#is it weird I want to live in music land?

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

Before I end up making that post I want to talk about briefly with the release of IS5 again, the concept of each IS havin a fundamental theme of unreality to them. I really like this, because it feels like in a pretty unsubtle way a solid way to ground the structure of a roguelike setting into what is normally a pretty grounded storyline.

IS1, Ceobe's Fungimist (please Hypergryph let it return), is a hallucination caused be Ceobe eating weird forest mushrooms. Nothing that happens in IS1 is real, explicitly. However, IS1 is fundamentally drawing from something, and in Ceobe's case, it seems to be drawing from her memories of traveling abroad Terra looking for the origins of her axe (and food, of course). What are things Ceobe's remembers happening to her, what are hallucinations filing in the gaps, and what are Ceobe catching glimpses of fundamental truths of the world (the Black Procession and the Feranmut skeleton that is Maybe? Lifebone for instance) is left extremely vague. Characters such as the Frozen Monstrosity do seem to genuinely exist, but there was no Frozen Monstrosity in Lungmen. Was Ceobe using something she herself experienced in place of Frostnova, or is Ceobe hallucinating the entire thing regardless? Who knows. Ceobe probably doesn't have the answers for you.

IS2 has explicit themes of madness and deception, and although I do not find him a particularly compelling character or plot device, a playwright who can literally warp reality with his plays. Much of the stage design recycles echoes the stage design from IS1, almost as if the Troupe is welcoming you, the player, onto their stage. You aren't here to discern the truth behind the Troupe, you're here to save one man, and while you are able to peel back the curtains somewhat, you never really do learn what the Troupe is. There are puppets who come to life and whose music damages your souls, there are actors driven so fully into their roles that they end up traveling to Sami to carry out their destined end, there's a Troupe Leader whose defining imagery is puppets and strings, and yet, you're no closer to finding out how this all happened than you are trying to explain why the Knights' Duel node exists.

IS3 asks the question "What if time is like evolution?" and presents its unreality in the form of a sprawling, massive bundle of alternative timelines to your own. It feels almost impossible to line up most of the events and memory mappings and endings on top of each other, and even the endings seemingly branch off into several versions of themselves. While, for example, the Irene encounter maps onto her own memory mapping story, we never see the timeline involving Lumen's memory mapping in the game at all. There is no Seaborn version of Gladiia in-game for you to fight. This is made seemingly all the more uncanny by the fact that there is actually a canon timeline going on, and the implication through the Bosky event that you are only seeing these alternative timelines because curiosity got the better of you. You came into contact with technology alien and yet familiar, and as a result, your good little timeline where you just save a girl who tries to commit identity death turns into you having to watch from the third person a version of the world where you and Mizuki are potentially the only intelligent life left on Terra for all eternity.

(No seriously, this ending is fucked up, what the fuck.)

IS4, on the other hand, gives us a reality that is unraveling, so fragile and malleable that you can cause things to manifest out of sheer force of will, something there are explicit warnings about not doing. It's a land where the living become the shambling, almost mechanical dead, and the mechanical being living creatures. It's a world where the abyss looks back at you, and finds you to be worth destroying. Gravity isn't right, time isn't right, language isn't right, snow falls black and the dead rise once again to beckon you home. There's nightmares in the shadows, and they're eating away at everything.

Sorry shit I got dark there. IS5 is Nymph's happy little storytime where she explores future and alternative versions of Kazdel through the imagination of her and her compatriots. What if Theresis and Theresa worked together and Nasti completed her designs (and maybe committed a genocide????) and Kazdel was a flying utopia city? What if the Teekaz all walked in a different direction and became the Sankta, or all became the Anasa? You know, sometimes you lose your sense of reality and become dependent on the visions you see from the Revenants, sometimes you need a little bunny to pull you out, and sometimes those Revenants might have actually caused a new reality to exist but haha, don't worry about that.

What if, hahaha, just saying what if, there was a version of Amiya in a world where the Sarkaz barely exist, where she was given the crown by a dying Theresa with no guidance on how to use it ethically? Haha I mean, what if Kal'tsit wasn't around? What if, just theoretically, there was a version of Amiya for whom the most formative person in her life was the decaying mind of a man stuck as an AI program who kept his people alive for 10,000 years? What if, hehehehe you know, what if, there were special endings you got for each of the stories you told where you went onto fight her, showing up closing up those stories, those worlds, to eternally protect them until she can find the answer to all troubles? What if the Sarkaz prophecy from Chapter 7 kept coming up, over and over again, the prophecy of an Amiya who would melt millions of lives into memories over and over again? What if this was an Amiya so immediately dangerous that the Sankta version of Buldrokkas'tee doesn't hesitate in trying to kill her?

I mean that would be a really scary story if it was true. Really it's Nymph's special storytime with the revenants. Don't worry about it.

Anyways I love pretty much each of these takes (IS2 is definitely the weakest though) and it shows a lot of thought from the storywriters about how they wanted to integrate a roguelike mode into their game.

[briteningbolt]

I SWEAR THIS IS THE BEST ASK THE STORYBOTS EPISODE EVER

I'M SO SORRY IF I SOUND BIASED OR SOMETHING BUT I REWATCHED THIS GEM A DAY AGO AND I LITERALLY FORGOT HOW UNIQUE THIS EPISODE IS

EVERYTHING ABOUT IT IS AWESOME OH MY GOSH I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO PROPERLY WORD MY LOVE FOR THIS EPISODE OMGGKFZJSAWI-

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

weirdness

OKAY

Why’s Skully’s idea of the ideal Halloween so jank??? Bro wants:

No candy (he says it’s frivolous and therefore unnecessary; Trey and Riddle argue for candy, RIDDLE defends CANDY)

No decorations (he calls for modesty and simplicity)

No color (just rooms painted entirely black with a single lit pumpkin; Vil and even Malleus, who often wears mostly black, areagainst this idea)

No music, no dancing (only silence; he says music and dancing is inappropriate even after the mermen talk about the importance of music)

To beat back (bad) ghosts (even though this holiday is meant to honor them all and their temporary return to the land of the living; Leona, Sebek, and Jamil are appalled at the suggestion, calling it discourteous)

Very odd how his entire concept of Halloween contradicts his idol’s vision for it?? Especially since Skully claims he and his entire village supposedly worship Jack Skellington as the founder of the holiday. In fact, Skully seems to be experiencing cognitive dissonance when Jack proposes a Halloween with all the things Skully disapproves of, but agrees to help with Jack’s vision anyway. What kind of twisted version of history do they have in his hometown…? Are Jack and Halloween as a whole just super dull there???

AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF, Skully js disappointed when you disagree with him… There’s also a very strange personality shift between Skully’s upbeat, gentlemanly self and the Skully that makes that deranged expression, speaks ill of dissenters, and gets gloomy when his ideas are rejected. His wording is also very odd???? He says things like he’ll teach everyone what a “proper” Halloween is, which is very reminiscent of how controlling Riddle was back in book 1. Skully also talks about LOT about reflection and atonement. He also mentions it is his duty/reason why he was brought to this world/book… to show everyone what Halloween truly is.

HOW IS SKULLY JUST AS CONSERVATIVE AND VAGUELY RELIGIOUS AS ROLLO???????? 😭 Look, it’s okay to have a different perspective on Halloween and want to celebrate it differently than the modern and more commercialized version of it, but there’s no need to be upset about it when you get outvoted??? (Not the NRC students were the most polite when they told Skully off, but still…) Really not sure how to feel about this.

Starting to think your classmates were right about you being WEIRD, Skully 💀 I didn’t buy the “he’s a cultist” or “he’s old/dead” or “he’s Rollo’s dead brother” theories but now I’m really eyeballin’ him suspiciously… (Not that I believe the theories now, but something is definitely up with him.)

[seiwas]

new year superstitions (or some shit) | bakugo katsuki

wc: 1.4k

summary: bakugo's never believed in timing things for luck (or: affection is hard, but bakugo thinks it's about damn time he tries harder)

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, aged up!pro-hero bakugo (mid-twenties), reader is described as pretty, vaguely alludes to reader's quirk, established relationship, fluff.

you slip into bakugo's space just a few minutes shy of touching the new year.

everywhere around you is loud, lively in the way new year's eve parties go; a group of people down the street stand outside of a bar, waving their streamers and blowing on small trumpets to welcome the next hour. from a distance, fireworks are shooting up to the sky, right above some luxury hotel having its annual countdown.

it's neither bakugo's thing nor yours to be up this late, partaking in celebrations like this, but he supposes some things are worth experiencing at least once—

the scent of your perfume hits him before he sees you, the space around him tightening in that familiar way the air around you shifts when you hold your breath. you smile, a small, gentle lift of your lips that falls into pace with your blink. pretty.

warmth pools in his stomach, building slowly to crawl its way up his neck and over his ears, overflowing to dust his cheeks.

"thought you looked a little lonely over here," you mumble, stifling your giggle as you watch him turn pink.

he furrows his brows, a soft "tsk," escaping his lips out of habit as his head turns to you. you always tease him like this; he should be getting used to it by now.

a gust of wind picks up from your spot on the balcony, pushing the glass door shut. the noise from inside muffles to dull chatter, the beat of tonight's music recognizable only by the subtle vibrations on the metal railing resting against his back.

the winter breeze seems to have tapped you, too, as you tuck your chin deeper into the red scarf around your neck.

"y'should've stayed inside," he nods to you then to the balcony door, crossing his arms, "s'cold here."

you frown, inching closer, just enough that you could loop your arm with his if you wanted, "sometimes, i can't tell if you're bad at taking hints or just really good at ignoring them."

he eyes you from the side, red vermillion the shade of your scarf—the one he gifted you just a few days ago for christmas. you pout, loosening the fabric around your neck so he can hear you clearly.

"you know," you take in a shaky breath, "this is the f-first time we're at s-something like this as y-y'know…” you pause, glancing at him to gauge his reaction, “t-together."

his nose turns a shade of pink darker; it's true, and he can hear you clearly—every tremor, every shiver. he sees you pretty clearly too, the softest hint of red on your lips. this relationship with you is new, just a little over a couple of months, and it makes him think—

"k-katsuki, are you e-even—"

it's reflex when he does it―his hand shooting out to grip your elbow, pulling you closer into his parka. right where you were standing lands a small clump of snow, fallen from the balcony of the unit above.

you look up almost immediately, a little flustered.

"s-sorry―"

bakugo feels warm despite the cold, heat blazing across his entire face as little puffs of air tickle his neck when you speak. like he said, this relationship with you is new, and though he's held you a few times already, affection, in any capacity is still something he's getting used to.

and you're aware of that too; of course you are. but when you push yourself away to create some space―

"told you s'fuckin cold."

―he keeps his other hand on your back, holding you into place.

bakugo is intense in most aspects; he meets things headfirst with no hesitation, but being this close to you makes him feel weird, a kind of unusual he thinks he should approach with caution―as if to keep himself from ruining the moment.

so his eyes wander. down the street, on the view behind you; they focus on the wisps of your hair ruffled from the earlier breeze, the tips of your eyelashes, blinking. then slowly and carefully, they land on you.

and you―

you beam, eyes widening momentarily before flashing him the brightest smile. it stills him so much that he doesn't notice your hands loosening the scarf around your neck even more, unwinding the fabric until the lengthened ends sit on your palms.

it's when you say "okay," gently and so... so... sweetly, that he feels the softness of wool hit the tips of his ears and down his neck. an ache spreads throughout his chest as he locks eyes with yours, tongue pushing against the roof of his mouth for another tsk―but you beat him to it, your finger coming up to press against his lips.

"s'cold," you giggle, a hint of teasing.

he narrows his gaze, about to retort when you both hear muffled shouts from inside the party, "ten... nine... eight..."

the group of friends down the street seem to be in on it too, echoes in unison, shouting, "seven... six... five... four..."

and from afar, right where the hotel is situated, are the numbers "three... two... one..." lit up on the sky.

you tug on bakugo's parka to draw his attention; the expression on your face is something he can't quite decipher―winter on your cheeks and your lower lip pulled between your teeth. the air around him tightens again, evidenced by the way you suck in a breath.

then, it happens all too fast―the way you tiptoe up just that little bit; your fingertips stamping chills down the edges of his scarred cheek. you kiss bakugo right as the new year strikes and the moment happens too quickly for him to notice.

"happy new year, katsuki," you whisper, close enough that it tickles his chin. it must have been a small peck, it must have been. he can only assume as he blinks it back to memory.

you've kissed before―three times to be exact, four counting this one. and he's not opposed to it (what kind of idiot would be?); in full truth, he fucking loves it.

but, affection is hard, and fuck, it's always been you initiating it―

"sorry, too much?" you mumble sheepishly, pressing your lips together, "just figured since it's the new year and all..."

―which is even more fucked by the fact that you feel the need to apologize for it.

he stares at you, bewildered out of his fucking mind that he still hasn't grown the damn balls to kiss you himself.

so, to hell with new year superstitions, he thinks; bakugo's never believed in playing to luck and chance in the first place. he'll kiss you right now because he wants to―

because it's what he's been wanting to do since the start of tonight, since yesterday, since a week ago; since you kissed him the very first time and all he could do was stand there, trying to act like the very feel of his lips pressed against yours didn't make his mind howitzer impact right in that moment.

―it just so happens that it's the new year, and it's about damn time he grows the balls to initiate it for once.

his hand reaches for your cheek before you can take a step back, fingers slotting themselves by your ear and resting against the edge of your jaw. your eyebrows shoot up, the look in your eyes something between confused and surprised. his thumb slides itself across your cheek before swiping down to touch the edge of your lips, feeling.

there's a dull warmth beneath the pads of his fingertips, heating up when he leans in. the air tightens; breath on hold as his nose bumps into your skin, and it's faint, the slightest touch of your lips against his. your eyes fall shut before his do, and he shivers, a slight tremble as he deepens the kiss.

he starts out slowly, uncertain, moving his lips tentatively. it's a push and pull―soft, quick pecks sandwiched between longer, drawn out touching. it almost feels like this moment's been suspended amidst all the noise, lips locked and gliding, lingering; he swears he can feel you grinning.

your fingers grip the fabric of his parka and tug, and he sees it as a signal to be rougher, taking your bottom lip between his and slightly biting. you squeak the tiniest bit, but it's enough to make him pull away completely, eyes wide as his thumb presses against your chin.

"fuck," he whispers, catching his breath as he tugs just enough that he can see the inside of your lower lip, "did i hurt you?"

he's squinting, brows furrowed while looking for any sign of blood when you shake your head, stopping him. his gaze shifts to take you in―your glossy lips, slick with spit; your eyes, completely blown but somehow still twinkling, and when you giggle, he almost finds it cruel you have to look so fucking pretty.

"it's just your canines," you smile, "i like them."

fuck, he really should've done this sooner.

a/n: this ended up way longer than i planned woops! haven't written bakugo in a while but i miss the guy!! and i wanted to write him so terribly flustered and bad at affection but being so frustrated because he wants to try!!! and he should be better than this!! anyway! i had this idea around christmas time but couldn't write it in time for the new year because i got sick. so it's a little late, but i hope you enjoy!

i'm not sure if you remember my dear willow @willossom, but you sent me a request a good while back for one of my events with the prompt: saying "i love you" in all the ways you aren't used to for bakugo, and this reminded me loads of it!! 🥺 though this isn't the written request for that one yet (i have something else planned for it), i just wanted to let you know that i thought of you while writing this!!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[veltana]

No one as sweet as you - Mafia!Stucky/Reader

✦ Pairing: Stucky/Reader ✦ Word count: ~9,4k ✦ Rating: Explicit ✦ Warnings: Mafia AU, best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, protective!stucky, TW: reader is verbally and physically abused by john walker, idiots in love, sharing a bed, poly relationship, piv sex, dirty talk, cunnilingus, praise kink, pet names (Sweets), unprotected sex, creampie. ✦ Summary: When you’re hurt by your boyfriend you go to the two people you can depend on for anything, Steve and Bucky, your best friends. ✦ Note: This is a fic that was previously posted on AO3, at the beginning of the year. But since I'm stuck in writer's block right now I thought I would post this in case you haven't read it. It's one of my favorites. There are some short prequel fics to this also posted on AO3, about when they were living together in college. I'll post those too in the following weeks.

Series masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

The bouncer gives you one glance before he opens the door for you and the line of people you pass shout angrily but you don’t even spare them a glance, your thoughts elsewhere. The music in the club usually invigorates you but tonight it passes through without leaving a trace.

Making your way to Monica at the bar, the people you pass shoot you weird glances and you know you must look a mess. When she sees you she comes right over, the music is too loud to talk so you share a squeeze of the forearm in place of a hug before she pours you your favorite wine, with a pitying smile at your smeared mascara. You throw a kiss at her before making your way to the back and once again the big man at the door opens it for you after a quick look.

The music is muted as you make your way to the stairs at the back that take you up to their private room. When your heels land at the top and you meet Bucky's eyes he lifts the girl currently on his lap off and declares "Everyone out."

Steve shoots him an irritated look before his eyes follow Bucky's and sees you. You stand perfectly still while the women and men who were enjoying a private party with two of the biggest mobsters in New York mill past you down the stairs, some even shoot you dirty looks.

When the last person has passed, you take a step towards them, but before you're two steps in, Bucky has taken the glass from your hand and Steve has lifted you into his arms. You cling to him, hands grasping his shirts, and finally, you know you’re safe.

Steve sits down with you in his lap, cradling your head to lean it against him, the other arm holding you tight at your waist. Bucky's palms are gentle when he rubs your back soothingly. None of them say anything at first but the tears running down your face speak for themselves. You made it all the way without breaking down but with them, you can be vulnerable. For the last seven years, they’ve been the rock, the shelter, and your haven.

"Talk to us, Sweets," Bucky's voice is only that soft with you, maybe sometimes with Steve too, “What’s going on?” You try to take a deep breath, but it just stutters. After a few more tries it’s better but you’re not sure where to begin. They give you time, and don't press you on information, like they otherwise do in their line of work.

Finally, you release Steve's shirt and instead, you find the hand he has wrapped around your waist, twisting the rings on his fingers as you try to speak. You don't want to look at them, the shame and the anxiety is running high in your body but you want to tell them, you just have to find the right words.

"You know the guy I've been seeing," you start and feel Steve's arms tighten around you. Before you can say more Bucky mutters "I'm gonna kill him." Steve is calmer and asks, "What about John, Sweets?" He speaks into your hair, his voice is gentle but it has a hard edge. "He's been so sweet since we started going out, but he's been having a rough time at work lately," you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting to remember, your heart beating like crazy. The memories bring forth the panic and the fear again and your breath gets shallow.

"It's alright Sweets, you're here with us, nothing can hurt you," Bucky's low voice is comforting, together with their touch, and you know he’s telling you the truth. It’s the reason you came here instead of going home.

You take a few more breaths and continue "So I thought I'd do something nice for him. We had a spa day and while he soaked in the tub I made dinner and dressed up for him." Frowning hard, your fingers spin the rings on Steve's hand faster and faster the more your anxiety builds, knowing what’s coming.

"And everything was great until I poured the wine and spilled some on the tablecloth." Your mouth opens and closes a few times and the tears start to fall again but Bucky is there with his thumbs, cradling your face and brushing them away, while Steve rocks you gently in his embrace.

"He was furious," you cry. "Said I ruined everything! He threw the wine in my face, then the bottle across the room. He tried to grab me but I ran out of there." There is a long silence when you finish, it’s just your sobs and the music from the other side of the wall. Then Steve says "I'm gonna fucking kill him," his voice laced with rage, and he hugs you even closer.

"I took a cab here, I didn’t know where else to go, I didn’t wanna go home." With the last words out you feel a small relief. You’ve told them. You’ve told someone. The scene still plays in your head, seeing John's eyes turn black with rage when the drops of rosé landed on the white linen, feeling the fear when he started screaming.

"Thank you for telling us, Sweets. You’re an incredible person," Steve says and moves you out of his lap and over to Bucky's. They treat you with the utmost care, moving slowly, giving you time to protest if you want, or detangle yourself if that's what you desire. But you let them manipulate your body how they like because sometimes they know what you need more than you do.

"You did nothing wrong," he goes on to say, holding onto your hands, letting his thumbs caress the skin. "John is an absolute fucking asshole and no one should be treated like that.” You meet his green-blue eyes that are only soft for you, and Bucky. Right now, Steve isn’t the feared mobster that people avert their eyes from when he enters a room, scared they’re going to end up in a ditch because they looked at him wrong. No, this Steve is your best friend.

"I don't want to be scared, and I don't want to go home in case he comes there," you confess. "You'll stay with us," Bucky decides, voice finite. "Let’s go home so you can take a shower and change clothes." You nod and are about to stand up but Bucky is quicker, changing his grip and holding you close as he gets up. He carries you to the car and doesn't let go of you until you're in their mansion, in the room you have there.

When he puts you down your feet are a little unsteady and they both look at you with concern, but you give them a weak smile “It’s okay.” "We'll be right outside, shout if you need anything," Steve tells you and when you nod they both step out and close the door softly behind them.

For a moment you stand still, trying to make sense of the last hours, wondering how everything went to shit. Then you finally get a good look at yourself in the tall mirror and see the black rivulets of mascara and eyeliner smudged down your cheeks, the foundation almost gone.

The dress is ruined by the wine and even if it was expensive and you can get it dry cleaned you don’t want it anymore. You pull it off and throw it into the trash can, quickly followed by the heels. The lingerie is one of your favorite sets but you're unsure if you will ever be able to enjoy it again without remembering how you chose it especially for John. After a moment it goes into the trash, and the earrings too, feeling like you need everything from the night to be gone.

The only thing you keep on your body is the necklace that was a gift from Bucky and Steve years ago and you haven’t taken it off since. It's custom-made with three delicate chains in gold, silver, and black twisted together. You loved it the moment you saw it, knowing that the chains were the three of you, twisted together through the rest of your lives. When you touch it with your fingers it makes you feel better, because you can feel them with you.

The shower feels more than just bodily cleansing and when you remove the last pieces of your smeared makeup, smoothing eye cream over your puffy eyes, the feeling of fear and panic is distant.

In the closet are a bunch of your clothes, probably more than you like to admit, but the best part is the drawer with their old t-shirts. You pull one out, not sure which of them it used to belong to, but it’s worn and soft against your skin. For a moment you press it against your nose, breathing in the detergent that reminds you of this place and all the wonderful memories that you have with them, before you find your pajama pants.

Out in your room you sit on the bed and look around at the muted colors. Bucky and Steve insisted that the room was yours, not just a guest room, and it makes you smile a little when you think about how much fun you had decorating it.

After taking a deep breath you open the door and find them just a few steps away. The look in Bucky's eyes is murderous and Steve's fists are clenched by his side, but when they turn to you they go back to being your best friends that you met in college all those years ago. "How are you feeling?" Bucky steps up to you and pulls you into a soft hug, tucking your head underneath his chin as you wrap your arms around his waist, breathing in the smell of him. Steve comes up behind you, placing his palms on your shoulders, rubbing the muscles carefully. "Better now," you answer. "But I never had dinner so I'm a bit hungry."

Bucky pulls away from you, cradling your face, tilting it up until you're looking right into his light blue eyes. "Let's go raid the kitchen," he smiles and holds your gaze for a few seconds more and there is so much love in those eyes it's almost scary. You know he would burn down the city if it made you happy, they both would, and that intensity is one of the many things that have kept you from finding out what it would be like to be theirs. You're not sure you'd be able to handle it.

When Bucky lets go of you, Steve's arm goes around your waist and he pulls you into him, Bucky takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, and you walk to the kitchen. You sit down at the kitchen island while they open the fridge.

"The chef made mac'n’cheese," Steve says and pulls out an oven pan, covered in tin foil with a post-it note on top with instructions for heating it. Bucky turns on the oven and says, "Want something to drink Sweets?"

"Soda?" you ask and Steve pulls a can out of the fridge before settling down beside you, handing it to you. You hand it right back "Please? I don't wanna fuck up my nails." That makes him chuckle as he opens it and the sound makes you warm on the inside so you lean your head against his shoulder.

"Thank you," you sigh. "For always being here for me. I'm sorry I ruined your party." "You didn't ruin shit," Bucky spits out, glaring at you from where he is standing by the oven. Steve and you chuckle at his harsh tone but then he leans forward, over the counter towards you, resting his large arms against the surface.

"I mean it, Sweets, don't you ever think you ruin anything by showing up, for any reason," his voice is stern but you know it comes from a place of love. "Thank you, Bucky, it means a lot," you smile.

When the oven is warm Bucky puts the tray in and pulls out plates. It only takes a few minutes and your tummy rumbles as the kitchen fills with the smell of cheese. Bucky and Steve make small talk about work things and you're grateful for them filling the silence while you finally get some food.

But it isn't the nice chicken that you cooked for John that you looked forward to eating and your eyes begin to burn. Even though you try to force the tears back they come anyway and run down your cheeks as you eat. Neither Bucky nor Steve notice until you reach for a paper towel and sniffle loudly. Not a second later you're wrapped up in Steve's embrace, crying into his shirt again while Bucky caresses your hair and nape. They mumble sweet things to you and tell you that you're safe and that nothing is ever going to hurt you again.

After a few minutes, the tears run dry. "I'm okay," you say and Steve loosens his hold, his eyes filled with concern for you. "You sure?" "Yeah, but I feel like I've been hit by a truck. Should probably try to get some sleep.” "We're sleeping in my room," Bucky decides and you nod, Steve too.

It's not unusual for the three of you to share a bed when one of you has had a rough time. The first time it happened was after finals and you all fell asleep in Steve's bed, totally exhausted, and slept better than you'd had in weeks.

Then it was after break-ups, yours, Steve's, Bucky's, somehow you all ended up in a bed together every time and it wasn't sexual at any point, just friends being there for each other and it continued through the years. The only time it was out of the question was when one of you was in a relationship, then it just felt weird, and from previous experience, it wasn't something that partners were all that accepting of.

You retrieve your pillows and cover from your room before settling in Bucky’s huge bed, your feet twisted up with Steve's, and Bucky is holding your hand. It's nice, it's familiar and you drift off knowing you're safe with them.

The room is dark when their soft voices wake you, but that might be because of the black-out curtains and not because it's still night. They’ve moved close enough to you that you can feel the warmth from their bodies on either side of you, and Bucky’s chest is right in front of your eyes when you open them slightly to peek. They don't notice you're awake and you don't feel like announcing it either, curious what they’re talking about.

"We let her decide." Even if Steve's tone is hushed it's still hard. "She is too sweet, you know she would never hurt a fly, she's going to say no," Bucky protests harshly in a whisper. This is interesting, you think.

"Even if you and I are fine with getting blood on our hands, maybe she doesn't want to live with that, maybe she wants to press charges." Steve has always been the more level-headed of the two, good with looking at things from all angles and keeping his cool. Bucky huffs and you want to giggle. His emotions always get him in trouble, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. When Bucky is angry he sees red and when he loves he does it with his whole soul and being. One time you asked Steve how he isn’t dead yet since his poker face seems to suck, but Steve explained that when they’re doing business he is usually calm and collected. When his emotions finally break through, people know they should probably run.

"Fine.” You can tell Bucky is not happy but he lowers his voice even more, and now it’s tinged with something else. “But I'm never letting her go again." His words together with his gentle tone make your heart skip. There was a time when you seriously thought about asking them to see if the three of you could work it out, and be more than just friends. But what you have with them is so precious that if it fails in the end, and you lose your best friends, you're not sure how you're going to go on.

"And you think I will?" Steve mutters. "We should have said something a long time ago." "Well, we can't go back in time. All I know is that I love her and I can't see her with anyone else ever again," Bucky's voice sounds like it's going to crack. He never cries but that is as close as it gets.

Steve reaches over you towards him, you can't see what he does but you know how Steve's comforting hands look on Bucky, you've seen it before. Sometimes they're even sweeter with each other than they are with you, when they think no one can see them, not even you. It's so clear that they love each other deeply, honestly it's surprising that they don't just date each other.

You hear Bucky hum in contentment and Steve gives a small soft laugh. It feels like a good time as any to pretend to wake up. You file away their words for another day, not ready to deal with them now in the wake of what’s happened. First, you need to heal the broken heart you're already nursing before thinking about giving it away again.

With a groan you turn from your side to your back, stretching and blinking your eyes open. They're lying on their sides, both resting their heads on their hands. "What time is it?" you mumble, rubbing your eyes. "Just past nine," Bucky informs you and brushes a few strands of hair out of your face. "And you two are still here?" "Just for you," Steve says softly and finds your hand, twisting your fingers together.

Both of them are early risers and you hate mornings, something they tease you for endlessly. "Honestly though, have you already, like, gone for a run, had breakfast, and then sealed some important deal?" "Nope." Bucky slides his arm in under your neck, placing the other hand on your hip, and pulls you closer to him. "We didn't want to leave in case you woke up." Steve shuffles closer, his chest pressing into your shoulder. "Didn't want you to think we left you all by yourself."

You hum and decide to ask "Would it be okay if I stay here a few days?" "Sweets, stay as long as you want. It's your home as much as ours,” Steve answers. "No,” you correct. “My name is definitely not on any papers for this house." "We can fix that if that's what you want. Just move here." Bucky is serious but you decide to laugh it off. "You'd like that wouldn't you?" "Like old times." he smiles.

"Except I have no desire to listen to the people you bring home scream and moan, got enough of that in college,” tumbles out of your mouth without really thinking of it. They exchange a look but before they can say anything you hastily continue. "Do you think I need to break up with John, or do you think he got the message when I left?"

An uneasy silence falls and Bucky breaks it. "I'm gonna be honest with you Sweets, I really wanna fucking kill him, and make it as painful and as horrifying for him as possible. Death will feel like a blessing in the end." Steve speaks next. "But it's your decision, and if you wanna press charges against him, we'll make our lawyers available."

It’s a lot to take in at that moment. "I don't know,” you answer truthfully. “It still hurts, I'm still scared but I'm not sure what will make it better." "When you've decided you let us know and we'll do whatever you want." Steve bends down to kiss the top of your head.

"If I see him on the street or something though I'm gonna punch him," Bucky says casually before letting go of you and getting out of bed. When his warmth leaves you, you whine and that makes him chuckle. He kneels on the bed and kisses your forehead. "Steve will keep you company while I make breakfast." "You mean go get what the chef has already prepared?" you joke. Bucky shoots you a look before leaving the bedroom.

"We should be glad he isn't actually cooking. Remember when he tried to make pancakes for his girlfriend and almost burned down the apartment," Steve notes. "That's because he got distracted. I mean, I'm glad I came out of my room when I did but the image of Bucky and her on the kitchen table still haunts me," you chuckle.

"You weren't exactly innocent back in those days either," Steve points out with a laugh. "But I never did it on the communal surfaces," you defend with a huff. "No, all we got was listening to you trying to stifle every sound and failing miserably." "Well, at least I didn't break a wall while fucking someone." "It was a shitty wall, never have that problem here." "See that's why I don't wanna move here." "We can soundproof your room?" "Or I can just live in my apartment?"

Bucky comes back with a breakfast tray and places it on the bedside table before pulling out your phone from his pants. "It's been buzzing nonstop since I got down," he explains and hands it to you right as the screen lights up with an incoming call.

"It's John," you tell them, and your chest floods with anxiety as you stare at the screen and sit up against the headboard. "Answer it," Steve sits up beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. Bucky is pressed against you much the same on your other side. "On speaker," he instructs and takes out his own phone to record the call.

Your hands shake as you swipe to answer. "H-hello." Your voice is wavering. "Baby! I'm sorry for yesterday, I'm sorry I got mad. I've been calling since you left, I've been so worried. I checked your place but you weren't home. Where are you?" John says in a worried voice. "I'm at a friend's house," you reply.

The feelings in your chest are conflicted, on one hand you never want to see him again but hearing his voice makes you remember that when he is good he is great, amazing even, and you would be lying if you said you didn't miss him. For the last few months, you gave it your all and you were even prepared to tell him you love him.

"I'll come and pick you up and let me apologize properly," he sounds pained like he is actually sorry for what he did. Fuck, it's so tempting to go back but you know better. You know that this is just the tip of the iceberg, and getting wine thrown in your face is probably not the worst that can happen.

"No, John." You try to sound confident but you're not sure it comes across. "I don't think it's going to work out between us." The moment you say the words the tears well up and Steve starts rubbing your shoulder." You're doing great," he whispers right by your ear so John doesn't hear.

"Are you-" John sounds shocked. "Are you breaking up with me… over the phone?" "Yeah, sorry." You cringe, you shouldn't be sorry. "You scared me yesterday and I feel like I don't know you anymore."

"Babe you don't need to be scared of me, I would never hurt you I swear," he sounds like he is about to cry and a part of you wants to comfort him. "You threw wine in my face and said some really mean things," you point out.

"I didn't mean any of that, I promise. You know I've had a lot on my plate lately and I didn't mean to take it out on you." There is some part of you that desperately wants to believe him. "That's not an excuse," you go on. "I'm not an object for you to take out your frustration on. It's not going to work John."

There is a long silence before he speaks again and now his voice is laced with rage instead. "Then you can come get your fucking things right now." "John, please don't-" you start but he cuts you off.

"You fucking bitch, you lead me on for months and then you break up with me over the phone, because what? You think I’m gonna hit you or something?" "Yeah, maybe," you answer truthfully. "You're such a dumb bitch, I would never lay a hand on a woman I care about."

Both Steve and Bucky stir beside you. When you shoot them a glance they are both staring at the screen with murder in their eyes. "Calling me names won't change my mind, John," it hurts when he says them, like an actual stab in the heart and it brings out more tears.

Bucky leans over and taps the mute button. "There is no way you're going over there, we'll send Sam and Vis." You nod and unmute while John is raging on about how dumb and useless you are and how he wishes he'd never wasted his time on you. "I'm going to send some friends to pick up my things."

"Oh, so you won't even face me yourself?” his voice is unrecognizable now. “You know what? I'm glad for what I did, I'm not sorry anymore, you're obviously a fucking coward and not worth a second of my time." Every ounce of fight is gone from you, you're just tired and want it to be over. You don’t want to listen to the hurtful words anymore so you simply say "Goodbye John," and don't even wait for a response before hanging up. You drop the phone into the sheets and bury your face in your hands, your body jerking with sobs.

Steve and Bucky’s arms go around you but you hardly notice, everything is just excruciating pain, your heart smashed into a million pieces. Twenty-four hours ago you were happy with a man you thought you knew, and loved, but now everything is broken and you're not sure what you’re going to do next.

It takes a long time for you to stop crying and when it finally ends you're exhausted, again. The coffee Bucky brought has gone cold but Steve holds a glass of juice to your lips and makes you take a few sips before coaxing some yogurt into your mouth. "Steve is going to stay with you while I take care of a few things. If you need me, you tell him and I'll be right back," Bucky promises when he leaves the bed again, taking the tray with him out of the bedroom.

"Is he going to kill him?" you ask softly as you sink down under the covers. Steve puts his arm around your waist and pulls you into his chest until your face is squished against it. "No," his voice is soft. "Not without me." "Steve…" "Can you blame us, Sweets? John was lucky it was over the phone or else we would have beaten him into a pulp for saying those things."

"He never acted like that before," you whisper. "I'm just happy you got out before he put his hands on you," Steve whispers back. "If you had shown up with bruises yesterday I might have lost it." "I love you," you tell him and he kisses the top of your head. "I love you too, Sweets, and I know Bucky feels just the same." You hum and let the exhaustion take over.

They have switched when you wake the next time, you're in Bucky's arms and he is carding his fingers through your hair speaking quietly to you. "Wake up Sweets, it's time for dinner."

Even if you’ve slept right through lunch you shake your head and swing your leg over his hip, clinging to him. "Don't wanna get up," you whine. "If you eat dinner, we can watch a movie on the couch afterward." He knows just how to tempt you and you need something to try and take your mind off everything.

"Candy?" you pull back. Even if the light in the room is dim you can still see the blue in his eyes, and the crinkles at the corners when he smiles. "You know we keep stock of everything you like, there is always something sweet for our Sweets."

You hug him hard. "I love you Bucky, you know that right?" "I love you too, Sweets." He kisses the top of your head, much like Steve did earlier. "And I know Steve feels just the same." That makes you giggle "Steve said the same thing." "Well he is a smart man," he shrugs.

Bucky all but pulls you out of bed but he doesn't force you to change out of your pajamas. He leads you to the kitchen where Steve is plating the food and your stomach grumbles when you smell it. They have set the table with candles and it looks lovely but it also reminds you of your last candle-lit dinner. Bucky sees the look on your face turns you away from it and tilts your chin up with his fingertips, "It’s…” he begins, hesitating, trying to find the right words. “We want to replace every bad memory, but if it’s too much too soon we’ll throw it all out.”

The scary thing is that he is serious. If you said the word they would throw everything out, but you don't want that, you want a nice dinner with them and try to get past what happened. Maybe it will help, maybe it won’t but you won’t know until you’ve tried. And if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that you are safe with them.

“It’s fine, I’ll try,” you promise with a smile before turning around to sit down at the table. Steve serves the food and Bucky pours you a glass of wine. After a few bites, Bucky brings up some stupid shit the three of you did a long time ago and through dinner, you reminisce about old times.

Since meeting John you haven't seen them as much because you learned early on that partners were weirded out or even jealous of what you had with them. Right now you can’t fathom why you would ever do that, because these two people are the best thing in your life.

You fold your napkin into your lap and look at them. "I'm sorry for, like, ghosting you the last few months," you swallow hard. "I've been a shitty friend but you always take care of me when I need you, and I’m so thankful for that. I promise I’ll do better."

"It's okay sweets," Steve smiles and reaches over the table to grasp your hand. Bucky takes the other and his thumb caresses your knuckles. "Don't apologize, there is no need." The lump in your throat is from love and not from sadness this time and you don't try to speak, just nod, squeezing their hands back.

Afterward, you cuddle up on the couch to watch a movie but ten minutes in you're already nodding off. When Steve and Bucky notice you're asleep they turn the TV off and Steve carries you up to Bucky's bedroom. "She has work tomorrow," Bucky whispers and pulls the cover up over your body. "Fuck, should we wake her?" Steve asks back. "No, let her sleep, she starts at nine so if we let her sleep til seven it should be fine."

Fortunately, the alarm on your phone goes off as usual but when you turn to snooze it, you instead roll into a warm chest. Steve grumbles and reaches for your phone, handing it to you before seizing you around the waist, and burying his face in your neck.

“Hey, I have to get up,” you mutter. It feels like your eyes are filled with sand and your head is pounding but you have to go to work nonetheless. “You don’t have to work,” he speaks into your skin and it makes a tingling feeling travel through you.

“Don’t be silly, let go of me,” you chuckle and detangle yourself. The other side of the bed is empty, Bucky already up. You drag yourself over to your room to shower before getting ready and eating breakfast. Steve insists on driving you to work and Bucky comes and sees you off with a long hug and a kiss on your hair. “I’ve put Clint and Peter to watch your apartment and Sam and Vis are going to be outside your work all day, Sweets.” “Thank you, Bucky.”

When Steve drops you off he points out the car. "If you see John or you for any other reason feel unsafe you can go to them right away, or call us,” he tucks a strand of hair in behind your ear. “Don’t hesitate. You mean everything to us and we want to keep you safe, Sweets,” You nod. “Thank you, Steve,” you whisper, leaning over the console to kiss his cheek before heading to work.

What you told yourself would only be a few days, turns into a few weeks and now it’s almost two months. Despite your initial refusal, you’re enjoying living with them again. A few times after the break-up, John tried to contact you and every time the phone started buzzing and your anxiety spiked you found one of them and they helped you through it.

You haven’t slept in your room once and neither has Steve, it's always the three of you sleeping in Bucky's bed. It could be because Bucky has an expensive bed that you sleep so soundly, but in the back of your head, you know it’s because their presence calms you.

If Bucky or Steve can't drive you to work, someone else does, your own car is still parked on the street by your apartment and you don’t have any desire to go get it. But you do miss some of your clothes, and toiletries, so maybe you should take it as a sign that you need to go back.

After getting home from work that day you walk up to their office, a little apprehensive. Both of them are leaning over the desk when you poke your head in, their cuffs rolled up, exposing their underarms. It’s enough to make your stomach flip, they look too good. Steve sees you first and a smile splits his face. “Hey Sweets, have a good day at work?”

Bucky turns and opens his arms towards you when you step into the room. His hug is warm and comforting and you answer Steve’s question with a yes, before taking a step back from them. "I know I said I was only going to stay a few days but it's been way more than that now, so I think I'll go back to my place after work tomorrow." You try to sound as neutral as possible, neither sad nor happy, just stating a fact.

"No," Bucky breathes, fists tightening at his sides. "I agree with Bucky, don't leave," Steve's voice is calm and his face doesn’t give much away but his eyes are betraying him, they’re too glossy, too wide, and too filled with fear to miss.

The other reason you need to go back home is the way they are treating you and touching you. It’s making your feelings run wild and you can't have that, you can’t risk losing them too. And if that wasn't enough they've invaded your dreams with their touches and words, making you wake up aching for them in a way that is totally inappropriate.

"I can't stay, you know that," you sigh. "No, I don't." Bucky is frustrated, staring at you. "I really fucking don't know why you can't stay. We love having you here and you seem to love being here. Just stay."

His mood is making you defensive, you don't want to explain that you're obviously catching feelings soon after getting out of something traumatic. You need to think, and every time you wake up drenched, tucked in between them you are seconds away from ruining everything by confessing or honestly just taking one of their hands and pushing it in between your legs, hoping they will help you get off.

"I need my own space, Bucky," you cross your arms and glare at him. "You have your own room," he states and takes a step closer. "That I don't use anyway," you reply and take a step back. "Because you don't want to!" His raised voice silences you not because you're scared but because he's right. Bucky isn’t stupid and he's not the type to sugarcoat things when he's upset.

Your heart is hammering. "No I don't want to," you confess with a breath. "But I need to." Then you turn to go but only get a step from the desk before Steve grabs your wrist. He spins you into his chest, Bucky coming up behind you, boxing you in between them. Bucky's head falls on your shoulder. "I can't let you go again, Sweets, I can't do it."

Your mind flashes back to the morning when you pretended to sleep and heard them talking. The breath in your chest hitches as you look up into Steve's blue-green eyes. “I’m with him, Sweets,” he says in a low voice and cups your cheek with his large hand. “You belong here, with us.”

Your mouth opens and you try to protest but it dies on your tongue and Steve takes the opportunity to continue. "We love you, more than anything, we want you to be ours, more than just our best friend. Live with us, be with us in every sense of the word. All three of us, together," his voice wavers at the end.

The words sink in slowly. Be with them. Be theirs. Stay. Your body is aching to say yes and your heart is about to beat its way out of your chest. “But…” “All I know is that I feel incomplete without you, like a part of my soul is somewhere else, and the only time I'm at peace is when I'm with you two. I can't keep living like a part of me is missing. So I'm asking you, please stay, please help us figure this out and be with us." Bucky’s arms wrap around your waist. "Every time I see you with someone else my heart gets ripped out of my chest and I've tried to be with other people, we both have, but in the end, they’re not you."

Their confessions break down your defenses as their words ring true. In all your relationships over the years, there's always been something missing but you've never been able to figure out what. There's been passion and there's been love but it's always lacking something and now you think you get it. It has lacked them and the deep connection you share through years and years of friendship. Feeling stupid about wanting to leave and thinking you weren’t ready to be with them makes tears well in your eyes. Whatever it is you three can figure it out, it may not be traditional but it beats being unhappy.

"Don't cry, Sweets." Steve runs his thumb over your cheek. You lean your head into his chest, nodding against it. "I'll stay," you sniffle. The arms around your waist tighten and Bucky speaks into your shoulder. "Really Sweets?" he sounds like he’s worried that maybe you're joking.

"Really Bucky," you promise, wrapping your arms around Steve and hugging him close. For a moment it’s just the three of you enveloped in your shared love but then Bucky rights himself and you look up at him over your shoulder, matching his silly smile.

He leans in like he is about to kiss you but he stops himself, his eyes searching yours for something, and it's scary. If you take the plunge everything will change, or maybe it won't, but it feels like an earthquake is rolling through your life, upsetting everything and if you let him kiss you it will be real. But that's what you want.

"Please?" you ask him and his whole face lights up before he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours. It could be described as fireworks, an erupting volcano, or maybe feeling the first rays of sunlight on your skin after years in darkness, but nothing will come close to the feeling of being kissed by Bucky.

It's a chaste kiss with just his lips moving carefully against yours. It's over quicker than you want but in his place is Steve, turning your head back towards him and descending on you. His fingers run through your hair and he opens your mouth to let his tongue play with yours, the feeling once again indescribable, it's just the feeling of right. Everything about it feels right.

Even if the kiss is slow when he pulls back your breathing is labored and you're clutching his shirt. "I-" you begin but can’t find any words. That kiss ignited something inside you, it's like you're seeing color for the first time, everything is clearer and sharper. What even was your life before?

"Are doing okay Sweets?" Bucky asks next to your ear and you nod in response. When his soft lips caress the side of your neck you whimper and lean your head to give him better access, he chuckles against your skin, nipping it and making you gasp. "I wanna eat you up, find out what you taste like everywhere."

It’s a badly kept secret that Bucky has a marking kink. You’ve seen his exes, you know he's possessive and likes to leave marks. You can't wait to have them on you so you whisper, "Mark me.”

Steve chuckles above you. "She knows you, Bucky," he says with a smile. "You too, Steve, please?" You’re almost begging, but not quite, just asking nicely. "You want me to give you a hickey?" he asks with a crooked smile but those eyes are too easy to read. He craves you. "Or a bruise, or a bite mark, something, anything," "Fuck…" His face changes to match his dark eyes. "You want everyone to know you belong to us, Sweets?" he asks with a hoarse voice and you feel the large bulge in his pants press against your stomach.

You nod, biting your lip. "Show me how you do it, Bucky.” They spin you around and Bucky grabs at the collar of your blouse, pulling harshly, sending the buttons flying over the office. “Hey-” you begin but he pulls the fabric aside exposing the juncture between your shoulder and neck. First, he sinks his teeth in, hard enough for you to hiss but not breaking the skin, then he closes his lips and sucks.

It's painful but the act in itself makes you throb. When he pulls back you release your breath but Steve is quick to pull the neckline on the other side and do the exact same thing. He is gentler but when he's done there is still a purple bruise on your skin. "Fuck me," you whimper against Bucky.

"Yes, Sweets, we will. Long and hard until you can't take it anymore. We're going to ruin you." Steve promises before he grabs you and lifts you up, spinning you so you can wrap your legs around him as he starts walking to the bedroom, Bucky right behind you. You reach your hand out towards him and he grabs it, kissing your palm and knuckles. "We're going to take care of you Sweets, you'll never want for anything," he promises with a wicked smirk.

Steve places you on the edge of the bed and stands up, looking down at you. Bucky comes up beside him, resting his forearm on Steve's shoulder. "Look at our sweets, can you believe it?" Bucky asks. Steve turns to him with a smile. "Yes." Then he places two fingers under Bucky's chin, turning his head before kissing him. It's heated, filthy and it's the hottest thing you've ever seen. You squeeze your legs together to alleviate some of the pressure you're feeling in your cunt. Their kiss shows that it's nothing new, they've obviously done it before and you're a little mad that they have withheld this from you.

When Steve starts pulling on Bucky's clothes you can't keep the moan from slipping out. They both break away and turn to you and you feel small in the best way possible. "Did you like that?" Bucky asks before leaning down and kissing you.

The knowledge that his tongue was just in Steve's mouth and is now sliding against yours makes you moan again. You start undoing the buttons on his shirt and he pulls on your top. When you separate, he pulls it off and you’re left in just your bralette. Steve makes a sound in the back of his throat at the sight and starts taking off his own clothes.

Bucky kneels in front of you on the floor, unbuttoning your pants and pulling them off, while you stare at Steve as more and more skin is revealed. He holds your gaze the whole time and you bite your lip when he starts at his pants. His chest and forearms are huge, covered in tattoos but in no way hiding the muscle underneath. It makes your mouth water and your cunt clench.

Bucky starts kissing up your bare leg, beginning at your ankles and slowly working his way up your calve and the inside of your thigh. When you're still staring at Steve he nips your skin. "I know he's gorgeous but when I eat your pussy I want your eyes on me, Sweets." He tries to look offended but his pupils are blown wide with lust.

Just the thought of him between your legs makes a shiver run through you and your cunt impossibly wetter. Nodding at him you caress the side of his face and watch him, the closer he gets, the more you start to tremble with need. No one had ever made you feel so needy and horny.

Bucky kisses your cunt through your underwear, making you gasp. "Please Bucky, I need you." "I know, I can smell how fucking wet you are Sweets." He twists your panties out of the way. "Fuck, Steve, look at her, she's dripping."

Steve, in just his underwear now, slides his fingers gently through the mess, making you tremble and moan, before bringing the fingers to his mouth and holding your gaze as he licks them clean. Then Bucky's mouth is on you, his tongue licking from your core up to your clit.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-" you cry and grab the sheets under you, bucking up into his touch. Steve chuckles and gets behind you on the bed. "He looks like he's in heaven, Sweets. He has wanted you for so long." You feel his fingers undo the clasp of your bra and then slide it off. His hands cup your tits a second later, making more sounds spill out of your mouth. His fingers rub, caress, and pull on your nipples while Bucky is hurdling you toward your climax.

"I'm- I'm gonna-" Your legs shake and you grab Steve's arm with one hand, the other going to Bucky's head, grabbing his short hair. Every muscle in your body tenses right before the coil snaps, making you scream out your release, riding Bucky's face and feeling the pleasure-filled waves travel through your body.

You slump against Steve's and he holds you. Bucky pulls back with a shit-eating grin, wiping his face with the back of his hand, saying "Fuck Sweets," before he stands up and starts taking off his clothes.

You already feel amazing, high off your orgasm but you want more and Steve's hard-on is pressing into your back. You turn around on the bed. "Move up," you tell him and his smirk is knowing but he does as you say and moves to sit against the headboard.

You rid yourself of your drenched panties before grabbing his boxers and pulling them off. "Eager Sweets?" he chuckles and fists his cock as soon as it's free. It's thick and long as him and you can't fucking wait. You bite your lip before asking "Condom?"

"I know we should but I want to feel you raw Sweets,” he confesses. “Are you on birth control?" "Sure, and I got tested the week after…" you trail off not wanting the bad memories to ruin the moment. Bucky's heat is suddenly behind you, grabbing your hair and forcing your head back to kiss you deeply. When he lets go he says, "Steve and I got tested like a week before you moved in and I've not even looked another person's way since then." Steve laughs "And I haven't fucked anyone either so get over here and ride my cock Sweets."

To say you scramble is an accurate description, quickly shuffling over to him and straddling his hips. You hold onto his shoulders as he swipes the head of his cock through your mess, holding it still for you to sink down on.

All three of you moan in unison as his dick disappears into your tight hot channel. The grip Steve has on your hips is almost bruising and the look on his face is painful. “F-fuck. Sweets. Damn.” Is all he gets out. You lean in, kissing his cheeks and chin and lips, and start to move, slowly, the feeling is amazing, he's filling you up to the brim perfectly.

"Feels so good," you stutter and then drop down hard. "I'm never watching porn again," Bucky says from behind you and you watch him over your shoulder, kneeling on the bed and jerking his cock. You whine in the back of your throat, you want him too, so you reach for him as you bounce on Steve's cock, making him spill the most delicious sounds.

Bucky shuffles over and you grab his dick in your hand, he's big enough that it doesn't fit all the way around. His hand lands on Steve's shoulder to steady himself and Steve reaches out to place a hand on his hip.

The sounds the three of you make fill the room. It's moans, groans, and whimpers, the sound of slapping skin and squelching wetness. Your clit is steadily rubbing against Steve, getting you closer and closer. Bucky is panting heavily, Steve is too.

"Sweets, I can feel you. Are you gonna come on my cock?" Steve is trying to sound unaffected and failing miserably, but he continues to spill filth that rushes you toward the edge. "When I've filled you up, Bucky is gonna fuck my cum right back into you, aren't you Buck?" "Fuck yes," he groans before leaning in and kissing you deeply. “I wanna see you come on his cock Sweets.”

"Next time I wanna feel both of you come in me at the same time," you whimper. "Sweets, you goddamn slut." Steve groans with a laugh and bucks up into you harder. "Tell us more! Please! I want to hear every filthy little thought hidden inside that mind."

You turn to look at Bucky. "I want both of you in every hole. I want you to use me like I'm a toy and worship me like a queen," you tell him, then turn to Steve. "Put my name on the house and celebrate it by fucking in every room, on every surface, show me all of your kinks, give me everything."

Steve's eyes are screwed shut and he's let go of Bucky to grab your hips, pulling you down onto his big cock. "Keep going," you urge him, your release just a few thrusts away. But he's too close and before you can get there he suddenly sits up to wrap his arms around your waist, crushing you against his chest, thrusting up hard, and comes with a loud moan of your name.

You feel wild, right on the edge of ecstasy but left dangling in mid-air. With pleading eyes and a whine you look at Bucky who smirks at you before pulling you away from Steve and laying you on your back. A second later he fills you up, the sound of his cock pushing through Steve's mess is as sweet as it's nasty.

"Please, Bucky, please," you beg. "Yeah I know, don't worry, not gonna blow my load early," he taunts over his shoulder at Steve who just gives him the finger. "Understand him though, you’re so tight and warm Sweets. Makes me a bit crazy. I just want to fill you up over and over again," he confesses.

"I need to-" you begin but he cuts you off. "Rub your clit for me. Come on my cock," he demands but you know something that is even better than your own fingers and you reach out your arm.

"Steve," you plead and he crawls over to you and lays down beside you, pushing his hand in between your bodies, finding your clit. You arch off the bed with his touch, hands clutching Bucky's arms as he rams into you. The dual sensation is amazing and with how close you were seconds ago the end approaches quickly. Your moans get louder the closer you get and both Bucky and Steve praise you the whole way through.

"You sound so fucking pretty."

"I can barely move you gripping me so tight."

"You're so good at taking cock, Sweets. First mine and now Bucky's, it's like you were made for us."

You nod at the last thing and the pressure in your body is breaking, making your muscles convulse, almost pushing Bucky out with how hard you're coming, screaming their names as you do.

"Fuck! Yes, Sweets!" Bucky’s laugh is a little manic as he works you through it. "I'm going to fill our sweet little cunt with more cum." His hips stutter against you before he groans out your name and collapses on top of you. You run your fingers over his sweaty back and kiss his cheek. Then you turn to Steve, smiling at him beside you. "He's heavy," you complain.

Both of them laugh and Bucky rolls off before they move until you're squeezed in between them, their cum running down your legs, making a mess on the bed. Fortunately, you have at least two other beds to sleep in.

For a few months, you're walking on air. In a throuple with your two best friends, amazing sex, luxury beyond what you could have ever imagined. They constantly spoil you and they've tried to convince you to quit your job since you don't need to work when you're with them.

Tonight you're in another fancy restaurant. Bucky is trying to feed you chocolate cake because it's romantic but you tell him over and over again that you can eat by yourself. Suddenly Steve stiffens beside you and since he isn't known to have tells, you immediately get worried and follow his gaze.

John is standing at the door with a pretty girl on his arm, talking to the waiter and then being shown to a table. Next to yours.

When your eyes meet he stops for a second and his date shoots confused looks between the two of you, before you nod and he nods back, then moves again and sits down.

Steve asks for the check and you're out of your seat and outside the restaurant in no time. Bucky holds your coat as you put it on and a moment later Steve comes out too. His eyes are black with hate and when you're finally in the car you realize that you can't live like this.

"I think-" you begin, swallowing then clearing your throat, "I think I'm going to need those lawyers."

[teaboot]

How do Canadian schools teach about indigenous Canadian history and culture? -a curious USAmerican

In my experience we learned about colonization at the same time as we learned about the formation of Canada. At first it was "European settlers came and pushed out the indigenous population", then in the higher grades we learned more about the how and the why.

For example, how carts full of men with rifles would ride around shooting Buffalo, then leaving the meat on the ground to rot, because "a dead Buffalo is a dead indian", which was so fanatical it almost wiped out wild Buffalo entirely

Also how Canadian settlers were lured in with beautiful hand-painted advertisements for cheap, beautiful, fertile land that was unpopulated and perfect, if only you'd sail over with your entire family and a pocket full of seeds- only to be met with scared, confused, and angry lawful inhabitants already run out of ten other places, and frigid winters, and rocky, forested, undeveloped dirt.

also, smallpox blankets, where "gifts" of blankets infected with smallpox were intentionally given out

And treaty violations- Either ignoring written agreements entirely, or buying them out at insanely low prices and lying about the value, or trading for farming equipment that they couldn't use because they weren't farmers.

Then in the first world war, where they told indigenous peoples here that they'd be granted Canadian citizenship if they enlisted

To Residential schools, which was straight up stealing kids for slavery, indoctrination, and medical experiments

But we also covered the building of the Canadian Railway in which Chinese immigrants were lowered into ravines with dynamite to blow out paths through the mountain for pennies on the dollar

And the Alberta Sterilization Act, where it was lawful and routine procedure to sterilize women of colour and neurodivergent people without their awareness or consent after giving birth or undergoing unrelated surgeries

But I'm rambling.

We kind of learned Aboriginal history at the same time as everything else? Like. This is when Canada was made, and this is how it was done. Now we'll read a book about someone who lived through it, and we'll write a book report. And now a documentary, and now a paper about the documentary. Onto the next unit.

And starting I think in grade 10 our English track was split between English and Aboriginals English, where you could choose to do the standard curriculum or do the same basic knowledge stuff with a focus on Aboriginal perspectives and literature. (I did that one, we read Three Day's Road and Diary Of A Part-Time Indian, and a few other titles I don't remember.)

There was also a lunch room for the Aboriginal Culture Studies where Aboriginal kids could hang out at lunch time if they wanted, full of art and projects and stuff. They'd play music or videos sometimes, that was cool

And one elective I took (not mandatory cirriculum) was a Kwakiutl course for basic Kwakwakaʼwakw language. Greetings, counting to a hundred, learning the modified alphabet, animals, etc. Still comes in handy sometimes at large gatherings cause they usually start with a land recognition thanking whoever's land we're on, with a few thanks and welcomes in their language.

And like- when I was in the US it was so weird, cause here we have Totem poles and longhouses and murals all over and yall... don't? Like there is a very distinct lack of Aboriginal art in your public spaces, at least in the areas I've been

My ex-stepfather, who was American, brought his son out once, and he was so excited to "see real indians" and was legitimately shocked to learn that there weren't many teepees to be found on the northwest coast, and was even *more* shocked when we told him that you have Aboriginal people back home too, bud. Your Aboriginal people are also named "Mike" snd "Vicky" and work as assistant manager at best buy.

If you'd ask me, I'd say that the primary difference is that USAmerica (from what I've seen, and ALSO in entirely too much of Canada) treats our European and Aboriginal conflicts as history, something that's tragic but over, like the extinction of the mammoths, instead of like. An ongoing thing involving people who are alive and numerous and right fucking here

But at the end of the day, I'm white, and there are plenty of actual Aboriginal people who are speaking out and saying much more meaningful things than I can

So I'm just gonna pass on a quote from my Stepmum, who's Cree, that's stuck with me since she said it:

"You see how they treat Mexicans in America? That's how they treat us here. Indians are the Mexicans of Canada."

[coquettepascal]

purpose on earth

summary: joel loves to take, you love to give.

tags: 18+, smut, angst(ish), jackson era!joel, cold!joel, grumpy!joel, innocent!reader, dom!joel, implied age gap (reader doesn't remember pre-outbreak), corruption kink, joel takes your undies, humiliation, oral sex (m!receiving), allusion to thigh riding, a feeling of helpless/hopeless-ness permeates this fic, reader is pretty pathetic, use of "sweet girl", objectification of reader, unrequited obsession, this fic isn't necessarily sexy, just mildly sad.

a/n: i literally wrote this like an hour ago while i was supposed to be outlining my next project, but @hellishjoel told me to listen to my creative demons... so now this is being posted.

(1.1k, just a baby)

Nothing in this world has ever, or will ever, belong to you. Faint memories glaze your mind sometimes, when you lay down to rest. Not your own memories, but things you’ve read in books and seen in abandoned family photo albums. White wedding dresses, cars that drive, Sunday night family dinner. An American lifestyle that was sucked away with the cordyceps, something only they could clear out. The bombs the government used, the ones you can’t remember anymore, they never wiped mother earth clean the way she has done for herself.

She’s infected, and not yours. Nothing outside of Jackson’s walls belongs to your human hands.

You’ve never known ownership. The clothes you wear belonged to people before you, the ground you walk on cannot be sold. Maybe in another life this would feel fulfilling, but something in you wants to know what it is to own, or even fit in. Your skin, flushed and healthy, skin full of life and blood and organs. A heart that thumps in a world of disease, disorder, death. What a weird purity you hold, something you want to ruin. 

A person like you isn’t meant to own anything here. It feels like you have to belong, if you wish to take.

He will do it for you. 

Joel knows greed, remembers the world before. His hands have taken food, land, lives, anything you can imagine. It isn’t something you realistically think about, more infatuated with how he has the ability to do all these things. Not that you hadn’t committed your own sins, but to defend yourself isn’t wrong, at least that’s what he says. Something in Joel smolders the way only a primal fire can, he is from a world whose memory of a flame will extinguish soon.

He doesn’t help with any of your wants, your need to own or belong. But Joel shows you what it is to take.

You don’t understand the fascination he has with you. The memory of the night he first led you back to his house is blurry, a fleeting moment in comparison to what has happened since. There was conversation of music, of you having a tape you wish you could play. 

His hands were slow when they slid your underwear down your legs, you hoped he wasn’t looking. Nothing about you felt sexy or womanly, you felt dwarfed when he was so close. Again, you wished you could belong, so maybe you could hide. There was a stain in the gusset and you remember how he pulled the garment off your ankles when it dangled there.

“Lemme see,” he had demanded, “lemme see what I did t’you.”

Joel had smeared his thumb through the sticky wet mark, huffing in surprise. He knew it was for him, knew there was nothing else that could have made you do that. Humiliated, you had tried to yank back your underwear, but he refused.

“S’mine now,” he laughed, cheeks rosy.

That was the first time Joel took from you. 

Now you seek him, the ache for belonging in the world twisting to a yearning for him to take from you. If you could not belong to this world, if you could not fit, at least you could fulfill him. Joel doesn’t like it when you seek him out too often, hates when others notice it. You’re not his, never his, just a moment of gratification for his consuming greed. 

Once, you waited in the early morning at the stables for him. Crouched near the barn door, you waited and watched the dewy grass grow. The crunch of his boots, the yawn he let out as he passed by you, it was enough. He said nothing to you, took off on his horse with some other man trailing behind him. 

“Joel’s so responsible,” you thought to yourself, “he’ll need me later I bet.”

Of course, he did. You relished in the small victory of him stealing from you again. Purity leaks from you in the form of drool on your chin, when he pulls you off his cock. Joel’s thumbs push the spit back in your mouth and you suck it down willingly. Praise rumbles off his tongue and into your ears, a southern rhythm you find sanctuary in. Pushing his dick back into your mouth is all pleasure to him, but it’s a taste of greed for you. 

“Sweet girl, that’s a good mouth f’me, ain’t it?” Joel asks, head tilting back.

He never takes his pants off, but he strips you naked. His eyes arguably take more than his hands ever will. The bob of his Adam's apple hypnotizes your eyes as you garble a response to his question. Scarcely do you make sense around Joel, or even speak. You don’t think you can remember the last time you held a proper conversation with him, he usually just waits for you to come around.

It all starts the same, standing on his porch and waiting until he opens the door.

“Missin’ me?” He asks every time.

Joel doesn’t miss you, he doesn’t need you. He just likes how much you give. But you miss him, as soon as he pushes you out into the cold again you miss him. His greed is your purpose.

And so with your purpose, you push yourself down to the base of him. The waterline of your eyes is welling up fast, distorting your vision of him. You blink up at him like he’ll look down, like you’re more than a mouth. You aren’t, not to him, but you get to admire him like this. The puff of his chest, the swell of his throat, and his hands when they come to rip you off him.

He never pulls your hair, just grasps your face in his worn-down palms and pushes you away before jerking himself onto your naked body. 

“S’nice, you’re so nice t’me,” he grumbles. 

Under the yellow light in Joel’s living room, you feel useful. You’re doing more than surviving in this world. You have a purpose, even if he seldom needs you. He uses the sleeves of his flannel to wipe away the tears that slide down your cheeks, still mumbling about how sweet you are. Naked, smattered in him, you smile. Glittery eyes meet his and he snorts. 

“You were missin’ me, huh?” He teases. 

Joel rubs his thumb across your cheek again, the closest thing you’ll get to his lips on you. In his post-orgasmic haze, he almost looks fond. 

“He almost likes me,” your mind whispers, your stomach fluttering, “it’s almost like I belong.”

And once you’ve nodded in response to his question, messy mouthed and gazing at him, your purpose, he taps his thigh. Blood rushes to your head as you stand, crawling onto him. 

In your obedient mind, you define your efforts for Joel as a purpose, but you think you can taste a hint of belonging each time he spreads your legs. 

[soleilapproves]

This is part 2 of the arranged marriage AU with Nanami where the two of you struggle with intimacy.

You both learn to cuddle in this one. This is a bit long so grab some snacks and a warm blanket.

Masterlist

-•-

After that fateful night of receiving flowers from your husband (personally and not through his family for a proposal), you had start warming up to him. You found out that he enjoyed mundane things like reading, walking at the beach, and most of all, bread. He learned about a lot of your likes and dislikes too.

Gradually, you found that it was easier to make conversation with him while having dinner so the two of you started having all your meals together. You’d talk about your work and what unruly things your coworkers did to cross you and he’d add in his two cents about them being incompetent. The relationship started to feel more friendly. He was glad his wife was talking to him about something other than the weather!

He also had a new desk moved into his study so you could work alongside him rather than stay holed up in your room. Your desk was adjacent to his (so he could look up to stare at you whenever he wanted).

He started noticing all the little things about you, like the way you liked doing your hair, your favorite spot on the couch, what kind of music you’d hum while doing chores. He was slowly chipping away at the ice and was enjoying every minute of it.

To be loved is to be known. He didn’t know how to show you that he was becoming more and more interested in you without displaying physical touch or being afraid of saying something that you may not be comfortable with. So he’d buy you gifts and try to spend time with you as much as possible. His gifts would be simple yet meaningful, like a record player for your room so you could listen to all your favorite tunes and pilates equipment for your home gym because you had been talking about how you wanted to work out but without leaving the house.

Your heart wasn’t letting you rest either. You started making him lunch for work and would write random notes along with it. It could be a fun fact or a simple motivational message. He would always thank you for them (and save them in a little box he has in his office). Sometimes he’d ask you more about the fact and how you learned about it.

Everything felt stable. It was like living with a best friend.

Until one day, you both were sitting next to each other while watching a horror movie. Separate blankets of course, but you were close enough for your knees to touch while sitting criss cross. A particularly scary scene came up and you jumped, holding on to the sleeve of Nanami’s sweater. He was alarmed, not because you screamed in fear but because you held on to him for comfort! “Can I hold your bicep? I’m sorry, this is just a little too scary.”

He could simply nod. No words or thoughts could form when he felt the warmth of your body against his arm. Your breath would occasionally land on his chest from how you were unintentionally leaning on him and it was driving him insane. Normally things like this would give him sensory overload but with you? Gosh, was it a good feeling. He always thought that that men who bragged about being protective were strange and were trying to prove themselves for no reason but they weren’t wrong. Knowing that you felt safe with him made him feel like a true man. Like he could run into the sunset and scream his lungs out.

After the movie was over you were still shaken up. “Is everything alright?” He looked down at you. You still had his arm in your grip. “Um, no, I’m still a little freaked out from the movie which is weird cause I’m a grown adult. Why am I scared of such movies anyway?” You smack your hand on your forehead. “It’s alright. It was a little too scary than what I’m used to as well.” He then paused, as if, he wanted to say something but he couldn’t. You looked up at him expectantly. “Since you’re scared, would you… like to sleep in my room? And I’m saying this in the most respectful way possible.” He sheepishly smiled as he asked.

Sleep? In the same bed as Nanami? Scratch that, sleep in the same bed as your HUSBAND? Of course, especially when he has been so sweet with flowers, gifts, and even comforting you through a strange movie. “Yes, I’d like that very much.” You whispered. You were afraid that if you spoke any louder you’d be breaking your bubble of comfort with him. “Then, I’ll make the necessary preparations.” He immediately gets up to go straighten up his room (and switch on his diffuser).

By necessary preparations, you didn’t know that he meant getting you a separate blanket and having a divider of pillows between the two of you. This was the opposite of what you wanted. You were still scared and needed some sort of physical touch to be reassured that you weren’t going to be harmed.

“Nanami, are you awake?” You whispered into the dimly lit room. The moonlight through the window acted as a natural night lamp. “I’m up. Do you need anything?” He responded swiftly. “No, everything is great except for one thing.” You turn towards him and remove the pillow between your heads so can make eye contact. “When you suggested sleeping in the same bed I thought we’d be holding hands because I’m scared.”

“Oh.” Was all Nanami could muster up. You were tense. Did you ask for too much? Maybe you should’ve asked his permission before requesting for it. Consent is key. But all your thoughts are silenced when Nanami simply grabs your hand and pulls you close. “Th-Thanks.” Your heart was racing a mile a minute. Nothing really happened after that though. Pure silence engulfed the room again, except for the occasional rustling of the sheets while you moved around.

“Y/N?” Your husband broke the silence. You hummed in response. “Do you know how to cuddle?” What an odd request, not unwelcome but definitely strange as Nanami never really initiated any sort of physical touch with you. It was mostly you either accidentally touching him or squeezing his bicep before work. You were too scared to admit that you had never been in a relationship before. What would he think? He’s a handsome man, so there’s no way he had never been in a relationship before. Maybe he never cuddled with his exes. He did tell you that he used to be very particular about his personal space.

“Yeah, I do.” You said, your knowledge from reading romance novels was finally being used. “Can you teach me? You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.” But you turned to your side so you could properly face him. You let go of his hand, missing the warmth provided by them. “I’ll teach you an easy one first. It’s called spooning. Since you’re a beginner, I’ll let you be the little spoon and I’ll be the bigger spoon.” Nanami snorted at your description. But obliged. “Alright, what does the little spoon do?”

You then instructed him to turn, making his back face you and then you wrapped your arms around him and leaned your forehead against his back. “So this is what spooning is. I think I’d much rather prefer being the big spoon. I want to be able to protect you from that ghost in the movie.” You giggle at his words and oblige. When his arms wrap around you, it feels as if everything has fallen into place. The world is in order and you both don’t need anyone else but each other.

Nanami is in ultimate peace with you in his arms. The warmth given to him by your body being pressed against him is a feeling like no other. It felt right. Like you two were meant to be all along. His heart raced at the thought of other cuddling positions. However, a sense of jealousy rose in him as he thought about who you might’ve experienced this with first. Alas, he can still make new memories with you so he comforts himself to sleep.

[dreamsteddie]

The Other Bank

-------

This is a repost of something I worked on earlier in the year. It's one of my favorite concepts but it didn't get much traction so I thought I'd give her one more try!

------

There is something so beautiful and melancholy about the idea of failed rockstar Eddie who was on the verge of being a major hit but ended up giving up his dreams because he didn't like who he was turning into.

Eddie who leaves Hawkins behind as quickly as he can and dedicates his entire life, every waking moment, to building up his music career. He sleeps on couches for years, staying with whoever will take him in for a night or two in exchange for a bump of coke or joint from the remains of his sizeable Reefer Kick stash. He carries everything he owns in the back of his trunk. Amp, wires, guitars, clothes, etc and basically converts it into a portable practice studio.

He plays every gig he can get his hands on. Playing as a last-minute substitute guitar or base for any band that calls, playing for pop bands and punk bands alike until he convinces enough people to join up with him and start a new metal band.

With the band comes more stability, for a while. They share a cramped two-bedroom among the five of them. Writing and jamming every day, going home to smoke up and decompress.

Just over four years after Eddie lands in the city, they play their first real show. A show at a respectable, if small, bar venue with people in the audience there to see them. People sing their songs and dance to their music. It's not sold out, not even close really, but it's the start of something big, they can all feel it. That night they go out to the club around the block with a couple of people who came to the show and party harder than Eddie ever has before. He wakes up with that distinctly fuzzy feeling the next morning that tells him he dipped into the harder drugs the night before, something he hasn't done since he learned his dad passed three years ago.

It scares him. He can't remember anything past walking into the club last night. He doesn't remember anything he did or said and desperately hopes he didn't do anything weird with a fan, but he brushes it off. Tells himself it was a one-time thing, a celebration of their success. They deserved to let loose, right?

Except it wasn't a one-time thing. In fact, it turns into an almost every night kind of thing, and as their fan base grows what feels like overnight, the parties grow in intensity with them. They play their hearts out on stage, eventually selling out all of the smaller local venues and moving on to the larger, more serious ones. The occasional disagreement over music between the band members turns into larger, more personal arguments. Eventually, they reach Fleetwood Mac Rumors Era levels of drama. Everyone is sleeping around, the drugs are out of control, and they can't hardly stand to be in the same room together anymore, only pulling it together enough to go on stage at the end of the day.

Eddie lives that handful of years in a daze. It can mostly be attributed to the copious amounts of alcohol he's turned to to cope with the stress, but he uses his fair share of snow to keep himself in the creative spirit too. It feels inevitable when he reaches a kind of low he doesn't know if he can come back from.

Eddie wasn't a saint, but he has always sworn off meth. It was the thing that killed his mom. He remembers the way she'd wasted away, the days when she seemed crazed, and how sorry she was to him when she stabilized. The regret in her eyes when she looked at him. But when he's asked if he wants a needle all he can think about is the prospect of spending the rest of his life stuck with this band full of people he can't stand and people who can't stand him if the record deal they've been negotiating goes through, and it feels like it will.

Thinks of what all his hard work will mean if it doesn't.

He says yes.

Wakes up the next day starfished in the alley of an apartment he doesn't recognize staring up at the little sliver of blue sky he can see between the fire escapes and weeps. He's become exactly the kind of person he never wanted to be, some asshole almost rich guy laying in a damp alleyway all alone with no real friends.

Eddie lies there for an hour just thinking. Trying to remember when the last time he called Wayne was. Thinking of all the girls he slept with when he probably shouldn't have, when they were both too fucked up to make the right choice. Thinks of his mom and dad.

Tries to remember the last time he made the world a better place to live in instead of contributing to the filth.

He gets up and leaves. Leaves it all behind. Gets in a taxi to take him to where his van is parked by the venue from last night. Frantically takes everything out of the back and leaves it on the street. The only things that remain are the few keepsakes he brought with him to the city and his acoustic, the one his mom left him and Wayne helped him paint. The amps, his sweetheart, and the performance wear all get dumped on the side of the road and then he's jumping into the front seat.

Hours of driving leads him back home to Hawkins Indiana, the one place he promised never to return. Hawkins has seen a boom in the last few years, it seems. More shops, a bigger main street. He even spots a proper cafe. It all feels less haunted than he remembers. More people, fewer familiar faces. The trailer park, though, looks almost the same as it did the day he left, right down to the sight of his uncle lounging on the porch, waiting patiently for whatever comes next the way he always has.

Wayne doesn't ask any questions, not right away. He just scoops his nephew up in his arms and holds him in the cool morning air. He always knew his nephew better than anyone else, never needed words to know when he needed his uncle to help hold up the weight of the world.

And that's how Eddie finds his way back home. It takes a while for him to feel well enough to face the world again. A mixture of detoxing and coming to terms with the feeling of starting back at the beginning, like the last six years of his life didn't even happen leaves him licking his wounds in his partially empty childhood bed. It looks the same way it did when he walked out the front door.

When he does come back to the world, he starts small. Stepping out on the porch to share a cup of coffee with his uncle feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done. Maybe the most important.

He's proven right when he steps out to find he's not the only guest his uncle is entertaining this morning. Another resident of the park has already claimed the second chair as his own.

Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington who never made it out of Hawkins but also never regretted it. Who's made a small, happy life for himself here in the trailer park after his parents kicked him out for good when he turned 20. Who works part-time under the table at Miller's Mechanic and collects disability checks for the lost leg and minor brain damage he got from a car accident at 21. Steve Harrington who keeps his uncle company and makes sure he has everything he needs, taking care of the other residents in the park to the best of his ability doing easy car maintenance, babysitting, or just offering company to the more lonely residents.

Steve is so different from the guy Eddie vaguely knew in high school that he might as well be a stranger. They all sit and talk together for the entire morning, laughing and sharing stories. Steve never asks about where he's been or why he's back and Eddie wishes he could tell Steve how much he appreciates it.

Before Steve heads back he asks if Eddie would like to come over after he gets back from his shift. Asks if he wants to drink a beer and watch a movie. Eddie is quick, maybe too quick judging by the sympathetic look Steve sends his way, to turn down the beer and scoop up the movie invitation like the precious thing it is. There's something about Steve that soothes his soul. An easy connection between them that Eddie hopes they both feel.

Steve kisses him that night, slow and easy like they've been doing it their whole lives. Like they didn't basically meet for the first time this morning. Like Eddie hasn't been in denial about his sexuality for his entire life. Eddie cries at the warmth it fills him with. Steve just cradles him by the cheeks and lets him. That night Eddie doesn't go back to Wayne's. He lets Steve drag him to bed and hold him close. Lets him tangle their legs together and breathe warm air into the crown of his head until morning.

Steve shows Eddie how to live a life without big dreams, a life without ambition but full of love and comfort. A life without plans but with the knowledge that every day, someone who loves you will kiss you when you wake up and hold you through the night.

[miwsolovely]

—can you love me (like i love you?)

𝜗𝜚 — in which, red robin likes to shows up at your apartment for an irenic moment from the harsh lines of Gotham. he meets you and you meet him, all of him.

TIM DRAKE x CIVILIAN! GN!READER mild angst. reader pining over tim, vice versa if you squint. 3.8k. — this was so fun — requested

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked asphalt and blooming jasmine from the park nearby. You always found it comforting—an odd juxtaposition of Gotham’s grit and its rare moments of beauty. Tonight, however, it wasn’t the air that brought you solace. It was the quiet creak of boots landing on your fire escape.

You smiled before even turning to look. “You’re late,” You teased, peering over your shoulder at the figure perched outside your window.

“Got caught up,” Red Robin replied, his voice light but tinged with fatigue. He stepped into the room with a practiced ease, his cape swaying slightly as he entered. The mask didn’t hide much—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shoulders tensed from the weight of the night’s patrol.

“You okay?” You asked, setting down the tea you’d been preparing next to an additional mug, turning around to face him in the living room, ignoring the pressure of your island on your lower back.

It had become routine by now. After weeks of these impromptu visits, you’d learned his habits: the subtle signs of exhaustion, the occasional wince from a barely hidden injury.

“I’m fine,” He said, though the way he sank into your worn-out armchair betrayed him.

You sighed and let the warmth seep into your palms as you spun around and took a mug from the counter and handed it to him. He took it without argument, the warmth seeming to settle him as he leaned back. “Liar,” You quipped. His nose tensed when he lied.

It had started months ago, the first time he appeared outside your window like some wayward bird. You’d been startled, of course—who wouldn’t be? But he hadn’t come for trouble, just a quiet moment away from the chaos. And somehow, without ever planning to, you became part of his nightly routine.

The first few visits had been awkward. After all, how often does Gotham’s very own Red Robin show up uninvited? But over time, the strangeness faded. He was careful never to overstep, never to ask too many personal questions or reveal too much about himself. Instead, your conversations meandered—books, movies, music, even the weird quirks of Gotham’s neighborhoods.

It wasn’t just him who needed the company. You found yourself looking forward to his visits more than you cared to admit. He was steady, like the ticking of a clock in the background of your life, even if you only ever saw him at night.

Tonight felt different, though. He wasn’t as talkative as usual, his responses short and clipped. You watched him over the rim of your own mug, debating whether to press.

“Long night?” You ventured.

“Something like that,” He replied, staring out the window at the city below. “Some nights are harder than others.”

You hesitated. You didn’t want to pry, but there was a vulnerability in his voice that tugged at you. “Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’d make a good therapist.”

“I’m just nosy,” You said lightly, hoping to draw out more of that smile.

And for a moment, it worked. He chuckled softly, the sound like a warm ember in the cold.

“Thanks,” He said after a beat. “For this. For letting me . . . just be here.”

“You say that like you’re intruding.”

“Aren’t I?”

“No,” You said firmly. “You’re not.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need filling. You’d grown used to these quiet stretches, knowing that sometimes words weren’t enough to smooth over the rough edges of the night.

After a while, he stood, setting the empty mug on the counter. “I should get going,” He said, his voice softer now.

“Be safe out there,” You say, facing him on your place on your chair, the words automatic but heartfelt.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than usual. Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows as seamlessly as he’d arrived.

A foggy evening, after his patrol, he arrived later than usual. His uniform was damp, and he looked more worn than you’d ever seen him.

When his eyes met yours, you let out an amused huff, walking to the closet in the hallway to your room, grabbing a beige towel and making your way back to him. “Take a dip in the lake Red?” You teased, handing him the towel as he stepped closer to you.

“Something like that,” He said, echoing the same vague answer he always gave. Even with the mask, you could feel the dam that wanted to implode.

Your brows furrowed.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

He looked at you sharply, as if the words had hit a nerve. “I’m used to it,” He said after a pause, his voice low and guarded.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be.”

The room fell silent again, the tension thick enough to cut.

“I don’t… I can’t risk that,” He said finally. “Letting people in. It’s complicated.”

“Life’s complicated,” Your countered. “But you don’t have to keep everyone at arm’s length. At least not me.”

He stared at you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. Then, as if breaking under the weight of his own defenses, he said, “I wish it were that simple.”

You didn’t bring it up again, sensing it was a line he wasn’t ready to cross. But the moment lingered, coloring every interaction that followed.

You’d open up to him. Though it wasn’t as reciprocated, you didn’t mind because he listened. Sometimes, when the night was soft, you two would talk about the random things that reminded you of each other, it was your favorite part of when he’d come to your apartment, relaxing in each others presence; it left a sapid taste in your mouth.

You’d talk to him about your life in Gotham University, talked to him about the enigma your heart palpitated for. How his voice made your smile bright and cheeks warm, how it rang though your mind constantly throughout the day, echoing off the walls and finding it’s way back to your heart, the devil that wouldn’t calm down.

You hadn’t realized that underneath the mask, he looked at you with a smile lining his eyes, his own devil pounding in his chest.

When asked if he knew of your feelings, your smiled turned bashful.

“He doesn’t even know my name, Red. I’m just a random with a crush.”

You’re not random, you’re mine. Is what he wanted to say, he wanted you to know who he is. Not the man with the mask — rather the man behind it.

He distanced himself from you at school because he thought that if he didn’t, you’d figure out he’s ‘Boy Wonder’ a bit too easy for his taste. He scares himself every night thinking about what would happen if you find out.

And then one night, he laughed.

Not just the quiet chuckle you’d heard before, but a full, unrestrained laugh that lit up his face. It was over something stupid—a poorly told joke you’d heard from a coworker. But the sound warmed you to your core, and for a moment, it reminded you of your enigma, Tim Drake.

How could someone do that? Look so familiar but unknown at the same time? Your eyes seeing one person, Red Robin: Gotham’s hero. But your heart seeing, hearing, feeling—

“Tim.”

The name left your lips in a whisper, your heart hammering in your chest. You hadn’t meant to say it. You weren’t even sure how you knew, but it was there—like a puzzle piece falling into place.

He froze, his entire body going rigid. “What did you say?”

“Tim,” Quieter this time, you repeated it. “That’s—”

He didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes confirmed it.

“I . . . I didn’t mean to—” You started, but he cut you off.

“How?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I don’t know,” You admitted. “I just . . . knew.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of what you’d just revealed.

Red Robin—Tim—he stepped back slightly, his eyes scanning your face as if trying to read the truth there. You could feel the tension in the room, thick and unyielding, and for a moment you thought he might leave. But instead, he sighed, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had finally pressed him down.

“I’ve been careful,” he said softly. “I’ve spent so long making sure you — no one could ever connect me to . . . to this.”

You didn’t know what to say, the gravity of his words grounding you to the spot. Finally, you managed, “I didn’t mean to—to figure it out! It’s not like I was trying. It just . . .”

He ran a hand through his hair, the motion uncharacteristically unguarded. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long.”

“Don’t say that,” You pleaded, stepping closer. “I know you think you’re protecting yourself, or me, but you don’t have to do this alone, Tim.”

Hearing his name in your voice seemed to shake something loose in him. He looked at you, really looked at you, and the mask of Red Robin slipped away for just a moment. Beneath it was someone young, someone tired, someone who wanted to believe you. The enigma who became more familiar.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to turn it off, how to let someone in without putting them in danger.”

You reached out, your hand hovering just above his arm. “You already let me in,” You said quietly. “That’s why you kept—” You stop yourself. “—that’s why you keep coming back.” Your hand connects with the rough material of his suit and you wish you could feel his skin on yours.

He didn’t pull away. For a long moment, the two of you stood there, the sound of rain against the window the only noise in the room.

Finally, he spoke. “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”

You shook your head, your throat tight. “Don’t decide that for me.”

The words seemed to hit him like a blow. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Instead, he turned his head, staring at the rain running down the window as though it could give him the answers he sought.

“I’ve thought about it,” You continued, your voice soft but steady. “I’ve thought about what it would mean. What it would mean to care about you —really care about you. Even though it was for Tim at first, there’s more to you and I want to care for you and everything that comes with it. And I’m still here. I’ll always be here Tim.”

That seemed to break him. He sank down onto the edge of the couch behind him, his head in his hands. “You don’t understand what you’re saying. What my life is like. The people I go up against—they wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you to get to me.”

“And you don’t understand what you could mean to me,” You countered. You sit on the floor, right at his feet so you can lock eyes with him even though his domino mask hides them, you can still see the blue of his eyes you admire so much.

“I see the risks, Tim. I see them every night when you walk out that window, not knowing if you’ll come back. But I’m still here because I care about you. And you need to stop deciding what I can handle.”

He looked up at you then, the walls he’d so carefully constructed were crumbling, and you saw the man behind the vigilante.

“I care about you too,” He said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “More than I should, and — and it scares the hell out of me.”

You rose from sitting criss-cross to your knees, resting your arms on his, you wanted to get impossibly closer, closing the gap between the two of you. “Then let’s be scared together.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and real, and for the first time, neither of you looked away. You didn’t know what the future held, didn’t know if this thing between you could survive the dangers and secrets of his world. But in that moment, none of it mattered.

He reached for your hand, his touch tentative but warm. “This won’t be easy,” He warned you gently.

“I know,” You said, squeezing his hand. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time, he smiled—not the practiced smile of Red Robin, but something softer, something real.

“I don’t deserve you,” He murmured.

“Maybe not,” You teased, a small smile tugging at your lips. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the storm outside mirroring the quiet storm of emotions between you. And when he finally left that night, it wasn’t with the usual heaviness of his patrols.

This time, he carried a piece of you with him—and left a piece of himself behind.

©miwsolovely do not plagiarize, copy, or repost my works to other platforms . likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated <3

[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

Ok I didn't expect Ace's Dream to end up this way, so now I have to tell you guys about it too:

The gang lands in a beach and Cater's having fun with Silver's UM, even taking a video but needing music as an overlay because of Grim's screams 😭. It's quite hot and Sebek asks if we're in Ace's hometown, that's when Deuce replies that Ace lives near the capital of Queendom of Roses while he lives in the southern area.

We also learn more about Cater and Idia as we're exploring the area. Other than skateboarding, Cater also likes to surf and snowboard. Idia tries to talk smack but Ortho butts in by telling the group that he's just like Cater as he rode a vehicle called a "Barca" to race around Island of Woe (and apparently you need a broomstick license and a special vehicle license to handle one).

We reach a vacation house where we find Ace, who's happy to see Deuce, Cater, Yuu and Grim, but is surprised to see the others (Leona, Idia, Silver and Sebek)

We also see Riddle in this dream, who's all decked out in vacation wear (from the Stitch event) that even Cater's surprised. But Dream! Riddle simply wanted to dress the part and even pulled Cater aside for a bit to asked if he looked weird. Sebek thinks that there's no way Riddle would wear something like that irl and that's just Ace's personlaity showing while Silver doesn't see anything wrong as Riddle said this is what people on the beach.

Trey also shows up wearing the Silk City outfit. It turns out that Trey's clothes, the house, and island they're all currently in were lended to them by Kalim's family. Dream! Trey asks Cater why he's in his dorm uniform when he was wearing something different earlier while taking pictures. Cater plays along by saying that he didn't want to get them dirty while cooking, which Dream! Trey believed.

Ace asks us if we want to change our clothes because our dorm uniform looks really stuffy with the weather right now. Leona warns Yuu to not get carried away. We find out that Ace's dream is a celebration for Yuu...because they found a way back to their world. Riddle explains further that not only has Crowley found a way to return Yuu to their world, but he also found a way for Yuu to visit Twisted Wonderland anytime they want to. Stop I'm not okay it's the way that Ace's dream is just wanting people to continue on with their studies safely and Yuu gets to go back home and visit them anytime is just 😭💔

Dream! Riddle suggests that Deuce and the others should go change to more fitting clothes for this occasion. While Cater volunteers with Idia, Leona and Silver to help Trey with the cooking, but really he just uses it as an excuse to discuss what he has observed. He tells Leona about the plan to look out for Ace as Dream! Riddle and Dream! Trey are most likely darkness, and Leona's impressed with how fast he's catching up with the dream mechanics. Even Idia finds it a bit creepy.

But Cater's already used to making the first move to avoid conflict. His plan was to use the first years as they're the only ones who are closer to Ace, meaning that they have a better chance of cracking him while the others keep the NPCs distracted. While the seniors are helping the NPCs, the freshmen are trying to brew up a plan. Ortho brings up the clue having needing a big "shock" from reality, but Sebek said he's useless here since he only meets Ace in electives and let's the main gang handle it.

Deuce goes first, telling Ace that this is all just a dream created by Malleus and that they still haven't found a way for Yuu to go home. He also brings up that we still haven't contacted Mickey yet, Ace doesn't believe them but Deuce (with Grim this time) continue to push him further; this causes him (Ace) to start to disorient. Deuce tells Ace to calm down but he thinks they're just lying but Ortho vouches for them and tells him that they're not. It even goes to the point of Ace asking Yuu if what they're saying is true.

Grim latches himself onto Ace, repeatedly screaming that they're not lying; triggering another flashback. But Ace just chews us out for taking the joke too far, and that we shouldn't ruin the vibes of the vacation. That's when Sebek butts in, calling Ace shallow for ignoring the pleas of his friends. But Ace counters that Sebek couldn't read the room for randomly joining a vacation he has no involvement in.

Sebek replies that he didn't even want to go with the others, but here's just here because he needs to wake Ace up. But Ace's response to the whole dream thing is just him being apathetic, not caring if it's reality or not. Because he thinks if you've lived in a dream long enough, it's not longer a dream isn't it? But a new reality, and not a lot of people can say they're living life without hardship. It's like he already weighed all the outcomes and possibilities of the situation he's in.

Sebek argues back that he cares about Malleus, which is why he and Silver are trying to wake everyone to save him. Because to him, he doesn't want to continue if it means leaving Malleus alone. But Ace doesn't sympathize, he actually blames Malleus for their current predicament and if he gets lonely; he brought it upon himself. To Ace, Sebek's being selfish for ruining his dream just to go and save the one who caused the problem to happen; and to ask Ace's help to defeat Malleus? That's pretty much a death sentence (now Ace isn't exactly a saint either, both are selfish as to how much are they willing to sacrifice for the people they care about). Ace runs away, and that's when Ortho asks the question: if it were someone else, would Sebek hold the same dedication to wake everyone up? Deuce blames Sebek for this, whihc he goes "HUH? WHY ME?!"

Ortho agress with Deuce, Sebek got too emotional and Ace had a point with what he was saying. Sebek tries to defend himself by saying that it's for Malleus and Lilia but what he did is still considered selfish by anyone's standards. Even Ortho admits that's he's selfish too, and also helped because Idia was in trouble; not everyone is forced to do this.

The seniors are back and they all agree with Ace that he isn't exactly necessary to the plan. We actually get to see Silver get mad at Sebek for causing this whole mess, not realizing that his behavior does have consequences. Once again, Sebek tries defending himself but Silver wasn't having it; leaving him no choice but to submit.

Idia says that even if everyone teams up, it's not guaranteed that they can defeat Malleus and Silver prefers not to force people to fight. Even Leona acknowledges that Ace's current magical prowess is just that of an ordinary mage, and that they can simply move on without him (Deuce, Yuu and Grim are saddened by this).

Cater says that Ace is probably frustrated and alone right now, so he chooses to look for him to help him "sleep" without the interference of Leona or Idia. Cater leaves with Yuu, Grim, and Deuce going after him (the others follow suit too just to make sure nothing bad happens). Yuu catches up with him and tries to convince to let them talk to Ace one more time. But Cater affirms that he doesn't intend to leave Ace here and has a plan (awww)

So Cater was right, he finsd Ace alone thinking about the things the others have told him. He lends an ear as he listens to Ace rant about the whole thing, and he agrees that his reaction to everything was normal; but then he suddenly goes "what they're saying is actually true tho" then HE SUMMONS HIS CLONES TO BEAT ACE'S ASS NAURRR 😭😭😭

This causes Dream! Riddle and Dream! Trey to appear and they're mad at Cater for attacking Ace. EVEN DREAM! DEUCE AND DREAM! CATER APPEAR but they just take Ace away. Ortho tries to intervene but the others stop him. With Leona telling the others that Cater asked to not be interfered and Deuce adding that it was also his plan to find a way to trigger the darkness.

Cater's plan is working, as Ace starts to become aware of his surroundings; that the things his dorm mates are saying are stuff they wouldn't say in real life. He also points out that how can someone like him help defeat Malleus, and that he's scared. The darkness actually reveals Ace's vulnerable side and we're just watching it from afar. Silver notices that Ace is being persuaded by the darkness but Idia knows that Ace is clever, that's when Leona chimes in that Ace realizes that there's always going to be someone stronger than him, thus knowing his limits. That's when Idia's like "brotha aren't you just talking about yourself?", cue Leona trying to break his tablet.

We also learn more about how the Dark Mirror chooses its students, while the qualities in which one gets sorted into a dorm remains vague it usually chooses people who leave a mark on history in the future.

Okay going back to Ace, Cater brings up that time during Riddle's overblot and about how quick they were to jump into action. He thanks him for inspiring to fight against their Housewarden that day, also adding that going into fights that are "winnable" seem lame and that he's scared too, but they have to fight. Ace actually starts crying, because he doesn't want to look like a coward and that's what wakes him up.

Cater helps Ace out of the darkness and calls for the others for backup. After that, Grim and Deuce are mad at Ace for trying to stay in the dream. He also nags to Cater about him using his UM on him, but it was the only way to get him to wake up. They show Ace the video and now his pissed at Malleus, but Grim's like "weren't you scared of him earlier???".

Silver thanks Ace for his help and also apologizes for Sebek's behavior, in which Ace blames Lilia and Silver for spoiling him and Sebek's like "I'M NOT SPOILED BY SILVER 😡". Ortho did mention that Sebek looked awkward after their argument and suggests that he should apologize but Idia replies that he has too much of a pride to do so. Ace just bullies Sebek lmao, forgiving him with his "whole heart".

Cater steps in before it gets any worse, and we get ADeuce saying "Dream Form Change" now. Ace still doesn't want to fight Malleus, but given the circumstance he doesn't really have a choice. Once shown his dummy version, Grim just laughs at his outfit and Cater comments on the fruits

The dream ends with the first years complaining about how cramped it is and Leona just tells Silver to get on with it.

And that ends Ace's Dream, took me awhile to get this out because we actually learn a lot about him in this one and I really tried my best to give him justice yknow?

We're off to Trey's Dream next, see you then!

Previous: Cater's Dream Next: Trey's Dream

(Note: This post is a summarized version of the update, info and pics comes from @/LBucchie, @/WitchDrug, and @/acesuuu on x/twt, give them some support if you can)

[totheblood]

I WISH I NEVER MET YOU.

pairing: ex!ellie williams x reader

warnings: SUGGESTIVE mdni 18+... not sm*t but close... cursing, drinking, bitchy ellie

a/n: i love this song and was like wait... i need to write a fic based off of this song so i did that and i just love mean and spiteful ellie like... i apologize.. ai audios in the fic <3 reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses

wc: 2.3k

"tryna forget the seven minutes we had in heaven."

The world was spinning.

Or that was what it felt like. The tequila you had downed earlier was now starting to mix with the joint you shared with Dina earlier on her front step. She had held the nearly finished stub in between her fingers and had her other hand tracing circles on the fleshy part of your thigh. It was all innocent as you laughed about the new job she had started and her weird coworker who had asked her out a few times. It was all innocent until she mentioned Ellie and how she said she was going to stop by later that night. 

It wasn’t a party, but it wasn’t not a party. A few of your friends had gathered at Dina and Cora’s new place, a housewarming party done their way. Inside a few friends had gathered around a table playing some card game and taking shots, but you needed some fresh air and Dina had followed you. From out here you could hear the faint music coming from inside, and the streetlights made Dina’s skin look golden, but it was still early and you were already fairly drunk. 

“She said she’s coming?” you confirmed, needing to double-check that Ellie agreed to be in the same room as you. 

“Yeah,” Dina coughed, taking a deep hit of the joint, the end glowing yellow and orange, “Said she feels bad about not coming around anymore.”

“Right,” you scoffed, grabbing the joint from her and taking a deep hit, closing your eyes as you blew out the smoke. 

“Can you not do that tonight?” Dina set her face up in a pout, eyes dramatically wide, “She’s finally getting over whatever this was and I just want us to be normal again.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you rolled your eyes, sitting up straighter, “I tried to talk to her but she didn’t want to. Not my fault.”

“But isn’t it?” Dina started. She knew she was crossing a boundary she shouldn’t, but she was also tipsy and exhausted from the standoff you and Ellie had.

She wasn’t wrong, it was technically your fault. Months ago you were at a party gathering just like this, twice as drunk as you were right now. Some idiot, probably Cora, had suggested playing 7 minutes in heaven, just like you all had done in high school. No one in the room was sober, therefore everyone agreed. 

A circle was formed in the living room, everyone sitting with their legs criss-crossed on the floor, giggling and blushing like 10th graders. One couple had decided to sit it out and watch the game from the couch. Two seats to your left sat Ellie, hair pulled back into a loose bun and her face already a bright red. She never was your closest friend, but she was still someone you talked to often. You’d occasionally Facetime, send each other TikToks, and sit next to each other if the group went out for dinner. But you were not her best friend, and she definitely wasn’t yours.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t think about her often. She had this girlish charm that usually translated as awkwardness and she would always make jokes under her breath, just loud enough for only you to hear them. You didn’t notice how red she got whenever she made you laugh like she had just won the world’s biggest prize. But besides that, she was cute. Really cute, and perpetually single. The group would often make jokes asking why she never dated anyone, and she would just make some comment about how she was waiting for the ‘right one’. Her eyes would always flicker over to you when she said that.

But this night, when she spun the bottle and it landed on you she nearly choked. You looked up at her with your doe eyes, those fucking eyes, she thought, and she nearly lost it. Everyone was laughing, clapping, and hollering at the idea of the two of you being locked in a dim closet for 7 minutes. 

“We don’t have to…” She started, preparing herself for rejection, “if you’re not comfortable.”

“Why wouldn’t I be comfortable?”

Click. 

The door locked the two of you inside the tiny room. This close to you she could smell you. She could smell the liquor coming off of you in waves mixing with vanilla perfume. There was just enough light for her to make out your features, the tip of your nose, and the crease in between your eyebrows. From this close, she could see everything.

“So…” her voice faltered, nervousness seeping into her tone, “what do we do?”

“I think you’re supposed to kiss me,” you whispered back, your voice immediately sending a flood to her pants.

“Do you want me to?” She whispered back, eyes searching your face and landing on your lips. You pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth, before nodding. Fuck. She took a shaky breath, her calloused fingers grazing the open skin of your waist. Her fingers were cold but your body ran hot, you were unsure if it was the alcohol or her having this effect on you. Her fingertips curled inwards, pulling you closer to her.

You were now chest to chest, both of you heavy breathing despite not having kissed yet. You were so close that she could feel your heartbeat and your tits. She gripped you a little bit harder causing you to groan. It was all so painfully slow, each movement dragged out. She dipped her head down, her lips now just hovering over yours making your eyelids flutter closed. You could feel her smile before she kissed you, as slow and languid as her movements were before.

Her lips were soft, tongue peeking through and grazing your teeth, urging them open. She was kissing your like her life depended on it. Your hands gripped at her neck, trying to pull her closer but she stumbled forward pushing you into the shelf. 

“Fuck,” she breathed in between a wet kiss, “you okay?” 

“Mhm,” You hummed. Her hand moved down now, ghosting your ass before giving it a light squeeze and lifting your thigh up so she could get even closer. If it kept going like this she was going to be inside of you within minutes. She pushed closer, her clothed cunt griding up against yours, causing you to gasp.

“Feel good?” She teased, now moving to kiss up your jaw when- 

Click.

The two of you separated, hands smoothing out your clothes as the door opened. It was obvious what had happened, a little bruise had formed on your jaw where she had kissed, and she was now wearing lipstick she didn’t come to the party wearing. 

That night you went home with her. 

You shuddered thinking of that night, not knowing it was the beginning of the end. Whatever relationship you had with her was now ruined, and it was your fault. You spent nights crying over how much of your fault it was, but that wouldn’t change anything. You ended things, and Ellie wanted nothing to do with you now. 

“I guess,” you shrugged, “but people break up every day Dina. People move on.”

It was Dina’s turn to scoff as she snatched the tiny joint back from you, “You don’t move on that easily when you’re in love with someone.”

“She was not in love with me,” you rolled your eyes again, your high making you feel anger more than anything now.

“Oh, so you’re just fucking stupid,” Dina deadpanned, taking another hit, giggling as you shoved her playfully.

“Oh, fuck you,” you laughed, trying to keep your real emotions at bay. 

“Can’t,” she laughed, blowing smoke out her nose, “Ellie would probably murder me.”

The conversation wasn’t productive, but you didn’t want to be on the front step when Ellie arrived. You feared that if she saw you, she probably wouldn’t even come to the door, let alone inside. You honestly missed her, and you were beginning to forget what she even sounded like. 

Thirty minutes had passed and you started nursing your third drink, playing beer pong in the backyard when you noticed a familiar sound. Her laugh, over everything, was the only thing you heard. 

“Oh, um I have to use the bathroom,” you excused yourself running up the stairs and straight into the kitchen where Ellie was now alone, getting a drink from the fridge. She obviously didn’t see you come in, or thought you were Dina because she was speaking. 

“You only bought Truly’s,” she scoffed from the fridge, “fucking lame.” 

“Still better than a Four Loko,” you joked. You watched her pause, her whole body stiffening before standing up straight and closing the door. She stared at the refrigerator so she didn’t have to look at you. You watched her chest rise and fall as she took deep breaths. 

“What do you want?” Her tone was much colder now, her voice icy and mean. 

“Just wanted to say hi,” your voice was small, you hated yourself for it.

“Well, don’t,” she shook her head, turning to the counter now, the hard liquor lined up in front of her. She picked up vodka, bad choice.

“Can we just-” you stepped next to her, voice in a whisper loud enough she could hear. She tensed up as you stood close to her and you hated the position you were in. 

“No, we can’t,” She shook her head, pulling a red solo cup from its place on the counter and pouring the vodka in the cup, “I told you I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“But-”

“No fucking ‘buts’. You don’t get everything you want, okay?” She looked at you now, her green eyes now accompanied by dark circles. Her freckles were more prominent with summer finally coming to an end. She looked tired, but still beautiful, “You’re so fucking selfish.”

“I’m selfish because I couldn’t date you?” You laughed bitterly, that third drink hitting you like a bag of bricks, “That’s real rich considering you’re the one who’s been an asshole to me because you can’t fuck me anymore.”

She looked pissed. Her hands gripped the sides of the counter as she looked down at it, trying to stop herself from doing what she wanted to. Instead, she downed the vodka, not even flinching.

“No one wants to fuck you,” she looked at you, eyes glossed over, “and you’re the one who dumped me over text like a fucking coward.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“I’m an asshole to you because I want to make it perfectly clear I want nothing to do with you. I don’t want to fuck you, I don’t want to see you, and I definitely don’t want to hear any sob story about how you ‘couldn’t’ do it. You’re a pathetic loser who broke up with me over text on our 6 month anniversary.”

“Ellie,” a voice from behind you caused you both to turn around. You wiped at the tears rolling down your face, “What the fuck?”

It was Dina, standing with her arms crossed as she watched you two in disappointment. You ran off pushing past her and into the bathroom, crying pathetically on the toilet and blowing your nose in the toilet paper. Back in the kitchen Dina had approached Ellie, an eyebrow raised as if she was waiting for an answer. 

“She just,” Ellie poured another cup, “she gets under my fucking skin, okay?”

“But talking to her like that?” She shook her head in shame, “What’s gotten into you?”

“She has!” Ellie replied, “That shit fucking hurt, okay? And I let her get away with it at first because I loved her but all she thinks is that I’m mad because I can’t fuck her. I’m over it.”

“She’s just saying that,” Dina’s voice was now more tender as she talked to Ellie, “she misses you and doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

“She doesn’t fucking miss me,” Ellie downed the second cup.

“You just tell yourself that because you wouldn’t know how to feel if it was true.”

“If she missed me she wouldn’t have done that,” Ellie sighed.

“Not everything is black and white,” Dina sighed looking to the side. “Just try to get over it before the trip. It’s a really big deal to Cora and I don’t want it to be a mess because you both are so miserable.”

“I don’t think I can come, D,” Ellie shook her head, fingers tapping on the counter, “Not like this, not with her.”

“Ellie, please don’t do this,” Dina held her shoulders, her eyes wide and sad. Ellie had a soft spot for Dina, which was the only reason she came to the housewarming party, but she was unsure of how much she would take before she snapped. 

“Fine,” she sighed, “but I’ll be driving by myself. I’m not sitting in a two-hour-long car ride with her.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Dina squeezed Ellie tight, making her groan and attempt to push her off. 

---

The trip came sooner than expected, the party being nearly a month ago. You drove down with Dina and Cora, singing Lana songs the whole drive. The Hamptons were quiet around this time and Cora (and her rich family) owned a vacation house out there on the water. You spent nearly every summer here, you, Dina, Cora, Ellie, Jesse, Faye, and Cora’s twin brother, Orion all crammed into their giant house. Except this time was different. This was the trip that Dina and Cora were going to announce their engagement. 

No one knew yet, and Dina had wanted your little group of friends to be the first to know. A special intimate moment between the group and the place it had started. However, when you pulled up to the house, driving up the long driveway, you saw Ellie’s jeep parked out front with her and some girl leaning against the side of the car. 

You all hopped out, but you stood to the side as you watched Dina and Cora hug Ellie and this new girl. 

“Hey guys, I hope you don’t mind,” Ellie spoke, eyes drifting to yours for a moment before she smirked, “this is my girlfriend, June.”

Fuck.

[eddiernunson]

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie x Harrington Fem!Reader | 18+

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Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You’re home for the weekend, which just so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve’s daughter), multichapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, use of marijuana, perv!Eddie, this chapter has some forced proximity, tension and uh oh feelings.

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve’s freckles. No skin colour, body shape/type

Word Count: 3.7k (it’s the shortest one, I promise I’m so sorry 😭)

Chapter 2

The first thing you did when you got into Eddie Munson’s little red corvette was peel the window open, claiming you had just needed some fresh air. It was true, as his scent had choked you as soon as you sat down on the dark gray leather seats. It’s strangely intoxicating, an odd mix of smoke, woodsy, and pure man that has you wanting to take a big whiff like some little pervert.

Strangely even from the window of a rockstar’s corvette the little town looked no more glamorous than it did from your beat up car, the small town feel of it all suffocating as you fill with gratitude you managed to get out. He finally pulls in front of a three story apartment, white walls and balconies so small they make you claustrophobic.

“Uh, how are we supposed to fill this small car with all your uncle’s stuff?” You ask, peering into the backseat as you undo your seatbelt.

He smiles, his eyes momentarily switching between the backseat of the two door car and you. “My van is in the resident’s parking lot, it should have plenty of room to move stuff over.”

“So, donation, your place and your uncle’s place, I’m guessing?” You ask, walking a step behind him to the front door of the building.

“Pretty much. It just comes down to going through it which I know, will be a fucking pain.” He reaches your eyes, giving you a small smile. “Thanks for coming.”

You didn’t have much of a choice.

“Not that you had much of a choice,” he adds as he opens the apartment door, a small bout of laughter filling the halls.

Okay, that was weird.

His uncle lived on the first floor in the corner room in a furnished spot, so all it came down to were the knicknacks he had collected over the years. You didn’t think that’d be so bad until you walked in, your eyes landing on wall to wall collections of mugs and hats and other tiny sentimental things.

“Pretty sure we’re going to end up donating most of the mugs, he doesn’t use them anyway, it’s the hats he’s been fighting tooth and nail for,” he rolls his eyes, grabbing a moving box you haven’t noticed from a stack in a pile against the wall.

“How’d those get here?”

“My assistant brought them with the van,” he explains, setting the box up. “He’s hanging out around town until we pack the van up.”

“Must be nice to have an assistant to take care of that shit,” you muse, your voice only the teeniest bit bitter about it.

He passes you the box, his shoulders shaking in laughter. “I’m aware it sounds pretentious. I only hired him when I kept losing track of which fucking thing I had to do next. Interview, show, interview, photo shoot…it was fucking never ending at times. Sometimes I needed a reminder to fucking eat.”

You grab the box from him, ignoring the twinge in your gut as you walk up to a bookshelf in the corner of the small living room containing many little things. You know time is of the essence, but you can’t help yourself, leaning over to analyze the display his uncle had created. There’s a photo in the center in a simple wooden frame, a gruff older man who you supposed would be Wayne standing arm in arm with Eddie, a much younger, freer Eddie, at least, standing outside in front of a forest area.

Eddie has his hand on his hip, squinting his eyes against the sun with his uncle's arm wrapped around his shoulder. If you’d looked closer, you’d see their reddened faces, blotchy from tears shed but both gritting their teeth for the picture.

“That was the day I left for LA,” you jump at his voice, holding your chest tightly as you turn to look around to face him.

He’s still across the apartment, wrapping the mugs and storing them in a tupperware box. “I have never seen him cry like that in my life. I was scared shitless.”

You avoid his stare, the starry eyed version of him something you’re not quite used to, something stirs deep in your gut that you find oddly unsettling.

In an attempt to ignore it you look closer at the knick knacks surrounding it, suddenly realizing it was just Corroded Coffin merch, tickets, and even demos. “These would be worth a pretty penny,” you turn over the tape in your hand, imagining a rough draft of Eddie’s untuned, inexperienced vocals. “To you, they must be priceless.”

“I could release them if I’d really wanted to, but the songs suck and my voice was even worse,” Eddie shrugs, still moving mugs into their different boxes. You notice how much fuller the one on the left is, Eddie making actual progress in comparison to your dilly-dallied snooping.

“I bet Wayne still wants this.” You sigh, placing the memorabilia gently in the cardboard box, admiring the faded ink from ticket stubs over twenty years ago. The following shelf had a full row of dark fantasy novels, every spine cracked to oblivion with yellowed crinkled pages. “Do you want these?”

Eddie looks over, absentmindedly wrapping a mug when he double, triple takes, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas. “Oh I thought he threw those away!”

Suddenly the scent of his cologne invades your nose again as he leans right next to you, grabbing at one of the books on the shelf with a giddy grin. “I used to reread these all the time.”

“Princesses needing rescuing in some odd faraway land?” You tease, turning the dark green book over in your hand.

“Usually with some kind of twist,” he hums, analyzing the back of his paperback as he squats his ass an inch over the floor. “Dragons being in cahoots, noble knights acting selfishly, evil kings turning out to be righteously good… there was always some sort of twist,” his narration turned dramatic as the sentence moved on, a story teller’s voice.

It reminded you of one specific fun fact. “Uncle Dustin said you were his dungeon master in high school, were these any inspiration?”

Eddie’s brows furrow deeply, jerking his head as swivels sharply upward. “Somehow it’d slipped my mind that you would know Dust.”

You nod absentmindedly, taking in the fantastical names in the description. Lysandra the princess, Eletha the fae, King Alistair… “Unfortunately.”

“Hmm,” he peeps, fluttering through the pages. “Aah, Sorceress Nyrinn teaching Lysandra basic magic, this takes me back.”

You smile down at him, how his dimples are deeply embedded in his cheeks and his front canines peek from behind that wide grin as he skims through his harlequin equivalent chock full of fantasy and adventure.

“Any of these girls you’ve ever fantasized about rescuing?” You tease him, starting to toss the books in a box labeled Eddie Home. He remains silent, even a pink tinge dusting his ears. “I was joking, sire.”

“Just keep packing,” he grumbles, tossing the book carelessly into your very organized box. “I’m gonna go take a quick smoke break.”

You find yourself fallen into an easy pattern, having figured out what Eddie’s looking to keep very early on. He’s even willing to go through the boxes that have been long stored at Wayne’s apartment, insisting they don’t need any dead weight, not in Wayne’s small sized room, and not lugged across a few state lines back in LA.

One of the boxes stored in Wayne’s closet seems like it was just thrown together until you realize they were all belongings of a teenage boy. A soft smile graces your face as you imagine Wayne unable to part with the little part of seventeen year old Eddie he still had with him, even if it’s his messy room thrown into a box.

You pick up a small shoe box, the items clunkily jumping about when you shake it. It’s only logical that the box should hold a few dozen player’s dice and painted figurines. The box’s heavy weight is largely contributed to by the worn out and outdated version of the player’s manual.

You take note of the sticky notes curled and faded peeking out of the pages, messy scrawl noting a page Eddie must’ve used for referral once or twice.

One set of dice had a familiar red and plank pattern, painted to look like his prized guitar. You smooth your thumb along the ridged paint, putting the box aside for Eddie despite the protests he will so obviously yelp out.

He deserves to be a bit more forgiving of that side of himself.

There were a handful of items you picked up and put aside for donation, a few old music tapes, a guitar string placement poster, until something catches your eye; a well loved classified notebook.

Now, you might’ve been wrong, but you always had the feeling that Eddie wasn’t too interested in his school work, all items from his locker having been tossed in the garbage the moment the last bell rang each year. As you tentatively open the book, you realize it was probably the one thing that kept him going back.

Each lined paper was filled with his messy scrawl, an intriguing combination of cursive and print, extensively detailed plans for his run as, so Dustin called him, a vindictive and tyrannical dungeon master. Across the scrawl were doodles, well shaded pencil drawings of creatures and classes alike. One page caught your eye towards the end, a full page of scattered doodles that seemed eerily familiar to you.

“Wow.” You look up to face Eddie leaned against the door frame with his arms across his chest, his eyes trained on the notebook in your hands. “I haven’t seen that in a while.”

You glance back down to the page and its doodles, still trying to make sense of where you could’ve seen it. As if plucked out of thin air, a song starts playing in your head and it clicks. “Hey you used these doodles on an album cover.”

He nods, watching your hands gently touch the graphite on the paper. “You could totally donate these to a rock and roll museum; they'd think it's dope.”

Eddie shakes his head, as if the idea was ridiculous. “No one wants to see my ratty old notebook filled with my dateless evenings. There’s not even a single lyric in there.”

“But this is on one of your albums, isn’t it?”

He nods, smiling softly at the abstract doodles before glancing up to you. “I don’t want it, I would never look at it. Take it, if you want.”

You were already tempted to steal it, the notebook having a scent that’s so specifically Eddie with an added elixir of teenage boy added to the mix making maybe your one true Kryptonite. “Whaaaaat? Why would I take it?”

“Steve said you’re a fan of our music, yeah?” You nod meekly, still tracing the graphite. “Well if not, it's going in the trash.”

You put it in your purse.

Since your father left that morning, so did the tether that kept your head on straight, any lingering ideas kept at bay as you kept a safe distance. It was gone.

Keeping a safe distance as an act of self discipline all but seemed moot when your dad offered your services, now stuck in a tiny apartment working around Eddie as his gentle voice hums to the music blasting through his phone.

Maybe a dress isn’t the best choice to wear for manual labor such as packing and moving boxes, the length obviously not long enough to cover the bright underwear. Maybe it's the little allowance you give yourself to indulge in defiance against your own rule. Regardless, it was safer to stay as far away as possible.

Fate proves herself to be a cruel mistress as you find yourself on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab something on a shelf you wondered why someone elderly had a shelf stored so high on the wall, and you smelt him before you felt him, reaching to the shelf’s level to grab it for you.

“Why the hell did he have a shelf this fuckin’ high for?” He huffs, tossing the hidden box onto the bed.

He steps away as fast as he came, leaving the room with a few boxes you had packed and ready. The moment clouds your brain, his strong torso completely against your back, his hot breath on your neck as he stepped away. What the hell?

Your heart pitter patters, your whole body frazzled while you put a few more boxes by the door.

As you’re leaning down to pick up another box you hear Eddie swear loudly down the hall in disgust. He uses the lord’s name in vain several times, rubbing his hand on his pants as his face twists up in utter revulsion when you peek out to see the culprit.

“Somethin’ gross? I don’t see anything wrong with this picture,” you comment, looking around his setting for what might have set him off.

“Don’t–” his hands fly up to prevent you from taking another step. His overly wide eyes and panicked state would usually have you laughing if you weren’t so curious to what could possibly send him into this frantic state of disgust. “You don’t want to know, trust me.”

“Now I really do want to know,” you insist, still scanning the room.

“No. You don’t.” He shakes his head solemnly, his foot slowly shuffling slightly to his left. “Seriously.”

“Can I at least have a hint?” You plead, knowing the possibilities will drive you crazy all day.

“I just found a box of my old clothes,” Eddie starts, gesturing to a kaleidoscope of different shades of black with an occasional band font, unfolded as if thrown in a hurry.

He obviously is hinting towards something, but you need some more exposition. “...Ok?”

Eddie pauses to think, hands on his hips as he racks his brain for something. “Think of it this way. Think of the one item of clothing you don’t want to find under a teenage boy’s bed, twenty years later. Especially twenty years later.” He shudders again.

The one thing…oh. “Oh my god,” you giggle, hiding your obvious glee over his disgust behind your hand. “A…sock?”

Eddie nods slowly, nodding his head in what must be mortification. “Uh huh. I am burning this whole bucket of clothes that just–” he shudders, his left foot inching towards where you had to now guess what must be an absolutely petrified cum-sock lies, “marinated in it.”

A bout of laughter passes through your lips again, disguising the odd intrigue you found yourself in. You might be more perverted than even you initially realized.

No, put away the thought of inhaling in the 20-year-old musk–

“Hey, do you mind helping me with this box? It’s ridiculously heavy,” Eddie gestures down the hall to a tote seemingly filled to the brim with random shit, the sock supposedly tossed into the garbage by then.

“No problem.”

“You want me to walk backward?” He offers, reaching your eyes as you both bend over to grab at the awkward edges.

“Yeah that’d be great,” You cough, failing to ignore the cigarette on his breath just barely disguised by the mint.

Step by step you help him around the corners until you help lift the box into his van, refusing to allow yourself more than a singular moment lingering on how his arms bulge through the lift.

Wayne had a bedside table he hadn’t gone through, filled with momentums over the years. You grab one of the smaller boxes from the living room to hold them, wanting to take care of the things that Wayne had cared for. There were a few photos, Eddie in scattered years from an angsty teenager to a rowdy kid with a missing front tooth. It was obvious everything in his bedside would be moved back to Wayne, allowing him his precious memories of the boy he cared for.

Allotted between the table and the bed is a photo album, something you suspect is cover to cover filled with more photos until you get the glimpse of a brightly coloured pape, just a millisecond but enough to peak your curiosity.

By the second page you’re in tears, softly sniffling at messy scribblings with silly puns and elaborate doodles.

“Hey, when you get a sec–” Eddie stops mid-sentence, taking you in on the bare bed as you weepily turn a page. “You okay?”

“Oh,” you wipe away the tear that was shed, embarrassed. “I’m fine. It’s just— it’s so obvious he went through this a lot, some pages are worn out.”

“Let’s see,” he holds his hand out for the photo album, a drop of weight on the bed as he peers shoulder to shoulder with you as he reads over the pages in front of you. “Oh, wow.”

You put the book in his outstretched hands, watching his expression turn misty as well. The deceitful photo album is an album of father’s day cards, about twenty of them all lined in a row with Eddie’s well wishes in each one.

“I started sending them when I was 25,” he mumbles, his voice wet as he turns a page. “I figured since he raised me n’ all, he deserved the title and the recognition.”

“Seems like he felt honored,” you comment, watching page by page.

“I picked these cards out in less than a second but he puts them in a pressed fucking photo album,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Wayne is ridiculous. But he’s always been my biggest supporter.”

Impulsively, you nudge your chin on his shoulder affectionately, watching him flip through the last through the final few pages. You wondered if his vulnerability making you even crazier for him would be an isolated incident.

God sure had a sick sense of humor when he tied emotion and lust for women.

Turns out, you two work remarkably well together because by the time Eddie places the photo album in the box with a not so subtle sniffle, Wayne’s room, kitchen, and livingroom are all packed up and ready for distribution. The things going home with Eddie and to Wayne’s room are in the van stacked like tetris with your very ‘helpful’ commentary and the donations are piled up by the front door waiting for their collection.

The little red corvette has been sitting in the hot sun for a few hours by the time you’re back into it, ready for a night off your feet.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Eddie comments, taking a turn away from your house.

Your stomach growls at the mention of food, still only two slices of toast being the one thing used to sustain your appetite for the day. “I could definitely eat.”

“Good, I need to thank you for your help.”

You avoid his intense gaze from the corner of your eye, staring holes into your thighs. “It was nothing–”

“What’s your favourite spot in town?” Eddie seems to be ignoring your protests, meeting them with an exaggerated huff as if you were acting foolish.

“I don’t mind if you take me to the nearest one, Munson. I’m starving,” you insist, laughing at the manic shaking of his head.

“I’m not taking you anywhere except your favorite spot,” Eddie insists right back, without missing a beat.

No wonder he and Steve had managed to stay friends for so long, he matches your stubbornness step for step.

“Fine! Take me to Miss.Tina’s I haven’t had their burgers since I’ve been back,” you think back to their fully stacked burgers paired with their crinkle fries drizzled in mustard. You still haven’t been able to find a burger from a local restaurant near your campus that even rivals Miss.Tina’s recipe.

“Oh, I know you’re fucking with me,” Eddie laughs, taking the left turn at the traffic lights.

“Nope,” you inform him, shaking your head slowly. “It’s always been my favourite place in town.”

“Well call that dumb luck, because it’s my fuckin’ favourite place, too.”

“I take it back.”

You laugh at his deadpan, noting the new decor around the walls since the last time you’ve seen it.

“It’s not that bad.” It is, you’re just hoping he doesn’t leave because of the change.

“Are you shitting me?” Eddie deadpans, glancing around to the updated insides now turned into a hollow husk of a restaurant. At least, it certainly felt like the funeral march of your once beloved restaurant. “It’s a horrendous study in interior design. Who the hell paints the inside of a restaurant bright orange?”

“Ok, it’s that bad, but I just need a damn good burger.” You lead the way into the line, noting their updating point of sale. Last time you were there the employee had still been using a notepad, this time an iPad had been stationed on a stand.

The employee now wears some updated uniform barring the design, a bright smile on her face as she greets the two of you. Definitely not the deadened stare you were used to.

The mustard packet you received was a third of the size of what they used to be. It seems Miss.Tina’s has finally met empty corporate capitalism.

The decor might’ve changed, but the recipes remain as always untouched, a collective groan in satisfaction in your first bites in the tacky booth confirmation that Miss.Tina’s still fucks.

“If they change their recipe they are so screwed,” Eddie says exactly what you’re thinking between bites, wiping his face from the sauces that splatters his lips. As he wipes it off, you start to think of making out with him in the booth and lapping up and cleaning his messy face for him. Some real good messy make outs.

You nod, taking a sip from the large soda that must be at least 5 ounces smaller. “Oh, they’d shut down within the week.”

“This was one of the only few places where every group in Hawkins High could be seen, because they didn’t care when we loitered and Miss.Tina treated us like her own.” Eddie glances upward at a sign right by the table, NO LOITERING.

“That’s kind of really depressing,” you sigh, munching on your fry through a fucking wooden fork. “I am not sure I want these fries lathered in mustard enough to also add the taste of wood to it.”

“Plenty of wood has been tasted in these walls before,” Eddie smirks, raising his pierced brow when you choke on the following fry.

It’s like he prides himself on how he manages to make your brain short circuit so easily. Thankfully, years of being raised in the Harrington household has trained a keen sense of wit into you. “Judging on those princess books, Munson,” you take another sip, letting the beginning of your sentence settle in, “doesn’t seem like yours was one of them.”

The fry that bounced off your forehead the moment after was worth it, and the rosy pink that bloomed across his cheeks was even more so.

-

I have 99% done at this point I’m so excited for y’all to read it!!!

Main taglist: @arlxt @alastorssimp @mmunson86 @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

Taglist for Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him: @emxxblog @transparentenemypenguin @stylesxmunson @ali-r3n @mediocredreams @miaajaade @dreamerjj @prestinalove @pretty-pink-princess @alesiaaa @moonisu @love-anonymous-writer @marlena-marlena @bl1ssfulbaby @kellsck @rockmusiciscalming12 @eddie-munsonsbitch

[fleckficgirl]

Heartthrob | Arthur Fleck x reader 💗 CHAPTER 13

Summary: Attempting to conceal her checkered past, a young dancer in Gotham (Y/N) lands a job at Ha-Ha’s and finds herself increasingly drawn to a shy, lonely clown named Arthur Fleck.

Warnings: sex, age gap, language, violence, mental illness, assault

Word Count: 2651

Chapter List: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

Arthur called immediately after you hung up the phone with Tina and Chantelle and asked you to meet him at City Central Station at noon.

“I have to go out to Long Island,” he said, a heavy undercurrent of apology in his voice. “And I wanted to ask if you’d be willing to come with me.” 

“Sounds perfect,” you’d replied instantly.

Arthur laughed, surprised. “I, uh…well, I know it’s not very romantic. But it’s kind of an emergency and-”

“I’m there,” you said. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Arthur said. He sounded tense, flustered. You wished you were in the same room with him so you could put his arms around him and calm him down. Comfort him with your body. Among other things. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Arthur assured you. “I’m not hurt or anything. I can explain everything to you on the train. I’m sorry, I-”

“Don’t be sorry, Arthur,” you stopped him. “I’m happy just to spend time with you. No matter what we’re doing.”

You heard Arthur pause, releasing a relieved-sounding sigh on the other end, his tone softening. “I…I couldn't stop thinking about you last night,” he confessed. “I think I even dreamed about you.”

“Really?” you felt an uncontrollable smile spread across your face. Only Arthur Fleck could make you smile like a complete loon. 

“Sorry. Is that weird for me to tell you that?”

“No!” you blurted. “In fact, I dreamed about you!” 

Arthur laughed. “You did? Last night?”

“Uh…not last night, exactly.” You felt your cheeks heating up and felt glad Arthur couldn't see you blush. “Earlier. Like…maybe after the first time I saw you?”

“That’s sweet, Y/N. Was it a nice dream?”

“It was…very nice.” 

If only Arthur knew the true carnal nature of that first dream. You’d get around to telling him someday…hopefully sooner rather than later. 

And now, one hour later, here you were: one hour standing on the train platform waiting for him. 

You glanced around Gotham City Central Station at all the bustling people - still rushing, still hustling, still rat-racing on a Saturday morning. They were like hamsters on one big gigantic wheel in a cage called Gotham, and although you knew you were one of them, having a day off gave you a refreshed perspective: Exactly who was winning this race? Why did normal people have to work themselves into the ground just to scrape by? 

It seemed the winners of this race had already been called a long time ago. 

Among the noise, traffic and images vying for your attention all at the same time, you locked eyes with a poster of Thomas Wayne. You shook your head. He was on television all the time these days. People seemed to think Wayne could “fix” Gotham and wanted him to run for mayor. 

To put it bluntly: you thought those people were delusional. 

There was no denying Gotham was a broken place. But was the wealthy mogul Thomas Wayne really the one to fix it? How could he know what the people of this God-forsaken city needed to get back on their feet? How could someone born and raised with an endless supply of silver spoons in his mouth possibly relate to living on the fringes of society?

The crowd parted and Arthur appeared, holding a newspaper under his arm. He spotted you and smiled. You ran up to him and leapt into his arms. Arthur caught you, spun you, then dipped you over and kissed you. The two of you were living in your own musical fantasy in the middle of a dirty, overcrowded train station.

“I’m so sorry that this is our second date,”Arthur said as he lowered you to the ground. “I wanted to plan something more romantic…a walk in the park, or maybe a trip to the-”

“Arthur,” you stopped him. “Anytime we’re together is romantic. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now but here.” 

He smiled shyly and gave you a tender kiss on the cheek.

The graze of his lips against you triggered a slew of wants. You wanted to kiss him again. Properly. In fact, you wanted to do a lot of things to him. The memory of the soft pull of Arthur’s lips against yours the night before had stirred within you like a fever since then - but you were worried that if you started, you wouldn't be able to stop. And there were too many people around. You’d have to behave yourself. At least for the time being. 

“So where exactly on Long Island are we headed?” you asked. “And what’s this mystery mission you couldn’t tell me about on the phone?”

Arthur drew in a heavy breath. “It’s…look, I don’t want to sound crazy. I’m not sure if I believe it myself, but last night…”

He was interrupted by your train pulling loudly into the station. 

“That’s the one we want,” he jerked his head towards it.

“Oh shit!” you exclaimed. “I just remembered, I didn’t buy a ticket!”

“Don’t worry,” Arthur fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out two small pieces of paper. “I got yours.” 

After finding two empty seats together, you placed your hand on Arthur’s and listened. Listened as he told you everything: How his mother had been writing letters to Thomas Wayne (funny how you’d just been thinking about him…though to be fair, his smug face was plastered all over the city). How he hadn’t paid his mother’s compulsive letter-writing much mind. She was set in her ways and tended to overfocus on things that were of little to no consequence. And finally: how last night after coming home from your date, an unexpected burst of curiosity had cajoled him into reading one of her letters…

…in which his mother had disclosed something totally unexpected. Something shocking.

“Thomas Wayne?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. 

Arthur nodded.

“Your…father?”

You blinked. This was so out of left field, it had gone past left field and back to right again. You struggled to pick a reaction; there were so many coursing through your mind and heart. You could only imagine how Arthur was feeling. 

“How did your mother even know him?” you asked, agog.

“She used to work for the Waynes. As their housekeeper. Just before I was born.”

You shook your head in stunned disbelief. “I have to say, I don’t know what to think. Do you believe her, Arthur?” 

Arthur was silent for a moment, and you gave him space to find the words.

“At first I didn't, really. She hasn’t always been…the best at telling the truth. She thinks things are real that aren’t. I wonder sometimes if I get that from her.” 

He unfolded the newspaper on his lap and began leafing through the pages.

“But now, when I look at pictures of him - and his pictures are everywhere - I can’t help but see a resemblance. Maybe it’s all in my head, I don’t know.” 

Arthur landed on a picture of Wayne and his wife, gazing admiringly up at him as he waved to a crowd. He tore out the photo and creased back the edges so you both could see it more clearly. 

“Do you think I look like him, Y/N?” Arthur asked. 

“I don’t know…” You scoured the famous man’s face. The curve of his cheekbones, the arch of his eyebrows. 

Like a bolt of lightning, it struck you.  

“Shit, Arthur. I don’t know if I’m going crazy, but…now I do kind of see a resemblance!” 

“I know,” Arthur said. “Now that I see it, I can’t stop seeing it.”

You peered in closer. 

“But why wouldn’t she say anything until now?” you leaned back in your seat. “Why wait all these years?” 

“She said she signed some papers promising she would keep it a secret. It was to protect me as their child, some big scandal coming out. But she said they loved each other. They just couldn’t be together.” 

“Jesus,” you sat back in your seat. Through the window, the entire world seemed to blur as the train lurched away from the city. “What a fucking rollercoaster.” 

“I have to go see him,” Arthur’s voice broke into your racing thoughts. “Talk to him face to face.”

“Of course,” you agreed. “Go to his house and confront him. It’s the only way to get to the bottom of this. ” 

You’d been to Wayne Manor only once before: a field trip in the second grade at Burnley Elementary School. Over a decade later, all you recalled about the visit were the Waynes’ dobermans that barked at you and your classmates the entire time. Like you were intruders even though the Manor was a historical landmark with paid tours.

The Waynes were a piece of work. 

“Come on,” you took Arthur’s hand as you exited the train station. There were no cabs around like in the Gotham, and the walk from the train station to Wayne Manor would take at least half an hour on foot. 

Long Island was worlds apart from the city. Away from the endless, screeching roar of Gotham, you could actually hear yourself think. 

You and Arthur made your way down the tree-lined roads. It was autumn and the leaves were beginning to turn gold and fall to the ground. You liked how Arthur made a point to always walk on the outside of the sidewalk, creating a buffer between yourself and the street. Maybe his mother was crazy, but there was no denying she had raised a gentleman. 

Arthur seemed to relish holding your hand, the sound of dry leaves crunching beneath your feet. 

“So what was that dream you had about me?” you asked playfully, giving his hand a light squeeze. You looked over to see his cheeks flush. His shy smile swept you off your feet.  

“Oh,” Arthur gave a small laugh. “I dreamed you were onstage with me.” 

“Doing your comedy act?” you giggled. “Like a singing, dancing comedic duo?”

“No,” Arthur shook his head. “I mean yes. Kind of. We were singing and dancing together. I was in my red suit and you were…”

He paused. You shot him a quizzical look.

“I was what?” you prodded. 

“It’s embarrassing.”

“What was I, naked or something?” 

“No,” he shook his head. His face was even cuter (if such a thing was possible) when it was all embarrassed and flushed.

“You were wearing your Snow White costume.”

Not the answer you’d expected. You let out a laugh. 

“I guess that makes sense,” you conceded. “Given you’ve seen me in it at the children’s hospital.”

“It’s not just that,” Arthur confessed as you walked along. “It’s because…well, I didn’t tell you this at the time because I thought it would be weird. But Snow White was the first movie I ever saw in the movie theater.” 

“That’s not so strange,” you replied. “It’s a classic, after all.”

“Well…she was also my first love. Snow White, I mean. I saw her up there on the screen and I fell in love with her.”

Now you were blushing. And as stupid as it was, you also felt a pang of jealousy course through you. Yes, you were jealous of a cartoon princess Arthur’d been infatuated with as a child. It was beyond ridiculous, but the truth was: hearing Arthur loved anyone besides you made your heart pound with envy. You just hoped he still didn’t have a thing for her. 

“You know…” Arthur’s voice broke into your racing thoughts. “I hope this isn't weird of me to say, but…I'm honestly surprised you would ever be interested in someone like me.” 

You stopped in your tracks. Was he trying to give you the brush off? Tell you he was still in love with a childhood celluloid dream? Your heart was jumping up and down, side to side. You couldn’t imagine going on without him in your life. 

“What makes you say that?” you asked, measured tone and breath, trying specifically not to sound as psycho as you really felt.

Arthur shrugged. “I’m…older than you, I live with my mother. I have no money. And you…”

You wanted to protest everything he was saying, but reminded yourself to wait patiently for him to complete the thought. 

“...you’re a college student.”

“I was a college student,” you corrected him.

“You deserve to live in a beautiful place like this,” Arthur said, gesturing at the verdant surroundings. “Someone who can give you that.”

“Are you breaking up with me?�� you blurted. You could feel another episode coming on and as much as you trusted Arthur, you really didn’t want to lose it in front of him again. You especially didn’t want to lose it because he was dumping you. And on Long Island, no less. Crazy behavior was normal in Gotham, but here they’d have you arrested for so much as a shriek here.

“No!” he shook his head immediately. “Not at all. I just…don’t want you to feel like I’m keeping you from a better life. You know I have all these problems…”

You breathed a silent sigh of relief. He wasn’t breaking up with you. He was just concerned, thoughtful, putting your needs ahead of his. 

It only made your feelings deepen for him even more. 

“Does it bother you?” Arthur asked. “That I’m older than you?”

“No,” you replied. “Does it bother you? Have you ever been with someone younger?” 

Arthur pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and shook one loose, bringing it to his mouth as he fished around his other pocket for a lighter. 

“I haven’t really dated at all,” he said with an embarrassed wince. “I’m not someone most people would…ever be interested in.” 

“That’s not true,” you said, still reeling from the shock that this beautiful, sweet, tender man had never dated. Though to be fair, knowing he’d loved anyone else would have triggered more jealousy. At the same time, you couldn’t wrap your head around how no one could see how amazing he was. 

“I’ve never dated, either, Arthur,” you pointed out. 

“But that makes sense. You're a lot younger than I am.”

You grinned slightly. “Have you been doing the math? How much?”

Arthur inhaled the first drag of his cigarette, and it billowed out into the clean Long Island air. 

“You told me what year you graduated last night. If I’d stayed in school, I would have graduated in 1964. Which means I'm fifteen years older than you. It took me a second to do the math. That was never my strong subject. None of them were.” 

You shook your head, then suddenly found yourself laughing. “Actually…”

Arthur looked up at you with big, worried eyes. “Yes?”

“I like that you’re older than me,” you confessed.   

“You do?”

“Is that weird?” Now you felt a little embarrassed. You didn’t want Arthur to think you were a freak, but you were just being honest. “I don't like guys my age.”

“You didn't meet anyone you liked at school? I'd think lots of guys would be interested in you.”  

“‘Interested’ is a relative term,” you scoffed bitterly. “The guys at Gotham U are…let's just say a lot of them are book smart. And come from rich families. But they act like fucking animals.”

Arthur frowned. “Animals? How do you mean?”

You shook your head. “I'll tell you about it some other time.”

Arthur nodded respectfully.

“The truth is, Arthur,” you continued. “I never liked anybody that way…until I met you.”

Arthur smiled at the ground as you plodded along in sync, then silently took your hand.

“I feel the same way about you,” he said. “When we’re together, it just…feels right.” 

“I know,” you said, giving his hand a squeeze. “So many things in my life haven’t felt right…haven't been right. But this does. And if it feels right, nothing else matters.” 

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[temporarywelcome]

Conversation with Agent Hotchner - Spencer Reid

REQUESTED!

The Request: Hi, love your work ❤️ Request: What is kleptomaniac!reader went to the BAU but instead of seeing spencer see goes and sees another BAU member and starts yapping to them about everything and nothing (probably amusing [annoying] the fuck out of them too) and it gets to the point where Spencer has to drag them away. [I can totally see her doing this to Hotch with no fear] Thanks, bye :3 - anonymous

CW: language, some suggestive comments, technically part of my "Smooth Criminal" series though this can be read 100% standalone. Though, if you want to learn more about reader's relationship with Henry, you can read "Babysitting" and "Turkey". not required tho! :)

AN: Spencer comes in more towards the middle lol

_______

Words: 1.5k

She was no dog. 

Yes, she was being dramatic, but Spencer telling her to sit and stay made her huff, crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance (while doing as told, sitting and staying). Spencer had his reasons, considering she was a diagnosed kleptomaniac and was very likely going to steal things. It was better she stole from his desk and not someone else’s. 

So she sat as he ran to help JJ and Garcia with something. Sat and ate her Subway sandwich with a pout on her face. She had brought Spencer lunch, a toasted sub that was surely getting cold while it waited for him. A shame, because she had made sure the employee making the sandwich had warmed up not just the bread, but the contents inside as well, knowing Spencer and his tastes. 

Soon, her sandwich was gone, along with objects that were on Spencer’s desk (to her pockets they went), and she was swinging her legs back and forward like a child. Looking around and scanning other people in the office. People watching. 

Boring. 

Then her eyes landed on a familiar member of the BAU, and she grinned. Entertainment! Someone to keep her company while she waited for her lovely boyfriend to return from his treacherous adventure into the unknown (the filing room). 

That someone was Agent Hotchner. Hotch. 

“Aaron!” she said brightly, giving him a big wave. 

Hotch, who was walking towards his office, nose buried in a manila folder, looked up at her, “Hello, Y/N,” he said politely, giving her a half-smile. Quarter smile? Something. 

She shot up from the chair Spencer had provided for her, strolling towards him, “How is everything? How are Jack and Haley?” 

“They are good, I appreciate you asking,” Always the professional one, Agent Hotchner. “Jack actually said he missed you,”

Huh? 

Somehow, Y/N, who didn’t even like kids, was like a BAU-kid magnet. JJ’s son, Henry, adored her, and was practically on top of her every time they saw each other. Just recently, Jack met Y/N at an event, and it seems she left a good impression on him. 

“Oh, really?” she asked in shock, brows raised, “Cool! He’s a nice kid,” her eyes landed on the file in Hotch’s hand, “So, whatcha got there?” 

“...a file,” Hotch replied vaguely. 

“For what though?” she was not taking a hint. 

“Work,” 

“Hm,” she nodded, in thought, “I work at night,”

“You do?” he went back to looking down at his folder. 

She nodded again, “Yes! As a dancer,” she paused, “Wait, that sounds weird. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being that kind of dancer, it’s just I am not one of them, y’know? I do professional dance and musical theatre, my rehearsals are at night-”

“I know what you do for a living,” Hotch interrupted, “JJ and Will took Henry to one of your shows, correct?”

“Yes! They did,” Y/N confirmed proudly, “I could hear Henry cheering from afar!”

“How nice,” 

Her brows furrowed, surveying Hotch’s expression. You don’t need to be a profiler to see how uninterested he was. “You don’t give a fuck, do you?”

“Language,”

“Sorry,” she awkwardly looked down, like a scolded child, “You guys don’t swear? What if it is a really stressful case? You never say ‘fuck this stupid shit’ or anything…?

The older man looked up, making eye contact with her. “No,” 

“Why not? Are you not allowed to let out frustration or anything? Is letting out a good swear really that bad?” she began fiddling with something in her fingers, Hotch’s eyes trailed down to her hands, seeing what she was fidgeting with.

“...what the fuck,” 

“Hey! You just swore!” she exclaimed, before eyeing the object in her hands. His ID badge. She didn’t even remember swiping it during this conversation. “Oh. I see why,” Awkwardly clearing her throat, she handed it back to him, cheeks rosy. 

“This is the second time you’ve done this,” a sigh left him, clipping the badge back onto his suit jacket. 

An equally awkward laugh escaped her lips, “That’s nothing compared to the amount of times I stole Rossi’s keys- I mean, I mean…” she clamped her mouth shut. “Nevermind.” 

As she dug herself into an even deeper hole, Spencer returned from the filing room with JJ and Garcia. “...yes, a cluster of bananas are called a “hand”, while each individual banana called a “finger- hey!” he gasped as Garcia gave him a little wack on the shoulder. 

“Y/N is out in the wild,” she said, eyes locked on Y/N enthusiastically telling Hotch something. “Talking to Hotch,”

“Better than Rossi,” JJ pointed out. Rossi liked Y/N the least, only recently beginning to tolerate her. She tilted her head to the side as she examined Spencer’s girlfriend. “She’s moving like a Sim,” 

Spencer looked at JJ in confusion as Garcia burst into laughter. “What does that mean?” 

She ignored him, “Go save her, Romeo, she’s drowning over there,” 

And so Spencer rushed over to join his girlfriend in her conversation with Hotch. 

“...why, yes, I’m great with my fingers,” she explained, “-on piano! Holy hell, I should have said that better. Holy hell-” her face burned red as she silently prayed for an earthquake to hit so she can be swallowed by the Earth. 

“-Y/N, can you help me with something?” Spencer placed a hand on her shoulder, grip slightly tighter than usual. A message. Shut the fuck up. 

Alas, her savior has arrived! “Yes, of course. I’ll gladly help you,” 

And with that, Spencer was dragging her off by her wrist. 

“I told you to stay seated,” he scolded, pushing her down into the chair by her shoulders, “I wasn’t even gone for that long!”

“You know I get bored easily,” she shot back. 

“Imma have to get you one of those bookbags with a leash on it,” the genius pinched the bridge of his nose, “Like a toddler,” 

The frown quickly left her lips, replaced with a big smirk, “I know what I can do with a leash,”

“What do you mean- Y/N!” he looked around frantically to ensure no one was listening, “We are at my job!”  he placed a hand on his throat protectively, as if to keep her away.

She wiggled her brows playfully, “C’mon, you know that was a good one. I’m a genius for that.” She then noticed Hotch scurry off to his office with his usual pitbull expression. “Ugh, that conversation I had with him was so awful. I couldn’t stop being annoying,” 

“Great with your fingers, huh?” 

A look of horror formed on her face, jaw falling in shock, “You heard that?”

“Mhm,” Spencer finally seated himself next to her, clicking his pen and beginning to write on some paperwork. 

“Well,” Scooting her chair closer to him, she whispered, “I can always demonstrate,”

“Piano?”

“Ugh,” Forget it. She leaned back, unamused. “You’re no fun,” 

And with that, Spencer went back to work, complaining because his food was cold now, which she wanted to hear nothing about considering she had made sure his food was warmed up to his liking. He worked, complained, ate, she listened, also complained, messed around. The usual experience. 

Occasionally, Y/N found herself glancing back at Hotch’s office, a sense of dread filling her each time. Rossi, her number one hater, entered the office, making her grimace.

“What if they start talking about me?” 

“Why would they?” her boyfriend didn’t even bother looking up from his work. 

“Because they hate me, of course,”

“Nobody hates you,” 

“Liar,” 

Rossi eventually left Hotch’s office, and soon so did he, making his way towards Reid’s desk. Fuck. Y/N reached out, grasping Spencer’s hand tightly, which in turn caused him to scribble and scold her for being so dramatic and now Hotch was directly in front of them shit-

“Reid,” 

“Yes, sir?” Spencer yanked his hand back, looking up at his boss apologetically. 

“Would you like to have dinner with Haley, Jack, and I?” he asked, surprising both Spencer and Y/N equally. 

“Dinner?” he repeated slowly, eyes darting to his girlfriend then back to Hotch. 

“Yes. You and Y/N,”

‘And me?’ she almost pointed at herself for clarification, instead clasping her hands in her lap. 

“Um, that should be fine. Y/N, do you have work tonight?” 

“No,” she choked out, “I do not,” 

“Perfect,” Hotch gave his signature quarter-smile, “Jack will be very excited to see you. I’ll let them know,” 

He turned on his heel, walking off and leaving both Spencer and his girlfriend completely in shock. This obviously was not the first time Spencer would be having dinner with Hotch, but the fact Y/N was invited as well, especially after that whole debacle, was incredibly surprising. 

“...do you still think he hates you?” Spencer asked playfully, pinching her cheek before turning back to his desk. “No one can hate someone like you,”

[cool-lesbian-is-here]

Intro post!!!!!

I’ve never actually officially done one, so I might as well.

I am Katya (short for Kateryna)

I was born in Ukraine and lived there for two years before moving to England with my family. I also had like a weird year where we lived in Luxembourg but whatever. So yeah I speak Russian and English fluently and I can understand ukrainian but not speak it fluently.

I am a cis lesbian MINOR (14).

I love music, I listen to it all the time so here are some artists I like 😁😁: David Bowie, queen, Rolling Stones, the smiths, oasis, Måneskin, the Runaways, the Beatles, T. Rex, Aerosmith, Jon Bon Jovi, AC/DC, Billy Joel, deep purple and pink Floyd, ABBA, girl in red, Chappell roan, Olivia Rodrigo, Ayesha erotica, K$SHA, Britney Spears, mccaffferty, Alex G, Penelope Scott, Rio Romeo, the front bottoms, Mitski, Laufey, Madilyn Mei, the cardigans, Conan Gray and arctic monkeys

TV Girl has my heart

There are obvs more but I can’t remember them all, anyway, moving on, fandoms!

BBC Sherlock, the marauders, LOTR and The Hobbit, dead boy detectives,the dead poets society, wicked, a series of unfortunate events, Good omens, Percy Jackson and gravity falls.

Books that literally changed my brain chemistry: the Perks of Being a Wallflower, dead poets society, Girl, interrupted, the catcher in the rye, Solitaire, and a separate peace.

Movies I adore wholeheartedly: tell it to the bees, Girl, interrupted, Dead Poets Society,imagine me and you, I saw the TV glow, the perks of being a wallflower, the whole ass LOTR series

Obsessions I had when I was younger(please don’t laugh): Ed sheeran(I KNOW, OK.), Katy Perry (her songs r still kinda fire tho) and of course “The Land of Stories” (that shit had a hold on me)

Hobbies: reading, crochet, playing idle games and watching yt side by side, and making random shit

Style: I’d say I dress grunge so my clothes all have like a little bit of each marauder in them

Marauders!!!: my moonshine says I am a James kinnie, I have also been told I’m a marlene kinnie, so do w that what you will, my fav marauder is sirius tho and my fav ship is wolfstar(nothing is better than the original in my opinion). Honestly, I think I lean towards fluffy fics more when I’m looking for a wolfstar fic and also there’s this random lore Abt me that I have read ATYD twice and also ATYD-Sirius’s perspective twice.

Random lore: when I was 11, my brother and I exploded a power bank together so now I have this big scar on my leg from the burn. My favourite colour is green. I also have a fake name that I give to ppl who I don’t rlly want knowing my name. I’m allergic to gold but I look rlly good in it 😔😔. I annotate my books.my fav dinosaur is the triceratops. I love to quote random songs on here ✨✨. Also I rlly wanna play guitar but I have zero musical talent 😭😭. Also I love death note!!!

I have a tortoise named Bowser, but in Russian, we call him Боря (boris) :DDDD

This blog has a lot of random, uncensored thoughts that pop into my head, so be ready for the randomest of statements without tags being on your dash

I honestly think that’s everything, so um yeah! That’s me :)

ALSO GUYS JS QUICKLY, IF I CALL YOU “girl” OR “bitch” IM NOT TRYNA CALL YOU AN ACTUAL GIRL OR AN ACTUAL BITCH ITS JS SMTH THAT I USE AS GENDER-NEUTRAL THINGS TO ALL PPL. IM RLLY SORRY IF I MISGENDER U, I RLLY DONT MEAN TO, ITS JS A THING I SAY!!!

This is a cool funky collage of my vibes 😁😁, a courtesy of my beautiful, talented, cool, funky, awesome sauce moot: @dont-turn-left

✨my moonshine✨: @corvibb

my fav rp girlies:

seph <3: @permetutotheworld mae <3: @theheightsarewuthering

some guy that keeps telling me to drink water: @st4rboyloser

a very dear friend that gangs up w Cael to bully me into drinking water :(( : @jammahanna

WATERMELON IS PINK, FUCK YOU @corvibb