#then ill catch up on the other volumes

[alicenpai]

i finished reading dungeon meshi....... im.. i..............

me rubbing my dunmeshi volumes on my face using my clammy hands to absorb miss kui's skills, (both in writing and her art,)

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[jinuaei]

Dude, you could make a drunken alastor with the reader, what would it be like? And what would happen?

(( I saw a short on YouTube of an animation, I thought it was so funny... I wanted to see a fanfic about it...

If you're curious: https://youtube.com/shorts/ZN2PBs-RsVM?si=12BtCleXiCO7BWkU ))

So I basically mixed both of these asks into one fic, sorry if its not what you wanted its 3 am and I don't know what im doing kk love yall byeeee. been a while since I wrote so please be kind

Additional art

Warning: Kind of yandere? tagging just in case, BAD ACCENT WRITING, kissing!, Drunk alastor

Alastor is a heavyweight when it comes to drinking, but still, his tolerance to strong alcohol is no match to the king of hell himself. The bottles that surround the both of them shine under the lights of the hotel, empty as the red eyes staring at the wall behind Husk. Which is rather concerning as the owner of said eyes is the loser of the impromptu drinking game, started by the loser himself.

Alastor has been taking big Ls tonight huh. Not only did he lose his own game with the king of hell, he’s also getting clowned on by his enemy. Speaking of, Lucifer is now gloating in front of Alastor about how ‘he’s better’ and ‘you thought you could defeat THE KING OF HELL???’, while the recipient is still mindlessly staring at the display bottles of the bar.

Concerned, you walk up to him with hesitation, not wanting to trigger the hunting instincts he has displayed every time you are around. He has always pursued you not in a romantic sense, at least you think so, but more of a predatory sense. Everytime you walk into the room, his head always snaps to your direction, the smile on his face spreading wider and the horns growing the closer you get. At first you would just ignore the ever growing static emitting from him, the fear of getting mauled and eaten by him increasing with the volume of the radio waves. 

The intimidating display of his horns always amp up too whenever the other men of the hotel try to talk to you, or just even approaching your general vicinity. The headaches that you leave with always render you unable to do anything for the rest of the day. But with how constantly he’s been threatening the whole room with his power and presence, it’s no wonder you’ve been trying to avoid him everytime you just even feel the shift of static in the air. You’d rather not be MIA just because Alastor’s radio waves make you ill.

However, when you’re with the girls, his presence becomes pleasant, the sharp noise turning into a sweet jazz song that calms your nerves. During those times, you find yourself appreciating his presence. When you talk to Charlie or Nifty, he likes to cozy up right next to you, butting into the conversation, and when either of them ask for help, he tries to include you into the task, even when you are not needed. For Vaggie though, he still does stand next to you but you guess that his face is not as pleasant as when you talk to the other girls as Vaggie always glares at him when tries to speak. Nonetheless, the girls are always treated better than the boys.

Onto the current task, you wave a hand in front of him, still hesitant as Lucifer is still trying to provoke the Radio Demon. Thankfully Charlie managed to drag him away from the bar, talking about how his father is also drunk. With the unsuccessful attempt of catching his attention, you instead call out his name. In response, his head snaps to you with a painful noise that sounds like his neck breaking.

“Are you good Alastor…?,” his stare is still there but it looks more focused compared to the past 20 minutes.

You wait for him to respond, or at least for his brain to work again. Alastor blinks slowly, his smile growing bigger as his eyes finally focus on yours. The empty gaze turns soft and sitting before you is Alastor not as the Radio Demon, but his truest most pure self. And now that you think about it, you don’t hear the faint hum of the radio coming out from him, it was pure silence. That is until he finally speaks to you.

“Hello sha…”

Your breath hitches. 

You did not expect the cajun accent that came out of his mouth, and by God was it hot. It took you longer than you wanted to respond, the sheer change of his usual accent surprising you.  And the surprise must be obvious on your face as Alastor chuckles at your bafflement. 

“Why, what’s wrong dear…?”

He speaks slowly, slurring some of his words, but the accent is still thick on his tongue.

“Nothing, it’s just… how are you? You’ve been staring at the wall ever since you lost to Lucifer.”

“Hm… Nothin’, just thinkin’.”

“Thinking about what?”

“You.”

He purrs, the half lidded stare directed at you burns your body hot. It was nearly impossible to look away from him, but luckily he moved first, perching his head onto his crossed arms, looking adorably tired.

“So uh.. You drink whiskey huh?,” you fumbled, pointing to the various bottles that surrounded him.

He nods, still burrowed in his arms. The others are starting to retreat to their rooms, waving a goodnight to the people left in the lobby, which was you, Alastor and Husk, who is now starting to clean up the bar.

“You know, I haven’t tried whiskey yet.”

Alastor raises his head to look at you, mouth slightly opened as if to display his disbelief to your lack of taste. 

“Well, surely you have to try at least once!”

Husk was only minding his business, cleaning up the bottles on the table when Alastor yanks his arm and pulls him to demand a bottle of whiskey. The cat demon's face scrunched up, and he looks at you with a ‘are you fucking for real’ face, you can only smile sheepishly back. Being given no choice, he complies to Alastors demand, grumbling about wanting to sleep but needing to still clean up after you both. Feeling pity, you volunteer to do his work and let him go to bed, he eagerly agrees and practically books it upstairs. 

The demon left with you shows off the bottle he acquired, popping off the cap with a flourish. You try to find a glass to drink out of but Alastor had another idea. He drinks out from the bottle and before you can ask him to stop, he grips the back of your head and kisses you.

Your eyes widen, freezing in your seat in shock and awe. His hand moves under your chin and his thumb trails up to hook it through your lips and pulls open your mouth. The whiskey from his mouth transfers to yours, burning as you gulp it down your throat. He finally pulled away when there was no more whiskey left to transfer.

“Well, what do you think? Do you like it?”

The dopey smile on his face is impossible to ignore, he looks so pleased yet still so hungry, but the ever so gentleman still waits for your reaction.

Honestly, you don’t know if you liked the whiskey but you really, really, really liked the kiss.

“Yeah! Yeah, I liked it.”

“That's good! I’m glad my deer also likes the stuff that I like. Haha! Here, have some more!”

He nudges the bottles to you, but since it's midnight and you’d rather not have a hangover by the morning. So you refused, and he full on pouted, pouted! And he looked so sad too, his ears flattened and everything! 

You couldn’t bear to see him that sad, even though it’s actually terrifying seeing the Radio Demon, acting like a dejected puppy. So you came up with a solution to both of your problems.

Gingerly holding his cheek, your hands carefully pull his face to yours, his gaze curious but willing. You bit your lip before kissing him lightly, unsure of whether it’s okay or not to do this to the predator that has been haunting your days. The same predator who's now reduced to putty in your hands, eagerly kissing you back with vigour. He tastes of whiskey, which was what you were finding for, and slightly of blood, maybe his meal from earlier that night.

You pull away from him when you start to lose air from the kiss, he complies, his face dazed and the blush from the kiss spreads across his face. Catching your breath, you see Alastor move closer to you, he moves his face to your neck, sniffing it deeply.

“What are you doing…?”

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to accept me for so long...You don’t understand how long I’ve longed for you sha… To become mine,” he starts to ramble, the cajun accent still thick, and only getting thicker the lower his voice gets. His hands start to roam around your body, gripping your waist tight as he pulls you close to him, he would have pulled you onto his lap if you haven’t stood your ground.

“Oh… how I wanted to rip those damned men that try to take you away from me, ‘specially that cursed sorry excuse of a father, Charlie would be soooo much better taken care of by you n’ me. Nifty already thinks of you as her parent, to which of course I wholly agree with. You’d make a perfect parent sha.”

You stay silent as his whole body is now fully leaned against you. 

“I like helpin’ you out n’ Nifty, makes me feel like a proud father n’ a good husband… Ohhhh, i’d love to be your husband.”

“Sometimes, I like to follow you around to protect you from those disgustin’ dogs tryin’ to steal you away from me.”

What the fuck is happening? You thought this man hated your guts and only wanted to fuck with you for fun, but not like this. Yeah the kiss wasn’t good either but you only wanted to do it for bragging rights, like who could say they kissed the Radio Demon?? Oooh, Vox would have your head if he knew about this, that tv head of his and his weird obsession with Alastor. 

“Would you like to be mine sha?,” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, his face now planted on your chest as his face nuzzles on it, you can see movement under his coat but you ignore it in favour of looking at him.

“Well… uh…”

“Please…? Please be mine…”

He moves his face close to you again, his breath tickling your lips, tempting you to kiss him again. Your response gets stuck on the tip of your tongue, but luckily, you don’t have to respond as his body flops onto yours, his weight fully on top of you. You can hear his leveled breathing as he dozed off, cradled against your neck, a sign of him now being asleep.

Well shit. You’d have to drag this 7 foot deer up his room, and you pray that he doesn’t remember anything from tonight.

[tojipie]

I'm a huge fan of your work and I would love to see a dilf!toji fan fiction where you accidentally walk in on him changing and it goes a bit further while megumi's home🙏🙏🙏

part 1 here

shaking crying and throwing up as the kids say

warnings: dilf!toji x reader, nsfw, almost getting caught, age gap

────────────────────────

“think that’s it for tonight.” megumi mumbles, turning the newly painted mound of clay to the side to gauge your shared work.

it goes without saying that you and your closest friend had spent the weeks leading up to the deadline planning, but not actually doing your final sculpting project, leading to an equally desperate and passive aggressive all-nighter.

you both of you were absolutely caked in paint, but the satisfaction of finally being done was well worth it. you stand up for the first time in over 4 hours, hissing at they way your back protests.

your feet tingle as blood rushes down to your legs, the aches in your body becoming more apartment.

“god, what is it— like 11?” you ask, massaging your neck with the back of your hand.

megumi grabs his phone to look at the time, scratching off a smear of dried pain with a scoff.

“it’s 1 am.” he laughs, tucking the device into his pocket with a sigh. “you ubering home or do you want my dad to take you?”

you perk up at the second option, gathering yourself before you respond.

“i mean yeah i feel like that’d be a lot safer.” you say, only half lying. “is he still up?” you knew he was up, in fact you knew if you hadn’t been practically right outside his bedroom for the past 4 hours he’d be texting you right now.

your sculpting partner motions to the kitchen door with a nod of his head, wordlessly gathering his materials up. “go check, i’m going to bed.”

you laugh, gathering your things and padding out into the hall.

“nite gumi.” you tell him, hoping it wasn’t too late in the night for the both of you to get a decent nights sleep.

———

you secretly hope toji is waiting for you as you fix your makeup in the mirror, leaning down to meticulously washing the paint from your hands and arms in an attempt to look presentable.

megumi hadn’t noticed it was you in his father’s bed the last time you snuck over, taking toji’s sly suggestion to “drive his little friend home” as an ill intended joke.

he opted to drive himself to the concert instead, accepting the ridiculous $100 venue parking fee in exchange for his peace of mind.

you, on the other hand, had gotten the opportunity to wail your lungs out as loud as you needed once the house was empty, going round-for-round with the massive wall of muscle that was your best friend’s dad.

and now, here you were in his bathroom, washing up in the sink as quickly as you could before feeding yourself to the lion.

you slip into the dark hallway as quietly as you can manage, cringing at the stale creak of the bathroom door.

the house is barely lit with the dim light from the kitchen gone. you figure megumi had shut it off before going to bed, thinking you and toji had already left.

you feel your way down the corridor of rooms, silently opening the door to your destination before stopping cold in your tracks.

“you should knock ya’know.” a deep voice crones.

you yelp as you’re pulled into his bedroom, the sound muffled by a solid hand over your mouth.

“shhhhh.” toji chuckles, caging you against the door. the older man leans down to mouth at your neck, feeling you up as you catch your breath.

“you have a real volume problem, pretty girl.” he teases.

you laugh, cradling his head as it settles in the curve of your neck. his shirt is half off already, bunched around his shoulders. you must’ve caught him changing.

“what, were you waiting on me?”

“men have needs don’t they?” he says quietly, leaning in to kiss you.

thick hands settle around the curve of your waist just under your breasts and pull you backwards, leading you towards the bed.

“was—fuck—gonna text you.” toji whispers between kisses, palming your chest underneath your shirt. the older man pulls you into his lap from where he sits on the edge of the mattress, rucking your shirt above your head to mouth at the top of your breasts.

“yeah? why didn’t you?”

“knew you’d come find me.”

your cheeks burn at his admission. he was right, as embarrassing as it was you both knew how often you found yourself under him on nights like these.

and whether or not you’d begun hanging out at megumi’s just to see his dad was a question you didn’t want to address, and one that toji already knew the answer to.

you say nothing, opting to palm the man below you through his boxers while he finally undresses his top half. toned abs clench tight as you squeeze his cock through the fabric, guided only by the small sliver of moonlight bleeding from his curtains.

“harder.” he groans, bucking into your hand.

“miss me?”

“always miss you.” toji mumbles, motioning for you to stand so he can strip you of your bottoms.

you’re pulled on top of him as soon as your shorts hit the floor, leaning in to kiss him again. the older man licks into your mouth with fervor, toying with the waistline of your thin panties.

toji breaks the kiss, snapping the elastic against your hip. you flinch at the sharp sting, whimpering into his neck as he grips your ass

“you wear these for me?” he asks.

you nod, letting him slip them off. he gives them a once over, smiling as he reaches to throw them onto the night stand.

“keeping em.” he laughs, pulling himself free from the confines of his bottoms.

he’s throbbing, steadily leaking onto his own thigh with every passing second. you lean down to accept him into your mouth, pausing when he pulls you back up to him.

“just get on top of me.” he begs, grabbing hold of the backs of your thighs and reclining into the pillows.

“need it that bad?” you ask, genuinely curious. you watch as he grabs hold of his cock, lining it up with ease—practically muscle memory.

“wouldn’t need it this bad—oh fuck— if you hadn’t been busy the entire night.” he groans, complaint interrupted by the feeling of you sinking down onto him.

“could fuck me when the sun’s out, you wouldn’t have to wait all day that way.” you suggest, only half serious.

“the only thing stopping me from doing that is work, pretty girl.” toji mumbles. you gasp as he twitches inside you, sinking down all the way to watch what little composure he still has crumble.

your knees protest as you bounce on the older man’s cock, body still sore from the workload you’d dealt with earlier.

“you could’ve just—fuck— came out and said hi.” you add, noticing the way the scar on his lip contorts when he smiles.

“can’t really walk around with a hard-on.” he admits with a sleazy grin, taking one of your breasts into his mouths for good measure.

your shared moans grow louder with every thrust, the sound of skin-on-skin becoming unmistakable.

“fuck is that noise?” a sleepy voice yells from the hallway.

you freeze. pulling away from toji to gauge his reaction.

“fuck, get underneath.” he chuckles, practically pulling you off of his cock with how easily he manhandles you, making space for you to crawl into the sheets.

you’re struck with what feels like another heart attack as a knock at the door pierces the air.

“do you have another girl over?” megumi scoffs pacing behind the doorway.

“you sleepwalking or something?” toji lies, clearly not considering the consequences of getting caught.

you feel him pull the sheets over your head with a soft laugh. warm hands rubbing over your sides through the thin fabric, a sweet attempt at calming you down.

“i’m not stupid.” his son replies, kicking the foot of the door for good measure. “did you even drive my friend home?”

“she ubered, kid.” toji lies again, groping your breast over the thin sheet. you yelp at the sudden contact, earning a teasing “shhhh” from the man above you.

“fucking knew you brought someone over.” megumi sighs, trudging down the hallway with vague threats of “you’re paying for my dorm room next year.” and “can’t keep it down.”

you emerge from the covers, arms snaking around toji’s shoulders with a sigh of relief.

“what’d i tell you about that volume problem?” he laughs, lowering you onto his still hard cock with a breathy groan.

“fuck, did you get wetter or somethin?” he asks, clearly in disbelief.

“course not!” you mouth, stifling a whimper as he begins to thrust.

“i know honey.” he teases, biting the curve of your shoulder to stifle a groan. “i’m just fuckin’ with you.”

[dyeher]

“Gentlemen,” Mikey says.

His voice doesn’t rise above its regular volume but the single word is enough to quiet the room of executives settled around the conference table.

He's standing at one end, a hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other tapping a random rhythm into the mahogany surface of the table as he regards his...what did you say these men were to him?

They're your friends Mikey.

His friends. Right.

He eyes Ran Haitani who balances on the back legs of the chair he's sitting on precariously. His loafer-clad feet crossed at the ankles on the table. Next to him, his brother sighs deeply, his thumb and forefinger massaging circles into the bridge of his nose.

Opposite them, Kokonoi and Kakucho appear deceptively calm. Kokonoi is chewing diligently on a piece of gum. His attempt at quitting cigarettes. Kakucho has one arm slung along the back of Koko's chair, his legs spread as he slouches in his chair. His eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the headrest. If Mikey didn't know better he'd think Kakucho was recovering from a night out drinking.

Of course, the truth is much wilder than Kakucho spending a night on the town.

Takeomi is absent. Naturally. Sanzu is sprawled in his own chair at the other end of the table. His guns are on the table as he shines his katana.

Mikey considers everything he's been through with the men in this room.

If you can let me in, then you can let them in.

He shudders as your words wash through him. You're like his fucking conscience. It's simultaneously the most unnerving and wonderful experience he's ever had. A voice of reason that isn't being paid in his blood money. He glances at Kakucho again quickly.

If you think these men have stuck around because you're paying them then you're dumber than I thought, Mikey.

Sanzu gently places his katana on the table and shakes out the little cloth he was using to shine it. He gives Mikey his full attention. the action seems to stir the others who also turn to him. Kakucho lifts a single brow at him in question.

And the action sets of something akin to...gratitude in Mikey. It's a wildly unfamiliar sensation and he has to quell the urge to rub his chest.

They would die for you, Mikey.

Yes, they would. He catches a glimpse of a cut running along Rindou Haitani's chest as the man shifts in his chair. The skin is shiny and puckered from healing and a pang goes off in his chest that almost knocks him on his ass.

These men would die for him.

A sudden clarity comes over him and he has to blink several times to reorient himself. It feels almost like someone has ripped whatever ill-fitting glasses he was wearing before off and he can see clearly now. Jesus Christ, these men would die for him.

He sinks heavily into his own chair. The weight of his previous oversight anchors him to the cushion.

"I have news," he blurts.

The words suck the air out of the room. Silence ensues for a handful of seconds and then...

"Oh my God, you knocked her up!"

Rindou reaches Ran before Mikey can react to his exclaimed words and slaps his brother in the back of the head.

"I-" Mikey starts, blinking in confusion. What?

"Jesus Christ Ran, so what if he has?" Rindou interrupts, glaring at his brother.

"I di-" Mikey tries again, his brows furrowed.

"That actually...that makes sense," Kokonoi says slowly, nodding. "I saw her eat half a cake by herself the other night."

Kakcuho is gaping at Mikey. But there's a twinkle in his eye that makes Mikey nervous.

"Wait a min-"

"I thought you'd never notice," Sanzu laughs from the other end of the table and Mikey's skin chills.

What?

"What?" He zones out. Something in his voice must get the others attention because the room goes quiet.

"That's not...the news?" Ran squints at him, his chair making a thudding sound as he settles onto all four legs.

Mikey swallows around a ball of spit that seems to be stuck in the back of his throat. Pregnant.

No- she can't be- she- but- but the crying...and the sensitive breasts. the cravings.

"I was going to say I'm getting married," he says, hollowly.

"Oh shit," Sanzu breathes.

"Fuck, Mikey."

"I thought it was obvi-" Kokonoi shrugs.

"She agreed to marry you?" Ran interjects. "Without-" he pauses to glance around the room quickly and then lowers his voice as he finishes his question "-putting up a fight?"

That gets the rooms attention.

"What the fuck kinda question is that?" Kakucho frowns. "She's in love with him."

That seems to throw Ran for a loop. His eyes narrow on Mikey who's still stupified by the realization that he might become a father and husband in the same breath.

"Maybe there is hope for me," Ran says.

Sanzu snaps at him. "Are you implying Mikey doesn't deserve her?"

Ran splutters. "What? No- Why the fuck would I-"

"Just be quiet," Rindou sighs.

"You really think she's pregnant?" Mikey asks, interrupting their squabble.

"Yes," Koko nods.

"Absolutely,” Rindou agrees.

"Half a fucking cake Mikey...in a single sitting."

Mikey blanches. “She’s pregnant.”

Koko chuckles.

“She’s fucking pregnant,” he repeats. There’s a note of distress in his tone. “With a baby. A child!?”

Kakucho gives him a knowing look. “Congratulations, Manjiro.”

Sanzu, who has been uncharacteristically quiet stands. “This means she can’t say no to a protection detail anymore.”

Mikey’s brain stutters. Protection. Because shes pregnant with your child and about to become your wife. She’s singlehandedly the most important person to Bonten. And to him.

“Oh fuck.”

Rindou shakes his head. “We need to start personally vetting Bonten members now.”

“Why did it take a child and a marriage to convince you of that and not the two times we’ve been double crossed?” Kakucho questions.

“Do you want to deal with a Mikey whose wife and child are hurt or murdered?”

The room falls quiet as all eyes fall to Kokonoi. A heavy tension settles on Mikey’s shoulders. He’s having a child. Maybe. And getting married. Definitely.

And he runs one of the most dangerous organizations in the world. With over a hundred thousand employees worldwide. And stakes in every major and even some minor pies, in every industry.

He’s not sure of much except his own success and frankly, inhuman work ethic. But as the realization that his life is changing. Developing into something better, something more. He’s sure that if anything ever happens to you or his unborn child…he would unravel.

“Can we circle back to her wanting to marry him?” Ran asks, breaking the tension. “Without being coerced?”

[sinisterexaggerator]

Final Straw

Nick Valentine x Fem Reader | Ao3

Summary: You're sick to death of listening to people insult and belittle Nick; you take matters into your own hands, much to the Synth's surprise, but your methods are a little bit unorthodox.

Warnings: None, except for blood, violence, and foul language. NICK GETS SUPER PISSED AT YOU, and you also share a kiss. 💋

IT'S FLUFF.

Notes: This is SELF-INDULGENT AF. I hate it when people insult Nick in the game. This is my way of getting them back! And I want to kiss him and tell him I love him so bad. ;-:

Word count: 2k

It was the final straw, the one that broke the brahmin’s back, Nick Valentine left to defend himself against hate and bigotry for the umpteenth time, and you would not be party to it.

For so long you had traveled by Nick’s side, learning of the many facets to his personality. If there was a single thing about him you did not like, it had to be the ease with which he practiced self-deprecation, not knowing how to remedy the awful perception he had about himself.

Oftentimes, he regurgitated what came out the mouths of others; it had been internalized, compartmentalized, processed, and stored in his long-term memory, the detective unable to let things go—just like so many cases that remained unsolved.

“Shit, a Synth— don’t come near me. What a freak, thinks he’s human…”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t go near you if it meant tomorrow I’d wake up from this nightmare.”

Your soul ached, knowing that every insult, every snide remark caused some level of psychic damage to your partner, his expressions all too readable for those times he was robbed of his fragile dignity, though always walking away the bigger man.

A culmination of varying factors led you to this, Nick’s tragic past haunting not only himself, but you; what you wouldn’t give to make it better, only wishing you had the power to convince him he was worth more than half the Commonwealth combined.

If Valentine could equate himself to nothing more than garbage, you could be the one to remind him that someone else’s trash was frequently another’s treasure— in this case, he was yours.

Though not privy to your feelings, you adored Nick completely. So much so, you were not above engaging in a physical altercation on his behalf.

“Say that again,” you threatened scathingly, turning to face the asshole who had just dared to disrespect your companion, and for no good reason.

“I said he’s a freak, lady—and what’s a pretty thing like you doing traveling with him, anyway?” the ill-mannered caravan guard asked, acting as if Valentine was some disease he could catch, making a blatant show of his disgust. 

The hired gun pulled no reaction from the Synth, though Nick stared at you tight-lipped, unnatural, glowing eyes trained hard on your face. His silence spoke volumes, instructing you with a stern look beneath the shade of his hat to drop the matter and turn the other cheek—it was something you weren’t willing to do this time, meeting your newfound enemy head-on.

“Apologize!” you demanded, shoving your adversary backward with a forceful push, both your palms making contact with his ribs. Your cheeks burned, accompanying a rise in your temper, readying yourself for if this vermin should do anything but grovel at Nick’s feet.

“Forget it, this guy ain’t worth it,” Nick offered laconically, hoping to appeal to your common sense. “I’ve heard worse in my time; being called a freak is the least of my concerns.”

“But you’re worth it!” you protested, Valentine’s forehead arcing upward at the conviction in your voice. He had a momentary lapse, his concentration faltering as he tried to get a handle on the situation, Nick having visualized an entirely different outcome based on variables that were currently in flux—namely the sudden change in your mood.

It seemed the shithead had caught on, smarter than he looked, eyeing the two of you with suspicion and derision, as if the very idea you could have feelings toward this hunk of junk was baffling when able-bodied, strong men like him existed.   

“Oh, I get it. You’re real sick, lady, a real pervert—you fucking a machine? What’s the matter, human men aren’t good en—”

The jerk was cut off mid-sentence, your balled up fist coming into contact with his jaw; a resounding crack split sound waves as blood spurted from his lips. His colleagues had already wandered off down the road, not wanting to be a part of whatever trouble he had found himself in, having silently agreed to let this member of their team fend for himself.

“You fucking bitch!” the guard twice your size growled, swinging wildly only to miss. Your leg extended; you were pleased when he stumbled, only wishing he had fallen flat on his face.

“Now, wait a—”

He was quick to right himself, spinning on the ball of his heel—you were quicker, kneeing him in the nuts so hard he doubled over, but you weren’t finished yet.

Lifting your arm to gain momentum, you drove the point of your elbow into his spine, causing the offender to drop onto the dirt at your feet.

“I'd say he's down for the—”

Nick couldn’t get a word out; you didn’t appear to be listening, the android observing your uncharacteristic actions with rapt concern. You were pounding your knuckles into the bastard’s nose repeatedly, sticky crimson coating your fist and the man’s sorely wounded face.

As if coming to from a trance, Valentine whisked forward, snatching your wrist before you could cause the poor schmuck any more damage, thinking he may look worse off than even he, what with his bare wires and metal frame exposed to the elements.

“Hey! What’s gotten into you?!” Nick barked, his tone alone condemning your inappropriate conduct, the Synth yanking you up so fast you audibly gasped.

“There ain’t no excuse for this—this guy may be a jackass, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die!” Nick protested, brows knit in anger the likes of which you had never seen.

You glanced down, only now seeming to notice the extent of his injuries; the man was out like a light. You only cared because he did.

“Nick, I—” you began, voice quavering, losing all resolve as you had been forced to witness Valentine’s sweet disposition vanish, quickly replaced by something undeniably frightening.

You never once imagined yourself to be the victim of his choler, finding you absolutely hated it, breaking down all at once to cry despite not meaning to. You felt simultaneously overwhelmed by guilt and embarrassed beyond measure, unable to look him in the eye.

“Don’t Nick me, this isn’t like you, this—” The man froze, his grip slackening as he loosely held on, thoroughly confused by how you could go from nearly murdering a man in cold blood with your bare hands, to shedding tears in the span of under a minute; he moved to grasp you by your shoulders.

“What’s going on?” he asked, perplexed, the question dry on his tongue. He searched your face for any hint of what the matter was, wondering if you’d lost a screw sometime after leaving Diamond City, as he thought he had a handle on how you operated.

You could not will yourself to respond, vision clouded, droplets pelting your cheeks as you gazed at the ground. You felt worse than a scolded child; you had never meant to upset him so, it being decidedly more terrible than any physical pain you had yet to endure.

“Look at me, damn you!” Valentine demanded, gently jostling you back to the present moment, though your tears only increased, Nick having never cursed at you before.

“Valentine,” you whispered, eyes shimmering, Nick’s fury subsiding to a dull roar as he waited for you to explain yourself. The crease of his brow evened out, the Synth notably more relaxed, though he did not trust you wouldn’t lash out again.

“Go on,” he urged sharply, wanting to get to the bottom of your behavior. It was unnerving, not knowing what else you were capable of at the drop of a dime.

It was an understatement to say that he was surprised when you lifted your arms, pulling the man forward to enfold in your tight embrace. You buried your cheek in the tattered, stained fabric of his coat, crying more softly now as it started to rain.

“Don’t listen to them,” you pleaded, “don’t ever listen to them. You’re perfect just the way you are,” you spoke with earnest, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the spot that lacked a heartbeat, though the gesture stood apart on its own.

“I can’t stand it—the way people treat you, the way they talk down to you—if only they knew—if only they could see what I see—” you sobbed, the sound of your cries muffled against his chest; it was firm, his shirt smelling like coolant and ozone—cigarettes mixed with something earthy—you breathed in deeply, overcome with silent relief when Nick placed his metallic hand on the crown of your head.

“I... I appreciate you, doll,” he started, his voice turning toward a soothing cadence, the way he pet your hair in long, slow strokes comforting you more than it should. “But you didn’t have to do that; would have preferred if you didn’t. Jerks like him get their comeuppance, but it shouldn’t be at the price of dirtying your hands.”

You had never been this intimate with him, nor had you ever planned to be—his words were unscripted, and his affection given of his own volition. You curled in tighter, nuzzling your way into the crook of his good arm, wanting to entomb yourself there for all eternity.

“I’m sorry,” you offered apologetically, feeling the pressure of Nick’s own arms around you, returning your hug, making you feel as if you could die happy at this moment, not minding in the least that there was an unconscious, bleeding man lying only a hairbreadth away. “It hurts me, like I know it hurts you.”

Nick was quiet, mulling over the fact it didn’t do you or him any good to disparage his own person when there were others to do it for him. He had never considered the effect it might have on those around him; it came naturally to want to harp on his own shortcomings—or had it come natural to the real Nick? That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it.

“You’re right, it does. But I shouldn’t let it bother me, not when I have people like you by my side.”

“I love you, Valentine,” you countered, not recognizing the softness of your own voice. You felt a shift beneath you, your head being coaxed to rise by way of a slow tilt of your chin.

Nick stared down at you, gleaming, golden eyes emoting dolefully as he gazed into yours. He held a deep-seated sorrow, not only for you, but for himself, wishing that he was human, if only so he could touch you, hold you, kiss you the way he wanted to.

“That’s not the smartest thing you’ve ever said, but I take it you mean that,” Valentine replied, bending low to brush soft, silicone lips across yours of flesh and blood; they were cool and rough in texture, but not unpleasant. The fact he was kissing you at all was a dream come true.

“With all my heart,” you replied, cupping the Synth's battered cheek in the bowl of your palm, fingers trailing over artificial skin in a light caress.

“So, that’s what this was all about,” he remarked, conjuring up a smile. “You know, I’d give you mine,” he added solemnly, his glum tone indicative of something he was not telling you.

Instead of elaborating, Nick changed the subject, always one to brighten a dark mood. “Next time, just tell me what’s on your mind instead of beating the living daylights out of some poor schmo, all right?”

You managed a smile of your own, delighting in his sarcasm, glad for the fact your confession had taken a lighthearted turn. “I can’t make any promises,” you quipped.

The detective gave a small shake of his head, that lopsided, infectious grin of his spreading up one side of his face. “Taking a page out of my book, are you?”

“I learned from the best,” you breathed, kissing him once more. Though selfish of you, for all you cared, the world could undergo another nuclear war, and you wouldn’t bat a lash, not for as long as you had your funny Valentine.

[saddleups]

𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 .

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 10k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . ongoing , part one of two. JAMES SUNDERLAND X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . : implied domestic violence/abusive relationship . alcoholism . terminal illness . description of hallucinations . dream sequences . spanking . hairpulling . rough sex . unreliable reader . p_rn w/ plot .

★ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 . . .   james sunderland has emerged from the fog of silent hill , bearing the weight of his past but with a tentative acceptance of his guilt. with young laura by his side, he's prepared to leave the town's horrors behind and step into a new chapter. but when laura bolts back into the fog to retrieve a forgotten stuffed animal, james has no choice but to follow amidst his return, he encounters you — a stranger bound to silent hill by your own unfinished business, still searching for answers about your late husband. as the two of you form a reluctant alliance, the lines between reality and nightmare blur, forcing both of you to confront haunted memories and a shared need for redemption in a town that preys on every buried secret.

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . where all my sunderheads at??? i guess taking a break from one fic only lead me into the arms of another fic. this will be a two-parter, maybe an epilogue who knows? just testing the waters with this. please be aware that the contents of this fic are in line with the themes commonly found in the silent hill franchise. please consider the warnings and read with caution.

The fog clung to the streets of Silent Hill like a shroud, a familiar yet unsettling presence that whispered secrets of the past. James held Laura’s hand tightly as they made their way toward the town’s edge, the weight of their shared experiences hanging heavily between them. After everything he had endured, he was finally ready to leave this cursed place behind, to start anew with her by his side.

“Are you sure you have everything?” he asked, glancing down at her small backpack, packed full of her belongings. She nodded, her eyes bright with determination. They’d faced enough together, and now, with the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders, he felt a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

Just as they approached the outskirts, Laura suddenly halted, her expression shifting from excitement to panic. “Wait! I forgot my bunny!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing off the fog-drenched buildings.

“What?” James felt his heart drop. “Laura, we can’t go back! It’s dangerous!”

But she was already pulling away, her small legs carrying her back toward the heart of Silent Hill. He cursed under his breath, adrenaline surging through him as he chased after her. “Laura, stop! Please!”

The fog swirled around him, thickening with every step. It felt as if the town itself was resisting their departure, reluctant to let them go. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, familiar shapes that once haunted him. But now, they merely observed, lingering like specters of the past rather than threats. The creatures, remnants of his darkest fears, stayed back, as if recognizing that James had earned his freedom.

“Laura!” he called out, his voice strained as he strained to catch up to her. “Where did you go?”

The day at the lake was one of those rare moments you held close—a time when you and Chris weren’t at each other’s throats, voices raised, each of you convinced that volume could somehow mend what was breaking between you. Chris was never a great man; he did what he could, and you gave him credit for that. He tried, he really did. But then he died, and… well, that was complicated.

The lake had been everything your relationship wasn’t at the time: calm, serene, a mirror of something whole. The town welcomed you both with open arms, mistaking you for lovebirds celebrating an anniversary. Little did they know it was the last-ditch effort to salvage a marriage already unraveling. You had been done with him, resigned to leaving. But something about that day at the lake changed things. You returned home, and for a while, it was as if Silent Hill had lifted a weight, given you a second chance. Chris seemed different—softer, even attentive. He asked about your day, kept his temper, stopped drinking so much. And for once, being a "good wife" felt possible, like a role you could fit into.

Then Chris got sick. So sick, in fact, that you didn’t know what to do. He refused hospital stays, insisted the doctors were all quacks who didn’t know a damn thing. And he wasn’t entirely wrong—no diagnosis ever stuck. His hair thinned, his weight plummeted, and the six-foot-four man who’d once filled a room seemed to shrink before your eyes. He took to drinking again, convinced it was doing him more good than the doctors ever had. And then, one ordinary Wednesday afternoon, he died. Just like that.

So when you received a voicemail from the Lakeview Hotel saying your husband had booked the honeymoon suite for the weekend, you thought it was a cruel joke. Then came flowers at work, the card signed “Chris” with a note about how much he looked forward to your trip back to Silent Hill. Something was wrong, something deeply, viscerally wrong. But you had to know.

The fog in Silent Hill was relentless, thick and damp, swirling around you as if it were alive. When the wind picked up, it chafed your cheeks raw, and the empty water bottle in your hand felt like a taunt. The town looked so different from what you remembered. Gone were the bustling streets and cheerful Americana charm that had once made you consider leaving the city to settle here. What you found instead was a hollow vessel, the life drained from it, a love grown cold. But you searched on, knowing this desolate place held your only answers.

Time didn’t move right here; minutes and hours blurred together until they meant nothing. The fog rang in your ears, drowning out your thoughts until you found yourself in front of a crumbling apartment complex near the town square. Inside, you moved slowly, feeling like you were following someone else’s steps, picking up right where they had left off. It felt like a cage, in both the literal and the suffocating, metaphorical sense.

The walls—sticky with something infectious—pressed in on you, both restricting and repelling as you paced the decayed floor. The beam of your flashlight crackled, faintly illuminating the mangled limbs soaking in stagnant pools of bile and blood. Your steps traced a path with no end in sight, guided only by luck and a fading wit, absent even a scrap of a map. Someone had taken it before you, maybe to keep you lost. You rubbed at the cross on your chest, though the metal burned cold against your skin, and no prayer would form to soothe you.

How long had it been? How many bullets did you have left?

Then, you heard footsteps. A scrape, then another, louder than your heartbeat but not by much. Slowly, you raised the gun, unable to see much of anything, the pungent stench saturating the air as you squinted into the darkness. A shadow moved in the murk, steps too soft to be anything monstrous. And yet, your finger tightened on the trigger.

The crack of your shot echoed through the hall.

The figure jerked backward, but you could tell it hadn’t struck home. He stumbled into view, lifting his hands, a gun gripped loosely in one. His face came into focus under your wavering flashlight—a man, worn down, wary, yet unafraid.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice rough.

"Let’s put the guns down first," he replied, voice low and steady, as he slowly lowered his weapon, tucking it away with one last glance at you.

You mirrored his action, hands dropping just enough.

“You almost killed me,” he said.

“Yeah, well, can you blame me?”

A pause, then he nodded. “Suppose you’re right.”

His gaze shifted, still guarded. “James Sunderland,” he added, almost reluctantly.

You hesitated. “That supposed to mean something?”

“Not really.” His eyes lingered, taking in your face, maybe wondering if you, too, had anything left to lose.

You held his gaze, unsure whether this new presence was a relief or just another curse to endure. You swallow, and give him your name.

He repeats it with a polite smile before asking, “What brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m looking for my...daughter. Laura” His words are plain, almost hollow, yet you can feel the weight behind them. There’s a sincerity there, but even so, you keep your distance, wary that he could be just another twisted manifestation of the town, designed to taunt you.

“I’m a journalist…an investigative journalist,” you say, the lie escaping easily enough, though you throw in a casual shrug to help sell it. “Strange things happen in this town. Worth investigating.”

James nods, seeming to accept this, and even manages a faint, tired smile. “Yeah. Well, good luck.”

With that, he turns and walks away. As he does, you notice a sheaf of papers slipping from his back pocket—maps in various states of decay. You quicken your pace to catch up, trying to think of something to say. He glances back, his expression mirroring your own uncertainty. You know playing the helpless act would ring hollow after nearly shooting him in the head, so you try something new. Honesty.

“I’m…lost.” The admission comes reluctantly, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze. “Just let me tag along, yeah?”

James doesn’t respond right away, and you brace yourself for rejection. But then you speak up, pressing your case further. “I won’t get in the way. Plus, you’ll have an extra gun.”

He looks at you, working his jaw as if weighing a response. You’re ready to hear him refuse when he finally parts his lips to answer.

“Sure,” he says. “Just stay close.”

He’s disarming, isn’t he? Voice so gentle, so steady. You aren’t sure if that’s normal. After years of Chris’s voice sharp with vitriol, you’d almost forgotten that men could speak without dripping contempt.

The two of you navigate the building, slipping from one corridor to the next in tense silence, every footfall weighed with alertness. Neither of you is inclined to push the silence back; this isn’t the place for it, anyway. Each door you try leads to the same dead end: strange rooms littered with remnants of lives long abandoned, like paintings frozen in decay. A child’s single shoe left on a dusty carpet. Newspapers yellowed with age. The walls scrawled with jagged messages that almost seem to call to you personally.

James steps into the next room first, and suddenly the air is cut by a familiar, sickening squelch. You both go rigid. His flashlight catches only the vague outline of it—an amalgamation of twisted, fleshy limbs tangled around itself, no face, no eyes, barely a body but moving like something alive. It trudges toward you with the single-mindedness of something that hunts.

Without thinking, you raise your gun, squeezing the trigger as you aim for its head. The shot lands, and the creature lurches backward, twisting before collapsing in a heap mere inches from James.

James’s wide eyes meet yours, both of you sharing a sharp, relieved exhale. "Thanks," he breathes, still catching his breath. "Guess it’s good you didn’t miss this time."

“Yeah,” you say, your heart pounding almost as loud as his. He presses a hand to his chest as if it might slow the beat, while you take a moment to steady your grip on the gun.

For a moment, you’re both suspended in a quiet that feels heavier than before. Trust was established, and it's almost like it scared you both. The crackle of a record player cuts through the silence, startling you. A song starts, warped and dragging, as if it's being pulled through deep water.

Why do birds suddenly appear…

The voice is strained, drowning in static. You press your hand to head as a pang hits you. The words churning something up you'd thought you'd locked away.

…Every time you are near…

The room looses focus, eyes blur and darkness begins to press in from all asides. Your heartbeat drums in your eyes, every note tangling around your memories of Chris, the way he used to hum this song when things were still.. bearable.

…Just like me, they long to be…

The room spins and you stagger slightly, barely catching yourself on a shelf with a thud. The song goes on, warped, echoing…

Close to you…

“Hey, you all right?” James’s voice pulls you back, grounding you as you blink, disoriented, trying to shake the fog from your mind. He’s closer now, his eyes narrowing, his expression shifting from vague curiosity to something sharper, more focused.

You pull yourself up, forcing a shrug. “I’m fine,” you say, the lie coming out thick. “Just…dizzy, that’s all.”

James studies you, not entirely convinced. There’s a pause as the record scratches, skipping over a verse, the strained vocals dragging out an unsteady note that seems to fill the room. You glance away, letting the darkness swallow your expression, fighting the emotions this song brings up.

“Pretty strong reaction for a journalist.” His tone is quiet, but the words cut through the static. He doesn’t press further, but the question lingers in his eyes.

You laugh it off, masking your discomfort. “Yeah, guess I don’t like this song much,” you manage, brushing past him to look for the record player. “The whole place feels like it’s… like it’s trying to get in my head.”

You spot the record player in the corner, its needle still scratching, caught on the line, "close to you." It’s enough to make your stomach twist, but you shake off the dizziness and press the needle to silence. When you turn, James’s eyes are still on you, his expression wary, cautious.

The silence stretches, heavy with what you’re both choosing not to say. Finally, he nods toward the doorway. “Ready to go?”

You let out a breath, forcing your voice to stay light. “Lead the way.”

As he moves ahead, you catch him glancing back at you, each look carrying a hint of suspicion. You know he’s beginning to piece things together, but you’re not ready to give him the truth—not yet.

Chris was an enigma, a puzzle you never fully solved, even when he was by your side. That song had its roots deep in your life together: road trips, late-night humming, dancing to it at your wedding. You hadn’t heard it in years, and yet it still had the power to unravel you.

“You sure you’re alright?” James asks, his voice steady but his eyes watchful.

“Just… a little tired.” The lie tastes hollow, but it’s enough for now.

James doesn’t press, nodding as he lets it go. You can see Silent Hill’s weight on him too, a shared fatigue between you. There's a muted relief in his eyes, knowing he’s not alone in this—someone else who sees what he sees and is capable of handling the worst of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters, glancing out a window, confronting the fog-choked street. “Me too.”

You’re both drained, each weighed down by the town's relentless demands. When you come across yet another abandoned apartment with a door slightly ajar, it looks as good a place as any to rest. James enters first, gun drawn, carefully scanning each room until he’s satisfied it’s safe. You follow, and the two of you settle into the dusty living room, sinking onto the worn couch across from him. The dim light casting shadows over his face makes him look even more exhausted than before. Despite his guarded demeanor, a flicker of relief softens his expression.

But you’re barely aware of him. Your mind keeps drifting, pulled back to the haunting notes of Close to You, the song’s echo dredging up memories and leaving a strange, hollow ache in its wake. Chris used to sing it with that same reverence you heard in your mind just now. The way it clung to him, stayed with you, as if the song itself held a secret too. You close your eyes, your last thought tangled in memories as sleep claims you faster than you realize.

The dream is seamless, more real than any nightmare should feel.

The church pews overflow with lush white blooms, their delicate petals casting a fragrant veil over the room, mingling with the scent of polished wood and old hymnals. Statues of angels line the chancel, their stone faces serene, hands pressed together in prayer, as if they too bless this day. Friends and family fill the space—faces from high school, colleagues, distant cousins. The two of you are well-loved, and it shows in every corner of this room filled with warm smiles and gentle whispers.

Your dress is exquisite, timeless, the lace delicate and intricate. A sheer net veil drapes over your face, softening your features; Chris never liked heavy makeup, and today, you’re everything he’s ever wanted. The wedding march begins, and as you step down the aisle, heart pounding, you see him waiting—Chris, the man you loved, standing with that familiar smile. It’s perfect, almost too perfect.

You’re standing by the lake now, that same lake you once visited together. The water is unnaturally still, like polished glass, reflecting a cloudless sky with eerie clarity. You look down and see yourself dressed differently—a simple sundress, soft and light, embroidered with tiny flowers. The lake shifts, its surface darkening to an inky black, and Chris’s form starts to dissolve, his features warping as he stares at you. His brown eyes, once warm, pool with a thick, dark liquid that streams down his face—a grotesque mix of blood and tears.

His lips pull back into a grimace, revealing not his familiar smile but a horrifying maw of decayed teeth, blackened and rotten, the gums swollen and raw. It’s almost impossible to look at him, but there’s something in his eyes—a haunting, bottomless pain—that keeps you rooted, feeling his anguish as if it’s your own. You try to reach him, but he keeps drifting farther, swallowed by the thickening fog, his shape barely visible. Your legs feel heavy, unable to chase after him. You open your mouth to scream, but your voice is gone. In place of Chris’s hum, the warped, dragging voice from the record begins to play, twisting the lyrics into something unsettling.

Why do birds suddenly appear… every time you are near…

It’s as if the town itself is singing, mocking your grief, laughing at your misery. You spin around, and now, in the lake’s reflection, you see… James?

He stands in the distance, his gaze fixed on something just beyond your line of sight. His expression is twisted in pain, not the frantic desperation of your own memories but a deep, abiding sorrow that feels almost like acceptance. It’s a sorrow that seeps into the atmosphere, heavy and palpable, and it pierces through the veil of your nightmare, pulling you toward him as if you’re both bound by an unseen thread.

Your mind fractures with the realization that this isn’t your memory—it’s his. You want to call out to him, to bridge the distance between you, but no sound escapes your lips. The fog envelops you both, thick and suffocating, intertwining your fears and regrets into a shared torment. As you look closer, flashes of another woman’s face blur into the water beside Chris’s—faces of those you’ve each lost or left behind, woven into the fabric of this haunting place. The lyrics echo around you, a cruel reminder of your collective longing:

They long to be… close to you.

Then everything shatters—the lake, the fog, and the memories—blowing apart like glass fragments, each shard reflecting images you’d rather forget. You wake with a jolt, gasping, and for a disorienting second, you don’t know where you are. Your hand flies to your chest, feeling the rapid thump of your heart, the remnants of the nightmare lingering. Across the room, James is also awake, his face pale and strained as he stares at the wall, clearly shaken by whatever he just experienced.

The silence stretches, both of you catching your breath, still in the grip of the shared memory. After a moment, James finally looks at you, his gaze troubled. He knelt on the floor across from you, reaching forward. You retreat inward, bringing your knees close to your chest as you attempt to gather yourself from the vivid nightmare.

“You… saw it too, didn’t you?” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

For a long moment, you don’t know what to say. All the excuses you’d planned earlier crumble, replaced by the rawness of what you just experienced. You give a slow nod, your voice shaky. “Yeah, I… I did.”

The weight of this unspoken bond hangs between you, a fragile connection forged through shared suffering. You can tell he wants to ask more, but he holds back, respect or fear—it’s hard to tell.

“You’re not a journalist, are you?” His voice is edged with something colder than distrust. “Why are you lying to me?”

Your index finger digs into the flesh of your thumb, scratching at the nail fold, peeling away the dead skin with anxious precision. With a reluctant sigh, you finally admit,

“My husband is here.” The words sound foreign, almost absurd, and you stop, feeling the weight of them settle uncomfortably. Your fingers drift to the spot where your wedding band should have been; it’s been years since you wore it. You hope James doesn’t notice its absence.

James’s gaze drifts, as though he’s caught in a memory of his own, piecing together fragments that refuse to settle. He remembers his own day by the lake, the memory of Mary and him standing silently together, wrapped in a shared peace as they looked out over the water’s glassy calm. That day had held something pure, untouched. But when that same vision began to warp, blending into a nightmare where he saw you there, tangled in shadows and held close by a man whose features twisted painfully, he assumed it must have been someone you loved deeply. Someone whose memory drew you here, too, searching through Silent Hill’s fog for answers, just like him.

“Did you get a letter from him?” James asks, his voice almost relieved, as though grasping at a thread of shared experience. “Like I did… from Mary?” His eyes search yours, teetering on the edge of desperation, as though hoping you might be a lifeline, someone who could understand.

“No,” you murmur, the answer thick in your throat. “He… he booked us the honeymoon suite at Lakeside. For our anniversary.” You hesitate, then glance up at James. Oddly, there’s a connection there, a shared understanding that feels like an anchor in this distorted reality. “I got a phone call. He said he’d be… waiting for me.”

James shifts, steadying himself, then reaches down and offers his hand. “How long have you been married?”

Taking his hand, you rise, feeling the warmth of his grip. “A long time.”

Lucky for you, he doesn’t ask for more.

You rub your eyes, exhausted. The rest was a waste of time, James knew that. You noticed his urgency, his resolve. It didn't parallel you, who dreaded the confrontation with Chris.

"Who was the woman?"

"Mary," he says her name with such familiarity. There's warmth in his tone that had been absence till now.

God, he must really love her. And you wonder what that felt like, the warm embrace of a man who loved you.

“Is she Laura's mom?”

James voice is low and purposeful. “It's...complicated.”

Taking the hint, you refuse to press further, “we should keep moving.”

You come to your senses, dusting off your legs, turning your gaze toward an hallway drowned in darkness. It looked endless, barely visible under a tangle of peeling wallpaper and decay. With a hesitant nod, you follow him; your hearts quicken as you tread deeper into the unknown. As you walk, each step feels like an invitation into Silent Hill’s dark heart. The sound of your footsteps is swallowed by the oppressive quiet, James reached forward firmly grabbing your forearm and pushing you toward him. You let out a scream, it echoes through the hallway sending you into a flustered, embarrassed state. You’d done so well keeping your composure, keeping your fear close to your chest even when Silent Hill beckoned for you to give into it.

“Careful!”

Your gaze falls to the floor and you can't help but notice the large, jagged hole that threatens to swallow you whole. You're still in James' grasp, you look up at him and see the exhaustion etched into his face. The stubble on his usually clean-shaven jaw looks foreign, a sign of how little sleep he's gotten. But despite it all, there is an undeniable warmth in his eyes, a flicker of determination that refuses to be dimmed. It hits you suddenly.

Shit, he’s handsome.

As if sensing your thoughts, James pulls you closer and your body responds automatically. His touch is like a lifeline, one that you grip onto tightly. Your breath hitches as he leans in, his heart beating rapidly against your chest.

It's strangely calming, and you find yourself sinking into him as if searching for some kind of solace. He inhales deeply, taking in your scent, and for a brief moment you both linger in this embrace. Before you can gather your thoughts and thank him for saving you from plummeting to your death, a voice interrupts the moment. It doesn't belong to either of you.

"Well, well. Looks like Jamesie has a new lady friend."

Both of you startle at the unexpected voice, but James responds with familiarity. He knows this woman. And as she steps out from the shadows, her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders and her ample assets on full display, it's clear why he knows her so well.

“Maria, don’t,” James’s voice drops, laced with warning. "I said we were finished."

You try to pull away, but James’s grip on your hand holds steady. It’s hard to tell if he’s unwilling to let go of you, or if he’s trying to shield you from something he knows all too well.

Maria steps forward, her heels striking the floor with sharp, deliberate clicks. Her gaze cuts through the darkness of the room, narrowing as they land on you. There's a mocking edge to her expression, something both inviting and dangerous, like she holds the keys to a room you don’t want to enter.

“Don’t what?” she taunts, her voice light, but a dark undercurrent simmers beneath it. The tension thickens, palpable, as though the entire room hinges on Maria’s whims. Something in her presence feels volatile, as if one wrong move might unravel whatever frail sense of reality you have left.

You find your voice, though it wavers. “James… who is this?”

But Maria doesn’t give him a chance to answer. Her lips curl into a knowing smirk. “She makes you feel like such a strong man, doesn’t she?” she purrs, her gaze shifting to him, almost challenging.

“Strong and brave,” she sneers softly, drawing out the words like she’s savoring each one. “But that’s only because she hasn’t seen you like I have.” Her eyes flash with something dark and possessive, a twisted familiarity that makes your stomach churn.

“What would you do if she knew who you really are, James?”

James stiffens beside you, but Maria doesn’t back off. Instead, she takes another step forward. Reaching towards you, gentle hands touching your hair with thoughtfulness, yet the action sends shivers down your spine. Maria tilts her head, studying you with a look that feels both knowing and cruel. “And you,” she says, her tone shifting, becoming almost sweet but dripping with malice. “Poor thing. I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

Your fingers tighten in James’s grasp, and Maria’s eyes flicker with wicked amusement as she notices. A low, bitter chuckle escapes her, slicing through the room.

“You really think you’re here for your husband, don’t you? Sweet Chris is waiting for you, dear,” she coos, her voice dripping with venom.

Her words hit like a punch, and an icy chill races down your spine. How she could know Chris—how she could know anything about him—is beyond comprehension. Yet here she is, peeling back your skin, exposing secrets you thought were buried. The anger simmering within you begins to fester, raw and ugly, threatening to spill over.

“Stop,” you plead, voice shaking.

Maria’s lips twist into a mocking smile, and she leans in closer. “Isn’t he?” Her tone is taunting, merciless, as though she’s drawing power from the very pain she’s causing.

"How'd you think he'd feel seeing you locking arms with another man?"

Finding a surge of strength, you step forward, voice firm. “I said stop it.”

For a moment, Maria halts, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Then she raises her hands in exaggerated surrender, her smile never fading. “Oh, look at you, standing up for yourself.” She gives a small, mocking clap.

“You two really do make a cute couple.” Her words are laced with contempt, every syllable dripping with disdain.

With that, she takes a step back, casting one last dark glance at James before she turns to leave. Her parting words echo in the room, leaving a chill in their wake.

“Good luck, sweetheart. You’re going to need it.”

And then she’s gone, her laughter fading into the silence, leaving you and James in the tense, suffocating aftermath. The silence in the room feels electric, charged with the residue of Maria's taunts. The air grows thicker, pressing down on you as you turn to James, seeking solace in his familiar presence. But instead of comfort, unease flickers across his face—his eyes darting, unable to meet yours. It’s as if he’s caught in a web spun by Maria’s venomous words, and you can feel the strands tightening around your heart.

“James,” you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty. “How does she know Chris?” Your chest constricts at the mere mention of your husband’s name, the laughter you once shared with him echoing in your mind. James and you had been inseparable upon meeting, following each other at the heel as you navigated the labyrinth of the apartment complex. It wasn’t plausible to accuse James of telling Maria about Chris, yet you couldn’t conjure up another justification.

James glances away, fingers raking through his hair, a gesture so familiar yet suddenly alien. “I don’t know what she’s playing at,” he mutters, but there’s an edge to his voice that tinges his words with doubt. You feel it—a crack in the foundation of trust that has held strong until now. He swallows hard, his throat working as though he’s contemplating a confession that could shatter everything between you. He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture that normally calms him now making his insides twist tighter. “She’s just… trying to get into your head,” he finally admits, but the hesitation lingers like a specter. You take a step closer to him, searching for reassurance in his deep-set gaze.

His eyes met yours, “Please believe me."

The air between you feels brittle, each word hanging like fragile glass, and you have to look away. Without a word, you step back and turn down the hallway, putting distance between yourself and James’s pained gaze. You walk, the low hum of silence filling your ears, until you find a room that’s only slightly ajar. With a deep breath, you nudge the door open and step inside, the hollow creak adding to the suffocating quiet.

The room itself is suffused with an eerie calm, yet it carries the faint remnants of something lived-in. Faded wallpaper, once cream-colored and adorned with delicate flowers, now curls at the edges, stained by water and age. Dust particles float in the muted light, casting a dreamlike haze over the place. A loveseat, its upholstery worn to the threads, sits against the far wall, its cushions sunken in, as if weighed down by the echoes of past residents who sought refuge here. An old, ornate mirror is mounted on the wall, the glass cracked, sending distorted reflections back at you. You catch your own image in its fractured surface, fragmented and unfamiliar.

You lower yourself onto the loveseat, and the springs creak beneath your weight, a hollow, mournful sound that matches the hollowness blooming in your chest. Maria’s words ring in your mind, each syllable a serrated edge cutting into memories you’ve tried so hard to repress. Chris—his laugh, his teasing smile, his hand in yours as you danced on your wedding day. And now, here in this place, in Silent Hill, his name feels like a curse, a haunting that even the fog cannot mask.

How could she know about him? How could she know you?

The silence presses on, thick and suffocating, forcing memories to the surface that you’d rather keep submerged. Chris wasn’t perfect; your marriage wasn’t the fairy tale people assumed it to be. You remember the fights, the silences, the times he looked at you as though he didn’t know you anymore. You remember feeling like strangers in your own home. The weight of it—the memory, the bitterness, the grief—settles on your chest like a stone, and you can feel yourself sinking under it, drawn down by a ghost who refuses to let you go.

You clench your hands together, fingers tracing the place where your wedding band used to rest. It’s just an empty strip of skin now, yet it still feels heavy, like an anchor tethering you to a past you can’t outrun. Maria’s voice reverberates in your mind, mocking and sharp, unearthing everything you’ve tried to bury.

How much did she know? How much could she see?

A chill seeps into your bones, the room itself growing colder as though responding to your turmoil. You wrap your arms around yourself, gaze drifting around the room once more, searching for answers in the decayed furniture, the cracked mirror, the peeling wallpaper. But the silence offers no solace, only a hollow echo of a life you once led, a love that may have been more illusion than truth.

The door creaks open softly, and you look up to see James standing there, a shadow in the doorway. His face is lined with concern, his brows furrowed, and he steps inside with cautious urgency, his voice low and gentle. “She’s just trying to mess with you,” he says, moving closer. “That’s what she does—Maria’s… she’s not someone you should trust.”

You feel a flash of anger bubble up, something raw that you can’t hold back. “She may be messing with me, but she’s clearly something to you, James. You think I haven’t noticed? She knows things that no stranger would know.”

You stand, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself as though to ward off the chill that Maria left in the room. “Whatever she is, she’s tied to you. I can feel it.”

He looks away, eyes darkening, an almost haunted expression casting shadows across his face. “Maybe she is. But you can’t believe her. She… she’s just a part of this place, trying to twist things.” His fingers rake through his hair, betraying his own uncertainty. “You have to believe me.”

The truth in his words wavers, not quite reaching you. “Maybe this is where we part ways. You need to find Laura, I need to find Chris… maybe it’s better if we don’t drag each other further down.”

James takes a step toward you, urgency flaring in his eyes. “No—don’t say that. I know it sounds crazy, but I… I don’t want to go on alone. You’re here, and I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like… like I’m supposed to be with you, like you’re a part of this, too.”

The weight of his words presses into you, and the room falls quiet, thick with a shared loneliness, a strange intimacy brought on by this cursed place. For a moment, you can see the struggle behind his guarded gaze—a longing for connection, for some thread of human understanding. You feel it, too, this tether that’s kept you together, kept you following each other through the shadows of Silent Hill.

His eyes search yours, desperate, unguarded. “Please. We’re both here looking for answers… for the people we love. Isn’t that enough?”

You swallow hard, your emotions twisting into knots that leave you feeling raw and exposed. Chris’s memory looms, heavy and sharp, stirring a familiar pain in your chest. Despite all the hurt he left behind, despite the tangled mess he made of your heart, there’s an ache that remains—a longing, a craving for the simple comfort of touch, of companionship.

Your gaze settles on James, who stands there, his expression earnest, vulnerable in a way that only seems to deepen the strange connection between you. It’s been so long since someone looked at you like that, without judgment, without expectation. Just… seeing.

And James, with his own broken pieces, feels like someone who could understand. Someone you don’t have to explain yourself to. He doesn’t pry or push; his presence is soft, like a balm for the emptiness that’s grown inside you over the years. Chris may have broken parts of you, but James is different. He’s open in his own quiet way, holding his pain close yet giving space for yours.

James feels a slight shiver run through him as he stands in front of you, realizing that he’s not just here searching for Laura anymore. The realization deepens his guilt, the past hangs heavily on his shoulders. He carries the burden through the mist-shrouded streets. It dawns on him that he’s looking for something to believe in, something to hold onto.

Maybe it’s because of Mary, and that guilt has anchored him to this place. But you—you—are here, standing before him, offering the possibility of solace. There’s an unspoken understanding, a thread of empathy woven between your shared pain that draws him in—a yearning for connection, for hope, for a reason to keep moving forward.

Would Mary want this for me, do I deserve to have it?

He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out slowly, as though afraid to startle you. His fingers find yours, and you feel a warmth—a reminder that you’re here, alive. He’s close now, his gaze steady and searching, asking permission without words. You feel yourself leaning in, drawn to him, the vulnerability in his eyes echoing your own.

When your lips meet, the kiss is soft, hesitant. But there’s a sweetness in it, a gentleness that feels like a reprieve, a quiet offering in a place that knows only shadows and despair. It'd been long since you felt a kiss like that, full of good intentions.

His hand comes up, fingers brushing your cheek, anchoring you in the moment. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself forget the weight of Silent Hill, the scars of Chris’s memory, the strange nightmare you’ve been thrust into.

For just a moment, there’s only you and James, two broken souls finding comfort in each other. When you finally part, his gaze lingers on you, a question, a silent promise. Brushing your nose against his, you close your eyes tightly, tears verging to spill through yet for whatever damn reason you stop them.

“Wait,” you whisper, your voice barely a breath. You pull backward, the warmth of his presence falling away like a fragile dream shattered by dawn. “What am I doing? This isn’t right.”

Confusion swirling in your mind like the fog outside. The warmth of him still lingers on your lips, it feels so sweet. So right. But the ache of Chris’s memory claws its way back, a sharp reminder of everything that remains unresolved. All the reasons as to why you were here.

James blinks, confusion clouding his eyes as he searches your face for answers, for assurance that this moment hasn’t meant something else entirely. “I didn’t—” James starts, his brows knitting together in concern. “I thought… I thought we were—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head violently as if to dislodge the memories that threaten to smother you. “We can’t just… I can’t pretend like everything’s okay here.”

James falters, his expression shifting from confusion to hurt. “I’m not trying to pretend anything. I thought…”

Realization washes over him, an understanding that battles with the hope he had dared to cling to moments ago. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean..” His words stutter, because James did mean something. And apart of you did too. Neither of you were ready to confront it.

James sighs, “we can’t just shut ourselves off from each other either. We need each other. Look around us—this place…” He gestures wildly at the peeling walls and flickering shadows. “It thrives on our pain and isolation. It wants us to stay broken.”

Your breath hitches as you take in the decay surrounding you—a world molded by fears and heartsick memories. Maria’s words echo in the back of your mind, fueling your doubt and straining the bond you have just begun to forge.

“But if we let it, if we lean on each other…” you murmur, a tremor threading through your voice. “What happens when the truth comes to light? When it all unravels and we’re left… shattered?”

James tilts his head, a flicker of defiance igniting in his eyes. “Maybe it can’t unravel if we face it together,” he responds. “Maybe that’s how we find the strength to overcome this—this place, this guilt, these ghosts of our past.” He takes another cautious step toward you, bridging the gap that had formed between your hearts.

“James, I don’t know if I can do that,” you admit, your heart racing with uncertainty. The shadows stretch and creep closer, whispering secrets meant to keep you both locked within their grasp.

“Then let me help you,” he pleads softly, an earnestness in his tone that cuts through the fog of confusion. “We’ve already faced so much together in such little time—more than either of us thought was possible. You don't have to do this alone.”

His words reverberate with raw honesty, pulling at something deep inside you—the spark of hope woven tightly into the air. The flickering light cast shadows that danced across your faces, illuminating the vulnerability in James's gaze. It was a look that you hadn't seen in Chris before, it was a look of promised understanding and comfort. A safe harbor.

“James…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling with uncertainty. The weight of Chris’s memory lingered like a ghost, but in that moment, you were acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, pulling you closer against the chill of the darkened room.

“I'm here,” James said softly, reaching out to cup your cheek.

His touch ignited a flicker of something deep within you, something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time. You leaned into his hand, closing your eyes for a brief moment, allowing the warmth to wash over you. There was an undeniable connection, an unspoken understanding that anchored you both.

“I’m scared, James,” you confessed, your heart racing as the memories of your husband intertwined with the growing emotions you felt for this man. “What if I can’t do this? What if—”

“Stop,” he interrupted gently, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

“You’re stronger than you think. You just have to trust me.”

James’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you fell away. The kiss deepened, a desperate expression of everything left unsaid—the frustration, the fear, the need for connection. You tangled your fingers in his hair, losing yourself in the moment as your hearts raced in synchrony. It was a kiss that spoke of yearning, of healing, and the promise of something more. In that breathless exchange, you both felt the weight of your pasts lift, if only for a fleeting moment.

As you finally pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, the room around you felt a little less suffocating. James looked down at you, his expression a mix of surprise and longing, as if he too was processing the intensity of what had just happened.

“Wow,” he murmured, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “That was...”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension breaking as you caught your breath. “Unexpected,” you add, your cheeks flushed.

Finding a new companion in the midst of all this was unexpected, yet you couldn't deny it wasn't wanted.

Exiting the apartment, you return to the fog swarmed streets with the intention of going to Lakeview Hotel and settle this.

"Tell me about Chris."

James’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as though he knew the weight of what he was asking but couldn’t help himself. The question caught you off guard, slicing through the quiet that had fallen over you both since the kiss. You pulled back, eyes narrowing as you measured his expression, wondering why he wanted to know—wondering if you should even answer.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

“What about him?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral. The memory of Chris’s face lingers at the edge of your mind, blurring between pain and longing, between a life you lived and a guilt you couldn’t quite let go of.

James shifts, his brow knitting as he considers his words carefully. “Well, you said you were married for a long time… I just thought… maybe he was part of the reason you’re here.” He pauses, then adds almost apologetically, “I just want to understand.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh, the tension in your chest tightening. “So, you kiss me, and now you want me to bare my soul?” you ask, a hint of sarcasm bleeding into your voice, trying to lighten the confession that was pressing against your throat.

James’s gaze holds steady, his face tinged with a mix of embarrassment and genuine concern. “I’m sorry—I just thought…” He fumbles for a second, searching for the right words. “I just thought maybe… if I know, I can help.”

The idea of anyone helping you felt almost absurd, but here he was, leaning into the murky past you’d never wanted to share. You take a breath, feeling the weight of what it means to even think about Chris—to feel the pull of what you left behind.

The truth of it stirs in you, raw and jagged, as you force yourself to continue. “Kissing you…” Your voice falters, and you can’t meet his eyes. “Kissing you makes me realize what I was doing even before I came here.” You clench your jaw, steadying yourself as you try to explain. “I was unfaithful in my own way—long chats, late nights with men I’d never meet. Random strangers who’d call me beautiful just to feel something real again. Just to feel noticed.”

You feel James’s gaze on you, but it’s soft, like he’s looking past the words to the heart of it. You keep talking, almost as if to absolve yourself, or maybe just to say it out loud. “It wasn’t ever physical. I never wanted that. But I wanted to know I could be seen, could still be wanted. That I wasn’t just someone’s forgotten wife.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, and James finally nods, his face shadowed with understanding, though he doesn’t press you any further. The question lingers, though, as if he’s on the brink of asking something more but thinks better of it.

As the fog thickens around you both, you wonder if he can see how broken this confession has left you, your own secrets spilling out like poisoned air. But there’s something reassuring in the way he stays, how he doesn’t look away. He’s searching for his own peace, you can tell. But here, together, you’re both finding something neither of you had expected: a moment of understanding, as fleeting and fragile as it is.

Your confession made the weight of the cross necklace on your chest feel lighter, a burden released, if only for a moment. But Silent Hill had other plans, a different way of reminding you why you were here. That song—the one that had haunted you—warps again, piercing through the fog with an unsettling clarity.

Why do stars fall down from the sky?

It was louder this time, invasive, its notes burrowing into your chest like needles. The sound seeped through your skin, winding its way through your veins until you could feel it thrum with your pulse. Your body began to tremble, muscles weakening, as if the song itself was commanding you to surrender.

Every time you walk by?

You stagger, trying to shake off the sensation, but the pressure overwhelms you. Your knees buckle, and the world tilts, the song closing in, dragging you down.

James lunges forward, reaching you just as your legs give out, his arms strong around you as he keeps you upright. “Hey!” he calls, his voice tinged with alarm as he holds you close. “Stay with me—stay with me!”

Just like me, they long to be

But his voice is fading, becoming part of the fog as your mind begins to drift, retreating into a darkness that feels familiar yet endless. The haunting refrain echoes, growing louder and louder, pressing down on you, pulling you further from James’s steady grip and deeper into the secrets that Silent Hill had dredged up from the shadows.

Your vision blurs, the edges softening until James’s face is little more than a shadow against the fog. The song’s haunting lyrics spiral in your mind, merging with his voice as he calls your name, but the words feel distant, muffled, like they’re underwater.

Your pulse quickens, heartbeat pounding loud in your ears as your body grows cold and heavy. Your legs tremble and your knees weaken; you try to catch your breath, but it slips away, pulled down by the weight of the memories clawing at you. James’s grip tightens around you, but the sensation barely registers as a wave of dizziness crashes over, sending you spiraling.

Close to you.

The melody presses into you like a physical force, digging into your chest until your heartbeat falters. You reach for James, but your fingers grow numb, vision narrowing into a tunnel of darkness, and the world tilts, fading away as you finally surrender, consciousness slipping into the void.

Slowly, your heavy eyelids flutter open and you find yourself standing in the dimly lit, crimson-tinted bathroom of Heaven's Night. The air is thick with a palpable electricity, a raw and close sensation that sends shivers down your spine. The familiar smells of smoke and stale perfume mingle with something new - the warm, musky scent of desire. You can hear the faint hum of neon lights from the club pulsing through the walls, casting a seductive glow over the small bathroom.

In front of you is an old, dirty sink accompanied by a cracked and weathered mirror. The reflection staring back at you feels surreal and blurred, but you can't help but notice how different you look. Your hair is styled in loose waves, a deep crimson shade staining your lips. Your outfit is a low cut dress that hugs your curves in all the right places, revealing just enough skin to leave little to the imagination. As you take a step back to admire yourself, you suddenly collide into something - or someone.

Turning your neck, you see James standing behind you with a hungry look in his eyes. The gentleness he once had is now replaced with an untapped dominance that sends a rush of excitement through your body. His rough breath fans across your neck as his hands find their way to your waist, gripping you with a restraint that feels seconds away from breaking. Pressed together in the tight space, the intensity between you surges like an electric current, igniting long-buried desires that are now clawing their way to the surface.

James is already so close, but he presses even closer until your bodies are flush against each other. He doesn't stop until your front collides with the cold porcelain sink, causing you to gasp and turn your face towards the mirror inches away from your nose. In its reflection, you see two figures consumed by desire - yours with an equal if not greater intensity than James'. It's been so long since you've felt this kind of want, this kind of fiery desire. And as he leans in closer, you can't help but give in to the temptation and let yourself drown in the heat of the moment.

The first kiss is a violent onslaught, a collision of two tormented souls who have been lost in darkness for far too long. The force behind it is primal and desperate, the mingling of desperation and desire causing an inferno to rage between your lips.

You instinctively raise your arms, tangling your fingers in his hair as he presses you forcefully against the sink. In this moment, there is only him and the overwhelming need for him. James eagerly grabs at your breasts, tearing at your clothing until your laced bra is exposed, barely containing your hardened buds which beg for his touch. His grip tightens as his lips trail down your neck, each touch rough and urgent.

There is a raw honesty in every touch, every shared breath that speaks volumes about the pent-up frustration and pain that has brought you both to this moment. Here, in the seedy sanctuary of Heaven's Night, you lose yourself completely to each other-- no expectations, no inhibitions, just the all-consuming desire to feel alive in a town that takes everything from you.

Your body arches against James' as you feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing against you. In one swift motion, he grabs the hem of your skirt and pulls it up, baring your ass to him. Any sense of embarrassment is quickly replaced by intense arousal.

Without hesitation, James moves your panties aside and spits on his fingers before plunging them into your dripping cunt. You let out a wild shriek, the cool air hitting your exposed sex only to be soothed by the warmth of his wet fingers. He pumps two slender digits inside you with ease, the sound of your wet core filling the room.

His words send shivers down your spine as he scissors his fingers inside you, "Listen to how wet you are for me already." Your hands leave his hair and grip onto the sink for support as you lose yourself in his touch.

He suddenly removes his fingers and gives your wet cunt a sharp slap, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body and out of your mouth. "You couldn't stop thinking about this, could you?" he growls.

"No," you whimper, unable to resist his dominance. "I need it so bad, James," you plead, wiggling your ass towards him. "I need your cock inside me."

He doesn't hesitate, his grunts joining yours as he complies, thrusting his hard cock into you with renewed vigor. Every inch of you is filled, your body shaking with the intensity of it all.

"Harder! James! Harder!" You beg, your voice trembling with need.

James notices your half-lidded eyes drifting shut, lost in the throes of passion. With a growl, he pulls your hair back, forcing you to look at your reflection in the mirror.

"Look at you. Look how cock-hungry you are." His words are a filthy whisper, laced with dominance and affection.

Your eyes flutter open, staring into the mirror where you both are reflected. The sight is intoxicating, your bodies entwined, your faces a mix of pleasure and raw need. You watch as James continues to pound into you, his muscles straining with effort, his eyes locked on yours. The reflection in the mirror is almost too much to bear, the reality of the scene so vivid, so real.

"Please," you whimper, your voice breaking. "I need more."

James smirks, his hand moving to cup your cheek, brushing away a stray tear. "What do you need, baby?" He asks, his tone gentle despite the rough handling.

"I... I need you to make me come," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. The admission feels liberating, freeing.

His eyes darken with intent, a predatory gleam flashing in their depths. "That's my girl," he murmurs, his thumb stroking your lower lip. "But not just yet. Not until you've earned it."

With that, he yanks your head back, exposing your neck, and bites down gently, his teeth grazing your skin. The sensation is electrifying, a jolt of pleasure that shoots straight to your core. You arch your back, pressing yourself further onto his cock, desperate for more.

"James..." You groan, your body trembling with need.

He releases your neck, leaving a mark that slowly begins to throb. His hand moves down, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your ass. With a firm grip, he spanks you, the sting a welcome contrast to the pleasure coursing through your veins.

"Did that hurt, baby?" He asks, his voice dripping with concern.

You shake your head, moaning softly. "No, it felt... good."

He chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through your entire body. "Good girl," he praises, his hand landing another smack on your already reddened skin. "Now, tell me what you want."

"I want you to... to keep going," you gasp, your voice strained with effort. "I want you to make me beg for it."

His grin widens, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Oh, I intend to."

With that, he picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more primal. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you, controlling you. You can feel the pressure building inside you, the orgasm lurking just out of reach. You clench your muscles around him, trying to coax it closer, but James has other plans.

"Not yet," he growls, his voice harsh. "Not until you're begging, baby."

Your frustration mounts, your body screaming for release, but James is relentless. He alternates between slow, teasing strokes and wild, frenzied thrusts, keeping you on the edge, always just one step away from oblivion.

"Please, James," you plead, your voice breaking. "Please, I can't take it anymore."

He pauses, his breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "What do you want, baby?" He asks, his voice calm, controlled.

"I want to come," you sob, tears streaming down your face. "Please, let me come."

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a victorious gleam in his eyes. "Beg for it," he demands, his voice firm.

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of his command pressing down on you. But the need, the desperation, it's overwhelming. You crumple under the pressure, your pride forgotten.

"Please, James," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Please, let me come. I'll do anything."

His smile widens, a predator finally catching its prey. "Anything?" He asks, his tone curious.

You nod, your resolve crumbling. "Yes, anything."

With a satisfied hum, he resumes, his thrusts becoming more brutal, more punishing. You can feel the orgasm creeping closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you. And then, just as you think you can't take it anymore, James pulls out.

Your eyes fly open, confusion and frustration mingling in your gaze. "No," you whine, reaching for him. "Don't stop."

He steps back, his cock glistening with your arousal, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Make a choice, baby,"

“Choice?” You ask, panting.

James lunges forward, his erection pressing hard against your backside. He grabs the delicate cross chain around your neck with a tight grip, pulling at it until it snaps off in his hand. The necklace falls to the ground with a metallic clang, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to his hungry advances…

"Yeah, choice."

The gray fog clears just enough to reveal a run-down convenience store, the dim lights barely illuminating the cracked tile and empty shelves. James adjusts his grip, holding your limp form securely as he pushes through the broken door. The smell of stale air and dust hits him, but he hardly notices—his focus is on finding something, anything to help you.

Inside, Laura sits cross-legged on the floor, her back against a display, a dusty stuffed bunny cradled in her arms. She looks up at the sound of footsteps, her eyes narrowing with cautious curiosity as she spots you in James’s arms.

James releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he sees Laura sitting there, safe and sound with her stuffed bunny. Relief washes over him, momentarily cutting through the ever-present tension in his chest. He approaches, his arms aching from carrying you, but there's still a sternness in his voice.

“Laura,” he says, steady but firm. “Don’t run off like that again.”

She looks up at him, feigning innocence as she squeezes the bunny closer. “I just forgot Mr. Hopps! You wouldn’t leave Mary’s things behind, would you?”

James’s expression softens, but only slightly. “No, but…” He trails off, glancing down at your unconscious form, still nestled carefully in his arms. “I just need to know you’re safe. We can’t afford to lose each other in this place.”

Laura stares at him, her brows furrowing as her gaze shifts from his concerned face to you. "Who’s that?” she asks, her tone both wary and a little defiant. “Is she okay?”

“She just needs a little help,” James replies, his voice low, soothing—almost like he's trying to convince himself, too. He carefully lowers you onto a patch of clean floor, checking your breathing, his hand lingering near yours before he pulls back. He takes off his military jacket, balling it up and placing it under your head to support your neck.

Laura tilts her head, observing you. After a moment, she shrugs and says, almost offhandedly, “She’s really pretty, you know.”

James glances at Laura, surprised, before his gaze returns to you. He hadn’t thought about it like that—or maybe he’d been trying not to. He just wanted you safe. But with you lying there, fragile and quiet, Laura’s words stir something that catches him off guard.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “I guess she is.”

Laura watches him carefully, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “So, you’re helping her because she’s pretty?”

James lets out a short laugh, more a huff than anything else. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m helping her because… because she’s here, and she...” His voice is distant, like he’s still working through it himself. "She… She’s someone who gets it. Someone who needs help, like you and me.”

Laura huffs but nods slowly, her gaze lingering on you, still clutching her bunny. “Fine. I’ll stay. But she better not be all weird.”

James manages a small, weary smile. “No promises,” he murmurs, sitting down beside you both, his eyes on the fog-shrouded streets.

“But we’ll wait here until she’s ready.”

[bunnyteetharry]

Boyfriend

summary: pranking Harry with the “calling your husband boyfriend” trend

warnings: none? light spanking, use of brat

pairing: husband!arry x wife!reader

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It was late into the afternoon

You were sprawled on the couch bundled up in your favorite sage blanket with the TV playing on low volume as background noise

You were scrolling mindlessly on TikTok when you came across a video of a women calling her husband boyfriend right in front of him and getting the funniest reaction, you were dying to do this to Harry and what better timing then to do it now that he’s been more at home since taking a mild break from touring and going to the studio here and there when he feels like it

You knew he was in the home library catching up on his tbr stack that you collecting for him whilst he was touring

It was a thing you did for one another

Grabbing books or nicknacks that you knew the other would enjoy

Earlier you asked if he was feeling hungry for anything and you both agreed on ordering in so you made your way towards the room he was in, your idea was to order food in front of him but in actually you’re just going to be on a fake call with the camera facing him

“Baby!” You called out as you entered “Yes m’love” he hummed grabbing his bookmark and placing the book on the side wooden table that was next to him

“Did you want to get Chinese food for dinner tonight?” He smiled and nodded “Yeah that sounds great, did you want me to called them?” shaking your head you pulled out your phone from your pocket “Ill do it you just continuing reading” you smiled widely and plopped down next to him on the small brown crouch with pink flowers printed all around it, you had picked it out together when you passed by a garage sale in your neighborhood

He looked at you suspiciously as he knew you didn’t like making phone calls when it comes to ordering or phone calls in general since it freaked you out but this time he just decide to brush this off and picked up his book

In the middle of your fake order that’s when the prank began

“Yes, and my boyfriend would like to get the same thing except with fried rice for the second side”

Harry paused for a minute, not quite sure he heard you correctly but as he slowly started to register what you had said his eyebrow rose, his jaw was clench and he had a smirk rising up on his face

What was going through his head, you didn’t know, but were you excited to see how this was going to play out? oh defiantly

“Okay perfect, thank you!” You ‘ended’ the call and founded Harry starring blankly at you

“Yes?” You smiled and giggled “Boyfriend huh?” He had this dark look casted over his eyes that made you laugh even more ‘Oh this is funny to you” you covered your mouth as you smiled “I did nothing wrong” he hummed and nodded before placing his book back down and wrapping his hands tightly around your ankles pulling you right to him, it was a small couch so you were dragged immediately to him

You screamed out laughing as he hovered above you, pushing down your arms to your side as he trapped your legs between his thighs to stop you from ever kicking

He flipped you around and you immediately screamed again “No Harry I’m sorry!” he ignored your pleases and continued, roughly he smacked your ass, part of you was happy you had clothes on so the impact didn’t hurt as much but at the same time this man is stronger than you

“You’re a brat” he mumbled sitting back down “It was funny admit it” you crawled onto his lap and positions his face to look at you, he smiled and rolled his eyes, giving you a soft peck

“I’m your husband, understand? Have been for four years, not some fucking boyfriend anymore” he nuzzled his head towards your neck lightly pressing kisses “Mm definitely can’t post this” his head perked up “Post what?” you immediately slid off his lap and ran out of the room

“Nothing!”

a/n: wasn’t feeling it half way but enjoy! also I’m taking request if anyone wants to suggest anything :)

[moons-and-mobility-aids]

Summary: You've been doing OnlyFans for a few years when you gain a new subscriber. A creator himself—as made obvious with his username being prongsplayground_free—and you quickly discover that he's part of a polyamorous relationship and they've been watching your content together for a while.

Content Warnings: Adult content, mostly accurate depictions of being an onlyfans creator (hi, I am one), reader is fem, uses a wheelchair, and has cerebral palsy.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen | Chapter Seventeen | Chapter Eighteen | Chapter Nineteen | Chapter Twenty | Chapter Twenty-One | Chapter Twenty-Two | Chapter Twenty-Three | Chapter Twenty-Four | Chapter Twenty-Five | Chapter Twenty-Six | Chapter Twenty-Seven

The screen flickers as you refresh your subscriber feed, the blue light casting an ethereal glow on your face. The usual ache in your shoulders is more pronounced today, a reminder of the hours spent hunched over your laptop. It's been a slow day for interactions, and with each passing minute, your energy wanes.

You've become accustomed to the steady hum of pain that accompanies your cerebral palsy, a constant companion through the years. But some days, like today, it sings a sharper tune. A grimace crosses your face as a jolt shoots through your lower back, making you wince. Still, you adjust yourself in your wheelchair, pushing past the discomfort. You are resolute, persistent—qualities that have carried you far despite the odds.

Your gaze flits across the screen, taking in the aliases of your OnlyFans subscribers. Most are nondescript, a blend of numbers and letters that reveal nothing about the person behind the screen. But one notification stands out: a new subscriber—"ProngsPlayground_free." The uniqueness of the name catches your attention; it's different, that’s for sure.

Your fingers hover over the screen, curiosity piqued, and then you tap on the profile. The avatar is of a single man, but the banner image shows three figures intertwined, their faces obscured by shadows and strategic angles. You begin to scroll, the soft hum of your laptop the only sound that fills the room. OnlyFans has an auto-subscribe feature for creators who follow each other, and it's clear that this "Prongs" belongs to a throuple.

Your brows furrow slightly, interest piqued. It's not common to come across a polyamorous relationship on this platform, let alone one that shares content so openly. But then again, what is common in a world mediated by screens and pseudonyms?

You've noticed how many creators on here have a story behind them, something that fuels their content and connects them with their audience. Not that you'll ever know the full truth—they keep their personal lives as hidden as you do yours, tucked away behind usernames and carefully composed photos. Just as you keep your chronic illness behind a shield, they too have their own secrets. It's safer that way.

Each post from Prongs is a window, however small, into the life they share. The photos are playful, intimate—a hand reaching out to touch, fingers tracing the curve of a muscle, the rumpled sheets of a bed bathed in the warm glow of a setting sun. Faces are always obscured, identities hidden behind screen names and tantalising hints of bodies that suggest closeness without ever fully revealing. It's like a jigsaw puzzle with ever-changing pieces, a mystery enticing followers back for more.

The cover images on each video promise another piece of the story: Prongs’s hips pressed against Padfoot’s backside, their bodies moving together in rhythm, or maybe Moony's hand tangled in Prongs' hair, speaking volumes without words. Captions tease just as much as the images they're attached to: "Can't help being all tangled up," one reads, while another suggests, "Moony and Padfoot never give me a break 😏." Almost every post ends with a familiar prompt—“see the unedited version on @packofpleasure.”

The names Moony and Padfoot are everywhere, tagged in Prongs' bio with links to their own free accounts, @moonysden_free and @padfootsplaypen_free. And then there's the shared world they offer on their paid account, where followers can pay to peek behind the curtain and see what happens when the camera keeps rolling.

Your hand hovers over the trackpad, careful not to click on anything that might alert anyone to your presence. The videos tempt you with their colourful thumbnails and engaging titles, but you resist. You know how these platforms work. It would be all too easy to accidentally hit the like button and leave a digital footprint where you have no intention of treading.

A notification pings, pulling you away from the infinity scroll. Your heart pounds in your chest as you see a new message waiting for you.

It’s from Prongs.

ProngsPlayground_free: Hi! My name is Prongs, and I wanted to take a moment to introduce myself properly. My boyfriends and I have been fans of your content across various platforms for some time now, and we've always admired the passion and authenticity you bring to your work — it’s what we try to bring to our own content, to say the least.

As you finish reading, another message arrives, this one tinged with a different tone—more hesitant, but still earnest.

ProngsPlayground_free: We have discussed subscribing to your OnlyFans on more than one occasion, and today I finally took the plunge and made it official. I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to ask a somewhat delicate question: Would it be acceptable for me to share your content with my boyfriends? I understand that sharing outside of the platform goes against the rules—and for good reason—but given the nature of our relationship, not sharing feels... odd, to say the least. I didn't want to make any assumptions, so I thought it best to reach out and ask directly 😅

Your brow furrows as you read the message again, a spark of surprise igniting in your chest. It's unusual to see such respect when it comes to sharing your content—most people just do it without a second thought, and you're left hoping they haven't undermined your livelihood by giving away what you charge for. But the fact that he asked... it's endearing in a way that makes the corners of your lips twitch upward.

You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. You don't want to seem too eager, but there's an undeniable intrigue that tugs at you. Prongs and his boyfriends have shown genuine interest in your work, and perhaps there's a part of you that wants to know more about them, too. With a soft exhale, you begin typing your response.

You: Hey, Prongs! Thanks for reaching out. I appreciate you being direct about it. Honestly, I don't mind as long as it's just between the three of you—since you're all in a relationship, I can make an exception. 😉

You send the message and lean back, stretching your arms a bit, though your back still hurts too much to move much. It's not the first time someone has asked about sharing your porn with a partner, but this feels different. Maybe it's because they're a throuple, or maybe it's just the respectful way he asked. Either way, you're okay with it.

A few moments later, another message notification pops up. But this time, the message has a noticeably different tone.

ProngsPlayground_free: Thanks for being so chill about it! I know Prongs can get a bit stuffy with the rules sometimes, but we really appreciate you letting us use your place. We’re happy to give you a nice tip for being so accommodating. 😉 How does $100 sound? - Pads

You stare at your screen, a half-laugh caught in your throat. You hadn't anticipated an offer of a tip, let alone one as generous as $100, and you certainly wouldn't have asked for it. But when opportunity knocks...

You: I wasn’t going to ask for a tip, but since you offered… $100 sounds just fine. 😏

A spark of excitement flickers in your chest as you send the message. It's always a pleasant surprise when subscribers offer tips for additional content or special circumstances, and it helps more than they might realize. Sometimes, between managing your health and the unpredictability of your condition, working on OnlyFans can be more challenging than it seems. It's not just a playful side hustle—it's a lifeline on days when your energy is too low to do much else, and it feels good when subscribers acknowledge the work behind each post.

Almost immediately, a message appears from Prongs’s account: I sent you a $100.00 tip with the attached message of 'We appreciate you!'

You smile to yourself, pausing as you consider how to respond. It would be easy enough to leave it at that, a simple exchange of money for content, but something in you wants to offer them more. A gesture of gratitude for their generosity, a token of appreciation beyond the expected. You remember a video you recorded a while back—it was one of your favourites, originally sent out as pay-per-view content about a month ago. Perhaps they'd enjoy that?

You attach the video, your finger hovering over the file icon for a fraction of a second before you press it. The thumbnail shows a blurred image of your body, a tantalizing promise of what's inside. You push play just to make sure everything is as it should be. The clip begins with the camera set on a tripod, capturing the scene in your bedroom bathed in soft, ambient light. The sheets are rumpled, the air ripe with anticipation. It’s a sensual tableau, and at its center, you.

Your movements are slow and deliberate, each one designed to tease, to draw out the moments until they stretch thin with wanting. Your clothes peel away like layers of an intimate confession, revealing more of yourself with every passing second. A sigh escapes your lips, not acted but drawn from deep within by your own touch, your own desire. The final crescendo comes as no surprise; even through the lens, the raw intensity of your climax is palpable.

The video plays to its end, leaving behind a silence that hums in your ears. You wait for a moment, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, before typing your message.

You: Thanks for being so generous! Here's a little something extra. This was a PPV from last month—hope you all like it. 😘

With that, you lean back in your chair, the tension in your shoulders easing as you let out a long, slow breath. The screen of your laptop throws off a soft glow, casting shadows that dance across the walls of your room. For a moment, everything seems to be right with the world.

Your wheelchair creaks slightly as you shift your weight, the ache in your lower back a constant reminder of your limitations. But as you close the lid of your laptop, there's a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

A soft buzz draws your attention, and you glance down to see a notification lighting up the screen of your phone. It's from Prongs. Intrigued, you unlock the device and tap on the message, your eyes quickly scanning the lines of text, and you find your lips curving into a small smile as you read.

ProngsPlayground_free: Oh, wow. Thanks for that! We didn’t expect anything in return, but we’ll definitely enjoy it 😉 Moony says you’re very generous, and Padfoot is already deep into your feed. Can’t wait to see what you do next!

You can't help but laugh, setting your phone down and leaning back in your chair. This is new, this back-and-forth communication with subscribers. Most keep their identities hidden, their messages short and concise. But there's something different about this group—something inviting. Perhaps it's the respectful undertones or the playful banter they engage in. Either way, it makes you feel... connected, more so than usual.

The day wanes, shadows slanting long against the walls. Your body throbs with the dull ache of fatigue, and you know it's time to rest. With effort, you transfer from your wheelchair to the bed, each movement careful and measured. As you settle into the sheets, your thoughts drift back to Prongs, Moony, and Padfoot.

Who knew that today would turn into this?

[simonisferal]

𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝙲𝚊𝚝 — Interactive Follower Event

chapter one: black cat, green eyes

notes: sorry for not posting since may 😭, i forgot it existed and i had to make a 4 page google doc for it 😋 do NOT stay with heizou / also i didnt know that my little dividers stopped??? like huh???

masterlist

1.4k words

…Yes. I’ll take it as an apology for the way he acted yesterday.

Ignoring the confident look he gave you after you took his coffee, you take it and have a small sip. It was lukewarm, like he decided to buy it and then contemplate whether or not to give it to you for a few minutes. A very specific taste you’ve learned to like. You locked the front door and went with him.

You two don’t talk as he opens the passenger door for you and he walks over to the driver seat. You sit down, setting the coffee cup in a cup-holder and closing the door. 

Some blood drips down from your nose and you realize you probably look like a mess. You look to the side-view mirror, catching a small glance at yourself before seeing that Scaramouche was looking at you.

He snorts, holding back a laugh you could assume would be about your appearance and leans in. He takes a band-aid out of it before quickly shutting it back up with force, getting a yelp from you.

”So dramatic. It’s not like I’m gonna kill you or something.”

He opens the bandaid and covers your nose with it. It doesn’t really help with the faint bleeding but it’s better than a swollen nose. You hesitate to touch it, long after his hand has already backed away and is on the steering wheel, scared that it’ll probably hurt.

You touched it and it did. It’ll make a bad bruise soon but nothing too bad.

The car ride was silent besides the occasional static on the low-volume radio he had. His car was nice, not expensive but still something much better than your small Toyota you got from your friend's neighbor. You would scroll through social media if you had your phone.

You noticed around five minutes in the ride that you weren’t going to the department. The turns became more narrow and the streets started looking unfamiliar. “Where are we going?”

”A new case popped up. Turns out another murderer is on the loose.” He doesn’t look at you as he continues driving but you can’t help but notice the way his eyebrows furrowed.

”Sounds scary.” You say. Scaramouche scoffs but you catch the small smile on his face. “Sure.”

”Hey! Glad you guys could make it.” Shinobu welcomes you to the scene. It was in a moldy alleyway with an ill stench reaching your nose. There was a tarp over the victim and only a few cops around holding the crowd back. There were a few guys from your station, some from another’s and a few reporters, like Charlotte, that you saw blocked by the ‘DO NOT CROSS’ tape. Your partner went under it, gaining small cheers from the reporters. “Yeah. Who are the other guys?”

“They’re 724’s guys,” Kuki explained. They were honestly an average group of detectives but there was a diamond in the mud.

Shikanion Heizou.

He doesn’t really need an introduction, almost everyone in the force knows who he is. He’s almost too good at his job—the only reason he hasn’t been promoted or fired was because of his off-the-book investigations.

”Those guys? Please, it’s probably not that serious.” Scaramouche crosses his arms like he was offended. He was probably right, Shinobu did enjoy extra precautions and calling another department was a hobby of hers. She only sighed and looked at you.

She opened her mouth and before she could speak, someone else spoke. Speak of the devil…

“Oh, hey (Y/N)! I’ve been looking for you.” Heizou had a smile on his face and he reached his hand out to shake. His hand was gloved, and soaked in blood from probably touching the victim (even though everyone tells him not to).

“Oh! Uh…” You sheepishly smile at him back while sweating profusely, eyeing his hand and Scaramouche’s coat pocket. Your partner sighs, as if knowing what you’re saying, and takes out a random napkin from his pocket. He hands you it and you use it to ‘shake’ Heizou’s hand. “Yeah, nice to meet you too…”

Heizou backs away his hand, taking off the blue glove alongside the napkin and tossing it somewhere on the crime scene. Kuki gives him a side-eye glare and he brushes it off. “Relax! Me and the guys already took pictures and sent things to forensics. There’s nothing of importance here.”

Both Scaramouche and Kuki grumbled at his backhanded compliments towards his work.

”Anyways,” Heizou clapped his hands together, trying to rewind. “It would be most appreciated if (Y/N) comes with me, back to my department. I got something for them there.” His moles moved as he smiled. He was trying to convince you to go with him, you figured.

Kuki held your shoulder, “Come on then. Let’s go.” You, without much thought, let your department manager drag you into a van without letting you inspect the scene properly.

It was dirty, as if someone lived there, but it smelled rather nicely. One seat didn't even have a seat belt—instead duct tape and a magnet that probably wouldn't give you any form of protection in a car accident…

You made Scaramouche sit in that seat.

Unlike the previous car ride, Heizou and Kuki made some small talk about personal matters. They seemed to be close. "Co-workers or cousins?" You mutter.

"Might be both."

"Welcome to our department, 827. We hope to cooperate nicely." A woman, taller than both you and Scaramouche spoke. She had raven hair and the eyes of a hawk. She stood proud until she saw Heizou. A scornful look covered her face and she crossed her arms. 'Was she Shikanion's manager..?’

Heizou steps past her, "That's the Captain. Kujou Sara, meet Shinobu, Scaramouche, and (Y/N). You three, Sara." Everyone exchanges vague greetings and a short handshake before the burgundy hair detective grabs your hand. "I got something for you. It's important, 'kay?" He gives out another smile.

You sweat again. "Uhh, sure." You could trust him, right..? Some other guy, a blue-haired fellow with a mole under his lip, dragged Kuki and your partner away for something else. Scaramouche gives you a glance before following the guy.

"What's it about?"

The smile that once held itself on Heizou's lips shrank. "Can't say it out here, you know. It's like you've never been told a secret." He jokes but something tells you it's probably bad.

Like once before, you let yourself get dragged into an office. You internally curse yourself as he locks the door. He checks the blinds on his door, closing them but ignoring the outdoor windows’. What was such a big deal?

He sits down once he makes sure everything is secure, his eyes closed and his hands clasped together over his desk. He takes a deep breath. His demeanor went from the care-free cop you thought he was to a serious detective as he locked eyes with you. "What I say can't leave this room, (Y/N)."

The room instantly became cold and you felt a shiver down your spine. "Uhmm…what is it?"

Heizou pauses. He eyes you up and down, watching for any shift in your body language. "I, unfortunately, have a reason to suspect that our soon-to-be-serial killer might be going after you."

You blink. "...What."

"The murderer from the alleywa—"

He tries to speak but gets interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

The blinds shake and you let out a small scream, surprised.

"(Y/N)!" It was a voice you knew—Scaramouche's. "We're going back to our department." You don't know whether or not to feel relieved or even more scared.

Heizou groans, standing up and walking over to his office door. He unlocks it and stares dormantly at your partner. "Must you go so soon? (Y/N) and I were having a pleasant conversation." He smiles as if teasing the indigo-haired man.

"Yeah. I don't wanna be in this dumb department, let alone with the Kamisatos over there, when we have work to do and a case to solve." He snarls and he looks at you. "Come on. Let's go."

You tense up and freeze. Why did God always give you two options?! Although you'd love to leave and forget what shocking news Heizou told you seconds ago, if it's real…you can't risk dying because of your cowardness. Or maybe Heizou was wrong, in the one and a billionth chance he is.

Kuki was behind Scaramouche, a frown on her face. You didn’t know if it was towards you or Shikanion. “Heizou, leave them alone. You know they scare easily.”

“Oh, come on! I’m just kidding!~” His smile didn’t falter but his voice did crack, though you doubt someone else heard it. He held out his hands in defense as if he were joking before sliding them around your waist.

His voice lowered as Heizou whispered in your ear. ”What do you wanna do?”

masterlist — prev — next

[marlynnofmany]

Digital Billboards and Bumper Stickers

I handed another can of food to Eggskin, thinking idle thoughts about skin and scale color. Neither of us were what I considered kindergarten-crayon colors, though I was somewhere in the white-brown-pink area while they were a yellow-green-white. Someday I’d ask them if they knew their scales were the color of human boogers (no I wouldn’t).

Really I was thinking about that to avoid reading the labels of the food, since most of them had my alien crewmates in mind, and looked profoundly unappealing to me. This stack was mostly bug paste. Some cans were shelled, and some unshelled. Flavored with the highest quality algae. Bluh.

“That’s the last of these,” I said happily, handing it over.

Eggskin placed it on the shelf and looked thoughtfully down at the counter still strewn with shelf-stable food. “Let’s do the seed paste next. Leave the herb stalks out; I’ll want to use them sooner than the rest.”

Following their pointing claw, I located the jars of peanut-butter-adjacent food, and the narrow boxes that I’d thought were spaghetti. “Got it.” I shoved the boxes aside and started passing the jars to Eggskin for placement. Reorganizing the shelves was a lot of work. I could see why they’d asked for assistance. At the very least, it would have gotten boring after a while.

Eggskin asked, “So what was the captain grumbling about just now?”

I thought back to when Eggskin had recruited my help from outside the cockpit. I’d only been there to bring Wio the water bottle she’d left in the lounge, but it had been long enough to pick up the gist of the conversation. “All the ships in this area have extra information on their ID’s, and they keep popping up as images overlaying the map, making it hard to see where everything is.”

Eggskin turned with the speed of a striking snake. “What area? Where are we going? I knew I should have checked the schedule.”

“I didn’t catch the name,” I said, but Eggskin was already racing for the door.

“Put away the jars, please; I’ll get the rest later!”

I paused for a moment, then hurried to put all the seed paste jars next to the cans of bug paste, labels forward and in neat rows. Then I ran after Eggskin.

When I arrived at the cockpit, I found our ship’s cook/medic with a hand on Wio’s chair, pointing something out to the captain.

Captain Sunlight sat in the copilot’s seat, frowning at the screen. Many colors reflected off her bright yellow scales, glowing from the mishmash of light that was normally a dark starfield. “If we make that much of a detour, we won’t be able to make the delivery on time. We’ll just have to go dark on communications until we get there.”

Eggskin made a concerned noise as Wio tapped several buttons with her tentacles. The room was suddenly darker as all the company logos and custom images blinked out of sight. The screen now held the usual blackness of space, speckled with stars — one close enough to be called a sun — and a variety of ships mostly heading to or from a distant space station shaped like a tube. There were also far more asteroids hanging around than I was entirely comfortable with.

But before I could ask about that, the music started.

I think it was music. “What is that?” I asked at the jumble of sound. It sounded like several radio stations at once, some playing recognizable instruments, some talking, and others making what sounded like rude noises.

In a tone of defeat, Eggskin said, “The ads and taunts can detect visual sensors. Some ships target outsiders in exactly our position: no time or money to buy a blocker.”

Wio made a rude sound of her own and turned the volume down.

Captain Sunlight was still frowning. “I don’t want to speak ill of anyone else’s way of life, but this is terrible.”

Eggskin gripped both chairs, eyes trained on the screen. “It’s one of many reasons why I left. You’ll want to keep that big ship between us and the station for as long as you can.” They pointed briefly. “Or else we’ll have a Core on our tail wanting to fine us for flying blind.”

“Terrible,” the captain repeated. But she instructed Wio to do as they said, while aiming for one specific asteroid that hadn’t come onscreen yet.

This seemed like a good time to ask. “Why are there so many asteroids this close to the station?”

Captain Sunlight flicked a glance at me, possibly only now noticing I was there in the doorway.

Eggskin answered without turning. “It was meant to be a tourist attraction, but the company got bought out and the project abandoned. Now half of the gravity engines are failing, and reputable businesses are leaving the area.”

Wio said, “It still looks awfully busy.”

“That would be the disreputable sorts. If you see a triangle where the stars disappear for a moment, fly at max speed in the other direction, never mind the delivery time.”

Captain Sunlight turned her frown on Eggskin. “It’s that extreme of a danger?”

The hands on both chairs tightened. “Yes.”

I studied the screen for any sign of disappearing stars. Black ships in the blackness of space were uncommon back in familiar territory, for the simple reason that they risked having someone crash into them and atomize both ships. But it sounded like someone here considered that a risk worth taking so they could sneak up on others. I didn’t ask what they did when they succeeded.

We spent a tense few minutes flying in silence, with no sign of invisible ships and only a few pop-ups. Apparently even flying blind couldn’t block all of them out. At least these were mostly informational things on the asteroids themselves, defunct notifications about events and attractions that had never been finalized.

One ship that looked cobbled together from spare parts had a blank panel above the thrusters that drew my eyes with how bright white it was. Eggskin stared at it intently. “This could be nothing,” they said, “But it could be important. Use a tight-beam scan for that panel.”

Wio did. As if the ship was just waiting for someone to look, it accelerated away and produced an image that glowed on our screen after it was long gone. The stylized pair of shapes were vaguely familiar.

While Eggskin made a disappointed grumble, I asked, “What is that? I’ve seen that symbol on the back of a racing ship.”

“I believe,” said Captain Sunlight, “It is an insult. A view of the bottoms of the pilot’s feet as they swim or fly away from you.”

“Oh,” I said. “Huh. I guess it’s like mooning someone. Or an ‘Eat my dust’ bumper sticker.”

Before anyone could ask what human nonsense I was talking about, Wio spotted the meeting location. “This one, right?” she asked the captain. “The mid-sized flat one?”

Captain Sunlight consulted a smaller screen. “That is where they said to meet. But they also said they would be here before us, ready to rush off as soon as they got our delivery.”

Wio and Captain Sunlight inspected the surrounding area for other ships, which all seemed to have left. I kept watching the stars, sparing a glance for Eggskin, who looked more intense than ever.

“Scan the landing area,” they said suddenly.

The message that popped up this time was a simple text one, in a language I didn’t recognize.

But Eggskin did. “Thought so. Send a tight-beam message back to open the drop box. This message.” They rattled off a string of numbers that Wio dutifully copied down and sent. I saw the captain also copy it onto her notepad with an expression that suggested she had some questions for Eggskin later.

Lo and behold, the flat part of the asteroid rolled back into an empty space that could have fit a ship larger than ours. The light of the distant sun showed it to be empty.

Captain Sunlight sat back, exasperated. “Where did they go?”

Wio said, “There’s a ship over there. Is that them?” She turned our view to show a speedy little junker careening between the asteroids toward us.

“I don’t think so,” the captain said. “Unless they had to use a different ship.”

A patch of stars behind it winked out. I pointed. “Invisible ship!”

Before Wio could hit the thrusters, Eggskin commanded, “Get in the drop box!”

Wio threw a glance at Captain Sunlight, who nodded. Wio sent our little courier ship diving into the secret hidey-hole, folding the solar sails and transmitting the other message Eggskin gave her to close the hatch.

It was very dark inside that drop box. I thought briefly about the rest of the crew, who had no idea how much danger they were in. I didn’t even know how much danger we were in. But I suspected it was a lot.

Eggskin said, “We should be safe after a few minutes. Given their trajectory, they were chasing that other ship. Even if they saw us, they’ll be busy.”

Wio asked, “These aren’t the people who will fine us, are they?”

“No,” Eggskin said firmly. “The Core will fine you, because they’re what passes for a police force out here. Spherical ships, like a planet’s core. That,” they said, pointing emphatically, “Was a Lancer. They will dismantle your ship, sell it for scrap, and sell you to a work camp. No, the Core won’t stop them. Yes, it’s terrible.”

The captain nodded. “One of the many reasons why you left.”

“Yes.”

“Well, we very much appreciate your expertise today!”

“I’m just glad I realized where we are,” Eggskin said. “I’ll make a point of checking the schedule more regularly.”

“And I will make a point of not accepting deliveries for this part of space, no matter how much they pay,” the captain said wryly.

We sat there a little while longer, until Eggskin said it was safe to open the hatch. All the stars were in place as we ventured out. Nothing moved, not even any drifting bits of dismantled ship. Good news.

But also bad news, since we still didn’t know where our client was.

“I will be extremely disappointed if all this risk was for nothing,” Captain Sunlight said. “Eggskin, are there likely to be other drop boxes nearby that they could have hidden in?”

Eggskin let out a breath. “If there are, I won’t know the codes for them.”

The captain made another note to herself, and told Wio to search the area for other likely asteroids. I did my part by continuing to watch the stars, just in case.

Wio said, “Most of these have a flat enough area to land on.”

Eggskin put in, “By design.”

“Should I turn the communications back on, to look for markers?” Wio asked. “There are no other ships over here to jam our screen.”

Eggskin muttered, “Optimistic.”

Captain Sunlight said, “Do it.”

The drifting space rocks were suddenly festooned with logos. It wasn’t as bad as before, but it wasn’t great. They were all old and glitchy.

Wio turned the volume up slightly, just enough to hear that any audio messages had dissolved into static. “If anybody spots something promising, sing out.”

We all watched the screen as Wio slowly toured the area. A couple of asteroids had newer pop-ups, but these were clearly graffiti: messages about how somebody was the envy of this half of the galaxy, or how whoever was reading the message should go stick their tail in a thruster.

“What species made most of this?” Wio asked.

“The original owners were Frillians,” said Eggskin. “Though that graffiti clearly wasn’t.”

“And what species is our client?” Wio asked the captain. “Or is it a mixed ship?”

Captain Sunlight glanced down at her notes, then up at me. “Human.”

Oh. No pressure. “I haven’t seen anything yet that looks particularly human-ish,” I said. “But I’ll look.” I gave up on the stars for now, and stared at the asteroids. “Are those two just extra flat, or do they have panels like that one ship did?”

Wio dutifully moved closer and scanned the two that I pointed out. One was a political slogan about something Waterwill-related from several years ago.

The other one was music. The volume was still quiet, but I recognized it. As Wio turned up the sound of synthetic drumbeats, I grinned at the old Earth anthem.

This asteroid was equipped with a rickroll.

“That’s a human thing,” I said. “Check that one.”

Wio took us closer, then she sent a short-range communication ping, the equivalent of knocking on the door.

And lo and behold, something pinged back and the door opened. A ship floated out that was sleek and aerodynamic, and painted in a camouflage pattern that did absolutely nothing to disguise it against the rock. I burst out laughing as Captain Sunlight hailed them to confirm that they were indeed the people we’d come to meet. I tried to laugh quietly.

With the drop box closed again, there was space for both small ships to land side by side. Theirs even had an extendable airlock that matched up with ours, saving everyone the inconvenience of getting into exo suits and doing the handoff in whatever atmosphere still clung in the artificial gravity.

I got to do the honors, with Captain Sunlight at hand close behind. I suspect she would have preferred to do it herself, but her little lizardy arms weren’t up to carrying a box this size, and there wasn’t space in the airlock for a hover sled. Simpler to just let the tall human do it.

The airlock opened to show a guy who looked malnourished, stressed, and very relieved to see me. “So glad you found us,” he said in an unfamiliar accent, grabbing the payment tablet before I could offer it. “It’s just one thing after another these days.”

“I bet,” I said. “Have you considered leaving? I have it on good authority that life is terrible around here.”

He handed the tablet back. “Thought about it. Dunno what we’d do for a living.”

I gave him the box, which according to the manifest included fresh chicken eggs, kosher salt, and a selection of media from Earth. “Have you considered a career as a courier?”

He smiled. “I’ll mention it to the crew.”

As he stepped back onto his own ship, I called, “Feel free to follow us out! We probably won’t get caught by anybody horrible on the way!”

I heard a chuckle as the door closed.

Once the airlocks were sorted away and everybody was back in position, Wio took us up from the asteroid, and back toward civilized space. I watched from the doorway while Eggskin kept an eye out for dangers. We made it out of the asteroid zone safely.

And so did the other ship, following close behind us.

~~~

Thanks to everybody who joined in the discussion of spaceship bumper stickers and related things, particularly @lillyjen and @voodootortoise!

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[paintingwhiteceilings]

❃How EXO acts around their crush❃

a/n: This is 10000% just for my own pleasure. I may have had this in my drafts for weeks... I am totally okay with all the Kyungsoo solo content and EXO ladder dropping. Totally. Super functional, delusional who?

ALSO to any EXO-L that are sharing Chen's LEAKED wedding photos. Please be respectful and either delete them or, at the very least, blur out his wife's face. Chen has gone to great lengths to safeguard her privacy, as she is not famous nor wants to be in the spotlight. Not to mention that there could be crazy sasaengs out there with ill intent. Sharing her info is basically doxing, and it is insane to me how many people shared these posts without much thought. Anyway, I needed to share my frustrations.

Xiumin/Minseok:

✾ He is a lot shyer than the other members; where most of EXO probably feels comfortable enough to act on their crushes, he is a bit more reserved. He wants to test the waters first, ascertaining whether the feeling is mutual. Whenever you are around and are talking to other people, he sits back silently, observing your reactions.

✾ Xiumin is smiling so widely around you that the other members worry that his muscles might start cramping up soon. The moment he sees you, his bubbly personality starts to really shine through, and sometimes you can't help but wonder whether this man truly is 33.

✾ That being said, from the moment that anyone offers Xiumin a couple of drinks, his confidence spikes, and he will start flirting with you. His flirting is still extremely sweet and cute; Xiumin can be incredibly charming when he wants to be.

Suho/Junmyeon

✾ He is such a gentleman around you, trying to make you feel at ease with his kind gestures. Whether it is him pulling back a chair or opening a door for you, he will do anything to make you feel like a princess.

✾ Being one of EXO's proud black card owners, he will casually buy you whatever you need. He keeps repeating that he wants to treat his friends when you try to interject. You can't completely refute it; he does spend a lot of money on the members. Yet, you can't help but feel like his gifts are slightly too expensive and excessive for 'just friends'.

✾ So. Many. Soft. Glances. Suho looks at you like you hung the moon and the stars; you catch him staring at you almost every time you look over. Conversations with him can, therefore, be a tad awkward. He doesn't always register what you are saying; he is so absorbed in watching you that he forgets to listen.

✾ The other members relentlessly tease him for it. If you don't catch on based on Suho's actions, you will definitely catch on due to his members' relentless teasing. Whenever he does anything remotely romantic around you, their faces light up like Christmas came early. The members are not subtle about it whatsoever, thoroughly enjoying putting their leader in a slightly uncomfortable position.

Baekhyun:

✾ The members didn't think it was possible, but Baekhyun somehow became louder. It is as if he wants to draw your attention simply by screaming, as he no longer has any volume control when you are around. Everyone can hear your conversation from across the room, and his laughter becomes borderline obnoxious as it overpowers any other sound.

✾ He is such a tease and a suggestive one at that. Considering he has no problem revealing intimate, not suitable to be aired on national TV, details about the members' bodies, he won't have any trouble suggestively flirting with you. Where Xiumin's pick-up lines are cute, Baekhyun's are far from it. Give this man some holy water, Jesus.

✾ He is so intense with his flirting that it sometimes crosses the line of sexy to parody, coming off as a joke. Baekyhyun has a very flirty personality and isn't above flirting with his friends. Even though he isn't subtle about his crush, he can accidentally fall into the "he flirts with everyone" category, making you question whether he genuinely likes you or is just being friendly.

✾ He really enjoys the chase when it comes to relationships. Thus, it will take him quite some time before he asks you out, simply because he likes the push-and-pull game.

Chanyeol

✾ There is nothing subtle about Mr. Park Chanyeol. The moment he sees someone he wants to date, he is going for it full steam ahead. Puppy Chanyeol is momentarily retired as he makes his way over to you; Chanyeol knows that he is handsome and sexy, and he is ready to show it to you. I hope you weren't interested in anyone else because the moment you return any of his interest, he will be flirting with you like there is no tomorrow.

✾ Internally, he is so excited to be talking to you, and sometimes, you will see glimpses of his cute puppy-like persona, especially once he feels like you are just as interested. Still, the words coming out of this man's mouth, Jesus part two. Please go and ask Baekyhun to pass the holy water.

✾ That being said, he will get embarrassed when the other members are around or slightly bashful when you return his flirting at full force. I don't think Chanyeol is used to anyone sharing his level of intensity, so once you do, he gets a bit flustered. He absolutely loves it, though. Your compliments got him grinning from ear to ear.

D.O./Kyungsoo

✾ Don't get me wrong, I adore this man to a delusional extent, but he is absolutely hopeless when it comes to communicating with his crush. He won't go anywhere near you if he can't help it; he prefers looking at you from afar. He is someone who favours being approached first over approaching you himself. It isn't that he doesn't want to talk to you; he simply isn't the type of person to initiate contact with his crush and tends to stay back when he can tell that someone else is interested, too. 

✾ Even if he finds himself near you, don't expect him to have a full-blown conversation with you. He already tends to be a man of little words, but when it comes to you, he is a man of not a single word. Being around you is enough to make him happy; he doesn't really need to have a deep conversation. 

✾ Nevertheless, his actions make more than up for it. He is such a gentleman, being the definition of preferential treatment. You don't have a chair to sit on? He will quietly offer you his. Your sweater got caught on something? He will silently help you get it out. Although he may not say much to you, he communicates his feelings through his actions. 

Kai/Jongin

✾ If you think Xiumin or Kyungsoo are shy, you have not yet met Kai with a crush. He turns into absolute mush the moment he sees you, giggling and blushing whenever you do as much as breathing. You can't even see him because he has resorted to hiding behind the other members, preferably Sehun or Chanyeol, as they are tall enough to obscure him completely.

✾ If he somehow musters up the courage to talk to you, good luck having it go anywhere because he can barely make it through a sentence without giggling. It is obvious to everyone around him that he is smitten with you; his laughs are awkwardly loud, and his eyes are literally shooting hearts.

✾ The moment he manages to ask you to dance, his shy demeanour completely changes. His movement… His expressions… The way he is smirking at you… Maybe you should go and ask Chanyeol whether there is anything left of the holy water he borrowed from Baekyhun.

Sehun

✾ He has one of two ways of acting around his crush: either he acts super bratty or becomes painfully shy. It depends on whether he has met and talked to you before. But, if you are complete strangers, he would be so quiet, hiding in the furthest corner he can find.

✾ He will pester the members to go over and collect as much information as they can about you. They will do it because he will whine the entire night about it if they don't and, repeat with me, what Sehun wants, Sehun gets. The members try to convince Sehun to go talk to you himself, but Sehun stubbornly refuses. Bro will be playing the Maknae card harder than he ever has in his entire life.

✾ In the end, he will drag Suho with him, trying to 'casually' strike up a conversation with you. The small talk is painful, and in all honesty, Suho, with his dad jokes, isn't helping in the slightest. At the very least, it provides the two of you with a new conversational topic: the teasing of Suho.

masterlist

[superstarz9]

So y’all fw Mr. Puzzles hcs?

Cause I got some :]

So canonically, based off the emerging movements he makes going from tv mode to ‘normal’ mode and the appearance of his arms/legs, there isn’t much of Puzzles that’s human anymore. The closest things he may have left is his heart and lungs (since he smokes, but that’s also a stretch).

While I prefer the idea thar he smokes, I like to think that he only holds the cigarette and pretends to smoke with a small smoke machine in the back, since the cig isn’t actually lit in the scene (not on purpose, of course).

As a kid, he was inspired to smoke from the old cigarette ads in cartoons (like the Flintstones Winston commercial).

He loves cooking shows and remaking the recipes, but he can’t eat. For a relationship hc (platonic or romantic), he’d probably love making food for you and get feedback on his cooking (eg, more spices, cook more/less, different recommendations). And compliments, of course. Always gotta compliment the chef, after all.

Body-wise (and this one might be kinda gross cause of minor body horror so skip if not comfortable), since we’ve established that there isn’t anything organic anymore about his body, he probably looks like a wire version of muscle anatomy. He’s very self-conscious about this, and tries to hide it the best of his abilities (long clothes, wrapping his arms to keep his shirt in place, the gloves). To add, his brain is probably a unique motherboard with wires surrounding it like a brain.

He sees and hears through the antennas, and makes sure to keep then aligned as much as possible. If one of them is slightly bent out of their usual shape, things look and sound very broken, like your vision going in and out. To add, the top dial changes the channel from his expressions to a specific show, and the lower dial adjusts his volume.

Technically canon but he has heterochromia! His right eye is dark brownish and his left is light blue. (He has homophobia in his eyes 😔 /j /ref)

We already know he stims lets bffr.

My friend’s hc: His angry/scary/humanoid face is parts of his original face, as well as the face that glitches during the movie’s end (I stg I know where that face is from. I wanna say Jack Stauber but I know it’s some kind of claymation. Speaking of Jack Stauber, Mr. Puzzles kinda gives Mirror Man vibes, y’know?).

Since he’s not as human anymore, he doesn’t get sick normally. However, he can get versions of illnesses through similar methods. He can overheat and power off on hot days, and he’s probably not great in rain. His signal also jams when it rains, so he’d constantly be bumping into stuff and wouldn’t be able to control the channels properly (I say control the channels cause idk what else to call it but that thing he does in the movie where he runs all the channels in his head and stuff. His head’s still a fully functional tv after all). If he’s shocked with lighting or smth, he’ll lose his signal, which is his equivalent of going into a coma.

Speaking of rain, he’ll try his best to be on top of the weather and carry an umbrella. However, if he doesn’t have actors for the weather channel and is preoccupied with other projects, he’ll be stuck at the studio waiting out the storm. Relationship hcs for this can be rlly funny. You’d catch him all bitter about the sudden rain as he stands by the door waiting for a cab or smth. If you pull out an umbrella, he’s turn into an absolute drama queen. “Oh, it’s such a TRAVESTY! This HORRIBLE rain just WON’T lighten up! Oh, if only there was someone so kind and caring who’d share their umbrella with me!” You could a) not share the umbrella and receive an even more bitter Puzzles, b) insist on holding the umbrella and have him walk with you awkwardly, or c) give him the umbrella but he holds it so high that you still get wet.

Despite his hatred for the rain, it’s one of the few things he can still enjoy about his humanity. Being a bunch of wires and other tech, he can’t feel anything, just being numb, minus a light electrical pulse, similar to a heart beat. He can’t feel specific textures but can grab and roughly identify objects. However, he can feel the rain and how different it is from other things, and it reconnects him with the real world. For any Steven Universe fans, it’s like Peridot stepping out into the rain for the first time, but more somber.

If he’s out in the rain one day, he’s sick the next. When he sneezes, his screen goes static-y for the moment.

When he sleeps, he has a black screen with the small “sleep mode” pop-up in the corner. He’s also a very light sleeper.

When he zones out, it’s the Puzzlevision logo bouncing across the screen as a screen-saver.

Aight that’s all I got right now. If this does well I’ll post some more!

[agentlizardofowca]

Perryshmirtz / …in secrecy / I know you love your forbiddeen love trops so 👀👀👀

I mixed two asks! Anon asked for 9. In public and @inators asked for 8. in secrecy. Enjoy~

"Agents," Monogram announced seriously as the last chair in the room was filled by Agent Serpent. "We've discovered the location of the dangerous-machine-with-evil-intent convention." He looked around the room. Perry was joined by four other serious looking agents.

"Oh no, DMWEI-con?" Agent Iggy gasped, and he checked the other grave-faced agents for a reaction. "That's bad news."

"It is indeed," Monogram grumbled in agreement. "And all your nemeses have been spotted on the floor. We need you to infiltrate, dismantle the convention and arrest those evil-doers. By being in the building, we have reason to detain them for now. Evidence of their ill intent should be easy enough to find," Monograms eyed his agents, who all nodded seriously. "Good luck agents." As one, the group rose from their chairs.

The evil convention was held in one of the large rooms in the Googleplex Mall, and the easiest way to infiltrate was through the air duct, which was large enough to hold 5 agents. On the way there, Perry had sneakily grabbed his phone and texted an unknown number: 'Don't let me arrest you.' As the agents parked their unmarked vans he received only a 👍in response.

It was tight in the air vent. Agent P was at the front, guiding the other agents through the dusty tunnel. Behind him was Agent Earwig, followed by Agent Narwal, Iguana, and special Agent Slug in the back.

Noises from the convention floor floated up into the vent, when all of a sudden a raspy, accented voice rose above all other sounds.

"Rodney! This is absurd!" Heinz Doofenshmirtz shouted with enough volume to be heard clearly in the air vent. "These machines are going to kill people, I refuse to take part. I am leaving!"

Rodney wrestled himself out of a gaggle of villains, stomped up to him, crossed his arms and huffed. "You had no complaints before."

"That was before I saw your murder-inator!" Only Perry saw how Heinz glanced at the ceiling. "I have to leave right now!"

"Oh no you don't" Rodney replied with obvious frustration. "I did not spend fifteen minutes helping you lug that big-ass machine in here, for you to just leave!"

"What are you going to do, stop me?" Heinz asked in his most annoying and grating tone, which Perry recognized as him trying to frustrate Rodney even more, but to the other agents it just sounded like Heinz Doofenshmirtz.

"You're here till 5PM, you hear?" Rodney hissed, and he pointed at Doof threateningly. It seems that his attempt to annoy was a success.

"This is Agent Iguana, come in." Iggy mumbled into his earpiece softly. "Come in OWCA." He was trying to keep his voice down, but the stuffy airduct wasn't a great place to speak. "Dr Doofenshmirtz appear is being held at the convention against his will."

Perry could hear that there was a response, but he couldn't quite catch what it was. No matter, now that Heinz had manipulated himself into a hostage situation he was a victim.

Agent P quirked an eyebrow at Iggy, who was still actively listening. He then turned to Perry. "He appears to have a machine on the floor, take him down just in case."

Perry nodded and turned back to the vent, from there he could spy on everybody on the floor. He shot off several hand gestures, informing the other agents of their nemeses' locations, checked if everybody knew what to do, and counted down from three.

When he hit zero, all five agents burst from the vent to go fight their respective enemies. To his own frustration, Perry landed in a very cliché superhero pose. He jumped up as quickly as he could and met Doofenshmirtz's eye.

"Ah, Perry the platypus, as you know I am extremely surprised to see you here." He lied. Luckily the other agents were too distracted to pay Heinz's bad lying much mind.

Agent P adopted a fighting stance, and his nemesis mimicked the pose with some confusion. "You're still going to fight me?! I am innocent!"

Perry barely nodded before he jumped into action. He attempted to swipe his lanky nemesis off his feet, but Doof jumped to the side with a proud "Aha!"

He couldn't allow his colleagues to see him struggle in this fight, so he threw a punch, which landed a little harder than he had meant it to be. As Heinz clutched his shoulder and groaned, Perry jumped up on one of the couches.

The room was fairly large. Across the space were around twelve inators, some so large that they stood on the floor and almost reached the ceiling. He wondered how they'd been moved here. It must've been a hassle.

In the back of the room, where Perry and Heinz were fighting, were a few smaller inators, which were presented on tables. There were some handheld models and a few machines the size of microwaves or kitchen aides. Except they didn't make delicious food, they made evil.

Doofenshmirtz attempted to retaliate and jumped Perry, but from his higher vantage point, Perry could easily chuck his nemesis over his shoulder. He jumped after him to go restrain him.

"Not my hair!" Heinz bit out as he got grabbed. He kicked his legs against the floor to try and get away, but all that happened was that they ended up under a table that held some sort of raygun.

Perry almost bumped his head into the table, but he ducked under at the last moment. He didn't want to rock the table -who knew what would happen if he toppled the gun- so he pressed himself against his nemesis, grabbed his hands and forced them above his head.

Now that Doof was finally restrained, he huffed and puffed and struggled for a moment before deflating. "I thought that would work, are you arresting me?"

Perry couldn't sign because his hands were too busy holding Heinz's down by his wrists. As an answer, he just pulled a vaguely frustrated expression and hoped that he would understand.

"Well shit, it's a good thing my inator is absolutely useless." Heinz said and he attempted to shrug even though he was flat on his back with a heavy man on top of him.

Perry blinked in surprise, and when Heinz saw he smiled smugly. "What? As if I didn't expect Francis to send you guys in. That's a gumball machine." And Heinz nodded at a giant Inator that took up an entire corner of the room.

Perry turned his head to look. It really was an impressively large gumball machine. Agent Serpent was fighting Professor insatiable on top of it without any fear of falling off.

"Do you think they're almost done?" Heinz asked as he awkwardly tried to peek past Perry's bulk. "Or do we pretend to fight some more? Do you think they can see us down here?"

Perry watched his fellow agents chase their enemies around the room, vaguely mortified that they were having this much trouble. Then he turned back to Heinz, who was blinking at him. "Is it handcuff time?" He asked.

It was probably meant to be an innocent question, but Perry's mind conjured visions of Heinz in handcuffs that were not workplace-appropriate, and he felt himself blush red.

"Perry?" Heinz asked, and when his nemesis' attention snapped back to reality he squinted his eyes and smiled wickedly. "Were you thinking what I was thinking?"

Agent P was not in the mood to be bullied. This whole conversation was completely inappropriate! Then again, the other agents really couldn't see more than their legs peeking out from under this table.

"Oh you were thinking what i was thinking!" Heinz said with a deranged giggle that Perry wasn't supposed to find attractive, and yet.

"You're going to have to wait, Perry, I think you are arresting me right now. Unless we are living in a reality where things that happen in a certain type of internet video become a reali-"

Heinz couldn't keep talking because his nemesis had gotten so horrified with the things he was insinuating that he had to put a stop to it. Not because he was disgusted or embarrassed, but because he was picturing it; them being inappropriate under this table, whilst people they both knew were right there, just out of view.

If Heinz ever got a chance to ask, Perry would blame adrenaline, or insist he had gone temporairly insane. But Heinz couldn't ask, because Perry was kissing him.

Instead of clutching thin wrists, Perry moved his hands to intertwine their fingers as lips pressed against each other. Because of surprise, Heinz made one high squeaky tone, followed by a deeper, more appreciative noise. Despite the suddenty of the kiss, he didn't seem to mind, because when Perry's warm tongue pressed against his bottom lip he gladly met him in the middle.

After a moment, Perry pulled away to change the angle and dive back in. Before he did, Heinz mumbled a warm, appreciative "Perry" against his lips, and then were kissing again.

For a moment, Agent P forgot where he was, or what he was doing. The way his name had been spoken echoed through his head, only spurring him on, but then a very differeny voice also rang out.

"Perry?" Agent Slug called from across the room, and Perry sprang away from the kiss with such speed that he crashed his head and shoulders into the table they were hiding under.

He saw a worried expression in Doof's eyes for a moment, before Perry dragged him out from under the table, and his expression turned to surprise.

"Perry?!" A moment later, he was chucked against a wall.

Perry was nervous they'd been spotted all through the rest of the mission. But when all the L.O.V.E.M.I.F.F.I.N. members were loaded into the van, and still nobody had looked at Perry funny, he determined they had gotten away with it.

He went to go close the door of the car and caught Heinz's eyes for just a second. Perry shut the door with so much force that Iggy asked him if he was okay. Perry nodded stoicly. Who knew being winked at could be so upsetting.

On the way back to the office Perry determined that Heinz would definitely be free to go home by the end of the day. Now he just had to figure out an excuse to go visit.

[gabessquishytum]

(Part 1/2)

For that "defining moment of 2024" picture you posted: Cow Hob! Yes! Please! And some grave, highly serious and methodically considered thoughts about the Cow Hob AU we need - - Is Dream the absolute best, kindest, most humane and knowledgeable stable-hand for Hob? Yes. Yes he is. He knows everything there is to know about cows. How to groom them, how to care for them. What makes them happy, and what makes them feel safe. What kind of treats they can have and what kind they absolutely love, but can have only a very little bit of. - Does Dream milk his cows by hand? Yes. He absolutely does. Milking machines are far too clinical. Cows aren't just lactating machines, they deserve appreciation and respect for all they contribute. Dream milks all his cows by hand, even though it's more time consuming that way. It's much more comfortable for them. His cows are much happier that way. - Plus, milking is like bonding time. It's a reward for all the hard work cows do. They put in so much effort, carrying all that milk. Dream could be efficient and task-oriented, even milking them by hand, but he isn't. He makes sure he's extra gentle with them. He takes his time, making sure they're calm before and throughout. Then he pats and even combs the coat of each one after, so they end the milking session relaxed, shiny and happy. - Because he's so thorough and methodical, approaching milking time like a full on check-over, instead of just going in and getting what he's there for, Dream has caught many an early symptom of illness, strain, or disease, simply by taking his time to observe their coats, eyes and hoofs. Any cow knows that if there's a problem with them, Dream will catch it almost immediately!- Do the cows love Dream? Yes, they definitely do. They're in so much better shape since Dream was hired onto the farm. The other stable boy, Corinthian, is crude and rough and doesn't treat them all that well. Luckily, he's been given some other chores, so Dream works more with the cows. Dream doesn't have much time because he's so busy, running other errands and chores in the stable, but whenever the cows can they'll be bounding up to him, trying to get scratches and pats and treats. Hob is the cow who loves Dream most of all, and is always trying to get him to himself, but honestly, he's kind of a big guy who can't squeeze into small spaces, and that dainty little white cow with a stupid non-cow name, Shakespeare, always gets all of Dream's attention just because he's the smallest and can squeeze between all the farm equipment to follow Dream around easily! What a chore! - Luckily for Hob, he's also the cow on the farm with the shiniest horns, the longest hair, and the largest volume of the creamiest, most magnificent milk. This means that Dream has to spend the most time milking him and grooming him. Unlike dainty Shakespeare, who, alright, doesn't take up much space, but doesn't give very much milk either!

Cow Expert Anon. I am now christening you Cow Expert Anon, I hope you don't mind. This is wonderful and meticulous. I am going to add the other parts that you sent here, as screenshots, because I think everyone should be able to read the whole thing at once. Bear in mind that you may need to zoom in a fair bit to read.

I'm so obsessed with cow Hob just being the goodest, sweet little cutie but also leading the cows on a rebellion because he is NOT a pushover and he wants his Dream back!!! Also the Endless family becoming a cow/animal rehab ranch cooperative is the most wonderful thing and I just KNOW that Death would be the gentlest kindest milkmaid (although Dream is still Hob’s favourite, of course).

Dream is very much in his element, still hyperfixated on his beloved cows, still talking to them - hell he brings them inside the Endless mansion if they ever get sick or under the weather. If Dream ever gets the hints and Hob ever does end up having a calf, Dream practically moves his beloved cow into his own bedroom for the whole process! Hob has never been more spoiled, but he sure does deserve it. He's still trying to figure out how humans sleep in beds, though.

The milk and cheese produced by the Endless cows isn't exactly a huge amount, and they wouldn't turn a profit, but that's not the point. They're part of Dream’s family, now. He loves every one of them, and everything that they give him tastes sweeter than anything he's ever tasted before.

And yes, Hob’s calf is the cutest ever. Not quite as cute as Hob himself, if you ask Dream. Shakespeare is soooo jealous of course, but there's nothing he can do! Dream's heart belongs to Hob’s shiny horns, shaggy hair, and adorable brown eyes. No matter how much his family laughs at him, he'll be Hob’s best friend/beloved forever and ever <3

[little-annie]

Okay, so, with Dustin and Robin checked off the list, now they're left to tell the remaining members of The Party.

El, Max, Lucas, Mike and Will.

And truthfully, they aren't that worried anymore.

Although their telling Robin and Dustin didn't go as planned, neither time was traumatic or generally all that eventful. So really, sitting here in the Harrington house once again with five sets of eyes on them, they aren't as nervous as they once figured they'd be. Sure the whole coming out thing is still scary, but they honestly feel like they don't need to be so scared anymore.

Dustin and Robin are sitting there with knowing expressions; impatiently waiting, exuding some form of guard dog energy like they'll pounce if anyone has anything ill mannered to say.

But again, they aren't very concerned about something like that happening.

They're good kids.

They're, their good kids.

So, they're sitting close, thighs touching, Eddie's arm around the back of the couch, occasionally playing with Steve's hair. No one's really paying them any mind. Yeah, maybe they get the occasional glance from Will or the rare one from Mike, but other than that, the boys are just bickering about something D&D related while Max and El whisper and giggle about lord knows what.

Robin's waiting and so is Dustin. They know today's plan and with that they've been occasionally glancing at the pair, waiting for the reveal.

They do actually have a plan for today, believe it or not. It's nothing spectacular but it's a simple action that's sure to get the job done.

See, Steve's not very good with words and well, Eddie tends to be a little too forward, a little too vulgar or a little too animated and in a situation like this, they just need something simple.

And simple is Steve turning to Eddie, nosing against his cheek and placing a gentle peck on his boyfriend's now rosy skin.

The moment it happens the mounting screaming match around them ceases, all bickering is suddenly silent, forgotten, dead quiet.

There's eyes on them now and when Eddie returns the affection with a smiling kiss to Steve's cheek, everyone's jaw drops.

Well, except for Robin's and Dustin's. They're absolutely beaming with pride.

And after a beat, then two, then three, it's an eruption of overlapping questions and statements coming not so quietly from the group in front of them.

"Fucking finally"

"I knew it! Told you Mike, hand it over, ten bucks!"

"You…You can….But Steve dated Nancy…"

"It's called Bi-Sexual you dumbass. You can like both"

"...both"

"Congratulations!"

It's just short of utter chaos in the room. Well, except for two. Will's quiet, very quiet actually and red in the cheeks, glancing between Mike and the pair cuddled up on the couch. Whereas Mike's uncharacteristically quiet, only whispering words, staring down into the carpet, flushing white and looking a little green around the gills.

Then of course, amongst everything else, Max has to pipe up, shouting and cackling from her seat across the room, "Just don't get Steve pregnant!"

Well, and that seems to set the mood.

Once again the room erupts with sheer volume, though this time, in laughter. The kids are all cackling, Robin almost immediately in tears, wiping her eyes, pointing mockingly at Steve as he sits there in horror that that seems to be everyone's reaction to this situation, 'Don't get Steve pregnant.'

"What about Eddie! Huh-" Steve sits upright, hands up in offence, "What about 'don't get Eddie pregnant'?"

The volume in the room dies down, but hardly. Everyone's wiping tears from their eyes, trying to catch their breath or choking back their still bubbling laughter when Robin adds in her two cents, "Steve. Babe, you're obviously the mother in this situation."

"And Eddie's the dad." Dustin plainly states like it's a well known fact… and maybe it is, by the way everyone around them nods in all seriousness.

Mildly offended, brow furrowed, Steve can feel Eddie lean in closer, lips hovering over his ear as he whispers, smirk evident in his tone, "Oh, am I your Daddy, Stevie?"

And good Christ, this isn't the time or the place for shit like this. Steve can feel his cheeks flush and a very unwanted knot coil in his gut before he slaps Eddie away and grumbles through grit teeth, "Shut up, you know we don't do that."

Eddie only snickers, falling back into his previous position on the couch, giving Steve's thigh a quick squeeze in the process.

"I don't care if you two are just fooling around or you're in love, but whatever that,-" Max motions to where Steve has pulled a pillow into his lap and has flushed a deep shade of red," -is, is not happening anywhere around me. Keep it in your pants when you're not in the bedroom. Gross." She grimaces at her own words before adding, "But like, congratulations I guess. We love you both"

Everyone nods along. Mike's still very quiet, nearly burning holes into the side of Will's head with his eyes as everyone carries on with their questioning.

"So like, what is this really? Are you dating?"

"Are you in love?"

"You haven't done it on this chair have you?"

And the questions kept coming, to which the boys answered to the best of their ability before getting interrupted by another stream of inquiries.

It'd been thirty minutes before everyone settled down, resuming their previous conversations like the reveal of Steve and Eddie's relationship wasn't a big deal.

But they suppose, maybe it wasn't. Maybe they did an alright job at parenting these kids part time for them to be actual decent human beings. They're in a safe space, surrounded by people who love and respect them. Maybe they didn't have to be so scared in the first place.

The only thing Steve has to be scared of is his apparent new nickname in the hands of one Dustin Henderson,

"Hey Mom, can we go to the arcade?"