#they have these characters toss around the most empty “I love you’s

[xx-spookyb-xx]

I fear everything DC pushes about the main continuity bat characters being family makes zero sense to me.

Like, they don’t even back that shit up writing wise. How am I supposed to take it seriously?

There are so many interesting character dynamics that I actually enjoy within the Bat Clan and boiling pretty much all of them down to being important only because “now we’re family” (ie: we’re related now, not we’re like family) or “you’re my brother/sister now” is so fucking boring and not as indicative of the fandom supposedly appreciating “found family” and “untraditional family units/dynamics” as I think y’all think it is.

Y’all don’t give a shit. Just be real about it. If you actually wanted or cared about the existence of “untraditional family units” you wouldn’t force the Bats into the most boring and round about nuclear family dynamics every chance you get.

You’d also respect that not everybody that grew up in the same house considers themselves siblings (blood related or not) and that tons of people can live under the same roof or have the same father (once again biological or otherwise) and not claim each other as siblings even if they’re in contact with one another.

Jason and Tim being automatically considered siblings just because they’re contactually related to Bruce without their explicit say so (like Dick and Tim for example) despite having never met before Jason tried to kill Tim’s skinny ass makes zero sense to me. A sibling tie should be given way more weight than that, especially within an adopted family dynamic. It’s a choice. Dick choosing Tim is important and even more crucial is the fact that he didn’t choose Jason in that same way, and I’m not saying that he didn’t choose Jason at all just that there’s differences. The commitment is different.

Like, the idea that you have to be siblings if you share a parent (one or more) is why so many sibling relationships don’t hold up against adulthood and a lack of forced proximity. If that was actually how humans and emotions worked then they wouldn’t disown and separate themselves from each other now would they?

The sibling thing applies to allll of the Bats by the way. That’s a choice you make and I don’t think it’s as interesting anymore when you take away these characters’ ability to form their own specific connections with others by forcing a relationship dynamic on them automatically just because they all have their own separate connections with one man.

For some of them the sibling dynamic is a really interesting character beat and for others it’s just a box for DC to check off that waters down the connection or feels disingenuous to the characters involved.

[m0e-ru]

annual realization where this gas station’s operations and my life owe it all to visualive i’m serious

[halfvalid]

Hey! Since your requests are open, may I request opla!Zoro x reader (established relationship) where the reader has a lot of self doubt (not only in their looks, but their abilities and their place in the crew) since it’s, unfortunately, been shoved done their throat by pretty much eveyone they knew, even their parents, that they would never be good enough? Maybe Zoro figures out that they have sort of been spiralling lately and they have a talk about the readers past and the problems they’re facing and he comforts them? Maybe it ends sort of spicy or turns out full on spicy, if you’re comfortable with that!

daybreak

ABOUT

alternate title: some fluffy established relationship hurt/comfort to save my soul

rating: teen & up

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k (short; sorry!)

description: zoro notices you've been seeming off recently, and you confide in him your insecure feelings of self-worth. he comforts you.

tags: strawhat!reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, kissing, no use of ‘y/n’, soft zoro, ridiculously stupidly absolutely horrifyingly fluffy. 

author’s note: thank you so much for the very lovely request! i hope i did your prompt justice; i ended up not writing any spice at the end (just slightly suggestive) since i didn't think it fit the story but i hope you like it anyway ^^

it feels slightly ooc, but i also wrote it in the span of two hours at 1:00 am so can you really blame me. 

It was morning on the Going Merry, and you were cleaning up the wreckage that had been scattered along the deck in your last battle. The crew had gone up against some other pirates; it’d been late at night, and the attack had come suddenly, what you’d thought would be a peaceful docking turning combative quickly. 

You barely remembered the fight. One moment, the warning bell had sounded, and the next Zoro was rolling out of bed beside you, grabbing his swords and darting out of your bedroom before you could even register what was happening. The fight had gone in the Straw Hats’ favor, thankfully; Zoro, Luffy, and Sanji had fended off most of the threat, and you were back on the open sea, safe from enemies for at least a little while now. 

You let out a sigh as you swept shattered glass into a dustpan, shaking out the collected trash into a nearby empty barrel. None of the men usually bothered to start cleaning up—typical—so you’d pulled yourself out of bed as early as possible to get the ship looking a little more like normal. 

Zoro had left some corpses on the deck for you to deal with, and you’d had to toss them overboard, a grimace tugging at your lips as blood stained the white of your blouse. No matter. You’d finished sweeping, at least; all you had left to do was mop, right as everyone else was waking up. 

You filled a bucket with warm water and soap, and were just grabbing the mop from the closet when you heard footsteps. You glanced up, surprised to see Zoro heading towards you, one hand grasped loosely around his sword handle as always. “You’re up early,” he said, casual as ever. “Woke up and you were gone.” 

“Figured I should get a head start on cleaning,” you answered quickly, not meeting Zoro’s eyes as you dunked the mop into the bucket. His brows creased as he watched you start mopping, pushing the handle along the deck to wipe it clear of bloodstains. 

“How long have you been doing this?” Zoro asked, after a few seconds of delayed silence. You shrugged, dunking your mop again before going for another few swipes. “We can help clean too, you know.” 

“It’s the least I can do,” you protested. You moved past him, trying very hard not to meet his eyes—but Zoro didn’t let you pass, one hand going out to grab the mop rod and stopping you in your tracks. “What?” 

“What do you mean, least you could do?” Zoro asked blankly. 

“I mean—” you shrugged, muscles limp like your entire body was sagging you down. “You and the others were the ones to deal with the pirates, so I figured I could at least—”

Zoro still looked confused, brows pulled together, forehead taut with a frown. “I distinctly recall you throwing a pirate twice your size overboard. Unless I was imagining things.” 

You sighed. “Not what I meant.” You tried to push past Zoro again, but he didn’t let you, hand still tightly grasped around your mop handle. 

“Okay, what did you mean, then?” 

“Nothing. Will you just let me finish cleaning so there aren't blood stains all over Luffy’s ship?” You sighed again, even as you attempted to keep the sound inside—but you couldn’t help it. It was like there was an anchor stuck inside of you, pulling everything from your feelings to your body down, the weight of gravity tugging at your features. 

“Luffy’s ship?” 

You shrugged. “The Straw Hats’ ship. Whatever.” 

“Our ship,” Zoro said. There was a certain twinge of something in his words; still blankness, but laced with a dawning realization that you weren’t sure you liked. “You’re upset.” 

“Nope.” This time you really did manage to get free of Zoro’s grasp, yanking your mop out of his grip and starting back on cleaning the deck. The acrid smell of iron hit your nose as you scrubbed the dried blood off—you’d have to go back in later with a sponge to get all the cracks and crevices, but for now this would be okay. 

Zoro followed you, unceasing with his interrogation. “Yes, you are. I know when you’re upset, and you’re upset. What happened.” It was more of a statement than a question—Zoro didn’t often doubt himself, really, which was one of the many things that’d helped make you stumble into falling for him. “Was it about last night? You know the cook's just making fun when he keeps a counter, right? It doesn’t matter if he brought two or five more men down than you.” 

“It’s not about that,” you insisted. 

“So you admit you are upset.” 

You groaned, finally turning to look Zoro in the eye. He’d stopped walking, the dawning sun glinting hazey gold onto his skin in the early hour. There was still an overcast of blue from the night in the sky, and it made the heavens look ethereal, watery and glittering. 

“Come on,” he urged. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“It’s really nothing you need to be concerned about,” you attempted, but your voice was weak now. Zoro stepped closer to you, gently pulling the mop out of your hands. Your fingers let go easily. “It’s silly.” 

Zoro gave you a look. “Out with it.” 

“I don’t know, I just—” your fingers clenched, like your hand was trying to find something to do now that Zoro had rid you of your mop. “Comparatively I just don’t do much. So I want to help out as much as possible.” 

“Who said you don’t do much?” 

“What?” 

“I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” Zoro said. He let the mop fall to the ground, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “Who said you don’t do much?”

“I mean, nobody. It’s just true.” You shrugged, distinctly uncomfortable with the way Zoro was looking at you—all attentive, like he was trying to strip you raw with his eyes, uncover whatever secrets might be hiding in the pores of your skin and the gaps of your teeth. “Luffy’s the captain, we wouldn’t be able to do anything without Nami, you and Sanji are the fighters, and Usopp’s everyone’s favorite. I’m just kind of… filler?” 

The more you spoke, the worse your words got, your tone turning more desperate as the sentences fumbled out of your mouth. Zoro’s eyebrows raised higher as you went on, and you flushed, red prickling all over your skin. 

“First of all,” he started, “Usopp is not my favorite. That’d be you. And—where are you getting this from?” 

You shook your head, trying to backtrack. “Nothing. Nowhere. It’s not that import—”

“Yes, it is, and we’re talking about it.” Zoro pulled a nearby barrel by the side of the ship, plopping himself down atop it and gesturing for you to sit. You didn’t, but you did move over to the railing, hands curling around the painted wood. “Speak.” 

“I have nothing to say,” you tried. Zoro just shot you an unimpressed look, and you squirmed. “Fine. I don’t know. I joined last, so I just figured… you were all kind of already set without me, right?” 

Zoro shook his head. “We’re a crew,” he said, voice strong but somehow still gentle. “You’re part of us for a reason. What, this entire time did you think you were—expendable?” 

You fidgeted uncomfortably, weight shifting from one leg to the other. “No.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Last night—I only got, like what, two guys? And you reacted way faster to the situation than I did,” you started, words flailing around on your tongue as they rushed out. It was indelicate, for certain, and you yourself couldn’t make sense of most of the words—but once you started, you couldn’t stop, even as they slurred together. “I was still getting out of bed and grabbing my weapon when you’d already dealt with half the enemy crew.” 

“Don’t compare yourself to me,” Zoro said with a shake of his head. “That’s not fair. I’ve been training since I was eight. It’s different.” 

You huffed out an exasperated breath, trying not to let your frustration get the best of you. “I can't help it sometimes. It’s a bad habit.” You loosened your grip on the ship railing, staring out at the golden clouds hovering over the sky.  “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Zoro answered. He didn’t say anything after that—giving you a space to talk, you supposed, in case you wanted to. But his hand did reach up to press against yours, pinky brushing against your finger as he held onto the railing beside you. 

“I guess I just always had these standards back at the village,” you managed out eventually. Your island had always been one of the more traditional places in the East Blue, and there were plenty rules and guidelines abound. One of the many reasons you’d left the place in favor for Luffy and the Going Merry, really. “So I just… always want to do more. It’s not that bad.” 

“Right.” Zoro’s pinky looped around your finger, now, holding it close in a soft kiss of the hands. You sighed. 

“My parents were kind of rough on me, I guess,” you tried, sneaking a glance over at Zoro’s face to see if it satiated his curiosity at all. His expression remained as steel as ever, so you just continued. “They wanted me to be the best I could. But their standards were too high, even when I was little.” You found yourself rubbing circles into the back of Zoro’s hand with your finger, more so to comfort yourself than for any other reason. “Just normal stuff, like being upset about my school grades or my combat training levels being too low. Nothing that terrible.” 

“But…?” Zoro asked, tilting his head up to look at you. You smiled, but the action didn’t reach your eyes—it was all mouth and jaw, cheeks lifting but eyes glinting with the same glazed stare. 

“It just affected me a lot, I suppose,” you answered. “Always trying to get better. Never satisfied. And I guess now—I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough.” 

“For?” Zoro asked. His voice was low, soft, all hollow and empty inside. There was a tinge of roughness lacing it, like he’d forgotten to clear his throat, and the scratch of his vocal chords had surfaced up along with the words. 

“Myself. My parents. Luffy. You.” Your lips tightened into a line. Vaguely, you could feel the warm pinpricks of tears starting at your waterline, and you tried to will them back, letting out a little laugh. “Everyone, I guess.” 

Zoro’s hand had come to hold yours fully, fingers woven in between yours, thumb pressed firmly against the joint of your thumb. Somehow, that one motion managed to force the last of the words out of you—all wet and soft, eyes glued fiercely to the horizon in fear of seeing what was etched on Zoro’s face. 

“We do arranged marriages back at home,” you started, trying very hard to keep your voice from trembling. it worked only marginally—there was a tiny quaver in your tone, but it was soft, not noticeable unless you were really listening hard. “And my mom used to tell me I’d die alone. Because I wasn’t pretty enough, or smart enough, or anything enough for any of the boys there.” 

“Oh,” Zoro said. It was quiet; barely a whisper. You tried for a wry smile. 

“I like helping, though. I don’t mind cleaning up or whatever. It makes me feel more useful.” You tried to tug your hand out of Zoro’s grip, but his fingers tightened, keeping you in place. A nervous laugh escaped your throat. “And I know I’m part of the crew and all of this is just silly. So it’s really fine—”

Zoro tugged your intertwined hands to his chest, causing you to stumble and glance down at him in surprise. His expression was nearly unreadable. It’d darkened, and there was a contemplative gaze in his eyes, lips parted with invisible words perched on his tongue. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, and your stomach dropped, the nervousness that had gathered inside during the conversation tightening up into a hall. “Don’t say it’s okay or that it’s not important. If it’s making you upset, then it matters.” 

“I guess,” you tried, and Zoro’s gaze lifted to fix you with a glare. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, I just…” Zoro shook his head. “Look, whatever your parents used to tell you, whatever you have ingrained in your head—it’s not true. And there’s nothing wrong with wanting to do more, but… you don’t have to do it. You’re enough already.” 

Your gaze softened, lips falling open to say something, but Zoro wasn’t finished yet. “You shouldn’t come out here and force yourself to clean up just to make up for your—waste of space, or something. You’re not a servant. And you’re not wasting up any space. I think everyone would agree that you’re a very important and vital part of the crew.” 

“Thanks,” you whispered. Zoro’s hand was warm around yours, and you felt the threatening droplets of tears start to rise up at your waterline, ready to fall at any moment now. Zoro just nodded. 

“You’re a great fighter, and way smarter than what you give yourself credit for,” he said firmly. He raised your hand to his mouth, then, leaning over to press a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. “And the boys on your island have to be blind, because you’re pretty enough. You’re more than pretty enough.”

He whispered the last words, all soft and sacred on his tongue. “You’re beautiful.” 

That was enough to drive your tears over the edge. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to stop the flow as the warm sensation of liquid streaking down your cheeks began. Droplets caught in the crevice of your lips, and at the hinge of your jaw—Zoro brought a hand up to wipe them away. “Are you okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, I just, um.” You shook your head, sniffing. “Thank you. That… helped. I think.” 

Zoro bummed out his response. “Of course,” he said easily. “You’re my girl. It’s my job to cheer you up.” He kissed your knuckles again. “And you can talk to any of us. I’m not really the best at this, but everyone else…” he shrugged. 

“You’re doing just fine,” you assured him. Zoro nodded, tugging you down until you finally took a seat on a crate beside him. “I think it’s just been worse lately.” 

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re better than the waiter,” Zoro said. You just laughed. 

“I think you’re biased, but thank you,” you said. “Here, I, um, I promise I’ll let you know if I’m feeling down, I guess. If you don’t mind.” 

“Definitely don’t mind,” Zoro answered. This time he placed a gentle kiss on your neck, somewhere at the bottom near the back. “Leave the mopping for someone else. You’ve already done a lot.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, eyes fluttering closed as Zoro kissed the rest of the way up the back of your neck. He placed a final one right below your earlobe. With that, Zoro stood up, sweeping one arm under your legs and hoisting you up. You cracked open an eye to regard him with a blank look. “What are you doing?” 

“Bringing you back to my room,” Zoro answered. “You didn’t get much sleep tonight. And I doubt anyone wants to watch me kissing you on the main deck anyway.” 

That was fair enough reasoning, so you didn’t complain, letting him carry you all the way to his cabin and gently lay you down onto his bed. He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to your lips—you could still taste the saltwater from your tears from before. “Want me to stay?” Zoro asked. 

“You don’t have to,” you said automatically, and Zoro raised both his eyebrows. You let out a sigh. “Okay, I get it. Yes. Please stay.” 

“All you had to say,” Zoro said, shedding himself of his shoes and swords before leaning over the bed to watch you. He didn’t slip under the covers or anything, just propped an arm up on the mattress, kneeling beside the bed. There was tender silence for a few moments before Zoro spoke again. 

“I love you,” he said abruptly, voice rough but somehow still soft. Your heart beat too fast in your chest, ribcage squeezing in on the organ and making it skip. His hand slid along the mattress to find yours, and you took the offer, fingers clasping around his palm. 

“I love you too,” you whispered back. Zoe leaned over, then, the hand not intertwined with yours tilting your jaw over just so to allow him better access to your mouth. He kissed you full-on, tender but firm, mouth working against yours in a way that unraveled you entirely. Your grip on his hand tightened as he deepened the kiss, a soft sound emitting from low in your throat. Finally you broke apart, heaving for breath, exhales mixing together midair. An exchange of souls, you’d heard once, somewhere. 

“Come on,” you murmured, tugging Zoro closer to the bed so he got the hint. He slipped beside you onto it, turning your head again to meet you in another kiss. His hand drifted down to your waist, holding you securely in place.  

“I don’t think anyone should need us for a few more hours, right?” Zoro asked, and you laughed. He swallowed up the sounds with his mouth, tongue licking languidly into you as he rubbed delicate circles into the skin of your waist. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and then he was kissing you again. 

You let him siphon the soul out of your lungs, knowing you were getting his right back. 

© halfvalid 2023

[hyukakisses]

ohshc txt au but they’re all emo >:))

-emo ohshc au! (request)

pairings: emo txt x reader

plot: random txt headcanons as separate ohshc characters from the anime/manga

warnings: !pervy mean soobin, cursing, smut & fluff, (characters are in college), jealous soobin, sweet reader, enemies to lovers troupe, size kink, use of pet names

soobin as kyoya 𓆩♡𓆪:

-you two were definitely enemies to lovers; soobin often shooting you death glares whenever he found out he had the second highest grade to you, often shoulder bulging you each time he walked past you. not wanting to admit he thought you being smart was really attractive

-completely obsessed with his father’s approval and patriarchy. so when he found out you were raised by farmers he definitely poked fun at that

-soobin tried his absolute best to hate you but couldn’t; he liked that no matter how cold he was towards you, you were always in a happy mood each time you seen him. “soobin did you study for the exam today?” “you know you look so cute when you’re all moody!” “i really like your glasses matches with your hair!”

-after his many failed attempts of ignoring you, soobin finally just accepted your clingy nature and dealt with it. his harded glaze softening up when you’d bring him coffee knowing he was up studying for an exam, or comforting him when he was dealing with his insufferable father.

-doesn’t really like when you call him out for his soft spot for you; saying he has a reputation to uphold and you’d just huff playfully as you respect his wishes because he was still a good boyfriend even if he didn’t like your teasing

-always buying you the most expensive gifts, knowing you couldn’t get much of it growing up. enjoying the squeals and hugs in gratitude you’d give him

-had a thing for face-fucking you. fisting his cock so hard before finally giving in and letting his member slip into your mouth. soobin begins hissing in pleasure at the warmth as you quickly suck him off triggering his long awaited release

-soobin would sigh in relief once he climaxes but quickly regains his composure once you reach up by his tie and pull him into a needy kiss. pushing his glasses up as you giggle about how much you loved him ):

huening kai as mori 𓆩♡𓆪:

-huening kai definitely has a size kink; always comparing his hand size with yours loving the feeling of your much smaller hand against his as weird as that sounds. relishes in the fact that you’re no over than 5’6 meanwhile he was 6 foot

-would carry you around everywhere, bridal style or piggy back rides. reminding you that you’re a princess who shouldn’t have to let a finger even if it came to moving around

-never spoke unless it was necessary; the whole guy was a mystery. only speaking up when it was to remind you to eat or sleep, or to defend you against people who didn’t really like you ):

-hyuka would smile when you’d let him cup your face with his hands, loving the sight of his large hands swallowing your body

-wouldn’t let you do anything by yourself, carrying your books around campus and mouth feeding you as if you were a baby which was fine to him because you were his baby after all

-uses his strength against you when it came to sex. tossing you around like some type of rag doll; huening kai trapping you in place as he attacks you with kisses. swiftly discarding your clothes as he hurriedly ruts into you as if he was going to die if he didn’t fuck you soon ):

-even during sex your boyfriend wasn’t much of a talker, only letting out soft grunts of pleasure as he felt your pussy spasm around his length. your sweet whines pushing him further to his release, the feeling of his ropes emptying inside you triggering your climax. this action making huening kai smile weakly muttering a ‘i love you’ in your ears <3

yeonjun as tamaki 𓆩♡𓆪:

-very flirtatious from the get go, which surprised you to say the least you didn’t think anyone as attractive as him could possibly wanna date you. you were often questioning if that was some type of dare from yeonjun’s follow host members

-you fell for yeonjun very fast due to his charming nature; he was like a real life prince. your boyfriend often leaving love letters and roses in your locker you just didn’t understand how you got so lucky with dating him ):

-yeonjun’s impulsiveness was rather endearing to you as sick as that sounds, you also supported his delusions. “you’ll stay with me forever right y/n?” “i want five kids when we’re married do you think you can do that for me?”

-behind his charming nature, yeonjun was very anxious about losing you. doing grand acts to make you feel loved and win your love over; you’d reassured him that his gestures weren’t really needed since you already loved him but still! he just wanted to make sure you’d never leave him :(

-yeonjun definitely had an oral fixation; constantly needing something in his mouth. if it wasn’t your pretty pussy it was ggum or candy

-“please? you don’t even have to do anything this time baby i just wanna make you feel good i just need a taste” the jet black haired boy pleaded with you giving teary eyes followed by forcing you down on his mattress. “j-junnie im still sore from yesterday” you’d let out a whine the sound only fueling yeonjun’s desire more. “that’s why you i said you don’t have to do anything baby! please just let me make you feel good please let me make it up to you” the emo boy grins when you sigh with a nod

-yeonjun loves eating you out through your panties for a second before he finally slips his greedy tongue into your wet folds, enjoying the sound of overstimulation you’d make when your boyfriend’s lips and tongue was rapidly lapping around your cunt

-definitely makes you cum quickly once he founds your cute cilt, smiling once he feels his lips soaked in your juices. “feel better now?” you’d weakly ask “yeah i do think you could keep laying there while i fuck you dumb now?” yeonjun gives you no time to reply before freeing himself from his suffocating sweatpants

taehyun as kaoru 𓆩♡𓆪:

-very mature and serious unless it came to you, often showering you in kisses and telling you that were just a baby who couldn’t do anything on your own

-definitely a lot of gym dates with him; and by gym dates i mean you just sitting on a bench as you watch taehyun perform his workout routine engaging in a few makeout sessions time to time

-around campus taehyun is kinda like your bodyguard; always at your aid whenever you need physical or emotional support like a good boyfriend would provide ):

-in class taehyun is always handsy with you, his big hands placed lightly on you thigh as his fingers dance closer to your clothed core making your head spin

-you whine to yourself once you feel your boyfriend’s digits slipping inside of you; taehyun’s black painted nails curling at places you couldn’t reach on your own. your climax near and your walls closing up tighter and tighter before taehyun pulls away making your eyes widen in shock

-taehyun loved edging you and you hated that about him. “if you’re good i’ll let you cum tonight okay baby? now pay attention” he points to the professor giving another boring lecture as you sigh in defeat

beomgyu as honey 𓆩♡𓆪:

-out of all the hosts, beomgyu was the sweetest. taking the time out of his day to bake your favorite treats and gives you head pats. “i really like the cherry pie you made me gyu” “can you make me brownies next time?” “more head rubs and head pats please!”

-definitely watches you do your daily skincare and makeup; asking if he could join you with his best puppy dog eyes which didn’t make fail to make you fall for everytime :(

-very sensitive; always crying and you give him head rubs as in attempt to comfort him

-always making you bake treats with him; stealing kisses and giving you nose rubs during the process

-prefers for you to sit on his face; he says he likes being on his back while still maintaining some type of control of you. gripping your hips as he directs you over his glistening lips

-beomgyu basically makes out with your soppy cunt; rocking your hips so much at a quick pace you could feel your cute clit bump against his nose

-doesn’t let you go at all, his chin dripping from your sweet nectar he swears he could live off your pussy for the rest of his life :( groaning deeply at how sweet you tasted. his thoughts screaming ‘how did i get so lucky?’

a/n: im going to be real i havent watched this anime since middle school please forgive me

[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Chapter One

steve harrington x fem!reader Open Arms Masterlist word count : 6k Rewrite/Character Insert of Stranger Things~1984~ This chapter takes place during Season 2 Episodes 1-5

Chapter Two

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Another day in Hawkins. Another day of high school. Another day stuck in the same small, sleepy town you’ve known for as long as you can remember. It feels like nothing ever changes here, like every day just blurs into the next, predictable and quiet.

Every day, you wake up wishing for some kind of miracle, something that could shake things up, make life a little less ordinary. Something that could turn your world… Upside Down.

“Y/N!” your mom calls out from the kitchen, “Is Steve giving you a ride today?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Mom, seriously…when was the last time Steve drove me to school? He has a girlfriend to pick up now.”

Steve, your best friend since the first grade. To everyone else he was The Reigning King of Hawkins High. To you he was just the boy next door who reigns havoc on your life, makes everything a little more complicated whether you want it or not. 

Your mom hums thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s time you found yourself a boyfriend.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

She gives a little shrug. “I’m just saying, wouldn’t it be nice to be taken out on a date once in a while?”

“Mom,” you sigh, “please take your matchmaking somewhere else.”

She’s not wrong, though. You haven’t let yourself even think about dating anyone else since the last “almost” with Steve. Around a year ago, he’d done something reckless enough to mess up things with Nancy, and she seemed to be getting closer to Jonathan Byers. You had just gotten out of a relationship yourself. 

It happens every time: he messes things up with a girl, or you’re fresh out of a breakup, and suddenly, like clockwork, you’re back in each other’s lives, circling each other. It’s as if you’re both bound to this endless cycle of almosts—falling together just to fall apart again. You know the game by heart, and you’re tired of it, tired of the late nights that never lead to anything real, the unspoken words that hang heavy in the air between you both. But still, you can’t seem to let go.

Nothing ever actually happens. You just end up crashing at each other’s houses, watching movies till you both fall asleep, or driving out to Lover’s Lake to stargaze and rant about your trainwreck love lives. But you both know what it is—and what it isn’t. The truth is, you’re bound by a history no one else could touch. Growing up together, you made the stupid decision of being a lot of each other’s firsts, and you’ve always been the one person who truly gets him. It’s a bond that runs deeper than most things in your life, yet it never seems to go anywhere beyond these stolen moments. And maybe that’s why it hurts the most—knowing he’s always right there but never fully yours.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

At school, you overhear the girls in the hallway whispering about the new guy in town. Though “guy” isn’t the word they use—they’re calling him a real man, with a muscle car to match and actual muscles to back it up. You’ve never been the type to shy away from guys, and you’ve certainly never had any trouble attracting attention. Still, something about the way they talk about him piques your curiosity, though you’d never admit it.

You notice the once-empty locker beside yours is finally in use, a few things tossed inside. You wonder briefly who claimed it. That curiosity doesn’t last long.

“Excuse me, gorgeous, but I think that’s my locker.”

You turn to find the living, breathing embodiment of the girls’ descriptions. Tall, sharp-jawed, with piercing blue eyes, and that effortless, cocky grin. You don’t even have to ask if it’s him.

“Oh—my bad,” you say, stepping aside.

“And what’s your name?” he asks, his smile unwavering.

Who does he remind you of?

“Y/N…” You try to pinpoint it, that nagging sense of familiarity.

He tosses his keys into the locker, eyes still fixed on yours, something almost playful in his gaze.

Then it hits you.

“I’m—”

“Knight Rider?” you say slyly, a smirk playing at your lips. He blushes just a little, caught off guard, and you savor the small victory.

“Well played,” he says, taking your hand into his for a confident but gentle shake.

“That’s just the beginning,” you respond, shutting your locker with a quiet click, eager to keep the mystery between you two alive.

“I hope so. I’m Billy by the way,” he replies, his voice softer now, still slightly in awe of you. There’s something in his eyes—a challenge. And you can tell, he’s baited.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

At lunch, you find yourself walking through the crowded cafeteria, scanning the room for a familiar face. As luck would have it, you bump into Nancy and Steve near the food line.

“Hey,” Steve greets, his voice laced with a hint of curiosity. “What did you think of the new guy? Total douche, right?”

You catch the look on his face, a mix of hope and something else you can’t quite place. It’s clear he’s fishing for your opinion, eager for you to agree with him.

You shrug, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can’t hide the small smirk tugging at your lips. “I mean…” Your voice comes out just a bit higher than usual, betraying your uncertainty. “He’s like the entire cast of The Outsiders wrapped up in one package.” You leave it at that, the playful jab hanging in the air between you three.

Nancy chuckles, gripping her tray closely as she looks between you and Steve. You take the opportunity to point at her, nodding toward Steve. “Looks like your girl might agree with me too.”

Nancy gasps and bursts into laughter. “I don’t know, I guess. He’s not really my type though.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “That’s so funny, because I’m pretty sure I saw a David Hasselhoff photo in your locker just last week?”

Steve’s face falls slightly, and you catch the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. “Oh please,” he says, his tone a bit too defensive, “he is not David Hasselhoff.”

“Knight Rider,” Nancy interjects, her eyes darting between you and Steve. You both freeze, caught off guard.

“What?” You ask, happy she sees the resemblance too.

Nancy looks back and forth between you two, realization dawning on her. “He has the car, the curls, and the mus—muscle car.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing her. “You just said the car twice. Sure you didn’t mean another kind of muscle?”

Nancy giggles at your comment, but Steve pushes you playfully, though there’s a layer of something more in his touch—like he’s trying to keep things light but it doesn’t quite feel like it used to.

“Have I told you that I hate you?” Steve mutters under his breath, though it’s more playful than anything else.

You smile, your tone laced with the usual teasing. “All too often.”

But as you both lock eyes, something shifts. It’s not just a playful exchange anymore. The usual banter feels heavy now, the space between you both thick with unspoken words. Steve’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you wonder if he’s feeling the same distance creeping between you two that you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. You quickly look away, forcing the feeling down as Nancy continues to laugh, unaware of the sudden tension lingering.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You’re walking down the hall, a few steps ahead of Steve, the sounds of lockers slamming and voices all around you fading as the tension between you both hangs in the air. Every time you glance over your shoulder, his gaze is already on you—lingering, just a bit too long.

You both fall into an uneasy silence. It’s not the comfortable quiet you used to share, but something heavier. Something unspoken.

You stop for a moment, unsure of what to say. “I’ll see you in class,” you murmur, turning to leave.

But Steve’s voice stops you. “Hey,” he calls softly, his hand brushing yours as he steps into your path. His touch is warm, too warm for something so casual. His fingers linger for a split second before he pulls away, but the moment still sits between you, unresolved.

You look up, meeting his eyes. His usual cocky confidence is gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something, anything to break the silence.

“Steve…” You don’t know what you’re going to say. You want to say something that makes it all feel normal again, but the words feel stuck in your throat.

He opens his mouth, hesitates, then shuts it again. “Never mind.” The smile he forces doesn’t reach his eyes again. It’s strained, tight. And suddenly, you can’t look at him anymore.

Turning quickly, you walk past him, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

From down the hall, Nancy watches the exchange, arms folded, leaning against the locker as she observes. There’s no jealousy in her gaze—she’s been there too. She knows the space between two people who care for each other but don’t know how to bridge it. She’s seen it with Jonathan, with the way they get tangled in unspoken words and moments that feel like too much, but too little at the same time. It’s just the way things go sometimes.

───⋆｡°✩🕰️✩°｡⋆───

*Flashback*

2 years ago

It’s a Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Hawkins High are quieter than usual. Most of the students have gone home, leaving the echoes of footsteps and lockers slamming shut. You and Steve are walking side by side, the familiar warmth of his presence at your side like it always has been—comforting, easy.

You laugh as Steve pulls an exaggerated face, trying to get you to laugh at his antics as he mimics one of the teachers. You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile spreading across your face.

“You’re such an idiot,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder.

He bumps you back, almost knocking you into the lockers. “You love me for it,” he smirks, and there’s a hint of something else in his gaze, something unspoken that lingers between you, like a question neither of you has the courage to ask.

You roll your eyes again, but there’s no denying the way your heart skips. “Yeah, maybe,” you say, trying to brush it off. But you both know that maybe means something more.

You reach the end of the hallway, your steps slowing as the moment stretches, neither of you wanting to be the first to turn back, to end this rare, quiet time between just the two of you.

He glances over at you, his steps slowing, his voice quieter when he speaks again. “Hey, so… Bryan still around?”

You stop walking, surprised by the question, but it’s Steve, and it’s always been easy with him. “No,” you reply, shaking your head. “He’s out of the picture.”

Steve’s expression softens, a slight smile playing on his lips as if the weight of something between you two has been lifted. “Good. He never really seemed like the right guy for you.”

Your breath catches slightly at the unexpected warmth in his words, but you don’t let it show. “Yeah, well… sometimes you don’t really see things until it’s too late.”

Steve nods, looking down for a moment as if he’s trying to decide something. He looks back up at you, his usual carefree grin returning. “Well, if you’re not busy tonight, you wanna come over to my place? We can grab some takeout, watch movies… you know, normal hangout stuff.”

There’s something in his invitation that feels different this time, but you brush it off. It’s Steve. He always invites you over. You’ve done it a million times before—movies, pizza, talking about everything and nothing. It’s what you do.

“Yeah,” you agree, “sounds good.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression shifting. You feel your stomach flutter, the air between you thickening as the playful banter dies down.

You find yourself leaning in, just a bit, and you see Steve’s breath catch, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours.

But before you can get any closer, a loud bang from down the hall makes both of you snap apart like you’ve been caught.

You both step back, instantly awkward, eyes darting everywhere except at each other. The spell breaks, but the tension still lingers, heavy in the air. You glance at Steve, and his expression is unreadable—like he’s trying to hide something, or maybe it’s you who’s hiding it.

You break the silence first, a half-laugh escaping your lips. “Well… that was close.”

Steve rubs the back of his neck, looking embarrassed but also relieved. “Yeah, totally. We’re just—uh, messing around, right?”

You nod, trying to brush it off, but your heart is racing, and you know he feels it too. “Right. Just messing around.”

But neither of you says anything more. You both head in opposite directions down the hallway, still feeling the echo of what almost happened, both of you wondering if the other is thinking about it too.

───⋆｡°✩🕰️✩°｡⋆───

At last, it’s the day of the party. You’ve spent longer than you’d like to admit getting ready, but you’re finally happy with your look. Blue bell-bottom jeans, a tight orange top with a center zip that falls just below the line of modesty—it’s bold, but you feel good in it. Confident, even.

You arrive at the party, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling inside you. The music pulses through the house, and people are scattered, laughing and talking, their faces blurry in the haze of a dimly lit room. As much as you try to act like you don’t care, the anxiety creeps in. Funny how someone so confident can still feel out of place in a crowd.

You push through, trying to find your core group, but as you weave through the bodies, there’s really only one person you’re looking for. Steve. The one person who has always had a way of making you feel like you belong.

On your way through the crowd, you bump into Jonathan Byers. Another one of your longtime friends. You’ve all grown up together in Hawkins, so you’ve seen each other through the years—some friendships stronger than others, but still, it’s hard to forget those familiar faces.

“Jonathan!” you call out with a smile, pulling him into a quick hug. “Loving the look, very you.” You nod at his usual, low-key style—flannel and jeans. He’s always been the quiet, thoughtful one in the group, and you just want him to feel good about his understated vibe.

“I like… your shirt,” he says, his words trailing off awkwardly.

Well, at least your shirt is doing what you intended it to. Maybe just not with the target audience.

“Looking for Nancy?” you ask, hoping he’ll pick up the conversation.

“Yeah,” Jonathan responds, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I don’t really associate with anyone else here.”

You put on a mock-offended face, “Ouch.”

He immediately backpedals, realizing how it sounded. “I mean, you were gone for a while. We kinda lost touch.” His gaze drops a little, clearly uncomfortable, referring to the time when your parents separated again, and you spent some months with your mom in California. It had been a rough time for you, especially being away from Steve. You’re still not sure how you survived that.

“Well, I’m back now,” you say, brushing off the past. “Come on, join me. I’m on a mission to find Steve and Nancy.”

Jonathan nods, grateful for the company. “Alright, lead the way.”

And there he is, leaning against the wall by the kitchen, laughing at something someone said, a bottle of beer loosely held in his hand. He’s effortlessly cool as usual, but there’s something different tonight. Maybe it’s the way his eyes flicker over to Nancy every now and then, or the tightness in his posture that betrays the casual air he’s trying to maintain.

Nancy stands next to him, arms crossed, her jaw clenched in that familiar way when she’s upset—though it’s hard to say if it’s the alcohol or something else that’s fueling her frustration tonight. She’s leaning a little too heavily on the counter, her face flushed, the words she’s muttering barely audible over the noise of the party.

Steve’s smile is gone now, replaced by a more serious expression. He’s trying to keep things light, but it’s clear she’s not having it. 

As you and Jonathan walk toward the kitchen, you spot Steve and Nancy in their little world, tucked away by the counter. You can hear the edge in Nancy’s voice, even from a distance, though you can’t make out the words. Jonathan follows your gaze, his brow furrowing. You can’t blame him for looking the way he does—he’s been around long enough to know the dance between Steve and Nancy.

“Is she okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, though it feels more like an automatic question than one you really expect an answer to. You’ve seen enough of this cycle to know the routine.

Jonathan glances over, shaking his head just slightly. “I don’t think so,” he says, a rare seriousness in his tone. “But you know Nancy. She’ll push through.”

You feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you watch Steve’s stance shift, his body leaning toward Nancy as if trying to reach her without crowding her, trying to give her space but also not let her slip too far away. There’s something fragile in the air, something more than just the tension between them. It’s like Steve’s holding on by a thread, and maybe Nancy is, too, but neither of them wants to admit it.

“You should probably go talk to them,” Jonathan says, glancing at you. He doesn’t know what to say either, but it’s obvious that Steve’s been trying to manage things on his own. You could step in—or let him handle it.

You glance at Jonathan again, silently debating what to do. Jonathan nudges you gently with his elbow. “You good?” he asks. You nod, taking a step forward, your voice hesitant but warm. “Hey, guys, what’s going on?” you ask, trying to break through the tension without adding to it.

Nancy shoots you a sharp look before turning away, but Steve doesn’t seem to mind. He’s got that defeated, yet resigned, look on his face as he exhales deeply. He’s trying to hide it, but the frustration is written all over him.

“Just the usual,” Steve says with a small, forced smile, looking at you.

Nancy, still with her arms crossed, shoots you a look that says more than her words do. It’s not that she’s mad at you; it’s just that she doesn’t want to be the center of attention right now. She’s not ready to have the conversation.

Jonathan stands by you, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to say something. You don’t know what the right thing is. The silence in the room is thick now.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” Nancy slurs, her words trailing off as she pushes past Steve, who’s still trying to calm her down.

“Please don’t,” Steve says, his voice low and frustrated, but he’s too late. He sighs and chases after her, leaving you standing alone for the moment.

Not long after, a voice you’re starting to recognize from the past few days calls out from behind you.

“So if I’m Knight Rider, then who does that make you?” Billy’s voice is smooth, cocky, and unmistakable. He’s standing just a few feet away now, that grin still plastered on his face.

You turn to meet his gaze, letting a playful smile tug at the corners of your lips. You raise an eyebrow, a silent challenge in your eyes. “You’ll have to learn more about me to find out.”

He steps a little closer, eyes narrowing with amusement. “When?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a split second, you feel that old rush of excitement—the thrill of the unknown. Remembering your mom’s less-than-subtle hints this morning, you decide to play along.

“How about Wednesday night? We can go see the new Terminator movie. You look like someone who appreciates a little Arnold Schwarzenegger,” you say, testing the waters, letting a hint of flirtation slip into your voice.

Billy doesn’t hesitate, that confident grin of his widening. “It’s a date. I’ll pick you up. And…I’ve been to the gym Arnold works out in.” 

You raise your hand to stop him, a slight smirk on your face. “Right…I’m sure you have. Also, I’ve seen how you drive your car. Maybe I’ll meet you there,” you tease, enjoying the playful banter.

He chuckles, stepping back, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint. “I’ll go nice and slow just for you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, the tension between you both shifting into something lighter, something you haven’t felt in a while. But as you look past him, your eyes flicker briefly to Steve, catching him trying to pry the solo cup out of Nancy’s hand. Just as the music halts, that red solo cup and the red mystery punch within it spills all over Nancy’s white shirt. 

Her face is in complete disbelief, she sways back and forth her reaction clearly slowed down by her alcohol intake.

“Screw you.” 

Jonathan follows her quickly into the bathroom. 

“You know,” Billy starts again, “Rumor has it that you and Harrington have quite the colorful history? Why is it that you two aren’t prom king and queen this year?” 

Something in Billy’s tone instantly makes you second-guess your plans for Wednesday. His fading smirk tells you he’s noticed the flash of disdain on your face.

“What does it matter if you’re the one taking me on a date Wednesday?” you say, your voice edged with a warning. You’re feeling oddly protective over you and Harrington’s history, a past that’s none of Billy’s business.

Billy raises an eyebrow, caught off guard but intrigued. “Fair enough,” he replies, but the cocky glint in his eyes lingers, as if he’s still sizing up the situation.

Shortly after, you spot Steve storming out of the bathroom alone, Nancy nowhere in sight. His expression is tense as he heads straight for the drink station, a familiar frustration in his stride. You catch a glimpse of Jonathan making his way toward Nancy, so you turn to Billy with a polite excuse and make your way over to Steve.

“Hey, you don’t need to be drinking any more right now,” you say, noticing that Steve has downed two cups of punch in the short walk it took to reach him.

“I’ve got a pretty damn good reason to,” he mutters, his jaw tight as he opens a beer.

“Steve, you don’t have to tell me what happened, but at least think about the fact that you still have to drive home,” you warn, trying to keep your tone light.

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “You can drive me.”

“I never volunteered for that,” you reply, crossing your arms.

For a moment, he looks at you, really looks at you, and you can tell he’s realizing that things are different. You’re not just there to pick up his pieces anymore. You have your own life to live tonight—a party to enjoy, and maybe even boys to dance with. The weight of another round of Steve-and-Nancy drama? That’s not something you’re willing to carry this time.

“You’re right,” Steve says, setting the beer down with a sigh. “I’ll just go sit out on the porch and sober up a bit. Then I’ll head out. And I wanna make sure Nancy gets home safe.”

You give his arm a quick squeeze, silently admiring that, even in the middle of an argument, he’s still looking out for her. That is… until his gaze drifts to the front door, where he sees Jonathan helping a barely-standing Nancy out to his car.

Crap.

“Go sit on the porch. I’ll be right there,” you say quickly, hinting you’ll handle it. You rush outside to catch up with Jonathan. “You know how this looks, right?”

Jonathan gives a solemn nod. “She asked me.”

Nancy lifts her head slightly, her words slurred and muddled. “I don’t want… Steve to take me home. Not Steve. I want to see Barb’s parents. Take me to Barb’s house.”

You pause, taken aback. “Barb’s parents? Why do you want to see Barb’s parents right now?”

Jonathan stiffens, worry flickering in his eyes. “Uh, I really think I should get her home now. Maybe check on Steve too.”

Without another word, they’re off, leaving you standing in the night with a sense of unease. You know Barbara Holland was Nancy’s best friend, missing since last year. But why would she bring that up now? And why with such urgency?

You find Steve out back, leaning against the porch railing, eyes glazed with frustration and a hint of sadness.

“Steve…why would Nancy want to see Barb’s parents tonight?”

He shakes his head slowly, the alcohol clearly loosening his grip on restraint. “God, I wish I could tell you everything right now. It would make things so much easier. You’re my best friend. I tell you everything. But for the past year, I’ve been keeping so many secrets from you.”

A pit forms in your stomach. “What do you mean, Steve?”

He looks at you, eyes haunted, and whispers, “If I told you, you’d die.”

You laugh nervously, trying to shake the unease settling over you. “C’mon, it can’t be that serious.”

“There’s stuff going on around here that you have no clue about.” He reaches up, gently brushing a stray hair from your face, his fingers lingering a second longer than they should. Your heart skips, half hoping this is just the alcohol, half hoping it’s not. He always does this, walks that fine line.

His voice cracks slightly as he murmurs, “I just want to keep you safe.”

In that moment, you realize it’s not just words—it’s a plea, and you can feel the weight of something dark lurking just beyond his gaze, something he desperately wants to shield you from. 

You give Steve a gentle pinch, trying to ground him. “I’m safe, Steve. I’m right here, see?”

But he only shakes his head, eyes dark with something close to dread. “Here is where it’s least safe. Those things… they’re out there.”

A chill runs down your spine. “What things, Steve?” You search his face, recognizing the unmistakable truth behind his words.

He just looks away, jaw clenched. Instinctively, your mind flashes back to last year, the disappearances of Will Byers and Barb. Then Nancy and Jonathan, vanishing for days without a word. Everyone assumed Jonathan had to hold things together while Joyce spiraled, refusing to believe her son was dead. There was even a funeral, and she still wouldn’t admit it. Then, against all logic, Will came back with no real explanation.

You remember Steve acting strangely after everything went down. He kept trying to make peace with Jonathan over the fight they got into outside the movie theater, but he dodged every question you asked about the night he went to Jonathan’s house, laughing nervously or changing the subject so fast it left you spinning. Then there was the night you found a bat in the trunk of his car—nails hammered into it like some kind of makeshift weapon. When you questioned him, he just shrugged it off, calling it a “guy thing,” and you let it go, though every instinct told you there was more to the story.

Whenever you pushed for answers, Steve would wave it off, teasing you about reading too many mysteries and spending too much time theorizing. But seeing the fear in his eyes now, the weight he’s carrying, it hits you like a punch: you were right to question everything. And he knows it, too.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

You drive Steve’s car back to his house, figuring you’ll pick up your mom’s in the morning. One night won’t matter.

Helping him up to his room, you can’t shake the strange coincidences piling up around Hawkins.

“I missed this,” he mumbles, settling onto his bed.

“What?”

“You… in my room,” he says softly, grabbing your hand. “Stay tonight. Don’t leave.”

“You have a girlfriend, Steve. I don’t stay over when you have a girlfriend.”

He sighs, eyes full of something almost desperate. “What kind of girlfriend says she isn’t really in love with you?”

You freeze. “I’m sorry—what?”

“She said we’re just… acting like we’re in love,” he says, voice rough with frustration and something else.

You can see it—the hurt he’s tried to bury, the way he’s tried so hard to be enough for someone. To finally feel wanted.

His arms slip around your waist, his head resting against your stomach, and you feel his shoulders shake. Silent tears he doesn’t want you to see.

“Hey, hey… She was drunk, okay? Everyone says stupid things when they’re drunk. Talk to her tomorrow. It’ll be fine.”

“She meant it,” he whispers, his voice breaking.

You gently push him back onto the bed, pulling the covers over him. “You’ve got a long day tomorrow, Steve. Get some rest, and we’ll figure out the Nancy thing together.”

You hate to leave him like this, but you know it’s the right thing to do. So, once again, you walk away, leaving your best friend alone with his heartbreak and the last traces of alcohol on his breath. Another turn in the endless cycle that is your friendship—always there for him, even as it pulls you back into the same, unbroken loop.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The next day, Billy and Steve square off on the basketball court, the air thick with tension. Billy’s been taunting him non-stop, poking at Steve’s so-called “King Steve” reputation like it’s a worn-out joke. But Steve keeps his cool, mostly.

Until Billy casually drops your name.

“So tell me, Harrington,” Billy sneers with a smirk, “what made you go for the Wheeler girl over Y/N?”

Steve feels the muscles in his jaw clench, but he doesn’t take the bait. He knows better than to react. But Billy’s not done. He moves closer, a low chuckle escaping as he continues, “I mean, the King and the Princess of Hawkins High—cute match and all. But damn, man, have you seen the hips on her? Perfect for holding onto. Word is you already took her for a test drive, too. So I gotta wonder… why didn’t you ever claim her? Or maybe you just weren’t man enough?”

Steve’s control snaps. He shoves Billy hard, fire in his eyes as he stands inches from him, fists clenched. “Say one more thing about her. I dare you.”

Billy laughs, clearly enjoying himself, but there’s an edge to Steve’s stance, a fierce protectiveness that makes even Billy pause. Steve glares, his voice low and dangerous. “Y/N’s worth more than someone like you will ever know. So keep her name out of your mouth, or you’ll regret it.”

Right on cue, Nancy’s soft voice cuts through the tension. “Steve?” She stands just a few feet away, looking pale and uneasy, clearly having seen the entire thing unfold.

Billy smirks, throwing a last taunt over his shoulder. “Good luck, Harrington.” He saunters off, leaving Steve standing there, fists still clenched, his heart pounding.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

“Y/N!” your mom calls from downstairs. “Steve is here!”

Steve coming through the front door? That’s unusual—he’s always climbed the vines up to your window. You quickly spray a bit of perfume, fix your hair, then catch yourself in the mirror. Why are you even putting in effort for him?

When you come down, your mom throws you an excited smile, her back to Steve so he can’t see. She’s still holding onto that hope she’s had since first grade that you and Steve would end up together.

And then there he is, standing in the entryway with a bouquet of sunflowers—your favorite. Your heart stumbles as you take in every inch of him. For a brief second, you let yourself imagine you’re the only girl he brings flowers to. But realistically, he’s probably just coming from Nancy’s or on his way there next.

He hands you the flowers, his gaze lingering. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s no big deal,” you say, trying to steady your voice.

“Well, I should get going,” he says, and your heart sinks. That’s it? 

“But, uh, make sure to open your window. There’s a nice breeze out tonight,” he adds with a wink. You bite back a smile, catching on.

You say your goodbyes and dash up the stairs, ignoring your mom’s questions as Steve leaves. You open your window, sitting on your bed, waiting for him like you have a hundred times before. Somehow, after all these years, the excitement still feels brand new.

“Miss me?” He slips through the window, quietly so your mom doesn’t hear, and makes himself at home. He turns on your record player, the soft hum of music filling the room, then joins you on the bed.

He stares down at his hands. “I’m sorry for the position I put you in last night. It wasn’t fair, and you deserve better.”

You try to catch his gaze, but he’s clearly embarrassed. “That’s what best friends are for,” you say, hoping to ease his guilt.

You bite your tongue, unsure whether to bring up what he shared last night—but you’ve never hidden things from each other, and you don’t want to start now. “You told me about Nancy… how she said it felt like you were just acting in love.”

He sighs, defeated. “Yeah. I confronted her about it today. Asked if she could say she loved me, and she couldn’t.”

Your heart aches for him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Maybe she’s just… having a moment. A lot’s happened this year.”

The silence hangs between you for a moment, heavy with unsaid words.

“I’m gonna bring her flowers after this. I don’t think it’ll change anything, but she deserves an apology for everything I put her through,” he finally says, breaking the quiet. You smile, resting your hand on his knee. “I think that’s a good idea.”

He looks down at your hand on his knee, his fingers hovering for a moment before he covers it with his own. His expression softens, a hint of something he quickly tries to hide, but you can see it—a sadness mixed with a reluctant acceptance, like he knows exactly what all of this means.

He lets out a quiet sigh, staring at your intertwined hands. There’s a heaviness in his eyes. Like even if things with Nancy are ending, there’s something between you and him that’s never quite let go.

His fingers tighten around yours, just for a second, before he releases your hand and gives you a small, bittersweet smile.

“You should go,” you whisper. You don’t want him to. But he needs to. 

He reluctantly resigns himself.

“Can I come pick you up in an hour? Maybe we can go to the movies or something?”

You know you should say no, but you can’t. “If you and Nancy aren’t making out and making up within the next hour then yes, we can go to a movie.” 

He stares at you, and you can’t quite read him. You avert your gaze. 

“It’s so funny,” he speaks almost as if he can’t believe himself, “No matter what…or who…I always need you.” 

And with that he’s out the window and on his way to try and win back another woman.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

[word-wytch]

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door. 

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative. 

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning. 

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself. 

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together. 

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates. 

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town. 

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by. 

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge. 

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.  

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon. 

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant  forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another. 

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check. 

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri. 

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good! 

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations. 

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van. 

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum. 

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.  

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint. 

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment. 

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?  

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed. 

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling. 

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die. 

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him. 

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten. 

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow. 

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.” 

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.” 

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied. 

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos. 

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived. 

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself. 

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap. 

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back. 

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street. 

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now. 

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format. 

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title. 

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins. 

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain. 

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.” 

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance.. 

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.” 

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness. 

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.” 

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile. 

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t. 

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder. 

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition. 

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now. 

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath. 

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all. 

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern. 

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside. 

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold. 

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?” 

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose. 

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?” 

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.” 

“Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.” 

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero. 

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm. 

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air. 

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked. 

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals. 

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat. 

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more. 

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.” 

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.” 

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind. 

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail. 

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory. 

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

[sleepingdeath-light]

medium s/o hcs ; dipper & ford

requested by ; anonymous (02/06/22)

fandom(s) ; gravity falls

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; dipper pines, stanford pines

outline ; “HIIIIIII can i req dipper and stanford pines with an s/o that is a medium? like can see and speak with ghosts and other supernatural things and is vv superstitious?”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

dipper pines

initially dipper had brushed off your superstitions as a matter of upbringing

he’d met many people over the years who absentmindedly threw leftover salt over their shoulder or who veered around ladders out of habit — so, to him, you were far from abnormal in that regard

granted your superstitions were a bit more specific than most and you were a bit more insistent on him abiding by them (at least when you were together) than most — but he just brushed it off as one of your eccentricities

i mean he spends most of his days studying the supernatural so far beyond him to judge someone for trying to protect themselves

then you sat him down and told him about your gift and that’s when everything clicked into place

the knocking on doors before entering any room — even the ones you knew were empty

the refusal to whistle at night — and your scolding of him for doing so

the refusal to enter older buildings

you could see the dead and didn’t want to disturb them — it made so much sense now

he’d question you about your abilities — limits, experiences and what exactly you can and cannot do — and write them all down in his own notebook

and he’d default to you and your experiences when dealing with hauntings going forwards to minimise any upsetting of the dead

but beyond that he wouldn’t treat you any different

he’d just be more open with you about his studies, share in your superstitions and occasionally ask for your help or guidance where needed

and unless you want him to do something else with your gift, he won’t, and things will stay largely the same

stanford pines

your relationship likely only happened because of your gift — with the two of you meeting and becoming colleagues in studying the supernatural after ford heard of your talents and specifically tracked you down

of course for most of the time you knew him ford had been relatively dismissive and business oriented — not forming much of a personal bond so much as he was looking for your insight as a partner, as an equal, in his studies

and you hadn’t minded, merely insisting that he follow your instructions and doesn’t go against your superstitions when with you

it was a small ask and he readily complied, valuing the input of a medium far more than any pride or similar stigma that would have prevented him from going along with your instructions

you were effectively a coauthor for his journals, helping him gain the trust of these creatures, these entities, these communities to aid in a more thorough observation

helping him cross barriers in language and existence with lots of patience and your talent as an underlying foundation to it all

and, as time went on, the two of you inevitably got close enough to form the very beginnings of a romantic relationship

so close that your routines and habits start to mesh together so closely that you memorise his coffee order by heart and he never thinks twice about tossing that handful of salt over his shoulder or broadening his step so he avoids a crack in the pavement

closely intertwined and in love and awkward but it’s perfect for you both — you with your superstitions and him with his sciences

and you’re perfect for each other, sticking by for as long as you can — and returning to that old routine even after those years spent apart when he was lost in that void

but, still, you can recite his formulae off by heart and he pauses at the sight of a black cat or a leaning ladder — avoiding them no matter how much his brother and grandniblings tease him for it

because he knows better — he knows you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Old Scars, New Blood 4

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, borderline bullying, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader has accepted that she’ll never be wanted, not only by the man she’s crushed on for years, but by anyone. That is until a new player enters the game. (f!, short!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen, Thor Odinson

Note: Still sick but going to have to work.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

With meal prep complete, you return to Lloyd’s office to find it empty. The remnants of his earlier spill remain speckled over the desk and floor. You clean it up, leaving a lemony fresh scent in your stead. While you’re at it, you tidy up the bookshelves.

You hesitate on your way to the door. You glance over your shoulder as something tickles in your head. You still don’t get why Lloyd didn’t tell you about Valhalla. For months, he hid that from you. You think about that day in the car and being left on the side of the road. Maybe he’s been planning to cut ties with you for a while.

You stare at the large iMac. It would be wrong to snoop. Even if it isn’t his redeeming quality, you’ve always been honest with Lloyd. You’re just confused. He’s never anything less than straightforward so if he’s going to fire you, why hasn’t he just pulled the trigger?

Maybe… you know too much. That sends a shiver through you. It may actually end with shots fired.

“There she is,” Lloyd interrupts your inner turmoil and you whip around to face him. He’s freshly showered and styled. You can smell the specialty oil he puts in his mustache, “the fuck are you doing in here?”

“Cleaning,” you reply quickly.

“Looks pretty fucking spotless,” he tosses keys at you and you flinch, catching them against your chest, “I need a ride.”

“Um, I can get Jackie–”

“He drives like an old man,” he retorts, spinning on his heel as he snaps his fingers, “chop, chop, kid.”

You swallow your agitation. Usually, you’re better at it. Today you just find him grating. Maybe you’re just a bit sore about him leaving you on the highway. Well, get over it, he’s not apologising.

You follow him with the keys in your hand. He’s several paces ahead of you as you scurry to keep up. His stride is tense as he opens and closes his fists.

As you come outside, you hear a whistle. Lloyd peers over and scuffs to halt as he faces Thor. The large blond bounds over, a shirt with only one button done up displaying most of his chest. He looks over Lloyd’s shoulder and his cheek dimples.

“Running away?”

“Business,” Lloyd says flatly, “I’ll be back.”

“What about my business?” Thor challenges. Lloyd doesn’t respond. “Relax,” he slaps Lloyd’s arm, “I’m ragging on you. Tonight, we will share some of your scotch, eh? Get you nice and loose.”

“Mm,” Lloyd grumbles, “we’ll see.”

“The little one prefers wine, I think,” Thor points over Lloyd’s shoulder, “oh, and she has quite the sweet tooth, eh? You must know that.”

“Whatever. She’s the assistant. Her job is to worry about what I like,” Lloyd sneers, “don’t wait up.”

He turns back towards the car and you send an apologetic smile past him. Thor smirks and winks, flicking his tongue out lasciviously. You blanch and swiftly follow Lloyd.

You still don’t believe what he said in the kitchen. Not only that he said it but that he meant it. You’re certain it’s all just a part of this pissing match between the men. Thor keeps stepping onto Lloyd’s territory, he’ll keep going till he gets bit. You don’t how much longer Lloyd can hold out.

Lloyd’s in the passenger’s seat of the SUV before you even get to the door. You open it and swing yourself in. You hate how big all these vehicles are. You shove the keys in the slot and turn the engine. You shift in the seat and slide your phone out of your pocket, placing it in the cup holder.

You check the time then the mirrors. It’s not unusual for Lloyd to head out later in the day but you didn’t have anything on the agenda. You know better than to ask questions. That’s what he liked about you, if he likes anything about you.

“Would you just fucking drive?” Lloyd growls.

You wince and shift into gear. You look behind you then ahead of you. Thor watches you as you ease into reverse. Or maybe he’s watching Lloyd…

You roll the wheel and turn towards the gate. Lloyd takes out his phone and slumps in the seat as he scrolls and taps. You steer through the gate and pull out onto the road. You don’t even know if you should ask where to go.

“Head northeast,” he says.

Right. You take his direction and turn onto the ramp onto the highway. He grumbles at his phone but says nothing else until you have to get into the exit lane. What is he up to?

You head into the city and he directs you through the main row where much of the nightlife thrives. You’ve been there many times before. He isn’t shy about his nocturnal activities. He commands you past his typical spot.

When he points you into the lot behind a Hilton, you frown. Is he that desperate to get away from Thor? You don’t say a word as you idle by the back wall.

“Right,” he doesn’t look up from his phone as he undoes his seat belt, “I’ll be a while.”

You look over at him confused. What does he mean?

“I’m sure you can keep yourself entertained,” he pokes his tongue out as he smirks at his phone. You catch the glimpse of a chat, a picture sent of a woman in a thong. You cringe and grip the wheel.

“I’ll just go back to the compound–”

“You’ll stay the fuck here,” he tears his eyes from the cell and jabs his finger at you, “you need to remember who the fuck you work for, kid.”

You say nothing as he opens the door and drops out of the SUV. You know this side of Lloyd. His ego is bruised. It happens after rough missions or when an agent gets mouthy. It’s worse now since he can’t do much about his problem. 

He slams the door behind him and you watch him march towards the entrance. You sigh and roll down the windows before you shut off the engine. There’s no use in wasting gas for who knows how long. You’re certain if you get bored, you’ll have enough time to get a coffee down the block.

You grab your phone and shuffle through several apps. You can’t focus on any of the time-eating games you keep for when you’re restless. You have nothing else to distract you. Your sister hasn’t answered the text you sent her a week ago and Lloyd is busy.

You open up your downloaded series and turn on the same show you’ve seen a dozen times before. Still, you’re not paying attention. You don’t think Lloyd is here for business. It really shouldn’t matter to you but it feels extra humiliating to have to wait outside while he does…whatever.

You turn off the show and let the car go silent. You adjust the seat to recline and close your eyes. You’re exhausted. All the chaos has got the best of you. 

Your phone vibes before you can get cozy. It’s Lloyd. You tap the preview so it expands.

‘Need lube. Ten minutes.’

You scoff. Is he serious? Your heart shrivels up as your stomach turns. He’s punishing you. Not because you did anything but because he can’t punish Thor. You’re so so tired.

You grip the wheel and stare at the phone. You wonder if he knows? Is this why he’s doing this? All these years, talking about his escapades, you just assumed it was his usual crassness. He talks like that with everyone. If he’s not boasting about killing, it’s fucking.

Either way, he knows what he’s doing. This is low. You are low.

You open up maps and search for a shop nearby. You fix the seat and pull out, driving numbly as you follow the automated voice directing you through the street. You park without paying attention and get out, nearly stumbling from the height of the SUV’s lift.

You stroll inside the shop with its blackened windows and enter with your head down. Your eyes scan furtively as you search for your goal. The task is made more difficult as the flesh toned silicon and shameless displays set you on fire.

“Hello, hon, can I help you find something?” The man behind the counter asks.

“Er,” you cross your arms, “lube.”

“Alrighty, are we looking for flavoured? Water-based? Oil?”

You blanch as he rounds the counter and strides towards a rack. You shrug and trail after him. You see a black bottle with cherries on it.

“That’s fine,” you pluck one off the shelf and quickly retreat to the counter. “Credit.”

You bring up your card on your phone and tap. The man behind the counter tries to break the tension but you’re not listening. You shove the receipt in your pocket and swipe up the bottle and leave.

Back in the truck, you have to hold back from screaming. What are you doing? You don’t need this shit. Why do you keep bending over backwards for Lloyd when you don’t have a chance? Why have you wasted a decade hoping for nothing?

Because, you don’t have any other options.

You turn the car on and roll out of the lot. You make your way back to the hotel in a haze. You check your phone. He sent the room number and nothing else. You walk into the hotel, ignoring the front desk clerk, and wait for the elevator. You step onto it and watch the doors shut.

You get off and follow the signs to the exact door plaque. You knock with your knuckles, your hand fisted around the bottle. You hear giggling. It’s more than one woman. Footsteps approach the other side.

A woman in an open robe opens the door. She has dark wavy hair and smeared lipstick. Lloyd growls in the background as you glimpse his naked ass.

“Hurry up, sugar tits,” he calls, “I’m starting to chafe.”

You shove the bottle at the woman and drop it. You don’t wait to see if she catches it. You spin on your heel and you’re gone. Your eyes fill with hot tears. Tears like acid. Tears of stupidity.

When you get back to the car, you keel over the steering wheel and heave. You don’t hate Lloyd. You hate yourself. You need to cut it out but somehow, you just can’t. He’s the worst person you know and yet, you want him so badly.

❤️‍🩹

As the sky darkens, you get out of the SUV to stretch your legs. You pace around and check the time. You don’t want to get back in the car. Instead, you wander down the street to the coffee kiosk you drove by earlier. You get an Americano and drag your feet back up the pavement.

You stand outside the SUV and sip from the cup. You chew the paper brim anxiously and look at your phone. Another car door opens and closes.

“Candy?” A man approaches.

You look up, the glow of your face making the stranger nothing more than a dark shadow, “not me,” you back up and press your phone to your chest.

“Oh, sorry,” he puts his hands up, “thought you were someone else.”

You shake your head as he turns and wanders off. You’re not entirely sure how he mistook you for a prostitute. That is what he thought, isn’t it? Candy? Sounds pretty tasty.

You get back in the SUV and lock the doors. You put your phone in the cup holder and it flashes. A message. You don’t bother reading it. You tap your fingers on the console and close your eyes, sipping from the warm cup.

A knock on the other window startles you. You turn on the light and see Lloyd peering in. He winks and tugs on the handle. You hit the locks and sit up.

He gets in and lets out a sigh, “ahh, I feel good.”

You don’t say a word as you slip your cup into the empty holder beside your phone. You start the car and press the gas. As you come to the exit, Lloyd yawns and stretches his arm between the seats, gripping yours above your shoulder.

“I’m fucking starving, let’s hit a burger joint,” he says as he rubs his stomach, “you don’t think I would be with how much I ate.”

He cackles and you bite down. You don’t understand it. He repulses you and yet there’s that sharp pang in your chest.

“You see the tits on Kasia? Fucking pert–”

You veer onto the next street and he hits the door with the motion, “hey, be fucking careful.” He shifts in his seat as he touches his crotch, “I’m tender.”

You sniff and pull into the drive through. You stop by the menu, “what do you want?”

“Get me some of that honey chicken and some rings. Extra honey sauce for the rings. Oh, and a sprite.”

“Sure,” you answer as you drive up to the speaker. You recite his order and the fuzzy response tells you to drive up to the window.

“What’s up? You’re not hungry?”

“I’m fine,” you insist.

“Aw, you on another diet,” he taunts, “bone broth?”

“No,” you answer flatly.

“I’m not sharing my rings,” he says.

“I don’t want any,” you insist.

“You’re fucking testy,” he accuses as you pay.

“I’m tired,” you utter and roll up to the pick-up.

“You’re tired? Fuck, my back is aching from all that thrusting.”

“Would you stop?” You snap before you can stop yourself, “I don’t want to hear about your dick anymore.”

He snorts and sits up straight, “excuse me, kid?”

“I don’t care,” you reach over and give a blunt thanks to the drive-thru worker as you take the paper bag. “Why don’t you shut up and eat?"

You shove the bag in his lap then take the cup and move your phone to plant it firmly in the holder. You follow through the lane and back onto the street. The silence is still and stolid around you.

“If you wanted to join in, you just had to say–”

“No,” you snip. You know he’s not serious, he’s teasing you. You’re a joke to him. “No, I don’t want that.” You grip the wheel tight and bite down until your jaw hurts, “I don’t want you.”

He inhales and blows it out heavily through his nose. The bag crinkles as he opens it and reaches inside, unleashing the smell of chicken that makes your stomach rage. You ignore the discomfort and focus on the road.

“Learn to take a fucking joke, kid,” he snickers, “maybe then, you’ll catch a dick or two.”

[agere-fics]

Doctor Papa

dni: k!nk, anti-agere, agepl4y, or ddlg-esque blogs 🍄 this blog is a safe space for age regressors and age dreamers 🍄

pairing: caregiver!papa!bruce banner x regressor!little!reader

characters: uncle thor, bruce banner, reader, mentions of: steve, bucky, sam, and tony stark.

summary: you have to get MRIs done but you're nervous. thank goodness, papa knows how to cheer you up.

word count: 1,751

content warnings: MRIs, hospital gown, reader is written like they're a child's height, no mention of a particular chronic illness, please tell me if i'm missing anything

author's note: tadaa!! all done! this is the most i've written for a one shot! very proud of myself. also, this is inspired by me having to get MRIs done recently ajfhs

♡

Sometimes stuff we've done lots of times can still seem scary; which is annoying because who wants to feel anxious about the same exact thing over and over again?

You have to get these scans done by tomorrow. With every heart of your being, you wished that wasn't true but your previous scans were too old.

UGH!

Luckily, your papa had a trick up his sleeve.

He told you to stay here, in this gigantic, empty, white walled room. It was utterly boring, there were no paintings or statues or anything. Not even toys! Well, okay, you had your Mr. Rainy Day Bear but still... At least there were floor to ceiling windows- OH, and a skylight, too. Those were always nice.

While you waited for Bruce to come back, you watched what went on outside. There was Tony using his latest invention to attempt to lift Uncle Thor’s hammer. Tony still had no idea that it couldn't possibly work! How silly of him.

Bucky, Sam, and Steve stood in a far apart triangle. They were tossing around the Captain America shield like a Frisbee, guffawing, and yelling things that were joyously incomprehensible. It looked like lots of fun. Definitely more fun than MRIs. Maybe, they would let you join in later.

The double doors of the empty room swung open and papa’s humongous green form entered.

“Okayyy, love bug, I've grabbed all the cardboard pieces from recycling that weren't gross.” He grimaced thinking about the black, moldy gunk that spoiled some previously useful parts. He shrunk back down to Bruce Banner size after dumping the cardboard into a large pile. “We should have enough for our little art project.”

“Art project?” You looked at him expectantly. Your eyes were lit up with stars of joy this time, instead of meteor shower anxiety.

The idea was to make a cardboard MRI machine. Having an art project to focus on would comfort and reassure you about the process you would go through tomorrow. If he could make it fun, your anxiety wouldn't be so bad.

“I’ve seen the machine before, papa, I can make the bestest one yet!” You hopped on your toes, giddy with tight, flapping fists.

“I grabbed your sticker books and some paint, too-”

“OH YAY, THANK YOU PAPA, THIS IS SO EXCITING!!”

Mission accomplished. Anxiety gone, replaced with magical cure Art Project™. Bruce smirked to himself.

You laid down on a tall, square cardboard piece. Bruce traced your form with a sharpie as you giggled. Once you had the correct length, you both began cutting a rectangular piece and put that piece on a metal cart with wheels.

Then, you cut out half circle pieces and hot glued them all together until it made one large 4D sphere with a hole in the middle like a donut.

At one point, the glue burned you but Papa Bruce fixed it right up and stopped the booboo pain with a cure-all kiss.

Your cardboard MRI machine may look done to outsiders but it wasn't even close. It was missing the most important part of all: the stickers! There were heart stickers, stickers with dolphins, rainbow stickers, puppy stickers, stickers that had Mr. Hulk and Papa on them, too! There were even stickers of Stevey, Bucky, Iron Man, and Uncle Thor! Papa said for your birthday he'd make stickers with you on them, too.

You also painted squiggles, polka dots, lines, circles, triangles, kitty cats, and zig zags. All of them in your most favoritest color.

“There!” You stood proudly, hands on your hips. “Now, it's very, very pretty, papa.”

Papa gave you a minute and then asked, “Are you ready to practice?”

You blinked and sighed. Defeat warping your mood. “Yeah...”

Papa spun away, put a doctor's coat on, and then turned back, holding a clipboard. “Alright, are you the caregiver for Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

“Yeah, papa.” You lightened up a little bit.

“Papa? No, I'm Doctor Doctor. Who's papa?”

“You're papaaa!” You pointed at him.

“Okay, okay I'm Doctor Papa.” He repeated, “Are you the caregiver of Mr. Rainy Day Bear?”

You tilted your chin up and did a faux British accent. “Why, yes, sir. He's feeling very, very bad and needs a scan.”

“Ah, yes, I see that on his chart, Caregiver.” He flipped through the scribbled pages on the clipboard. “Let's have. Mr. Bear lay down on the table with his head on the pillow.” Bruce gestured with his hand.

You laid your stuffie down on the pretend bed, placing Mr. Bear’s head gently on the pillow. You patted his hand for good measure.

Doctor Papa put ear plugs into the bear's ears and placed cushy pink headphones on him. The headphones had cat ears on them. Papa raised his voice a little, “Mr. Rainy Day Bear, what kind of music do you like to listen to?”

“Doctor Papa, Mr. Bear is nonverbal.” you said matter of factly. You raised your pointer finger to the sky. “I’ll answer for him. He likes The Wiggles, Papa- I mean Doctor Papa.”

“Alrighty then, The Wiggles album coming right up.” Bruce pulled out his phone, scrolling until he found the right music. “Wiggles rave?”

You nodded, then kissed the tippity top of Rainy Day’s head. “You'll be okay, Mr. Bear.”

Bruce began to push the cardboard bed into the donut sphere. You took a big, big deep breath in.

“BRRRR BEEEP AGHHHH RRRRR DNNNN-”

That breath was immediately released back into the atmosphere. “PAPAAA!” You clutched your chest, laughing so hard your legs felt weak.

Doctor Papa continued, “DRRRRR EEEEEE EHHHHHH MRRRRRR!”

You were rolling on the floor, tears leaving your eyes. How silly of your papa!

“BRRRRRrrrrrr….” Papa rolled the cardboard bed out of the donut. “How are you feeling Mr. Bear?”

“Papa, he can't hear you!”

Bruce laughed. “Oh, yeah, right.” He removed the headphones and then the earplugs. “How is the fantastic Mr. Bear?”

You lifted Mr. Bear’s paws and had him sign to Bruce, ‘I am okay.’

“Perfect! Let's take a look at your scans here…” Papa turned around and scribbled quickly on the paper. When he faced you again, he showed you the scan. It was a poorly constructed scribble of Mr. Rainy Day Bear with a big, biiiiiiiig, heart right in the middle. “I knew it, Lots-Of-Love-itis.”

You unburied the British accent. “Quite good, sir. Well done, Mr. Bear.” You placed a hulk sticker on his paw and hugged him tightly.

Papa kneeled down and asked, “Do you want to practice with you this time?”

You gave it a thought, looking this way and that. “Hmmm, will you make the funny noises again?”

“BEEEEP BRRR-”

“Not right now, Papa!” You shouted with a smile.

“Oh, during the practice?” He waited for you to finish rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay…” You breathed in, out, in, and out slowly. “Let's practice, Doctor Papa.”

♡

“Big day, lille venn.” Uncle Thor said as he helped tie the back of your hospital gown. He double knotted the strings behind your neck and then the ones by your hip. “There you are. All set.”

You frowned at that, looking at Thor with big, watery eyes. “Not all set.”

“It'll be okay.” His hands (placed on your shoulders) turned you to face him. “Remember your breathing?”

“Mhm.”

“Let's do it together.” He raised his left hand as you did the same. “Climb Yggdrasil, breathe in.”

You traced up your pointer finger.

“Let's sit at the very top, hold your breath.”

You paused at the tip of your finger.

“Slide down the Yggdrasil branches, breathe out.”

You traced down your pointer finger.

Uncle Thor had you repeat that four more times, until the tears dried and the anxiety flowed further away.

“Very good, great job. Let's go see Papa.” He held your hand as he walked you towards the scary room. Worse than the boring room from yesterday.

You turned the corner and there was Papa at the computer. “Hey there! The computer’s prepped and waiting for you, little one.”

You looked at Papa, then Uncle Thor, and then Papa again. “Okay… I'm ready.”

Papa led you to the metal bed. It was rectangular and thin. A sheet was laid out on it so you wouldn't get super cold. There was a thick pillow on the end that had your favorite kitty cat pillowcase on it, which made the corners of your lips turn upwards.

Papa pressed an arrow down bottom next to the donut sphere that brought the bed down to your level. He held your hand as you hopped on and then helped position you onto the center. He guided you through a big, deep breath so that your body was as comfortable on the table as can be instead of tense.

Next came pink headphones with cutesy kitty ears on them and plain boring ear plugs so that your hearing wasn't hurt from the loud noises. Papa already set up your favorite kind of music so when the headphones were placed on you, it was already playing. Bruce furrowed his brow in question, moving his thumb up and down. You replied with a thumbs up. You were ready.

Bruce handed you a panic button to hold just in case and laid a blanket over you to keep you warm. Papa kissed the top of your head and left the room.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in and out.

BBRRRRRRR

‘It's okay. I'm okay.’

BEEEEEEPPP

‘Woohoo, I'm doing awesome!’

REEEEHHHHHH

‘This is boring, it's got to have been a bajillion minutes by now.’

After ten years (minutes), the machine stopped and Papa walked back into the room. He gave you a high five and bunches of praises that you only heard some of because of all the ear protectors. But you could tell by his facial expressions that he was so very proud of you.

He pressed the arrow down button again and the bed began moving to an easier height. You removed the headphones and earplugs yourself, you felt like such a big kid (in the best way)!

You stretched this way and that while making funny noises which made you abrupt into hearty giggles.

Bruce held your hand as you jumped down. Next thing you knew, he was hugging you tightly, picking you up, and spinning you around and around!

“I'm so very, very proud of you, bumble bee!”

You kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Papa!”

♡

[waffledforbreakfast]

Sending Love Letters - [MUTI! BLLK X F!READER]

(SEPARATE) pt1

Staring: rin, sae, shidou, niko, kaiser

pt2: ness, otoya, karasu, Reo

[ BLLK Scenario Masterlist ]

TW: heavy ooc, bad grammar, bad spelling, bad formatting, cringe, scuff, etc.

>Rin

Rin just finished showering, and was going through his school bag. 

He tossed a few crumpled pieces of paper away, and pulled out his homework. As he did, a neatly crafted envelope slipped out from his notebook, the heart seal immediately catching his eyes.

He put his work aside and inspected the envelope, he did get occasional confessions at school, but this is the most effort and care he’s seen in one. His name was written in cursive on the back, indicating that the letter was in fact for him.

“Who sent it… Could it be-No, no no. They wouldn’t…” a familiar name popped into his head, but he’d never admit he was hoping it was you.

Rin sat down on his bed as he tore apart the letter carefully, making sure not to damage the paper. The letter was folded in half, little Sanrio characters around the border and neat handwriting 

His eyes skimmed the paper, reading every word while holding it tightly.

Rin’s face flushed as he read, by the end of it, he was red as a tomato. He’d never gotten so flustered from other confessions, why was it he felt so… strange reading this one? Was it because it was written in your handwriting? Or the fact that it was your initial sighed at the end? 

No no no, surely not. At least that’s what he told himself. “Right… It could be anyone, she’s not the only one with that initial, and there’s no way to be sure it’s her handwriting. She’s probably not the one who sent me this.”

He dropped the paper, losing interest.

Not even 12 seconds passed til he picked it up again, “Sh1t, what if it is her…” Rin’s face reddened at his own thoughts. He looked again at the handwriting.

“I’m sure she wrote this, that’s her handwriting. She always tilts her ‘E’ slightly, and that’s her pen for sure, she always writes in 0.38…. How do I know that-” He buried his face in his arms, embarrassed that he had unintentionally memorised almost everything about her.

“This is so pathetic, what if it’s not her…” he frowned at the thought, he’d spent more time than he’d like to admit on the letter, but he couldn’t bring himself away. He groaned as he fell back onto his pillow. On one hand, the love of his life might like him back, on the other, it could be some extra he didn’t care about.

He lay there for a few moments of silence before getting interrupted 

“So, you like someone?” Sae leaned against the open door of his room, observing Rin and his red face.

“I- HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN STANDING THERE FOR!?” Rin shot up, quickly putting the letter under the blankets and threw his pillow at his brother 

Sae tried to hold in a laugh as he caught the pillow “Calm down Rin, I just came to let you know dinner’s ready.” he tossed the pillow back and waited for Rin

The younger brother rolled his eyes, face still red. But he got off his bed and closed the door behind him, heading to the dinner table.

“You should send her a letter back, tell her you like her too” Sae said, walking behind him

“... I don't like her.” Rin lied, trying to convince himself more than his brother

“Sure you don’t, [Y/N] right? You’ve mentioned her a few times”

“Once. I mentioned her once.” Rin glared at Sae

Sae just shrugged “Well, you mentioned her by name, so that’s something. Cmon, let’s eat.”

Rin rolled his eyes, but joined Sae anyway. 

Also Sae def threatened to tell their parents unless Rin told him more 🤭, so after dinner mostly consisted of Sae bullying Rin for it :> 

>Shidou

Shidou just finished showering, and was now lazing around doing nothing.

He was flipping through his sketchbook until he saw a cute envelope taped to an empty page (A/N: for those who don’t know, art’s actually his favourite subject :D we stan artist Shidou (all from the Egoist Bible/Wiki btw) )

He pulled it off with no particular care and would’ve ripped it open if not for the Hello Kitty decorations. Just kidding, he admired it for two seconds before tearing it apart.

He didn’t even read the words at first, he was just looking at the decorations.

That was until he noticed the handwriting, it looked exactly like yours. Then he immediately looked at who signed it, your initial. 

He sat there for a few seconds, contemplating. Did you really write this? Was this really meant for him? The moment that thought crossed his mind, he threw the paper and balled up in anticipation 

He started panicking, “Sh1t, did [Y/N] send this to me?? Fvck fvck fvck- oh g0d…” his face heated up, he didn’t care much about it until the possibility of you being the sender hit him.

Shidou immediately picked the letter back up, and the envelope it came in. His name was written in cursive on the back, and he had a strong feeling it was you. “She has a fountain pen right? This sort of letting can only be done with those kinds of tools, and not everyone has one!” His face lit up, hoping it was you who wrote to him. “Yes yes, I remember she had a bunch of Hello Kitty stickers, i think she was working on this in class too” Shidou recalled you writing with your fountain pen in class while he was working on a  sketch. And he did leave his sketchbook open on a blank page at one point- it was very possible you sent it.

He put the torn envelope down and silently apologized for ripping it before reading the letter. 

He was smiling and blushing through the whole thing, the thought of you liking him almost made him want to explode 😀 

He re-read his favourite part of “I like you, Shidou” like 6 times, and was genuinely freaking out.

He pinned the letter and envelope to his wall, and stared at it for like 2 min before telling himself to pull it together (he didn’t)

He promised he’d go profess his love to you tmr as well before (trying to) sleep.

Shidou was also incredibly grateful that you stuck it on a blank page of his sketchbook, for if you flipped back just a bit, you would’ve discovered all the drawings of you that he’d make in whatever classes he had with you.

And after he remembers to confess, he’ll add your letter and envelope to the little box of other drawing of you under his bed :3 

(Also I promise he uses those pictures for NORMAL purposes-) 

>Sae

(School AU! So he’s 3rd year highschool, Rin’s in his last year of secondary)

Sae was finally done with school, all he had to do now was to pick up Rin.

So he waited outside the school gates and scrolled his phone

“Nii-Chan!” Rin walked up to Sae, having grown the same height

“Hey Rin” Sae ruffled his hair, to which Rin frowned “Ready to go?”

Rin nodded before following Sae home, but then something caught his eye.

“There’s something in your hood, hold up.” Rin plucked the envelope out and looked at it, “There’s a heart stamp, is it from your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend” Sae rolled his eyes “You can throw it out”

“What? I thought you liked [Y/N]? What if she sent this?” 

“No I don’t.” Sae kept a straight face but paused “... Actually give me that” he snatched the paper out of his hands and inspected it carefully. He did remember when he was sleeping in his last class you walked by him, so there was a chance it was your doing.

Sae shoved it into his pocket, “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Rin gave him a side eye, but kept quiet.

Once they got home, Sae went and locked himself in his room, which Rin did find a bit strange….

Sae sat down and took the letter out, the possibility of you sending it never leaving his thoughts.

He cut through the envelope with a letter opener and examined the contents. 

Sae read each word, letter them set in. His face would imply that he didn’t care, but the mere action of reading it would say otherwise. His hyper beating heart and racing thoughts weren’t helping either.

After he finished going through it, he had to take a moment to process. He then read it again to make sure he got it right. Sure there was no way to be sure you were the sender, but who else could it be? The 20 other people in the clash who probably also like him? Probably not.

“Sh1t, what do I do tomorrow… do i kiss her?? No no, that’s too soon.” Sae felt disappointed in himself for not knowing anything about romance or love. “Maybe I should just invite her to my soccer game, that’ll impress her.”

Suddenly, a knock his door was soon followed by Rin’s voice, “Dinner’s ready”

Sae sighed and put the letter away, telling himself he’ll deal with it later before joining his family for dinner

“So, Sae” His mother smirked, “Rin told me you have a girlfriend?”

Sae’s face turned to one of shock, embarrassment and betrayal. He turned to Rin and frowned at him. “He’s lying.” Sae stuffed some noodles into his face, not wanting to talk about it

His mother rolled her eyes, finding this very amusing. “You should write back, it’s impolite to keep her waiting.”

“Sure…” Sae said, pretending to only be half-listening, “That’s not a terrible idea…”

>Niko

“Thank you” Niko gave the school librarian a quick bow, taking the manga in his hands. He just finished a series and was looking to start a new one, luckily the librarian had some recommendations, and it seemed that she very much wanted him to read it

He went to the back of the library and sat down on one of the bean bags and started flipping through it. It was a manga about high school romance, and though this was not usually his cup of tea, it was highly rated online so he thought he’d take a look.

He sat for a few hours, just reading it, occasionally sipping snacking on some pocky

Niko had just finished the first volume, and was about to go get the second one, until he saw an envelope sticking out from the last page

He took it out and held it up to the light, there seemed to be a letter inside, and based off the heart seal on the front, it was probably a love letter. 

“Should I open it? No that’s rude, it’s not mine anyway… but how would they know? Who is this even for?” he flipped the envelope around, and there was his name written out in cursive

He had to take a moment to process, this was meant for him?? He looked around, confused. Was someone watching him? But he was the only person in the library at the time, “Please don’t tell me I have a stalker…” 

He opened the envelope nonetheless, and started reading. He found it very hard to believe that someone liked him, barely any girls talked to him. Except for you

Niko’s face flushed, was it really possible that you sent it to him? No no, there’s no way you like him. Right? I mean sure, the signed initial was yours, but there’s just no way! 

He went back up to the front desk to interrogate the librarian. And to get the next volume of the manga

But the librarian insisted that she didn’t know anything, but the smile on her face said otherwise. Niko sighed, slightly disappointed that she wouldn’t tell him if you were the sender, or if it was staged at all. What if you were just trying to embarrass him?!

He took the second volume and left with the letter in hand, feeling unsatisfied 

Niko couldn’t stop thinking of you, even once he got home. He re-read it like 20 times, arguing with himself about what to do.

He groaned, “I should really do something else, I've been spending too much time on this.” Niko picked up his book and decided to read that instead.

But he didn’t make it very far before you invaded his mind, curse the book for being a romantic one.

Niko sighed, he should really sort this out, shouldn’t he? Or the feeling will eat at his heart forever. He hesitated before dialing up Aiku. Was this a good idea? Probably not, but whatever.

“Heyyy, Niko my man, wassup?”

“K so, there’s this girl I like…”

Niko explained the situation quickly to him, and asked him for his advice

“Pull her in by the hips and say her lips look lonely!” Aiku said confidently

“... I’m hanging up.”

“NIKO NOO-”

Niko sat there in silence, wondering what to do now. “I should probably confess too… BUT WHAT IF SHE WASN’T EVEN THE SENDER?”

Just then, he got a text from Aiku,

“Just send her a letter back ;)” -> “Thank you, for your one good piece of advice.”

>Kaiser

Kaiser had gotten back from practice a while ago, now scrolling his phone.

Suddenly, a message appeared.

[IMAGE]

Usually Kaiser would’ve just let Ness do it for him, but Isagi called him a brainless b1tch the other day, so he felt the need to prove him wrong

Kaiser sighed as he opened the math workbook, most things being written by Ness

He flipped until he got to the assigned pages, throwing some headphones on to focus

He pulled out his pen and got to work. A pencil you say? Tch, those are for people who make mistakes, Kaiser cleared the questions easily.

“That was easy, see Isagi? I’m not the dumb one.” he smugly thought to himself 

He was about to put the book away, until an envelope popped out.

“Did Ness leave this here?” he took the paper in his hands, flipping it around. His name was written out in fancy cursive, this definitely wasn’t Ness’

Kaiser didn’t hesitate for a second before ripping it open and reading it

With every word written, his pride and ego grew. And by the end, he was 100% sure he was gonna bag you. Was it even proven that you were the one who sent it? No- but he was convinced you liked him.

He wondered how long the letter was in there for, it’s been a while since he’s touched his math homework.

A/N: Yea im just posting all wattpad stuff now.... i feel forced to put an A/N

[demiesworld]

Hi! Welcome back!

Can you write where the Hantengu clones catch their roommate walking around half naked because she thought no one was home (can be separate or together, whatever you prefer 😊)?

【♛demie: im going to include this to my hantengu quad squad college au because i read the word roommate and assumed it was for this. i will be doing their reactions separately lol i hope you enjoy this my love! ( ͡♥ 3 ͡♥)】

hantengu brothers reaction to you being half naked

characters: sekido, karaku, aizetsu, urogi, & fem!reader

synopsis: the hantengu brothers catch their roommate walking around half naked.

contents: sfw, swearing, suggestive themes (?)

notes: reader is a female. reader's pronouns are she/her. the hantengu clones are all human in this. they are depicted as quadruplet brothers. they are depicted as having tan and dark skin. they are all in college and their ages are 22.

P.S. I KNOW THE PICTURES IM USING THEY HAVE PALE SKIN, BUT THE ARTIST DREW IT BEFORE THE ANIME WAS RELEASED AND THESE ARE THE ONLY PICTURES THAT ARE SUITABLE FOR THIS.

Today was Sekido's personal day, it was a time off he had away from school, away from work, and most importantly away from his obnoxious, annoying younger brothers. He had put in a request to his job to have this day solely off, he picked this day because it was a holiday away from school, and threatened texted his brothers not to be at the house because he wanted to be at home alone. If they had any complaints against it they could, and his own words, "Kiss his ass"

Although it appeared that the only person Sekido forgot to tell that he was home alone was you. Their only female roommate.

He woke up that late-morning in a particularly good mood. The eldest of the quadruplets did his usual morning routine. He washed his face with a dermatologist recommended sensitive skin facial wash then applied an SPF 30 lotion on his face. He took out his mouth guards that he uses to keep from grinding away at his teeth at night and placed them into a container. As he exits his personal bathroom, Sekido went into his bedroom to grab his laundry basket filled to the brim with dirty clothes.

He carries the basket to the laundry room, expecting for it to be unoccupied and the washer and dryer to be empty. Except for when he slides the door open, he's stunned to say the least, to see you in there. It wasn't that Sekido was surprised to see you, since he knew that you lived there with them, but it was surprising for him to see what exactly you were wearing.

You were only in your sports bra and boy-shorts.

Your back was turned to him, and you had your Airpods in as you were listening to music. You were finishing up your laundry that you had started from the previous night, moving clothes from the washing machine into the dryer. As you were moving clothes from machine to machine, and machine to basket, you were wiggling your hips to the beat of the music that played.

Sekido's face felt warm as he witnessed you bending over at the hip to reach into the dryer and gather your clean clothes just to toss them into a basket next to you. He wasn't as sexually-inclined as his brothers Karaku and Urogi were, but when he saw you bent over like that, Sekido had to control himself from pouncing on you.

He clears his throat and softly stutters, "Y-Y/N," You didn't hear him so he said your name louder, "Y/N," Again you didn't hear and Sekido growls in frustration before shouting, "Y/N!"

The vibrations of your name being shouted pulled you out of your trance and you plucked an Airpod out of your ear. You looked over your shoulder to see Sekido standing in the threshold of the laundry room holding a basket of clothes.

A radiant smile grew on your face, and you greet your fellow roommate, "Mornin' Se-ki-do!" your pleasant and sweet voice sings to him jubilantly.

He grumbles, "It's Sekido. W-Why are you here today and why are you not wearing any clothes?"

You look down at your outfit, "I am wearing clothes Sekido, what are you talking about?"

"You're walking around here naked! Do you always do that when we're not around?"

"I'm not naked, Sekido, I'm wearing clothes."

He huffs and turns his attention away from you, "Whatever! Are you going to be here all day then?"

You shrug your shoulders, "Pretty much, yeah," and nod your head.

"Ugh!"

His other brothers were gone for the evening. Sekido had to work late, Aizetsu was tutoring with some girl, and Urogi was at the gym working out. So for Karaku it seemed like the perfect time for him to walk around in his underwear. Most of the time he would just strut through the house in his grey sweatpants, nothing underneath, and would get chastised by Sekido because his dick would be swinging about.

Like bro, why are you looking at his dick? Weirdo.

Karaku walked out of his bedroom that night only wearing his black boxer-briefs and headed into the kitchen. It was the only opportunity he had to almost free-ball. The second oldest Hantengu brother had free reign to do what he wanted.

He just forgot to remind you, their female roommate, that he was home walking around like this. Though to his surprise he wasn't the only one that decided to walk around the house half-naked. In fact, he wasn't the only one who thought they were alone.

There you were in the kitchen, eating your favorite flavor of ice cream out of the pint. You were dressed in your bra and underwear, something more revealing than your usual modest clothes. You locked eyes with Karaku and jolted when you saw that he was in the house. You thought you had the house to yourself.

He didn't show any sort of surprise or shock like you did. He didn't even scramble to leave the kitchen. Instead he just barked out a laugh, "Hey there twin!"

"What the fuck! Karaku, what are you doing here? I thought you had left for the gym!"

Karaku pouted, "That was Urogi that left for the gym, babe, not me." He goes over to the fridge and searches inside for a snack, "Did you forget that I work out in the early morning?"

Oh yeah that was right. He did work out in the early mornings. You remember now. You poke your spoon into your ice cream pint and take another bite before asking him, "Why are you walking around in your underwear?"

"Touché, honey," He replies to you and he whips out last night's leftovers from the refrigerator to toss it into the microwave. "What are your plans for tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders, "Literally nothing. Why do you ask?"

He grinned at you, "Wanna watch an episode of Chainsaw Man together?"

You couldn't say no to watch one of your favorite anime shows.

"This is absurd," Aizetsu grumbles as he pushes back the sofa in the living room to clean underneath it. "Completely absurd." He grimaces at the trash revealed on the wooden floor. There's opened packages of chips, candy wrappers, and if he squints just hard enough he could see a used condom.

This sucks. He hates that Sekido had given him the chore to clean their living room. Especially when Aizetsu had already did Karaku's and Urogi's assigned chores. Of course the twins offered him money in exchange for doing them, but having to do their work was annoying from time to time. He had his own things to do, and doing his brothers chores wasn't one of them.

But alas they needed to keep the house clean because they had a new roommate among them. A female at that. A girl that all of the brothers, including Sekido, liked because she was only on time with the rent money, tipped in to pay the utilities, and helped around the house when it came to cooking and cleaning.

Speaking of you, Aizetsu wondered where you were today since it was one of your days off from your classes. He didn't see you this morning during breakfast and it was getting to be in the afternoon so you must have went out for the day.

As he was sweeping up the trash on the floor, Aizetsu's back was facing you when you had walked into the living room to take a seat on the couch.

"Aah!" You shrieked, "Aizetsu!"

He was startled by your scream and looked over his shoulder at you with a timid smile. "H-Hey Y/N-" he stopped himself when he saw that you were wearing nothing but your bra and underwear. In your hand, a half-eaten sandwich. "O-Oh I'm sorry for looking!" He screams as he drops the broom and covers his eyes with his hands.

You retort, "I thought no one was supposed to be home! Why are you here?"

"Because I needed to clean the living room it's messy in here! Look you can just d-do you th-thing okay? I'm not going to look at you, I promise!"

You peeked your head out into the hallway from your bedroom's door threshold trying to see if any of the quadruplets were home. It didn't appear to be so. You didn't hear rambunctious yelling or boisterous laughing coming from anywhere. So you assumed that they were all gone for the day. Sweet.

You stepped out of your bedroom just wearing your bra and underwear. You figured since you had the house to yourself, walking around like this shouldn't be a problem. Plus with the brothers gone you could get some school work done without Urogi or Karaku pestering you for answers to simple questions.

A sigh went past your lips as you went into the kitchen and made yourself a quick breakfast. When you were done with that, you entered back into the hallway and nearly had your heart jump out of your chest when you saw a shadow figure go into Urogi's room.

You stood there quiet. It was just you in the house, so whoever or whatever this is was probably an intruder. You gently place your breakfast on an end table beside you, and grabbed a hold of Sekido's tall umbrella.

You stalked in the direction of Urogi's bedroom, holding the umbrella over your shoulder and pushed open his door. Your vigilant eyes saw a back facing you and a shadow rummaging through Urogi's belongings in his drawer.

Without thinking or announcing your presence you whacked the "intruder" with the umbrella.

"Ow! What the fuck!"

"Get out of my house you fucking bastard! I'll kill you!" You shout as you attack him with the umbrella and got him to the floor.

"Hey! Stop it! Y/N stop! It's me Urogi damnnit!"

You pause with the umbrella lifted over your head and were surprised to see your roommate, Urogi, laying on the floor on his back. You lowered your weapon and smile to him bashfully. "Whoops, heh heh, I thought you were a burglar..."

Urogi frowns at you and scoots away so he could stand up on his feet. His body was aching from the numerous times you hit him with the damned umbrella. "What the hell man? That really frickin' hurt ya know?" He rubbed his arm, and then his eyes dawned on your outfit. The youngest quadruplet chuckled, "Good thing to know I'm not the only one who sleeps naked though."

That earned him another hit with the umbrella to the head.

notes: okay so im ngl i ZOOMED through this just to get completed. BUT I HOPE IT'S STILL GOOD LOL tell me what you think in the comments!!

© 2023 demiesworld. pls do not repost on any other websites. do not plagiarize. any similarities referenced is a coincidence.

[hiswhiteknight]

Unbelievably Outlandish - Part 12

Summary: Before starting down a new crossroads, the Reader goes onto an adventure of literary traveling. Suddenly tossed into an unbelievable story that has swept the world, The Outlander Series itself. How will a twenty first century woman survive?

Note: It has been a super long time since I've posted, like a year or more. I'm going to try to post weekly, but it depends on my schedule. As for a tag list, I'll be starting a new one – please send me a message to be added to the tag list. I don't always get to look through comments, so please message me.

Note Note: I own no characters, except reader, clearly this is based off the lovely book series Outlander by Diana Gabaldon and tv show. This follows more the tv show, but it’s far from accurate. I’m going to try to get better with using less proper English, but who knows maybe I’ll get into Scottish slang.

Pairing: Jamie Fraser x Female Reader

Words: 2700 (SO LONG)

Warning: Angst, playfulness, cursing, slow start

It turned out, in Angus's mind, the dog turned out to be a good distraction for you. It kept you from running around because you found yourself always training the dog. She was an angelic thing, who always got into some kind of trouble along the way. Your whole life you've been much of a rule follower, but as of recently you were finding you had a lot in common with the dog.

With this being said, you have yet to find a name you'd like for her. Often you found yourself filling the boredom by naming old fictional characters you loved when you remember the character Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables. Outside from being incredibly charming, he was intelligent, kind, and had patience and devotion for the ones he loved. You imagined you had a lot in common with Anne Shirley or you hope you did. And with that thought, you named the dog Blythe.

Jamie enjoyed watching you work with the mischievous creature. He could tell this was the first time you were filled with joy since you arrived in Scotland, "Why don't you go over and talk to the girl," Murtagh said from next to him.

He shook out of his daze, acting like he wasn't doing anything weird, "I like my bullocks, thank you."

Murtagh shook his head, "She wouldn't have that mutt if it wasn't for you, you know."

The men continue to work around and pack things away, "You and I both know she is a stubborn woman, if she wanted that dog enough she would have got it without myself or Ned mentioning a word."

"Coward," Murtagh whispered to Jamie.

"Damn right," he chuckled back.

You were working on the pups reactivity and word commands. While growing up you didn't get to have a pet, but your mother told you about when she raised dogs as a child. Your family moved around a lot, so having a pet wasn't in the cards. "Don't get too comfortable girl, we're going to be off soon," Angus barked at you from afar.

You turned around losing the smile on your face. With the time being away from the castle, you still hadn't earned much trust and you most definitely didn't give the men much energy. Outside of the pup, you were like a empty soul and it was coming to be more evident with every passing day. The dog plopped herself next to you watching Angus with her tongue out. Even Blythe was better respected and well liked by the men, even Angus though he'd deny it if anyone commented. Their acceptance of the dog made you more tolerant to their attitude and patriarchal manner. "Yes master," you bow.

"It's nice you are starting to learn your manners," he smirked back while making gestures towards the men.

With a deep inhale and low tolerance of attitude today you started to trudge towards your horse, "It was sarcasm, idiot," you grumbled.

He appeared to have the same tolerance of my attitude, "Watch your tongue girl or you'll get it cut off," Angus advanced forward while gripping his dagger.

Jamie and Murtagh were about to make a move when another man's voice appeared, "Everything alright miss," a British voice caught your attention.

Angus directed an aggressive response to the man. You turned to look at the man and in your daze started to register things about this man. He had a proper accent, boots, and his hair read a gentleman. He was clearly a British soldier and he could mean serious trouble. You turned to look at Jamie for a split second before charming a smile, "Excuse me sir," you asked, ignoring the comments from the other man to rile this man. This was not the time and place.

You could tell the tension with Dougal increased. He didn't trust what you would say, "I was asking if you were alright," he stepped forward again, ignoring the men behind you.

"Oh, I'm sorry you had to hear all that, sir. You shouldn't have had to hear a lady speak out of tune like that. It was very unbecoming of me," you looked embarrassed. Let's hope your acting skills are up to par. You ignored Murtagh mutter unbecoming to make fun of you, "It's just Angus here is a very, very, very," you paused to look at him, "Very distant cousin." You turn back to smile at the officer, "I sometimes gets so overwhelmed by his voice and tone I just lash out. I apologize," you put you hand on your heart. The dog looked up at you oddly, not recognizing your behaviors.

He smiled at you, not acknowledging the grumbling Scots behind you, "Not necessary, my lady I understand quite well actually." He bent down to scratch the puppy sitting in front of you, "I'm sorry your accent."

You scratch the back of you neck, "Right, I must sound so improper. I'm Y/N O'Mulligian. I came to visit some family here from the colonies at my brother's request. He said I could use some real life hard work. He likes to call me a debutante," you sent him a teasing smile.

Responding well to your story, he rises and smiles at you. A relief was lifted off your shoulders, you were almost past this moment when Dougal interrupted, "Enough," he shouted, "She is the guest of the clan MacKenzie and her business is none of yours." You clearly spoke too soon because the officers defenses shot back up.

"So off you go," Angus finished.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, "Are you sure you are alright, miss," he looked unshaking at you. He clearly felt so much privilege he did not care remotely about the strapping Scottish men standing around him. You wanted to smack yourself in the forehead how stupid these men had to be to not recognize the importance of this one man.

Dougal looked as if he was going to fight the man. You put your arm on his bicep to stop him, "Of course, good sir," you smile, "It's nice to know chivalry is not dead. I have more hard work to learn as you can see, it was very nice meeting you."

"Pleasure is all mine," he smiled back before frowning around the man watching this moment. He backed away into the blacksmith area to continue his work.

A minute passed by and you felt a firm grip on your arm drag you towards your horse, "It's best you didn't speak," Dougal scolded in your ear.

Anger surged through your body and it took every fiber of your being to say nothing. But as you were shoved onto your horse, you looked in the direction of the soldier and back at Jamie. You knew if you yelled it'd bring attention to Jamie, a fugitive to the English Army.

You continue to seethe on the ride. Blythe sat up, doing her best to see over the horses head to look ahead. "What's the dog's name," Jamie trotted next to you.

"Blythe," you muttered directly.

"What a cute English name," he emphasized on one word of his sentence.

You pulled back on your horse and halted, "Excuse me?"

He chose to stop with you, trying to not say directly what he'd like to say. It's been odd between you and Jamie. You weren't sure if you were pushing him away out of anger or fear, but none the less at this moment it appeared to be anger, "Nothing, it's a cute name."

A sarcastic laugh left your mouth, "No, no, you had a tone," the man halt to watch another scene unfold, "You clearly have something you want to add, some hidden message you feel you want to hide. Say it."

"Nothing, you seem to just like the English a bit more than an Irish Woman from the colonies I thought would," he said like his words meant nothing. It didn't matter the fact that maybe he felt jealous or he had a right to comment on any intention or likes you have. That comment engulfed your whole body into volcano, hell fire fiery.

Heat was written all over your face and Murtagh didn't have enough time cool down your fire with rationality, "The boy is just saying, you were awfully chummy with the Brit," Angus chimed in, "like a girl in heat."

And there goes Mt. St. Helen, "Un-Fucking believable, do you know how fucking dumb you are, like every single on of you are just egg head fucking dumb," you scream enough to make the echo quake the woods around you.

"Lass," Ned sent a warning your way.

Tears started to brim your eyes and Jamie knew he'd set you up to fail again. You point to Ned, clearly a man of reason, "That man back there," you continued to yell, "Was an English Officer out patrolling." You looked to Jamie and everything deflated in you. Everything from the past and the reality of your new world just collapsed in your soul, "I was trying to save you."

A sigh leaves your lips and you talk lightly while using your hands to emphasize your point, "Men are idiots and will always fall for charm, so I used mine to protect you all," you continued to go on, "Call me a hussy, I don't care. And that plan to charm the officer actually worked until you opened your trap, my lord," you bowed your head at Dougal. Something than broke in you, in that moment, you were exhausted at being angry. You had no more fight in you. You gave Jamie another look, "I was scared. I was trying to save you," you whisper.

Taking a deep breath, you dismounted from you horse, "Now where are you going," Angus shouted at you.

The anger stirred up again, spinning around to look at him, "To relieve myself, thank you," you speak loudly while stomping into the woods.

You knew what Dougal did to Jamie in the pubs and you weren't sure why. It wasn't much of your business, but you could see it chipping into Jamie. You were stuck again in your thoughts, give into this new world and let these people in or continue to bury who you knew you were inside a dark cave and never leave.

The ride to the next village was quiet, especially after finding Scottish men hung out on display. You wanted to vomit at the lack of humanity in the cruel act. If this was the normal the British did to Scots, I'm not all shocked of their lack of kindness and trust towards me. I'm sure I wasn't helping the matter either.

When you got to the pub, you chose to join in with the drinking. The owner made a bee line as Blythe trotted behind you and laid at your feet, "Lass, we do not let do-," he stopped mid sentence from the look you were giving him. You were sitting up straight, dead face.

"You were saying, sir," you answered curtly.

"What can I get for you miss," he finished instead.

"A pint of whatever, I am not picky," you said, resting your feet on the chair in front of you.

The men went a distance away from you, you imagine to process the thing they just witnessed. A man approached you with a smile on your face and you shake your head putting your other foot on a chair and shoving it away from your table. He quickly turn around, "You'd make more friends if you weren't so prickly."

Murtagh patted at the dog, "My expression and acts are nothing but kind, sir." He shook his head, "Plus, I don't need any more friends when I only need you."

He chuckles, looking at Jamie, "It was a kind thing you did with the soldier. I'll be the only one to admit, that was a good eye you have."

"Don't think much of it, it was also self preservation because I'm not a exactly the kind British soldiers have a keen sense to protect," the man brought you your pint and you started to drink while you viewed in your surroundings.

He pointed at you, "You like everyone to think you're this cold hearted she witch."

"Maybe I am those things," you said like it didn't bother me to have that reputation.

Murtagh shook his head, "You are quite the opposite lass and the only person you are hurting are you." You roll your eyes sighing as he looks at your with a smirk, "And maybe a red headed boy who I suspect would do anything to see you smile once again." You sit up straighter as Murtagh stands while looking at you, while gesturing to Jamie. He lifts his eyebrows speaking you the truth, "Don't think I only talk to you because your good company. I get sick of seeing the boy mope around with his worry for you. A single smile from you can set his day."

You glare at him as your cheeks warm red, "Mind your business."

When he walks away, you sit and continue to process your reality and options. Every now and again you catch a glance at Jamie. You could see his expression and the change in him over the last few weeks. You stand walking your glass over to the bar with Blythe walking behind you. You could tell Dougal was about to start his speech. He wouldn't need Jamie today if you guessed right. Those hanging men were part of this community they didn't need to see Jamie's scars. You leaned against a pillar near Jamie, "You alright," you asked him catching eyes with Murtagh.

You shake off his knowing look. Jamie stood up straight looking at you bewildered from the sudden change in your demeanor, "Are you talking to me?"

"Don't make it a thing, just answer the question," you whisper.

"Aye, I'm fine," he whispers back, glancing at you for a second too long into silence. He clears his thoughts, "If you don't mind me asking, what changed your mind with speaking to me?"

You smirk, "Murtagh paid me."

He shook his head, "Sure," he was trying to hold back a smile. Something appeared to pop up in his head, "Look Deoiridh, I'm sorry about."

"No," you stopped him, "Jamie, I'm stubborn and I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not from a place like this, so."

You noticed a change in his eyes when you said his name instead of Mr. MacTavish. This is where he stopped you, "I only want to help."

"Does that mean you agree I'm stubborn because Murtagh implied I was prickly earlier and that's why I don't make friends," you say while trying to hold back a grin.

He shook his head making his red hair shake with it, “You see comments like that are a trap and I will not be stepping on that one.”

“Smart man,” you say to him.

“And now a compliment, I might think you are wanting to be my friend again,” he whispered back with a smirk.

You see Dougal getting ready to do your speech, “I should be getting out of here and up to my room. I shouldn’t be down here when,” you stopped to look at Dougal, “Well good night.”

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered back.

“And Jamie, just for transparency sake, the jury is still out if we are friends,” he paused appearing to hold his breath. You offer a small smile, “I need you to walk over to Murtagh and tell him I was nice then I'll consider being your friend. You know for the sake of proving Murtagh wrong. It's the price you have to pay for my friendship.” And before he can respond, you and Blythe make your way upstairs.

[midnighmoonligh]

Can you maybe write Ghost + Child Regressor Reader who had an accident and got scared that Ghost would get angry or be disgusted? :3 You're one of the only people who write COD with a regressor reader and I love it!! 🩷

A/N

Ironically I had just been finishing up a oneshot book I made with this concept! This is just a chapter of it 🫶. If you want to read more I have the entire store post on wattpad here! Hope you enjoy overall and thank you for your request!

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Fandom

Call of Duty

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Characters

Y/N ; 17 ; Gender Neutral ;; They/Them ; little

Simon " Ghost " Riley ; 31 ; He/Him ; CG

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⚠Content Warnings⚠

Violence, War stuff, COD yk. Potty accident & internally shaming of self!

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A sudden anxious urge washed over you. You tossed and turned over the covers you had not put on yourself. You were trying to go back to sleep, but instead found yourself awake anyway. With a huff, your eyes finally peeled open. You looked out the window to your left, enjoying how pretty the moon looked tonight with the way the snowy clouds dropped layer after layer. The window seal was covered in snow, making it pile up on the sides to reach higher. You found it pretty, peaceful.

Until you felt it.

You felt a strange wetness, almost coldness too. Well, it was warm in some spots cold in others. When you shifted, the jeans you had fallen asleep in stuck to you. You froze in place at it.

The seconds ticked by as you began to process what happened. The anxiety you had felt when you were refusing to wake before hit you like a train when it had clicked. It was suffocating, quickly becoming hard to breathe as you process how embarrassing it was.

You had wet the bed.

You've never done that before, genuinely. You didn't understand what had happened and god you rather shrivel up and die than really acknowledge what had happened. You suddenly sat up in the bed, eyes darting across the room. First, they focused onto the alarm clock placed on the suspiciously chewed up night stand. The clock read 3:48 am. It was really early, or late depending on your standards.

Then your eyes fell onto Johnny and Simon. Both were now settled into the air mattress on the floor. You've never actually seen them sleeping together, so it was a bit of a shock to find Simon without his mask and laying on his side toward the door. John was also on his side, but pressed against his larger partners back with an arm tossed over his side in a loose hold. They had about four or five blankets tossed on then, most leaning toward the larger man in the bed.

You shook that shock from your mind since you confirmed that they were asleep still. With a shaking body, you began to rip off the sheets from the bed, tossing the blankets onto the floor at the foot of the bed since that was the only space free. You grabbed a spare pair of pants and underwear before scrambling out of the room. You'd worry about searching for new sheets later. For now, you went around as quiet as physically possible searching for the laundry room. You found it on the main floor, in the hallway under the upstairs. It was a small space, had a door too.

When entering, you closed it and turned the lights on. The sudden brightness made you flinched, but with the tears quickly filling your eyes you needed it to see better. You tossed the bedding onto the floor, the clean clothes on the surface of the dryer. Then you opened up the washer, happy to see it empty. With that being confirmed, you began to stuff the bedding into it. You were clumsy, feeling that fuzzy headspace wash over you as you berated yourself in your mind. Insult after insult, you didn't hold back on yourself. You couldn't believe you had done this. It was definitely a new one for the books, one you hoped to take the secret of it to your grave.

Suddenly, the laundry room door opened.

" What are you doing? " Simon's exhausted voice rumbled out from deep within in chest.

It scared you, making you visibly jump. He had caught you mid struggling to shove the thick sheets into the machine. You were quickly loosing your usual motor skills as you fell further into that, normally, comforting headspace.

" Um- I, uh, spilled somethin, " you told Simon awkwardly while trying to shove the bedding harder into the washer.

Ghost's expression was a mix of exhaustion and irritation as he observed the mess in front of him. It was evident that Ghost was already in a bad mood, and your little accident likely added to that.

" What the hell did you spill? " He sighed, moving closer to you and reaching out to take the sheets from your trembling hands.

You flinched as the bedding was taken from your shaking hands. You sniffled as quietly as you could manage while stepping back. Now you knew it was a matter of time before Simon smelled it. You stared at the floor in shame. The anxiety of the fact of what had happened hammering through you harshly. You've never done it before, it scared you.

" Don't remember, " you mumbled.

Simon's frustration was palpable, and as he picked up the damp bedding, his expression darkened. The smell of the accident clung to the sheets, and while not the most pleasant, he has endured far worse on the battlefield.

" Bloody hell, " he muttered as he looked down at the sheets in his hand before giving them a rough twist and shoving them into the washer. " I hope this was a one-off, " he said gruffly as he reached over and turned the washing machine on.

You continued to stare at the floor of the laundry room. You still wore soiled pants, tears spilling over uncontrollably while you wished you could just sink into the ground and completely disappear from shame. You didn't reply to Simon, deciding it was likely better not to.

Simon made sure the washer door closed properly before turning it on. Then he turned around and saw the tear stains on your face. His annoyance softened slightly, replaced by a mixture of surprise and concern. He crouched down to be more on your level, knowing it tended to comfort you when agere-related things happened.

" Hey," he placed a hand on your shoulder, "look at me, " he requested as gently as he could manage. It helped you realize his frustration was more at being awake, not directed toward you. Although it ate at you, you did lift your head for him. You blinked heavily at him so you could see him clearly. This caused your tears to practically pour.

" You know this is not your fault, right? Even the big boys have accidents sometimes, it's part of life. I'm not mad about the sheets, just... just be careful in the future, okay? "

Shock quickly washed over you. He was comforting you, not scolding you? It was gross what you had done, yet he was being so patient and sweet. You didn't deserve this, at least that's what you had convinced yourself. Despite what you told yourself, you did deserve this. You deserved every ounce of his love and affection.

" 'm sorry, " you mumbled up, raising your arms up to wipe your face even if it wasn't worth the effort. The words seemed to make you crumble. " Don know what happened, " you hiccuped as you began to cry freely at last.

Seeing you break down, Simon sighed and pulled you in for a hug. He held you tightly. It didn't feel right or fair, especially when you were still wearing gross clothes. It made you feel more guilty as much as you wanted the comfort.

" Don't apologize, it's okay, " he mumbled against your shoulder and slowly rubbed your back in soothing circles. " Sometimes these accidents happen and no one's to blame, " he said with a softer tone as he tried to soothe you. " Let's get you cleaned up and into some fresh clothes, yeah? "

" 'm gross, " you whined quietly, squirming in Simon's hold to get away from the hug. " 'm sorry, " you added, soon hiccuping out a sob.

Simon sighed, his annoyance returning as he tightened his hold. He wasn't as patient as John, unfortunately for you both.

" You're not gross. You just had an accident, it happens to everyone," he said firmly, hoping it would get through to you this time. "Now let's get you cleaned up, silly bug. "

With that said, he picked you up in a strong but gentle grip. Being picked up us 100% you're weakness, something you had found our several months ago. Mostly because Johnny absolutely loved carrying you around. In his arms, you slumped against him and calmed your crying faster than you'd care to admit. You buried your face into a mixture of his shoulder and chest, your favorite spot. Simon had turned off the laundry room light before leaving. He was quiet as he walked through the hallway, only a few steps before pushing obathroom downstairs bathroom door. He continued to hold you as he pulled the shower curtain closed and turned on the water. While standing there, he tested the water to make sure it didn't get too hot or cold.

It made you nervous, hoping that no one would be woken by the sound. The last thing you wanted to explain was your regression to John's family, let alone the fact you had an accident in the bed as a, now, 17-year-old. You didn't even want to tell Johnny.

Simon seemed to pick up on your nerves and spoke up, " Don't worry, Johnny's a deep sleeper and the others usually mind their own business. The shower won't disturb them," he said as he gently set you onto your feet. " Do you want help? "

You nodded without missing a beat. Both pair always made sure to ask, which helped in general. Even if sometimes the asking for permission to do something got a little out of hand. Without missing a beat, Simon began to help you out of your pants. He's become a pro at helping you with closed eyes too. You held onto his forearms for support while doing your part to get them off.

He knew how vulnerable you were feeling, so he spoke softly to soothe your nerves. " You're okay, " he repeated as he helped you step into the shower, clothes now disguarded safely. " Let's get you cleaned up, alright? You'll feel much better once you're clean. "

You hiccuped quietly and sniffled as you pulled the curtain of the shower closed. Simon waited patiently outside the shower, likely standing half leaning against the bathroom sink like he usually did at home. You did your best to bathe yourself, but you kept dropping the soap bottles and just about everything you tried to hold. The sound of it hitting the tile floor kept making your flinch. You felt so little, making it hard to control this bigger body of yours.

" It's okay, take your time, " Simon spoke up from the other side of the curtain, " You're doing great. "

The praise helped you. You sniffled and did your best. Somehow, you managed to not drop stuff as much. It did still happen, just not as frequently. When you finally finished, you turned off the water and peeked out from the curtain.

" Towel? " you mumbled quietly.

Simon's expression softened as he saw your clean face peeking out from behind the shower curtain. " Yeah, " he said gently, stepping closer to the shower and handing you a soft white towel. " All clean, eh? Good job. "

He remained nearby as you dried off, making sure you were comfortable and giving you a small smile of reassurance.

You to on the towel when it was offered, soon disappearing back behind the curtain to dry off. When you felt you were finished, you wrapped the fluffy towel around yourself then carefully got out of the shower. It wasn't an easy task, barely trusting yourself to not slip right now. However, with Simon keeping an eye on you, you didn't feel as anxious about it. You stood in the bathroom, shivering now from how cold you were without the warm water.

Simon looked around before spotting a robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It had one of John's sister's names on it, so he just grabbed it and plopped it onto you.

" Here, use this for now. "

" is okay? " you whispered as you wiggled around a bit to tie it in place and free yourself of the towel. It was big on you, not that you minded. Though you quickly noticed the ducks on it in a few spots. It made you giggle, so you showed him too.

" Oh that's cute, " Simon told you with a nod. He may not have agreed, but you didn't really care that much. " And yes it's okay, we're just borrowing it. "

You nodded slowly at that information. Taking his offered hand, he lead you all the way upstairs and back to John's childhood room. Much to your surprise, he was awake and laying on the air mattress, just on his phone. He blinked a few times when he noticed you two come in. First you, then Simon. He made sure to shut the door behind you two.

" Everything okay? " Johnny asked, quietly and gently.

You only nodded, looking to Simon who did the same. He didn't say a word. That much made you feel relieved and genuinely cared for.

" I noticed the sheets on the bed were gone, so I put a fresh pair on, " John told them while turning his attention back to his phone.

Nothing was added nor asked. It relieved you. Simon shuffled with you to the foot of both the beds, where there was a lot more space to comfortably stand.

" Anything you want to wear in particular? " he asked as he tugged open a drawer of the dresser in the closet. You quickly noticed the same, probably bite marks, all over the wooden furniture.

" 'm dunno, " you mumbled as you lifted your hand, soon chewing on your fingers. You just felt the need to have something to chew on.

" Hmmm, " Simon hummed as he shuffled through the clothes. " How about some sweatpants? I'll let you wear one of my shirts if you want. "

You paused your chewing to blink at you, even catching John look up from his phone in the corner of your eye. It had surprised you both. Simon was not a big clothes sharer, well willingly.

" Really? " you asked, sounding a tad more excited than you had meant to.

" Sure, why not, " he shrugged.

" kay! " you agreed, nodding your head and even bouncing a little.

It made him smile. In return you found yourself smiling too.

After getting dressed, with some help too, you ended up snuggling into the air mattress with Simon and Johnny. You were squished between them, though comfortably. John was still on his phone, smiling contently while he did whatever it was he was doing.

" Comfortable? " Simon has asked, getting you to look at him. You nodded after, moving to your side to face him then cuddling into his chest. He pulled one of the blankets to be around you better. " Good, " he sighed contently.

" Just relax now, we've got you, " he whispered before yawning and settling down himself.

You gently tugged on his shirt, making him look down at you. He looked barely awake, yet he still wanted to make sure you had everything yih needed.

" 'm wan 'm paci, " you mumbled you him, moving to chew on your thumb to emphasize what you wanted. He frowned.

" Not sure we packed it kiddo, sorry, " he told you sadly, hand rubbing your back.

You shook your head, shifting a little to your back to point to your backpack still settled in front of the nightstand.

" You packed it? " Simon questioned with surprise peeking on his tone.

" Mhm, " you admitted shyly. Yet, he was clearly proud of you with the way he squeezed you into a hug. Then he pulled out a spare pillow and smacked John with it.

" What on EARTH-" John yelped louder than he really should've.

" Y/N's pacifier is in their bag right next to your head. "

" Oh. "

John turned over to face where the bag was, tugging it over then shuffling through it. Soon, he turned over to face you both, showing off the prized pacifier he had fished out. You rolled to your back, opening your mouth for him to nicely place it in. Happily, you chewed on it. You didn't really move from there, clearly soothing yourself into such a sleepy state it was hard to move.

" So sweet, " the scot cooed as he shuffled over. He brushed some of your hair from your face, then snuggled up to you and Simon.

Judging by how quiet the older of you three are being, you figure he fell asleep at last.

" Better not kick in your sleep, " the younger man teased you. You huffed at him playfully, making him smile wider. " Okay okay, try to get a bit more sleep. Sure we'll all be up in a few more hours if you can't, " he told you, soon yawning too.

You caught the yawn, making him absolutely beam. He laid his arm over you, just above where Simon's was. Soon after, you were both falling back asleep together.

[darling-i-read-it]

Blueberry Cupcake

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: couple dirty jokes lol but otherwise nothing! Maybe some self confidence issues? 

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry this took so long love! I hope you like it <3 

Requested: by anon, Your pined post says request open! ❤️ Could I request Steve harrington x reader,  where the reader shows up to scoops ahoy as often as possible just to talk to him/try to get the courage to ask him out?

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

“You are going to die at these new flavors.” Steve’s lips were curled into a smile as he leaned against the counter when you approached. There was a light on his face but his hair was dimmed by the required hat. You raised an eyebrow. 

“I’ve only been gone a week,” you argued. He shook his head. 

“The Scoops Ahoy Gods have been here since the last time you were,” he explained. The shop was otherwise empty aside from stragglers. It was only Steve at the front this afternoon, a slow day at the ice cream counter. It was drizzling outside and the rest of Hawkins had decided to stay inside. You couldn’t blame them. You almost skipped the trip to the mall today. Saving money and being cozy in bed was an alluring daydream. The look in Steve’s eyes made you happy you had come though. He was the only reason you got out of bed that particular morning and put on some half decent clothes. It was always more exciting to get dressed with the prospect of seeing someone who might appreciate the clothes. 

“Well?” You gestured to the ice cream. 

“This one, is lemon cookie.” He made a face like he was melting, hands dragging down his cheeks in an exaggerated manner. You giggled, shaking your head. “This one-” he paused for effect, “-blueberry cupcake. Actual cupcake pieces in it.” You nodded slowly as he went down the line of new flavors. They all seemed good, aside from a couple random ones. But you never really came here for the ice cream. Regardless, to appease him, you picked one of the new ones and stood there as you tasted it. 

“Positively delightful,” you promised. He smiled brightly. 

“I knew you would love it. You’re my most loyal customer.” 

“Erica Sinclair out of town or something?” 

“You’re my favorite customer,” he said with an eye roll.

“Just because Dustin Henderson is still at summer camp.” 

“Stop arguing with me and take the compliment.” You nodded, a soft smile on your face. You leaned against the counter to the side, just in case someone wanted to come in and grab a scoop. 

“No Robin today?” 

“Nope. They shoved me out here all by my lonesome.” 

“You need to learn the priority of self confidence, Steve Harrington.” 

“I have self confidence. Plenty of it.” A girl approached, probably a little older than you. You didn’t recognize her and you knew you would’ve. She had a gorgeous head of braided hair, along with a dazzling, kind, approachable smile. The sight of her made your heart sink. Steve moved to the counter once more. 

“Good afternoon milady,” he said, smoothly. “Care to join me on this adventure of flavors?” You rolled your eyes and moved aside. To your surprise, she laughed. You breathed sharply through your nose. Usually he just got an eyebrow raised with that line. 

“I would love to. Got any favorites?” 

“I have many but not one compares to you.” Her smile grew at the flattery. You rolled your eyes and took a bitter bite of your ice cream. 

You had been coming to the mall for Steve. But he was never here to see you. He was here to do his job and flirt with girls. You aren’t special because he flirts with you when you’re around. You missed Robin and her even keeled voice, the one that would promise you he had struck out with every other girl in Hawkins. 

You took a deep breath and tossed your ice cream. It wasn’t that good anyway. You didn’t even bother a wave as you left, leaving his voice to drown out as you got further away. Suddenly the rainy weather was only furthering your solemn mood. 

-

Despite your better intentions, you returned to Scoops Ahoy a couple of days later. Robin had called you the day before to complain about him and you were all too happy to oblige in her distaste. You were happy to see her at the counter when you approached. It was a little busier today but there was no line. 

“Hey,” she said evenly as you approached. “Long time no talk.” You opened your mouth to retort back when the back door opened. 

“Where have you been?” Steve questioned, pushing the back door open with force. Your eyes went wide in mock annoyance. 

“School. Working. Why?” 

“You haven’t come in,” he explained, approaching the back of the counter. 

“It’s not like I was talking to her or anything,” Robin said, rolling her eyes. She jutted her elbow onto the counter, watching him with a slight form of amusement. 

“You can talk to her whenever,” Steve grumbled. “What happened? We didn’t even finish our conversation the other day.” Suddenly, in the presence of his puppy dog eyes, you felt kind of silly. You had left him without saying anything and hadn’t mentioned it. You were slightly surprised he had even brought it up. You would’ve let it move past silently, content in not knowing why the slight awkwardness had happened. 

“I had to leave,” you explained. It was weak but nothing else came to mind. “I had to go back home,” you tried. He furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well next time let me know, alright?” You nodded gently, happy to let the situation go. 

“What are you having?” Robin questioned. You looked at the flavors and Steve remained with an eager look.

“How about the lemon cookie?” Steve’s easy smile returned and he nodded once before trying to talk to the customer behind you. Robin gave you a look that said, you folded too easily. You shrugged. He would have gotten you out of it sooner or later. 

-

The next day it rained again. You were busy with college work, knee deep in homework. You were barely able to look up, let alone go and visit Steve. For the time being you were attempting to distance yourself from him, for the sake of both of you. You couldn’t pine for him forever when he clearly just saw you as a friend. The schoolwork was a worthy distraction. 

You didn’t hear the phone ringing until it had been going for forty five seconds. 

“Will you get that?” your roommate called from the other side of the building. You looked up, only to the sound of her voice. You were finally aware of the incessant ringing. You moved your papers aside and finally found the phone. You picked it up, finger wrapping around the cord. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey! I hope you don’t mind, Robin gave me your number.” You were stunned into silence. Steve was calling you. Despite him giving you the reason he had your number, it still took you a moment to pull together any kind of information. “Hello?”

“Hi! Sorry, cut out for a second. What can I do for you Steve?” 

“I know it’s raining but I thought you could come keep me company,” he suggested. “It’s really lonesome by myself in the Scoopys Ahoy this afternoon.” You pursed your lips. Was he asking you to hang out for ulterior motives? Or was he really just bored and you were the first person to come to mind? How had he asked Robin for your number? Why hadn’t she told you? Your silence was not a green flag to him. “Or not. I’m sure you’re busy-”

“No, sorry I’m still in study brain.” 

“Ah the good old study brain. I know him well.” You rolled your eyes. 

“What time does your shift end?”

“Four.” 

“Well then I will be by before then.” You could practically see the smile on his face at his cheerful answer. 

“Okay cool. Sick. See you then.” 

“See you then Steve.” You hung up the phone quickly, squinting at it. You didn’t know what his intention was but you didn’t exactly like it. You looked back down at your school work, deciding to abandon it as you went to find an outfit. 

-

Steve was still holding the phone when you hung up. He could hear the dial tone but he couldn’t bring himself to put it down.

“Well?” Robin asked, eyebrows raised and wide eyed. 

“She said she’s coming by before my shift ends,” he explained. Robin nodded. 

“That’s good. When I see her I’ll hide in the back.” Steve finally put the phone down and swallowed hard. Usually he was okay with this type of thing. Flirting, asking people out, getting rejected. But he knew he would miss you coming to see him if you said no. He knew you would stop coming if there was some sort of awkward barrier between the two of you. He didn’t want that. 

But he wanted you. 

He cleared his throat and nodded. 

“What am I supposed to say again?” Behind Robin’s head was the white board, taunting him with rejections. He had thought it was funny when she did it but now it seemed like a slap in the face. 

“Ask her to hang out after your shift. That’s all.” Robin crossed her arms. This was harder than she thought it was going to be. You liked him, he liked you, how could you not get together? Clearly it was taking some pushing on both ends though. She better be invited to the wedding. 

“When do you think she’ll come?”

“Before your shift ends dingus,” she muttered, shaking her head. She returned to the counter as a customer approached. Steve was left alone in the back room with his thoughts and doubts. Everytime you came to see him it was like every light in the room had brightened. He thought about losing that, about losing you. Would you laugh in his face, like every other girl he talked to here? He couldn’t bear it. This was an awful idea. His stomach churned. He pushed open the door and hoped they would get so busy, he would forget you were even coming. 

-

At 3:30 you finally arrived. You felt like your body was sagging with all the information in your head weighing it down. You had been distracted by homework even while you got ready, thinking about all the things that could go wrong this week. It made this thing with Steve seem less important, so you could worry about it less. But now that you were here, you could feel the nerves settling back into your stomach. 

Steve was behind the counter. He stood up straight when he noticed it was you. 

“Hey,” he breathed. 

“Hey,” you said back, a small smile on your face. “Why isn’t Robin working today?” you questioned. They were typically shift partners. She hadn’t mentioned going out somewhere that would warrant her taking an unprecedented day off. 

Steve, knowing full well Robin was in the back, shrugged. 

“They thought I could handle it by myself.” You raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re moving up in the world, Harrington. Are you the manager yet?” 

“You know no one would let that happen,” he argued. He moved over to the ice cream. “This one’s on me but I get to choose.” You nodded once. 

“I’ll take that.” He hoped no one else would come for the last hour. Should he just ask you now? The words seemed daunting. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears. He had literally fought monsters, why was this the thing to take him out? He scooped you some blueberry cupcake and handed it over. “Thanks.” 

“How’s studying?” 

“Draining,” you admitted without a beat. “I can only hold so much in my brain at once.” He remembered his days of essay writing which didn’t help his confidence in the moment. 

“They should invent pillows you can stick information into.”

“That’s a million dollar idea, Harrington. You should trademark that.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” 

“We can figure it out together over a lot of ice cream.” You briefly wondered if this was going to be his job in the fall too. Would he leave for school then? How far would he go? 

“I like that.” He cleared his throat. “You know, we could see each other when I’m not on the clock too.” You took a bite of your ice cream, listening intently. Your eyes remained on him. He tried not to quiver under your wide eyed gaze. “Like if you have nothing going on today…” You caught on. You swallowed your ice cream to ignore your breath hitching. 

“Like a date?” 

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he was able to. 

“If you want.” 

“I would like that,” you admitted. “Are you just asking me because none of the other girls coming into Scoops Ahoy have given you the time of day?” He tried not to wince. 

“I’m asking because I want to,” he said honestly. “And Robin held me at knife point. I think she’s tired of us dancing around…whatever this is.” 

Whatever this is?! 

He could feel it too? You thought it was entirely one sided, fueled by your delusions. You couldn’t help but smile. 

“I’ll have to thank her next time I see her.” You pulled up a stool to sit on the side of the counter, allowing you to continue talking. “You have a place in mind?”

“We could go wherever you wanted. Grab food, hell we could go to the arcade if you wanted.” You laughed gently. 

“I think I’ll pass on the arcade right now. But I wouldn’t mind an entree to go with my dessert.” 

-

The nerves wore off quickly once you both realized you were on the same page. You sat on the stool in the back, the few magazines on the table keeping you company while Steve dealt with customers. You poked at your blueberry cupcake ice cream as you turned the pages. 

The divider window opened up. You raised your head. 

“Nice hat,” Steve said. You had forgotten you stole his work hat, which was sitting very gracefully atop your head. 

“Thanks.”

“Everyone’s gone.” 

“Then come back here,” you said, gesturing to the empty room. 

“You’re too distracting when I'm back there with you alone. I need supervision.” Robin made a gagging noise, though you couldn't see her. You smiled sheepishly and got up, pushing the magazine aside. 

“You know you could hang out after he gets off right?”

“We hang out during me getting o-”

“Shut up. Shut up.” Robin covered her ears and walked into the back room. You laughed at the sly attempt at a joke. Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulder and pulled you closer. You were glad you had stolen his hat. He looked much better without it. 

“She’s right. I think we’re feeding into codependency.”

“Our relationship was built on the foundation of you coming to see me while I work.” 

“That was because I didn’t see you after work.” His fingers held onto yours. He smiled down at them, like a prized possession. 

“I like to maximize my time.” 

Robin gagged in the back again.

[whiskeyswifty]

Honestly, freedom felt like summer then, on the coast has gotta be of the most quintessential Taylor lines ever, I’m telling you. It’s a lesser used motif in Taylor’s songs but I’m so fascinated by her use of “the coast” and “the beach” as and how it has only really surfaced (lol) in her mid to late periods (so far). Both in the safe haven it represents to her on its own but also how it’s often a foil to “the ocean”, and how a commonly used metaphor really works beautifully in her hands and fleshes out her worldview. 

That line really cements this to me where she starts with a broad and abstract simile of “summer” but then zeroes in on what she meant by that by adding specifically “the coast.” Just flat out saying beaches make her feel free, which yes it’s an obvious but great choice to represent freedom. Beaches are seemingly endless when you’re on them, most of the time removed from the markers of modern society, and empty save sand and sky, unencumbered by even nature. And you can see that through line in a lot of her previous work more subtly as well. “Drinking on the beach with you all over me” on an album and song famously depicting her absconding with her lover to places where they’re safe from wandering eyes and free from having to perform what ever fronts they feel they have to put up. Snow on the Beach is an entire song that depicts the beach as this dreamy place of vulnerability, even if the song isn’t specifically set on a literal beach. It’s frequently invoked in the chorus, painting a vast sandy landscape blanketed in snow, as tranquil as the songs production and how peaceful she felt falling for someone at that time. In Gold Rush she does again set the scene on the coast, where “the coastal town we wandered round had never seen a love as pure as this” provides a quiet safe haven to once again feel free to love and express love. Depicting even towns along the coast as less traveled and free of pressure or expectations; places to aimlessly wander, endlessly if you wish. Even in TLGAD she uses it to portray freedom for characters outside of herself, with “The salt box house on the coast took her mind off St. Louis.” The beach provides a freedom and reprieve for Rebekah from the assumed suffocation of a city and all the social expectations that come with it. The beach is so clearly a source of unencumbered happiness for her because it's a place of physical remove, but it’s even better exemplified by how it specifically acts as a foil to the ocean in her work. 

She’s always depicting the ocean as a metaphorical place of helpless tumult and dark unknowns. How she is “out on waves being tossed” in evermore with the ocean as a place without mercy or “if your cascade ocean wave blues come” where it’s an unstoppable force of sadness and unrest. In both of those, people are also physically taken over by the will of the ocean, a depiction of life’s painful inevitabilities that she recognizes as such but feels helpless against. Even how she visually depicts her gripping to her piano in the Cardigan video as the ocean tosses her around with no land in sight. Sometimes she herself is the ocean, with “I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night. Rough on the surface…” where she is as untamable and damaging as the ocean. She uses the ocean to recognize danger and uncertainty in others, like with “ocean blue eyes looking in mine. I feel like I might sink and drown and die” which is hyperbolic yes, but still. The ocean she sees in their eyes is not beautiful but all consuming and potentially emotionally fatal for her in how it will consume her. Or to recognize the fearlessness in someone like how her boy in Midnight Rain was “jumping off things in the ocean” which is a terrifying place for her, but here he comes off a steady and solid in his ability to jump into it for fun and it doesn’t take him. The ocean is always bigger than her, standing in for the power of letting go with “the battleships will sink beneath the waves” and also standing in for the great unknown of committing yourself to someone with “we were stupid to jump in the ocean separating us.” 

But most exciting to me is when these two metaphorical ideas of ocean and beach meet. “High tide came and brought you in” is a great one because here, she is safe on the shore, no longer putting herself at risk. But then, this great beast of the unknown brings her something; presumably something she wanted and potentially something good. But then “currents swept you out again” as the blue beast took it back. Unable to endure the thrashing ocean herself, she perches on the beach instead and waits. The beach in contrast to the active and churning ocean is a still place, a passive place. Freedom isn’t just an ability to hide from the world or a reprieve from the expectations of the world, but it can also be a reprieve from the expectations you put on yourself. Allowing yourself to rest and let come what may. The beach is also that for her, where she’s free from her own crushing thoughts and worries. Even when she herself is the ocean, thrashing about in her own mind, with “my waves meet your shore” she seeks the quiet and the serenity of the beach to soothe her and calm her. The soft expanse of sand to break her waves on and sink her foamy tide waters into. Control is one of the main things she seems to seek in all aspects of her life, in the way of control of her own story, her own personal space, her own agency, and the people around her in ensuring they won’t abandon her. In many ways, the ocean is outside herself in her use of it, but it’s always an extension of her, be it her fears of that loss of control or just fear of any unknown in life. It’s always a stand in for those parts of her in that way, her dark shadow swelling and swallowing everything whole if she lets it. The beach as her foil that becomes freedom from the grips and weight of the ocean, but also that first gasp of air knowing you are on land again, can find your footing again, solid ground. You can say she’s searching for that beach, that tranquil coast within herself to evade the trappings of the bottomless ocean within herself, but you could also say that in some cases, she is the ocean. Tired of her own restlessness and endless tumult, she’s forever searching for people in her life to be her shore, so she can finally rest on their warm sand, even for just a moment. I feel like that’s something everyone can relate to and is why it’s one of my favorite motifs in her work. 

[opiopal]

•All I wanted was bread•

1

(Hey guys, this is the first part of my TSL Obey Me fanfic! of course this is only the introduction, the characters included in this is simply you(mc), Luke, and Simeon, the brothers are simply mentioned. I will be keeping the Mc gender neutral and will only vaguely describe things like clothing and such. I apologize if the writing for Simeon isn’t the greatest since I unfortunately don’t know his character like I want to:(

I also want to apologize in advance if this isn’t up to anyone’s expectations! I haven’t actually sat down and wrote anything in about a year, so I’m sorry if anything I’ve written may be a little disappointing)

Once there was a vast kingdom, split into seven pieces, devided evenly amongst Seven lords. Seven brothers.

The first and the eldest being the Lord of Corruption. An arrogant and prideful man, always scheming and plotting. Despite maintaining his own land almost flawlessly, he is never one to be questioned nor critiqued.

The second born is the Lord of Fools. Greedy and very determined. He will and has gone to great lengths to get what he wants, often disregarding the people around him, even the people of his own land.

The third born is the Lord of Shadow. a shy yet envious man, often hiding himself away from the world. Wishing and wondering. Finding comfort in his own chambers.

The fourth born would be the Lord of Masks. upon first glance, he is viewed to be a respectable, well balanced individual. Yet his bad temper often leads to destruction, and in most cases, death.

The fifth is the Lord of Lechery. A dirty minded fiend, always attached to a mirror, most would assume he would be much to consumed in his lust to do much of anything. But alas, he prevails.

The sixth lord is the Lord of Flies, a man who acts as if he has been starved of all nutrients since he was a child, a man with an appetite that can never be quite satisfied.

The seventh and final lord is the Lord of Emptiness. The lord that is the least present of his brothers. Not much is known about him, all that can be assumed is that underneath his monotoned expression, may hide secrets that are not to be desired.

Though our story doesn’t begin with these lords. But instead within the land of the Lord of Fools, on a struggling, kind peasant, and their family.

•

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•

As the sun shines in through your window, you groggily sit up, rubbing your face in a meek attempt to wake yourself up further. Looking around the room you are met with the familiar sight of it all. One crummy writing desk in the corner, a window with glass that needs cleaning, worn down wooden floors, and a small familiar bed across from your own with a familiar sleeping boy tucked under the covers.

Your house is small, very small. Only having two rooms, A bedroom and a kitchen. Which may have been more manageable if it was only you, but you share the place with your two brothers. Your older brother Simeon, and your younger brother Luke. Though they aren’t your brothers by blood you all love each other the same, you had met Simeon when you were but a child, and Luke’s mother was taken by illness when he was only a few months old, you and Simeon both had promised her to take care of him.

You carefully crept out of bed, making sure not to wake Simeon, who slept only about a foot away from you, and making sure to avoid the creaky floor boards to avoid waking Luke as well. Quickly yet still quietly you toss off your sleepwear and slip into your day clothes, throwing on your tattered shoes you quickly make your way into the kitchen and begin your usual routine.

First, you light the stove with the embers of the previous night, once the fire is lit you put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Then you quickly grab a pitcher that had collected water from the leaky ceiling, along with a wicker basket and head outside, before watering the garden you pluck and pull anything that had finally ripened, you fill the basket the best you can then water quickly. Hearing the water boiling from outside the kitchen window, you head back inside and set the basket on the counter, you adjust the pot to keep it from boiling over and add in enough oats to feed the three of you, then you-

“Mc, up early as usual I see,”

Immediately your autopilot comes to a halt as you turn your head and see Simeon, adjusting his shirt around his waist as he steps out. You give him a smile. “Of course, I could hardly sleep with the sun in my eyes,” He lets out a half awake giggle and moves further into the kitchen and looks through the basket, “ah, I see our leeks are flourishing, but our berries aren’t doing as well,” he says as he gives you a look. you sigh,

“I know, I wish that scare crow would actually work.”

“I would assume it would work best if you didn’t feed the crows,” Simeon says almost in a teasing way, you shoot him a dirty look.

“I don’t feed them! I just- happen to toss out things we don’t need whenever they’re around. That’s all.”

You know you really shouldn’t feed the crows, and you know that you shouldn’t name them, nor pet them, nor even interact with them period. But you just can’t help yourself! They’re only eating the berries off your bushes because they’re hungry, and if you yourself were a bird you would appreciate a free meal from someone every now and again. And they are all just such.. silly birds, how could you not simply adore them?

Simeon of course knows this, and in response chuckles, but doesn’t press further on the topic. Instead he begins to help you with breakfast, taking over your place at the stove to let you get out a loaf of bread to cut.

You glance over at Simeon as you do so, he looked tired. “Did you get to do any writing last night?” You ask, “yes actually, but only a small bit,” he answers with his usual smile, “I figured as much,” silence fills the room until you speak up again, not looking at him as you reached and grabbed a few bowls from the cupboard.

“Did you hear back from any of the shops or printers,”

“No, Mc, not yet.”

“You should go down there today after work.”

“I’ll see if they’re open today,”

“They’re always open.”

“Mc it’s fine, I really don’t mind it.”

“No, it’s not fine, they’re printing and selling your books and you haven’t gotten as much of a coin from any of them,”

“Mc..”

“Your name is on it! You poured your heart and soul into your stories and yet they refuse to pay you for it! It’s unfair and you know it is! And not to mention it would help us! We get taxed so much for only breathing and we hardly have any money for food,”

Simeon sighs as you hand him the bowls for him to scoop the oats into, he is a writer, it’s his passion, a passion that is loved by nearly everyone in every land, and you are very passionate about him getting paid for it.

He places a hand on your shoulder gently as he sets a full bowl of oats onto the counter,

“Mc, my writing is a thing I do for fun and only fun, I appreciate that you want this to be fair for me, but I don’t see much point in trying to force money out of people that would never do such a thing.”

You sigh, putting your hand over his as you look at him, “You’re to humble for a place like this,” he gives you a smile as he lowers his hand from your shoulder, before he can open his mouth to say more a creek of the floorboards catches your attention. Simeon turns his head to look as you simply look past him, there stood luke in the door frame, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh! Good morning Luke,”

Simeon says as you turn and grab a bowl and some bread, setting them both down at the table as Luke sits down, you look down at him as you gently fix his hair by running your fingers through it, working out the knots, “how did you sleep?”

“Good, what were you two talking about? It looked serious,” your face scrunches slightly as you look away, you never really liked to involve Luke in your and Simeon’s issues, especially if money was of the topic. He was only ten, both you and Simeon believed he shouldn’t worry about things like that. Simeon speaks up before you, “oh nothing, we were just talking about our schedule for today,” you pause and realize that’s the one thing you hadn’t sorted out yet!

“Oh! Right,”

You take a seat at the table after grabbing your own bowl, you quickly cover the schedule for the day, Simeon will take Luke with him to work for the day, Simeon is working a slower job today so he is able to monitor and help Luke with his schooling, you will also head off to work and work till about 2pm, Simeon and Luke will be done at 3 and so you will wait for them, then the three of you will go down to the market and purchase was you can then return home, you’ll stay with Luke for the rest of the day as Simeon goes off to the printers with his most recent writing.

It’s the same as any day, it always is, the most that changes is who has Luke for the day, who’s boss will be alright with a young boy hanging around. But, it’s still oddly comforting to talk as if there as been a change, as if the plan is any different from the day before.

•

Of course the day goes exactly as planned. You show up at work, you had landed a good job cleaning floors for a richer women, you worked quickly and quietly. Avoiding any guests coming in and out of the estate and maybe pausing occasionally to talk with other cleaners. You watched the time constantly, just wanting to be finished with it all.

The second the clock struck 2 you immediately put the given cleaning supplies away and get your payment for the day. It wasn’t the greatest, but it’s the most money you’ve made in one day in a long time. You step out into the busy streets and make your way through the crowd, dodging bodies, carts, and barrels, walking around a little mindlessly. Eventually after about an hour and a half you spot Luke and Simeon, you wave to get their attention and the three of you set off to the market.

•

While there, you feel a tug at your sleeve and look down at Luke, he points over to a bakery near by, “Mc, do you think we could go inside? I don’t want anything I just want to go look,” You give him a smile and a nod before leaning over and nudging Simeon, “we’ll be back in a minute, I’m just going to take Luke to go look at the bakery across the street,” he nods as Luke reaches and grabs your hand, excited, Luke practically drags you along with rough the street and inside the small building.

It smelled fanatic inside, but than again it was also very warm from the ovens just in the other room. Luke let go of your hand quickly and began to look around as you waited by the door and kept an eye on him. Eventually you had glanced out the open door and back out into the street and spotted Simeon, but he was talking with someone.

Your brows furrowed as you tried to get a better look, the person looked like a mail carrier, but was a lot cleaner and in nicer clothing, from your guess the person had only approached Simeon a few moment ago before giving him a stern look and handing him a letter. You watched as the person basically spun on their heel and strutted away, which was more than just odd.

You quickly grab Luke, buying him a small cupcake just as a little treat, and heading back out and over to Simeon quickly, the closer you got you could tell the letter was almost as well dressed at the person that handed it over. you come to a halt next to him, looking over his shoulder, you feel your heart drop down to your stomach as you notice a familiar crest in the wax of the stamp.

•

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•

You and Simeon both sat in the kitchen, staring at the open letter that you must’ve read at least twenty times now in disbelief. It was only you two, Simeon had sent Luke to bed early after eating dinner so you two could both assess wether or not this letter from the lords themself was good or bad news.

And it was incredibly good.

“You have to go,” you say after a long moment of silence, Simeon looks over with his brows raised,

“What?”

“Simeon, you have to accept this!” A smile comes to your face as you grab the letter again, reading a part of it aloud.

“-The Lord of Shadow has taken a liking to your writing, and as a result is offering you a job as his lordships personal writer.-“

You raise a finger up as you skim ahead again, looking over at him with a smile,

“And not to mention you’re being offered free housing within the palace!”

You start pacing back and forth, rereading the letter repeatedly once again, Simeon’s face is a mix of emotions.

“Well… I could think on it-“

You interrupt him without thinking, stopping your movements,

“You should take Luke with you,”

“What?”

“You should take him with! He could get a proper education! A proper bed to sleep in! Good clothes!”

He raises his brows and a smile comes to his face before dropping again,

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, won’t you want to come with us?”

You pause as you set the letter back in front of Simeon.

“I.. would be content with staying here,”

“Mc!”

“Well- think about it,”

You sit back down as you turn to look at him, holding one of his hands,

“Will they be more willing to accept housing two people or three? Luke, is a child, it would be understandable if you didn’t want to go anywhere without him. I’m an adult, who would serve no overall purpose. I want the best for you two, and if that means I have to stay then I’m fine with that.“ you glance away for a moment before turning back to him “and.. I don’t want the fact that I wouldn’t be with you to stop you from accepting this job and getting out of this place.”

He frowns as he squeezes your hand, gently pulling you into a hug which you accept. You both stay there for a while before he speaks again, pulling away,

“And you have confidence you’ll be able to take care of yourself?”

“Of course,”

He sighs, looking away as he thinks.

Eventually he nods, giving your hands another squeeze,

“Alright, I’ll do it, and I’ll take Luke with me.”

You give him a smile before basically leaping at him to give him another hug.

•

The next morning, you helped the both of them pack what little possessions they had. Though yes, it hurt to know that you may not see them again in… a long time, You were excited and happy for them, and also very anxious at the same time. But still, you pushed away your fears and sucked it up, all having breakfast together for the last time before a tearful goodbye. Luke was practically wrapped completely around your waist as he sniffled and cried, you wiped his tears away with your thumbs as you promise him that it won’t be the last time you’ll see each other.

•

As you sit in the garden by yourself, you stare out into the sky. Already the silence of the house feels like to much, and it’s hardly even been an hour. Part of you wanted to go with and demand that if Simeon is to work there than both you and Luke are to stay with him. But then that would ruin this opportunity for him, and you wouldn’t want to be so selfish.

You let out a sigh as you start to lift yourself up to stand, but then you hear the flutter of wings and a caw next to you, as you turn your head you see one of the crows that you feed. You sit right back down in your original position as you reach a hand out to the crow, in which it lovingly nuzzles its small face against your fingers.

“Good morning, silly boy.. I suppose you’re hungry.”