#we HATED so much of the bullshit we saw happening in real time

[variablejabberwocky]

#WE SURE FUCKING DID#I'd feel more vidicated if anyone learned a damn thing from it (x)

[earthchica]

Right My Wrongs

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You and Terry had a good co-parenting relationship until he started dating a woman named Olivia who disrupted that dynamic.

warning: ANGST, toxic behavior, foul language, heartbreak, mention of fwb, mention of unexpected pregnancy, complicated situation, co-parenting, six-year-old daughter, name calling &, etc.

note: I was a little nervous about posting this, but here we go. Terry is an asshole in this; I'm sorry, lol. Part 2 will be out tomorrow; please let me know what you think.

{ part two }

You woke up suddenly to the sound of loud, urgent banging on your front door.

You glanced down at your daughter, still peacefully sleeping beside you.

You recall her coming into your bedroom because she had a bad dream.

With a weary groan, you glanced at the clock: it was almost midnight, and another knock reverberated at the front door.

You hurriedly got up, wrapped your robe around yourself, and slipped on your slippers to dash downstairs to the door.

Before opening the door, you looked through the peephole and saw that it was Terry.

He looked very upset; you immediately swung the door open and greeted him with a comforting expression.

"Terry... hey. Is everything alright?" you asked with a furrowed brow, your eyes filled with concern.

He looked up from his position and took a moment to meet your gaze before coming inside.

"She kicked me out." Terry expressed with irritation in his tone.

Oh, that bitch...Olivia.

You didn't know what Terry saw in her. She constantly causes him pain and breaks his heart, leaving you to mend the fragments every single time.

You have longed to express your true feelings to Terry and reveal the love nestled within your heart.

However, you knew it might never happen because Terry never gave you the impression that he saw you that way.

You and Terry were just friends, but your friendship blossomed into something sexual, leading to a complicated entanglement.

One night of unprotected sex resulted in an unexpected pregnancy.

You told Terry the news immediately, and he promised to be there for you and the baby.

Six years later, you two are raising a sweet, beautiful little girl named Jasmine.

She was a great mix of both of you: she inherited your beautiful nose and almond-shaped eyes while having her father's smile and eye color.

You and Terry maintained a strong friendship and a healthy co-parenting relationship until now.

He wasn't the man you once knew; she was transforming him into someone unrecognizable.

It was alarming you more than you'd like.

"Fuck, man. I give her everything she wants, and she always ends up fucking me over. What the fuck did I do to deserve this bullshit" Terry uttered, taking deliberate steps as he advanced toward the inviting comfort of the living room.

You let out a deep sigh, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders, before gently closing the door behind you.

Slowly, you approached him on the couch, ready to offer your comforting presence.

"You did nothing wrong, Terry. She doesn't deserve you; you deserve so much better. Like, for real, T... when will you wake up and see that?" you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder.

"I know....I know....It's just..." he says, his gaze intense as he looks at you with those piercing eyes.

"You love her?" You asked with a frustrated sigh.

"I do. I wish I didn't. I wish I could hate her, but I can't," Terry confessed.

"I'm sorry, Terry, but this isn't love. Love shouldn't hurt and leave you heartbroken. You deserve someone who makes you happy, makes you feel loved, and allows you to be yourself. Does she do that for you?" You asked.

With a deep breath, he shook his head. "No, she doesn't. Maybe you're right. I'm done dealing with her bullshit." He then offered a slight smile in your direction.

"Thanks, baby girl. I'm grateful to have such a great friend like you to lean on. Thanks for dealing with me and bullshit," He says, pulling you into a comforting hug.

"Yup! Let me get you some blankets," you said, quickly getting up to go to the hallway closet.

"Mommy?" You heard the sweet, melodic sound of your daughter's voice echoing from the top of the stairs.

Jasmine descended the stairs, wearing her cute bonnet and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

She looks at you first before turning to Terry, a slight smile growing on her face.

"Daddy!" She rushed over to him and hugged him, which caused Terry to burst into laughter.

"Hey, princess," he whispers softly, leaning in to gently kiss her forehead.

"Hi...daddy! What are you doing here?" she asked curiously, laying her head on his chest.

"What? Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye as he lightly tickled her side, causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles.

"No," she said emphatically, shaking her head.

"I'm always genuinely happy to see you," she explained with a warm smile, her words clear and sincere.

She was six years old, and always so sweet and expressive when she spoke her thoughts.

"I know, princess, and I'm always happy to see you. Your mom is letting me stay here, right?"

"Really? Mommy, is Daddy really staying over?" She asked, turning her gaze toward you.

"Yeah, sweetie. Just for the night. Now come on, let-" Jasmine excitedly interrupted you.

"Yayyy! Come on...daddy." She tightly grasps his large hand with her delicate, tiny fingers and eagerly pulls him into your bedroom.

You were about to intervene but decided to let it go because you were too tired to make a fuss.

You entered the bedroom to find Jasmine already asleep, cuddled into Terry's chest while his arm caressed her.

"I'm sorry. I hope this is okay. I can leave and sleep on the couch," he said with a tired expression.

"No, we don't want to wake her again. It's fine. Just get some sleep," you said with a yawn, getting into bed and trying to get comfortable in the blankets.

It was morning, and you woke up to find Jasmine sleeping on your arm, but Terry was not there.

You heard your phone ding; look to see that exact text. You were beyond pissed off.

Terry: Good morning! I'm sorry I left you and Jazzy like that. Liv called me, and we talked about everything. We're good again.

You didn't even reply to his text; you were in such disbelief at how he was so pussy whipped over this girl.

You knew you shouldn't be surprised; it was nothing new. Maybe you thought your words would finally reach him, and he would wake up.

You were so wrong.

It's been a few weeks since then, and you were coming to his place to pick up Jasmine after her week with him.

You exited the car and walked to buzz yourself into his apartment building.

You arrived at the fourth floor and knocked on his door. It slowly swung open, and Terry stood on the other side.

His face contorted in irritation, but just as quickly, a sense of ease washed over him when he saw it was you. "Hey, you!"

"Hi," You said coldly, pushing your way into his apartment, catching him off guard.

"Uh...how are you?" Terry asked as he closed the front door, then proceeded to follow you into the inviting living room.

"Good! Where's jazzy?" You responded with a brief answer, glancing around the room in search of your daughter.

"She's taking a nap. You good?" Terry asked, gazing at you with a touch of worry.

"Yup," you replied with a forced smile, concealing your true feelings.

You mistook the sound for Jasmine, but it was actually Olivia, which made you angry.

Terry had previously agreed not to have Olivia over when your daughter stayed with him.

This was it, you were fucking done.

Olivia enthusiastically greets Terry with a sloppy kiss, leaving a glossy on his lips before shooting you an irritated glance.

"Terry, what the hell is she doing here?" With arms crossed and a furious glare, you demanded his answer.

"I'm his girlfriend; I have every right to be," She explains, giving you a little attitude.

"Trick, I'm not fucking talking to you. I'm talking to Terry, the father of my child. Why don't you go, and make some tea while the grown-ups talk, okay?" You said with an intimidating gaze.

"Whatever, Terry will set you straight," She replied, rolling her eyes before heading into the kitchen to make some tea.

Terry gazed at you with a hint of irritation etched on his face and then spoke the words.

"What the fuck was that? You didn't have to talk to her like that," He asked with a frown.

"Why did you have this girl here...around my child when we agreed not to do that."

"It just happened; it's not a big deal. Olivia wanted to meet her, and I know I should've told you. I apologize," Terry said with a shrug.

"I don't give a rat's fucking ass...If she wants to meet her, you come to me first with this. Now go behind my back." You said with a look of intense anger etched on your face.

"Damn, woman. I fucking apologized, can you let it go? This shit ain't that serious," Terry sighed with frustration.

"It is fucking serious, Terry. This bitch got you so pussy whipped; you have lost who you are, your morals, and respect," You yelled, catching him completely off guard.

"What did you call her say?"

"You heard me. You are with a narcissistic, egotistical, manipulative ass bitch who doesn't treat you the way you deserve to be treated. She's changed you to fit her fantasy, and you're too fucking stupid to see it."

"Look...I don't appreciate you coming in here and talking-"

"I'm not done talking. You never seem to listen to me. This thing you think is love between you and her is not Terry. The man I once knew wouldn't tolerate this disrespect," You said, frustrated, uncrossing your arms.

"Look....It's none of your fucking business. You're just my baby mama," Terry said, clenching his jaw.

"Fuck you! You sure did make it my fucking business when you kept running your black ass to me whenever she did something wrong, but you know what? You're right. I'm nothing more than just your baby mama."

You found yourself overwhelmed with emotion, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to continue speaking.

"So I'm done with this; I'm done with you. I'm done being the shoulder you cry on, I'm so fucking done being in love with you and knowing I can't have you. I've been wasting my fucking time dreaming about us being a real family. I don't know why I thought you would wake up and see what's right in front of you. I guess that's my own damn fault," you cried.

Terry's heart dropped at your words, and emotion quickly washed over him.

His eyes were outstretched as he uttered your name and approached you, but Olivia stopped him.

"Let her go," Olivia said, wrapping her arms around his waist. You shake your head, rushing to get your daughter from another room.

She was napping, you are glad she didn't hear the yelling coming from the living room.

As you hurriedly gathered Jasmine's belongings, you couldn't help but overhear Terry and Olivia's arguing.

You swiftly picked her up gently without wasting any time and left the room.

Terry sat on the couch, his face in his hands, while Olivia was nowhere to be found, but you didn't care.

His eyes met yours, filled with a deep sense of regret. "I'm sorry...baby girl. I fucked up...I made Olivia leave. Don't leave, Let's talk, please,"

"No...I'm done, Terry. I made up my mind...Our communication will be strictly only about Jasmine, nothing more. Now let me go." You said that in a calmer tone of voice.

He didn't even put up a fight, which hurt a little. You stepped out of the door, making your way down the hall.

You exited the apartment building and went to your car. After securing Jasmine in her car seat, you closed the car door.

You got into the car, started the engine, and drove away with tears in your eyes.

You need to do this for your own well-being.

You couldn't be consumed by stress related to him and the current situation.

It's time to shift your focus towards prioritizing what is most beneficial for you.

It's been a month since you disconnected from Terry and his relationship issues, and you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders.

You still allow him to spend time with his daughter every other week, even after what he said to you.

You were not going to be the type of baby mother to raise hell and prevent him from seeing his child.

Terry was waiting for you to arrive at your house. He knew he had fucked up pretty badly by hurting you and disrespecting you.

His best friend and the mother of his child, out of all people in the world.

You both struggled to communicate feelings, so he was confused and surprised when you revealed your love.

He wasn't sure if he felt the same, but he was determined to apologize and make things right with you.

You were driving home just after dropping Jasmine off at your parents.

You needed some time to yourself, but it seemed like that wasn't going to happen.

You roll your eyes when you see Terry sitting on your porch with a bouquet of flowers.

"What are you doing here, Terry?" You asked, walking towards him with a frown.

"I wanted to check on you, but you haven't answered my calls. I was a little worried. Where's Jazzy?" He inquired, rising from the porch steps."

"She's fine, I'm fine. She's at my parents' house, and you can go now," you explained shortly.

"Baby girl, please don't be like that. I fucked up, I know, and I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you. I broke up with Oliva...she's gone, out of the fucking picture. You were right; you were always right. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," He speaks with genuine sincerity.

You let out a deep sigh and raised your eyes to the sky, feeling a mix of emotions.

"I forgive you, Terry, but...I meant every word I said. I'm done. It's just too painful for me. I'll be cordial with you when Jasmine is around, but outside of that, I'm done."

"I will respect that. I just have to ask why you didn't say anything before," he said, curious.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Terry. All that matters is raising Jazzy," you said coldly.

Terry looks down at the ground, disappointed with himself with an understanding nod.

Before walking away, he handed you the bouquet of your favorite flowers and whispered, "I'm sorry," once more.

You took a deep breath as you walked to the front door. "It's for the best," you thought to yourself.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you. 

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen. 

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on. 

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour? 

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time. 

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through. 

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened? 

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s. 

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now. 

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks. 

Eddie’s phone number. 

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone. 

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it. 

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant. 

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out? 

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer. 

EDDIE: Excuse me? 

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone. 

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them. 

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers. 

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh. 

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke? 

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that. 

EDDIE: Debatable. 

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two. 

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke. 

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant? 

This time, he plays along. 

EDDIE: I don't know, what? 

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight. 

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom. 

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny. 

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD. 

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face. 

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do. 

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me. 

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out. 

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying. 

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are. 

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings. 

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him. 

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you. 

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful. 

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene. 

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.” 

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.” 

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him. 

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.” 

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?” 

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.” 

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you. 

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains. 

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent. 

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.” 

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips. 

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,”  you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” 

He didn’t believe you. 

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.” 

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb. 

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.” 

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.” 

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves. 

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.” 

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.” 

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.” 

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated. 

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.” 

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs. 

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.” 

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.” 

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.” 

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists. 

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him. 

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught. 

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you. 

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?” 

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?” 

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.” 

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move. 

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred. 

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip. 

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?” 

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him. 

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to. 

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts. 

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now. 

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy. 

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them. 

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking. 

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly. 

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in. 

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down. 

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks. 

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers. 

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?” 

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you. 

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?” 

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance. 

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply. 

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.” 

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.” 

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on. 

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack. 

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on. 

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.” 

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin. 

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning. 

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory. 

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember. 

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control. 

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him. 

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you. 

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it. 

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days. 

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.” 

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.” 

“Yeah? Only for me?” 

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him. 

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned. 

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?” 

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.” 

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.” 

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down. 

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said. 

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.” 

“Why?” 

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release. 

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.” 

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed. 

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.” 

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed. 

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain. 

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers. 

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.” 

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!” 

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat. 

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him. 

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.” 

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm. 

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said. 

Loved you. 

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done. 

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

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[n3ptun3e]

—SUNSHINE BOY!

shisui uchiha x reader + headcanons

how shisui would eventually fall in love with you!

notes: listen, i’m no writer and my english is kind of shit, but desperate times call for desperate measures and i’m starving for cute shisui content with no inc3st in it, so this was born!! please enjoy it!

honestly? i just did this because it’s too fun to decorate the posts

You two became friends in the short period he was in the academy speed running through classes. He was pretty popular just like any other clan kid with the prodigy title, and since the whole “ostracize the uchiha clan” didn’t happen yet, at least not as obvious as it was in the series, the both of you would train or just spend lunch together, probably invites you to his house. Training in a secluded part of the forest and having deep talks would be one of his favorite activities to do with you. He loves loves to delve into the depths of other people’s minds and try to figure them out, what makes you act this way, your thought process, how does your mind works? he wants to know this because he wants to know the real you, to understand the puzzle that you are, it’s his way to show that he cares, otherwise he wouldn’t keep you as close as you are. He probably doesn’t even realize his thoughts are way more…technical? for scientific purposes only☝🏻 than your average person, because he’s a prodigy and all that, so he can come off as a little bit blunt (though as he grows up he’s much more suave and smooth when sharing his thoughts. Clan meetings and political bullshit does that to someone) but he has the bestest intentions in mind being the altruist that he is. He’s a curious and smart boy!!!

Either way, he likes to spend time with you, you saw the real him, not shisui the prodigy, shunshin no shisui, or the “weird and show off guy”, but him. If he had any other friends besides you, they would be gone once the kyuubi attack happens. Konoha doesn’t have the best education, so the kids would just follow what their parents told them and some adults already didn’t like him, so there really wasn’t anyone else around. It’s around this time that he met Itachi, seeing a glimpse of him and his long dead friend on the child, he decides to take him under his wing.

I’m not sure if it’s canon, but it’s stated in some places that he unlocked his mangekyõ because of his teammate, his friend that was more powerful than him, shisui was envious, jealous even. one day on a mission his friend got hurt and needed assistance, but shisui as team captain decided to follow through with the mission and his friend ended up dying. and THAT’S the crucial moment where he’s going to need someone the most. He’s a uchiha, they have big hearts and just feel more, much more than your average person, the blame crushes him, he’s already a gentle soul who is forced to kill others for his own village, and to make matters worse they are in war times, you saw how obito and naruto turned out very different because of it right? that, plus the start of the apparent hate and suspicion of the village towards his clan, makes way for rumors, “he’s an Uchiha, what else would we expect from him…? you should be careful, they are not to be trusted”. I imagine his clan would push and pressure him to become more powerful, to “Bring pride into the clan” moving him up in the ranks, making him enter anbu as a child even if he’s already a jõnin.

He just breaks, childish glint in his eyes gone, so he comes to you, “i didn’t know where else to go…” he breaks down in your arms, silent tears falling from his eyes as he clings onto you, his grip tight as if you would disappear at any moment, his only friend that didn’t left him. All the tension and adrenaline from battle would eventually leave his body as he relaxes, letting out all his frustrations away, feeling so fucking tired, body getting out of survival mode, his thoughts and feelings finally getting to him, you hug him tight and strokes his unruly dark curls, soothing hand on his back and whispering calming and reassuring words in his ear, his tears in your shirt slowly turn red, and when you pull away to dry his tears you gasp as you see the intricate pattern on his bleeding red eyes.

THAT’S when you two become even more close. Shisui was always caring and protective of you, but now as you two have grown up he gets even worse, always having a hand on you, arm around your shoulder as he teases you, giving you a little wink before flicking off existence. god, when he finally perfects the body flicker he becomes a menace, appearing out of nowhere inches away from your face, blowing out a puff of air into the back of your neck as you almost rips him in half thinking it was a enemy ninja, cheeks burning red. Though it’s undeniable how your heart beats quicker and smile warms up as he leaves, he’s always there to cheer you up and support you, he’s loyal okay? you have been there for him and now he’s going to follow you for the rest of your life, you feel like safety to him, a light in the dark, he trusts you with his life. he would never EVER left you behind (only if you asked him to, but duh why would you dummy), especially on missions, he will bring you back alive even if he has to sacrifice himself for it.

i know it’s obvious but PHYSICAL TOUCH!!!! it’s his way of communicating affection alright? hugging, ruffling your hair after training, THE UCHIHA POKE, you name it, he especially likes to put a arm around your shoulders and lean close to you, teasing you about whatsoever, whispering in your ear about the random guy on your right hitting on the lady next to him, chuckling and laughing to yourselves, you don’t even notice when he has a hand around you anymore because it just feels natural at this point, it gives him a excuse to be so close to you. Also looves to spend time with you, it’s kind of hard since the both are you are busy with missions but he would always use shunshin to see you, especially during breaks on the uchiha military police forces, asking you to have lunch with him, his treat! he’s a gentleman okay? Sometimes he would appear and gently put a kanzashi 簪 (hair ornaments used in traditional Japanese hairstyles) in your hair, saying it reminded him of the color of your eyes, he would always do that, giving you thoughtful gifts he would find along his missions, smiling at you as he says “i knew it would suit you” it means you look pretty in it.

His touch starts to linger more than necessary, appearing out of nowhere always with a warm hand on you. God he always runs so hot? maybe it’s because he’s a uchiha but his body temperature is high. Shuffling closer to him when you both go on a mission in the middle of winter, a teasing smile on his face as he asks “what was that?” a eyebrow raised in amusement, though he quickly chuckles and opens his arms, hugging you close, making jokes so you don’t feel awkward. He’s just so gentle and soft with you, stroking your hair as you both fall asleep. Always blushing if you reciprocate his barely hidden affections. He’s shy on these matters okay? i imagine him being just like minato but with the determination and sense of humor of naruto. so he can be all serious and in mission mode but if you pass him by and gives him a smile he’s all smiley and red cheeks, sheepishly expression on his face with a hand scratching the back of his head, snsksuzysowb cute. Sometimes he would look at Itachi and Sasuke interacting, imagining how it would be like if one day he ends up building a family with you, it’s one of his favorite daydreams jakajansja definitely a family guy. Yearning for the feeling of coming back home after a long mission and sink into your arms, sighing as he feels how soft, warm and alive you feel, he would do anything to keep you that way, even if he’s not the one you love, being able to be by your side is enough, at least that’s what he tells himself.

It would take a while for a confession tbh, he doesn’t want to lose you or ruin the friendship you both have, would probably talk about it with Itachi, sighing and telling him for the hundredth time if he should tell you or not. itachi’s already tired from this bullshit, staring at his cousin with a deadpan expression “i do believe it would be for the best if you finally told her how you feel” he would repeat, for the millionth time.

I doubt he would like or even look at somebody else in the same way he looks at you, he’s a uchiha and they feel deep, so when he falls, he falls hard, he’s a racional, loyal and busy guy, he wouldn’t even have time for romance outside of his barely there free time that he spends with you >:) so i really don’t think he’s the type to get with someone just because of their appearance or frivolous things like that, he needs the connection, heart, love and trust, so it takes time.

HE’S A JELLY GUY, not overly so, and would never seriously harm someone because of it, BUT HE IS he may not look like it, but if he sees a guy getting too close to comfort with you he’ll pop out of nowhere between you and the man, hugging you from the back and talking with the both of you, hands stroking your sides gently, or just pulling his arm around your shoulders, acting all friendly. You probably don’t even notice he’s actually jealous because he’s too smooth about it (and because you are trying to hide your blush from him).

By the way, you and itachi are friends! he’s a cute kiddo that follows shisui around, and he also has a little shadow following him (lil sasuke) it’s the cutest thing to see Shisui waving at you with a big grin on his face, eyes crinkling with happiness, a little shadow behind him, and a even more tiny figure following behind just like little ducks following their mother lolol.

Eventually shisui would have the guts to finally tell you how he feels, but only after a long while, probably when the whole uchiha fiasco ends (AND IT ENDS WITH EVERYBODY ALIVE) he would be so relieved and happy that his family and the village now are all safe and in peace that he would decide to finally take a step forward and be honest with you, he’d plan everything too, choosing your favorite place and all kinds of things that make you smile awww it would be perfect. You would blush, having at least a suspicion with the way he acts around you, not being able to contain your smile, putting your hands on his cheeks, gently caressing them, his ridiculously long eyelashes brushing against your thumbs as his eyes flutter at your touch, his own cheeks red. When you say “i love you” back, he would be so happy and excited he wouldn’t stop grinning, cheeks almost hurting from how happy he felt, taking you by the waist and spinning you around, the both of you laughing as he does so, just like when you were children, it feels like being home. Time seems to stop as you two gaze at each other, him staring at you with the softest eyes, carefully putting you down on the ground, running his fingers through your hair and saying one more time, “i love you” before his hand travels to your jaw, caressing and tracing the skin there, slowly inching his face closer until you feel his warm breath on your face, brushing his lips lightly against yours, leaving you breathless, fluttering your eyes close, he presses his lips harder against yours as you don’t pull away, sighing and pulling you impossibly close, one hand on your waist softly stroking your skin, the other on the back of your neck, playing with your hair as he finally gets to taste the lips of the girl he longed for all those years.

notes: oh wow that took much longer than i thought it would? what the hell i started to write this at night and now it’s MORNING ughhh i hope you guys like it, we need to keep the shisui simps people alive! happy new years for all of you!

reviews, likes and reblogs are much appreciated! thank you very much!

[karenandhenwillson]

People break. Sometimes just a small part of them. Sometimes it happens very unexpectedly about something that wasn't much of a problem until just a moment ago.

I think that's what we saw with Karen in this episode. And I hate that people just dismiss it as a weak storyline, or an unnecessary storyline, or coming out of the blue and therefore being unbelievable.

Actually, it coming out of the blue is exactly why this is so believable. 

Mara is back home, but that's not been long. And at first, it didn't look as if it would ever happen until Bobby managed to manipulate Gerrard to help them. Those emotions are still raw. And after they got told in court they weren't allowed any contact with Mara going forward, it probably looked as if there wasn't a chance at all to spend Halloween together for a while. How much time went by between the court hearing and the city council meeting? How long weren't they sure they'd see Mara at all for any of the upcoming holidays?

Now everything might be good on that front. Mara is back home. But the doubt and fear is still lingering in Karen. It's also a change for her in her role as a mother again. She wasn't able to fulfill that role for months, no matter how often they spent time with the Hans. It's a situation they all need to settle in again and that takes time.

You can't tell me Karen isn't thinking about the missed memories of these months of separation. And thinking about how near they had been to miss this Halloween. Which I can very well see would lead to thoughts about holidays Hen missed in the past, how Karen had to deal with Denny and his disappointment on her own then. You all remember Christmas of season 3 where that was such a huge deal, too?

They have this huge party with all of them in full costumes days before Halloween. And they have fun and are creating memories (Jee-Yun growling at her Dad!), but it's not the real holiday. And it is not just Mara's first Halloween with them, it's her first holiday with them, period. And they hadn't planned anything for Halloween because everything was still so uncertain not that long ago.

But now it's all different again. Their family is whole again. And they could have a chance to spend it together. If just Hen didn't have a shift. And so Karen voices her concern and her wishes. And Hen sees that and promises to try. Because of course she wants to spend these days with her family in the end.

But then Hen is swayed by not wanting to slight her best friend, by thinking about Chimney's comfort more than her family's comfort. (Remember season 5 when she offered to chase after Maddie with Chimney without a thought of her own family?) So instead of either Chimney or Hen being able to spend the holiday with the family, they both decided to work and leave Karen alone with all of it. Instead of arguing that the Wilsons have gone through hell while Chimney wasn't separated from his daughter for months; instead of suggesting to just toss a coin so at least one of them has a chance to be there with their children they just decide for everyone to lose.

And that's when Karen breaks. When everything suddenly feels too overwhelming, especially the thought of being responsible for three children while they're out Trik-or-Treating. They're all three good kids. But they'll be excited, the streets will be super busy, their excitement won't just vanish when they're back home and she needs to wrangle them to bed. And there was a chance for Karen not to be alone with all of it, but Hen and Chimney prioritized their friendship over their families.

And Karen just feels left alone and disappointed and airs that frustration.

(And on another note: What a bullshit, Hen, to then turn around and put the burden on your teenage son to look after the two girls in support of Karen! You know, you could have also called Bobby again and asked if that offer was still on the table because you hadn't considered that Karen might need help with the children.)

[elswing]

i hate posting discourse it's pointless and doesn't do anything for me except prolong my annoyance but i'm Tired™ and feel like shouting into the void. apologies to my beautiful feanorian mutuals please look away i love u

i neeeeeeed everyone to stop claiming they like elwing if their characterisation of her is completely made-up biased bullshit that paints her as an immature and disdained ruler (?????) who couldn't balance her responsibilities with the husband she married too young (at 22. practically a child bride honestly) and the children she never wanted (where. where does it say this). she's clearly such a bad mother that she abandoned them at first opportunity (she knew the feanorians were more than capable of killing a pair of twin boys because they literally already did that. that's very much a thing that already happened. to her brothers) and it was her selfish nature that made her soooo eager to flee (she had no reason to think ulmo would save her it was literally a suicide attempt. she wanted to make sure the deaths of her people and presumed deaths of her sons weren't in vain by ensuring they never obtained the silmaril)

like i'm gonna touch your hand as i say this. it's okay if you hate her! just don't pretend that you weren't thriving in the 2016 era of silm fandom where everyone pushed all their male fave's negative traits onto any other woman in a 5 mile radius to grab Poor Little Meow Meow status for war criminal #1 #2 and #3 to then turn around and spout the exact same (factually untrue) sexist rhetoric concealed under seven layers of buzzwords just because it's the year of "unlikable and complicated female characters" like buddy who are we talking about here. have you perhaps considered making an oc?

and i'm NOT saying i want the whole fandom to mimic my exact opinions and thoughts about elwing i realise that one of the best parts of the silm is how divisive it is and how you have so much wiggle room to come to your own interpretations because of how VAGUE the source material is but i'm genuinely convinced everyone's just parroting shit they saw in ao3 fanfics where maglor is secretly lindir and the premise is elrond sneaking him into valinor and elwing yells at him for slaughtering her people. TWICE. and this is framed as a category 5 Woman Moment so elrond disowns her and calls maglor his real dad

(eärendil misses this entire ordeal because he went on a voyage to save the world that one time and no one's let him live it down since because the whole fandom as a collective decided he did this because he's a terrible dad and not because the whole continent was at war and about to be wiped out and maybe he came to the unfortunate but reasonable conclusion that leaving is the best thing he could do for his family if it meant there was a chance his sons could grow up safe in a world that wasn't ruled by Fucking Satan so now his whole Beloved Sacrificial Lion: The Thin Line Between Doomed and Prophesized Hero™ shtick is tossed out in favour of.... *checks notes* Guy Who Forgot To Pay Child Support? oh and they're a lot louder about this because he's a man so no one can call it misogyny that's why no one ever goes the #girlflop #ILoveMyBlorbosNastyAndComplicated route with him and he gets dubbed as that one asshole who just wanted fame and glory even though that goes against the general themes for tolkien's hero characters. and tolkien loved that dude to bits that was his specialist little guy so you can't seriously tell me you think that's what he was trying to portray???????? is that seriously what you think he was trying to portray????????? babe????????????

also there's a BIG difference when it's a character that's only named in one draft and doesn't exist in the rest or gil-galad who has like three and a half possible fathers but ELWING??????? the only possible way you could be coming to these conclusions is if you read the damn book with your eyes closed. FUCK.

[solarwynd]

I don't know why Hybe thinks this plan is gonna work when it might actually end up doing the opposite. The more Jimin gets mistreated the more his fans get angry and the angrier they get the harder they work. Notice how much Jimin's solo fandom increased in 2023 and how much we have improved since FACE era. We're seeing the results of that improvement now with MUSE doing better than FACE. If all that bullshit hadn't happened, if Jimin had a smooth ride then we wouldn't have had the need to learn and improve so we could support him. Which is why jjks are useless, because they didn't have to learn how to get shit done on their own, they just let armys and the company do everything.

And speaking of armys, what is happening with pjms is exactly what happened with them. BTS mostly didn't get much from BigHit/Hybe so armys had to learn how to do things themselves. BTS was also getting hate from everyone which made armys angry and we know armys always work harder when they're mad about something. And armys were also shunned by the rest of k-pop fans, named as 'the worst k-pop fandom' and blamed for every bad thing that happened. The same thing is happening with pjms being ostracized from the rest of the fandom, named 'the worst solo fandom' and blamed for everything. And just like all of that made armys hyper focus on BTS and work even harder, pjms are also focused entirely on Jimin and do everything we can for him. So again, I don't know why Hybe thinks doing this to pjms is a good idea considering the fact that the same thing happening to armys only made BTS bigger.

Despite what ot7 nonsense armys like spreading the truth is that most fans are very biased. Every fan has their favorite member and if that member is continuously being treated poorly by the company and the fandom then this member's fans are at a risk of becoming solos, especially if they're being scrutinize and villainized by the rest of the fandom the way that Jimin fans are. I mean, armys are practically forcing Jimin-biased out of the fandom with the way the act because if Jimin fans are gonna be accused of being solos no matter what they might as well actually become solos. So doing all of this is only gonna increased Jimin's solo fandom which, as we've seen since last year, is actually what members need since they can't depend on the group's fans when it comes to their solo work. And we know that after some time focusing on the group after their comeback the members are eventually gonna go back to focusing on their individual carrers and the group is gonna be pushed to the back more and more as the years pass. So having a well established solo fandom that already knows how to support their artist is gonna be essential for the members in the future, and Jimin is the only member that currently has that. Jungkook doesn't have to worry about that because despite jjks being useless he has armys who the company has increasingly been pushing into become only his fans, but the other members are gonna have a rude awakening when they go solo for real and realize they have no proper fandom to back them up.

And another thing is that despite Hybe's attempts Jimin remains the most popular member in the US (and in Korea, Latam and the UK too) so is very stupid of Hybe to push away the audience they've been pretty clear they want the most. We already saw the consequences of that with all other members (including their chosen one) being unable to chart a single song in the US (NP doesn't count cause that's Megan) all while Jimin has charted multiple songs, hasn't left the US charts since we recharted LC in the beginning of the year, occupies the entire top 5 of biggest streaming days and weeks in the US, is the most streamed k-soloist in the US with quite the gap and Who is soon gonna be the most streamed k-pop song in the US (which LC isn't already only because we started focusing on Who instead).

So Hybe can keep pushing Jimin fans away from the group because all that does is take away BTS biggest supporters in the west and it will only benefit Jimin by giving him a solid fandom of his own for when he goes solo.

.🎯

[homunculus-argument]

Anime concept: One of those Group Of Heroes On An Adventure - animes that start out upbeat, cute, lighthearted and funny, but which keeps getting steeply more serious and dramatic as the story goes on. There's a wide range of characters and unfortunately one of them is the Comic Relief Pervert whose "oh I just cannot help myself I am so pathetic ówò" bullshit - and the female characters' various responses to being sexually harrassed - are played for laughs.

And halfway through the first season, the party gets split and the characters are dealing with their own challenges in groups of two or three. The Kindest Sweetest Girl Ever and the Comic Relief Pervert end up in some situation where the latter is trapped in a way that he can't escape, but the Sweet Girl could easily save him by doing something really simple, like pulling a lever, flicking a switch, just moving her hand, and he pleads her to do it, fully expecting her to, because come on, obviously she's the Sweet Girl who's never been mean to anyone, ever.

And instead she smiles sweetly and asks: "Do you have any idea how much I've always hated you?" And calmly watches him get consumed by whatever death had been prepared for him. Snapping out of this sweet, catharhic satisfaction she looks around to make sure nobody saw that, and turns out that somebody did. Another character of the party, the Chaotic Neutral At Best Loose Cannon Fighter Woman who frequently has to be kept on leash to keep her from causing destruction that'd compromise the party's goals. And she famously fucking hates The Sweet Girl. She had just been silently standing in the background, unseen at a distance, this whole time. Saying nothing, she disappears back into the shadows.

Once the party is re-united, everyone starts giving their accounts of what happened to each of them. Somebody asks The Sweet Girl what happened to the Comic Relief Pervert, since the two of them were last seen together. Everyone knows she doesn't know how to lie, and she stammers, when the Loose Cannon interrupts, saying oh yeah he died, real tragic. This girl totally did everything she could to save him. Which wasn't much because we all know she's fucking pathetic but I'm almost impressed by the absolute heroism she displayed back there. Too bad he was beyond redemption. Anyway at least we're all free of hi- I mean sure we're all going to mourn him now. Anyway what's for dinner.

It doesn't even cross anyone's mind to consider the possibility that The Sweetest Girl Ever could hurt anyone - she can't even kill enemies - or that the Fighter Woman would side with her on anything. And The Sweet Girl looks to her in awe, astonished that this woman who hates her would pass up the opportunity to throw her under the bus when it was served to her on a platter. And the Loose Cannon just silently glares at her, with a distinct "if you ever speak to anyone about this again, I will fucking kill you" look.

And they never speak of it again.

[memelleity]

abigail sentence starters

i’m sorry about what’s gonna happen to you.

our game ends here.

how many bodies we talking?

i thought i heard someone out here.

let’s just leave. get the fuck out of dodge.

i love you so much. and i’m so proud of you.

vampire on my ass! vampire!

a deal’s a deal.

i can smell your blood.

i like your tattoos. do they have a meaning, or…

you got bullied in school? probably by dad, too. so when you got bigger than everyone else, you turned the tables.

i’ve always hated this room. lot of painful memories.

you’ve made a mistake.

are you lying to me?

so, you got a boyfriend or… something like that?

what’s happening?

___’s not here.

promise me you’re not gonna let anybody hurt me?

you’re the one good thing i did in life. and i just needed you to hear that.

what can i say? i like playing with my food.

you in recovery or something? how many days you got?

my dad, well… he thought he wanted a child, but then he just lost interest.

please, please let me out.

you literally got nothing right.

can we not do this, please?

you’re not as smart as you think you are.

i saw the way you were looking at me earlier.

all right, let’s go kill us a fuckin’ vampire.

i’m scared.

you don’t get your hands dirty and tell yourself that makes what you do not as bad. good luck when the illusion wears off.

fucking bullshit. it’s not about the money. the money’s an excuse.

you backstabbing son of a…

i couldn’t sleep. i heard something.

here’s the thing about being a vampire. it takes a long fucking time to learn how to do all the cool shit.

something doesn’t add up.

listen, you sit here and bleed… or you trust me.

i didn’t mean to scare you.

you want to have some fun? all right. let’s have some fun.

you’re just in time for dinner.

there’s a secret door in the library. the bookshelf on the right wall.

why do you have a dick on your face?

this whole thing is a trap.

you’re so bloody and so gross.

getting shot hurts!

how much do you trust ___?

shut the fuck up!

oh, you’re a fucking priest now?

i came when you needed me. i’m here now.

i don’t scare easy. so when i do, i pay attention.

i feel like i got bit by a fucking vampire!

tell me one true thing about me.

what color are my eyes?

i can’t breathe.

i just, um… i can’t do it.

if this is about revenge, why didn’t you just kill us?

you fucking set me up.

the hard part is already over.

with that money… i can start over, you know?

that wasn’t a lie.

i like you. you’re scary, though.

god, everybody’s got to be a fucking victim now.

if you fucking say, ‘i told you so’…

you could be the richest headless man in america.

i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but you don’t sound very calm right now.

you’re mine. you’re mine.

wow. you got a lot going on up there, but your brain’s not quite putting it together, huh?

do you have any kids?

nothing different about you. nothing special. just something to help me pass the time.

___ was here when you weren’t.

i just want to get to the bottom of this, you know?

i’ve had a few centuries of experience.

we got a real fucking situation here. so i don’t give a shit what you think. either you’re helping us, or you’re dead weight.

i feel sick.

i’d really prefer not to have to fucking shoot you.

this is so fucking disgusting.

you changed your name, you left town, and you never saw your family again… but it wasn’t for their safety, was it?

keep an eye on the door.

you grew up with a bunch of brothers and sisters, huh?

you’re gonna be a real pain in my ass, aren’t you?

looking for some light reading?

i’m not gonna touch you.

can you take the blindfold off? it’s really tight.

this isn’t the time for sarcasm, okay?

let’s watch each other’s backs.

that’s an urban legend. calm down.

i fucking hate ballet.

you shot me! you shot me!

i brought you here to offer you a deal.

just had to do your little magic trick, didn’t you?

you think i could do that?

maybe it’s worth a try.

you’re my friend.

wow. you might be the least perceptive person i’ve ever met.

i’m sorry. did i hit a fucking nerve?

no. i’m not betting our lives on your fucking hunch.

we’ve got to get out of here. there’s got to be another way.

i’ve gone by many names over the countless years.

you can have anything you fucking want.

bite me.

what the fuck?

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

While I’d love to hear six hours of discussion, perhaps we can hear your top 10 reasons you like Ironwood? Don’t want you to lose your voice after all my fellow Dadmiral friendo

Look I stream for 6 hours straight some days but that’s beside the point lolz. Also sorry this took so long. Life has been a thing.

1. James feels…human. I know the point of characters in stories is to make them feel alive and to immerse you into the world I know. But stay with me there are just little details like James adjusting his tie and little laughs at R/WBY’s antics that just make him feel more real.

2. James is strong. And not just in the physical sense but the emotional one. Between him in volume 3 holding it together despite the world falling apart around him and him taking on all of Atlas and Mantles hatred and vitriol while trying to protect them is incredible. Everyone hates him despite him trying his best and it’s both incredible and heartbreaking to see.

3. James is compassionate. I am not even slightly referring to volume 8 that bullshit is not canon at all just no. After watching Yang with his own eyes break (who he thought) was an innocent students leg unprovoked after the match ended and his aura was down, he believed her when she said she saw him attack first. He assumed the best of her even when all evidence showed that she was being malicious. Or in volume 4 when Weiss accidentally summoned a Grimm that attacked someone, he stood up for her or after Ruby failed to stop Cinder in volume 3 (? Or 2 can’t remember for sure) and he told her she did well and she took action which is what huntresses do. He is strict but he shows kindness to people.

4. He’s kind of silly sometimes. He’s normally very strict so it makes his funny moments stand out more. Like when he laughs when the girls admit they stole an airship or when he grins at Winters comment about how he couldn’t pay her to smile for the cameras.

5. He’s not a good public speaker. Now I can hear you say “but wait, he speaks publically all the time and while yes he does, he also does the equivalent of error 404 when things don’t go exactly as he mentally prepared beforehand and we see this in volume 7.

When the girls don’t react at all to his announcement that they’re all huntresses now he just freezes because this man needs to preplan everything and he did not have a plan b prepared and panics and it’s so relatable I adore it so much.

6. He’s awkward. While similar to the last point, people can suck at public speaking and still be able to converse well with people in a smaller setting but sometimes James seems to even be a little awkward even in less formal moments.

7. In early volumes he was allowed to make mistakes and still be a good person. I like it when characters are allowed to make a mistake and still be seen as a good guy. People make mistakes and screw up but that doesn’t make said person evil. Sometimes we can’t fix something or stop a bad thing from happening or even make a decision that winds up causing more problems. But the intention of the decision is the important thing. James wanted to protect people in volumes 2 and 3 so he brought his army because he had a feeling Salem was up to something. Cinder used said army to cause even more chaos but at the time the narrative refused to demonize him for this and allowed people to understand what his intentions were. That’s way more compelling than the narrative twisting itself to try and somehow prove the mains are always correct and never make mistakes. Learning and growing make stories interesting.

8. James is willing to make the tough decisions. Time and time again we see James making really difficult calls to try and navigate a war that most people don’t even know they’re fighting. He makes the plans to transfer Ambers Aura to keep it from Cinder. He pulled his armies from the other kingdoms to try and maintain peace, he decided to focus on Amity instead of the wall to try and restore global communication, he decided to try and save who he could when he was put between a rock and a hard place. He made the tough calls and stuck by his decision and that is admirable.

9. James trusts people. After James’s talk with Glynda she took his advice to heart and was more open and honest with people. When Winter tells him something is going on at Haven, he takes her word for it. When Ruby and co lie to his face he trusts their word. He trusts Yang when she says she saw Mercury attack her first during the Vytal Festival. (Despite what the narrative tries to tell us) James gives people the benefit of the doubt and is willing to trust people.

10. James is an incredible fighter even without a typical offensive Aura. Pretty self explanatory but James is able to go toe to toe with some dangerous adversaries and hold his own despite not having a special “super power” like everyone else does. Or even a special weapon really he kicks ass with just a pair of guns and that is so badass of him lolz.

And a bonus more meta point because I want to talk about this so there. But one thing I loved about Ruby and James’s volume 7 fallout is that we can see exactly how and why each of them made the decision they did during that breakdown. On one had we have Ruby who is full of hope still and sees the best in the world. She lost her friends and is still dealing with the trauma of that and doesn’t want to ever lose anyone else again or let people suffer a loss like she did during the fall of Beacon. On the other we have James who is equally traumatized from Beacon but in a very different way. He did his best to fight back against Salem and it was in the end used against him and caused even more pain and suffering. He’s terrified of going toe to toe against Salem again and wants to protect what he knows he can until he knows they are able to take on Salem. It’s realistic and painful and neither side is really a perfect option. It’s a bad situation and we can see how the characters respond to it and it feels in character and real and I wish that we got to see that writing continue into volume 9.

Sorry again for how long this one took! As I said life’s been all over the place and chaotic and it still is but I got a burst of motivation so I decided to finally type this out.

[not-goldy]

I've done a lot of thinking. Kind of long thoughts. Sorry.

When we got news BTS was joining MS. I threw up at the thought of Jimin going & panicking on behalf of Jikook. I remember saying I don't think Jikook can go 2 years without each other are they gonna make it, more importantly is Jungkook gonna be okay? Spoiler alert. The answer is NO & we saw that with his breakdown when Jimin was in reach, but busy during Chapter 2. Had that man in a downward spiral knowing he was still seeing Jimin & could pop over, but not as much as he's use too & was not coping well and told us & showed us he wanted his Jimin. Then it was Jimin's turn to pout when Jk was busy. Made me sad but then we saw them making the best of 2023 spending alone vacations together & couple days, even days before enlisting. And I was like pheew, at least they're spending time together so maybe when separation comes, they'll be okay. Spoiler alert. Jikook said NO we won't be okay & pulled the biggest FU you aren't separating us move, that's ever been pulled. I be damn if they weren't behind the scenes making arrangements to not only be together, but share a bed, a unit, living area & in a buddy program that has it where they even take their vacation days together & see each other every day til discharge. Blew my damn mind, but at the same time not shocked cause of course Jikook would pull off something like that. Everyone should've seen it coming to be honest. JUST WOW. The real definition of "Screaming, I testify that we'll survive the test of time. They can't deny our love. They can't divide us, we'll survive the test of time. I promise I'll be right here."

That said. This woman pulling this with Jimin or that woman with Jk. Doesn't matter. I know regardless of what happens behind closed doors, my duo are the closest no matter what anyone says. Its a real genuine bond no one can break, not even random women or men for that matter. They're the two who are spending time in their rooms when they could be with others, spending their vacations off camera alone cooking at their house or coming back home together from LA when others went off on their vacations & them spending couple days together over everyone else. Enlisting together & making life decisions together. Dropping honorifics to show their closeness & even their parents show constant support toward the other. Who make time for each other on their birthdays & really commit to it year after year. Say what you want but I'm at peace knowing how much Jikook truly love each other. Its not fake or baiting. They're genuinely close & comfortable with each other, esp enough to cross friendship boundaries. Whatever that means for them. Take that how you want. I haven't been stanning two people who are exaggerating & making their bond seem closer then what it is for the sake of the group or to entertain fans, when in reality they're off building a relationship & life with their real partner over each other & don't even spend significant holidays or birthdays or couple days together. NO. Instead, I'm stanning Jikook who always put each other first (over their own partners if they have them) for when it really matters, including on couple days & does it year after year & are consistent. Jikook have proven for years they're the closest & the military enlistment solidified that cause you only join with a buddy program with friends you are the closet too or with your actual partner. Take your pick, cause we know both can apply here and Jikook did that. And no one can take that away from them. And guess what they're still together today through all the bullshit and hate. And that matters to me & I support whatever they have. They have nothing else they need to prove to me. I get others need more validation, but I'm content & at peace & just happy knowing while all this melodramatic bullshit is going down, that Jikook have each other and Jimin is not dealing with this alone. They have each other to rely on through good and bad in there. So I sleep well at night knowing that. They'll never make me hate you or turn my back on your Jikook. Thanks for listening.

Been awhile I read something interesting in my Ask box so thanks for your thoughts.

The Jimin going away had us all too so I understand what you mean. We try not to victimize him and treat him like a fragile being but sometimes instincts override our every senses.

I wanna dwell on that a little bit to say things are going much better than I thought.

The anxiety and panic attacks thinking he can't take that isolation for long but bro went in there and dominated 💀

It's a fuck you to every single person who thought him a feeble weak submissive gay man. Don't you just love it when it's the stigmatized gay ones who end up setting the standard of the ever cherished male masculinty and who end up dominating the upper echelons of their prized male sports???

Who's your daddy

Better say his name bitch

I feel yuh on the other stuff too

We riding till the wheels fall off

Old Town road style 😎

[rosewaterandivy]

10. a kiss is not enough

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C.: 4.5K

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations - SMUT & idolatry (my usual bullshit), real-talk with Nancy Wheeler, idiots still being idiots, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Holy shit, I can't believe we've come to the end (or is it 👀) of this series! When I started this, I had no clue how many people would respond to Trouble and Steve's idiots-to-lovers story - but I'm so glad that they did! This series will always be near and dear to my heart, for a variety of reasons, but primarily for the people it brought into my life (here's lookin' at you, babe!). This isn't a goodbye from Trouble and Steve so much as a see you later - don't hate me too much! Poetry excerpt from John Keats. 18+ mature content (minors dni). Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, please let me know what you thought; enjoy & thanks for reading! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

Trouble’s playlist from Steve: trouble will find me

Steve's playlist from Trouble: rebel without a clue

previous || epilogue

Now, May, Finals Week

“Just think about it, kid,” Hopper says on his way out your classroom door. He’d requested a meeting during your conference block, when normally he’d amble in under some pretense just to shoot the shit.

You nod, at a loss for words. It’s not like you needed yet another thing on your plate— waiting to hear back from admissions and not spilling to Steve or the gang was bad enough.

Yeah, you’d applied for grad school (even though grad students were the worst) and Hop had been contacted as a reference, which prompted his little visit today. Apparently, the district had approved a stipend and sabbatical for faculty furthering their education in graduate school.

“I’d like to recommend you,” Hop said matter of factly, sitting in a desk across from yours. “Maybe not for the sabbatical until you’re further along in the program, writing your thesis and whatnot.”

“I, uh–” you stumbled to find the words. “Cart, horse. I haven’t been accepted yet.”

He leveled you with a look, “Are you shittin’ me? Of course you’re getting in.”

You swallowed audibly and busied yourself emptying your desk for the summer, “Well, time will tell I suppose.”

“This isn’t—” Hopper paused in thought. “This isn’t about Harrington, is it?”

“Huh,” you nearly yelled, clutching the cardboard box for dear life. You had been so careful too.

He cracks a smile, “I saw the pair of you at graduation, you think you’re so slick.”

That brings a smile to your face, good ol’ Hop sussing out the goings on like he’d never left the force. 

“It’s nothing.” You assure him, “We haven’t— We’re professionals, okay?”

“I know,” he nods, voice lowering as if he could spook you. “I’m happy for you, really.”

A small smile breaks across your face, “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

Finals done and grades posted, you’d never been so happy to get home. Had plans to pour yourself onto the couch and not move for 72 hours. 

But life (and Steve) had other plans.

He was sorting through the mail, chucking envelopes into various piles on the countertop. The loft was quiet that afternoon— Eddie had a gig in Indy that evening and Robin was crashing at Vickie’s for the night. Steve hummed a tune to himself, the occasional slap of paper hitting the granite punctuating it.

“Oh hey,” Steve turns with a large envelope in hand, “This looks important.” Tosses it with freakish accuracy, the white paper landing with a thwack where your shorts had ridden up against your thigh. 

Distracted by whatever drama was unfolding on TV— something about a crew working on chartered private boats— you mindlessly slip your thumb beneath the lip of the envelope and tear it open. 

It’s only once you’ve pulled the papers from it that you glance to see what’s what. The university’s crest shines like a beacon, your thumb worrying over the topmost letter. Steve, the bastard, has stopped his mail sorting and turned toward you.

He leans lazily against the counter, a knowing smirk fixed on his lips. You scramble up from the couch with the papers, too nervous to see for yourself. “Here,” you say, thrusting the envelope and documents to his chest. “Can you—”

Pulling you to his chest with an arm, he brushes his lips against the crown of your head. “Sure, honey.” You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest— warm and familiar.

“You know,” he drawls, “The big envelope generally means something good, right?”

“I know,” muffled against his shirt.

He chuckles, hand coming up to cradle your head. Steve clears his throat, reads the opening of the letter in his best announcer voice. “Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that…”

The rest is drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears, the tears pooling in your eyes breaking free to cascade down your cheeks. He squeezes you tight abandoning the acceptance letter and letting it flutter to the floor in favor of drawing you closer. Steve kisses you, licking your own tears into your mouth, your taste onto your tongue. And it’s so weirdly hot that your heart starts fluttering again, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

Because of course, just as things were going right something had to come and throw a wrench into things. 

Plans for lazing in the early summer forgotten, the next few days saw you coming and going from the university campus for orientation, meetings with faculty, so on and so forth. As you were leaving the grad student mixer, a professor peeled off from a group of faculty to flag you down with a call of your name.

You turn, not recognizing them from the English department. She’s an older woman, has maybe a few years on your mother, and is swathed in a lovely linen dress— the cool elegance of minimalist style.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Holland,” she says shaking your hand. “I’m on the admissions committee and was very impressed with your work on Dante Alighieri.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“And you studied Italian as an undergrad?”

“Certo.”

That brings a smile to her face. “Perfetto,” she says with a perfect Italian accent and waves over another faculty member. “I only ask because there’s a summer intensive in Italy beginning next week that I think you’d be perfect for.” 

Your mind reels. The new professor introduces himself and echoes Dr. Holland’s sentiments— a summer session of classes in Italy, in partnership with Università di Bologna, the oldest university in operation in the world. Scholarships that would cover the cost of tuition, travel, and accommodations for you to peruse.

What the fuck.

Vision swimming, you somehow come back to the conversation at hand. Dr. Holland presses a folder to your hand, “I know you were planning on taking the introductory grad school courses over the summer, but I hope you’ll consider joining us in Italy instead.”

You nod, gobsmacked and make your way to the car. Settling into the sweltering seat, you start the car and call Nancy. If anyone would know what to say in this situation, it would be her.

“That’s the thing,” you sigh, wine glass in hand as you slump on Nancy’s couch. “We’re not anything, haven’t discussed it. I mean, sure, we fuck like rabbits, but aside from that?”

She blows a raspberry and sips from her glass. “He’s in love with you, get over it.”

You jerk up, “Okay, maybe,” you allow. “But he hasn’t said anything.”

“And you won’t pony up to do it yourself?”

A scoff as you drain your glass. “I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Nancy laughs at that, loud and bright. “Unfortunately, yes!” She refills your glass before continuing, “Let’s be honest, you’re both hopeless when it comes to eachother.” She raises her brow before you can balk, “Full offense intended.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

She hums at that, head cocked to the side in thought. Her nail taps against the glass with a soft clink. A bite to her lips before she heaves a sigh, “Sometimes he just needs a push.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I am absolutely not telling him he’s bullshit, if that’s what you’re after.”

Nancy, to her credit, winces uncomfortably at the memory. “No, no,” a shake of her head. “Absolutely not, you would never.” She sets her glass down carefully, giving you her full attention. “What I’m getting at is this: do you want to be something with Steve?”

She lets the question hang in the air between you. 

“Because if you don’t know Trouble, you should back away now.” A low warning tone. “You’re it for him, have been since he laid eyes on you, but you’re both too scared to do anything about it.”

You drain your glass to the dregs and hastily take your leave. At the sound of the door closing, Nancy grabs her phone and brings it to her ear, “Hey Harrington, I need a favor…”

Returning from a less than helpful hang session at Nancy’s, you find a post-it note left on your bedroom, door that reads ‘meet me at our spot on lover’s lake. - s.’

Prizing it from the wood grain, you make your way back to the kitchen to scavenge for something to eat, in an effort to soak up the remnants of wine in your system. Opening the fridge you spy another post-it stuck to the topmost shelf: ‘get your ass down here, i’ll feed you soon enough. - s.’

With a laugh, you let the fridge door fall shut and grab your keys.

_

He can see you now, just barley, even in the indigo dark. Wonders to himself, how are you even real? How is it that you’re mine? An explanation that won’t ever come. 

You slip into the cool water of Lover’s Lake like a dream, with nary a sound. Steve stumbles after you on the piles of clothing you’d left behind—bunched up denim shorts here, a threadbare tank-top over there, the silk of your thong musky and damp. 

Fisting his shirt to pull it up and over his head, it falls to the forest floor behind him, jeans shucked off and tossed elsewhere, boxers joining your lingerie by the shore. His patience is wearing thin as you wade further and further from him out into the lake. 

Little minx, he smiles and takes a breath before diving beneath the waves. Arms cutting through the placid water at a quick pace until he’s occupying the space between your bare legs, and coming up for air. 

One arm drags you near, lazily pressing you close, tight around the small of your back as the tide breaks around your waist, minute movements almost imperceptible— the slow roll of your hips against his.

Water shallow enough to tread and keep you buoyant. Steve kisses you slow and sweet, pulling you flush against his chest while you writhe under the water’s surface. Body slick and wanton and arching into his own. 

His dick jumps when you lift yourself to drape your arms around his shoulders. A sharp breath replaced with a shaky exhale as he brings his forehead to rest on yours, dark eyes taking in the exhilarated flush of your body. 

And Steve knows, under his skin and tucked into the cage of his ribs, near the beating of his anguished heart, that you’re the only thing left in this world worth worshipping. To keep you, and render you a flightless bird, to clip your wings, would be all for naught.

He has to let you go again, and so soon after you found him. From perihelion to aphelion before the moon’s full turning. The soft curve of your throat drawn taut as you glance upward, marvelling at the stars and planets in the northern sky. 

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Your voice is a husk, low and hoarse, in the dark. “Its loveliness increases, it will never pass into nothingness.” Your eyes, once fixed on the sea of stars above, shift to him once more.

Closer to the shoreline now, and unbeknownst to you, Steve had gently waded you both inshore, until he could draw you toward the dock. 

You let him walk you back until you’re flush against a mooring pole, wood rough against your moon-bathed skin. Body yielding to him as both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls you forward by the hips.

“S’okay, honey,” He mutters—right into your panting mouth with a sultry pull of his lips. “I’ve got you.”

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss from his lips that he laves and sucks to the column of your throat.

He ignores you, crawling his hands onto your hips to keep you from squirming. Works his thigh in between your legs for good measure. Once you’re settled, he moves one hand to your center a finger trailing up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto the spot that makes you keen, just behind your ear. You fist his hair in both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But Steve doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your neck and into your kiss-bitten mouth, he doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion lights a terrible match inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to a forest fire.

Calming breaths in and out. Steady head, steady heart. When you’re able to meet his gaze again, you take a moment to see him as he truly is: dappled in moonlight, forelock hanging in front of his eyes, his entire focus trained on you.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, scissoring them, pumping them in and out.

Steve sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive skin and lips, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching back into his hand, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

You shake like a leaf in his arms, not knowing if it’s from the cool night air or due to the man before you. 

Instead of increasing his pace, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third. Your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean back with a whimper.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, so soft and low that your heart stills.

Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, his previous two fingers pushing inside gently. The third finger meets resistance as you tense up. “S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m…” 

Your head knocks back against the wooden pier. But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear.

You blink owlishly, trying desperately to weave your threads of thought together. A shake of your head to rattle them loose. A sweet smile up to Steve, a barely there kiss to his lips.

Your eyelids are heavy, breaths heaving from your chest. Steve commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you.

You gasp and moan, arching your chest into his and pulled as taut as a bow sting—back forming a crescent-shaped arc, a sliver of the moon radiant in the inky blue reflection of the water.

“C’mon, that’s it, honey. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked collar, bristles on his cheek and jaw tickling your sensitive skin.

Coming back to yourself, you shiver bodily. And Steve looks at you as if you hold infinities in the palms your hands. 

You reach for him reverently, desperate for his shape of beauty and noble nature. A dream realized, a wish granted, gentle and true. You feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination.

You whisper, "Missed you," eliciting a shudder from him as your palm grips him tenderly. 

Relishing in the temperature of his body, you sigh. Spreading the beaded precome at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, head falling to yours.

“Missed you more,” He hums, eyes heavy-lidded and lustful. 

Gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly and without haste, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could burst from your throat.

You whimper. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the gratifying sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re fearful to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, as water lapping against your thighs, holds onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you cry, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He moves in you, like a prayer.

A groan escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, lover… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. 

The two of you feel rooted together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. Your body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away, your shaky legs held in his secure grasp.

The black slik of night gives way to the earth’s rotation, stars and moon bending to the will of gravity. Splashes in its silent, dark depths as you broach the shore. A little shaky on your feet, but he’s close behind, sultry and brilliant like the summer morning quickly approaching.

Whispers and murmurs tucked between fervent kisses as you dress. Fabric sticking to damp skin as his hands roam. Frenetic movements as he backs you up against the car, the coolness of it causing you to shiver. 

“You should do it,” he rasps against your lips. “The Italy thing, you always loved it there.”

“How did you–” you sputter.

You can’t see him roll his eyes, but you just know. “Nance, who else?” 

The warmth of Steve’s body burns against you, a hand threading through your hair half-convinced the moon is hiding there, hanging like a jewel in the night. And you’re a mess when you kiss him. Your breath is warm and so sweet, and the center of his chest squirms like something alive. 

In that moment, you love him but can’t tell him, not yet. You decide the sun that will kiss freckles to his face will do it for you.   

The song of summer sings out as you load your suitcase into Nancy’s car a few days later. The trunk slams closed and your back is pressed against his chest, his arm hanging casually around your collar. It is the end of May, the first bloom of summer balmy on your skin.

Steve had not taken the news of Nancy driving you to the airport well.

At all.

A sponged necklace of kisses to your throat as the light creeps in. Sheets kicked to the edge of the bed so you’re tangled up in him. Skin already glinting gold in the summer sun. Twisting in his hold, desperate to glance at the time. “Steve,” muffled against the heft of his shoulder, “I gotta go, Nance will be here soon.” 

The turn of his weight bearing down, trapping your body under his. A cruel circle of his hips has you shuddering. His breath ghosts along your skin, “Baby, baby please.” Nose trailing down from your sternum to the swell of your stomach. Pausing there for lips to lave kisses on the curves that trailed to your hips. 

Eyes dark and heady with promise, “Just a taste.” Lips and mouth delving lower now, fingers parting the cleave of your cunt with a squelch. He hooks them back into his mouth with a groan. “Mmm,” he slurs, drunk off your arousal. “You taste good, sweetheart,” His nose bumps against your clit, “Like honey.”

Breath stuttering in the cage of your ribs, you fist his hair in one hand and tug. Steve moans overtly, pupils blown wide while he’s face deep in pussy. “Steve,” Your voice trembles. He glances up, smoldering and glorious, drinking you up. “Ah—fuck,” before you’re overtaken again.

You’re desperate, and he can hear it in your voice. A quiver in your throat, you swallow thickly mouth falling open in a pant. His fingers work into you easily, dragging exquisitely along your channel—warm and wet, only growing more so with every thrust of his hand. You mewl, hips bucking up as he sucks your swollen clit. 

Legs thrown over his shoulders, as he cants your pelvis forward, arm heavy against your stomach to bully you in place. “Sweet girl,” He coos, lips ruddy and wet with your slick. “Doin’ so well for me.” You shiver in his hold, sunbeams hazy with orange glow, the refracting light makes a halo to crown him and for a second you feel blind.

Then you feel something pulled taut in your belly. A chord stretching like a rubber band before it snaps. The wind up is excruciating, Steve’s litany of devotions falling in hushed murmurs from his lips. His fingers plunging up into the chasm between your legs, pulling away wetter each time.

He bends back down, tongue circling your clit at a dizzying pace. A third finger slides in impossibly, a keen igniting from your throat—high and whimpering. God, you’re so close. You babble, hands scrambling purchase against his dewy skin.

“Come,” he commands, “Come for me right now and I’ll fuck you through it, how you like. Then I’ll make you come again and we can go.”

“Oh my god,” you thrash on the bed, hair sticking to the sheen of your face, hanging on by a thread as his fingers drive into you, on a mission to break either the bed frame or your brain, both were fine. In a rush. Can’t quit now. A little bit more. Your entire body is folded against him, insides fluttering desperately, maddeningly.

“Everyone’s gonna know,” Steve promises, “You stumbling in there.”

The image flashes through your lust-addled brain, the telltale sign of him screwing you stupid— lips swollen, legs wobbly, outfit crumpled up, smelling like him and sex in front of all your friends.

“You want it, don’t you, want them to know you’re all mine?” He smears your wet around the sides of your cunt— spit, slick— up to your clit. And then he pushes you like a button, flicking the pad of his thumb upwards and grins at the way you jerk in time.

“Stevie,” you mewl, “Steve.” The syllable breaks, your panting comes out in choked babbling.

You drily sob out something broken, a tiny echo of affirmation as he keeps fucking into you like he could break through. He’s really abused your pussy this morning, maybe gone too far, but every time you come like this, it’s like he’s seeing something holy. 

“Oh my god…!” It’s a small shout as you shatter, and it makes Steve’s spine light up as you rub your face further into the pillow.

“Praying to me, sweetheart?” but doesn’t stop those tiny, hard circles, doesn’t stop melting into your body, his dick pulsing as he ruts against the sheets. “You can keep doing that,” he urges, “I like that.”

So, you’re not surprised when the two of you stumble into a nearly finished breakfast, as predicted, in a terrible disarray, and Robin crosses herself before promising, “I’m getting you two a goddamn chastity belt.”

On the couch, Eddie clicks the remote to a new channel, snapping his ring-clad fingers with an offhanded, “A-fucking-men.”

As much as you tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t goodbye but instead see you soon, it didn’t stick. But the ache in your gut did—low and menacing, growling like an animal. 

Eddie and Robin were easy, promises to stay in touch and bring back the best candy. Your parents were less so, tight hugs and dried tears on cheeks. 

Steve, however, you needed to brace yourself for. Short of chaining yourself to Nancy’s car, you weren’t sure how you’d escape with your dignity intact. He was already kissing on you, soft and sweet, as Nancy slid into the driver’s seat while Eddie and Robin waved goodbye walking back inside.

You slip from his grasp in a flash, pulling him by the belt loops to knock hips. “Stevie, lover mine,” you sing, his palms cupping your ass as his hands slide into your back pockets.

Lover.

What a word.

You think about it every waking second—the way he stretches in the morning, how he sings in the shower, dances in the kitchen, smiles and beams at anyone who passes by—how good he is.

How you love him.

“Mm—” raspy, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Feet walking you closer and closer and you’re pressed against him. Nosing along the column of his neck, nipping at the delicate skin there, watching as his throat bobs when he swallows. 

Hands free themselves from denim confines, a thumb caresses the small of your back. Steve pries your hand from his chest, and brings it to his mouth, placing a tender kiss against your palm. 

You hum as his lips brush your skin, observing as he meanders to the thin flesh of your wrist. Hazel eyes near golden in the morning sun as Steve looks to you, face open and fond. Lips featherlight when they kiss your thundering pulse.

Only then do you start to break. 

You thought you were prepared. But it steals the breath from your lungs, levelling you to ruin, a creeping sense of hopelessness in its wake. 

He’s quick to notice, crushing you to his chest and hand cradling your head. Soothing murmurs of “S’okay honey, we’ll be alright,” and the rasp of your name. Fingers brushing hair from your face with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And it is hard to leave him, but you can do difficult things.

Forehead bent to yours, back warm in the sun’s decorous rays, a searing tear-laden kiss and you’re off. Turned back in your seat to see him recede in the distance until he’s a mere speck on the horizon as Nancy tugs you forward.

All the goodbyes had all been said, save one thing lodged in the depths of your throat. 

I love you. 

[chevelleneech]

As delusional as they are, it’s kind of interesting watching Tkkrs construct their version of events in real time.

I’m usually working when an episode of AYS airs, so I always see their take on things hours later, and after already having seen other people’s opinions. But to be one of the people who watched it a little earlier, so I saw the scenes before seeing anyone else’s opinions, I can genuinely say, it’s honestly almost fascinating to watch them squirm.

People can think whatever they want about JM and JK and their bond, but to see Tkkrs go from “Jimin was the third wheel!” as they cropped him out of stills or as they claimed Tkk were cuddled up despite it being a quick photo, last week to seeing how they are almost completely ignoring the show this week is wildly funny.

The Jikook tag on Twitter is currently a lot of “Jokers will always be Tae’s number one fan!” “Jokers can’t keep Tae’s name out their mouth!” “Even after all their so-called moments, Jokers only care about Tae!” even though there aren’t actually a lot of Tae centered posts coming from Jikookers. And when they’re not trying to claim Jikookers are for whatever reason focused on Tae, they’re saying all the Jikook moments that happened this episode don’t matter, because Tae and JK went on a trip without cameras, while Jimin and Jungkook said in episode one they hadn’t seen each other in a bit.

I don’t know. It just really interests me how they are so comfortable and so confident in how they decide what matters and what doesn’t, and how they twist whatever else is left to be in their favor. Are You Sure? was scripted bullshit for a year, plus the first two episodes. Episode three was proof JK actually wanted Tae, and Jimin was the tagalong. Now episode 4 is irrelevant because Tkk went on a trip last year or whenever, without filming it.

Their reasoning is so extremely unreasonable, lol. Because why watch a show you know revolves around two members you hate seeing interact? At the same time though, them watching the show and being so angry at JM and JK and Jikookers tells me they really do understand where plenty of Jikookers are coming from.

Not shipping Jikook is fine. Disliking the idea that Jikook are together is fine, but it doesn’t make them any less questionable, and I think people who are watching the show are realizing that more and more.

Jimin and Jungkook went from being attached at the hip during the duration of the group being active. When they paused to enlist, JM and JK, in their own words, drifted. Again in their own words, JM and JK realized they weren’t seeing each other often and decided to rectify that by blocking out a long weekend to go on vacation with just the two of them, and chose to document it. Upon having fun, they decided to extend their filming and vacation in more places, again, just the two of them. Once the show was complete, JM and JK did not then go back their separate ways. They enlisted in the military as a collective unit. A choice they made prior to their vacationing being done.

The entire existence of AYS is honestly just a reminder of how much the two of them value their relationship, whatever it may be. Episodes 1, 2, and 4 specifically. They show how much they enjoy being in each other's space, and how much they click with one another, even though they have close and loving relationships with the other members.

So seeing Tkkrs seemingly come to genuinely understand that, yet hate it, is quite a thing to witness. None of us know the status of JM and JK’s relationship, and we honesty don’t need to. But to watch Tkkrs realize it is fully not at all what they want it to be (as in, Jungkook hates Jimin and Tae is the person he prefers to be with) is something to behold. Because no matter how angry they get, what new scenarios they create, or how much they ignore, the reality is what it is.

Jimin and Jungkook want to be around each other, and they enjoy being around each other. They make each other laugh and smile, and people who watch them together in their actual lives, all agree that they click. I would say I hope Tkkrs come around someday, but I think it’s too late. They’ve made up their minds and will never see the joy JM and JK bring each other, because they’ve built an entirely different world in their heads about what’s going on

[fixated-on-something]

I think about the magicians too much so here are some of my favourite quotes

Silly ones

Julia and Quentin: DO WE NOT AMUUUUUSE?

Julia: We made up that dance and it was TERRIBLE!

Quentin: oh god

Julia: It was so.. white.. and BAD.

Penny: I like your sweater

Quentin: Are you saying that to be cruel?

Penny: No. I like your sweater, I saw no reason not to share

Quentin: Well then, shall we go fuck some shit up?

Penny: Yes.

Margo: Yes.

Eliot: Yes definitely. Definitely yes.

Penny: Agreed. Feelings are bullshit.

Alice: Is that a traveller thing?

Penny: It’s a hearing voices thing

Alice: Well at least it beats whatever you were snorting

Penny: Marginally.

Kady: Ok, Mindslut?

Quentin: I don’t know you EITHER, except that we just summoned a killer MOTHMAN from another WORLD!

Marina: Did you figure you wanted to learn magic at your blow dry last week?

Penny: You’re welcome. (Blows kiss)

Quentin: What does that mean????

Quentin: you really don’t have to try to make me feel better we basically just met

Eliot: Well, I bond fast. Time is an illusion…

Eliot: How about I find you, and I don’t say magic is real, but I do seduce you and so lift your spirits that life retains its sparkle for decades…

Quentin: …yeah that sounds nice thank you

Dream Alice: If you would shut up for 2 seconds this sex dream could pass the Bechtel test, Quentin

Eliot: Once one of them offered to blow me for a spell. It was barely worth it.

Quentin: Is someone being creepy on purpose?

Margo: that is…. Not super consistent with the books

Quentin (genuinely very distressed): no!!! It’s not!!!! And I find that devastating!!! ☹️

Quentin: You can’t possibly want to be a dick more than you want to live!

Eliot: Oh yes very pristine, it’s been taken over by a kiddy diddling mutant.

Penny: The hell are you drinking?

Alice: I don’t know- triple sec?

Penny: What did Quentin do.

Margo: So we are fucked without grease

Quentin: Sounds like us

Eliot: Must be a Monday. Onward to glory.

Penny: Whoa WHOA WE ARE NOT. NOT. Killing a U.S. senator. But we will commit a felony… almost as stupid.

Eliot: IHEREBYDECREE! Rulers… done gonna rumble.

Margo: Ps we still hate you, but it’s the 21st century it shouldn’t be this hard for a girl to get an evil demigod abortion.

Niffin Alice: what’s this bitch doing in my room?

Margo: By agreeing to marry a stranger on the spot?

Eliot: I did it!

Margo: That was different.

Eliot: You’re right. This would only really be equivalent if Ess was a girl, and you found pussy you know, interesting in a ‘sometimes you like Thai food’ kinda way and now it’s all Thai food forever TILL YOU DIE.

Eliot: Hooolyyy shit the walking plot twist returns

Penny: Hi I need something

Eliot: Shocker. Hey Fen look it’s Uncy Penny! That’s right, I knocked her up. No big deal.

Penny: Uh- congratulations?

Eliot: like I needed more people calling me daddy but yes, thanks, we’re… thrilled.

Eliot: I am in way over my head. I’m not even in control of which of my bodies is awake and my sexually aggressive wife- she could wake me up at any moment in Fillory and-

Fogg: There are certain student teacher boundaries which I prefer not to cross.

Penny: “Let’s go hunt the white lady?” People like me get SHOT for saying shit like that.

NOW THE HEART SHATTERING ONES

Eliot: Do you think it’s real?

Quentin: Some of the good parts have to be. At least I hope so.

Eliot: Things aren’t usually worth caring about

Margo: Eliot he’s gone. why are your torturing yourself?

Eliot: Because he’s gone. And it’s my fault. And of all the people in the world who don’t understand, somehow you top the list.

Quentin: Every book every movie… is about one special guy. The chosen. You know in real life, for every one guy there are a billion people who aren’t.

Margo: I'm a king. Not a goddamn princess. A king.

Julia: I think it’s because it happened. And there’s nothing… magic about it anymore.

Emily: I don’t blame myself. Except for when I first wake up… and when I go to bed, and all the time in between.

Then obviously any quite related to 3x05 and pretty much the entirety of The Mountain Of Ghosts

I missed a bunch and these are mostly season 1-2 because that’s when I was taking notes during my rewatch

[midnghtprentiss]

fooling you - emily prentiss

pairing: ssa emily prentiss x peditrician!femreader

emily got insecure about an unsub and push reader away. based on fooling you by rachel platten

warnings: angust (not much), cursing, fluff!!!!

i am obsessed with this concept i'm sorry

comment if you want to be tagged in the emily stories!

Emily was pushing you away again. You didn't know what happend at the BAU and she wasn't talking… at least not with you. You got different jobs, you work in a hospital and she works catching bad people. Some days were amazing, some days weren't and that 's the deal. If you want to talk about things or only share what's wrong, it's alright. Pushing you away was everything but alright. 

The knock on the door of your shared apartment took you out of your transe. You smile when you see Hotch's figure. You called him because you know he's the only one she could talk to for now. 

"Sorry for making you come. She's pushing me away, Aaron." You took a deep breath and he smiled calmly. 

"It's alright. I'll talk to her." He made his way inside. 

"She's in her office." He nods to the room and knocks twice before going in. 

"Babe, I don't want to talk." She stops when notice Hotch is the one there. "Seriously?" 

"You're screwing up again, Emily." He sits in front of her. "Talk to me."

"I, I'm worried Hotch. When we caught the unsub today he told me something about protecting the people we cared for and I panicked. What if someone does something to her trying to get to me? That's my fiancé and I can't even protect her properly." Emily looked at her friend and shook her head. "Hotch, I can't lose her but I hate the idea of something happening and my efforts are useless." 

"Emily, she called me to talk to you because she knows you're worried about something she doesn't understand. She would never risk her safety knowing you could never see her again. Honestly, our job is hard. Everyday I wake up terrified something happened to Jack and I go to sleep terrified something happened when I'm sleeping in the other room. And when nothing it's real I got back to reality. You're afraid of something, everybody is, don't let this consume you and rip something you treasure." Emily nods, wiping her tears aways. "Talk to her and do me a favor, be honest."

Emily and Hotch talked for a little longer and he left when all was alright. Both of you didn't speak a word 'til bedtime. You took Sergio in your arms and tucked him under the blankets. Emily went to bed a couple minutes later, she was wearing her old FBI shirt and pajama pants that absolutely did not match. 

"Can we talk?" She sits in the bed next to you, getting under the covers too.

"Only if you want to." You answer, looking at her.

"You know I've done things I'm not proud of and sometimes I'm not sure if I really changed. You know all that and still you stayed." She holds your hand "Everyday I get paranoid if I'm deserving of the unconditionally love you gave me because you just love and accept me. Any reasonable person would be left by now. I have no idea why you decided to stay. You hold me when I got scared, you wiped my tears when I cry and you love me when I'm so fucked up." 

"Emily, I love you. I think that part of loving someone it's accepting, loving and caring. You feel like you don't deserve it? Bullshit. I saw your best and ugly days. I watched you break down so many times and I didn't want to leave. I know you know I mean everything I say, when I reassure you how much I am in love with you, you're strong and I have no idea how your job is but I understand it's too much. You don't need to speak to me when it's too much, pushing me away it's not okay." 

"I feel like I'm wasting your time, fooling you. Anyone would love to have you and here you are with me." 

"Emily, I love you. I chose to be with you because I love every single inch of you, I don't care about what you do in your past and how these people get inside your head. I want you to understand I love you for who you are. Bad days, good days, wild days and lazy days. You're not fooling me, God, don't say that ever again, not in front of our cat, not in front of me and absolutely not for yourself." You sit straight in bed, giving her a comprehensive look. "I wish you could see yourself like I see you. You spent hours in a line with me to buy concert tickets. You took Reid to a Russian movie festival. You help Morgan with his training every sunday. Don't make me remember the day you let Penelope dress you like a unicorn vomit in you. You are the most caring woman I know and honestly, I can't believe you don't believe. You should and I'm fine remembering you every day until we're gone." 

You cup her cheeks and give her a sweet kiss, hugging her tight. 

"In this house we don't give up 'cause we're afraid, we do things to make us stronger and cuddle at the end of the day." 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to push you away. I thought I was protecting you." You both get comfy in the blankets.

"I love you, alright? Till I'm gray and old." She laughs and it's the most beautiful sound you have ever heard.

"I love you. If you start that thing again I'll call Penelope and she'll come over." 

"You wouldn't dare!" She hustles at you, pinning you under her. 

"I'm crazy, woman."

[liliasmaestra]

Well, that was the completely unsatisfactory male-centred bullshit I was worried about.

The Wonder Twink can make the Road real but doesn't even try to fix the Coven's deaths despite his crying about it.

Literally the entire show was a vehicle for his manpain, including the suffering and deaths of the women, gee, if only some of us saw this coming.

Agatha experiences 0 growth. She's still avoiding everything, still just power hungry, no coven only using the zombie for her agenda.

Agatha literally dies for the narrative purpose of becoming his "guide" ("iN ThE cOmICs" a lot of things that happen in comics are in fact terribly written dogshit!)

The fight between Agatha and Rio was boring and ruined by Pound Land Superman's useless interjections, they wasted Aubrey's big moment.

Literally the same fatal flaw as Wandavision in turning into a typical superhero CGI fest at the end.

Apparently Agatha COULD control her powers this entire time? If only the narrative confronted that at all.

I did like Rio's indignation at being called evil; her use of nature and explanation of herself were the best part of the finale.

Pacing was a mess both episodes, zipping through what should've been the big scenes and crawling through everything else.

The Kaplans get five seconds of screentime where nothing gets explained except one line of exposition that dipshit mcgee was gone 24 hours.

Jen flying away looked weird, then again all the flying in the MCU looks laughable to me

Her being the Path Ahead was, what, set up for Midnight Sons(/Suns)? A weird vaguerie about her flying into a new day? Because we got two minutes of grappling with Agatha being the reason she was bound and then poof. Disappointing.

I did like that we got time with Jen's grief over Lilia. I'm going to headcanon that she took care of closing up Lilia's business and is the real carrier of Lilia and Alice's memories.

RIP Sharon you were just a redshirt after all.

What happened to Senor Scratchy?

The forced Wandavision parallel after the big battle.... embarrassing.

Poor Tommy/Whoever has the most fucked up existence that will not be appropriately confronted ever.

The kids shouldn't exist, Rio's right.

No explanation of Mr Magoo suddenly having a costume or his full abilities. OK.

I don't mind Agatha being a villainous bitch, it's sexy and fun, but it doesn't jive with what we've been watching even with the winks and nods, or with her becoming Wonderbread's personal ghost.

Lilia saw the future to warn Agatha how, exactly? Her visions that we explicitly saw on the show are a result of her being unbound in time and experiencing moments randomly. They did not show us a witch with pure divination powers ala Trelawney. I can believe she has those powers but they never showed us that clearly.

Actually quite shitty to have Alice lampshade how unfair her death is!

I can't get over Jac Schaeffer bragging about breaking MCU death norms because, honey, killing off or otherwise shoving to the margins all the women around your special white man who faces no real danger or consequence or test is in fact the most tired trope on fiction not just the MCU.

Agatha creating the Ballad with Nicky was a a bit of a foregone conclusion, and Nicky in general only existed as a plot device so its hard for me to care about him either way.

They really wasted Agatha's true rage, which was engaging and earnt, and the idea of being trapped on the Road.

Even the flashbacks are just set up for her imprinting on Mr Misogyny.

Agatha hates Rio now? Full on? It was all manipulation but also she's an idiot who apparently doesn't understand that if she wasn't a serial killer she wouldn't be stalked by Death so much?

The entire 'end' to that relationship is nonsensical and the beginning is nonexistent.

Agatha does a 180 because Billy No Boundaries invades her mind and invokes Nicky, ugh.

I guess "Agatha All Along" refers to the Road being a scam/her turning into a ghost?

No real time spent exploring the ramifications of everything being created by Billiam, just him whining about his manpain over it.

Honestly, I was just so very bored as soon as it became clear everything was indeed going to be about Palette-Swapped-Arrow.

Everyone I know IRL is confused and unsatisfied by the ending, and these are people who were so excited the past two months and some of them even started watching MCU stuff just because of this show. So that's sad.