#or stew in your rainbow

[rubanacabana]

valentine of july (made in july) & losing it (under august's sun)

AHHHAUHJK I MADE THESE SO LONG AGO BUT NEVER POSTED ART FOR REAL UNTIL NOW <3<3 had so much fun painting these up these last two months of summer, esp since i love ink! i guess it'll be my first art post ever on tumblr now? -- enjoy! ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰

(the one and only ink!sans by @comyet ! one of my favorite artists for years before making a tumblr !)

update: (oh, I should add!! maybe I’ll write it on a master post later? 🌷🌷🌷 reblogs are totally okay! but please no reposts on this site or any other platform ! thank you all !) 🧡💖🧡

[kayjaywrites]

Ink & Beans (Azriel x Reader Oneshot)

D20 Dice Roll Prompt: 11. “You’re definitely the only person I would do this for.” Fluff/Humor/SFW

Summary: You ask Azriel to spy on someone for gossip and he does it.

Word Count: ~2,100

Content Warning: None really, Az gets a little horned up but it's not explicit.

Authors Notes: I have a prompt list going for when I have writer's block. I’m gonna start rolling a d20 dice and do the prompt it lands on, replacing the finished prompt with a new one. I’d love to add requests and ideas from you guys to the list!

XxXx

Azriel arrived at your favorite coffee shop three hours before you. Ink & Beans was a small business within The Rainbow, founded by a family of Fae known for their writing prowess. The youngest daughter of the family, Raychelle, did not inherit the family’s writing talent, but loved creative writing all the same. Instead of stewing on her back to back publication rejections, she threw herself into creating a safe creative space for herself, and anyone else like her. The result was a questionably named cafe with workshops, peer editors, late hours, and caffeine. It was a fool proof business model really. Even before Azriel got close to you, he enjoyed visiting the cafe.

Everything about the place oozed comfort. The lights, warm and dim, were soothing and complimented the rustic cottage theme well. The booths were cozy, yet supportive, and although Azriel had been nursing his tea for 2 and half hours he did not feel sore for sitting so long.

Now, it wasn’t unusual for him to loiter around alone. People watching and eavesdropping were a huge part of his job after all. However if anyone had asked him yesterday if he’d ever spy within Ink & Bean he would have said no. There was never a reason to investigate the cafe, he was on a first name basis with the owner and most of the regulars.

Yet, here he was, deploying his shadows and listening in to customer and staff conversations. All because he was a sucker.

He loved listening to you talk. It didn’t matter what you were hyper focusing on, he couldn’t get enough of your passion. So when you dove into an elaborate breakdown of the relationships among those that frequent Ink & Beans he was all too happy to listen. He didn’t like drama that involved him, but hearing other people’s drama was one of his favorite things about being a spymaster. He never got mad at unintentional gossip while on missions, it was often a highlight for him.

So yeah, he was a little invested in your theory that one of the regulars, a quiet male named Fin, was flirting with Raychelle, and that Raychelle was flirting back. He’d been going there with you for almost a decade now, and he’d never seen Raychelle show interest in anyone. If anything he’d witnessed her curb potential suitors with efficient politeness.

And you were talking with such conviction, eyes fiery and excited when he shared your curiosity. You swept him up in that magnitude of yours, the same pull that made you a best selling romance author he supposed. Your enthusiasm became his, and suddenly he was sharing his own theories.

He’d noticed Fin blushing at Raychelle on occasion when she took his order, but never saw him flustered when another employee was at the register. You’d noticed that too, and somehow by the end of the gossip session he had agreed to working on his day off. 

Like a sucker.

Just like you said, Fin came by on his lunch break and spent it chatting with Raychelle in between rushes. You were willing to bet money that if he listened in on the conversation, he would learn the true nature of their relationship, and before he knew what he was doing he was agreeing to stake out the place for three hours for you.

Only for you to be so wrong. He was a regular enough that he figured his presence wouldn’t be anything of note. Apparently his presence without you was fuel for the gossip train.

Jennifer, a young local artist who came in on her daily coffee run for her office had made an offhand comment to the new girl on the register, Heather, “It was rare to see Azriel here without Ms. Reader.” 

Two of the regular weekday afternoon dishwashers in the back were wondering if you were standing Azriel up, and if they thought they had a chance with you. This update from the shadows had left him fuming, because no, they did not have a chance with you if he had anything to say about it.

A good looking female came in, evidentantly a first time customer as she asked Raychelle what she would recommend, and then subtly but not subtle enough gestured to Azriel and asked if he was single. In which Raychelle said that he wasn’t.

Which wasn’t true, and he was sure Raychelle knew he was unattached.

Then Fin finally showed up for his lunch break, and Raychelle almost caught Azriel watching them as she followed Fin to a secluded booth on the opposite side of the cafe than him. They were just out of earshot so his shadows did the listening for him.

And boy oh boy. The gossip they overheard was juicy.

Raychelle and Fin spent the entire lunch hour talking about how obvious it was that you were in love with Azriel. Raychelle was furious at him for being so oblivious to “what was right in front of him”. Fin was starting to think that you were secretly dating Azriel already, because there was no way the spymaster of the Night Court didn’t notice your feelings. According to them, you looked at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky. You checked him out all the time. When he wasn’t around, you talked about how much you missed him, and were here more often while he was on missions.

Azriel’s head was spinning from the new intel by the time you sat yourself in the booth across from him. For nearly three hours the most popular topic of gossip within Ink & Beans was you.

“So did you learn anything interesting?” You dove right into it, foregoing a greeting as you leaned across the small table, studying him with eager excitement.

“Yes.” Azriel took in how oblivious you were, so focused on him you didn’t notice the way surrounding conversations quieted down around you. Was this how it always was when you guys met up here? If so, Azriel understood Raychelle’s annoyance. How had he not noticed?

You shifted in your seat, your hand drumming on the wooden tabletop in impatience. “And?”

“You know you are the only person I’d ever do something like this for, right?” Azriel said instead.

Perplexed, you cocked your head to the side. “Uh, I guess. So?”

“So: I don’t typically just take jobs without some sort of payment. Especially on my day off.” Azriel leaned back, crossing his arms casually over his chest as an amused smile found his lips.

“Are you trying to charge me, spymaster?” Your voice rose in pitch, incredulous.

He merely shrugged. “The intel was…valuable. Figured I should at least get something out of it.”

You laughed, the type of twinkling delight that had a similar joy rising in his own chest. “Alright, alright you’ve sold me, whatever you want, but I’ve got to know what you’ve learned this instant it’s killing me.”

Azriel could hear a pin drop in the room. He clocked movement behind the counter, the two male dishwashers had come upfront, likely curious, they did fancy you after all. Their presence had his easygoing smile falling as he fixed you with a serious stare.

Whatever he wanted, right? That was a deal he couldn’t pass up.

“I arrived at 10am. From 10am-12:02pm no one spoke about Raychelle and Fin. There is no evidence of anyone else suspecting Raychelle and Fin to fancy each other. You were correct in noting that Fin would come for his 1hr lunch break. From 12:02pm-1:49pm Fin and Raychelle talked in a booth away from the crowded part of the cafe, but not about their feelings for each other or their relationship.”

Your lips parted, confusion creasing your brow. “Well that doesn’t seem to pass as ‘valuable intel’ to me.” You snarked.

“Hmm,” He nodded, unable to keep the mischief out of his voice as he spoke, “the valuable intel is in who they were actually gossiping about.”

Your jaw dropped open, falling for his set up hook, line, and sinker, “Ohhhhh, and who were they gossiping about?”

Pausing for dramatic effect, he studied you long enough for you to visibly grow nervous. “You.” Azriel revealed.

Your nostrils flared, your breath hitching as you averted your gaze. It was rare for him to see you rendered speechless. “No guesses on what they were saying about you?” He inquired.

You barely managed to meet his gaze for a second before your eyes shifted to a spot on the wall beside his head. “I have a theory,” you confessed, bashful, “but would prefer to keep it to myself until you finish your report.”

Azriel hummed in response, enjoying the way your gaze would dart back to his face, like you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him. He knew that he looked at you in much the same way.

“Everyone here either thinks we're secretly dating, or going to be dating soon. Raychelle and Fin spent Fin’s lunch break commiserating on how frustrating it was to watch us. The people of Ink & Beans think you are in love with me.”

It was so quiet in the room he could hear your heartbeat pickup. He wouldn’t be surprised if it felt like it was in your throat instead of your chest, so Azriel continued his debrief to spare you having to find a response. “And I think they’re right, because they were right about the other person they were gossiping about too. I also was a popular topic of conversation these last three hours, they were right about what they thought about me too. I think you are in love with me–I hope you are in love with me, because I am in love with you.”

“Azriel,” His name was whispered like a prayer on an exhale, “maybe we should have this conversation in a more private location.” Your face was beat red, and you looked like you were about to pass out.

You were never one for making a scene in public. Honestly, this was all probably mortifying for you. Normally, it would be for him too, but he remembered the dishwashing males plotting ways to woo you.

“Of course,” Azriel stood, stretching his wings out as he reached for your hand and guided you to stand next to him, “but first I want my payment. Whatever I want, right? That’s what you said.”

You looked utterly lost, unable to look him in the eye for too long, but too confused to not search for his intentions in his facial expression. “Okay, sure, what would you like, I don’t have much with me right now so I don’t know why this has to happen this moment, but I’ll do my best–”

Azriel always found your nervous rambling cute. He knew you’d be upset with him if he let you go on for much longer in front of everyone at Ink & Beans. “I’m sure you can provide me with a kiss, unless you have a specific lipstick in mind for our first kiss?”

You gaped at him, and he cupped your cheek with one of his hands, his scars rough against your soft skin. Gently, he closed your mouth, leaning in slowly just in case you wanted to pull away. But you didn’t, his lips touched yours, and you melted into him. Your smaller, curvier body pressed tight against his front as the kiss deepened and found rhythm.

Too soon, reality seemed to find the both of you again, and Azriel was aware that he was starting to get aroused very publically in your favorite coffee shop. One look at you, and it seemed you were no better off than him, the gleam in your eyes sending thrills down his spine. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” Azriel bent down to whisper in your ear, and you shivered, “I think I do want to continue this conversation in a more private location.”

You turned your face, lips brushing against his pulse point in his neck as you spoke. “Me too.”

XxXx

Upon returning to Ink & Beans after the mating frenzy subsided, you and Azriel were greeted by tarps, workers, and piles of building supplies outside of the storefront. Raychelle had been signing something on a clipboard when she caught sight of you, and hurried to embrace you, clipboard forgotten on the ground where she dropped it.

She’d used the winnings from a store wide bet to expand the shop. She and Fin had split the winnings, the only two fae to predict your and Azriel’s mating bond.

XxXx

My inbox is open, drop requests to be added to my prompt list! My other work can be found here!

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

a Jedi Shadow!Obi-Wan AU

Introspection fucking sucks, according to Commander Fox.

The thing about him is, he’s been made out to be a bastard and ever since their batch found their calling or whatever he’s embraced that role.

Every batch needed someone who didn’t secretly want to be cuddled, who pushed others away so he could keep track of the big picture.

Cody had competed for the role for a while. As did Wolffe.

For Cody, his heart, big and fragile once you got to know him, got in the way in the end. He sees the whole picture, craves it so he won’t go crazy from the losses. But he believes in people and their goodness.

Fox doesn’t.

Wolffe made the mistake of getting the galaxy’s best General. General Koon shits rainbows and glitter, from what Fox has been forced to listen to.

Fox has… the Chancellor.

He takes a swig of water and wishes it were something stronger. But Quin is on the other side of Fox’s desk, reading glasses ever so slowly slipping down his nose while he’s crunching and tracking the numbers to prove the Chancellor is, indeed, siphoning credits off the Republic to giftwrap them for the Seppies.

He takes another swig.

Wouldn’t surprise him if Palpatine turned out to be the villain of the whole story.

Brought Fox to drink with the kind attitude, the cruelty so expertly hidden from first glance, cushioned in false promises and support.

Hadn’t been pretty. But it had been easy. You go to the right places, people are only too willing to shell out for some drinks. Entertainment and morbid curiosity what brings a clone to their knees.

Some found the lisp he has because of the scar that ransacks through his lips and tongue endearing but most hadn’t bothered with wanting him talking.

Some wanted to inspect the changes in the Corrie armor up close and cozy.

If shit hadn’t already multiplied, Organa came flouncing into the Guard offices every two weeks with a new design like they were his little dress-up dolls.

The last design, the one that stayed, had a dummy connector installed in the backplate.

Fox hadn’t mentioned it. Had stewed over how the Guard, already isolated from the rest of the GAR, wasn’t even considered for the neural network that would make them more efficient, more deadly if activated. Treated like scum on a pedestal, overlooked and taken for granted.

Fox takes every advantage he can squeeze from that.

Every batch needs a willing loner who’s got the big picture in his head at all times and doesn’t care for the minutiae.

Fox had been comfortable in that role, really. He saw Thorn and Stone and Thire and the rest of them making friends and lovers and heartbreak, and that was the last fucking thing Fox wanted.

And then came Vos. Appearing from the shadows like a designer nightmare.

For such a short time they’ve sure gone through a lot together.

To the point Vos became Quinlan became Quin became Vos again became someone Fox clung to while fighting fucking addiction and the realization that he is stupid enough to become addicted.

No matter what Quin had said, Fox was supposed to be the pinnacle of cloning and artificially creating the perfect soldier. Addiction is a weakness and fault.

Fox almost did something extremely stupid over that one.

Turns out it’s all part of the sentient experience.

Fucking sucks.

Quin had laughed at that, ugly and bruised laughter, continuing to comb his fingers over Fox’s head. “Tell me about it.”

An eloquent way to say Quin was going through withdrawal himself.

They got outside help after that.

“Hey, Depa,” Quin murmurs absently after answering his comm, pushes his glasses up.

“Quinlan, is your line still secure?”

“‘Course. Especially after Fox got his grubby little hands all over it.”

Fox shows him the middle finger of one of his grubby little hands.

“Good,” General Billaba clips out. Quin straightens up, and maybe Fox’s attention isn’t misplaced here. “Good. Commander Cody was activated by the Sith Lord and he’s bringing Obi-Wan to Coruscant.”

Activated.

Quin is silent. Blinks up at the ceiling. “Can you run that by me again?”

“Quinlan, we have reason to be believe the Chancellor is the Sith Lord.”

Hah. Fox got that one right on his bingo card, at least.

Cody got activated.

As they’ve learned, the neural network - battlefield mediation, in fancy Kamino speak - is activated by a designated Force using GAR personnel. Surprisingly, the status is even an optional display on the screens of every trooper’s vambrace. Or not so surprisingly.

Cody got activated by the Chancellor. Who is the Sith Lord the Order has been hunting.

Fox will deal with that later or never, whatever comes first.

He’s comming the Guard all across the planet, checking the weapons on his person, while General Billaba explains the situation. He appreciates her succinct manner, he’s gotta say.

“I’m on the way to detain Anakin. Mace is following the ship Commander Cody captured but we need someone to intercept them on Coruscant before he reaches Palpatine.” She halts for a brief moment. “Obi-Wan seems to believe the Commander has betrayed him when he knows about the neural link inside the clones. We are fearing the Darkness is deliberately attacking and clouding his senses.”

“I’m on my way,” Quin nods, adds with a calculating glance at Fox, “I’m not sure I have back-up.”

“Funny thing about the Alderaan design of the guard armor,” Fox comments, checking the plasma charge on his DC, and vows to give Senator fucking Organa a sliced fruit platter, “the Guard doesn’t have the connector to the neural link.”

He comms their resident medic next and orders every gundark-level tranquilizer delivered to him.

Cody got activated and is following the orders of a Sith Lord.

Stars help them.

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter two -

I might kill my ex, not the best idea

Eddie warned Robin that a game of never have I ever was a bad idea, and you should know better than to go snooping where you don’t belong.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking (hey it’s a summer time barbecue in the midwest), you thought there was a lot tension the last chapter? baby, you haven’t seen nothing yet. jealousy, spicy things are revealed about all of them during a drinking game.

wc: 9.5k

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

It’s been one week.

One entire week without even so much of a glimpse of that permanently messy head of hair, and god, you hated how much it bothered you. Ears perking up every time you’d catch the cadence of his voice through the receiver of Robin’s cordless phone the few times he called her to check in. Like an unwanted guest who wasn’t taking the hint, his broad shoulders and full pink lips that somehow always look like they need to be kissed haunt your unsuspecting dreams at night. 

You hate it, you hate him, and you try not to spiral about why it feels like the opposite.

“We’re going over to Steve’s tonight,” Robin practically hums around a mouthful of fruit loops, completely unaware of you already stewing about the boy whose name just rolled off her tongue this early in the morning. 

“What?” You snap, tearing your eyes from the slow pour of the coffee maker in front of you, grouchy and wound up from a dream about his big hands pulling your legs apart so perfect white teeth could nip at the inside of your thighs.

“Steve, you know that guy you told me you’d try and be nice to. The one who’s fixing your car?” Sarcasm drips from her tone as she scoops up another bite, “We’re going to his house.”

Of course.

“That’s cool with me.” You muster up enough effort to twist your lips up into a smile that feels more like a grimace. The smashed rainbow Robin reveals in her mouth when she laughs tells you it is.

“Do me a favor, and never go into acting.” Swallowing loudly, she drops her spoon back into her bowl with a clank. “I do appreciate you trying to pretend like you’re okay with it, though, and in all seriousness, we haven’t gone this long without seeing each other in like, forever. He says you're keeping me hostage.”

“I’m keeping you hostage?!” You scoff with a roll of your eyes, turning your back to finally pour yourself the cup of coffee you’ve waited so patiently for. “He’s the best friend stealer.”

“I’m not going to lie, I think I like you two fighting over me,” she laughs, looking a little too smug for your liking as she brings her empty bowl to the sink, Garfield slippers scuffling across the tile, too lazy to pick up her feet from the floor.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re sick.” A real smile curls up into your cup, inhaling the rich scent into your nose. “What are your plans to torture me with his presence this time?” 

Robin narrows her stare at you in a silent warning, pulling herself up to sit on the counter, orange cat covered feet dangling freely as you meet her gaze with softened eyes in a silent apology.

“Eddie’s off tonight, so we’re having a little reunion barbecue, and Steve’s gonna grill.”

Choking on your coffee, you sputter your sip back into your mug, turning her freckled face sour.

“Since when does Steve know how to cook, let alone grill?”

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you know you’re skating on thin ice, but all the built up tension that tightens your muscles, and buzzes incessantly at your fingertips makes everything feel impossible to control.

“He’s not seventeen anymore - “

“Really? He had me fooled shoving his tongue down some pretty blonde’s throat at Rick’s the other night.” 

“That’s - come on, you know that's not fair. He didn’t even know -”

”Why stop at just the four of us, let’s invite Vickie, make it a real party.”

The name of your best friend’s ex leaves your mouth before you can stop it, instant regret making a heavy home in your chest that feels like it might cave in when her mood shifts with glassy eyes and it’s completely your fault.

“I take back what I said, I need you to start acting again.”

Jumping off the counter, you set your mug down so you can grab her arm before she can take those few steps out of the kitchen. 

“Hey! Look, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” 

She doesn’t put up much of a fight, even though you deserve it, the blue in her eyes turn to ice when she looks at you.

“I’m sorry.”

She holds your stare until she can tell you actually mean it, melting glaciers with a heavy sigh. 

“It’s fine, I get it.” 

Her words come out soft, just like the lines that smooth on her face.

“I know this is weird and like totally against friend code or whatever, but I think that just goes to show how much he must mean to me or even a testament to how much he’s changed if I’m even asking you to just try and do this. Just try, that’s all.”

“No, you’re right,” you fluster, doing your best to reassure her in a shaky voice, “I just slept badly and had a really weird dream. It just threw me off a little. I’m being so awful and I’m sorry.” 

Flashes of the way his hands gripped your hips and the dirty things he whispered in your ear has your palms start to sweat, making you loosen your grip on her arm before she can notice. 

Robin searches your face for the reassurance that she needs before a small smile finally tugs at the corners of her lips.“This is why you’re my best friend.” She pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“Only if you tell him that.” 

Snaking your arms around her waist, you let out a shaky laugh, silently preparing to see the man who hasn’t left the crevices of your mind since you stepped foot back in Hawkins.

———

It feels like you’re back in high school the way you can’t stop looking at yourself in the mirror, the nerves still feel the same.

Your gaze wanders up and down your reflection, turning from side to side, overly critical eyes take in your curves that are on display a little more than normal and you wonder if Robin will notice. Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, better yet you wonder if Robin will notice and have something to say about it. 

“You’re certainly spending a lot of time on an outfit.” Your best friend whistles low as she leans against the open bedroom door confirming your fears with a cross of her arms.

“Just trying to remember what I brought is all.” You don’t engage with the amusement that hides in her tone, smoothing down the short black skirt that flares over the tops of your thighs, before adjusting the straps on your matching tank top.

“Riiiight,” she snorts, earning the kind of glare that has her raising her hands in defense before a shit-eating grin cracks wide across her face. “I’m going to need you to hurry up, though. Do I need to remind you that we’re walking?”

“I’m done!” You huff, sock covered feet digging into her cream carpet as you make your way toward her, “I just need to put on my shoes.”

“You’ve got twenty secon-” she agonizes before three hard knocks on her front door cut her off. Her cheshire smile falters as she turns confused.

“You’re lucky you didn’t get to finish that sentence,” you warn in a harsh whisper, grabbing your Converse that had been haphazardly kicked off earlier in the corner. 

Robin puts a ringed finger to her lips, like the possibility of a kidnapper being on the other side is extremely probable, and it’s her turn to glare when you roll your eyes at her dramatics. Following her out to the living room, you plop down on the couch, watching her slowly creep to the front door. Both her hands find the blue painted wood pushing up on the toes of her Reeboks to look out the peephole.

“Steve?!” 

The name makes your stomach flip, a shaky breath pushing its way through watermelon flavored lips because you thought you had more time than this. Keeping a poker face, you take your time tying your laces as she swings the door open. Head down, your eyes keep their focus on how the dirty white strings move between your fingers. 

You’re not ready to look at him. Not yet.

“After taking you to school at 7am every day after I graduated, you really thought I was going to let you walk?” The smile in his voice is evident, a fond memory you’re not a part of but you can still feel the warmth inside it by the way he speaks. 

“Thank god,” she starts, the insinuation of the words that are going to follow making your eyes snap up, narrowed and shooting daggers at your best friend, catching Steve’s attention in the process. 

“We were going to be late.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, his gaze claiming yours and holding it against your will, the beginnings of a smirk playing on his full lips and suddenly it’s so much warmer in her living room than it was two seconds ago. “Why’s that?”

He somehow looks even better than the last time you saw him, a bad habit you’re quickly learning that he has. The honey colored tips of his chestnut hair curl at the ends, sticking out of the sides of his backwards baseball hat. A well worn black cotton shirt with the sleeves cut out has the arms that you’d dreamt about on full display. The summer sun somehow dotting even more freckles across his shoulder blades that flex everytime he spins his car keys around his finger. The dark cherry red basketball shorts he wears hit the bottoms of his hairy thighs, the red mesh even more vibrant against his tan skin, just like the white leather of the Nike Cortez’s that cover his feet. 

“She’s just being dramatic,” you grumble, finally tearing your eyes from the dark moss that covers the chocolate inside his, doing your best to ignore the heat of them wandering the bare skin of your legs as you finish tying your shoes.

“You changed your outfit like sixty times!” 

This is the moment that you decide you’re going to kill Robin in her sleep tonight.

“Well, I’m ready so you both can stop being annoying now.” Standing, you tug down the bottom of your skirt that suddenly feels even shorter with his full attention on you like this.

“Wait, why am I annoying? I just got here.” Steve argues when your words finally sink in, snapping him out of his daze, catching the keys in his palm. 

“You’re always annoying, Harrington,” you sigh, hoping your deflections are working, but the small smile that never leaves his lips tells you it’s not.

“Shotgun!” Robin calls out like it’s something you would have argued over. Your shoulder brushes with his as you push your way out the door, sending sparks to the tips of your fingers and making your hair stand on end. Steve and the summer heat warm your skin. 

“It’s all yours,” you concede with ease, ignoring the butterfly wings that wreak havoc in your rib cage when the spice of his cologne makes its way into your nose.

It was going to be a night.

Steve keeps the windows rolled down, the muggy air making your bare thighs stick together and to the hot leather of his backseat. It drowns out the music as he speeds down the back roads, making the conversation between him and Robin upfront almost inaudible.

You don’t worry about what they might be saying, not even when they both start gesturing wildly with their hands. Taking advantage of the time left alone, you put all of your focus into preparing yourself for the next few hours, doing your best to push the lingering thoughts of your dream deep down to a place that no one can find. A task that proves to be much harder while avoiding his gaze that dares you to meet it in the rear view mirror the entire way. 

The memories you have of the back of his car don’t help either.

Pulling into Forest Hills trailer park, you’re surprised at the facelift they finally gave it after all these years. Lush green grass grows where the yellow and brown shrub used to be, and a wooden gazebo that looks like it’s missing a finishing coat stands tall, replacing the picnic table where you and the metal head used to smoke. Even the gravel that paves the road looks new and gray, not the dirt brown mud that it used to be. 

It’s still a struggle to wrap your head around the fact that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington, the former king of Hawkin’s and Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson not only work together, but live together too. You would have laughed in anyone’s face if they told you this five years ago. 

The BMW’s tires crunch loudly against the rocks as Steve pulls into the driveway of a hunter green trailer. It sits in the back of the park, almost touching the edge of the woods behind it. A faded white line running along the length that matches the metal railing of their front entrance and the overhang that covers it. The paint peels from parts of the metal in the heat, revealing spots of the gray hidden underneath. A worn in deep maroon couch sits on the porch just like the dirty brown one at Wayne’s trailer, and you already know Eddie spends his mornings there. You internally groan when you catch yourself wondering if Steve does too.

“Home sweet home,” he hums, cutting the engine off and pulling you out of your thoughts. 

You dare to meet his eyes for the first time since you left the apartment when Robin jumps out of the front seat, and you immediately regret it. He smiles wide, finally catching your attention, those perfect white teeth baring themselves at you as he pulls off his hat to run a hand through his sweaty bed head. The long strand he’s always at battle with falls through the opening in the back when he puts it on again, because, of course it does.

“Good to see you finally slumming it with the rest of us, King Steve,” you snort, pulling on the handle to let yourself out, ending any chance of conversation.

If it wasn’t for your Eddie barreling out of the front door to greet you and Robin with a big dimpled grin and a freshly rolled joint, you would’ve thought a little harder about the way Steve winced at the nickname.

The Munson/Harrington Bachelor pad anomaly isn’t exactly what you expected it to be, but even then you weren’t entirely sure what that was. It’s cozy just like how Wayne’s used to be but where there’s hand me downs that have been through the short line of Munson men’s hands, there’s an equal amount of obviously perfectly well kept new. Like the shiny big TV in the center of their living room, and the well-loved lazy boy in front of it, that still had cigarette burns from its previous owner, next to the rich tan leather couch right by it.

It smells like it has just been cleaned, a sanitizing lilac still lingering in the air, trying its best to cover the smell of all grease stained clothing in their hampers and the smoke from joints like the one Eddie’s about to put out in an ashtray full of ones just like it.

He sits at the head of the table with a lopsided grin that pushes up the apples of his cheeks and reveals the deep dimples in the center of them. Droopy lids frame his bloodshot eyes that meet your own. Orange and pinks paint the darkening sky through the sliding glass door behind him. 

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” Eddie chuckles with a fond glint in big brown eyes leaning back in his chair that squeaks under the redistribution of his weight.

“Back by popular demand,” you smirk, pointing at Robin, who sits just on the other side of the table, glassy eyed with an unwavering smile. 

You try to ignore how the empty chair next to her bothers you, or they way your eyes keep looking toward the kitchen through the small opening of their little island, giving you the perfect view of Steve prepping dinner. His thick eyebrows are furrowed as he digs through spice racks and drawers, front teeth digging into the plushness of his bottom lip deep in thought.

“I think this calls for a fire,” Eddie announces loudly, bringing you back to the conversation with a slap of his palms on the wood of the table and the kind of smirk that tells you that you’ve been caught.

“We told Janice next door weekends only after last time,” Steve’s voice startles you, making his presence known, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. 

“It’s Thursday. Practically the weekend. Besides it’s a special occasion, look who’s here Stevie boy.” Something in Eddie’s tone makes Steve’s eyes narrow in a silent threat that only makes the metal heads' lips twist up into something more devilish. 

“You have to put it out before bed then, I’m not dealing with it like last time.” Steve accepts defeat quicker than anticipated, “And if she calls or comes over to complain at all, that's all on you too.”

”Deal,” Eddie agrees with five fingers across his heart, the silver of his rings catching in the low light of their trailer.“I think she’s got a crush on me anyway.”

“She’s married,” Steve dead pans with a deep sigh, taking his hat off to run another hand through his hair and you hate the way it has your thighs meeting under the table. “Who’s helping me with dinner then?”

He knows better than to look at you, so his gaze falls onto his roommate and best friend.

”Don’t look at me!” Robin argues, raising her right hand to show off the faded scar on her palm. “Last time I tried to help, I had to get stitches, remember?”

”The fire’s a full time job I’m afraid,” Eddie shrugs, standing up. Not missing a beat, they both look at each other like they're in on some secret that you and Steve aren’t apart of before their eyes land on you.

”You know I’m not a good cook,” you whine, refusing to meet the heat of Steve’s stare that burns against the side of your face.

”I’m sure Steve’s more than willing to help teach you, princess.” Eddie grins, and it makes you want to slap the dimples clean off his face.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine, I can do it by myself,” Steve interjects with a sigh before you have a chance to respond with something that he knows will just egg the metal head on and get his ego even more bruised.

He’s not expecting the way your eyes snap to his, or the way they narrow with something fiery deep inside them.

”We’re grown adults, Steve. I think I can handle helping you cut some vegetables or whatever it is you need me to do.” Standing up with a shove of your chair, he doesn’t even attempt to argue about how that’s the exact opposite of what you just said.

”There we go! Problem solved.” Eddie’s grin is mischievous, and so is the wink he throws at his roommate before opening the sliding glass door, ushering Robin out and leaving you both alone.

The tension inside the kitchen hangs thicker in the air than the humidity outside weighing down your shoulders, making the words stick in the back of your throat as you try to navigate the close proximity to Steve. Neither one of you is sure of what to say first, and the sound of Eddie and Robin laughing outside filling the silence between you somehow makes it worse. 

The weed twists the knots in your stomach tighter, and the cedar that always seems to linger whenever he’s around turns suffocating without an escape. You lean against the sink across from him while he digs through the icebox in the fridge. Shoulder blades moving with the motions of his wrist, plastic crinkling loudly every time he moves a bag out of the way. Muttering to himself, you watch goosebumps rise on his tan skin from the cool air, muscles twitching from the shock.

This was a mistake. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you tear your eyes away in hopes it will stop the dull ache between your legs from getting worse when you’re brought back to the way those same arms caged you in while his hips pushed you deeper into the mattress in your dreams last night. Looking out the small window at the beginning flames of the bonfire, a shaky breath pushes past your glossed lips, and you wipe your palms on your skirt before turning around to wash your hands.

”You don’t have to help, you know?” His voice comes out just loud enough for you to hear over the running water, the small smacking sound of the fridge closing behind it, “If you’re that uncomfortable, I can do it.”

Cutting the water, you shake your hands in the sink before tearing off a paper towel from the roll next to you. Working up enough courage to finally turn around to look at him, you finish drying your hands with a softer expression.

”No, I can help.” 

He holds your stare, silently giving you another out while his fingers make quick work of unwrapping a head of lettuce, an onion, and a few peppers from their plastic confines. No matter how much you want to look away, you don’t, standing firm in your choice despite everything inside of you screaming to run away, and it’s enough for him to nod his head. The slight twitch of his lips while he rolls the bags in his hands doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I just need you to cut the onion into thin slices for the burgers, and same with the jalapeños.” He instructs, turning his back to you to throw away the wrappings. 

The sudden movement has the deep cut sleeves of his shirt fluttering open, giving you a glimpse of the thick patch of hair on his chest, and how it tapers off and down past his belly button. Your thighs find each other again, and you look up to the ceiling silently, trying to regain all the strength you thought you’d just found. 

“And the lettuce - uhh, are you okay?” Steve’s confusion makes all the blood in your body rush to the apples of your cheeks as you try to hide your internal struggle with a smile.

“Yeah, we’re good. Never been better. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” you ramble, brushing past him to the station he’s set up for you.

“…Right,” he starts with a pause before choosing to leave it alone, “I just need you to kind of rip the lettuce up, you can cut it if you want but I think bigger pieces would be better.”

You aren’t expecting his voice to come from right behind you, so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against the back of your neck. Your own goosebumps rise, dotting across exposed skin and you hope he doesn’t notice but the way he lingers in your space for a little longer despite the nod of your head makes you think otherwise. The spice of his cologne grows faint along with his footsteps against the tile floor, finding a home on the other side of the kitchen, busying himself with what he had started before.

Eddie turns on the radio, easing some of the tension from your muscles, and relaxing your shoulders as you get a good grip on the handle of the knife.

You could do this, easy. 

You really start to believe it too when you cut all the jalapeños, even humming along to an old Judas Priest song that you and Eddie used to blast in his van after school. Peeling the onion, you pretend that you don’t see the reflection of Steve staring at you from the glass of the microwave as you sway your hips and bop your head to the beat.

“So, New York huh?” He finally breaks, and your eyes flutter to the reflection to see him putting away all the spices he’d pulled out while you were smoking. “You likin’ it?”

Your movements freeze for a second, and your tongue feels heavy in your mouth with all the things you’ve dreamed of saying to him. Years of coming up with all the ways you’d tell him how much better you were without him. A recurring fantasy of a ten year reunion where you’d show up with your famous screenwriter husband you’d met on the Subway, turning your nose at him and whatever Hawkin’s girl he’d managed to knock up. But instead, the universe has you here five years too early, and Steve isn’t the same guy you’d left even if you don’t quite trust it yet.

Picking up the knife again, you roll your shoulders with a quiet breath before cutting into the onion once more as you search for the words to answer.

“Yeah, I like it. It’s big and it can be a little scary sometimes but I can be myself there,” it comes out a little quieter than intended but you still twist your hips to meet his gaze from across the kitchen where he stands with crossed arms giving you his full attention. “No one really cares what you do.”

“Who are you trying to be out there?” He asks like he has no idea what small talk is, the greens in his eyes shimmering against the last bit of sunlight that shines on his face.

“Someone stronger than who I was in high school,” you whisper, turning back around to focus on the task at hand and not your ex trying to dig into the depths of your soul while you cut onions.

“You were always the strongest person I knew,” he counters, and you can practically hear the shrug that you know follows his words.

”You certainly liked to test it.” 

It comes out before you can bite your tongue, your knife slicing right into the center of the onion and hitting the cutting board roughly, adding dramatic effect.

”Ouch,” he hums with a small laugh, silverware clanking against the metal of the sink behind you as he finishes cleaning up his mess, “I guess I deserved that one.”

“Steve.” You stop cutting, dropping the knife to look at him, unintentionally swiping your eye in the process, “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that. I promised Rob- oh fuck!”

The burning in your right eye becomes unbearable, the tears spilling freely down your cheek blurring your vision with a harsh sting.

”Oh, oh no. Did you touch your eye?!” Steve sounds panicked, sneakers scuffling against the tile as he hurries to grab a washcloth from the drawer. 

“It was an accident!” You whine, closing your eyes as tight as you can, willing the burning tears to stop, the sound of water running from the sink filling your ears, “God it hurts so bad, Steve.”

”I know baby, I know,” he coos in a soothing voice, and in your panic you almost don’t catch the old nickname that slips off his tongue with ease. Long fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you closer to him, “Let me see, stay still.”

The coolness of the rag provides instant relief when he presses it gently to your eye. Taking a deep breath, you feel the warmth of his palm rub up and down your arm soothing your irritated nerves more. The sting doesn’t fully go away, but it subsides enough for the tears to slow down as he applies a little more pressure before removing it to wet it again. Blinking past the burning, you finally realize just how close you are to him now. 

Chests practically touching, you can see the beginnings of stubble lining his jaw despite being able to tell that he shaved today. The vampire bites on his neck that used to be your favorite to kiss taunt you for what feels like the millionth time this week. With cedar and musk filling your lungs, it feels impossible to breathe.

He cuts off the water, turning towards you again, and you aren’t prepared for the depth in his eyes meeting yours from this distance. They’re soft when they look at you, the chestnut inside them warming gold as you stare back at him a little dazed. Calloused fingertips stop their path up your arm to gently grab your chin, tilting your face up to his so he can get a better look at the damage. He’s sweet with the way moves your head around, the pad of his thumb smoothing the skin under your irritated eye.

”I think you’ll be okay, I don’t see any seeds or anything trapped inside,” he whispers, thumb never stopping its movements while his gaze flicks down to your lips that pout on their own, something electric charging in the air.

The sliding glass door opens behind him before you can answer, Robin and Eddie making their presence known in a loud burst of energy. Snatching the wet rag from his hand, you’re quick to put distance between you. Placing the cool cloth against your face, you make your way out of the kitchen before anyone can ask you anything about what happened. Muttering a “thanks Steve '' on your way to assess just how ruined your makeup is in the bathroom. 

Your heart pounds in your ears feeling the ghost of his touch everywhere, chest tightening because your body won’t stop screaming for more.

You stay in the bathroom long enough for the burning to subside, mumbling words that resemble some kind of pep talk while scrubbing your hands. Fingers that still shake with nerves fix your smudged mascara, listening for the moment their voices go quiet behind the sliding glass door before you decide to finally venture out. The sound of Steve’s laugh catches in your ears, as you make your way through the empty trailer, the corners of your lips curling on their own as you tug on the handle that separates you from them. The humidity is quick to turn your skin sticky despite the sun disappearing behind the trees. 

”There she is! I heard Harrington tried to blind you,” Eddie chuckles from his place crouched in front of the fire. A half smoked cigarette dangling lazily from the side of his mouth as he ‘stokes’ the flames, the crackling wood competing with the buzz of the cicadas that surround you.

”Riddle me this, Steve, why is it that whenever someone ’helps’ you cook, they end up in the hospital or worse, almost BLIND!” 

From her spot sitting on one of the many faded red plastic lawn chairs they have circled around the pit, Robin doesn’t hesitate to turn it into a dog pile with dramatics that could rival an Oscar winning actress.

Steve rolls his eyes, the warm light from the smaller flame of the grill glowing underneath him, highlighting his sharp features. His gaze meets yours, ignoring his friends, and you swear even from here, you can see the green inside each eye shine. You know there’s a million questions he wants to ask but there’s only one that comes out, and it’s soft just like the way he touched you inside.

”Are you okay?”

It’s hard for you to look anywhere but his face, remembering just how pretty it was up close. Your eyes trace the straight line of his nose, and the curve of his full bottom lip before finally meeting his eyes. The small smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth reminds you that you haven’t answered him yet but he doesn’t say anything. He lets Robin’s low whistle do all the talking.

”Uhh, yeah, I’m good. Crisis averted,” you mumble, snapping out of it, cheeks warming up enough to compete with the fire pit you stumble around, landing in the seat next to your best friend. “No jalapenos on mine, I think I’ve had enough for today.”

Steve laughs again, just like the one you heard on your way out and the sound burrows in your heart, making it swell, giddiness roiling deep in your gut. You ignore Robin’s obnoxious toothy grin next to you, doubling down even more when she starts to wiggle her eyebrows. The two beer cans at her feet tell you everything you need to know.

Without a cloud in an almost completely dark sky, you start to see the twinkling of the stars you’ll always miss begin to appear. They battle for your attention against the fireflies that flicker through the tall grass and into the woods. Lighter fluid stings your nose when Steve squirts more onto the burning coals, switching from hot dogs to burgers like he’s been grilling for a family of four his whole life.

A couple of beers calm your nerves that threaten to give you away, watching Steve in his element like this, the holes cut in his shirt showing off every flex of his muscles as he flips the patties. Cheese melting over the burger meat, just like your body that sinks further into the lawn chair that sticks to the backs of your thighs. He throws you a knowing look, making you clear your throat. Straightening your posture, you try to join in Robin and Eddie’s conversation like you hadn’t just been caught. Taking another long swig of the bitter semi cold liquid, you hope it’s enough to get you through dinner.

It’s not.

Steve takes the seat across from you when he’s finished cooking, manspreading with his paper plate in his lap. You fight the urge to look at the tan line of his inner thighs that are revealed by his loose fitting shorts, laughing a little too loud at Eddie’s jokes, desperate to keep your struggle hidden. Even going as far as acting interested when Robin starts talking about her reasons why she likes to buy certain things from the three different grocery stores in town. 

It’s when a dribble of ketchup lands on top of Steve's hand after a large bite that you lose your cool. Right between his thumb and index finger, he hums with cheeks full of food before those full lips of his wrap around the spilled sauce, cleaning it with a flick of his tongue.

”I’m gonna throw my plate away, is anyone else done?” You squeak, standing up abruptly, your chair nearly falling backwards in the process. 

“Jesus, easy tiger,” Eddie snorts, finishing off the last of his beer before crushing the tin can in his hand, tossing it on his empty plate, “The trash isn’t going anywhere.”

“Just trying to be a good house guest is all,” you lie, making Eddie quirk an eyebrow, the dimples in his cheeks coming out to play again.

”Uh huh.” He smirks before handing you his plate that Robin quickly piles hers on top of. “Sure.”

”That’s very sweet of you,” Steve chimes in, with a lopsided grin on his face that makes you want to punch the air and get out of here. 

“She’s pure class Harrington, get it right,” Robin comes for the save with a knowing wink that only makes the heat growing in your cheeks worse.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you mumble quickly turning on your heel, feeling all their eyes on you as you make your way to the back door of the trailer.

”Hurry back. We're gonna play Never Have I Ever,” your best friend calls out over her shoulder making you wish you could just stay inside when the sliding glass door closes behind you.

Embers spark and pop from the fire before they disappear into the night sky, the full moon’s white glow stopping just along the dark edges of the trees that surround the backyard. The four of you sit around the pit with fresh beers in hand. The buzz of the alcohol turning Steve’s gaze heavy as he stares at you from across the flickering flames. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth you look everywhere but his direction, and hope he doesn’t see the way your thighs press under the heat of it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea Robin?” Eddie whispers, big brown eyes glancing between the both of you, and your bouncing knee.

”It’s fine, they’ll be fine. Right guys?” She waves the metal head off, nudging you with her elbow, completely unphased.

”Of course we’ll be fine, why wouldn’t we be fine?” You snap, tugging the bottom of your skirt down, all the built up tension turning into aggression. Steve smiles into his next gulp.

“Whoa, whoa. I was just asking, but you do seem a little tense.” She raises her hands in surrender, both her eyebrows disappearing behind her shaggy bangs while Eddie distracts himself by poking the fire.

“Relax, it’s just a game,” Steve sighs, settling deeper in his chair, the warm amber in the flames bouncing off the mischievous gold in his eyes that keep their hold on you. “Besides, we’re friends now, right?”

Your gaze narrows, the grip on your beer tightening enough to hear the pop of the metal.“Yep,” you manage to get out, shooting Eddie a glare when he snorts.

“If you guys say so,” he starts, ignoring your scowl while getting cut off by Robin who’s practically vibrating in her seat now.

”Let’s have fun already. I’ll start.” Robin shushes him before acting like she’s deep in thought, turning to face you with the kind of grin on her face that tells you she’s up to no good, “Never have I ever…let some Wall Street douchebag go down on me in the backseat of his Rolls Royce.”

“That’s weirdly specific- oh wait! Damn! Princess!” Eddie whoops when you take a swig with a roll of your eyes, flipping Robin the bird. 

“Gotta try everything once, right?” You shrug, holding his gaze with a smirk, not even trying to hide that you’re taking great pleasure in the way Steve’s jaw clenches at the new found information of your life outside of here. “He had a nice mouth when he wasn’t using it for talking.”

Steve takes a deep breath through his nose, the mossy greens in his eyes turning dark as you lean back in your chair smugly.

“She’s a wild one, I’ll tell ya,” Robin giggles fondly, passing the baton to you with a proud smile.

Maybe it was the beer or the incessant way Steve’s presence drove you to the brink of insanity by rageful lust. Or even just the way he sat across from you with his legs spread wide like he ruled the world, whatever it was, that's what’s to blame for the question that rolls off your tongue.

“Never have I ever taken someone’s virginity.”

Robin’s jaw drops, guffawing with a harsh slap on your leg, mouthing a ‘you said you’d be nice’ but the buzz of the alcohol keeps a lopsided grin on her face. Eddie drinks, nervously watching the staring contest going on between you and Steve. Like a dog and its owner trying to establish dominance, both of you refuse to be the one who looks away first. Taking two gulps for good measure, he smacks his lips loudly when he’s done, wiping the foam off his upper lip with the back of his wrist. Raising his eyebrows at you in a silent challenge.

“This isn’t awkward at all,” Eddie grumbles, taking another sip of his beer to help the uncomfortable tension that threatens to settle over the circle.

”Who’s next? Who's next?” Robin urges with a flick on your knee, forcing you to fold and give her your attention with a blink of your eyes and it feels like the first time in hours that you finally look at someone other than Steve. 

Your teeth clench, grinding at the thought that even after all this time he’s still got this kind of hold on you, and it has you riding the thin line between wanting to give him a black eye or have him take you for a spin in his beemer for old times sake. 

“Eddie,” raising your can in his direction, he meets you in the middle with a cheers that doesn’t quite touch before slinking back in his chair with an exhausted huff.

“Hmmm, what do I want to reveal about myself?” He hums deep in thought, metal rings clinking against tin in a familiar tune as he taps his fingers around his beer can, “Never have I ever… been in a threesome, despite being titled ‘freak’ of Hawkins.”

“Really?” Robin seems genuinely shocked, making you giggle.

“Yeah, I know. It’s crazy to me too.” Eddie shrugs, with a knowing grin that doesn’t quite sit right in your gut.

That’s when you see it. Steve taking a drink.

”WHAT?!” Your best friend squeals practically jumping from her seat, clearly something that's not common knowledge being revealed.

Jealousy is an ugly monster, and it finds a home deep inside your chest tonight, turning you green with it. Your half empty beer can crunches the more your fingers dig into the tin, eyes narrowing when he just responds to Robin with a coy smirk and a shrug bringing his attention back to you.

”Gotta try everything once right?” Steve mocks, full pink lips curling up at the corners as he takes another sip.

Your heart sinks with your stomach, the muscles in your face doing the same before you have a chance to stop it. Visions of red nails and pink lips that don’t belong to you dance through your head, and the smug smirk he probably wore while his big hands gripped their hips taking turns making them moan his name. The sound of your can completely collapsing in a loud crunch gets everyone’s attention, and you ignore the softened expression on Steve’s face trying to capture your gaze again. Eddie clears his throat, throwing you a life line before opening a new can of beer with a suggestion you’ve never been more grateful for.

”Alright Steve, your turn.” 

Steve nods with a tight lipped smile taking one last glance in your direction before sitting up in his chair with an idea that makes his cheeks push up and his eyes sparkle against the light of the fire. “Alright, never have I ever pretended to not only have a driver's license but also own a car that actually belongs to my best friend so I can hook up with a girl in the backseat.”

A quiet sigh escapes your lungs, shoulders relaxing just a little when Robin groans loudly at the attack that’s clearly focused on her. Oblivious to the fact that you’re hanging on by a thread next to her, you stare fixed on the way the flames lick up into the night. 

“Look, she was a college senior, okay? I was only a sophomore and she was way cooler than me. Judge me all you want, but it worked didn’t it?” She argues, lifting her beer to the sky before taking a sip proudly. “No regrets!”

Her smile is contagious, easing some of the tension when you and Eddie giggle meeting each other's eyes from across her honey blond waves. You can feel Steve’s stare burning a hole in the side of your head, the heat of it in direct competition with the fire that thrives off the light breeze that rustles through the trees. 

“Aright, alright, never have I ever faked getting off.” She wiggles her eyebrows with a toothy grin, looking at Eddie specifically who gives her a dead stare in response, clearly something told to her in confidence. 

Biting your lip, you really weren’t going to add more fuel to the fire but when you finally meet Steve’s eyes that have been begging for your attention this whole time, you can’t help but douse the flames with the whole can of gasoline. Another flash of different shades of lipstick staining the freckles you loved to kiss so much sending another wave of rage down to your core.

”I can think of a few times.” You snort loudly, holding his gaze and pointedly stealing everyone else's attention before polishing off the last of your crumpled can.

Steve’s jaw clenches hard enough that you swear you can hear his teeth crunch together. Nostrils flaring with a gaze so dark it threatens to swallow you whole, all traces of honey and warmth gone, leaving you chilled to the bone.

”I think we’re done with this game Robin,” he grunts, standing up with a kick of his chair and for once his eyes don’t search for yours as he stomps across the yard towards the yellow light of the trailer. 

“Seriously!” Your best friend groans, slinking back in her chair with a hand running down her face, “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

”Yeah, genius! I told you, but nooo, you didn’t want to listen to me.” Eddie scoffs into his beer can, using his free hand to poke at the fire.

”Can you go, like, talk to him or something?” Robin turns to you with an almost pleading look that gets more prominent the more your face turns sour.

“Me?! I have to go talk to him? Seriously? He’s the one who stormed off,” you argue, crossing your arms.

”Yeah, well you clearly hurt his feelings.” She points at his pacing figure through the kitchen window and it takes everything inside of you not to tell her that he hurt yours first.

The two of you stare each other down, the wills of stubbornness at battle until her eyes go soft, big and glassy. 

“Please,” she begs, pulling out the big guns, and jutting out her bottom lip.

You hold her gaze for a few more seconds before surrendering with a roll of your eyes, huffing loudly when you uncross your arms to stand up, making her face light back up.

”I hate you. More than anything.”

Eddie cackles loudly at your lie, digging in his front pocket for a smushed pack of cigarettes.

“We all know you don’t mean that,” she hums with a content smile, leaning over to snatch the freshly lit tobacco from the metalhead’s mouth, waving at you as you start to follow Steve’s path up to the trailer. “Please don’t kill him!”

Closing the sliding glass door behind you, a shiver runs up your spine when the coolness of the air conditioning hits your sticky skin. The sound of running water catches in your ears from the kitchen along with the murmur of his voice under its rush.You can’t quite make out what he’s saying to himself, even when you reach the doorway. 

Hunched over the sink, his shoulder blades flex with every harsh scrub of the pan. His hat rests on the counter, and you can’t help but notice the wild way his hair sits on the top of his head from wearing it all day, sun kissed tips curling from the humidity. Clearing your throat just loud enough to alert him of your presence, you watch the way his whole body goes rigid. It only lasts for a moment before he recovers, shutting off the water with a lazy slap of his hand. Turning around he grabs the dish towel next to him to dry off, meeting your gaze with a little more color in his eyes, flecks of gold trying to shimmer in a raging storm.

Having his full attention on you, alone like this, is enough for your tongue to go numb. The back of your throat turns into sandpaper, making it impossible for words to find their way out. A big hand runs through his hair, fingers getting caught on a knot at the end that he works out with ease, a gentle sigh deflating his defensive chest just a little before he speaks.

“Hey.” 

Anger still boils under all of the attraction, along with the jealousy you aren’t willing to acknowledge.You aren’t ready. You can’t do this yet.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” you excuse yourself, turning on your heel and leaving just as quickly as you arrived.

You ignore the way he calls after you, seeking solace in the place that's become your hiding spot for the night. Fingers wrap around the handle to the familiar room, you stop in your tracks when a warm patch of light leaking out from a crack in a door that wasn’t opened before catches your attention. 

You can smell the cedar from here.

Glancing over your shoulder to see if he followed you, it changes the course of your direction when you discover that he didn’t. Taking a few steps across the hallway, you’re careful not to let the hinges creak when you push his bedroom door open a little more. Your senses quickly become overwhelmed with everything that makes Steve, Steve. You throw another cautious look down the hallway before crossing the invisible line. Closing the door like how you found it, you let your curiosity get the best of you. 

It’s cleaner than you thought it’d be now that he doesn’t live inside the Harrington’s massive house anymore. His bed is bigger, the twin sized mattress that you used to squeeze into traded in for a queen. The navy blue comforter that looks soft to the touch is laid out messy on white sheets, a digital clock with glaring red numbers that read 10:30 pm on the nightstand next to it. 

The carpet under your feet is a heather gray, and you can tell that it’s scratchy even with your shoes on. Patrick Swayze watches your every move from the Roadhouse poster hanging on his wall, the floor creaking as you make your way toward the small work desk in the corner. Your eyes linger on the impressive way all his dirty clothes manage to be in his hamper before they find the framed pictures spread over his desk. 

There’s one of him with the middle school boy you knew as Dustin Henderson perched on his back, only he looks much older than you remembered. The curls still give him away despite the braces free smile. Both of them grin hard enough for their eyes to crinkle in the corners like they had finally stopped laughing long enough for someone to snap this picture. 

You fight back the way your cheeks threaten to push up, not surprised to find one of him and Robin at what looks like Lover’s Lake, both of them striking the same pose with inflatable tubes around their waists wearing matching bucket hats and sunglasses.

The guy in these photos doesn’t seem anything like the one you remember and it’s hard for you to wrap your head around it. They look the same.

”I don’t think this is the bathroom, do you?” Steve’s voice makes you jump, heart stopping in your chest for a split second before you meet his questioning stare with a guilty face of your own. 

His arms are crossed over his chest as leans against the door frame, unintentionally pulling the collar of his shirt down giving you a glimpse of the patch of hair and the gold chain underneath. The softness in his eyes from the kitchen is gone as he stares you down, it’s replaced with something you can’t quite put your finger on but the intensity of it raking over your body has your thighs meeting for what feels like the millionth time tonight. His full pink lips twist into a sarcastic smirk as he pushes off the wood, taking the next few steps into his room.

”Did you really mean what you said out there?” He questions, dark eyes sparkling the more you squirm under the heat of them.

”Mean what? I said a lot of things out there. We all did.” Narrowing your gaze, you try to take back some semblance of control, squaring up your shoulders at him but the dark chuckle you get in response tells you it’s a futile attempt.

“I didn’t say anything about you specifically though, did I?” Steve counters, stopping just a few feet away from you, tongue poking at the side of his cheek, “No, I don’t think I did.”

He hums, uncrossing his arms to mimic your stance in a silent challenge, eyebrows raised waiting on your response.

”I didn’t say anything about you specifically either.” Jutting out your chin in defiance, it's your turn to cross your arms now. Maturity at its finest.

He doesn’t answer you, instead he holds your eyes with his own and it takes everything inside of you not to look away. Your tongue swipes against your bottom lip as he starts to take a few steps closer, broad shoulders making the room feel small when the toes of his sneakers meet yours.

“I don’t think you ever faked anything with me.” He looks down his nose at you, smelling like summer nights and everything you’ve tried to forget.

”You think or you know?” Cocking a brow with a shit eating grin that tells him you aren’t going to fold easy, the backs of your thighs hit the edge of his desk. 

He sucks at his teeth, rolling his shoulders with the kind of laugh that makes the dull ache between your legs turn into a throb.

“I know. Trust me.” He smirks, gaze lingering where the soft dough of your thighs meet before finding your eyes again, “Guess what else I know?”

It's hard for you to catch your breath when he looks at you like this and you wonder if he notices the quick heaves of your chest or the way your eyes glaze over from being this close to him.

”W-what?” Your stutter gives you away, but at least you tried to fight one last time before he went in for the kill.

The whites of his teeth show in the kind of smile that tells you he was hoping you’d ask just that. Leaning in, his palms land on his desk finding purchase on either side of your hips, caging you in. He’s close enough for the tip of his nose to brush against yours, close enough to smell the wheat from his beer on the warm breath that fans against your lips. 

“You wouldn’t still look at me the way you do, if I hadn’t made you feel good honey. And you know what else?” 

His voice goes deep as he whispers, nose nudging at your cheek before his lips hover right by your ear making you shiver, goosebumps making their second appearance of the day. Your hands find the edge of his desk, chest brushing against his in a deep breath feeling the slightest touch of his lips against the soft spot right behind it.  

“I know I can make you cum harder with my tongue than some Wall Street asshole, who doesn’t even know what to do under the hood of that fancy car he spent so much money on.” His grip on the desk tightens at the thought, wood groaning under the stress of it and it has your thighs spreading for him on their own.

“Steve -”

His fingers grab your chin like at the shop with just a firm enough hold for you to pull away if you want to but you can’t bring yourself to do it when his eyes threaten to swallow you whole. You wonder if it's just a mirror reflection of your own as he takes some of the new space you’ve given him, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body where yours screams for him most. His brows furrow when your noses brush and he swears he can taste the watermelon of your lip gloss, and then he knows he can when he feels your fingers curl into his shirt tugging him closer.

“I think,” he breathes into your mouth, hesitating just enough to soak it in a second longer before pulling away with an almost pained expression that he quickly tries to cover up, “I think it’s time for me to take you and Robin home.”

He steps back and out of your space, a nervous hand running through his hair like he did something he wasn’t supposed to do. His eyes meet yours again and there's something apologetic that swirls in the deep forest that watches you tug your skirt down straightening up.

”I’ll uh, I’ll give you a minute while I go wrangle Robin.” 

He takes one last look at you like he really needs to be sure of something before finally walking out and leaving you alone to wonder how the night ended with you here. Skirt rucked up, trying to catch your breath in Steve Harrington’s room.

———-

🌻 beta’d by @superblysubpar

🌻 chapter three

[nyrandrea]

You have very good writing and I think you really do comfort fics well! So I was wondering if you could write a fic with Astarion where the Tav he is trying to seduce has like major self esteem issues. Like they kind laugh at his attempts to compliment them. But at first it seems like a joke until he realizes that Tav isn't joking about it and he tries to help them see they are beautiful. (this is one of my fav prompts to give people ngl)

Thank you so much! This is a lovely prompt and I hope I did it some justice! :)

Word Count - 2k

Enjoy!

xxx

As the storm clouds gathered ominously on the horizon, you and your party found yourselves on a desolate, rain-soaked road in the middle of nowhere. The relentless downpour had turned the earth into a sea of mud, and the wind howled like a vengeful spirit. 

Your clothes were soaked through, and faces were etched with exhaustion and desperation. With each step, your boots sank into the muck, making the journey even more arduous. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a menacing reminder that you had to find shelter soon. 

“Ugh, there’s probably some saying about rainbows after the storm and whatnot,” Astarion said, holding a rucksack over his head in a failing attempt to save his hair. “But I’d much rather not be out in the middle of one.” 

“Ah, it’s not so bad, just think of it as a long overdue shower,” Gale said. “And the saying is ‘Don’t fear the storm, for the rainbow is never far behind!’” 

“Oh yes, that’s the one,” the vampire drawled.  “I’ll rest so much better now that you have enlightened me.” 

Amid the pelting rain, you spotted a faint glimmer of light in the distance. With newfound hope, you quickened your pace and beckoned the others to follow. As you trudged closer, the light revealed itself to be a cozy inn, nestled among ancient trees that shielded it from the worst of the storm. 

“Thank the Gods,” Karlach breathed. “If I got any more drenched, my engine would have snuffed out.” 

“Wouldn’t that solve your problem, then?” Lae’zel snidely chimed in, only to hiss when you elbowed her. 

The inn's windows emitted a warm, inviting glow, and the scent of wood smoke and hearty meals wafted through the air. Your tired body yearned for a meal and a warm bed, mindflayer tadpoles be damned. 

“Have we got enough gold to stay here? I mean, for everyone to have a room?” Shadowheart asked. 

“We should do,” you said, pulling out the team’s shared coin pouch. “I sold that egg we uh... found.” 

“You mean the one we stole after we killed its mother?” Wyll asked, clear disdain lacing his voice. 

“It’s not technically stealing if the target is dead,” Astarion cheerfully chimed in. “Besides, we rescued the other one, didn’t we? One good turn deserves another.” 

Wyll grimaced. “Your idea of virtue is a damn twisted one.” 

“Aw, you love me really,” the vampire teased back. 

“Here we are!” you announced as you reached the inn's doorstep, you were greeted by the innkeeper, whose eyes twinkled with the knowledge that you had nowhere else to go for the night. After taking payment, he ushers you inside, where a crackling fireplace cast a comforting light over the room, he takes your belongings up to your rooms with the help of Wyll and a begrudging Astarion. 

Finding a long wooden table in the corner of the room, the group sat together, their spirits lifted by the fact that they were safe from the fury of the storm outside, at least for one night. The innkeeper, his apron stained with years of hospitality, served you a hearty meal of roasted meats, fresh bread, and stew. 

You listened to the rain's rhythmic drumming on the inn's thatched roof, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for having found refuge in this little hidden haven. With a deep, contended sigh, you tucked into your meal, savouring every bite.

At least, you were trying to. 

“You better eat up,” Astarion teased, lacing his fingers together as he rested his chin upon them to watch you. “Because I plan on doing just that very soon.” 

“Crap,” you mumbled between mouthfuls. “Are you hungry? Why didn’t you say so?” 

“Oh, am I hungry,” he smirked. “Just not for blood.” 

You almost choked, but you masked it well with a nervous chuckle. He wasn’t... flirting with you, was he? You had always been bad at picking up signals, not that you received them often. 

‘Nah,’ you thought. He couldn’t be, not when there were so many other better-looking people, at this table alone, that he could choose from. 

“Well, I know you’re not craving my charming banter.” 

“Oh no, something far better.” 

Now you really were at a loss. 

“Do you... need to borrow my hair comb again?” 

“I mean sex, darling.” 

This time you couldn’t hide the choke, but you were more afraid of dying from embarrassment than anything else. 

“What?” 

The deafening silence that had befallen the table was broken by a low whistle from Karlach. 

“The direct approach, I can respect that, mate.” 

“Direct? I’ve been trying to drop hints for weeks now but perhaps a little more serenading is needed,” he looked you up and down with a knowing smile; he had hooked you, now it was time to reel you in. 

“Darling,” Astarion began softly, his voice a gentle caress, “when I look into your eyes, I see galaxies of beauty and depth that defy description. It’s as if the universe itself painted them with the colours of a thousand sunsets.” 

A faint blush tinged your cheeks as you lowered your eyes, unsure of where to look. Astarion reached out and gently lifted your chin, so your eyes met once more. 

“And your smile,” he continued, “it’s like a radiant sunbeam on even the cloudiest day. It has the power to brighten my world in an instant.” 

“Ooh, that’s a good one,” Karlach said, fanning herself. “You’re even making me blush!” 

“Careful, we wouldn’t want you burning any hotter now,” Gale smiled, though it was strained. He looked almost as uncomfortable as you felt. 

“Your kindness,” Astarion went on, “it knows no bounds. You have a heart that’s more expansive than the ocean, and it’s a privilege to be the one you’ve chosen to share it with.” 

“Bah!” Lae’zel practically spat. “These nonsensical attempts at beguiling are a waste of time, why waste your energy talking when you can claim and dominate each other instead?” 

You were hard-pressed to agree with Lae’zel on this one. Well, except maybe for that last part. 

“Alright, you can stop now,” you said. 

“Not until you’re convinced,” Astarion replied, a sly smirk forming on his lips. “How about this? You are a masterpiece in a world of art,” The vampire flamboyantly declared, his gaze unwavering. “Your uniqueness, your quirks, your imperfections – they all make you the incredible person I fell in love with. You’re not just enough; you’re more than I ever dreamed of.” 

You roll your eyes. “Gods, you know you don’t have to keep practising the fancy fake flattery on me, right? I know it’s all like a big joke to you but enough is enough, eh?” 

Astarion finally pulls back and frowns at you, not in that puppy-pout way when he didn’t get what he wanted, but in a way that he looked genuinely offended. 

“You think I’m joking?” 

“I... uh,” you stutter, suddenly flustered.  

“My compliments aren’t fake, darling. Decorative, perhaps, but you do know I mean every word, don’t you?” 

“Pfft,” you try to wave him off nonchalantly, but your quivering voice betrays you. “No, you don’t. It’s... it’s all just a bit of fun, r-right?” 

“Perhaps I should be a bit blunter then,” Astarion said, leaning forward ever so slightly, his expression serious and scarlet eyes piercing into you. “You’re... beautiful.” 

You swear you could feel something just break inside you in that moment.

A tentative smile, like a fragile flower pushing through the cracks of self-doubt, graced your lips, but it wilted in the harsh light of scrutiny. A tight knot formed within your throat as everyone stared at you in anticipation. What were you supposed to say? Thank you? That you were grateful for the shower of compliments from Astarion, this... gorgeous man, because you sure as hell didn’t deserve them? 

“I’m a little tired,” you suddenly say, your chair scraping the floor with a shrill screech as you quickly stand up. “Excuse me.” 

Leaving their concerned calls behind you, you made your way up the stairs of the tavern and into the hallway leading to the rooms. The innkeeper had allocated them, but he’d neglected to say which one was which, so you merely picked the first door you could get your hands on. 

It wasn’t until you slammed the door shut and leaned your back against it that you realised that you picked the wrong bloody one. 

The room was large and luxurious, the centrepiece was an ornate, four-poster bed adorned with rich, crimson drapes that seemed to dance with the flickering candlelight and crisp, white linens, neatly turned down. An old, familiar skull-faced tome laid face up, its amethyst eyes staring ominously at the ceiling. 

It seemed that someone got first dibs on the rooms, and it didn’t take a genius to work out who. 

‘Shit,’ you curse to yourself, scrambling for the doorknob. ‘Maybe I can get out before he-’ 

As soon as you open the door, Astarion is already right there, his hand raised into a fist. 

“Knock-knock?” he says, giving you a tentative smile. 

“S-sorry, must have gotten a little mixed-up.” 

“That’s quite alright, dear,” his tone is too soft for your liking, as if he feared offending you in any way. 

“Right, well,” you strain a smile and edge around him to get to the hallway. “Goodnight.” 

“Wait,” he catches you by the arm. “Come back in, won’t you?” 

You squint at him suspiciously. 

“To talk, darling. Nothing else, not if you don’t want to.” 

Gods know that you wanted to, you were just... surprised that he did. 

As you re-enter the room, you notice a small, antique writing desk nestled by a leaded glass window. A vase of freshly picked wildflowers graced the wooden surface, infusing the room with their sweet fragrance. 

Astarion caught your stare. “Ah, unfortunately I have run out of perfume to mask my er... musk. So, I had to improvise.” 

“It’s nice,” you remark, the tight knot in your throat making it hard to speak. 

“Well, I should hope so. They are your favourite after all, are they not?” 

A surge of guilt jabbed through your chest, you had occasionally stopped on the road to admire the flowers; their colours, their scent was intoxicating to you. Had he been observing you even back then? 

You didn’t know what to say, words were always tempered by hesitation, their resonance dulled by the fear of judgment. Each sentence was punctuated by apologies, as if you believed your very existence owed the world an explanation. Confidence always remained just beyond your reach, an oasis in the desert of your own mind. 

Astarion sat on the bed and patted the empty spot next to him; you silently took the invitation. 

“I would like to... apologise for earlier. Making you uncomfortable was never my intent, I...” he paused, his eyes flickering over you. “I just wasn’t sure how much clearer I could make it to you.” 

“That you... like me?” 

“Like you?” Astarion took your hands and squeezed them. “I adore you. Everything about you, all that you do is... nothing short of breathtaking.” 

Tears welled in your eyes and spilled over your cheeks like the gentlest rain, your trembling shoulders burdened by the weight of your emotions 

“I’m sorry if you don’t hear this enough but... I wish to change that. You really are, truly, beautiful.” 

The tears flowed freely then, your sobs echoing in the stillness of the night. Astarion gathered you in his arms, a silent pillar of support. His hand, cool and reassuring, gently cradled your trembling one, his thumb grazing back and forth over your knuckles. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his words a gentle caress. “Let it out, darling.” 

Astarion’s presence felt like a sanctuary, a safe haven in the storm of emotions. He didn’t offer empty platitudes or rushed advice. Instead, he listened, letting you pour your bottled emotions out, allowing it to find solace in his quiet understanding. 

With each tear that fell, Astarion’s touch remained steady, unwavering. 

As the night wore on, you found yourself nestled into his side as you lay together on top of the covers, your head tucked into his shoulder while he stared up at the ceiling. He turns his head briefly to kiss your forehead, and in that sacred space, amid the tears and whispered sorrows, you found solace, strength, and perhaps the willingness to accept that, in your own way, you are beautiful. 

xxx

Links to my other Astarion works

Everything's Fine

Restless

Request - Astarion kills everyone in his path to get to you

Request - Astarion tries to rescue you from kidnappers

[sorcerous-caress]

Companions with a Halfling Tav

[Fluff, kind reader, chubby reader, halfling reader, nb!reader]

[Wyll, Karlach, Gale, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Astarion, Halsin, Minthara]

Wyll

Anyone seeing the two of you together wouldn't have believed that you were strangers who met less than a month ago. The playful teasing, the wholehearted smiles, and the comfort at being at each other's sides.

You really had a way to wrap every human you meet around your fingers, like you were an old friend they haven't met in a long time. It didn't take long for Wyll to feel at ease around you.

Your kind nature, your beautiful smile and your cheery demenour. You've always known how to brighten the mood and lift someone up even on their worst days.

Each meeting with Mizora left a sour taste in the aftermath, yet you've washed it down with each warm drink you handed to Wyll afterwards. Looking up at him from below, he felt his heart melt at the concerned look in your glossy eyes as you lifted the cup up towards him, a reassuring smile on your lovely lips.

A smile that said things will be better, that he will be okay.

He felt like the luckiest man in the world to have met you, met someone as precious and caring as you.

Karlach

And here she thought she'd be the only person in this camp who is looking to have fun and forgo the storm for rainbow.

The others are fine, but Karlach had what felt like a lifetime of misery already, of constant struggle and endless days to wallow in her sadness.

She has missed life, missed living and the excitement of it. The tenderness of a hug, and yours are absolutely the best she has ever had.

The way you fit perfectly into her arms whenever she gets on her knees to wrap you in her embrace. Your soft chubby body was brimming with love and care. Each warm hug reminded her of why life is worth living, of why she fights so hard everyday to stay a little bit longer.

She understands know why the goddess of halflings is also that of life, you're the embodiment of the one thing she was robbed of and god she never plans on letting you slip through her fingers.

The sound of both of your laughter can be heard in the early breakfast as Karlach sits next to you, her head laying on her crossed arms on the table while admiring you from the side. A time where everyone else is grumpy and sleepy, the two of you manage to be bundles of sunshine.

Your energy feeding into one another, returning the same effort and regifting the same happiness back.

Gale

Enjoys cooking food with you by his side. There is something to be said about the homely magic halflings bring with them wherever they may go.

Somehow, you sitting near him on the table and helping him chop down the vegetables for the stew, makes him feel at ease. Your smile is infectious, and Gale finds himself humming a song as the two of you make dinner together for the rest of the camp.

Your kind had a clear appreciation for the arts, for the many things humanity invented. Gale would invite you back to his tent after the meal, offer to read you stories as your small body curls on top of him. His blanket keeping the both of you warm.

Gale is sharing one of the most prestigious literature books, yet you've easily managed to keep up with the complex lore, identifying the many plot twists before they could happen. All while laying on top of him, letting him greedly cuddle your soft chubby body and speak his heart out.

Halfling and humans truly had a bond like no other, so similar and yet so distinct. To Gale, you were the warm home he'd come back to at the end of an adventure, the warm cup of chocolate during a rainy day.

Lae'zel

She doesn't treat you any differently. One day, you bring up the fact of being halfling, and she says she didn't really notice.

If you ask more then she admits that she judges and memorise people by their combat abilities, rarely by their looks or shapes. As far as she was concerned, she wouldn't have been able to tell you apart from a tiefling. To her, there are only gith and others.

While you do fall into others, you're not exactly like them. There is something special about you, the fact you take a step back each time the party fails or encounters something damning, let them recollect themselves and have some time to relax before embarking again.

She admits she has always looked down on those ways, thought they were meaningless and a waste of time. Yet you've proven her wrong many times, and that she admits.

To rest, sit back and stay in the current moment. She feels restless, gets more agitated the more she has nothing to do. What do you mean her sword is sharp enough and doesn't need more sanding? You don't know what you're talking about, there is nothing such as too much sanding.

But you hold her hend in your own, entangle your finger with hers. Guide her back to the fire with the rest of the companions, hand her a warm bowl of soup and tell her to take it easy.

She hasn't touched her soup, yet there is a great warmth spreading through her. Your hums of a melody, quiets her brain, your touches, relaxes her drumming heart.

She looks at the stars and longs for a home she has never seen before, a place where she should belong. But at this moment, nothing in her life felt more like home than sitting by your side.

Shadowheart

She's been taught to hold on to her sadness, to use it to guide her. That her suffering gives her purpose, that hear tears give her meaning.

The two of you have a lot to learn from each other, the moon and sun in an endless dance, chasing one another whilst avoiding the other.

She relives her sadness too much, reopens her wounds too many times. You bury yours, stretch your smiles too thin and downplay your injuries too often.

She returns your kindness and is there to see you at your worst of states. When you can't be the person who is expected to cheer everyone up, when you feel like the ground is crumbling beneath your feet, she catches you in her arms.

And you teach her forgiveness, of her self, current and past. Of her sins, current and future. You extend a hand of mercy and she in return offers an embrace of empathy.

The two of you share a special bond of mutual respect and understanding.

Astarion

He never thought he'd fall for someone shorter than him, truth be told. High elves were always raised on these less than ideal views for the smaller races.

And maybe this is the irony of the fate, that the single person to manage to steal his heart was you. Barely reaching his waist and easily lifting him up.

He was cautious around you at the state, after all the most chipper and goody two shoes people hid the darkest secrets behind that facade. You can't possibly be all smiles and rainbows, can you?

Yet no matter how many times he rummaged through your closet, not a single skeleton could be found, not even a loose tooth or a spine.

Astarion didn't realise how much he was starting to warm up to you, until that one morning you were helping him brush his hair while he sipped on a cup of a blood you've kindly prepared for him.

As he held the cup with the cute cow prints on it, the same one he stole from you, it hit him.

You've been coddling him and making him feel at home without him realising it for so long! And like an idiot he absolutely ate it up. God, is this why his ancestors warned him about Halflings? They really sneak up on you when you least expect it, and the next thing you know, you're spending hours making friendship bracelets for each other.

No, of course, he'll never take it off. Are you crazy? Anyway, you sneaky traitor, it's his turn to do your hair, so come sit on his lap so he can leech of your warmth while hugging your plump body and stomach. No shush, he has earned this. Look, he even has a friendship bracelet as proof.

Halsin

He is very gentle with you, aware of his size, and makes sure never to make you feel uncomfortable or take too much space around you.

Halflings are one of the many gifts of nature, their kind souls and inviting homes have been written about in many elf history books. The best friends of the infamous humans.

You ground him back into reality whenever he gets too lost in his head, worrying about the shocking reality of the modern cities, or the forgotten essence of nature. Your tender touch against his cheek and invitation to sit near the fire and talk it out is everything he could've ever asked for.

You bring home with you wherever you go, be it amidst the misty shadowlands and withering trees, or inside the basement of an abandoned building the party sought cover in from the outside rain.

In fact you'd be the type to embrace the rain and dance in it, barefoot and all. Reigniting Halsin's connection to nature by reminding him of all the beautiful gifts of these earths.

Minthara

Just who do you think you are? Waltzing in here like a drop of sunshine, all cute and small, making Minthara question her sanity.

You stand for everything she has been raised against, the loud laughter that'd get you killed in the underdark, the friendly kind nature that'd get you taken advantage of by the drows, the lovely smile that you flaunt around so easily.

And yet, you're the hero of her story. The person who saved her, let her keep her identity when they tried to erease her existence.

Your light never dims no matter how grumpy she is, your smile never falters no matter how deep her frown gets.

She respects you, admires you and is enthralled by your beauty. The way your thighs look so mesmerising whenever you walk, your chubby fingers that look so short in comparison to her larger hand.

Minthara have pressed the edge of her sword against people's necks for simply thinking they get to pick you up without permission. Have threatened people's lives over some insensitive comments about your own kind and how halflings don't belong in the battefield.

You're brave, truly brave. It takes true strength to remain kind in the face of a harsh world, to remain soft inside. And Minthara knows that, for it is the one thing she couldn't amount to.

[strangelittlestories]

Baba Yaga rocked up to the village of Smartass and parked her house in the middle of a public park.

The house kicked over a “no walking on the grass” sign with one chicken leg as it sat down. A nearby stroller glared at the house with stinging disapproval and it responded by winking (which it accomplished by closing one window shutter with a belligerent clatter).

The witch gave the house a fond pat on the side, and left it a handful of bricks as a snack. It pecked at them happily; a nearby dog fled as it saw how beak-sharp its door was.

Baba Yaga approached the local school and knocked on the door cheerfully.

The headmaster rushed out to meet her.

“Ah, mistress Yaga. How lovely to see you! I assume you're here for your yearly tithe of children?”

The witch nodded ominously.

“Wonderful.” The man was sweating like a glass of cold milk on a hot day; chilled but with the promise of rancidness. “We have assembled a gaggle of our most annoying brats for your stewpot.”

The first child was led out. As was tradition, Baba Yaga received them in private.

“Hi, I'm Olga but my friends call me Ollie.” said the child. “So you're gonna eat me, yeah?”

“Yes, Ollie.” The witch then cackled witchily.

“Cool cool. Very grimmcore. Love your vibe.”

If Baba Yaga was perturbed by the child's chipperness, she did not show it.

“Would you like a Weather's Original, Ollie?” she offered a packet to the child. “You know, before I marinade and slow cook you?”

The child reaches into the packet.

“Hey lady, this Werthers packet is full of bones. Finger bones, I think.”

“Very observant! Are you gonna be a good kid and eat what you're offered?”

The child shrugged and popped a hard boiled bone into their mouth.

“Hey lady, your house looks like it's rampaging through the park.”

“It must have finished its bricks early.”

“I like that your house is also a chicken.

“Thanks, I grew it myself.”

“Did you know that chickens can see in a huge range of colours?” said the child. “Like, Ultraviolet and shit.”

“Your teachers must be proud of you.”

“My teachers are pissmongers. Schools are obedience factories. I learned in the library.” Ollie finished crunching through the bone sweet. “Did you know that witches are so magical that their words distort reality? You can see it with a spectrograph - spells are one colour, prophecies are another, and deep truths are full rainbow Disney nonsense.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You're not gonna eat me.”

"You sure? I'm pretty hungry and you're snack size."

“Your house is a chicken. It can see weird colours. You left it a snack because you knew it'd get antsy if it saw the colour of what you're saying. It's going buckwild, so it doesn't like it. You're not telling the truth. This whole witchy TikTok “check out my easy one pot recipe for child stew” bit is a nonsense.”

Baba Yaga grinned and showed rows and rows of teeth like a shark.

“Pretty bold assumption, kid. Given if you're wrong, you get ate.”

“Not really.” replied the witch's apprentice. “I can tell you're lying because your house is moving.”

---

Witches! Puns! Weird jokes! Bird facts! I'm playing the hits here.

Enjoy my stories? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi with a one-off or recurring donation https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[romanoffsbish]

Shelter me From the Storm

Actress!Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Stripped Bare (Part 1) / Two people asked for this and I already had the ideas so boom. 😂

Warnings: Loss of Parent / Grief. Post-Partum Depression (Not mentioned, but heavily implied—hygiene/eating struggles, struggle to bond/help). Media (Implied lack of respect for Sex Work).

Smut: Soft | Daddy (N) | Nat has a penis | Oral (Both) | Fingering | Overstimulation | Squirting | Unprotected / Breeding | Cockwarming (Plugging)

18+ | Minors DNI | Please Don’t Report, it’s labeled properly.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Natasha's raspy voice startled you, but it also soothed your aching soul. It'd been exactly two months since the two of you moved to Oregon to officially start your life together. "My mom, us, them."

The redhead nodded solemnly, worried eyes casted down onto your fidgeting hands. She settled down beside you on the porch swing, and took your freezing hands between hers. Gently as ever she kissed, and breathed onto them until she deemed them warm enough.

"You couldn't have worn mittens?" She teased, then her strong arms wrapped around your body so she could pull you into her lap. Her forehead leaned against yours as she tried her best to comfort you. It was you who broke the distance and pressed your lips to hers for a kiss that reminded you that you were really there.

——

You were still alive, even if your mom wasn't. The thought broke you, this idea that Apollo and Luna would grow up without her love.

"I miss her," you sniffled, and the redhead sighed empathetically, "Me too moya lyubov'."

A smile graced your face at the memories of Nat with your mom. They'd only known one another for a little over a year, but your wife stole your mother's heart instantly. The sick woman never missed a chance to talk to her, even if it involved interrupting your convos.

They had a pure love of you in common, so it was easy for them to spend hours talking. It warmed your heart, but also infuriated you to no end when your mom shared your secrets.

Natasha never needed to know about your failed prom, or about how you believed in Santa and his friends until sophomore year.

The redhead loved to tease you about it, even now, "Who else will tell me all your secrets?"

"Thank fuck that's over," you sadly joked, because embarrassing as it was, you'd let your mother release all of your most embarrassing moments in life if it meant she was still here.

"Ooh, What about Cole?"

You snorted, "Not if he wants to stay alive."

"You're no fun."

Silence soon fell over the both of you as you watched the rain harshly pelting down. The pavement, and dirt saturated in no time as mother nature wept, you weren't sure of her reason, but you liked to think it was for your mom. She loved the rain, it never presented as an inconvenience to her like it did for others, you remember chasing the rainbows with her.

Losing her was polarizing really. It was always coming, but you were never prepared for it.

All that really brought you comfort since she passed, was that she met your daughter first.

Luna Romanoff, the little girl with your wife's cheeky smile, and your mothers love for music.

At only ten months old she was a little rockstar. The xylophone was her go to instrument, it made you feel like your mom's name as her middle prophesied their clear connection. They had met, then five hours later your mom died.

Natasha took care of everything after, she still does some days when you can't manage. You usually feel bad, but every time she senses it, and reminds you that there's nothing else she'd rather be doing than caring for her family.

"I'm going to miss you too," you finally broke it, voice cracking as your emotions got the best of you. "I wish you didn't have to leave at all."

"Me neither," Nat replied in the same tone, a tear slipped down her face as she stewed over her departure this evening. Leaving you in such a vulnerable state wasn't easy, but she hadn't a choice as she had to do a slurry of interviews for her upcoming film, as well as clear the air on her sudden disappearance from Hollywood.

It was the only way the execs would let her off the hook for the premiere. The buzz from her interviews will give them enough scandalous PR. Especially when she announces this will be her last film for a long while. The seats will fill.

She'd pleaded for zoom interviews, but even being as big as she was, they wouldn't budge.

"I wouldn't go if I had a choice," she reminded you for the umpteenth time. "I know Natty."

"It just sucks," she voiced your thoughts.

You chuckled humorlessly, "Majorly."

The sudden sound of a cry through the baby monitor brought you and your wife out of your bubble of intermixed grievances, and right into the house where you found a shocked Apollo hovering over Luna's traveling bassinet.

Five minutes ago they were peacefully napping, one in a heap of blankets and toys, while the other was cozy in her bed. It was safest not to move your son, he'd have woken up lively.

Where he lays, he stays—a household motto.

The scene was clear as day, he'd climbed up onto the couch with a devious curiosity, and now it appears the young boy had slapped her.

Natasha swiftly moved to the side of the couch, stopping your son from repeating the offense with a gentle catch of his hand. With ease she scooped the boy onto her hip, then she lovingly reached down to smooth a hand over your daughters face. Her cries stopped instantly.

After your daughter was soothed you watched quietly as Natasha handled your son. Her look was stern, but her eyes were still adoringly soft. There was no true harm done, it was clear Luna was mostly just shocked, not genuinely hurt.

Plus, he's only two, this was like a canon event.

"Apo," she called his attention to her with the nickname derived from his inability to say his. "You have to be gentle," she softly reminded him, using her hand to mimic proper touch as she continued to brush her hand over your daughters face until she was sleeping again.

Apollo butchered the word as he repeated it, but he mimicked her perfectly. Tiny hands covered in god knows what reached out to cup her face, something he'd seen done before. Both of your hearts beamed at the boy for his slow, but steady understanding. This would probably happen again, from both ends, but you knew that it would be an easy resolution.

Natasha's gentle approach to the kids was a surprising discovery you'd made. Not that you expected her to be downright cruel, but you just expected more sternness from your former experiences. But then you remember the Natty that you'd loved was always there back then too, and then it all makes sense. The first time you witnessed it was when your infant son was playing with an extension cord. You wanted to run over and rip it from his hands, but she'd stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

Instead she walked over to him, created some static electricity with her hands then tapped his. It seemed almost cruel, but then she picked him up as he wailed, then that soon faded into hiccups and it all became clearer to you.

He'd wanted her attention all along, and she taught him a valuable lesson in the process.

The gentleness came right after, when she held him close while she hummed a Russian lullaby to soothe him. All the while pointing to the enticing cord and saying a simple, firm no-no.

You remember watching them fondly, with a smile on your face, a hand on your bump, and a subtle sense of relief that'd washed over you.

No matter what came, you knew you'd all be safe with Natasha. Parenting was a learning curve, without your mom to guide you you've lost it, but you felt like she'd had it mastered.

That's why after the night slowly crept in you anticipated the arrival of your little brother. He's flying in from New York, and should be to your house by 8:30pm, and Nat has to be gone by 9pm, or she knows she'll never make it.

Apollo had already gone down for the night, but Luna Bear was still a live wire. Bouncing on her mama's hip while haphazardly shaking her head side to side in a tiring game of 'no-no'

"Wow, you've gotten so big Lunar Eclipse," your brother greeted the giggling baby, who turned to him with a wide, curious smile. Natasha sent him one as well at the relief she felt since she no longer had to shake her head.

"Luna," you corrected with a fixed glare. "I've been meaning to ask you about that sis."

"Cole," you warned through gritted teeth, and for the first time Natasha had realized the help she planned might actually be the bother.

"Why would you name your kids like animals?"

Natasha glared at your brother just the same, coddling the baby into her chest with a hand over her ear to shield her from hearing him

"You're the most annoying person on Earth," you deadpanned, he gasped in offense. "Give me the cat, and say your sappy goodbyes."

Natasha's arms around your waist stopped you from chasing your cackling brother down as he took your giggling daughter into the house.

"Don't leave me with him," you pleaded. "I won't look good in an orange jumpsuit Nat."

Natasha snorted softly, "You're so dramatic." Then she leaned in to kiss you slowly, a bunch of unspoken words being exchanged: 'I'm only a call away,' 'Don't kill your brother, please,' and 'Seriously, call me if you need me,' but the most important of messages came tumbling from your very own parted lips, "I love you."

Natasha smiled against you, she instantly repeated the sentiment, "I love you too Y/N. With all of me. You'll be okay detka. Promise."

The driver honked impatiently, and you fought off the urge to flip them off. Natasha rolled her eyes as she saw the petty conflict behind yours. "I'll be back in three sleeps sweetheart, you take care of yourself while I'm gone please."

Natasha sighed as she saw you bite your lip, a nervous habit of yours she'd become familiar with. You never wanted to disappoint Natasha, but you felt like you always were when you couldn't even manage the mundane tasks.

"It's hard, I know it is," she sympathized with your newfound wave of inability. "But eat, drink water, and sleep whenever possible."

"I'll try," you whisper against her chest as she hugs you close for a final moment. "That's all I ask moya lyubov, you deserve to be nourished."

"Three days," you whispered, your eyes shut tight as you reeled in your emotions. You could break down when she made it onto the road.

"Then there'll be no more leaving, we got this."

"Safe travels Natty." You kissed her cheek, then made the move to slip from her grasp, knowing all too well that she wouldn't willingly let go.

As you entered the house she watched, making her driver more irritated but she didn't care. His paycheck was signed by her, therefore his patience was paid for. She watched closely and nearly broke down when she saw a little Luna crying as her hands slammed into the window.

It was strange, how the ten month old could understand the implications of her mother in the car, and it hurt the woman's aching soul.

Once you locked the door, and scooped your daughter up she told released a breath and told the driver he could take off as she sent off a worried text to Cole, begging him to keep an eye on you like he promised her he would.

Then she sat back and began to count down the milliseconds until she could return to you.

—

The following morning came with a wake up Facetime call, your wife waited until it was 9am your time, then spent hours virtually cuddling. Around 12pm she bid you farewell, as it was 3pm in New York, her interview was for 6pm, but with makeup and wardrobe it was time.

It was live, so at 3pm you'd ensured the babies were already down for a nap, and settled onto the couch in some clean pajamas with your emotional support water bottle, and chips.

Natasha looked beautiful as she crossed the stage, with practiced elegance she flashed her award winning smile, and you swooned. It felt like it was directed at you, and with it being your Natasha you realized it probably was.

They discussed the movie, it was a smooth interview, until the hot topic, you, came up.

"So, tell me Natasha, who's the mystery girl?"

Natasha instantly grimaced, but quickly shook the expression for one of happiness. "My wife."

"Wife, huh?" He chuckled nervously, you both saw a question on his mind designed to send you spiraling. "Fans across the globe really thought you'd end up with Wanda Maximoff."

Natasha breathed harshly through her nose, it took all of her patience to remain composed.

"Wanda is nothing more than a lifelong friend." Natasha cooly replied. "Who's happily engaged, need I remind you, to The Vision Stark."

"Hindsight is 20/20," he jested awkwardly.

"Mhm," Natasha hummed, not even humoring the man with a response as she watched him fumble through his note cards for more. She smiled, it was perceivably smug, and made you feel something you'd yet to in almost a year.

He took a steadying breath before his face relaxed, then he continued his futile attack.

"I have it on good authority that your wife, Y/N Y/L/N." Natasha cut him off, "Romanoff."

"Sorry," he replied annoyedly, "We've been informed that Y/N Romanoff was a stripper."

Natasha nods thoughtfully. "Is there a question there, or are we just stating useless facts. If so, I'd like to inform you your tie is on wrong."

Your eyes widened, in all your years of knowing of Natasha, you'd never seen her so snarky. It was really hot, and you truly couldn't deny it.

"I guess, if it wasn't obvious," he starts shakily, as if he feared the 5'3 redheaded woman. "The world is wondering if that's how you met."

"Well, the honest answer is yes." The audience gasped, she rolled her eyes behind her lids knowing they were likely prompted to do that for shock value alone. "I know right? How shocking that rich people still go to strip clubs."

Her eyes then narrowed onto the nervous host. "As if you yourself aren't a regular Johnny."

"Jimmy," he timidly corrected and she laughed. Boy did she laugh, it was mocking, and had the man sweating through his shirt. "My apologies, so tell me Jimbo, does your wife know what happens during the actual late nights? We both know this show is mislabeled. It ends by 7pm, but your life is only just beginning then right?"

The raven haired man gulped, it was clear Nat was prepared for his intrusive questioning. You caught sight of Natasha's sideways smirk just as the show cut to a commercial, and when it returned your wife was no longer there. Cole snickered from beside you, "Mom would have loved to see this, God, I adore your wife Y/N."

You hummed your agreement, then left him to tend to the crying babies while you answered your wife's phone call. She was panicking, but you reassured her that it'll be okay. That her die hard fans wouldn't leave, and that with the progressive nature of Hollywood that she'd likely receive accolades for her honesty, and her overall support of the sex work industry.

Even if you both knew it wasn't a guarantee, Natasha couldn't help but to believe you. In the end, if this is where her career ended she didn't mind. She had more than enough money to retire, and she still would have her business.

Natasha ended the call after you'd calmed her as she had more interviews to prepare for.

It felt fulfilling being there for her, helping her through a freak out for once instead of it being the other way around. You knew it wasn't a competition, but it's hard to think otherwise when it's always you on the visibly weaker end.

There was a renewed confidence in your step now, and it showed when you fixed lunch for the whole house instead of letting Cole. You'd ushered him off to play with the kids, and got comfy with the concepts of cooking again.

—

When the next day came you got to hear from Nat sporadically. She told you all about her day, the highlight apparently came when she got to answer fan's questions while playing with cats. You rolled your eyes, knowing now that she'd be insufferable until you finally said yes to her taking in the stray kittens that lived amongst Wanda's garden. The brunette wanted to take them to a shelter a week ago, but Nat told her she'd win you over soon enough.

She begged again before she got off the call, and she was right, because that evening you sent her a picture before she went to sleep of a relieved Wanda on your doorstep with a box.

Natasha called you on the verge of tears, she'd only hung up the phone an hour ago so she could take a shower and get ready for bed. It was only 4pm for you, and 7pm for her, but she had an early morning interview before she was then meant to catch an afternoon flight home.

So, after she thanked you profusely, she settled down in her bed, and you on the couch as you pulled up her most recent interview done with Clint Barton. An actor turned talk show host.

He was also her very best friend, so of course she gave him the tell all story others wanted.

"So Natasha," Clint started with a teasing smirk. "Mhm?" She hummed playfully, her eyes softly rolled as a smirk overtook her face.

"When do I get to meet my niece and nephew?"

"Whenever you catch a flight out to Oregon."

"That's right," he bounces off her seamlessly, "You made the bold move to the Beaver state, what is in Oregon that's not in LA or NYC?"

"Peace," she answered simply. "It's gorgeous, and it's where my love wanted to end up."

Clint smiled, it was incredibly genuine as he admired the lovesick one your wife wore. The man has yet to meet you, but he plans to hug you tightly in silent thanks for changing her life for the better and making her this happy. He's watched her through every phase, the partying, all the meaningless hooking up, to the present.

Where she is outwardly softer, but as expected she is still guarded where she needed to be.

"Your love," he acknowledges, a slight tease to his tone as he met her eyes again. "Why don't you tell me all about who's taking you from us."

Natasha glared at him, but it was a playful way, that she agreed to, to ease her into her purpose for this interview. "You know Clint, I've been acting ever since I was a kid," she thoughtfully began, "It's all I've ever known honestly. It's been my greatest passion for three decades."

She took in a steadying breath, then sighed while wearing a shy smile, "It wasn't until I met her that I envisioned more for myself," her cheeks reddened at the thought of exposing herself in such a vulnerable way to the world.

Acting, telling others stories, was what she did best, but it felt foreign to tell her own like this.

With her eyes closed she imagined your smile, then she heard the memory of your kids giggles and suddenly it was the easiest decision. "Y/N is my light at the end of the tunnel, truthfully."

Clint nodded proudly, leaning back in his seat to metaphorically open the floor up to her.

"I know the world is already freaking out, some angry that I'm off the market, others mad that she's a former stripper, but I don't know why any of that matters to them." Natasha frowned as she tried not to cry. "People are saying my career will end with this, and to those people I say good fucking riddance. I've given almost every last piece of me to this industry, and if me finally choosing my happiness is a problem then I'll let it be for only them. I'm happier than I've ever been, and that is my truth."

"So, you're leaving Hollywood behind?" He asked for clarity, and she shook her head in a partial negation. "I have decided to take a step back, this upcoming film is going to be my final for an indefinite amount of time. I want to focus on my family, and I deserve a break."

"That you do Natasha," Clint acknowledged, behind him on a screen a slideshow of all of her hit movies began to appear. Emphasizing the focus of conversation. "If you retired today I'd say that you've left your mark on the world, even more so with those beautiful babies."

"They are my entire world." Natasha clarified, they were her legacy, sure, but they were so much more than that too. They were a perfect mixture of you both. Apollo with her distinctive eyes, and your sweet smile. Then Luna with her smile, and dimples and your huffy temper.

Both with their own blooming personalities.

The redhead smiled brightly when a photo then flickered on the screen of your little family. The four of you were sat on a park bench, Apollo stood on her lap with his hand pointing to something behind her, she had smiled at the camera, but her eyes focus was torn between him and the phone. Then sat beside her was you, with a blanket over your chest, shielding the hungry baby from the harsh Fall winds.

It was meant to be a cute family photo, and it still was, but far more dysfunctional than intended. Natasha had tried to get Apollo to turn around, but he wouldn't take his eyes off of the firetruck in the back. Then Luna cried, and it was clearly hunger so you let her latch on, and even then it could've been cute, but then she grunted angrily so you covered her.

"You guys look happy," Clint acknowledged, and the woman smiled fondly. "We are."

"Well, I hope that in a few years time we'll be able to see you back on the screen," Clint moves to wrap up the segment. "But if we don't, then I'd like to dedicate a moment of silence to the greatest loss in the industry."

"Oh stop it," she joked tearily, leaning forward to playfully shove his shoulder. Clint winked at the emotional redhead, then he yanked her up and into a bear hug. "Tell Y/N I look forward to meeting her," he whispered, then he planted a kiss on her cheek, and she left the stage with a chorus of loud applause following her.

You turned the TV off, then wiped at the few tears that she'd elicited from you. Seeing her so vulnerable on TV, all in an attempt to make the media go easier on you, was overwhelming. It made your heart swell with more love than before and you couldn't quiet grasp how you could even love her more than you already did.

It also made you want her more than you did yesterday. No longer was it a feeling you could ignore, but instead a deep seeded need you'd had every intention of satiating upon your wife's return. Which is why you rebooked your brothers flight home, and reminded him about that one time you covered for him when he rear ended your evil neighbor Mildred's parked car.

—

The last thing Natasha expected to find as she entered your house late at night was you. But on the couch you sat, with a glass of red wine, and in a matter of seconds you were on her.

"Moya lyubov' I said drink water," she groaned, but it was a humored one. You looked up at her with wide eyes, then you smiled innocently. "Would you believe me if I said that Jesus showed up and magicked it himself?"

"Oh, is that so?" She cackled in a hushed way, you nodded vehemently. "Scouts honor Natty!"

"Mhm?" She teasingly hummed, the vibrato felt as she pressed her lips to yours, and you gasped affectedly. Natasha tried to pull back, feeling guilty for looking like she was trying to initiate anything, but then she felt guilty for feeling guilty because of course she wants you.

"No," you whimpered and clung to her biceps. "Daddy please, I-I'm ready." You were wet, desperation was controlling your mind now.

"You're drunk detka," she pointed out, but you showed her the bottle, proving that you'd only poured the one glass and hadn't had more than two sips. Which was only for liquid courage.

"What's changed for you?" Natasha pulled you down into her lap, you whined in frustration, but then you saw the glossy viridescent orbs full of concern waiting for your reply.

"Seeing you lose your cool on TV over me was hot," you admitted shamelessly, stroking her big ego in the hopes that it'd soon be her cock.

The redhead blushed, but quickly regained her cool as she leaned back into the cushion of the couch and firmly gripped your thighs apart.

"Can I see how hot it made you detka?" Her raspy voice made you dizzy, you nodded and moaned a soft please so she eagerly padded at the wetness seeping through your panties. "Oh look at you detka, you're just so needy, huh?"

She cursed in Russian when you answered with a buck of your hips. With a swift hand she laid you down and said, "You have to be quiet."

You shook your head. "I reminded Cole of a secret I kept, so he collected the kids and all they'd need and went to the guest suite."

"I knew I married a genius," she teased, her heart nearly exploded as you laughed. It'd been so rare to hear nowadays, so it was cherished.

"What do you want moya lyubov'?" Natasha looked deep in your eyes, wearing a smile that said only your pleasure was enough for her.

Instead of answering you pulled her down with a hand wrapped behind the nape of her neck. The kiss was soft, almost exploratory as it'd been so long since you'd had a spike in libido. But when Natasha still remained timid you took the initiative, your hand cupped her bulge, and you slid your tongue over her bottom lip.

She gasped and your tongue pushed beyond her lips, but hers expertly swirled around yours then darted down your throat. As you gagged she couldn't fight off the aching need so she pushed down into your hand and moaned.

The redhead pulled away, panting heavily as she tried to reel her neediness in. You drove her body wild, but she didn't want to get too lost in the lust if you weren't ready yet.

"You've been so patient with me," you purred, "Let me take care of you daddy, please?"

Natasha suddenly stilled, her sorrowful eyes set on  yours. "Hey no, detka, you deserve endless patience without expectations."

"Yeah, I know," you breathed. "But we went from having sex every few days to not at all."

Natasha smiled tenderly, her hand cupped your cheek. "That's fine, I don't need sex to be happy with you Y/N. You alone are enough."

"Well, that sentiment is returned, but I'm absolutely serious, so let me give you head."

Natasha was shocked by your bold words, it was a quick recovery though as she snorted, "If I ever say no, please do have me committed."

Natasha smiled triumphantly as you giggled, it always made her heart warm to hear your joy.

The mood swiftly returned to one of lust when after she leaned back you slid out and onto the ground on your knees. The woman was tired, jet lagged to be more precise, but that didn't stop her from helping you take her sweats off.

Natasha was undeniably aroused, her cock stood tall as soon as you slid her boxers off.

"You gonna stare all night detka?" Natasha teased, then her eyes softened. "If you're not ready, just say the word lyubov', it'll be okay."

You shook your head free of worry, and smiled at her for being so sweet. It was comically endearing. Here she sat with an erection that had to be hurting her at this point and she only cared about your comfort. Which actually only made you even more excited to suck her off.

Natasha groaned, the sound raspier than ever before as you traced your tongue over the veins of her cock. Her hands gripped the cushions of the couch as your lips wrapped around her tip, and she nearly came on the spot as your hands steadily pumped up from the base of her cock as your other hand lazily played with her balls.

Her breathing became increasingly labored as you bobbed your head up and down her length, you could feel yourself dripping down your thighs as you'd gone commando beneath her sleep shirt. Hearing just how much she was enjoying this had immeasurably turned you on.

Natasha's hips involuntarily jerked. "Oh fuck." You giggled around her shaft, the vibrations making her do it again, and this time you'd choked. Universal instant karma you suppose.

Natasha stilled, fearful eyes looking down into yours. "I'm okay," you immediately said after gasping for air upon releasing her cock, you didn't move far though, you instead hovered her tip with a goofy smile for hopeful clarity.

"Are you close?" You asked, but with how her shaft continued to twitch beneath your fingertips you'd figured you had your answer. Natasha nodded, it was uncharacteristically shy and you found yourself wanting more soft sensual moments just like this one with her. 

"Good." You mused. "Now how about you take over and cum down my throat as a reward."

The way you winked made the pit within her begin to unravel, Natasha's tip instantly coated in pebbles of white as you took over half of her length into your mouth, and proceeded to let her fuck your throat until it was raw. Your nails dug into the skin of her thighs that you were gripping for stability as she thrusted wildly, and glorious tears ran down your warm cheeks.

When she released down your throat the pleasure was blinding, her eyes slammed shut and she moaned for a prolonged moment as the hot spurts didn't stop. Strands of her cum slid down your chin along with your drool as she continuously thrusted until that wave of pleasure she was riding came to an end. 

While you both caught your breath you began to get handsy, impatiently pulling at the hem of her shirt until she removed it with a huff of amusement. You then kissed up her body until her cock was trapped against her abdomen by your slippery cunt, and your lips met hers.

Natasha's hands fell to your hips instinctually, and she guided you as you slowly ground into her, letting her tongue explore your mouth. When you whimpered with need she pulled back and you were met with dark, lusty eyes.

"I know you want me inside detka," she teased as she ran a thumb over your swollen lip that was still somewhat coated in her essence. "But daddy's missed your pussy in more ways than one, and I can't help but to need to taste you."

"Please," you whispered affectedly, and she pulled you back in for a deep, heartfelt kiss. "Thank you detka, lay down for daddy now."

Natasha removed your shirt seamlessly as you laid down, the fabric had barely left your skin before you felt her hands all over your body. One second they were gripping you by the hips to keep you from bucking into her face, then they no longer cared as they sought out your breasts. Natasha's tongue flicked over your bundle of nerves just as her thumbs pinched your nubs, and your body writhed as you came.

The orgasm you experienced was intense as the aftershocks continued rolling through you, and in retrospect it was also embarrassingly quick. But it'd been so long and Natasha was just that good, she never struggled to get you to let go.

Every muscle in your body relaxed for all of two seconds, but then the redhead continued to lavish away at your cunt. Cleaning up your arousal, but then delving even deeper to pull another, somehow more intense orgasm from the depths of your soul. Stars bloomed behind the lids of your eyes as you screamed her title.

Over and over again too. Natasha was like a woman starved as she refused to leave her place between your thighs. When you tried to shimmy away she growled, it was terrifying, but in the best way as you involuntarily gushed.

You knew that if you really needed her to stop you could say your safe word, but as much as you felt overstimulated you felt just as good.

"Fuck I missed this," Natasha moaned as she continued to lick at your glistening, puffy cunt. "If I could, I'd never leave this sacred spot."

You were cognitively incapable of a verbalized response besides the occasional, pitiful whine.

Natasha admired your fucked out face briefly before turning your whimpers into loud moans as she wrapped her lips around your clit, and sucked harshly as she suddenly filled you with three of her skilled fingers, that now curled delicately into your g-spot with every thrust.

Tears streamed down your temples, matting your hair to your face, and seeping into the cushions of your couch. You came with a yelp this time, cum absolutely drenching the couch and leaving Natasha in awe. You however were hardly able to breathe, or see as the tears made your sight bleary. This was when your hands flew into her hair, tangling up in the locks as you used all your remaining strength to pull her up to your lips in a redirecting manner.

Natasha kissed you sloppily, her fingers now coming to a stop as she understood your silent pleas. Slowly, after distracting you with a swirl of her tongue around yours, she pulled out. You whined lowly at the loss, but your body appreciatively deflated into the cushions, and while you worked to calm down she began to kiss all over your skin in a calm, soothing way.

"We should go get you cleaned up lyubov'," she murmured against the skin of your neck that she'd been nibbling, your breathing had finally returned to an evened rhythm. "No, please."

Natasha pulled back to look you over, she was shocked to see your eyes desperate for more.

"Are you sure detka?" You frantically nodded, "Yes, fuck, I want you to fill me so bad daddy."

Natasha pressed her lips to yours, and slid her throbbing member into your slick cunt without a hitch. Neither of you were going to last long, and truthfully neither of you needed to. There was already stars where the ceiling once was as your lover pounded into your sloshing cunt.

"Gonna fill you to the brim detka," she moaned against the shell of your ear. "Can't wait to see your beautiful belly grow with my baby again."

Her breaths were hot as they fanned across your twice as hot skin. Every grunt she released brought with it a reactive clench of your walls, and it drove the woman atop of you insane.

Natasha came with a silent scream, her load unleashing havoc on your abused walls, you were a moaning mess as she slammed into your g-spot repeatedly as she chased this glorious high, milking it for all it's worth and herself as well in the process. When she came to a stop, and pulled out of you she gasped.

The amount of cum that oozed out of you was jarring at first inspection. Natasha had never released this much in her life, she's almost certain it's impossible for that much to exist inside a person at once but she just rationalized it as a delayed release for the year without sex.

There was no way you wouldn't get pregnant.

Especially not after Natasha thrusted back inside of you, mumbling something about preserving the chance that made you chuckle.

"Are you prepared for a third baby?" You teased your wife, with a hand mindlessly running through her hair as she laid with her face pressed against your chest. "I once told you detka, I'd make you my breeding bitch."

You cackled, chest shaking beneath her head to the point that she had to lift up and narrow her eyes at you. "I'm not sure why that's funny, but yes, I'm prepared for whatever life brings. With you by my side I'd willingly raise a dozen kids."

Natasha smirked when your humor died away, eyes wide with fear until she finally took over laughing for you. "God, you looked so scared."

You scoffed, "I was. That's a lot of c-sections." Natasha pursed her lips in thought, then she shrugged her shoulders. "Not if we have twins."

"We'll leave the twins to Maximoff," you soon decided over a yawn. "I think two more is fine."

Natasha leaned down to kiss your lips. "Two more sounds perfect. A simple family of six."

"There's nothing simple about you Natasha."

"Yet you love me anyways." You could hear the insecurity in her tease, and it hurt your heart to think someone ever made her feel unlovable. "That I do." You gently guided her lips to yours, kissing her slowly before you guided her face back to the crook of your neck. "Very much."

Neither of you spoke another word, you just laid there soaking in the warmth of your love before slipping off into a restful nights sleep.

The first in a long time actually, and the last genuine one before Raven and Leo arrived. 

——

6,389 Words

Nat's former job: Acting / Y/N's: Stripping

Nat's current job: Breeder / Y/N's: To be Bred

❤️ Kaitlyn. 🤭

[honeycomb-fics]

Kenjaku x Reader

~800 words

(Bickering, implied relationship, was supposed to be a drabble but I got carried away)

Kenjaku sat with his companion as he worked on his preparations for the culling game. He couldn’t help notice the long drawn out sigh that left your lips. He thought about ignoring it but he knew that it would only cause him further trouble down the line if he left you to stew in whatever thoughts you were having, even if they were.. in his mind, foolish.

He glanced over at you, “Pray tell, what is it this time?”

You let out another dramatic, exasperated sigh, “how come you only use the hideous cursed spirits?”

Kenjaku almost choked on the tea he was drinking, “W-what?”

He usually expected you to complain about something ridiculous, often wondering why he kept you around in the first place. Other than the fact that he found you aesthetically pleasing, you served absolutely no purpose to his plans. Although he occasionally found you amusing.

You drawled on, “Geto had some beautiful curses stored up yet you’re for some reason always whipping out those gross centipedes.. and other creepy things. Must you be so macabre?”

Kenjaku laughed softly in your face while you pouted childishly, “I don’t really think macabre is the word you’re looking for, my dear” he said condescendingly, his face maintaining that ever present smile, “But I can see why my choices may unsettle you.”

With your cheeks puffed out you whined a bit, “You could use rainbow dragon but you choose the centipedes! I literally don’t understand.”

This earns an eye roll from Kenjaku, something that you would normally relish in if you were not genuinely annoyed with his inability to utilize cursed spirits that didn’t give you the creeps.

“Y/N this is not a game of Pokémon,” He chastised you, “I am not going to pick and choose which cursed spirits I summon because you think they are cute. Cease your complaining.”

You didn’t stop, not in the least. “Okay but why don’t you even use the worm? It’s like GTA pockets. You have to admit it’s convenient and you aren’t even utilizing it..”

Kenjaku side-eyed you, considering if he should answer you honestly or just give you a non-answer. He sighed and mumbled. “It’s old man face… makes me uneasy.”

“It seems friendly for a cursed spirit,” you said shrugging your shoulders.

“It’s a damn cursed spirit! None of them are friendly. You probably would think Mahito was your best friend if he smiled at you. You really need to be more cautious about them,” He scolded you for the millionth time. Kenjaku wondered if it was even worth bringing you into the fold of his plans or if you would inevitably just end up ruining everything with your inability to think critically.

You flinched back slightly and looked up at him with a bit of a doe-eyed expression, “b-but I thought Mahito was my friend..”

He ran his hands through his long hair and let out an exasperated sigh. Kenjaku truly looked like he was running out of patience, “How many times do I have to tell you to stay away from that curse unless it is absolutely necessary for you to talk to him? And it is rarely, if ever, necessary for you to converse with him!”

Despite Kenjaku’s obvious annoyance and frustration you decided to defend your decision to associate with the curse, “Well Mahito is funny and he once showed me the shrunken human he keeps in his pocket.. it was… a little weird though.”

“And you didn’t stop to think that you’re very lucky you didn’t end up as the shrunken pocket human? Never occurred to you, hm? Ensuring that you do not die is becoming a full time job.” Kenjaku snapped at you, his hands holding your cheeks in his palms, “And quite frankly I do not have the extra time to expend on it.”

Your eyes shifted up to meet his scrutinizing gaze, letting yourself linger on his features a bit before speaking. Taking in the way his brow was furrowed in frustration despite his normally calm demeanor. You knew it was time to concede.

“I’m sorry, Kenjaku. I didn’t realize it was that big of a deal,” You said softly, in an attempt to play off all of his valid concerns.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against your own. His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply in an attempt to center himself again. His hands were still on the sides of your cheeks keeping you still. Kenjaku allowed himself to have this pleasure for a few moments before he pulled away.

“You are very fortunate you are cute. Otherwise I would not tolerate any of this.”

You smiled enjoying the compliment, “okay but can you maybe try to use rainbow dragon?”

[raccoonfallsharder]

I just want you to know that your cute little Rocket doodles make my day every time.

I can be having a completely shit day and then I’ll open Tumblr and see your little drawings and they’ll be in that pretty blue and I just love it. They make me smile so much. 🖤🩶

you are a rainbow-colored snowcone with extra syrup && i am sorry to take so long to respond to this but i had to make a doodle of that one time when he stopped by your place for a visit on a cozy autumn weekend and you were making stew. he rolled his eyes like it was such an inconvenience but he secretly loved helping you out

he’s just excited to be invited to dinner. wore his best sweater and everything

rocket fanart masterlist let me love your OCs masterlist | current queue | main masterlist

raccoon dividers by @/thecutestgrotto fairylight dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Chapter 8

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader 

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.4K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @ldysmfrst @codeinebelle

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A pounding headache, aching limbs, and stiff neck were not how you hoped to wake up. It felt like you drank five cans of beer and downed the whole rainbow shot. You groaned, pulling yourself into a sitting position at the head of the bed. All you remember was getting really sick and blacking out many times. Your fevers had a way of spiking and scaring even yourself. 

You sighed and looked around your room. At least it was neat. Seokjin must have cleaned it while you were bedridden. You took the thermometer across your bed and measured your temperature. 

36.8°C.

Exactly how long were you out of it? You got out of bed and headed over to the washroom to clean up. You felt like shit and you needed all the accumulated sweat to be scrubbed off your body. Seokjin wouldn’t have bathed you, you rolled your eyes. You had to get something for your brother to thank him for coming over. Working extra hours isn’t going to cut it - mainly cause you don’t want to work those extra hours. You’d rather be home snuggled up and lazing about. 

You sloshed around the water on the floor of the shower room and lathered your shampoo, figuring it would be best to not take too long to shower. You just got better - at least you hoped - and you weren’t about to get sick from the cold just because you wanted to soak. 

Quickly drying yourself with a towel, you headed over to the connecting wardrobe, pulling on some comfy clothes and doing your skincare routine. You weren’t a girl who puts on makeup at home but you knew a thing or two about taking care of your skin. 

As you rubbed in your moisturiser and walked out of your room, you spotted many things at once. Hoseok was sleeping with his legs up in the air on your sofa and it seemed that Yoongi’s doctors were here as well, and Seokjin was teaching an unknown voice something in the kitchen. You cautiously walked to the kitchen and saw both of them wearing aprons, a random male was busy on the chopping board while Seokjin was busy stirring some stew and giving him instructions at the same time. 

You walked into the kitchen and headed straight for the medicine cabinet. “Well, isn’t this a sight to see?”

Both males whipped their heads towards you. 

“I didn’t realise you were up already. I’m sorry, I should’ve paid more attention.” The male held his head down, hands wringing themselves tangled in front of him. 

It only now did you realise the tail in between his legs and the two fluffy ears pressed down against his jet-black hair. 

You paused, hands automatically moving to his hair. “Yoongi?” You breathed out. You were so out of it when you fell ill you that all you saw were his eyes. You didn’t even take a good look at your hybrid you had forgotten what he looked like. Or perhaps you were having some memory loss. 

His head shot up so quickly that his ears got squashed against your hands that couldn’t retract fast enough. Seokjin was just watching this whole scene with that stupid smile on his face. 

“What?”

Jin shook his head, turning back to the stew. “I told you she’ll remember you. It’s not like she has never seen you in human form before.” Jin continuously stirred the stew and pointed to the chopping board. “Faster, get those chopped or the soup is going to burn.”

Jin left the ladle in a bowl half filled with water and went over to you, hands immediately touching your forehead. “You seem fine. You can pop the panadol down, it’ll do you some good in relieving the headaches.” He pointedly looked down at you. “Not too many.”

You nodded. 

As you watch the boys in the kitchen move about fluidly, the doctors in your living room catch your attention. “Why are Yoongi’s doctors here?”

“I called them over once I couldn’t handle you anymore.” Jin turned around. “Exactly what have you been doing other than working recently? This round is one of your worst.” 

You shrugged. “I just worked and went home, slept, ate, watched shows, do some hobbies. About there. I’m not too sure how I got so sick either.”

“No symptoms?”

You shook your head. “Too surprising. I had no idea.”

Jin turned back to the stove, putting the freshly cut mushrooms into the stew. “Y/N, go get some bowls. Yoongi, go wake the gang. Lunch’s ready.”

You gave Yoongi’s ears a scratch as he passed you and he nearly collapsed right there and then. He refused any ears scratched or pats from anybody during the time you were sick. Hybrids need the physical connection as well and they didn’t want him over-stressing and not having a way to rest. Even the two hybrids in the house gave him a choice to let them do it but he refused. It felt so good that a loud purr broke through that soon turned into a whine when your hands left his hair. 

You giggled, walking away to grab what Seokjin needed. 

“Please wash your hands after that. Don’t contaminate my food! Hair lice, you never know! I worked hard for it, you know?”

Lunch was served and the three sleepyheads trudged into the dining room. “Why, hello. Finally woke up?” 

Hobi was the first to see you, immediately bolting over to your seat and engulfing you in a bone-crushing hug. You tapped his shoulder, warning him that you were going to die from the lack of oxygen if he didn’t let you up soon. 

“Y/N! I didn’t hear you come out?” The sudden weight on Hobi had him confused. 

“Nope, you were too deep asleep.” You snickered. “Legs in the air and everything.” 

He scratched his bed hair and sheepishly answered, “Oops. Hehe.”

The Parks walked in, hair tangled and clothes dishevelled. “Good to see you’re awake, Ms. Y/N. It was hell the past few days.”

“You had better owe us some coffee.” Dr Ji-hyun yawned. 

“For sure. There is a coffee machine in the house for a reason. Feel free to finish my beans.” You offered. “Although, I do have another guest room. Why did you not rest there?”

“Oh, we did. But it was easier access from the living room if anything happened.” It seems like Dr Park was too out of it and Dr Ji-Hyun was answering all the questions. 

“Is…” You started. “Is Dr. Park okay?” You owe them more than coffee. If Jin was to be trusted and this is one of the worst fevers, then it would have been more than hell for the doctors. At a young age, your fevers have never done the doctors in the hospitals any good - always giving them a heart attack whenever your fever spikes. 

Dr Ji-Hyun waved a hand. “Ah, he’s fine. Just came back a few hours ago after being called in for an emergency patient. He’s good, just tired.” 

“I’m sorry.” You hung your head. You didn’t call in anybody else as you knew your brother was capable of handling your fevers. But if even he couldn’t handle it…

“Don’t be.” Dr Park answered. “It’s every doctor’s responsibility.” He smiled, eyes turning into crescent moons. “And, no need to be so formal. Just call me Jimin and my wife Hyun.” 

Oh… They’re married? 

“Oh. You’re married.” If you weren’t already so embarrassed, your mouth would have hung to the floor from the revealing truth. 

“Yeah. Most of our clients don’t know. We don’t have a habit of putting it out there.” Jimin laughed. 

Seokjin came in shouting “EXCUSE ME! HOT MAN COMING THROUGH!” before putting the pot of stew on the table, effectively ruining the mood. 

“Hot man?” You blanched. “Steaming stew, yes. Hot man? No.”

Jin looked at you offended. “Hey! I’m your oppa, have some manners!”

You rolled your eyes.

Lunch was more than eventful. 

You were kept up to date on what happened when you were halfway gone in your own world. From Hoseok telling you about Yoongi, to Yoongi retelling his story, and how they all link together. The conversation then gravitated towards exactly how out of it you were the past few days. Vomiting on Jin right after his bath, flirting with Yoongi till the cat was beet-red, and nearly yanking Jimin’s head off when he attempted to wipe you down.

It was your turn to be beet-red. Your cheeks flamed with embarrassment as you ducked your heads in your hands. Everybody was laughing their asses off - literally, after having Jimin fall off the chair with the force of his laughter, making everyone laugh even harder. 

“I’m sorry… Gods, this is so embarrassing!” The group burst out laughing again. Glad that they find your misery funny. Even Yoongi was sporting a smile of his own. 

The doorbell rang and the six of you turned your heads towards the door. It rang again. You got up from your seat and opened the door, revealing a dishevelled Lillianne standing there with bags and bags of groceries. Lils pushed past you and placed the grocery bags on the kitchen counter as you shut the door and walked in. 

“Wanna tell me what’s up?”

Your best friend gave you a one-over before tackling you in a big bear hug. She is called a bear for a reason. Hugging is her sport. 

“Seokjin won’t let me visit you until you have gotten out of bed.” She moaned her complaints to you. 

“Yah, you are another problem I refuse to take care of! Obviously, I won’t let you in!” Seokjin yelled back. 

“I don’t need you to let me in! I know the passcode, I can let myself in, thank you!” Lils rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue at him. 

This just made Seokjin competitive and the both of them started a catfight on who can let themselves into your house. 

You left the bickering two in the dining room and headed back to the kitchen to see Yoongi dissecting the bags that Lils had brought over. “Let’s just put the things in the fridge and then return to lunch.”

Yoongi shook his head. “You can go. I’ll pack them up.”

You frowned. “I’ll pack with you then.”

Just as your hand reached to unpack the first bag, Yoongi’s hand shot out to stop you, holding your wrist in a tight hold. You were shocked at the speed and strength that was getting tighter and tighter - a warning. It wasn’t until you winced that Yoongi immediately let go, eyes filled with fear. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Yoongi fell down to his knees. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to, I swear! I’m sorry!” Tears were welling up in his eyes, head bowed, and neck open as a sign of submission. Your cat was in hysterics while you were in shock. 

You didn’t know what best to do in this situation other than to kneel down - which did not help his panic - and wrap your arms around him. “Yoongi, Yoongi. It’s okay. I’m not gonna scold you, it’s fine. Nothing hurts.” Your cat just cried even harder - really just wailing at this point. You sighed. “Yoongi, don’t cry. It’s fine. I’m okay.” You jutted your hands out. “See? I’m okay.”

Yoongi took your wrist in his hands, gentle as if you were made of glass, and licked the reddening part. You squealed, shocking him and he shuffled back even further. 

“Yoongi-” The group came out, wondering what the commotion was. 

“Oh, dear,” Jimin said. “Ah… Let’s all, go for a walk in the park. I’m craving some desserts. Let’s go buy some.” 

“I got flour.” Lils didn’t get the hint. 

Seokjin yanked her along. “Let’s go, Lils. The two need to handle this themselves.”

“Oh. Oh… Yeah, yeah. We’ll be back! With cakes and macaroons in tow!” She screamed from the main door. 

It was only after you heard your door close did you slowly slid your way to Yoongi, who was curled up into a ball in the corner of your cabinets. His tail was slid around his waist and tucked in, ears flattened down onto his hair, and sobs wreaking his body. 

You cautiously brought your hand to his shoulder, slowly moving up to caress his hair and finally moving to his ears. Yoongi did not move or stop you, with no signs of tensing. You took this as a sign to continue. Slowly in circular motions, you rubbed the base of his ears, moving to the tip and coming back down, paying attention to the little knots and groans that come out of him. 

Yoongi’s sniffles subsided as he leaned his body weight into you against the cabinet, pushing his head into your hands. “More?” You giggled. 

“Please…” Yoongi groaned. 

Surrendering to his demand, you continued. Only when Yoongi was about to fall asleep on your stomach, did you stop. Yoongi whined. “Whyyy?”

As much as he was adorable and you just wanted to keep going, this wasn’t the point of why you started. “Yoongi, we gotta talk about what happened.”

Yoongi stiffened against your stomach, head curling into himself. “Don’t wanna.”

You sighed. “Yoongi, I will never understand what you’ve gone through, lest how you feel. So I won’t tell you what you should do and what you shouldn’t do. However, I will tell you that - no, I promise you that you are safe with me. I will do whatever I can, within my power, to make you feel safe. Feel safe, Yoongi. That’s home.”

The air was still for the next few moments until Yoongi moved and looked up at you from his position. “Home?” He asked, big brown chocolatey eyes sparkling with wonders. His ears twitched in anticipation. 

You nodded. “There is a home here, shall you wish to stay.” You smiled at him. 

Yoongi shot up, grabbing you into a tight hug, tail snaking over to grip your waist. He buried his head in your neck, sniffing you away. 

“Yeah… Home sounds nice.” You could feel your shirt getting wetter beneath his face. But this time, you cried with him. 

Yes, home sounds nice. 

[deceptive-daydreams]

Whatever She Wants; I Will Do Anything - E.M.

Eddie x fem reader

2.9K Words

Inspired by the song Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers. Or where you’re very good at keeping your guard up and not letting others in only to crumble under the pressure. And Eddie is there to help you put the pieces back together.

Warnings - angsty, depictions of mental illness, dark thoughts

A/N - This shit is emotional and this song has been stuck in my head for days so I had to do something with it. Any feedback is appreciated 🥹

Masterlist

— I would do anything you want me to

I would do anything for you

I would do anything, I would do anything

Whatever you want me to do, I will do

—

If you could pick the scenery to describe your own brain, it wouldn’t be a field of daisies, fresh and heavenly, or rainbows after a light summer rain, sticky but romanticized.  It wouldn’t be angelic beach views with sunsets marbling the sky or even the starry night with the moon soaking the earth in its celestial light.   No, these things were magnificent, pleasing to look at, easy to take in.  Very unlike your brain.  

Your idea would be more of a tsunami ripping everything apart, having no mercy on anything in its wake—destroying everything it touches.  Emotions receding into the sea quietly before ultimately coming back in a massive wave and disrupting the quaint living of those around.  Murky skies and shattered hope.  People running, and running far just to avoid the disaster—the impending doom that was you.  That is exactly how you’d describe your brain. 

Sometimes if you were lucky there were a select few weeks in between the storms of your mind where you’d feel a sliver of relief, a drought in the ever flowing thoughts that dismantled your life.  Times where there would be a glimmer of ambition and an inkling of motivation.  It never lasted long, fleeing as soon as you were starting to get better.  A colossal wave consuming you once again, and people would go running as they always did—the commotion of the storm too turbulent for them to brave.  

And the agonizing thoughts would begin to stew at the very core of your brain.  Simmering until they boiled over at random.  

Too hard to love.

Useless.

Worthless.

Barely a person, a walking corpse devoid of emotion due to the burnout.

Not worthy of love.

Not worthy of anything.

I should have never even made it this far, sixteen years was my limit.

I don’t want to do this anymore, please don’t make me do this anymore.

It was all so daunting, so intimidating and heavy.  It truly felt like you did not belong on this earth and there was absolutely no way to combat it other than merely surviving.  Days passed and you were trapped in the endless cycle that was existing without purpose.  

Your boyfriend, Eddie, sweet Eddie had a life to live and you couldn’t bear to burden him with the sorrows of your aching soul.  Eventually he’d realize what a nuisance you were, how crippling your state of mind could be.  He didn’t deserve to be detained by the relationship you so thought was out of pity.  Ever so generous, kind, enamoring, handsome, loving, gentle, loud, assertive—everything Eddie was made of, was something you believed you never once deserved.  You dreaded the day he would glance at you and come to his senses.  She is too broken for me, I can’t love her.

The convincing mask you were able to automatically put on was all too familiar.  Being able to physically front that you were happy when the reality of it all was that demons swam through your bloodstream and never left, only lying dormant every once in a blue moon only to come back at full force.  It felt like poison, the way you would be okay one moment and suddenly in seconds you were grasping onto your sanity, clinging onto any bits of reality—of your mortal self only to be swallowed up by harsh accusations toward yourself that would have you sinking back into your bed for as long as it required.  And that’s how you got so good with the mask, forcing yourself to conform to the world around you when you absolutely couldn’t rot in bed, other obligations taking priority despite the poison coursing through your body.  A smile on your face, a compliment here, a joke there, sprinkled with some stupid story from the other day that always seemed to appease your audience.  It was all fake and no one could sniff it out.

Until Eddie came along and he was able to detect even the slightest shift in your demeanor.  Though you could throw the mask on, it didn’t always work with him and he would encourage you to take it off.  You never did.  Insisting I’m fine, just a little tired.  Lying through your teeth.  You couldn’t help it, you’d never let your guard down with anyone ever.  How were you supposed to when it didn’t even feel like an option?  A people pleaser to your core, you’d take your feelings with you to the grave.  

The first time Eddie stumbled upon you crying, he was at a loss, not knowing how to approach the situation.  Do I hug her?  No, what if she doesn’t want me to?  Do I hold her hand?  Does she want me to leave?  Did I do something?  What if I made her cry?  Does she want to break up?  Every thought flew at him at lightning speed, practically slapping him in the face.  Before any decision could be made, you sucked back the tears and used your sleeves to aggressively clear your under eyes.  I’m fine, I just watched an emotional movie.  Lies.  Not wanting to push you further, he nodded and held you close.  But he knew.  You were suffering, drowning in your own fucked up world and he had no idea how to pull you out.  When his own mind started suffocating him he could at least voice that he wasn’t having the best day, also being the type to never burden others with his invading thoughts.  He’d leave it at that and sulk in his room but you would always sit with him, if he allowed.  If not, that was okay too and he was eternally grateful.  

The more he studied your behavior when you just felt off, the more he gathered the way you would often go blank during a conversation, eyes becoming void of a human and turning into a shell of yourself as you picked yourself apart internally.  Anxiety looming in your eyes and hands the slightest bit shaky, he would touch his fingertips to yours in the smallest touch hoping to lure you back, praying that he didn’t overstep because god he was so scared.  And when you did return, you still weren’t fully there although you claimed you were just tired.  Again.  He just wanted you to be happy.  And you wanted to be happy.  

It took almost a year into the relationship for you to even be able to ask him to come over when you wanted to just be with him.  Before that it just felt like you were pestering him for attention even though that was far from the truth.  You could call him just to complain about how your lunch tasted and he would savor every moment.  Even still, you had your doubts about calling him or texting him, the nasty demons lurking within you telling you he didn’t care.  Eddie picked up on your patterns from the very beginning and learned that the way you worded things really indicated your mood, if you were genuinely doing well or if things were bad again.  A simple phrase popping up on his phone and he would bolt to you if he had the slightest inclination that you were in a pool of your own self deprecating thoughts.  

Are you home?  Really meant, I need you, I need you and I’m too afraid to outright say it.

Are you busy?  Either meant that you wanted to go on a gas station run with him or that you wanted to vent about your family.  

Want to come over?  Generally translated to I’m in a good space right now and would love to spend time with you.

I love you.  Told him I’m thinking about you.

Love you.  Was an indicator that you were on edge, it could be because of him depending on the nature of the situation or it could just be a bad day. 

Food?  Was the phrase used to tell him I’m hangry and we better be getting Mexican food otherwise you better suggest something that sounds yummier.

I’m fine.  Was as clear as day.  I’m the opposite of fine.

So when it’s ten o’ clock at night and the cicadas are chirping outside his trailer, his fingers dancing along the neck of his guitar to a new riff he recently learned and he sees his phone light up with your name, he eagerly reaches over to pick it up and read.  His eyes scan over three key words.

Are you home?

Immediately he’s setting his guitar on top of his mattress, calling you as he scrambles around his room searching for his car keys, finally locating them underneath his copy of Lord of the Rings he had been rereading earlier, tossing the book aside.  The dial tone rings through his ears a few times, heart beating fast.  On the other end, a meek little hey is heard along with a sniffle that you swore you would hide.  

“Baby, what’s wrong?”  His voice is laced with concern while he makes his way out to the living room to collect his leather jacket.  

“I-I-nothing.  I just—wanted to hear your voice.”  Part of it is a lie.  Everything is wrong and your world is crumbling as you stare out the window lifelessly.  Panic is taking over while you endure thoughts about your past, present, and future.  Why did I say that one thing that one time?  I’m such a bad person.  I should have never been born, that way I could save everyone the embarrassment.  You’re instigating yourself and there’s no sign of stopping.  Eddie would be happier without you, he’s too good for you, good things don’t happen to you without a price.  Bullet after bullet hits your soul.  

“I’m coming over.”  He tells you without giving you the option to say no, the line going silent as he hangs up.  This only coaxes more humiliating things out from the depths of your brain.  See what you did?  You ruined his night, now he’s on his way over and he’s probably so mad.  He has so many better things to be doing than sitting with a cry baby.  

The sobs rack your body, chest heaving and vision completely blurred with hot tears traveling down your face.  You’re shaking, the words assaulting you over and over.  Even if you wanted to stop crying you couldn’t, the dam was flooded.  It was an oversight on your part, you didn’t need to text Eddie but you did it out of impulse.  Everything suddenly becomes so overstimulating, so gross and uncomfortable.  The way your clothes hug your body makes you wince, rubbing your arms to somewhat soothe yourself but it only does so much.  The clutter on your bedside table aggravates you all of the sudden but there’s not any energy to straighten it up, leaving you sitting on the bed in full on breakdown mode.  You’re now way too aware of your own body, yearning to immediately cease existing.  A blanket once thrown over your legs is now tossed across the room, the material now disgusting you.  Everything becomes unbearable.

So unbearable that you don’t even hear Eddie using his key in your front door, the hinges squeaking as he enters, or the click of the lock as he locks it again before rushing upstairs, his boots stomping on every other step.  You don’t hear the bedroom door creak open as he carefully approaches, toeing off his boots near the door and then speaking to you.  

“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?”  His tone is gentle enough to soothe a baby.  Shrugging his jacket off and tossing it on a nearby chair, he slowly strides closer to the bed but still keeps his distance.  

All you can do is cover your face in your pathetic palms, attempting to hide away the misery you have become.  A wet and whimpered I don’t know is made out from you muffling the words into your hands.  His heart shatters.  All he wants to do is hold you but only if you’ll allow him to.  The last thing he wants to do is make it worse.  The last time he saw you cry was also the first time and you’d sucked it up and brushed it off like it never happened.  This was drastically different, you were a puddle of tears and snot, sobbing uncontrollably and unable to hold back any longer.

“Baby.  Look at me.  Just for a minute, okay?”  He’s trying to convince you but you shake your head, palms still gathering tears.  “Please?  Please?”  He begs, voice hoarse as he tries to map out a gameplan in his head.  It still falls upon deaf ears.  “I need you to look at me.  If I’m going to help you, you need to look at me.”  He leans over the bed attempting to catch your eyes.  “I need you.”  He speaks desperately, his own eyes becoming wet.  For some reason, the phrase makes you stop for a second, makes you freeze.  If he needed you, then you were going to give him anything he wanted, anything he needed.  It was some type of reverse psychology that he hadn’t even realized he performed.  You were falling apart but the moment he begged for help you stopped everything to be by his side.

Shock written in his features, he looks at you while you look at him, big doe eyes full of anxiety and worry.  The atmosphere was stagnant at that moment.  Hiccups erupted out of you but your full undivided attention was on him.  He pondered his next moves carefully, not wanting to scare you off or chase you back into your corner.  His next words were spoken with the utmost care.

“Tell me what you need me to do.”  His voice was shaky and his eyes blinked rapidly.  “I—I’ve never done this before.  Please tell me what you need.”  His voice wobbled on the last few words as you tried to process everything.  “Whatever you want me to do, I will do.”  The way his tone wavered broke you, choking out a sob before stopping yourself.  You did this to him.  So you force yourself to provide an answer, it’s the least you could do.  

Voice cracking, you reply “Hold me.”  The dam continues flooding, sending a river down your cheeks.  He’s quick to crawl across the bed and gather you in his arms like the most fragile thing he’s ever held.  Arms wrap around your middle to pull you in between his legs, pulling your back flush against his chest as you then maneuver your body to curl into him like he’s your bunker, face buried in his chest and trembling hands fisting his shirt.  

“I’m right here, I’ve got you.  I’m here.”  Whispered reassurances against the top of your head as you soak his shirt in a mixture of tears and snot.  He lets you cry for as long as you need, as long as you want.  

“I’m always here for you.  Okay?  I would do anything for you.”  He promises, stroking your back soothingly, placing a kiss to your temple.  Everything about you is so ugly in the moment and yet, he’s so patient and warm.  So attentive and loving.  His gestures begin to chip at the walls you built around yourself so long ago.  It would take time but he’s made the first cracks in those sturdy walls and he would spend forever helping you tear them down.  

The sobs and hiccups begin to settle down, not completely but enough that you have some composure.  Your wide eyes stare into his kind ones.  You’re forced to recognize the unconditional love swimming in his eyes.  The genuine concern for your well being and his necessity for your comfort and happiness.  

“I love you.”  An offer through your tears of that same love on a silver platter that he would gladly indulge in.  Hand brushing against the bottom of your chin, tilting it ever so slightly while the other rests on the small of your back, he delivers a nudge of his nose against yours, a piece of his heart.  

“I love you.  I will always love you.”  His words have a greater meaning, an oath that even through the bad times, the times where you were isolated and hated yourself, kicking yourself to the curb,  he would be right there to help you back up.  A brush of his thumb against a rogue tear on your cheek has you hanging onto his every action.  The way he continues to use his thumbs to clean up any remnants  of sadness that had been acquired over the last hour or so.  How his lips curl up in fondness when you brush your fingertips along his stubbly cheek.  A whispered thank you against his skin.  When he lays back and pulls you onto his chest, his breathing lulling you into a post cry sleep that you very well needed, one hand running up and down your back and the other tracing shapes into your arm—calloused fingers providing every bit of comfort needed.  How his lips press a kiss to your forehead.  The scary thoughts were at bay for now and Eddie would without a doubt help you to battle them the next time they invaded your mind, whether it be tomorrow or next week.  His words have you melting, insides gooey and sticky when he thinks you’re fast asleep but you’re really still clinging onto these last waking moments as you mold into each other.   

“You’re everything I could ever ask for.  I would do anything for you.”

~end~

Masterlist

[gachawolfiebloom]

A Grumpy Troll and A Prince

Chapter 3: The Adventure Begins

Tags: Comedy, action, adventure, and romance

With the kingdom safely hidden, prince Four set off to rescue his friends with the utmost confidence he would make it to Bergen Town on his own. That was until he was face to face with the cunning Mr Puzzles. He tried to fight back, but his head got ripped off and the remaining corpse laid dead on the ground. He failed. He had...

"Snap out of it Four!"

He backed out of the intrusive thoughts that had put him in a trance and looked down at his journal, filled with memes. The scenarios that played in his head were all that filled the page. Back in reality, he was following the footsteps of those dusty, respectable-like shoes that the TV man was wearing.

"I totally got this. It's not like he is taking your friends to their impending doom where they will all be eaten..." He nervously told himself, trying to hope for the best. No, that was exactly Mr Puzzles was doing...and he knew it. Taking a breath, the troll forced himself to carry along and make it all the way in one piece.

"I really hope I can do it because they're all depending on me."

He had just left the Mushroom Kingdom and was now standing on the flower petal that looked over and colorful field of the Flower Kingdom.

"I know that I must leave the only home I've ever known and brave the dangers of the forest, saving them before they're eaten. I mean how hard can that-"

He then heard a snapping sound and looked down to find the petal he was standing on had broke.

"Be..."

He was falling to the ground, but caught himself just in time. Once his feet were safely back on the ground, he dusted himself off and thought it might help to look at the more positive side of things.

"There's a sunny sky that's shiny and blue."

A butterfly flew past him and thought that maybe this journey wouldn't be as scary as he thought. That idea was thrown out the window when some kind of spotted, four-legged creature caught the bug with its tongue, a clear, speckled one ate him, buzzards flew past, eating skin, leaving nothing but bones, and then a fire flower burned it to ashes. Four was left standing with his mouth agape when the flower turned to him. He waved nervously when the flower asked "I wonder what Gombas taste like?" Four thought "What the actual heck..." and slowly backed away.

"It's gonna be a fantastic day..."

He made it to the Koopa kingdom where volcanos were puffing everywhere and he bounced along rocks under a river of lava.

"Such marvelousness this is gonna bring. Iv'e got so many songs that I wanna sing. And I'm ready to take on anything. Yippee!"

He got launched so hard that he made it up to a castle, but a giant turtle stomped in front of him. Bowser was certainly not happy as he started to chase the poor troll. He couldn't give up as he kept running and running, jumping off a ledge just before Bowser's fire breath roasted him to a crisp.

"So many fun surprises around each corner. Just ride along a rainbow, gonna be okay. Hey! I'm not giving up today. There's nothing getting in my way and if you knock, knock me over, I will get back up again."

He couldn't tell which kingdom he was falling into next, but then saw a giant bird heading his way. Trying to duck out of the way just made him get eaten in one fell swoop and the Cookatiel took him back to her soup bowl in the Luncheon Kingdom.

"If something goes a little wrong well you can go ahead and bring it on."

The Cookatiel spat him back out into the soup bowl, water bubbling until Four popped out, gasping for air.

"Because if you knock, knock me over, I will get back up again!"

He managed to escape the bird on a piece of carrot and felt relived watching the furious bird over the boiling pot of stew. Whatever kingdom next would surely be better, that is until he saw a bunch of spikes up ahead.

"Oh crap..."

He was marching through the rainy New Donk City, overheated in the Sand Kingdom, almost a block of ice in the Snow Kingdom, swimming through the Lake Kingdom till that giant eel swallowed him, now traveling through his intestines, and pushing through the Windy Kingdom.

"I'm marching along, iv'e got confidence, I'm cooler than a pack of peppermints, and I haven't been this excited since...I CAN'T REMEMBER WHEN!"

He began stomping and jumping along flying Koopa's until when they ran out, he found he was high up in the air, falling once again. (Is this a habit of his?)

"I'm off on this remarkable adventure. Just ridding along a rainbow!"

He opened his eyes to find a piranha plant, shutting it's mouth tightly. God that hurt. Was he..

"What if this is all a big mistake? What if it's more than I can take?"

"NO!"

He pried open the piranha plant and kept going. As long as he reminded himself of his friends, he would surely still stand.

"I can't think that way because I know that I'm really going to be-"

Till a chain chomp came out of nowhere and ate him. Going out by that retractable dog was not how he wanted to go.

"Okay! Hey! I'm not giving up today. There's nothing getting in my way because if you knock, knock me over, I will get back up again."

He managed to escape the jags of teeth in its mouth, wondering why so many thing wanted to eat him. Even the place he was searching for was filled with creatures, ready to get their hands on him.

"If something goes a little wrong, well you can go ahead and bring it on. Because if you knock, knock me over, I will get back up again."

He tore through several giant spider webs and collapsed on the ground, stuck in webbing. No problem. Just got to get out of this web.

"And if you knock, knock me over, I will....get....back......up.....again......."

What was wrong? His spirit was still persistent on going, but his body was giving up. He could feel his heartbeat slowly decrease and his eyes closing. No. Not now. You can't give up now. He soon passed out and everything went black.

...

Hours had passed, but someone had finally found him. Four eyes had caught sight of the poor troll. It turns out that a bunch os spiders had found their next meal and slowly descended from their webs to feast on what they saw as food. They opened their mouths wide, ready to take a bite when all of a sudden, someone grabbed Four just in the knick of time. The spiders turned to find that what you might think would be the least expected troll to come. That's right. Three had saved the prince, but the spiders didn't care. More food for them anyway.

They started to crawl towards him as he backed up, but then Three took out a bomb and tossed it at one's face. The explosion barely startled them as they paused for a few seconds...and then got back to dinner. Uneasiness began to take hold of Three, but he stood his ground and as it turns out, he had the same kinds of abilities with his hair that Four did.

Using his hair like a whip, he sent the spiders packing back into the mouth of some creature that swallowed them up and went to rest. He breathed a heavy sigh and finally it was quiet. Quiet? He looked back to see that the prince was still passed out, not making a sound. That wasn't normal for him. Three became panicked as he rushed over to the blacked out troll.

"FOUR!?"

He kneeled down to the spider web that encased him and leaned close for any signs of life. No heartbeat. "Hang on Four!" He grabbed a sharp petal from a Spider Mum flower (yes I googled that) and two glowing bugs. He used the flower petal to cut open the web containment and rubbed the two bugs together like AED to restore the prince's heartbeat.

Concern was expressed in his eyes as he hoped he wasn't too late. Four's eyes shot open as he sat up. He saw Three standing next to him and his expression turned more smug. "Three! You are right on time!" Three went back from his strange, caring side into his immodest, grumpy self. "Oh sure...Like you knew I was coming." Four actually did know he was coming because he had set him up. "Yep. I figured after the third hug time, you'd realize being eaten by a Bergen wouldn't be so bad."

Three shot back "And I figured there was no way you could do this by yourself. Looks like we were both right." He returned the smug grin and crossed his arms while Four just dismissed it and carried on. "Okay then onward!" He started walking off and Three ran after him. "Oi! Don't ignore me!"

"Sooner we can rescue everybody and make it home safely." Three pushed through some plants and asked "Wait! What's your plan?" Four turned back to him and gave him a look that said "We're you even listening."

"I just told you. To rescue everyone and make it home safely." Three sighed and told him "That's not a plan. That's a wishlist."

"OHHHH I suppose you have a plan."

Three nodded and cleared his throat before speaking. "First, we'll get to the edge of Bergen Town without being spotted. Then, we get inside by sneaking through the old escape tunnels which will then lead us to the Troll Tree, right before we get caught, AND SUFFER A MISERABLE DEATH AT THE HANDS OF A HORRIBLE, BLOODTHIRSTY BERGEN!" Three was just trying to scare Four into reconsidering, but it didn't work because what he saw next was...

"Hold on a second! Are you memeing my plan!" Four enthusiastically nodded as he held up a meme that had them and all of their friends cheering "We did it!" and dancing along to that cringey Dora song. Once again, glitter got shot into Three's unimpressed face. He scowled at Four and said "There will be no more...memes..." Four sighed sadly and the two continued on.

They began walking along a huge tree trunk that had conveniently fallen on top of a river, making it the perfect bridge to get across. Four tried to lighten the mood by dancing and humming along the trunk. Three did not appreciate it though.

"Do you have to do that?"

"I always dance and hum when I'm in a good mood."

"Do you have to be in a good mood?"

"Why wouldn't I be? By this time tomorrow, I'll be back with all my friends!"

He pondered to himself on how they were doing and said "I wonder what they're doing right now!" Three thew some sarcasm into his answer with by replying "Probably being digested." Four looked at him seriously and strictly told him "They're alive. I know it." Three then stopped in his tracks and faced Four coldly.

"You don't know anything Four. And I can't wait to see the look on your face when you realize that the world isn't all fun and laughter, cause it isn't! Bad things happen and their's nothing you can do about it!" He pouted to himself and walked off.

Four could tell something was up with Three, but pushed it aside for not being shown up like that. "Hey! I know that it isn't all fun and laughter, but I would rather go through my life thinking that it mostly is instead of being like you. You don't sing, dance, and so grumpy all the time. Seriously, what happened to you? Three didn't want to talk about it so he stuck a finger over the prince's mouth and shushed him.

Concern started to melt into Four's mind as he squeaked out "A Bergen?" Three slowly removed his finger and whispered "Maybe..." Four looked around in fear, but then squinted his eyes. He sighed and said "There's no Bergen is there.? You just said that so I would stop talking!"

"Yeah. And?" He continued walking as Four rolled his eyes. They realized it was getting late, so it seemed like a good idea to find a spot to camp and resume the journey in the morning. They had found a quiet spot in the forest to sleep, except they weren't sleeping. Three was angrily covering himself in the covers while Four was unable to sleep.

He took out a picture of all of them together and lied it in the grass in front of him. "They're all so special. Good night Meggy. Good night Boopkins. Good night Tari. Good night Melony. Good night Mario. Good night Bob. Good night Luigi." He chuckled a bit on the last one with a smile and playfully said "Good night Tag6. Boop."  as he laid his finger on Tag6's nose in the picture.

"AND GOOD NIGHT FOUR." Three sternly said, wanting sleep. Four sighed and looked up at the start night sky with the full moon out. It was perfectly placed to be seen through the trees. That ding sound signifying the special time had gone off on his bracelet. He sat up and looked over at Three. "Don't...even...think about it." Four rolled his eyes again and mouthed "Muh muh muh." to tease Three's demented attitude.

Back to looking up at the sky. You know what this needed. A song. "Stars shinning bright above you-" Three sat up, fully awake and looked at Four like he was joking. "Really? Seriously? More singing?"

"Yes seriously! Singing helps me relax. Maybe you should try it." Three was really started to get fed up with this. How hard was it to get his way of living life into Four's mind? "I don't sing and I don't relax! This is the way I am and I like it! I would also like a little SILENCE!"

He tried to fall back asleep, but then heard the sound of a soft Ukulele playing. What the hell!? He whipped his head around to see Four, playing the instrument and looking at him in an arrogant manner.

"Hello darkness, my old friend. Iv'e come to talk with you again."

Creatures began flying around and singing along while Three looked confused and speechless. A small spider came up next to him and whispered "Hello..."

"Because a vision softly creeping."

Three flicked the spider off his arm without breaking eye contact with Four.

"Left its seeds while I was sleeping."

"And the vision that was planted in my brain."

"Still remains."

"Within the sound....of silence."

All the creatures disappeared just as mysteriously from when they arrived and Four strummed one last time on the Ukulele. Three got up and softly asked "May I?" Four smiled and gave him the instrument. Three instantly threw it into the fire and he went back to sleep while Four watched his Ukulele burn, mouth agape. This was going to be a long adventure...

Chapter 4: Welcome to Bergen Town

[jomiddlemarch]

That it alone is high fantastical

“Oh, Mother, you’ll never guess! You’ll never guess in century of guessing!” Rilla cried out, sounding so much as she had as a little girl, for a moment, Anne could convince herself the War had never happened and that somewhere in Rainbow Valley, Walter sat writing a crown of sonnets in his leather-bound journal, his face dappled by the light, back braced against the bole of a birch tree, his grey eyes unfocused as he searched for his next word.

There was still a white stone in the graveyard. Shirley was in Toronto, having refused (albeit politely) to return to Glen St. Mary, much to Susan’s dismay, and Jem walked with a pronounced limp, his uneven gait announcing him as much as Mary’s voice.

There was a mystery there, Jem and Mary Vance, but Anne couldn’t see any way through it and Gilbert, lying beside her in bed, both of them tired but sleepless, told her not to try. Jem had seemed less removed, less falsely cheerful lately, and had begun talking about the medical course again, perhaps a specialty in obstetrics, a hospital practice. As far away from men dying in battle as he can get, Gilbert had observed and Anne had recalled Joyce’s little face, white as a mayflower blossom, and held her tongue.

Rilla, remarkably, given her exuberant entrance, had done the same in the absence of Anne’s response. Miss Oliver had left Ingleside some weeks ago, so there was no one to suggest Rilla either elaborate or calm herself, as her likeness to a whistling copper tea-kettle was increasingly pronounced.

“If I’ll never guess, dear, you must tell me,” Anne said. It was a relief that Rilla could still be the young girl she ought to be, for all that she wore Ken Ford’s diamond ring on her finger and was capable of a brisk, warm matronliness when it came to raising Jims, now reserved for the writing of letters to his new British stepmother and clucking over the missives she received.

“Faith Meredith has eloped!”

Anne did admit to herself she would never have guessed that, because for all her imagination, she wouldn’t have guessed something impossible.

“But, Rilla, Jem is with your father today, doing the Lowbridge rounds. Susan and I packed a lunch with plenty of pie for Dad and some of that flapjack Jem took to after being in England,” Anne said. He’d been in hospital in England, recovering from the injuries he’d sustained at the Front, in the prison camp, during his escape, none of which was spoken of. Only flapjack and stewed tea and how no cook in England was a patch on Susan and that you may tie to, uttered with some semblance of his old roguish humor.

“I didn’t say she married Jem, Mother!” Rilla exclaimed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright. She had a look of Gilbert at his most delighted about him, an expression Anne remembered from their childhood. Anne opened her mouth to speak but Rilla interrupted.

“It’s Bertie Shakespeare Drew! Faith Meredith is Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare!” Rilla said.

If Anne hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have, suddenly and gracelessly. As it was, the shirt she’d been mending fell from her lap.

“That’s—why, Rilla, are you sure?”

“I heard it directly from Mary Vance,” Rilla said, lifting a hand to stop Anne from speaking. “And Miss Cornelia Bryant. You know Miss Cornelia has no taste for gossip. Miss Cornelia’d heard it from Mrs. Meredith—”

“Poor Rosemary,” Anne said, before she could stop herself.

“Why poor Rosemary? I suppose they thought Faith and Jem would make a go of it, at least, perhaps Reverend Meredith and Mrs. Meredith did, but the War’s done funny things to people and Faith and Jem, they just didn’t fit any longer,” Rilla said. Sometimes, Anne felt Rilla reminded her of someone she couldn’t name and realized her youngest daughter spoke with the wisdom Anne’s own mother might have had. Plenty of folks in the Glen would find such a thought eerie, but Anne was comforted, for all that she ought to be the one offering a thoughtful explanation rather than receiving it.

“I suppose I meant the surprise, an elopement—”

“They must not have wanted to wait. Or were afraid someone would try to talk them out of it. Bertie’s mother maybe,” Rilla said.

Rosemary or her father, Anne thought. Jem, if he’d been given the chance, perhaps. Perhaps not, if Rilla was correct.

“Bertie Shakespeare Drew,” Anne said. “I remember when he was born. He’s just Jem’s age.”

“He’s not much like you remember him, Mother. He’s all tall and stalwart now and they say he’s going in for engineering, that he learned quite a bit in France, found he had a talent for that sort of thing. And his ears don’t stick out quite so much anymore,” Rilla said.

“There’re more things on heav’n and earth,” Anne said, mangling the quote a bit, fairly certain Rilla would not correct her. “D’you suppose Faith calls him Bertie? Or his full name—it’s quite a mouthful.”

Queenly Faith Meredith, the undisputed beauty of Glen St. Mary, who had a sense of humor but also a sense of herself as beyond any teasing, now to be Mrs. Bertie Shakespeare Drew. Anne smiled to herself and thought how Mary Vance would find a way to make Jem grin over it all. She’s lucky to get him, Mary would say, reversing the order the Glen would have assumed, and Mary, canny and unexpectedly kind, would have the right of it, perhaps.

Susan would be quite outraged and the pastry of her next pie might suffer for it, but Gilbert had always taken an unchristian glee in Susan’s outrage and wouldn’t mind the pastry being a bit heavier. It was still the best piecrust on Prince Edward Island, now that Mrs. Rachel Lynde was no longer living to give Susan a run for her money.

“Miss Cornelia said Faith was heard to call him Will, when she spoke to her parents. It’s after Shakespeare of course, and because he was so determined they marry,” Rilla said. 

“And because Faith wanted to,” Anne said. She wasn’t sure if she meant the elopement or the name, but it was all of a piece.

“Miss Cornelia said they’d gone to New York for their honeymoon and she hoped Faith didn’t come back with a bunch of silly Yankee airs but Mary and I didn’t think that was likely,” Rilla said, sitting down beside Anne, picking up the shirt and starting to sew.

“She didn’t come back from England any different, after all,” Rilla said.

“Except that she didn’t marry your brother,” Anne replied.

“D’you know, Mother, even without the War, I don’t think they’d ever have gone through with it, Faith and Jem,” Rilla said. “It was, how shall I put it, like a childhood fairy tale, the honorable knight and the maiden fair, all sorts of adventures they had in Rainbow Valley. They were always going to grow up. We all were.”

Not Walter, Anne’s heart said. Not Joyce.

“I’m glad of Ken’s name, anyway. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t elope for anything. I want our families around us, as many as we can get, even if we have to wait. We’re rather good at that,” Rilla said. She’d finished the one shirt and picked up another. She peered at it, frowned. “I can’t think what Dad does to his clothes—”

“I’ve made up a thousand stories to try to explain that and I still don’t think I’ve figured it out,” Anne said. “Some things, my darling girl, are beyond explanation.”

This one's for @freyafrida because I didn't manage to squeeze Faith/Bertie Shakespeare into my Jem/Mary fic...

[tartarduck]

words about tot chapter 9

Gave myself a solid day to stew in my thoughts about ch9 and I just want to say that mihoyo is EVIL for timing it right before the anniversary. I don't know if I can be happy knowing Luke is suffering all alone in every conceivable universe other than his personal story/card timeline.

Point 1: How the chapter explored Luke's feelings of guilt for... Existing I guess?

I've been eagerly awaiting the reveal of Luke's survivor's guilt. The whole [wanting spirits to exist so he can at least apologise, or do SOMETHING, but knowing they don't] is such exquisite angst. I'm very happy they took the effort to write it in (though fortune tellers actually scare me in real life).

And now onto the related Point 2: Luke's feelings of guilt for literally everything else

I was reading through Luke's birthday greetings, and realised how often he calls himself greedy for literally wanting anything. God damn, SHE IS YOUR GIRLFRIEND IT'S NOT GREEDY OF YOU TO WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH HER --

That aside, it comes back to the theme of Luke Pearce's thought process, which in my brain goes a little something like this:

Good thing happens -> I do not deserve this

Bad thing happens -> It is completely my fault and no one else's

Which, might I add, vaguely reminded me of something from a lecture I forgot from my psych undergrad years. I'm worried for you, Luke. Please, Dr Yishmir, refer him to one of your colleagues for mental health.

In his personal 'route', he finally starts to come around with the idea that sometimes bad things... just happen and it's no one's fault (thank you, strategically placed rainbow in iridescent heartbeat). But in the main story? He's been feeling guilty ever since he saw MC after avoiding her for YEARS. There's no Aaron meddling with the two of them, or MC helping him clean his mess of a house to kick-start a card story. This is the man who hid in the attic after sending his confession after a YEAR of dates with MC -- the main story doesn't even give him a chance to start forgiving himself.

Basically, Luke Pearce is a mess in the main story, because everything that makes him un-messy happens by pure chance.

Point 3: Luke's black and white thinking of good and bad

One of the highlights of this chapter for me was Luke's anecdote about him faking a cold so MC would go out with her other friends and forget about him. Now, that's all well and good until he compares himself to the mum with Munchausen's syndrome, who is the closest thing we get to a 'villain' in this chapter. On top of his guilt, this whole I'm either a good or completely bad person mindset is really not doing favours for his mental health.

His anecdote also happens to be an interesting parallel to shape of you, because I remember Luke specifically wished to be forgotten in that card. He wants what's best for MC (because he thinks that he's taking everyone's love from her) but he also wants something for himself. And because he doesn't believe he's able to do both, but also because he isn't able to let go of his 'selfishness' sometimes, he thinks he's an awful person.

And now, to the last to do in my rant agenda.

Point 4: what happens in chapter 12. (Spoilers for CN server, but only about the Luke scene)

1. Ohmygod. He's going to run away. I can't see main story Luke NOT blaming himself for nearly hurting the MC. In whichever timeline, his priority is to keep her safe, and god, if he thinks he's a danger to her, the only way to keep her safe would be by disappearing again.

2. I'm going to read too much into this but MC trying to get Luke to recognise her while she's being pinned to the ground is such delectable angst. He's always worried that she'd forget about him -- whether it was the 8 years or literally just hanging out with other kids at school. But here she is, in a situation where he's essentially forgotten about her. The voice that my brain concocted up for MC was extra desperate in that scene.

Anyway, that's all I had to say about the recent main story developments in ToT. Keep the angst coming, writing staff. What a power move to send this out right before anniversary on BOTH servers. If there's anything I've taken away from this, it's that Luke stans are absolutely unhinged. Twitter circle people, I see you requesting more angst. How can we get even angstier than Luke nearly hurting MC while he's dressed in the outfit that he wears for his proposal card ??

[bonefall]

man i… really love your au. some views just make everything sunshine and rainbows, some make everything miserable, but yours… its like, somethings are miserable. they dont work out. but some people did try to make it work. and thats what matters. its not just an apathetic society willing to stew in its misery. there are people who said “this sucks” and tried to make a change. and even if they failed, other people will see what they tried and go, “hey that guy was right, this sucks” and theyll try too. and one day, somebody will succeed.

its just. a very hopeful take on the concept of a flawed society. even if people fail, what matters is that they tried, and that attempt will inspire others to try in the future

The one thing constant about culture, the only thing fundamental about its nature, is that it changes. Because people change it.

It gets worse. It gets better. The bad guys win. The good guys strike back. Change comes too slowly to save someone. Change comes so quick it breaks something. You lose everything. You start again. There is no "natural forward march" of society, you're NEVER at the end of history, every win is hard fought and paid for... and sometimes it even slides back.

And so, even if you lose, that matters... because there was never a guarantee of victory in the first place. Sometimes you fight and lose. Sometimes you fight and buy some time. There is no utopia that we will all someday reach if we just wait long enough-- you make things suck a little less, and then the next generation tries to make it suck a little less too. Every improvement to society is written in blood, sweat, and tears.

I write about some real messed up shit, but I'm really an optimist under it all. History is an argument echoing through the generations, and every voice mattered. Hope is an unkillable bitch who doesn't stay buried.

Anything can change and everything will change. So do your part to make that change a good one.