#i cant invite who i really want to . shockingly

[spookythesillyfella]

live footage of me when i have to send a message to someone i know irl :

[fandomworld9728]

I return with another scenerio?

I really dont wanna be a bother I promise.

So, this takes place after Adam dies but since I can't handle character death he somehow comes back as a demon for a second chance or something. Vox finds Adam (or Adam finds Vox whatever you want) and they sorta make a deal (no soul, much to Vox's displeasure). Vox gives Adam a place to sleep and a job and Adam protects Vox since he still has his guitar (the guitar is linked to his soul so he cant really lose it).

After a while, Adam decides he wants to give this redemption crap a try because he misses the exterminators and other stuff. Vox decides to go with Adam (why? its up to you, fight with the Vees, he doesnt trust Adam alone, he doesnt want to be left alone again, whatever).

The Hotel crew was invited to heaven to talk about the hotel and redemption as a second chance, everyone was invited and everyone went (including Alastor, shockingly), But since Lucifer was kicked out he really cant go to heaven so he has to stay and watch the hotel.

Theres a knock on the door and, surprise surprise, its Adam and Vox (whos glaring at Lucifer, for some reason). They explain their situation and why they're here and Lucifer's like "Sure, cant do anything anyways since i'm here."

Lucifer now realizes how much of mistake that was. Not because Adam and Vox are assholes, no no he can deal with assholes, but because he is watching the worlds SLOWEST slow burn fanfic ever, in real life. He has to watch these to be so fucking in love with each other but they are so oblivious.

Vox is the type where he doesnt know he loves Adam so Adam could tell Vox "I love you" and Vox would be like "huh?"

Adam knows he likes Vox but hes scared to be rejected so he refuses to say anything and is willing to love from afar.

its to the point where Lucifer is about to do what girls do with their doll and make them kiss or SOMETHING.

If you wanna write when the hotel crew returns, then they're gonna walk in and see a drunk Vox singing something, Adam looking at the TV man like he hung the stars (/pos), and Lucifer looking exasperated while watching the two. Because I find that would be so funny.

(This was written for only Vox and Adam but if you want you can squeeze Lucifer in there or something, idk. I also feel like Alastor knows how oblivious Vox is since he watched Valentino try to romance him but Vox was like "Oh, as a friend!" so I feel like that could lead to a funny scene where Alastor and Lucifer can plot or something to get the two together? I dont want Alastor included in this through ship though, hes just like "If Vox is staying here he will be happy or SO HELP ME.")

Happy writing! -Bell

(I've never wrote anything for that pairing before. What a fun little challenge ^-^ )

Sitting in the parlor with the two Sinners, Lucifer stared them down. What in the Seven Rings could they be planning? "Tell me again why you're here?"

"I already told you-"

"Not you Adam. Him."

Lucifer didn't trust Vic- Vic? Vax? Whatever. He didn't trust the Sinner. Not after what Lucifer's learned from other Overlords that he was close with and from the residents from the hotel.

Not to mention he was around Adam. The first man. The first real friend Lucifer had ever made. No matter what bad blood was between them, he would always have a soft spot for the human soul. That protectiveness was once again showing itself whether he liked it or not.

"The two of us have a deal. He protects me with his power, and I give him a place to stay. However, I no longer have that. I've had it with Valentino, how he breaks our employees, and how he chooses his favorite porn stars over our relationship."

"You two had a falling out and you're the one who left?"

"Yes, well, can't really be protected if we aren't in the same living space now, can I?"

"I suppose that is fair. But if you're going to be staying here, you will not be causing or bring problems to my hotel, her friends, and her hotel. You will put in actual effort by either trying redemption or working here."

"We get it Luci. We'll play nice, okay?"

"Yes, your majesty- Luci?"

"Yeah. We knew each other since I was created. I'm gonna call him Luci."

~

This was a mistake. Why had Lucifer allowed them into his precious daughter's hotel? Why was he the one left here all alone to baby sit them and suffer through Slow Burn Hell?!

With Charlie and the other residents in Heaven for a meeting, Lucifer was the only one here to keep an eye on the two Sinners. So, when he had gone behind the bar to get himself a drink with their bartender gone the other two decided they wanted to indulge in a good drink also. That had been another mistake. Allowing them to drink.

Now, not only would he have to explain what they were doing there when everyone returned, but also why they were drunk. Maybe he'd have enough time to get them sober or at the very least in bed before that happened.

"Dad! We're back!"

Fuck. Spoke too son. Way to go jinxing yourself Lucifer.

~

"Dad. You did this?"

"Charlie I can explain-"

"This is amazing!"

". . .What?"

Lucifer had expected her to be upset, much like Vaggie and Alastor were when they saw Vix and Adam when they returned from their meeting in Heaven. Vaz was one of the people who let the mistreatment of Angel to happen, and Adam tried to kill them. And had killed on of their other friends. 

"I know Sinners aren't your favorite people, but this is a great first step towards your own self redemption! Giving people second chances. I am so proud of you. This is actually what the Hazbin Hotel is about."

Proud? Proud of him? He felt his heart soar at his little girl's words. But he wasn't sure if it was as amazing as she thought. Vox was standing up on the bar singing That's Amore loudly and off key while Adam watched him. Looking at the Overlord like some sort of lovesick teenager. Gross. Was that what he was like with Lilith?

At least some of the others were getting enjoyment out of the two drunks. Angel was laughing with recording the two on his phone and Husk was pouring them more drinks to keep their entertainment going.

"Babe. I'm glad that you're so... psyched for this. But we need to get them to bed so we can go to bed. I don't trust them as far as I can throw them and I'm so tired."

"Right. You're right."

~

"I hate this so much."

"As do I, sire."

Jumping with a yelp, Lucifer glared at his least favorite person from the floor. "Stop doing that, you creepy fuck."

"But it is oh so entertaining!" Offering the other end of his cane to the small man, Alastor pulled him up. "What is not is whatever is going on between those two morons."

"So, you noticed it too?"

"You would have to be blind not to sense the tension between them. Not to mention, our dear Charlie will not shut up about how 'adorable' they are together."

"Not the word I would use."

"Agreed. Now, what do we do about them. Because I will not be dealing with an oblivious and miserable Vox while he is living in my territory."

"Wow. You Overlords really are territorial, aren't you?"

"Oh, like you're one to talk."

~

Hiding around a corner, Lucifer had to admit that as much as he didn't like Alastor, this was a lot more fun than he thought it would be. It had been a while since he had played cupid with anyone. 

"Alright. Here they come. You remember the plan?"

"Yes, yes. You will talk to Adam, and I will unfortunately talk to Vox. And will help them through this little issue so this can finally be put to an end."

"You know, you always sound like a pissed off middle aged woman."

"Excuse me-"

"Shut up. They're here."

Not paying attention to where they were walking, their targets almost crashed into each other.

"Oh shit. Sorry about that dude- man- Vox." Rubbing the back of his neck, Adam couldn't believe he was acting like this. Again. For the third time in his life.

And it begins. Poor Adam was a nervous mess. Lucifer remembered the last time the first man had acted like this was when he had first met Eve. At least she had made the transition into a relationship so much smoother then whatever this cluster fuck was.

"It's fine. I wasn't watching where I was going. Valentino keeps blowing up my phone. Just a warning, he might come here and make a scene now that I'm not there to talk him out of having his hissy fits."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"Yeah. I know."

Face palming, Alastor couldn't believe this man could get any stupider. And he had wondered why Alastor had rejected him all those years ago. This had to end. Now. Or so help him, he was going to kill someone. Most likely the both of them.

~

"I thought you two talked to them and set up a date for them."

"We did. It went right over Vork's head."

"Are you getting his name wrong now on purpose?"

"Yes. Because I'm mad at him."

Angel didn't know what was worse. The romantic and sexual tension between Vox and Adam or the fact that this was actually helping Lucifer and Alastor get along for the first time since they met. Looks like it was time for him to take matters into his own hands. Going over to the two who was causing all of this, Angel snapped his fingers in their faces to grab their attention away from each other.

"Alright. We're all fuckin' done with this bullshit. You two need to just fuck already. That and go on a goddamn date. We can't stand this anymore. We're losin' our ever lovin' minds!"

"...What? Angel that's ridiculous. Adam doesn't- ..."

"Did the right wires finally connect in that empty head of yours?"

"I think I'm gonna go."

"Go? No. We're talking about this- Adam don't you run from me!"

Watching the two run around the hotel like a couple of children, Lucifer was flabbergasted. "IT WAS THAT EASY?!"

(Here is the song I referenced)

[mistydreamscape]

AOT HEADCANONS WITH A S/O THAT LIKES TO SING BUT CANT. Imagine doing karaoke with them and they know you can’t sing then randomly hit a note out of nowhere

AOT characters with an S/O who likes to sing but can't (GN) (HCs/Modern AU)

characters; Levi, Eren, Hange, Mikasa, Armin

tags; swearing, hange goes by she/her pronouns to make things easier for me

note; this has just been sitting in my drafts for...ages and ages, I figured it's about time I finish this with my newfound motivation

reblogs are appreciated!

♡ ˚. ୭° ˚○◦˚ ✧ ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ ♡ ˚. ୭° ˚○◦˚ ✦ ˚◦○˚ ୧♡ ˚. ୭° ˚○◦˚ ✧ ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ ♡ ˚. ୭° ˚ ✧

Levi Ackerman

✧˚ · . He already knows you can't sing for shit, which is exactly why he brings earplugs with him if he happens to be dragged out with you to do karaoke

✧˚ · . SADLY HE'S VERY MEAN AND WILL 100% TELL YOU YOUR VOICE MAKES HIS EARS WANT TO BLEED

✧˚ · . He will dial down his brutal honesty, however, if you seem to get upset about it

✧˚ · . If you just brush it off though, he'll poke fun at you for it occasionally

✧˚ · . He's still haunted by the time you tried to sing "Never Gonna Give You Up" at a karaoke session while drunk

✧˚ · . Yes, he dragged you out, thank god

✧˚ · . If you manage to get him to sing, prepare for your ears to be blessed because his voice is beautiful

✧˚ · . If you're in the comfort of your own home however, he won't complain if you sing

✧˚ · . He won't admit this to anyone, not even you; but he actually enjoys when you sing at home because he knows how much you love it

Eren Yeager

✧˚ · . Didn't know you couldn't sing, so he unknowingly invited you to go do karaoke with him, Armin, and Mikasa

✧˚ · . He didn't plan to sing all too much

✧˚ · . He was happy to let you just sing while he watched

✧˚ · . But then he heard your voice

✧˚ · . He loves you to pieces, but you were beyond just tone-deaf

✧˚ · . Made a mental note to never invite you out to karaoke ever again

✧˚ · . His singing voice is actually not bad

✧˚ · . He didn't quite mind you singing at home though, you could sometimes sound okay

✧˚ · . Will argue with anyone who talks shit about your voice in front of him though

✧˚ · . Sometimes he likes to shut you up while you're singing with a kiss lmao

Mikasa Ackerman

✧˚ · . Another one who knew you couldn't sing, but she wouldn't actively stop you from doing so

✧˚ · . If you were someone who loved to sing, she'd suck it up and deal with it because she loves you

✧˚ · . She actually has a pretty singing voice, but you never hear it often

✧˚ · . One time you two were dragged out to a lounge with Hanji, Moblit, Historia, and Ymir

✧˚ · . You two decided to sing together since the other two pairs were doing the same thing

✧˚ · . They all loved her voice

✧˚ · . Yours however...Yeah no

✧˚ · . You were never offered a microphone again

✧˚ · . Is 100% fine with you singing at home, especially when she gets to hear you hit notes correctly and you seem so proud of yourself afterwards

Hange Zoë

✧˚ · . Hange...Can't sing either

✧˚ · . Well, she's not entirely tone-deaf like you are, but she doesn't put much effort into her singing

✧˚ · . When she's singing softly though, she sounds pretty nice!

✧˚ · . Will 100% hype you up when you sing, doesn't care if you're bad at all

✧˚ · . She knows your love for singing so she's gonna be supportive af regardless

✧˚ · . If you ask her to duet with you, she will with no questions asked (god help anyone who listens to that performance)

✧˚ · . She will especially hype you up if you hit a REALLY difficult note and it ends up sounding great

Armin Arlert

✧˚ · . Sweet baby doesn't have the heart to tell you you're bad

✧˚ · . Will hype you up pt 2

✧˚ · . He doesn't really sing often if at all, so he can't really criticize your voice too much

✧˚ · . He is 100% fine if you want to sing around the house since you love it so much, wants to be supportive to you like you have been to him

✧˚ · . Shockingly enough, he will defend you if someone insults your singing

✧˚ · . He doesn't care what you sound like as long as you're having fun

✧˚ · . Will get excited with you if you hit a difficult note and are really proud of yourself, he just loves you so much

♡ ˚. ୭° ˚○◦˚ ✧ ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ ♡ ˚. ୭° ˚○◦˚ ✦ ˚◦○˚ ୧♡ ˚. ୭° ˚○◦˚ ✧ ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ ♡ ˚. ୭° ˚ ✧

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Touch it for Real, Part 3

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Eventual Smut

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / enemies to lovers / bug gets meta

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Mia.

Mia, Mia, Mia. 

Oh she was lovely. You’d been chatting with her on Baekhyun’s phone for the better part of an hour and for a moment you forgot all about the man who now laid with his head on the other end of the sofa with his feet stretched over your lap and a phone held up to his face.

He was scrolling through something, giggling and typing. 

The phone you had down in your lap vibrated with another incoming message. 

Laughing emojis, a row of them. She was sharp. Wit and charm came through in her messages and you found yourself responding with an equally long string of laughing faces. The ones with tears leaking out their eyes. She felt so damn familiar and comfortable the moment you got past the awkward introductions and you really started talking to her; the jokes were easy and the topics were something you knew enough about to fake your way though thanks to Baekhyun’s many passions and his absolute inability to shut up about them. He’d held you hostage with so many video games and anime episodes, you knew exactly what she was talking about now. You felt like a complete pseudo pro. A well-read scammer. A faker but a weirdly genuine one. 

You went back to her profile and dragged each of her pictures across the screen with the tip of your finger, switching between them all. She was pretty. She was smart. She was interesting to talk to. She was perfect. Just perfect. A steady warmth had seeped into your chest as you looked at her. It was welcome and actually felt nice at first; if not a little bit unexpected. But the longer you looked at her smile, the more intrusive that warmth felt. After too long, it was sticky and almost too warm. You struggled to breathe deeply. You were breathing normally, there was absolute nothing off about your breathing, but each breath you took suddenly failed to satiate. Why were your lungs suddenly missing oxygen? They were misbehaving without any reason to. You closed out her pictures and returned to the chat window. 

She was asking about the latest episode of an anime. Something that was in its final season. Something you were sure Baekhyun would also be watching soon if he hadn’t seen it already. You could feel her excitement in her words. Something epic must have happened.

“Baek did you watch Attack on Colossatron last night — the latest episode?”

“Not yet—no spoilers, I’ll kill you.” His response was quick and you responded in a similar fashion in text to Mia; without the death threats. You weren’t quite that comfortable with her yet. 

Baekhyun shifted and moved a foot behind you, digging it under your butt into the gap of the couch cushion. You ignored the intrusion because you were talking to Mia. His soon to be brand new girlfriend by the looks of the conversation. You caught what you were certain was subtle flirting just below the contexts. Then outright flirting. She was sending you a picture from the dating profile you’d set up for Baekhyun. She had to have saved the picture to send it. It would now be saved on the camera roll of her phone where she would likely look at it again and again, admiring how good Baekhyun looked in it. 

She was commenting on how unexpectedly handsome you were and how most of the men who shared interests with her did not look like you. 

She was asking for a picture of you—err, of Baekhyun. She was having trouble believing such an attractive man like you was real and she actually used the word catfishing, careful to insist that she wasn't accusing you of anything; just that she was sure you looked just like some celebrity she saw on twitter and one couldn’t be too careful. 

But you were quick to cooperate and to agree with her need for assuredness. As a woman, yourself, you understood her suspicions instantly.  Yes, Baekhyun did look shockingly attractive in the profile pictures you posted of him. You could see how someone might doubt that he was real and he lived only 5 miles away and was now sweeping her off her feet with his engaging conversations and hilarious jokes. You’d be sure and make him thank you well for this later. 

The pictures of him were surprising, even to you, and you lived with the guy. You saw him every single day. Yet something about seeing him in these pictures, dressed in that black button up shirt and jeans and looking at the camera with a breathtaking natural smile; one he gave you so easily that night when you told him just how good he looked all dressed up. 

“Peanut, look at you! You look so fancy.” 

“Wow, I cant believe how handsome you are.” 

It only took a couple of sincere compliments for the man to unfold before you and the results on camera pulled you into an uncomfortable and unwelcome thoughtfulness when you looked at them alone later. Of course you knew he was handsome. You just hadn’t been prepared for how very attractive he would look on camera. 

You got all his best angles and the man had taken you off guard when you’d bravely asked him to give you a sexy look. 

It happened just at the end of your little makeshift photo-shoot. You were both a little tired, you could tell with the way he slowed down with his talking and his movements. You could always tell when Baekhyun was tired. Sometimes before even he knew it. 

The sun had gone down and you’d pulled him from your room into the living room where the lights from the city shone through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, creating a soft glow on his face. The moon was full outside. It was a chilly winter night and snowflakes drifted down to the street below. You were feeling perhaps a bit romantic. Perhaps you were a little bit grateful to be inside and warm and spending your time capturing the pretty face of your annoying best friend. 

You’d gotten a bit bold with the pictures and he’d been behaving so well, not even complaining when you asked him to lay down on the floor so you could capture the beautiful city-scape in the background of the shot. He’d gone still while you set up; moving furniture and turning on a lamp in the corner for more lighting on his features — you wondered briefly if maybe he had fallen asleep. 

You laid down beside him holding your camera up in the right spot to get something nice. His eyes had closed up and his breathing was even and slow and when you’d softly called his name with your camera acting as a barrier in between your faces, you’d expected it to act as more of a buffer than it did. 

“Baekhyun?”

When he heard you call him, his eyes opened and he turned his head toward the sound of your voice; the shift in his eyes was stark and breathtaking and he blinked them closed and then very slowly he opened his eyes again for you. 

“Hmm?” His lips stayed closed when he hummed a response.

What exactly were you going for here? The mood was set. The lighting and the scenery were in place. Hell, even the position of him was set —him laying beside you on the floor in the middle of the night like this when everyone knew it was much too late to be entertaining any of this nonsense. The longer you looked at him the more shades of pink you saw in his cheeks. The pinkness matched his lips and the lighting made every bit of warm flush on his face tell such a romantic story. He looked so very warm and inviting. 

You took a shot and you said it. If the picture came out well, that would be rewarding enough. 

But, you didn't actually expect a real sexy look. Not really. You’d expected something silly, or something goofy or something with an awkward smile. Maybe it was the nighttime, or the way he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt and just let it hang open with the clear smoothness of his chest visible, but when he pulled his chin down and ran a hand through his styled hair, bringing it down just a little bit; giving it a messy and tousled look, you had to grip the camera tighter to keep from doing something dumb like accidentally dropping it. You could not understand the flash of nervousness you felt run through you. 

He lifted a single eyebrow. You had called him and it was clear from the inactivity in the camera that you weren’t taking any pictures of him. 

“Hmm?” He repeated the hum that came from the back of his throat. His eyebrow danced and it was the only movement on his face.

You inhaled a breath and you did it.

“You look incredibly sexy right now.” 

Despite the camera, despite the props you’d placed around him just so, his eyes seemed to seek out yours with purpose; one hand on the floor was within touching distance and the other hand rested over his forehead from when he’d ran it through his hair, the tips of his fingers landed over one of his eyes and it was so perfect. You felt goosebumps all over your skin.  

The moment his eyes locked into yours you gripped the camera as if your life depended on it. When his lips slowly parted with a gentle exhale and the tip of his tongue appeared between his parted lips and slowly touched against the corner of his bottom lip a surge of heat rose up the back of your throat. 

“I do?” He said with his eyes on yours as if he was looking directly at you; as if the camera did not even exist. 

You hit the button and you heard the shutter click. 

You allowed yourself a moment to look at the picture Mia had sent you. Only a moment though because she was talking again. She was instructing you to send a new picture right now, with your left hand holding your right earlobe. It was the kind of specific sort of picture that would prove that you really did exist. 

“Peanut,” you reached down and tapped his leg three times quickly, “Peanut, our new girlfriend wants a picture of you right now with your,” you held up your hands in front of your face, figuring out which was the left one, “left hand holding your right earlobe.” You held up your left hand for him to see and he pulled the phone down from his face to look at you. After a second his opposite hand was raised and he gripped his earlobe with his fingertips. 

“Is that your left hand?” You raised your left hand higher and lifted your eyebrows as you shook your head once. You felt a sense of urgency in getting this picture to Mia as fast as possible to calm her doubts. 

“It’s my left. My left is your right, stupid. Why do I have to do this?” 

You snapped the picture close enough that it would look like a selfie and sent the image to Mia. She was satisfied enough to send an emoji with heart eyes and you could feel victory at your fingertips. You could hardly believe this was working. 

“She thought you weren’t real.” You said in between messages and Baekhyun’s leg was shaking behind your back. He’d been sitting still for too long here and the nervous energy was building, you could feel it trying to escape from his limbs. He probably needed to go for a run or something or you were in for a long and noisy night of singing or dancing or whatever other shenanigans he thought you needed to suffer though. He hummed a non-response to your answer, clearly so distracted by what was happening on his screen that he couldn’t be bothered to give you any more of his attention right now. 

Baekhyun was not so quietly giggling under his breath and you looked up caught by that very particular sound of it. Something felt familiar in the sound of that giggle; more, the intentions behind it. The particular sneakiness of it maybe made you look up and it took you another second of listening to the way he stifled himself, tried to control the sounds of his laughter before a realization dawned and recognition struck you on the head. 

Baekhyun couldn’t have been giggling, laughing, texting, having a grand ol’ time on his phone because you had his phone in your hands. You had been talking to Mia for a whole damn hour, who in the hell was Baekhyun talking to and was that your phone he was using? 

“Baekhyun who are you talking to on my phone?”

His stomach bounced with stifled laugher below his shirt and he was typing again. His eyes secured on the screen of your phone and not at all looking at you. 

“Baek, who is that. What are you doing?” It wasn’t that you didn't trust him with your private conversations. He knew more about you than probably any other human being on the planet. It wasn't the problem with him knowing it. The problem was with that laughter. The problem was with what Byun Baekhyun might do with all of the things he knew about you and with whoever the hell had the misfortune of texting you at the exact moment when he had your phone.

“Ben,” Baekhyun said after a long pause and you searched through your recent memory for a person who had that name. You’d matched with some guys last week but you were certain there was no one with that name. 

“Ben? Who the hell is Ben? I don't know a Ben” You were leaning now and Baekhyun bent his legs up as soon as you moved, blocking your lean with his knobby knees. You leaned on the other side of them and he moved them to block again. 

The maneuver brought out the panic in you. He was blocking you from your own phone. He was up to something and he was now blocking you from reaching for your phone and you had just nearly murdered him in the kitchen over cheese, did he really want to do this again? 

“Give me my phone. Baek, who the shit is Ben?”

“I don't know. Some guy named Ben. Said he was some lady’s nephew or cousin or something. He knew your number and he knew your name, and wow he is—”

Oh god. Your co-worker Susie had done it. The son-of-a-bitch had actually given your phone number out this time even though you had successfully, you’d thought, dodged their high pressure tactics to set you up with some eligible bachelor who would probably be 10 years too old for you, balding, with bad teeth, or bad habits, or would be obsessed with his car or his muscles or some sports team and you’d have to make nice small talk with someone who’s interests, frankly, bored you to death until you could politely let the man down. 

And now, what was Baekhyun telling him? What kinds of horrific lies was this little gremlin giggling about over there. You tilted and reached for him again and he moved his knees again. 

“Bug, how- how do you spell hemorrhoids? Hem—hem—er—roids, no that’s not right. Let me look it up. It’s important that I represent you well. A strong, intelligent woman who can talk about her hemorrhoids.” 

You leaped then, over the stupid knees you flew and you landed hard — seated across his belly and the pained grunt he let out was satisfying to hear. He doubled up in pain while simultaneously shoving your phone underneath himself into the softness of the couch cushions and you watched it disappear somewhere below his butt where he assumed you would not dare to reach. 

“Baekhyun,” you said in as calm a voice as you could pry from your lips. Your teeth gritted together as you spoke and much of the sweetness was lost in the delivery.

Your hands were feeling the softness of the cushions that he laid on. You followed an arm that went down and disappeared behind his back and your fingers traveled to the end where you felt no phone at all, only his empty hand that you pulled up. You did the same on the other side, moving to the other hand and bringing it back empty too. On his face he wore a smug, self-satisfied smile. 

“Peanut,” your next attempt at a compromise pulled his name out in a sweeter tone and his lips turned up into a mischievous grin with teeth bared and all. To your own ears though, you really laid it on thick. This was your darling Peanut. You let your whine come through and you pulled your lips into a pouty frown.

“Bug,” he said, mimicking your overly saccharine tone with a tiny lift of an eyebrow on his face and a fake frown that didn’t touch the rabid joy in his eyes.

“Give me back my phone,” you said and your hands dug into his ribs hard as he reached for your wrists and quickly grabbed to hold you still with both of his free hands before you could do any actual damage to him. 

You struggled against his strong hands, reaching with out-stretched fingers despite his hold on you for a few more tickles before he tightened the grip and you could not connect any more attacks. 

“Give me back my phone,” he giggled back, again mocking your ineffective attempts to overpower him. You simply couldn’t do it. He was much stronger than you were.  

The childishness of this brat! You closed your eyes up tight as you forced yourself to take a deep calming breath. You could feel close to the edge again. Close to losing control. How many murder attempts did you need to commit today? Maybe you needed to enroll in anger management classes. You tried to count to ten again but gave up halfway through to threaten him again. 

“I’m going to get mad, give me my phone.” The friendly tone you had forced was gone and you could hear the actual anger in your voice now. Any reasonable person would concede. Any normal human adult would laugh it off playfully, say ‘okay, okay, I was only kidding’ and hand the thing over. A normal person would even apologize for taking it in the first place. 

Baekhyun was not a normal person.

“Ohhh, I’m going to get mad,” you heard him say in that same mocking voice and no amount of calming breaths could touch it. You could count to ten thousand and still want to destroy him. You squirmed all over and pulled at your wrists that he held in his grip and his hold tightened the more you moved until you could only lean, you could only fight back with one thing. The more you fought him, the tighter his muscles constricted and it became evident that you simply could not win this way. Your hands were useless to you. Only your head was free. You’d have to use it to your advantage, but how? 

You could headbutt him; break his nose. Break your head. Make both of you take a trip to the hospital during a global pandemic. Catch the dreaded disease. Lose your sense of taste and smell and potentially infect someone vulnerable that you loved. 

He was like a cat. Only interested in playing with something until it was dead and then losing interest after he couldn’t torture it anymore. You couldn't simply play dead. He had you trapped and you needed that phone back. 

You could bite him. Break the skin. Mean business for real. Make him bleed and make him cry. Make him pay for all of it. Give him a nasty scar on his hand, or on his neck or on his chest, maybe rip off his earlobe like Tyson did to Holyfield. Send him to the hospital during a global pandemic. Go to prison for assault charges. Get a nasty infection from a prison tattoo. Die.

Your struggle for a plan made you go physically still and you looked at his face; into his eyes and in those eyes sat all the usual bullshit and toddler behavior that you usually saw when he had latched on to something to tease you with, something he could play with and have fun with at your expense. Something he could exploit. 

You could use your mouth. 

You could use your lips.

You could use your tongue. 

What is this? Some sort of trashy rom-com? Would you really stoop so low, so early in the story? Kiss him to distract him, become a walking, talking, kissing cliché and an unoriginal failure of a human being? Get scolded and told to leave his home. Become homeless during a global pandemic. Without high speed internet access, lose your easy breezy data entry job. Get hungry and get cold. Possibly end up selling a kidney on the black market to make ends meet. Get a nasty infection from the shady surgery. Die. 

No. This wasn’t a cheesy romance story. This was your life. You’d have to live with the consequences of your choices and there was no way you would steal his first kiss just to get petty revenge.

This wasn’t enemies-to-lovers, this a violent revenge plot and you were pissed off god-dammit. How dare this idiot get you into such a compromising, such an undignified, such a frustratingly suggestive position and hold you captive like this. 

How dare he still be smiling through your entire inner monologue?

Didn't he know anything at all about women and the powers they possessed in their bodies? 

He flinched visibly when you dropped down; lowered your chest to his chest and you were face to face with the man. Your quick movement startled him and he loosened the grip around your wrists enough for you to rotate them before he tightened his hold again and watched you with wide eyes. That grin finally, finally fell from his mouth. His lips sat down-turned and pink. He’d gone positively pink with your quick movement. Your plan to move into him instead of struggling to get away clearly startled him. You felt the advantage at once. 

When you moved again it was only your eyeballs and it was to look pointedly at his lips before you pulled your eyes back up to look into his eyes. The slow movement made a bold statement, even to someone as clueless as he was. You were on top of him. He could most definitely feel the entirety of your weight on his body and your breasts were flush against his chest. And now, you had just looked down at his pink lips. 

Whatever steady and in-control breathing he had, stuttered and his body below yours went rigid with his eyes wide; obviously unsure of what you were about to do and much too on edge to take his eyes off of you. 

What became clear as you stared at his flushed face up close was that he had not thought this far ahead in his plan.

He probably didn't even have one to begin with. 

You moved closer to him and his hands released their hold on you again. You heard a gasp for air when his hand let go. You weren’t convinced he let go on purpose. There seemed to be a disconnected look inside his eyes right now. 

Instead of going straight for his earlobe and squeezing the shit out of it to teach him a lesson, you kept this going. You could not help it. You felt drunk on your own power and you didn't actually want to hurt him. You just wanted the damn phone so you could see what damage he had already done and begin cleaning up the messes. 

He swallowed and his lips opened to speak.

“W-What are you doing?” 

Nervous and trembling and uncertain; oh he was all of the above. Your free hand was moving now, traveling down the length of his arm to his flank when he moved again, this move felt much more frantic than the last. He grabbed your wrist more gently than before when you got close enough to touch him and he pulled your hand back. A feeble attempt it seemed, made by a man who had just come to his senses again after being in a daze. 

You leaned in. “Peanut,” you said directly into the space below his ear. You could smell him here. He smelled nice. Clean, and vaguely familiar. You remembered your shampoo that he still had and made a mental note to get it back from him. The scent of it on him was different than on you. The breath you took at his neck definitely smelled different. 

He was frozen stiff and when you pulled up to look at his face, his eyes were closed. He swallowed again and you reveled in the realization that you had not heard a single peep out of him since you began your counter-attack. Not a giggle, not a mocking laugh. Not a silly impression of what your voice sounded like to him. He was as quiet as a mouse. It paid to be pro-active. You felt free, as if you’d just been armed with some new very effective weapon that you had no idea would work so well. 

He had your hand again and was pulling — keeping you from reaching below his body to reach where you were certain your phone was stashed. Right here below his left butt cheek. Maybe even inside his back pocket. Either way it was there and you were centimeters away from it. 

So you went in again. This time it was a whisper. This time you went too far. You felt the softness of his neck brush against your bottom lip.

“Give it to me, while I am still being nice.” 

It was the exhale from your lips after you spoke that seemed to do it. The puff of air from your parted lips that drifted over his ear and warmed his neck, you felt him squirm below you and his hands moved releasing you all over and all at once. 

He was going now. He was leaving. You felt it happening below you. 

It was a tactic you’d used before when he tried to grab a hold of you and throw you onto your bed, or when he tried to wrestle something away from you in the kitchen. 

He went boneless. When you did it he would shout and laugh and lose his grip on you and you’d use the distraction to drop to the floor and roll out of his grip in one motion. It was much more difficult for him to do right now, being directly under you on the couch like this, but somehow he was vanishing fast. 

He moved so quickly it was like he melted from beneath you and he was pushing you off at the same time as he rolled, simply rolled from the sofa down onto the floor below in a single motion of retreat. 

You know that was where he went because you heard the rough thump of his body hitting the floor hard and you heard the grunt as he vocalized the pain of gravity having it’s final say. You were pushed with a force that made you roll onto your butt and below your legs you felt the rectangle of plastic and glass of your cell phone. 

He was moving fast. But he was also talking as he did it. 

“You are mean,” was what he said and he was halfway through the living room by the time you registered his complaint. 

Something about his fit irked you though. Was it such a big deal — so out of the question? Did he hate the idea of you kissing him, even if on accident that he had to overreact like this. 

“Oh settle down, It’s not like I was going to actually kiss you, Baekhyun.”

You’d expected to hear his bedroom door slam shut but he’d stopped with his hand on his door and turned his face in your direction. His expression was odd. 

Baekhyun was rarely upset with you, so you had very little experience with what he looked like when he was. He had been upset with others around you, but it wasn’t ever directed at you.

“I know you weren’t.” 

You could see it from where you sat and it made you stand up. Wait, was he really upset? At you? Because you pretended like you were going to steal his first kiss? Because you took something so precious to him and weaponized it against him? 

He was breathing hard and you took a step in his direction. 

“Baek, I was just—” 

“—trying to get your phone, I know.” His voice was cold and his words were short.

You suddenly felt like absolute shit. It moved fast and it overwhelmed you. You’d made a mistake and Baekhyun was upset at you. You’d acted carelessly and thoughtlessly and you’d hurt him. 

“We...we were playing around, I was just playing around, I didn’t mean it, Peanut. I’m sorry.” You could not help the thickness in your voice. You could not help how your voice cracked as you spoke up quickly, needing to get the apology out into the air before he could misunderstand any further. 

Before he could wake up and realize how low of a person you could be when you really set your mind to it. Before he could understand that maybe you didn't deserve so many chances to get your life together and get a better job, or be a better roommate, or make more money and pay more rent, or delete your facebook, or create better passwords. 

You realized you were crying when the wetness dripped down your chin and landed on your arm and as soon as you noticed you lifted both of your hands up to cover your face — before he saw, before he noticed or heard. You held your breath to keep from hiccupping or making any sort of sound at all and you closed your eyes and tried to stop the quiet gasps. 

You succeeded for the most part. 

It was the smell of him though. You did not notice that he moved, but you smelled him again, only this time it came with a warmth that enveloped you where you stood.  

“I’m not mad at you,” he whispered over your head and you inhaled through the snot that filled your nose, unable to get any air through. You gasped through your mouth instead and hiccupped through the breath. 

“You seemed mad at me,” you said into his shirt, the same shirt you’d cried into hours ago. This shirt would have so much of your messes on it by the end of the day. What in the world had gotten into you today? Maybe you were going to start your period soon. This was getting ridiculous. 

His hands rubbed slow and steady circles over your back and until the gasping stopped enough for you to lift your head and look into his face. 

“I’m not,” he said with more conviction the second time and you almost believed it. Had it not been for the strange way his eyes dropped yours so easily you would have. 

You didn't say that though. 

His lips parted once and his eyes grasped yours in that flimsy way again and his lips closed up again as he swallowed it away and didn’t say what he was about to say. 

You shook your head. He had to tell you. Whatever it was, you could work on it, do some self reflecting, or read some self help books. 

“What is it? Tell me.” Your insistence was desperate and his damn eyes refused to stick. It was making you crazy the more you noticed it. 

His mouth opened again and this time he inhaled deep enough to speak for hours and hours. 

“Peanut, what?” 

“Don't—” he began and you closed your mouth and looked into his face, dipping to catch them when his eyes dropped again and again. He noticed the dance you did and you saw the light dance inside his eyes. 

“Don't what? I’ll do it. Or I won’t do it. Whatever, just tell me.” If there was one thing you were good at, it was talking to this man. You could always pull it out. Whatever he had been sitting on, keeping from you, whatever he had deep down inside that was begging to be let out. You could talk to him. He could talk to you. It’s as part of the magic you shared with him. 

“Peanut,” you said again, refusing to let him close up again, refusing to let this go. He had to say his piece for the upset to move behind you both, so you could get past it. 

“Don't use your beauty as a weapon against me.” 

As soon as the words left so did his eyes, but that did not matter because you could not look into his face anymore after he said it either. 

Your…beauty?

Baekhyun didn’t look at you and see beauty. Impossible. You were a mess. Some days you showered. Some days you did your hair. These two events rarely happened on the same day. 

Outside you could pull off some-what put-together and even downright attractive when you wore the miracle bust enhancing bra you bought off some shady website he definitely told you not to enter any credit card info into, but inside you felt like a circus clown wearing a respectable young woman suit. Every day you worked to stuff the oversized shoes into your feet and struggled to zip them up. Every day you painted over your honking red nose with concealer in the hopes that it wouldn’t rain today and give you away. 

“It’s really shitty and really unfair to do to me.” He kept talking and you felt like maybe the ceiling had caved in on you. “I know who I am. I know my place and I know what league I am in.”

He said the word league with a whisper and you stared at his mouth as he spoke such nonsense words you hardly had any thoughts that made any sense inside of your own head. 

League? He was such an amazing person, but league? You’d heard some serious bullshit come out of his mouth in the past, but this? Seriously? 

He was a genius. He was beautiful inside and out and he was such a good person, a good person to you, a good person to his grandmother, a good person to his online friends. He was so good at whatever he wanted to do and he was really fucking sweet when he wasn’t being ridiculous. And even when he was being ridiculous it was so funny you usually didn't mind the ear deafening noise involved. He was a great dancer and an even better singer and he had so much to offer. 

He was shy. He was terribly embarrassed and debilitatingly nervous at the mere idea of talking to any other girl that wasn’t you and he took a whole lot of warming up to until he opened up to you even, but when he finally did, after tiptoeing around him for 4 months after you’d moved in and he finally grabbed a bowl of popcorn and sat beside you on the couch to watch lifetime movies with you, making fun of the writing and the acting the entire time until he was making fun of you for crying at the happy ending. 

He was reliable too. He refused to even entertain the idea of you moving out just because you could no longer afford the previously agreed upon rent after you lost your job. He searched for something to hold you over until you could get back on your feet and while the data entry thing was mind numbing, it was genuinely saving your life most days. You could at least pay your bills. You could at least force him to accept the much lower rent you started paying him again after you got your first paycheck. 

Oh god. League? 

You could feel it building again. The burning in your eyes peaked and you felt your face frowning down dramatically and the tears were flowing more freely than before. 

“You’re such an idiot.” You cried openly and his face changed at once into one of extreme concern. His hands waved over you uselessly, occasionally connecting to pat over your back in some attempt to stop this. 

“You are such a catch, you stupid idiot!” You were wailing very loudly. You could not help it. He was such an idiot. And he was such a catch. 

“Oh my god, are you yelling at me right now? After everything you’ve done to me today, now you are yelling at me and calling me names. Great. Just Great. Here, my face doesn’t hurt, why don't you punch me in the face too.” 

The sarcasm made you half laugh half choke in the middle of a particularly strong sob and you coughed with your mouth open to be able to breathe. Your nose was still useless. 

“Jesus,” he said to himself, “my mouth was open.” 

You were being steered. Your eyes were still closed and you were pushed now. You didn't really want to move but your stubborn legs saved you by taking a step instead of letting you fall flat on your face. You opened your eyes when you felt a fresh cold breeze against the wet surface of your cheeks and you saw in front of you the contents of the freezer. 

There were some frozen veggies. Some ice in a bin. Something meat-like in a freezer bag. And about six different boxes of various ice creams. Most of them chocolate. 

“Get one,” he said and his hand was pushing your elbow up and steering your hand toward the open box of chocolate popsicles. 

You grabbed with your open hand and he pulled your elbow back like you were a claw machine and he was working the lever. 

You grasped the popsicle between both of your hands with a small smile building against your will. 

“Eat it,” he said from behind your head and you were already ripping at the plastic wrapper. You didn’t even have a chance to throw away the wrapper when his hand was pushing at your elbow again. It bent upward and the chocolate plopped right into your open mouth. 

“Bite,” he said. 

You bit. He didn't have to tell you to chew and swallow. You knew how to do the rest. 

After the ice cream you were seated on the sofa next to him and he pulled out a portable game system to keep him entertained while he pressed play on the movie he’d put on the big tv on the wall. 

It was Bridget Jones's Diary. You had seen it enough times to know the entire movie by heart and still, still you laughed at every joke, swooned at every steamy look, and squealed like a piglet at every kiss scene. It literally did not get old. You could fall asleep and wake up watching this movie for the rest of your life and be as happy as ever. 

After he’d felt you’d been babied enough for him to trust you not to dissolve into a fit of disaster without him, he left you alone to finish your movie. He said something about a bug he was working on fixing and you could hear him working from behind his closed door in his room. 

He had been quiet as he worked. He usually was, save for the occasional song he sang along to, or work sounding phone call he took. 

The credits were rolling on your happy ending and you could feel the beginnings of the first few period cramps twinging inside of your abdomen. 

Everything made sense now, as it usually did whenever your period began. 

You’d just stood to head toward the kitchen for some pain medicine when Baekhyun’s bedroom door was abruptly pulled open.  

He bolted through the doorway and his phone was in his hands, his eyes were wide. Panic was written all over his face as he searched the room for you and finally made eye contact with you in the kitchen. 

You had a bottle of pain reliever in one hand and another popsicle in your other and you were trying to figure out the logistics of getting the bottle of medicine open without having to put the sticky melty treat down anywhere and things weren’t going so well. Things were getting drippy. 

Baekhyun arrived then and you beamed a wide and genuinely happy to see him smile. He would help you. He would open the pills. He would stuff you full of them to stop the pain. 

At this point you didn't even care how many. You’d take however many the Gods decided to shake free from their plastic prison. 

“Help,” he said, walking by the medicine you held out to him with his phone displayed in his hands. “Help me, she...our girlfriend, Maya, she—”

You gasped at his mispronunciation and you lifted your popsicle hand toward his face as you made the sounds with your mouth, “Mia. Like Mee-uh.”

“Mia, Maya, Moira, She is — she is talking to me.” His eyes were wide and they were crazed. 

“She’s saying things and she’s really fucking smart and clever and she’s saying things to me, Bug. She’s, oh god, -the fuck didn't you tell me she was cute. Fuck. You have to help me. She thinks I’m cute too. Oh God. What do I do? What’s next?”

He was breathless when he was done and both of your hands were still full. Your popsicle was beginning to drip down your wrist. You would have to clean it up before you got ants. You still had some medicine to take too. 

He was pacing. He thought she was cute too, it wasn’t just you who thought so. He said it himself. Although he reacted this way with nearly every girl you had seen him interact with. Hell, just last week he made you answer the door for the delivery chicken because the girl was cute and he wasn’t about to scribble his signature all over her hand by accident. 

“Baekhyun, I already laid the groundwork for you.” Maybe the day was finally catching up to you but you felt suddenly very tired and in no mood to play make-believe with him right now. 

“What does that mean?” His face betrayed his utter cluelessness and you sighed deeply, feeling much of the same melancholy mood return to you despite the chocolate and your favorite movie still fresh on your tongue. “What does that mean? I don't know what to do. You were going to help me.” 

He was right. You shouldn’t just abandon a friend in need like you’d abandoned the popsicle in the trash can just now. 

“You have a new episode of your show to watch. She also likes that show. Why don't you stream it together?” 

His eyes lit up and his smile was wide and beautiful. Then he was spinning on his heels without even so much as a glance back. He typed into his phone and had nearly reached the door of his bedroom without even acknowledging your help when at the last minute you caught the look he shot you. It was a bright smile. He was excited and his smile reached his eyes. 

“She said yes,” he said, “thanks, Bug.”

His door closed and you reached for the bottle of pills. Grabbing just two today, you downed them quickly and retreated to your room with a gloomy, lonely, little storm cloud floating stubbornly over your head. 

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Tag list: @j-pping @blahblahblah-boo @his-mochi-cheeks @amyeonzing@littleflowercrown13 @baekinmylife @insta1010 @nana-banana @f4ncyvelvet@bbhbeth  @totallynerdstuff​​  @byunbabybaek​​  @beg0neth0t420

[thorniest-rose]

reddie halloween prompt #5 undead

On the sixth night of the third week after they destroy IT, Richie returns to Eddie.

The Losers all try to stop him. On that first night back at the Town House, Eddie breaks down at the bar, telling them that there had to be a way. That there must be a spell in one of Mike’s books that could reverse what had happened. That they at least had to try.

“He died by mystical means... that means we can bring him back,” he begs, while they all look at him pitifully. Even Stanley, who had understood Richie in a way the others never could, turns his face away.

“Think about what you’re saying, Eddie,” Ben says, eyes dark and wounded as he cradles a glass of whiskey. “People aren’t supposed to come back like that. It could go wrong."

“He’s gone, baby,” Bev agrees softly, placing her hand on Eddie's arm so gently it hardly feels like anything at all. It was nothing like Richie’s rough, boisterous touch. “We all have to accept that and move on.”

But Eddie was unshakeable, inconsolable.

He won't let himself be pulled into Bev's hug, and he refuses to take part in the ritualistic sharing of memories. Reminiscing about bug-eyed glasses and skinned knees; about the plethora of voices, or the way Richie had once held a baseball bat so bravely. The little monster slayer. Instead all Eddie could think about was the body that was currently on ice in Derry's small morgue down the street. The body that had once been Richie's, until the clown tore a hole through his chest. Right now his lips were probably turning blue. 

The thought has Eddie staggering from the bar with tears stinging his eyes, ignoring the Losers as they call out to him, so he can lock himself away in Richie’s room. In the dark he peels out of his clothes and folds himself into a clean t-shirt from Richie’s bag. It’s an old tour shirt from 2012 and it’s so big on Eddie it almost swallows him whole. 

For a single, overwhelming moment Eddie wishes he really could be swallowed up, that he'd chosen to stay down in the sewers with Richie’s body. That they had disappeared into the earth together. 

But instead he was here. And all he could do was ache as Richie's body started to slowly disintegrate down in the morgue.

Eddie doesn’t know how much time passes before Bill comes to him. Bill, who knocks on Eddie's door until he answers, wrapped in Richie's t-shirt and nothing else.

After a second's hesitation Eddie invites him in, and the two men stand by the door, the silence between them growing like a cancer, until Bill reaches out and places his hand on Eddie’s tear-sticky cheek.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, voice on the verge of his old stutter. “I need you to know that I love you. I always did, even when we were kids. And I can’t have you leave without you knowing that.”

And Eddie would be lying if he said he didn’t consider it. That he didn’t consider letting Bill press him down to the mattress and spread his thighs open. That for a moment he didn’t think about how it would feel for Bill to open him up. First with his fingers, and then his cock. To push inside him in the way Eddie had always daydreamed about as a boy with his bed sheets bunched up between his legs. Maybe Bill could help fill the emptiness that Eddie had felt opening up inside him from the moment they left the sewers.

But then he thinks of Richie’s body, how he looked when he died, what he said, and he pulls away. Out of Bill's warm embrace and back to the bed, the sheets still creased with the imprint of Richie’s slumbering body.

Eddie fixes his eyes on the bed and says, "It doesn’t matter, because I don’t love you."

Behind him he can almost feel the way Bill’s face falls. Can almost feel the hurt noise Bill makes in his own throat.

“Okay,” Bill says shakily. "You need time, I understand that. Maybe we should talk about this again tomorrow."

Sorrow makes Eddie's tongue sharp as he looks over his shoulder and says, “I don’t need time. I need Richie. And I sure as hell don’t need you. You're half the man Richie ever was."

The look on Bill's face feels like a knife, but he can't bring himself to care. All he wants is to be left alone and a moment later he is, as Bill slips out the door as quietly as he walked in. Richie would never have done that, Eddie thinks. He would have made a racket. He would never take no for an answer.

Richie had been the only person who'd never treated Eddie like he was made from glass.

Later, in the dead patch of night just after 3am, Eddie pulls on a pair of jeans and leaves the Town House. He leaves behind most of his things: his clothes, his pills, his toiletries. Suddenly, nothing really matters. Not his last Valium, and not the pot of moisturizer that cost more than Myra’s entire make-up cabinet. Definitely not the sad little life that marked his entire childhood in Derry. He doesn’t even leave a note to say goodbye. 

Before heading to the airport he breaks into Mike’s room above the library to rifle through all the books the man had collected over the years. Half wrecks the place to find what he needs, the spell that will bring Richie back. When he finds it he makes a noise he doesn’t recognise, something like a sob but also a groan. Half desperate, half wild. He clutches the book so hard he almost rips the page.

A frantic Mike emerges in the doorway just as Eddie turns to leave. His eyes dart down to the book clasped in his arms and they grow shockingly wide.

“Eddie, stop. Think about what you’re doing.”

“You can’t stop me,” Eddie says, pressing the book tighter to his chest, against the stupid t-shirt with Richie’s cartoon face. 

“You need to put the book down. You’re not thinking right. You can’t do this, sweetheart, Richie wouldn’t want you to.”

The sound of Richie’s name breaks through the haze. A second later Eddie’s pulling the gun out of his back pocket. The one he had found hidden in Mike’s old things.

He points it at his old friend and says, “Don’t tell me what Richie would want.”

Mike’s hands dart up. “Eddie-”

"Don’t talk,” Eddie snaps. “And if you come near me I’ll kill you. I’m not joking, I’ll do it."

“Please don’t do this,” Mike says. “This isn’t like you. You’re exhausted, and you’re angry. I understand, and all I want to do is help you. But please put the gun down.”

Eddie doesn’t put the gun down but he does cock it, even with his fingers trembling.

“Don’t tell me what to do. All my life people have only ever told me what to do.”

“You’ll regret it,” Mike says quietly. “You think you can just snap your fingers and bring him back? Things like this always require a price.”

But Eddie won’t be swayed. Not now.

“Step away from the door,” he says. "And don’t even think about coming after me. I’m done with this fucking cemetery of a town and I’m done with you.”

As soon as Mike steps aside, Eddie rushes past him, the book to his chest. He makes sure not to look at Mike’s face. At the hurt and disappointment etched there.

In the cold night air outside, Eddie hardly feels the tears on his face.

Eddie leaves Maine for the last time that morning on the first flight to New York.

When he emerges in the airport, Myra comes to him, her face swimming in tears, her chest heaving. She clasps Eddie to her, cooing over him, telling him how worried she was, how she had called the police, that she thought he was dead. And usually Eddie would feel contrite, would try to comfort her, but all he feels is that emptiness inside him grow. 

Eddie can’t wait. The next day he completes the ritual when Myra is out food shopping. He spreads the red sand in a wide circle on their plush cream carpet and sprinkles the crushed animal bones in each key place. In the middle of the circle he places Richie’s glasses, still smudged with his blood. Then he recites the incantation from the book, not once stumbling over the strange words.

Myra finds him an hour later, passed out on their bed, a huge crimson stain half scrubbed out of the living room carpet, and demands to know what happened. But Eddie only mumbles that he can’t remember.

That afternoon Myra makes an appointment with one of the top therapists in Manhattan, saying her husband was suffering from a severe bout of melancholy.

There's no sign of Richie that day, or on the next, or the next. Eddie thought Richie would have magically appeared after the ritual. He’d expected lights and noise, like in a magician’s show, and that in a big puff of smoke Richie would be restored. But nothing happened. And maybe, Eddie thinks as cries into his pillow, he doesn't deserve it. He’d only ever been cruel and callous to Richie, maybe he doesn't deserve to get him back at all.

He waits and he dreams. Every night as he lies next to Mya, he dreams about Richie for the first time in years. He dreams of the two of them as children, touching hands and sharing ice-cream; and as teenagers driving around in Richie’s old truck, his legs draped over Richie’s lap as the other boy ghosted his fingers over his calves. And he dreams of a life they never had. Of first kisses, and love confessions, and slow bursts of love making during that sleepy time of morning when the sky turns milky just before dawn.

Every morning he wakes up with wet cheeks. And the emptiness continues to grow.

Over the next few days Eddie gets quieter and more withdrawn. He stops going to work and he doesn’t swallow any of the pills that Myra tries to force on him, spitting them into the toilet as soon as he can get away from her. She’s worried about him, he knows that, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He also doesn't care about all the missed phone calls from the Losers, or the string of texts and voice messages begging him to reconsider, telling him to call. He half types a text to Bev saying, when will it start to feel better? It didnt work anyway, i guess i cant do anything right but it lies half-written on his phone for two days before he deletes it. In the end he blocks their numbers and throws his phone into his bedside drawer.

But then, towards the end of the third week, Eddie wakes up and something feels off. 

He can’t describe it, he just feels strange. Tense, the way he always felt before running. And slightly sick. That morning he finds himself watching the news as he chews on his thumbnail. A nervous little tick he hasn’t fallen back into since his late 20s. But there’s no impending catastrophe, no signal of anything ominous. He even scans the local Derry news on his iPad but finds nothing of note beyond a couple of farm cows found brutalised, torn open, their guts hanging out. A local nut job was blamed and arrested. 

Just as he’s about to put the iPad down and make his egg-white omelette for breakfast, his eyes catch on a small story: a break-in at the Derry morgue. It’s dated as the same week that the Losers were in Derry, just two days after he disappeared. He realises, with a quiver, that it was the day after the incantation, the ritual to bring Richie back. 

Eddie places his iPad down and goes to the bathroom, where he sits in the bath in the way he did as a child, when he was trying to calm the panic attack he felt growing under his skin. He sits there until he feels like his heart isn’t about to burst out of his skin and can go about his day again.

It doesn’t mean anything, he says to himself. Break-ins happen all the time. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

That evening he makes a simple dinner of grilled chicken and asparagus with a white wine sauce. But he can hardly eat. That feeling of unease had stayed with Eddie all day, and as the sky darkened outside it had only grown. Crawling up his throat, seizing his stomach, until he was choking on it.

Across the table he can hear Myra talking, but she’s muffled, like she’s talking underwater. 

“A man was killed just a few blocks from us, Eddie, did you hear? It’s awful, apparently he was found ravaged, torn open.”

“Oh,” Eddie murmurs. 

Myra frowns. “Are you even listening?”

And Eddie isn’t, but he nods his head.

After he’s pushed his food around his plate for a few more minutes, Eddie tells Myra he needs some fresh air, and before she can argue he slips out into the garden. 

He ducks around the veranda outside. When he’s sure he’s completely hidden, he pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out his pocket. They’re not his, of course, they’re Richie’s. A pack he’d taken from his room at the Town House when he left that night. He hasn’t been able to smoke one yet, has only lifted one to his lips when Myra wasn’t around so he could pretend to taste Richie’s lips on it. But he suddenly wants to smoke one now, lighting it quickly so he can take a puff. The first one he’s ever taken. He hopes it’ll help him feel closer to Richie. But all it does is make his eyes water instantly and fill his throat with an acrid burn, bending him forwards to retch. It’s disgusting.

Eddie throws the cigarette away and crushes it into the ground with a grimace, wondering how Richie did that every single day. How that could ever be enjoyable. 

But Richie had always been an excruciating anomaly, even when they were kids.

As he turns to walk back into the house, planning to go straight to the bathroom and wash the taste of smoke out of his mouth, the back of his neck prickles. Like he’s being watched. Eddie whips around, expecting to see a figure at the end of his yard. Maybe a dark silhouette half-hidden by the trees. But there’s nothing there. Not a flutter of a bird. Not the bright eyes of a cat skulking in the hedge. Nothing. And after a moment, Eddie swipes a hand over the back of his neck and makes his way back into the house. 

Inside, Myra asks him what’s wrong, that he looks like he’s seen a ghost. The saying makes Eddie laugh, forcing out a strange, high-pitched noise that has her reeling back in her chair. But Eddie doesn’t stick around to apologise. He walks out of the kitchen and collapses into bed, suddenly exhausted. 

He thinks of the text he’d half-written to Bev. When will it start to feel better? And a voice that sounded exactly like Pennywise's rings in his head. Never, Eddie baby! Haven’t you realised that? It never gets better!!

A noise wakes Eddie up that night. He’d only fallen into a shallow sleep, so the noise is enough to make him bolt up in bed, his heart racing. Next to him, Myra snores heavily, almost eclipsing the noise from downstairs, but Eddie’s ears still prick up, seeking out the source of the noise. He hears it again: the tinkle of broken glass, followed by a loud crunch, like someone is walking over it.

Fear makes Eddie recoil back against the headboard. But he can't ignore it. He slips out of bed and into the hallway, peering into the dark downstairs. After a moment, he swallows the sick feeling in his mouth and descends the stairs, feeling much too like a young woman from a gothic horror film.

It’s cold down in the hallway, and he quickly realises it’s because the front door is open. He pauses by the stairway, his body going taut. No, the door wasn’t open. It was broken, hanging flimsily from its hinges, shards of glass and wood on the floor. 

But there was more too: smudged, muddy footprints tracking from the front door into the hallway, like someone had broken down the door and dragged their feet inside. 

Eddie’s trying to mentally catalogue how far the phone is, how long it’ll take him to dart into the living room and call the police to report a break-in when the back of his neck prickles again. Behind him he hears the heavy exhale of someone breathing.

He spins around fast, heartbeat ratcheting up like a series of gunshots, and that’s when he sees him. Richie. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen watching him. 

"Richie," he gasps.

And it was Richie, somehow. Despite the blue tinge to his skin, and the black tracing of veins skittering down his neck and arms. Even though he didn’t have his glasses, and his clothes lay in filthy shreds around his arms and legs, revealing large tantalising glimpses of the thick muscles at his thighs, the tendons popping like lines of rock on his arms. He’d look like a centrefold ripped from a woman's magazine if it wasn’t for the mud streaking down his legs and the scabbed chest wound dissecting his chest, right where the clown had pierced him. 

“Eddie,” Richie says thickly, like his throat is clogged with dirt. “I’m here.”

“What...” Eddie stumbles, breath hitching. “What are you doing here?”

And he knows it’s a stupid question, but he doesn’t know what else to say. Because he feels like he’s about to pass out, the pulse at his neck frozen in fear.

“I came back for you,” Richie says. And his eyes are so shockingly blue. Bluer than they had ever been when he was alive. So blue they were almost silver, electrifying the air. 

Eddie thinks, All the way here? From Derry?

“But you’re dead,” he murmurs. 

But Richie shakes his head. “I’m not. Or at least not anymore. I remember the sewers. The clown. And then nothing. Blackness. Until I was pulled out... by you.”

Eddie feels faint. “By me?” 

Richie nods, and starts walking towards him. As he does, the smell hits Eddie. It’s a damp smell, like a puddle of water, or the smell at the bottom of a well. Like mud left behind after a downpour of rain. And beneath that the faint smell of rot, like fruit that had started to turn bad in the basement.

“Yes, by you,” Richie says. “Your voice, it pulled me out of the dark. You were calling to me. I woke up and I knew I had to find you again. That I couldn’t rest until I did.”

The spell, Eddie thinks drunkenly as Richie comes close, it had worked. 

“Richie,” he moans, feeling everything well up inside him. Everything he had repressed over the last three weeks. The grief. The rage. The yearning. All surging and crashing over him where he’d forced himself to go numb. It overtakes him completely, and Eddie thinks he might fall to the floor. 

He starts to cry as he says, "Richie, I did everything I could. I wanted to save you. But the clown, it was too much. You were already gone and I coudn't- and I wanted to die too, I just wanted to curl up and fucking die-"

Richie shushes him, hand coming up to curl in the hair at the back of his head.

"You did save me, baby, don't you see? I'm only here now because of you."

That’s when Eddie notices the red staining on Richie’s chest. He blinks. And suddenly he remembers the story of the dismembered cows, how their blood had been drained. And the murder Myra had mentioned. The man a few blocks down. He had been found gutted, torn open from his sternum to his groin. How his viscera had been missing.

And Eddie realises it’s not staining at all. It’s a thick layer of gore splattered over his chest hair. His hands are mattered in it too, all the way to his wrists, like he’d sunk his hands into something and pulled out the meat.

“Richie,” he says. “What have you done?”

They’re interrupted by the creak of the bottom stair, and Myra’s voice as she calls out, “Eddie, what’s going on? Eddie, are you all right? I heard voices.”

“Myra,” he says, turning to see her staring in shock at their broken front door.

"Myra, don't-"

But that's when she sees Richie. This strange man standing in her hallway with muddy feet and blood on his chest. With his blue skin and black veins and strange silver eyes.

She starts to scream.

Richie is on her in an instant. He rushes past Eddie, pushing him to the wall as he dashes down the hallway. He knocks Myra down to the floor and as she opens her mouth on a fresh scream, his teeth land at the skin of her neck, tearing it open. He rips her apart, first at her throat, her screams gurgling thick with blood, and then at her chest. His hands come down and he rips her apart like she's nothing more than cellophane. Once she's split open, Richie dips his head down and feasts on her blood and bone. He looks like a starved, feral animal gorging itself on a bounty, and the noises he makes as he rips the meat from the pulsing cavity at her chest isn’t human. Eddie realises, faintly, that he’s eating Myra’s heart, that the blood dripping down his chin is from her arteries, and he trembles.

Mike’s words ring in his head. Things like this always require a price.

Myra dies quickly, her screams stuttering out, eyes going glassy, but Richie doesn’t stop eating for a long time.

Terror roots Eddie to the spot. He can’t run, he can’t scream. He can only lean back against the wall and stare. At the thing that used to be his best friend, the man he loved, eat his wife open from the inside.

The next thing he knows, Richie is rising, and he’s coming towards Eddie, a blue fire raging in his eyes. Eddie tries to scramble away, but Richie’s too fast for him, and the two men tumble to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Richie presses him to the floor, his mouth at Eddie’s neck, weight crushing him down, and Eddie thinks, This is it. This is always how it was going to end.

But Richie doesn't kill him. He doesn’t tear his throat out or drink his blood. Instead Richie kisses him. Presses the softest, sweetest kiss to the base of his neck.

“I love you, Eddie,” he whispers when he pulls back, eyes bright, mouth clotted with gore. “I love you and I came back for you.”

Eddie blinks up at him, his chest heaving. He thinks dizzily, Richie, it’s really you. And before he can stop himself, his hands are flying up to grab Richie by the shoulders and he's pulling the other man down. Their mouths meet in a fierce clash of lips and teeth, more a bite than a kiss, Richie's tongue stabbing into him. And even though Eddie winces at the thick taste of Myra’s blood, at the hint of decay in his mouth, he still tastes so much like Richie that Eddie throbs.

“I waited for you,” he pants in the short gap between their lips. “I waited so long.”

“I’m here,” Richie says hotly. “I’m here and I’m never leaving you alone again.”

And Eddie had imagined what their first time would be like at countless moments over the last few weeks. If it would be fast or slow. If Richie would be rough with him or gentle. But he never thought it would be anything like this, with Richie tearing his clothes off him and touching every inch of his skin. He never knew Richie would look like this, with this dark, hungry expression, as he thumbs Eddie’s nipples to sore pink peaks and sucks a huge, dark bruise over his heart. He never thought Richie would act so desperately, as his hand disappears between Eddie’s legs to open him up, fingers wet with spit and blood. Eddie never knew it would feel this much like being claimed, like being consumed

When Richie pushes inside him, shoving his filthy jeans down and pulling Eddie’s hips up so he can slot his cock against Eddie’s small opening, it hurts. Eddie’s never had a man inside him before, and it hurts so much. It’s agony. Richie’s hard cock tearing up into him in a searing, insistent push. But Eddie still arches his back off the floor, trying to get every inch of Richie inside him, feeling the white-hot pain sealing up all the numb, dead spots inside him. Richie fucks him like that, like they’re animals, hard into the floor as he growls against him. He ruts against Eddie, pushing his cock as deeply as it can go on every thrust, Eddie’s pained moans never slowing him. He fucks Eddie like he’s trying to disappear inside him, and the thought only makes Eddie harder, makes him cum fast as he whines like a broken toy.  

In the distance a phone rings. But Eddie can’t hear it. Because between the taste of Richie in his mouth, and the feel of his cock, he can’t bring himself to care. And as Richie sinks his cold teeth into Eddie’s bottom lip and groans, "You're mine, you’re fucking mine," Eddie finally feels okay. He feels something like peace. For the first time in 27 years he's right where he needs to be.

[rookieinbflat]

New Territory

Open Heart - Ethan x MC (Levin Stern)

Summary: Ethan and Levin spend the weekend looking after her younger sister, which prompts a conversation about having their own children.

WC: ~2000

She’s standing silently in the doorway of the spare bedroom in their apartment, watching on as he reads her younger sister Isa to sleep with a copy of Finding Our Way in the Universe, a book that he picked up yesterday under the recommendation that it is a luminous behind-the-sciences record of a two-decade astrophysical feat. Levin chuckles to herself, she cant say she’s surprised, she can’t say she’s not guilty of advanced reading either, remembering how she used to read Isa to sleep with a copy of The Great Gatsby. His deep voice is soft and lulling, she can only watch in admiration at how well he handles children, despite him not giving any indication of wanting them.

Isa loves him, which is shocking, the eight year old often bristles at anyone who gets too close to Levin, she’s possessive of her older sister despite the sixteen year age difference. Ethan has done a good job of showing Isa that he’s no threat to their relationship, he invites her along to picnics, gifts her with clothes that catch her eye, leaves sets of sparkly gel pens in her rucksack, buys Isa punnets upon punnets of strawberries - her favourite.

She looks just like Levin, Ethan thought as he looked down at the child stretch across his lap. They share the same long chestnut coloured hair, chocolate brown eyes, freckles littered across a button nose. He smiles softly at Isa, who was still sucking on her thumb in her sleep. She’s got to kick that habit, he thinks to himself, there are multiple studies showing the deterioration of a child’s teeth when they suck their thumb past the age of four, not to mention the sheer amount of germs she must be picking up. He’ll be sure to show those studies to Levin tomorrow, maybe slip some hand sanitiser into Isa’s rucksack too.

When Levin suggested to him that she drive down to Fairhaven and bring Isa up here for the weekend, he almost couldn’t imagine anything worse. A small child running around the apartment, leaving grease fingerprints on all of the stainless steel appliances, spilling milk on their expensive rug? But Levin, oh his sweet Rookie, looked at him with eyes that he couldn’t say no to. Levin drove down and got her after work, they arrived back just as he was finishing cooking dinner, they ate and spent the rest of the night playing board games, she was shockingly good at Scrabble for a child. Ethan had met her family before of course, weekends in Fairhaven spent in the park or at home for birthdays, her mother and father often came an visited for various events in Boston and they would have dinner. But looking after one of the children for more than a couple of hours at a time? This was was new territory for him - for them.

He doesn’t notice as Levin watches on from the doorframe, his body is turned to face away from her as he continues to read from the new journal he’s just bought.

After a few more moments of watching Levin pads out to the kitchen, making a pot of tea and pulling two mugs from the cupboard. It’s been a cold winter here in Massachusetts and her other siblings had been spending their days at school neglecting their beanie and scarf, sharing water bottles, and failing to wash their hands. A nasty strain of the flu struck them down and Levin brought Isa up to Boston to take care of her, their mother had a lot of her hands right now and Isa, like Levin, had an autoimmune disorder that meant she could not afford to be sick with the flu. She just feels lucky that her mother finally caved and took Levin’s advice to move from Charlotte to Fairhaven, she couldn’t stand being so far away from her family but she couldn’t leave her placement at Edenbrook. Now, she could take care of them when they needed it, see her siblings more often, be apart of their lives.

Ethan emerges a few moments later, just as Levin is pouring two cups of tea for them. She chews on her cheek lightly at the sight of him, grey sweats and a black t-shirt never looked so good. His hair is ruffled and the stubble she loves so much is getting a little longer, almost time for a trim. He walks over to her and picks up a mug, leaning against the kitchen counter, they’re both studying each other, trying to figure out what’s going on in the others mind. A common past time of theirs, mainly hers, she always wants to know what’s going on inside his head. All Levin wants to do is crack open his skull and unravel all that grey matter, pick his brain until there’s nothing left she doesn’t know, lay it all out in a long line wrapped around their apartment. It was the psychologist in her.

Ethan, on the other had, has no need to do such a thing. He’s never met someone as honest as Levin, she says exactly what’s on her mind - when appropriate - but most admirably, whatever you asked her, she would answer honestly. She’s got no need to lie, she said one night over dinner when they’d first started seeing each other, she doesn’t even lie to save face, that sort of lying, she says, is for people who can’t own up to the realities of their own lives. That was probably one of the first times he knew he loved her, this gorgeous, honest, brave woman was all he ever wanted.

“Are you psychoanalysing me, Rookie?” He’s smirking now, watching her with his gorgeous blue eyes.

Levin bites her lip and looks down at her tea, “Sorry, I can’t help it sometimes, I was just watching you and Isa before,” he puts his mug down on the counter next to him and closes the space between them, taking her mug and doing the same, “you’re really good with her,”

He places his hands on her hips and pulls her against him, “I’m just glad she finally lets me hold your hand now,” she wraps her arms around his waist and looks up at him. When Ethan was first introduced to Isa, they had driven down for their mothers birthday, as they were walking hand in hand from the car to the park, Isa ran up and swatted Ethan’s hand away and replaced his with her own. That happened for the first six months of dating.

They’ve never talked about children, not really. It’s been bought up a couple of times and while Ethan hasn’t outright said he doesn’t want children, he’s never said that he does. She tries not to push him, she tries not to psychoanalyse him, but its hard when he doesn’t fully open up. She thinks he’s still figuring it out for himself, but time is closing in on them, they’ve been engaged four months now, the topic is going to come up soon, Levin has just never been sure on how to approach the topic.

“I think she really likes you now, you should consider yourself lucky - she’s not an easy kid to win over,” Levin smiles up at him, their foreheads bumping against each other.

“She’s so articulate for her age, socially and emotionally mature,” He speaks as if not directly to her, but as if he’s pondering something, then he looks down, “she’s so much like you,”

He reaches down and grabs the back of her thighs, hoisting her up so she’s sitting on the counter, he’s standing between her knees. He runs his hands up and down her bare legs, the shorts she wearing don’t cover much, and he can’t resist the feeling of her soft skin. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, looking deep into her eyes and she raises an eyebrow, “I want one,”

She’s confused as to what he means, he’s always speaking in riddles and she’s always trying to decipher him, “You want one bottle of scotch, one more dog, one new Mercedes?” She laughs and his heart jumps in his chest, her laugh is his second favourite sound, the first being the sound she makes only for him, “What do you want one of, Ethan?”

“I want a child, Levin, I want a child with you,” He says sincerely.

She smiles broadly and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a long, intimate kiss, the kind that makes his heart speed up, “Took you long enough,” she laughs and he smiles too, “but we still have Isa for two more days, not sure you have enough experience to make an informed decision here,”

He laughs now, his eye crinkling at the edge, these are her favourite moments with him, she thinks, when they’re in their kitchen, sipping tea or cooking dinner, when they don’t have the weight of the hospital on their shoulders. “I know what I want, I see the way you are with her, you’re going to be an amazing mother, we’re going to have beautiful children, I want a family with you,” he kisses her again, longer and deeper, running his tongue along the inside of her lip, making her shiver. She loves it when he does that.

Ethan can already picture it, the two of them and a house full of children. They’d sell the apartment, or maybe keep it for weekends away in the city, and buy a house on the river, just a short drive out of town. They’d have beautiful kids, maybe with her hair and his eyes. Weekends spent visiting Naveen or her family, running along the river, they’d be great parents, they’d give their children a guiding hand, but also enough space to discover and grow. Ethan had never thought about children until he met Levin. That first month she was in the hospital and helped him test out the fMRI machine. She’d asked the words so casually, ‘do you want kids?’, like she was asking what coffee he wanted from the cafeteria. Maybe for her, the question was casual, Levin had grown up in a large family of nine children and dozens upon dozens of cousins, a big family was always apart of her plan. Ethan didn’t want to bring up the conversation about it children were apart of his future until he was sure he knew what he wanted.

Now he knew. He wanted a whole house full of Isa’s for the two of them, he also knew that Isa would be over the moon at the prospect of being an Aunty. She was the youngest of the Stern bunch and desperately wanted nothing more than a younger sister to dote on like Levin had doted on her. Maybe Ethan and Levin could give her that, a little bundle of joy to take care of, and play with, and Isa would show her how to scam Ethan out of hundreds of dollars worth of strawberries.

Ethan is pulled out of his family fantasy by Levin running her hands under his shirt and across the skin on his hips. “So you want to make babies right here where we cook our food,” she mumbles against his lips and a deep rumbling laugh comes from his chest, he presses harder on her hips, eliciting a soft moan from her.

“Mm I want to make them here,” he kisses her lips and then trails more down her neck and across her collarbone, “on my desk, on your desk, in the shower, maybe even in the backseat of the car,”

He nibbles on her skin and she laughs again, “You’re keen, but I think we have to make it to our wedding first, I do want to enjoy our honeymoon with glasses upon glass of sangria,” she pulls him up from kissing further down her chest to look into his eyes.

“I guess we probably should wait, logistically,”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t do any of the fun stuff now though,” she taunts and captures his lips with hers, pulling on his bottom lip with her teeth.

Ethan groans, “I just got her to go to sleep, it cost me another punnet of strawberries,” He looks at her pleading. She’s not exactly capable of keeping quiet when they get going.

Levin chuckles and pulls his shirt over his head, running her hands over his taut muscles, “I’ll be quiet if you will,” she tells him softly.

“I will make no such promises,”

[spidergwenstefani]

Finals Week

This is a really self-indulgent semi sequel to this ficlet I wrote a little while ago about theatre major Bucky and frat bro Clint. Apparently this is gonna be the AU i use for pointless fluffy comfort now bc I’m stressed with finals essays and these boys are helping.

I definitely shifted some background characters around since the last fic sorry steve but i don’t super care so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Bucky spins his desk chair around in a lazy circle, watching the moon shining through his apartment window blur into a bright stripe with the rest of his surroundings. Someone on the floor above him has tuned their Spotify to some kind of low-fi study playlist, and Bucky feels genuinely relaxed for the first time in… months, actually.

This last week has been rough. Nearly all of his finals ended up scheduled on the same Friday and Natasha had to actually hold him back from leaping out the library window on Thursday night. It worked out alright. The Lighting Design 201 presentation had gone off shockingly well, the History of Stage Design final was way easier than expected, and his group project for Gender in Shakespeare really pulled through in the end. He half-assed the conclusion for his Dramaturgy essay, but there was only so much he could say about August Wilson without the professor realizing he was just spitting his class notes back at him. So now he’s done. A whole five days before the semester ends, too. It feels like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off Bucky’s shoulders. He hums along to the slow jam echoing down from his upstairs neighbor, scooping up his phone to check his messages.

Nat (3 hours ago) Congrats on being done with finals

Nat (3 hours ago) If you didn’t turn that gd Fences essay in on time I will climb in through your window and strangle you in your sleep

Steve (2 hours ago) Hey! Me and some buddies were planning on going out for pizza around 7 tomorrow. Do you wanna come with? You can bring Clint so you don’t have to listen to grad students all night.

Steve (2 hours ago) Please say yes. I don’t want to listen to grad students all night.

Nat (42 minutes ago) Have you heard from Clint? He hasn’t answered my texts in hours. Not sure if I should be concerned

Nat (40 minutes ago) Send him a dick pic and see if that gets a response

Clint (3 minutes ago) im fckin dropping uot

Bucky ignores Steve and Natasha for now, typing out a quick response to Clint.

Bucky Well I’m done with finals

Bucky Can I convince you to stay in college with some fantastic Fuck Dramaturgy victory sex?

Clint i dont kno what htat is

Bucky I’ve explained Dramaturgy to you like five times

Clint i cant remembr

Clint what day is it

Clint bucky im dyin :’(

Bucky rolls his eyes, grabbing the keys off his desk and pulling on his sneakers. He would have preferred to avoid the Greek side of campus today if at all possible, but he has an idiot boyfriend to console.

Bucky omw

>>==========>

Beta Theta Pi is, as far as frat houses go, not the absolute worst. It had still been kind of a shock when Bucky realized Clint actually lives up to his frat bro vibes. Not only lives up to them but embraces them with the same enthusiasm Clint has for any other thing he cares about. Bucky could probably do PR for the Beta charity drives by now after how much Clint has gushed about them. Lord knows he’d do a better job than fucking Pietro.

Bruce answers the door on Bucky’s third knock, looking surprised to see him and vaguely stoned.

“Bucky?” he says after he gets a few blinks out of his system. Bucky wonders if it’s such a good idea to be smoking in his letterman jacket. Coach Fury’s been known to have a nose like a bloodhound. “Clint didn’t say you were coming over.”

“Has he said anything at all in the last twelve hours?” Bucky asks, shouldering past Bruce because he knows he won’t move on his own. Bruce is actually his favorite of Clint’s brothers. He’s chiller than any offensive lineman has a right to be. He does yoga, for fuck's sake. It’s probably the copious amounts of weed that mellow him out in the end, though.

“I dunno,” Bruce says, still blinking his way back to the present. He gives Bucky a slow smile as he shuts the door behind them. “Do you want tea? I made tea.”

“Maybe later,” Bucky says, because he’s just spotted Rumlow studying at the dining table and that’s the one Beta guy he genuinely doesn’t want to see today. He heads for the stairs.

“Wanna play Smash Bros?” Bruce asks as Bucky bolts for the second floor.

“Maybe later,” he shouts over his shoulder.

Clint’s room is at the far end of the hallway, and Bucky frowns at the closed door. Clint’s the kind of endearingly codependent guy that keeps his door open unless absolutely necessary, never wanting to miss out on anything that might be blocked by a thin layer of wood.

He knocks more as a warning than anything, letting himself in and shutting the door softly behind him. All the lights are off and nothing but moonlight illuminates Clint spread dramatically across the floor, staring up at his ceiling fan like he’s hoping it’ll fall on him.

“Fucking Christ,” Bucky mutters, mostly because he’s not sure Clint even heard him come in.

“I’m gonna die,” Clint answers from the floor. “Statistics is actually gonna kill me.”

“You can’t die,” Bucky says, leaning back against the door. “My mom will be crushed if I don’t bring you home for spring break.” The moonlight is making the angles of Clint’s face look especially soft, and Bucky takes a moment to watch him pout before sinking down onto the floor.

“No, it’s too late. I’m dying,” Clint says, shifting to make room on the rug as Bucky crawls over to him. He wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders and plants a quick kiss on his forehead before turning his glazed look back up at the ceiling fan. “You’ll come to my funeral, right?”

“Obviously,” Bucky snorts, sliding his hands under Clint’s t-shirt. He knows his fingers are ice cold, but Clint doesn’t even flinch.

“Wear black, okay? Something sexy, so my enemies get jealous of the hot piece of ass I bagged before kicking the bucket.”

“Should I cry?” Clint hasn’t seen Bucky act yet, but he’s totally going to audition for The Laramie Project next semester and blow his fucking mind.

“As much as possible. Maybe mention how much you’ll miss my massive dick.”

“I will,” Bucky says emphatically. He looks up at the ceiling fan and takes a deep breath, doing his best to bring tears to his eyes. “I’ll never love another dick as much as I loved his.” Bucky’s voice comes out impressively choked up. “I’m cursed to a life of longing. The only man who can satisfy me is lost forever.” Bucky blinks a single tear down his cheek, and Clint’s staring at him when he finally turns back.

“Holy shit,” Clint says, moving to wipe at Bucky’s cheeks like he’s actually worried about him. “Do exactly that, please. When did you learn how to cry on command?”

“When my third sister was born,” Bucky answers smugly. “I didn’t appreciate how much more attention tutus and pigtails got, so I had to find my own edge.”

“Becca’s sent me a few pictures that say you still cashed in on tutus and pigtails.” Clint rolls onto his side so he can face Bucky better, pulling him closer with a hand around his waist.

“I rocked those butterfly clips better than she could ever dream,” Bucky says, and Clint buries his laugh in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky runs a hand up and down Clint’s back. “What day is your Stats final?” That earns him a despondent groan.

“Monday. I’m so gonna fail.” Clint’s voice is muffled by Bucky’s sweatshirt. “Why the fuck did I decide on a Business major?”

“Because you’re smart,” Bucky insists. Clint shakes his head weakly against his shoulder and Bucky smacks him lightly on the arm. “You are. You’re smart and practical, and once you have your diploma you and Nat can move to New York and open your gym.”

Clint mumbles something into his sweatshirt that Bucky doesn’t quite catch.

“What?” he asks, and he tugs the back of Clint’s shirt just enough to get him to scoot backward and speak clearly.

“I said you’ll be there too,” Clint repeats, rubbing his thumb back and forth across Bucky’s side and making an effort to keep his eyes anywhere but on Bucky’s. “Designing costumes on Broadway. Having a meltdown every other day.”

“Exactly,” Bucky says, and Clint looks up long enough to give him a hesitant smile. “And on tech week I’ll gripe to you all night long and make you rub my feet.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Clint says, and his voice is too soft to be joking. Bucky leans forward to kiss him. Clint brings his hand up to Bucky’s face, brushing his thumb over his cheek while they lose themselves for a moment or two.

“It’ll be awesome,” Bucky says once he’s pulled away. “And all you have to do is pass one dumb Stats final. It’s all easy street after that.”

“No it’s not,” Clint says, but his face doesn’t seem quite as pinched with worry. Bucky shrugs one shoulder.

“Maybe not, but this is all you have to think about right now. And even if you don’t pass, which you will, Momma Barnes will be waiting at the train station, ready to fill that void of disappointment with cookies and brisket. They offer Stats over the summer. You can even get Bruce to help you study.”

Clint smiles a little easier and presses a kiss to Bucky’s cheek.

“Bruce offered to help me study earlier this week, actually.” Bucky raises his eyebrows at him.

“And you’re not taking him up on it? Bruce is pretty much Einstein. You know that, right? What are you doing in here when you could be getting schooled on Stats in the library?”

“Well, you’re here,” Clint says and Bucky just knows his smile goes all dopey at that. “And I think even Einstein would struggle with Stats after smoking that much weed.”

“You’ll study with him tomorrow though, right?” Bucky’s not going to let Clint throw him off that easy. Clint rolls his eyes, but he nods. “Steve invited us to get pizza tomorrow. I’ll pay, as a reward for studying.”

“Steve invited us, or Steve invited you?” Clint asks, scrunching up his nose. Bucky snorts, shoving at Clint half-heartedly.

“Steve invited us. To go out with him and his friends. I dunno why you hate him so much. He thinks you’re pretty cool.”

“I don’t hate him,” Clint says defensively, but he still shifts forward to wrap his arms possessively around Bucky. “I just want to make sure he knows that the position of Bucky’s Buff Blond Boyfriend is already happily filled. Also, fuck him. I’m really cool.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky says. He’s kind of stuck in Clint’s steel trap of a hug. “It’s not like that. First of all, I don’t date grad students, and second of all we totally have more of a big brother-little brother sort of thing going on. I think he’s more into Tony, anyway.”

“Aw, gross,” Clint laughs, letting Bucky out of his death grip. “They deserve each other.”

“People probably say the same thing about us,” Bucky says. Clint grins at him, opening his mouth to share some kind of smart-ass response. A knock on the door cuts him off and makes them both jump.

“Do you guys have pants on?” Bruce’s voice comes through the door way louder than necessary. “If you don’t, sorry. Keep doing your thing or whatever. We’re starting a new Smash tournament, though, if you wanna join.”

“No, Bruce. C’mon man,” Bucky hears Sam say, and there’s the sound of scuffling feet like Sam’s trying to yank Bruce back from the door. “They’re probably having their own Smash tournament in there.”

“Bucky would have invited me,” Bruce insists, and Clint sits up with a laugh.

“We have pants on, Bruce,” he calls, and the door opens a moment later.

“Are you guys just sitting in the dark?” Bruce frowns down at Bucky, who’s still sprawled across the rug.

“Yeah,” Clint says, and then because he catches Bucky’s meaningful look, “Are you busy tomorrow? Think you could help me with Stats?”

“Yeah,” Bruce says, smiling easily. Bucky thinks Clint looks relieved, like he actually thought Bruce might say no. “We can go to the library.”

“Alright, Bruce.” Bucky stands up, offering a hand and hauling Clint to his feet too. “Let’s smash. I call the pink controller.”

[osyamaris]

🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊🖊 (I want the tea on ALL of ur ocs 👀)

im gonna talk about uhhhhhhhh… toxin, noham, and a rare game character because its Love Deadman Hour

so toxin is also a superhero universe character but shes actually not marvel!! surprise!! shes from an original universe and she was the first character i wrote for that universe. ive written her since i was eleven lol.

basically, shes lived her whole life in The Lab, under a man called Father. i wanna take a sec to point out this was YEARS before stranger things. so, she and several others are used for experiments to create superhumans, but most dont have powers and only develop extreme illnesses. shes one of the few who even survives, let alone actually develops powers.

no one in the lab is allowed to have a name (since theyre all kept there from birth or near it), and as an act of rebellion, she decides to call herself X, and carves it into a wall just under her bedframe. this gives her the inner strength to rebel even more, and she attacks an orderly during a test and runs.

her whole thing is basically that she was spliced with snake and toad dna. i honestly havent worked on the mechanics of that since i was eleven so like, dont @ me lmao. essentially, she has traits similar to that of a poison dart frog, so her body secretes a mucus that contains a strong neurotoxin. just a touch can paralyze a grown adult in minutes, and a higher dosage could easily stop bodily processes fully. this mucus also has a slight green hue, so it tints her skin. at best she looks somewhat jaundiced at all times

shes also immune to most poisons, she has long fangs, and her mouth is configured very not-human, so she has a small forked tongue and a gland that (when pressure is applied) sprays a venom… she spits venom. also, her eyes are all snakey too.

noham is another very old character! but not as old as toxin, i think i wrote him when i was like…. 14? 15?

he’s an alien, i wrote a whole culture and like half of a language w/ a different alphabet for him. his full name, sang noham (also transliterated as Sang No’am – the H after a vowel in latin lettering denotes that the emphasis is held on that syllable, since the writing system is syllabic) actually has a meaning. i forget what noham means, but Sang means “thousand”, and refers to his ancestry.

basically, noham is a member of a.. clanss? i guess? he’s a member of a clan that is considered “odd”, or an outlier, by many regions on his planet, because his clan evolved a split/forked tail. tails are like… a big cultural thing for them, theyre a huge part of most cultures’ beauty standards, so to have a forked tail is Kind Of A Big Thing. and basically, they used to be….. really poorly treated, and in the country noham lives in, they were banned from living within the cities and made to live in rural areas where there were often bandits, droughts, things like that. so his ancestor gathered an army that was absolutely TINY compared to the kings army, of all the able bodied people in the country of that clan, and they marched on the capital city. somehow, miraculously, they actually won the fight, though his ancestor refused to rule despite his victory. instead, he became a general. so now, being a general is like… its a family thing in the sang family. its basically expected of any firstborn, and the military basically hands it out if you can prove youre the real sang heir.

which is like, nohams whole holdup - he feels like hes got something to prove, but nowhere to prove it.

again dont @ me i was like 14 when i wrote this dkgjhdkgjh its got a lot going on with it that needs fixed badly

deadman dullahan… cant get TOO into his story cause i dont wanna spoil things and some of his backstory is like, a big plot point for his tiny sideplot, but hes SUPER fun for me to write

he, and all dullahans, are psychopomps!! they lead the dead to the next world

in this case, he leads dead humans into the world in which he lives, the Other World.

thts it. thats the name

hes so fucking old compared to everyone including many Otherworlders (who on average live longer than most humans) but for his own family and other psychopomps hes like….. the dead guy equivalent of……….. mid 30s? 40 ish??

because hes so old he doesnt like the thought of doing any one thing for the “rest of his life” because…. the time he has ahead of him is like……….. what hes already lived, again

hes just having a midlife crisis let him live

or mid-death, i guess

hes definitely kind of one of the wise-men archetypes of the story, like umma (which is a bit necessary for the type of story im telling, in a JRPG) but i like to think hes not, like, yknow. the hoity toity kind of wise man that makes you wanna break his own staff over his head

hes extremely mercurial as a person

and if you invite him into your home he’ll ignore you and only spend time with your animals. so you should invite him into your home

shockingly hes not got that much playtime………… hes important to the plot but still a minor character…….. F

try to make him do anything he doesnt want to do already and he will Punt You

also i posted about the screaming meemies a bit back. those are his. im not 100% on their relation to him but hes basically in charge of them

[beckygomez-news]

Becky G on Staying Sane Under Pressure: “Therapy Is Always a Great Option”

[faketextstuff]

The Arrangement PT5

Summary:: You’ve never imagined yourself being a sugar baby but because of some playful friends and a stroke of luck, you find yourself with a man who is apparently willing to give you the moon and stars. The only problem is, no strings attached. Don’t catch feelings, don’t fall for a man who thinks money can solve all your issues and doesn’t want commitment outside of the contract.

Warnings: Angst

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

A/N:: I’m not happy with this chapter at all. I rewrote it 4 times and it still turned out like crap. I promise the good stuff is coming I just needed to introduce a few more people and give a bit of angst. I guess if you guys want a part 6 let me know. I’m sooooooo sorry this part isn’t good at all.

The next day went on as normal. Only a few texts from Yoongi throughout your day, a simple “Good morning, babygirl” and around lunch you got another text “Cant wait to see you tonight. Dont be late.” That was about it. He didnt call, to which you were glad. You were not allowed to have cellphones out at work but you still kept yours deep inside your apron at work. The closer it got time to get off, the more anxious you became. Were you really going on a date with your sugardaddy tonight? What was he expecting of you? What were you expecting of him? How was this relationship going to work. Your mind was a buzz with all the questions and causing you to become very distracted at work.

Shockingly today was much busier than a normal day. Your regular customers came in, but in the back booth near the restrooms sat a man you had never seen before. You remembered seeing him come in not long after your shift started and now you had been working for seven hours and he was still there. He had his laptop open and was busily typing away at something. It wasn’t uncommon for college students to come in and take advantage of the free Wifi your restaurant provided, but no one ever stayed for seven hours!

You chose to let the man be, and continue working the best you could. It was your last table of the night and you were carrying a tray full of half consumed glasses of red wine away from the table when out of no where, a customer pushed out their chair in front of you causing you to stumble and pour the whole tray of drinks all over yourself and the floor. A few droplets landing on the customer’s expensive looking white shoes.

You gasped, glancing down at your own red stained white shirt. “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU! YOU CLUMSY OAF!” The customer wailed, intent on causing a scene.

“I’m so sorry!” You pleaded, bowing your head deeply in regret. “Are you alright?” You asked, glancing up through your now wine soaked hair.

The lady who had bumped into you was a rather beautiful woman. She had dyed blonde hair and appeared to be wearing expensive clothing that you had only ever seen in magazines. Her face was caked in make up but she still looked amazing and very elegant. Her expression, however, was cold and unforgiving as she glared daggers at you.

“No I’m not okay!” She squealed as everyone in the restaurant grew quiet and turned to see the scene unfolding before their very eyes. “These shoes cost a fortune and your clumsy little ass just ruined them!”

You weren’t sure how, but you managed to bow even lower, your cheeks flushing from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I can pay to have them replaced.” This caused the lady to scoff and wad up her napkin, throwing it in your face. “As if a lowly server like you could afford even half of what it’ll cost to replace these shoes. They were a gift! You cant replace memories!”

Her words stung and burned like a fire. You knew you were well off but did she have to insult you like that? In front of so many people. “I’m so sorry.” You muttered as your boss pushed his way over towards you and the irate customer.

He stood next to you and bowed deeply. “I am the owner of this establishment, may I ask what just happened?” He asked, sending you a glare the moment you decided to glance over at him. You knew right away he wouldn’t have your back. He never had your back and he had been looking for legit reasons to fire you. The two of you had never had a good relationship since the day you refused to put up with his sexual harassment. He didn’t take well to your rejection but you both had agreed to at least try and work in peace. He’d leave you alone and not fire if you never spoke of his failed advances. Of course he never did anything physical, just a few lewd comments here and there and lingering eyes that made you uncomfortable.

“I’ll tell you what happened!” The lady screamed, pointing a well manicured finger at you, a look of disgust etched on her face. “Your employee just spilled red wine all over my shoes! These are irreplaceable!” Her voice quivered now as she spoke. Clearly she was putting on a show for your boss who was clearly buying it by shooting you glares every so often.

“It was an accident, I didn't mean to ruin her shoes.” You muttered in a small voice, your anger was building up with each passing minute.

Your boss just held up a hand, signaling you to stop speaking that moment. The angry look in his eyes turning into something much more sinister. You averted your gaze to the floor and you were sure that you would be looking for a new job in just a few short hours, he had been searching so long for a legit reason and this woman's rage would fit right into his plans. “I apologize miss, we normally dont allow such foolish mistakes to happen in our establishment. Rest assured I will make sure this never happens again.”

The lady scoffed and grabbed her coat from the back of her chair, tossing the expensive material over her dainty shoulders.  As she opened her mouth to speak, another voice came from behind you. “I believe you're overacting, Miss. It was clearly an accident on this young woman's part. Yours however is debatable.”

As you turned your head, you saw the man who had been sitting alone in the back booth all day walking up to the three of you. His smile was bright and very inviting, however his tone didn't match his warm friendly smile. His voice was dripping with venom as he spoke, standing right behind you. His dark gaze never once faltering from the woman's. You turned your eyes back to the women who had a deer in headlights look on her face, her face going pale. “Hoseok?” She muttered out, her body visibly tensing.

“I saw you watching this woman gathering up those wine glasses and you waited until she got right behind you to push your chair out. To anyone it would appear that you set up this girl to spill the wine all over herself.” The man spoke again, his head tilting to the side slightly.

“That’s ridiculous, Jung Hoseok!” The lady snapped back. Mention of the man's name caused the restaurant to erupt into whispers.

Your own eyes went wide and your head shot over to the man behind you, sure enough this was Jung Hoseok. You had seen him on TV many times, he was a famous dance instructor that was the head and face of many dance colleges and he worked with all the best idols, mapping out their dances. If anyone was dancing, it was normally to his choreography.

“I think I can provide several people who would agree that a childish stunt like this isn't beneath you, Caroline.” Hoseok's eyes narrowed and his tone lowered, making him sound much more threatening. “Shall I call one of them now? I'm sure he'd love to get this phone call.”

The lady, “Caroline”, quickly shook her head and grabbed up her purse. “No. That wont be necessary.” She spoke in a hurried tone before glancing at your boss. “I'll forgive this incident once, make sure this doesn't happen again.” She snapped before walking past you, intentionally knocking your shoulder with hers as she walked past, causing you to stumble back into Hoseok who placed his hands on your shoulders. Making sure you didn't fall.

Once Caroline walked out of the door your boss turned to you, his eyes burning with rage, “Miss L/N, please come to my office. I need to speak with you in private.”

“Hold on a second, don't take this out on her. She's innocent.” Hoseok once again came to your rescue, placing himself between you and your boss.

“It's okay, sir.” You spoke softly, bowing lowly to him. “Thank you for your assistance and sticking up for me.” Before he could open his mouth to speak you quickly followed your boss towards the back where you knew the fate that awaited you beyond the old wooden doors. Once inside and locked away from the public, your boss let loose a string of verbal assaults that had your eyes brimming with tears. He scolded you for being noticeably distracted all day, for being careless enough to clear a table that wasn't in your section that resulted in the scene that just unfolded. Every time you tried to defend yourself, he shot you back down with something else you had done wrong in the past, it wasn't a long list but with the venom in his voice it almost had you painted to be the worst server he had ever had the misfortune of working with.

“I swear to god, Y/N! I don't know where your head is but causing a scene today in front of everyone, especially in front of Jung Hoseok, is unforgivable! I know you've worked hard in the past but I cannot allow you to continue working here after something like that.” He sighed while rubbing his temples.

You brought your hands up and wiped away the tears that managed to slip down from your eyes. A soft sniffle coming from you. “Please don't fire me. I can't afford to lose my job right now. I'm already behind on this months rent...and last months. What happened today was an accident and it clearly wasn't my fault.”

“Your financial problems are not my concern! My only concern is making this restaurant grow and gain more popularity. How do you think it's gonna effect business to see if that woman leaves a nasty review of our establishment? I cannot allow this to happen. I'm sorry, but...” He paused, shaking his eyes as he pulled the paychecks from his desk, handing you an envelope that had your name on it. “This is your last full check from us. If you want, keep the tips you've earned from your tables, but that is all I can do for you. Please collect your things and go home. I'll mail you your final paycheck next week.”

You stood there in shock for a few moments before stepping forward, snatching the paycheck from his hand. “Don't play dumb, you firing me has nothing to do with what happened today. You wanted me gone since I refused to suck your dick for better hours. You can take this job and shove it up your stuck up, wannabe rich boy ass. Good luck finding an employee that'll work the shit hours you gave me for such little pay. You alone will run this place into the ground, not one crazy lady's bad review.”

You surprised yourself with the rage that flowed from you as you snapped at your boss who sat there slack jawed and wide eyed at your little outburst. You didn't even give him time to speak before turning swiftly and rushing out of the office. You had to get out of there, fast and now!

After grabbing your things, you ran out of the restaurant, angry tears falling down your face as you stomped away from the building. You didn't get far until you noticed Hoseok waiting by the curb beside a large black SUV, and he wasn't alone. Next to him stood the one man who weren't expecting to see, at least not for several hours, Yoongi.

Time seemed to stand still the moment his eyes locked onto yours. His expression was a mixture of anger and sadness the moment he saw you. He stepped away from Hoseok and slowly made his way over to you. His large hands going up to cup your face the moment you tried to look away. The pads of his thumbs wiping away the fresh tears that began to stream down your face. “Babygirl.” He sighed, tilting your head up so your eyes met his.

As your eyes met his, your lower lip quivered and unable to stop yourself you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. You weren't sure why but in this moment, all you wanted was a hug from him. Something to comfort you and make you feel even an ounce better. You hated showing a man you hardly knew this moment of weakness but you were scared. You were now jobless and if you couldn't pay rent, soon you'd be homeless. You half expected him to pull away from you so you just held him as tight to your body as you could and buried your face in his suit coat.

He never pulled away, much to your surprise, instead he wrapped both his arms tightly around your shoulders and held you tight to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder as he rubbed your back soothingly. “It's okay, baby. I got you.” He muttered softly into your ear.

“W-Why are you here?��� You managed to ask, trying desperately to dry up your tears.

“Hoseok is a friend of mine. He called me and told me what happened. I was on this side of town so I had to come check on my girl.” He muttered, his fingers running up and down your back slowly causing you to relax in his arms. You found it odd that a friend of Yoongi's happened to be at your restaurant only hours after the contract signing but honestly, in this moment you could careless. You were just glad he showed up to check on you. “I can explain everything in the car. Let me take you home so you can get a shower.”

You shook your head and turned your head so your cheek was pressed to his chest, your ear right over his heart that you could hear was beating extremely fast. “I don't care, I'm just glad you're here right now.” You confessed. His arms around you giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I'll always be here for you, Babygirl.” He sighed before pulling away slightly, his hand gently taking yours as he pulled you towards his car. “Let's go. I want to hear everything from you in the car.”

Nodding, you slid into the open back door before giving Hoseok a sad smile. Yoongi went to get in after you but paused just long enough to turn towards his friend, his expression hardening for just a moment. “Find Caroline. I don't care what it takes, find out where that bitch is staying.” He hissed. You were a bit taken back at the tone Yoongi used but said nothing.

“I will. Leave it to me.” He nodded before shutting the door after Yoongi got into the back with you.

He instructed the driver to go by just telling him to go home. The two of you sat in silence for a long moment, his hand still gripping yours. You turned your hand so your fingers laced with his as you two just sat there both looking of opposite windows. Your free hand was wiping away the remainders of your tears before you turned to look at him. “Who is she?”

Yoongi sighed softly and lowered his head for a moment, not once looking over at you. “She's a virus. One that keeps popping up.” He muttered, just jaw clenching slightly. “Remember how I told you that the contract was to help protect you from my former women? Well, she's the main one.”

“Oh..” You muttered while glancing down at your hand that was still held in his, your heart dropping down into the pits of your stomach.

“Somehow she found out who you were and went after you instead of me. How she found you so quickly, I don't know. Normally she goes after me and tries to get in me a scandal. I'm so sorry. I intended on keeping you out of this. I didn't think she'd go as far as to show up to your work.” He glanced over to you and with his free hand, he placed two fingers under your chin and lifted your head so he could see your face. “That's why I had Hoseok watching out for you. I was worried about your safety. I came as soon as he called me saying she was there but she was long gone by the time I got there.”

“It's not your fault. My boss was looking for a reason to fire me, she just gave him the out he needed to get rid of me.” You sighed, scooting over closer to him so you could rest your head on his shoulder.

Yoongi stiffened and let out a low sigh of frustration. “He fired you? After Hoseok told him it was all her fault?”

You nodded and just sighed softly. “I came onto me once and said he'd pay me more and give me better hours if I agreed to sleep with him, of course I refused so he always wanted me gone since then.”

“I'll kill him.” Yoongi growled softly, his hand releasing yours as he wrapped his arms almost protectively over your shoulder and pulled you closer to him.

“Don't get upset. It was a long time ago.” You shook your head and nuzzled closer into his side, the chill from the still soaked shirt making you shiver. “He'll get whats coming to him in the end. One day some will put him in his place and he'll lose everything he's worked for. The only reason I endured it was because it's so hard for find a job these days.”

Yoongi moved so his head was resting on top of yours, his fingers playing with the sticky strands of your hair. “I can help you until you get back on your feet.”

“I dont want your money, Yoongi. I got myself into this mess I can figure a way out.”

This caused him to laugh softly and turn his head so his lips brushed against the top of your head. “Babygirl, you still haven't figured out this sugardaddy thing have you? I signed a contract to pay you and take care of you while you give me company. Helping you in what I'm going to do. I'm also going to protect you from Caroline. I swear she wont get close to you again. Once I find her I'm gonna make sure she's locked up in a nice padded room where she cant hurt anyone again.”

You smiled softly for the first time that day since you received his text messages and just closed your eyes. For a moment you felt better, like even though you lost your job, that everything was going to be okay as long as you had this man by your side. Which was an odd feeling for you since you had only just met him.

The rest of the car ride went on in silence until you found yourself back at his office building. “What are we doing here?” You asked with an arched brow, your head lifting from his shoulder. “I thought you were taking me home?”

“I never said your home, babygirl. You got to go in, get a shower and then I have a friend who is going to take you someplace nice so you can get ready for our date tonight. You've had a rough day so for the rest of the day you're about to be pampered like the queen you are until I come to get you.” He smirked slightly.

[reykablue]

The Dredger Legacy

I finally loaded back into my Dredger Legacy for the first time in forever...and proceeded to ruin their lives. There was just too many sims in the household and I said maybe Atti should go for a dip! ...in the pond. simsie style. 

sorry atti, you were stylish and a drama queen, and you will be missed. 

but probably not by Mom, seen here literal moments after grim did his thing

It took her, no joke, 4 sims hours to show the sadness buff as the top buff. like all im saying is maybe she might have a cowplant accident soon? 

Everyone was pretty all around depressed. The twins (who apparently aged up last save) consoled each other and i missed it. Millie chose to do some yoga. Dad (Zion) threw himself into work and went into the office on his day off. His boss must have been impressed...or depressed...by this and gave Zion that last promotion. Congratulations Zion! You’re a Hall of Famer. 

Gen 3 Heir, Cass, tried to be the top tier scout that he is, and bravely went to the science center to work on his last remaining badge. His birthday is in 2 days and he is committed to achieving his goals in honor of his brother. Unfortunately, all his close friends have already aged up and are busy with their careers. Atti was his closest friend, and Cass just didnt want to be alone. He ended up sending a sad text to a girl in his club, even though he didnt really know her at all. Her name is Gwendolyn Griffiths and she looked kinda cute in the club directory- so we thought- what could go wrong? Shockingly, she invited us over for some comfort and NYE celebrations. 

look at our sad boi :( {learn more about Gwen under the cut}

Somewhere along the night, Gwen started really vibing with us. Like really vibing. Cass couldnt help but notice her flirty tone and realized just how pretty she is. He took a selfie so he can show off how pretty she is. Aren’t they the cutest!!!! 

We are still just too sad to make a move, but we wanted her to know we were interested. We gave her a romantic gift from our frog collection and Gwen loved it! Romance bar has got some pink in there! Cas went to bed with a little more hope. 

The new girl’s name is Gwendolyn Griffiths. Everything about this family was weird. They live in the goth house? Her dad is not in the picture, and i finally figured out that she is the granddaughter of Cassandra Goth thanks to cassi’s ghostie showing up.

Anyway, she lives with her mom, teen sister, twin child brothers, and littlest brother. They all have the whiteness of the Targaryens...Gwen here has a skin tone a little darker than her mysterious family. {She also generated with the MSQSIMS Asperger trait and a striped shirt and I was a weenie about it}

Check out these pictures of Gwen in CAS....(uh, the sim is Cass...thats CAS...this is unfortunate)

She generated with a base game hair that i’m sorry i just didnt vibe with. and her and her sister’s eyebrows were a mess. other than that i didnt change her appearance for the above pic. I did add eyelashes cuz, lashes. 

^ this was the outfit she populated with. my heart just cant take it. i stan a neurodivergent queen. I kept this one and added one with some overalls because she is in Cass’s Frog hunting club. 

i am in actual love. Gwen Griffiths, you definitely got me excited to play this legacy again! 

And that’s all from me, Catch you later!