#mild humor

[aventurineswife]

–HELLO RINNIE!!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)//

An idea that occurred thanks to the movie "Alice in Wonderland" (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Regarding the request, it consists of the readers being inspired by or being descendants of the Cheshire cat. They have the same ability as the original Cheshire cat, they can appear and disappear at will leaving their characteristic smile for a few minutes and can make parts of their body visible or invisible.

They can also impersonate their partner or people in general, copying their appearance and personality, although this will not always be perfect, allowing for slight changes in appearance, for example; Eyes.They mostly speak with philosophical quotes or riddles, looking to make a play on words, this makes the vast majority of people not like that trait along with their jokes. Appearing and reappearing to scare or prank someone.

With the characters: Aventurine, Childe, Dr. Ratio and Moze.

-💤🩵 anon

“Would You Chase the Cat or the Shadow?”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Childe x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Moze x Reader, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Philosophical Themes, Playful Banter, Emotional Vulnerability, Mild Humor, Romance (?), Power Dynamics, Found Family (implied in some).

Warnings: Mild Language, Mentions of Trauma, Emotional Manipulation (minor), Existential Themes, Mild Violence (assassin/strategist context), Lightly Dark Humor, Brief Moments of Tension, and Ambiguous Morality.

The air was electric, the smell of velveted smoke and clinking glass saturating the casino floor where Aventurine presided like a monarch in his tailored coat. You, on the other hand, perched invisibly atop one of the roulette tables, smirking to yourself as you watched the master strategist at work.

“You’re awfully predictable for someone so… clever,��� you purred, appearing with only your iconic grin floating near Aventurine's ear. His eyes narrowed as he halted mid-bet.

“Predictable? Me?” His lips twitched into a grin that matched your own. “Bold words for someone who thinks riddles count as foreplay.”

“Perhaps,” you replied, stepping into visibility with a languid flourish, your tail swishing playfully behind you. “But in this endless game of chance, even the best players can be read, no? You bet like someone who’s trying to lose—only to win something greater.”

Aventurine chuckled, clapping his hands in mock applause. “Touché. But tell me, do all Cheshire cats eavesdrop, or are you just smitten with me?”

“Oh, smitten is such a strong word,” you teased, vanishing again, only to reappear lounging against the bar. “Perhaps I just enjoy watching you gamble with your life as though it’s a trinket on the table. After all, the house always wins… eventually.”

His expression turned sharp, though the smile remained. “Are you the house, then?”

“Depends,” you replied, stepping closer until your faces were nearly touching. “What’s the wager?”

The intensity in Aventurine’s gaze deepened, but you disappeared again before he could answer, leaving only your lingering laugh in the air.

Later that night, as Aventurine retreated to his suite, he found you already lounging on his couch, wearing an eerily perfect copy of his tailored blazer. “Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you said, inspecting your claws. “I couldn’t resist trying it on.”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re bold to think you can imitate me.”

“Oh, darling,” you said, morphing into his likeness—flawed only by the glint of mischief in your borrowed eyes. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Aventurine approached you, his amusement tempered by intrigue. “And yet you’re not perfect. A slight shimmer in the eyes, a touch too much drama in the voice…” He leaned down, face inches from yours. “If you want to play games, cat, you’ll have to do better.”

Your grin widened as you melted back into your usual form. “But where’s the fun in being perfect? Chaos is far more entertaining, wouldn’t you agree?”

For the first time, Aventurine felt a flicker of being outmatched—not in strategy, but in the delightful unpredictability of your game. He didn’t mind losing this round, as long as you stayed in his orbit.

The battlefield was quiet save for the sharp crackle of electricity in the air. Childe stood amidst the carnage, his twin blades dissolving in his hands as his sharp eyes surveyed the scene. He wasn’t alone—he could feel your presence.

“You’re late,” he called out, spinning his Vision in his hand. “Or are you just enjoying the view?”

Your laughter echoed through the mist, disembodied and teasing. “Oh, what a grand performance, Harbinger. You dance so beautifully with death. Perhaps I should clap.”

Childe smirked, his body tense as he turned his head. “Do cats always talk this much, or are you just scared to show yourself?”

The grin materialized first, hanging in the air just over his shoulder. “Scared? My dear Ajax, you wound me. Why would I fear a man who fights with such… grace?”

Before he could respond, you appeared perched atop a broken column, mimicking his stance. Your bow was a poor imitation of his, crackling with energy that looked almost like his Hydro powers—though the telltale shimmer in your eyes betrayed your disguise.

He pointed a blade at you. “If you’re going to pretend to be me, at least get my aim right.”

You snickered, disappearing and reappearing behind him. “Oh, but where’s the fun in perfect mimicry? A hunter like you should know—the thrill lies in the chase, not the catch.”

Childe turned sharply, grinning now as the thrill of competition lit his eyes. “Then run, cat. Let’s see how fast you are.”

And so the game began. You vanished and reappeared around the ruins, throwing out cryptic riddles and taunts while Childe gave chase, his laughter mingling with yours in the moonlit night.

By the time he cornered you—your back against the edge of a cliff—you were breathless, but your grin never wavered.

“Well done, hunter,” you said, leaning closer, your nose almost touching his. “You’ve caught your prey. What will you do with me now?”

Childe’s smirk widened as he lowered his blades. “That depends. Will you run again, or do I get to keep you this time?”

You disappeared one last time, leaving only your grin floating in the air. “Catch me first, and we’ll see.”

In the quiet halls of the Intelligentsia Guild, Ratio prided himself on his unmatched intellect. But when you appeared—floating upside down from a beam, your grin wide and enigmatic—he realized he might have met his match.

“You’re in my way,” he said flatly, not even sparing you a glance.

“Oh, am I?” you replied, flipping upright and landing softly on the floor. “Or perhaps I’m exactly where I’m meant to be. After all, isn’t the pursuit of knowledge full of unexpected twists?”

Ratio frowned, finally looking at you. “You speak in riddles, yet say nothing at all. If you’re trying to impress me, you’ll have to try harder.”

Your grin only widened as you copied his stance—hands behind your back, head tilted slightly. “Impress you? My dear doctor, I thought I already had.”

He studied you carefully, noting the imperfection in your impersonation: your eyes sparkled too brightly, and your tone carried a playfulness he lacked. “If you’re attempting mimicry, you’ve failed. I am beyond imitation.”

“Perhaps,” you conceded, disappearing and reappearing beside his desk. “But even perfection can be teased, no?”

Ratio sighed. “I don’t have time for games.”

“But isn’t life itself a game, Dr. Ratio? A series of moves and countermoves, all leading to… what? Enlightenment? Or oblivion?” You perched on his desk, watching as he paused, clearly irritated but intrigued.

“You speak as if chaos holds the answers,” he said, stepping closer. “But order is the path to truth.”

You grinned again, vanishing just as he reached out to grab you. “Ah, but chaos and order are two sides of the same coin. Flip it, and you might find me again.”

For days after, Ratio found himself drawn to your riddles, puzzling over their meaning despite his better judgment.

Moze moved silently through the darkness, his blade ready as he stalked his latest target. But he wasn’t alone—he could feel your presence like a whisper of wind at his back.

“Do you always hunt in silence?” you teased, your voice echoing through the shadowy alley. “Or is it just when I’m around?”

Moze didn’t flinch, though his grip on his blade tightened. “Show yourself.”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?” your disembodied grin appeared before him, your voice lilting with amusement. “You thrive in shadows, Moze. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

He lunged, but you vanished before his blade could make contact. “You talk too much,” he muttered.

“And you talk too little,” you countered, appearing on a nearby rooftop, mimicking his brooding stance. “Opposites attract, don’t they?”

Moze sighed, lowering his weapon. “What do you want?”

“To see you smile.” you replied, grinning even wider.

He didn’t respond, but as you disappeared again, leaving only your laughter behind, Moze found himself smirking despite himself.

[lowlydogs]

Sub!Konig headcanons.

GN reader. Reader can be read as penetrating/not.

Konig has a very, very conflicted relationship with submission.

Independence is not exclusive from wanting structures to obey. It's why he's snug and relaxed in the military hierarchy: He has a clear place and name, while still having a figure to follow and report to.

The biggest thing that impeded Konig from trying a game of mounting with you was his frail pride. Oh, his pride. The man has the nasty ego of a nerd-turned-frat. Convincing him alone took a month of carefully placed hints and suggestive words to have him skeptically consider the idea.

So, out of goodwill and (mainly) to ensure he doesn't stomp away flustered mid-session, you opted to treat him gently. Make it feel like a situation he can partake in with dignity, not have it ripped off of him.

The first time it happened, to anyone of less experience, Konig might've looked unimpressed and at worst, constipated. You never had him this quiet, nothing but his piercing, consuming eyes observing every move. For the first time in your life, as you prepared yourself and squeezed lube into your hands, you felt daunted by him.

However, eventually, you realize a thing after the initial suspense passes. In solid 5 minutes, Konig has done absolutely nothing but lay supine, legs just silently spread.

The ruthless sniper of Kortac is a pillow princess.

But you're a soldier of your words. Stripping him naked all except the mask on his face and his socks, holding his leg open, you planted kisses on his neck and sunk in. That is when he stops being quiet, as the lewd sound of wet plops and whines (whines) fills the room. Konig came barely minutes later, his leg tensing and his head thrown back. You take him only on a second round, feel this goliath of a man arch his back and palm at you until too shortly, he comes again. You lay down against him and softly caressed his back as he shakingly breathed in and out. That’s how it was. Brief and soft.

Outside the power trip of fucking a man taller than a door and the tantalizing sight of his fucked-out eyes, it was... pretty disappointing sex. You could admit that.

Short and sweet, certain, but you had to jack yourself off afterward and you were certain this was the only time Konig would bottom to you again.

That is, until two days later, you nearly killed Konig flinging a cup of water at him when you found him casually sitting on your barrack bed in complete darkness.

Jesus christ, you're more than open to dom him once more, but couldn't he found any more normal way to ask that?

However, that complaint perished quick on your tongue as Konig tugged at your wrist and reticently pressed it down against his abdomen, pulling you into his open legs. You felt the outline of his abs, his fuzzy happy trail, a shy little bulge in his boxers. God bless his soul, he lasted just a bit longer and held on just stronger. The bed mildly shook as you roughened your pace. He shed tears and wheezed like a particularly pathetic animal, burying his face in the crane of your neck, squeezing your back. He lasted three rounds this time: For that little tenacity, you rewarded him with a good boy. Shivers ran down his spine like he climaxed again. Satisfaction warmly swelled in you as you gently flipped and big spooned him that night, pleasantly spent and exhausted.

That is until you found him in your barracks again next evening. You pushed him out, told him you had patrol tomorrow. Then he was there the next evening. Then the evening after that.

Something in your dynamics irreversibly changed after what happened, that was assured and guaranteed. The package of "Fucking your coworker till he cries" came with a warning label, loud and clear. Hell, you even calculated for it and wrote down all scenarios, of everything that could possibly branch and happen. Maybe he’d be respectful of it, have some maturity, or he’d avoid the topic entirely. The most annoying it'll get is he’d distance himself, or worse, antagonize you. All you expected and didn’t particularly care for, outside of professional reasons. But out of everything, Konig turning up every night hands politely set in his lap is the thing that shakes you off your feet. The sniper had become disturbingly benign, acting more like an awkward teenager than the self-assured bastard he once was.

He was different. He didn’t call you every synonym of an imbecile when you missed a shot. Offered to take your night shift when you bitched about begin too tired for it. Weird backhanded words of admiration that both praised and called you a bitch. In one of the nights he arrived, he had lit candles. Not just any candles. The sexy, rose-scented, red valentine candles. It was getting weird.

You finally fully realized the gravity of the situation on Pizza day. At lunch, he silently shared a piece of his pizza with you. You looked at him agape with horrified eyes.

His pizza.

Did you just fuck Konig into sainthood?

[2ndtimesacharm]

Mental Health Advocate, Tommy Shriggly (2024)

[steviewashere]

Discombobulated by The Disembodied

Rating: Teen and Up (May Change)CW: Graphic Depictions of Violence/Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Blood & GoreCharacters: Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Vecna, Other Characters to Be AddedTags: Canon Re-write, Canon Divergence, Season 4, Vecna's Curse, Steve Harrington Gets Vecna'd, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington's Friendship, Steve Harrington Has Nightmares, Traumatized Steve Harrington, Mild Humor, Steve Harrington Has Head Trauma, Steve Harrington Has Migraines, Worried Robin Buckley, Mentions of Steve's Bad Parents, Other Tags To Be Added WC: 4,177

Season four rewrite where Steve gets targeted instead of Max. More to be added eventually, but here's chapter one! Enjoy! <3

Or, read it on AO3 Over Here!

🪦—————🪦 A bloody nose isn’t good for business. Not when it drips down onto the case he’s holding. Staining the pristine white edge with a rich pool of his warm blood. He’s never done well at the sight of it. And knows damn well she won’t allow him to just walk around Family Video with a wad of toilet paper up his nostril. “Robin,” he calls out towards the back room.

“What d’ya want Steve? I’m on break!” She shouts. Her mouth is full of something. Probably fries, if the smell of grease in the air says anything.

“Um—I—Don’t freak out!”

“You know that as soon as you say something like that, I’m going to do it regardless. Now, what’s wrong?! Use your big boy words!”

Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes. Finger laying flat against his nostrils, head tilted towards the ceiling. The flow won’t stop. He pinches. Voice high pitched and embarrassingly similar to Kermit the Frog, “I’ve got a bloody nose! I’ll go to the bathroom and clean it up, already half way there. Just need somebody to watch the counter.” And since he’s honest, he’s in the men’s restroom before she has the chance to even open the break room door.

It’s a mess. His hand is coated in his own blood, already drying between his fingers, caught in the life lines. A faint ring of red on the edge of his right nostril. Damp spot above his lip, caught in the little bit of mustache hair he’s got, tacky. It’s on the tip of his tongue when he catches a little bead between his lips. He wets a paper towel and dabs at the stains on his face. The white paper turning hideously pink. Almost salmon. Wrings it out under the steady stream of warm water from the tap, watching as the blood washes away in little swirls. This has to be the most inconvenient time to get a nose bleed. But every single time has been inconvenient. Is there convenience in blood on his face?

He sighs when he’s finally clean. And takes a good look at himself in the mirror. Dark circles and oily skin. Shaking hands. Dark pink lips—stained. “Get it together,” he mutters, “rent’s due in a few days. Need all the money you can get.” He runs his hand over his face, grimacing at the flakes of blood that come away from his sweaty palm. “Fuck.”

When he’s back on the sales floor, he has to force the annoyed sigh back down his throat. Robin’s already looking at him. Wide eyed and reaching out. “I’m fine,” he automatically says. She’s got questions, he knows this. Will he answer? Most likely not.

“There’s no way you’re fine, Steve!” She says in return, exasperated. It’s her signature catchphrase. “That’s the fifth nose bleed in the last like…four days? You should really—“

“Get it checked out. I know, Robbie. I can’t do that and you know that.”

She grumbles some sort of profanity under her breath, missed by Steve’s slow shuffling towards the counter. “Steve, I’ll literally…give you my paycheck for the rest of your rent if it means you’ll get checked out by a doctor,” she attempts to bargain.

“I’m not taking your money, you need that, too,” he rebuttals. “And I’m not going to a doctor. I don’t have insurance. It’ll get better, I’m sure. We have nothing to worry about.” Though when he looks down at the cases on the counter, stretching to take one, his hands are shaking. Of course he’s worried. He’s had concussions and enough doctor visits in the last three years, it’s enough to finally make his parents tut and coo over him. He’s heard all about brain damage and risks and all the other garbage. What’s nose bleeds on top of that? Just a minor setback. But also, maybe it does mean something. Maybe he’ll die in his sleep, too much blood on his pillow. He’s not sure. The doctor would prescribe him something, probably. Though, doctors aren’t his forte. Not after last summer.

“What if it’s cancer?” Robin oh-so helpfully supplies.

“It’s not cancer,” Steve drones.

“What about a brain bleed?”

“Think I’d know if that was happening.”

“What about—“

“Robin,” Steve interrupts firmly. “Your little diagnostics are not helping. And I wish you’d stop for the sake of my own sanity. I’ll get it figured out eventually. Now’s just not the time.”

He grabs the tape he had before, wiping at its edges with a sanitary wipe. The cloth is pink in his hand. Just like it’d been in the bathroom. He knows that she’s right. She always is, or at least mostly to some degree. But he can’t miss work. Not when he’s got groceries to buy and bills to pay and rent to cover. Not when he’s on his own, no longer covered by his parents.

“When will be the right time? Because at this rate, Steve, it’ll be when you’re covered in your own blood and dead on the floor.” She moves behind him. Standing all too close to his back. He moves away. Her hand falling back down to hit the side of her thigh. “Why won’t you just let me worry? Let me in, y’know. I’m your best friend, you can trust me.” He hates how wounded she sounds. A strain in the back of his throat. The lurching in the pit of his stomach.

“I do,” he weakly murmurs. “I’m just fine with handling this kind of stuff. Not like I haven’t done it before.”

“But you have your own place. You have independence. You’ve got your friends,” Robin lists. Voice rising in urgency and volume. “They want to help you. They want to give you what your parents couldn’t, Steve! That’s part of my purpose! To just be there!”

He sighs. Bends himself in half over the counter, forehead resting on his open palm. The aching tinge of a migraine settling uneasily behind his eyebrows. They’re getting more frequent, too. He’s already out of his prescription medication for this bullshit. Now reliant on Tylenol, and ibuprofen, and weed from Eddie Munson. It’s been weeks since he’s been able to just go about his day, normally and at peace. Haunting nightmares. Whispered voices in cold silences. Getting high just to cover up the pain that doesn’t even recede when he’s finally out of his mind. It’s bad that he’s got Robin yelling at him. Bad that he wants to cave, give in. Knows that he can’t, though. It’s all such bullshit. “I’d ask for your help,” he grits, “But it wouldn’t do much good.”

She exhales sharply over his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to fucking mean?” Her voice bites.

“It means,” he drags on, voice going weaker and weaker by the second, “means that I’ve tried everything. And nothing you could do is going to help me right now. That’s all I meant. I’m not—You know I’m not that guy anymore.” A part of him wants to cry. Grovel at her feet. Chomp down on the side of the counter and sob into the surface, sounds muffled by the formica. But he stays bent over his own hands. Knees forward and ready to crouch down. His hair flops into his eyes. It’s almost laughable how he keeps forgoing his normal hair care routine, but knows that it’s cause for concern, too. What the hell happened to me, a small part of him wonders. The rest of him is just caught up in Robin. What she thinks of him. Why she sticks around for somebody like him.

Steve stands from his stupor. To look back. Her eyes are forlorn towards the doors. Body tight and still. “I don’t know how you can help,” he mutters. “I’d ask if—“

“I know,” she quickly interrupts. “Doesn’t mean you have to be alone, though. I—I’m gonna head back to the break room. Have the rest of my lunch. Take yours in fifteen minutes, alright?” Her eyes find him. And for once, her eyes that are normally excited and curious and welcoming, are dull and closed off. “I want you to eat today. Bounce back. Be yourself.”

He nods once. A finality to it. “Right. Yeah, I’ll take my lunch soon. I can’t guarantee that I’ll be normal.”

“Then don’t be normal. Just be Steve. Be the guy I’m friends with. Not some…Some self conscious jerk who won’t let his best friend worry. Because she does. Do that. A lot. But only because she loves you and doesn’t like the idea of you being dead. So don’t do that. Don’t die because you’re being an ignorant moron.” He laughs, loud and belly forward. Something in him sparkles, glinting gold and honey-like when she smiles at him. Even as she tries to hide it from his sight. She chuckles herself and walks by him, but not without throwing a fake-out punch to his arm. “Fries are calling my name, Steve-O. Practically screeching for me to eat them.”

“Go eat, you dork,” he chokes out through his fit of giggles. Stomach clenching with the words. “I’ll still be here, you know that.”

“You better be, Steve Harrington. Or I’ll find you and kill you myself.”

“Not unless somebody gets to me first,” he fires at her back, already half way through the break room door.

She flips him off. Good natured. Chipped nail polish gleaming in the Family Video light. Her voice is muffled by the swinging door. “Don’t be a stranger! Maybe close up! Come chow down! I’ve got your stupid burger with yellow mustard, you freak!” Before he can dignify that with a response, the bell above the front doors chimes. He schools himself.

His headache festers. And he swears, for a moment, that somebody whispers his name.

——— Before he sleeps, he pops three Tylenol. Technically, he’s not supposed to. But he’s also out of weed. And what he’d normally take for migraines. This goddamned headache won’t leave him. It went from a dull ache within the last four days to a throbbing, pulsing mass at the back of his head. And, sure, maybe he should go to a doctor. Not now. Not with what his brain will surely create for him tonight.

He’s tried just not sleeping. But then he’s too groggy in the morning. Running off of tepid cups of coffee and whatever candy he grabs from the rack in Family Video. While it’s not ideal, the suffering in his sleep, he knows that he’ll have to shut his eyes. Sweat through his clothes. Get caught in the blankets like a mouse in a trap.

It takes a while. The all encompassing brownish-black behind his eyelids to swallow him whole. But it does. Sucking him in, tying him down to the mattress, shoving him further and further into the indent his body makes.

———— He can hear them screaming through the large metal door. The separation growing farther and farther as he sits. Strapped to the chair. Eyes pointed and unblinking at the door. Nauseous and off-kilter, but so damn afraid. Terrified as another screech breaks through the underside of the door.

They shouldn’t have come down here. No matter how enticing this secret code was. No matter if he knew where the music was coming from. He knew that it was stupid. That all of this was a bad and awful idea. And now he’s got two basically brand new people roped into his and Dustin’s bullshit.

The screams fade. Walls crumbling around him. He’s stuck to the chair.

Trapped. His labored and panicked breathing echoing between the floor and the endless abyss that cages him in on all four sides. Beyond where the door was, he sees them.

He tries. Tries really hard to look away. To find a corner or a stain by his shoe or a stray ice cream cone crumb on his uniform, but to no avail. His eyes remain glued to where the door should still be. Where it should be shielding him from this gnarly, unsightly, gruesome view.

Robin Buckley is a tangle of broken limbs and matted blonde hair, smeared lipstick and plucked black fingernails. Her sneakers are soaked in red, covering the doodles he’s seen before, smearing whatever ink was previously there. The white on her uniform is unmistakably pink. Her face…Steve doesn’t recognize it. Features smashed in, bloodied, or missing. Eyes no longer blue. Just two black holes. Suggestions for where eyeballs should go. And he veers his line of sight just to the left of her slumped body, all crooked and messy on the bench they’ve thrown her on. There, on the ground by her rolled over left foot, is her eyeballs. Piercing blue and retina tailed.

Dustin Henderson is also more broken bones than put together human. His curls are frizzy, stained with red, sticking tacky to his forehead. A bloodied pile of teeth lay rotting next to his corpse. His hat is too far away for him to reach. Hands tied behind his back and strained, rubbed red raw on his wrists. T-shirt worn from camp instead ripped and jumbled, stained with crimson, and sticky to his body.

Erica Sinclair. She’s only twelve years old. He can’t look any longer. At what he couldn’t prevent. What he should’ve been able to save. They’re all kids, a part of him realizes. He’s the only one there who’s an adult, who’s had the chance to graduate high school, who’s alive.

A presence lingers behind him. He dares not turn his head.

But a disembodied voice accompanies the lingering shadow towering over his soon-to-be corpse.

“Steve Harrington…Your time is up.” ————

He startles awake in his bedroom. It’s dark. The black inkiness undefinable in the space around him. Filled with the white noise of silence. His clothes are wet with sweat. Limbs locked straight and stiff at his sides. Eyes centered to the foot of his bed.

There’s nobody there, which he wants to believe. But Steve swears, in this torturous moment, a figure stands over him. Tangled in its own flesh. A singular white eye. Dangling claw-like hand brushing the comforter tucked insecurely at his feet. It’s mouth remains still and closed and absent of lips. He swears it. He hears it. “Steve Harrington,” the figure seems to whisper. Voice deep and rumbling. Disembodied from all sides.

He swears it comes from the figure. He knows it does. It has to. But the next time he blinks.

Eyelids squelching with the tears he couldn’t sense.

The figure is gone. Dissipated. He knows he won’t sleep again. Searching the room, eyes going right towards his night stand, the alarm clock reads 3am. It was worth a try. Managed a good five hours somehow. It’s something.

It’s enough as he peels himself from bed and stumbles to the bathroom. It’s enough when he reemerges in a towel with sopping wet hair. It’s enough when he idles in his car outside of the shitty apartment complex he’s managed for himself.

It’s enough to wonder if what he foresaw was just a figment of his imagination.

For now, however, he pulls out of the parking lot. Riding slow and careful to Robin’s house. Today’s the day of the championship game. And he’ll be damned if he misses it.

——— “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” Robin drawls. She doesn’t have to look at him to know that it’s the truth. Her eyeball is practically pressed against the passenger’s visor mirror. Applying her mascara with fingers prying the eye open, tongue squished between her teeth, nostrils flared in concentration.

Steve scoffs. “It’s just early, man. Not that weird.” He rolls his shoulders as much as he can with his hands extended to his steering wheel. Sometimes he wishes she weren’t so perceptive. Or that she only noticed him when he was down on his luck about his dating pool, not his existence. He blinks sluggishly, the road blurring for a brief moment. He should’ve had more coffee or something this morning. Being alert is important. Being aware. Being ready, especially after what he saw last night.

“It is a little,” she mutters, still hyper-focused on her makeup. “I mean—Usually, you’d be melting my ears off with some discussion about your dating life. How much it sucks. What you’re looking for. Your success in bed the night before.” Finally, she pulls herself away from the visor, open mascara tube in hand, and stares long at his profile. “Did you even go on your date yesterday? That girl…What was her name…From the other day? Thought you scored a movie with her or something.”

He shakes his head. Eyes vigilant to the road. “Heidi. Her name is Heidi, first of all.”

“Okay, Heidi. Her name is Heidi. Did you go on a date with her? Or are you going to tell me how she isn’t the right person? Because you aren’t eager to. Which means one of many things: she’s going out of state for school, she’s more interested in your douchebag dad, she thought that you could get her a word in with Tommy the Horrid, or she almost bit your dick off while giving you a blow-ie and now you’re too afraid of a girl with a little bite to her bark.”

“Hey! The girl that almost bit my dick off had serious teeth to her, dude! I have every right to be afraid of somebody making a snack outta my dick,” he objects. “Besides, I wouldn’t know about Heidi because I didn’t even call her!”

Robin sucks in between her teeth. “Low blow, Steve-O.”

“I forgot!”

She groans. “That’s even worse, Steve,” she bemoans. “It’s like objectively terrible to forget to call the girl that you asked out. If anything, I should’a called her and taken her up on the movie.”

“Oh, come off it,” Steve shoots. “God forbid a guy forgets every once in a while.”

“God forbid a girl accidentally bites your dick,” Robin mumbles under her breath. She leans forward before Steve can refute and turns up the music on the radio. Her nose crinkles immediately. “Tears For Fears…Again? It’s the exact same tape as yesterday!”

Steve just shrugs in response. Sure, it is the same tape. But also, it’s keeping that lingering whisper at bay. He’s made almost a science out of it. Whenever he prickles with a floundering sense that he’s being watched, he plays the first few seconds of their song, “Watch Me Bleed”. It works, though. Brain zeroing in on just the voices emanating from the tape’s delicate nature. He plays it in his Walkman at work. During his break. From the stereo in his car. The sound system he stole from his parents. Wherever he can fit the music like caulk between tiles, that’s where the whispers don’t reach him.

She sighs at his non response. “Alright, what’s going on with you?” She finally asks. “We’ve been in this car for like fifteen minutes. You won’t talk to me about girls. You won’t ask me why I’m getting all dolled up or whatever. And now you’re listening to, admittedly, the most heart wrenching Tears For Fears album I have ever heard. At least so far.”

“Does there have to be something wrong with me to listen to Tears For Fears?”

“Yes. When it’s depressing, there absolutely needs to be something going on with you. Talk to me,” she eggs, slapping the back of her left hand on his bicep. He winces at the sound. “Let me in Steve or I’m gonna ban you from picking movies at work.”

He gasps, offended. “You wouldn’t!”

“I’ll turn on The Apartment everyday I work with you this week. Swear on it, I will. Let me in or there will be dire consequences.”

He shifts in his seat. And for the first time in the whole drive, he pulls his line of sight over to Robin. She stares back. But he can’t actually bring himself to look. Not at her eyes or where her lipstick might be smudged. Or at her fingernails, no matter the color they’re painted right now. He finds a freckle between her eyebrows instead. “Okay, fine,” he mutters. “I’ve been having nightmares, that’s all.” And then he’s back at the road. The long and stretching road. An uneasy silence around all aspects of his car. It’s not usually this vacant. But something is changing, shifting. Lurking, he can sense it.

“Just nightmares? Or does this have to do with the bloody noses and chronic headaches you’ve been getting, too?” Of course she knows what to ask. The exact questions he doesn’t like answering.

He shrugs once more. “I don’t know, Robbie. Maybe. Probably doesn’t help my headaches when I get less sleep than needed. The nose bleeds are their own issue, I think.”

“See, this is why you should be going to a doctor. They’d actually know, y’know? Instead of speculating all this garbage.”

“Robin—“

“I’ll drop it. For your sanity. But, come on, it’s not weird to you? Not at all. All these things suddenly happening in your life. Practically mingling and making out in the corners. There has to be—“

He can’t listen to this any longer. To her paranoid ramblings. The what ifs and possibilities. At the next red light, he slams harder than necessary on the breaks. Hands squeezing the steering wheel tightly. Pointedly looking at his white knuckle grip. Tears simmer in his eyes. But he can’t. Can’t do this. The next swallow of spit he takes is harsh and agitating on his throat. “Why are you putting on so much makeup? Nobody has ever cared that much about a pep rally. Why do you suddenly care about this pep rally?” He interrogates.

Except, while he’d been expecting a long and agitated ramble that turned all too sappy, there’s silence. An odd and tense type of silence. Drawn with charcoal and engulfed in flames. His chest drops inwards, stomach swooping towards his throat, and his breath grows choked and distant from himself. He doesn’t move his eyes. For fear that the tangled flesh of that unidentifiable late night visitor will be wearing Robin’s scent. Doused in her perfume, but wickedly tall and bent. He doesn’t look. Not even when the recognizable drag of claws grows sharp and mean on the back of his right hand. Even as they curl into the cuff of his jacket. Even as the fabric bunches with the movement. Crinkling like plastic. And for a moment, it’s like he’s ground beef stowed behind plastic wrap on a grocery store shelf. Awaiting some fate. A fate somehow like death. Death after death.

“Steve,” it whispers. Definitely not Robin. Deep and masculine and vibrating. He swears the voice echoes in his chest. In his head. But he favors the steering wheel. Doesn’t want to confirm something he made up. He’s making this up. He has to be.

“Steve,” it tries again. The claws on his hand press firmer. He winces. But doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. Even if it could take him at any moment. Even if it could diffuse his suffering. Even if it would rid him of the crawling under his skin that he’s tried to lock away for the last three years.

The next time, “Steve,” is said again, it’s Robin. Shaking his hand. Firmly pushing into his skin. Panicked and sharp and loud by his ear. He blinks, shifting, whipping his head to see her. Her piercing blue eyes perfectly placed in their sockets, fitted by black mascara and her lips a shiny pink, freckles, shaking voice, meticulously styled bob. “Steve, hello? What the hell—Where’d you just go?”

He flits over his surroundings. Pulled to the side of the road. Idling with the engine on. The tape done and over. How long have I been out of it, he has to wonder, and how did I get over here from the road? “I—I don’t know what that was,” he musters. “Lost in thought, I guess.”

“Is your head up your own ass or something? Made me have to pull over and emergency brake, you asshole.”

“Sorry,” Steve murmurs, “must be more tired than I thought.” His hands go back to the steering wheel. The leather squeaks under his sweaty grip. It’s solid where he touches. The only thing he can hear are his hands and her breath. He sighs with exhausted relief. “So,” he chirps, “getting ready for Vickie, right?” He deflects. “She definitely likes boobies. And you like boobies. Match made in heaven.”

For a moment, Robin’s eyes flash with something like grievance. A worry. But she schools her expression and scoffs. A tight, tight laugh. “Don’t call them that!” She squawks.

If he continues to egg her on, he can pretend like there isn’t something breathing down his neck. Can pretend, too, that he doesn’t feel the need to be ready. For danger. For imminent peril. For his death.

🪦—————🪦 More to come later, but take this for now. Basically throwing you a bone. Whoops. Chew on this for a bit while I think about how to keep the narrative going.

[insane-control-room]

(Throws Tablet)

In which Evans lets Elise see some of Doug's texts to him, because this time he's gone too far.

a friend sent me this incorrect quote; made a fic. https://www.tumblr.com/darkdeception-incoquotes/705849624478597120/elise-throws-phone-at-the-wall-in-a-fit-of incorrect quote from: @darkdeception-incoquotes my requests are open btw :3 also this isnt canon to most of my stories i just lost my mind at 1am

Rated: G (Implied suggestive content) Warnings: referenced/implied cheating ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47867194

(Fic under cut)

“That cheating prick!” Elise growled, gripping the tablet hard enough to make slight white spots appear under her press. She stared at the pictures, face white with rage. “That lying, cheating prick!” 

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” Evans sighed, trying to be as gentle as he could with her. Normally, Evans simply pleaded with Doug not to cheat on Elise, tried to get him to change his ways and go home instead of ‘working’ late in his office. This time, though, Doug had the audacity to text him some pictures snapped during his illicit exploit. Evans had threatened Doug that if he ever dared do such a thing, he would show the images to Elise, and, well, now he was making due on that very remark. He hated watching Elise’s rage at the confirmation of her suspicions. Even if Doug never denied her accusations of him cheating, she never had any proof, and it was enough for her to cling to. But now…. “I’m sorry, Elise.” 

“No. Thank you, Evans,” Elise shook her head. She took in a deep breath, and looked back at the pictures. “I needed this. Goddamnit, I needed this.” 

Evans shifted, slightly uncomfortable, as she began to scroll through his and Doug’s text history. He bit his lip to keep from protesting. She had a right to see, even if he hated sharing any glimpse of his private life with anyone. She laughed incredulously, venomously. 

“He even tried to get into your pants!” she scoffed, pausing in her scroll. Evans’ cheeks heated significantly while he recalled the several soliciting, salacious texts Doug had sent him. “Good on you for shutting him down! God, that backstabbing, crass, disgusting shit!” 

Evans tried to calm her down, but he was a moment too late. The enraged woman threw the tablet against the wall. Evans winced as it shattered.

“Um, Elise?” Evans quietly remarked, his hands shifting to hold each other in his meekness. “That was mine.”

Elise stared at the broken device for a moment before a soft pink blush colored her cheeks. 

“Oh,” she replied, sounding surprised. She pursed her lips for a second before commenting, “I’ll pay for it.” 

“You don’t have-”

“I’m going to use Doug’s card.”

“Oh. I see,” Evans nodded. Fair enough. “I’d appreciate it.”

“You know what I would appreciate, Detective?” Elise asked, looking at him through her lashes. He swallowed down a blush, shrugging. “If you’d be a sweetheart and cuffed Dougie onto a chair.” 

“Seems like a mild punishment,” Evans dryly remarked. 

“It’s so he could watch me go down on you,” Elise explained, dancing her fingers over his chest. 

Evans felt all of his blood rush to his face, and he choked on air, gaping at the coquettish woman before him. 

“I have to go,” he stammered.

“See you around, Detective,” Elise grinned, and winked. She called after him. “I think it would be a great way to keep him from cheating!”

“Not listening!” Evans answered, still blushing. 

[lgbtqtext]

[fizzyapplecandy]

Ateez as Romance Tropes

The one where Wooyoung has had enough

Other members

Wooyoung x Fem reader

Genres and warnings: best friends to lovers, Wooyung in love, angst, fluff, happy ending, mutual pining, humor, mature language

Word count: 2.8k

Your best friend is at his breaking point after you announce you're going on another date.

Wooyoung was blessed with many things in his life. A loving family, a group of friends he would literally die for, and a best friend and roommate who he loved like no one else.

You see, that blessing was also a curse, because said best friend was also the love of his life, she just wasn't aware. Wooyoung wasn't one to keep secrets, he couldn't. His mouth was bigger than the Pacific ocean, and his mates sometimes wanted to tape it to keep him silent.

Everybody loved Wooyoung, but his yapping was constant. How he managed to keep shut about his crush, he didn't know himself, but he was at a breaking point.

It took everything in him not to blurt it in front of you in the coffee shop as you were telling him about your upcoming date this weekend.

"Do you really have to go? I saw this great new movie coming out on Saturday, wanted to watch it with you." He said, trying to maintain a neutral expression.

"We'll watch it on Sunday, we always do movie night on Sundays." You replied, puzzled by his sudden interest in spending the whole week with you.

No, really, he hasn't left you alone since Monday morning, and it is Thursday now. You and Wooyoung always gave each other space, even when living together. For some reason, he managed to wiggle his way into your schedule.

"Yeah, but I'm too pumped to wait. Come one, you aren't really expecting anything to happen with this guy? He's like, what, the third one in two months?"

You didn't know how to react, but it was clear his words offended you.

"Excuse me? Since when do you keep track of my dating life?"

"Since we became friends? I have to! You never know what kind of creep you might run into!" He said, getting a bit red in the face.

You sighed, leaning back into your seat. Wooyoung has been acting a bit weird lately, but you thought he was weird regardless, so you didn't put much thought into it. Somehow, the way he was going on about this particular date didn't sit right with you.

"Woo, what's going on? Is something troubling you? Are you feeling okay?" You asked, reaching over to place your hand on top of his. He turned his palm around, interlocking your fingers. Wooyoung loved being touchy with you, with everyone really, so you got used to it pretty quickly. You didn't even think twice before reaching over for his other hand to do the same.

"I'm okay, don't worry. I just want to spend time with you. I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages."

You chuckled, watching as he pouted because of your amusement.

"Wooyoung, we live together. We see each other everyday. We brush our teeth together, we eat breakfast and dinner together. You even stay with me in my bed until I fall asleep. Are you sure that's what's concerning you?"

He didn't know what argument he could give. You were right about everything, but you just didn't realise what Wooyoung really meant. You couldn't, not without him telling you the truth.

"I... You're right, of course. Silly me. So, tell me about your date then!"

The way his mood changed so drastically should have made you question him a bit more, but again, you knew how Wooyoung was. His attention span was short, and he liked going from topic to topic until he was bored and found something else to talk about.

You gave him another look, but he just smiled and gestured for you to move on.

"Okay, if you're sure. Well... I met him last week at that new bookstore. We reached for the same novel, and I don't know, started talking. He's a sociology major, but not at our university. His name is Heesung."

He nodded along as you spoke about your little meeting with the Heesung dude, trying not to frown or pout. You went on and on about how smart he was, how you liked the same books, how you drank the exact same coffee order.

"He wants to take me out to dinner, he said the little coffee date we had didn't count. He likes doing fancy things, so we're going to that new French restaurant by the university."

"Hm... Sounds... Great! Yeah, great! So, is Hejung aware your roommate and best friend is a man?"

You frowned, knowing he purposely said his name wrong. Wooyoung did that when he disliked someone, but he didn't even know this guy.

"It's Heesung, and yes, he knows. I told him because he's going to pick me up from our place on Saturday. I didn't want him to freak out."

"Yeah, we don't want to scare poor Hejung."

You wanted to correct him again, but your phone buzzed with a text. You glanced down at it, seeing it was a message from Seonghwa about your study group in the library. You sighed, realising you haven't let go of Wooyoung's hands until you started packing your things.

"It's Heesung. I have to go, Hwa is waiting for me, I haven't even realised what time it is. See you at home!"

You placed a quick kiss on his forehead, something you always did when you said goodbye, and off you went. Wooyoung was never able to return the favour because you always moved away quickly, but he knew it was for the best. He probably wouldn't be able to stop himself from kissing your lips, and that would be a disaster.

Right?

.

.

"Okay, you've got to stop eating on the coffee table, we have a kitchen for a reason!"

"Oh, relax, I'm not even making a mess!"

You sighed, watching as Wooyoung slurped his cup noddles while sitting on the floor and watching something on TV. You also noticed how the carpet didn't reach all the way to him, so he sat on the hardwood floor in his shorts.

Without a word, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and handed it to him. He looked at you confused, until you sighed again.

"Lift your butt and sit on it. You shouldn't be sitting on the floor like that."

He smiled, kind of feeling shy.

"Oh... Thanks. Grab one and sit next to me, this show is good."

You make your way over to Wooyoung, doing as he said and making yourself comfortable next to him. It wasn't unusual for him to invade your personal space, so you didn't even blink when he snuggled up to you, picking up the ramen bowl and slurping away. He stopped for a second, grabbing some noodles and offering them to you. You leaned forward and took a bite, not even noticing how he moved your hair out of the way. These actions were something you rarely paid attention to, but Wooyoung never failed to repeat them.

"So, still on for that date tomorrow?"

You choked on the noodles, looking at him wide eyed. He put a glass of water in your hands, patting you lightly on the back.

"Why are we talking about that again?" You managed to ask, gulping down the cold water.

"Because I thought you might've changed your mind. I never know what your brain is up to these days."

He tried to be nonchalant about the situation, but you could tell he was getting nervous. Wooyoung wouldn't even meet your eyes, and that was a huge thing for him.

"No, I haven't changed my mind. I don't know why you are so opposed to me going on a date. I don't say anything about your escapades!"

Now he was getting mad.

"My escapades? Have you seen me go somewhere with someone in the past, I don't know, two years? No, I don't think so."

You stopped for a second, trying to rake through your memories. It was true, Wooyoung hasn't met or talked about anyone in a long time. How did that pass up on you?

"Are you for real? Not even a one night stand?"

He shook his head, getting up and grabbing the empty ramen bowl to throw away.

"Not even that. Shocking, I know. I just... I can't."

"Is something wrong? Have you suddenly lost interest in dating? Is it not going well?"

He scoffed, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching as you approached him carefully.

"No, I haven't lost interest. And you know I can pull anyone I want, man or woman!" He pointed a finger at you, almost offended by your concern.

"Okay, lover boy. Then what's the problem?" You asked, genuinely worried something was going on with him.

"I just... I just don't want to, okay? Leave it be."

"But Woo-"

"I said enough! Just because you go on too many dates, and you can't keep track of your boy toys doesn't mean I do it too!"

Well, that stung. Did he really think about you like that? Wooyoung seemingly realised what a jerk he was, but the damage was already done.

"Is that what you think about me? Are you implying I'm..." You frowned, not knowing how to handle the situation.

"Y/N, baby... I wasn't... You know I would never..."

He was at a loss for words.

"I get it, okay. I know I've had a couple of bad dates, but I didn't even think it was that many. I just didn't think you, out of all people, would judge me."

Your sad expression made Wooyoung's heart break into pieces. Instead of trying to get onto your good graces, he fucked it up, badly.

You pointed to your bedroom, clearing your throat. Wooyoung panicked, because the look on your face told him you were about to cry, and he was the jerk who got you to this point.

"I'm... I'm gonna go to my room now, I'm kind of tired. See you in the morning."

"No, Y/N! Wait a second, I didn't-"

"It's fine, Wooyoung, everyone is entitled to their own opinion."

With that, you turned around and matched into your room, slamming the door without even realising it.

Wooyoung was left standing in the kitchen with a heart so hurt it felt like it would explode right in his chest.

.

.

The next day came, and Wooyoung felt like shit. He hasn't slept properly, and for the most part of the day you were hollowed up in your room. You got out only when you heard him go back into his.

Your dinner date with Heesung was approaching, and suddenly you didn't feel really up to it.

He was a good man, his credentials astonishing, his looks even better. He just wasn't...

You didn't even know what the hold up was. Maybe you were used to loud, rambunctious boys, always trailing after you and making you laugh until your stomach hurts.

There weren't many on the list who did that, no. There was only one you could think of right now, probably beating himself up about the way you spoke yesterday.

But Wooyoung was never an option for you, because you were best friends. Your silly little crush on him was pushed aside somewhere deep into your brain and heart, just to make living with him easier. You knew he'd never look at you like that, so you made up with the fact a long time ago.

Now, as you were putting your makeup on, you thought about what it would be like if he was the one taking you on a date, not Heesung. You'd probably be at a burger joint, after thoroughly criticizing a movie tight in the theatre. You always did that anyways, so there wouldn't be a major change.

Come to think of it, you did almost everything with Wooyoung that you would with a boyfriend, except kiss. One time, you almost did that as well, but your drunken brains somehow knew it wouldn't be right.

You curse yourself for not being spontaneous enough, because Wooyoung looked like he would've devoured you in that moment.

There's no point in thinking about it anymore, because neither of you addressed it, and life went back to normal afterwards.

Sighing, you looked at yourself in the mirror, satisfied with your outfit and hair. Heesung texted you saying he was outside, and that you could take your time if you needed. You didn't even check if Wooyoung was out of his room, wanting to get out as quickly as possible.

That's why you practically ran into him in the hallway.

"Oh, sorry."

"Yeah, no worries." You replied, trying to move around him.

"You look beautiful, Y/N."

Your head snapped up, looking into Wooyoung's eyes and seeing how tired he actually was.

"Oh God, have you slept at all? You look horrible!"

He chuckled, rubbing at his eyes to keep the tears at bay.

"Yeah, thanks. I tried... And failed obviously."

"You... Wooyoung..."

He shook his head, motioning for you to go.

"Come on, Heesung is waiting for you."

You froze, eyes going wide.

"You got his name right."

"Sorry?" He asked, confused.

"You never get the name of my date right, it's your thing. Why the sudden change?"

Wooyoung stiffened, deciding it was now or never.

"Well... I have to know the name of the man who is about to take you from me."

"What?"

He shook his head, leading you towards the door.

"Come one, off you go."

"But Woo-"

"Y/N!" He said, voice unusually calm. "You have to leave now, please. Don't make this any harder for me."

"Wooyoung, if you're implying what I think you are..."

"It wouldn't change anything now, would it?"

He asked, already making up with the fact he let you slip out of his fingers.

"Wooyoung, I'm giving you a chance to tell me before I walk out of this door. Once I do, there's nothing I can do. Please, just be honest."

Wooyoung though about his options, but he'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all, so he chose to stay silent. He was confused by your mad expression.

"Is that how it is? Fine."

You opened the front door, turning to look at him again.

"I really thought you'd man up after all these years I spent waiting."

You were gone before he realised what you said.

.

.

"So, I heard this place has really great reviews. They say we can't skip out on the deserts, so be prepared."

You smiled, albeit a bit forced, at Heesung's effort to keep the conversation alive.

The date was a disaster. Your table was nice, a window seat looking out onto the busy street. People were walking hand in hand, with big smiles in their faces. You wish that was the case with you, but the events of the evening were replaying in your mind over and over again.

"Hey, Y/N... Is this about Wooyoung?"

Your head snapped towards Heesung, eyes going wide in shock.

"What?"

He smiled, a bit sad about being right.

"You like him, right? I kind of figured it out the first time we met, but I wanted to shoot my shot."

"I... I don't know what to say."

Heesung looked over your shoulder, smiling at you again.

"I think you don't have to, somebody else will."

You looked at him confused, wondering who he was talking about.

"I've had enough! Hejung, sorry buddy, but I have to take my girl home."

Your head whipped up to see a frantic looking Wooyoung standing beside your table. You gasped, frozen in your seat.

"Wooyoung?"

He looked at you, face red and panting, probably from running towards the restaurant.

"Y/N sweetie, I'm about to pass out. So please, before I do, just tell me you love me like I love you."

You stood up, putting your arms around Wooyoung's neck and hugging him tightly.

"Oh my God, only you would do something like this. Come one, let's go before we cause a scene."

"Tell me you love me first!"

"Wooyoung!"

"Tell me!"

You sighed, glancing at Heesung who had a smile in his face.

"I love you, you idiot, now walk."

Wooyoung cheered, turning to look at the man sitting at the table.

"I lied. I'm not sorry. But it was nice meeting you!"

"No worries, nice to meet you too!"

You wanted to talk to Heesung, apologize for the inconvenience you've caused, but Wooyoung wouldn't let you go.

"I love you, Y/N. You know that now. Ah... I'm feeling so much better."

You giggled, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulder and pull you close.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"Why? You know how insane I am, it's worse when it's for you. But now you're stuck with me forever!"

"That I am. Can't say I'm complaining."

Wooyoung turned to look at you, finally feeling the weight lifting off of his chest.

His girl was now where she belonged, right by his side, and he'd never let go of her.

.

.

[an-albino-pinetree]

Happy (early) Valentines!

[loulou-land]

5 Times Buck Realized He Could Be Clingy + 1 Time Tommy was the Clingy One

Day 4 of @bucktommyfluffebruary | Clingy Boyfriends | 4,076 words

(1) Before a Shift

Mornings like these were always the hardest for Buck. 

After days spent together—wrapped up in each other, tucked away from the world—it was too easy to get used to having Tommy there. Waking up beside him, getting to roll over to steal lazy kisses, lingering in bed until the sun had well and truly come up. Then, moving to the kitchen, sharing warm coffee, leaning into each other's spaces as they made breakfast, coming up with half-baked plans for the day that they may or may not follow through on. 

Buck had done a bit of the domesticity thing with Taylor, but it wasn’t anywhere close to what this was. He had never felt as comfortable as he did with Tommy.  And the most incredible part? How seamlessly they had fallen into it, without a second thought. 

But eventually, reality came knocking. 

And Buck hated it. 

The soft glow of their cozy bubble would be ripped away by ringing alarms and the harsh reality of shifts that wouldn't align for a while. And today, it was Tommy’s turn to leave for a shift while Buck still had the rest of the day off. 

Buck tried to be normal about it. He really did. 

Continue Reading Below or on ao3

He'd stayed curled up in bed, watching as Tommy moved through his morning routine—brushing his teeth while Buck sleepily watched from the pillow; buttoning up his uniform with practiced ease, Buck following the movement of his hands spellbound; sitting on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots, just within his reach. 

Okay, time to be cool. Rein it in, Buck thought. Wish him a good day and go back to sleep. 

Instead, before Tommy could make a move to stand, Buck latched on. 

Nothing dramatic—just a small tug at the fabric of Tommy’s shirt—just enough to stall him. 

Tommy huffed out a quiet laugh, and Buck immediately backtracked. 

“ Sorry ,” Buck laughed, sheepish. “Just…fixing your shirt. All good now.” 

It was pathetic, but his fingers still didn’t let go. 

Tommy hummed, turning slightly, looking at him consideringly. “Thank you, sweetheart.” 

And Buck…he definitely should've let go by now. He didn't want to make Tommy late. Instead, his finger tightened in the fabric, just slightly. 

Tommy noticed. He always noticed. 

But he didn't call him out on his dramatics. Didn't tease him. He just reached down, cupped the side of Buck’s face, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right over his birthmark. 

“I'll text you between calls.” Tommy promised. 

Buck swallowed down the lump in his throat, forcing himself to nod. “ Be safe .” 

Tommy kissed him again, slower this time—lingering, reassuring—before heading for the door. 

A little while later, Buck decided to brave the day. He had barely finished pouring his coffee when his phone buzzed. 

8:55 am

Tommy: Lucy brought donuts today :) (attached image: Tommy biting into a glazed donut, blue eyes sparkling happily) 

Buck huffed out a startled laugh, shaking his head at his boyfriend's massive sweet tooth. 

Buck: Looks delicious. But not as delicious as the man holding it ;) 

Tommy: Evan…behave 😤 

And that was only the beginning. 

9:47am 

Tommy: you have competition, look at how adorable he is (attached image: a orange tabby stretched out on the concrete taking a nap) 

Buck: I’m more adorable tho 🥺 right?

Buck: Tommy?? 

Buck: right?!!

10:05 am

Buck: I just watched that new documentary on black holes.

Buck: Did you know a black hole could fit in your pocket? 🤯

Tommy: That must be why I’m always losing stuff after I’ve put them in my pockets…

Buck: dork 🙄

Tommy: only for you ❤️ 

10:58am

Tommy: I’m going to kill the newbie

Buck: why? 

Buck: please don’t. I need you here, not in jail. 

Tommy: he keeps using my coffee mug 😑

Buck: wow, brave man…

11:05 am

Buck: (attached image: Buck in front of the mirror, wearing form fitting workout clothes and smirking into the camera) 

Tommy: Baby 😍  

Tommy: You don’t play fair. But two can play this game

Tommy: (attached image: Tommy wearing aviator glasses, smiling smugly, sitting in the cockpit of the helicopter) 

Buck: …you win 🥵

They continued texting every moment they could throughout the day. Tommy telling him about an interesting call they'd gotten about a naked hiker stuck up in a tree, how he regretted asking the guy how it happened, how Lucy kept teasing him for texting so much and how he couldn’t wait to see him again.  

Buck loved it.

And somewhere in the back and forth of messages, Buck realized something. 

 Tommy really was unlike anyone he'd ever met. 

Because Tommy didn't just tolerate Buck’s need to share every thought, every feeling, every random little moment—he truly wanted it. 

(2) Holding Hands

Buck was a touchy person. 

But it wasn't something he'd ever really thought about—until he started dating tommy. 

Because now, whenever they were on a date, every time they were out together, Buck found himself hyper-aware of the way their shoulders brushed as they walked side by side. The way Tommy’s warmth bled into him, a steady presence, grounding, there. 

Buck relished it. Enjoyed being close to Tommy. 

But what he really loved? 

Holding Tommy’s hand. 

There was something addicting about the feeling of it—calloused and strong, big enough to make Buck’s fingers feel almost small in comparison. It was ridiculous how much he liked that, how obsessed he was with the way his hand fit so perfectly in Tommy’s. 

It had been a revelation the first time it happened. They were walking through a farmer’s market on a lazy Sunday morning, sipping coffee and browsing fresh produce. Buck had been excitedly telling Tommy about the health benefits of squash while Tommy listened intently. It had been natural, the way Buck’s hand had found Tommy’s—automatic, easy, just right. 

And then he’d looked down at them. At their fingers interlaced together, Tommy’s grip was firm and warm. Confident and sure. 

Buck hadn't meant to stare at them, completely oblivious to the world around him. But he was amazed at how perfect it felt, like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place. Then Tommy squeezed his hand, and Buck had looked up—face flushing, embarrassed at being caught. 

Without a word, Tommy lifted their joined hands and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to Buck’s hand. 

Buck tripped. 

It was just a small misstep, but Tommy definitely spotted it. 

“You good, Evan?” Tommy said grinning. 

“Yeah. Totally. That wasn't—” Buck stammered, clearing his throat. “Just, uh, uneven pavement.” 

Tommy smirked. “Mhm,” 

Buck glared at him, but it was hard to look indignant when his heart was currently doing flips inside his chest. 

That moment had opened the floodgates.  

After that Buck would reach for Tommy’s hand without even thinking about it. His fingers sliding between Tommy’s, intertwining, squeezing just slightly. Holding on for as long as he could. 

If Tommy needed to open a door, reach for something or take out his wallet Buck would relinquish his hold for a few seconds before immediately latching on again. 

Tommy always smiled, a small little pleased thing. 

So Buck kept doing it. He reached for him when walking together. When they were waiting in line for coffee. In the car, driving to places. While out at the bar with their family and friends. At home, snuggling on the couch or laying in bed.  

And every time, Tommy let him. 

No teasing. No hesitation. 

Just a gentle squeeze back, like he never wanted to let go either. 

(3) After a Bad Call

Some shifts turned out bad.

Buck had accepted that a long time ago.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier.

It didn’t make it easier when a call went south, when a victim slipped away no matter how hard they tried. It didn’t make it easier when he could still hear the sounds of screaming or see the way that life slipped through his fingers.

It didn’t make it easier when the self-doubt crept in, making its home in him, when his chest tightened with the weight of it all, when the voices whispered in his ear—you should’ve done more, you should’ve been better, you should’ve saved them.

Sometimes, those voices sounded exactly like his parents.

Other times, it was just his own.

And on those nights, Buck needed something solid. He craved something warm. Something that told him he was still here. That he still mattered. 

But asking for comfort had never been easy for him. Especially when Buck felt like he didn’t deserve it. When he felt like he was making things once again all about himself. 

So when he walked through the door, carrying the weight of that night’s failure, he didn’t say anything.

Buck dropped his keys on the counter. Stood with his hands flat on it as he stared unseeing at the grainy dots of the countertop. Then he rubbed a hand over his face like that would somehow scrub the frustration off of him.

Buck tensed when he felt strong arms circle his waist and got pulled into a steady chest. He matched his breathing to Tommy’s and felt himself slowly relaxing and letting go of some of the tension in his shoulders. 

It helped that Tommy didn’t ask.

He just took one look at Buck and knew.

Knew what Buck needed, even if he couldn’t say it.

“C’mere .”

Buck didn’t even hesitate.

He turned around and let himself be pulled in, let himself be wrapped up in Tommy’s arms.

And for a while, he just stood there, breathing Tommy in, grounding himself in the warmth of his chest, not thinking about anything other than Tommy Tommy Tommy . 

Eventually, Tommy kissed his temple, then nudged him toward the bathroom.

“Hot shower first. Then I’ve got you.”

And Buck froze for a second, completely amazed at the concept that someone had him. 

After the shower, Buck found his favorite sweatpants and hoodie waiting for him. The ones that were soft and well-worn, the ones that felt safe. The ones he’d hide in when he was feeling particularly raw and bereft. His heart picked up speed at the thought that Tommy had picked up on that. Had remembered. 

There was a cup of soothing tea on the nightstand.

But most importantly?

There was Tommy.

Sitting on the bed, waiting with open arms, like he already knew exactly where Buck needed to be.

Buck didn’t fight it anymore. 

He climbed into bed, curled into Tommy’s chest, let himself feel it— the warmth, the comfort, the weight of arms holding him together when he felt like he was falling apart at the seams. 

Tommy didn’t say anything, just rubbed slow circles into his back, a steady touch that anchored him, that reminded him he was here.

At some point, Buck let the pain in him crack open.

He exhaled shakily, pressed his face into Tommy’s neck, wrapped his fingers in his shirt and let himself cry.

And Tommy just held him.

Didn’t judge him, didn’t rush him, didn’t tell him to pull himself together, didn’t make him feel any less for showing emotions, didn’t say it was fine because it wasn’t.

Tommy just held on tighter to Buck. 

And when Buck’s breathing evened out, when the exhaustion started creeping in, Tommy finally spoke—low, soft, certain.

“You did everything you could, baby.”

“You’re a damn good firefighter, Evan.”

“I’ve got you. I’m here.” 

And Buck—warm and safe, pressed against the only person who had ever made him feel like he could just be, that he didn’t have to hold it all in—let himself believe it.

(4) In Public

Buck had never really been big on PDA.

Not because he was uncomfortable with it—he just hadn’t really been the type. With past partners, he’d hold hands, drape an arm around their shoulder, maybe rest a hand on their lower back. A quick kiss on the cheeks or lips. But that was it. 

With Tommy, it was different. He just— wanted. All the time.  

It was like some switch had flipped in his brain. Like his body just instinctively sought Tommy out. Tommy was Earth, and Buck was his moon, caught in his orbit. 

He couldn’t help it.

Wherever they were, Buck was aware of him.

Tommy could be across the room, deep in conversation with Bobby, or standing at the truck joking around with Eddie, and Buck would still know exactly where he was at all times.

(Chimney had once called it his Built-In Tommy Radar™.)

Which, granted, was very dramatic.

But also, not entirely untrue.

And really, he blamed Tommy. He’d totally conditioned Buck. Because every time their eyes met across the room, Tommy would give him that smile.

The soft, scrunchy one, the one that was just for him.

And Buck?

Buck was a lost cause. 

What else was he supposed to do but make his way to Tommy? To kiss that smile that was his and his alone, to sigh happily into his mouth, to melt under Tommy’s touch—the warm press of his hands on Buck’s hips, the rest of the world fading away. 

So yeah. Maybe he was a PDA guy.

Maybe he did like having Tommy’s arms around him, the way he got pulled in effortlessly as Tommy talked to Chim, Hen or Eddie, like it was second nature, like he was proud to have Buck in his arms. 

And maybe he did like the steady hand on his lower back when walking through a crowd, the way Tommy would subtly shift in front of him, protective without even thinking about it (and though Buck could take care of himself, there was something about the action that made him feel cared for), the soft kiss to the side of his head when there was a lull in conversation. 

He also loved the dorky, completely endearing compliments Tommy gave Buck regardless of whoever was standing within listening distance, they always left him grinning like an idiot. 

 He doesn’t ever remember being as giddy as he gets when Tommy flirts with him—making him feel as nervous as their very first date. 

And maybe—just maybe—he was a little obsessed with Tommy’s hugs.

(Okay, a lot obsessed.)

Because Tommy gave the best hugs.

Big and warm, arms wrapped around him like a shield, like Buck was something precious.

So yeah, he sought them out. Constantly. And maybe that happened to be when they were around people. So what. It was always a good time to get a Tommy hug. 

And Tommy never denied him.

So Buck kept doing it. 

One time, Buck had been trapped in a long-winded Chimney movie rant, which was fine, except he really missed Tommy and wanted to be in his arms. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fascinating. Uh…excuse me, I gotta go ask Tommy something…” he said, turning in the direction of where he knew Tommy was. 

Chimney stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head. “You didn’t hear a single word I said, did you?” 

Buck blinked. “Hmm? What?’

Chimney sighed. “Go on. Find Tommy. I’m stealing him later.” He pointed a finger at Buck. “Heactually appreciates my movie discussions.” 

Buck snorted. “Good luck with that.” He patted Chim’s shoulder and happily took off. 

He found Tommy in the kitchen, drinking a glass of wine and talking to Hen. Without hesitation, Buck slotted himself into his side.

Tommy didn't even pause—just wrapped an arm around him, tugged him in closer, and kept talking.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, to have a Buck shaped limpet attached to his side. 

Which, to be fair, it kind of was now.

Hen just raised an eyebrow. “You really can’t go five minutes without touching him, huh?”

“Nope,” Buck said easily.

Tommy just smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of Buck’s head, and kept rubbing slow circles into his back.

Buck grinned, nuzzling into Tommy’s neck, unable to mask the joy he felt in simple moments like this—where he objectively knew he was maybe being a bit too much, but had learned that in Tommy’s eyes? 

It was never enough. 

(5) After the Breakup 

After the breakup—and after Tommy realized his mistake, and after Buck ignored what everyone else was telling him and went to get his man back, and after the screaming-crying match outside Tommy’s house, followed by clothes ripping, up against the door, we’re-having-sex-and-getting-back-together moment��Buck’s clinginess ramped up. 

Not in a bad way. Not in a suffocating, unhealthy way.

Just in a he-knows-what-life-without-Tommy-feels-like-and-doesn’t-want-to-go-through-that-ever-again way.

And luckily for him, Tommy felt exactly the same.

Which was why, after a week of barely seeing each other because of their shifts, Buck was on the verge of losing it. He needed his Tommy time. It was a necessity at this point. 

Buck was so ready to make up for lost time.

Usually, when this happened, they’d spend a full 48 hours wrapped up in each other. No interruptions, no responsibilities—just them.

But this time?

This time, the universe had conspired against them. 

Buck didn’t know what god's he’d pissed off, but he’d love to make them an offering because this? This was just unfair. 

Instead of catching up properly—with a nice dinner (Tommy for desert), a relaxing movie (which they wouldn’t really watch, because Buck would be riding Tommy), a long shower (where Tommy would suck him dry), and finally going to bed (making love until they wrung a couple of orgasm of each other)—they’d fallen asleep. 

They’d both come off exhausting shifts that had gone into overtime, stumbled into bed, shared a sleepy kiss, and promptly passed out. 

Of course, the next morning, they’d overslept.

Which meant no lazy morning kisses, no waking Tommy up with a blowjob, no time to soak each other in, and—worst of all—no shower quickie.

Nope. Rather, they’d had to rush out the door to make it to Bobby and Athena’s BBQ. 

“Can’t we just stay in this time?” Buck pouted. “I can just tell them I got sick.”

Tommy chuckled, “Baby, we did that last time. And they didn’t believe it.” 

“Well, how was I supposed to know you were such a bad actor? Buck huffed. “I told you to sound nasally, not British.” 

Tommy shrugged, throwing him a long-suffering smile. “Well, now you know why I’m a pilot and not an actor,” he said drily. 

Buck slumped in the passenger seat, fidgeting with Tommy’s fingers “I just want you all to myself. I feel like I haven’t seen in forever,” he whined. 

“I know, sweetheart. I feel the same.” Tommy squeezed his hand. “But if we don’t make an appearance, we’re getting disowned.”

“Fine,” Buck grumbled. 

And now, Buck was suffering.

He was pretty sure his family had conspired to ruin his life. Because tell him why everyone kept stealing Tommy away.

First, Chimney cornered him to talk about the greatest horror movies of the ‘90s (Who cares, Buck thought viciously.) 

Then, Eddie pulled him aside for car talk. (C’mon man, you guys have your own bro day for this!) 

After that, Maddie and Karen had claimed him, dragging him into a corner with wine and gossip (And okay, fine, Buck couldn’t compete with that right now—Tommy did love juicy gossip.) 

But Buck? 

Buck was two seconds away from doing some maiming. 

He tried to be patient.

Tried to play it cool.

But after an hour of barely seeing Tommy? When they’d come here together? 

Enough was enough.

So when they finally sat down to eat, Buck plopped himself right into Tommy’s lap.

Just. Dropped right in.

Complete silence around the table. 

Until— 

“Oh my god.” Chimney, squawked. 

“Can you two be normal for five minutes?” Eddie sighed.

“Buckaroo, you do know there’s an empty chair right there?” Athena said, dryly. 

“I’m surprised he lasted this long without touching Tommy,” Hen smirked. 

Bobby just shook his head and passed the potatoes to Maddie. 

“I think it’s sweet,” Maddie said, completely unbothered.

Tommy just laughed, wrapping an arm around Buck’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Missed me, babe?”

“You have no idea,” Buck sighed dramatically, melting against him.

The table collectively groaned.

“Disgusting.” Hen.

“Sickening.” Chimney.

“Truly vile.” Eddie.

“You’re all just jealous,” Buck mumbled into Tommy’s shoulder.

Tommy chuckled, dropping a kiss to the side of Buck’s head, keeping one hand on his waist and pulling their plate closer to share. 

Buck grinned.

Yeah, he was exactly where he was supposed to be. 

(+1) After the Breakup - Tommy’s Version

Tommy woke up first.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes, his breath catching in his throat as he found himself staring at Evan. 

Evan, who was sleeping peacefully beside him, face soft and relaxed, his lips curved into the smallest, barely-there smile.

His head was pillowed on Tommy’s arm, his fingers curled loosely around Tommy’s waist, even in sleep still holding on.

Tommy exhaled, slow and careful, like if he moved too fast, it would all disappear.

Because some part of him—the stupid, still-scared part of him—was afraid this wasn’t real, that this was all a dream, a hallucination, a cruel trick of his own mind.

How could Evan really be here—in his house, in his bed, in his arms?

But no. He remembered.

Tommy remembered opening the door yesterday and coming face to face with an angry, teary-eyed Evan.

He remembered the way Evan had yelled at him—loud and emotional and so heartbreakingly honest.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Tommy! You don’t get to decide that you won’t be my last!”

And Tommy had broken down. Had said things he never meant to say out loud.

Had told Evan that he deserved better.

And Evan had shouted right back—loud, frustrated but completely sure of himself.

“I don’t want ‘better.’ I want you. Not some mythical, perfect person out there. You—Tommy. You’re already my perfectly imperfect guy. I love you.”

And Tommy—God.

Tommy had wanted to believe him. Had wanted to trust it.

So he’d made a choice. Because living without Evan had been the worst experience of his life.

And now, here they were.

Evan made a soft sound, stirring awake.

Tommy watched as his eyelashes fluttered, as his breathing shifted, as blue eyes slowly blinked open.

And then Evan saw him. And smiled, bright and beaming and easy, like he’d never once doubted Tommy was going to be here.

God.

How could Tommy have ever let this go?

He lifted a hand, fingers tracing the shape of Evan’s lips, his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. He followed the slope of his eyebrow, the curve of the pink mark above it.

Evan hummed happily, leaning into his touch.

And something in Tommy cracked wide open. Now that he could finally touch again, he couldn’t stop.

Not in the desperate, frantic way they had last night, when their hands had been all urgency, all need, all pent-up longing and desperation.

No. This was softer.

This was Tommy relearning Evan—as if he could ever truly forget him—his hands traveling slowly, memorizing and rediscovering all at once.

The curve of Evan’s hip. The dip of his spine. The warmth of his skin under Tommy’s palm.

Evan preened under the attention, sighing happily, and Tommy just soaked him in.

They lay there for a while, watching each other, saying everything without really saying a word.

Until finally, Evan made a move to sit up.

Tommy hadn’t even realized he made a noise—something small, something desperate, something aching—until Evan stopped instantly.

“Hey.” Evan’s voice was soft, questioning. “What’s wrong?”

Tommy swallowed.

His throat felt tight.

“Just—” He hesitated, but only for a second, then let himself be honest.

“Stay. A little while longer. Please.”

Evan smiled, soft and knowing. “Of course, honey.”

He opened his arms, and Tommy fell into them, into warmth and safety and home. Fell into the one place he never wanted to leave again.

Evan’s arms came up around him, holding him just as tightly as Tommy was holding on to him.

Tommy pressed his face into the crook of Evan’s neck, exhaling slow, letting himself breathe, letting himself believe.

He had Evan.

Because Evan had chosen him.

And this time?

Tommy wasn’t letting him go.

[fairybonesandstardust]

gege’s ending the series so quickly because he’s running out of characters to to kill

[emi-gelfling]

BobaDin seems to be something of a rarepair in the star wars fandom, but it's one of the most equal-playing fields for a couple in this franchise. Both experienced, dangerous fighters who follow codes of honor and are still recovering from deep personal losses? It's the mandalorian dream ship!

LINK TO SERIES:

[aventurineswife]

HELLOOOO!! you know that one fic you wrote with jing yuan and himeko that was like a teen reader accidentally calling them dad/mom?? i really liked that request and i was wondering if i could request the same thing but with aventurine and boothill instead

A Flicker of Something More

Summary: After a few weeks of working alongside Boothill, you accidentally slip up and call him "dad" in a moment of gratitude. Embarrassed, you quickly try to explain, but Boothill takes it in stride, revealing a softer side beneath his tough exterior. Despite his gruff demeanor, Boothill reassures you that while he’s not the parental type, he’s still got your back.

Tags: Boothill x Reader, Teen!Reader, Accidental "Dad" Call, Protective Boothill, Found Family, Mild Humor, Emotional Growth, Tender Moments.

Warnings: Mild language, Emotional moments.

A/N: ah shit, I already did an Aventurine ver of it 😔🙏

[Part 1] | [Part 2]

You had been working alongside Boothill for a few weeks now. As a member of the Galaxy Rangers, Boothill was a force to be reckoned with — deadly, efficient, and relentless in his pursuit of vengeance. His icy eyes and sharp, shark-like teeth always sent a chill down your spine, but over time, you had come to appreciate his presence.

There was something strangely protective about him, something you hadn’t expected when you first joined. He wasn’t the type to open up, but he’d occasionally look out for you — whether it was making sure you were properly armed, covering you in a firefight, or even just giving you a slight nod of approval when you handled a task well. To say you were growing fond of him would have been an understatement.

The evening had been quiet — too quiet. After a long mission, you and Boothill had found refuge in a small outpost on a barren planet. The night air outside was bitter, but inside, you were safe.

You had just finished cleaning up after a meal, wiping down the table when you absentmindedly muttered, “Thanks for everything, Dad.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

You froze, immediately aware of what you had said. Your heart skipped a beat, and you slowly turned to look at Boothill, whose expression had gone from its usual stoic self to something unreadable.

You had never meant it like that. It was just... well, you’d never had a stable parental figure before, and in the heat of the moment, you had blurted out the word without thinking.

Boothill’s eyes locked onto you with an intensity that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. There was a brief moment of silence, where you could hear your own heartbeat racing in your ears.

"Did you just call me dad?" His voice was low, almost a growl, but there was a strange softness beneath it that you couldn’t quite place.

You swallowed, your throat going dry. “I... I didn’t mean to! It just slipped out, Boothill. I— I didn’t think...”

His gaze softened ever so slightly, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of something beneath that cold exterior. His lips twitched, though it wasn’t quite a smile, and he shifted his weight, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed. The quiet, metallic hum of his mechanical limbs was the only sound between you.

“You know, kid," he started, his tone still gruff, but not as sharp as it usually was. "I’m not the type for family. Not the kind of man to tuck you in or tell you how to live. But... I ain't gonna hold it against you. Not like you made it sound like a weakness or nothing.”

You took a tentative step forward, feeling the weight of his words. There was a strange warmth in his gaze, an unspoken acceptance that made your heart beat a little faster.

"I didn't mean it like that," you said softly, your voice almost a whisper now. "But... if you don’t mind me saying... you’ve kinda been looking out for me. In your own way. I guess... I just got used to it."

Boothill didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, his mechanical body still, before pushing off the wall and turning his back to you. For a second, you thought you might have made him uncomfortable, but then you heard him speak again, his voice quieter than usual.

"You’re tough, kid. You’ve got guts." He paused, as though weighing his words. “Maybe I can’t be a dad, but... if you ever need someone in your corner... I’ll be there. Don’t mistake that for anything else.”

You nodded, your heart swelling at his words. Despite his tough exterior, you knew he cared. He didn’t have to say it, but you could tell — the way he protected you, the way he kept you safe, even when he didn’t have to.

“Thanks, Boothill... I really appreciate it,” you murmured.

He didn’t turn to face you, but you could hear the faintest of smirks in his voice as he responded, “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go calling me 'dad' again. I’m not a babysitter.”

You chuckled, feeling a bit lighter, and nodded. “Got it.”

Boothill’s presence remained as imposing as ever, but in that moment, you understood that while he wasn’t your father, he was something equally important. Someone who would fight for you, no matter what.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

[mystxmomo]

For better or for worse, I think Vhaeraun is in fact Lolth's son.

[chronicillnesshumor]

Those people in that commercial seem really excited to have mild to severe psoriasis

[steviewashere]

If Found, Return to Me

Rating: General CW: Implied Sex (Mild), Mild Panic Attacks Tags: Post Canon, Post Season 4, Established Relationship, Humor and Hijinks, Eddie Munson is a Little Shit, Steve Harrington is a Little Shit, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Panic Attacks, Dork Eddie Munson, Dork Steve Harrington, 3+1

Okay, the idea was going to be a 5+1, but I couldn't get past three ideas without feeling the crawl of burn-out, so I lowered it to three. But this is based on This Post from @apomaro-mellow

👕—————👕 1. He grips the hem of his shirt and tugs. Chin tucked into his neck so that he can read the text, which is bold and black and dark on the white background. ‘If found, return to Steve.’ Eddie groans. “Do we seriously have to wear these?” He whines.

Steve stands in front of him. Hands on his hips. One foot cocked. “Yes, Eddie,” he answers emphatically. Even a little annoyed. Which, sue Eddie for having to ask over and over, but it’s sort of embarrassing. Especially when his boyfriend is wearing a similar shirt that just reads: ‘I’m Steve’. Makes Eddie look sort of childish, if you were to ask him. “If I’m taking you out of town, to a place I’ve never been before for a convention—something I’d probably never even go to—you absolutely have to wear that shirt. Knowing you, you’ll see some action figure stand and I’ll be abandoned by the comic books.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Or, y’know, we can just link arms and walk around the convention center?” Steve only widens his eyes and raises an eyebrow. He groans again. “Okay, fine! We’ll wear these stupid t-shirts.” His head tilts back, eyes to the ceiling of their hotel. Huffs through his nose. “I don’t even know how you got these,” he grumbles, “I’d rather not know.”

Sure, Eddie’s prone to running off. He gets excited, okay? Especially when it’s something he knows a lot about, or something he’s been hunting down for literal years, or if it’s a thing he can surprise the people around him with. Thinking of the last time he wandered off and Steve had to practically scruff him, it’d been while he was purchasing a dice set for Dustin’s birthday. So maybe Steve has a point. And maybe it’s sort of a genius idea. Eddie just wants to be stubborn about this, it’d save him the humiliation.

Except, he’s still wearing the shirt (Steve in his matching one) when they finally get through the doors of the convention center. There’s people in costumes all around them: Spock and Kirk, Marty McFly, Indiana Jones, Predator, and a few kids with their dads all dressed like those ponies that Erica likes. Something in Eddie trills. And he’s already a few steps ahead of Steve before he knows it. Steve trails behind him, wonder and awe shining in his own eyes, trying to keep up with Eddie’s frantic nature.

But then they’re not even close to each other. They buy lunch a couple hours in. Steve gets a large lemonade and downs it like he’s never had something to drink before. And then Eddie’s being told, “Please wait here by the bathrooms. Don’t go do anything stupid.”

He’s leaning against the wall that reads: ‘Restrooms’. Arms intertwined over his chest. Legs crossed on one another. In the distance, his eyes lock onto a Dungeons & Dragons booth. There’s tall shelves stocked with every mini figure he could ever pray for. A few long tables that showcase various maps, dungeon master screens, and little trays for dice. However, there’s an odd rack in the booth. A hat stand. And on it, he spots the perfect thing for Steve. It’s probably expensive, Eddie debates with himself, but it’s Indiana Jones’ hat. His feet are moving before he registers the people walking past him.

And then he’s there. Holding a classic fedora hat between his hands. Turning it around in his hold. Thumbing at the material; marveling at how smooth and buttery soft the fabric is. He spots the price tag, ‘$8.00’. It’s not a terrible price. Isn’t damaged in any way. So he keeps it in his left hand, grabs a paladin mini figure in his right, and purchases both items. Bag in hand, he moves to leave the booth, but is stopped by a gentle hand tapping on his right shoulder.

He turns and is met with a girl. She’s level with his chest, eyes wide and calculating, hand retreating back to her side. “Hi—um—you don’t know me at all, but I found somebody named Steve looking for you,” she states, “I saw your shirt and figured you were the guy he was talking about.”

Eddie slumps. A part of him can’t believe the stupid shirt even worked. “Yeah, it’s probably me that he’s looking for,” he sighs. “Take me to him.”

She’s hard to follow in the crowd of people. Shorter than most and extremely quick. But she links his arm with hers and practically drags him back towards the bathrooms. And there he is, Steve Harrington with his hands on his hips, a furrow to his brow, mouth thin-lined. “Eddie,” Steve greets. He smiles, though it’s not all that sweet, but kind enough for this stranger that had to shepherd Eddie. The girl leaves them. And Steve steps closer to Eddie, crosses his arms over his chest, and then has the gall to snort. He raises a hand and plucks at Eddie’s t-shirt, directly on the word: ‘Found’. “Looks like my stupid t-shirt worked,” he snarks. The sass to this guy is unbelievable.

“Yeah, har har, laugh it up,” Eddie says dryly. “Maybe you don’t want the little gift I got for you.”

Steve perks up. Eyes glowing with curiosity. “What’d you get?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and smirks. Digs into his bag and flaunts the hat. “Saw it at a D&D booth, surprisingly. Probably would’ve been something we walked by, had I not…wandered.” He steps a little closer into Steve’s space, sets the hat on top of his head, and nods in approval. “Think that this purchase was a success. You look dashing, Mr. Jones.”

In a flurry of movement, Steve snatches the hat from off the top of his head. Gaping at it. “Eds,” he breathes, “this is so fucking cool.” He places it back where it was, pulling it tight to his hairline, and grins brightly. “Thank you, but also please don’t leave me alone here,” he says, “I got worried.”

“Sorry,” Eddie murmurs sheepishly. “Just thought about how excited you’d be about the hat and couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again, promise.”

Steve chuckles. “I know it will, but that’s what the stupid shirts are for. Anyway…Can we go look at the Lego set-up that we passed by in hall E? I think I saw a spaceship and—“

“Lead the way, Indy.” He might have to buy his own shirts with how Steve bounds away from him.

——— 2. “If…Lost?!” Eddie exclaims. “Steve, what the fuck? Why—How—Where the hell are you getting these t-shirts?” He asks. They’re at Steve’s house, getting ready for a day trip in Chicago. And, sure, Eddie’s never been in his life. Doesn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand. Maybe Steve does know more about where they’re going, but that doesn’t change just how ridiculous this shirt is. How it glares at him in the bathroom mirror.

Steve sidles up next to him. His t-shirt the same as the one from the convention. He wraps an arm around Eddie’s waist. Rests his head on his shoulder. “I have my ways,” he states ominously. “And, again, I know you. Your sense of direction is practically non-existent. You can’t deny that, baby. The only reason you found Skull Rock is because you stumbled upon it.”

“I was on the run, couldn’t exactly look at a map,” he grumbles. “But do we have to—“

“Yes,” Steve sighs. “Now, can you come out to the car with me? I’m ready to go.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but does as he’s asked. Sits in the passenger seat. Shuffles through the radio stations. Teases Steve for his taste in tapes. But then they’re parking, getting out, walking around the city.

He follows Steve…for a while. Into a record shop. In the back of a diner, playing footsie under the table. Then he goes down a side street. Following a guy in a white t-shirt, hair high on his head, Adidas sneakers on his feet. However, the guy turns slightly. And…that’s not Steve. Eddie’s not sure how long he’s been following this stranger, or when he started, or from where he started from. Tries to rake through his brain to the last time he heard Steve talk about the street they were originally on, but there’s nothing. The words and names escape him.

He’s stranded in a city he’s never been to. Down a street he should’ve never come across. Wearing the most humiliating t-shirt known to mankind. Somewhere, again he’s not sure, behind him Steve is probably standing by some shop entrance, hands on his hips and a scowl perfectly framed on his face. And Eddie can’t help but panic. Standing with his back against the nearest wall. Breathing through his mouth like he’s about to beef it on the sidewalk. Eyes darting over and under and left and right. Trying to find semblance of normal, any little speckle of Steve. Something.

It’s not until he’s nearly sick to his stomach, churning and flipping and knotting, that a different stranger makes their presence known. They gently invade his space. Voice soft as they notice his panic. “Hey man, are you Eddie?” They ask. He nods way too quick, but sidelines the blur to his vision because talking to this stranger seems hopeful. Especially since they know his name. “Okay, cool,” the stranger mutters, “I ran into your…friend. Steve was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I spotted him, said he couldn’t find you, but didn’t know where to look. So I volunteered to find you. And—well—judging by your shirt, I can gladly and safely reunite you guys. If you…If you wanna follow me.”

“Please,” Eddie murmurs, “I don’t know where I am.”

The trip back to Steve is arduous. Through crowds of people and past noisy cars. Bustling shops and the waft of various seasonings from a number of restaurants. But sure enough, Steve is on some precipice. His hair a mess and face pinched nervously. Then, he spots Eddie. Eyes lighting, clearing and glistening. A look of ‘I want to touch, but know I can’t.’

When he sidles up next to Steve after the stranger leaves, he carefully joins their hands. “I followed a complete stranger for probably thirty minutes,” Eddie admits, whispering. “His hair looked similar. And he was also wearing a white t-shirt. I got so scared, Steve.”

“Well, at least our stupid shirts worked again, right?” Steve asks, breathless and still verging breakdown.

Eddie squeezes their hands. “Can we go home, please? This is gonna sound crazy, but I think I prefer middle of nowhere Hawkins. At least I know where everything is.”

Steve nods rapidly. “I need to touch you in ways I can’t right now. Let’s go.” And then he tugs their hands, pulling them along sidewalks and through groups of people, down a couple side streets. It’s partially worth it, in the end. Definitely with the way Eddie’s skin is now decorated with Steve’s love, sticky and warm with it, too.

——— 3. The shirts end up following them to the Indiana State Fair.

Steve stops them at the front entrance, right after the ticket booth, and makes Eddie face him. “Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice low and near demanding. “If I turn my back for a second and you are gone, I will lose my absolute shit. Got it? Do not make me have to keep a rope tied to your belt loop.”

Eddie groans. “I get it, Steve. Can we at least try and enjoy ourselves?”

And they do for the most part. Steve plays at a few game stalls. Eddie carries the prizes. Their legs interlock underneath a picnic table, sharing greasy funnel cake and way too sour lemonade freezes. They watch a few performers, pet some fair animals, judge prized pigs like they know what they’re doing.

But then the ferris wheel comes up and Eddie sees an opportunity already forming. Like dots connecting or the stars aligning. He wants to drag Steve through the line and sit with him in one of the seats, wait for the wheel to stop at just the right height, and kiss him as the lights dim low and the darkness of the sky envelops them. Though, because he always misses a few steps in his plans, he doesn’t tell Steve that they’re going to the ferris wheel. Just starts walking. Shoving past other couples and accidentally sidelining a couple kids. He sneaks around large families. Maybe bribes a few people to let up on the ride’s queue.

Then, Eddie turns to his left. Where Steve is.

Or…Where Steve should have been.

“Shit,” Eddie spits. “Steve?” He calls over his shoulder. Frantically, he whips around in line. Eyes wide over people’s heads. Shoving them out of the way, albeit a little rough. Spreads the line into two little rows. But he comes up unsuccessful.

Until, right on cue, a stranger is tapping on his shoulder. Instead of letting them go into their whole spiel, he just sighs defeated, “Take me to him.”

There are no words exchanged. Not when Eddie follows behind, head bowed to the ground, dragging his feet like a petulant child. And then he stops where he sees Steve’s shoes, the bright blue Adidas sneakers he’d recognize anywhere.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Thought you were with me.”

Steve just sighs. Something kind of disappointed that shrivels Eddie slightly. “Where’d you even go?” Steve calmly asks.

Eddie finally looks to him, his eyes pleading. “The ferris wheel, but…But! In my defense, I thought you were with me. And I was going to get us a seat on the ride. Was gonna wait until it got up to the highest point and do something cheesy like kiss you…or blow you, whatever. But I—“

“Why didn’t you just ask me, Eds?” Steve laughs with his full body, deep from within his stomach. “We can do that, babe. All you gotta do is ask, y’know?”

“I didn’t think—“

“I know you didn’t,” Steve teases. “Seems like my stupid t-shirt idea worked again. That’s three times, you dork.” Eddie can only groan. He knows that he has a bad habit of wandering, doesn’t mean that the idea is any less annoying or dumb. “Come on, Eds. Stop throwing a fit. Let’s do your thing.”

“You sure?”

“Eddie, if you don’t kiss or blow me on that ferris wheel, I’m banning D&D at my place for a month. Let’s go.”

When they get off and start walking back to the car, Steve tugs on the back of Eddie’s jeans. He yelps, startled, but quickly shuts his mouth when he’s faced with a stern look. “You know what I just remembered?” Steve asks him. There’s mirth in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t trust this at all. “Earlier, when I was telling you about wandering, I mentioned maybe tethering you to a rope. I might have to do that. Since you can’t behave.”

Eddie heats from the inside out. A coil tightens in his stomach. “You couldn’t even if you tried,” he bites back.

Later, he finds out, Steve is exceptional with rope. What a fucking boy scout.

——— +1 The Mall of America didn’t earn its title for nothing. The place was huge, that much Eddie could discern. Which made perfect sense when buying the new and improved: ‘If found, return to…’ shirts. However, this time, it was Steve with ‘If Found’ t-shirt.

At first, Steve didn’t know how to feel about the new shirts. Simply because he didn’t seem to see a reason for why he’d get lost or wander or be found in any capacity. But given the surprise Eddie had for him, the reason definitely fit the bill.

What Steve didn’t know, that Eddie one hundred percent knew, was that a Lego store was opening up at the mall. Or, has been opened at the mall. It was the perfect time for a little road trip. A little Fall of 1992 trip to Minnesota. Driving by trees and such. Parking in the Mall of America’s lot. Figuring out what stores to hit first, what food they wanted to eat, where the bathrooms were located. Typical day out sort of things.

However, one moment Steve was with him and the next…Eddie was scouring the food court for his fiancé. Trying not to throw up the meager lunch he just had. Swallowing down panic after panic after panic that rose in his chest like tsunami waves. This place was too big for either of them to wander or get lost or have a mind of their own. Not with the way they impulsively purchases things, an awful habit they both exuded—today is the worst day to do just that.

Which leads him to tapping on the shoulder of a guy around his age. Who’s carrying two large yellow Lego bags. Just sitting back in one of the food court chairs, minding his own business. Until, he whips around to find Eddie startled and red faced. “Uh…Can I help you, man?” The stranger greets.

“Sorry, hi,” Eddie says. “I just—You look like somebody who can maybe help me. I’m looking for my…friend, his name is Steve. Uh—White, around my height, dirty blonde hair. He’s wearing a pair of near skin tight Levi jeans, light wash and a white t-shirt that matches mine. Except, his says ‘If found, return to Eddie’. I’m Eddie, by the way. Anyway—Uh, you probably just came from the Lego store, yeah?”

“Sure,” the guy says, completely unsure of this interaction. “Why do you need to know—“

“So you can like lead me there? I’ve never been there. And like he’s really obsessed with those damn sets and like that’s really cool or whatever, but I need to know where he is because we’re from out of town and I have no fucking clue what I’m doing in this mall or where to—“

“Alright, dude, calm down,” guy placates. “We’ll find your friend. Just…That store is pretty fucking busy. Really popular, you know? I’ll take you there, but with how panicked you are, it would be best if you waited by the entrance of the store. Is that…”

“That’s perfectly fine to me!” Eddie nearly shouts. 

He follows on this person’s heels. Bobbing and weaving through crowds of other over-consumers. Maybe shoving a few of them out of the way just so he can stay with that guy. But eventually, they make it to the outside of the rather precarious Lego store. Its yellow storefront nauseating to Eddie. Almost—Genuinely frustrating him beyond belief. And he sees Steve. Standing near the back of the store. Staring up at one of the shelves, but he lets the stranger he found grab Steve for him. Because no way in hell is Eddie going to survive being swallowed up by the awfully large crowd swamping the store.

Steve emerges from the crowd, a bit offended and a lot upended. But then has the gall to appear sheepish when he’s led directly to Eddie. With a nod and a tight smile, Eddie waves the stranger off. Almost wants to run back and get his name, send him a thank you card from the Hallmark store he saw on their way there.

He turns to face Steve, though. Leans them into the wall. “Jesus, Steve,” Eddie groans. “Is this what you put up with?”

“Is what—“

“The fucking panic? The—The whirling around and checking in the weird obscure places? Tapping on stranger’s shoulders only to see if they have a single goddamn idea where anything is…ever? Like—“ He sighs. “I thought that I’d never find you, Steve! You could’a at least told me you were going to go somewhere on your own. Maybe give me an idea of where you’re going?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, so now that’s important to you?” He petulantly mutters. “Can’t go off and have fun without being pestered—“

“I’m not pestering, Steve!” Eddie grits. “I’m being concerned! I’m—You scared me,” he admits quietly. “And you ruined my surprise.”

“Ruined?” Steve echoes, confused. “What do you…oh. Oh. I—“ Then, Steve looks down to the floor. Eyes ashamed and arms tight to his body. “I didn’t…I was just excited, I’m sorry. The store was on the directory when we first came in and I like—“ He chuckles a little bit, loosening up. “—I fucking memorized where to go. What path to take. Because I just really wanted to look in there. They’ve got—Eddie, they have this one set in there, it’s a freaking spaceship and it’s called the…The Galactic Meditator or something? I can’t—That doesn’t matter,” he rambles. Takes a deep breath and pushes himself tighter into Eddie’s space. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmurs, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eddie gives a single nod. Closes his eyes and staves off the rest of his panic and anger. He’d be a hypocrite if he lashed out right now. He knows that. And, honestly, seeing Steve geek out about toys…of all things…is kind of endearing. Maybe even doing something for Eddie.

He puts on his best smile, something genuine and pulled from within him. “It’s alright,” he whispers. “I—I should’ve known that you were going to come over here.”

“I mean, you did a little bit, right? Had to find somebody that led you here?”

“You got me,” Eddie breathes. “Y’know all my tricks.”

Steve hums beside him. “I’m actually sorry, though, that I ruined the surprise you had in mind. This is a pretty cool thing.”

Eddie smirks. “Steve Harrington admitting to a geek thing being cool…When did the tables turn?” He teases. “Seems like God has heard my prayers,” he jests. With a quick sneaky look around, he grabs Steve’s hand. Squeezes firmly and exhales the last bit of his panicked nerves. “Does my fiancé want to…Oh, I don’t know…Get a Lego set?”

The hand in his tightens with a harsh, unbelieving amount of strength. He almost winces. “Really?” Steve asks, perking up. If he had a tail, it would most definitely be wagging. “Can we actually? I really want that one that I found in there, the uh…Galactic whatever it was called. I’m bad at the names, which is weird because I’ve been building these sets for a while, but I always seem to get the names wrong and I—“ Eddie interrupts with a squeeze to his hand again, a smile bright and plastered to his face. “Sorry,” Steve sheepishly says, “Let’s go in there. I can show you and maybe…you can get one of your own?”

“Lead the way, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against Steve’s cheek, leaving a very chaste but all the same kiss there.

The panic was worth it in the end. Because watching Steve in his element, nerd-ing over toys and how to best put them together, really makes Eddie’s chest warm. In a way that tells him he’d put up with wandering all his life, if only to get Steve to smile the way he does when proudly displaying his new spaceship.

👕—————👕

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