#pulling out the stops with gum and a drink always on the go but oh mgod

[elibeeline]

Ive decided that a week is too long away from home

[joannasprose]

Oh darling, will you still walk me home?

———

Vi x Reader oneshot

helping out a reserved, and distant Violet after a pit fight and her unrelenting absence.

content warnings (?): really sad angst, violence, cuts and bruises, hurt/comfort, not proofread, this one is sooo much longer than my other works! hope you guys enjoy! this is also kinda told in both povs at the same time.

| in which after a long while consuming Violet’s absence, she finally comes back around. She’s still stubborn as she’s always been—yet you’re willing to peel away her harsh layers.

***

You watch her as you always do.

Her left fist hits her opponent hard. you wince as you watch his tooth fall right out of his gums. The man attempts to stand back on his feet, put Vi’s already at his front—her fist hitting him again and again and again. It was an abhorrent violence.

She stands now, formally crouched over him, she stands in the middle of the ring—head hung low as the crowd cheers for her. You know Vi better than anyone else; she doesn’t care for the cheers. You’ve realized, you know that Vi has never cared for any of it. You know she fights and drinks to ease the overwhelming ache. And it hurts you—because you doesn’t let you help, she barely lets you touch her.

Now, you watch as Vi walks back to the into the hallway leading into the ring with a limp man laying in the middle.

You stand from your spot in the seat wedged between two random strangers. Standing, you push past the overbearing crowd—muttering excuse me’s, and sorry’s—you make your way to where you know Vi will be. When you see her, she’s slumped against a railing. Sitting on the bottom of the steps, she presses a bottle with a substance unknown to you against her lips.

When she sees you, a sigh leaves her lips. She isn’t angry or upset—more so uneasy. You’re standing at her front now, you speak: “Vi, let’s get you home, okay?” She barely acknowledges you, her eyes never leave her drink, she takes another swig before speaking, “I’m fine. Go home, Y/N.”

You take a seat next to her, you watch as she pulls her once stretched out legs closer to each other. You’d be a liar if you didn’t say it didn’t hurt.

“You aren’t fine, Vi. Look at you. You’re bruised, your knuckles are bleeding, and you won’t do anything about it,” you say in exasperation, “you haven’t been sober in over a month. Please. Let me help you.” You hear VI’s breath shudder as she lets holds the bottle in her hand. It doesn’t touch her lips, it just grazes the concrete step way. This time, Vi looks at you, really, looks at you.

You meet her eyes. Their drained of everything there once way and what it could have been. It pains you to see her like this—all battered, drunken, un-wanting the help she needs. You think you have, you think she’s budged, and then she says: “I don’t need your help. Just go home it’s getting dark,” she begins, trailing off as her words slur, “I…I don’t want you in this. You’re too good for it, Y/N. If I fail you, then I should just quit. Because I’ve failed everyone else. You know it.”

Your heart swells. Tears duct at your eyes. You feel yourself wanting to cry, wanting solemn tears to fall from your tired eyelids as your heart tightens. But this isn’t about you. Not now.

She looks away from you. Embarrassed, you assume. To admit such a thing like that. It has never gone well when she began her pit fighting—physical touch had always been out of the question. You never asked why, as you didn’t want to intrude. But now, as your hand slowly moves up to her red cheeks���hands you watch her flinching away from, but she slowly lets herself fall into your touch—you hold her face as you speak: “Vi. You know I won’t ever leave you alone right? You know it and I know it too,” tears well at your eyes, there’s no point in stopping them now.

“I don’t care about much you try to push me away. You always take care of everyone. Everyone. I wanna take care of you. Will you let me do that?”

When she looks up at you, pain etched all over her face, creased in her furrowed brows—she pulls a hand to your cheeks. Ones that now have remnants of tears glossing down on them. She wipes those tears away as she fights her own. Even when she’s being stubborn, distant, even when it’s about her—she always finds a way to take care of you.

“I’m sorry,” her voice is cracked and defeated when she speaks, “I just—I just wanted to take care of you. Of her. Of everyone. I just wanted—“ you wrap your arms around her neck as you pull her in. She hesitates before touching you, but she eventually gives in after five grueling seconds her hands lingering over your back.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I understand, I understand it all, okay? Just let me help you.” For a moment, it doesn’t feel like she’s moved until her arms pull you close. You feel her nod against your shoulder, quiet whispers of ‘okay. okay,’ are the only things that could be heard through that quiet alley.

***

“Does it hurt?” You ask.

“A little,” she says.

Vi sits on the edge of her bathtub. Her apartment is smaller than you thought it would be. You don’t mind it. When the pair of you arrived, she immediately began apologizing for the mess, she hid her face away from you in pure embarrassment.

Now, though, you press a wet cloth of alcohol against the cut on her lower lip. Surprisingly, her lips are only slightly chapped. Here and there—she leans over to the side in her drunkenness, you’ve had to pat her knee gently many times. She hasn’t stopped looking at you. If you were being completely honest, her gaze had always made you nervous, it always made you fidget. You didn’t have that luxury now.

Abruptly, she takes your wrist in her hand, her hand is hot against yours. Your skin had always felt so, so cold. It was comforting to her. 

“Why’re nervous?” She asks, her droopy eyes unrelenting as she watches over you. “I’m—I’m not nervous.” You say, attempting to pull the cloth back up and against her lips but she holds your hand there, in the center of her lap.

“You are, though. I know you as well as you know me, Y/N,” she says. You watch as her lips stutter, as her eyes flicker from your hands and back to your eyes, she speaks, “Did I scare you?” She asks, solemnly.

Your eyes furrow in confusion. Before you could speak, though, she beats you to it. “I mean when you saw me down there. I know how brutal I could get. And I’m sorry, sorry, you had to see that.” Her words are slurring again, though you could add that it’s much better than before.

“You didn’t scare me,” you abandon the cloth as you stare at her, “I’m just…not use to being this close to you recently.” For the first time in a long time, you watch as a smile perks at her lips. It sends that familiar feeling of warmth and tenderness through your stomach. How did she always find a way to get you so, anxious?

“Recently,” she scoffs, “more like years,” her thumb rubs against the skin of your wrist. You want to get back into helping her, like you said you would. But you’d be a damned fool if you tried to stray away from her touch. You didn’t want you. And as of now, she probably wouldn’t let you.

“I missed you. I thought about you. I think about you. You know that, right?” You wanted to say yes, you desperately did—but you hadn’t thought about yourself significant to someone in a long time.

At least after everyone died.

“I…” you say start, not knowing how to finish. Vi releases your hand. She coax’s you to move away from your crouched spot on the floor, and onto her thigh. Her hand meets your face, her thumb caresses your cheek gently.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you. Like I said.” Vi smiles, and then speaks, “you always have. And you always are. Even when I was…Ignoring you. You always made sure I was okay.”

You’re looking away from her now. Your face feels as though it’s on fire. It was embarrassing.

“Look at me,” she says as she pulls your face closer to hers, “I want you to look at me.”

When you do, her face is closer than it ever has been. Slowly, giving you room to stop her—her lips meet yours softly. It isn’t lust. The both of you know it—rather, it’s the unbearable yearning, a craving now being saturated after years.

When she pulls away, she fixes her lips to apologize, but you don’t let her. Your arms leave her lap, they sit on her shoulders, and pull her into a sweet embrace.

“I missed you too, Vi.”

———

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading. I pretty much did this all in one go, and it will likely not being proofread, I’m sorry about that 😢 I’ve been feeling very inspired lately, so there might be more in store!! 💜💜💜🗡️ also, do you guys prefer my longer or shorter works? please let me know!!! <333

[viaoverthemoon]

License and Registration

RE2!Cop!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your police officer boyfriend, Leon, catches you speeding once again.

Content: SMUT, car sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, switch Leon, kind of-dom Reader, teasing, praise, comfort, not throughly proofread (I'm rusty- Let me know if I missed anything!)

18+!! NSFW!! MDNI!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!!

Enjoy!

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The sound of a siren pulls you from the adrenaline high you were experiencing.

Instantly recognizing the head of blonde hair behind the windshield, you smirk, pressing the brake and moving off to the side. Not that it mattered all that much, seeing as you were on a deserted side road surrounded by trees.

The gum in your mouth sticks to your teeth with every chew, the red of your lipstick smearing on it.

The officer walks out of the car with his head hung low and shaking, as if he were disappointed.

He definitely is.

You roll down your window, blowing a bubble into your gum as he comes to a stop outside of your door.

His brows furrow angrily as he places his hands on his hips. "(Y/n)..."

You pop the bubble, sucking it back into your mouth and offering him a sly smile. "Officer Kennedy!"

He glares at you whilst you pull your mirror down and fix your hair. "What are you doing on duty so late? I thought we had a hot date at 6 o'clock."

He doesn't seem to share your playful mood, crossing his arms across his chest and giving you that concerned, unimpressed look. "Sweetheart... I thought we talked about driving recklessly just to see me when I'm working."

You flutter your lashes, looking up at him with a mocking pout. "Oh baby... not everything I do has something to do with you..."

He leans in through your open window, coming so close his lips brush against your ear. "Angel, whenever it comes to you acting like a desperate little brat, it's always got something to do with me."

Heat pools in your belly. You're about to ask him if that was a challenge but he steps back, leaving a hand on the edge of your car window and running a hand through his blonde hair and taking a deep breath.

"Baby, I can't keep letting you go with a warning. Someone's bound to catch on..."

You hum, reaching a hand up and running your fingertips along the skin of his arm.

His eyes snap to your hand before looking at you, eyes wide and shocked.

"I'm sorry, my love... is there any way I can make it up to you?"

☆

If someone drove down this road right now, you'd be screwed.

The smell of sweat and sex fills the small space of the car around you as your nails dig little crescent marks into your boyfriend's shoulders.

Leon wasted no time after your question, dragging you from your car and tossing you into the back seat of his cop one.

And now, you sit on his lap, his cock nested deep inside of you.

His hands rest comfortably on your ass, his eyes drinking in the sight of your face as you whimper and whine at the mere feeling of him.

When your hips stutter and your legs begin to give out, he shifts his hands to the underside of your thighs, helping you move up and down on his cock.

Blinking through the thickening hot haze, you look down at your officer.

He's already looking up at you, brows drawn together and pink lips parted in pure pleasure as a faint moan leaks from him.

Your hands slide up his skin and into his hair, nails lightly kneading his scalp whilst you roll your hips, pouting when Leon gasps against your lips. "Poor baby... Does it feel too good?"

You feel his hips jerk upwards, pushing himself impossibly deeper as he nods and places his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. "So good- Feels so good, angel...-"

A grunt escapes him, his large hands tightening around your thighs. You nearly cry out when he suddenly picks up the pace, chasing after his fast approaching high.

"L-Leon-! Baby slow down-!"

But it's as if your words fall on deaf ears. Leon only groans loudly, throwing his head back and whining pathetically.

You're teetering on the edge of your own release when a sudden rush of wind and the console digging into your lower back take you by complete surprise.

Your hips lay squished between the two front seats, legs on either side of Leon's hips and in the air. Your hands shift to his upper back, nails scratching harshly along his skin.

He pushes his body weight on you to keep you still as you writhe beneath him, gasping and whining into the empty space of the car.

His large cock slides along your wet walls, the movements creating the most pornographic squelching noise you've ever heard. You swear you feel every vein, every twitch, every stretch.

You cry out, gripping onto him for dear life as your release tears through you, taking your breath away and causing stars to form behind your eyelids.

Leon swears as he feels you clench around him, his legs stopping for just a moment before he groans, pushing into you slowly one last time.

His warm seed spurts inside of you, coating every corner of your walls. He grips the seats for support from the sheer power of his orgasm.

You help him down from his high, stroking his forearms and whispering praises in his ear.

And you only stop when Leon goes slack, pulls out of you with a hiss, and begins to clean everything up. "Jesus Christ... we're never doing that again."

You scoff, slipping your skirt back on. "Oh, we're definitely gonna do this again babe,". You laugh as Leon groans, sitting back in the seat and throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Anyone could have seen us..." His cheeks are flushed pink in embarrassment, blonde hair still messy from all the times you ran your hands through it.

You slide closer to him and kiss his cheek. "Well then, it's a good thing no one did, huh?" You giggle as he playfully glares at you.

Biting your lip, you go to whisper in his ear, discretely slipping something into his pocket. "See you at 8?"

And with that, you slip out of the car and make your way back to your vehicle, pulling your skirt down into place and adjusting your shirt.

All while wondering what his reaction will be when he finds the pair of panties you'd stuffed into his pocket.

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Heyyyy...

Been a while huh? 😓

I'm backkkk

I've been a little busy, BUT, I'm not working anymore cause I'm moving to college soon so I've got a little more time before my real chaos enters my life.

Happy to see y'all again!

-Via 💕

[peppermintquartz]

A potentially (even more) angsty prompt:

A couple month after the breakup (and Buck moping around), the 118 is called to a crashed Harbor helicopter.

Or alternatively, Buck is not on shift and Chim calls Buck that Tommy is in the hospital via a helicopter crash (the rest of the 118 rescued him). A la Chim's Henren matchmaking.

Whatever level of injury you wish for either is good!

(for the purposes of this ficlet, their breakup is NOT the 8x06 version, just one where Tommy is like "we're moving too fast, I need some time" and they agree to give it a pause, and it still sucks but they're not exes)

---

"So... Have you two patched up yet?" Eddie broaches the subject cautiously. It's a fifty-fifty chance that Buck will be willing to share or snap his head off.

"I asked him out for a drink," Buck says, eyes on his book (Slow Productivity, which seems kinda strange for a guy working as a firefighter). "He said he'll take a raincheck." He sounds emotionless, which means he's sort of upset but not overly so.

Which makes sense, since Tommy and Buck did have a Not-A-Date brunch to catch up two weeks ago. Eddie was there, too, desperate wishing he had an excuse not to be, so that the two yearning idiots would just get back together.

Eddie's about to say more when the alarm goes and Bobby hustles everyone onto their engines. Curiously, Bobby sits in the back, telling Hen to take his usual seat.

"What do we got, Cap?" Chimney asks, snapping his gum. It's a new habit - the man is stressed about a second child. The sirens scream to life and they're off.

Bobby puts a hand on Buck's shoulder. "Airlift gone wrong. A chopper went down while delivering a heart to First Presbyterian."

Eddie sees the younger man go still. Buck won't ask, so Eddie bites the bullet. "It's Tommy?"

Before he answers, Bobby tightens his grip on Buck. "It's Tommy."

--

The good news is that the chopper hadn't gained much altitude when it crashed. The better news is that its cargo, a heart ready for transplant, is still intact, so it's quickly rushed off to the hospital in an ambulance.

The bad news is, it was Tommy piloting.

The worst news is, he needs blood. A lot of blood. Hen and Chimney are packing the wounds and stabilizing what they can and Bobby is calling Dispatch to relay messages for a transfusion.

"Blood type, B-pos, no known allergies," Buck rattles off to Bobby and Hen, helping to lift Tommy, collared and strapped on a backboard, onto the gurney. His jaw is tight and his hands are steady. "His emergency contact is..."

He falters as Tommy is wheeled into the ambulance.

Eddie shoves him. "Get in there." When Buck turns to look at him, eyes wide, Eddie pushes him again. "Get in there. You're his emergency contact as far as we know, so go. Tommy won't survive your delay."

That spurs Buck into moving with alacrity. The ambulance pulls out, sirens screaming, and Eddie feels his heart pounding in his mouth.

Then he feels Bobby standing beside him. "They haven't patched up?"

"They're idiots," Eddie says with heartfelt vehemence.

Bobby sighs.

--

Eddie goes to the hospital three hours later, after the shift. Buck is still in his uniform, so Eddie passes him his duffel and shoos him off to change.

"What news?" Eddie asks when Buck joins him again.

"They've stopped the bleeding," Buck says, closing his eyes. "Now they need to work on the impalement."

Eddie sits next to his best friend. He doesn't speak.

"I'm done," Buck says suddenly, sounding like he's gargled gravel. "I'm done. When he wakes up, I'm gonna... I don't know what I'm gonna do, but I am not doing this stupid 'pause button' shit any longer."

Oh thank God. Eddie can stop feeling like he's a child caught between divorced parents.

Then, because he is and always has been a realist, he asks, "What if he doesn't wanna press the play button?"

Buck looks a little sick. He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. "Then we want different things out of this. And I'd rather it hurt all at once now than later." His eyes look shockingly blue against the paleness of his face.

Eddie pats his friend's knee, and leans back to grab some shut-eye.

--

Eddie takes on the bulk of Buck-sitting duties for the next four days, spelled by Bobby. (Buck takes time off. No one begrudges it.) Maddie manages to get Buck to go home to shower but she can't make him sleep in his own bed.

Convenient that Tommy crashed just before our off days, Eddie thinks, a little bitchily, the day he comes back after a shift.

Man broke Buck's heart. Eddie figures he's due a little bitchiness.

It takes five false alarms before Tommy is truly awake and alert enough to register Buck and Eddie are there.

The heart rate monitor beeps a little more urgently.

"I'm here, honey," Buck murmurs, taking Tommy's hand immediately and squeezing it. "Relax, okay? Docs and nurses gonna look at you for a bit first."

Tommy blinks, and on his horribly pale and scruffy face is a ghost of a relieved smile. He can't talk, but his mouth forms something that sounds suspiciously like "eh en", or "Evan", and Buck smiles so brightly that he probably powered the machines with its intensity.

Eddie feels the ground under his feet right itself as the doctor and nurses take over. Yeah, that pause button is going away. He sends a message to the group chat.

Hen replies, Bets on when they move in together. $5 min.

[i-hate-people-1]

~Mid to west~

Part 2

Eddie Munson x Henderson reader road trip au

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Henderson Reader

Warnings:none

Word count: 3,782

An hour into your trip, you hear the first dreaded “I have to pee.” Of course, it came from Dustin.

"Really, come on, man, we’re barely even a town over,” Eddie groaned, pulling into the next gas despite his sentiment.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, dashing out of the car the moment Eddie put it in park.

“Maybe we should all try to and we can grab some snacks” Steve suggested Ever, the mother of the group.

"Ugh, fine,” Eddie groaned, throwing his head back. “But no drinks!” He yelled as your friends dashed out of the vehicle. “I mean it!”

“There’s no way they actually listen,” you told him, giggling as you got out of the car Eddie close behind.

“My lady,” Eddie said, smiling brightly as he opened the door for you, bowing slightly.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” you said, giggling and curtsying as you walked in.

After using the restroom, you were scanning the isles for a snack. Indecisive as ever, you finally settled on a bag of Cheez-Its, a pack of gum, and a nougat bar Dustin’s favorite for when he inevitably complains about being snacky (when he’s hungry but doesn’t want real food).

"This all,” the teen at the counter asked. Well, you think she was asking, but her deadpan tone made it hard to tell.

"Yup,” you said, smiling.

She looked up from your snacks, her unamused glare fixed on you.

“Hey sweetheart, spot me a pack of smokes?" You felt his arm before you heard his voice as he hung it lazily over your shoulder.

Casual touches like this almost fooled you enough to think that the boy you’ve been crushing on since you saw him perform at the middle school talent show actually liked you, or at least thought of you as more than his friends older sister, but then reality would always come crashing down on you when you remembered that Eddie was like that with everyone the pet names, teasing remarks, and touching. I mean, the boy was a walking ball of love to give, constantly looking for a new friend or a new lost sheep he could take under his wing.

No matter how many people teased him, judged him unfairly, or called him the most unspeakable things, he never gave up and always kept that signature Eddie Munson smile that simultaneously lit up the room and made you weak in the knees.

“Y/N?” Eddie asked, his concern-ridden face pulling you out of your thoughts as his arm slid awkwardly off your shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, I can,” you said, turning back to the unamused teen. “Uh, and a pack of Malboro Reds, please,” you told the cashier, surprised that the frown she was wearing could get deeper.

“You know my brand?” You could practically hear the shock in his voice—a deep blush taking over your cheeks.

"Yeah, I guess,” you mumbled as you paid for your things, purposely avoiding his eyes that were boring into you. “What?” You asked, turning back to look at him and handing him the cigarettes.

His doe eyes were soft, and there was a remnant of a smile he was holding back on his face.

"Nothing,” he answered through an awkward cough. “Come on, sunshine, the ass crack of America awaits.” He finished turning around to grab the door for you.

You quickly followed, telling the teen at the counter thank you and to have a nice day.

As you made it outside, Eddie broke off to go lean against the wall to smoke. As you finally made it back to the van, your cheeks were still ablaze from your interaction.

Everyone but Steve had made it back to the van, already getting settled in, to hopefully not stop for at least a couple hours.

After about 5 minutes, Eddie and Steve returned, Steve having two huge bags of snacks, so you wouldn’t have to get any more, hopefully.

"Alright, hellions, buckle up. We’re not stopping for a while,” Eddie said, pulling out of the gas station. “I’m just kidding. Of course, my van does not have seatbelts.”

***

"Eddie, I’m hungry,” Lucas whined, poking the boy in the cheek. “Can we please stop? You made us skip lunch.” He finished continuing to poke him.

"Sinclair, you poke me one more time, and I’ll cut your hand off and make you eat it. How’s that sound for dinner?” Eddie said it through clenched teeth and crazy eyes.

Lucas stopped his finger inches away from the boy's cheek cautiously after a moment of testing the waters; he seemingly gave up pulling his hand back.

Eddie let out a sigh of relief, unclenching his jaw, and everything was peaceful for about two seconds until Lucas decided that poking the bear was the best idea he could think of, poking Eddie’s cheek once more, smirking mischievously.

“That’s it!” Eddie yelled, pulling off to the side of the road, making all of you tussle in place as he abruptly stopped the car out of his seat as quick as lightning to tackle the younger boy to the ground. He was so quick, you almost missed the smirk fall off of Lucas’s face and the horror take over his eyes.

Which is how you found yourself in the driver's seat, looking out for a place to stop for dinner, with Eddie in the passenger seat slumped down, arms crossed over his chest as he pouted.

"Alright, let’s all get some food in us and stretch our legs, yeah?” You asked as you pulled into the first dinner you’d spotted.

Lucas and Dustin rushed out of the vehicle, the former fully recovering from the tackle he’d taken.

Robin Max and Steve took more time getting out, following the two rambunctious boys.

You, however, stayed in the van, waiting for the boy in the passenger seat to look anywhere but out the window quietly.

"Oh, come on, Ed's, you know you're hungry too,” you said, turning in your seat to face him fully. “And maybe your a tad hangry, and that’s why you tackled Lucas?”

"No, I tackled him because the little shit wouldn’t stop poking me,” Eddie snapped, finally turning to you, and while the vicious gaze of Eddie Munson was terrifying for most people, you thought it was adorable. He looked like a puppy trying to threaten you like a teddy bear with a knife.

“So you’re saying if it had been Steve in the driver's seat and he wouldn’t stop to get you food, you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” You challenged him, raising a brow. His frown softened a bit, a mischievous glint in his eyes, you assume, at the thought of annoying Steve Harrington.

"See, you’d think it was hilarious if it were Steve; your little sheep was just following in your footsteps.”

"Yeah, but they’re supposed to annoy other people, not me,” he grumbled, though you could tell he was starting to come around.

“Oh well, now you’re just asking too much,” you teased. “Now come on, I’ll buy you a milkshake,” you told him, hopping out of the driver's seat.

“Chocolate?” Eddie asked, head-whipped, to look at you.

"Ugh, fine, but I’m going to judge you for it,” you said, rolling your eyes as you shut the door and walked inside, Eddie following closely behind.

“Woah woah woah, sweetheart, are you trying to tell me you don’t like chocolate milkshakes?” Eddie asked, dramatic as ever, his hair whipping around as he shook his head.

“I mean, they’re fine, but vanilla is definitely better,” you said, shrugging. Eddie gasped loudly, clutching a hand to his chest.

“I can’t believe you just said that to me,” he said quickly as he pulled out a seat, gesturing for you to sit down.

You sat down flustered as Robin raised a brow at you, which only made your blush deepen.

“What’d you say to him?” Max asked.

“Get this, Red; she thinks vanilla milkshakes are better than chocolate,” Eddie scoffed before you could get a word.

Leading the table into a lively debate, with some taking your side while others took Eddie’s.

“You guys are all wrong. It’s obviously strawberry." Steve cut in your heads, all turning to him with disgusted looks.

"Okay, everyone can at least agree that Steve’s wrong, right?” Robin asks, eyes darting around the group as you all nod, “All right, it’s unanimous, Steve’s an idiot.” She finishes, and Steve looks offended while all of you laugh.

"Alright, I need to go smoke. You guys stress me out." Eddie shook his head, smiling.

“Those things will kill you,” you said, popping a fry into your mouth.

"Hey, you’re the one supplying me, so don’t get all high and mighty on me now, princess,” Eddie smirked as you rolled your eyes.

“That was a temporary lapse in judgment; I was distracted,” you shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the obvious blush on your face was giving you away.

"Aww, you saying I distract ya doll face?” Eddie asked, leaning in close.

"Ew, dude, are you really flirting with my sister right now?” Dustin interrupted, gagging immediately after he got the question out.

“See what I mean? Little fuckers are so annoying, I’m surprised I don’t smoke more,” he groaned, placing a cigarette between his lips as he stood up and made his way to the door.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” you announced, getting up and speed-walking to the bathroom flustered.

"Really, Dustin,” Max scolded, smacking him in the back of the head.

"Ow, what was that for?”

“You totally just ruined their moment. Eddie was finally growing some balls, and you just stomped on them,” Lucas explained.

“What?” Dustin asked again, and the poor boy was obviously very confused.

"Really, Dustin, do we have to explain everything to you? You’re not a child,” Steve quipped sarcastically.

“What these doofuses are getting at is that Eddie has just now started shooting his shot, and you might have just deterred him for another what is it like nine years?.” Robin explained hoping the young boy would catch on.

"Wait, are you guys saying Eddie actually likes Y/N?”

“Oh my gosh, look at those boys. Sherlock finally figured one out,” Steve said, slow-clapping.

“Shut up, Steve,” Dustin seethed. “So Eddie likes Y/N? Does she like him?”

"Obviously,” Max yelled, quickly apologizing when most of the eyes in the restaurant turned to her.

“So all those times he’s called her hot, he wasn’t just doing that to annoy me?” Dustin asked, still bewildered by the new information.

“While I’m sure that is a perk,Steve started sitting up in his chair to pat Dustin on the back. “He’s got it; he's had it bad since his first senior year,Steve finished shrugging.

“I can’t believe one of my best friends has a crush on my sister, and none of you told me,” Dustin pouted.

“We thought you knew it was pretty obvious,” Max said, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t want to think about that; it’s gross.”

"Well, you better get used to it because our mission this trip is to get them together,” Robin told him as the group nodded in agreement. “And it was working perfectly without us having to do anything but put them in seats next to each other, and you might have just ruined it,” Robin grumbled.

“How am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me?!” Dustin argued.

“Tell you what?” Eddie asked, making the group jump and turn to look at the boy.

"Umm, uh, that there’s been something in his teeth for a while,” Lucas said as casually as he could.

"Nice,” Max complemented under her breath.

“Okay?” Eddie said, taking a seat and continuing to eat his food, “Hey, where’s Y/N?” He asked through a mouth full of food.

“She went to the bathroom,” Steve shrugged, sipping his milkshake.

Eddie’s head instinctively snapped towards the bathroom door, a deep frown falling over his features. When he was met with the beautiful sight of your smile and the crushing feeling that washed over him, he saw a guy, the one making you smile.

Eddie’s glare made everyone’s eyes shift to the bathroom as you giggled behind your hand at something the boy said.

And before the smart part of Eddie’s brain could even think of telling him to stay seated, he was on his feet, speeding faster than he could think.

You noticed him before he could even get a word out, turning to smile at him. “Hey Eddie, what’s up?” You asked, brows furrowed, man; he was so screwed if all it took was you smiling at him to turn him into jelly.

"Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie said, composing himself to smirk at you. “Who's your friend?” He asked, glaring daggers into the man in front of you.

"Oh, this is Chad; he saw me looking at maps and said he’s traveling west too,” you told him, smiling.

“How convenient,” Eddie bit out, his voice lashing in sarcasm.

"Yeah, man, a total coincidence,” Chad said, returning Eddie’s glare.

The two men stood in unmoving silence, glaring daggers at each other. You furrowed your brows, looking between them, rolling your eyes as far back into your head as they could go at your realization. “Oh my, are you two having a staring contest right now?” you asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

You took their unblinking silence as an answer: “Stop it, you doofus!” You exclaimed, smacking his arm lightly.

“Hey!” Eddie shrieked, “You made me lose!”

“Lose what exactly? What would’ve happened at the end of that contest? What would you have won?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest.

“I’m not exactly a hundred percent on the rules, but I’m pretty sure he gets you now,” Eddie deadpanned.

“Dude, I thought we were just asserting dominance.”

Eddie looked at the man with an expression somewhere between shock, disgust, and anger. “And that’s who won, thanks to you, sweetheart.”

“I’m not some prize, Munson,” you scoffed, walking back towards your friends.

"Yeah, no shit. I was joking that dude never would’ve beat me fair and square anyway.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles or win me, and also, I was just talking to someone new. What is your issue?” You asked, turning to face him as you made it out in front of the diner.

“What’s my issue?!” Eddie challenged, “I don’t know, haven’t you ever heard of stranger danger? The guy was practically eye-fucking you the whole conversation.”

“So?” You asked, making Eddie scoff.

“So? So?” He asked back in unbelief, “You know what? Fine, whatever have fun getting murdered in the back of some creeps van!” Eddie exclaimed, arms waving, as he turned on his heels to stomp to the van.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that,” you said, stomping after him, “and stop walking away.” You grabbed his hand, making him turn to you and ask, “Why do you care so much?”

Eddie pulled you towards him effortlessly, pinning you up against the back of the van out of view of your friends.

His breath was hot and rugged as it fanned over your face, his doe eyes peering into your soul as he examined your face, his gaze darting between your lips and eyes.

“I care because I want you to be mine,” he whispered in your ear, his hand coming up to cup the side of your neck as you sucked in a breath. “You want that, baby?” Eddie teased biting your earlobe, and you whimpered.

"Oh, don’t worry, pretty girl, you will soon enough,” Eddie told you, inches away from your face, lips so close to touching as your body tingled in anticipation. Just as Eddie was about to close the gap, you were abruptly pulled out of your false reality by the very person you made it for. As he shook your shoulder gently, “Hey, wake up, pretty girl, we’ve got to get back on the road,” he whispered, moving some hair out of your face.

A deep blush set in at the pet name—the same pet name he had just used in your dream—coming into the front of your mind—that little voice telling you he knew but there’s no way he could know, right?

The existential crisis must have been showing on your face because Eddie was looking at you concerned. “You okay, sunshine, you look a little dazed. Nap that good?” He asked, quirking a brow.

"Yeah,” you said almost too quickly, "um, I didn’t even realize I felt asleep.”

“Oh yeah, you feel asleep on my shoulder a few minutes after you came back from the bathroom,” he shrugged.

"Well, you have a comfortable shoulder, thanks, pal,” you said, froging him in the arm, quickly getting out of your seat and speed-walking to the van.

“That was painful,” Robin said as she exited the diner behind you.

“Did I just call him pal and punch him in the arm?” You asked, your head falling on her shoulder.

"Yeah, it was pretty hard to watch,” she deadpanned. "Robin,” you whined.

“Right, sorry,” she said as she started to run a comforting hand through your hair. “What even happened to get you that flustered?”

“I kind of had a sex dream about Eddie,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by her shoulder.

“You had a sex dream about Munson, while you were napping on him,?!?” she said a bit too loudly for your taste.

“Shhh Robin”

"Right, sorry, you had a sex dream about Munson?” She repeated it in a whisper.

"Well, kind of, I was woken up before any actual sex happened, but that’s where it was leading,” you told her, finally lifting your head. “What am I going to do? I feel like a perv.”

"Okay, first of all, it’s completely natural, and second, maybe that’s your subconscious way of telling you to, you know, make a move,” Robin said, biting her thumb nail.

“You think I should make a move on him? Does he even like me?” You asked, pulling Robin's thumb away from her mouth.

“Are you kidding me? You were totally just drooling all over him in your sleep, and he didn’t even bat an eye at the guys.”

“I drooled on him.” You half asked, half whined, her head failing back into place on her shoulder.

***

“Did she just call me Pal?" Eddie asked through a dejected sigh, slumping in his seat.

"Yeah, she also drooled on you a little bit,” Dustin pointed out, poking a spot on his shoulder over the table.

“And I find that unbelievably adorable. I’m so fucked. I just got pal zoned. I think that’s worse than the friend zone,” Eddie whined, beating his head on the table.

"Oh, stop that. She didn’t mean anything by it. She just got flustered. She likes you, okay. Stop stressing and dancing around it flirtatiously and just ask her out.” Dustin told him, his eyes rolling as far back into his head as they could go.

“She said that?” Eddie’s head perked up like a puppy who had just been offered a treat.

“Not exactly, but I’m her brother, and a brother knows." Dustin shrugged, standing up. “Just go for it, man, she’s into you. I promise, just you know, maybe don’t do it in front of me because gross.”

“When did you get so wise?” Steve asked, hands on his hips, sassy as ever.

“I’ve always been wise; you deepshits just never notice,” he said, sticking his chin high as he walked off.

“No wonder his head is so big; it’s got to fit that massive ego.”

***

It’s been two hours since you stopped for dinner and 12 since you started the trip as a whole. Eddie had driven for another hour after you stopped before you made him stop and let Steve drive before he felt asleep at the wheel.

Steve and Robin were now in front. Robin passed out until Steve would shake her awake to ask for directions.

And other than the sound of Steve’s quiet humming and soft snores coming from the kids, the van was quiet.

Eddie was out cold the second his head hit the makeshift pillow of his waded-up leather jacket, stirring occasionally to find a more comfortable position.

You were in the limbo between resting and actually sleeping, not completely awake and not completely asleep, when you felt something touch your side. You turned your head, smiling sleepily at the sight in front of you. Eddie, who was already close due to the big group and limited space you had in the back of the van, had moved to lay on his side, one arm curled under his arm to replace the jacket that was now thrown over his body lazily, his other hand poking out just barely grazing your side. You could feel the coldness of his fingers through the thin material of your tank top.

You sat up frowning on the lookout for another blanket, but it seemed that every one was being occupied. After a few minutes of trying to plan in your sleepy state, you finally decided on just sharing yours with him. It wasn’t huge, but you think it could fit over both of you if you shifted a little closer.

You gently pulled the leather jacket off him, setting it aside, grabbing his hand, and moving it closer to his own body as slowly as you could, smiling proudly when you managed to do so without disturbing him.

After shifting as close as you could without actually touching the boy, you took your time situating the blanket, making sure it covered him as much as possible. You finally laid back down yourself, too tired to be anxious about the little amount of space between the two of you.

You had just closed your eyes when another touch pulled you out of your almost-sleep. This time it was more than a few fingers. Eddie was now curled into your side, arm thrown over your waist, head resting on your collarbone without even thinking you started lazily ruining a hand through his curls, making him snuggle into you further. You felt your body relax against him, starting to pull you down into sleep, finally letting it take you. You lay there with a sleepy smile on your lips, content to lay like this the rest of the night. Even if you weren’t really sure where this would leave you, when you wake up, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Relaxing in the heat, his body was now suppling, finally closing your eyes to let sleep take you.

[miltonbarbie]

"Oh god, have you seen the new girl ?" South park headcanons with a really pretty+feminine Y/n <//3 (Requested)

(All characters are in highschool +aged up, about 14-15)

!! GIRLBOSS Y/N AU 😍🔊🔊

You always knew you were pretty, if beauty was a weapon, you would be locked and loaded. (Ginny and Georgia reference LMAO)

Your parents weren't the best, but they were filthy rich. So you had all the freedom you got, especially since being the only child can have its MANY perks. You would always go out with your friends to shopping malls, thrifts stores, salons, and allll thatt gooddd stufff

When you moved, you and your parents moved into this really big house. It costed an ass load of money but you could afford it, y'know, cause your rich n' shii.

When you knew it would be your first day at south park high, you got up at 5AM, curled your hair, did your makeup and put on your cutest outfit. Your pretty smile was the cherry on top. Of course, you missed your friends. But you were still excited to be going to a new school. Maybe your life could be better here. Without all the drama, and rumors spreading about you.

Once those doors opened, all eyes were on you. People were whispering and a few people even FAINTED. F A I N T E D. But you just laughed and brushed it off, you would always get these reactions from everyone. For you, this was normal. You already had all your classes set, and your locker was decorated to your liking. You owned the school now, and even the teachers accepted their fate.

Entering your classroom, you were most intrigued by four boys. A boy with black hair, a boy in an orange hoodie with blonde hair, a red head, and a very degrading boy with brown hair who seemed to really get on everyone's nerves.

Everyone stopped what they were doing, and for the first time in years, the classroom went silent. The same classroom those annoying boys (from what you heard) were in. You walked up to the front, and with a sickingly sweet smile and a pretty voice, you introduced yourself.

You twirled your hair, made eye contact, and spoke with perfect confidence. And the whole class, was instantly flustered by your beauty. Cartman decided what would happen if he tried messing with you. He pulled your chair, which Kyle pushed back before you could sit down. And he even tried spitting gum in your hair, but missed when you bent down to grab your pencil. He was getting pretty annoyed since he couldn't do anything, but he wanted to try one last thing.

Insulting you infront of the whole school.

You were sitting in the cafeteria. With Wendy, Bebe, Clyde, Tweek and Craig. You all were giggling and having fun until Cartman screamed your name across the room, making everyone turn heads.

"Hey Wh0re! What's it like being the center of attention?" | "Excuse me? Would you care to say that again?" | "You heard me, bitch." | "Sorry, Eric. But I dont really think I wanna be wasting my time listening to bullshit from a cocky fatass."

The room started laughing so hard, Cartman's face was turning red. He got played by his own game. Gave him a slap in the face with that one. Kyle's drink was literally about to explode out his nose and you just sat there, face to face, smiling at Cartman.

God you were such a Girlboss, and a total hottie.

The girls (Wendy's girlgroup) Invited you for a sleepover at Bebe's house, and you accepted right away! You had made friends with the entire school in just one day, I think it's pretty obvious that your the most popular girl in school now.

♡

At the sleepover, you and the girls shared your music tastes. After you shared your playlist with everyone, they blasted your music on Wendy's radio. <//3 Melanie martinez -> Taylor swift -> Lana del rey -> MARINA -> Nessa Barret, and all the latest pop songs!

(Until the guys decided to break into the sleepover, and they had to stay over as well.)

[chemdisaster]

wrote this on a plane while drinking to the new year and my birthday, so literally partly in 2023 and partly in 2024. belongs to my brand new modern au where the bad boys are childhood friends.

warning: because i'm me, it ends the way it does in limited life. as a result, much pain and suffering and jimmy is dead in this one

Joel gets in trouble with the law again, and again, and again. Minor offences at first, drinking in public and one instance of attempting to shoplift a cheap pack of gum that makes Grian about implode upon himself with incredulity—Joel has money, what in the world!—before he recognises it as Jimmy's favourite flavour.

They deal with that, too. He dutifully bails his friend out every time and does his best not to ask too many questions. The situation is far from ideal, but on some level he understands—everyone deals with grief in their own way. With luck, this should pass.

Then, Joel pulls a knife on Scott and has to pay a ridiculous amount of money to keep him from pressing charges.

That's when Grian loses it.

"What the fuck, Joel," he rants in the car on their way back from the police station. "What the actual fuck were you thinking."

From his far-too-relaxed position in the passenger seat, Joel snorts.

"He deserved it."

Grian sputters.

"He deserv—what, no, Joel, this is serious. You can't just go around pulling knives on people, that's not—what the hell is wrong with you?!" he bursts out, and surprises himself with the vehemence behind his exclamation.

And then Joel does something incredibly, infuriatingly Joel.

He rolls his eyes and asks, "Why do you care?"

In that moment, Grian wants nothing more than to punch him.

Steeling himself, he schools his expression into one of indifference. Two can play this game.

"I don't."

"Sure you don't."

"No, I'm being serious, Joel. By all means, continue self-destructing—but I'm not sticking around to watch. So far you've crossed every line humanly possible, and I just—"

His resolve breaks. For a moment, he takes his eyes off the road to stare earnestly at Joel, who looks away the moment he meets his gaze.

"The way you're heading, I'm about to become a singular Bad Boy," Grian confesses to the back of Joel's head. "And I don't want to see that happen. I've lost Jimmy, I don't want to lose you, too."

A pause.

Eventually, Joel forces out through gritted teeth, "Stop the car."

"What?"

"Stop the car. Stop the fucking car right now."

Grian slams on the brakes, and the car's barely had time to skid to a halt before Joel is wrenching the door open and setting off, walking briskly along the edge of the road.

Scrambling to get out of his own seat, Grian follows.

"Wait, no," he calls out. "Joel, what are you doing?"

"Leaving," Joel spits, barely turning around, his words carrying across the wind. "You're sick of having to deal with me? Congratulations, today's your lucky day. You'll never have to see my face ever again."

"No, Joel, that's not what I meant—"

"Oh yeah?" Joel swivels around. "Well, then I pray you, tell me what you really meant. Go on, Grian. Tell me why I shouldn't have killed Scott right there on the spot."

Advancing, he pushes at Grian's chest.

"Tell me, Grian," he repeats, and his voice gains a note of something resembling hysteria. "Tell me what's oh-so-wrong with me. Tell me why I'm the one who's wrong and everything isn't fucked, tell me, Grian—"

Grian gently catches Joel's wrists before his knuckles can come into contact with his face. Carefully, he says, "Scott didn't kill Jimmy. Jimmy's death was—"

"An accident, I know," Joel snaps. "It's always the accidents with him, isn't it? Missing steps, tripping over his own feet, falling off fucking bridges—"

Unable to do much more, Grian nods. Because Joel is right. It is always the accidents—it was, and they always joked about Jimmy being cursed, but now that he's gone, Grian can't help but wonder if the curse was really on them all along.

Feeling the tension slowly seep away from Joel's wrists, Grian loosens his grip and brings their hands down, interlocking their fingers. Joel lets him, and a temporary calm settles over the shore, but Grian knows him too well to believe that this means that the storm is over.

Sure enough, a moment later, Joel laughs, quietly and without any humour.

"You're full of shit, Grian."

Grian blinks, taken aback, and says nothing.

Joel continues, "You're actually, genuinely full of shit. Jimmy's gone, and you're expecting me to, what, not be at all messed up?"

Grian still doesn't answer. He doesn't know what to say, what he could possibly say to prove to his friend that he does care, he does, cares so much that it feels like he's going to rip apart from the inside if he lets himself dwell on it for any longer than he already is—every minute of every waking day.

Joel gives him a long, searching look, and whatever he finds makes his tone turn downright venomous when he carries on, "Oh, but it's easy for you, isn't it? You haven't cried or—or anything, you don't fucking—you don't give a shit, do you?"

He rips his hands away, stumbles backwards.

"Ever the reasonable one, always telling me to calm down, right? WELL I CAN'T CALM DOWN, MY FRIEND IS FUCKING DEAD!"

Grian levels a look at Joel, meets his enraged, devastated expression head-on.

"Joel, I'm just saying, this isn't the way to grieve. This is—you're destroying yourself, Timmy wouldn't have wanted you to—"

"Shut the fuck up!"

Silence.

The rapidly descending dark obscures Joel's face, but his sobs ring out loudly in the night.

"Oh, Joel."

With only a moment's hesitation, Grian steps forward and brings his arms around his friend, who instantly goes pliant in his hold. "I hate you, Grian," he cries into his neck, and his shoulders jump. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—"

Grian sighs, "I know."

I hate myself, too, he doesn't say. Joel weeps with sobs that sound more like wails, and Grian does his best to swallow down the ugly and inhuman thing that rears its head at the base of his throat. He knows that, come tomorrow, none of this will matter, and the only thing that will still hold meaning will be the large gaping hole at their side.

With everything he's been telling Joel, maybe he really is nothing but a huge goddamn hypocrite, after all. Whoever said that it gets better is a fucking liar.

[booppooo]

Could I request a fem!reader x Ellie in modern au where ellie and reader see each other at a club and end up dancing with sexual tension till they take it further, feeling needy for each other? Your works are literally breathtaking

Who's That Chick?

Ellie Williams x Fem! Reader One-Shot

AN: thank you!!! This request was breathtaking teehee. *sniff sniff* is that a series I'm smelling?

Warnings: where do I even start.... strangers to lovers, smoking (cigarettes and weed), drinking, bar/club setting, oral sex (reader receiving), thigh riding, swearing

-

21.

You were a fully legal adult. You could buy cigarettes, and drink, and walk into bars, and even rent a hotel room!

Twenty-one was so young yet so mature. Tonight, you were going to take advantage of being young. This was going to be your night to experiment with all your new legalities.

So first you stopped at a gas station and bought a pack of cigarettes. Not that you had ever tried any before, but it had always piqued your interest. You unwrapped the plastic, took out five, and handed the rest to the homeless person huddled up outside who screamed at you for almost throwing them in the garbage can.

In your car you grabbed your lighter and held the flame to the end of the cancer stick. The smoke rolled down the back of your throat and into you lungs, burning in an oddly satisfying way. You coughed, took some sips of water, and went in for another drag. Next up was the bar.

For safety reasons you sent your friends your location and took the bus to the nearest gay friendly bar. If you were going to spend your first night shitfaced, it would be better around lesbians than icky drunk men. For the hell of it you smoked another one of your cigarettes, popped in a mint, and confidently sauntered in.

As you expected the music was loud. A layer of smoke hovered near the lights and the bar was littered with the lonely hearts club.

"Can I get a gin and tonic?" You ordered, taking a seat. Before you moseyed onto the dance floor you wanted to get some drinks in you - that and feel out the place.

The bartender started a tab and placed your drink in front of you, winking and smacking her gum. She pointed at another attendee and asked, "What can I get ya tonight hon?"

"Hey Stella, I'll have what she's having and a shot of tequila."

Stella smiled, "Comin' right up El."

The space between you and the person in the next seat over was occupied by a limber, freckled red-head, apparently named El. You got a general idea of what she looked light through the flashing lights. She was eye candy to say the least.

The heels of her hands rested on the edge of the bar, an elaborate tattoo peaking beyond her rolled up flannel sleeve and her auburn strands loosely pulled back into a low bun, one lock falling by her cheek. When she faced you, you noted the scar through her eyebrow and the shit-eating grin on her face.

The gin and tonic and El's smug smirk made your stomach warm with laughter.

"What?" her smirk grew, "I haven't even told the punchline yet?"

Her charisma made your cheeks flush, "Oh do tell."

"Alright so, two blondes walk into a bar, you think one of 'em would see it."

This had you chewing your lip and scratching your head in thought. You repeated her words slowly back to her, studying her emerald tinted eyes.

"Don't think about it too hard." She chuckled and thanked Stella for her drinks, immediately throwing back her shot.

"You think one of them would see it....oh!" Again you laughed, then rolled your eyes at how stupid the joke was. Or maybe at how stupid the joke made you feel.

"Should've I started with a pick up line?" The glass met her lips and she let the liquor sit in her mouth for a second before nodding in approval.

You pondered her question sarcastically, "I don't know El, you got a better pick up line?"

"Ellie- and I might, only if you want to hear of course."

She pulled a small compact out of her pocket with an old flip top lighter, pulling out a finely rolled joint and pinching it between her lips. The lighter was rolled against her leg in alternating directions, as if she had done it a thousand times, and held the flame to the edge of the joint.

"Now I'm curious, what could be better than two blondes walking into a bar?"

Her rough, lithe fingers reached for the nearest ash tray and tapped the excess from the joint into the already overflowing dish. She handed the joint to you. Tonight was filled with lots of firsts.

"I've got a few actually. But uh, do you know how lesbians have sex? It's kinda complicated, I'd have to show you."

You didn't know if it was from the joint or how off guard Ellie had caught you, either way you choked up. This time she was laughing at you, taking the joint back and taking a long drag, "C'mon it wasn't that bad."

To coat your throat some you took a sip of your drink, "It wasn't bad at all, just not what I was expecting." You watched her expertly let the smoke slither from her lips into her nose, "It's a good thing I'm a hands on learner." Quickly you bit your lip to hide your smile, scared to dip your toes any further into flirting.

Ellie swirled her drink around and then quickly tossed back what was left, "Speaking of hands on, wanna dance?" Her eyes were a light shade of red around her tipsy pupils and mossy irises, her smile was a little more tame, yet she was just as lively.

With a tad more enthusiasm than you would've liked, you took her hand and moved to the dance floor, stomach toasty and most definitely tipsy. If the music wasn't loud before, it definitely was now. The bass from the speakers vibrated your feet and bones.

Ellie began to bop her head, silently urging you to dance along with her. She creeped her way closer to you, eventually landing a hand on your hip and zapping all your nerves with excitement. You swayed your hips and sang the words you knew, holding her vision, unable to contain your smile.

Soon her waist was against yours, moving in sync with your maneuvering hips. She was so close and yet so far, everywhere and no where. Her tongue darted out to wet her full lips, before her teeth pinched her bottom lip and her eyes fell to watch your pelvis's dance as one. Both of her hands had a grip on your waist, and guided you along with her. You didn't know if you were sweating because of dancing, or because of her. She reached the shell of your ear, "Fuck you make me so hot."

As she pulled away her lips lightly dusted your neck, but not enough to kiss you, teasing you to see if you'd take her bait (as if you hadn't at her dumb joke).

It was time for you to get handsy. One set of fingers was resting in the crook of her neck, the other gently holding her jaw, meanwhile you both lightly bounced to the beat. Your heart was hammering against your chest so intensely it made your ribs ache, and your stomach begin to do summersaults. Somehow you felt all of this through the gin and tonic numbing most of your logic and muscles. That somehow was Ellie. She made you feel alive.

That shit eating grin reappeared on her pretty lips again, and you surveyed them for a beat before reconnecting your gaze. She was clever and quickly noticed what you were hinting at, letting her own eyes flicker from your lips and back, then arching a brow. When she noticed you slowly leaning in, she followed suit.

The thick, tense, smokey air between your lips was bridged, and in that same instant your spine shivered as goosebumps littered your skin. As you expected you tasted alcohol, weed faintly in the background. She found a sweet balance between firm and gentle, wet and dry, soft and chapped. You never wanted to leave this moment.

But alas, you had to pull away at some point, immediately noticing the expansion in her pupils and the giddy smile on her cheeks. She leaned near your ear again, "Let's get out of here."

You didn't need telling twice.

With a quick pit stop at the bar, Ellie kindly paid for both your drinks and then you were outside into the bitter night air. To keep yourself warm you lit one of your final cigarettes. Again, Ellie found her way next to you, snaking her arm across the small of your back and onto your hip, keeping you close to her as you walked to the bus stop.

There had to be some sort of morbid curiosity to smoking a cigarette, especially in the cold, watching as the smoke doubled against the chilled wind and holding yourself close. You wouldn't dare buy another pack, but for the ambiance (and truthfully to impress Ellie some) you enjoyed it while you could. 

Speaking of the freckled girl, you began to learn how sneaky she was, swooping in while your cigarette was still between your lips and plucking it from you before you finished your drag. You kissed your teeth at her and snipped a small, 'hey!' but she didn't mind you too much. The end of the cancer stick burned a bright red as she took a long, deep hit, then she flicked it away. Her hand guided your expression to her's, then pressed her tender lips to yours once again, before blowing her smoke into your mouth.

"Those'll kill ya." she whispered.

"You're a little hypocrite, you know that?"

"If you say so, pretty girl."

The bus pulled up just as you arrived at the bus stop.

-

Ellie's apartment was closer, and to make up for her kindness at the bar you paid your bus wages. At her apartment she apologized for the mess and offered you some water or tea.

"Tea? That sounds pretty good, what kind do you have?" You rested your folded arms on her kitchen counter, overlooking the sink to watch her putter around near the fridge.

"None actually, people don't ask me for tea. I hope water is okay," she searched around her fridge, "I have two beers left if you want one of those."

"It would feel weird if we didn't share your last two beers."

"Good point."

The remaining amber bottles were taken from their chilled home and placed upon the counter. Ellie popped the lids by catching them on the edge (some chips already evident where she had opened bottles before). You toasted to the two of you and took a quick swig.

Now, she joined you on the opposite end of the sink, leaning against the counter and watching your eyes and lips as you two got to know each other better.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to open these with your teeth," you commented. A smile was stuck on your expression as if you had locked eyes with medusa - that medusa being Ellie who also couldn't stop biting her lip and smiling.

"I didn't know you could do that..." she panned down to her shoes for a moment and chuckled, "but, my mouth can do a few other things."

When a dainty pink tickled her cheeks you grew stunned. All evening she had been shamelessly flirting and joking with you, being sexy to say the least. But this was what made her bashful? Every passing second with her was like unlocking a new chapter to her personality.

You stepped closer, eyeing her from bottom to top, noticing her toned thighs and her faint abs just barely imprinting through her shirt, "Why don't you show me then?"

Both of your bottles were left to grow warm on the counter, your bodies crawling closer to one another as a lustful heat settled over your figures. Her lips were right there, ready for you to swoop in and envelope them in a zestful kiss...until-

"Wait here."

She lightly jogged around the counter again and dug around in her fridge, leaving you high and dry. For the first time that evening you felt a zing of irritation itch at your chest. Growing tired, you rested your head on your palm and waited as she instructed.

The light from the fridge disappeared as the door closed, and Ellie stood in front of it with a cherry between her fingers. She ate the cherry, spat out the pit, and then rested the stem on her tongue. Within a few seconds, she had a knotted cherry stem presented to you, and plucked it from her mouth for you to inspect. Once more you found yourself at a loss for words and just giggling uncontrollably.

"You do this with all the girls you bring home?" You teased, secretly tucking the stem away in your pocket as a keepsake.

Sensually, Ellie found herself near you again, her palm comfortably resting on your hip and sneaking toward your ass, "No actually, just you."

You playfully agreed with her and made an effort to resume where the direction of the night was heading, hooking your arms around her neck.

Ellie got the hint, "Anyway...let me show you what my mouth can really do."

In that same second her lips were latched to yours. Your core grew hot and slick embarrassingly fast, your knees like pudding and your brain melting like butter in a hot pan. She kissed you like this was the last time she would ever kiss anyone, like all her hook ups and steamy make out sessions before we're prepping her for your lips. For this night.

Suddenly she pulled away, a feeble string of saliva attached to both your lips. Her hands had wandered to your ass, one on your thigh tapping lightly, "Jump."

Rightfully so, you shot her a look of distrust, but she held your eyes confidently. If she didn't catch you, you'd just blame it on being drunk.

But she did.

And she had your legs wrapped around her torso, holding you tightly and kissing you that much more deeply as she took to her bedroom.

In one impressing swift motion she had you against the pillows and hovered over you. Both your legs were still propped by her waist and your hands explored beneath her shirt, quickly finding out she wore no bra. While your hands adventured across her strong stature, her tongue adventured in your mouth. Soon her fingers were unbuttoning your pants.

Briefly she pulled away, "Let me know if you want me to stop, and I will."

You whined, "God, please don't."

Pleased, she ran her tongue across her teeth, sending another ripple of arousal toward your thighs. She shimmied closer toward your pelvis, and kindly helped you out of your pants, then your panties.

Despite a shimmer of sweat coating your skin, the air whisking around her apartment still made you mewl when it crossed your center.

"Everything alright?" Her eyes watched you attentively.

"Y-yeah, just cold."

Those bright, grassy eyes shifted, becoming dark and nearly consumed by her pupil at the sight between your legs, "You don't need to worry about that babe."

Next she dipped down, running her tongue along your thigh and smiling sinisterly when you shuddered. Then her tongue dipped into your folds, making a searing, slippery path to your needy clit. Instinctively you hissed and tried to snap your legs shut, but her strength (which she had proudly displayed earlier) kept them exactly where she wanted them.

She met your gaze through the valleys and hills of your body, eyes still a tint of red, but now blown out like an apex predator who spotted their dinner, "Don't hold back, I wanna hear everything."

Your fists had a mighty grip on the sheets and your face was already on fire, but you nodded and grew more comfortable against her pillows.

Before you knew it she was back between your thighs. Her tongue was like a blistering knife cutting through ice cream, only incredibly wet. She swirled her tongue so expertly it had you panting and scratching at the fabric below you. You didn't see how it was possible you were growing more aroused, but your naval was burning at outstanding temperatures and left you nearly blissed out.

"Ah, oh fuck Ellie! Right there - yes."

Thighs already trembling, fingers pulling her strands from her bun, and jaw slack - you were so close to being fucked out, and it felt like you had just begun. She hadn't even used her fingers yet, and it didn't seem like she intended to either, which frazzled your body even more.

Ellie noticed your thighs twitching and knew they were weak. Holding them apart would take a lot more work than pushing them against your chest, so she shoved your limbs against your torso, digging her nails into your plush flesh.

"Oh god..." you gasped, eyes falling back into your head.

Her plump, glossed lips secured around your throbbing clit, sending you to another level of pleasure you didn't think you'd reach. Your orgasm was pooling in your groin, close to a boil and sweet like the finest syrup.

And your naval grew warmer and warmer and hotter and hotter and wetter and wetter until your climax shattered through you.

"I'm cumming- fuck don't stop Ellie!"

You felt limp and electrified at the same time, back peeling from the sheets and head getting lost further into the pillows. The moans working past your lips were unapologetic and unstoppable, like your hips jutting against Ellie's face.

When your orgasm had subsided, you felt like a sticky, sweaty, sensitive mess. Every time Ellie's tongue worked around your cunt to clean up the mess she made, your body jolted, and she soothed you by gently rubbing your thighs.

Finally, she rested your legs against the bed and crawled back over you. Her hair was as messy as yours, cheeks just as pink and smile just as loopy, the only difference was the coat of slick on her lips and chin.

"C'mere gorgeous, taste yourself."

Sloppily you exchanged a kiss, letting your tongues slide past one another and feeling along each other's sweaty physiques. You both pulled away and sucked in a deep breath.

Giggling, you hummed, "Goddamn...I don't know if I can match that."

Tucking some sticky strands behind her ear, she replied, "Let me ride your thigh and we'll call it even."

"Deal."

A new wave of energy took over your bodies and had you leaping at one another. Another hot kiss was shared as you aided her out of her jeans and planted her on your slightly propped knee.

"Take your shirt off hot stuff, I wanna play with your tits." Ellie instructed, tugging at the garment until you discarded it, "Fuck, you're so hot."

You reciprocated her words and let your hands fall to her hips, urging her to guide her core along your muscle, and when you did you groaned along with her.

Feeling her heat against your warm skin was something you didn't think you'd experience, but you were already addicted - completely and totally under the influence of Ellie.

"Yeah, that's it. How's that feel sugar?" You cooed, massaging her hips and waist.

She hummed and reached out for your chest, taking your breasts into her large palms, "So fucking good - hgnn!"

Now her slick was starting to leave a thick, silky layer on your thigh which helped her grind down easier along your limb. With each push and pull of her hips she whimpered a little louder, her freckled skin grew a little pinker, and her lids grew a tad heavier.

You could tell she was getting tired, "C'mon baby, you can do it."

To help, you pressed your leg up against her as she rode down against it, hoping to amplify her pleasure. Her hands that had consistently groped and toyed with your nipples trailed down to your torso to steady herself. She swiveled her hips up and down your leg faster and harder, no longer whimpering but panting.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck-!" She chanted, thick brows pulling into the center and pressing her lips into a fine line.

Then her groin began to stutter, her rolling hips were now sloppy, desperate strokes. When her breath got caught in her throat and she dropped her head you knew she was reaching her climax. To aid her you tried to press your leg against her, which made her shiver and yelp when she grew too sensitive.

"Holy shit..." she sighed, definitely exhausted.

You pulled her into your chest and held her for a moment, sharing a quick kiss before both taking up respective room on her bed.

Unable to keep your eyes off her, you lolled your head to the side to watch her. She seemingly had the same idea, because her eyes were already studying you.

"Share my last cigarette with me?"

Ellie laughed, "Why the hell not?"

You searched around in your pockets for the smoke, your lighter, and snagged her bedside ashtray before sinking back into the sheets. Compared to your first cigarette, the burn wasn't as intense, in fact it was almost welcomed. Still, you'd never smoke another one again.

Ellie had sat up and began to undress her upper body, "Why do you have single cigarettes and not a pack?"

"Why are you getting naked?"

She shrugged, "Didn't want you to feel left out, and I'm sweating."

You nodded, handing her the smoke, answering her question:

"I can legally buy cigarettes now, so I did. I took a couple and gave the rest away."

Her eyes widened at you, "Its your birthday?!" You hummed, "Well then...happy birthday. I hope it was a good one."

The cigarette fell back to your lips, "Definitely."

[autisticrosewilson]

Feel Better

Connected JayGrant pieces from an AU where Grant moves to Gotham after he runs away from home. Content warning for implied/mentioned death (Felipe Garzonas, Jason's, and Grant's), Needles, drug use??? It's Grant taking the super soldier serum but the parallels are there, Grant has some mildly sexual/possessive thoughts about Jason, nonsexual intimacy, angst because what else do I write, and very vague timelines. Mentioned JadeRoy/Jade is pregnant. Roy's addiction is also mentioned in passing. Underage drinking + Grant trying to initiate things while he's drunk but Jason doesn't let him. @perseus-jackass IT'S DONE I'M FINALLY DONE

"Thank you, Miss Montoya." Jason grins, the polite fake one he wears at parties that make all the old ladies coo and pinch his cheeks.

Grant tries to keep his focus on not putting too much of his weight on Jason, lest they both fall over.

Jason seems to have no such problem, dragging Grant along with an ease that he might have questioned if he were sober. As it stands, he thinks it's really hot.

"I'll make sure he gets home safe." Jason promises, still sweet talking even though they're off the hook, have been since Jason strided over with that pinched expression and started scolding him about being out so late.

It's amazing how much preconceived notions can affect your judgement, how quick the officer is to glance over all the signs that Jason had certainly been at that party too.

He doesn't blame her, Jason is a very good actor. Fuckin' nerd.

They're far enough away now that Jason has dropped the ploy, although he still seems a little annoyed. Grant wants to kiss the pout off his lips.

"What part of 'Scatter! The police are here!' didn't occur to you?" He complains.

"Was tired," Grant whines, "'sides, you saved me. It's all good baby." He grins, goofy and delighted.

Jason's cheeks flush the same way they always do when Grant calls him one of those "cliche" pet names he always complains about.

"Well, next time I might not be there to save you." He huffs, mostly giving up on scolding.

Grant hums, puts more of his weight on Jason that his boy just takes, rests his cheek against Jason's curls and tries not to make the fact that he's definitely smelling his hair obvious. Seems to fail by the sound of Jason's put upon sigh.

Grant wants to hear him make those noises for other reasons.

"Course you will," he lets his voice drop to a lower register, bites back a grin at the little shudder it earns him, "m not lettin' you go anywhere. You're stuck with me." He promises, leans down to press kisses to the parts of Jason's face he can reach. His forehead, the curve of his cheek bone, the corner of his lips.

He wonders if he could taste the rum and coke he'd managed to coax Jason into sipping, wonders if he could make Jason taste like fireball just by kissing him. Wants so bad to try but Jason cups his face gently, brushing a thumb over his jaw to stop him.

"You're drunk, Grant." Jason tries to convince him, firm but not unkind.

"And?" Grant says distractedly, wrapping his arms around Jason's waist to pull him in.

"You can't...make decisions right now." Jason tries again, squirming against him to try to escape the hold, doing the very opposite of making him want to let go.

Grant thinks that's a moot point. He always wants Jason, he thought he was pretty clear on that front. Maybe he needs to show him? He leans down to pull Jason into a kiss that tastes like cherry coke and bubble gum, chases it with his tongue to work cheap vodka into the mix, almost falls over when Jason detangles them.

"Time to get you home." Jason insists.

Oh right, Jason doesn't like when Grant tries to get them a public indecency charge. The press would explode if they caught Gotham's golden boy swapping spit with a nobody degenerate like him.

He huffs, let's Jason heft him along, doesn't realize he's scowling until Jason is pressing sweet little kisses to his jaw and nose and forehead. He melts, losing his previous train of thought immediately as he tries to chase after Jason's mouth. Jason swats him away with a laugh that Grant wants to taste. A cycle that repeats all six blocks back to Grant's apartment.

Jason gets in easily and Grant doesn't even wonder how he got a key.

"You comin' to bed, honey?" Grant teases sweetly, crowding Jason against the door the second it closes.

Jason fixed him with a fond, stern look, and ducks beneath his arm. "Go change, I'll bring you something to eat." He urges.

Grant strips to his briefs and goes starfish mode on the bed. Jason snorts when he walks in, water bottle in one hand and a bowl of fruit in the other.

Jason hand feeds him, at Grants insistence, he smacks Grant lightly whenever his tongue darts out to catch the juice on his fingers, looks a little more like he wants to smother Grant's unrepentantly salacious grin with every passing second.

Grant could definitely make an innuendo out of all this, but Jason might actually leave.

Instead he catches Jason's hand gently and presses a kiss to his palm, bringing it down to splay on his chest so Jason can feel his heartbeat. Watches how Jason softens and gives to the pull, climbing up beside him to replace his hand with his head, arm thrown around his waist.

"Don't suppose you'd be willing to strip too?" He murmurs.

"Maybe tomorrow if you ask real nicely." Jason snorts.

"I ain't good with manners." He doesn't care to keep the southern drawl out of his voice, mentally notes the way it makes Jason's breath hitch.

There is a silence where Jason's lips are pursed so tight Grant knows he's keeping back a remarks that wouldn't befit Jason Wayne.

"I'll be here when you wake up, if you need to be taught." Is what he says eventually.

Grant grins tangling his fingers in Jason's curls, resists the urge to pull just to hear the sounds he'll make.

"Love you too, Jace." He mutters and can't help the laugh at the way it makes Jason bury his face in Grant's ribs to hide the flush that's creeping up to his ears.

He's not gentle, but he could be.

Grant thinks he is, and Jason hopes he never figures out the truth.

So he smiles placidly when Grant offers him the cigarette, "I don't smoke." The anymore goes unheard, because Jason Wayne would never smoke, or draw blood with his teeth or try to steal the tires from the Batmobile.

Grant doesn't know about Jason Todd, not entrenched long enough in the socialite circles of their peers to know anything about Jason's before. This is a mercy, rare as those are. There is nothing to obstruct the sweet, dull thing that he has made of himself.

"Course you don't," Grant grins, crooked and mischievous and nowhere near as sharp as he pretends it is, "the world might stop turning if Gotham's golden boy was caught doing something so uncouth." It's more self-deprecating than mocking, convinced that he's the worst thing Jason has ever done. It's cute, but mostly sad.

Jason stays quiet, let's Grant believe that he's the bad boy between the two of them. Hides his sharp teeth behind a soft smile, keeps all the molten anger that coils in his gut at bay, where it can't hurt anyone.

He's not soft, or sweet, or good. But he wants to be, and he's done a good job playing the part so far.

Grant blinks awake to the sound of his window sliding open, immediately on high alert. The person enters gracefully, if panicked, and the first thing his sleep blurred vision makes out is the bright yellow cape falling over their shoulders, the second are the blank white lenses of a domino mask.

Robin, undoubtedly. Although Grant can't fathom why he'd be here.

He's never actually seen the hero up close before, although he swings past Grant's window every night and he's on the news often enough.

He'd always looked small next to Batman but on his own- well he's still pretty small, surprisingly scrawny too, with dark hair that curls.... distinctively.

"Grant..." Robin trails off and he knows that voice, although he's never heard it sound so small.

"Jay?" He scrambles out of bed, sheets tangled around his legs as he struggles to get across the room. Jason doesn't look hurt but that doesn't mean anything. He could be- Grant doesn't even know. Jason is Robin, he faces Gothams worst every fucking night.

First things first, getting Jason out of the rain soaked Robin uniform. He must be freezing, it's amazing he hasn't caught a cold yet in those tiny shorts of his.

He could have internal bleeding or broken bones or he could be dosed with something or, fuck, what if there's magic involved? Grant doesn't know how to handle that. But Jason came to him and he'll be damned if he doesn't try.

(Grant will shove all the feelings that come with thinking about them down very far for as long as he possibly can.)

"Are you hurt?" Seems as good a place as any to start.

Jason shakes his head despondently. Grant vaguely knows that look, the same one Joey had when he woke up in the ER, dissociation the doctor had said.

"...Is someone trying to hurt you?" Grant keeps his breathing even, tries to keep the anger that sparks at the very notion out of his expression.

(Jason can probably see it anyway though because he's fucking Robin, holy shit.)

Another shake of his head that has the tension reluctantly bleeding from Grant's shoulders. That will need to be good enough for now.

"Okay- fuck, alright. Uh, let's, let's get you a bath and then into some dry clothes." He breathes, tries to keep all of the many, many questions at bay. Guides Jason to the bathroom with a gentle grip on his hand.

First he peels the wet gloves off, they're not as rubbery as Grant thought they'd be and the pads are rough, probably for better grip. Then he unlatches the ridiculously bright cape and lets it pool on the floor, soon joined by the red tunic and the surprisingly heavy utility belt, until Jason is just in those little green shorts that Grant is still definitely not thinking about. They quickly join the pile and it's easier than he thought to avoid looking at anything below the waste because-

Jason has so many scars. Maybe more than Grant himself. He probably should have suspected that, but the idea of anything getting close enough to hurt Jason, to dig into his soft skin and leave a mark, still sends a wave of revulsion rolling through him that steals his breath away. His breath catches and he practically picks Jason up to settle him gently into the tub, still only a quarter full of water. He makes the executive decision to squeeze half the bottle of vanilla honey bubble solution into the water, watching the foam build and spread.

Jason brings his knees to his chest, resting his head atop them as he levels a blank look at the tile. Grant swallows thickly trying to blink away the image of a different boy, scrawny and despondent with tear rimmed eyes.

He makes a mental note to introduce Joey and Jason one day, can't help but think they'd like each other.

He cups his hands beneath the water, brings up a handful of suds that he lets cascade down Jason's back and shoulders, presses a kiss to the back of his neck at the visual shudder that wracks his body.

Even the rain water in Gotham is tainted with murky pollution that tints it slightly. Grant rakes a washcloth down Jason's arms and is reminded of those dish soap commercials with the baby birds after oil spills. Has to bite back the grin that threatens to quirk his lips at the thought because Jason might think he's laughing at him.

Grant hadn't even realized when he stopped making jokes at Jason's expense, when he stopped using jabs just a little too mean to be friendly to protect himself. When he'd stopped making jokes about him and started making jokes for him, because his smile drives the Gotham smog away in an instant and his laughter rings like birdsong and church bells.

The realization makes his hands shake but he doesn't stop the easy, repetitive motions. Gently coaxing Jason out of his ball so he can work away at the grime with gentle scrubbing.

"I killed someone." Is the first thing Jason says to him after going on 20 minutes of silence.

Grant's breath hitches, mind scrambling over the words, before he exhales. Thinks of how to comfort someone whose hands have just been soaked in blood for the first time. Metaphorically. He chances a glance back to the Robin uniform, still clean aside from the rainwater.

"I don't regret it." He adds absently, still staring at the wall. "He deserved it Grant." Jason finally looks him in the eye, fierce conviction and panic, but no guilt, no shame. "He- what he did- they just let him go! And she couldn't even- sh-she-" he breaks off into sniffles, eyes becoming glassy and cheeks flushing with distress.

Well, there goes that issue. Idly, Grant thinks that Jason is pretty when he cries. Feels a flare of jealousy that it's because of someone else, breathes past the possessive anger. Acknowledges the guilt all of this brings and then promptly shoves it all down.

He's not important right now, Jason is.

"I believe you." Is what Grant says out loud, steady and firm. Jason isn't who Grant thought he was, but he'd still like to think he knows him well enough to know that he wouldn't do something like this if he didn't think it was necessary.

Jason looks at him, analysing, searching, with the kind of intensity Grant used to brush off. (He wonders what Jason knows about him, how much he's seen because Grant didn't know how much he had to hide.)

He seems to find what he was looking for, he sniffles and then lets himself lean into Grant. It's a little awkward with the cold edge of the tub between them, wedged in their sides, but Grant doesn't mind.

...Does Jason need help hiding the body? Did someone see him? Is someone looking for him? Does he need somewhere to disappear-

"What do you need from me, Jay?" He murmurs, chin resting atop Jason's wet curls.

Jason shudders, stays silent for a moment. "He won't let me be Robin anymore." Jason whispers eventually. "He- B won't- he'll kick me out."

The root of the problem then. There's a lot of implications there that Grant can't hope to unpack right now. "Do you wanna stay with me?" He's already thinking of the logistics, would Batman try to put him in jail? Grant doesn't think so, that would put his identity in question. So he can probably keep going to school without worry but just in case Grant should probably work on a new identity for him, not that he thinks for a second Batman would be fooled. He's fucking Batman.

"...Just for the weekend?" Jason asks, as though he's worried Grant would turn the request down.

Honestly, he's more upset that Jason is planning on leaving than he would be if Jason told him he was moving in tonight.

"Whatever you want." Is what he voices instead, because Jason has never done well with being ordered around.

Jason relaxes with a bereft sigh, tension bleeding out as he trusts all his weight to Grant. He takes it, pays no mind to the water seeping through his clothes, continues his task of washing away the gunk that Gotham has left on his boy.

"My mom's alive." Jason repeats numbly.

Grant stares at him blankly, still clutching the bowl of cereal that's already starting to turn soggy. "...is that a good thing?" He squints at Jason like the action will let him read him better.

"I don't know." He admits. "She's not- not the woman who raised me. I don't know her name but it starts with an S. Found my dad's phone book. Apparently he...knew a lot of interesting people." He explains.

"Are you going to find her?" Grant guesses, he doesn't look particularly happy about it.

"Hopefully. There are three potential candidates but them being in my dad's phone book doesn't really mean anything." He shrugs. "It's the best lead I have though." He tries to sound a little more determined than he feels.

"and if you don't find her? If it's a dead end?" Grant urges, fingers curled tight enough around the bowl Jason worries for a moment it will break.

"Then I come back here." He swallows thickly. "If you'll let me." He can't bring himself to meet Grant's eyes.

The bowl gets set down on the table and Grant closes the distance between them. He intertwines their fingers, brings the back of Jason's hand to his mouth to press a kiss there that makes something hot and fluttery squirm in his chest, makes his face flush and his eyes dart up to Grant's.

"I'll leave the window unlocked." Grant grins, sweet and promising. A safe place to land.

"I'll be home soon." Jason promises.

Grant can't look at the picture of him and Jason together. Happy and together and alive. They'd gone to the arcade that day, Jason had ditched his uniform and was dressed down in baggy jeans and a metal band T-shirt Grant had been surprised he listened to. A surprisingly good imitation of street wear, Grant had thought.

He has to shove the picture face down. Jason doesn't need to see this.

Deep down, Grant knows Jason wouldn't want this. Might actually hate him for it. But he's not here, so Grant searches for the right vein and pushes the needle through, keeping still even as the cold liquid flows through his veins, leaving a faint burning. The injection spot will hurt for a few days, and when the ache stops he'll know to use the next dose.

He'd been hesitant to follow so close in his father's tracks, but Grant knows what he's doing. The Joker will pay, and inevitably so will Batman. He'll make sure of it.

There's a knock at his bedroom door. He lives in a new apartment now, somewhere in Jump far from the dregs of Gotham and Jason's tainted memory. Jade is leaning against the frame when he looks up, eyebrow raised and lips pursed in disapproval that reminds him too much of his mother.

Cheshire is an unconventional roommate, but a good ally, and occasionally a decent friend. Now is clearly not one of those instances.

"You're an idiot." She tells him conversationally, still somehow intimidating with cookie monster pajama pants and a baby bump.

"Right back at ya." He deadpans, packing away his little kit.

"That shits gonna kill you one day." She scolds. "Something tells me your boyfriend wouldn't be keen on you joining him so soon."

It's a low blow.

"Don't talk about him like you knew him." He grits. "You don't know what he'd want." It's a weak argument, even to him.

"I know that you loved him, and he probably loved you. And you don't want to see the people you love deteriorating on the other side of a needle." She vivisects him with her eyes, dark and brown and so similar to Jason's that he can hardly stand to meet them.

He knows she's speaking from experience, and not for the first time he wants to punch Roy Harper.

"it's not the same and you know it." He argues.

"Isn't it? You look like shit. You get worse every week. The last time you used your stupid fucking powers you passed out mid battle and I had to drag you out." She hisses.

"I know what I'm doing." He insists.

"I might not be there to save you next time." She rolls her eyes, sends him one last look he can't quite decipher, and leaves.

"I know what I'm doing." He repeats, quieter, reassuring himself or maybe Jason. He doesn't really know anymore.

Kentucky is dry and hot, but after spending so long in the desert it hardly bothers him anymore. He gets odd looks from the passerby, he can't blame them. He's a lot bigger than he used to be, broad and scarred and just a little uncanny to look at.

This is a small town, barely 200 people and mostly made of suburban neighborhoods as far as the eye can see.

He doesn't plan to be here long.

There's one cemetery in the town, it's been there about as long as the town itself and there are rumors that the groundskeeper might be immortal for how long the lady has been tending to it.

The grave he's looking for is on the far right, as far away from the graves of Slade's parents as possible.

The marker is slanted, paradiso granite with zinnias carved into the corners.

Grant Wilson

•Son• •Brother• •Friend•

It hurts to look at. Steals his breath away and makes something deep in his chest ache like a bruise that's been pressed too hard. He has to take a minute to breathe past the grief that's festering behind his ribs.

He crouches down in front of it when he's sure he won't lose his balance and curl up on the dirt. He has a death grip on the bouquet, mangling the poor stems.

"Grant you idiot," Jason sniffles, "you couldn't've waited just a few more months?" He huffs, it's wet and sounds as pathetic as he feels.

They could have put the clown down together, and Grant would've never been anywhere near that fucking cult.

He sets the colorful bundle down with shaking hands, pansies and hyacinths and Cyclamens that Jason had only just managed to pick out through his blurry vision.

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there when the presence makes itself known. Long enough for his knees to sink into the soft dirt and the sky to darken with incoming rain. He's been aware of the eyes on him but he hadn't really cared.

Slade doesn't say anything for a while, just stares at the grave.

"How did you come back?" He doesn't pull his punches, when he finally speaks.

"I don't know." He shrugs, the same answer he's given every league doctor and magician that interrogated him. "I crawled out of my grave catatonic six months after I was buried. Talia found me, tried to heal me naturally and when that didn't work..." He trails off thinking of the burning green that had stolen death from his clutches.

"The Pit." Slade finishes for him. "It didn't bring you back?" It's as desperate as Jason has ever heard Deathstroke sound, and he can't even bring himself to enjoy it.

"I'd already be digging if it could." Jason admits, focusing on the plaque and not the dirt under his nails.

It's not your grave, he reminds himself. It doesn't help.

(He almost wishes it was)

"You still planning to get revenge on the Bat?" Slade cuts to the chase. At Jason's suspicious look he shrugs. "Talia said you're looking for teachers."

Of course she did.

"Batman doesn't know what he's doing. Gotham needs someone who can do what needs to be done. I intend to be that person." He confirms.

"And that means you have to be better than the Bat." Slade follows the logic. "I can help make that happen." He mutters almost to himself. "Are you gonna kill him?" It's mocking, a subtle dare. It reminds him of Grant, and that's the only reason he hesitates.

"No," he says eventually ignoring the inelegant snort from Slade, "someone else would just take his place. Dick or one of the new kids. If I want them out of the way I'll have to make their alter egos inaccessible. I've got a plan though. It'll take some time, a shit ton of undercover work, but I think you'll enjoy the amount of explosions." He finally pushes himself up to stand, ignoring the ache in his knees.

Slade hums consideringly but seems to agree. He turns his back to Jason without another word, clearly expecting him to follow.

What Talia probably left out is his penchant for killing his teachers. It's times like these having friends to keep him in the loop might be helpful, but Slade is always so keen on pushing others away. It's a weakness Jason was banking on when he booked the flight to bumfuck nowhere Kentucky.

Something he'd never told Grant was that sometimes it's better to be underestimated. To let people think that you're soft and sweet and gentle. If you hang your head in deference no one thinks to look for your teeth.

"You got something you wanna call yourself?" Slade asks as he starts the car.

"Shrike." He grins, as the car starts and they leave the cemetery behind.

[words-4u]

blind date (not really)

pairing: christian pulisic (romantic), ben chilwell (platonic)

wc: 848

a/n: this is based on prompt from @jasminesfury

getting set up for a blind date but turns out they’ve had a one-night stand before

“i genuinely can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this,” you said into your phone. you were sitting at your vanity getting ready for a date that your friend has set up. why you trust ben chilwell that much, you’ll never understand but here you were getting ready to spend the evening with someone you know nothing about.

“c’mon, y/n, you have to live a little. when was the last time you made a fulfilling connection with someone?” ben’s voice filled your room.

“i’ll have you know i make some very fulfilling connections with people,” you smirked.

you let out a laugh when he groaned at your insinuation. “i am trying to help you here! listen, y/n/n, you deserve to be happy and i’m sorry but having random guys in and out of your bed isn’t make you happy.”

“oh but this date tonight will?” you retort.

“maybe… the point is that you don’t know cause you don’t go on dates and give yourself that chance. also, i know this lad and he’s so nice he wouldn’t even hurt a fly.”

ben had come into your life unexpectedly a couple of years ago when you met at a random event in london. he had spilled a drink on your dress and gave you his jacket to cover up. you’d think that’d be the perfect meet-cute right? wrong. the two of you hit off in a very platonic way as you were fairly new to the city and he assumed the role of a city guide and as months went on, an older brother.

“you’re selling him so hard right now, he better live up to it,” you singsong as you applied a layer of lipgloss. you grabbed your bag and shoved some important items in there, gum being the most important.

you gave your outfit the once-over happy with what you pulled together. an all-black fit is what you loved to wear most despite it looking very morbid.

“i’m just about done chilly so i’m gonna head out but i’ll call you later, yeah?” you said with a finger hovering over the ‘end call’ button.

“sounds good. look, i’ve already sent over the restaurant he’s meeting you at so have fun and be nice…”

“aren’t i always?” you smile sweetly and pressed the red button ending the call.

in about 5 minutes flat you were in an uber heading over to an italian restaurant that ben had suggested. as you sat in silence while radio music played in the background, you made a mental list of what you actually know about this mystery guy. you knew that he was a friend of ben’s, that he was relatively attractive because ben swore he was “your type to a t” and that’s pretty much it.

you were looking forward to the date because deep down ben was right, you were tired of having random hookups. you wanted something that lasted. someone that was yours.

the car slowly came to a stop signalling that you arrived at your destination, snapping out of your thoughts you thanked the driver and headed inside.

you pulled out your phone and texted your date.

you walked into the dimly lit restaurant making your way around busy tables to get to the bar. you were about to whip out your phone and text the number ben slid you a couple of hours ago before you spotted a very familiar face…

before you could think of your next move, the man looked up and your eyes locked. you watched as the same realization crept in. ben had set you up with his teammate christian pulisic.

you pressed your lips trying to stifle a laugh because once again ben was right. christian definitely was your type which is why you hooked up with him… a month ago.

since he worked with ben and you were his friend, you decided to leave it as a one-night stand and never discuss it again.

he looked good, you thought. you’d always found it hot when he let his beard grow in.

“y/n,” he breathed getting off the cushiony stool and making his way to you. “you are…”

“you’re blind date? i am,” you couldn’t help but grin. now that you knew who ben had set you up with you were giddy. you’d always wanted to explore things further with christian but never did because you were too busy living your best single life but you’d be extremely dumb to pass up this opportunity.

you shifted uncomfortably under his hungry gaze. “are you happy it’s me?”

“are you kidding? I’ve never been happier about anything,” he said and you believed him. “you haven’t left my mind since that night.”

that confession only widened your grin as you looked away for a moment before echoing his sentiment. “and as much as i tried, you haven’t left my mind either.”

christian smiled widely as he held out his hand. “in that case, y/n, would you like to go on a date with me?”

you placed your hand in his. “thought you’d never ask.”

hope you enjoyed xx if you want to send in a request you can do it through my bio!!

[player1064]

Literally obsessed with the ask fics you’ve been doing, thank you 🥰 my suggestion to throw in is something on Jamie being whipped as hell…. I just love that as a concept and the latest STF where Gary’s instinct is to demand he provide him with clothing alternatives made me think of it hehe… like something regarding everyone knowing Jamie’s basically at his beck and call

JAMIE! IS! SO! WHIPPED!!!!! this is honestly such a core part of my carraville belief system anyway like ngl I do try sprinkle a bit of it into most of my fics so YES I loved writing this!!!

---

“Alright guys, we’ve got a fifteen minute break and then I need you all back in your seats,” a producer calls out once they’ve cut to the match.

Immediately, everyone on the set of Monday Night Football starts bustling around, setting up equipment or wandering over to the craft table for something to eat or drink.

Jamie rushes off without a word, and David stands up to do the same but ends up hovering awkwardly next to the desk when Gary doesn’t move from his seat, just gets his iPad out from under and starts to type furiously on the little bluetooth keyboard.

“You’re not coming for a coffee?”

“Huh?” Gary blinks up at him. “Oh, no, Carra’ll get me one.”

David gives Gary a disbelieving look but goes off to get his own refreshments anyway. By the time he gets back, Jamie’s wordlessly setting a mug down next to Gary’s elbow, along with a couple of custard creams. He doesn’t wait for Gary to acknowledge him (which he doesn’t), just sits back down in his seat and starts scrolling on his phone, glancing up across the desk with a smug smile when Gary picks up the mug to take a sip.

*

“Where the fuck is Jamie?” Gary asks as he whirls around Sky studios lobby, not stopping for long enough for anyone to actually respond. “James! James, you twat, where are ya, I ‘ave to be back in Manchester for five, can’t believe you’re makin’ me wait –”

“Alright, alright, keep your tits on,” Jamie says as he rushes in, coat only half pulled on. “Jesus, it’s your fault I’m late, y’know. You left your airpods in the dressing room, I ‘ad to go back and get them ‘fore I was stuck with your whining for the next four hour.”

Gary frowns, pats his pockets, then looks at Jamie bewildered when he finds nothing. Jamie drops the case into his hands.

“How’d you even –” he starts, but Jamie’s already hurrying towards the waiting car.

*

“I always get so hungry while we’re commentating, wish there was a – a runner, or somethin’, who could go get us some snacks.”

Jamie, who’d been about to start saying something into his mic, shoots Gary a glare and then starts raving about brilliant possession. While he’s talking, though, he uses his foot to push his bag out from under his seat and towards Gary, gives him a little kick in the ankle for emphasis.

When Gary opens the bag there’s a few packets of hula hoops, some chocolate bars, a packet of wine gums, a couple of apples which he studiously ignores, and some granola bars. He grabs a few things so that he doesn’t have to go rummaging again later, then holds out one of the chocolate bars to Jamie.

Jamie glances at the offering and shakes his head, waves it away. “Not big on sweets, am I?” he says once he’s put his microphone down.

*

“Jamie – Jamie, can you c’mere for a second?” asks Gary, waving him over to where he’s stood talking to Wrighty.

Jamie gets up from his seat and walks aver, looks between the two of them expectantly. “Yeah?”

Gary reaches up to pluck the glasses from his face, which gets almost no reaction from Jamie beyond a surprised blink when Gary’s hand first approaches him.

“See, Wrighty, look at this,” Gary says, as if Jamie were nothing more than a mannequin. “He’s way blinder than you or me, I dunno how ‘e’s not always crashing into things when he’s not got them on.”

“I think you’re right, check out the magnification on these things!”

*

“Ugh, Jesus, what kind of place only takes cash?” Roy complains, searching through his pockets to no avail. “And to only tell you after they’ve made your order, now I just look like a prick. Do either of you boys have any notes?”

Gary and Jamie both say no, and Roy’s about to turn back and go to the counter to tell this poor teenager that he can’t buy the food after all, when Gary squints at Jamie suspiciously then holds up a finger to say hold on to Roy.  

 “Shame, that, ‘cause them sandwiches look really good. An’ I only had a piece of toast at breakfast.”

“Not my fault you’ve not been grocery shopping in two weeks,” Jamie says, rolling his eyes. At the same time, though, he’s reaching into the pocket of his jeans for his wallet, pulling out a ten pound note and handing it to Gary.

Gary grins triumphantly and hands the note to Roy.

*

“Glad ‘e’s got too heavy to pick up now,” says Paul with a nod towards Gary. “Else he’d be jumping at us every time Salford scores.”

“Oi!” Gary reaches out to whack Scholesy in the arm. “I am not fuckin’ heavy, d’you mind? If I wanted to jump at people I’d jump at people, ta very much. I’m just more civilised now, like.”

“No, Gaz, y’just know that if you try it we’ll both end up on our arses looking like twats. You prob’ly don’t even have the leg strength to –”

“Jamie!” Gary cries out, interrupting him. “Jamie, go stand over there, would ya?”

Jamie raises an eyebrow at him but gets up off his seat and goes to the flat platform at the back of the stand. Gary follows, then without warning does a pathetic little run-up and launches himself into Jamie’s arms, his legs wrapped tight around him.

Jamie gives a little humph under his weight, which Gary ignores to raise his hands in the air in celebration. “Ha!” he says, “see, Scholesy, told you y’were talkin’ nonsense!”

“Gary, y’great lump, are you planning to stay up ‘ere much longer? Not sure my old man knees can take it.”

“Shush, you.”

Jamie shushes.

[nohoney]

anonymous said: Love love love your Us series! I wanted to know if y/n would ever go out and get back at keigo/touya by sleeping with someone else? Especially after they just continue to hurt her on purpose when they found out about the drugs. (From the prev dabbles)

note: the reader in the main series wouldn’t go through with it but let’s explore anyway if she at least attempted to (¬‿¬ ) this takes place just right after the reader leaves the bathroom in pt 2 but she and keigo don’t speak in the bathroom to make up

pt 1 / pt 2

warnings: infidelity, drug use, angst

“Fine. I was checking on you, but you don’t want me.”

You turn away quickly from him Keigo, leaving him behind and keeping in a cry when you hear him drag the girl he was with into the bathroom. Touya was already cruel enough to point out that Keigo had gone out of sight for quite a while. You’re not stupid; they’re both giving you payback.

I didn’t even fuck anyone! You loudly scream in your head.

But now you were wanting to.

It’s a horrible cycle that you are participating in but it’s just not fair that they can do this to you. You can’t stand the fact that they had to take it a step further to make you feel bad. You never even wanted Shigaraki for more than just a plug! It was mostly about drugs!

All you wanted was more drugs so that you would stop feeling so bad over them!

Why wasn’t you crying and apologizing enough for them?

Fuck returning to Touya and fuck Keigo for being the same cheating piece of shit.

It’s almost reminiscent of the very first party Touya took you to. You’re upset as you snag a bottle off the liquor table and disappear to the upstairs of this stupid house. On the way with the bottle, you spot a lonely young man nursing a red cup in his hand; he looks meek. You think he’ll do.

“Hey,” you approach him and don’t really care the way he jerks in surprise, “do you think I’m cute?”

You’re given a once over and his face flushes before answering, “Yeah. I think you’re-“

“Okay, come with me.” you’re pulling him with your free hand to a room at the end of the hallway. He’s sputtering behind you but you don’t really have a care as you take charge of pushing him into the bedroom. The door locks and you take off the cap off the bottle to drink straight from the lip.

Ugh, whiskey.

Just like the first time too.

The young man still holds his red cup and you don’t even bother to ask if he’d like any. Whiskey pours into the plastic, mixing with whatever alcohol he was nursing. Being a little drunk will be necessary to go through with this. Maybe also a little sniff too.

You sit close to a bedside table and lay your phone face up, pulling the cocaine from your pocket. It doesn’t occur to you that you do it without having a second thought at this point. To be able to get through your hard moments and when you need to collect yourself, coke had always done a better job of comforting you these days. You cut a line neatly before looking over to your company and offering him one as well, “You want? It’s good.”

He politely declines and he’s wary as you make a second one anyway. You inhale both of them and now you’re a little more sure of yourself. The numbness from when you gummed earlier in the bathroom is starting to wear off so you collect coke off your phone screen to numb the inside of your lip again.

“Drink.” You tell the young man as you raise the whiskey bottle to your lips. He obeys and you realize that this is the first time in a while you’ve had a guy ever listen to you. No questions or anything, just immediate obedience.

It felt… different.

Actually not different. Maybe a little familiar…

The whiskey burns down your throat and it’s not a pleasant taste with the drip at the back of your throat.

You pat the edge of the bed in indication for him to join you. Again, with no question or complaint, he does as told and sits right next to you. “I’m really mad,” you say out loud, “and I wanna do something about it.”

“Oh um… I’m sorry you’re mad.” he tells you with uncertainty of what his part is.

Already the alcohol makes you a little loose in your mind and you think this is a good idea to follow through with. You take another shot for courage before settling the bottle down on the floor and taking his cup from your hands. “You ever go down on a girl?” You ask him as you swirl the liquid in the red cup. He face flushes but he nods his head.

Silently you open your legs, your eyes flicking down to the space in between.

“You know, I think you’re drunk-“

You raise a finger to his lips to hush him, “I won’t ask a second time.”

There is something very different about ordering someone else around and being given what you want. It’s satisfying when he does as told, going on his knees before you and kissing along the inside of your thighs first. You lean back slightly, letting one hand to support your weight while you sip at the red cup. “Tell me I’m pretty.”

“You’re pretty… really pretty.” He whispers against your skin  before pushing your dress over your thighs. “You’re… you’re really hot.”

Your eyes flutter and you feel the coke in your brain now. It swims in your veins along with the whiskey. Your panties are pulled to the side and despite him being so shy initially, you gasp as you’re eaten out so sloppily.

He tongues at your clit and licks you up and down with enthusiasm that you wouldn’t have expected. A quiet fuck is gasped out by you and for a moment, you’re exhilarated. For a moment, you enjoy the talented tongue of a stranger on your pussy. For a moment, you forget how mad you were at Keigo-

But then you feel a soft bite to the inside of your thigh, lips closing around the skin and a soft sucking. It feels good and you think to let it happen but then you realize something. That even if you were to lord it over Touya or Keigo that you fucked someone back, you wouldn’t be able to keep this guy’s identity a secret. He’s innocent and unknowing of anything about you, just thinks you’re a random cute girl he’s getting lucky with. Because knowing your boys, they would find out who no matter what.

Touya’s already beat two men up over you, both way more than he really should have and you felt incredibly guilty when it happened both times.

They’d definitely hurt this poor guy.

You don’t want to do this after all.

“Don’t! Stop!” You jerk back and the red cup fumbles out of your hand. Whiskey spills all over you and all over the young man in front of you. You fumble apologies now that you realize what you’re doing. “I’m sorry! I don’t—I don’t want to anymore!”

He’s flustered too and he looks sorry, as if he thinks he had done something wrong.

Looks like you can’t give them a taste of their own medicine and a part of you is very upset over this fact. But you’re also too considerate to drag anyone innocent into your fucked up relationship with boyfriends.

Honestly, it is irritating that they don’t give the same courtesy to you. You’re upset because you feel guilty for attempting to cheat back and equally upset that you just can’t go through with it.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I not do it right?” He starts to ask.

“No! No, you’re actually good. Really good, truthfully.” you give him a genuine compliment over his performance, “I just can’t. My boyfriends would kill me.”

“Boyfriends? Plural?” He asks but the door knocks, and the both of you jerk in surprise.

“(Name)! Are you in there?”

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! It’s Touya!

You try to think quickly, looking around the room for any hiding spot. Whether for himself or you, you’re not sure yet. All there is a closet so you take the red cup and shove it in the guy’s hand, aggressively pointing to the closet for him to hide in, and again, he listens with no argument. Touya pounds on the door a few times and the lock starts to jiggle.

You take the whiskey bottle for one last big swig before placing the cap back on it.

The door swings open, a dent in the middle of the wood from Touya’s boot, and your boyfriends enter the room.

“Fucking hell! You had us worried and searching every goddamn room in this house!” Touya barks at you but you see that he’s more relieved than angry. His eyes naturally draw to your phone and the cocaine out on the table and he sighs to himself. “What did I say about-“

You burst into tears, audibly sobbing and holding the whiskey bottle close to your chest. Now the whiskey hits you and the guilt hits you even harder. Maybe you’re not really cut out for being a cheater. You want to hurt them back in the same way they hurt you but you just can’t.

It makes you feel so pathetic.

“Hey, hey… don’t cry dove. Is this about downstairs?” Keigo asks as he kneels down in front of you, “Look, nothing happened. I didn’t do anything-“

“Don’t lie to me! I already know you did!” You cry in between hiccups, “Just go away!”

He attempts to soothe you again but with no real apology attached to his words, “Hey, we won’t do that shit again as long as you don’t hide anything from us anymore. We only did because you lied to us first and it really hurt us.”

Touya pries the bottle out of your hands and pushes off your arms when you try to reach for it. “You’re drunk and you reek of whiskey. I can smell it all over you. We’re taking you home.”

A part of you wants to put up a fight just to be stubborn but the smarter part knows that you should leave right away. That poor guy is still in the closet and you’re embarrassed that you even tried to cheat back in revenge in the first place.

So you stay quiet as you’re led out of the bedroom and choose to not look back. You walk behind Touya and Keigo, quickly adjusting your panties underneath your dress and trying to keep your head down as you walk out the party.

You shower alone and inspect your body as you clean yourself. There’s a small hickey on the inside of your thigh from your attempt in the bedroom. You wish that more had happened, that you had gotten more guts to go through with it. You’re also grateful that nothing happened more than that.

Still though, they got to hurt you in the way they wanted and you…

You just have to take it.

━━━━✧

end notes: including my extra tags - also wanted to show case how the reader actually interacts with another man / cuz obviously when it comes to the boys she’s only submissive at this point / it wasn’t just her being drunk in the scene it was actually the old version of her that came out for a bit / pt 1 reader had a little more spine so i just wanted to bring her back for a hot minute

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Multitudes

Men I Always Meant to Write For Masterlist

Pairing: Don Eppes x Reader

Rating: M

Notes: Another part one of a shamefully indulgent (and unofficial) Men I Always Meant to Write For series. Not beta-read.

Warnings: Fluff; mentions of canon-specific violence; flip-phones because it’s 2007

Tag list: @informally-liz (here to infuence you on another obscure blorbo :P) ; @20th-centu-fairy-girl (it’s our baby) ; @nominalnebula @amneris21 @elen-aranel @missredherring​ @blueeyesatnight​ @brandyllyn​ (idk he’s tortured and I thought you might like him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯; feel free to ignore!) 

Summary: You’d be damned if you said you’d never been interested in Don Eppes. In your brief acquaintance, you’d felt a certain pull to him. There was nothing to be done then—between his work trying to solve the case and your work trying to cover it for the paper you work for, the two of you had butt heads. But once Eppes had realized that you were more interested in helping the case that sensationalizing it, his irritation had cooled. You’d almost been chummy by the end of the case—almost. 

“Hey, choke up on that bat a bit more.”

You do so without thanking him for the advice, without making a single comment. But when your bat connects with the ball with a sharp, resounding clink!, you feel yourself grinning.

“I was doing alright, you know,” You tell him. But you keep your hands as he directed, taking a swing at the next ball shot out of the machine. Your bat makes contact in as advantageous a place as before.

“I know.”

“Oh? You been watching me, Agent?”

“Caught my eye as I was passing.”

You grin, reaching back and whacking at the button to stop the machine before you turn to face him fully. You realize instantly that it’s a mistake.

Don is leaning against the fence behind you, two fingers hooked into the fence of the cage. He’s chewing a wad of gum like his life depends on it—like he’s trying to imitate his old heroes chomping tobacco and shooting the juice through their front teeth.

"You been here long?" You ask.

"Just finished up. You?"

"Got about, uh—" You shake your sleeve back, eyeing your watch, "Ten minutes left."

"Want a beer?"

The offer makes your brows raise in surprise. Of all the things you thought may come out of Don Eppes' mouth over the course of this conversation, this didn't break the top ten.

"I could go for a drink," You admit. Don's grin widens and he shifts from foot to foot, nodding to the machine.

"Get back to it, then. Sooner you finish up, sooner we can go."

"Are you just gonna stand there and watch me?"

"You intimidated?"

"Maybe."

Don chuckles, flashing you his pearly whites as he straightens fully.

"Alright. I'll wait for you down there."

"Okay," You laugh, nodding. You can't help but watch him go, and you damn the way he turns back to meet your eye in turn.

--

You’d be damned if you said you’d never been interested in Don Eppes. In your brief acquaintance, you’d felt a certain pull to him. There was nothing to be done then—between his work trying to solve the case and your work trying to cover it for the paper you work for, the two of you had butt heads. But once Eppes had realized that you were more interested in helping the case that sensationalizing it, his irritation had cooled. You’d almost been chummy by the end of the case—almost.

--

“What’s got you out here tonight, anyway?” Don asks. You shrug a shoulder, trailing your finger along the label on the beer.

“Just had the urge to hit something. Better for myself and everyone else that I work it out at the cages, right?”

“I hear that,” Don mutters. You smile a little.

“That why you’re here?”

Don raises a hand, tipping it back and forth. You smile, leaning back in your seat a touch. 

“Tough case?” You ask.

“Am I on the record?”

“Oh, fuck off,” You grumble, fighting back a grin at Don’s laugh. “You know as well as I that California is a two party consent state. Anything I’d record without your permission would be inadmissible and punishable by law.”

“Nice to know you care about those rules and regs.”

“I’d be an idiot not to.” You tip your head to the side, eyes sweeping Don’s face. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

“Oh no?”

“Mm-mm. You look like you haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a few days.”

“You know what that looks like?”

“I know exactly what that looks like. I saw you during the case, I saw you at the hearing. Those were two very different looks.”

Don pushes out an irritated huff between tightly pursed lips. 

“You keep an eye out, huh.”

“Both of our jobs require reading people.”

“Is it my turn to say what I see?”

“If you like.” It’s only fair, but it’s intimidating. Don considers you for a long moment, eyes narrowing just a touch. It makes you want to squirm in your seat, but you’ve been given looks like this by people that would just as soon shoot you as look at you. Don’s not like that.

“You don’t like whatever it is you’re covering.”

“Oh no?” You arch your brows. “What makes you say that?” 

“When we worked together—”

“—Oh, you mean when you subpoenaed my research and brought me in for questioning?”

“—You held yourself differently. Stronger eye contact, better posture. You were engaged. Whatever you’re working on right now is takin’ it outta you.” 

Your brows shoot up at the accusations, and you find yourself pushing out a shaky laugh as you turn your face from him, raising your beer to your lips. It’s a little freaky that he can see into you like that.

“Am I wrong?” Don presses. You swallow thickly, the beer like a lump in your throat as you push it into your stomach.

“God, I wish you were.”

“What is it?”

“What I’m working on?”

“Uh-huh.” 

You bite your lip, fiddling almost nervously with your beer. “How about a rule for tonight?”

“What kinda rule?”

“No work talk.” 

Don leans back in his seat a little bit, tipping his head to the side. You can feel him trying to read you; you’re certain he’s trying to dig right into your soul. And then he gives a short nods, lips pursing.

“Alright,” He concedes. “No work. Then what the hell do we talk about?”

The two of you talk about family, and about school. He digs into your time at Quantico, and why you dropped out of training for the FBI.

“It was one of the biggest things that popped for you,” He tells you, “When I looked through your file.”

“Yeah, I bet.” You pillow your chin on your hand. 

“You ever regret it?”

“Dropping out?” You ask.

“Mhm.”

Your hand slides from your chin to scrub at the back of your neck as you consider it.

“I...I won’t pretend that having my hands tied with the ways I can investigate sometimes doesn’t drive me nuts—knowing that I’d have access to way more if I’d stuck to that track, but...” You life your head again to look at Don. “But what you do, day in and day out? I couldn’t do that. I realized it a little too late.”

“You go right into reporting?”

“No, no. I did a few other things in between—marketing, analytics...Things that let me dig into how people think, why they do what they do. Then I hit on journalism.”

“Why the switch?”

“I felt like the things I was saying at work just weren’t being said loud enough.” 

Don nods silently, then offers, “It’s too bad. You were good at it.”

Your eyes and smile widen, stunned. “You looked at my assessments?”

“Yeah,” Don admits with a soft laugh, “But it’s more than that, it’s—When we worked the case. The way you talked to the witness, you know, how you—twisted the emotional knife. We spent five days trying to get to that woman, it did nothing.”

“Well, sometimes you just need a different angle.”

“Hey, I’m all about the different angle. I’ve been working with Charlie for...Two, three years now, different angle is his middle name.”

“Charles ‘Different Angle’ Eppes? Gee, thanks mom and dad.” You smile widely as Don smiles, his arms folding on the table. “You two work well together,” You add. It’s Don’s turn to shift with nerves, hiding his face for just a moment as he scrubs his hand across it.

“We do now, yeah.”

“Not always a happy partnership?”

“Not even that, just, you know...We didn’t get along when we were kids. Sometimes the fact that we get along now seems like a...An anomaly.”

“A statistical improbability?”

“Exactly,” Don laughs. “Thank you—You know what, I’m gonna tell him that...I don’t know, though, you know.” His mirth sobers as he lowers his eyes to the bar. “It’s nice to get along with him now. It’s like I’ve opened the door to something I didn’t even know existed.”

“You happy you did?”

“Yeah,” Don’s brow furrows, nodding. “Yeah, he’s—He’s a smart guy, good kid. He likes to help—and I appreciate it, you know, any lead or any clue that he can point us to, it can make or break a case sometimes.”

“It’s nice that that can bring you closer, even if it isn’t always under the happiest of circumstances.”

“Never is if a crime is involved...” Don trails off, lips pressed thin. And then you see him push a smile onto his face, pointing an accusing finger at you. “You said no work.”

“I’m not sure family chat counts as work, Eppes.”

“Oh no?”

“Overlaps, maybe.”

“Definitely.”

You raise your hands in concession. “Fine, no family-slash-work chat.”

“Good.”

“So I definitely shouldn’t ask about the couple of times your dad consulted informally?”

“Who told you that?”

“...Your dad.”

--

it’s a bad idea to let Don buy you another beer. It’s a worse idea to let him drive you home. The worst idea you have is inviting him inside—but he follows you to your front door, up the steps, into your apartment.

He takes his damn time peering around your shelves, at your framed photographs and your books. You take your damn time opening your beers, eyes set primarily on Don—on the slope of his shoulders, and the slight narrowing of his eyes and purse of his lips as he takes in the contents of your bookshelf—until your bottle opener slips and you skim your knuckles. You hiss, muttering, “Son of a bitch.”

“You okay back there?”

“Uh-huh,” You answer hurriedly, looking down at the beer and cracking it open before you glance over your knuckles. The skin is irritated, raised just a touch. It’s not major, nothing some cold water can’t fix.

“What, the beers fightin’ back?”

You glance up, an irritated pout affixed on your face. It melts when you see Don holding a heavy, engraved crystal plaque.

“Find something you’re interested in?” You ask.

“Excellence in broadcasting,” He reads, then looks at you as he holds up the plaque. “You were in tv?”

“Produced from a studio for a year, then jumped ship for print.”

“Some would say that written journalism is giving way to broadcast.”

“If you’re gonna say that, you’re not getting this beer.”

Don raises a penitent hand, chuckling, “I said some, not me.” He sets the award down before he strides toward you. You hold one of the beers out, and he takes it—only to set it aside in favor of taking hold of your hand and looking at your knuckles.

“What’d you do?” He mumbles, crowding closer.

“Nothing.”

“Oh?”

“Wasn’t paying attention. It slipped.” 

“Oh yeah? What were you payin’ attention to?”

It’s a trap of a question. You can’t tell him you were paying attention to him, but if you weren’t paying attention to your hands, then what the hell else could you have been looking at? You shrug a little bit, mumbling out a lame, half-hearted excuse. 

“I don’t think I caught that,” Don chuckles. 

“Nothing to catch.”

“No?”

“Nothing of consequence.”

“Not sure I believe that.”

Don raises your hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss along your knuckles. It makes your stomach twist with shock. You almost feel as if you’ve stepped out of yourself—like you’re peering at Don from another vantage point. His warm breath brushes the back of your hand as he lifts his head to peer at you from under his sweeping lashes. 

You watch one another for a few long moments before Don straightens up. But where you thought he’d let go of your hand, he tugs you closer. You wobble a touch, raising your other hand to catch on his shoulder. He dips his head, nudging his nose against yours. But he waits. Don doesn’t dive right in; his eyes search yours, and at such close proximity, his dark eyes seem to contain multitudes.

This feels like an awful idea. You don’t want this to hang over your interactions in the future; you don’t want to risk what has become a genial relationship with him, and his team. But more than that, you want to feel Don pressed far closer than he is now.

You lean in just a little, your nose brushing lightly against Don’s. You track one another’s gaze, hardly blinking as you grow closer. For a moment, you think that one or both of you will back off, laugh awkwardly, dismiss it. But before you can second-guess yourself, Don dives in for a kiss. Your eyes slip closed at the contact. Your free hand raises to curl around the back of his neck, keeping him close. Don slides his hand away from yours, resting them on your hips. Your skin prickles with heat as he backs you up against the counter. He groans softly, smoothing his hand up the back of your shirt. You tip your head, teasing your tongue between his lips and whimpering softly. You’re set to push yourself up onto the counter, but—

You groan again, tipping your head back as his phone rings in his pocket. He spits a curse, reaching for his phone and opening it.

“Eppes.”

You lean up, brushing your lips against his neck, grinning as his fingers press against your skin, sweeping against your bra strap.

“...Alright...Alright, I’ll be there in twenty.”

Dang.

You lean back, smiling a little as he closes his phone and tucks it away again. He sighs, and before he can apologize, you offer, “It’s alright. Could’ve just as easily happened to me.”

“Yeah.” Don agrees, but he doesn’t look convinced. 

“You alright to drive?”

“Oh, yeah,” He nods. “You barely got that beer open, anyway.”

“Fuck you,” You laugh, shoving his shoulder. Don doesn’t get far, just leans back in and gives you a warm, slow kiss.

“Rain check?” He murmurs.

“Sure.” 

You disentangle yourselves, and you straighten your shirt as you trail him to the door.

“Be careful out there, Eppes.”

“I will be,” He shoots you a wink. “You gonna be up long?”

“I can be.”

His smile widens into something dopey and warm, and he nods, promising, “I’ll call.”

[smol-lydia]

Salty Sweet: Viktor x Fem!Reader, SFW

Summary: You are set up on a blind date by Jayce’s sister, no matter how many times you tell her you have no time in your busy academic life for dating. Both Talis’ are determined to prove you and Viktor wrong, and you hate that they just might be right.

A slice of life fluffy oneshot that’s anime/school inspired that was heavily inspired by this recent anime artwork of Viktor that you can find here!

A/N: just a note that Jayce’s sister is absolutely a kogal/gyaru Aka a school gyaru and my OC is a jirai kei girl because my j-fashion bullshit strikes again. No y/n here; reader has a name! Hope that isn’t too off putting

“I don’t do blind dates!” You hang off the stairwell railing like a monkey—unbecoming as a senior and part of the student council but you’re feeling some kind of way, your twin tails dragging on the ground.

“He’s sweet, I promise! He’s my brother’s best friend.”

Your friend pulls up her loose socks—she’s a walking dress code citation, with her loose socks and false lashes and heavy tan and makeup, snapping her gum. You and her could not be more opposite.

“Yua, why do you do these things to me?” You right yourself and adjust the collar on your sailor blouse.

She blows you a kiss. “Because I love you.”

“Sounds more like hate to me,” you grumble.

“Oh, stop being such a sourpuss.” She bumps her hip against yours. “You’ll like him, I promise. And I’ll be on the other side of the cafe the entire time, making sure nothing goes wrong.”

“Spying, more like.”

“Spying, looking out for you, same diff!” Yua takes your hand to pull you along. “Now come on, Miss Sourpuss! Let me at least do your makeup before we head out, kay?”

Your stomach churns with nerves, as though you’re heading to an execution. You might as well be, as far as you’re concerned. “Aren’t we gonna get in trouble for ditching our last study period?”

Yua shrugs her shoulders as she pushes open the restroom door, the small space occupied by fellow delinquents in a cloud of cheap perfume and illicit cigarettes. “Hasn’t stopped us before. Besides, we gotta get you looking cu-yute for this date!”

You manage to convince Yua to go easy on the makeup. While her gyaru style is perfect for her, with her brash personality, that confidence and self assured attitude that certainly seemed to be a hallmark of the Tallis family, it feels foreign to you.

You’re the quiet, unassuming type. Still, she manages to coax you into some pink lip gloss, and you brush out your hair, retying your signature twin tails and bangs.

“Don’t you want to do something different?” Yua asks, pulling an energy drink out of her backpack to sip on.

You shake your head. “If he doesn’t like me as is, then what’s the point? I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not. Who is this guy, anyway?”

“He’s in my brother’s class, 77-B.” Yua’s twin brother, Jayce, always ended up in the opposite class as her, an effort by teachers to keep the two apart.

It rarely worked, but it was still a tactic that was attempted year after year.

“And?” You pull out the clothing Yua had requested you bring today. You had wondered why she had asked this of you at the time—now you knew.

“His name is Viktor. Quiet. Keeps to himself mostly, except for Jayce and another girl in the class, Powder.”

You feel something stir in your chest at the mention of another girl and you try to shake it off; you can’t be feeling jealousy over a girl you don’t know, about a date you never met, a date you are reluctant to go on. You were being ridiculous and all the cigarette smoke must be going to your head.

You slip your dress over your head, balling up your school uniform to put in your knapsack. Normally you would fold your uniform neatly, but you’re feeling agitated. Your dress is a dusty rose, with black bows, the epitome of the jirai fashion you wear whenever you’re off school grounds.

Stupidly, you find yourself wondering if Viktor will like it.

You fiddle with your hair in the mirror, butterflies forming in the pit of your stomach. “What made you think we would be a match, then, hmm?”

Yua shrugs her shoulders. “You both got that sensitive melancholy loner thing goin’ on. And Vik doesn’t waste his time with idiotic people.”

You frown at your mirror self. “Well, thanks for not thinking I’m an idiot, I guess.”

Yua snaps her gum. “I only speak the truth, sweetness. Now let’s go get you laid.”

“Ew. Don’t say anything like that again.”

—-

The ten minute walk to the cafe that Yua chose for this little tete a tete seems to take forever, at least to you. Your heart is hammering wildly in your chest, and you wipe your sweaty hands on your skirt for what feels like a hundred times.

This shouldn’t be as intense as it is but only Yua knows the truth: you haven’t been on a date at all. Ever. Eighteen years old, a senior at the Academy, and you kept your nose solidly to the grindstone, focused on academics and extracurriculars like Student Council.

You told yourself you didn’t have time for dating. Plenty to keep you busy, lots to concentrate on without the distraction of pesky feelings getting in the way. However, you could barely admit to yourself that you froze up when it came to asking anyone out: how could your classmates do this with such confidence and ease?

Keeping Yua around was more than a breath of fresh air; her wild and bright attitude forced you to step out of your comfort zone sometimes. Like right now.

She took a seat at the back of the brightly themed cafe, a popular hangout for Academy students, winking at you over her fashion magazine. Not long after her twin joined her, and you rolled your eyes. Great, Jayce was here to witness your humiliation as well.

You debate pulling out your phone for something to do to pass the time, but decide against it. That would look rude, wouldn’t it? Instead you settle for staring down at the scratched wooden table, years of wear and tear in small notches. Fascinating.

The sound of clicking against the tiled floor catches your attention and you briefly look up. The stranger is tall, impossibly so, lanky and leaning on a crutch. Sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, thick, untamed coffee-colored hair that you want to sink your hands into. And oh gods his eyes: the most delicious shade of warm honey, framed by thick, dark brows, a small beauty mark under one. Despite his pensive gaze, there’s a kindness lurking beneath that has you melting. Between that and the second beauty mark above his lip, you’re a goner, those butterflies multiplying, warmth pooling at the pit of your stomach, an insistent throb of arousal between your legs.

You’ve never been hit by your hormones this badly this quickly and it’s enough to make you want to run and hide. Instead, you find yourself frozen to your spot, mouth slightly agape until you remember how your jaw works to close it.

This cannot be Jayce’s friend.

And yet, he looks at you with some kind of expectation, finally speaking in a soft accent that has you falling even deeper under this enchanted dream-spell.

“Sasha? You are Jayce’s sister’s friend?” Apologies if I am mistaken. I was told to look for someone with your description.”

You nod, and try desperately to recover your voice. “Y-yes.”

Well, it’s a start.

“May I sit?” He asks.

“O-of course.” You wish you could stop stammering. He’s just so beautiful you find the words dying on your tongue. Mouth dry, you lick your lips and try to force the words anyway. “You’re Viktor, I assume?”

“Yes,” he replies. He puts his school bag on the ground, and rests his crutch against the back of the chair.

You take a deep breath, exhale slowly. “It’s nice to meet you. Even if this whole blind date thing got sprung on me all of sudden.”

As soon as the words leave your lips you regret them. Way to let him know you didn’t want to date him! He probably gets that all the time with his disability, and you feel like the scum of the Earth. His leg, in a metal brace, doesn’t bother you in the slightest, and you hate yourself for seemingly implying otherwise. Spots of color appear on your cheeks, not out of flustered blushing, but embarrassment and frustration at yourself for once again putting your foot in your mouth.

Much to your surprise, Viktor gives you a shy smile. “You aren’t alone in that experience. The Talis clan can certainly be…persistent.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s a word for it.”

Viktor chuckles and the sound is music to you, sending a swooping sensation down through your body, your entire world off-kilter.

Get it together, Sasha. You’re being ridiculous.

You’re desperate to have something to focus on other than how badly your body craves him.

“Do you, um, want to order?” This cafe had one of those tablets mounted to the side of the table, where you can place your order and pay with ease.

Viktor nods, and you both lean in to look at the screen, succeeding only in colliding your head with his.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” You rub the sore spot on the side of your head and look at him from under your dark bangs.

“It’s quite all right,” he says with a wince.

“I’m a mess.” You don’t know why you’ve said that, but it’s honest and you’ve already made several mistakes so you figure there’s no way this date is going to be a success.

“If that’s what you consider a mess, I would say you’re actually doing quite well,” Viktor replies wryly.

This time the flush on your cheeks is absolutely because his words have you flustered, and it takes you a few seconds to recover.

“I can order you whatever you want,” you offer. “So I can stop causing you bodily damage.”

That earns you another chuckle, and he asks, “do they have sweet milk?”

“I think so.” You punch in a few things on the touch screen, and sure enough, sweet milk. You wouldn’t have pegged Viktor as the sweet tooth type but it’s endearing. “I guess that’s something we have in common.”

You order a parfait, one of those with lots of whipped cream and fruit, a cute marshmallow animal on top. You know that girls are supposed to be self conscious about eating on a date, but you don’t care. You’re hungry.

As you both wait for your orders, the conversation picks up to your studies and you find that this is where you and Viktor truly connect; his face lighting up as he describes his senior project.

You haven’t found anyone else with the same love of knowledge as you, even if it’s in different subjects: Viktor is science and mechanical focused, whereas you excel in the study of the mind itself.

“I'm curious as to what makes people respond the way they do,” you say, talking with your hands, as you often do when you’re excited. “Especially in cases of extreme behavior.”

“Extreme behavior?” Viktor takes a sip of his sweet milk.

You point your spoon at him. “You know. Things such as lust killers, that sort of thing. What drives someone to that point.” You lick some whipped cream off of the spoon and noticed Viktor’s eyes on you as you do.

Quickly, his gaze flits away and there’s an awkward pause. You swallow your treat.

“So, what are you excited about?” You ask, warmth creeping up your neck and into your face as you notice Viktor gazing at your lips again. You hope you don’t have whipped cream stuck in the corner of your mouth again.

“Uh. Yes.” Viktor launches into an explanation of something he was working on with Jayce, and you listen, chin in your hands, spoon placed back in the parfait dish.

You don’t understand the math or the arcane Viktor is describing but you could listen to him talk all day; you realized with a thump in your chest that you could easily become addicted to spending time with him.

Damn Yua for being right; she would never shut up about this.

And watching Viktor speak in and of itself was distracting, with the way his amber eyes lit up with a spark of passion, the beauty mark near his top lip even more prominent as you focus on his lips. You find yourself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, and blush, wishing you could crawl under the table and hide forever. Gods, this is hopeless.

“Sasha?”

“Hm?” Your name sounds so good in Viktor’s accent, like a warm hug.

“Is it all right?”

“Huh?” You blink, uncomprehending, and Viktor flushes.

“I was, um, wondering if I could try a little of what you ordered. I really enjoy sweets.” He says this last part with a small part of what sounds of shame, and that won’t stand. There’s not much left in the dish anyhow, and you push it in his direction.

“Please, go ahead!”

He takes a small amount on the spoon and slips it into his mouth and dear gods you didn’t know someone licking a spoon could get your mind going in a completely different direction until now. He closes his eyes while doing so, as if he’s savoring the sweetness, and you find this so impossibly cute that your heartbeat picks up.

He smiles when he finishes, and puts the spoon in the empty dish. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Viktor glances over towards the back of the restaurant, and you follow his gaze. Jayce and his twin sister are sitting at their table, trying not to be obvious but clearly are. Viktor sighs.

“Um, Sasha….you are free to say no of course…but would you like me to walk you home? Maybe get some….distance?”

You nod eagerly and reach for your soft jacket that’s draped over the back of the chair, the black one with the hood that had the bunny ears and ribbon edging.

Viktor stands, makes a small wince as he stretches his leg with the brace, which he quickly covers with a neutral expression. You step back, intending for him to walk first, but he makes that gesture with his hand indicating he wants you to walk ahead, so you do.

As you do so, you can’t help but notice how elegant his long, slender fingers are.

The near-winter air is crisp and you shiver a little as you both begin to walk down the street.

“Are you cold?” Viktor asks, and you shrug.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m only a few blocks away from my building.”

Viktor gives you an incredulous look. “Are you certain?”

You look up at him, your heart racing. He’s leaning on his crutch with one hand, looking so impossibly handsome in his school uniform that it hurts and you’re afraid if he touches you, you might implode. Behind him, the maple trees flash a brilliant red, like fire.

You stick your hands in the pockets of your bunny jacket. “Uh-huh. Yup.”

Viktor seems almost….disappointed? At your response, and continues the walk down the street. You have to race a little to catch up with those long legs of his.

“I like this time of year best,” you offer as a concession.

“That does not surprise me,” comes Viktor’s clipped response.

Nothing else for three blocks and you’re sweating bullets. Oh god, oh fuck, you’ve really screwed this one up. In your nervousness you’ve probably got him thinking you don’t like him. And now there’s no time to correct this misconception as you’re in front of your apartment building.

“Viktor—“

Viktor won’t look you in the eye. “It was nice to meet you.” Cold. Distant. You can’t stand this. He’s holding his hand out to shake, and you’re trembling as you take it, every nerve in your body screaming at you to stop. And yet your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and you feel stupid and stuck, your platform Mary Janes plastered to the sidewalk as he turns away.

No, no, no.

“Viktor!” You somehow stumble around your thick tongue. “Wait!”

A pause. He doesn’t turn around, but he stops walking, and you’ll take it. You move with every ounce of strength, a courage you don’t have, skidding in front of him. Even in your platforms, you still aren’t quite tall enough and you have to stand on the tips of your toes, grabbing onto his waistcoat to pull him towards you.

“Sasha?” Those honey-whiskey eyes widened.

“For someone so smart you don’t get it, do you?” You whisper.

Who is this Sasha, bold, drunk on wanting? You don’t know and don’t care as you plant a hard one on him. For a brief moment, Viktor stiffens up in shock, but he quickly relaxes into it, wrapping his arms around you as he kisses you back, lips soft against your own.

When you part for air you’re both giddy and dizzy.

“They’re never going to let us live this one down, are they?” You ask.

Viktor’s hands are on the small of your back. “Not in the slightest.”

[xamassed]

⟬ meme / @tsukuharuko ⟭

[PERSON] because I can just see Kirishima ruining it at some point down the future

"I know this isn't the most fun, but I'm glad you still came."

Hero work wasn't always as glamorous as people liked to believe it was. It certainly had its moments of blood-pumping excitement, but all those thrilling fights lead to the most boring aspect of the job: paper work.

Fat Gum's office hadn't been this empty five minutes ago, but he liked that it was now just the two of them seated on the sofa, stacks of papers neatly compiled in front of them. Slogging through them, folding and slipping them into labeled envelopes, wasn't what either of them would consider a memorable date, but it was better than telling her for the fourth time that week that he was busy.

"It, uhm. . . It means a lot that you still wanna hang out and do boring stuff like this." He cleared his throat awkwardly and turned himself towards her, eyes flicking between the hands he clasped against his knees to her sweet, smiling face.

Tamaki did possess courage, no one could truly deny that. He had to if he wanted to be a hero, but it wasn't often that he used it in everyday situations. Logic helped make that a smidgen easier. Fat Gum and Red Riot had left the office to fetch drinks for everyone, which meant they had about ten minutes to themselves. Five had already passed, and he could feel each passing second thudding in his chest now that he knew there was less time for him to act.

There were others ways he could thank her for sticking around, but the idea that he could kiss her, even for a fraction of a second, wouldn't leave him alone.

Inch by inch, he pulled himself closer to Haruko. No one needed to know that this might be his first kiss, but it was painfully obvious that it might be. He was stiff and awkward in his approach, but that hardly mattered when he stopped half-way through.

"Can I——?"

"Hey, Amajiki! Fat Gum forgot his wallet, so I had to run back and — oh."

Tamaki had never moved quite so fast in his entire life. He had wedged himself into the opposite corner of the sofa, face terribly red and his whole body profusely sweating. He thought that if his heart beat any harder in his throat that he might choke on it.

Eijiro stood in the door frame, wide and curious eyes shifting between Tamaki and Haruko. "Did I come in at a bad time?"

"NO!" Tamaki scrambled to his feet, snatched the wallet sitting on the table and shoved it into the younger hero's hands. "Just — go give this to him, and tell him he needs to keep a better eye on it."

"Right, got'cha!" Eijiro dared to give his senior a playful wink. "And I totally won't tell Fat Gum you two were making out in here!"

Before the flustered sidekick could screech with embarrassment and slam the office door shut, Eijiro ducked out with a snicker. Tamaki was left there to roast in the heat of his own mortification, back turned to Haruko because he might combust on the spot if he dared to look at her.

Maybe, if he was lucky, he would.

[kiankiwi]

hehe hi carsick anon back!

you know i feel like when we were first starting out with the boys we weren’t so used to or prepared for when they got car sick. we endured a lot of messes, and we were a lot busier so we were on the road with the boys a lot 🥺

and every time they got sick we felt so so bad and were a bit confused until we finally realized they get car sick. so we get more prepared. they now they both have their own monogrammed sick bag. it has everything they could need; sick bags, water, a juice ( which is really just pedialyte but we call it juice so they’ll drink it) mints (i feel like austin prefers gum so he has that) wipes, extra diapers and clothes for if and when they get sick on themselves, bottles/sippy cups, pacifiers… the whole shebang.

also when they get sick we have to stop or it’ll just keep going so we have to take a break and i can just see us just holding one and maybe gently rocking to sooty them a bit while we wait for their tummies to calm down and keeping an eye on the one we aren’t holding.

oooh and if we can’t get them to calm down enough to continue to wherever our destination is we stop at a hotel until the next morning and poor bubs are still feeling a bit icky so they maybe get sick in bed again 🥺

Oh no! We'd feel so bad when we're just starting out or when we're busy with traveling and we don't quite know them getting sick is from carsickness yet or that it'll probably happen every time in some capacity!

Yes, the boys know to grab their sick bags whenever we leave the house (just in case their carsickness sneaks up on a short car ride too!) but we always make sure we have multiple sick bags with us just in case we forget one or the boys forget it and of course we call them 'icky' bags!

And when the boys are like "mommy! My tummy hurts!" and we're trying to figure out whether we should keep driving or pull over we're just like "quick bubba, get your icky bag and just wait okay!" sometimes they get scared when we tell them they have to wait to see what'll happen but most of the time the other bubba who isn't sick in that moment calms them and holds their hand or rubs their back (it's super hard when they're both sick at the same time)

And it's not always just puke! Sometimes it's the runs too!

Whenever we take breaks to let their bellies reset, we soothe one while the other also gets to get out to play for a bit and stretch their legs so they're not just constantly sitting in the car waiting for the inevitable when it;ll be their turn to puke.

We often have to find extra "break" hotels that are littles inclusive and the boys are hesitant to sleep away from home but they love that hotels usually have jacuzzi bath tubs so we always give them extra long and soothing baths to help their bellies but usually either one or both still throw up in the hotel bed one more time so we always have the maid on speedial for new bedding and we let the boys cuddle in the clean bed next to the dirty one while we wait for replacement sheets. Sometimes the nonsick one will just stay in the other bed while we cuddle up with the sick one in the now clean bed