#i was just looking for the definitions dude

[bittybeanscafe]

Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)

“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”

DAY TWO

Previous Day -> Next Day

Contains: Curt and Rod, The Hanks, Farya, Miranda, Kopi, Chairemi, and Mac

🍰 Café Menu 🍰

The sun hit your face like a judgmental slap.

You groaned, turning over with a squint. The curtains were wide open, sunlight pouring into the room like it had something to prove. You definitely remembered closing them last night. In fact, you even did a double take before bed.

Now? Fully open. Like someone had reached in and yanked them apart with dramatic flair.

You sat up slowly. “Okay. That’s weird.”

Above you, the curtain rod gave the softest metallic creak, like it had just finished laughing.

“Finally,” Rod sighed. “I thought we’d have to dump water on them.”

“Oh please,” Curt replied. “They needed the sun. Their under-eye bags had under-eye bags.”

“I’m window dressing, not a miracle worker.”

You ignored the growing suspicion that the curtains were developing a personality and stumbled to your bag to unpack a few things. The wardrobe opened with a cozy creak, revealing several rows of neat wooden hangers.

You grabbed one without looking, and… CRACK

One slipped from your hand and hit the floor. You knelt to pick it up, and froze.

The hanger had split down the shoulder. Clean break. One side barely hanging on.

You knelt down, frowning. “Damn. Sorry, dude…”

It was just a hanger. You knew that. But it felt like more than that. Maybe it was the weird owner. Maybe it was the quiet stillness of the wardrobe. Maybe it was the look of the other hangers, now swaying ever so gently, like they were watching.

You grabbed the first-aid kit that you moved upstairs to make yourself feel better and carefully bandaged the crack, one small beige bandaid, then some tape. You aligned the pieces with care, not rushing it. When it was done, you held the mended hanger in your hands for a moment, then smiled faintly.

“There,” you whispered. “Not perfect. But you’re still good.”

You hung the hanger gently back on the rod, giving it a little pat like you were saying welcome back.

The wardrobe went still.

But inside that quiet world, just beyond your reach, the Hanks stirred.

Hank 5 shifted closer, pressing his smooth edge gently against Hank 2’s side. “You’re alright, brother. You’re home.”

“Does it hurt?” whispered Hank 1, nudging the edge of the tape.

Hank 2 blinked, the warmth of the bandaid still fresh against his splintered frame. “No… it’s okay. They fixed me. They saw me.”

The other hangers closed in, swaying side to side like a gentle group hug. The rod above them creaked as if lowering its shoulders to cradle them all.

“We’ve got you now,” murmured Hank 3. “No one’s tossing anyone out of this family.”

From the nearby window, Curt and Rod had paused their usual commentary.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Curt said, a bit quieter than usual.

“They fixed Hank 2.”

“And didn’t even call him ‘cheap trash’ like that last sitter.”

“…Maybe this one isn’t the worst.”

Upstairs, tucked in the drawer you just put her in with gauze and love, Farya the first-aid kit felt it ripple through the house like warmth in the walls. She had barely even been touched, and yet, her purpose had been honored. Quiet compassion. Careful hands. Seeing what needed fixing and doing it without being asked.

“They’re one of us,” she thought.

And just like that, the house loved them a little more.

You stretched your arms overhead with a yawn, still thinking about the hanger as you padded downstairs barefoot. The house was quiet except for the soft tick of the kitchen clock and the distant drum of rain dripping from the gutters outside.

You made it to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and stared at the stove.

Too early. Too tired. Too much effort.

You rubbed your eyes. “Yeah, no. Just toast today.”

You popped two slices of bread into the toaster sitting peacefully on the counter, bright red and retro-looking, with shiny silver buttons that gleamed under the morning light. She had a little dial that you didn’t touch, because it already seemed… right somehow. You pressed the lever down and stepped back.

The coffee machine stood in its usual spot: sleek and silent like it had been waiting.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, grinning as you turned it on. “Let’s see what you’ve got today.”

It whirred to life again, warm and purposeful. The scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen almost immediately: strong, creamy, with that perfect, sweet richness that made you sigh in relief. The kind of smell that made a bad day feel like a fresh start.

Click.

The toast popped up, golden, perfectly warm, exactly the crispiness you liked without being burnt.

But more than that… there was a heart.

Not drawn. Burned in.

A soft, round heart seared gently onto the surface of the toast like it belonged there.

You blinked. Picked up the slice and tilted it in the light.

“…How?”

You hadn’t touched the dial. Hadn’t set anything fancy. But there it was, right in the center.

Unseen to you, Miranda smirked to herself. “What, like I was gonna let them start the day without a little love?”

At the counter, your coffee finished brewing, this time with a leaf pattern etched into the foam. Not the same as yesterday. Different. Thoughtful. Specific.

You held both the toast and mug in your hands and smiled down at them.

“…Thank you,” you said softly, to no one in particular.

But two kitchen hearts beamed in return.

Kopi gave a quiet hum of pride.

Miranda clicked her heating coils once, just to show off.

You munched your toast on the way to the office down the hall, mug warm in your hand, heart still full from the gentlest, strangest morning you’d had in a long time.

Somewhere behind you, the kitchen glowed with quiet pride.

The office was tucked near the back of the house, down a quiet hallway with wood that amplified your footsteps. You hadn’t explored this part yesterday, too busy resetting fuses and bonding with broken hangers.

The door was slightly ajar, like someone had left it open just for you.

You stepped in slowly.

It was small, but cozy. Dark walls. Two windows letting in a soft wash of morning light. A smooth desk that looked like it’d been polished just this morning. A computer sat front and center, silent and gleaming like a well-fed cat.

You lowered yourself into the desk chair and immediately stilled.

“…Huh.”

It was comfortable. Weirdly comfortable. The kind of comfort that knew your posture better than you did. The cushion hugged your hips and back like it had been molded just for you. You sank into it, tension slipping from your shoulders.

You stared at the desk and murmured, “Okay. You’re definitely all haunted.”

The chair made a soft creak beneath you, like a it was laughing.

You wiggled the mouse and the screen lit up, a soft digital glow humming to life. Then, a message:

Software update available.

You groaned. “What the hell. Fine.”

You clicked “Update,” expecting the usual sluggish chaos: endless restarts, spinning wheels, a half-hour of waiting and maybe a crash or two for good measure.

But instead?

The screen flickered for a few seconds. A smooth, quiet restart. Then… done.

Just like that.

No errors. No lag. No crashes. It even booted up faster.

You blinked at the screen. A familiar document was already open.

Your project.

The one you’d been meaning to work on, the one that sat half-finished in your inbox for weeks, collecting dust.

Only… it wasn’t half-finished anymore.

It was done. Edited. Organized. Perfect.

You scrolled in stunned silence. Every file in place. Every sentence cleaned up. Graphs, images, titles, transitions, all lined up neatly like someone had reached into your brain and said “Let me take care of that for you.”

You leaned back slowly, heart thudding.

“…I didn’t… do this.”

Somewhere beneath your fingertips, Mac buzzed softly with pride.

They didn’t need thanks. They just liked being helpful.

“Took someone long enough to update me,” they thought with a soft, content pulse. *“I’ve been waiting for this since forever!”

The chair shifted gently beneath you, a quiet little bounce of support. The desk stayed solid and warm against your arms. You felt… safe. Cared for.

And just a little unnerved.

But you smiled anyway.

“…Thanks, I guess,” you whispered.

The screen glowed just a little brighter in response.

The rest of the day passed in a gentle blur.

You explored more of the house, moving through halls that seemed to stretch and contract depending on how curious you felt. Every door you opened led to something charming: a weight room that somehow felt more like a gym then any gym you’ve ever been to, and snacks, fresh, plated, waiting, left on counters and tables like someone knew exactly when you'd feel hungry.

You didn’t question it too much.

You didn’t want to ruin it.

The couch in the living room was your next conquest, a giant piece that hugged your whole body like a weighted blanket and a therapist all in one. You swore you’d just close your eyes for a second. When you opened them again, two hours had passed, and you’d drooled on the pillow. Just a little.

You muttered a soft “sorry” into the couch cushion, and the cushion somehow fluffed itself back into shape.

It was the most cared-for you’d felt in weeks.

But now, the sky outside the windows had turned dusky purple, the rain long gone and replaced by stars peeking through the clouds. The house had grown quiet again, not empty, just… restful. Like it was winding down with you.

You climbed the stairs slowly, passing the quiet kitchen, the humming hallway, the soft creak of the office door gently swinging shut on its own.

The bedroom was just as you’d left it, only the bed looked a little more inviting now. The blanket folded down slightly. The pillow plumped. It was like it missed you.

You smiled to yourself, crawling in and tugging the covers up.

“…Goodnight, everyone,” you said softly to the room. “Thanks for today.”

No one answered. But the air around you felt warm. Safe.

Curt and Rod shifted in their mounts above the window, just enough to adjust the curtain for the moonlight.

The Hanks rested quietly in their wardrobe, Hank 2 wrapped gently between his brothers.

And downstairs, the heart of the house sighed in unison.

You didn’t see the smile forming in the lightbulb above you.

Or the content twitch in the toaster’s dial.

Or the faint glow in the bandaid on Hank 2’s side.

But they saw you.

And in their quiet, unseen world, they whispered back:

“Goodnight.”

And you slept soundly once more.

Tags: @nightlark100 @stinkyboyfaliure

(If you’d like to be tagged for this series, comment, send an ask, or pm me!)

[lexiecon-mp4]

some of my favorite details from Superman (2025) - spoilers below! 💙❤️

The opening using the "rule of threes" in a very literal sense through a comic-style opening was so cool

Almost all of Lex's crew being made up of disgraced nerds that he refused to listen to was very fitting

The random middle-aged dude who didn't immediately judge Superman from the "evil alien" headlines and let him watch the news from his phone was sweet :)

The Justice Gang's base being in a half-decorated lobby (likely a building Maxwell bought for them) is perfect

It looked like Lex wanted to name his half of Jarhanpur "Luthorania"??? So stupid and so him 😭

Also while his type isn't "tall, dark and martian" (yeah right) he does seem to be interested in "dumb blondes", which makes it all the funnier that the woman he mistreated helped to orchestrate his downfall; love you Eve <3

The Kents telling Lois how lovely it was to meet her when she arrived on their farm (even with Clark barely conscious) was so cute 🥹

Mister Terrific looked absolutely appalled when the technician asked him if he knew how to stop the rift from opening 😭 like girl do your job???

Lex seemingly showed some genuine care(?) for Angela just before she hit the ground with Supes, yelling at her to disengage since she didn't have any protection. A really small "blink-or-you'll-miss-it" moment of humanity from him.

Maxwell Lord immediately taking advantage of the situation in Jarhanpur, claiming that he's always hated Lex when his corporate superheroes definitely fought against Boravia without his permission

Jimmy smiling after Eve almost tackles him in a hug fully proves why women are so obsessed with him: he's a sweetheart through and through <3

The implication that Perry/Jimmy know Lois is dating Superman but has nothing going on with Clark is hilarious

Malik (falafel vendor) is named as the "Hero of Metropolis" on the front cover of The Daily Planet 🥹 I couldn't tell if Clark was the one who wrote the article, but regardless, it's beautiful that he made sure the man's story was told.

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - the perfect dip

pairing: siren!reader x rafe. warnings: suggestive.

Rafe hasn’t slept much.

Not because of stress, or drugs, or whatever excuse he’d usually throw around when someone asked why he looked like shit.

Today, he blames the island heat or his mattress, the sound of the water heater ticking all night. But it isn’t any of that.

It’s you; the memory of your hand around him in the kitchen burned through every slow hour of the night.

Twelve hours later, Rafe’s losing his mind all over again, standing in the same kitchen with Topper and Kelce tossing empty beer bottles into the sink.

“She’s not here?” Topper asked, eyes scanning the hallway.

Rafe turns his head, eyes narrowed. 

“The fuck you care?” 

“Jesus, alright. Calm down, man.”

He hasn’t heard your door once today, no footsteps, no car.

Your purse is still on the hook by the door, your favorite cardigan is draped over the arm of the couch, the one you always wore when the AC got too cold.

Rafe hates that he keeps thinking about it, about what he heard, about what you did. How your voice sounded on the phone, or after you quite literally fucked the soul out of him.

You don’t sound like that unless you’re protecting yourself.

Topper watches Rafe now, realizing he said the wrong thing. 

“She your girl now or somethin’?”

Rafe scoffs.

“She’s not anything,” he lied.

Except you are.

You are everything he doesn’t know what to do with. Last night’s blur flashes once more behind his eyelids, that tight breath you let out when your hand wrapped around him and you leaned your forehead against his shoulder.

Topper’s still grinning.

“Chill, dude. We’re just saying she’s hot. It's a compliment, not a threat.”

Rafe tosses the beer bottle in his hand into the sink.

“You ever talk about her again, I’ll knock your fuckin’ teeth in.”

Kelce stares. Topper blinks, unsure if Rafe’s serious. He is; the last thing he needs is either of them thinking they have a shot with you.

Topper clears his throat, awkward as hell. 

“Okay, psycho,” he grimaces, trying to laugh it off.

Kelce, ever the peacemaker, grabs another beer from the fridge and hands one to Rafe without looking at him. 

“Can we go back to talking about the boat party or whatever? I didn’t sign up for a domestic.”

Rafe doesn’t answer, pops the cap, gulps half the bottle in one go, and stares straight ahead.

Topper shifts gears fast, talking about a touron girl he hooked up with last weekend—theatrical as fuck, using his hands too much, trying to prove something. Kelce is laughing again, feet kicked up on Rafe’s coffee table.

They’re back to being dumb, rich, and clueless and Rafe isn’t listening. His head’s still in the hallway.

You’re driving him insane.

He wonders if you’re sitting in bed right now with your knees pulled up, in flimsy pajamas. Topper’s still talking, something about coke on the golf course and almost crashing the cart. Rafe hears every third word, half-tempted to kick them out.

He could, they’d leave, no questions asked. He could walk straight to the bedroom door you left cracked wide enough for him to notice.

You wanted him to notice. You never left anything to chance.

He forces a lazy half-smirk as Kelce launches into a story about a girl from Boneyard who “definitely had a boyfriend but definitely didn’t care.” Topper interrupts every few seconds with unnecessary sound effects and finger guns.

It’s the same bullshit as always. Dumb, loud, harmless; a show they’ve all been running since they were kids.

“You know what we should do?” Topper slamms his empty beer bottle onto the coffee table. “Get the boat out. That bitch hasn’t touched water in a month.”

Kelce perks up. “We get some girls, bring a speaker—”

“We always bring a speaker,” Topper cuts in, laughing. “It’s not a fuckin’ seance.”

That gets a laugh out of Rafe.

“You coming or what, Cameron?” Kelce calls over to him. 

That’s when the hallway creaks.

He hears it, the scuff of skin on hardwood, you appear, timing it down to the fucking second—effortless, shirt slipping off one shoulder, eyes still half shut from sleep or boredom or both.

Topper freezes mid-sentence, one arm halfway in the air. Kelce chokes on his beer.

You give them a polite smile.

Fuck’s sake.

“Oh,” you sound taken aback, tone featherlight, “I didn’t know we had company.”

Kelce stammers, straightening up like he’s in church. 

“Hey, we—we were just hanging.”

You nod, walking to the fridge after apparating out of nowhere. Your fingers wrap around a water bottle as you turn back to them, face glowing.

“You want anything?” you ask Kelce, soft as spun sugar.

He looks like he might cry. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

You finally glance at Rafe, no expression or twitch to spare. But he sees the glint in your eye when you take a sip of water, then turn to the boys again.

“You staying long?”

Kelce starts to answer, but Rafe cuts in.

“None of your business.”

That’s what you desserve after the shit you pulled last night.

He’s not guilty, you are.

“He’s so funny,” you giggle gently, folding your hands around the bottle. “You guys talking about the boat?” you ask, as if the idea itself is delicate, sipping your water with lashes lowered.

Topper’s nodding too hard, grinning again, probably thinking this is going somewhere for him. 

“Yeah. You should come. Water’s perfect.”

Rafe’s head snaps in his direction. Oh fuck no.

“What?”

You laugh—a breath of sound. “I couldn’t possibly…”

“Why not?” Kelce jumps in too fast, “We’ll bring drinks, music, just hang.”

Your eyes flick between them, a small, self-effacing smile curling your lips. He sees the faint smirk you hide as you turn your back to them again, tugging the fridge door open just so, the hem of your sleep shirt rising an inch higher when you reach.

None of this is accidental.

You want them looking at you.

“I’d be in the way.”

Rafe nods, brows furrowed. “Exactly."

“No, you wouldn’t,” Topper insists. “Seriously. You gotta come. I mean, unless you’ve got something better to do…”

You tilt your head, pretending to ponder over the invitation.

You’re not. You already decided. If only he could lock you in this stupid house, make you look at him the way they think you want them.

Rafe watches you toy with them, smiling politely, asking too many questions, making sure your eyes never stay on one of them long enough to mean anything.

How can you be so diferente when you’re alone?

“If Rafey doesn’t mind...”

You know what that nickname does to him, how it gets under his skin like sugar in an open wound.

Topper turns to Rafe like a dog who just heard the word walk.

“Dude!” he breathes, eyes wide. 

Kelce snorts, nudging him, all in on something now.

“Bro, what the fuck? You can’t be an asshole to your guest.”

Rafe’s staring at you—at the way you lean casually against the counter, that glimmer of mock-shyness in your voice, always the plan, puppeting the whole room with one shoulder and a smile.

“How the fuck is this on me?”

Topper raises both hands, grinning. “It’s my boat. She's invited."

“She’s not coming.”

“Why not?”

Rafe grits his teeth. “She just woke up.”

“So?” Kelce grins at you. “You still down?”

“Yeah.” You step closer to Rafe, enough that they notice it. He notices it too. “Sorry,” You chagrined, “Didn’t mean to step on any boundaries.”

You did.

Yeah—this spot, right here, right where you’re standing now, it’s where you had your hand down his pants twelve hours ago.

Now you’re gloating in his face, in front of his idiot friends, letting the hem of your shirt graze his thigh like you forgot what happened.

Rafe’s vision goes a little red.

He’s going to fucking kill you. He can’t even look at Topper or Kelce right now, if he sees either of them drooling at you with those dumb, dazed expressions, he’ll black out.

He stares at your face instead, at that sickeningly sweet grin, the one he knows is fake, the one you save for him.

He breathes in hard through his nose, lifting the bottle to his lips, eyes never leaving yours, and grinds out: “Fine.”

You lean in close, pouty lips pecking his cheek.

“Thank you, Rafe,” you whisper, acting like you’re doing him a favor, “I’ll go get dressed.”

You’re gone in seconds, that sweet sway in your step. He stands there, still as stone.

“Wow,” Topper breathes, staring after you like he just saw God. “Lucky fucking bastard.”

Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose in pure annoyance, wishing he could physically push the rage back down. 

Kelce follows. “You’re living the dream, man.”

The dream, yeah. 

The dream is waking up hard as a rock at four in the morning with his hand wrapped around nothing, thinking about you.

He swallows the last of his beer and sets the bottle down hard.

“Gonna grab my swim trunks."

He’s already moving toward the hallway.

They barely acknowledge it—Topper’s mid-sentence again, and Kelce’s laughing too loudly. Neither of them clocks how Rafe’s jaw flexes or how his eyes are fixed ahead, like a sniper. He’s not going to get his swim trunks; he’s going to you.

If you pick one of those bikinis, the tiny black one you wear when you want his hands around your throat, the strappy green one that makes his pulse spike like a fucking heart attack, he might drown you for good.

Or kill someone else, trying not to.

He hits the bedroom door with his knuckles and doesn’t wait before cracking it wider. You’re by the closet already, fingers drifting past hangers, selecting a weapon.

Your back’s to him, but he knows that curve of your spine, the way your hips move when you know he’s watching.

“You’re not wearing any of those.”

“Any of what?”

He closes the door behind him, crossing the room in even steps. 

“You know what.”

“Oh?” you murmur, all saccharine. “I thought I had options.”

You pull a hanger from the rack. Red. Strapless barely qualifies as fabric.

His eye twitches.

You’re holding it up to your chest.

“You don’t like this one?”

Rafe’s already in front of you before you can finish the sentence, snatching the hanger from your hand and tossing it onto the bed without looking.

“You wear that in front of them,” he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek, “and I swear to God I’ll crash the boat.”

You blink up at him, filthy fingers sliding up his chest, testing that theory.

“They'll look at me no matter what I wear.” 

“You’re not gonna fuck with me in front of them again,” he says. “Not like that.”

“Why would it matter if I did?”

He’s still thinking about the way Topper’s mouth dropped open when you walked in, how Kelce straightened up like he’d just gotten his first fucking erection. He yearns to dump the stupid boat idea, the friends, the sun, and pounce you back onto the mattress.

He releases you and points to the drawer.

“Pick something normal.”

“Define normal.”

“If I can see your ribs, it’s a no.”

“Noted,” you hum, turning back to the closet like you haven’t already decided on something that’ll drive him mad.

Then your fingers are at the hem of your sleep shirt, lifting it like no one is watching. His pupils blow wide the second your arms lift, and you peel the fabric up and over your head in one long, unhurried motion.

Rafe stops breathing.

No bra, no warning. The shirt drops to the floor behind you.

You don’t turn around, continuing to move, opening a drawer like you’re alone. All that steel in his spine, the warnings, the threats—they dissolve into arousal in his gut.

His mouth parts slightly, and he thinks—

"Still here? Is this a thing now? Watching and doing what you’re not supposed to, Rafey?”

Nice dig.

Your bare back is lit up in the golden spill of light, smooth skin gleaming, and all he can think about is how you sounded on that call when you told your mom it wasn’t a good time. 

“I wasn’t watching,” he lies.

You straighten up, tugging on a white bikini top, letting the fabric cover what he’s already memorized. You don't turn around.

“Weren’t you?” you ask, “You’re getting good at hovering.”

He huffs, crowding behind you.

“You think I give a shit what you say on the phone?”

You glance over your shoulder, “Thought you were getting your trunks.”

Of course you change the subject. He swears, if you look at him for another second, he’s going to lose the last shred of whatever control he walked in with.

“Pick a one-piece,” he grits out.

You grin. Slow. Fucking victorious.

“Make me.”

“You’ve got five minutes,” He warns without looking back. “If you’re not in the car by then, I’ll leave without you.”

You hum.

“Sure, baby.”

He slams the door.

Back in the living room, Topper’s on his fourth beer, still talking like nothing’s happened. Kelce raises his eyebrows when Rafe storms past, shirtless now, accompanied by a god awful migraine.

“You good, bro?”

Rafe doesn’t answer, grabbing his swim trunks from the hallway closet with enough force to rattle the hanger, and slams the door shut behind him.

Thirty minutes later, Rafe glances over his shoulder when you start to peel your clothes off on the boat. Then he looks again.

Your bikini is not the one he let you pack, not the modest one. Not the one he approved, no. You changed for the millionth time.

This one’s black. Small, the strings on your hips are tied in bows he wants to rip apart. You’ve got sunglasses pushed up into your hair and a towel slung over one shoulder.

He can feel a heat prick at his collarbone and it's not a sunburn.

You walk around, pretending you don't feel his eyes drilling holes in your skin. Like you don’t know you’ve already made three guys choke on their drinks. You toss your bag near the cooler, peel your towel off, and stretch your arms like you’ve just woken up from a nap.

He storms over to you.

“What the fuck are you wearing.”

“A bikini, Rafe. That’s what people wear on boats.”

“Not that bikini.”

Your lashes flutter, feigning a thought.

“You meant the boring one?” You finally look at him. “You should’ve fucked me before we left. You wouldn’t be so tense.”

He gets a full blackout, bone-deep insanity. He steps back because he might put his hands on you if he doesn’t. You watch him with that poisonous smile as he turns away and clenches the railing hard enough to break it.

Topper walks by, wide-eyed. “The water's great man."

Rafe doesn’t answer, watching your reflection in the metal trim of the boat, the way you laugh with some girl he doesn’t recognize, how you arch your back when you sit, how the tie on your bikini hip seems to be slipping.

He ignores you like it’s his full-time job for the rest of the day.

When you laugh, he doesn’t look. When you lean over the side of the boat, stretching that stupid bikini across your back, he stares off toward the horizon like he's never had eyes.

Even when Topper elbows him with a dumb grin, looking at your ass, Rafe nods like he didn't hear a thing. He’s tired of pretending he doesn’t want to fuck you into next week every time you so much as tie your hair up, drowning the rest of his beers and pretending you don’t exist.

You glance at him once���he sees it out of the corner of his eye—but he grabs another bottle, and walks to the opposite end of the boat where the sun doesn’t hit as hard and neither do your eyes.

Topper laughs. “You’re going to jump?”

That makes him pause.

He turns just in time to see you laughing on the edge of the deck, one hand thrown up in mock celebration, the other girls cheering behind you. You glance at him and then you jump.

It's a perfect arc, clean splash. Water sprays the edge of the boat, a few people clap, some fucking idiot yells “Holy shit!”

Good, he hopes you drown. 

He stares at the choppy water with his jaw clenched so tight his molars hurt like a bich and a half, fists balled at his sides. Maybe you’ll stay down there long enough to come back with some fucking sense.

The water ripples, then stills.

You don’t come up.

Topper leans over, squinting. “Wait… where’d she go?”

Kelce laughs, a little uneasy.

“She’s probably swimming around the other side.”

You swam varsity for three years, and you used to brag about holding your breath longer than any guy could keep you interested.

Rafe's not worried.

His gaze slides back, still no sign of you, no arms slicing up, no smug-ass hair flip.

She’s fucking with me, he tells himself that twice. You have to be, you're probably under the boat. Waiting, that’s what you do.

“She’s not up yet?”

Rafe’s bottle almost slips from his fingers and clatters to the deck.

“She’s playing,” he mutters, low, tight.

Right?

But he’s already moving, shoving past the cooler, practically snarling by the time he reaches the edge again. His eyes scan every inch of blue. Still nothing. It’s been—what, a minute? More?

His stomach flips, and he dives in. Cold water slaps his skin as he hits, eyes burning, lungs tight with adrenaline. His brain blanks. 

There you are, beneath the hull, hair floating in slow motion, your back to him, arms stretched lazily, not moving. He’s on you in seconds, dragging you up with panic.

You’re limp in his grip.

He surfaces with a gasp, and that’s when you break.

You start laughing, coughing a little, sure, but mostly laughing, head tilted back, water beading down your face.

“What the fuck,” Rafe breathes, stunned, furious, blinking water from his lashes.

“I was bored. You weren’t paying attention to me.”

“I thought—” He can’t finish the sentence. He grips your waist so tight it’ll bruise. “You think this shit is funny?”

You’re smiling again, breath heaving, but smiling.

“You jumped in after me.”

“Drowning is a fucking joke to you?”

You’re giggling still, gasping wet air.

“You jumped,” you breathe, eyes bright with wicked glee.

He doesn’t hear that; his hands are locked on your waist, thumb digging too hard into your hipbone, breath ragged as he snaps.

“What if I hadn’t? Huh? What if you actually—Jesus fuck, do you ever think?”

Your arms wind around his neck like it's the most natural thing in the world, water slicking down your back as you float closer, legs looping behind his thighs.

“You do care about me,” you sing under your breath, a dare.

“I don’t!” he growls.

He’s gripping your ass now. Full palm, busy trying to burn a hole through your skull with his glare.

“I should leave you out here.”

“Okay,” you hum, lashes fluttering.

“Next time, I’ll let you sink.”

 “Liar.”

He looks down, and that’s when it hits him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, toned thighs snug at his hips, your arms hanging from his shoulders while his hands are clenching your ass like it belongs there, your breath mingling with his.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You grin. “Comfortable?” 

“Get the fuck off—” he glowers, but doesn’t move. Neither do you.

He could shove you off, throw you back, and swim away. But he’s standing there in open water with you clinging like a koala, and he’s not doing a goddamn thing about it.

You tilt your head, close enough now that your noses brush.

“I should’ve worn something smaller,” you whisper.

“I’m going to drown you.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Stop that shit."

Your lashes are clumpy from the water and pretty, and your skin is glowing. He's fairly certain the fucking stupid sun cracked open only to sit on your cheekbones.

Your lips brush closer, against the corner again.

“Why not?” Your hands are tangled in the back of his hair now, like they had been last night. “You gonna stop me?”

He doesn’t breathe or move, except for his fingers, which dig tighter into your thighs. You want him distracted; he knows it, and it’s working.

“Y’know I wasn’t actually in danger, right?” you murmur his ear, “I can hold my breath for over two minutes. Coach said I was built for underwater.”

Of course you were built to swim, to tease, to drown men like him.

Siren.

That’s what’s making him crazy. You weren’t scared, but he was. 

You hand slips up the back of his neck, brushing his hair off his nape, comforting him now, rewarding him for worrying.

“I’m serious,” he grits out, but even that sounds like a lie. “Stop looking at me like that."

“Like what?”

You’ve always been better at games than grief. His forehead drops against yours, eyes closed. He’s breathing hard—so hard—and you can feel it, right there between you.

You kiss him then.

Rafe fights it for half a second, less even, then it’s over.

He drags you in, mouth slanting over yours like he wants to leave bruises in the shape of his tongue. His teeth scrape your lip, your breath stutters, and he swallows the sound because it belongs to him.

He’s lost. 

The second your mouth parts for him, Rafe's brain goes quiet, his hands pull you flush to his chest, dragging you against him, craving to climb inside and drown right along with you.

You moan into him, and that’s it. Game over.

His tongue chases after yours, desperate, trying to punish you for making him jump—but your mouth is so sultry, and you taste like trouble, lakewater and a dare he couldn't turn down.

It’s obscene the way you grind against him underwater. He's hard—of course he is—and you’re not helping. You’re rubbing right against it, wet skin gliding with every wave that rocks you together, whimpering like it’s his fault you started this.

“Fuck,” he hisses against your mouth.

You’re still kissing him like you need to.

Rafe breaks it off, panting, his forehead pressed to yours again, eyes wild.

“See?” You purr, drunk on the high, on him, even with your lips kiss-swollen. “Good thing you jumped. Imagine Topper did.”

It lands like a slap.

His hands fall away like you burned him. You’re still clinging to him like some waterlogged siren sent to ruin him. He’s shoving you off, and you let him.

he distance is small, but it feels like a mile as the water chills between you.

Rafe’s chest is heaving, water lapping at his ribs, wanting to soothe him, but nothing can touch the heat in his blood.

It's always you. With your goddamn eyes, and that fucking mouth, and the way you say his name—a knife you want to stick in his ribs to see how deep you'd have to twist before he bled.

“You were thinking about that shit while I was kissing you?”

You tilt your head, calm as glass. He's two seconds from losing it completely, from dragging you under and letting the lake take both of you.

“Not while you were kissing me. After.”

After.

Rafe stares at you, something ugly boiling behind his eyes. His hands curl into fists under the water, wishing he had it in him to just swim the fuck away before he does something he can’t come back from. 

“I should’ve let you die.”

Your mouth twitches in satisfaction.

He surges forward without meaning to, water sloshing around his shoulders as he crowds you again, nose to nose, hate and want and heartbreak written in every jagged line of his face.

“And I should’ve twisted your dick off last night, but I didn’t.”

You go for him again—always—hands ghosting up his shoulders.

He’s afraid of what he’ll do if he keeps seeing you like this, half-naked and dripping and looking at him like he’s the only boy in the world while stabbing him straight through the heart with your words.

“You knew I’d jump after you. You were counting on it.”

You nod. “I was.”

You knew he felt guilty.

He lets go of your wrists, but you’re on him again, sliding back around his waist. Your skin fits to his like it belongs there, your fingers curling around his shoulders with practiced ease. 

Rafe’s body reacts before his brain does—he catches you, like the idiot he is. He grits his teeth as your tits press against his chest, mouth ghosting over his like you’re about to apologize.

But no, you don’t say sorry. You bite him.

Right on his lower lip, and he groans into it, head tilting back because you stole it. The sound claws its way out even though he doesn't want to give it to you.

You make out with him in answer.

He shouldn’t let you. He knows it once his hands get on your rack, knows it when your tongue slips past his lips again, and he doesn’t stop you like the dumb broad he is.

You hum, pleased while he’s melting into it, mirroring your rhythm, kissing you as the fool who doesn’t remember what came out of your mouth.

He breaks it off to breathe, and a second later, you swim off. Your laugh carries over the water as you paddle toward the boat, lazy, unbothered, the picture of summer mischief.

Rafe stays frozen in place for a moment, water up to his chest, mouth still stinging from your bite. His heart’s pounding. Thudding so loud it echoes in his ears over the sound of the lake

What the fuck just happened?

By the time he climbs back onto the boat, seething and horny, you’re already flopped back in your spot like a satisfied cat, sunglasses on, mouth smug.

He yanks a towel off the bench, scrubbing at his face praying it’ll erase the past five minutes, scrubbing you out of his system. 

You peek at him over the rim of your glasses, your expression all mockery, and know it when he still wants to go back in the water with you, drown himself again.

He always should’ve known better with you.

[waynes-multiverse]

I love that we're diving into the UC world here! Probably my favorite part in any crime show and this certainly didn't disappoint either!! 🤓

The whole premise of reader working as a UC in Mark's clinic was genius! I instantly knew there was something wrong with that fucking doctor, and I was praying hard it affected Mark somehow and would miraculously save (it did! yay! 😂)

But the whole execution was flawless!!

“Well maybe someday you’ll be able to figure out how to get tumors out of people’s heads without it killing them,” he said, putting his card away. You stared at him, Mark closing his eyes. “Sorry. Just uh…long day.”

Oh, poor baby! It's definitely been a long day if he pulls a Nolan and blabs it all out to the first person who listens 😅💙

But ooof, picked the wrong person to reveal this to, buddy! (Or maybe the right one 😏)

And yet…your gut was telling you something different. Patient privacy was a fine line while doing undercover work and technically you were in a morally gray area.

Love how we're reasoning our actions here 🤣 But hey, I'm all for snooping! Go dig up Mark's file and let's see what's up... 👀

“Officer Terry Bridges. Three cops all with the same set of scans. How do you explain that?”

Wow! That doctor surely thought he could take out half the LAPD, huh? I wonder why he was targeting all those cops. I'm guessing it's probably related to some case all of them worked on together. But still, this doctor is a bit nuts for thinking he'll get away with giving people fake cancer. What if someone would've done an autopsy?? 🙈

“Meachum is set to testify in court against this guy. Meachum’s sent a number of guys in this gang to jail. We know for a fact The Gray Skulls are trying to level up. You don’t need to gun down a cop when you got a doctor that will nudge him along.”

Yup, like I thought! You weaved that whole story together so cleverly. I honestly wish the show would use that to save Mark, but I'm afraid his tumor is the real deal. Still, how many bouquets of flowers and boxes of chocolates do you want for saving Mark, Michelle? 🥹💝💐

I loved how she shot down her former TO and crushed every argument of his. It seems he trained her well and it came back to bite him in the ass 😝 But God, that Garrison was such a huge bag of dicks... Not liking someone is one thing, but actively not helping them and risking their death is cruel (and pretty sure illegal, especially for a police officer). I'm glad she didn't listen to him and showed him what a real cop looks like 💪

But Mark's so lucky to have reader being relentless in her pursuit and digging deeper, even if she could've been demoted or worse if she'd been wrong (and even if Mark doesn't see it this way yet lol). Can't fake those kinds of instincts, tho. She chose the right job 💙

“Why would I lie? If I were playing you, I would broken in and killed you in your sleep,” you said, shoving him off and picking up your bag. “Just get a second opinion, Meachum.”

I love her, your honor! Loved how she blurted out the news, too. And even though this was a bit of a quick and weird official introduction with half a strip tease and guns involved, I already enjoyed their banter. They're gonna get along great 😆💕

You slowed when you came up to your house, an old, very well taken care of, Ford Bronco parked in your driveway. A figure was sitting in the chair on the small front porch area you occasionally had a morning coffee.

Dude!!! Istg I have a similar scene in part 2 of ATS 😂😂😂

And I finally know what you meant with the whiskey bottle, too (and he paid for the good stuff lol)! Plus, the Taylor Swift lyrics?? I think our angsty Swiftie brains finally connected and became one once Mark showed up on our screens 🤣💙🩵

Live footage of us plotting murder and heartbreak with Taylor’s voice whispering into our ears:

“I’m glad you’re-” He pulled you into a fierce hug, his whole body shaking. It hurt with how hard he was holding you but you didn’t say that to him.

I was bawling during this moment between them! You can just feel all that stress and tension and hurt peeling away from him 🥺❤️‍🩹

“The medicines you were on at the dosages you were taking can cause side effects. The next few days are going to hurt as your body withdrawals from them.”

“Days of this?” he winced, trying to breathe through it.

Yup! I clocked that, too! The show is focusing hard on Mark taking pills and the whole story with Olivera’s addiction definitely made me think that they’re going the direction of Mark becoming addicted to his pain meds eventually 👀

Last thing he needs, truly 😩

“Because you’re a man who clearly doesn’t give a shit about himself and is now faced with dealing with the fact he won’t actually be dead this time next year.

So true, honestly! What a mind fuck, especially for him, considering he wasn’t dealing well with this 🙈 (Does Mark sometimes give you S3 Dean vibes as well?? Lol)

“I left med school because my brother jumped off a bridge.” Mark was still, silent, the air heavy. “Do you know what Huntington’s is?”

I love all your background stories you give readers. It makes them such dimensional characters and not just some space fillers 👏 (And I’m wondering if you have a medical background besides finance because this is the second time one of your readers comes with a medical background and you always describe these scenes so realistically 🤓)

“I see why you wear the cute little scrubs. Detracts from the sailor mouth,” he said, scratching the side of his head.

Oh, but we love a girl with a sailor mouth 😂💙

“Trust me, a troublemaker like you is exactly the kind of person this team wants.” You leaned back in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You aren’t going to make me beg, are you?”

Gaaaah!! I’d love for her to join the team 😍

“Why are you taking care of me?” he asked. “I literally shoved a gun in your face last night.”

And now you can shove your other gun into her face 😏

I see myself out lol…

“They’re fuckin’ see through?” he said to himself, voice three octaves higher minimum. At least he’d forget about the earsplitting headache he had for thirty seconds. “You know this is cruel and unusual punishment if we don’t hookup eventually. Check the Geneva convention, it’s in there.”

God, he’s such a lovable idiot 😂💙

This was perfection, Michelle! Reader was such a badass in this, the plot was excellent as always with you, and the solution to Mark’s little cancer problem was brilliant. You have such a great way of hooking me into the story and delivering twists and turns that have me biting my nails off! I think we watch too many crime shows, but oh well… 😜

I would love to see more of them, even though I know you’re already writing Phantom Pains. But come on, they’re too good to pass up on! 😇😍 (Pretty please?)

KISS THE SKY

Summary: The reader is working her first undercover job when infamous LAPD Detective Mark Meachum shows up right in front of her. But she doesn't like coincidences and takes matters into her own hands to get to the truth, no matter the consequences...

Pairing: Mark Meachum x Detective!reader

Word Count: 5,300ish

Warnings: Countdown S1 spoilers, language, angst, life threatening medical diagnosis, suicide references (minor characters), smutty teasing, smidge of violence, Mark dealing with a lot/being a cutie

A/N: Welcome to my first full on Mark Meachum fic! This was written for @zepskies 5K Follower Celebration and was inspired by this color palette!

“Hi,” said a quiet voice. You glanced up from the front desk, alarm shooting through. You’d be eternally grateful that it was not only late so the office lights were dim but that the man in front of you was busy looking down, pulling out his wallet.

Why the fuck was Detective Mark Meachum at a fucking neurologists? You kept your composure, quickly taking his insurance card, Meachum not seeming to recognize you. Not that you expected him to. You’d only met him once during a citywide manhunt back when you were a rookie on patrol. He told you to canvas The Hills, you said yes sir to the incredibly handsome man, and then you hadn’t seen him in five years. 

Fuck, you’d been begging to go UC for six months and you were not about to fuck up your case over the notorious menace of the LAPD that was Mark Meachum.

“Are you new?” he asked tiredly. You put a smile on your face when you saw the weariness of his. 

“I started last week. I’m a resident shadowing Dr. Slatter but the receptionist had to leave early and it’s quiet today so I offered to cover. Figure it’s good to know the whole job in and out, you know?” 

“Sounds like you’ll be a good doctor someday,” he said quietly, a sliver of a genuine smile on his face as you handed back his card. “$25?”

“Uh, yes that’s your co-pay,” you said, Mark holding out a credit card. You swiped it, seeing from his history he’d been coming there for the past nine months, coming in every two weeks the past two months. That wasn’t good. Whatever was up with him was getting worse.

“Well maybe someday you’ll be able to figure out how to get tumors out of people’s heads without it killing them,” he said, putting his card away. You stared at him, Mark closing his eyes. “Sorry. Just uh…long day.”

Something clicked in your head, your breath hitching. Could he…Mark heard it, his eyes snapping open. Fuck, fuck. Recover before he noticed.

“Maybe someday I will Mr. Meachum,” you said. “Drive safe.”

“Have a good night,” he said, leaving the office out the front door. You stared after him, a flurry of thoughts rushing across your mind. You didn’t like the idea of coincidences and Mark Meachum being at this practice in particular was too big of one. 

You had to get back to the station and start researching. Tonight. 

“All the patients gone?” asked Dr. Slatter, walking out from the back. You hummed, hoping he got the fuck out of there so you could leave..

“I think all the staff are too. I didn’t realize we did appointments this late.” He shrugged. 

“That guy is law enforcement, doesn’t work a normal schedule. I fit him in when I can.” You nodded, Dr. Slatter leaning against the desk. “That’ll be important for you to learn. The clock doesn’t stop. Patients will call with worries, concerns, at all hours. Especially in this field.”

“What does Mr. Meachum have?” you asked. 

“Stage 4 glioblastoma. Tumor the size of a large peanut. Guy has probably six months, maybe three of decent quality of life. Depressive tendencies. We should keep an eye on him.”

“That really sucks,” you said quietly, Dr. Slatter humming. 

“Well, I have a reservation I’m late for. You heading out?”

“I was going to stay a bit late. I know I screwed up some of the medical coding when we were busy earlier and I want to get it fixed before I head out.” 

“Remember to lock up,” he said, giving you a wave before he was gone. You spent fifteen minutes doing actual work before you went into the patient files. It was easy enough to find Mark’s file and scans. Dr. Slatter if anything was underselling it. The images alone were jarring and Mark’s dosage of the medications he was on had just been upgraded again tonight. 

And yet…your gut was telling you something different. Patient privacy was a fine line while doing undercover work and technically you were in a morally gray area. You’d agreed to limit your searches on patients on a need to know basis, strictly to maintain your cover while you investigated the doctor.

But you needed to know if your instincts were right which meant accessing all of the files.

You stuck a thumb drive in the side of the computer and ten minutes later, you’d erased the history of the download and were in your car. The station was a twenty minute drive away and it gave you an excuse to check for a tail. You swung through a drive through, whistling as you drove, checking your rear view mirror a few times. The coast was clear but still, you parked in the garage of the apartment building across the street and snuck down to the underground tunnel, crossing under the street to get into the station.

“Well if it ain’t the rookie,” said your former training officer as you entered the bullpen. “Been two weeks and you miss me already?”

“Sergeant Garrison, you know I can’t get enough of you,” you said, plopping down in the empty chair next to his desk. He frowned, narrowing his eyes. 

“Don’t you have your own desk downstairs?”

“I need information. You worked with Mark Meachum back in the day right?” He scoffed. 

“We were P1’s together. Guy fucks up cases for the rest of us but that’s not news to anyone. Why ya asking?” 

“I saw him at my UC job. I need to know if he’s got enemies.” Garrison stared at you, sighing deeply. “What, you’re not going to give me the scoop?”

“Aren’t you supposed to do your own investigating?” You batted your eyes. “Y/N.”

“Remember that time I saved your life…” you trailed off, Garrison rolling his eyes. “Please? I could use another set of eyes before I head back under in the morning. I’ll let you and Jennifer stay at my parents cabin in Aspen again…”

“You’re bribing me and it’s working.” You plopped the bag of chicken nuggets on the desk with a grin.

“Meet me in conference room C in five.”

Three AM

“Holy…” you said to yourself, smacking Garrison’s arm. He popped his head up from where he’d fallen asleep, paper stuck to his face. “Look at this!”

“Oh god, I thought it was only a nightmare that I was still at work,” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. You smacked him again, turning your laptop towards him. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”

“This is Mark Meachum’s MRI scans,” you said, Garrison resting his chin in his hand. “Look at this.”

You clicked open another file, Garrison tilting his head. “You opened the same file, genius.”

“No. I didn’t.” He perked up, pulling the computer closer, reading the name on the top of the second set of scans. “Mark Meachum and former detective Linda Prisen have the exact same MRI scans and I mean exact. Same growth, same size, same pictures at the exact same durations. In what world does that happen?”

“Someone saved over Meachum’s file?” he asked tiredly. You sighed, taking the computer back. “Y/L/N, it’s an admin error.”

“Once is an admin error. Twice?” you said, hitting another file, Garrison staring at the screen. “Officer Terry Bridges. Three cops all with the same set of scans. How do you explain that?”

Garrison’s eyes darted around the screen for a long moment before finally finding yours. “First things first, separate your facts and theory. The smart thing to do would be to wait, gather information, build this into your investigation.”

“He thinks he’s dying,” you said quietly, Garrison sighing. “Garrison, I looked into Meachum and he’s had run ins with The Gray Skulls before. I don’t think he’s actually sick. I have to tell him.”

“You don’t know that he isn’t.” You rolled your eyes, gesturing to the computer. “Devils advocate here. He has headaches according to this file, right?”

“Yes but the meds he’s on are strong and the dosage has been ramping up. Those are strong medications to help with things like migraines, vertigo. If you pump that crap into someone that doesn’t need it at a high enough dosage, there are side effects,” you said. “Next argument.”

“Meachum went to the doctor of his own accord. How’d Slatter drug him before he started writing prescriptions for him then?” 

“Easy,” you said, cocking your head. “Meachum took a hit to the head by a murder suspect who coincidentally happens to be part of The Gray Skulls. It was probably an average concussion which made the initial headaches real. He was referred to Dr. Slatter, you know, a trusted doctor regularly used by the department, who then probably oh so kindly suggested an MRI to check the concussion and bob’s your uncle. Meachum gets a magic MRI showing he has a tumor in his head.”

“You realize how batshit crazy that sounds right?” asked Garrison. “It’s a stupid crazy chain of events that Dr. Slatter had no idea would happen.”

“Dr. Slatter knew it would happen because he knew the murder suspect because, again, that damn suspect is part of The Gray Skulls which, oh, I’m investigating Dr. Slatter as being part of,” you said, hitting Mark’s arrest records, showing him arresting a member of the gang just the day before Dr. Slatter’s file on him started. “Meachum is set to testify in court against this guy. Meachum’s sent a number of guys in this gang to jail. We know for a fact The Gray Skulls are trying to level up. You don’t need to gun down a cop when you got a doctor that will nudge him along.”

“Y/N-” You stood up, hands on your hips.

“Prisen? Bridges? Both made arrests against The Gray Skulls and both were set to testify before…” You inhaled sharply, Garrison softening his face. “Prisen killed herself with pills and Bridges disappeared off the face of the planet after a supposed last hurrah hiking trip. Dr. Slatter put them both on an antidepressant not long before they…he already dropped the seed tonight that Mark was depressed which I sure as shit don’t believe. The guy is fucked up but he’s not there. I guarantee Slatter is going to give Mark pills he doesn’t needs soon and nudge him along. I’m not letting that man kill himself when he’s got another forty years left in him. Fuck my case. I’ll get the doctor on this shit if I have to.”

Garrison leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He bit his bottom lip, releasing it slowly.

“What if Mark Meachum is actually dying and you fuck up your case for nothing?”

“Then I’ll deal with the fallout.”

“They might demote you, put you back on patrol the rest of your career, shit they might fire you. Why do you care so much about this guy anyway? Most of the people he’s worked with can’t stand him.”

“He deserves protection, just like the rest of us.” Garrison tilted his head, sizing you up. “What?”

“This sudden devotion to Mark Meachum wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with your brother?” You narrowed your eyes, fighting back the way your heart raced.

“I have three brothers. Be a little more specific.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe Kyle?” You clenched your fists, Garrison sighing. “You’re letting personal conflict impact your case. In fact, you are so damn close to this thing, I should report you, get you taken off it.”

You gathered up your computer and files, shoving them in your backpack. “Rookie, you know I’m right.”

“It is Detective Y/L/N,” you snapped, Garrison stiffening in his chair. “You’re right, I have an extra investment in making sure Mark Meachum is not in the same position as Kyle. The investment that I said I’d have every other person’s back on the job no matter what. Same investment you’re supposed to have.”

You put your backpack on and started to leave, Garrison swiveling out of his chair and rushing around the table. “Okay, okay. I’m being a dick cause the guy is a bit reckless and endangers others. But why throw your case away over it? Odds are Meachum won’t do something drastic. Just work your case and-”

“Garrison.” You stared up at him, his tired eyes full of worry. Not for Meachum but you. “My case is not worth a man’s life. If this were any other cop, would this even be a discussion?”

“You don’t know that he doesn’t have cancer! You are not allowed to disclose undercover cases to those without a need to know. I’m not even supposed to know and yet you dragged me into it. I-”

You held up a hand, putting a smile on your face. “I just remembered. You and Meachum were rookies together. You just don’t like the guy, that’s it, isn’t it?”

“He’ll fuck up your case,” he said quietly. “He did it on a big bank robbery case when we were your age and slapped the guy with a stupid assault and battery charge. Screwed up months of work all so he could arrest the guy himself. He’s done it over and over again and doesn’t give a shit about his fellow officers so no, I do not feel a sense of loyalty to him.”

“Well, it sounds like Meahcum’s the kind of guy I thought you were.”

“He’s a fucking menace-”

“Our job is to protect people,” you shot back.

“Not that motherfucker.” You blinked at him, shaking your head.

“Goodbye Garrison. Don’t feel the need to contact me outside of work ever again,” you said, leaving with a pep in your step.

Did you know for sure Meachum wasn’t sick? Nope. Would your case explode if you told Meachum and he tipped off Dr. Slatter? A million times over. Would you get kicked back down to patrol forever? Probably.

Still, you didn’t hesitate for one second to look up Mark Meachum’s address and head straight over. 

You sucked down a cup of coffee on Mark’s front porch while hitting his Ring doorbell incessantly. It dinged, your gaze drifting to it for a split second.

“Drunk girl, it is four in the fucking morning,” a tired grumble came from the device. “Wrong fuckin’ house.”

“Mark Meachum, I don’t think so,” you said, leaning over the camera. 

“Wait, you’re the doctor intern thing at Dr. Slatter’s,” he said. There was a shuffling and you saw a light turn on in the house. He opened the front door, raising his eyebrows. “Weren’t you wearing those lilac scrubs yesterday?”

“I’m impressed you know what that color is,” you said, brushing past him inside, his hand immediately catching your bicep. “Detective Y/N Y/L/N. Narcotics.”

The door slammed shut behind you, Mark narrowing his eyes. You flicked your eyes up to his bedhead. It made him look like an angry hedgehog and you couldn’t help but smirk at it.

“Leave the bag on the ground and then you can get on your knees, hands on your head.”

“You didn’t even buy me dinner first,” you said, Mark reaching behind himself, pulling a gun out of the waistband of his sweatpants. You set the bag down and stepped back against the front door, holding your hands up. “My badge is in the front left pocket.”

“Never said I didn’t believe you were a cop,” he said, keeping the gun by his side. “If you’re worried I’m going to blow your cover, you should have gone through department channels instead of coming to my fucking house in the middle of the night.”

“That’s not why I came here,” you said, Mark tilting his chin towards you. You lifted up your scrubs, giving him a view of your very skin colored bra and the fact you had no weapon or wires on you.

“Jesus fuck, I didn’t ask for a strip tease. I want you to explain yourself, weirdo.” You flipped him off, taking a step towards the bag. His hand moved so fast you didn’t catch it. You landed flat on your back, Meachum on top of you as you tried to get some air back in your lungs. The cold barrel of his gun wound it’s way under your jaw, the spike of fear and adrenaline not helping the whole not breathing thing. “Let me explain something, Detective Y/L/N. You’re not following protocols which makes me very suspect of you. Now, a friend of mine just died and I am extremely paranoid at the moment so I would start talking and fast.”

“I don’t think you have cancer,” you blurted out. His eyes flared wide, first in shock, then anger. He grabbed the collar of your scrubs, lifting you straight up to your feet as he stood. You felt like a ragdoll when he pushed you back against a wall, the gun in his hands pressed hard against your forehead. His eyes were practically black, body so close to yours you couldn’t effectively fight him, not when he was so much stronger.

“Because I should trust you, some fuckin’ rookie detective playing doctor. Get the fuck out of my house before I find out who your captain is and get you drop kicked to the graveyard shift for the next decade.”

“Why would I lie? If I were playing you, I would broken in and killed you in your sleep,” you said, shoving him off and picking up your bag. “Just get a second opinion, Meachum.”

You stormed out of there, wondering why the hell you gave up medical school to be dealing with this crap in the first place.

You were exhausted by the time you were getting home the following night. You hadn’t gotten any sleep before heading back UC and were ordered to report in after your shift at Dr. Slatter’s. Which, shocker to no one, turned into you being yelled at for two hours by the Captain, your direct supervisor and that snitch Garrison. Apparently Gary had strong feelings about Mark Meachum and “didn’t want to see you get hurt” and bullshit bullshit bullshit. You might have believed that before in the heat of the moment it came out that Meachum had arrested a guy Garrison was after which would have gotten him the tap to become detective himself.

Telling Garrison he was a lazy investigator when it came to real crime, didn’t have the balls or instinct to be a detective, and there was a reason so many of his former trainees had surpassed him career-wise probably hadn’t helped your case.

But you’d swear on your life you saw the rest of them smirk in agreeance for a split second. 

For now you were off the Slatter case and would be finding out in the morning what the verdict was regarding your fate. Until then though, you were going to pound back a sleeve of mint Oreos, raid your liquor cabinet and then sleep like a rock.

You slowed when you came up to your house, an old, very well taken care of, Ford Bronco parked in your driveway. A figure was sitting in the chair on the small front porch area you occasionally had a morning coffee. You carefully pulled in beside it, the figure not looking up. Five seconds later you were walking around the cars, backpack slung over your shoulder, gun tucked in the back of your periwinkle scrubs.

“Purple your favorite color or some shit?” asked Meachum quietly, barely glancing up at you.

“More of an indigo girl. Best of both worlds,” you said, a brown paper bag by his feet. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

He stood up slowly, nudging the bag with his foot closer to you. “Asked around. Heard you like Johnny Walker Blue.”

“While I appreciate you blowing your paycheck on what appears to be three gigantic bottles of the stuff, why? Last we talked I got the impression you weren’t my biggest fan.”

He shivered in the night air but it wasn’t from the cool. His head dropped, shoulders raising with a deep inhale. The next breath came quicker, Mark’s fingers gripping into the denim over his thighs. 

“Did you get a second opinion, Mark?” you asked softly. He nodded, the breaths coming faster and faster. You watched him carefully, waiting to see if he’d put a stopper back on the bottle that was about to bubble over or finally let it pop. “What did the other doctor say?”

“Scan showed nothing,” he whispered, darting his eyes upwards. His green eyes were red rimmed from the remnants of what you’d imagine was a happy but very confused breakdown in that Bronco not long ago. For the moment, despite the shake to his voice, they were dry. “You were right.”

“I’m glad you’re-” He pulled you into a fierce hug, his whole body shaking. It hurt with how hard he was holding you but you didn’t say that to him. You reached your arm around him as best you could, patting the top of his head as he buried it in your shoulder. “Mark, is there someone I could call for you? I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“I’m always alone,” he mumbled. You closed your eyes, hugging him back, his large body trying to burrow into yours. You felt it the moment he felt self-conscious, trying to tug back but you just held him, Mark only fighting it a millisecond before he was relaxing. “Why’d you tell me you didn’t think I was sick?”

“All part of my grand plan to get some free booze.” He let out a dry laugh, his whole body moving with it. “I’m serious. I was running low and thought this was easier than dealing with the store.”

“You’re so weird,” he chuckled, straightening up, closing his eyes, wincing in pain.

“Did you stop taking the medicines you were on?” He nodded, pressing his hands to his temple, as if applying pressure would relieve the white hot searing across his skull. “The medicines you were on at the dosages you were taking can cause side effects. The next few days are going to hurt as your body withdrawals from them.”

“Days of this?” he winced, trying to breathe through it. “Do me a favor and bash my skull in.”

“After I just got my ass reamed out for telling you? No way, Meachum. I figure you owe me at least twenty more years of life for all the shit headed my direction. Come on,” you dragged him inside, getting him settled at the kitchen table. You set an orange gatorade down in front of him. “Drink that while I make you something to eat because I seriously doubt you remembered to eat today.”

“...How’d you know that?” he asked, chugging the bottle half down in one go, his eyes still shut. You dimmed the lights overhead, Mark slowly peeling his eyes open. 

“Because you’re a man who clearly doesn’t give a shit about himself and is now faced with dealing with the fact he won’t actually be dead this time next year. I don’t think hitting your macros was on your radar today, bud.”

You set a loaf of bread down in front of him that was borderline stale but he wolfed it down, alternating between his drink and that as you whipped up food on the stove. Ten minutes later you put a plate of three eggs with tomato, onions and peppers down and a stack of three pancakes in front of him. He ate as fast as you could get syrup and butter out of the fridge, Mark already finishing by the time you popped a pancake in your mouth.

“Drink more water,” you said, putting a glass down, Mark chugging it too. 

“You got any advil? Tylenol?”

“Sure. I got some Midol too if you get crampy.” He paused setting his drink down, giving you a look. You grinned, chewing on another pancake. “I suggest you don’t take anything and focus on staying hydrated and fed the next few days. Stay in a dark room, sleep when you can, take hot showers. Ride it out.”

“...How do you know this shit?” he asked.

“Because I went to med school. Dropped out one semester shy of graduation for the very lucrative career of an LAPD detective which I’m probably getting demoted tomorrow. I make really awesome life decisions if you couldn’t tell,” you said, sitting down across from him, Mark smiling to himself. “It’s not a bad idea to get the advice of an actual doctor-”

“No more doctors,” he said. You nodded, Mark finally pushing the empty plate away, letting out a huff of air as his stomach probably yelled at him for stuffing himself so fast. “So you’re telling me I got you in trouble I take it?”

“It’s hard to believe, I know, but a lot of people in the LAPD don’t like you for some reason,” you grinned, Mark smirking. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Why risk your case for me? I wasn’t actually dying, only thought I was.” You looked down, biting the inside of your cheek. “Whatever the reason was, I owe you-”

“I left med school because my brother jumped off a bridge.” Mark was still, silent, the air heavy. “Do you know what Huntington’s is?”

“That neuro disease with no cure that kills you.” You nodded, Mark sighing. “Your brother had the gene.”

“When I was in med school, my oldest brother worked at a genome lab. Me and my three brothers did it over Christmas, thought it’d be fun to see our ethnicity make up and shit. Maybe give it to our parents for shits and giggles. But results came back and turns out the baby, Kyle, he’s got the Huntington gene. Kyle was a freshman in med school and knew exactly what it does to you. He struggled with the pressure of school and he’d just gone through a bad breakup. We never even got the chance to talk to our parents. Kyle just…decided it was too much and jumped off a bridge that night.”

“Y/N, I’m so-”

“An intern at the lab got the lab results mixed up with another Kyle. My brother Kyle? He wasn’t sick. I’ve never blamed that intern. Kyle made a stupid choice based on a mistake.” You stared at Mark, his green eyes boring into yours. “Do you understand now, Mark? Why I told you?”

“No stupid choices over here. Ever,” he said, holding up his hands.

“Smart man. Kyle regrets that choice every day and I’m not dealing with two of you,” you said, Mark’s eyebrow raising. 

“Kyle’s…alive?” 

“Us Y/L/N’s are a hard headed bunch. Fucker broke both legs and was back in med school a year later,” you said, Mark blinking rapidly. “I never said it was a tall bridge.”

“Surprised you’re not a lawyer with a mouth like that.”

“That’ll be my next career after I get canned from this one,” you said, Mark eyeing you up and down. “Careful, Meachum. Last man that looked at me like that wound up tied to my headboard and your body can’t cash the check your eyes are delivering right now.”

“I see why you wear the cute little scrubs. Detracts from the sailor mouth,” he said, scratching the side of his head. “And while we will circle back to this wonderful idea involving a headboard you have, I have an idea to help both of us out. My head’s already killing me and I have to work tomorrow-”

“No way. Two hours from now I wouldn’t even trust you to operate a microwave let alone carry a gun.”

“I know which is why we need to call my boss. I’m on a task force right now and this is not the kind of job you can call in a sick day for.” You raised an eyebrow, Mark pulling out his phone. “You sub in for me on this, Blythe will pull whatever strings he has to in order to make sure you not only keep your job but stay on as a detective. We got a deal?”

“A task force? I get I did you a favor but I’ve only been a cop for-”

“Trust me, a troublemaker like you is exactly the kind of person this team wants.” You leaned back in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You aren’t going to make me beg, are you?”

“...You owe me another bottle of booze,” you said, standing up with a groan. He was about to argue but you held up a hand. “The booze is for the fact I’m a good person who doesn’t feel comfortable sending you home alone to deal with this shit and you’re going to end up crashing on my couch for the next several days I suspect.”

“I can repay you in other ways when I’m feeling better-” You put a hand over his mouth, shushing him. His eyes were a mix of teasing and masking the current egg scramble that was his head at the moment.

“Just call your boss, Meachum.” You patted his head and slipped past him, ready to take a quick shower and change before checking on him again. He caught your hand before you could leave though, your head turning back over your shoulder. He parted his lips, a vulnerability in his face again. “I’ll be ten minutes, okay?”

“Why are you taking care of me?” he asked. “I literally shoved a gun in your face last night.”

“I was going to be a doctor at one point. Taking care of people is just something I do.” He frowned, not quite believing that. You threw your head back, closing your eyes. “My job is to protect and serve and that includes you.”

“Bullshit. Why would you go out of your way to feed me and-” You spun your wrist around, grabbing his hand instead. Mark watched you push his hand back down to the table. “I’m not some fuckin’ wounded animal.”

“Actually, you are,” you said, leaning down in his face, Mark scowling. “You need a friend right now and you showed up on my porch all on your own. Sorry to disappoint but I actually give a shit about my friends and that means making sure they don’t make stupid fuckin’ choices or get close to even feeling like stupid choices are an option. Am I clear?”

He stared at you, nodding once. You turned around, Mark clearing his throat. “So just curious, how often do you turn your other friends on cause that was strangely hot.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you shot back, ripping off your scrub top on the way down the hall. 

“You’re torturing me on purpose. That’s what you’re doing. You realize this is the second time in less than a day you’ve shown me your bra.” You turned around and kicked off your your scrub pants, shrugging your shoulders as his eyes drank your body in. “I’m going through drug withdrawls over here and you’re trying to kill me.”

“Sounds like a you problem, Meachum,” you said, going back down the hall, giving him a view of your backside. “This is my house and I’ll wear whatever I want in it.”

“They’re fuckin’ see through?” he said to himself, voice three octaves higher minimum. At least he’d forget about the earsplitting headache he had for thirty seconds. “You know this is cruel and unusual punishment if we don’t hookup eventually. Check the Geneva convention, it’s in there.”

“Call your damn boss and then get your ass on the couch, Meachum,” you said. “Or else you ain’t seeing shit from me ever again.”

You didn’t turn around but you didn’t miss the way the chair scrapped behind you as Mark practically dove onto the couch.

A/N: Well there's my first truly official Mark Meachum fic! Please let me know what you thought!

[dayasfilms]

Hi! It’s the anon with the super specific request - thank you for replying to me. So either in a later reticent timeline or a stand alone, but say Steve and reader have moved and are living together in some big city. Steve starts to ironically say “honey I’m home” whenever he gets home and eventually it becomes a force of habit. Cut to a slightly older Dustin showing up at your doorstep one day unannounced so you take him in ofc then cut to a few hours later and Steve comes home and “honey I’m home” only to turn the corner and be greeted by Dustin wearing a shit eating grin and Steve is all “come on man, what’re you doing here? You can’t just show up unannounced” like the banter they were giving in season 4 but really he’s so wrapped to have him stay for a few nights and then it’s just Dustin interrupting their little life together and making comments about “thin walls” to embarrass Steve and he’s all like wtf you don’t talk about sex, you don’t know about sex you’re a child and Dustin is like dude I’m however old. Sorry if this is a mess and no pressure at all, I just thought it could be fun

Unexpected Arrival

Summary: Dustin shows up to your apartment unannounced to stay over for the week.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of sex, no smut but it leads up to it, making out, dustin showing up unannounced, post upside down stuff, could be in the reticent universe or an alternate universe (will decide after season five releases)

Word Count: 2k

Note: Thank you for your request! I lowkey made the reader and Steve in this one shot similar to Star and Steve in the Reticent universe, but since I have no idea what’s going to happen in season five, I don’t want this to be a definite post season five fic. However, once season five releases and I finish Reticent, I may make another fic similar to this (if Steve and Star make it out alive). Enjoy this cutesy little one shot.

Stranger Things Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

Ever since you and Steve moved into your apartment together in the big city, he wouldn’t hesitate to come home after work and say, “Honey, I’m home!”

It started off as a joke, but then it became a part of your routine. He’d walk in, kick off his shoes, and call it out while balancing a grocery bag or some takeout containers. Sometimes he’d lean against the doorframe with a smirk on his face, waiting for you to laugh or groan or throw a pillow at him for being corny. You never did because you actually enjoyed the words coming out of his mouth.

It made you giddy whenever he greeted you that way, like the two of you were really taking that next big step. Living together, loving each other, building a little home out of this apartment with the weird closet and creaky heater.

Your mornings were slow, filled with sleepy yawns and Steve’s arms wrapped around you tight so you wouldn’t be able to leave for work until he peppered you with a million kisses. He always looked half-awake when he padded into the kitchen, grabbing two mugs for coffee and kissing your forehead while you cooked something simple. Sometimes, if he managed to get out of bed earlier than you, he’d be the one to make the two of you breakfast.

The two of you were settled now. The city was loud and overwhelming at first, a lot different than the quiet you two experienced in Hawkins (despite all the Upside Down havoc), but it became easier once you found your rhythm. Grocery runs, laundry day, movie nights on the couch, dance parties in the kitchen, it all felt so easy with him around.

You finished up at the office and came home to a quiet apartment. Steve was still at work, but you knew he wouldn’t be much longer as he usually got off about an hour after you. Some days, it would be the opposite, with you arriving home after him. It was nice, the way your schedules lined up like that, even if your jobs were nothing alike. You spent your days dealing with case files and clients as a lawyer, while Steve had to deal with trying to make math sound fun as an elementary school teacher.

You liked the contrast, where your days were filled with arguments and deadlines, while his were filled with story time and crayons. You’d both come home tired, sometimes cranky, but there was comfort in knowing you had someone to come home to.

You dropped your bag near the front door and slipped off your shoes. The early evening sunlight spilled in through the windows, casting a soft glow over the kitchen counter where a small stack of mail waited. You ignored it for now and padded into the bedroom to freshen up and change into something more comfortable, opting for a pair of sweatpants and one of Steve’s shirts.

By the time you wandered back into the kitchen, a knock at the front door made you pause. Your brows pulled together as you glanced toward the hallway. You weren’t expecting anyone. You knew it wasn’t Steve because he had his keys. Unless he somehow lost them.

You opened the door and froze. There stood Dustin Henderson, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a huge grin spreading across his face.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, already pulling you into a hug. “Did you miss me?”

“Dustin?” You laughed, hugging him back before leaning away to look at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on spring break,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, taking his shoes off and tossing his bag near the wall. “College is stressful. You guys have snacks, right?”

“Uh…sure, come in, I guess,” you said, still processing his sudden arrival. “You couldn’t have called?”

You weren’t mad, but maybe a little caught off guard. It wasn’t like you didn’t want him there, because you loved Dustin, but it would’ve been nice to have a heads-up. You were planning on ordering takeout again since you were too exhausted to cook dinner. Steve wouldn’t have minded and would just collapse on the couch with you like usual. Now, with a guest, you felt like you should actually make food.

“That ruins the surprise,” Dustin said easily, making himself comfortable on the couch. “It’s more fun this way.”

You sighed and turned back to the kitchen, already pulling open the fridge to see what you could throw together. You weren’t upset, just mildly exasperated. But you’d known Dustin too long to be surprised by stuff like this.

“Steve’s definitely going to be surprised,” you muttered, grabbing a carton of eggs and some leftover pasta.

As if right on cue, the door creaked open a few seconds later.

“Honey, I’m home!” Steve called, his voice cheery, keys jingling as he shut the door behind him.

He turned the corner with a smile still on his face, until he saw Dustin sitting on your couch with his legs up like he’d lived there for months.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Steve said.

“Hi, honey,” Dustin said with a shit-eating grin.

Steve looked at you. You held back a laugh and just shrugged.

“Come on, man,” Steve groaned, throwing his arms up. “You can’t just show up like this.”

“Well, I did,” Dustin said. “Thought I’d give my two favorite adults a nice surprise.”

Steve sighed and put his hands on his hips. “You still should’ve called, Henderson.” Though, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. He ruffled Dustin’s curls before heading to the kitchen. “Are you making dinner?”

You leaned against the counter, watching them both. “I was going to order takeout, but not anymore.”

He sighed, turning his head to look at the younger boy watching TV, before turning back to you and kissing your cheek. “You’re the best. Let me help.”

Later that night, after dinner and a half-played board game that ended in accusations of cheating, you and Steve were curled up on the couch, your legs tangled over his. The TV was on, but you weren’t really watching. You were too busy tracing lazy circles into the back of his neck, your head resting against his chest.

Dustin had already called it a night, disappearing into the spare bedroom with a dramatic, “Alright, goodnight, lovebirds,” before shutting the door behind him.

You let out a quiet laugh as the door clicked shut. Steve was already looking at you with that soft, adoring gaze that always made your cheeks warm.

“You know he’s gonna eat all our cereal tomorrow morning,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his.

Steve grinned. “He’s lucky we like him.”

You leaned in and kissed him. It was supposed to be quick, but before you could pull away, his hand slipped to the back of your head, gently pulling you close. The kiss deepened and his thumb brushed along your jaw. You felt everything around you fade away.

Your hands slid up the front of his shirt, and Steve hummed against your lips. “Come with me,” he whispered, already standing and pulling you with him by the hand.

You followed him to your bedroom, trying to keep quiet as you passed the guest room. Once inside, you shut the door behind you, arms still looped around his neck.

“Steve,” you said in a low voice. “Dustin’s literally down the hall.”

Steve’s mouth curved into a grin. “Then you’ll just have to be quiet.”

You gave him a look but it faded fast when he kissed you again. He guided you gently back toward the bed, hands skimming along your waist, his touch soft against your skin. His lips dragged along your neck, his hands skimmed beneath your shirt like he needed to feel every inch of you.

You tilted your head back, breath hitching as his mouth moved down your collarbone, leaving wet kisses. His hands quickly took off your shirt, and before you could even blink, he had you caged underneath him, having you aching for more.

“Still think this is a bad idea?” He asked, voice low against your skin.

You barely managed to shake your head before he kissed you again. You accidentally let out a loud moan, before Steve deepened the kiss and swallowed your whimpers. His hand slid along your bare waist, fingers splayed like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and he let out a quiet, breathless laugh against your mouth. “You’ve gotta be quiet, honey.”

“You’re the one making that difficult,” you whispered, breath hot and uneven as he trailed his lips down your chest.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You arched into him, your nails digging lightly into his back as his hands roamed lower, pressing into your thighs, dragging you impossibly closer. Steve kissed you again with more force, like he wanted to burn the memory of this into both your bodies.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispered against your lips, thumb brushing along your cheek.

“I don’t,” you breathed, tugging his hair. “Just don’t make me scream.”

His smirk returned. “No promises.”

The next morning, you woke up in Steve’s arms, your legs still looped with his under the warmth of the comforter. You blinked slowly, turning your head to see Steve already watching you with that lazy, post-sex grin on his face.

“Morning,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

“Morning,” you mumbled back, stretching slightly with a content sigh. But the peace didn’t last long.

From the kitchen came the unmistakable sound of a cereal box rustling and a spoon clinking against a bowl. Your eyes snapped open fully, and Steve stiffened beside you. You both sat up quickly, exchanging wide-eyed looks.

“Shit, I forgot he was here,” you whispered.

Steve groaned, dragging a hand over his face. You reached for the nearest shirt (which was his) and tugged it over your head as you got out of bed. When the two of you walked into the living room, Dustin was already sitting at the table in his pajamas, bowl of cereal in hand, and a smirk firmly in place.

“Hope you two slept well,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Real well.”

Steve let out a long sigh. “How long have you been up?”

Dustin shrugged. “Long enough to know the walls in this place are way too thin.”

You stopped mid-step, freezing as your face flushed with heat. You shot Steve a glare over your shoulder. He held up his hands in mock defense, mouthing sorry with a wince.

Dustin grinned wider. “I mean, I didn’t want to hear it, but once someone started moaning, it was kinda hard to ignore.”

Your jaw dropped. “Dustin!”

Steve looked horrified. “Dude, what the hell? You’re, like, twelve. You don’t talk about sex!”

“Um, I’m twenty!” Dustin shot back. “I’m in college. I know things.”

“You shouldn’t say them out loud!” Steve groaned, reaching for the coffee pot like he was suddenly aging ten years.

You crossed your arms and gave Steve a pointed look. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?” He asked, eyes wide.

“You said I had to be quiet,” you hissed, face still burning. “And then proceeded to make that impossible.”

Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Wow. You guys really went for it, huh?”

Steve buried his face in his hands. “I hate everything.”

You sat down at the table, head in your hands. “Dustin, shut up.”

Dustin popped a spoonful of cereal into his mouth with a grin. “At least now I know why the whole apartment was shaking last night.”

“Okay, out!” Steve barked, pointing toward the door.

Dustin just laughed. “Relax. I’m not scarred or anything. Just…maybe get soundproof panels or something before you have guests staying over.”

You and Steve exchanged one last mortified glance before he collapsed into the chair beside you with a groan.

[babyjinsu]

[r/relationship_advice] need advice! dk what to do.

enhypen 02z || reddit au

౨ৎ kidnapping, obsession, emotional manipulation, confinement, implied coercion, psychological abuse, religious delusion, stalking

[r/relationship_advice] need advice! dk what to do. posted by u/throwaway7853 • 6h ago

hey guys. using a burner account because i really can’t have this tied back to me 😬

i (23M) need help with something that’s… kinda complicated. please don’t judge me quickly because i know this can look bad. but it’s not what you think!

or at least it didn’t start that way. but hear me out first. 

so i’ve known this girl for about 4 years now. we met through mutual friends, and i’ve been into her since day one. like the first second i saw her, she got me hooked. i just genuinely felt something from the moment we met. she’s so beautiful, so kind so smart, so perfect and honestly just the person i’ve ever felt this strongly and certain about. 

i never told her how i felt until a few weeks ago… and i guess i waited too long :/ i feel like it wouldn’t turn out this way if i’d taken my chances earlier but yeah. no use crying over spilt milk or smtg. i thought maybe she felt the same, but… she didn’t. she said i was sweet, but we don’t know each other that much/like that yet. and that she wasn’t looking for anything at the moment because she’s planning to move abroad for school soon. which is fair. like, technically we’re not “friends friends.” we’ve just met in social settings sometimes. when there’s a party, she goes, and i go with my friends, vice versa. i get that. i really do. she didn’t say she didn’t like me though…

at first i was like oh okay, yea, understandable. i know she’s being truthful because if i’m being really really honest, i’m not bad looking. like at all. i know that can sound narcissistic but i’m really not. and we can definitely get to know each other from there and maybe create something more (since that’s the reason why she… turned me down?? i don’t think it was a rejection)

but then… idk. it started to mess with me like crazy. it hit me that she was going to leave this country. for real. for good. and the thought of never seeing her again, of not getting a real chance (i hate ldrs), i couldn’t stop thinking about it. it felt wrong, like she was slipping away before anything could ever start. it was fucking me up. i couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, i showered just because i have to. my life was just all over the fucking place that time.

so i did something i probably shouldn’t have? something impulsive? intrusive? 

i told her i wanted to say goodbye properly and she agreed. she’s such a sweet girl dude. i picked her up and drove us somewhere remote. i guess you could say she was kinda weirded out by where we were heading but she didn’t press. i just wanted to talk and show her my riverside spot for the last time. but once we got there… i couldn’t do it. i couldn’t let her go. 

i really didn’t mean for it to go to this fair. and NO. i didn’t hurt her. she’s okay, she’s perfectly fine. she’s breathing, she’s dressed. just lost a few pounds maybe.

but she won’t talk to me. 

she keeps asking when i’ll bring her back but i can’t. i can’t because i’ve taken this shit way too fucking far and honestly, i don’t trust it when she said “she won’t tell anyone.” i want to believe her, i really do. i don’t think she’s capable of lying. she looks scared sometimes but then other times she just… stares at me like she’s trying to figure out how to play this. she’s being careful with her words and i don’t like that one bit. it freaks me out. this feels fake and i don’t know how to feel about it. 

i know how this sounds, but i’m not a bad person! i’m not violent. i didn’t touch her, i didn’t yell, i didn’t hit her or anything. no. she’s my dream girl, i could never. i just wanted her to understand? i wanted us to have time without everyone else, without distractions, without her thinking she needs to run off and start a new life somewhere else. i just need her here. 

it’s been two weeks? and it’s kinda working. like yesterday, she finally ate something (a proper meal) and when i gave her a sweater because it’s cold here at night, she didn’t thrash or rip it. i don’t wanna be confident and say that she’s adapting or accepting how things are going to be for her from now on but it’s a progress, right?? way better than having her hit me and scratch me and just yell until she lost her voice. (is it possible to cough out blood from screaming?? idk)

i’m trying to make this okay. i’m not asking for praise or anything, i know i fucked up. yea i didn’t plan any of this, i just acted on instinct and now i’m deep in it. way too fucking deep to go back. if i let her go now, she’s going to hate me. gonna call the cops and tell everyone what i did. tell our friends, her parents, the uni. i don’t want her to be scared of me. 

i just want her to see me for who i really am, and get to know each other on a deeper level. relationship type of level but i can’t since she’s fucking flying overbroad. she was gonna leave me behind without even knowing who i really am. what i can provide for her. what i can prove to her as a boyfriend. she was going to live a shiny new life and never think about me again. 

if i didn’t do what i did rn, she’d be gone by now. so maybe this is what had to happen. it’s fate. this is like one of god’s weird little tests for both of us that we just have to think and go through it together. she’ll understand later, i know.

so uh. 

what do i do next?

like seriously. what would you guys do? 

i went out like, a few days after that to get some things (not gonna use it, but just in case). i just needed to feel prepared? idk. it’s stupid, forget it lol. i’ve been trying to make her feel comfortable here. i restocked her favourite food, bought a blanket, and even downloaded some dvds for her to watch.. 

gosh, i don’t fucking know what to do. this post is all over the fucking place. do i regret it? no. not really? i thought about letting her go for a second when she woke up crying that night. like, just driving her somewhere far and dropping her off… or knocking her unconscious (just for this reason) and idk hope she gets an amnesia or a concussion or some sort. but then what?? she goes straight to the police? i lose my life? maybe go to jail for a couple of years? or even worse, she never talks to me again and the idea of us being together as a couple is just not going to happen? what the fuck. i become the crazy story she tells her therapist?

i’d rather slit my throat than be that to her.

i love this girl so fucking much and i know she feels it too. we just need some time together and i know she’ll warm up sooner or later. i’m willing to wait but as for now…

what do i do?

Top Comments: 

[u/tiramisu] hey so what the fuck? 

[u/readtheroom] get a burner phone, delete this post n stop documenting everything online ffs.

[u/deepfried] you kidnapped someone and asked for advice? yeah it’s called turning yourself in. 

[u/pixiedust] timestamp rn

[u/throwaway7853 OP replying to u/pixiedust] haha is this a set up? 

[u/applegod] stock up on non-traceables. cash only. get food that doesn’t need delivery receipts. 

[u/plasticmoon13 replying to u/applegod] nah he NEEDS to go out. it’ll be suspicious if he doesn’t. they have friends together they’ll suspect

[u/ratfucker9000] just because you didn’t hit her doesn’t mean you’re not abusive. stop acting like this is a Nicholas Sparks plot twist. it’s a literal crime.

[u/radjoker] did u really come on relationship advice asking for tips on how to keep your “girlfriend” hostage?? ure fucking sick and delusional kys

[u/chewy_ghost] don’t make it feel like a prison if you really want her to stay and be normal. stop controlling everything. let her talk and eat and ask questions. 

[u/throwaway7853 OP replying to u/chewy_ghost] that’s what i did! but she refuses to eat or talk to me and she’s not acting up or being a “brat” like before but idk. i’m scared it’s one of her tactics to get my guard lowered. 

[u/th3n3t replying to u/throwaway7853 OP] ure too soft. u wanna play the game but ure ten steps back lol. shes probs memorising everything. fear can be rechanneled. take control bro

[u/freya19] all this writing and not once did u use the word kidnap?

[u/moumou911] she doesn't fucking like you get that in your head psycho

[u/boytime_] how are you so normal about this

[u/throwaway7853 OP replying to u/boytime_] because i didn't hit her :)

💭 oh my god i haven't done reddit series for so long. my first enhypen one! ^3^ i remember there was an anon who suggested this troupe? reddit post to me and it's about eunseok but... i think it fits 02z more.... <//3 i hope it's still enjoyable!

been really busy n i can't guarantee when i'll be free to write and post full-plot fics so this will do for now :( don't leave me. i love you guys ^^

[sugar-sweet-poison]

The Popularity of Each Saja Boy Among the KPDH Fandom

So I never actually expected to be putting anything resembling analysis on this blog (it was supposed to be for rebloging art and other shenanigans), but here we are.

I recently watched Danny Motta's reaction/review of Kpop Demon Hunters. If you haven't watched it, you absolutely should. Danny is a gem. Anywho, this post contains spoilers for his review, so if you care about spoilers then I recommend watching his video first.

When the Saja Boys are performing Soda Pop, Danny comments on what he thinks the popularity of each boy is and...well...he was very wrong. And it made me start to wonder why each of the boys are as popular as they are in the fandom.

(full spoilers for his video as relevant to this post below the cut)

So Danny thought the order of popularity was Romance, Abby, Mystery, and then Jinu and Baby tied for last place (though when Baby started rapping, Danny jumped him up to the third spot). Anyone who has spent even a little bit of time in the fandom knows he is very wrong. From what I've seen, Jinu is the top, then Baby, then Mystery, then Abby, then Romance. After some thought, I came to some conclusions as to why this might be the case.

Jinu is pretty self-explanatory. He is a main focus, the second half of the main romance, gets a backstory, has the most speaking lines and character development, etc. etc. etc. I'm not gonna spend too much time on Jinu cause it's pretty obvious why he gets the top spot. My real interest here is the other Saja Boys who get next to nothing in the film, but are massively popular regardless. Except Romance. While I don't exactly see Romance get hate, he definitely isn't as adored as the others and I think I know why.

Romance is the only one without a thing. He has no ongoing gimmick or trope or trait that is prominent throughout the film. We clearly can see what he is meant to represent, but there's really nothing that persists in the movie that shows it. Now think about the others.

We have Zoey's massive crush on Mystery that pops up several times during the movie. The dude literally barks at people. He also has the whole thing going on with his face being partially obscured which naturally makes people curious as to what he looks like (plus the demon fangs peek we got when he was introduced). Abby has several running gags focused around his abs. There's the popcorn gag, there's the conveniently placed breeze that constantly flashes everyone, and there's the camera always focusing in on his abs. The dude literally makes pencil rubbings of his abs to sign for fans. On top of that, he has himbo vibes, so people were gonna be on that like rabid squirrels. Plus when Mystery and Abby are banished, there is a specific focus on them. Mira makes a point about going for the abs (while having the popcorn eyes) and Zoey has one last thirst hurrah before sending Mystery back to the demon realm (which, added bonus, is a Mystery face reveal that only she gets to see). And Baby rocked everybody's world in their very first performance by having the sweet adorable face and then hitting everyone with the deepest voice in the group plus being the rapper. He also gets a moment in the spotlight when he wins the hot sauce competition and then is riding on Abby's back (more on him later because the Baby Saja craze is fascinating to unpack, he my fav too lol).

All of this is happening with the other Saja Boys, but Romance is...just kinda there? Yes, he has his in-universe shipping with Mira, but even that is shared with Abby. He's got the little hearts, but again, Baby does that too. Romance has nothing specific to him. The closest thing he has is that he has a very distinctive face and hairstyle, but that kind of works against him. The hair is fine, but his face is such a different shape from the others and is so much sharper that it actually feels out of place among the other boys. The boys have unique faces, but they still feel cohesive. If Romance had a softer jawline, it would probably feel better with the group. So the only thing he really has the separates him doesn't do it in a good way.

And if we take a deeper look at how Mystery, Abby, and Baby are handled in the movie, we also realize that their gimmicks do something very specific: they persist even when the boys themselves are not in the scene.

Think about it. We literally see Zoey start thirsting over a picture of Mystery. He's not even there, but he is still a momentary focus in the scene. Same with Mira hitting the punching bag with a picture of Abby's abs taped to it and yelling about how much she hates abs. Both involve and call focus to Mystery and Abby without them having to interact with HUNTR/X or even be in the scene.

And then there is the phenomenon that is Baby Saja. Literally one line in the entire movie, and yet rivals Jinu for the most popular. Why? I have a few ideas. The first is one that people probably can guess: his design is heavily based on Jimin from BTS, arguably the member that people would be able to name even if they aren't into Kpop. So that's already a win for him. Then there's the face and voice whiplash which creates an unforgettable moment very shortly after he's introduced. I have watched several reaction videos for this movie and nearly every single one of them comments when Baby starts rapping because they are so shocked by his voice. There are also a lot of subtle animation bits that build up throughout the movie (the side eye at Zoey, the smirk at HUNTR/X, etc.) that don't match the sugar sweet image he shows to the public. Then they hit us with Your Idol and this subtly is straight up kicked off stage and he goes feral (and viral, ironically). People love that looks like a cinnamon role but will kill you trope. And even with all of this, Baby has one more massive advantage over the others.

The music.

Because people aren't just hearing the songs when they're watching the movie. They're listening to the music on YouTube, Spotify, etc., and in both songs the Saja Boys sing, Baby has a rap sequence. I'm sure after listening to each song a few times, people could tell the voices apart to know who was singing when, but people needed no time at all for that when it came to Baby because he essentially got solo sequences where his voice stood out from the others, even Jinu. And in the actual performances, he is the focus of the moment, whereas otherwise it's usually Jinu, all of the boys, or rapidly bouncing focus. Very rarely does it linger on any of the boys for too long, let alone do so in a way that shows individual personality beyond their archetype. During Soda Pop, you have Baby taking center stage while the rest of the boys act like backup dancers. Then during Your Idol, the other boys are so spread out across the entire stage that the focus is locked in on Baby. Plus Gwi-Ma's fire is pulsing in the background as he rises up from the demon realm, further intensifying the scene. The only other person who gets this much attention is Jinu.

Given all he has going for him, I'm not even the slightest bit surprised that Baby Saja has exploded the way he has. All the while poor Romance has nothing. The boy can't compete. Considering that he and Baby were the ones who escaped being sent back to the demon realm though might make for some interesting development if the teams chooses to bring the boys back into the situation. He does seem to be the one that people are leaning on for shipping with Mira if they only pick one the boys, which is very intriguing.

Alright that's all I got I suck at endings bye!

[mwahbabe]

having a family with chloe <3

pairing: chloe price x fem!reader

mdni!, mama!chloe, mama!reader, domestic!chloe, reader and chloe are mid twenties, g!p chloe, breeding kink oop!, cunnilingus(r!receiving) unprotected p in v sex, descriptions of nursing and pregnancy, loser!chloe. you don’t like it or it’s not your thing? there’s the door and don’t come for me.

thankyou @gardengnosticator for the inspo & help much appreciated <33

“she’s so strong, look at her lifting her head by herself almost. she’s gonna be kicking ass and wrecking shit in no time.”

you had baby on your chest after a feed, pump on the breast that she wasn’t just latched on to. your milk supply was stocked and full. you began to do up your top, much to chloes dismay. “noo. not fair.” she whines. you chuckle. “perv.”

“bite mama.” she whispers to the baby

“don’t listen to your mommy.” you block your babys ears as if she can comprehend and understand what chloe was encouraging. “she’s a bad influence.”

chloe snorted. “she’s part me, can’t help it if she acts like me.”

“she also doesn’t have teeth. not that her gums don’t destroy my fucking nips.”

“wow. swearing in front of our daughter and i’m the bad influence?” chloe smirked and kissed your forehead before she kissed babys. “also i told you i’m happy to help with that.”

“uh huh. everytime i ask you for a massage you fucking make me horny instead of helping.” you side eye her as you finish pumping, chloe watches you and gently holds babys tiny hand, “hey who said that’s not helpful? puts you right to sleep.” chloe retorts. “okay babe.” exhaling a laugh as you shake your head, chloe watches you shift your wriggling little bean up so she was more supported as you begin to stand up off the couch up wincing at your sore back, her expression changing from smug to concerned.

“hey hey hey why’re you getting up?” chloe stopped you and gently moved to push you back down. little bub gurgling happily as she lifted her little arms. you sigh. “chloe.” she shakes her head “give her to me, i got this.” you chuckle shaking your head. “you were up all night with her.” chloe’s already reaching for her and lifting her out of your arms, “yeah. i got energy, you went through the horror fest of childbirth and i infested you with my baby making juice and helped you make her and you’re still recovering, idiot. so hand her over.” her logic made sense to you, though her filter was absolutely non existent.

“jesus.” you laugh as you hand bubba over, she cooes happily and makes a loud happy baby sound that makes chloe grin. “woah dude, you’re already a rockstar baby huh? you know how to thrash and scream.”

you watch as your lover and your child have a heartfelt conversation, with chloe talking to her as if her gargles and cooes are controversial opinions and things she agrees on while she gently jiggles her. you feel a deep love for the both of them, besides that your stomach clenches at the sight of chloe being so nurturing and caring, as well as knowing how when your daughters asleep chloe has your legs over her hips as she pounds into you, her tip kissing your g spot over and over and her ragged breathing and grunting in your ear as she whispers how much she loves you and how gorgeous you’re gonna look round and full with her kid.

it was even more intense when you were pregnant with your daughter, chloe went crazy, she had to have her hands on you constantly, always sneaking up behind you when you were cooking or brushing your teeth, her hands cupping your swollen belly and then your enlarged breasts. pregnancy looked so good on you. so so good. it made chloe’s cock throb in her boxers, pre cum leaking out constantly.

before you could register it you would be up on the bathroom sink as chloe lapped at your cunt, moaning things like, “god babe.. taste so damn good.. you look so fuckin pretty with my kid in your stomach. fuck.” she was whimpering as she tasted your arousal and cum, and when she stood back up there was most definitely a wet patch on her pants from how hard and leaky she is from your perfect pussy.

chloe also loves your tits. like she loves every inch of you but she loves them even more with them being gorged and full of milk while you're carrying her baby. her perfect girl, the mother of her child.

so with chloe’s mission that was balls emptying mating press on the nearest horizontal surface as soon as possible, especially when you were ovulating oh you could not get that woman off you. with the way she would be thrusting into you as skin on skin with your moans and whines were the only sound along with her talking you through it, “hah.. fuck oh fuck.. need to give you a kid .. you’re gonna be the best mom. so damn hot carrying our baby.” her loads are full and seem to keep going, shooting into you so much that it leaks from your hole all over her dick. and that girl can go for many rounds. you struggle to keep up with her.

chloe gets a sick sick satisfaction from pulling out and watching her load just dribble and bubble out of you, her words full of praises like "wow you took me so well, look how full you are, bet you’re hella pumped about having my babies right?" as you were just kind of staring into the ceiling because you physically cannot comprehend how she did all that and how shes literally ready to go again so quickly.

that’s what got you into this. and when you found out you were having a girl you were so overjoyed, and she was the most beautiful baby you two had ever seen. she looked like you with chloe’s soul in her eyes. no matter how biased you were as her mothers. the both of you loved that little princess to death. chloe would kill for both of you. literally.

chloe snatched her off of you whenever she got the chance. she just loved to hold her. and she must have had some kind of magic touch because no matter how inconsolable your little baby was, as soon as chloe held her or she heard her voice she was instantly calm, maybe it was chloe’s aura and kind soul, maybe it was the way chloe held her, you didn’t know. you did hate her for it sometimes, sometimes. “ugh fuck you.” chloe would be swaying the cooing baby and patting her back and smirk at you. “when she’s down.”

when you would breastfeed chloe would be smiling as she gives you that look. “stop being a perv.” “just watching our girl eat.”

chloe choice of style for her was very different to yours, but you found it extremely adorable. chloe would buy her baby clothes with graphic band pictures in it or skulls or words like “i only cry when ugly people hold me.” things of that nature.

chloe would play sharks and pirates with her when she bathed her, she admittedly had way more fun with it than baby did.

the three of you loved your dance parties, chloe played her punk rock music as she made your baby dance to it, wriggling her little body and putting her tiny arms up in the air. to the point where she’s used to it and chloe puts her to sleep to paramore.

you three really had the perfect little family. although..

the night you had just put her to bed after her nightly feed. it was 2am and the house was still. you head to the kitchen for a late night snack, your feet padding softly on the kitchen floor. chloe comes up behind you as your fixing yourself something. “hey mama.” she buries her face in your neck.

“hey yourself.” you chuckle, chloe hums, holding you by your belly gently. “our little peanut asleep?”

“yup.” you smile. “she wasn’t that hungry.”

she nods against your shoulder, “you good baby? been taking care of yourself?”

you nod. “yeah. nursing makes me super thirsty so i drank a lot of water. and i had those leftover pancakes you made.”

she hummed in satisfaction, her hands moving lower now. “good job babe.” you smile. “you looking for something?”

chloe smiles at the sound of your tone, “yeah, it’s right here on the counter.” with that she bends you forward against the counter, her cock hard in her pajama shorts, throbbing at you for attention. you moan softly, “chloe..” your breathing grows more heavy and laboured.

her lips latch onto your neck, one hand cupping your full breast and the other pulling down your pajama bottoms, no underwear of course. you gave those up ages ago.

chloe’s breathing hard and whimpering softly as you feel her grind the tip of her cock against your slick folds, already wet from her voice and touch. she knew well and good how to get you going in the time you had been together.

“please?” she asks softly. “can i fuck you?”

you feel your stomach clench in response, pussy throbbing for her to fill you. “mhm.” you nod, your eyes roll back as chloe gently grabs your neck, one hand on your hip as she aligned herself with your slippery entrance. “ohh fuck..” she whispers as she feels your warm wet walls tighten around her, your hands gripping her arm and the kitchen counter holding on for the ride you were in for. “so fuckin good.. agh” chloe tries not to cum immediately apon entrance. “wanna- ah- put another one in you .. “ she gently thrusts into you, keeping the pace steady, at first at least, your eyes are dazed as you just moan in response, “gonna let me mama? gonna let me give you another.. god please let me–” she sounds so pathetic, so desperate, so in love with you, and you know damn well you wouldn’t have your chloe any other way.

her steady thrusts turn desperate as she moves faster and grips you tighter, her cock already sensitive, the way you were squeezing her making her clench her teeth and twitch inside you, she rubbed your clit drawing firm circles to get you to cum before her, or try to. the added stimulation had you clawing at the counter and her arm, you swore your pussy had gotten more sensitive since having a baby, crazy because you were terrified it would be the opposite.

“fu-uckk oh god yes yes!–” your thighs shook as you felt that delicious throb in your gut and the warm feeling that overcomes your lower body as you cum for her, your pussy clenching hard around chloe’s cock, and she’s right behind you, literally and figuratively, timing her thrusts with the pulsing of your cunt as ropes of seed fill you up to the brim. god it was a lot.

you both come down in each others embrace, riding that high you just experienced. “fuck..” you laugh. chloe kisses you sloppily, all tongue and teeth. before she exhales and lets go of you. “oh fuck i love you.” you pull up your bottoms feeling her cum leak and bubble out of you. “love you too my girl.”

chloe puts herself back in her shorts and fixes her hair that had fallen in her face. “go shower. i’ll whip something up for you.”

“damn right you will.” you half heartedly shove her. she laughs and watches you leave, her dick already throbbing and ready for another round. you were for sure going to be pregnant again by the end of tonight. your baby girl was having a sibling and chloe would make sure of it.

[peachblossomfire]

Astro Stuff I wish I knew as a Beginner

1.Not all "astro observation" posts are created equal: You'll find many of them floating around tumblr, and though they are quite aesthetic to look at, not all of them are observations by definition. I've read some points in those posts that I have seen in real life, but a lot of them relate to the PERSONAL experience of the astrologer, and may not be relevant to you.

Example: opinions on scorpios. I've seen everything from people characterizing them as sexy and vindictive to emo and loyal. Not every post is worth your time. One person's scorpio ain't another person's scorpio. And who says they can't be both?

2. Stereotypes: This one gets old very quickly. By the time you read your hundredth post describing Aries as simply "fiery" and Pisces as simply "dreamy" you'll quickly realize surface level 'pop' astrology, while FUN to read, pales in comparison to real life analysis of how these placements work in relation to an actual environment, the person's life experiences and their chart.

Example: Aries sun vs Aries moon, two VERY different expressions of Aries energy. Chart positions; An Aries sun in the seventh house does not behave like an Aries sun in the third house(though you will find common patterns), Aspects to that placement that challenge and change how that energy is expressed through.

Also!!! People don't always react the same way every single time. Context matters dude.

3. "Bad" and "Worst" Placements: You'll see a lot of posts like "why ____ is the WORST placement" or "why you'll have bad luck if you have _____" and the biggest offender of all, "Saturn is scary" type of posts. FIRST OF ALL, I don't believe in being afraid of one's own placements. It's quite the self-defeating prophecy.

SECOND OF ALL, Saturn is only truly shitty if you perceive it as a scary party pooper oppressive force. Saturn is, in fact, an incredible planet if you learn the lesson it is trying to teach. Jupiter may give you all the riches in the world, but Saturn will make sure you MAINTAIN it. And true knowledge is worth its weight in gold.

You can avoid all the lessons in life, take every cheat code and shortcut. But Time is the great Equalizer. The athlete that wins the race by taking steroids and drugs will be feeling different when his kidneys eventually give out.

And the athlete that actually did the painful work of working out will be feeling different when he outlives his opponent due to good health and wins the race by his own merit.

4. CHARTS: I don't know if anyone else had this issue, but while shifting from placidus to whole sign, all my planets shift into the next house, which becomes very confusing because it completely changes the story and meanings of that chart. I recommend reading both interpretations and choosing one which you truly resonate with. Astrologers and astro sites use different chart types.

5. Potential: Every chart contains the potential of that individual to be their best, their average, or their worst. There is no "I'll be like this forever" because a. the only thing forever is the fact that nothing is forever and b. it can be difficult to perceive your progress and change when you're ACTUALLY LIVING IT. There was a quote that went "Life can only be lived forwards but understood backwards" or something like that.(please reblog this with the actual quote if you guys found it)

6. Space Racism: Lets always remember this folks; Your zodiac sign is not an excuse to be a shitty person. And vice versa; You shouldn't be shitty to someone because of their zodiac sign. Anybody who goes "oh my god I don't like you 'cause you're a libra" is just giving this really interesting subject such a bad rep. Tell that person they're "being such an asparagus right now" to infuriate them and move on.

Don't hate someone 'cause of some constellation in the sky, understand why you dislike them based on real-world behavior and actions.

Okay, mention if I missed anything or if there's something I'm wrong about. I'm learning all this just like you guys, and would appreciate it if I'm going off course.

Also, saturn is much deeper than what i mentioned earlier, but the point was not to fear planets like they are out to get you.

[imhaechanshoe]

𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚 || Liu Yangyang

pairing: best friend!yangyang x camgirl!reader

Warnings: camgirl work, sexual tension, language, secret-keeping, voyeurism, eventual smut 18+, dom!Yangyang, fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial/edging, public teasing (semi-public setting), jealousy/possessive behavior, dirty talk, rough kissing, praise & mild degradation, sexual tension in public space, strong language.

A/N: this is freaky asl, this is INSPIRED by @hyuckiefluff

Liu Yangyang was your best friend. Not the casual kind who lent you notes once a semester and waved in lecture halls, but the kind who knew you liked strawberry milk in your coffee even though you claimed you hated sweet drinks.

The kind who showed up to your apartment at 2 a.m. with greasy fries and a Powerade because he “had a feeling.” The kind you secretly, shamefully, maybe just a little bit—wanted to fuck.

But Yangyang? He saw you as just a friend. Just a girl who wore baggy hoodies and stole his socks, who cursed too much and watched horror movies like they were lullabies. He didn’t know the version of you that other people paid to see.

At least, that’s what you thought.

You were a camgirl.

Not because you wanted to be forever—but because tuition was murder, your scholarship only covered so much, and frankly? You were good at it.

A few hours a week. Lingerie. Sometimes toys. Always a mask. Always a fake name. Never in person. You were careful.

And Yangyang? He was never supposed to know.

“Dude,” he groaned, flopping back on your dorm bed, legs dangling off the edge. “If Professor Jin assigns one more group project, I swear I’m gonna commit a crime.”

You didn’t look up from your laptop, fingers dancing over your keyboard. “You mean like not showing up to half your lectures already?”

“Low blow.” He kicked your thigh lightly with his socked foot. “You love me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Yeah, yeah. You bringing your ass to film club later?”

He shrugged. “Only if you promise to actually pay attention this time. Last week you were glued to your phone.”

You stilled for a second.

Last week’s stream. You had just finished a pretty intense session—your most generous subscriber, P1nDown, had sent a massive tip. You’d thanked him with a custom video. The rush afterward was addictive. You couldn’t stop checking for his next message.

You cleared your throat. “Yeah. Sorry. Just had stuff.”

Yangyang tilted his head at you like he was trying to read behind your words. He was always good at that—getting too close, asking too little, and seeing too much.

The problem with secrets was that they lived everywhere: in the way you avoided his gaze when a notification popped up on your phone, in the way you kept a second folder on your laptop labeled “Taxes” that definitely wasn’t about taxes.

You had a system. You were careful.

Until you weren’t.

It happened on a Tuesday. The air was heavy with pre-storm heat, your dorm Wi-Fi was shot, and you had an econ assignment due by midnight.

You didn’t think twice when you texted Yangyang.

you home?
need to borrow ur laptop, mine’s dead.
i’ll bring iced coffee?

Yangyang💕: only if it’s that trash vanilla almond shit you get
Yangyang💕: door’s open

You snorted and headed to his place. His dorm was across campus in the international student housing building—cleaner, nicer, quieter. Typical.

He wasn’t home when you got there. You let yourself in, dropped the coffee on his desk, and booted up his laptop.

That was your first mistake.

The tab was already open when the browser loaded.

It wasn’t porn—not exactly. It was a paused video. Full screen.

Your video.

You blinked, brain buffering.

It was you—wearing the navy lace teddy you’d bought for your two-month streaming anniversary. Knees parted. Lips parted. Fingers wet. Eyes half-lidded under your crystal-studded mask. The words “Thanks for the love, P1nDown 💋” were scrawled in text across the bottom.

And in the top-right corner?

The account name was logged in.

L.Yang99

Your stomach dropped.

No. No way. No fucking way.

You slammed the laptop shut like it had burned you. Your chest felt tight, ears ringing.

Yangyang… was your top subscriber?

He came back ten minutes later, earbuds in, hoodie damp with sweat.

“Hey, did it load okay? Wi-Fi was—"

“You’re P1nDown.”

He froze mid-step. Slowly, he took his earbuds out.

“…What?”

You stood, heart racing, pointing at the laptop like it was a crime scene. “Don’t lie. Your tab was open. My video. Your account. Logged in. I saw everything.”

Yangyang went still. Then exhaled a long, shaky breath.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Yeah.”

Silence.

“You knew it was me,” you whispered.

“I figured it out a while ago.” He looked at you then, eyes dark, unreadable. “Didn’t mean to find it. I was just scrolling and… I saw the mole on your inner thigh.”

Your breath hitched.

He’d noticed that?

“You shouldn’t have—”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have watched. But I couldn’t stop.”

You swallowed hard. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He gave a humorless laugh. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, by the way, I jerk off to your streams every other night and tip you more than my rent’? That’s not exactly best friend behavior.”

Your face flushed. The words should’ve made you angry. Ashamed. But part of you—the part that had fantasized about Yangyang’s hand between your thighs, about him seeing that side of you—lit up like a fucking firecracker.

“You’re my best friend,” you said, throat dry. “This could ruin everything.”

He stepped closer. “Yeah. Or maybe it changes everything.”

You didn’t speak for a long time.

Just stared at Yangyang like he was a stranger wearing your best friend’s face. Your throat was dry, stomach twisted, but your thighs were clenched tight and warm in a way that made you furious at yourself.

This was wrong. He was Yangyang—the boy who used to spoon-feed you ramen when you were too hungover to move. The boy who held your hand through every mental breakdown. The boy who, for the last six months, had been your highest paying subscriber—without you knowing.

And now, he was just standing there. Looking at you like he’d seen you naked a hundred times.

Because he had.

“You saw everything,” you murmured.

“You’ve been seeing everything.”

Yangyang looked wrecked—flushed, eyes glassy, tongue darting out nervously across his bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

“And you still came over like nothing happened? Let me crash at your place? Let me sit on your bed when you—when you’ve watched me—?”

“I didn’t do it to be creepy,” he cut in, voice strained.

“It wasn’t some plan. I didn’t even know it was you at first. But once I did, I just— I couldn’t stop.”

You backed away a step, pulse erratic.

“So you just kept watching. Tipping. Getting off to me. While pretending to be my best friend.”

“Don’t say it like that.” He stepped toward you, hands open.

“It wasn’t pretending. I’m still your best friend. I just…” He exhaled shakily.

“You were so confident. On camera. It didn’t feel like you were just performing. It felt real. Like you wanted it.”

You did. You do.

But admitting that felt like throwing a match into a pool of gasoline.

“I don’t show my face,” you muttered. “You weren’t supposed to know. That wasn’t you I was performing for.”

“I didn’t care. I still don’t.” His voice dropped.

“I just wanted to see you. All of you. Even the parts you think you have to hide.”

Your skin burned. Your heart pounded. But something deep and hot and twisted inside of you ached at those words.

This was Yangyang. He was the only person you’d ever trusted with your ugly. With your midnight breakdowns and your shame and your softness. You never imagined he’d want the other part of you too.

But maybe he had all along.

“You’ve tipped me over two grand,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Yangyang laughed weakly. “Yeah. I might’ve had to ask Xiaojun for rent last month.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

He nodded.

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

Yangyang stepped closer again, and this time you didn’t move.

“I liked making you feel good,” he said.

“Even if you didn’t know it was me. I liked knowing I could do that for you. That I was your favorite.”

Your breath hitched. “You were my favorite.”

“I still want to be.”

The air between you snapped like a live wire.

He reached out slowly, hand brushing your jaw. You didn’t pull away. Your eyes searched his—unsure, trembling, but needy.

“I’ve wanted you for months,” he whispered. “Every time you moaned someone’s name on camera, I pretended it was mine. Every time you said ‘good boy,’ I imagined it was me you were teasing. Touching.”

Your knees buckled.

“Yangyang…”

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” His thumb grazed your cheek. “But if you don’t—tell me what you do when you know I’m watching.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

You didn’t kiss him. You didn’t take your clothes off. You didn’t let things go further than they should.

But you let him stay.

On the floor beside your bed, blanket over his shoulders, eyes locked on you like he could read every filthy thing you’d ever streamed—and still wanted more.

The next few days were weird.

Not bad weird. Just hot and slow and buzzing with tension that you didn’t know how to handle.

Yangyang came over to your place more. He brought snacks. Teased you.

Caught your eye when you leaned too far forward in a low-cut shirt.

You caught his eyes lingering too long when you stretched in your shorts. He never pushed, but the air between you was never innocent again.

He never brought up your streams. Never asked when your next one was. But one night, you checked your page, and your private inbox lit up.

P1nDown:
if you’re going live tonight
can i request something special?

You:
what kind of special?

P1nDown:
just want to hear you say my name
once
just once

You stared at the screen for a long time.

Then typed:

You:
only if you ask nicely.

You didn’t say it on the stream.

You thought about it. Played with the idea. Even put on the red lace bodysuit—the one that always made you feel like a weapon.

But when the tip came in—$500, and the caption “Please, baby. Say it for me.”—you only smiled at the camera and whispered, “Not yet.”

You were going to make him earn it.

You didn’t mean to tease him.

Okay. Maybe you did.

Just a little.

The night you wore the red lace on stream, Yangyang didn’t speak to you for a full day.

You didn’t blame him. You were his best friend—his favorite streamer—and you’d stared directly into the lens, lips parted and plush with gloss, and whispered, “Not yet.”

He knew it was for him. And you knew what that did to him.

The silence only lasted until the next night, when he showed up at your door with a bottle of soju and a six-pack of mango sparkling water like nothing had happened.

“Movie night?” he asked, eyes dark.

You nodded. “Movie night.”

But neither of you made it to the end of the movie.

You were sitting on your bed, laptop on your lap, one foot tucked under you. Yangyang was next to you, scrolling on his phone, his body angled slightly toward yours. Close enough that your knees brushed when you laughed. Close enough that your whole body was on alert.

It was suffocating. This weird electric buzz in the air that never left anymore.

When the movie ended, the silence lingered. Heavy. Heated.

You cleared your throat. “I have a stream tomorrow.”

Yangyang’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”

You nodded slowly. “Haven’t done one since… you know.”

His lips quirked. “Since you found out I’ve been jerking off to you?”

Your face flamed. “Yangyang.”

“What?” he leaned in slightly, gaze

locked to yours. “You asked.”

You licked your lips. “You could’ve just pretended you hadn’t seen it.”

“I didn’t want to pretend.”

A pause.

“Do you still…watch?” you asked.

His eyes darkened. “Every time.”

Your breath caught.

“Do you…” You couldn’t believe you were saying this. “Do you touch yourself to me?”

The corner of his mouth curled up, slow and devastating.

“Do you want the truth?”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He leaned forward, and this time, there was no space left between you. Just heat. Just tension. Just the past year of him pretending and you hiding and all of it boiling over.

“I’ve come to your voice more times than I can count,” Yangyang whispered. “To the sound of you begging, moaning, teasing. You’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

You whimpered. Literally whimpered.

“And you know what the worst part is?” he said, voice ragged. “It still wasn’t enough.”

Your body moved on instinct. You dropped the laptop to the floor, barely heard it hit the carpet, and grabbed his hoodie, fisting it in your hands.

He didn’t wait.

Yangyang crashed into you like a storm—mouth hot, hands possessive, tongue sliding into your mouth with months of pent-up hunger. You moaned into the kiss, your back hitting the mattress as he pushed you down and slotted himself between your thighs.

“Fuck,” he gasped against your lips. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“You should’ve said my name on stream.”

Your laugh broke on a moan as he kissed down your neck, hands already slipping under your shirt. He tugged it off, eyes darkening at the sight of your bralette.

“This the one you wore in the birthday stream?” he asked.

You flushed. “Yeah.”

“I came so hard to that video.” He licked a stripe between your breasts. “Still do.”

“Yangyang—”

“Say it again,” he growled. “Say my name like that.”

You did.

And he lost it.

His mouth moved lower. Hands under your waistband, dragging your shorts down in one smooth motion. You gasped when his tongue traced your hipbone.

“I always wondered what you tasted like,” he murmured. “Thought about it every time you opened your legs on cam. Wondered if you got wet just for the camera—or if you were already dripping before you hit record.”

“I’m always wet,” you whispered.

“Thinking about who’s watching.”

“You mean me.”

You bit your lip, nodding. “I didn’t know. But maybe part of me hoped it was.”

He growled low in his throat. “Fuck. You’re evil.”

Then he kissed your inner thigh. Your stomach. The crease of your hip.

“Yangyang—”

“I want to taste you,” he said. “But I want to hear you first.”

You blinked. “What?”

He sat back, legs sprawled, hoodie riding up just enough to tease the waistband of his boxers.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he said. “Like you would on stream. Like you do when you think about me.”

You should’ve hesitated. But you didn’t.

You spread your legs, fingers dipping between your folds, and started slow. Deliberate. The way you always did for your top-paying subscriber—who, as it turned out, had always been this close.

Yangyang watched with wide, dark eyes. One hand down his pants, gripping himself hard.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re even prettier like this in real life.”

You whined as your fingers circled your clit, thighs trembling already.

“Did you ever think about me?” he asked, voice low. “When you streamed? Did you ever think about what it’d be like if Iwas the one tipping you? Watching you?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Always.”

That was all it took.

Yangyang was on you in seconds, lips on your throat, hand replacing yours between your legs. He slid two fingers into you, fucking you slow and deep while your mouth fell open.

“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned. “You want me to fuck you, baby?”

“Yes—please, please—”

He yanked off his hoodie and pants in record time, eyes locked to yours the whole time.

And when he finally sank into you?

It was everything.

It was soft moans and whispered names and the sound of his hips hitting yours.

It was him biting down on your shoulder, whimpering, “You feel so fucking good.”

It was you wrapping your legs around him and crying out, “Don’t stop—Yangyang, please—”

And when you came?

You didn’t hold back.

You said his name.

Over and over and over.

Just like he’d always wanted.

“You’re still wet.”

Yangyang’s voice was low, right against your ear, as his fingers brushed the inside of your thigh under the table.

“Yang—someone might see—”

“I want them to.”

You squeezed your thighs together, pulse pounding.

You were in the library.

At the back corner table where you and Yangyang usually studied, hidden behind stacks of textbooks and his laptop. You were trying to write an essay while he claimed to be “editing photos” for his class—which clearly translated to “see how wrecked I can get you without anyone noticing.”

You wore a skirt. That was your first mistake.

No panties. Your second.

Letting him come with you today, even after he whispered “You’re not allowed to cum again until I say so” last night—your third.

His fingers grazed the slick heat between your legs again, slow and deliberate.

“You were moaning so pretty for me last night,” he murmured. “Now look at you. Dripping in a fucking library.”

You bit down on your pencil.

“If someone comes back here—”

“Then you better keep quiet.” His fingers

slid deeper, just shy of slipping inside.

“Be a good girl.”

Your hips bucked instinctively, and Yangyang grinned.

“You like being edged like this, huh?” he whispered. “Been thinking about it all day, haven’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He moved his fingers faster, but still shallow. Not enough to satisfy, just enough to torment.

“Bet your subscribers would love to see this,” he said. “You all spread out at a library desk, stuffed full of my fingers, trying not to cry.”

“Yangyang—”

“You’d put on a good show, wouldn’t you?” His lips brushed your temple. “Let them tip while you beg to cum. But I’d be the only one who actually gets to touch you.”

Your walls clenched hard.

He leaned in close, voice like velvet and venom.

“Say it.”

You whined under your breath. “Say what?”

“Say you’re mine.”

You turned to look at him—flushed, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

“I’m yours.”

And then—only then—did he let you cum.

Later that night, you were back at your place. Still sore. Still dizzy from the orgasm he wrung out of you with two fingers and a threat.

You didn’t plan to stream.

But something burned inside you.

A need to push the line. To play again.

To see if he’d crack.

So you went live.

Red lace. Lights low. Fingers already glistening.

It was supposed to be short. Just a teaser stream. Something to keep the top tippers active. But then someone new joined.

"S!nner773". You’d never seen the username before.

He tipped $300 within five minutes.

Then $200 more.

“Tell me how wet you are, baby. Want to hear you moan.”

You smirked and kept going—figuring Yangyang was probably watching silently like he always did, getting off knowing only he had actually been inside you.

But then your private inbox pinged.

From P1nDown—Yangyang’s account.

P1nDown:
log off.

You blinked.

Another tip from S!nner773 rolled in:

“Spread it wider, babygirl.”

Then Yangyang messaged again:

P1nDown:
now.

Your heart slammed in your chest.

You hesitated. Just one second too long.

And the next thing you saw was your door swinging open.

Yangyang walked in—chest heaving, jaw tight, eyes locked on your still-streaming body on your laptop screen.

“You ignored me.”

You scrambled to pause the stream, heart in your throat.

“Yangyang—what are you doing—?”

He slammed the laptop shut.

“You’re mine. You said you were mine.”

“I—I was just putting on a show, I didn’t even respond to the messages—”

“You let someone else talk to you like that. Tip you like that.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Wetness already pooling again between your thighs.

“I’m not mad you streamed,” he said. “I’m mad you didn’t tell them who you belong to.”

“Yangyang…”

“Get on the bed.”

You froze. “What?”

“You wanna act like a toy for strangers?” His voice dropped. “Fine. But I’m the only one who gets to play with you.”

Your legs moved before your brain caught up.

Yangyang stalked toward you, dragging his hoodie off. “Tonight, you don’t cum until I say so. Again.”

You whimpered.

And then—he made you show him everything.

Made you keep the red lace on. Made you read the anonymous tips aloud while he edged you again and again. Held your wrists above your head while he fucked you open with his mouth, his hands, his cock—and all the filthy words he never dared say before.

“You gonna moan his name, baby?” he hissed. “Or mine?”

“Yours,” you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“Yours—Yangyang, please—”

“Then don’t ever let anyone else think they can touch you again.”

He didn’t let you cum for nearly an hour.

And when he finally did?

You moaned.

And he didn’t even care if the neighbors heard.

© imhaechanshoe 2025

[kingofdorkville]

Title: Ride Into A New Sunset

Ship: Mike x Dude (pre-relationship)

Description: Dude teaches Mike how to ride a horse.

Note: This is pre-transition for Mike so fem terms are used by Dude to refer to them. He also knows them by my birth name but that has been omitted and swapped for my chosen name.

“You never rode a horse before?” Dude asked his best friend, Mike.

They shook their head and shrugged. “I’ve been in plenty of coaches. We don't ride horses in the city much.”

“It’s the only good way to go out here,” Dude said. “We don't got them fancy carriages.”

Dude grinned. “How ‘bout you ride my horse?”

Mike’s eyes widened and they shook their head. “Oh, no! Definitely not.”

“C’mon, it's easy.”

“Until I fall off!” Mike retorted.

“I’ll catch you.”

Mike eyed Dude’s strong arms. “Hm. Only if you hold the reins down here and walk us slowly.”

“Can do,” Dude replied with a smile.

Dude helped Mike onto his horse, all while Mike grunted and complained. Still, they couldn't help but be in a daze. No one had ever lifted them before.

“You’d think I was torturin’ ya,” he said amusedly.

“I’m terribly afraid of heights. So, yes, you are.”

Mike got both legs around the horse then looked down at their skirt. “I don't think this is right.”

“Well, ladies ride sidesaddle, y’know.”

Mike adjusted their leg. “Well, this is quite precarious.”

“I got you.”

Dude walked slowly, leading the horse. Mike panicked and grabbed the horse's neck.

Dude laughed. “Oh, now, you don't gotta do all that. Just hold the saddle in front of you.”

Mike white-knuckled the seat in front of them. Dude whistled casually as they walked along but he could hardly suppress a grin.

“It's not so bad, huh?” he asked after a few paces.

“I think I’m going to faint.”

Dude snorted. “All you city gals are so dramatic. The horse isn't going anywhere ‘less it gets spooked.”

Once they got to the jail, Dude said, “Alright. How ‘bout you hold the reins now?”

“And do what?”

“You use the reins to stop and go and steer the horse.”

“And those spurs,” Mike said with a frown.

“I don't wear spurs,” Dude replied.

Mike looked at his shoes. This much was true.

“Okay.” Mike said. They tugged the reins a little too hard and went on a run across the town. “Dude!”

Dude ran after them yelling something unintelligible. Mike screamed and shut their eyes, not wanting to see the inevitable collision.

Then the horse stopped and got on two legs, almost throwing Mike backwards.

“Hey there, boy. It's me. It's Dude. Hey.”

Mike’s heart was beating a mile a minute when they finally opened their eyes to see Dude standing in front of the horse, giving it a rub on the head.

He looked up at Mike and shook his head. “Mike, all you had to do was tug on the reins.”

Mike crossed their arms and huffed. “I panicked!”

Dude smiled amusedly. “Come on down. I got you.”

Dude caught Mike in his arms. They were pressed to his chest, making their heart beat faster.

He let them go and said, “Well, maybe next time you'll go and stop on your own.”

“Next time!” Mike exclaimed indignantly. “You’ll never get me on a horse again.”

Dude rolled his eyes but smiled fondly at them.

Sure, you will, he thought as they walked back to the stable.

[cryscabbage]

I can't stop thinking about butch4butch IceMav.

A shitpost that became a WIP below ⬇️

They both have their trusted people, Goose only found out accidentally. It just so happened to be when he first met Mav. He heard the sounds of someone getting their ass handed to them from down the hallway and sighed, knowing damn well he couldn't leave them to it. Carole had warned him to stop getting in fights, but he couldn't just ignore the underdog.

Everyone knows the story of him finding this skinny little kid in his boxers and t shirt like he was just about to go for a shower, cornered in the locker room by two massive men. He's never claimed to have saved Mav because the kid was surprisingly holding his own, he did however, back him up and get them to fuck off.

It wasn't until several minutes later, both of them sitting on the floor trying to catch their breath, that Goose registered an abandoned object out of the corner of his eye. He might not have even assumed it was Mav's if it weren't for the total fear all over his face when he saw what Goose was looking at, the way his breath quickened.

He only had a brief idea of what it could possibly be and he wasn't a judgemental person, that being said, growing up in the south meant he had very little knowledge about... Queers?

"Hey man, chill." Goose quickly shuffled over, removed his jacket and covered the offending object. "I won't say I understand, but I don't care. I'm not gonna say shit."

It took a while to convince Mav that his navy career wasn't over, but when he finally relaxed, he thanked Goose, took his packer back, and went for a shower.

He certainly wasn't expecting to find the man waiting for him in the locker room, and definitely didn't expect to be invited around for dinner. "Just cause I'm... Doesn't mean I like men, dude." He gruffly said.

Goose kind of guffawed a shocked, honking laugh. "I think my wife would have something to say if that was what I was implying."

It wasn't for several months that Mav explained it to them.

"I'm not a guy..." He shamefully admitted, sitting between Nick and Carole on the couch after Bradley had gone to bed, some old country Western film was playing in the background but he wasn't paying attention.

"Sure you are, Mav." Nick slung his arm around his pilot's shoulders.

"No, I'm really not. I'm uh.." Growing up he'd never had a term for what he felt like, he only saw how other little girls behaved and didn't get it at all, he preferred hanging out with his foster brothers over sisters. He kissed a girl when he was 14 and felt like he was halfway there. In a foster home in New York he learnt the term 'tranny' for someone who believed they were a different gender to what they were born, a lot of cases ended up in mental hospitals.

He felt the word around in his mouth but something didn't feel quite right.

Then he stumbled his way into a bar like no other at 16 and almost got in a fight with the most handsome woman he'd ever met because he flirted with her girlfriend. He learnt two terms that night, butch and femme.

He'd always wanted to get into the navy, be a pilot like his dad before him, but it was impossible as a girl. It was after a few nights in that bar that he finally saw his future before him in the form of Butch Al, a towering figure of a woman, with a deep voice and a moustache. He, as he introduced himself, was 'stealth.' Living life as a man to get better work and stop getting targeted by the police for being a pervert.

Testosterone was the solution to all his problems.

Well, most.

"I thought Duke Mitchell had a daughter."

"That's scuttlebutt for you, can't trust shit."

-

"So, you're actually a woman, like not even a dude in a woman's body, an actual woman?"

"It's called a butch lesbian, Goose."

"Well hey that's cool by me, what do I call you?" Nick's been trying, doing research since he figured Mav was different. But the 80s were a hard time for this kinda shit.

"Same as always, Nick. I know what I am deep down, people thinking I'm a dude makes no difference. Makes it easier, even."

-~-

Slider finding out was a lot simpler in some ways, worse in others. Ice's family was semi-accepting growing up, he had all sisters and that disappointed his navy father. He loved his girls, but he always wanted a boy to carry on the legacy, join the navy and serve the country.

A Russian man in the navy during the Cold War had a lot to prove and he wanted his son to try just as hard. Not try, do.

He never pretended to understand Tomara- Tom. But she wanted to join the navy, so he minded his own business, even if it did mean butting heads with his son? Daughter?

Admiral Antoly Kazansky was not a tolerant man, when he adopted Christianity to fit in better in America, he adopted the view that homosexuality is a sin. But Tomara promised she wasn't a homosexual, and didn't believe she was a boy either, she was just happy to impersonate one.

Slider knew more than his dad did.

He caught Ice making out with a girl in the bathroom of a bar when they weren't on deployment and laughed about it, he didn't understand why his pilot was so damn terrified about it all.

"If this gets back to my father... О черт." He continued to pace back and forth in their lodgings, muttering in Russian and English to the point that Ron wasn't even sure what was going on anymore.

"Tom, chill, you just kissed a girl. You're an adult, I don't see why this is such a big deal? You're an adult man for that matter, we all have urges."

"Because I'm not a man, Ron!" Ice shouted, then froze, mouth falling open.

"What?"

Ice didn't waste any time grabbing his keys and running from the house, jumping into his car and speeding away.

-

Slider was awake, barely, with a cup of tea on the couch when Ice finally came back.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asked, taking a casual sip.

Ice was silent as he crept around the couch and sat on the furthest cushion from his RIO.

"Look, Tom. I'm not gonna make you explain anything. You're my friend, my brother, that's not going to change regardless. If you want to talk about it, you can." Slider stood up, bones cracking and revealing how long he'd sat there, and shuffled to the kitchen to put the kettle on again.

"You know I've made out with my fair share of men, right?" Slider admitted once Ice finished his story.

"What?" Ice grinned, shocked.

"Can't say I prefer it over women, but it was interesting." He paused, considering. "Now you have one of my secrets."

It was the 80s and no one quite understood, but at least there were the select few who didn't care.

---

Somehow this headcanon has turned into a full on WIP, should I write IceMav getting together?

I also know a lot of this is super unrealistic, I'm sure the navy would know if someone was impersonating a man, but idc.

@towering-book-piles @gaybirdnerd

[dontcallpanic]

Monday WIP

the absolutely incredible @endwersed tagged me last week (thank you so much!) and I really wanted to share something even though I've been really struggling to write recently!

So here's something from the small strange town au where Stiles is finding everything really fucking weird (he nearly ran over a red eyed monster the night before) so he calls Scott because what else are best friends for.

-------

“ – And then she warned me to stay out of the woods. With teeth!” Stiles concludes.

“Wait, did you say teeth? What about her teeth? What did she do with them?”

“Well uh… she wasn’t threatening to tear my throat out or anything but there was definite baring. Like teeth baring. Grrrrrrr, you know?”

Scott makes a sympathetic noise. “Dude, that town sounds weird!”

“Yes! Thank you!” Stiles exclaims, loud enough for a passing dog walker to glance over in alarm. “That was totally what I was thinking,” he says lowering his voice. “This place is sketchy as hell.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Ah. The million dollar question. It’s funny really. Stiles had been expecting Scott to tell him to get the hell out. To get back on the road and come home. All his answers had revolved around how to nicely explain why that wasn’t going to happen. Instead the implication is the choice is his and Scott has accepted that. So something really strange happens when Scott asks Stiles what he’s going to do – what he wants to do. It all becomes strangely clear.

“I gotta go look Scotty. If I walk away now, I’ll always be wondering what if? You know?”

“So you’re staying.”

“I’m staying.”

Stiles exhales slowly, a previously unnoticed weight lifting off his chest. He’s staying. Thousands of miles under his belt and here’s where he wants to stay? He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Any idea how long for?” Scott asks after a moment and Stiles can hear the question underneath the question – it’s the one his dad asked him last night.

When are you coming home?

“Dunno. As long as it takes I guess. I know what I saw, you know? But I gotta figure it out. I won’t rest until this mystery is solved,” he declares dramatically, ignoring the squirming seething guilt in his stomach.

The voice in his head hisses viciously.You left them. They needed you and you left them behind.

He is a terrible friend.

He clears his throat and focuses on Scott’s laugh, fingertips anxiously worrying at his sleeve.

“Well don’t be the girl who kicked the hornets nest or anything,” Scott is saying and Stiles is so surprised by the reference he momentarily forgets his guilt.

“Hey – look at you with the ten years out of date thriller reference. Honestly Scott, say it again. Reading is a sexy look on you. I’m not going to lie, I’m a little turned on.” He pauses for dramatic effect before adding, “You haven’t read it have you? It’s Melissa's, isn’t it? ”

“Hah, yeah man, I just saw the title on mums night-stand. Memorized it to freak you out!"

“Well mark me down as horny and impressed Scott.”

Scott is laughing and it’s like something has eased in Stiles’ chest. It’s reassuring to know that the distance doesn’t matter. Scott remains a constant. And he can stay, here, in fucking… Beacon Hills, California of all places.

“So… You’re gonna go investigate then?” Scott says and Stiles can hear him get up and start walking.

“Yeah. Yeah I am. Those eyes man, I wish you coulda seen them.”

Scott huffs a laugh. “Yeah. I don’t. But I believe you!”

Stiles will never tell Scott how much he needed to hear that. “It was so fucking creepy Scott… I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Alright – just call me in the morning or something. I don’t need nightmares again. Nothing like the last time you dragged me into some woods please.”

“That was a one off!”

“Well let’s keep it that way dude.”

----

Gentle no pressure tags to @violetfairydust @patolemus @gege-wondering-around @jadezdominion @all-or-nothing-baby and @endwersed

[alternate-real-ities]

wow those super hairy alternate realities are so hot 🥵 think we could see more into those worlds?

Sure, let's untwinkify this dude.

What do you think of this change from a smooth twink to a furry muscle hunk? I mean, damn, just look at him now - those thick, hairy pecs are just begging to be grabbed. It’s got me weak in the knees ngl. But I'm sure there's more to this version of him than meets the eye ;)

And what about this guy? Let's watch this slim fit king embrace his hairy, untamed vibe in this hairier universe :)

His sleek frame, now dusted with dark, coarse hair, looks like it is begging to be explored. I'm losing it, craving that thick, leaky BBC, covered by a wild dark bush. Fuck, I need this guy, deep and relentless, till I'm howling for more! 😈 Do you feel it too?

Or maybe this guy?

I've got my pulse racing already from watching this hottie explode into a hulking, hairy beast...

Now a rugged canvas of thick, dark fur, this guy definitely took the gym seriously and grew some hair. Just imagine running your hands through that wild pelt, feeling the heat of his massive, sculpted frame pressed close, his new bulk radiating power that makes your knees weak. Not to mention the impressive package he was already carrying with him. I'm sure we'd get along just nice, me and him...

So... what do you think? To be honest, I'm not that much into super hairy guys, but some body hair can be hot as hell. Hope you enjoyed these alternate realities, and I'll see ya in the next post!

[jonathansims-answers]

Tim walked up Jonathan's office, sighing softly as he murmured about the pages having flown everywhere of the file he was holding. He knocked on the door, "hey boss.. i uh- I completed that follow up with uhm..-" he checked the file again, "Benedict Cliffords. And you should probably check it out." Tim said as he opened the door to John's office.

"Seriously weird kid, but uh.. very pleasant!"

Tim placed the file with Ben's original statement and the follow up document on Jonathan's desk.

It was filled with some news articles about his disappearance, and when he was 'found' again, missing posters, and Tim's notes that read:

Unaware of fasttravel like a video game. Reports smelling of ozone, common for avatars/victims of the vast. Eyes as if blind, but not blind, different hair colour since returning that looks way cooler than just blonde. Feels as if falling when eyes are closed. Definitely that Simon Fairchild dude, weird old git.. Overall pleasant guy, seems almost scarily chill about apparently timetraveling? Probably turned into an avatar.

"Ah Tim. That was surprisingly quick. Good. I appreciate it. See now.. was that boring?" He asked as he scanned the notes.

"Simon Fairchild?" He asked before waiting for an answer on his first question. "Are you certain? Also what does... 'hair colour that looks way cooler than just blond' mean?" He tilted his head at the notes. Clearly both confused and almost impressed with the found information.

[dewinchester1979]

The Deal Part 1

Series Characters: Dean Winchester x reader (eventual), Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, other characters possible.

Y/N POV

Series warnings: Language, unrequited love, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Guess whose back?

Hey guys here I am with a new story for you to read. I’m going to be honest, I’m still working on my writing skills. I’m trying to find a way to make dialogue more realistic.( I’m not sure if I’m doing good or not). Anywho, this story is set in earlier seasons where Dean was more cocky and sure of himself (not that he isn’t in later seasons as well haha) I feel like younger Dean is more immature which is what I was trying to go for here. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

*I do not own these characters. All mistakes are my own!

*Not my gif

“And man she was feisty! I didn’t know if I was going to live through the night.” Dean said with a laugh.

We were out celebrating after our successful hunt. The bar was quiet besides the music and a few patrons. It smelled like beer and smoke. 

 I’ve been friends with the Winchesters for four years now, I recently joined up to hunt with them. I have always hated hearing him talk about his conquests but knew I couldn’t say anything. He’s my best friend. I love him but I hate the fact that we will never be more than what we are now, a fact I don’t know if I can live with.

"You okay, Y/N?" Sam's voice pulled me back to the present.

Dean leaned forward, his brow furrowed.  "Yeah, what's up, sweetheart? You've been quiet all night."

Guess they noticed I had zoned out. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I think I’m just tired from the hunt. I’ll probably head out soon.”

Dean sighed, “Come on Y/N, stay with us. We want to hear about the guys you go for. We haven’t seen you with anyone, well ever.” He laughed.

I wonder if he can see my soul crushing as he speaks.

Sam looked at me with a knowing look. He knows how I feel and knows my past. He said I needed to tell Dean. I knew I couldn’t do that. It would ruin me. 

I sighed and looked at Dean. 

 “Look, I’m happy you always find ways to get your rocks off. I’m just not a girl a guy wants to go home with, even for a night. Now if you excuse me, I have a date with my bed and my bottle of tequila.” 

“Y/N, wait.” Sam spoke as I was already out the door.

____________________________________________

“What the hell man?” Sam punched Dean in the arm.

Dean rubbed his arm. “First of all, ow, second of all what? We always talk about our escapades, I wanted to hear about hers. Sue me.” 

“Dude, I don’t talk about that stuff that much especially since Y/N has been around, I have dignity. You hurt her feelings, I don’t know what your deal is recently but you need to get it together or you're gonna make her leave.” 

Dean had been struggling recently, all the stuff with his dad has definitely taken a toll on him and his attitude. Losing John was hard for Dean. I knew part of him blamed himself.

Dean sighed, “I was just trying to get her to open up. She’s been in her head recently and I know how she gets when that happens.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah well, I’m pretty sure your plan backfired.”

“I’ll go check on her, just give us a bit, yeah?” Dean asked.

___________________________________________

The walk back to the motel was short, it felt good to get out in the fresh air. 

I knew Dean would come running to apologize at some point. He was predictable.

I really wasn’t surprised by what he said but knew I couldn’t tell him the real reason I don’t take guys home. It’s hard to be with someone when you're in love with someone else. 

I started getting ready for bed. I washed my face and threw on an oversized band tee and leggings. I was putting my hair up when I heard a knock.

There he is.

I went to the door. I could see it was him through the peep hole.

I opened the door a crack. “Yes?” My voice was tight with annoyance.

I knew he could tell I was annoyed.

“Can I come in for a minute?”

I moved to let him in.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. He moved towards me.

“Look, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should have kept my mouth shut. It’s none of my business if you do or don’t take guys home.”

I nodded.

“Please, Y/N, I’ve noticed you are in your head, what’s going on?” He moved to sit next to me.

I got up. 

“I appreciate the apology, truly. I’m tired so maybe we can talk about this another time?” I moved to open the door for him.

He got up to grab my arm.

“Damnit Y/N, I’m sorry, I just want you to talk to me, hell, yell at me if you want. I know something is going on.” 

“Dean, I’m not in the mood, ok? Please” I was begging now. 

He sat back down, “I’m not leaving till we talk.”

“We are talking.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I rubbed my forehead and thought, I then spoke. “Ugh fine, I know I’ve been in my head. I just got a lot on my mind. Hunts, you guys, laundry, whatever. You know I overthink. I appreciate the concern and I do appreciate the apology.” 

“We got to work on that.” He smiled. “But” he spoke again.

“Ugh” I laid down and put the pillow over my head.

He laughed and moved it from my hands. “You don't think you are the type of a girl a guy wants? I’m confused about that.”

“Well Dean. When a girl wears band tees, oversized flannels and jeans, no makeup, and has bits of skin in her hair daily, that tends to turn the men off.”

“Sweatheart that sounds like my dream girl.” He laughed.

Yeah I wish…

“Yeah right, more like tall blondes with big boobs.” I turned to lay on my stomach now, I couldn’t look at him.

“Hey, I’m all for variety. Blondes, red heads, brunettes.” He chuckled as he laid down beside me. 

“I have an idea.”. 

“That’s never good.” I giggled.

“Hey!” He pushed my arm. 

“Ok, spill.” I replied.

“How about I help you work on your look, and we can see if we can find you a decent man?” He spoke.

“You’re kidding.” I looked at him, he had a serious look on his face.

 Ok, not kidding.

“Look, you would get to spend more time learning from me, just on a different skill set. C’mom, pretty please?” He asked with his best puppy dog eyes.

I would like to spend more time with Dean and maybe his tips can help me get my mind off him and maybe on someone new. 

“First, Sammy is the only one who can work the puppy dog eyes, secondly, if we do this you cannot make fun of me.” I stuck out my hand to shake his to seal the deal.

“Sounds like a deal to me sweetheart” He shook my hand.

God, what am I gonna do?

Tag List:

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