. Time slowed to a crawl. They stayed like that as they came down from their releases, catching their breath.

Eventually Logan gently lowered Wades legs to rest around his hips as he came to a kneel on the floor once more. Wade watched in a daze as the older man reached down to the Cava which had miraculously remained upright during their romp. Logan drank from the bottle directly in long gulps, Wade’s gaze fell to his throat, transfixed by the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, his own mouth suddenly feeling parched.

“Save some for me,” he breathed, voice scratchy.

Logan licked his lips, something mischievous flickered in his eyes as he raised a brow. He took a final swig and placed the bottle back down. Leaning down, he slotted his lips over Wade’s. Wade eagerly accepted what he thought was just a kiss but soon felt liquid slip into his mouth.

Logan pulled back with a grin, “That what y’wanted?”

Wade hummed in satisfaction and reached to pull his man back down. Just as their lips were about to meet once more, Logan swiftly turned his head and licked a stripe across the cum on Wade’s cheek.

“We’re not done yet Bubba. We’re just going to take this somewhere more comfortable.”

Logan pulled out, dragging a needy whine from Wade who was not emotionally ready for the empty feeling. So he was becoming clingy with his partner, sue him. You haven’t experienced the Wolverpeen and it’s life altering affects. As quickly as the emptiness settled in, Logan had scooped him up into a princess carry, long strides making short work of the walk to their bedroom. Wade was gently placed onto their shared bed.

“Wait right here, I’m going to tidy real quick. That thong better be off before I come back otherwise I’m tearing it off,” Logan instructed.

Wade saluted, “Sir, yes sir. Just so you know the Sonic Orb™ is in Al’s room bee tee dubs.”

My my, you finally finished the sex scene, why did that take you two whole months?

The curse. The readers saw my quick update but since then it seems trying to write this bit was really cursed. Minor injuries said my back injury would be fine after about two weeks but lo and behold even a month later that fucker was still giving me grief. And my fucking boiler broke man! What the actual fuck?

Yikes. Definitely don’t want to be you. Welp let’s get a move on. Come on. Can’t lift the curse until you finish what you started. Oh and reader, that thong got torn off.

Wade decided to take a week off from work – the upside of being your own boss – to celebrate their engagement. Took the girls out for a family meal, which was also a kind of apology meal for Laura and her sweet little nose. He may have forgotten about her sense of smell when her dad was fingering him. And obviously they announced the glorious news to the extended family (Vanessa and Co) which led to Buck shutting St Margaret’s for the day so celebrations could be held there. Of course, now that Wade had bagged Logan with a promise to be life partners, he couldn’t keep his hands off him when they were alone together. So it felt like a self-imposed torture when Wade returned to work.

It was meant to be a simple job to clear scumbags out of a warehouse near some remote forests up-state. Easy in and out that wasn’t too far from home. And to ease his newly acquired separation anxiety, he had one of Logan’s under shirts stashed away in one of his pouches which he had nabbed from the laundry basket before it could be washed. In fact, he had been trying to delay doing the laundry just so Logan’s scent lingered in their room for longer, it made him feel more at peace. But never mind that, back to the mission.

Deadpool picked the lock to the warehouse successfully, creeping through the halls to try and find the head honcho’s office. If he cut the head of the serpent first this whole thing would probably go a lot easier. However, when was luck ever on his side? He’s not Domino and he didn’t have her bullshit not power. The first door he tried triggered a fucking alarm. A quick glance around the room clued him into why it was alarmed, different limbs and organs stashed in jars on industrial shelving. This was either mutant related or human/organ trafficking, not good.

Deadpool heard a gun firing just in time to barely dodge, the bullet grazing his shoulder. He hissed at the scratch that quickly healed over, quickly unsheathing Baby Knife from his boot and flinging it into the nameless goons forehead. He didn’t know how many of these fuckwards there were here so no point in using his guns yet until he had thinned the herd a little. Deadpool retrieved Baby Knife and ran down an adjoining corridor, the thumping of multiple pairs of boots not far behind him. He needed distance and space if he was going to fight more than one dickhead at a time. Corridors weren’t very good if you wanted to dual wield katanas.

They must’ve had some sort of walkie talkie system since a lone bastard was running towards him with a knife. Idiot. You don’t bring a knife to a sword fight unless its to sneakily jab your enemy. Deadpool drew one of his golden girls (That’s what I call my katanas.) and twirled away from the incoming slash to respond in kind with a flourish. The goon collapsed to the ground, blood spraying everywhere in his decent as his head rolled away wetly.

“If the walls were white someone might mistake this for a children’s hospital,” Deadpool cackled, “Oh colour theory.”

He knew he should’ve staked out the operation before barging in but that would’ve meant spending more time away from home. And he was in no state to do. As Deadpool aimlessly zigzagged through the halls, cutting down approaching goons as he went, he felt his temperature rising. He was really starting to work up a sweat. He caught a few good shots as well, the bastards. Deadpool eventually staggered a large loading bay and a metal staircase leading up to an overhead office space. The light was on and he could just make out a figure moving about in there.

Bingo.

Deadpool leaped over the guardrail and took the steps two at a time. With the momentum he had built up he shoulder barged through the metal door and locked it behind him.

“Who the fuck are you?!” The balding man in a white suit yelled in a southern accent, pulling out a gun.

Deadpool held up a finger as he hunched over, trying to catch his breath. Fuck something was wrong. His temperature was still rising and his legs felt unsteady. He stood as tall as he could.

“Someone who needs your head to get paid. Goodbye bad guy number two-hundred-and-forty-seven,” He declared, trying to sound intimidating and hoping his voice wasn’t shaking.

Before the man could open fire Deadpool had whipped out his own pistol and shot him in the knee causing him to drop to the floor in agony. Deadpool climbed on top of his writhing form and, with his katana lined up nice and cleanly between his intended victims neck vertebra, sliced through ligaments, tendons and muscle to detach his reward. Banging on the door got his attention, the goons were trying to get in. Shit, can’t he get a moment to recuperate? Looking round, Deadpool spotted furniture he could barricade himself in with. He was in no state to try and make a daring escape. With maximum effort Deadpool pushed and dragged cupboards and a desk in front of the metal door.

Wade yanked off his masked and collapsed to the floor against some drawers, gasping for air, it felt so stuffy. He fished his phone out of a pouch and immediately called Logan who was quick to pick up.

“Logan,” he panted, “Something’s wrong with me. I’ve blocked myself in the head office but I’ve got fuck-os trying to get in. I need evac now.”

“I’ll head out now, text me the location. Hang on tight, Princess.” Came Logan’s voice from the device, low and reassuring.

“My knight in yellow armour.”

Wade promptly hung up to send his location. With a sigh, he leaned back and just tried to relax despite the people trying to break in to kill him. They wouldn’t be successful in murdering him but their attempts wouldn’t exactly be pleasant, especially with how run down he was beginning to feel.

And that’s when he felt it. A trail of slick running down his thighs emanating from his hole.

“Fuck.”

What no Logan segment?

Next chapter will be entirely his POV don’t fret. All shall be fair.

And that cliffhanger?

Mwahahahaha!

[tracklessreason]

I LOVE! your Hive Prime AU!! Just binged every post and my head is absolutely swimming with brainworms!!! Shaking him around in a bottle!!

I would love to know more about the HiveSpark AU! Really enjoyed how girlfail ES bee was at being a parental figure so, hive prime would be even worse!!! (/pos) How does he feel about taking care of Wilder? How does Wilder feel about Hive? Or the other Primes? Omg! What does Optimus think about Wilder and Hive!! WHAT DOES RATCHET THINK- (sorry!!! I am so so so excited!)

What does Hive actually do after taking back control in the Voice of the Autobots AU? How do all the other Autobots feel about the new prime? Do the other primes still try and take control? Are they mad? Does Hive even listen to them anymore?

Is Optimus proud of Hive?

(sorry about the question spam! no need to answer them all I'm just! I love your work so much???? Hive Prime is so so cool!!! I love when people take Bee, the trademark 'happy fella' guy and just, 1 billion trauma and responsibility him!!!!)

(OH! Hi!!! It's been a little while since anyone's had interest in what I'm up to with my AU's, so please, don't apologize! As a writer, we really mean it when we say that you taking the time to ask about our works is such a joy. Everything I do is 100 percent passion, and I tend not to share it because the stuff I really like doesn't do well. I've got a geometry meme post doing straight numbers right now, meanwhile my very heartfelt OC crashed and burned, poor fella. But anyways, thank you for talking to me! I love talking to people!!!!! I'm so happy that you also want to shake Hive in a jar!)

Hive and Wilder's relationship is much more loving than a plain description of their situation makes it out to be. Hive really does love his son, promise! He's just also very tired. It's the autobot equivalent of raising a kid while chronically ill.

Hive spends very little time with Wilder between Prime responsibilities, and Prime nuisances. It weighs on him, honestly. But when he is with his son, the two are a real handful. It's one of the most stark reminders that the autobots get that Hive is in fact the same trouble making bot beneath the massive frame and responsibility. The two are birds of a feather, and even without the voice bank, Wilder understands his father innately. He is a very tiny child, with a very massive father, so Wilder can expend some energy just climbing up to sit on Hive's shoulder.

But really, even in his hay day Hive couldn't compare to Wilder. That little bastard earned his name. He was online for about a week before Hive was lucid enough to name him, and during that time he caused such a headache for everyone else that Hive's first time holding the kid was simultaneously the first of many long stories about how much trouble Wilder caused. The autobots as a whole are tripping over each other to figure out how to raise a sparkling who's tiny, fast, and determined to cause chaos.

I've said it before, but things go well specifically because Wilder is so intelligent, and the whole community needed to band together to rope him in. Ratchet is a big part of that, as the unofficial second in command, and chief medical officer. Especially because Wilder's immense energy focuses down into a talent for medicine. He holds quite a lot of respect for Ratchet, and sees him as a mentor and second parent.

Really, Wilder is a sweetheart, but too smart for his own good, and he catches on pretty quickly that the reason he can't always have fun times with his father is because of the other Primes. Half his antics are quite clearly bids to annoy the Primes. Really, he can't stand any of them, though the feeling isn't reciprocated.

Most of the Primes are mildly annoyed by him, Prima and Megatronus find him to be an exhausting but darling little sparkling, and Optimus is just very sad that he can't have a good relationship with his closest friend's son. Wilder doesn't recognize Optimus as a good Prime, because ultimately, his bickering with the other Primes over Hive takes just as much energy from Hive as the others do.

As an adult, Wilder never really gets the chance to reconcile. Although the Primes have backed off by then, and his relationship with the autobots and his father is thriving, there were unrealized consequences to being born of the amalgamated DNA of several Primes, and Wilder leaves home towards a painful future...

Voice of the Autobots Hive had a hell of a time between falling into stasis and waking up. While the autobots were busy trying to keep him alive, tiny little Bumblebee was surfing the oceans of his own mind, filibustering every single Prime until he'd made his point clear. It was easier with some than others, but his ultimatum was simple; you advise, I listen, I do. No demands, no forcing control. There was no rest during that stasis, he didn't just wake up and decide to change things. Every second that he was out was being spent to assert himself as the ruler of his own frame.

When he does wake, the change is palpable. The Primes each have an amount of energy alloted to them, and can't take control unless allowed or in times of emergency. It's finally Hive's time to lead, and he steps into it with the wisdom and grace that Optimus taught him. Any fears or uncertainties the autobots had are extinguished. Hive is no longer a silent suffering mouthpiece to warring gods, he makes himself and his intentions well known. The Primes do have sage wisdom to pass down, but Hive certainly isn't dependent on them.

And last, but not least, YES! Optimus is immensely proud of Hive in every single variation of this au. There isn't a single moment from his death until Hive's rise that he isn't on his friend's side, even when it means long and arduous debates with his own mentors. Optimus believes that the Matrix chose Bee, not the Primes, and he couldn't be prouder to know that Hive is worthy. If he'd had a choice in the matter, he himself would have chosen Bumblebee, with Ratchet as a close second seeing as he preferred the medbay to the meeting room.

(Whew, this took a little while! I hope the food's good lol, I try not to make long posts like this normally but you seem like you'd actually enjoy the detail, so I let it get a little long! Thank you again for taking the time to read my work, I really appreciate being able to reciprocate excitement over a project!)

[mamaestapa]

stop okay I def saw that post way too quickly but I just refreshed tumblr—

BEARD BURN😭 imagine whining and complaining the next day bc the inside of your thighs hurt and feel raw bc of his beard bc he spent all day between your thighs🤭🫠🫠🫠

he would def kiss it better and be so gentle and cute 🥹but obvs that never lasts bc that man between your thighs always escalates….🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

beard burn from adam fantilli>>>> (im saying that like ive gotten it??😭 LMAOO anyways-)

you'd wake up that morning wincing in pain after a fun night with adam. the ache in your thighs wasn't what had you wincing, it was the bright red rash forming in between your thighs. it was no secret that adam loved going down on you, so him spending half the night between your thighs was nothing out of the ordinary.

you absolutely loved it.

what you didn't love though was the burning, iritated, angry red rash forming on your inner thighs from his beard. you brought a hand down to your thighs, immediately taking it away and wincing once again as your fingertips made contact with the irritated skin.

adam came out of your bathroom, drying his chest off with a towel as he wore a frown on his face from hearing your wincing. his frown only deepened when he saw the look of discomfort on your face.

"what happened?"

"you, you happened adam"

"what do you mean?"

"come see for yourself"

the poor boy was so confused as he slowly walked over to the bed. was he too rough last night? did he hurt you? were you too sore? a million thoughts were running through adam's head. he stopped by your side of the bed, sitting down on the mattress and squinting his eyes slightly as you spread your legs open. adam's eyes widened, letting out a soft gasp as he saw the beard burn on your inner thighs.

adam felt terrible. he was apologizing to you like crazy like he always did when he got too rough...

"oh my god. im so sorry"

"i didn't mean to hurt you baby"

"let me help, maybe this will make it better"

adam carefully lowered his head back down between your thighs, resuming his position from last night. his pretty blue eyes kept eye contact with yours as he slowly brought his lips down on top of the developing red rash. he began to leave gentle kisses all along your inner thigh, the feeling of his lips somehow taking the pain away. he was so gentle with you and felt bad for hurting you like this. however, anytime adam was between (or even near) your thighs, it never ended innocently...

before you knew it, one second his fingers were hooked under the waistband of your panties and the next he was licking a strip up your soaked slit, making you gasp out in pleasure already.

"adam-"

"shhh beautiful, im just trying to make you feel better"

"you'll make it worse"

"ill be gentle. now be quiet and let me taste you"

[squirmfesting]

There's a thing I noticed regarding majorbeans and well you post a lot of majorbeans so I thought I share my thoughts with you. In retrospective it is extremely funny how similar scott and joel pov of their respective wins are with Scott being more passive and tactical about everything, staying with the same allies (Pearl, Cleo) until quite literally it would be against the rules for him to stay, getting harassed (traps, destroying his house.) by others but not getting revenge etc. and Joel deciding to ignore Etho continues backstabbing, playing tactical with wildcard, ignoring everyone destroying and laughing at his car (not rly ignoring more like deciding to not do anything about aka get revenge), staying with the same allies and not backstabbing them (Gem, Grian) etc etc. also funny how both of their second allies (Cleo, Grian) joined them after they had issues with their team (betrayed, dead) Getting to the interesting part Scott is known by the community as someone who gets people to hunt him and very often that results to his hunters getting killed (very often that happens to be Joel). BUT this time Scott has decided in finale of wildlife to hunt Joel since he was the last yellow. I find it incredibly interesting that at least in finale of wildlife they switched places Scott being the hunter and Joel being hunted and also the fact that bringing Joel to red life meant the end of Scott wildlife. If I were smarter and less half asleep I could probably write something about how lastlife and wildlife winners parallel each other and how playing similar to Scott lead Joel to victory but I think you get the point anyway

sorry for mistakes english isn't my first language also yes this could've been simply a post in majorbeans tag but I am a coward when it comes to posting online for some reason. also I would love to hear your thoughts about this those stupid bugs have plagued my mind for a while now... it would be sooo funny if they teamed up next season.

oh my god i knew they mirrored each other but u pointing out the switchup in wildlife makes me insane .... i didnt even notice at first AUGH !!! also i feel u anon im a bit fearful posting my interpretation of the two and how i see them bc this fandom can be rly toxic for having ur own point of view for different characters 💔 but ill indulge just for u :3

i kinda see scott as this guy who has expectations set up for himself . he has to stick to his morals even in the most intense situations , he has built trust w others and tries his best to lookout for those on his team . however there are bits and pieces that slip out where hes like "maybe i can be the drama . as a treat" but most of the time he doesnt unless its at a point where all hell has broken loose . what more harm could be done? overall hes got a moral code . he has to live up to that and keep up this facade despite sometimes fighting the urge to become insane like the rest . its a killing game after all . with joel i see him like you said a wildcard . he gives into his emotions when hes panicking or when hes enraged and just throws out all logic out the window . of course he has his moments but for the most part his bloodlust is his downfall . one of the aspects i like abt majorbeans is i see scott being tempted by joel , despite joel always going after him and trying to kill him . he sees joel behave the way he does , his power and his freedom and despite it being an utterly wreckless display , he just sees him having fun and giving into the desire to just Kill . and joel absolutely hates that scott is as observant and strategic about his way of survival . hates the fact that he can keep a level head through all of this , hates that even though he isnt as strong as him , keeps getting away with living ! there r more stuff in my head and i cant rly word this properly im in the middle of a fortnite match w a friend so its all off the top off my head but if anyone would like something more coherent i can write out a draft for my full thoughts . but to wrap it up .. those aspects i think keep pulling them back to each other .. they both want a taste of what they have .. but their rivalry (mostly one sided if im being honest dont throw tomatoes at me) is what stops them from being an unstoppable force lol . the day they team up for a season is the day i can peacefully pass away . I NEED TO SEE THEM TEAM UP !!!!! these two have been plaguing my mind for months .. but yea those r my thoughts not super coherent but i hope it gets the idea across .

[weebsinstash]

So fandom specific posts are to follow eventually, but this is going to be a general concept. I've been thinking A LOT on alternative takes to the red string of fate trope and I started wondering about a hypothetical idea of the strings changing in appearance based on the current health and mental well being of the person they're attached to, even to the point where the strings do not properly appear if you're in bad mental health

For example, some of these AUs have the string where you have to think about it to summon it whenever and you can follow it as long as you want, and some have the string only appear when you are within a certain proximity to your other half

First and foremost, what if, when your string appears, you could make it vanish again at will. Not like permanantly, but like, say, if your string keeps appearing and you don't want it to be used to track your physical location, you have to concentrate similar to using a specific muscle and you can "force them back" so they can't find you. Just imagining the growing frustrations of a yandere who has to wait until you fall asleep to even make progress on your actual location because otherwise it's, them summoning your string for about .5 seconds before you notice and shut that shit off immediately, like two people on opposite ends of the room both toggling switches for the same light

But anyways, back to the alternative appearance strings, could you then imagine a scenario where, your yandere has their string appear and after a certain length, it changes colors for the rest of the strand, signifying your string and your own well-being, and the color immediately signifies something incredibly serious and worrying to them that immediately has them speeding to your side to check on you even if they've never met you before, regardless of if it's a couple blocks over or if they have to follow that string across the world. And then you can pair that with the "string blocking" idea and you have an extremely frantic yandere who is freaking out, "my soulmate is in trouble, why won't they let me come help them?! This is why they need me!!!" Amd they KNOW you are deliberately holding them off so, whatever aspects from that, whether it's a sadistic yandere who is amused by your spunk, or a nurturing yandere who automatically takes this as affirmation that you're just a sweet nervous little bean who needs their guidance, look at you being so scared of your own soulmate you silly little goose--

I only have two alternative colors, technically three different ideas total, but, I considered the idea of someone's string slowly turning white and becoming more visibly frayed if someone is seriously ill and or dying, eventually snapping and disappearing upon true death, and I thought it would be interesting if this "physical health symptom" also manifested for suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation. Your yandere has your half of the string appear connected to theirs and they IMMEDIATELY know you're in trouble and they come to find you at all costs and you're... so depressed you can't even be excited to meet them and may even still want to die and just tell them to go away. Your yandere all but kicks down your door, "honey I'm here and I'm ready to love you!

Continuing from that last point, the other idea I'm really growing attached to that is probably my favorite is the idea of the BLUE string of fate: a string that appears on someone who is currently not within the right mental state to be in love or needs some sort of help or time to heal from a trauma before they are ready. Your other half tries to summon their string? The other end of it cuts off mid-air and hangs off their hand, leading nowhere, useless, unable to be followed, only a couple inches of blue their only hint if they even have a soulmate at all, but it can't lead them to you, driving them crazy who you are and where you are

I also considered the idea for alternate colors if two people are soulmates but they have, shall we say, an alternative dynamic? Like you could also technically use the blue string (although i personally think green or elsewise for this example would work better) for like, two aromantic people who are platonic soulmates or that have some incredibly strong nonromantic nonsexual love for someone? Or if you had, say, an aroace or just aro person and their soulmate was an allosexual of some kind. Idk it just sounds intriguing to play around with the concepts since you know, there's more than just romantic and platonic love and it can be an extremely nuanced feeling and love also doesn't inherently translate into sexual desires as another aspect and in this essay I will--

Either way, I feel like once I interact with certain tropes for another years, I wanna start throwing some seasonings in there. Spice up this bitch and saute it. I'm out here giving ABO a broader range of vocalizations to the point Omega can make clicking "distress call" noises to signal for help when trapped or injured. I'm over here "what if scenting could be done with any physical touch and the nature of the scent can be intentionally controlled to convey certain feelings so your yandere Alpha could give you a friendly shoulder pat and suddenly you're walking around with Don't Touch My Mate Or I'll Fucking Kill You scent all over you and you have no idea"

I just. Final thing. Can you imagine being in the same room as your yandere and, THEY KNOW they feel some sort of attraction to you they can't explain, but you dont really talk or make any effort to interact with them, and one day you overhear your yandere talking about how they don't have a soulmate yet and they summon their string and half of it is blue and here you are, subtly sneaking out of the room, staring down at your own cobalt thread and wondering, "am I.... THEIR...?"and deciding to intentionally keep it a secret, but eventually you two grow close enough or, someone says something to you that opens your heart and let's you love yourself enough that, a tiny voice inside of you is like "yeah... I WOULD like a partner to spend time and laugh with, i want to koge and im ready to take the risk" and your yandere literally watches your string, and by extension the string on the other end of theirs, completely change colors and finally fully connect, so then you have the slow burn, kind of one sided pining that absolutely explodes in intensity once your yandere finds out it was you all along

Just might be a couple of fun concepts to play around with in the future. You guys know I love drama...

[bonnieisaway]

Oh my god, i'm gonna explode i've been a scissor seven fan for literally a week and I'm frothing at the mouth over any content I can get my hands on 😭 You might have posted something about this but any thought about the movie that's meant to come out next year? And in your opinion what's your favourite artstyle/scene so far from the show?

OHOHOHOH my dear friend welcome to hell. feel free to peruse my profile i have way too many analyses and edits it's honestly a problem atp anyways this is a VERY good question

as for the movie: i'm excited for it! i'm worried about it's availability for english fans, honestly? it feels like season 5 is taking WAY too long to come to netflix atp- we get almost no marketing overseas/not much is translated for us (the poor offical discord is managed by like, ONE half english speaking person god bless their soul) - but if we do get it atleast subbed i'm SO excited for it. i'm really curious on where itll place chronologically and what it'll go over - we got confirmed it wouldn't overlap with the series so maybe more elaboration on seven's past/becoming a killer? either way i'm REALLY excited for it, and i hope we get more news about it soon. we saw drafts a while ago from He Xiaofeng of Seven at nine years old so maybe it'll be related to those

as for my favorite art style: hands fucking DOWN it is season four's art style. i've always loved the art in this show - some seasons more than others season one is my red-headed stepchild /j - and i love how they've become comfortable enough in later seasons to play with the art style as a storytelling element but no MATTER what i LOVE season four's art style. the first episode made me INSANE when i first saw it. s4e1 is a fucking masterpiece. it's not just the art style it's the way they frame things the way they MOVE the EVERYTHING it's SO good. i am in love with it.

low quality screenshost cus i have not paid for my netflix and it feels egotistical to use my edits to grab screenshots - but NOTHING will ever convince me this episode is anything but a fucking cinematic masterpiece. i love how it looks. for lack of a better way to say it seven is fucking GORGEOUS in season four

as for my favorite scene: SHOCKINGLY the answer here is not "the entirety of season 4 episode 1 start to end." close fourth though. i need to talk about my top three because they all make me so insane. so far - mind you i still haven't seen season five - my favorite scene i think is one everyone can guess what it is because i talk about it so much and post about it every other goddamn month is THIS scene:

It's this scene. It's forever this scene. I could talk about it all day and all night but this post is already long enough so I'm going to spare you. This scene makes me so ill. I cannot even formulate thoughts anymore at this point i've SUCKED all the fucking analysis you CAN out of it. Seven never touches Thirteen - and Seven never goes to 'save' Thirteen unless he knows she can't win. And in this moment Seven grabbed Thirteen and pulled her down with him to save him. It is so raw. It is so intimate. It is so much. Dear fucking god.

My second favorite scene IS when Seven lends Thirteen the Thousand Demon Daggers at the end of s3/start of s4 for. like. Basically the same reasons. I'm just not AS insane about it. But you know why. You get it.

Third favorite and last that I will go over is one that DOES NOT happen on screen but the IMPLICATION of it makes me fucking insane and I WISH that they would elaborate on it is

this. Thirteen in season 3 bandaging Seven after he'd been chased through the woods. Fuck me. Fuuuuuuuck me. I'm gonna go fucking insane. Seven being embarrassed abt it beforehand and then instantly cutting to after it happens is FUCKING CRUEL because Thirteen literally never ever reaches out to touch Seven or anything like this and this HAD to be such an intimate and soft scene and the fuckign thought of it makes me insane. He Xiaofeng if you are reading my tumblr blog show me the full version of this scene and my life is yours! My life is yours! Someone write it! Someone! Anything! Please! Fuck! Oh my god! I feel like I'm the only person who thinks about this and it drives me insane! Show me Thirteen bandaging that man's chest THIS INSTANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyways thank you for the ask. I'm so very normal as you can clearly see here and also I do not ever under any circumstances shut the fuck up

[itsthesinbin]

Sins in Stardust (Bill Cipher/Reader) Chapter 2

teehee

the bitch himself is here! as usual i just pick up major speed on an idea for like 3 days.

i'll be posting it to ao3 too after this goes up! ill reblog both chapters tomorrow with the ao3 link :3

---------------------------

“Why the fuck are you screaming?!” The triangle jumped to his feet, trying to scramble backwards. He tripped over a piece of stone and fell back onto his… ass? Does a triangle have an ass?

“Why am I- Who are you?!” He reeled back, seemingly offended as you yelled back at him. He stood on his little legs, hands balled into fists. He pointed at himself with a thumb.

“My name’s Bill Cipher, fleshy, and I… I…” His rage morphs into confusion. He rubs the side of his head, eyelid furrowing. “I was gonna do something…” He suddenly felt a groove in his side he didn’t recognize. He followed the crack in his body for a moment, before looking down at himself. He went from angry-confused to angry-worried.

“What the hell happened to me? What kinda drink did I get at O’Sadly’s…?” Slowly, you both stood. You held your hands out to pacify the creature as you told him your name. He rolled his eye, waving you off.

“Yeah, whatever. Where am I? I think I’m late for something and need to hop on the next comet out of this backwater dimension.” You frowned, but pulled your phone out. You pulled up your GPS to double check your intended destination.

“There’s a town called Gravity Falls up ahead… We’re a couple hours out from town.” He seemed to pause at that. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache come on. He squeezed his eye shut in thought.

“Gravity Falls, huh…? That sounds familiar.” His eye relaxed, turning slightly up in a mouthless grin. He snapped his fingers.

“Alright, kid! You take me to Gravity Falls and I’ll handle it from there. I got a feeling I got a couple friends waiting for me.” He stood there for a second, then frowned. He looked down at his feet in confusion. He jumped, only to land on his flat triangle ass again. He grunted, eye popping open.

“That hurt-? I can’t float? What the-?” He stood up, jumping and trying to float again. You watched him for a minute, slowly going to pack up your campsite. He was laying on the ground, tired and panting, when you finally got fully packed. He grabbed his discarded cane, using it to haul himself up. The top half of him was a dull red, both from exhaustion and anger.

“Okay, clearly something’s wrong. FanTASTIC! YOU!” He jabbed the cane in your direction. You looked down at him, pointing to yourself in response. He hobbled over to you.

“My powers are gone and if I recall correctly, you said last night you’d take me with you!” He went from angry to chipper in an instant. You frowned. The guy doesn’t remember anything beyond his name, but he happened to remember that you offered to take him- as a statue, at least. Great.

You thought back to your weird dream. There was no way it was a coincidence- a triangular kid in your dreams, reaching out to you for company. A triangular man waiting for you when you wake up. Damn.

Even WITHOUT that dream, you couldn’t just leave an amnesiac in the woods. You may not be a good person, but you weren’t heartless. Maybe that Axolotl will come back and be like oh shit my bad, I’ll take that idiot back. But, for now, you gotta take care of… an alien? Whatever the fuck he is. You sighed.

“Alright, Bill. C’mon- we’ll figure out how to hide you from people in the car, but the roads have been pretty empty so far.” He crossed his arms as he walked over to you.

“That’s more like it! Once we figure out what’s going on, kid, I’ll make sure to spare you when I turn this place upside down.” Joy. You got stuck with a psycho. You made a non-commital noise in response. You hauled your bag onto your back and led him back to your car. Leading a stranger back to your car in any circumstance was stupid, but this was INSANELY stupid.

“So… what are you, anyway?” The little egomaniac puffed up even more, glad to be able to talk about himself freely. He fixed his little bowtie, pulling at suspenders that didn’t exist.

“Interdimensional dream demon, at your service! Originally two dimensional, but uh… that changed somehow, I guess!” His confidence faltered slightly at mentioning his additional dimension he didn’t remember gaining, but he didn’t sound disappointed in it. He scratched at one of the glitching cracks, staring off into space for a few minutes.

A sick crunching sound cut off whatever he planned to say. You felt your heart drop into your stomach. The two of you glanced at each other, before picking up the pace to see what was going on.

A large creature had ripped a door off of your car, and was now trying to fit into the seat to get at the leftover food inside. You would’ve thought it was a nearly-furless bear, until you saw hooves. Your eyes widened as you looked at Bill. He didn’t look scared. If anything he looked a little excited. The creature pulled its head out, eating part of your car’s passenger seat.

“That thing’s a little freak, isn’t it,” he laughed. The creature’s head snapped to you two, and you froze. Bill cackled.

“Well, good luck with that, meatsack! I’ll check in when you get eviscerated!” He snapped his fingers confidently. Then snapped them again. He cracked his eye open, looking around to see if he was still there. The creature growled in response. Bill opened his eye fully. You stared at him, mouth open and brow furrowed in disbelief.

“Right. Powers gone. Forgot about that.” The creature roared, and charged. You both screamed and, out of instinct, you scooped the short idiot up into your arms and ran. He struggled, going from freaked out to pissed.

“PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW BEFORE I RIP EVERY INDIVIDUAL TOOTH OUT AND PUT THEM IN YOUR EYE SOCKETS!” His voice grew deep and layered, his body turned a bright red and the colors of his eye inverted. You darted through the trees, hearing the huge creature break entire trees as it ran after you two.

“DO YOU THINK YOU COULD OUTRUN THAT THING? OR KILL IT?” “I COULD IF I WASN’T NEUTERED!” You wanted to shake him. To throw him at the creature as a distraction and run. But, you weren’t a monster. You couldn’t let the guy die, no matter how annoying he was at the moment. You had to remember the guy just, supposedly, broke out of stone and had little to no memory. He needed help.

You hid behind a large tree, trying to calm your wheezing. Bill was frantically snapping and staring at his hands, rage turning to horror. He was getting panicked and tried to hide it with fury. Okay, he was no help at the moment. You heard the creature getting closer. You looked at the trees, counting the branches above you.

You moved Bill, light as a feather in your grasp, onto your shoulders. He was confused, gripping onto your head. You told him to hold on as you pulled your belt off. You used it as leverage, pulling it over the branch to help pull yourself up. Bill’s grip on you tightened to the point you thought he was gonna choke you out. Or pull a chunk of hair out. You’d have to deal with it.

You hauled yourself high into the pine tree, sitting on a thick branch near the trunk. You coughed, trying to calm the burning in your lungs. Bill leaned over to look at the forest floor, seeing the creature sniffing around. Shit.

“Well, genius, what do you plan to do now?” He asked, looking back down at you. You ignored him, looking around frantically for something. Anything you could use to get the creature away from you. Bill huffed, yanking a pinecone out of a branch. He stared at it as intensely as he could, willing- praying- that it lit up with blue flame. His hands shook slightly when nothing happened.

“You got a lighter?” he asked, trying to shove down the panic. He wasn’t about to die here- not until he could get his powers back. You looked up to see the pinecone.

“Are you crazy? What if the trees go up!” “We can outrun a fire easier than that thing, meatsack! Give me a lighter!” You groaned, annoyed, but relented and snapped your lighter on. You blew on the pinecone, feeding the fire enough to get it lit. You grabbed a couple more, using the lit pinecone to set the others ablaze.

With grunts of effort, you both lobbed your makeshift firebombs at the creature below. One flew over its head, drawing its attention to it. The other two landed on its back, on the stripe of fur along its spine. Bill lit a couple more, chucking them as hard as he could. The creature roared as one got stuck in its fur, igniting the hair quickly. It ran off, slamming into trees to try and smother the burning pinecone. You two waited, holding your breaths to see if it’d come back.

You began to descend as you heard its roars and screeches getting fainter by the minute. Bill jumped down as you reached the ground, only to land on his mostly flat face. He grumbled as he stood, both of you hurrying back to your car. Much to his anger, he struggled to keep up with your long legs.

You arrived at your totaled car, shoulders drooping. You dug through the debris in search of anything that survived. All the food was gone, bags shredded to get the contents inside. Your passenger seat was destroyed, along with the dashboard. Your identification papers were either eaten, soaked with drool or shredded. Thankfully you had your important items like your wallet and phone with you, but damn… How the fuck were you going to explain this to your insurance?

Once you grabbed whatever you could- which wasn’t much beyond some unshredded clothing- you took pictures for future evidence. You could hear Bill tapping his small foot on the ground behind you. You prickled slightly as you turned to him. The two of you glared at each other, daring the other to look away. You sighed, tired, as you broke the glaring contest. Bill crossed his arms triumphantly.

“Good idea back there, Cipher. Thanks.” He blinked, before putting a hand on his hip. He smiled- best he could, anyway- and shot you a finger gun.

“Glad to finally get some appreciation! Maybe I won’t shove your teeth into your eyes, kid!” You rolled your eyes as he trotted up to your side. You popped your back real fast, grunting slightly, before looking down at him.

“Okay. When we get to town, I’ll look through what clothes I got left and… rig some kinda disguise for you. Just keep your… head… down, when we get there. At least til I figure something else out.” He huffed slightly, but knew he couldn’t do much in terms of hiding without his abilities.

“Just make me look hot, alright? I got a reputation to keep!” He jumped and grabbed onto your backpack, nearly pulling you down. Scrambling up your bag, he began to look for clothes that interested him. Your head throbbed- from exhaustion, from hunger, and from annoyance.

“You said you had friends in town?” you asked as you looked back over your shoulder. He currently had a scarf wrapped around his head, like a Babushka. He shrugged.

“Hell if I know! Feels like I should, so maybe if I see someone a lightbulb’ll go off,” he answered, going back to digging through your items. He pulled a couple breakfast bars out, handing you one. You mumbled a thanks. You paused mid chew.

“... Do you eat?” His eye turned into a mouth as he began to eat the bar, much to your disgust. He shrugged again.

“Usually no, but it seems like whatever happened to me changed that. I’m starving! You don’t happen to have a liver in here, do you?” You decided to let him figure out for himself that you, in fact, did not have a liver hiding in your bag. Guess you’d have to get food for two. That’ll put a dent in your savings.

One day at a time. You’ll get it figured out. Just gotta take it one day at a time.

[kumezyzo]

literally love you for all the streamer!reader hc cus no one else really does it 🫶🏼🫶🏼 (pls do more for my well-being ill beg 🤧)

hehe. first thing that came to mind was the creation of everest. so here you go. fem!reader

i was so incredibly sleep deprived and in a random holiday inn express in colorado/kansas when i started writing this. so its my brain basically on crack trying to describe harmonies in my cellist little peanut brain 😭😭

i also assumed this anon wanted bf!sapnap... and im sorry if thats not the case. just pretend i never wrote any of that.

anyway, enjoy! or dont... :) m.list

bsf!dream who asks you to harmonize on the vocals with him.

"its like barely an octave higher," he tells you as you stand infront of the microphone. you roll you eyes and adjust the headphones on your head.

"its barely an octave higher," you say, mocking his voice.

"yea and then its higher on the second 'coming down' and keep it high but flat," he says easily.

you stare at him with furrowed eyebrows as you think over his words.

you sigh, "i hate being your friend."

bsf!george who teases you when he hears your vocals added to the song.

"oh my god, yn's singer era?" he grins at you. you groan and shove him playfully.

bf!sapnap who hears your raw vocals and just feels like a proud bf that you stepped out of whatever comfort zone you had to sing in dreams song.

when people hear the take with all four of you, they can actually tell because of your voice.

during bsf!dreams promotion for the song, he posts on tiktok with the title 'yn not singing and stalling for three minutes'

its a compilation of you talking and pacing around the studio, prolonging a groan, and insulting clay as much as you can. and saying obscenities into the microphone, obviously.

"im hungry, are you guys hungry? we should go get some food....and not come back-" "ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

"clay, youre a bitch." "clay, i hate you." "dream is a bitch, sub to me-" "so high like im on acid-" "i thought nick and george were supposed to be on this song too."

bsf!george who complains about how much you and sapnap were pelting him with snowballs during the music video.

"for some reason they gave them all to sapnap. and he gave half of them to yn," george said recalling the semi-traumatic events. "and both of them throwing them were so painful."

on your own stream, you talk about the behind the scenes of the music video.

"shes [amouranth] actually such a cool person...i was about to leave nick for her-"

"what you guys didnt see after nick popped the champagne, was that he proceeded to point it at me and completely drench me in it," you say pursing your lips in annoyance. "and it didnt even taste good!"

"they asked me to join this little pillow fight right here," you said pointing at the screen. "and instead of hitting kaitlyn, i went around and smacked the fuck out of george. but you can barely see it."

"i really hope they didnt get that energy drink on the carpet..."

bf!sapnap who suggested you getting in a bikini like the other girls in the music video.

you look at your boyfriend blankly, "your such a perv-"

i liked writing this. thats it. -nony