#okay i go sleep now because I gotta be up and about in four hours

[butterfilledpockets]

the dude-dles

(some warmup doodles of the B.E.N.T)

↓full page ↓

this shitheads own the only hammer capable of shattering my art block

[1pepsiboy]

Falling Asleep on the Vlog - Matt Sturniolo Fluff (request)

Matt Sturniolo x reader!

Word count: 842

POV: Third (y/n)

Warnings: nothing except caring boyfriend Matt

***

Chris and Nick are ahead of you and Matt as you all piled into the house. Nick held the camera as they continued to record. The four of you went to get the new baja blast flavor from Taco Bell. Mostly for Chris since it was his idea after he saw an ad for it. Of course, there was also a party box of tacos that came home too. 

It was a long day at work for you. There were so many (rude) customers that you dealt with, and you helped with unloading the inventory that arrived. You only agreed to leave the house because Matt had to drive and you didn’t want to be alone. Being in the vlog?… That you were even less thrilled about since you looked like an absolute disaster. And your mood was not particularly cheerful. 

But coming over to the house always played the game of are they recording now or no? Matt was usually pretty good about giving you a heads up. He forgot to do it this time, but you couldn’t put all the blame on him. It was just part of the deal with dating him and being around their work. 

You reach the top of the stairs and Matt carefully starts to lead you toward the kitchen. You let go of Matt and your lightly laced fingers. Immediately, he turns around with puppy dog eyes. The scruff he had actually somehow made it cuter and more heartbreaking. 

“Where are you going?” His voice was so soft and only loud enough for you to hear. 

“No where, just want to chill on the couch till you're done.” You shoot him a small smile. 

This only makes slight concern cross his face and he steps in closer to you. “Is everything okay?”

You kiss him on the cheek. “Yeah, work was a lot today and I’m just tired.” 

“What happened? Your manager didn’t shit on you again, did they?”

Up to this point, you had been putting up a smoke screen, holding it together for your boyfriend and his brothers so they could get content. Without warning for either of you, tears welled up and slipped down your cheeks. 

“I do s-so much… I put up with a lot from customers… no one asks i-if I’m okay.”

Matt engulfed you in a tight bear hug and stroked your hair. He whispered into your ear, “Sssh, babe. I am and always will.”

After what felt like minutes of Matt soothing you, rather than leaving you by yourself he talks to Nick and Chris over his shoulder. You tried not to listen too closely. You only focused on the peaceful rhythm of his heartbeat in his chest.

He let go of his warm hug and you couldn’t help whimpering. “Babe…”

“I’m sorry, I just gotta do this one part. I’ll be over right after, promise.” He kissed your temple and gestured to the couch. 

Reluctantly, you slipped into the background on the couch. It felt like they were talking about the new drink and whatever else for hours. Matt was constantly checking in on you, and it would be obvious to the fans that something was off. Hopefully Nick could magically edit out a majority of the off screen glances. 

The slight breakdown and lull of scrolling through your phone made your eyelids heavy. You managed to pull the closest blanket over you to curl up in. A little while after closing your eyes, you felt arms pick you up and then both of you lowered onto the couch again. 

“What?” you groaned, a light yawn escaping. “What’s going on?”

Matt giggled. “You fell asleep, babe.”

“Oh…” 

Your head fell on his shoulder as Matt’s arms wrapped around your body acting like a shield. Matt kissed the top of your forehead then he rested his head on top of yours. Your eyes immediately tug close again, it was hard to fight off the prickling sleep. 

“You guys are disgustingly cute,” Nick commented. 

Chris aimed the camera at the two of you. “Goodnight campers!”

“Ew.” Nick scrunched his nose. “No, that was reserved for the podcast only. Don’t do that.”

“Well, now that’s over, we should start using it in the vlogs,” Chris bartered. 

Nick shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“What? Why not? Come on! They love it!”

Matt flipped them off. “Ssh! End the vlog over there. Please?”

Chris jutted out his bottom lip. “Aww, Nick, he said pwease.”

Nick rolled his eyes, but then babied, “Aren’t you such a good boyfriend, Matty? Cuddling with (y/n) and defending her from us.” He reached over to ruffle his hair. 

Matt swatted his hand away with one hand, attempting to not disturb you. “Yeah? This is why I’m the only one not single.” 

“Oh, I’m single by choice,” Nick threw back quickly. 

“Me too,” Chris agreed. 

Matt rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread on your lips and you snuggled more into Matt, fueling more of the fire between them. 

[love-quinn]

— CALL TIME

summary — a games shoot with your boyfriend mid-fight isn’t something that’s particularly appealing. but, in an effort to keep up appearances, you inadvertently find out the reason you’re fighting.

warnings — none

pairing — spencer agnew x fem!reader

pronouns — none (you/yours), reader is referred to explicitly as spencer’s girlfriend

featuring — spencer agnew, shayne topp, angela giarratana, courtney miller, alex tran, kortney luby (mentioned)

word count — 3.4k

note — honestly still trying to figure out what i’m doing here, but i guess i write for smosh now?? i hope you enjoy anyway <33

Shoot weeks were always stressful. They resulted in 12 hour days, sometimes you had multiple shoots back to back and you didn’t get a break. A lot of the time, you’d scarf down Uber Eats at your desk while looking over two different scripts, four emails and the shoot schedule and realising that you’re probably not going to get a whole lot of sleep that night.

Your boyfriend was in the same boat, though. Not only was he often on camera, he was also directing all of the smosh games productions. A lot of the time while you were devouring a subway over your desk, Spencer was right there beside you, the two of you chatting idly about whether or not either of you thought that you would have the time or the energy to see each other outside of work that week.

The two of you had been dating privately for a little over a year, everyone at the office knew but you hadn’t announced anything publicly yet. Neither of you had any interest in it, to be perfectly honest. Your audience knew the two of you were close, you’d occasionally post photos of the two of you out at dinner together or at the movies or something, plus you’d run into fans quite a few times. But also, Spencer hung out in public more with Alex than he did with you, so people didn’t tend to take it to a romantic place.

During lunch on the Thursday of a shoot week would usually involve the two of you sitting tiredly in the open office area, your head on his shoulder while he showed you a video of something. You relished any opportunity to spend time together during shoot weeks, because you both really would just leave work, pass out and then go back to work.

This particular Thursday, though, you were alone at your table. Not alone, Shayne and Angela were there, the three of you engaged in random chatter. People filed in and out, working crew trying to eat quickly so they could get back to their spot on set and prepare for the next shoot, crew that wasn’t working sets that day still having a lot to get done behind the scenes. A few people had come and left your table but none of them touched the seat beside yours, knowing that Spencer would inevitably arrive and want to sit beside you.

He wasn’t coming, though, and you knew that.

You and Spencer both really valued communication, and you were normally really good at it. But with how exhausted you both were, neither of you had the energy to have an argument lately. You’d gone two full days without speaking unless completely necessary. Your last text from him had been from the morning earlier; We need two, not one. It had been about batteries, you’d been sent on a run to the supply closet for an extra one.

You hadn’t even been aware of how it started. One night he’d been kissing your temple in the parking lot, preparing to go back to his apartment while you went back to yours and the next morning you barely spoke.

You couldn’t even corner him about it at work. You’d tried to approach him in the kitchen, assuming he’d just been too busy to text you or stop by your desk like he usually did in the mornings. “You okay?” You’d asked him gently, hand on his arm gently.

He’d given you a pinched smile, “Yeah, babe.” He turned back to the fridge, shutting it stiffly. “I gotta go, call time’s in ten and I need to talk to Alex about the Games video we shot last night.”

You’d stood there in the office kitchen as he walked away. He didn’t approach you the rest of the day, but you had been on the same set for a few hours.

No text that night, no kiss in the parking lot as you parted ways, not even a dumb tweet he thought you’d like. Hell, he hadn’t even messaged you on Slack.

Shayne watched you eat with his eyebrows raised. “You okay? You’ve been quiet all morning.”

You looked up to see both Shayne and Angela looking at you. You hadn’t even realised the conversation had dropped off. “Oh, uh.” You shook your head, more at yourself than at them. “Yeah, it’s fine. Just one of those weeks, y’know.”

“It’s almost over,” Angela rubbed your arm sympathetically. “Just today and tomorrow and then it’s the weekend. Do you have much on this afternoon?”

You had to pull out your phone to check your schedule. You had two more shoots for the day but they were spread out so you were still gonna be at work for quite a while. Maybe you could take a nap in the green room between shows. “Yeah, I’m doing You Posted That? and then we’re playing whatever game or something tonight.” You rubbed your eyes.

“Hey, tomorrow you only have TNTL and then reddit,” Shayne said encouragingly. “Early afternoon. Go home and get some rest, you look rough, dude.” It was all said with love, so you just grimaced up at him.

“Okay, can I tell you guys something in confidence?”

Both of them immediately nodded, abandoning their forks.

“I think Spencer’s avoiding me,” you admitted softly.

Shayne and Angela were probably two of your closest working friends. The three of you often sat in the back of groups and giggled together like you were ten. When you’d first started working at Smosh, you’d been somewhat awkward around your castmates when you weren’t filming. You guys made each other laugh but you weren’t sure whether or not they actually liked you or if they just laughed along with you on camera to avoid awkwardness. That hadn’t lasted long, though, and now you felt like you could actually have serious conversations with people.

“I was wondering why he wasn’t here,” Angela admitted. “Usually I can never get you alone at lunch, I have so many TikToks I wanna show you.”

You shrugged. “He’s been weird for a couple of days now, like, look at this.” You pulled out your phone and showed them your text history or now lack thereof. Shayne saw the one message from the past three days and his eyebrows raised higher.

“And you’ve tried talking to him about it?”

You nodded, locking your phone and putting it on the table. “He basically ran out of the kitchen when I asked him if everything was okay. By the time I was done for the day he was already at home, he usually stops by my desk if he’s leaving earlier than I am. I wasn’t in a shoot or anything.”

Angela slackened, leaning against her elbows on the desk and looking up at you with a frown on her face. “That’s definitely weird, yeah. Yeah, no, that’s weird. You guys didn’t argue about anything or anything?”

You shook your head, fidgeting with your nails. “Monday everything was normal, now I’m here.”

Your phone buzzed with your alarm that you’d set, you had fifteen minutes until your call time for the next shoot. You’d mostly finished eating but you picked up your fork again and poked at the remaining food on your plate. “And like, I don’t know. I’m not spiralling, like I know that he loves me and everything and I don’t think we’re on the brink of breaking up or anything, I just have no idea what’s going on.”

Angela reached over and squeezed your wrist. “Anything I can do? I won’t do anything unless you tell me too, obviously, but I can talk to him about it if you want?”

You let out a puff of air and shook your head. “No, but thank you for the offer.” You stood, taking your little container of food to drop it back off at your desk before you went to set. “I’ll see you guys later? Thank you for letting me talk.”

“Of course, babe.”

“Yeah,” Shayne said genuinely. “Let either of us know if we can help?”

You moved through the next few hours as best you could, putting on your most entertaining face for the camera. You didn’t win the game but you also hadn’t embarrassed yourself a supreme amount, so you took it as a win. By the time you had to be on set for your final shoot of the game, you’d had a coffee and you were ready to head home. You didn’t let being tired stop you, you were still bright and smiley, the way the audience was used to seeing you.

You definitely regretted not reading the call sheet beyond your own call time, though, because Spencer was sitting at the table on his phone.

You didn’t know whether you were allowed to sit beside him. You wanted to, and you were sure that he wouldn’t get angry with you, but would it make the experience awkward?

You pretended to go back to your desk for something, hoping that at least one other person would be at the table before you had to sit down. This was why you never showed up anywhere early.

By the time you got back, your prayers had been answered and Courtney and Shayne had taken the two seats on either side of him. You slid on the other end of the table, across from Shayne, who smiled encouragingly at you.

“Hi!” You hadn’t seen Courtney all day and she smiled widely at you. “I tried that recipe you sent me last night and I think I’ve decided that I want to marry you.”

“Aw man,” Shane put a hand on his forehead, shaking his head as he glared at the table. “Didn’t even get a year in, I owe Damien twenty bucks.”

“Oh my god, wait, we’re kinda on a cute little double date right now,” Courtney giggled. “Look at us go.”

Courtney hadn’t been present at the table during lunch, but they could definitely tell that something was going on between you and Spencer, if only from the fact that he hadn’t already leaned behind her to tell you a joke that only you would find funny.

She waited until Spencer and Shayne got up to be mic’d to turn to you, voice hushed. “You okay?”

You rehashed the story as quickly and quietly as you could and she frowned. “I was wondering why he came and ate at my desk but I just assumed you were busy or something. That’s weird. It’s not gonna make the video weird is it?”

“No,” you assured them. “We’re adults, and as far as I know, we’re still together,” you’d said the last part jokingly. You were adults, you wouldn’t have broken up over something like this, not without a lot of discussion first, but you still had no idea why he was basically giving you the silent treatment.

“Alright, guys,” Alex called out and Spencer slid back into his chair. He shot you a smile and you returned it while Alex outlined who was giving the intro, how many points you needed to win, etc, things that you didn’t necessarily think about until you were doing them on camera. “And we’re rolling in three…”

Shayne started talking to the camera and you fidgeted under the desk. You really enjoyed filming for Smosh Games, it was probably your favourite channel to film for. But also, it was hard to enjoy a board game when you were on four different cameras. You’d have to talk to Kortney to make sure you didn’t look completely tired and bummed out the entire time in the final cut.

You managed to get through the first few rounds okay, making the group laugh a few times and getting a few moments that would make the video. It had started when someone made a dumb joke, some sort of thing about a really sophisticated cat or something, and Spencer had bounced off it. “Yeah, my neighbour across the hall is like, moving in with their partner or something, and I ran into them in the hallway a couple of days ago and offered to help with a box they were kinda struggling with and the box was just labeled ‘Lemons,’” The whole table giggled at that, trying to figure out where he was going with it. “And I was like… “Okay, this person has a thing for lemons I guess?” but then I go into their apartment and I find out that they apparently both had cats, right? And so my neighbour had a cat and now their partner’s cat is also moving in. Apparently both of the cats are called Lemons!”

That really got Courtney, their head getting thrown back as she laughed. “No way!”

“They’re soulmates, dude,” Shayne nodded.

Spencer looked over at you, path completely clear now that Courtney had scooted her chair back. You knew the one of Spencer’s neighbours that he was referring to, he’d told you the story as the two of you walked to your cars the afternoon after it happened.

“Would that be something that you were interested in?” He’d asked after a second, taking out his keys with the hand that wasn’t holding yours.

You liked cats, but your apartment didn’t allow them, and you also didn’t know if you really had the energy or the time to deal with a pet right now. You shook your head. “Not really, I’m fine solo over there,” you’d said.

Spencer had nodded and kissed your temple, right beside your eye on the side of your face. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’d said in a low voice.

Spencer, at the games table, seemed to watch you have the realisation in real time. Your eyes had drifted back to the table in thought for a second and they came back up to lock with his. You looked a lot more resolute than you had before, and he was a little bit nervous.

He hadn’t been ignoring you to be immature, it had been honestly wanting to back off so as to not make you uncomfortable. He’d tried to take a step and you hadn’t wanted to, and he respected that. But he also didn’t know if what he had previously been doing was also what you wanted, so he was trying to just get to the weekend when he knew you’d be feeling better enough to maybe have a full conversation about where the two of you were at. You’d celebrated your one year anniversary two months earlier, he saw a future with you. He’d been confident that you felt the same way, you showed him consistently, but now he was worried he’d overstepped in ways he hadn’t realised. He’d thought you’d have said yes, maybe he was wrong about other things as well.

Your eyes were soft as they met his, flicking away to listen to Shayne talk. You weren’t having this conversation in the middle of the shoot. He turned to listen as well, but the two of you had both relaxed in the shoulders slightly, hoping that maybe by the end of the night you’d be on the same page.

The shoot wrapped up pretty quick with Courtney sweeping the game. You were the one to run through the ending spiel, like, subscribe, all that stuff. Once Alex finally called cut, Spencer was quick to lean over and murmur. “I gotta talk to Alex really quick about some stuff, I’ll be ten minutes max.”

You nodded at him and he practically ran to Alex, opening up his bag and pulling out a folder of something probably important. Shayne and Courtney watched the interaction. “Guess he’s not avoiding you anymore?”

“I realised what happened literally in the middle of filming,” you sighed, rubbing your face. “Oh my god, I’m so stupid.” You had to laugh, it was silly.

“He asked me to move in with him earlier this week. I said no because I thought he was asking if I wanted to get a cat.”

Both Shayne and Courtney also had to laugh. “No, that’s so dumb, I’m sorry,” Courtney put her forehead on your shoulder as a sign of support for a second before lifting it up. “At least it’s something you can fix easily.”

“Yeah,” Shayne nudged you. “You’ll be fine. You got this,”

You nodded, more just relieved that you’d figured out the problem so you could solve it. You knew Spencer hadn’t intentionally kept it from you, he’d thought you’d known this whole time. Spencer still didn’t know that you were unaware of your rejection, he’d just seen the love-filled look you’d given him and assumed that meant you still wanted to see him.

Shayne and Courtney packed their stuff up and headed off, not without both giving you an equally cheesy thumbs-up as they walked through the door. Spencer and Alex were both still nodding seriously at whatever piece of paper they were looking at, but they both smiled at you as you left to go back towards your desk.

You grabbed all your stuff and then stood outside the pod for a little while, dragging the toe of your shoes across the concrete flooring as you waited for your boyfriend. “Hi,” his voice was quiet but not awkward as he approached you from behind.

You didn’t wait, you wrapped your arms around his neck and he hugged you back with no hesitation. “I love you,” you mumbled into his neck.

“I love you too,” he replied immediately. “You okay?”

You nodded, pulling back just enough that he could see your face. “Yes, just stupid, I think.”

He laughed, ducking his head. “Yeah you are pretty dumb, aren’t you?” You pushed him off you and he took your hand, the two of you heading outside to your cars. “What specifically led you to this discovery?”

You squeezed his hand and stopped walking, pulling him off to the side so you weren’t standing in the middle of the road, coming to a stop in front of his car. “I thought you were asking if I wanted a cat.” You explained. “Last weekend, you asked ‘do you want to do that?’ and I thought you were talking about me getting a cat.”

He just smiled, still looking slightly confused. You squeezed his hand again and it hit him that time. “Oh! No, no, that’s not… no, I wasn’t asking if you wanted a cat.”

You nodded as if that was obvious. “No, I know that now.”

“No, that’s on me I asked it super vaguely,” he reasoned, swinging your joined arms slightly. “I thought you were saying no and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t like, smothering you or whatever. I didn’t want you to think that you not wanting to move in with me was going to make me super clingy or something.”

“Not at all,” you replied honestly. “In fact, you’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me. If we’re living together I’m gonna be all over you like grease on those weird pans you have. We’re throwing them out by the way, I refuse to cook with those things.”

He laughed loudly, it almost echoing around the small parking lot. “They might not be non-stick but at least I don’t burn my hand on them every week like I do with yours.” His eyes were filled with a comfortable happiness behind his glasses as your hands still swung. “Wait,” he stopped you. “Does this mean you want to move in with me?”

You didn’t even bother teasing him that time. “I would love to,” you said honestly. “But seriously, you can keep the pans. I won't make you get rid of them, but I can not use them.”

He groaned, looking at the ground as his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re the worst girlfriend ever.”

“I have a perfectly good apartment, you know.”

“No, you already agreed,” he pulled you in and pressed his lips to yours for the first time in what had literally been days. “You’re moving in with me and my weird pans.” You didn’t even bother replying to that, instead kissing him again slowly. He let you. You were overdue for one anyway.

[peachesofteal]

I love me some angst and this baby trapped au is sustaining me!! But I gotta ask… what happens if darling just haves the baby then up and leaves in the middle of night?? Leaving Simon and Johnny to raise this baby they forced on her?? Or even worse (and forgive me for this) she dies in childbirth and then they finally have their baby but no darling…. They’re probably having some regrets about lying to her lol

This au has invaded my life and I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m hooked ❤️🪝

SEEK HELP. But don't, because I love you. And this.

Baby trap au / Darling left after discovering her tampered birth control 18+ Mature themes. Character death. Childbirth. Hurt absolutely no comfort.

It starts with the twinge in the lower part of your belly, off to the left side. You had woken up with it, on top of your usual sore back and stiff muscles, the everyday occurrences that seemed plague you consistently since the start of your third trimester. You were always hot, always tired, always crampy, grumpy, and generally... miserable.

You didn't mean to be, but being pregnant was a hardship in so many ways, and being pregnant with no one to help you, was even harder. It took its toll. Emotionally. Mentally. Physically. And now, by the ninth month... you were just so ready to be done with it.

You hadn't seen or talked to the guys since the day you walked out, the day you found that fucked up piece of foil, the day you realized what they did, and you left. You hated them for it. Hated them, for taking away your choice. Hated them, for trying to control your body. Hated them, for removing your autonomy.

At night, when you laid down to sleep, it was impossible not to feel other things, the longing, the loneliness, the love, that still lived in your heart for them, against all odds, the ache of missing them growing in your soul as your baby grew each month.

You were in an impossible situation. One you didn't know what do with it.

But today, you were preoccupied with the twinge. The twinge, that had bloomed into a full spasm of muscles across your belly, the twinge that had your boss insisting you go to hospital as soon as possible.

"Let us call an ambulance. I've had four kids! I know labor when I see it." She had hemmed and hawed while you told her it wasn't necessary, that you weren't even in active labor yet, and that you still felt totally okay.

"I'm fine." you had reassured her. "Walking is good for labor right? I'm just going to walk the three blocks and be fine."

Six hours later, you're in a bed with your legs in a pair of stirrups with a nurse by your side, holding your hand as your contractions get closer and closer, your body seizing and cramping with pain through each one, the sting getting worse and worse as the minutes tick on.

You're doing this. You're having a baby. Alone.

The realization shocks you, startles you into a moment of weird, zen like reflection, like everything is moving in slow motion around you, like nothing is progressing as you think about the fact that the guys aren't actually here, that you never did call them, that you never did tell them that you wanted to forgive them one day. That you wanted to talk to them. See them again.

That you wanted them to be here with you, for this, to see the birth of their daughter.

Another contraction rips through you and steals your breath, and you faintly hear the nurse telling you breathe while your body locks up in unmeasurable pain. Something prods between you legs, and then there's a voice saying you're fully dilated, and ready to push.

Ready? Now?

No. No... you can't. It's too fast. They're not here. They need to be here. You have to call them.

"Oh sweetheart, don't cry." The nurse speaks softly to you, but you can't help it. You want them. They were supposed to be here. They were supposed to be ones holding your hand, helping you, cutting the cord.

"We're going to push on the next contraction, okay?" Your doctor tells you, but you shake your head vehemently.

"No. I want my partners." you sob, and your nurse makes a sympathetic noise, while stroking some hair out of your face.

"You have to push." The nurse encourages, and pain streaks across your belly, sharp and insistent, forcing you to gasp for more air. "Ready? Push!" She tries to coach you, but you can't do it, can't even move, your body just writhing through the pain as your head spins and you pant. Your doctor says your name, kindly but somewhat stern after the contraction passes, and you moan.

"This baby is coming. You have to push." She says, and you know she's right, but you just can't get there in your mind, unable to consider the idea of her being born without Johnny or Simon being here.

"I want them." you sob, another spasm ripping through your body, forcing you to curl forward with an anguished shout. The nurse blots a cool, damp cloth against your head, while someone else on your other side adjusts your bed. There are people everywhere, all moving around in flurry, except for the doctor who's settling between your legs, eyes locking onto yours above your mask.

"There's no time dear." She says, and when you look up into your nurse's face, she seems sincere, encouraging and sweet, but you don't care. You want Johnny. You want Simon.

"P-please." You moan. "My phone- the passcode is 6669." The numbers come as a grunt when another contraction pulses through you. It's awful, burning, biting pain that shreds your belly, the muscles in your thighs, your back, everywhere, and you scream through it, while the two nurses on either side of you fold your legs back and the doctor coaches you to push.

"I can't!" You really can't. You can't do this without them. You don't even care about what they did anymore. You don't want to do this without them. They have to be here. "I can't, I ca-can't. Please, call Johnny. Or, or Simon." You pant, and eye the nervous looking aide that stands behind one of the nurses. "Call them!" You shout, and your sweet nurse gives him a nod, urging him into action as he fumbles with your phone and steps outside.

"Okay sweetheart. We're calling them, okay? But you have to push. Your body is ready." You shake your head, but you know she's right. You can feel your body bearing down, your muscles working inside of you, everything aligning so that you can have this baby.

It fills you with fear. Dread overcomes you, and when you feel the next contraction coming on, you begin to hyperventilate.

You can't have their baby without them.

"No... nonono-" You protest, like you're telling yourself, your own body, not to do what it was meant to do. It's useless however, because as your contraction peaks, your doctor is counting, and you can't help but push the way your body wants to, screaming your pain as loud as you can.

"Good job." She encourages once it passes, her eyes checking a tablet that's held in front of her face quickly, before returning her gaze back to you. "Okay, next one you're going to push for the full ten seconds okay? You can do it."

"I don't want to." You protest with a cry, and your nurse pats your hand sympathetically.

"I know, I know." She helps shift you forward, and then the next one is coming, and you feel like you're being torn apart, like your body is burning and being ripped in two as you push.

"I can see the head, you're almost there." Someone says, but you're not sure who it is, or if you care, your focus moving to one sole thing now, getting this baby out of your body as fast as you can. You breathe for maybe five seconds before the next wave begins, and then you're dropping your chin to your chest while you push with everything you have, voices in the room rising and falling, everything feeling too loud and too overwhelming, and then all of the sudden, there's a shifting inside of you, and then suddenly an overwhelming emptiness before-

a screaming, crying, shrieking baby is plopped onto your chest.

"There she is!" Your nurse calls, and you stare, slack jawed, unable to speak, unable to move while they cover her with a blanket and someone continues to work between your legs. "Congratulations mum!" The baby cries, and you lift a hand to cradle her closer while someone wipes around the top of her head.

"Hi, Bee... I'm your mom." you cry, and lower your lips to her head, placing a soft kiss on her skin while someone rubs her down. She cries, lungs healthy and full of power, and you laugh a little.

"Did you get a hold of them?" You ask him breathlessly, and he nods with a gulp.

"They're on their way." They're on their way. The words slam against your heart, and the feeling of relief is immense. They're coming. They're going to be here.

"Thank you." You hardly look at him, keeping your eyes on Bee, and her little angel face, perfect in every way.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. The doctor works on you, pressing on your stomach a few times in an awful way that hurts but is necessary, and then your bed is moved to a better position for sitting up. Bee is removed from your chest for measurements and a quick clean up, before she's placed back in your arms, freshly swaddled and soothed. You're mesmerized by her nose, her eyelashes, her tiny fingers that wrap around one of yours. Your baby, your daughter. The one you carried for nine months, the one that you went through so much heartache for, the one that you struggled so much for, was finally here. You wish they were here already, to see her, to see how precious she is, how amazing, and you sniffle through some tears when you realize you'll get to see the looks on both their faces when they see her for the first time, when they hold her.

You lift your hand to stroke the softness of her cheek, and frown, when it doesn't really cooperate... the limb feeling heavy and stiff, like it's not even really on your body. That's... weird. You try again, and again, with no success, and then you realize the room is kind of shifting, kind of spinning slightly, like you're dizzy.

"Uh-" You call out to the nurse who's on a laptop at the desk, her back partially turned towards you, and she glances over with a smile that quickly changes to a firm line when she rushes over. "I feel funny." You tell her, and she nods, the mechanics of the bed whirring while you're lowered completely flat. Bee cries, disrupted by the movement, and you want to shush her, soothe her, but the words don't come, and everything is very loud all of the sudden, bells, whistles, beeps and alarms going off at a frantic pace overtop the voices that have quickly filled the room.

"-ake the baby."

"too much-"

"hemmorage-"

The words come in clips, and your vision becomes filled with white dots as Bee is lifted off your chest, the arm that held her close to your body falling limply to your side. What's happening? You want to ask, want to scream it at them. Where are you taking her? She's crying in the nurse's arms, her distressed little face the last thing you see before your vision goes completely black, and you fade away.

"Drive fucking faster." Johnny shouts, and Simon squeezes his knee to try to calm him as best he can in this moment, even though the two of them are the farthest thing from being calm.

You were in labor, and you had actually called them. Simon's heart had soared when he answered the phone, telling the guy on the phone to tell you that they were on their way, that they'd be there soon while he and Johnny sprinted to the car. You had called them. You wanted them there.

"Tell her we love her!" He had huffed while fumbling with the keys. "We love her so much. We'll be there soon."

"Settle, Johnny." He's trying to keep Johnny calm, trying to keep himself calm, while also trying to drive as fast as possible to get to you.

"Aye, 'm sorry. I'm just... I can't wait to see her. I can't believe she called." Simon can't either. He can't believe that after eight months of being apart, eight months of wondering if they'd even ever see you again, it was them you were calling for when you needed someone, them that you wanted by your side.

It felt like a gift. It felt like a second chance.

"I hope she's okay." Johnny hedges, nervous tinge to his voice and Simon rubs his thigh to try to soothe him.

"I'm sure she's fine, babies are born all the time, yeah?"

"Yeah."

They rush the desk when they get there, both spitting out your name and the woman jerks backwards before adjusting, typing onto her keyboard to locate your record. A full minute passes, while the receptionist's brow furrows, and they both nearly explode.

"She should be here, we got a phone call." Johnny blurts.

"Should be in labor and delivery." Simon tries to provide, helpfully and they both stand there anxiously, while she taps away.

"Ah! Sorry, there she is. I've paged the L&D department, and someone will be down shortly. You can wait in those seats over there." She points to some arm chairs, and they both ignore the suggestion, opting to stand right in front of a set of doors.

"Mr. Riley? Mr MacTavish?" A female voice calls a few minutes later, and they nod, overeager as she approaches. A million questions bubble up in Simon's head, where are you, have you delivered yet, are you doing okay, how's the baby... but they all come to a screeching halt when the doctor gets close enough for him to read her face.

No.

"Can you come with me?"

"And there was just too much blood. Once the hemorrhaging started, it couldn't be controlled." Johnny hears what the doctor is saying. He can hear her, loud and clear. He copies her.

But he doesn't understand. His brain can't make the words fit, can't make them make sense. What does that mean? He glances at Simon, who doesn't look at him, just stares at the doctor, face stricken, pale as ash. Like he's seen a ghost. Like someone has died. But that can't be right.

"Alright." He says slowly. "But she's going to be okay?"

"Johnny." Simon croaks, and the doctor shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. MacTavish. She's gone." Who's gone? Not you, obviously. What's going on here?

"No. No, no she can't be gone." Johnny protests. This doctor is clearly confused. "She just had someone call us. She's having... she's having a baby. Our baby. She's-" The doctor gives him a sad look, sympathetic and understanding. "No. She can't be gone, we just... we just got here. We-"

"Johnny." Simon says again and Johnny pivots on him.

"Tell her Si. Tell her, she's alright." Simon swings an arm forward, grabbing him by the collarbone, and holding on tight, pulling him close to his body.

It's only then, when Johnny looks up into Simon's face, and sees the tears there, sees those eyes, flooded, sees his cheeks, wet, his face full of turmoil and distress, that it really makes sense.

"No." He whispers. "No, she can't be." He shakes his head, and Simon tries to hold it still, tries to cradle his face in his palms. "Simon." He moans, word splitting into a cry, and then he's burying his face into Simon's neck, spilling hot tears onto his skin. Darling. Their Darling. Their Darling girl. Gone.

Because of them.

They did this.

Simon's body is shaking, shoulders trembling with his sobs, while he holds Johnny close, and Johnny screams into his chest, he screams and he screams until there's nothing left inside of him, every second ticking by bringing him farther and farther away from a time in his life when you still existed, when you were still in this world with them. And he wants it to stop, he wants it to stop so fucking bad but it won't, and he can't make it, he can't do anything, except stand here and scream, scream and beg and plead an unknown entity who's never given him anything good except for you and Simon.

They never got to tell you they still love you.

They didn't even get to say goodbye.

Hours later, they sit in a room with an empty bed, side by side, while a nurse stands in front of them with a tiny, sleeping baby wrapped in a blanket.

"This is your daughter." She tells them. "Her name is Bee."

"Bee." Johnny whispers, and she nods.

"Would you like to hold her?"

"Yes." Johnny says, but the word sounds flat, and he feels numb. The nurse places little Bee in his arms, while Simon watches, unblinking from where he sits right next to him. "Bee." He says again, looking down at her, truly looking at her for the first time. She looks so much like you, more like you than either of them, and he can't stop the tears that fall freely, while Simon reaches over and hesitantly strokes her cheek with a knuckle.

"She's beautiful." Simon whispers hoarsely, voice coarse with tears, and Johnny agrees. Johnny tries to stifle a sob, desperate not to wake Bee while she sleeps, but Simon can't stop himself, and he covers his face with his hand to try to smother his cry. "She looks just like her." Simon chokes, and Johnny's arms shake around where Bee is cradled. He leans to the side, into Simon, who wraps his arm around him immediately, holding Johnny while he holds their daughter, your daughter. They cannot stop their tears, their hearts cracking wide open in both of their chests as they stay down her, their only piece left of you in this world, the only thing they have left to cling to.

"You look just like your mum, baby Bee."

[lordofshitposting]

JJK as Brooklyn 99 quotes because it would be hilarious

─────────────────────

Miguel: Getō! Where is Mimiko's stuffed bear?

Getō: Umm... She must have forgotten it in the temple. Don't worry, I'll get it tomorrow and-

Miguel: Let me be clear. Mimiko can't sleep without that stuffed bear, and if Mimiko doesn't sleep, Nanako also doesn't sleep, and if both of them don't sleep-

Getō: I know, I know. Miguel doesn't sleep.

Miguel, holding black rope: No. Getō doesn't live!

─────────────────────

Mai: Alright, give me your hair dryer.

Mechmaru: What?

Noritoshi: What are you talking about?

Mai: Don't you carry one in your bag?

Noritoshi: Have you met a normal person before?

Mai: Pulls out her phone to call Momo

Mai: Hey, do you carry a hair dryer with you?

Momo: Of course, I'm not an animal.

─────────────────────

Gojo, to principal Gakuganji probably: You think that disapproving glare is gonna work on me after all the times I've seen it? Step it up, find something new. You're boring.

─────────────────────

Maki: So what, now I'm supposed to do everything Yuta does? What if he jumps off a cliff?

Panda: If Yuta were to jump off a cliff, he would have done his diligence regarding the height of the cliff, the depth of the water, and the angle of entry. So yes, if Yuta jumps off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff.

Maki: You jump off a cliff!

Panda: Gladly, provided Yuta did first.

─────────────────────

Yuta: I gotta go.

Maki: Aren't you forgetting something?

Yuta: Uh...

Yuta: kisses Maki's forehead

Maki, blushing: No, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

─────────────────────

Manami: You want to hold him, Larue?

Larue: Oh, um... yeah sure, that would be great.

Larue: Hugs Getō

Manami: The baby, Larue.

Larue: Yeah. Right, right. The normal thing.

─────────────────────

Nanami: The most time I have spent with someone is four hours and it was hell.

Gojō: What about the ride to Bludhaven we took? That was four hours.

Gojō: Oh, I see what just happened.

─────────────────────

Yuji: Remember how upset you got when Megumi ended a text with "thx" instead of "thanks"?

Nobara, visibly upset: Why would you bring that up?

─────────────────────

Gojō: Hey Getō, do you know my blood type?

Getō: Yeah, it's B positive.

Gojō: Okay, I guessed wrong.

Gojō, to his nurse: Excuse me, ma'am-

─────────────────────

Gojō: Be myself? Shoko, I have one night to win over Suguru. How long did it take before you guys started liking me?

Mei Mei: A couple of weeks.

Kusabake: Six months.

Utahime: Jury's still out.

Gojō: See, Shoko? "Be myself" what kind of garbage advice is that? First impressions are everything and I'm not Nanami!

─────────────────────

Nobara: How much could I possibly owe you? Fifty, sixty bucks?

Megumi: Two thousand four hundred and thirty-seven dollars.

Nobara: Dollars?! Wait, of course dollars. Why was that the part I was surprised by?

─────────────────────

Hakari: Do you wanna know how I actually hurt my wrist?

Kashimo: Yes.

Hakari: I was hoola-hooping. Kirara and I attend a class for fitness and for fun.

Kashimo: Oh my God.

Hakari: I've mastered all the moves. The pizza toss, the tornado, the scorpion, the oopsie doodle.

Kashimo: Why are you telling me all this?

Hakari: Because no one will ever believe you.

Kashimo: You sick son of a bitch.

[harrywavycurly]

I can just imagine Harry stressing calling Niall and being like "SHE SAID I'M OBSESSED WITH HER." And Niall just LOSING it.

Hiiii lovey!! I’ll happily give you their conversation because Harry 1000000% called Niall because who else would he call?😂🙈💖

-find all things Southern Comfort here✨

A/N: Harry is wine drunk and Niall was asleep but the chaos and dramatics are on point, enjoy✨

“Someone better be fuckin dying for you to be calling me at two in the bloody morning Harry…” “she thinks I’m obsessive.” “Who thinks what now?” “You know who I’m talking about don’t be a fucking wank-” “who you calling a wanker mate? You’re the one who called me now just…give me a minute to wake up a bit…now what the hell happened?” “So you know…I met her at the store yesterday and then…well I might’ve invited myself to her yoga class this morning and then afterwards I might’ve mentioned…other yoga classes we could take and walks on the beach.” “Jesus Harry…walks on the beach? She’s known you in the flesh for what? Twenty four hours and you’re doing all this?” “I know…and…and she said she’s worried lifetime movie network might make a movie-” “a lifetime movie? Holy shit Harry just block her now before she does it to you herself.” “What? You know about these movies? Are they horrible?” “Fuck the movies H…what the hell is going on with you?” “I DON’T KNOW!” “Why are you yelling? For fuck sake…” “I’m sorry I’ve had some wine…it’s red…” “figured as much…now what the hell is happening in that head of yours dude?” “I don’t…know Niall…I just…I want to know everything about her and be around her all the time and I don’t know how to not…come on strong and I don’t want to scare her away Niall because she doesn’t give a shit about who I am.” “I mean she doesn’t really know who the hell you are…but what’s got you so obsessed?” “I don’t know Niall…I think it could be because I just enjoy the bubble I feel like I’m in when I’m with her because she’s so understanding and is quick to put me in my place and…I just enjoy how…normal she makes me feel.” “Well Harry you’re gonna pop the bloody bubble if you don’t chill the fuck out okay? Let her make plans with you for a bit and go from there because if she thinks you’re obsessive now then….id hate to see how you act when you actually admit you’re in love.” “The fuck you mean when I admit I’m in love? I’m not in love with her yet you ass.” “Yet? So you know it’s coming huh?” “Fuck off…I’m going to bed now.” “Sweet dreams lover boy…don’t go ordering her flowers in your sleep like you did to your mom that one time.” “Oh fuck…” “you didn’t….” “Oh shit…oh shit…I sent flowers to her school for tomorrow! She was wearing her work shirt the night we met so I remembered the name of it…” “Jesus fuckin Christ…she’s gonna call the cops on you man…” “I gotta go! I gotta see if I can cancel them.” “It’s two in the morning Harry…” “she’s so gonna call the cops on me…”

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Animato

Chapter Thirty Four

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Gibson Child OMC, Bobby, Annie, Victor, Charlie, both bands and roadies, nameless DJs

Word Count: 3160

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, the last of Uncle Dean for a while, drinking and mild drug use, smoking cigarettes (do not come at me for this), Kevin calling Dean out publicly but subtly.

Series Masterlist

The rapid beat of a double-stroke roll woke Dean from the haze of sleep. He cracked one eye open and found the source of the wake up call. Gibson, sitting on the floor in Dean’s suite, was wailing on the coffee table while watching a random infomercial on the hotel’s tv’s world class Sunday morning programming. At least the little dude hadn’t gotten into Dean’s guitars without asking. 

“Gibby! What gives, man?”

“Oh, sorry,” the little boy didn’t even look back, instead he lightened his efforts into a tapping from the original knocking.

Dean huffed and fell back onto his pillow, muttering to himself and the ceiling, “I guess we’re up for the day.”

They had spent the night watching old monster movies and eating pizza. Dean had even taken Gibson to the hotel’s pool for a dip before the adult only hours kicked in. He had no idea how Pam and Lee kept up with the kid on a normal day, Dean was fucking beat. And that was after he slept more than double his usual night’s rest. 

How was it after nine already?! No wonder the kid was bored.

“You hungry? Probably should see if the buffet’s still going,” Dean asked suddenly.

“Okay!” Gibson dropped his sticks on the coffee table and hopped up with the unbridled energy of youth.

“Yeah, uh, I gotta throw some real pants on, dude.” Dean dragged himself to the edge of the bed and rolled his back. “Give Uncle Dean a minute and we can head down.”

Gibson nodded, but then ran to the counter in the kitchenette. “I made you coffee! They’ve got the little cups. But that was a while ago.”

Dean raised his eyebrow and surveyed the damage from his perch on the bed. “You make one for yourself?”

“Yep! It was gross. And the pink sugar didn’t help.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because it is gross. White or brown are best— no matter what Uncle Sam says.”

Gibson giggled, walking carefully over to Dean with the paper cup sloshing slightly. Dean wanted to help him, but he looked so proud of himself that Dean just sat back and clenched his hands as he awaited the delivery.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean diligently took a sip. It was god awful. Cold, sure, but also really bitter and thin. Thankfully the kid didn’t think to add anything for him. He sighed and took another gulp while trying not to breathe and taste it more. “Uh—-yeah. Can’t start the day without some fuel.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah, man, of course. Now, I am gonna get dressed, find your shoes so we can get some grub.”

Turned out, the continental breakfast was already being cleaned up when they got back downstairs. Gibson’s spirits dropped instantly, but Dean assured him it was alright, and took the little man over to the attached restaurant that was hopping with the brunch crowd. 

“Look who the cat dragged in!” Bobby’s voice caught Dean’s attention as they rounded the corner with the hostess. “Make room. Miss— these idjits are with us, sorry they don’t have any manners about showing up on time.”

“Alright, I’ll— uh, I’ll let your server know.”

Dean had the wherewithal to murmur and hand over his thanks and apologies right in time to get a surprised smile. Kevin and Annie were on Bobby’s right while Sam and a very hungover looking Victor filled out the left side of the six person table.

“Rough night?” Dean teased.

“It aint over yet,” Victor lamented.

“Ooof! Been there, man. More bacon’ll help.”

Just then their server returned with two extra chairs and a busser slid in two extra place settings for them. “Thank you— thank you both. Seriously.”

“Of course, let me get you some menus.” Then the server disappeared in a flurry, weaving through the crowd of people in various states of dress and sobriety.

Kevin nudged Gibson with his elbow. “How was the sleepover at Dean’s? I bet he snores.”

Everyone around the table laughed.

“Bite me, Kev. Gibby, steal me one of his fries would ya?”

Gibson looked back and forth between the two men. “What?! No.”

Dean just shrugged. “He deserved it.”

“Two wrongs don’t make it alright,” Gibson told him knowingly.

“Yeah, UNCLE DEAN,” Sam butted in.

“From the mouths of babes,” Annie said, shaking her head in amusement. 

Kevin just laughed and took an obnoxious Dean-sized bite of fries.

“So— last day on tour until school’s out, what do you want to do today?” Bobby asked the star of the table.

“Is Mom and Dad awake? I want to see them ‘fore Grammy comes and gets me.”

“And you will, dude. I’m guessing they’re just up in their rooms getting dressed or something. It’s still early yet.”

“What timezone are you in?!” Bobby gave Dean the stink eye.

Dean ignored his manager and just ruffled Gibson’s hair. The menus appeared and they all settled in for another hour of each other’s company. 

        Dean knew it had to be hard for Gibson when they were on tour, he’d lived his own childhood with his dad barely there. But to have both parents out of reach for months at a time seemed worse. That’s why they made sure to give Pam and Lee breaks on the road, fly them home for three days at a time when they could. And they let Gibson come along when he didn’t have school.

It still felt like a worse case scenario though. He didn’t even have a little brother to make the days go by faster. Lee’s mom and their nanny were all he had outside of school friends. And the dogs. At least the kid got pets too.

Dean never did.

“Full House, bitches!” Charlie declared and threw her cards into the center of the table. “Jacks over twos.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Madison exclaimed, leaning in to inspect Charlie’s hand herself. She’d tagged along with Lee’s mom down to San Diego so she could join in on the Vegas leg of the trip. 

“She always pulls it out, I swear to god. I don’t know how, but she does,” Sam muttered and tossed his hand to Dean to shuffle for the next round.

They were an hour into the trip to Vegas and the mood on the bus was contagious. No more little ears and eyes to worry about, meant that the bottles and the bongs came out and the chips were stacked high across the tiny table. 

“Alright, alright, fair hand. Get your cards in, and maybe you can win some of them stacks back. If you’re lucky,” Dean taunted, collecting the rest of cards and sliding them back into a deck to be shuffled. “Trouble? Ante up.”

You tossed your share into the pot and took another sip of your drink. Dean felt your eyes on him as he dealt, bottom lip between his teeth in concentration. Technically, he knew everyone was watching him as he doled the next hand, but your attention felt heavier the last few days. Maybe you knew something he wasn’t ready for you to know.

Maybe you were waiting for him to fuck up again.

Or maybe it was all just wishful thinking and you weren’t really watching him at all. Either way, he was preoccupied with it all when he picked up his cards to find absolute trash.

“Oh Christ. I’m going to need more to drink. KEVIN! Another round of shots, if you don’t mind?”

You chuckled. “Dealer can’t deal to himself, huh?”

“Apparently not,” Dean muttered, not even bothering to pick up his cards again.

“More chances for the rest of us at least,” Madison pointed out and placed her call bet.

The afternoon turned into night while Bobby drove on. Games and ridiculousness ensued. Just when they stopped for dinner, Dean found himself in the playful overlap of drunk and stoned. 

He hummed a few bars of some pop number that was playing over the truckstop speakers and Kevin joined in in harmony as they trudged across the parking lot to the twenty four hour diner. Lee came in for the chorus and they started getting louder and sillier with it, doing the monkey walk with Dean in the middle of the two shorter guys.

Dean couldn’t hear the radio station any longer, but they carried it along, finishing the number strong while guessing at some of the lyrics. When everyone had reached the double doors of the restaurant, he caught you and Charlie with your phones up recording the shenanigans. Meanwhile, Sam and Madison were giggly, leaning a little heavier on one another than most people would be at just after seven at night.

“Alright, cool it you damn buffoons. Let’s see if they’ve got room for everyone,” Bobby grunted before disappearing inside.

“Looks like you guys are the fun bus!” Donna greeted, as SPS and company caught up with them.

“Just gettin’ started darlin’,” Dean drawled, nodding and smirking. “Though I doubt it’s all charades and crochet on Big Bertha over there either.”

Jody took a swig off of her flask. “Oh, fuck no. Nancy knits, but that’s about it. But that’s only when the Adderall kicks in.”

She dangled the metal bottle out towards the circle of waiting musicians in offering. Kevin and Pam both took a pull and passed it back. Then the equipment rig pulled in and the headcount shot up even more. Benny sauntered over with a knowing glint in his eye as he stepped right in between Dean and Donna. 

“We think we gettin’ in or gotta spread out to the fast food joints?”

“Hard to say, looks pretty dead in there, but that might mean there’s a small staff too,” you answered as everyone’s head craned to look inside.

“Alright, well I’m heading over to the cancer section until we hear one way or the other,” Jody nodded towards Annie and Patience smoking down the sidewalk. 

Dean perked up and followed her like an earnest puppy. He wasn’t a habitual smoker anymore, but he definitely still imbibed, especially on the road. Sam’s influence could only go so far. But oddly, you were trailing along behind him, followed by Jesse and a newer, yet awkward roadie that he’d only heard called Chief.

You actually pulled a pack out of your purse and held one out to Dean expectingly. “What?” you asked like an accusation.

“Are you just smoking because you’d knew I would be or—?”

You exhaled your first pull and offered him your lighter. “It’s been a fucking week, okay? Let me have this until we hit the states with actual vegetation and I have to deal with allergies too.”

Dean lit his cigarette nodding and blew out a smoke ring. “You don’t have to justify it to me, I was just checking I’m not the bad influence.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re always a bad influence, doesn’t mean I still didn’t choose it.”

That got him a little hot, if he was being honest. And he felt his smile all the way to the tips of his ears. “Damn, Trouble. Always knocking me back on my heels, you know that?”

You took another drag and shrugged, looking around to see everyone else somehow in their own conversations. “Part of the job.”

“Nah, that parts all you.” Dean said without even meaning to.

You looked up at him and gave him a little squint. “You need to eat something or you’re gonna be miserable in a couple hours.”

“I’m trying!” He huffed, gesturing with his cigarette towards the front doors, right as Bobby made his glorious return.

“Listen up!” Bobby glanced around at the bands and accumulated crew. “They’ve only got room for thirty folks, so line up and whoever is stuck at the back’s gotta find something else. We’re pulling out of here no later than ten o’clock, so be on time or be left behind.”

You chuckled over the hard-learned line.

Dean sucked a deep pull off his cigarette, trying to speed through it and getting lightheaded in the process. 

“Uh,” he exhaled and looked over at you then over you towards the rest of businesses in the travel center. “We trying to get in or we taking a walk?”

“I’m finishing my square.” You pointed to yourself and held up your cigarette.

Dean couldn’t get over your sass tonight. “Alright, then. A walk it is.”

It ended up with Jody and Patience sticking around while you and Dean finished smoking and then all four of you headed to the Arby’s across the parking lot. 

“Alright, folks, we got a quick segment at the end to wrap things up. Phantom Traveler, are you ready to ‘Hit It or Quit It’?” the gruffer DJ asked them from his chair across the room.

They barely all fit in the little sound booth, but managed to squeeze together to make it work. Lee, Pam and Kevin were on the three stools they provided, while Dean and Sam hovered over them to get at the shared mic. It was six o’clock in the morning and Dean didn’t know if any of them had even slept. But there they were anyway.

“It is five questions we ask in rapid succession and you just say the first thing that comes to mind. And since all five of you are here, we’ll just go down the line— or clockwise I guess,” the younger DJ explained.

“I’m game!” Dean exclaimed, futsing with the ball cap on his head.

Pamela, who was holding the mic, winked. “Let’s hear ‘em, boys.”

The DJs laughed. “Alright, Pamela’s ready. First question: Who’s got the craziest ex’s of the band?”

Everyone ‘Oh’d!’.

Lee leaned in and said deeply into the mic. “I’m sitting right here!” 

“Couldn’t have planned that one any better!” Dean teased.

“Wait! I want to hear the answer though!” Kevin butted in, steering them back on track.

“NEW KID doesn’t know these things yet!” The first DJ said excitedly.

“Oh, this is too easy, though,” Pam rumbled.

“Yeah, sorry, bro, everyone knows this one,” Dean tacked on.

“Eat me,” Sam snapped back.

“But yeah, it’s Sammy for sure,” Lee agreed.

Sam rolled his eyes but the DJs just ate it up.

“Okay! Second question is—- for—- Lee! Favorite venue you’ve ever played?”

“Seriously? He gets a real question and I got a Cosmo question?” Pamela said, annoyed, but not quite into the mic.

“Seriously— I’m just reading off the list,” the younger DJ promised, holding up a clip board.

“That one’s easy— Harvelle’s back home.”

“Hands down,” Sam agreed.

“Best burgers in Nebraska, too,” Dean tacked on.

“Ellen’s gonna kill you,” Pam warned.

“Totally worth it,” Dean shot her down.

“Yeah. Nothing like playing for your hometown,” Lee finished.

“What a bunch of saps!” The older guy teased. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you have it. Sam— third question: Who would you still like to collaborate with? You’ve got Annie Hawkins on the latest album, you’ve played with some of the greats at some special events— I know you all were close with the late, great Rufus Turner and now you’re touring with his granddaughter’s band Sheriffs, Psychics and Secretaries. Who else?”

“Uh, honestly? I’d kill to play with Sarah and Provenance, even though our sounds are totally different. Maybe Mick Davies? Especially now that he’s left Men of Letters, I am looking forward to what he works on next.”

“Wow— those are not names I expected to come up today. But, yeah, okay— always the wildcard Sam Winchester!” The younger DJ seemed genuinely surprised and maybe even impressed.

Dean could tell it annoyed Sam, but he was always way smarter than anybody gave his bodybuilder-shaped self credit for.

“DEAN! Question numero four: If you weren’t a rockstar— okay, musician– what would you be doing?”

“Right now I’d be sleeping, that’s for damn sure.”

Everyone laughed and nodded. “I don’t blame you there, but for a job?”

Dean scratched his three day stubble. “I always say I’d have made a killer mechanic or car restorer, but, uh, honestly at this point in my life I’m going to go with firefighter.”

“Nice, very heroic.” The first DJ approved.

“Dude!” Sam gave him a look that asked if he was alright.

Dean shrugged. “Well, hopefully we won’t have to find out. Just a reminder we’ve got two shows at Cesar’s Palace tomorrow night and Wednesday!” he plugged like they needed help selling tickets.

“Which are completely sold out! We’ve got tickets for our listeners tomorrow morning at seven, eight and nine if you listen for the code to play.” The younger DJ picked up where Dean left off. “One more question and you guys can get on with your days. And it’s for Kevin Tran— the newest member of the band, stepping up for the now reclusive Cas Novak. Fifth and final question!---”

Dean flinched at Cas’ name coming up, but all things considered, it could have been a much more brutal comment. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Bobby whisper something to you through the glass in the adjoining room.

“In one word describe your bandmates.”

“One word total or—?”

“One word a piece,” Sam clarified.

“Yeah one word total. Band. That’d be the worst question answered ever,” the first DJ joked.

“Okay, okay, I got it. For Pam I’ll say ‘badass’. Lee’s word will be ‘groovy’. Sam gets ‘salad’ and Dean can have ‘Trouble’.”

“Oh, fuck,” Lee actually had to cover his mouth. While everyone else just about choked on their own spit. 

Dean glared at the kid, but didn’t say anything, counting down from twenty in his head.

“It is going to be a very long tour, folks,” Sam tried to ease some of the tension, clearly the DJs did not get the significance of what was just said.

“Alright that is a wrap with Phantom Traveler, in town for just a few days on the start of their latest tour. Thank you guys, it was a blast. Their fifth album drops next month. You guys have been digging the new single, so we’re gonna close with that as we get these guys on their way.”

The intro to ‘Baby’ played in the background as everyone handed over their headphones and shook the DJs' hands. Their marketing people came in for some quick publicity shots. Dean spotted you getting matching angles, where you stood behind their photographer, for the band’s socials.

God, he wasn’t ready. He had no idea if you caught what Kevin had said or if you knew he was really talking about you. The little punk had to go and say that shit on air of all places. 

One thing was for sure, Dean’s time was running out. Sooner or later somebody was going to let it slip and it wasn’t fair to you to hear it from anyone but him. Now, he just had to figure out how.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

Chapter 35: Cambiare

[mikerickson]

8/29/2024 - 9/6/2024

If I had a nickel for every time I took a vacation in a small European naval power that historically punched above its weight in global affairs I'd have two nickels, which... ah, you know the rest.

Just got back from a trip to the Netherlands and Belgium that was basically: Amsterdam -> Apeldoorn -> Utrecht -> Den Haag -> Brussels -> Ghent -> Amsterdam. I will now proceed to talk to myself about the highlights below the cut.

Still can't sleep on planes. I even took a sleeping pill and bought a fancy new neck pillow thing to help, but instead I was just exhausted and strangling myself. My dinner also didn't sit well with me, so every time I was about to fall asleep, my gag reflex would trigger and I felt like I was gonna throw up. Seven hours of this was not very relaxing.

Landed at ass o'clock in the morning local time and had 6 hours to kill before hotel check in. I've always read that spending time outdoors in natural sunlight helps regulate your circadian rhythm and can fight jet lag, so I took us to look at some windmills. This was kind of a blur and I'm not certain it made much of a difference because I did end up crashing and taking a nap in the afternoon anyway.

Acknowledging that I am biased about this because I am 1) American and 2) literally a traffic engineer by trade, I simply cannot describe the Netherlands as anything other than "car-hostile". I felt actively unsafe driving around each city we visited because there are so many people on bicycles everywhere, who have right of way. Hell, even as a pedestrian I didn't feel safe because they come at you from every direction and you gotta keep your head on a swivel at all times. In The Hague I watched a woman get knocked into by a cyclist who just shouted over her shoulder "Let op voor fietsen!" ("Watch out for bikes!") and carried on.

Amsterdam ended up being more interesting than I was expecting and now I kinda wish I had dedicated one more day for it in the itinerary. Convenient and easy mass-transit system, some of the best bookstores I've ever been in, and beautiful canals everywhere you look.

Were I forced to describe the geography of the Netherlands, I would have to call it "suspiciously flat." I also got to continue my tradition of traveling to foreign countries, seeing literal hundreds of spinning wind turbines all over the place, and seething with jealousy.

Utrecht was a neat, smaller city with a central canal that I wish I had set aside more time for. Felt like a place where you'd actually want to live more than a touristy city.

The Mauritshuis in The Hague is where Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring is located, and you know that before you even get to that room because she's plastered on 99% of everything for sale in the gift shop right at the entrance.

When we drove over the Netherlands-Belgium border, it started getting overcast. These gray skies hung around for four days, and dissipated as soon as we traveled back north on the final day. All of my memories of this country will now have a gray/de-saturated filter on them.

I know Brussels has a reputation of being a run-down or dangerous city among Europeans, but it just felt like a regular American city to me (specifically like the architecture/street layout of Boston with the political importance of Washington DC). Like, I don't know what to tell you, sometimes cities have visible homeless people, unsightly graffiti, and ethnic minority neighborhoods? It's gonna be okay, I promise. Amsterdam felt like Weenie Hut Jr. by comparison.

Going through the European Parliament building was very cool and very well laid-out and informative. Definitely a personal highlight of the trip for me.

The Belgian War Museum kinda just felt like some rich guy's personal collection of artifacts the public shouldn't have had access to? Not a lot of labels explaining what you're looking at in any language.

Belgian chocolate is fine. Not bad, but I mean it's chocolate, that's hard to screw up, you know?

During my research before this trip I kept seeing a general consensus that Bruges is super touristy and sanitized and feels fake and that Ghent was better for a more "authentically" preserved medieval center. I'm glad I opted to go there instead because it exceeded my expectations. Awesome architecture everywhere you turn, way fewer crowds than I expected, and it still felt lived in by modern people rather than a giant open-air museum.

Literally did not see a single physical Euro at all on this trip. Both of these countries are entirely cashless societies, and everyone (both tourists and locals) used chip readers and contactless payment for damn near every interaction. If anything, I saw tons of "Card Only/No Cash" signs and none of the opposite.

[mylovelo-ak]

addiction

pairing: nagi seishiro x reader

warnings: none

wc: 588

synopsis: in which you learn how to play nagi's favorite game <3

notes: me n my crippling valorant addiction <3 not proofread

"teach me how to play."

"play?"

nagi seishiro was always on his damn game. well, he played multiple games but that's not the point. it was always soccer practice, go home, play, eat, then sleep. and while he did occasionally kiss you, you wanted more than kisses to sustain your relationship.

you wanted to spend time with nagi.

and if you can't do that because he's on the game, you figured maybe you should learn how to play. that way you can spend time with him while he's doing something he loves, and heck who knows? you might end up loving it, too.

"play soccer?" he asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"no i wanna learn whatever you're playing on your computer."

"pc games?"

you could practically see the question marks surrounding his head. you held your ground, staring straight into his eyes.

"..okay then, c'mere."

he patted his lap, gesturing for you to come and sit. once you did, he took your hands into his and fitted them over his mouse and keyboard, moving your fingers so they wouldn't accidentally press the wrong keys.

"you're mainly going to be using w, a, s, d and the space bar—"

he explained the controls to you. you felt tension get to your head as you struggled to remember everything. you almost regret asking him to teach you. once he finished, you saw him ponder over something, before his lips curled up in a mischievous grin.

"i'm gonna queue a game for you now."

you exhaled, "okay."

"it's a game with real people. you have four teammates and five against you."

"okay— REAL PEOPLE? WHAT IF I RUIN THEIR GAME? WHAT IF I—"

a loud boom came resounded from the headset he put on you, and the words match found echoed mockingly in your head.

"looks like it's too late now." nagi teased.

"i'm scared."

you told him as you stared at the screen in fear. he's only taught you the controls, but he hasn't said anything about how the game works.

"i'm here, don't worry. first you gotta choose your character, okay?"

you nodded. you dragged the cursor across the screen to hover over each icon to display the characters. finally, you settled on a white haired girl who floated a dagger in her hand. while all the other characters seemed appealing, this girl— jett the screen says— looked the most like nagi. she had the exact same unbothered look on her face.

"why her?" he asked, accusingly.

you're sure he knows you well enough to know why.

"no reason!"

he chuckled before kissing you on the cheek.

"okay so her abilities are—"

as the game progressed, you're certain it was meant to be a horror game. now you knew why nagi would sometimes jump when you tap him on the shoulder while he was playing. your face twisted in probably your ugliest concentration face. you'd completely zone out during rounds, failing to see the look of adoration on your boyfriend's face.

you felt as if the game finished too fast, even though you played for an hour.

"queue me one more." you deadpanned.

the smile on his face was almost infectious.

"you're already addicted, hm?" he teased you. one of his arms wrapped around your waist while the other grabbed his mouse to queue you another game.

"i am not!"

a week later, he buys all the things you need for your own pc. he figured you needed your own since you were hogging his 24/7 to play.

[chai-berries]

all my friends support palestine and know neil druckmann is a zionist

Decree # 13: No Scary Movies before Bed for Abby Anderson (#13)

abby’s voice is a whisper to match the darkness of the room. “hey, baby, are you asleep?”

“yeah” you respond in sleepy sarcasm. you shuffle deeper into your blanket.

“can i turn on the light?” this makes you peep open one bleary eye.

“uhm okay?”

the room is suddenly flooded with light from the bedside table.

the, open floor layout serves as a surprisingly large studio sized apartment, with a living, dining, and bedrooms in the same area as the kitchen. it’s wonderfully packed full of found books and pieces of art that took ages to collect. you and abby had lived here together for 17 months and each of you brought your own collections into one space. thanks to abby’s rank within the leaders of the WLF the apartment is big enough for you both to create a proper safe haven for yourselves.

however it’s not always as safe as you’d like it to be. especially tonight.

it’s been extremely stormy this winter and today has seattle bracing itself against wind coming through the bay and right against the stadium's walls. everyone was prepared for it. making sure the animals were inside and the crops were covered so everyone can hunker down for the big ocean storm. this storm has you and abby having a movie marathon. she found a bunch of intact dvds for the stadium collection and was rewarded with a functioning tv and dvd player for the storm. you picked out a romcom and a movie about found family while abby picked out two scary movies.

now four hours later, here you guys are, in bed, abby’s bedside lamp blinding you completely for a second.

“mmnph, you okay baby?” you mumble. your eyes are shut again, but you turn your body to face abby. the girl has moved to sit up against the headboard. she’s breathing deeply and clutching the blankets in her fists. when she doesn’t answer, you peek up at her with one eye. “baby?”

“yeah,” abby says when you sit up next to her. “i’m fine. i just couldn’t sleep. you can go back to sleep. i’m sorry.”

“no it’s fine!” you try to make eye contact with your girlfriend but it’s like she’s actively avoiding your eyes. “abby? did you have a bad dream?”

she looks at you from the corner of her eye. your face is earnest and full of love but abby knows what’s gonna happen next.

“i, uh, i had a dream about being sucked into a black hole. like, like the movie we watched.”

now, abby’s nightmares are rare. if she has them it’s either based on a book or movie she recently watched or the day at the hospital in salt lake. growing up in the apocalypse, your nightmares are usually the least of your worries.

still you did warn abby about the dreams. she already had a messed up schedule because in the three days leading up to it, isaac had everyone preparing for the storm. and when you warned her about the scary movies, she brushed you off and swore she’d be fine. now she was at the mercy of her know-it-all girlfriend.

your lips twitch upwards. you lay back down and shift under the blankets until you’re back in the warm spot. you look at abby.

“am i allowed to say ‘i told you so’?” you smirk up at her.

she rolls her eyes. “whatever.”

you pout. “hey! be nice to me! i tried to warn you, you big baby! now come here and let me cuddle you!” you open your arms and abby eagerly falls into them. she snuggles into your chest. your hands go up to her loose hair and comb through the waves.

“i got you. go back to sleep, baby” is all abby hears before she lets sleep take her.

when you wake up, it’s to a giant tree limb slamming itself against the large stadium window. you jump in fear before you recognize the noise for what it is, taking a breath. abby has tucked you against her chest with your head under her chin, so she feels you wake up. her warm hands run up your back and she lets out a groan when you pull away from her. “i gotta go pee!” you apologize, practically running for the bathroom to keep the warmth in your body. abby’s watches out the window until you return with a sleepy smile and arms open. all of your responsibilities have been put on hold until the storm is over and you're going to take advantage of being able to lay in bed a bit longer than usual.

“did you sleep okay?” you mumble against abby’s collarbone. abby’s midnight worries are gone now that the sun is up. well it’s up there, behind the clouds somewhere.

“yeah,” she sighs. “sorry about that”

“you don’t have to apologize. you remember when i had nightmares for a week after we watched that killer doll movie?”

“yeahhh, that movie was fucked up”

“it was! and the black hole movie was also fucked. you don’t have to apologize… But am i allowed to say i told you so?”

abby playfully squeezes you tight to make you giggle.

“yeah,” she grins down at you. “you can”

“okay… I Told You Watching that Movie would Give You Nightmares.”

“why’d you say it like that? are you decreeing it?”

“yeah. you know i like being right. and besides, when you get scared i get to protect you so honestly it’s a win for me.”

“glad my misery brings you happiness”

you respond to her grumble with a kiss on the lips.

“my sweet scaredy-cat,” you say against her mouth. “i’ll always protect you. don’t worry” you promise into another, deeper kiss.

[grayishgiggles]

You Can Rest

Being the big brother can come with expectations, like solving everyone’s problems and being strong for those who feel weak. When this weight gets too heavy for Peter 2, he resorts to spending long nights in Dr. Otto Octavius’ lab. One night, the six armed scientist catches him overworking.

———

A dim overhead light flickered in the dark lab of Doctor Otto Octavius. However, said physicist wasn’t the one up that night. Instead, his apprentice, Peter Parker (Peter 2) was hard at work on a project he kept to himself: new web shooters for Peter 3.

With an arc reactor in possession of his mentor, Peter 2 was hoping he could find a way to harness its energy into a small enough device that didn't need a change of batteries or charging. All he had to figure out now was…how to do that. And that’s what he was stuck on.

With wires connected to the pegs of the reactor and various small tools strewn about the desk, Peter 2 groaned. Maybe if he asked Otto for help, this would’ve been easier.

But no, the sun had to have set hours ago. The last thing Peter wanted to do was bother the scientist in his sleep. He could do this on his own. He was smart. He was the Peters' big brother, for gods sake.

He should know how to do this…right?

Peter 2 rubbed his bloodshot eyes and leaned back in the chair to crack his spine. No wonder he had a bad back after all these years. He must’ve been craning his neck for hours now.

Suddenly, a buzz from his Peter tingle tapped the corner of his eye. He spun around.

“Otto…”

“Peter, what are you doing up?” Otto was in his robe, night clothes on and his actuators drooping from sleepiness. “Have you looked at the time?”

“I...Otto, it’s all good. I’m just working.” The man gestured to his desk. “You can go back to bed.”

“I can’t now. It’s four in the morning.”

Peter 2 sighed, “that late, huh?” He lowered his head. “I just…I need to work more on this thing, that’s all. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Doc Ock scoffed at that. “You clearly aren’t. You’re working in jeans!”

“Yeah, so what?” Peter 2 turned back to his work, picking a screwdriver up.

Otto stepped closer. “You’re wearing the same uncomfortable clothes you've worn all day into midnight. I've done the same thing. And from experience, it means you should go home."

Peter felt the heat in him rise as his sleepiness lowered his tolerance.

“Why does it matter to you?” The Spider-Man’s voice grew louder.

Out of all people, Otto should’ve known that hard work comes at a cost. Heck, Peter remembered when Doc Ock didn’t sleep the night before his fusion reactor demonstration. He had no right to tell him to rest.

“Because I care, dear boy. Please, you can sleep here if you want…”

“Otto!!” Peter 2 snapped at him.

The doctor had never been yelled at like that by him, his shocked expression meeting Peter’s. The exhausted man's face softened, and took a deep breath. “I-I gotta make progress on this web shooter, doc. If I don’t, then I dunno what to do.”

“You...you have organic webs.” Mumbled Otto.

“It’s for Peter 3," grumbled Peter, "Peter 3’s shooters are all old and they..and they need new tech, okay?!” The man clenched his fists. “Just let me work. I owe it to him.”

“Peter, what are you doing?” Otto asked softly, now next to his apprentice.

Peter Parker bit his lip. He felt his throat tighten and his eyes sting. Peter 2 swallowed. “I..I dunno, Doc. I’m sorry I yelled.”

“I forgive you, dear boy…" His mentor put a hand on his shoulder. "Let’s get out of here. This isn't good for you.” A metal arm slithered around around the man’s waist and gently pulled him out of his chair and into Otto’s real arms. Peter 2 went limp, propping his head up against his chest as he was carried out of the lab.

“I’m sorry…Doc.”

“You’re alright, Peter.”

The numbers 4:30 AM were displayed on the microwave clock in Otto’s kitchen. The doctor's drowsy state was wearing off as the smell of brewing coffee became stronger.

As he was waiting, Octavius kept watch across the kitchen in the living room, where Peter 2 laid on his large sofa. He gave him some of his own pajamas which were oversized but comfier than sleeping in jeans in his opinion. 

Otto hoped he would’ve been tired enough to sleep by now, but no, Peter 2's glazed over expression was fixated on the flickering TV playing a soap opera. The poor thing.

“Would you like something, Peter? I could make hot chocolate. I…I know you liked it back then.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Otto huffed softly. Something was bothering the man, something that had to do with the web shooter he was working on. Why did he feel compelled to make a new one for Peter 3? Did he have a fight with the other Peters about it? Oh dear, he hoped not.

Once his coffee was brewed and poured into a mug, Doc Ock slumped on the couch beside Peter. The way Peter was curled up in the plaid blanket given to him reminded the scientist of when he was young, spry, filled with life. He missed it a little. The TV clicked off with the remote in Otto’s hand.

“So, if you aren’t going to sleep, how about we talk about what’s going on?” He set the mug and remote on the coffee table and turned his body towards Peter.

An actuator gently nudged Peter’s shoulder. All he did was let out a big sigh. “It’s a lot, Doc. I don't know where to begin.”

"How about with the project you have going on in there?" Doc Ock gestured in the direction of his lab. "Why do you wanna work on it so bad?"

"I feel it's the least I can do...for Peter 3. He's in need of upgrades and...I dunno, I wanna make him happy. I have to get them done for him." Shrugged Peter.

Otto squinted. "You always act like...you have to give everything to everyone."

Peter gave a sad laugh at that, avoiding eye contact. "It's what being Spider-Man is about."

A few moments of silence passed.

Otto fiddled with his fingers. “Is there something going on with you and the other boys?”

Peter 2 clenched his jaw. “I mean…yes, but no. We’re all doing great. Nothing happened like a fight or anything." He chuckled. "I love them, doc. They’re my brothers. And..and I wanna be there for them, but...I don't know if they should be there for me."

Otto’s silent attention indicated him to continue.

“I’ve been afraid to…to ask them for support. They got a lot on their plate already, being Spider-Men, especially Peter 1...that poor kid. I don't wanna add onto their problems, Otto,” Peter 2 slowly sat up, hugging his knees. “What if they think they have no one to lean on if I'm weak in front of them? Because I’m the big brother. I should have things under control. I’m their rock, ya know?” He sniffled as his composure began to crumple.

"Peter..."

“I have to be strong for them. They need me, and...I really need them too. But how do I tell them when I'm supposed to have everything together in my life?!”

“Peter."

“I can’t be a burden, Otto. Not to them.”

“Peter, stop that talk.” Doc’s stern but kind voice broke through Peter 2’s rambling. The man glanced up, his vision blurred by tears. He blinked them away as they flowed down his face. Peter wiped his face. “Sorry…”

“Why’re you all the way over on that side? You can come over here…I’m here for you.” Otto opened his arms. Peter weakly began scooting over, but he ended up being carried by metal tentacles into his mentor’s warm embrace. "Goodness, you're being so hard on yourself."

"I know, I know," hiccupped Peter, his arms tightly clasped around the doctor's midsection, face buried into his shirt as the floodgates opened. He thought he was done crying about things, but with these new brothers, he felt so strongly to protect them. He didn't want them to go through what he went through. He couldn't let that happen. But right now, he felt so weak, so tired. For once he wanted to feel protected. "I just...I love them and...I want them to be safe."

"I do too, but you don't get that when you hurt yourself in the process. You're one of them too." He lifted the man's chin to meet his eyes. "What gives them the right to be loved and not you, hm?"

Peter's face was flushed from tears and tiredness. He shrugged halfheartedly. "Y-you got me there."

"You are allowed to be weak, dear boy." His four additional arms wrapped around the two of them to provide support, making sure Peter was properly held. "Weakness is part of being a human. You are still human, Peter, no matter your age or strange super power."

"Heh...true," he leaned back for a moment to wipe his face, "ugh, I haven't cried like this in...forever. And this...this is what I needed."

"A hug?"

"Not just that...but just a big cuddle like this." He laid his head down on Otto.

"I shouldn't be surprised. All you Peters love it." Snorted the scientist. Peter furrowed his brow at that. Otto cleared his throat.

"Peter 1, the little one, I gave him a hug like this and he just...fell asleep. He wouldn't let go of me. Stayed curled up for hours. And that tall one, Peter 3, heh, he's a hugger, alright. He lifted me off the ground, you know? Scared me half to death. I forgot you boys had super strength."

Peter 2 chuckled and shrugged in admission. He wiped his eyes again. "Okay, we do like being cuddly, so be it."

"You probably need this more than they do. Are you usually the one holding them?"

"Yeah, but I don't mind." Peter smiled. "It's nice having baby bros."

"Well, tonight, or should I say this morning, you're getting held. Got it?" He gently pinched Peter 2's cheek, getting a weak giggle out of him. The man nodded with a yawn. "Okay...okay."

Peter let his muscles relax and melt into the embrace. He closed his eyes, finally feeling the waves of sleepiness get to him.

"You know, I was going to tickle you..."

Peter shot his eyes open. “What?!”

Otto laughed. “You probably hate that, huh? That I know your weakness?"

“Otto, no!” Peter tensed up.

"But, now's not the time, I know. I won’t tickle you, I promise.” The tentacles repositioned themselves a little so Peter 2 could comfortably lay on Otto's chest. The man squinted playfully. "You better be telling the truth, doc.”

"I am, Peter. Now close your eyes. Spider-Man needs his sleep.” He was genuine in his tone, gently resting a hand on the back of Peter’s head to run a few fingers through his brown hair.

And the scientist did tell the truth. Otto and Peter nestled into a peaceful slumber, letting the warmth bring comfort to their souls. Never in a million years did Peter imagine his idol/once enemy would be cuddling him like this, but he wasn’t complaining. It was nice to have a father figure like this around. It reminded him of when Uncle Ben would care for him.

For once, he could rest easy.

Otto Octavius was the first to wake up. Groaning, he rubbed his eyes before noticing the man curled up on him. Oh yeah, Peter had a long night, didn't he? But at this moment, he looked so peaceful despite the bit of drool dried up on his lip. The scientist couldn’t help but chuckle.

But now he was in a predicament. In no way did he want to wake his apprentice from his much needed slumber. On the other hand, the scientist needed to get a little bit of work done today regarding the arc reactor.

So, he gently used his metal arms to begin moving Peter off of him. But Peter didn’t let go. Maybe his sticky hands were activated when he slept or something, but he wouldn’t budge. Otto sighed, and returned to the cuddle. “Clingy, hm?” Maybe he could relax for a few more hours.

1 PM rolled around, and Otto completed yet another season of Grey’s Anatomy. While it was fairly inaccurate, he quite enjoyed the acting. When the credits rolled on his newly finished episode, he glanced down. Peter was still out like a light.

A long rest is good, but if it lasts too long, it won't be healthy, Otto thought to himself. Maybe it was time to get up.

"Peter," mumbled the doctor, gently rubbing his shoulder. But he didn’t stir. Otto tried tapping his cheek: nothing. Maybe calling to him louder would work? Nope, not that either. 

Otto sighed. He was going to have to use bigger guns to wake the man-child. And that's when it hit him.

"You know, I was going to tickle you..."

Doc Ock felt a smile tug at his lips recalling the night before. What a perfect idea! He leaned down, closer to the Spider-Man.

"Peter..." Otto talked in a singsong voice this time, wiggling a finger under Peter 2's chin. The man twitched, his brows furrowing.

"Peter, you gotta wake up." His fingers switched to poking his sides, which got his Spider-Man to smile in his sleep. Peter mumbled out a few giggles as he curled up.

"Oh, come on, Pete. Don’t make me really tickle you.” Otto was being gentle so far, but it looked like this would take more than a few little pokes and prods. A metal claw from his tentacles whirred curiously over the man. It faced Otto as if asking for permission. “Get em, Flo,” the doctor encouraged.

Flo nuzzled right into Peter 2's stomach, eliciting a stream of sleepy giggling. "N-Nohoho..." Peter squirmed halfheartedly away from the sensation, but couldn't do much trapped in the cuddle.

"Wake up, Peter," cooed Otto as a metal claw tased his side. That's what woke Peter 2 up.

"Ahack-! Whahahat the heck?!" The Spider-Man sat up to only get a onslaught of light tickles from two playful actuators. "EHEEhehehey!! Gehet off!!" They nudged and nuzzled his stomach and sides like dogs do, only making him laugh louder. He curled back into a ball on Otto's lap. 

"Good morning, dear boy!" Doc Ock chirped. It was refreshing to see his Peter smiling like this again. "How do you like the wakeup call?"

"Gehehet em off! OhottOOHOHOMYGAHAD!!" The tentacles discovered his ribs and pinched them. Peter 2 doubled over in cackling, his arms pinned to his sides. He buried his face into the doctor's shirt. "GEHEHET tHEM OFF!"

"Hey now, don't get rough!" Otto scolded the arms. They stopped the tickling for a moment to lower their heads in agreement, returning to his sides, "nibbling" them with their claws. Peter 2 squeaked.

"Now this is the perfect way to start your day, wouldn't you agree?" Cheered Otto, in which his apprentice whined through his grin.

“Ihi-I just wasn’t ehehexpecting this!!”

"How is it?"

"Ihihit-" a snort erupted from Peter, "-TIHIHickles!!"

"Good, I'm doing my job, then." The doctor chuckled. At this point Peter 2 realized no matter how much he wriggled, he wasn't escaping this. So he did what had to be done: rested his head on Otto's chest and let himself giggle his heart out. Just the sight of it warmed his mentor's heart.

Otto couldn't help himself. He wanted to be a part of the fun too. "Moe? Flo?"

The pair of metal arms perked up. All they needed was a look from their owner to know to stop.

"Wha-?"

"Are you up yet, Peter?" Doc Ock's free hand snuck under the oversized shirt and gently scribbled on his bare stomach.

A stream of light laughter bubbled out of Peter 2, surprised by the new type of tickly feeling compared to the metal claws. He leaned into Otto. "NAAHahahaoo! DOhoc I'm up!! I'm uhUHUP! You can stahahap!"

"You slept a whole eight hours, so theoretically you should be up and off the couch right now." Sneered Octavius. "But lo and behold, you aren't. Still brilliant but lazy, Parker."

Peter snatched Otto's hand with both of his, giggling nervously. "Ihihif you let me go, I'll get up!!" 

"Hmmm...no." Otto broke out of the man's grasp and gave a squeeze to his lower ribs. Peter threw his head back as he wheezed. "NAHAHOO!! COMEON!" The man shook his head. "NAHAT FAIR!!"

"Peter 1 was right; you all have bad ribs!" The doctor laughed. "Oh, this is too fun!"

"NOHOHO MOHohore!" Peter 2 whined.

The playful scientist hummed. He didn't want to overdo the whole wake-up-tickle method, right? In all honesty, he just wanted to see his Peter's smile, and he sure as hell got that. And it looked just like it did years ago, curled up at the corners of the mouth and his nose scrunched up whenever he laughed. Some things don't change, do they? 

"Alright, I'm done." His hand rested on Peter's stomach, motionless. "You feel awake?"

The older Peter lightly panted, arms wrapped around his midsection as a few more small giggles wheezed out. The butterflies in his stomach seemed to be tickling him still. "Mahahan...yeah, yeah I'm awake. Wooo..."

"I knew I had to tickle you. It feels good to hear you laugh, dear boy." Otto exchanged a gentle look to him, making his Peter blush.

"Uhugh...you're the worst."

"How are you, physical-wise?" The doctor turned the page.

Peter sat up on Otto's lap and groaned as he stretched. "I'm better. I, uh, feel rested." He shrugged.

"Good, that's good to hear," he nodded. "I was worried about you."

"Yeah." Peter looked away. "Thank you again for...for last night. I probably needed to hear it. I can't really care for my brothers if I don't care for myself, heheh." 

"That indeed, Peter." Doc Ock ruffled his hair. He pursed his lips after a thought flew through his head. "How about I help you with those web shooters today?"

The oldest brother blinked. "Really?"

The scientist shook his head yes. "I'm sure we can figure out what troubles you're having if we work together," he stated, "the real question is: do you want my help?"

Peter 2's youthful smile curled up. "Yeah...I'd like that."

Otto thought he was going to cry happy tears at the sight of that face. "Then let's get you something to eat, first," he said as he freed Peter from the cuddle.

Oh, how he loved this boy.

[demons-i-get]

What's in a Name

Destiel fic let's gooooooooo I actually wrote this like, a year ago, but it's not my usual style and a little bit outside my comfort zone so I was never sure about posting it but here we are! I'm still nervous 😅 Let me know what you think! But also pls be gentle with me I am just a litol guy <3 Characters: Dean, Castiel Pairings: Dean/Castiel Warnings: vague sex? Like, it's happening but there's not really any details and it's definitely not explicit at all. Otherwise I can't think of anything else. Please don't hesitate to let me know if I should add anything, though! Word count: 1,324 Ao3 FFN

~ ~ ~

Castiel doesn’t understand human ‘pet names’ and ‘terms of endearment’ as well as he would like. He knows them, has heard them and parroted them and tried so hard to understand, but he just cannot grasp why. 

He does not understand why he should call Dean anything other than his name, his name which means love and safety and protection and home and strength and power and all that Dean is to him and more. Why would some random word be more special, how could a word that millions of other, simple people use on their other, simple partners mean more than Dean, when that single syllable, those four little letters, are unique and singularly his own. When the sound of Dean rolling off his tongue is the sound of divinity. 

But then. 

Oh, but then. 

Then Dean greats him in the morning as he stumbles into the bunker’s kitchen with a cup of coffee prepared just the way he likes it still warm and fresh and steaming as he wraps his fingers around it with a soft, “Good morning, sunshine,” as he places a gentle, almost reverent kiss on Castiel’s forehead. 

And Castiel feels his chest go warm and soft and okay, maybe he can understand it a little better now. 

Then Castiel gets hurt on a hunt and Dean is right there beside him, putting pressure on the wound and getting Castiel’s blood all over his hands and shirt but his eyes are wide, and his voice is shaky and terrified as he says, “Hey, hey, Cas, c’mon, stay with me, you gotta stay with me, babe,” and presses their foreheads together and he is begging with Castiel to hold on just a little longer because help is on the way “you just need to hold on a little longer for me, angel, you can’t go to sleep yet, just a little longer.” 

And when Castiel wakes up in a hospital bed minutes or hours or days later with Dean’s voice calling him “babe” and “angel” still ringing in his ears and he cannot feel the pain of his wounds because he is filled too much with the warmth and softness and love from Dean’s words to know the feel of anything else, he thinks maybe he does get it now, maybe he is beginning to understand why when Dean says those words with such softness and love and adoration. 

Then Dean is hurt and Castiel is panicking because he doesn’t have his Grace anymore, he is painfully, pitifully, uselessly human and he doesn’t know what to do but Dean is holding his hand and making their eyes meet and he is comforting and reassuring Castiel which is wrong, it is wrong because Dean is the one that is hurt and Castiel should be comforting and reassuring him, but Dean is squeezing his hand and saying, “hey, I’m alright, darlin’, it isn't much more than a scratch,” and he’s pressing a kiss to Castiel’s cheek and showing him, “look, it’s already pretty much stopped bleeding, darlin’, I've had much worse than this and come out the other side no worse for wear, yeah?” and Castiel thinks that he is burning bleeding breaking because Dean is hurt and he is bleeding but he is also right and Castiel knows this but he is still freaking out because Dean is hurt and he cannot heal him. 

And later, as Castiel runs his hands along the bandage he had wrapped so carefully around Dean’s chest to cover the jagged slash across his breast and ribs that he knows will scar, as he lays there with Dean’s head tucked into the crook of his neck and their legs tangled together within the sheets and wishes wishes wishes that he still had his Grace, he remembers how even bleeding and in pain Dean had called him “darlin’,” had said that word with such gentle, loving reassurance and how just hearing that word fall from Dean’s lips had calmed his racing heart, and he knows why, now, he has to because it cannot feel better than this, cannot possibly mean more than this, here, now. 

(Castiel has always spoken Dean’s name like a prayer, has always greeted him with, “Hello, Dean,” like worship, has always known their bond as something sacred and holy and sublime. Castiel is devoted to humanity and Dean is the alter at which he kneels because Dean Winchester is everything good and right and divine about humanity.) 

(Castiel is a Fallen Angel of the Lord, but he did not care and he did not regret a single action he had taken nor choice he had made that got him here because he knew what it was to feel true, human love for someone and what it was to be loved truly, deeply, selflessly in return.) 

(Castiel was kissing Dean, trailing his fingers along Dean’s scars, tracing constellations between the freckles scattered across Dean’s body like stardust. He was drinking in the color of Dean’s eyes, olive and emerald and gold and amber like sunlight filtering through the trees to dance along the forest floor, like light refracting through a glass of Dean’s favorite aged whiskey, like starlight casting shadows through a stained-glass window. Castiel would kiss and worship and pray and love until Dean could no longer doubt his devotion, until Castiel had wrung every last drop of self-loathing from his body and convinced Dean that he was worthy of being saved, he was worthy of being loved, he was worthy of living, until Dean believed that he did not have to earn their love.) 

(Castiel would praise and worship and prostrate himself on the ground at Dean’s feet until Dean no longer thought himself expendable, no longer thought himself nothing more than another obstacle to be placed between his loved ones and anything that wished them harm, no longer thought himself something to be used up and broken down and thrown away with disgust like one might discard rancid meat.) 

Then Castiel was unraveling Dean, slowly, carefully, one gorgeous, gossamer thread at a time with his hands and his mouth and Dean was writhing beneath him, rendered breathless by his steady ministrations and Dean was breathing his name like a prayer, gasping it into Castiel’s shoulder like a plea, letting it tumble from his lips like a hymn as he cries out and trembles and comes completely undone and Castiel is kissing bruises into Dean’s skin, marking his flesh and drowning in the taste of him and Castiel is lost in Dean’s ecstasy, he is flying with wings built from all of Dean’s sinful noises and loving touches and then he is nipping Dean’s ear and whispering, “my beloved, my righteous man, ol monons, ozien, obza,” slipping into Enochian, calling and claiming and consoling Dean all at the same time (my heart, mine own, my other half). 

And then, oh and then, Castiel finally knew why, finally understood, as he and Dean lay tangled together, warm and full and sated, as Dean turns to him and asks what the Enochian means and Castiel explains, as Dean’s face melts like sugar on Castiel’s tongue into a soft, warm look of such utter love and adoration and tenderness that Castiel forgets how to breathe, as Dean watches him with those honey-whiskey-sage-pine irises still lit from within by an all-encompassing bliss, as Dean’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles and dimples appear at the corners of his kiss-swollen lips and this, Castiel knows, is why, now he understands because it is all about the way Dean looks at him so lovingly, so trustingly, so bashfully at hearing that he is something Castiel treasures and loves and adores and Castiel will spend the rest of their lives branding that look on Dean’s face into his mind just as he burns the words into Dean’s skin with every kiss and bite and breath they ever share. 

[nhasablogg]

I guess you're all mine when you're sleeping in this bed with me

Fandom: Red White and Royal Blue

Characters: Alex/Henry

Summary: Henry needs Alex to tickle his back most nights to fall asleep, until the tickling becomes a little too ticklish for him.

A/N: Prompted by @iamawolfstarsimp, thank you! It's been four years since I read the book, so please forgive anything that might seem out of character. I hope you enjoy! I can't wait for the movie!

Words: 1k

Alex enjoyed sleeping with Henry - sleeping with as in sharing his bed, fighting for the covers, waking up to his bedhead and kisses - for three main reasons.

The first one was because he adored how His Royal Highness would blink up at him sleepily each morning and smile, actions he did on instinct before his brain caught up with his body and made him try to play it cool, much to Alex’s amusement.

The second was because of how Henry would press his nose into Alex’s throat, nuzzling him in such an adorably human way that Alex would laugh incredulously each time (also maybe because it tickled, a little).

The third and biggest reason was the lengths Henry would go to to get Alex to “help him fall asleep”, as he called it. Usually it involved many distractions, but sometimes it really was just Alex scratching his back until he felt him finally relax under his touch. And while it could be annoying, being yanked out of sleep to be of service, there was something so delicious about a literal prince needing his help with something so mundane.

(They hadn’t talked about why he couldn’t sleep yet - Alex reckoned they would have to one day.)

Henry was melting under his touch that night. Alex hadn’t allowed him to toss and turn for too long before he’d dutifully reached out, fingertips sliding skillfully over the skin, following each bump and curve, up and down, back and forth, and Henry was shivering maybe because he was being a little too light on the hand.

“Is it helping?” he mumbled, eyes closed and much too close to sleep again, hence the light touch, but Henry only grunting in response made him instantly perk up. It had only been a moment and Henry never fell asleep that quickly.

He had his eyes wide open when Alex opened his, looking anything but relaxed. “What?”

“You’re asking me?” Alex blinked once, twice. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“All right.”

“Why do you ask?”

“I just-” Had Alex imagined it? “Nothing.”

“Well, keep going then.”

Rolling his eyes, Alex resumed his petting, feeling Henry tense up under his hand before relaxing, only this time he seemed to tense up again almost immediately. It made Alex want to snatch his hand away, give into indignation or confusion since it would be so easy to get upset over it had he been in the mood, but all he did was sit up and force Henry to look at him.

“It’s nothing,” Henry said, sitting up as well, both of their bodies radiating heat in the already too hot room. “It’s stupid.”

“Well, it can’t be both.”

“Funny.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?” He wondered if it had anything to do with how Henry would lay awake half the night sometimes, staring at the ceiling until Alex pulled him close. “If something’s bothering you.”

“I know.” Henry’s face softened. It was ridiculous how soft he could be sometimes when he looked at him. “I promise you it’s nothing serious.”

“But it’s something.”

“It’s embarrassing?”

“Oh? Now I really gotta hear it.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” The sun had set hours ago and Henry had flown in from a brief visit back home only the day prior. He was tired. They both were.

“Fine.” Alex leaned closer and pressed his lips to his temple, smiling when Henry hummed happily. “But if you act weird again I’ll stop petting you.”

“I won’t act weird, I promise.” For some reason he was avoiding Alex’s gaze.

Alex tried to be more aware of how he was touching him when he resumed, what part of his back that made Henry tense up, what spot made his breath hitch. He pretended he didn’t notice it when it started again, realizing how hard Henry seemed to be trying to stop it, and that was when it hit him.

“Oh my god, your back is ticklish.” It wasn’t the first time Alex had discovered a sensitive spot, but it surprised him that Henry still seemed to be able to keep certain tickle spots from him, even after all this time. He was nearly offended.

“It’s not,” Henry said weakly, but when Alex purposefully poked his lower back he let out a sound so delicious that Alex did it again just to hear it.

“That doesn’t sound like a non-ticklish back to me,” he said with a grin and Henry groaned, all too aware of how Alex never let things like these go.

“You’re worse than me,” Henry reminded him in vain, for Alex might be worse but Henry was never able to turn the tables once Alex got him.

“Mmm, at least I’m not pretending otherwise.” That wasn’t true. Henry had to tickle him to pieces three separate times before Alex even admitted to being ticklish.

Henry tried to flip over to shield his back, which would be kind of stupid since his belly and ribs were death spots, but Alex enjoyed the prospect of a new spot more and was on top of him within seconds, knees locking around his hips as he started laughing when Henry swore.

“Get off,” he growled, but the giggle that escaped simultaneously made his words sound very unthreatening. “Alex, I promise you I will get revenge.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Alex poked his back again, this time aiming for just below his shoulder blade. “Hmm, it seems only certain spots are ticklish. Let’s figure out which ones, shall we?”

“Oh my god, please, do-hon’t! Alex, I swear to-”

“Shoulders? Really, Henry?”

“Shut up!”

“Lift your arms a bit for me, darling.”

“You’re so fucking annoying- stop.”

“Back ribs, huh? How about the back of your hips? Let me try that lower back again while I’m down there.”

You’d think this would keep Henry from asking for back tickles in the future, but it didn’t. All it did was make their nights gigglier and Henry fall asleep quicker due to exhaustion.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i'm outta my head over you Pt. 7

prologue (Pt. 1) | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | AO3 | playlist

this is the last chap of my steddie week fic!! i have a little blurb i may do for tomorrow's open ended prompt, but for now, here's the last @steddie-week prompt: misunderstandings

Robin stops him as they’re herding the gremlins into their respective vehicles. You’d think that after nearly five hours of spending the four barely adults’ money would be enough time at the arcade. But no. They’re all fighting them on leaving. As if they all won’t be asleep by the time they get home.

“Once you get it done, you may want to get up early.”

“Uh..what?”

“Steve always goes for a run at like ass o’clock in the morning.” she’s speaking low and fast to try and not draw attention to them, but their normal level of volume with one another is normally 100 times louder than this, so she’s really doing the exact opposite. “If you get up early enough, you can leave it for him while he’s gone.”

“Okayokay, I got it! Now stop making this weird.”

She looks around to find Steve already staring at the two of them questioningly.

“Oh shit… OKAY, YEAH, GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR DATE EDDIE.” she practically yells.

“What the hell, Robin? I don’t have a date!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure it’ll be great!” she’s walking away already, shrugging like even she doesn’t know why the fuck she said that. “Call me when you’re home!”

Eddie smacks his palm against his forehead and turns to his van, not even daring to look at Steve again.

He finally does dare once he’s in his van and has started moving, giving Steve a ‘nothing wrong or weird here’ wave as he pulls away.

The expression on Steve’s face is indiscernible. Somewhere stuck between totally blank, and the most devastated look he’s ever seen.

Damnit, Robin.

He only ended up with Max in his van on the way back, so when they get back, he helps her inside, and resigns himself to staying up all night to finish the tape.

He pulls in next to Wayne’s truck at the same time his uncle is coming out the front door, a dufflebag in hand. 

“You off to work early old man?” and he asks as he gets out of his van, it’s only about 9 PM now and his uncle doesn’t usually go in until near midnight. 

“Yep, gettin’ some dinner with the fellas before we head in. Gotta leave shift early to go visit yer aunt.”

Ah. “That time of year is it?”

“Yep, I’ll see ya tomorrow evenin’, son. Don’t be getting into any trouble, y’hear?”

Eddie just shrugs. “You know me.”

“That’s exactly my point.” Wayne says with a crinkly smirk.

He gives his uncle a short hug, and Wayne kisses the top of his head with another ‘be safe’.

Then, because he’s agonizing about it, Eddie spends the next couple hours cleaning the trailer instead of picking the last two songs that will go on his side (listening to said tape while he does).

He’s still got some ideas from before, but only a couple good ones..and not all of them will fit in the time he’s estimated is left on the B side.

It isn’t until he gets to Be My Baby on his second listen through that he knows which one he’s going to add next.

After he’s got that one figured out and recorded, there definitely isn’t enough room left for the rest of the picks, so he adds the one he thinks says the most about how he feels about Steve, the one that says everything he needs to say.

-----

“Robin did say ‘ass o’clock’,” Eddie says to himself, glancing at the clock in his dashboard.

5:13. Yeah, that sounds right.

Eddie lets out a huge cracking yawn. Okay, he’s definitely gonna crash once he gets back to the trailer. He was so wired after finally finishing the tape, he couldn’t sleep even though he wanted to.

He makes it to Steve's street and parks up the road a bit (not wanting the rattle of his van to alert Steve to his presence if he hadn’t left yet), and walks the last leg. The tape in his pocket feels like it weighs a million pounds.

When he finally rounds the bushes at the front edge of Steve’s yard, Eddie feels every cell in his body seize up at once.

Nancy’s car is in the driveway.

What the–

Suddenly, the front door opens. He dives back behind the bushes, peeking through the leaves. You know, like a sane person?

Why the fuck is Nancy leaving Steve's house so early

Why is Steve only wearing those tiny fuckin’ shorts?

Oh no..

Oh shit.

There’s only one fucking reason

This is all wrong! Nancy knows he has feelings for Steve, was that not what that was at the arcade?

She’s with Robin, she didn’t refute it.

Oh fuck, he’s gonna have to tell Robin.

Eddie debates making himself known, let himself barrel over whatever awkwardness may arise, but he’s still got his heart in his pocket, addressed to Steve.. What’s he supposed to do with that then?

“Oh hey Steve, didn’t see you there! Just came by to drop off your very personal property that your best friend stole for me to defile! Nancy? Oh hey, you’re here! What’s up with tha–”

He’s startled out of his thoughts when the door of Nancy's station wagon shuts, the engine turning over. 

She pulls out, thankfully heading away from where he’s hidden.

Eddie watches until she’s out of sight, then jumps again when he hears Steve’s front door close.

Steve does a few hops in place from foot to foot on his front stoop (still shirtless), and starts off on his run the same way Nancy had gone. Had he been able to see shirtless, sweaty Steve whenever he wanted?? He just goes for runs like this every day? Why had no one told him??

‘Oh fuckin’ hell, shut up, shutup!!’ He yells at himself.

Now what?

Eddie sits in the grass in Steve Harrington’s front yard and stares at the back of his mailbox.

Does he still leave the tape? Of course he should, it is Steve’s tape afterall.

But what about the songs? Steve’s not gonna want his bullshit now…

He could go back to his van and re-write the note then come back and leave it. No, he wouldn’t have time now, Steve’s athletic, yeah, but Eddie’s been frozen in his front yard for a while now. He’d be back soon.

Fuck it. 

He’ll drop the tape on the front step, go back home and pack up his shit. Yeah. Good a time as any to get the fuck outta here.

Confessing your feelings to one of your closest friends who very obviously just got back together with his ex not even ten hours after you’d seen him and were very obviously flirting with each other?

Yeah. Not ideal.

Does he have the funds to get the fuck outta here? No. But he’s got enough for gas and he’s got a van. He’ll just load his mattress into the back and be gone before the rest of the town fully wakes up.

Good plan, Eddie’s brain. Thank you, rest of Eddie.

-------

Steve slows to a jog once he can see his house, cooling down from his run on the last little bit of his road, and stopping in his driveway to do some stretches back to the door.

He’s sinking down into his last lunge when he sees the little square of…something…sitting on the front step.

“The hell?”

He stoops down and picks it up, turns it over. There’s a piece of lined paper rubber banded around it.

Peeling off the band, Steve steps inside and unfolds the letter, leaning back on the now closed front door to read

“...oh no…” Steve looks down at the case in his hand. Now he sees why the rubberband was necessary, there’s another folded wad of papers shoved into the cassette’s case, now popped open without the band holding it together.

His heart, previously calmed down from his run, now beat wildly in his chest as he unfurls the short stack of paper.

He reads the first line, ‘8. I Was Made For Lovin’ You...’

“Holy shit.”

Steve books it up the stairs, he’s gotta get showered, he’s gotta get changed, he’s got one more song to add to the tape.

-------

Eddie’s just finished packing up his clothes when his alarm clock radio goes off, the 7am alarm still set for when he has to get up for school.

“...still don’t believe it, he was just leaving OH there must be some misunderstanding! There must be some kind of mistake…” blasts through the tinny speakers.

Nopenopenope, not dealing with that right now.

He slaps the clock around until it finally shuts off its maniacal teasing, and goes back to packing (and blinking away some wayward tears).

He’s just dropped the second bag of clothes and his sweetheart in her case by the front door and is contemplating if his mattress would actually fit in the back of his van, when there’s a knock on the door.

Eddie’s gut freezes mid-flip.

Oh no. Please n–

“Eddie, are you there? It’s Steve. Can I come in?”

‘Don’t move. Don’t make a single sound. Maybe he’ll think you’re not home and just leave.’

“C’mon man, I know you’re in there. You’re van’s out here.”

“Shit.”

Eddie trudges his way to the front door and opens it.

Even with floppy, just-washed, hair and an inside-out polo, Steve’s still the most beautiful person in existence.

“What do you want, Steve?” Wow. Even he’s surprised at how morose he sounds.

“I uh, I got your tape..my tape? I got your note. I added one more song and I thought, maybe, I could–” Steve looks down. “Are you..” his voice pitches high so he clears it. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Mhm.” Eddie can’t look him in the eye. He stares at the porch.

“Where are you–”

“Just going, ‘kay Steve? No need to worry about me being around anymore.” Eddie practically spits, still not looking up at his friend.

“Eddie, what are you–” he cuts himself off, his voice going soft. “Did you not mean what you said?”

That makes Eddie look up at him. Steve’s gaze is now cast downwards, staring blankly at Eddie’s packed bags.

“...I meant every word. Every song, Steve. But that doesn’t matter now, does it?” he’s truly mad now, who does he think he is, trying to act all glum like he wasn’t the one betraying his best friend.

“B-betraying my best–Eddie, what the hell are you talking about?”

Damn! He said that out loud.

“Just go away, Steve. I won’t tell Robin, but you definitely should.” Eddie moves to close the front door and turns back towards his room. He doesn’t hear it close, but he hears the creak of the floor when Steve follows him in.

Of. Course.

“Tell Robin what, Eddie? I already told her how I felt about you, that’s why she stole you the tape in the first plac–”

“Not that! You–” Eddie clenches his fists at his sides and spins back to face Steve. “That you hooked up with her girlfriend last night.” Steve’s face pales and Eddie continues on. “Yeah. I came by to drop off your tape; Robin thought I could leave it there when you left for your run. But lo and behold, what do I see when I come by? Nancy Wheeler’s car in your driveway at ass o’clock in the morning.

“Now, I may be a third time senior, but even I know what the fuck that means. Especially when, not long after I’ve gotten there, the Lady Wheeler herself waltzes out the door with Tiny Shorts McGee following her like a lost puppy.” he gestures at Steve, who’s still frozen in place by the door.

“So yeah, you can just burn those notes for all I care, I don’t even know why I still left it. Whatever. I’m leaving today anyway so you don’t need to worry about me pining hopelessly after you, ‘kay?”

Eddie’s chest is heaving, his eyes are burning with unshed tears, and Steve…starts laughing.

“I fuckin’ knew it!” There are tears spilling freely out of his eyes now. “You’re really good y’know, had everyone fooled. Even me! King Steve is alive and well, everyone!” Eddie spreads his hands wide and yells to no one.” I can’t believe you got me to fall for your good guy schtick. Get the fuck outta my house, Harrington.” Eddie points to the door, stalking forward.

“Eddie! Eddie, wait, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed.” Steve puts his hands out and Eddie stops, crossing his arms and glaring. “Eddie, please, Nancy was only dropping something off for me.”

“Yeah righ–”

“She was! She came by that early because she’s driving to an interview this morning at a paper in Indy. She knew I’d be up for my run anyway, so she stopped to give me the revisions she made to my–you know what, hold on. I’m calling Robin.”

“Steve, I told you to get the fuck out of my house, not go further into it.”

Steve ignores him and goes to the phone, giving Eddie as wide of a berth as he can while he passes. He picks it up and dials.

“I’m not fucking kidding, Harrington, get the fuck out of here–” Eddie’s anger is multiplied tenfold when Steve holds out a finger to shush him.

“Hi Mr. Buckley, this is Steve. I’m sorry to call so early, but can I please speak to Robin? There was a last minute change to our schedule…thank you.’

Eddie watches Steve’s face morph from his customer service expression, to an admittedly frightening pissed off smile when Robin apparently gets on the line.

“Hey Robin! I found my Eddie tape! It’s the funniest thing, I came back from my run and it was sitting on my doorstep.”

Eddie can hear the muffled sound of Robin’s voice coming through the earpiece.

“I know, isn’t that crazy?” Damn, Steve’s passive aggressive voice is…something else. “He must’ve dropped it off while I was gone..why wouldn’t he give it to me in person?”

Steve waves at Eddie to come closer, and when he stubbornly doesn’t, Steve rolls his eyes and comes to him, stretching the cord across the kitchen as he does.

“Hmmm...maybe.. Or maybe something scared him off?” He takes in an over-dramatic sarcastic gasp. “Or maybe, my best friend and soulmate who stole the tape for him, told him to come by at the exact worst time! When she knew a certain ex of mine and current girlfriend of hers was stopping by before leaving to Indy and it scared him off!”

Steve tilts the handset out from his ear so Eddie can hear..there’s complete silence on the other end.

“That would suck, don't you think? Seeing your crush’s ex leaving their house early in the morning when you’re coming over to confess to them?” He continues.

“Oh. My. God. Steve!! I am so so sorry I–”

“Don’t apologize to me, apologize to Eddie.”

Steve grabs up Eddie’s hand and wraps it around the handset, forcing him to take it, then stomps off into the living room.

Eddie puts the phone to his ear and walks back to the receiver, Robin rambling in his ear the whole way. 

“--ddie, I’m so so sorry! I totally forgot Nancy was dropping off Steve’s paper this morning before she went to her interview! Please please don’t be mad at me, actually, scratch that. Be super mad at me, but definitely not at Steve, okay? I should have remembered, I should have told you, I should hav–”

It’s effective, he feels the anger draining out of him. “Robin, Robin! It’s okay, you’re okay.” Eddie glances over at Steve, who’s pacing up and down the short length of the trailer’s living room. “But now I have a very pissed off Harrington in my house right now…you got any survival tips for me?” he mumbles lowly.

“...Oh! I know, just go over there and kiss hi–her–stupid!” Eddie snorts through his nose, her parents must still be nearby.

“Got it, I’ll try that. Thanks Birdie…for everything.”

She sighs in relief. “You’re welcome, Doofus.”

Eddie slowly hangs up the phone, and turns to where Steve is. Now stationary, he’s got one hand on his hip, and the other is rifling through his hair nervously.

‘Yep. Buckley’s right.’

Eddie takes a deep breath and crosses to Steve in three short strides, grabs his face in both his hands, and kisses him deeply.

Steve responds immediately; he wraps one arm around Eddie’s waist, his large palm centered squarely on his lower back, and one around his arm, lacing his fingers into Eddie’s curls and cupping the back of his head.

Steve pulls their bodies flush and cants his hips into Eddie’s, tugs a breathy moan from Eddie’s throat when the hand in his curls tightens.

Eddie’s nose is pressed uncomfortably into the space between Steve’s nose and cheekbone with how close they’ve smushed themselves together, but Eddie can’t find it in himself to care. 

He’s kissing Steve Harrington. 

There’s a strong thigh slotted between his, and Steve Harrington is kissing him back. 

Eddie moves one hand down to clutch at Steve’s shirt, and pushes the other back, grabbing onto those short hairs on the back of Steve’s neck.

They finally come up for air after one too many teeth clashes, their foreheads coming together.

“Hi.” they breathe out at the same time, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

“We’re kinda idiots, huh?” Steve says, looking cross-eyed between Eddie’s eyes. The hazel of his eyes sparkling with the movement.

Eddie chuckles. “Dingus and Doofus, remember?” he points to each of them in turn, only lifting his pointer finger out of the grip on Steve’s shirt to do so.

“Can I play you the last song now?”

and then they low dance in eddie's living room

Yay!! that's it, thanks for following along with this one!!! here's the last tags :o) @hellomynameismoo, @messrs-weasley, @manda-panda-monium

Here's some notes since it's the last part:

this is the most I’ve ever written in such a short time, I literally wrote each of these chapters the day before their day to be posted….most of it while at work lmao

Steve used a Sony C60 tape. i.e. there’s 60-ish minutes of space on it. before At Last, the songs on the tape totaled 55 min 55 seconds, a perfect amount left for Etta James (ending up at 58 min 54 seconds in total according to my spoofy playlist).

I know that the Eddie half of songs weren’t really…’Eddie music’, but in my head, Eddie likes music for being music. All music is good (like he said to Max in part 5). Plus, he wanted to put songs on the tape that he knew Steve would like/want to listen to.

steve asked nancy to make revisions on his nursing school application essay (he found he quite liked the process of taking care of eddie and wants to go to school for it!)

anyone else just recently realize that Take Me Home Tonight had an allusion to Be My Baby?? anyway, love that, wanted to make that a thing here :o)

and lastly, a couple of little things i LOVED about this fic that i didn’t see anyone else / only a couple people point out:

Steve singing the rubber duckie song to Eddie in part 5

Eddie literally giving Gareth the shirt off his back in part 2 when Tommy threw his pop on him (in my head, this is the same red buffalo check flannel that Gareth ends up cutting the sleeves off of and wears in S4).

that's all!! thanks for reading, friends :o)

[diodellet]

ily now leave me tf alone (jamil viper x gn!reader)

summary: Your mouth just says the darndest things under sleep deprivation. And to add insult to injury, jamil's there to see it in real time. content warnings: sleep deprivation ++super short, mild back nd forth betw you and jamil, set after the events of book 4, pre-slash ig? unebta'd. all mistakes are mine. word count: 1.1k words

No, you weren’t tired. It wasn’t even twenty four hours, you could handle this one party. You gave yourself a quick once-over through the front-facing camera of your phone.

Okay, the dark circles were horribly hidden with your concealer. But if you wiped away your fifteen minutes of work, you had a hunch that your expression would look way, way worse than what you were seeing now.

(At least nobody would be close enough to see the shitty handiwork… right?)

So you leave it on, pocket your phone, then walk through the mirror after Grim.

The heat of the Scarabia dorm falls over you. Heavy, enough to sap away the remnants of your energy. 

At least it was past noon, the tail-end of the worst of the heat. 

You scan your surroundings, Grim’s nowhere to be found. Maybe he made a beeline for the kitchen. 

Might as well greet and apologize to Jamil right now. And then go say hi to Kalim, and then figure out a way to keep Grim entertained until the party actually started by the way why did you think that arriving two hours early was a good idea—

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” Never mind! At your strained smile, Jamil’s expression pulls into a slight frown. Like he could tell that you were ready to deflect.

Since the holiday break incident™️ you noticed that irritation was the first thing to break his cool facade. 

(A part of you missed the politeness and formality, and a little bit of being fussed over. Even if it was feigned, concern felt…good. It was better than having your emotional state be brushed over by your “kind and gracious” guardian figure.)

“Man, is it that obvious?” 

“Mhm. Where’s Grim?” 

You wince. “Wherever the food’s at, probably. I told him to save his appetite for tonight.”

He sighs. “Of course, why would I expect anything less from that gluttonous cat?”

“Hey! How many times do I gotta tell you that I’m not a cat!” Grim said defensively, wriggling in the grasp of another Scarabia student.

“I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for finding him.” You step forward to take him only to stop in your tracks at the feeling of Jamil’s hand on your shoulder.

“Could you take him to Kalim? The prefect’s familiar seems to have gotten… lost.”

Since the holiday break incident™️, you also noticed that Jamil started to freely express himself more through cutting side-comments and a healthy dose of sarcasm.

“Hey, hey! Stop ignoring me!!” Grim’s protests fell on deaf ears as he was carted off to the dorm leader.

…it was safe to assume that Jamil knew Grim would head for the food, right? Right?

So why did he ask you where Grim was?

“Relax, Kalim knows how to entertain guests.”

“He’s probably going to overload Grim on snacks and appetizers, and my not-familiar’s stomach is going to explode.” 

“He’ll be fine. Besides, you're two hours early. Whose idea was that?” Despite the question—maybe it’s sleep deprivation, but you’re positive that—you can see a small upwards curve on Jamil’s lips.

(You’re not sure how to feel about being on the receiving end of said jabs. They don’t feel malicious when directed at you. But at times it feels like you’re being toyed with. It feels weird.)

“Well, that’s because—you see, in my world,” you start. Oh no, you’re feeling fluttery and fumbling your words.

“In your homeworld?” 

Nevermind, you point your gaze to your shoes and confess in a soft voice, “I thought I could help y…out a bit…”

When you glance up, you’re not prepared for the light flick of his fingers against your forehead. “Ow! What the hell, Jamil!”

The gesture didn’t hurt much. If anything, it forcefully knocked away your building exhaustion and left you with a strange energy coursing through your veins. Sort of like caffeine and adrenaline.

Through the gaps of your fingers, Jamil’s expression is a mix between flustered and exasperated. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it would reflect badly on the Asim family if I allowed that to happen.”

Still, a frown forms on your face. “Then what do I do for the next two hours? Twiddle my thumbs? Leave and then come back?”

“You can stay in my room.”

“Oh, okay.” After a beat passes, the words actually sink in. “What?”

“Don’t tell me you have the energy to handle conversing with Kalim.” He turns away, was he going to leave you—

Your next words spill out in a hurry, “No, no, no, wait, I wasn’t thinking that! Please take me to your room and let me have a power nap on your comfy bed—”

Jamil whips around, “Not so loud!” 

(Okay. The way he was holding your cheeks was hurting a bit. Just a little bit. But the slight panic in his eyes was giving you the slightest feeling of vindication.)

You mime zipping your mouth shut and he lets go of you, motioning for you to follow him.

You can feel your heart’s pulse in your ears, drowning out all other sounds.

When you arrive at his room, you give him another cautious look. “Are you really sure it’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t okay with it.” Jamil closes the door behind him, twisting the lock shut. He makes his way to his cabinet.

“Alright, say less.” And that’s that! You toe off your shoes and faceplant on the mattress—springy and firm. A feeling you didn’t realize you were missing after months of sleeping in your bed at the Ramshackle dorm.

“I’ll wake you up before the party.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.” Speaking of which, now that you were lying down, your exhaustion was finally catching up to you.

“Just don’t drool on my pillow.” He walks past you to head into the bathroom when you suddenly tug at the hem of his shirt.

“Wait wait, before I sleep, I have to tell you something—” Ah, this was bad, you were too tired to even sit up.

“What is it?” Even until now, he was still putting on that mask of nonchalance.

You motion for him to lean closer to you.

Jamil levels a suspicious look at you before crouching at the side of his bed.

The next moment happens in a blur, with your body moving of its own accord, not an ounce of hesitation or second-guessing.

Your hands reach out, guiding him close enough for you to press a quick kiss to his cheek—Jamil tenses up at the gesture, you can’t see what expression he’s making—afterwards you push him away. Turn onto your other side, and face your back towards him.

“Goodnight, I love you.” Okay, now you are going to shut up!

It takes him a few seconds to mutter a quiet “good night” in return.

A/N: apparently bball jamil is dropping durin my birth month... WILD! let's ignore the fact that i have work in 3ish hours HAHAHA ya girl's been busy girlbossing and wrestling with her impostor syndrome this summer haha HEY LOOK! something short to get me back into the groove of writing. im not abandoning my other wips dont worry! but yeah, it's just my already slow writing is gonna be waaay slower. don't be afraid to reblog and holler in the tags, I treasure each and every comment.💕💕 tagging my fellow jamil simps: @mochimiyaas @merotwst @kaechannn @anxiously-sidequesting

[pullhisteeth]

(Possibly Triggering) Kind of a self comforting request, but could we get a story where the reader has bulimia and Eddie kind of puts the pieces together and tries to help? Like a hurt/comfort fic?

just want to say I love u and u got this <3 been there and I know u will be okay. hopefully this helps you feel a lil better for the time being x

I wrote this from Eddie's pov because I think it fits quite well. :)

cw/tw for eating disorders, vomiting, body image issues, difficult convos. Eddie and reader fight and make up. fem!reader, petnames, angst, fluff. hurt/comfort. [3.3k]

-

Eddie worries about you. He thinks it's normal, and he's sure you'd agree; he can't help it and doesn't wish to stop. He worries about you walking home from work at dusk, worries about you when you're out with friends, bar-hopping in downtown Hawkins, worries about you when you don't get dinner because work ran over and you want to sleep. He also knows you're an adult who can take care of herself so he worries from afar most days, but today he can't let it go.

So far, since you arrived at his trailer four and a half hours ago, he's asked you if you're okay seventeen times. The last one was an hour ago, when you snapped at him to stop.

You've just finished a six-day work week and now you're dozing on his lap while he reads a book, fingers carding through your hair. He's soothed by the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing and the feeling of your chest expanding and deflating beside his thigh, so he's very content to stay where he is and let you get some rest. You never snap at him. He thinks you must be tired.

Eventually he feels you stir, twisting round so you're on your back, head still resting on his lap so you can look up at him. He peeks down at you over the top of his book and it makes you giggle, a broken, sleepy laugh that he can't help but smile at. You rub your eyes and reach past your head to stretch, arching your back off the bed and sighing.

"Good sleep?" he asks softly, turning down the corner of his page and closing the book. He drops it unceremoniously on the bed beside your hip.

You hum in response and he takes it as an affirmative. His hand, fingers splayed, moves to rest on your stomach under your shirt, and you wince and laugh again at the contact.

"Your hands are so fucking cold!"

"Sorry," he says through a grin, slightly disingenuous. "You are boiling. My own personal furnace."

"Mm," you hum happily. You're in a good mood, clearly better for the hour of sleep. "What're you readin'?"

You reach beside you and take the book, bringing it over your head to squint through sleep-fuzzy eyes at the cover. As his hand smooths up and down your stomach, he begins to tell you.

"Mike let me borrow it. It's a fantasy series, he said it's really good."

"Hm, it looks like a Mike book."

"What does that mean?!" he laughs, incredulous at your insinuation.

"I dunno, it just looks like those graphic novels you guys read."

He can't argue with that; the cover is a vibrant cacophony of mythical creatures, treasure and dungeons and fire.

"Well, it's good so far," he says playfully, snatching the book from you and hanging it out of reach. You squirm to take it back, arms extended up, giggling when his splayed hand inches up and digs into your side.

"C'mon," he says, throwing the book to the other side of the room and ignoring your teasing protests at his abuse of something so precious. "We gotta have some dinner."

You physically deflate when he says this, and the worry creeps back, settling uncomfortably under his skin. He watches your arched back lie flat against his bed and the smile lines disappear from beside your eyes. On your stomach his hand resumes its soothing, this time partly for you but partly for himself, too.

"What d'ya wanna eat?" he tries, dodging your body language and hoping he's misreading it.

You hum again, a sad and uncertain sound, before saying, "not that hungry."

"Oh, come on," he says, hoping his tone is playful enough that you don't notice that he's playing a part. "You've not eaten all day."

Groaning, you roll over and look away from him. Now he can only see the back of your head and the side of your face, but even then he can still make out the disgruntled look on it. His hand is on your side, where it slid as you turned over, so he continues his attempt to soothe you while he tries again.

"How 'bout some fries? Got some in the freezer, I can just shove 'em in the oven."

He listens to your breathing as you fail to answer him, and wills himself to not get frustrated. This has happened before, your tendency to avoid this conversation, and even when he's tried to ask why he gets nowhere. Over the many months you've been together, plenty of which you've spent almost living with each other, he's not failed to notice the strange ways you interact with food, and slowly but surely he's been piecing it together.

He also knows this is something you have to come to him about, so he'll wait for you. Forever, if he has to. And while he does, he just wants you to get some decent meals in.

Finally, you roll back over and look at him. Your expression is strange, almost sad but also smooth and there are no worry lines. He hopes this is because he's calmed you down.

"Okay," you say, smiling, and his heart does a skip. "Fries sound great."

He leans down, one hand back on your stomach and the other in your hair, and kisses you. It's stilly and awkward because you're at a ninety-degree angle, but he dots more up your nose and across your forehead, relishing in your light giggles.

"Up ya get," he demands, hands creeping underneath you to push you up and off his lap. As he slides out from under you and swings his legs round to stand, you let yourself flop back down onto his bed, into the warm indent he left behind. He watches you curl up in a ball on your side and dramatically shove your face into the comforter, sniffing loudly with your nose scrunched.

"You're so fucking weird," he declares as he stands over you with his hands on his hips. You look up at him, pouting, batting your eyelashes. "And beautiful, of course," he adds, grinning. He leans down again and kisses your cheek, lingering for a second to feel you smile. You reach up and hold the side of his face, thumb on the apple of his cheek.

When he stands back up, he shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and says, "you stay there, I'll give ya a shout when they're done, okay?"

"Okay," you respond, wriggling to get comfortable and shutting your eyes again. He leaves you be, closing the door softly behind himself, though not before stealing a look at you splayed on his bed dozing off.

He busies himself with dinner, putting some fries from the freezer into the oven. He tries his hand at cooking some vegetables, too, because he wants you to have some balance. As he chops carrots and broccoli and fills a pan with water for boiling, he thinks about the fact that he has never before in his life felt this dedicated to another person. He doesn't feel like what he imagines parents feel like, but he does want you to have the best of everything, all the time. It's a strangely comforting realisation.

As everything cooks, he creeps back across the trailer to his room, where he prises open the door and treads inside quietly. You're asleep again, uncurled somewhat from the ball he'd left you in. He watches you for a moment, enjoying how peaceful you are, face squished into the comforter and hair all over the place.

He steps over to the other side of the room and finds the book he'd thrown earlier. Picking it up, he leaves the room and retakes his spot on the counter by the stove.

He only gets one more chapter in before the timer dings. He drains the vegetables and plates them with the chips on two plates, giving you a few more for good measure, and then he returns to his room to gently shake you awake.

When you stir and attempt to grumpily protest, he says, "food's ready, c'mon."

You stretch again, like a cat basking in the sun, and get off the bed slowly, rubbing your eyes. You follow him to the kitchen and he watches you as your hunger seems to take over. Sitting down at the table, you say, "thanks, Eds," and start eating, seemingly without thinking – vegetables first, as always. He eats too, though always with his eye on you.

When you get halfway through the chips, he sees your expression change. It shifts from a peaceful one to one that is unmistakably uncomfortable, though you carry on, stealing worried glances at him every now and then.

"Okay?" he asks fondly, hand laid on the table for you, an offering. You don't take it, though.

You hum and put your fork down. Wordlessly, he takes both plates and sets them on the side, while you get up and take a seat on the couch. He can tell there's something bothering you but chooses to let you come to him, so he just joins you, switching the TV on as he passes it on his way. He wraps you in one arm and you settle, still silent, into his side, watching whatever mindless show is playing.

A few minutes pass of this quiet, and though he doesn't mind, he, of course, worries.

You wriggle out from beside him and stand, saying "be back in a sec."

He watches you head to the bathroom and shut the door. Willing himself to leave you alone, he tries to focus on the television. But you don't come back, and after a few minutes he decides he'll busy himself with the dishes.

And then he finishes the dishes, and you're still in the bathroom, so he reads some more, perched back on the kitchen counter.

But after another chapter, you're still in there.

So he gives in.

Knocking softly, he murmurs, "you okay in there?"

He hears some shuffling, and the sound of the toilet lid closing and the flush. And then you say, loudly, "yes, Eddie, I'm fine thanks," with a sharpness that makes him wince. That same sharpness as earlier, when he'd asked you if you were okay for the seventeenth time.

Except this time, he's not taking a lie for an answer. 

"Honey, I know something's wrong. Talk to me."

You're silent on the other side. He knows this silence; this is you thinking.

He waits on the other side of the door for you. It takes you a couple of minutes but he breathes a sigh when he hears the lock click. You peek out from behind the door and he feels his stomach drop when he sees your eyes.

You're all blotchy, skin wet and raw, and it's very clear you've been crying.

"What's going on?" he says quietly. "Please talk to me."

You sigh, close your eyes, and open the door slowly. He makes room for you to come out and, turning the light off on your way, you stand in front of him and look down at your hands.

"I can't," you say, voice pained.

"Why though? It's only me," he responds, voice equally as sad.

"Eddie, I just can't, I don't know, I-"

"I'm not taking that. It's what I'm here for, I want to look after you."

"I don't need you to look after me," you say coldly.

"Oh, don't give me that."

"I don't, though."

"Yes you do," he insists.

"No, I don't."

"You clearly do."

"Stop being mean."

"It's okay," he urges you.

"No, it's not."

"It's okay," he repeats.

"Eddie, stop it."

"It's okay to need looking after, you know."

"No, it's not! I'm an adult, I should be able to eat a fucking meal and not throw it back up afterwards," you snap.

Eddie doesn't say anything. He can't, too stunned by your confession.

Scrunching your face when you realise what you've admitted, you push past him with your shoulder and a groan.

"Stop," he says, holding his arm out for you but you're too quick for him, striding through the living room to his bedroom. Hot on your heels he follows you and wedges himself between the door and the frame as you try to shut it.

You're crying now, and he's nearly there himself because this is his fault.

"Please just let me help," he pleads, letting himself in and standing on the side of the bed closest to the door. You're around the other side, facing him, hiding your face in your hands. "I want to know what I can do."

"There's nothing you can do," you say through wet hiccups.

"I can listen," he tells you. And he means it – it's all he wants to do.

You heave a deep breath and lower your hands. He nearly falls to his knees when he really sees you, your tired eyes and wet face, but he holds his resolve and stands patiently.

You sit, giving up, back to him. He sits too, with his back to you, knowing that if you wanted to you could ask him to turn around, or sit next to him. Perhaps not having to look at him will make it a bit easier for you.

"I can't do this," you sigh behind him. He feels his heart break at the break in your voice, but focuses on listening to you.

"It's just me, baby," he says. "I'll wait here 'til you can."

The bed bounces beside him as you flop down on your back, the same way you did earlier – only this time you're exasperated, groaning. There's no giddiness, no giggles. He hates it.

"It's been happening for years," you tell him.

"What has?"

You're quiet for a minute, before you say, "me being sick after I eat."

"You make yourself sick, right?"

He's been looking straight ahead, but now he twists to look down at you. Around your head your hair's splayed everywhere and even when your eyes are all red round the edges and swollen, he thinks you look like an angel.

Toying with your hair, his fingers dance their way to your scalp, where they rest on your forehead. Between your brows he smooths the skin that's scrunched in concentration and feels you relax ever so slightly under his touch.

"Yeah," you sigh. "I wish I could stop."

"How long's it been goin' on?"

"A few years. On an' off since I was, like, fourteen."

"That's so long," he says. And then he tries, "Ever had help for it?"

"Once," you answer, "in high school. Worked for a bit but it started again when I left."

"I love you," he reminds you.

"Love you too," you say back, letting your eyes close and keening into his hand where it now rests on the side of your face. "Sorry I never told you."

"It's okay," he assures you.

"I shoulda said something, instead of sneakin' off after meals."

"It's okay, really. Just glad I know now."

After a beat, you say, "I've never told anyone before. Except the therapist, obviously."

"I'm honoured," he says with a low laugh, though he means it. "You're the most important thing to me, ever. I'll do whatever ya need."

You reach up and hold his wrist, and use it to pull yourself up to spin round and sit next to him. Resting your cheek in his shoulder, you hum, and he brings his arm around you, smoothing it up and down your arm.

"Wanna eat anythin' else?"

"Hm, no. Can we go out for breakfast, though?"

"Sure can, sugar. Benny's?"

"Yes please," you say, grinning. Bringing your legs up, you swing one over Eddie's thighs so you're straddling him, and wrap your arms around his neck. 

"Thank you," you murmur into his neck. The vibration tickles and he squirms underneath you. Bringing his arms around your middle, he squeezes back.

"Nothin' to thank me for, baby."

You pull back and hold his face in your hands, surveying his face with a funny expression.

"What?"

"How'd I land such a handsome-" You kiss his face to punctuate each word. "-Smart, kind, brilliant boyfriend?"

"Dunno," he responds, kissing back. "Same as I dunno how I landed a gorgeous, brave, perfect girlfriend."

You kiss the skin under his ear and again on his jaw.

"Wanna go to bed?" he whispers as you look at him. Your faces are an inch apart, so you rest your forehead on his and close your eyes.

"Yeah," you breathe, the air warm on his face, and he can't help but chase it and lean in to kiss you. He does so softly, feather-light, and when you break away you say, "don't, I probably taste gross."

"Don't care," he replies, kissing you again, warm and like home.

"Seriously, Eds," you giggle against his mouth, pushing firm palms on his chest. "I gotta brush my teeth."

"Nuh-uh," he says loudly, gripping you hard around your waist with his arms. "Hold on," he warns. With all his might he lifts you, with his hands slid under your thighs, as he stands. When he does he wobbles a bit, making both of you laugh into each other's mouths, and as he regains his balance he walks you across the room. You kiss sloppy, happy marks down his neck and across his shoulder through his tattered old t-shirt, while he makes his way to the bathroom where he sits you on the lid of the toilet.

Once he's rinsed it and added toothpaste, he hands you your toothbrush and does the same to his own. You stand there in relative silence, brushing until you're satisfied. When you spit in the bowl he jabs your side and you make eye contact in the mirror, where he makes to spit into your hair. You wriggle away, squealing, hands covering the crown of your head, and he laughs as he stands back up, rinsing both brushes again and replacing them in the cup. After a routine splash of water to your face, which you swat away as always, he takes your hand and follows you back to the bedroom.

"Love you," he tells you as you lie in bed, slotted into one another.

There are a thousand other things he wishes he could tell you, too, like how he's pretty sure he'd be dead in a ditch somewhere if it weren't for you, because he can't seem to keep his own head screwed on right most days; like the fact that even though you hate him telling you this, he loves nothing more than when he comes home from a gig to find you asleep, mouth hanging open, drooling all over his pillows; and like the fact that he's certain now that this is all that he wants, forever, and that he knows he's gonna marry you.

Maybe he will tell you that one. One day.

-