#which I really need to go back to my hometown to pick up the supplies my aunt left me when she died

[of-stars-and-pens]

I’m on mobile so if it’s linked somewhere I am so sorry.

Where can we send mail to? I found a postcard a while back that made me think of you but had no clue where to send it or even if there was a place to send it so I didn’t purchase it. (Big regret. A short while after I started using postcards as book marks because my box of bookmarks failed to have anything that matched the book I had started reading.)

Hello Mr. Gaiman, silly question but how often would you say you. read mail. In the not general but instead fan way (only asking because I sent a letter ending in my own struggles in sending a letter and I don't really know what ever happened to it) (though I perhaps should have included in the letter the fact that I may never really know what happened to that letter).

I spontaneously remembered today it was something I sent a bit ago, though it seems odd and a little rude to ask about randomly like this. (Maybe the letter has gone forever and it's on it's own journey now. Perhaps it will come to visit me again in the future.)

(Sorry, if I don't end this ask right now I'm going to get super emotional about the adventures my letter is going on, as if it were a child) (thank you)

Due to COVID and people having to be in other places due to family things, the LA office wound up basically being empty for two years, and we've just closed it for a while. Everything was packed up and a lot of it was sent to me. It arrived a few days ago. Lots of boxes, and many of those boxes contain letters and suchlike things that were sent to me over the last few years. So now I just need to start working my way through them.

Definitely not odd or rude to ask.

[adorpheus]

Taking a Chest of Drawers I Rescued from the trash and making it rainbow!!

Hello, tumblr family. Below is a repost of an article originally posted on adorpheus.com, and is being shared here for archival purposes. Original post date: July 23, 2022.

Several years ago, I think it was 2014, I was driving around my hometown and I came across a chest of drawers someone had left on the curb for trash day, apparently throwing it out. At the time I was in need of a dresser pretty much exactly like that - my bedroom was small and I was hoping to get a chest of drawers that was taller than it was wide so it wouldn't take up too much room.

Bless this mess, lol

Originally, the dresser was a blonde wood color with blue knobs. It was also pretty beat up - the back of it was scuffed and it was missing a knob. Even still, I jumped at the chance to get the chest of drawers I was looking for FREE, have fun repainting it, and get to upcycle some trash at the same time.

When I first got it, all I did was spray paint it white. I had ideas for things I wanted to do with it, but that was the first step in getting it ready to paint. Then I didn't do anything with it for like 7 years or something, lol. Then this year, since I have been re-doing my room anyway, I realized it was time to finally get this project finished.

I love pastel rainbows, so I decided to go with that for my theme. For the paint, I went to home depot and after looking over all the paint chips, I picked out some colors I wanted and got paint samples for all of the different shades. I used matte for the drawers and semi-gloss for the white part (the spray paint job was not very good to begin with, so repainting the white base was a must). All the paint is samples of the type of paint you would use on a wall. 

After I finished painting, I felt the drawers needed an extra glaze of some kind to give them a bit of sparkle. The matte was a cool idea in theory but I wanted it to pop a bit more. I had a bottle of craft glitter clear glaze lying around so I decided to go with that. The bottle was half empty, so there wasn't much glitter left in it (plus a bunch of it chose to clump into an unusable blob at the bottom because the bottle was like 15 years old lol) but it did the job well enough. I love when I get to use up craft supplies I've had sitting around for a while.

Once the painting was complete, the last step was to figure out the knobs. Aside from the fact that I hated the original spherical knobs anyways because they were hella awkward to grab, the dresser was missing a knob sooo new knobs were an absolute must.

My original plan was to use rose shaped knobs, but the reviews I saw for those kind said the rose knobs were a bit sharp on the edges. I truly hate when things randomly have sharp edges, and last thing I need is getting pricked in the hand every time I need to grab a pair of socks. So those were ruled out.

After spending way way way too long looking at knobs, I decided on these crystal knobs (above) on amazon and decided to get them. I actually originally wanted a fancier, more expensive set, but those got sold out before I got a chance to buy them so I went with the cheaper set above. The photos didn't look quite as pretty as the ones I originally had my eyes on, but I had already spent so much time obsessing over fricking KNOBS I decided to just go with them. I'm actually really happy I went with these. The pictures don't begin to do them justice, they are way prettier in real life.

To protect the surface, I used my sewing machine to create this lavender lace altar cloth / runner type thing for the top. 

Although the drawers are a little sticky sometimes (which they were to begin with, lol) I'm pretty happy with this furniture flip!! The exact kind of dresser I was looking for fell into my lap and I was able to make it cute.

Some other happenings in the adorpheus multiverse...

I recently became a Twitch affiliate after years of trying!!! Emotes coming soon, feel free to follow me on Twitch to see when I go live! This month I'll be playing the new cat game STRAY along with some other fun titles!

Speaking of cats..!

I also adopted a new cat!! It's MEOW time!! Say hello to Artemis aka Arty for short! She is best friends with my sisters cat Luna!! I am sharing photos and videos of her and Luna on my instagram and they also have their own tiktok!!

I hope everyone is having an amazing non-binary hot gurl summer!! Have fun and stay hydrated!!!

[icecoffee90]

Tag game - Get to Know You

Thank you for tagging me, @jerzwriter!

Alright, here I go with TMI about me nobody asked for! Sorry in advance! lol

Are you named after someone?

Not that I know of. Apparently my grandma wanted my parents to name me after her (Růžena), but thankfully they didn’t listen, lol. Not that it’s a bad name!

When was the last time you cried?

I don’t even remember. I almost never cry.. Usually only cry when I’m watching something (or listening to a song) where a beloved character or an animal dies.. Though I guess every few years the bottled up emotions overflow and anything can trigger the waterworks.. But I’m pretty sure the last time I cried was because of a TV show, but I really don’t remember which one it was and when (especially since I didn’t have much time to watch anything lately, lol)

Do you have kids?

No. I’m a two time aunt, that’s more than enough, lol.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Probably too much sometimes, lol

What colour are your eyes?

I always said Blue and green, but I think they’re mainly gray.

Scary Movies or happy endings?

I rarely watch scary movies (as in slashers)... I mean, if they’re on TV, I leave them on as a background noise.. But if we count movies like Sleepy Hollow, Interview with the Vampire etc as scary movies, then I would probably pick those.. But I prefer a happy ending in everything I watch!

Any special talents?

None that I know of. Other than maybe annoying people around me, lol.

Where were you born?

In a hospital in the town nearest to my hometown. Funny story about that (at least it’s funny to me, lol): The town I live in doesn’t have a hospital, so everyone from here was born in that nearest hospital, so I never thought ynthing of it.. Only to find out YEARS later that my parents only moved here when I was 6 months old! That my mom just happened to be in this town at her mother-in-law’s at that moment!

What are your hobbies?

Reading, watching TV shows and sports (tennis, snooker, ice hockey), foreign languages..

Do you have any pets?

I have a dog. But he lives at my mom’s so I don’t get to see him as often anymore..

What sports do you/have you played?

Edit: I left Elsa's anwer here by mistake! Sorry! 🤦‍♀️😅 So here's my answer..

I used to play tennis as a kid (because my sister attented a lesson, so I wanted to do it too), according to my mother I sucked.. But in my mother's eyes I suck at everything, so who knows, lol.

How tall are you?

I’m tiny. 157, 5 cm.. I’m not googling in the feet and inches again.. it was under 5 ft 2 in, i believe, lol

Favorite subject in school?

I always liked Czech (just the grammar though) and chemistry later on. Also back in 2007 when I was 16 and obsessed with German bands (yeah, yeah, yeah, mainly Tokio Hotel, I admit it! lol. But also Nevada Tan/Panik!, Cinema Bizzare and Killerpilze), I put extra effort into the German classes, lol. BECAUSE I saw a Tokio Hotel interview (or maybe it was just the twins? doesn’t matter, lol) and I was just thinking “Man, I’ve been learning German since the 3rd grade and I barely understand 3 sentences.. This is fucking embarrassing! I need to do something about that!” and (mainly thanks to German fanfic writers, lol) I was speaking fluently in no time! I really need to brush up on it agin, hopefully it’s still in there somewhere..

Great, now I’ve listened to “Ich bin nicht ich” at least 30 times over the past two days.. And 20 times to “Totgeliebt”.. HELP ME!!

Still love it, though.. And I must still have that DVD (and CD) somewhere, lmfao..

And since I’m off the topic anyway (I’M SORRY, but I did warn you, lol), can I just say that I still find it funny that my teen crush is now married to Heidi Klum? Who would have thought almost 16 years ago, lol? Shit, where did all that time go? 😭

Dream job?

Hmm, if I had unlimited supply of money amd could have done anything I wamted to, I would wanna try translating - combing reading and use of foreign languages.. I think that would be great!

Alright, that was fun! Sorry everyone who read my dumb answers, lol

Who else might wanna do this? I’m gonna tag @she-x-wolf​ (feel free to ignore, of course!)

[tragiccl0wn]

Meet the Zimms! Generation 1

Hello, I'm really excited to share my legacy with you! This is my first time really attempting to go through with it, I'm really new to this, but my posts will get better once I know more about how to format my legacy posts. Anyway... I started this save a while ago, so I'm going to catch everyone up to speed! Lets start with...

Introductions

Derych

It all started with Derych. He hails from planet Sixam, though our story starts in his Earth hometown of Evergreen Harbour. Young adult Derych was all about having a good time. He had two fleeting romances. He meets Joaquin Le Chien, and he's quickly smitten. Almost ironically, Joaquin would be the one to cause Derych's spiral out of control. Originally, he had a well paying job, working in the field of science; he was smart, and though he may not look so much now, he was dashing. It was easy to get Joaquin to fall for him, but their relationship was turbulent. Joaquin, Derych soon discovers, is a drug dealer. Joaquin pressures him into trying what he's got, after they sleep together for the first time. (This is when, and how he found out Derych was an alien- he was shocked at first, but quickly fascinated).

"I know how to make the second round better..."

Derych gets hooked. For a long time, he couldn't go a day without getting high. During his bender, he leaves his job, and lives off of his quickly dwindling savings for a short while, as he spends all of his money on drugs to supply himself and his boyfriend Joaquin, and nights at the strip club. During one of his escapades, he meets Bjorn Bjergsen, a married man.

Bjorn was looking to experiment with his sexuality. Things were already getting rocky with his wife, and he just decided... Why not?

Derych was crossfaded when Bjorn appeared in the bar, he was there by himself tonight after getting into it with Joaquin. Bjorn caught his attention real quick, and he decided to stumble over and approach him, flirting right off the bat. Bjorn was receptive, to his surprise. This was the beginning of their affair.

As Derych's bank account drains, Joaquin begins insisting that he find a job, if he wants to keep living this lifestyle with him. This was the cause of many arguments, and eventually when he's nearing broke, Derych picks up an acting gig. He begins to sporadically pick up gigs, as well as sell the odd artwork or two, just enough for him to get by.

He continues seeing Bjorn, and Joaquin eventually catches them in the act. Derych decides to leave Joaquin, though after things settle a little, they continue seeing each other casually as each other's booty calls. He continues to hook up with Bjorn on the regular, and they really begin to fall for each other. Derych pressures Bjorn into trying drugs, and this causes Bjorn's wife to catch on to their affair, which ends in divorce for Bjorn, though now they were free to openly pursue each other.

They begin to love together in Derych's house, though Derych pretty quickly begins to lose interest in Bjorn. Living domestically with him, and openly being partners took the thrill out of what they had together. The answer to him, was to turn to more drugs, to avoid spending time with him. In all of his alone time, he came up with a half-baked, nearly crazy idea.

Derych begins to build a ship. He needed to go back to Sixam, to find himself. He was utterly compelled.

Once his ship was finally finished, Derych set off. Back on Sixam, Derych runs into several old friends and flames, though he meets a woman who really catches his eye. He introduces himself. Her name was Kimber. She was beautiful. He felt revived, just meeting her. She thinks he's funny. Eventually he has to return home, but he continues to go back to Sixam, just to see her. They begin falling for each other, and hard.

Back on Earth, Derych ends up kicking Bjorn out, and breaking it off with him, and Bjorn is devastated. He was in the midst of a divorce, and the man he left his wife for was hardly in it. This triggered an obsession in Bjorn- he's still desperately in love with him.

After forcing Bjorn to leave, Derych finally invites Kimber to Earth, and begins going on dates, and sleeping with her. Kimber falls pregnant, and Derych invites her to live with him. Soon to be a father, Derych cuts back on his drug use. He doesn't get totally sober, weaning himself down to only pot.

Kimber

To everyone's surprise, Kimber gives birth to twins, two little girls. The pair decide to name them Dusk, and Dawn. Derych immediately falls in love with his babies, particularly Dusk. Kimber begins to suffer from post-partum depression and anxiety.

When their babies become toddlers, Kimber begins to seek out self medication for her post-partum, self soothing by sneaking into Derych's stash. When she got high, it was noticeable, and Derych pretty immediately found out- he was more than okay with it, and encouraged her to use what she needed.

Derych begins to clean up, for his family. He gets more consistent acting gigs, and starts painting more in his free time, bringing in a decent cash flow for the family.

Dusk

Dawn

Derych begins to get very close with his daughter, Dusk. She is a total daddy's girl. Dawn and Kimber get along decently, and Kimber has slightly less of a relationship with Dusk, as she spends so much time with Derych. As she continues to struggle with post-partum, she finds herself having a hard time connecting with her kids, and it's also affecting her relationship with Derych.

One night, Derych gets abducted, and assaulted, resulting in a pregnancy. He continues using drugs throughout, though he attempts to use them less. Eventually, he bares a son, and they have to move to Brindleton Bay, as there was no longer enough space in their home to accommodate everyone.

Asmodeus

After his son Asmodeus was born Derych ages up into an adult. The girls soon age up into kids, and Asmodeus eventually ages up into a toddler, bringing us to date with where we currently are. Dawn and Dusk have a strained relationship, although they were previously very close. Both of the girls have a great relationship with Asmodeus. They are both average in school, although Dawn aspires to do better.

Unfortunately, spending so much time wit her dad, Dusk has been exposed to some less-than-savory things, and this is the beginning of her going down quite a different path from her sister.

Well, now we're up to speed! Future legacy posts will be shorter than this, so I apologize for all the expo, but I wanted to catch anyone who was interested up before I continue playing! Thank you for reading, and I hope this was interesting! I'd be happy to hear any thoughts, my ask box is always open!

[themand0lorian]

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO… (2)

BEST DOCUMENTARY-SHORT SUBJECT

Summary: A good documentarian is ready for anything.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: Mature

Words: ~3100 (AO3)

Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Death of a sibling, Past Relationship, Flashbacks, Strangers to Lovers to Enemies to ???

Notes: Maybe after this things can start to look up for these two, huh???

TW for this part: Nondescript references to drugs/overdose. Death of a family member.

If you or someone you know struggles with opiod addiction, Naloxone/Narcan is readily available in the US and easy to use. Reader uses an autoinjector here, but it also comes as a nasal spray. I truly hope you never have the need for it, but like in this fic, it is life-saving. Read more at narcan.com.

New York City, 2001

The spontaneous dinner at Uncle Louie’s—Louie himself behind the counter, who called you ‘honey’ and asked about your father despite no relation to you—led to three unexpected outcomes.

One, Uncle Louie’s was hiring—and despite only meeting him, you gave Dieter a glowing recommendation, and Louie begrudgingly invited Dieter back the next day to begin training. Even if all Dieter got out of the interaction was a pizza wheel thrust in his general direction with some grumbles, you insisted, Louie was a softie at heart. You were good at that, too—seeing who people really were.

Two, you felt like a breath of fresh air to his lungs full of smog. He talked your ear off about movies and tv shows, his big city dreams, leaving behind his hometown. It was a story repeated time and time again, but you listened intently, asking questions that would send him spinning into another thought as he rambled over the checkerboard tablecloths. You told him about how Britany S. was making fun of Brittany P. over school supplies, but it turned out that Britany P. couldn’t actually afford her own supplies, and you were going to stop at the dollar store on the way home to pick some things up for her. How Sundays were for family dinners, your family still across the river where you grew up. How you had big dreams of your own, yearning to make the lives of the local kids better, 20 fourth graders at a time. The two of you just seemed to click; so much so, you closed down Uncle Louie’s, the man shooing you both off with a kitchen towel as he closed up. Needless to say, Dieter was smitten immediately—so smitten, he couldn’t take his eyes off you as he walked you back to your apartment.

Which is how he landed on outcome number three—an upturned sidewalk square, his eyes refusing to leave yours—he tripped, landing hard on his arm and, eventually, landing him in the emergency room with a broken elbow.

You were there through it all; walking with him to the hospital a few blocks down. Ignoring the tears pricking at his eyes. Distracting him with more stories of your kids. You didn’t press when you filled out his intake forms on his behalf, and he didn’t have an emergency contact to name—you simply put yourself, and you would have moved on, if he hadn’t asked.

“You’re my emergency contact?” You smiled smally at him, both of you side-by-side on the hard vinyl exam table.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other, don’t you?” You flirt gently, rubbing at the stress in his shoulders.

“Even though I ended our date in the emergency room?”

“Hmm, good point,” you joke. “I could always put Louie—” “No, no—you. Please,” he replies quickly, a boyish grin on his face for the first time since dinner. “I choose you.”

You were also the first—and only--person to sign his cast. He lamented it loudly, worried over his job with Louie and whether he could book acting gigs like this and how he’d make rent—worried he failed before he even started, not even one night down in the city. But you grabbed the plaster and a sharpie, bending it gently and hiding your scribbling—much too long to be your name. When you finished, you revealed with a flourish your handiwork—at the top, hidden from anyone but him, was a doodle of a trashcan, little flies coming out of the top as you beam.

“There. Now you’ll always remember how we met.” “I don’t think I could ever forget you,” he replied simply; honestly. The words made you shrink back slightly, but still, you look deeply into his eyes.

“Even when you’re big and famous? You won’t forget about me?” You knock your shoulder into his playfully, though your eyes darting to your hands give away your true fears.

“Never,” he promises. He goes to cross his heart, forgetting about the injury, and winces when he moves it wrong. You move to twine your fingers with his instead, both of you sitting on the table as he awaited his discharge.

Despite these three outcomes—or because of them—life in New York blossomed for Dieter Bracho. Louie was not particularly pleased about the cast, but grumbled something about “laws” and “you’re lucky I like her” and Dieter was wiping down tables and punching orders into the cash register. He tended to work evenings, so after school, you would stop by; tell him about the latest 10-year-old drama or the principal coming down on you, grade some math papers that would inevitably stain with tomato sauce—and Dieter would swim in and out, joining you between orders and soapy towels and grunts from Louie, even though the rickety table in the back corner you always took over was never used anyway.

He was able to get a few gigs to start out; it took thirteen different open calls, but he “starred” in an ad for mattresses—the two of you staying up until the wee hours on his shitty futon the night it debuted, clinking champagne with bubbly giggles when it finally aired. He had a few others thrown in—"dead body number four” on a crime show, where his face was barely visible; “concerned parent” on a medical drama, where they cut his only line; simply “bystander” on another cop procedural. They weren’t the big roles he dreamed of, but between that and tips at Louie’s, he made do.

It didn’t take long for him to be invited to Sunday dinner; for your mom to fuss over him being too skinny before forcing another plate of spaghetti, for your dad to look accusingly at him over the Sunday paper. Your brother, Jason—living at home, just out of college, and going through a grunge phase—wasn’t particularly bothered either way. He humored Dieter when prompted, especially when he would ask about the latest concert he attended or what his friends liked to do--but otherwise seemed distant, a hard nut to crack. You would tell Dee about your childhood; running down alleyways after bouncy balls, fighting over the sprinkler—it was clear you loved your brother. Your mother had enough photo albums—usually out on display—to prove that you used to be close. But Jason mostly kept to himself, and Dee never pried.

You could tell he enjoyed being around family again. You had heard muffled conversations between his own—a phone call behind a closed door, shouts escalating as his father told him he’d never make it as an actor, as his mother pleaded for him to just come home, to get a "real" job. They always left him adrift, floating away until you could bring him back down again. You’d ask about the latest audition—a bust—or read off lines with him for the next one, each time with a different inflection until you both broke into giggles.

The L word didn’t take long; things with you just seemed effortless. Late nights turning to early mornings to “Do you just wanna split rent and live together?” A year, then two, flew by. He helped you grade English essays, massaged your shoulders when standardized test week came up. You cheered his victories, mourned his losses—you were the most caring, compassionate, loving person he ever met.

Are.

You are.

The two of you fell into an easy rhythm, coming and going out of the same dingy apartment, kisses stolen that tasted of marinara sauce and cheese. You’d say the two of you kept Uncle Louie’s in business, but you know he was slipping Dee the meals for free.

So it seemed like the perfect option for Sunday dinner; your parents were out of town, but they wanted you to stop by anyway—eat with Jason. Your mom was worried, like usual, that he wasn’t eating enough. So you asked Dieter to bring home something, packed it up, made the trek out of the city and to your parents’ house. When Jason didn’t appear, you didn’t think anything of it—you began to climb the stairs, calling his name, asking Dieter to set up the plates.

He broke one, when he heard your blood-curdling, bone-chilling scream. Selfishly, it was all he thought about on the way up the stairs--that your mom would be mad he broke a "good" plate.

You found Jason face down in the bathroom, needle hanging out of his arm. He was cold, he wasn’t breathing; you were frozen in fear, couldn’t take your eyes off him as Dee took the stairs two, three at a time. Both of you froze then; looked at each other, for too long a moment. Then he ran to the bedroom, calling 911; you tried to revive him, shitty tv shows with CPR scenes not enough teachers to bring him back to you. Your parents came home to sirens and police tape and flashing lights.

Jason was pronounced dead on arrival, not even taken to the hospital. “Another overdose,” one EMT sighed, as you wept into Dieter. “If they had only gotten here sooner,” a cop muttered, shaking his head, and you wailed harder, Dieter pulling you to him tightly.

He stood in black with you when you said your goodbyes; watched the guilt eat at you. Your principal had given you a few weeks off, which meant your energy was focused on one thing—how you should have done better. You should have noticed sooner, or gotten the earlier bus that day, or paid attention better in CPR training—

It wasn’t unusual for Dieter to wake to you jolting up in bed in the middle of the night. Sometimes you would cry; he would tuck you into him, stay up until the sun appeared and your tears ran out. Sometimes you didn’t want to talk at all. One time you vomited, and he led you to the couch; throwing the sheets in the bathroom for later, he curled the blankets around you, pulling you with him until you laid down again, the far-away stare haunting your eyes.

“Talk to me, baby,” he murmured into your hair. “Please. Let me in.”

“It’s my fault,” you replied smally. You had gotten set up with a grief therapist—only a few appointments down, you hadn’t made much progress yet, but you were talking, and it was something.

“You know it wasn’t.”

“I—I should have been more prepared. I could have—” “Baby,” he scolds gently. You both sit in silence a few moments, only listening to the other breathe until he speaks again. “I—I wish, every day I wish I had gone upstairs and not you,” he admits.

“That’s not fair,” you reply. “He’s my brother—” “Baby—I choose you. When it comes down to it, I’ll always choose you—choose to keep you safe, to make you happy. I choose you. And I would choose to take this pain from you, if you’d let me.” You nod into him; he feels tears wetting his sleepshirt, but he ignores them.

“Can you promise me something?” “Anything,” he replies eagerly.

“Promise me that you'll never—never do this to me. Leave me like this. I--I don't ever want to feel like this again.” “I promise,” he replies simply, lifting your hand to his heart. “I promise, I’ll never, never do this to you.”

New York City, Present

Sam comes with the nurse, the principal, and the school resource officer in tow. Several other teachers have peeked out their rooms, hearing the commotion; Lizzie Lynch, your grade-partner, next-door-classroom-neighbor, and best friend, must’ve left her aide in charge of her classroom, as she scurries out, spotting Dieter on the ground, and grabs Sam, bringing him into your classroom and shutting the door.

“Call an ambulance!” You plead. The school nurse, Ms. Silva, kneels next to you, beginning to take Dieter’s vitals. He groans absently, but the noise comforts you as she begins to shine a flashlight in his eyes.

“They’re on the way,” Dr. Partridge, the principal, assures you, clicking her walkie-talkie at her hip to make it stop chirping before turning to the uniformed man next to her. “How the hell did this homeless man end up in my school?!” she practically growls at the resource officer. She’s five-foot-nothing, grey curly hair piled on the top of her head in a messy nest, pinned in place with a pencil. Despite her easy demeanor with the kids—she knows every single one by name—she has limited patience for mistakes or disobedience, and Dan, the newly assigned resource officer who spends more time on his phone in the bathroom than actually protecting the school, seems to be the poster child for both.

“He’s not homeless,” you reply, but you’re drowned out by Dan.

“I told you the back lock was busted,” he shrugs nonchalantly, brushing his long black bangs out of his face. He’s a young thing—if it weren’t for his rent-a-cop uniform, he could practically pass as one of the high schoolers who comes in for community service. He has the same attitude as them, too. “Guess through there.” “Aren’t you supposed to--!” She huffs loudly. She hears the secretary leading someone up the stairs and stops herself, pointing at him. “Go to my office. Wait there.” You’re relieved to see the EMT’s; Ms. Silva rattles off numbers as they load Dieter onto a gurney, and they nod.

“I—I gave him Narcan,” you add, beginning to walk with the group as they reapproach the stairs. “No allergies, family history of—” Dr. Partridge calls your name.

“You don’t need to go with him, sweetheart—”

“I—it’s Dieter, Anya.” She looks at him being wheeled away, distant recognition hitting her. Her face softens as she looks at you; she searches your face gently. She knows him, even from so long ago; she’s been at PS 365 longer than you have. She hired you, nurtured you, watched you grow; watched you fall apart.

“Are you sure you want to—” “I’m going!” You argue gently, knowing your time is limited. Lizzie stands at your classroom door, cracked open slightly as she looks at your distraught face.

“I’ll take her kids to mine. We’ll do times-tables-Kahoot.” Dr. Partridge nods, and you sprint away, following the EMTs out of the building as you continue to rattle off information.

You didn’t see this part before. The machines, the doctors, cars parting for the screaming ambulance. Dieter’s eyes opened as you drove, pinning you with a look of confusion, of pain—a small miracle at all that he seemed to be coherent enough to even look at you, recognize you.

As if he could ever forget you.

You watched him get wheeled away; watched as a nurse took you to a private waiting room, asked you if there was anyone to call. There wasn’t, not anymore—not anyone you would know. He’d been distant from his family for years, you had only met them once in the whole time you were together, and it didn't end amicably; you suppose there may be someone else with him now, but when you tell the nurse to call his emergency contact, she explains that you’re still the one listed from all those years ago.

Once he’s settled, stable, in a hospital bed—looking wholly cleaner, and more like the Dieter you knew—you’re allowed to sit with him, wait for him to come to. Doctors and nurses have praised you nonstop; you saved his life, you’re a hero, with the levels they found in his blood, he wouldn’t have made it without your help. The congratulations all feel hollow, as you wait for him to wake up.

You allow yourself, just for a moment, to think about what it would be like. If you had stayed together—if you had gotten married. Would he be here, like this? Would you? Or would you both be posh New Yorkers, attending gallery openings and wine nights instead of parent-teacher conferences and PD lectures? Would you have had a life with him, pictures of your travels, evidence of your love as you both aged—would there be kids waiting for you at home? Would they be worried about their dad? Would you be at his side, weeping into your clasped hands, wedding rings tinging together?

“What are you doing here?” You startle out of your daydream at the gravel of his voice. His head lulls side to side as he looks at you, blinking slowly.

“You OD’ed in my classroom,” you reply tersely. He sighs heavily, which makes you roll your eyes, the illusion of the old Dieter shattered. “I—Now that you’re awake, I’ll get going—”

He mutters your name, making you pause as you gather your things. “Don’t—” “Why did you come to my classroom?” You cut him off angrily. “You—you just had to hurt me one more time? Make me watch you die? God, Dee—”

“Baby,” he repeats, only a bit clearer. You look at him, tears pooling at your eyelashes. “Don’t leave.”

“I can’t do this again, Dieter,” you plead. “I love you,” he tries, and you roll your eyes weakly.

“Stop—” You beg, trying to wipe away your tears before they fall. “Please,” he whispers sincerely. “Please—let me fix this.”

“You can’t just come back into my life after all these years and—” He repeats your name. Each word seems to pain him, but the only thing that seems to come out is your name, breaking you that much further. “Tell me you don’t feel the same and I’ll never bother you again. But please, I want to talk to you. I need you.” I want to be with you. To love you.

“You need to get clean, Dee.” You reply, making your way to the doorway before pausing in the threshold. Everything feels like too much, like fifteen years have arrived on a freight train and you’re tied to the tracks. But you know, in your heart—you can’t lie, can’t tell him what he’s asking for. He’s tied down to the tracks with you.

“I—I promise. I will.”

“How do I know you’ll keep this one?” They’re quiet, but the words cut him to the core; he can see that saying them hurts you just as much. He looks to his hands remorsefully.

“I will,” he whispers.

“Then—if you do, then come find me, and maybe we can talk,” you sigh, trying to compose yourself.

He nods, watching you leave through the windows, brushing your tears away ashamedly; his finally begin to fall, the memory somehow still too fresh—fifteen years later--of the last time he watched you walk out on him.

Only this time, he knows—he needs to keep his promises. He needs to get you back. Whatever it takes.

TAGS: @pjkimrn @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @marydjarin @eri16 @curiouskeyboard @frankiemoraleswifexo @justjaclin @elegantduckturtle @janebby @leslie-lyman @bison-writes @imtryingmybeskar @athalien @vaguely-here-wish-i-was-not @kirsteng42 @girlofchaos @deadhumourist @amneris21 @swtaura @tintinn16 @squidwell @littlemisspascal @churchill356 @thesmutslut @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @RANDEERENAE @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @hnt-escape @gracie7209 @xx-small-town-witch-xx @jediknight122

[bunny-hoodlum]

Asynchronous With You: Chapter 3

ship: naruhina

rating: teen (this chapter is a little ecchi, but I think it's still T)

tags: Modern Day AU, Foster Siblings, Family, Angst, Unrequited Love, Poor Communication

summary: An awkward journey full of self-denial and missed moments between two foster siblings. Perhaps their love will find the right timing someday.

She didn't know what she was expecting when Kurenai announced that another child would be joining them soon.

He showed up a little smaller than her, with wary blue eyes and uncombed blond hair. He didn't carry anything with him.

The idea of having a forever playmate intrigued her, but after a few weeks it became clear he had no interest in playing, only fighting.

During those times when she managed to get away, she laid down on her bedroom floor curled around a picture book, and thought deeply about magical forests and open meadows. Away from stupid boys and their stupid ways.

And then suddenly he wanted to get rid of Neji. He thought she wanted to be rid of Neji, too. He was going to tattle on Neji really bad and that would be that.

Who taught him that the only way to fix things was to destroy them?

She told him she didn't mind Neji bossing her around. Maybe it's like what she's heard the adults say, that all she needs is structure. Plus, he was the only blood she had. Neji was part of her old normal and she wasn't going to give that up.

She didn't think he would listen. He seemed pretty sure about what he was talking about. But then he didn't tattle after all, and yet the fights seemed even more vigorous.

She found a volume inside herself that she didn't know she had, and it had scared her into her room. Her own ears had boomed. It reminded her of all the yellings she used to receive before Kurenai, and her instincts to hide kicked in.

It wasn't Neji who came after her, but Naruto.

He felt bad about his behavior. But he wanted something in exchange. He couldn't just have nothing after this.

She wasn't sure what 'bugging her' was going to be like, but she's been wanting to get along with him since day one. All because he didn't like Neji, she thought that would never happen.

'Sure,' she told him, and the following afternoon he pinched her arm.

_______________________________

Hinata laid down curled on her bedroom floor just like she used to when she was little.

She shouldn't be here, listening to the sounds coming through the half-inch diameter hole in the wall, his guttural teenage lust spilling over into her sanctum, the exaggerated moans of the other girl stabbing her heart.

He thinks she isn't home right now.

She wants to keep it that way.

Because no matter what he means to her, no matter how much she wants him, it can never happen.

She closes her eyes and pictures herself in the other girl's place. Girl no. 49 she calls her.

She doesn't have the courage to watch, but some twisted part of her wants the torture.

She wants to see a part of Naruto that she'll never have.

_______________________________

After the first girl, some drama had started up at school for Naruto.

She had seen Hinata's shoes in the genkan when she left, but had no idea who they belonged to.

She accused Naruto of sneaking away to invite a different girl to come over.

Now half of the female student body hated him, while the other half wanted to get some for themselves.

Hinata was disappointed to find that he relished in his new reputation as a player, that he would take whatever infamy he got if it gave him what he wanted in this world.

Some timid part of her that remained said, Good for him. After all, he deserved to be happy and enjoy his life.

And yet some shadowy part of her felt she was as good a stranger to him than a sister, seeing as how there could be no room for her as either a sister, a friend or love interest.

She thought to both test him and sabotage him after the fourth girl. Two terribly petty things she thought she would never do.

He knows when she leaves something of hers in his room, it means she wants him to come over.

So she left a pair of panties atop his bed in hopes Girl no. 5 would realize his promiscuity and go home.

It didn't work. Instead it excited Girl no. 5. Her expectations of his skill has risen with the proof that he had a revolving door of hot girls coming in and out of here and they went at it louder and rougher than the first four.

Hinata made sure to disappear before they found out she'd been home. When the coast seemed clear and Hinata feigned nonchalance as she came home, with a weak 'Tadaima' to the only other person home, she did not get the usual greeting.

She crept towards her bedroom, somehow not expecting Naruto to answer her invitation.

He sat at her low table in the middle of her room, the pair she had left behind now sitting atop her comforter.

He couldn't look her in the eyes.

He didn't seem mad, rather dumbfounded.

What a thing to give him when wanting to chat, is probably what was going through his head. Like, maybe she had an ulterior motive she was trying to express to him.

Well, she did, perhaps. This wasn't her ideal way to flirt with him, nor was it how she'd choose to shoot her shot.

She doubted her panties excited him, in the first place.

With a soft sigh, Hinata nodded to herself. She crossed her room without a word, hanging her school bag on the back of her desk chair. Then she approached her bed and picked up her underwear, telling him "Thank you for finding them," before placing them back inside her underwear drawer.

She was rooted to that spot, her hands gripping the trim of her double dresser.

From the corner of her eye, she could see him scratch at his cheek, the way he does when a reply feels too weird to say.

He stood up, and just before reaching the door he mumbled, "Just don't lose them again, okay?"

The door closed behind him, and Hinata's shoulders lowered along the length of her exhale, her stress leaving her like dropping water levels.

Then on a Sunday, when Hinata was invited to a dessert buffet with Sakura and Ino, she found out her favorite linen top with the frilly button trim had shrunk in the dryer.

While uncomfortably snug, she could still button every one but the two across her chest.

Ino loved keyhole cuts, but this would not pass social decency.

She tugged and tugged but still the buttons wouldn't reach their homes. Her eyes burned as a flurry of despair hit her in quick succession.

She was getting older. She was growing up. She was getting bigger. Like, inelegantly bigger. She loved this top. She didn't want to say goodbye to it. She didn't want to say goodbye to a lot of things.

Like choosing where to go for High School.

Something possessed her to walk out of her room and find him. She would play up her little sister role in utter defiance.

"Hinata?" Naruto shot up from the sofa and ran to her side.

"Did you dry my clothes?" More accusation than question, her voice was keened wetly with every consonant. "I can't wear this anymore."

Naruto stood there, sputtering, hands uselessly gesticulating at her ample cleavage.

She's never seen his face so red.

Did he look like this when he was thrusting into his rotation of harem girls?

"U-Uh, maybe it's still okay?" He reached out and gripped the fabric of her shirt, his rough fingers ghosting across her skin. A tingle ran up her spine. His eyes became wild for a second. As if to cover up his embarrassment, he became even more determined to prove he didn't ruin her clothes, but doing so made it worse for the both of them.

The forceful tugging made her breasts bounce in a way he was all too familiar with, but none had ever been as big as hers.

As if catching his dirty thoughts, Naruto released her and ran out of the living room, shouting spastically "I'msorryI'llreplaceit!"

Hinata had placed a hand over her exposed skin, right where he had touched her, and she couldn't fight down a smile, however pained and wistful.

This was probably all she was ever going to get.

She decided to play up the risks today, and forwent a bra, using a velvet cropped jacket to hide her nipples.

She received a lot of compliments that Sunday.

Things like this had happened between her and the object of her adoration and frustration, but nothing ever really changed.

He still brought girls over when he thought she wasn't home.

And she still snuck in to try and be a part of it, to learn more about him, to indulge is some form of masochism she didn't know she had.

It wasn't good for her heart.

And when she and Naruto decided individually that they'd stay with everyone else and go to Konoha Normal High, Hinata decided it was time to get serious about her life.

Her renewed late night phone calls with Neji gave her back her structure.

She started her own club. Called it the Volunteers Association. Basically all they did every Sunday was clean up trash in a pre-chosen location from the crack of dawn until lunch time. Beautifying their hometown was a lesson in gratitude and pride.

She also joined the Public Morals Committee, because it would look good on her resume, not because she’d developed an interest in policing others. It also helped her overcome her fear response to raised voices.

But when she did police others, she learned more and more about other people in a way she never thought she would.

For example, the majority of the porn magazines they confiscated were of G-cup models, with M-cup and C-cup ranking in second and A-cup ranking in last. This told her the preferences of the male student body. How important that information was to her? Well, it kind of helped know which boys to be leery of. She had grown to be a little more realistic about herself: She had curves.

Another example was how many students came to school in a hurry and for what reasons. Most of it was due to oversleeping, which were the result of late-night gaming (like someone else she knows), or excessive studying, or part-time jobs. Few others showed up looking like they had taken a detour to the baseball supply closet to fool around (also like the same someone else she knows).

Running in the halls ensued due to prankish behavior.

Failure to advertise for upcoming club events due to limp commitment or a loss of interest.

When the time came for bag checks, where a teacher would confiscate candy and make-up, that’s where Hinata drew the line. She knew her classmates needed sugar to make it through the day. She advised the pretty girls, the gyaru, even the ones she knew had been in Naruto’s bed, that they could still cheat the system if they were clear lip gloss and neutral colors. That really turned their impression of her around on its head.

To sum it up, everyone was going with the flow, chasing one promise of excitement after another, the future too intangible for them to grasp. Their Springtime of Youth was not over.

The amount of blank career sheets cemented her point.

_______________________________

Hinata collapsed onto a bench as the physical and mental exertion caught up to her.

The school was bustling with a multitude of craft projects as they prepared for their annual School Festival.

As a committee member and Volunteer Associate, she was running herself ragged from classroom to classroom, club to club, helping to ensure that everyone's efforts were going smoothly.

A smooth chill touched her cheek. She opened her eyes. Ino held out a cold water bottle against her heated skin, and Hinata smiled.

"Thank you," Hinata accepted the bottle and held it to her neck. Ino sat down next to her. A series of violent thumps met their ears as an irritated Kiba chased down a gloating Naruto, with Kiba's club materials in his hands. Hinata's voice cracked once she opened her mouth, but Ino's voice rang out in her stead.

"NO RUNNING IN THE HALLS!"

Hinata thanked her again as she sank against the wall and relished in the soothing sensation of her water bottle. She didn't realize she had overworked her voice already, too.

"That one's going nowhere," Ino tsked quietly.

"Who?"

"Naruto-baka. He thinks he can live this way forever. Life'll stop being so funny when he's working behind a convenience store register."

"Cashiers serve an important purpose."

"So you agree he's going to end up a cashier," Ino smirked with a wink.

Hinata opened her mouth to complain, but her will instantly deflated inside of her. Ino laughed at the sequence of emotions that played out across Hinata's face, and the latter simply resumed being exhausted human jello that needed more time to restore her shape.

"A cashier baby daddy with five children, each from a different mom," Ino added.

Hinata tried to blink away the haze steadily overtaking her. "No."

Her chest twisted at the thought.

If that really came to pass, he would take responsibility. He would never leave his own children behind, even if he had to go it alone.

Hinata pressed her free palm against her eyes, her lips trembled even as they tightly pressed into a thin line.

"Hinata?" Came Ino's panicked voice.

"It's just a headache," she lied.

"When was the last time you ate?" Ino barely waited for a response. "I'll go grab some food from the cafeteria and be right back with pain relievers. Just stay right there. And no more shouting. You're done for the day!"

Ino ran off to complete her mission and Hinata couldn't be sure if she was grateful for her absence or even more afraid of it.

Just thinking about Naruto...

She doesn't understand how she still feels about him.

His entire existence hurts her, and she can't name all the ways that he does.

She wants to go back to work.

_______________________________

Hinata never thought her world could turn upside a third time. She never thought her structures could be kicked out from under her.

But then on the opening day of the School Festival, when the school gates are only open for family members, an elementary-aged girl with long, dark brown hair and sharp, lavender eyes came along by herself. A single strand dangled between those discerning eyes as they swept around her surroundings.

Hinata was managing the line outside the maid café, greeting customers in a lilac outfit, when the girl showed up.

Their eyes met.

Hers widened. With surprise. With recognition. With curiosity.

Hinata's eyes were only horrified.

The little girl bounced up to meet her.

Hinata's heart hammered in her ears, it swell to the point of choking. Her vision doubled and smeared. She tried to catch her breath, but nothing, nothing was going in. She tried to breathe faster. They call this air hunger. Her body was cold, prickly.

No. She didn't want to hear it. Didn't want to know.

The little girl eyed her from head to toe, then smirked.

"You really do like mom. But you're a little chubbier than I expected."

AN: Apologies if the third scene's timeline is written in an unclear way. It's supposed to be stuff that happened in sequence prior to the second scene.

Hm! I totally forgot how good it feels to write fanfiction. I literally had a head high the whole time. 😂

I hope you like this chapter! And let me know if I'm doing better at hooks and/or cliffhangers! I haven't looked at any of my activity since the last chapter, so I'm going to respond now if there is anything to respond to, that is.

[imalwaystiredzzz]

Hi~ May I please ask for platonic headcannons for Amber, Jean and Lisa visiting their friend's hometown and finding out they have Nymphs who are very kind to children and vulnerable but will cannibalize those who have ill-intentions

WARNING: Slight blood/gore Note: Ahh I hope that you like it, I’m not very good with writing for the Genshin impact girls and this is my first time writing for them  (⌒_⌒;)

𝒜 𝓂 𝒷 𝑒 𝓇 

> Amber the outrider!  Always on the run and ready to help others especially children, needles to say despite having no siblings she’s better at handling them more than some of them who do have. 

> Her friendship with you began when she was a child herself, often she ran around crying for her missing grandfather and hoping to find him behind a bush or up on a tree the way they used to when playing hide and seek. 

> What she hadn’t meant to do was come across treasure hoarders with less than good intentions when they come across a young girl, by herself wandering the forest. Sure, she’s brought her trusty bow and arrow, she’d practiced everyday but when it came down to it, Amber was just a child barely even ready to shoot at live, breathing humans. So she does what her mind told her to do, run.

> Amber ran and ran and ran, through the trees and thick bushes with all her might and as far as she could, but it’s never enough. Not far enough because she can still hear their heavy footsteps, their deep voice and maniacal laugh. The red girl finds herself hiding in the hollow trunk of a tree, hands in her ears and praying to the archcons that they don’t find her. 

> Which to you was a good thing, the trees, winds, and vines howl to you of a child in danger. With your command, they keep her safe in the trees. She doesn’t even notice how the bushes thicken and the shadow of the trees grow to hide her in their shadows, while you swiftly dispose of these people with a smile on your face like it’s just another Tuesday. 

>  “Do you need help?” You offer her a hand and a warm smile, hoping to entice the little red rabbit out of her hiding. She  looks at you with brown eyes, lighting up with so much wonder that the first words she says to you were; “Are you a fairy?” You chuckle and wipe the unshed tears in the corner of her eyes.

> You’ve guided many lost children to Mondstadt before, knowing that they would not disappoint in offering a helping hand. Especially to children, minor as you may be in the hierarchy of elemental beings you trust that even the sleeping Barbatos would wake to the cries of injustice. 

> Which is why you’re confused, as to why this little red bunny is back in your abode. Knees scratched and face with a band aid, she smiles goofily and you fix her up once more, bag of snacks and herbs in her pouch before setting her back to Mondstadt. But she does it again, and again and again, until the earth has memorized her steps and winds would simply lead her to your little cot., prepared with snacks and Jean’s famous coffee (not that you asked Jean how she makes them just for this energetic girl.)

> The odd afternoons when Amber finds time to visit is just lively nowadays, sometimes you miss when she would do it everyday but you’re so proud when she finally told you that she’s finally part of the knights like her grandfather. Just do be careful of the arrows as they may accidentally burn the forest and your cot,  

> She’d talk your ears off from what's currently happening to Mondstadt to about how the other knights are. Sometimes when you go about to help another lost child wailing on the top of their lungs, you’d find yourself thinking “What would Amber do?” 

Certainly it is easier with her around, she’d play with them until all their worries are forgotten and it’s time for them to go home to Mondstadt with her. 

𝐿 𝒾 𝓈 𝒶  

> ‘Really, parents need to keep a better eye on their children or at least stop them from wandering a bit too far’ is what you thought, looking up the thundering skies and dark clouds, as you trudged to the path that the grass had made for you, until you came upon a wolf? A boy? You’re not exactly sure, but definitely the nature tells you it is both and not at the same time, as confusing as that might be.

> He looks like a puppy ready to bite off anyone's hand with his small teeth dare they come too close for comfort, but that electric wound from his vision needs to be tended sooner than later. So you take him in for a few hours despite his vocal protest at first, and nurse him with herbs from your garden.  

> It’s a few hours later when a purple witch trespasses your abode, the hair on the back of your neck rises and you are reminded of another one wearing a hat like so, just of scarlet color and leaving chaos in her wake.  “I’m simply looking for my student,” is what she told you with a tight smile and a tremble in her hand that she tries to hide.

“Oh so he is your charge.” You lead her to your cot, where the sleeping wolf boy is and you watch her shoulder relax as she looks at him.

> She apologizes for the intrusion and thanks you for helping Razor, but what catches you is that she apologizes for the thunders and dark sky like she knew. Knew from the way you hold yourself and the way your energy is different from a mortal, “I’ve read about your kind from the books.” Oddly enough her air of danger and knowledge entices you, so you open your door to her and Razor when they need a place away and secluded lest the boy have accidents while mastering the use of his vision.

> Afternoon tea with Lisa is relaxing as she talks about the books and her friends while you talk about plants and things that have piqued your interest over the week which she then supplies more information about. You don’t tell her how sometimes you get bored and lonely being in the forest, but she picks on it and leaves books around your house. There’s a new shelf for mundane things - love stories, poems and epics. And she doesn’t tell you her favorite food but you always give her a bag of fresh vegetables before they leave. The flowers in her window are blooming a bit more livelier lately. 

𝒥 𝑒 𝒶 𝓃  

> What you didn’t expect was for Lisa to invite the acting grandmaster of Mondstadt, Jean Gunnhildr herself, and that fiery woman’s child, Klee. You could only hope that she doesn’t set the whole place on fire; or that Razor and her would make the whole place explode.

>Jean, Lisa and you would have weekends booked for tea parties and when they could come in the afternoon, rather than night, because Jean’s job has always been taxing, you’d welcome the children too. Some kids that you’ve helped in the past would wander about looking for you so they’d be playing with the two, like a playdate.

Just hope they don’t pass out from exhaustion as Klee and Razor’s energy are boundless and Jean would have to carry the kid back to Mondstadt.

>You’d make it a point to make Jean a small serving of her favorite pizza and tea. Something that would help her relax, as you notice her tight shoulders, and the bags under her eyes, when her hands trembled from exhaustion or her skin too pale.  You make her candles, gift her bags filled with snacks, leaves and herbs to help her with the stress that she goes through on a daily basis. 

> You didn’t mean to show her this side, you have an inkling that Lisa knows about the darkness in you without even truly showing it. It’s not that you’re insecure or scared, but there is something about Jean that makes you want to hide the ruthless blood lust that boils in your veins when you come across cruelty to the weak. 

And for the first time in a while, you’re scared to turn your back and look at her. Is she horrified? Does she hate me? These thoughts run in your head, as blood drips from your hand and face, the bodies of these vile people scattered in the field. In your defense, they do deserve it, to be left to rot, to scream until their throats are bleeding and the light in their eyes gone with the singular thought of there’s no help coming here.

They deserved it, for what they did to the poor teen with red hair and dead eyes, skin as pale as ice and arms much too thin for her age with a cryo vision in hand. (Rosaria)

> Albedo may be the best alchemist in Mondstadt, but he is no doctor and even the church couldn’t guarantee her full recovery. “With all that has happened only a miracle could do such a thing,” the sisters tell the blonde with sadness in their eyes, so where did that lead her? Back to you.

> Jean only embraced you, she couldn’t approve of what you did but she also couldn’t thank you. Only that she accepted you, because in the dark corner of her mind, she had the same thought but her morality hindered her from doing the same.

> Jean was all the light and good, the embodiment of righteousness in the world and you wouldn’t mind jumping head first to commit the deepest atrocities if it meant protecting the weak.

In the end nothing much has changed, only that there are no more masks, formalities and silent walls are broken between the two of you. 

Jean could come to you for things that she wouldn’t never do and you would be more than happy to help protect the city and the people that she loves so much.

[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

A/N: Small s/o to Fae from sope-and-shine for giving me great inspiration for this chapter!

Part Three

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 1.8k

You continue down the street, noticing yourself hold a faint smile from your time with Jimin. You have a feeling Intro to Comp will be more fun than you anticipated with him to keep you company. You really appreciated his easy-going nature that allowed playful digs to seem second nature between you two, even if you had just met.

You glance up at the sun, now starting to feel more intense as it approaches midday. Noticing, you slip your sunglasses out of your backpack and look at your phone to double check directions --- you weren’t too confident getting around campus quite yet. As you are looking at your GPS app, you see a text pop up from an unknown number.

*Hi y/nnnnn it’s your favorite seat partner from intro to comp!! Hehe*

You roll your eyes at Jimin’s text, and save his number.

*You are my only seat partner from intro to comp, Jimin. It’s been one day.*

*:( Don’t be a meanie, y/n. You know I’d be your favorite no matter what :DD*

*Who's to say? Maybe next time I’ll sit closer to Yoongi*

*GASP. You wouldn’t dare*

*Are you willing to put money on that?*

As you text Jimin, you follow the directions on your phone and end up at a cute little grocery store, with a built in cafe off to the side. When you notice it, you get some spring in your step. After seeing the coffee that the other students had in class you were yearning for a cup of your own, especially after your hectic morning.

The barista sent you a smile as you read the menu. Deciding on a nice warm cappuccino, you tell her your order and walk over to the side to receive your drink when she finishes.

She rings you out, and as you wait for your drink you begin running though your mental grocery list. Thankfully your apartment had a decent kitchen, which you knew you’d get good use of as you enjoyed cooking when you had a chance. Not to mention, your parents owned a small bakery in your hometown which meant you were well versed in the art of baking, and often found yourself baking during stressful moments in your life as a distraction. Maybe while you were here you’d pick up some basic supplies for baking… sugar, flour, baking soda, vanilla extract….

Your train of thought was quickly cut off by the barista, sliding your drink across the counter with a smile. You give her one back as you thank her, and stroll over to where you think the baking aisle would be. You take your time, checking out the products in each section to make sure you got everything you needed, beyond just your baking supplies.

As you near the paper goods aisle, you barely see a figure swing around the corner and run smack-dab into a paper towel display, which happened to be less than a meter from you. Unfortunately, the collision caused several of the rolls to go flying --- and one flying hard enough to knock the fresh coffee right out of your hand.

The chaos of the moment causes you to stand a little open mouthed while you stare at the now half-empty cardboard coffee cup rolling on it’s side away from you.

Toward the top of your field of vision you see a pair of men’s sneakers, which causes you to scan up towards his face. He is looking at you with the widest doe-eyed shocked expression you have possibly ever seen. His arms are half reached out, as if he wants to help, but can’t as he already caused the damage. One of the arms reaching out at you has a patchwork of black ink, trailing down over his toned muscles to his knuckles. His oversized grey t-shirt and loose jeans seem to swallow him a bit, which only adds to the almost child-like innocence of his wide eyes. Wavy brown hair frames his face, accentuating his masculine jawline.

Once your eyes connect for a few seconds, surely both wide in shock, he makes a squeaking noise and bends down to collect the scattered rolls.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going and I took the turn too fast, I’ll go buy you another coffee as soon as I pick these up---” His voice, while speaking rapidly, remained soft and delicate, obviously embarrassed at his mistake. When you bend down to join him in collecting the runaway towels, he cuts himself off to again look at you with a wide-eyed expression.

You smile at him, the surprise from the situation fading as you stretch your upper body as far as you can to grab one that rolled particularly far. “It’s okay, we all can be clumsy sometimes. I promise it’s not that big of a deal, it was just a coffee.” You give him a warm smile in reassurance, wanting to ease his obvious anxiety.

You both stand up, having collected the spilled display and him grabbing your abandoned coffee cup. “Um, what were you drinking? I’ll get you a new one, it’s the least I could do.” His blush deepens with his question, and he nervously glances off to the side as he grabs his elbow of the hand holding the empty cup to make himself smaller.

“It was a cappuccino… but honestly, you really don’t need to, it’s okay.” Sending him another warm smile, you hope to convey your ease at the situation.

“No, I want to. I’ll be right back, okay?” He holds your gaze for a second, seeming to double check that you weren’t going to run away on him.

“Okay.” Once you let out your reply, he sends you a quick smile as he turns around and lightly jogs away from you, back the direction you came from.

You can't help but notice the subtle ripple of his muscles across his shoulder blades as he does so. For being so meek, he sure had quite the muscular build under those baggy clothes. He definitely was “yummy” to use the word Jimin so aptly applied to Yoongi earlier. At the memory, you couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle under your breath.

You scan the area quickly, making sure your run in with the boy didn’t leave a mess anywhere in the store. After seeing it clear, you glance back over your shoulder to watch him talking to the same barista. You could tell, even from this distance, that he seemed slightly embarrassed and had a pink tinge to his cheeks. The duality of this guy honestly is blowing your mind… his tattoos and muscular physique would give the impression that he would be super intimidating and confident, but by the way he blushed at attention so easily and was so timid when he apologized to you showed that he was was really a big sweetheart.

As he was now waiting for the barista to remake your drink, standing in the same spot you occupied a few minutes ago, you felt awkward hovering in the spot of the incident. After a quick glance back at him, you thought he would be able to find you pretty easily if you ventured down the aisle further. An aisle down from the paper goods, you found yourself in the exact aisle you were looking for.

Your mind quickly abandoned any prior thought as you took stock of the baking supplies the store had to offer. It looks like you’d be spending more on groceries today than you had anticipated.

“Um, here’s your coffee…” The boy from earlier had returned before you realized any time had passed. Caught, you looked at him, now looking at you, with a hesitant look on his face, as he saw the almost comical amount of stuff you had balanced in your arms. Now embarrassed a tad, you realize you have no hand to take the coffee from him, and it seems like it had just occurred to him too. He looked back and forth between the coffee in his hand and your ridiculously full arms and quickly offered, “I’ll be right back. I’ll get you a basket.”

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much. I’m sorry, I guess I got carried away!” You sheepishly respond to his kind offer. It was above what a normal person would do. He nodded his head quickly and did his half-jog thing again to go back to the front of the store. You weren’t getting tired of the view, to be honest.

Before you even knew it, he was back and gently removing items from the tetris you created in your arms of baking supplies. “Thank you so much, you really don't have to do any of this…” you feel slightly guilty for the boy’s kindness.

“No, it’s really okay, I shouldn’t have thrown paper towels at you.” As he speaks, he catches your eye and gives you a smile you could only compare to a cute bunny or other small adorable creature. You couldn’t help but fall just a little in love with him right there in the aisle. Now comfortable enough to joke with you, you left out a surprised laugh in response. You tip your head back slightly and feel your cheeks squish up without warning.

“I suppose you got me there. Maybe try to lower the aggression levels on your next grocery store run,” you egg him on slightly, a teasing smile remaining on his face.

“What would be the fun in that?” His eyes hold contact just a millisecond longer than normal, and you swear you see a glint of mischief in them. Ah, so bunny-boy knows at least a little how much of a hunk he is.

“Do you flirt with pretty girls at the store by knocking the coffee out of their hands for fun then?” Your eyebrow is raised slightly, and your tone stays as a teasing lilt.

Apparently at his banter limit, he blushes and gapes for a second. “Just teasing you. Thank you again for the coffee,” you reassure. Full basket and fresh coffee in hand, you flash him one last grin before you make your way around him to head towards the register.

As you leave the store, re-entering the street, you can’t help but hope you run into that guy again. He seemed like a genuinely sweet person that you’d love to be friends with. Starting towards the direction of your apartment, you ponder the chances.

You also ponder what baked treat you were going to throw the rest of your afternoon into. After some mental deliberation, you settled on muffins. Easy to take with you for that pesky morning calculus class. Ugh, at the thought of calculus you groaned inside a little. Not only did you have to grapple with the boring math, but you now have to grapple with the decidedly not so boring boys in your class.

[chalkrevelations]

Huh.

Well, this is not the next episode reaction you were expecting, but a while back, in the middle of the night, while I was ready to cry from working on a pharmacology paper, out of nowhere, Youtube threw up Street Dance of China S3 Ep1 at me. And yeah. I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show. (There are enough SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal that I feel there’s no point denying this.)

So – no, actually, wait. FIRST of all, I do NOT believe the “towel vote” we ended up being given for the opening routines from the four captains. That was the most blatant bit of bullshit chicanery I’ve seen in my LIFE, and I say this as a person with a ton of SYTYCD episode reax on my old Livejournal, and I also say this not because Wang Yibo ended up last (well, not entirely), but because I saw Wallace Chung’s routine. As someone closer in age to him than to the other three captains, I have to give him props for trying, but come on, man. The critique that Yibo got from random contestants – if the subtitles are to be believed, so I realize this needs a grain of salt - basically boiled down to “it was too good for the stage lighting.” :hands: Also, I saw your face at the reveal, Wallace, and you were as shocked as I was. No way you got more towels/votes than Wang Yibo. Not unless there’s some super wild undercurrent of nostalgia propping you up, which, I guess could happen, because literally all I know about pop culture in China, current or otherwise, is filtered through Tumblr and Youtube, both notoriously suspect, but … anyway. There’s got to be a TON of behind-the-scenes manipulation going on for Yibo to be rock-bottom with last pick of teams but then also to end up with THAT pool of possibles. Are you kidding me with this?

ANYWAY, what I wanted to say is that I actually really like Wang Yibo here, and it’s not just because he’s the only captain I have even a sliver of familiarity with, and it’s not just because Lan Wangji was banging Wei Wuxian. I do realize all of this is influenced by whatever edit they’ve decided to give a particular captain or contestant, but I’m impressed with the way Yibo immediately starts team building by getting his group into a warmup, getting them dancing together, getting them dancing with him before they have to worry about dancing for him. (I mean, come on, Jackson Wang. The way to get people to stop being nervous is not to say “Stop being nervous! It will make you fuck up!”) The way Yibo immediately recognized and responded to his group’s concerns about that one dude copying someone else’s routine probably also bought him a lot of return investment. He’s dressed to work it, in his sweats and his flannel (what IS that fake-leather TAC vest and random leg holster-looking thing, Jackson Wang?). He’s convincing me he really loves to dance, he can’t hold still while he watches the contestants, he’s wandering over into other captains’ turf when it sounds like there’s a dancer performing who he might like to see, he’s being the best Yibo he can be, and I’m grooving along, wind in my hair, totally down for this ride. He’s also adorable at the beginning when all the other captains are like, my goal for this season is to slaughter the competition and dance on their graves! And he’s like, well, I’d like to … make some friends? And learn some new stuff? I don’t know if the perpetual Humble Student schtick is natural or persona, or whether it’s general or specific to dancing, but it’s working for you, my dude. This is also made better (read: ironic), by the fact that it’s immediately before the towel reveal, when he flips over to utter disbelief and gets all sulky for a while over the “fact” that his dance routine got the least votes.

Also, OH WAIT. This is where that clip of Yibo dancing with his crew ALL OVER HIM came from that I saw floating around a few months ago, isn’t it? You’re telling me those guys had never danced together before and had like, three minutes to throw together that routine? I’m even more impressed than before. Meanwhile, the towels symbolize courage and challenge, Mr. Emcee? OK, fine, cheesy reality show blah blah whatever. Can we get to the dancing now?

I’m going to put the rest of this behind a cut, because it got super long, because it turns out, when you watch in 5-minute increments, it takes two and a half weeks to get through a single episode, but you actually can see and have opinions on all 5,328 contestants, plus every single one of the captains’ battles. Meanwhile, I’m trying to convince myself this is not going to be another series of episode reactions, but 1) I do have the benefit of not having a ton of hometown media giving me a next-day play-by-play, so even though this is six months old, everything’s a surprise; 2) I am, admittedly, f’kn weak for a dance show; and 3) it’s easy to watch in 5-minute increments between researching drug interactions in hypothetical hypertensive patients with stable ischemic heart disease, erectile dysfunction, and seasonal allergies. So, I guess we’ll see. It’ll be slow going, though, because I don’t ever have two and half hours to sit down and watch an ep cover-to-cover – if it happens, it will likely keep happening in 5-minute increments. Meanwhile, there is a metric shit-ton of nattering below the cut, so caveat lector. No, seriously, I kept adding to this little by little until it became a monster. Hashtag long post (remorseful).

OK, I am generally out of my depth here, as this is not at all my area of dance not-really-expertise, but some reactions:

Team Wang Yibo: I can see why he didn’t want to choose between Colin and Dian Men – Colin might have been a touch better technically and a better showman, but Dian Men didn’t seem to have a single wasted move – but, also, my dude. Yibo. You maybe should look a little bit less stunned and overwhelmed by the mere presence of Colin, it’s giving me ideas about your taste in men. Continuing with the powerhouses, I probably shouldn’t even attempt to critique Klash, but I did feel like he was a bit stiff in some of his footwork; that final V kick, though, shit, that’s what having that kind of upper-body strength is for. Bouboo … I mean, excellent flexibility and control, of course, but mainly I’m just terribly amused that Yibo got last pick of teams but somehow ended up with the guy who’s literal world champion, and who’s just as useful for getting into the other captains’ heads – without even trying – as he is for his talent. And then there’s a montage of Yibo giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you cannot keep up this pace. There are still too many dancers to see, and you don’t have that many towels. AAANNNND Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Jackson Wang: I do like Gai Gai, although that may be influenced by the fact she’s working in the twilight area between hip-hop and contemporary that I have more familiarity with - but also, I suspect she’s pretty good in her genre. I thought Xiao Jie was inconsistent and didn’t stick the landing on his initial attempt, so I have to give you that hesitation, Jackson, even though you’ve somehow ended up the villain in my inner narrative for this show, for no particular reason I can yet discern. Maybe it’s that you’re the direct competition for Yibo’s team in the towel battles. Good enough. Anyway, Xiao Jie definitely stepped up his game for the battle with Bingo, so I can kind of see why both of them got a towel, but we’re not even halfway through this, and most of y’all are giving away towels like you have an endless supply. Yang Kai is a fucking menace with fantastic musicality, and I’m just gonna say it and take the fallout - I think he gave a better performance first time out of the gate than any of Yibo’s powerhouses did. Whatever power Klash has got, whatever skill Bouboo has got, Yang Kai feels more explosive and engaging, at least in these initial showings. He’s going to be one to beat, I’d hug him too, if he was on my team and was going to help me WIN. Yibo’s probably lucky that happened during his little stroll over to check out the competition, so that he can see they’re definitely competitive and be prepared for it. Also, Jackson, I have to admit - that face you made when Chao really kicked in? That was the same face I made, because wt actual f, you have a literal secret weapon – secret because he CAME FROM NOWHERE and NO ONE EVEN KNOWS him, how is that even possible, how did he get that good – fluid, creative, controlled, incredible musicality - without anyone having any idea who he even is? And then there’s a montage of Jackson just giving out towel after towel after towel, and my dude, you need to slow down. You can’t just be like, “THEY LOVE DANCE WITH ALL OF THEIR WHOLE HEARTS!!!!1111!!!!11!” I get it, but everyone there loves dance with all of their whole hearts, and there are not enough towels to send all of them on to the next round. ANNNND, Towel Battle #1 (See Footnote 1).

Team Lay Zhang: lol at how diplomatic you’re being, Lay Zhang – your team’s fierce roar startled you, OK. At this point, I suspect you’re the street most likely to have a knife fight break out before this is all over. I do like Alex, I think he’s got a lot of interesting, super-clean details in his moves, and he’s engaging - I cannot BELIEVE you made him battle that dude whose moves were so mushy, Lay Zhang, it leaves me doubting your ability to judge this thing. At first I thought maybe you were just looking for an excuse because you wanted to see Alex freestyle, but then you actually said something about both dancers being equal, and my estimation of you plummeted, and also sadly, my sound dropped out for the actual battle, including the part where the clearly inferior dancer fell over and then accidentally POPPED ALEX ONE IN THE EYE, and I TOLD YOU SO. I do agree it’s a good idea to make dancers in the same genre do some battling, so you can kind of plan out your towels and put together a team with broad strengths, instead of giving out towels like you’re making it rain for the first 20 contestants, and then you have 1,375 more people to get through, with 3 towels left, as EVERYONE ELSE seems to be doing, so it’s nice that at least one of you guys is thinking – if not actually acting - strategically. That was clearly not even a contest, though, GIVE ALEX HIS TOWEL and send him to the next round. Xiao Bao is hilarious, with his concern that his team captain, who’s into krump, which is “beating,” isn’t going to appreciate his waacking, which is “slapping.” I also don’t know a whole lot about waacking, so thanks for the primer, Xiao Bao, and don’t worry, your performance is just as engaging for those of us who don’t know what we’re watching as you are generally. You deserve that towel for your ability to interact with and engage your audience, alone. Lingo is a good solid performance, although he’s got his team captain strategizing edited over some of it, and here’s the thing: we are 1:56:00 into this, at this point, with another half hour to go, and all of you are starting to disappear into the sea of dancers who are very good at what you do, but at generally the same level? Anyway, Lingo, I approve of your ability to interact with your audience (read: your captain) to ensure engagement, too, so keep that up. Annnd, we actually haven’t seen that much of you guys, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

Team Wallace Chung: I’m glad Su Lian Ya insisted on performing, I thought she started off slow but warmed up, and that ending was creepily fantastic and had me spontaneously grinning at the screen in delight. Then we lose sight of this group for a really long time, actually. We go back to find Wallace putting through a couple of urban dancers who we barely see, but who apparently claim to have some choreography experience, and he really likes that. TI shows up, and they’re solid, but honestly, not as good in this performance as they were in some of the stock footage the show threw up to introduce them, but Wallace remains super-excited about the idea of choreography and sends at least choreographer Zhang Jiang Peng through to the next round. And then, we really haven’t seen that much of you guys, either, which maybe doesn’t bode well, but it’s time for Towel Battle #2 (See Footnote 2).

FOOTNOTE 1, aka TOWEL BATTLE ONE, Team Yibo vs. Team Jackson, 3V3 freestyle: First of all, I have to say, I love Yibo - Mr. I Just Wanna Make Some Friends And Have Some Fun - being all, “I have three crappy white towels I’m stuck with for coming in last place that I can’t use to send dancers to the next round and that I DO NOT DESERVE, and I am getting BACK the colorful towels that ARE RIGHTFULLY MINE. I am coming for whoever is in my way.” Team Yibo is Bouboo, Klash, Dian Men, and OK, given what we’ve seen so far, that’s the safe choice, but honestly, I think we’re just taking some things for granted right now, and I’m not sure they actually have given the best performances so far. Yeah, I said it. Team Jackson is Yang Kai, Chao, and Xiao Jie, and … ok, on that last one, I think you probably could have substituted Bingo, but all right. Yang Kai is a definite yes. Chao will be great if he can stay out of his own head and not psych himself out, but given what we’ve seen so far, he’s an obvious pick. First round, Yang Kai vs. Klash, and Yang Kai is still a fucking menace, with super lines. Klash definitely stepped up his game for the battle, and I can’t get over the upper body strength he’s got, to get that kind of airy bounce in his moves, but to be honest, I can’t even be mad the first round went to Yang Kai and Team Jackson. Second round, Yang Kai is still … y’all, the beautiful lines from this guy in his poses, I can’t get over them, but I think he doesn’t have the stamina, his footwork is getting sloppy. Bouboo also steps up his game for an actual battle, his fluidity and control is amazing, and yeah, round to Team Yibo. Round three, Xiao Jie gives it a decent effort, but the polish isn’t there; meanwhile Bouboo is still in champion mode, and I was kind of surprised this was a split vote and went to another round. Xiao Jie absolutely surprised me, coming back stronger on his second try, although I suppose a more familiar genre helped, but Bouboo continues in champion mode. Round four, Chao looks like he’s going to throw up right before he steps out there, and then as soon as the music starts, it’s like, he doesn’t even think. The music just moves him. I feel like his dance vocabulary is more limited than Bouboo’s, though, and Bouboo’s flow is amazing at this point, so I feel like the judges just want to drag this out and see more dancing when we go to one more round. Strong effort all around, but yeah, round four and two towels to Team Yibo. I can’t really complain about that. I do feel like Yibo’s powerhouses have been holding back until now, though, and I’m not sure how I feel about THAT.

FOOTNOTE 2, aka TOWEL BATTLE TWO, Team Zhang vs. Team Wallace, 3V3 w/ captain: lol, Team Zhang really wants someone to pick the Sailor Moon song because they know Xiao Bao and his waacking will tear it up. Anyway, Team Zhang includes Lingo and Xiao Bao, who does not get his Sailor Moon song and continues to be hilarious in his disbelief about being chosen to participate in this battle, when he’s not looking almost as sick as Chao from Team Jackson before HIS performance. Team Wallace includes Su Lian Ya – and honestly, despite how I’m getting ready to bag on him for the entire rest of this battle recap, I like that Wallace put one of his female dancers up there for the battle - and some dude named Ba that they haven’t given us any footage of, up ‘til now, at least that I can remember and who I … don’t even know has been formally given a towel and sent on to the next round, yet? Oh wait, he must have, because there’s talk in the pause for choreography about somehow using the towels during the battle. Wallace relies on Su Lian Ya and Zhang Jiang Peng to choose Ba, and then Ba ends up choreographing a lot of the performance, at least from the edit we see. I continue to feel you may be in over your head, Wallace. This feeling … is not assuaged by your performance in the first round, which is fine, but not really up to the level of almost anyone whose name I’ve bolded so far in this entire recap. Also, using the towels was a cute idea, but it doesn’t translate well, and Team Wallace has a lot of wasted time throwing the towels around instead of actually. You know. Dancing. Lingo gets a credible solo during Team Zhang’s performance, and even though Xiao Bao is clearly lost during a good bit of his backup dancer duties, he manages not to throw up, which – given this team’s general skill level – should be enough to give them the first round, EXCEPT SOMEHOW Team Wallace gets the point from the judges, who then try to justify this inexplicable decision by saying Team Wallace had better interaction, I guess because of the hot mess with throwing the towels around, but adding that Team Zhang was more scattered, which what? More scattered than the hot mess with the towels? I’m not buying this. I can’t tell if they’re propping up Wallace or fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, but I’m having bad acid flashbacks to the many and varied ways dance show judges will try to gaslight you, telling you that things you just saw with your very own eyes did not actually happen when it’s right there! On camera! Visible, despite whatever edit bs you’re pulling! ANYWAY, they’re definitely managing to fuck with not only Lay Zhang’s head, but Xiao Bao’s, and Xiao Bao still doesn’t seem to have his choreography down, but they manage to pull it together enough to take the second round, which to be honest is kind of a muddled mess on everyone’s part. The only one who really stands out to me on this go’round is Su Lian Ya, but OK, Team Zhang might have had it slightly more together as a unit. And then, yeah, OK, I think they were fucking with Lay Zhang’s head, because we then find out that, holy shit, the song the show powers-that-be chose for the tie-breaking third round is that gd Sailor Moon song, and we can all see the writing on the wall. Poor Team Wallace is no match for Xiao Bao, who frankly, carries this entire round on his shoulders without breaking a sweat and barely needs any backup dancers to do it. There’s some ridiculously dramatic reveal of scoring, with the judges dragging out their decisions like this was any actual contest - I’m beginning to suspect that some of them grew up with Wallace Chung posters on their bedroom walls - but finally, round and towel to Team Zhang.

Cut to a little bit of Next Time On, and wow, the first two-and-a-half-hour episode is over, and we aren’t finished with the initial round yet. It’s gonna be Christmas before I make it halfway through this season.

[jawritter]

Dean Winchester One Shots

Happy Birthday Dean pt. 1

It’s Dean’s birthday, and you realize something about yourself you never knew before… Until now…                                

30 Minutes til Midnight (Happy Birthday Dean pt. 2!)

Sequel ot Happy Birthday Dean, will you finally tell him how you feel?

Middle of the road

Can you keep pretending your just friends, or will it all come out in the middle of the road.

Lonely as the grave

Dean struggles with his reality visiting the graveyard in his hometown of Lawrance, Kansas

The Fool

The reader comfronts Lisa, based on the song The Fool by Leanne Walmack

The Meeting

A secret releationship getts heated during a meet up

Waiting…

Waiting on your hero hunter to come home can be one of the harderst things you ever do.

Finally Yours

Alpha!Dean is in Rut, and only one Omega can help him through it!

Home

Six years ago Christmas Eve Dean made the biggest mistake of his life under influence of the Mark of Cane.

It Was Fifteen Years Ago Today

Haunted by the past tramas even Dean needs a little comfort sometimes.

I Did It Because I Love You

Dean’s been a complete and total asshole, what happenes when the reader finally has all she can take.

Happy Valenties Day Sweetheart

Dean shows the reader a little bit of his softer side….

I Kinda Like The Disease…

Your search for your demon boyfriend takes you to New Orleans during mardi grag…

Challenge Accepted..

Requested: ok so here is a request(idk if you do these)(also it’s smut) so dean talks about how good he is in the bedroom and the reader says something along the lines like “i bet you can’t make me come” Dean challenges this. In the bedroom and you know they doing the dirty or whatever. Dean edges her and edges her and just when the reader had enough of the teasing Dean finally takes her over her edge and the reader is left with the most hot shaking orgasm ever. I hope this makes sense! ❤️ur stories!!

Your Perfect

Request: the reader is always willing to go down on Dean but when Dean goes to return the favor the reader stops him and always finds an excuse. No one has ever offered to go down on her before so she’s insecure about it and doesn’t want to look weird in from of dean. i Hope this makes sense!

Curves

Requested: Can I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader, where she really shy and dorky but believes that she really bad at sex because she is bigger? And dean shows her that she not 😊💕 I hope this make sense haha! I know this sound awkward turtle 🐢

You Deserve Better Than Me

Requested: Dean winchester x pregnant Reader. Dean feels the reader deserves better than what he can give her in his life, what will he do when he finds out that she’s expecting his baby?

Quarantine

Summery: Everyone is stuck in quarantine right now everywhere, and your stuck alone with Dean, who really needs to blow off steam… Oh what has your big mouth gotten you into now…

My Best Friend

Request: hiii i have dean x reader request! the reader and dean are friends with benefits but recently she’s just been down in the dumps and just wants some platonic affection and not sex. as the writer you can do what u want but could you add Dean playing with the readers hair? i have a weakness for it lol thanks!

Just A Dream…

Part 1

Part 2

Winchesters Fantasies 1000 follower Challenge…

Daddy’s Home

Request: Hey I know this is odd, but I really enjoy your writing and I was wondering if you could possibly do a little smutty Dean thing? Maybe using the name Lyn, and really anything is on the table, I mean, it’s Dean Winchester. (Or if you want, some daddy kink and maybe just rough stuff :o) Thank you dear!! You don’t have to if ya don’t want to, no pressure 💕💕

Like Pulling Teeth

Request: Okay, so I was just watching few recent spn episode and saw Garth episode. Which gave me an curious idea, can you write dentist reader x dean? They’re in a relationship, one day when dean eats something, it pains and reader has to look into it? and then reader says wisdom tooth extraction? Also the fear of dentist which dean already has (shown in the episode, I found it very funny) I know it’s a weird request but I also think it would be very funny🙈

Little Details…

Request: Could I maybe request a Chubby!Reader x Dean story? She’s super sweet and kind of laid back, just going along with the boys as a research partner, but she’s also super artsy and loves to draw Dean while she researches. Maybe some sweet and soft smut, oh! And maybe he plays with her hair? :) Thanks dear!! 🌻💛

Age Is Just A Number…

Request Hello :) How do feel about an age difference, post sex one-shot? Alternate universe (no hunting), consensual, not underage but quite a big age difference (like at least 10years) where Dean is like freaking out because he’s Dean and doesn’t want to destroy the girl’s life?

Mine…

Request: Could you do a one shot where the reader lives with Sam and dean they are best friends. The reader and dean have a secret relationship and dean gets jealous of the reader and Sam hanging out all day. So dean shows the reader who she belongs too in the bedroom.

Right In Front Of You…

Request: Dean x Reader. Reader is hunting with Sam and Dean, and she is constantly getting annoyed at every single thing that Dean does. And she always acts very bad with Dean with this making dean think that she hates him. And that makes mr very sad because he has feelings for her but when Dean save her sacrificing himself from a hunting gone wrong. She stars to develop feelings for him.

Jealous Of My Demons...

Requested: Dean get’s jealous of the reader’s former boyfriend Brady, who is now posses by a demon and working as a stable boy for the horseman pestilence. Who will they work this out?

Princess...

Request: Thank you for answering my question love!💕 can I request a Dean x plus size reader where she is super shy and it drives dean crazy? Fluff, smut? I’m sorry to bother you hahah and that this sounds awkward turtle 🐢 🖤😻

My Girl...

Requested: Hola! request for dean x reader: the readers current boyfriend always puts her down and one day threatens to breakup with her if she doesn’t lose weight, even though she’s not even plus sized or anything. She constantly pushes her body to the limit to lose the weight and dean notices. it ends all fluffy and protective!dean comes out and has a “talk” with the boyfriend. side note for anyone reader this: YOUR BODY IS BEAUTIFUL MAMA 💗🥺

Your Dean...

Request: Heyy! I'm sorry to be a bother. I was wondering if you can do a one shot where the reader is prone to severe panic attacks and her husband Dean is the only one who knows how to calm her down? She gets a really bad attack but Dean for some reason ain't there, and no one is able to help her but eventually he comes back and takes care of her. Sorry if this is a lot haha.

Safe. Warm. His...

Request: Are you taking requests? If so would you possibly write a one shot with Dean where the reader is in little space and just wants to cuddle and nuzzle her head in his neck and give him lots of little kisses and play with his hands? It’s just superrrr fluffy 🥺🥺🖤

One Hell Of A Thank You...

Request: Can I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader, where the reader is really quirky and dorky and goes on a date but turns out her date is a vampire and kidnapped her and dean saves her and falls in love with her, maybe some angst, fluff and smut 💕

Voices..

Request: Can I request? Dean x reader were she has an Eating Disorder and she’s recovering but today was an off day for her and starts to go back to her old habits and Dean notices and helps her through it.

His Girl...

Request: May I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader where the reader is very shy and she at a bar and some dirt bags are picking on her about her shortness and weight and dean stands up for her? Some smut and fluff ?? Also want to say you are a bop of a writer my love! ✨💕🥰❤️

Happily Ever After...

Request: Hey beautiful! May I request a Dean Winchester x plus size reader where the reader does all the research for the boys and she is very shy,she a huge Disney fan, one day demons get in the bunker and make fun of her and dean stand up for her and confess his love for her (smut)? And after they cuddle and watch lady and tramp? Fluff and smut you are a gem my dear! 💕

His New Toy...

Request: Hai can I request dean x reader smut with breast bondage and nipple play?? plot (if there is any) is up to you ;)

His Heaven...

Request: Heyy I love your ABO fics and I have a request for you. You can always say no to this if you’re uncomfortable. I’ll completely understand and I’m very sorry. Can you do one with Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader. Where the reader is on a supply run and she gets assaulted and tortured by a monster and when she gets back to the bunker somehow, she only allows her Alpha anywhere near her and refuses help from anyone else. Dean takes care of her and helps her heal.

Something Worth Fighting For

Request: Hi love! Your writing is amazing and I was wondering if you could do a Dean x depressed!reader? Like dean finds the reader about to jump off the roof of the bunker after reading the note she left him and sam saying goodbye. He had never suspected anything cause she hid it so well. Dean saves her and tells her his feelings for her? You can also add any details you want or anything like that! There is no rush! Thank you!

Unlikely Places

Trigger Warning: Non-Con

Request: Hi! I love your work! Can you do a ABO? One where the reader is Beta, and Dean Alpha, and she’s his true mate/soulmate, but they don’t know it, and he gets possessive and goes into almost a feral rut where he tries to claim, and it almost kills her but Sam and Rowena save her and give Dean his Omega back? You come up with the plot because you’re amazing at that!! Please! I’d be forever in your debt!

I Hurt Too

Request: hi there! I have seen loads of fics and one shots where Dean is sleeping around/having a one night stand and the reader gets jealous and upset, but I was wondering if I could request one with the other way around? or maybe one where they sleep around equally? as smutty, fluffy, or angst as you want!!

What’s Left Of Me

Summary: Who know one little woman could have turned his whole world upside down? He had done so good alone for so long. Then here you come along, and ruin everything

Elf

Summary: Maybe being stuck at home alone with Dean for Christmas isn’t so bad after all.

Save Me

Summary: It’s not always easy being the hero, especially when no one is ever there to save you.

Saving Grace

Summary:  Some things are worth fighting for, even when they think they’re not. You can either roll over and die, or you can pick yourself up off the ground and go get what you want. That’s the place Y/N now finds herself in.

Living With Regret

Summary: Death can be hard to deal with in any aspect, but when you’re in the life, it's something you deal with all to often, and carry with you until it's your turn to burn.

Happy Halloween

Summary: It’s Daddy’s favorite holiday. So what’s a good girl gonna do, but let him blow off some steam after a successful hunt?

I’ll Wait For You

Summary:  Sometimes when we’re angry, hurt, or scared we say things wrong. Say things that hurt the ones we love. When Dean takes things a step to far can you find it in your heart to forgive him?

An Alpha And His Omega

Summary:  Sometimes Alpha’s aren’t the assholes, sometimes words Omegas say things that can hurt too. 

No, Screw You Sweetheart

Summary: You HATE Dean Winchester, I mean you really, REALLY hate Dean Winchester.

30 Minutes In Heaven

Summary: Your life, like many hunters before you, was cut short. You had no idea at the time the Fates that were at play in the universe were really those of dick angles and egotistical assholes with massive god complexes. And you also had no idea that they were really the reason you lost your life, and you had no idea why… Until around 30 minutes after you made it to Heaven.

The Devil And I

Pt. 1   Pt. 2   Pt. 3

Summary: What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, right? You survived after you thought your mate had died, but how will you survive finding out he's alive, only different.

Don’t Let It Show...

Summary: She’s had enough of him, just like every other woman always seems to, and normally, he doesn’t care, but this time...this time it hurts.

Don’t Fear The Reaper

Summary: They took him from her, her knit, her king, her Dean, “cured” him, and now she’s going to get him back, she’s going to set him free.

Scars And All

Summary:  You and Dean have a strange, mutual relationship, but that’s all it is, physical. Until an almost bar fight brings some things to light that you thought you’d never hear.

I Almost Lost You

Summary:   Sometimes, monsters aren't always monsters...sometimes they're people.

Touch Starved

Summary: Sometimes when the hunt is hard, and his mind is loud, Dean just wants to be close to someone he loves, but is to scared to say it out loud. Thankfully, she knows him better than he knows himself.

I Wanna Be Your Everything

Summary:  After a huge fight, and a week away from Dean, he’s finally decided it was okay to have the ending he’d always wanted.

One More Sunset

Summary: Dean just wants the pain to go away...

[dulce-pjm]

clean up on aisle seven!

word count: 3.3k

genre: casual fluff :)

summary: you really didn’t want to go on this grocery trip. and now you’re stuck trying to track down that last thing your mom needs while the clock is ticking before she checks out. but something (or someone) might just make you lose track of time. 

This is your worst nightmare. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breaths were shallow and staggered, and you could feel droplets of sweat quickly accumulating on your forehead. You’d just suffered finals week and you could definitely say this was the most stressful situation you’d experienced in your life.

This might be where you die. 

Actually, if you died now, your mother would drag you back from the grave and kill you again for being so dramatic. 

You were standing helpless in the middle of the produce section of your hometown’s grocery store, desperately looking for the red potatoes. And while you frantically scanned for the vegetable- Are potatoes vegetables? Maybe they’re starches. Or a root. It isn’t important. What is important is that you have no clue where they are and your mom is currently in the checkout line, wondering what’s taking so long. 

Onions, leeks, asparagus, radishes, cabbage. . . 

Maybe you were looking in the wrong place. You circle the aisle, hoping you don’t look like a madwoman as you wring your hands and tug at your hair. 

You were a STEM major, for god’s sake! You just crushed your sophomore finals (maybe. probably. you completed them, it’s all that matters), you were not going to let some stupid red potatoes and a fear of abandonment you’ve harbored since childhood distress you in this way. 

Spinach, lettuce, carrots, celery. . .

You know, you never should have agreed to go on this grocery trip. Just an hour before now, you’d been comfortable in bed, sleeping in to your heart’s content. But it’s the holidays and you know your mom likes to run her errands with someone and the guilt was just too much. So you let her drag you out of bed and you barely got to brush your teeth before she was dragging you out of the house, too. You probably looked like a wreck. You sure felt like one. 

Tomatoes, avocadoes, peppers. . .

Normally by now you’d suck it up and ask an employee for help like the adult you were supposed to be, but, just your luck, the entire section is void of any workers. Honestly, good for them. You’re sure they’re tired of dealing with hopeless idiots like you, anyway. 

Garlic, strawberries, blueberries. . .

Who puts garlic next to strawberries? And how did you end up in the fruit section? Even you could do a better job organizing this place. Or maybe you have poor observational skills. You decide not to dwell on which thought is more correct. 

You rush back to where you started, begging your eyes to actually work and help you with this one task. 

And then: a miracle. Yellow potatoes! You scan the vicinity and... 

No red potatoes to be found. Maybe there’s no such thing as red potatoes. Maybe your mom just wanted you to go away for a while. Well, no, that can’t be it. You’re certain you’ve had red potatoes before. 

The stress was getting to you. By now, your mom was probably loading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, annoyed at your slow pace and mind. 

You know, in many other situations you’d actually consider yourself good under pressure. Put you in a lab coat and in front of a titration and you were a goddamn genius, if you did say so yourself. But once you weren’t poring over textbooks or analyzing data, you felt completely useless. Ask you to cook and you’ll set the kitchen ablaze. Anything more athletic than a casual jog is off the table. Your friends often joke that you can’t even be trusted with a microwave. For good reason. How were you supposed to know those chicken sandwich bags can’t go in the microwave? They’re made of paper. 

Other shoppers bristle past you to grab their own groceries, but all you can do is reply with a few murmured “sorries” and stand in the middle of the place looking like a lost puppy. To them, you look utterly distressed. A few shoppers consider asking if you’re okay, but little do they know there’s only one question plaguing your mind. 

“Where are the motherfucking red potatoes?!” 

You didn’t mean for it to slip out, but at least there’s no one close enough to hear-

A giggle rings from the other side of the waist-high aisle you’ve been staring at. Your eyes slide up to meet the gaze of a boy not too much taller than you- kind of cute too- but the important thing is that he’s staring right at you. Very obviously trying (and failing) to fight an uncontrollable grin on his face. 

Your cheeks heat like a furnace. All you can do is stand and stare, caught red-handed cursing over produce at the corner grocery store. 

The boy with full, boyish cheeks, twinkling eyes, and a very cute smile that you might consider infectious in any other scenario leans forward on the tips of his toes and peers at the side the aisle you’ve been intently gazing at for the past several minutes. To your horror, he lifts his finger and points just inches from where you were just looking. 

“Maybe right there?” It isn’t said sarcastically or with even a hint of ridicule, but despite his genuine nature you only grow more sheepish. You wish you could shrink into your sweatshirt and never come back out. 

You lower your eyes to the direction he’s pointing and lo and behold, there are several bags of red potatoes just under your nose. 

“Oh. . uh. . Thanks.” You tentatively reach and grab a bag, your eyes not leaving the boy’s face. You can’t help but notice the line forming between his eyebrows and the way he cocks his head to the side. Now, that you think about it, there’s something distinctly familiar about him. 

“Wait, Y/N?” Your eyebrows raise, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs to know that you somewhat recognize him too. “I’m Jimin!” He continues when you don’t respond. “We were best friends when we were, what, six or seven?” 

The memories immediately begin rushing back. Though many of your memories from back then have faded, you can remember very distinctly the elementary days full of you and a younger version of the boy across from you causing mischief. More specifically, the two of you thought up increasingly risky pranks to play on your parents and friends until one or both of you got the scolding of a lifetime. You’d nearly completely forgotten about him. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” you finally manage. “It’s been a while.” Jimin circles to your side of the aisle. 

“Oh my god! When was the last time I saw you?” Jimin thinks for a moment. “Wasn’t it your birthday party? When we hid in the bathroom cabinet and it took them hours to find us!” The memory has the both of you giggling.

“Yeah! My mom would have grounded me for scaring her so badly if it wasn’t my birthday.” The atmosphere is comfortable. Almost as if it had been no time at all. 

“I think if anyone was scared, it was you. Weren’t you terrified of the dark?” You blush despite the ridiculousness of his teasing. 

“Hey! I talk to you for two minutes after all this time and you’re already back to making fun of me?” Despite their legitimacy, the words carry no malice and you’re grinning from ear to ear. A smirk plays on Jimin’s cheeks and you catch yourself studying his features. It should seem normal, but you’re slightly struck by how much he’s grown up. His baby fat is long gone, replaced with a striking and defined look despite his sweet and boyish features. His brunette locks are neatly cut, his bangs complimenting his cheeks and forming a slight heart shape on his forehead. He’s cute. 

If you weren’t so caught up in your own embarrassment, you might have noticed the endeared look he’s giving you as he studies your face at the same time. 

“What can I say?” he replies with a shrug. “You’ve always been easy to tease.” You scoff, shifting the bag of potatoes in your arms. 

“Speak for yourself, crayon-eater.” Jimin’s giggle is infectious, drawing a snort or two out of you, though you desperately try to play it off as just a cough. 

“Where did you end up going? I never saw you after that.”

“Ahh, we moved to the other side of the city. It was pretty sudden.” Jimin nods in understanding. 

“I guess you moved again for college, too?” he asks tentatively, gesturing to your sweatshirt. You glance down at the university logo before meeting his eyes again. 

“Yeah, I’m just back for the holidays. You?”

“I go to university in the city. Just picking up some groceries for my family. I tend to do our grocery shopping on weekday mornings anyway, since most of my classes are in the afternoon.” You learn that Jimin is a communications major, which you think suits his personality spectacularly. Jimin is not even close to surprised to find out you’ve dedicated yourself in chemistry. 

“And to think, just yesterday we were making potions from mud in your backyard. You’re practically a prodigy. Can I get your autograph? You know, for when you become a famous scientist saving the world and all that?” You shake your head, noting that Jimin is just as ridiculous as you remember him.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you muse. “But I’m leaning more towards education. I’d like to teach high schoolers one day, maybe college students too.” Now that strikes Jimin as a surprise, evident by his shocked expression. You can’t help staring at the way his lips puff out in an unintentional pout.

 “Really? You want to deal with those brats? We just left high school and you already want back?” If your mom thought you were a drama queen, Jimin had you beat tenfold. He’d always been a bit of a class clown, always supplying exaggerated expressions and stupid jokes to garner as many laughs as possible. You roll your eyes. 

“They’re not that bad.” You pause. “Well, they are pretty bad but I think I could get through it if I knew I could make at least one kid excited about science, you know?” You inwardly cringe at your mini-spiel. Normally once you get talking about your love for chemistry, your friends zone out or casually change the subject to avoid massive boredom. But to your surprise, Jimin doesn’t seem the least bit annoyed at your sappy, nerd-ish outlook on your career. Instead, he’s nodding with you, attentive and interested. 

“That’s. . . really nice.” You blush, stopping yourself from going on a further tangent, sure he has much better things to be doing than listening to you go on and on. 

“Oh, it’s nothing.” You twiddle your thumbs and Jimin tugs on the sleeves of his oversized sweater. “Do you still have that cat? What did you name him... Snuggles?”

“Chubbles!” he nearly shouts with a massive smile. “And yeah, I do. He’s still overweight as ever. And old as hell. But I love the grumpy thing to pieces.”

“He was so cute! I remember cuddling with him while watching cartoons together.”

“Oh my god, yeah! That was the only time my mom would let me eat in the living room. I swear those waffles tasted better in front of the tv screen.” The story sparks a memory in your mind. 

“Hey, wanna know a secret?” Jimin leans in slightly, confused but definitely interested. You pause for effect. “My mom didn’t let us eat in the living room either. I only said that because you wanted to and I thought it’d convince your mom.” Jimin feigns a gasp, putting a hand on his chest. 

“Are you serious? I was jealous of you for years after that and it wasn’t even true? You said your family always ate in the living room.”

“I may have exaggerated a lot of things back then in order to impress you.” 

“No way. Then do I really know you at all? Was everything a lie?” You find yourself laughing again. Talking with him is easy, like being kids again. 

You shrug. “I like to maintain an aura of mystery.” Now Jimin’s the one rolling his eyes at your antics.

“Hey, speaking of Chubbles, do you want to see a picture of him? My mom posted the best picture of him on Facebook the other day.” Jimin whips out his phone. While others might find a college student doting on his cat and his mom’s Facebook a bit dorky, you find it all too endearing. 

“Um, of course!” You step towards him to peer at his phone. But instead of cat pictures, all the two of you see is an endless loading screen. 

“Shit. My service sucks out here. I’m sorry.” He gives an apologetic look, but you’re quick to brush it off. 

“No, it’s okay. You can just send it to me later.” The connotation of your words hit you like a freight train and you’re about to not-so-eloquently take them back, but Jimin beats you, a smile is plastered across his face. A part of you wants to reach up and squish his cheeks together, but you don’t need to create any more reason for the other shoppers to think you’re unhinged. Also, personal space. 

“Oh, great. I’ll just get your number-”

“Y/N.” You freeze, your head whipping around behind you to where your mother stands. She glares at you with her hands set on her hips, no groceries in sight. 

“Oh, um, oops.” You muster the best smile you can but your mother is anything but amused. “I found the red potatoes!” You hold up the bag that’s been making your arms ache, as if that would magically fix the situation. She scoffs. 

“And while you did, I checked out, paid, put the groceries in the car, and realized that we’d already gotten red potatoes. They were just piled under all that sugary cereal you insist on-” Her eyes flicker to the boy standing awkwardly behind you when she lets out a scream of joy. “Park Jimin!” She nearly shoves you aside to wrap him in a hug, instantly recognizing him despite years of not seeing him. Though if Jimin’s mom is active on Facebook, you guess your mom has seen plenty of Jimin via social media. While you stare incredulously at your mother, Jimin is staring at you, internally laughing at your expression. 

“How’s your mother? Is she well? Healthy?” Jimin nods with a charming smile.

“Yes, she’s great.” Your mom is clutching Jimin’s hands as if she’s in her seventies and not her forties. Jimin awkwardly shifts his grocery basket to his elbow, but your mom pays no mind to the uncomfortable position he’s in. 

“Oh, you’ve grown so much! I can still remember the days when you two were taking baths together!” Your face blanches while Jimin chokes. Knowing the volume of your mom’s voice, you’re sure the entire grocery store knows your and Jimin’s history now. “You know, I was just thinking about your mother the other day. When we were pregnant with the two of you, we-”

“Hey, Mom.” You place a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you think we should get going? The groceries are in the car...” 

“Oh! You’re right, sweetie,” she smiles. It seems that all it took was Jimin’s charm (and by charm, you mean standing there with that grin of his) for her to completely forget about your previous transgression. She turns back to Jimin. “It was lovely to see you, dear. Please tell your mother I said hello. We really should have a get-together over the holidays, don’t you think?”

“That sounds like a great idea, Mrs. L/N,” Jimin says, his eyes trailing to you. “Sorry for keeping your daughter. We were reconnecting and lost track of time.”

“You’re too sweet. I’m sure my daughter was the one babbling on about whatever popped into her head next. It’s no wonder she got lost looking for potatoes, she’s so easily distracted. You know, we had to put her on a leash as a child.” Your cheeks flush red while you get the sense that Jimin is enjoying this a little too much, despite his awkward smile. 

“Oh...” You can tell he’s doing his best to spare you the mortification, but if anything his efforts to conceal his laughter only make you more eager to end the conversation. 

“Uh... Mom... Groceries...”

“Fine, fine. You didn’t seem to care that much when you were flirting in the produce aisle.” Now that is the final straw. 

“Mom! Oh my god, let’s just go.” You feel like a teenager again, embarrassed and at your mother’s mercy. “Bye, Jimin! It was nice seeing you!” You grab your mother by the elbow and nearly drag her out of the store, tossing the red potatoes back onto the aisle as you go. You barely catch Jimin’s weak wave as you storm out. 

“He really is such a sweet boy, I’ll have to give his mother a call.” Call. That’s right. You forgot to give him your number. 

On pure instinct alone, you spring around, abandoning your mother in the parking lot to sprint back inside. 

“Y/N? Y/N! Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back! Start the car!” Your mother sighs and shakes her head. You imagine she’s pinching the bridge of her nose and wondering how her child still acts like a seven-year-old chasing after butterflies. 

You find Jimin not far from where you left him, skimming through the juices. You do your best not to show how heavy you’re breathing or how you’ve nearly broken a sweat. And you curse yourself for not using the university gym more often. Upon seeing you reappear, Jimin’s face lights up, albeit somewhat confused. 

“Oh, hey.” He holds up two jugs of orange juice. “Pulp or no pulp?” You freeze for a moment.

“Pulp. Obviously.” Jimin nods in agreement, putting the jug in his basket. He looks at you expectantly. “And I forgot to give you my number.” You quickly catch yourself. “For that Chubbles pictures.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Jimin’s hand rises to the back of his neck nervously as you punch the digits into his phone, making a contact for yourself. If your friends saw you now, they’d think you’d been replaced by aliens or finally gone over the edge. But something in you just had to do it. 

“Send me that picture, yeah?” You hand him back his phone. 

“Of course.” Jimin gives you a salute, making you giggle shamelessly again. With nothing more to say, you spin on your heel and speed walk out of the store to be mercilessly interrogated by your mother. 

Jimin shakes his head and smiles to himself as he watches your retreating form. He makes a mental note to go through his mom’s scrapbooks to find a childhood photo of you two to use as your profile picture. 

While your mom is berating you for wasting time and questioning your intentions with Jimin, you couldn’t be happier, grinning from ear to ear. Didn’t Jimin say he did the grocery shopping on weekday mornings?

“Y/N, are you listening to me?” You nod vigorously, which is enough for her when she switches to ranting about gas prices nowadays. 

But in reality, you’re not listening at all. You’re planning your next grocery trip. 

At least next time you’ll know where to find the motherfucking red potatoes. Though you doubt you’ll need to remember. Something tells you Jimin will remember this for a long time too. 

[impaladolan]

Capture - Grayson Dolan [2/-]

summary: after an unsuccessful attempt to escape, Y/N is in for more than she bargained..

warnings: lil bit of smut, swearing, and bdsm undertones

a/n: this is part TWO of this little series! check out part one before reading this!

Your senses slowly began to settle back into you, and you finally realized just what kind of mess you were in..

Right after his bold exit, your exhaustion caught up to you and your eyes became as heavy a dumbbells. But when you awoke for the second time that evening, the situation truly hit you right in the noggin.

You were in a foreign place, that you were incredibly scared to even attempt an escape out of. The foggy memory of the stunning man that had entered the room, was becoming a false reality. Had you dreamt of him? Was he just a twisted piece of your imagination?

Surely not.

It seemed so utterly real that the nameless man had to be an actual human. And even that thought scared the absolute shit out of you. If he were to barge right through the same door, you wouldn't know how to even address him, let alone look at him. So you stayed hidden beneath the large comforter, softly shaking with fear as your eyes began to water. You were starting to miss things you never thought you could miss. Like the pumpkin-apple candle that you'd light from time to time, or your piano you love to play, to wake you up in the mornings and settle you down in the evenings. Hell, you were even beginning to miss your refrigerator that held all your favorite foods and drinks, and your spacious bathroom that you regularly took a soaking bubble bath in.

Oh god, a bathroom. Just at the mere thought, your bladder revolted and signaled it's everlasting need to be freed. But you were too scared. Though, you couldn't last much longer without accidentally pissing yourself, but that'd just make this dreadful day even worse. So with your fears in mind and the shaking of your body reminding you, you pushed back the covers and lifted yourself from the cushiony mattress, your toes curling at the frigid touch of the marble floors. You oddly looked left and right, in search of what could possibly be a hidden camera or worse— a person, but came short with nothing of the sort. You began your tip-toeing steps towards an open door that unmistakably led to the sacred toilet you were literally yearning for, and ever so softly shut the door, for at least a little privacy. It was an expensive looking bathroom with even more expensive looking appliances.

But without further examining you rush to the porcelain bowl and pull down your undergarment, quickly seating yourself and letting all the filtered tension go. A relieved sigh escaped your lips, but your asscheeks sure did feel sore.

Maybe it wasn't a dream..

You let your thoughts roam as you emptied your bladder and tore a piece of toilet paper from its roll and wiped, finishing with the click of the flushing button and directing yourself towards the sink. The women in the mirror caught your eye, though she looked oddly untouched. You thought you'd at least have a bruise or two fluttered across your arms or your face, but it appeared as though you were as good as new and unbothered. Whoever had kidnapped you didn't fully intend harm, but rather some other premeditated plan that you weren't truly sure of.

Though you felt somewhat at ease, your frightened thoughts lingered and you washed your hands quickly and tip-toed back to your aclaimed warm bed that you slightly missed the absence of. You could've gone for round three of sleeping that day, but yet again, to your dismay, the familiar sound of a door opening and closing kept your eyes open, and an unfamiliar scent glided into your nostrils and made your stomach growl profusely.

"Hungry, darling?" The same voice from your dreams questioned the air around you and just as before, you couldn't refrain from laying your eyes on him. He was undoubtably real, except this time he was fully clothed in a tucked white dress shirt and pants, a belt tightly wrapped around his waist. He was even dreamier than before with his hair all done up and his fingers clad with shiny rings that hadn't caught your eyes before. You drew your attention away and slowly nodded, bringing the large blanket up to shield yourself from his eyes. He set the platter down on the nightstand with what looked to be a sweet smile and grabbed a little portable table to set just above your thighs. He neatly settled the prepared food onto it and seated himself at the end of the bed, motioning his hand for you to begin.

You were hesitant to eat anything he could've made at first, but you were more scared of him becoming mad, so you gladly picked up your spoon and began to chew on the nice noodle soup, it's brothy flavor feeling nice on your throat. You almost whimpered at the taste when you finished your very first bite, your eyelids shutting and your head titled back in sensation. "Good?" His deep, softened voice brought you back to reality and your head was nodding before you could detest anything of it. "For how mouthy you were this morning, you sure haven't said much at all." His words struck true as you thought back to the prior events, his seething words and your snooty comments that arises the anger in him.

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you, but you had caught me in a moment of weakness and I will forever regret it. I was taken against my own free will, without the ability to even fight for my freedom, and you think it's fair to treat me like a whore who "deserves to be punished" and was in quite a drowsy state of mind. You're a sick bastard whether you've been told that or not." You seemingly growled at him, but he didn't seem to be angered, let alone offended. With all the stillness and subtleness in the world, he answered;

"Yes, it may have been a moment of weakness, Ms.

Y/L/N, but when was the last time that that pretty pussy of yours was touched, hm? How long has it been since you've came by someone else's hand, or cock perhaps? Darling, I may be a stranger to you, but you're no stranger to me." And with that, he left you stunned (and regrettably horny), all alone in the same room you've been trapped in for who knows how long? Ugh, it was so angering the way he could flip what you say into something far from being similar to anything you were trying to argue.

But he was right..

Yes, it's been a rough couple years in the dating life for you. Though, it never had to do with "supply of men" because here and there, you'd get a little flustered by a handsome man wondering if you'd like to get coffee sometime. But you'd always sweetly decline and carry on with your day. You were a focused, driven person that had their mind set on nothing else but your arising business endeavors. You simply didn't want to begin a relationship because you weren't fully ready to give so much attention to one thing while you were too focused on another.

And being honest, men are very clingy. And mysterious..

His final little statement about "You're no stranger to me" really confused you. Had you met him before? Was he from your hometown? It was truly a mystery. Who's to say he wasn't some sort of stalker whose been following you for the past five years? But that sounds absurd. Why would such a handsome, dreamy, sexy— a'hem, man want to have anything to do with you? Whatever it is, you weren't exactly mad about it. Because just like earlier, when you were hazy and half asleep, you felt the same tingling and flutters right down to your core. He was so smooth with his words, it's hard not to fall to your knees and become his beckon call. Fuck, anytime you laid eyes on him, your body begins to writhe with shudders, creating that pooling sensation where your core throbbed the worst. A large part of you couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow, throw some sly comments at him or even try escaping, anything to catch his attention.

So before drifting asleep, your mind raced with loose plans and tactics for tomorrow, when you’d awake in the same room for presumably the third or fourth time.

-

Go time.

Initially, you had planned to sneak out only to anger him, but now that you were thinking about it, why not at least try to escape the clutches of the room and run away, hopefully home if you could.

You were missing it so much already, though you’ve only been gone for approximately thirty-two hours (maybe). But you were becoming bored with the view of absolutely nothing except gray walls and the one large painting on the wall. It looked like a countryside, a barn with a red roof-top and white siding while trees decorated the entire area around it. It was an odd picture to be put in this room, it didn’t really match the minimalist vibe the entire rest of the proximity put off. But anyway, it felt weird getting out of bed and twisting the handle on the door, and to your satisfaction, it opened with a faint click and you were finally able to be freed of this room.

The even more so frigid air smacked you straight between the eyes the moment you fully opened the door, it made your eyes water slightly. Taking the very first step out of the room, you notice that the walls in the long hallway are a powder color, which brought a weird grin to your face.

Those gray walls just weren’t doing the trick.

You slowly begin to tip-toe to the right of the entryway, looking in every direction possible. You didn’t really know if he lives alone or with others, but you were banking on the possibilities that there were others in the nice, freezing home.

Why the fuck does he keep it so cold?

You continued your slow, padding steps until you came across another door-less room; the kitchen. Thankfully there was no one in the huge kitchen, and your stomach jolted to the smell of just another soup, you just couldn’t recognize it. You almost scavengered for a spoon, but the faint sound of shallow footsteps corrupted your hearing and you b-lined straight to a cabinet, that happened to be a pantry once you were enclosed inside. Before entering, the pairs of footsteps let out a few hoarse chuckles and cackles, ultimately placing them as men. From what you could see in the tiny, barely visible crack, you could for sure make out who was standing directly left to the cabinet you were stuck in; the panty-dropping hottie from earlier.

You were just praying to God that he wouldn’t find you.

You took every breath as carefully and slowly as possible, not moving a muscle as the two men conversed, though it was muffled and incomprehensible. After what seemed like hours, you swore you heard a few goodbyes and a loud door shut. You wanted to sprint out of the damn tight-knit cabinet and run for your dear life, but you slowly opened the door and breathed in a large breath once you were finally free of your slight claustrophobic fears.

“Better run, sweetheart.” His deep, distasteful voice scared the wits out of you, which made your instincts ignite the moment he took a step closer to you. Before you knew it, your feet were pacing back and forth in long strides as your arms pumped up and down, though your blanked mind came to a loss on the directions out of the house.

This was it.

There was no way you’d make it out of here. He was obviously much faster and actually knew the layout of his own house, while you, on the other hand, had no damn clue where the front door is. So your heart sank deep in your chest when you felt his warm, muscular arms wrap around the entirety of your waist before you hand could even grasp an unknown handle that you were violently reaching for.

“Think you’re fucking smart, princess?” He whispers in your ear, carrying you away, presumably to your prior settings while you helplessly let him. You didn’t even thrash against him, or even attempt a kick to his groin.

You just.. let him.

“Fuckin’ lucky I don’t tie you up and spank your ass until it’s numb again.” He murmurs to himself, dropping you off on the same bed you’ve been sleeping and awakening in whilst he shuts and locks the door too. Just his little comment to himself made your mouth water and your pussy clench. It was hard enough being in such a close proximity with him.

Once testing the door to see if it was locked properly, he turned back to look at you with a cold, lustful stare that had you aching all over yet again. For someone that you don’t even know their formal name, you sure did have the ‘hots’ for him. In a flash, his shirt was off and his pants were unbuckled, the heat arising in your cheeks as he strode over to you in his nakedness. “Knees. Now.” He points to the floor below him, watching with demanding eyes. You, of course, reacted before thinking. You were on your knees in seconds and had your hands wrapped around his increasingly large girth. You really hadn’t looked at it before, you were honestly terrified to. But now that it was right in front of you and your fist was slowly pumping it, you craved it.

“Since you haven’t been very nice to Daddy, you’re gonna have to give him a little sweet treat..” He caressed the top of your head, looking down upon the sight of you stroking him made his cock jump slightly. With your own eyes in him, you ran your tongue along the protruding, red vein of his cock, suctioning off his tip like it was a straw. He threw his head back with a pleasured sigh as your warm and thick muscle made his erection grow. With a few internal encouragements in your head, you let your mouth intake more, slowly edging its way to his public bone. What you hardly couldn’t fit, you let your fingers glide over. His sharp intakes of breaths and groans had your own self a mess, and you almost wanted to creep your own two ‘flimsy’ fingers down there and relieve it.

You let your hands travel to his constricting balls, fondling them with the slightest of touches. He squinted his eyes and held himself back from coming right then, but it was too late. For his thick, hot ribbons of cum released all the way down your throat and to your chin.

He didn’t last long..

It unusually tasted sweet, compared to others who seemed to be sour and gummy. Though he was done and physically drained, you continued slow motions, only quickening them by the second. Overstimulating has and will always be one of your favorite kinks. To see someone shaking and aching from their own sensitivity made you all the more horny and sexually-frustrated. But the overstrung man put an end to the real quick, pulling you to your feet and shoving you back onto the cushiony bed where your comfy gown rose and his intense stare darkened.

“Don’t you make one fucking sound..”

(masterlist)

[elentiyawhitethorn]

The Bet | Chapter Three

Day 5

Today was the day Feyre moved into her new studio. Over the weekend she had spoken with the proprietor and settled the offer. It was now Monday morning.

Feyre was currently lugging her suitcases down the sidewalk. The studio was only a few blocks away, not to mention she didn’t have a car. She had bought new art supplies recently, too excited to wait until she got the studio. And she had packed everything into her suitcases, which were much easier to transport than boxes.

She finally reached the building. Feyre had already visited after renting out the place, both today and the day before, so she was familiar with it already. She left one suitcase at the bottom of the metal stairs. Why did it have to be on the second floor? At least that lowered the price; it was hard to find an affordable studio space in Greenwich Village.

Feyre carried one suitcase up, came back down, and carried up the other. She then pulled out her key... which she dropped, and of course felt through one of the slits in the walkway. Great. Another trudge down the stairs. Feyre turned and made it down all of two steps before coming face to face with, woe and behold, Rhys. Why does this keep happening to me? At least he hadn’t texted her yet.

Rhys grinned. “Looking for this, I take it?” He held up her key.

Feyre frowned. “Thanks.” She grabbed the key from his hand. “Um, do I really have to ask why you’re here?”

Rhysand smirked. Of course he did. “Mor mentioned you were moving things to your new studio.”

“And she also mentioned the address?” Feyre asked. She was going to kill Mor.

“I asked her for it. I want to help. What do you need me to do, darling?”

Feyre frowned. “It’s Monday. Don’t you have a job?”

Another damned smirked flitted over Rhys’ face. She was going to kill him too, she decided. “I’m a flight instructor at the university. Tuesday through Thursday only.”

Of all the things he could have said, Feyre had expected that one the least. She had pictured Rhys as more of a... well, something involving smooth-talking clients and wearing expensive suits. Perhaps Feyre had been making too many assumptions about Rhys.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “I know, I look like a skeezy businessman.” He didn’t seem upset, though, just endlessly amused. Did he have any other emotions? “I like to fly, though. It makes me feel free. Teaching it is almost as good.”

Feyre blinked. She was surprised to hear such an honest comment from him. And feeling free... just like when Feyre picked up a paintbrush. She scowled. “You can help me unpack stuff.” Without another word, she turned and unlocked the door.

-

They spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the afternoon setting up the area. And they talked. About Feyre’s hometown of Detroit and her dream to be an artist. Of Rhys’ joy of flying and his experiences in New York.

Despite the sharing, Feyre’s animosity remained. She refused to smile at him, even once. And when he invited her to go to the cafe and see Mor, she hesitated. She was hungry and couldn’t cook for the life of her, and after all that Rhys had done, she owed him food. But the bet specified that...

“This is not a date,” Feyre said, frowning.

Rhysand grinned. “If I were taking you on a date, darling, it wouldn’t be where my cousin works.”

Feyre scowled. “You are never taking me on a date.”

“I said ‘if.’” Rhys smiled seductively and learned forward. “I don’t think never is accurate, though. In fact, I’m hoping to convince you to come on a date with me before long. I’ll charm you eventually.” Bloody hell.

“You’re a fucking prick, you know that? And you haven’t even asked me on a date yet. How do you know I’d turn you down?”

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” Rhys asked with an amused expression on his face.

“Well, no.”

His smile widened. “And that’s why I didn’t ask. But I’ll crack that aggressive exterior in no time, don’t worry.”

Feyre hadn’t realized how close they had gotten. “I’m seriously about to punch you right now.”

Rhys chuckled. “I would expect nothing less, darling. Let’s head out.” To the cafe. Where Feyre was having a not-even-close-to-an-actual-date and... sitting with him? Eating with him? This was going to be great. Maybe they could get separate tables.

-

“Feyre! Rhys! Here on a date?” Mor was behind the counter, grinning, attempting to suppress the eagerness at winning the bet already - and failing miserably.

Feyre gave her most vicious frown and I-will-hunt-you-down-and-skin-you-alive stare. Rhysand was the one who replied. “Feyre darling insists this is not a date. I’m not so sure, though.”

Feyre turned to him. “It is not a date. I do not like you. I just want to eat lunch.” She was perhaps a little too snappy, but Rhys seemed to have thick skin. He could handle it.

Mor frowned. “Well I think you two should go on a date. You’d be so cute together.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Feyre ignored this comment and ordered a grilled cheese and a coffee.

Mor refused to be satisfied. “How did you two come to be strolling down the sidewalk together?”

“I think you know, having given him the address of my studio. Thank you for that, by the way.” Feyre’s voice couldn’t have been drier.

Mor, however, smiled graciously. “Of course, Feyre. I know how much you like to spend time with my cousin.” Her voice was sincere, but from the mischievous glint in her eye, Feyre could tell she didn’t mean a word of that statement. Feyre really was starting to fantasize of how she could murder her friend.

Rhys snorted and ordered his food, smirking all the while. He and Feyre sat a small table by the window. After a minute he said, “You’re staring at my mouth.” Which was technically true. Shit.

Feyre frowned. “I was wondering if that smirk is permanent. Plastic surgery, maybe?”

Rhys barked a laugh. He was probably about to give some witty comeback when Feyre’s phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and check the screen before turning it off and putting it back.

“Not important, darling?” Rhys asked.

“No.” Which wasn’t technically true. But there was no way in hell Feyre was going to answer her phone when the caller ID read Tamlin.

-

“I’m home,” Mor called, hours later.

“In here,” was Feyre’s reply. She was in the dining room looking over the documents of her contract with the studio. Everything seemed to be in order.

Mor dropped onto the seat next to Feyre. “Have fun with my cousin?”

“Sending him to my studio? I’m going to murder you for that.” Feyre didn’t bother to look up from what she was doing.

“You could have turned him away.” Feyre didn’t dignify this with a response. “Hon, you look so sad. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, Mor.” Feyre looked up from the papers. “It’s not because of what you did. As annoying as he is, Rhys did help. It’s... I got a call from Tamlin today.”

Mor’s eyes widened. “I thought he was calling less now.”

A sigh came out of Feyre. “Less, but not never. If only because he knows I won’t answer. He’s still looking for me though. I thought once he realized I left Detroit he would stop looking. I don’t even know why. I should have known better.”

Mor took Feyre’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Feyre. I wish there was something I could do. Surely there must be-”

Feyre interrupted her again. “No. He is rich. He is powerful. The best I can do is hide.”

“That doesn’t sound like a pleasant way to live.”

“What else can I do? Besides, it can be. I’m here with you. I’m painting. That all I’ve ever wanted.”

Mor sighed. “And yet you live with a shadow over your head, always scared he’ll find you. You look so cheerful that I think that you’re doing better after everything he did, but then you look so sad sometimes and I know that isn’t true. You’ve been through serious trauma. Have you considered therapy?”

Feyre frowned and looked down. “I think that’s a good idea. I might as well give it a try.”

“Good. And whatever you need, Feyre, I am always here for you.”

Feyre looked up at her friend. “Stop that, Mor. You’re making me cry.” Tears were indeed slipping down her cheeks.

Mor smiled. “I’m your bestie. I’m supposed to make you cry sometimes.”

Feyre sniffled. “You’ve been so supportive. Thank you for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re so much more resilient than you give yourself credit for. I’m always going to help you, but I think you’d be fine if I didn’t.”

“I don’t know how true that is. But thank you.” Feyre gazed fondly at her best friend. Her support system. And she smiled.

-

Mor sat with Feyre for a few more minutes. As soon as she left to take a shower, Feyre looked online for a therapist nearby. She wasn’t going to say she’d try it and conveniently “forget” for a while. No more putting off help. Mor was right about Feyre going through trauma, and it was time to heal.

She clicked a website detailing the closest therapist’s practice, not too far away, probably not long on the subway. Perfect. Feyre found the number and dialed on her phone. “Hello? Yes, I’d like to make an appointment.” The receptionist, with a deep male voice, asked if 3:30 Friday would be okay. Feyre accepted and listed her credit card number. Her voice was shaky and her heart was thumping. It’s just a phone call, calm down. Everything was verified and then she said, “Thank you. Bye.”

Feyre set her phone down on the table. Her palms were sweating. She was already nervous for Friday. Working through this would obviously require talking about it. How would she manage telling someone about everything that had happened in that mansion...?

Feyre supposed if she had one of the nervous breakdowns she was prone to, a therapist’s office was the place to do it. Yes, she would be fine. Stop worrying, Feyre. Also, stop talking to yourself. It’s weird.

Feyre stood and walking into the kitchen. She had already had dinner, but in all honesty, she could do to gain a few pounds. All that time hurling her guts into the toilet, because of nightmares of-

No. No more thinking about that. It would all come out on Friday, no need to work herself up about it now. Feyre grabbed a can of beer out of the fridge, opting for alcohol rather than food. She could gain weight later; now was the time to get drunk. Only mildly, though, since Feyre was painting in her studio tomorrow. It would be hard to focus with a hangover.

Feyre spent the next few minutes trying not to think about Tamlin. Which led her to thinking of Rhysand. What a smartass. What a beautiful smartass. This wasn’t mooning, Feyre told herself. Rhys was handsome - that wasn’t wrong to think, it was mere fact. She was allowed to appreciate his looks without actually being attracted to him. Which she wasn’t. Obviously.

Feyre didn’t feel anything when she looked at his muscular frame. Or his sparkling violet eyes, full of mirth. His structured cheekbones, his delicious lips. Delicious? Okay, perhaps that was a little over the top. The point: Feyre totally didn’t like Rhysand. Or want to admire his features endlessly. Needless to say.

Feyre thanked the gods when Mor left the bathroom and came back into the dining room. Anything to prevent her from her own traitorous thoughts.

The two women chatted for the rest of the night, Mor wanting to be there with Feyre after the call from Tamlin. They discussed paintings, a waiter Mor had had to fire, and anything that didn’t involve Tamlin. Or Rhysand. For once, Mor wasn’t hounding Feyre about that topic, which was a major relief for her. Because it was getting hard to think about him without desiring him. A thought which seemed absolutely ridiculous to Feyre, seeing as he genuinely annoyed her endlessly. Rhys was such a fucking prick, so why couldn’t Feyre hate him? Life is such a bitch.

[lo-55]

Shattered Chains of Fate Ch. 1

Through a misunderstanding and a poorly read application, Ichigo Kurosaki gets a chance internship at the Chaldeas Security Organization. It changes everything.

 It felt good to stand in the sunlight.

 Ichigo had spent so long in Chaldea it felt good to have the sun on his skin, warming him from the outside in.

 He had gotten so used to having the solid presence of his Shielder at his side that standing alone on the platform from the train felt more like standing naked in the streets of his hometown. Not a pleasant feeling. His family wouldn’t be there to see him, and they weren’t. He wasn’t supposed to be home for a few more days at least. How could it be that everything that happened to him, all of the fighting and all of the bloodshed and all of the war would have happened in the span of just a few days? How could his years have been spent and yet nothing but him had changed?

 It was enough to make his head spin.  

 He needed to get home.He didn’t think he could ever really finish explaining everything that had happened to him, but he would tell his family the truth. There had been an accident at the facility, and he was home early.

 Even though it had never been an accident.

 *

 There was smoke. Smoke and the scent of blood and spilling gas lines and raw metal twisted beyond recognition.

 He barely heard Dr. Roman yelling at his back, telling him to come back. Ichigo had never shied from danger and he wasn’t going to start now. He dove into the smoke, choking him and clinging to his clothes. Pods of people were disarrayed around him, their bodies still and blood leaking out like creusom caskets. He couldn’t get their doors open, no matter that he tried, but there was one person who was not there. One person who wasn’t him, blocked from the first mission for his bad attitude towards the Director. Nevermind that the director was just a kid herself.

     “Bulkhead closing in 180 seconds. All Devision 2 personal, evacuate immidiately-”  

 Ichigo didn’t understand what that meant. He didn’t know what most of what had happened today meant, just that his little summer internship wasn’t even remotely what was on the flyer. But he didn’t pause as he scrambled over and massive chunk of rock, stuck through with wires that cut his hands like an oversized porcupine.

 A flash of white out of the corner of his eyes gives her away.

 There, lying under the debris, her small body crushed an broken and leaking blood, was Mash.

 It was Mash but all he could see was Yuzu, her wide eyes huge and terrified and filled with tears. Not a girl he’d met an hour before, after passing out on the floor. Not the best meeting.

 The ground was slick with blood and water, turning Ichigo’s white shirt a pale pink where it splashed on it when he dropped to his knees next to her. She was trapped, and the rock was too big for him to even be able to budge it.

 That didn’t stop Ichigo from trying.

 The overhead voice was still talking, and Mash was muttering at him, her voice too weak to make much sound. She was dying. Dying, her tiny body crushed until she coughed and more than just blood came out.

 Ichigo howled with rage and denial and shoved harder, harder. It was hot and smouldering and his hands blistered and blackened with burns. The light above them changed from blue to red and it burned into his retina until he couldn’t see anything else. Just red. Red blood, red light, and his body gave out. Too much smoke, he couldn't breath, he couldn’t see. He was helpless. He couldn’t do a single thing and its burned more than fire.

 Mash’s small hand found his. Her grip was weak, but she was alive. She was still alive and he couldn't just let her die-

 He grabbed her hand with both of his. Holding tight.

 The overhead was still talking, her voice robotically calm and detached. Small paws from the ferret, or whatever it was that had brought him to Mash landed on top of their joined hands.

 “Sen-pai,” her voice was a whisper, and wet with blood. The smell was making him sick. “Please… r-run.”

 “No way,” he denied firmly, gripping her hands tighter. “Not without you.”

 “Senpai…”

 Someone else is yelling at him. A ripple in the air. White hair and panicked eyes. The director, the one Ichigo had pissed off. He reaches for her without thinking, and his hand grasps hers.

 And then he didn’t see red. He saw blue, light that poured across his skin and came from beneath it, rushing like water across the burning room. A circle in the sky, a hollow moon of blue and Mash’s hand in his.

 * *

 He knocks on the door, feeling more stranger than family. His key is long gone, he’d dropped it somewhere in Rome, he thinks, but its hard to keep track of trivial things like that when emperors are trying to gut you like a fish.

 It’s Yuzu that answers and he can’t help it.

 The second she’d within his sights he drags her into the fiercest hug he can manage. He’s gotten taller, he realizes. It’s not a surprise. He spent three years in less than a week, and even if he hadn’t…

 “Ichigo?” Yuzu doesn’t fight him, and he’s grateful for it. She must be confused, because as much as Ichigo loves his sisters he’s not the most physically affectionate person in the world.

 “Hey,” Ichigo doesn’t let go for a long time. “Sorry I was gone so long.”

 “Huh? But you’re home early…”

 Ichigo doesn’t say anything. He’s loath to let her go, but eventually he has to. Karin is at soccer practice, of course she is.

 Ichigo feels his dad coming at him from a mile away, trying to sneak up on him from the clinic next door. He’d seen Isshin through the window, a glance in the corner of his eye and the flying kick thrown at him isn’t stopped with violence for the first time in ten (thirteen) years.

 Ichigo catching him around his middle, holding him off the ground, and Isshin has little choice but to hand there, his arms around Ichigo’s head.

 “Son?” there’s a question or two or a thousand, but Ichigo doesn’t know how to answer all of them. He doesn’t put Isshin down until they’re in the living room and even then he sits right next to him. Knee to knee. Yuzu brings in a can of tea for him.

 “There was an accident,” he tells them. “Chaldea, there was an explosion. So everyones been sent home.” Everyone who survived. Everyone who made it through the initial explosion and wars that followed.

 “Huh? I thought it was supposed to be a security organization, and there was an explosion?” Isshin scowled.

 It was sabotage. It was death. It was the world turning red and the future being stripped away from human hands.

 “It’s fine,” he says, even though it wasn’t even remotely. There were a million things wrong with what has happened. “I’m not hurt.” Which is true enough. He can see his dad sizing him up, trying to read between the lines. He had to look older. He’s taller, his cheeks are sharper and he’s lost baby fat. He’s always been fit, but now he's stronger, built for endurance and running for weeks on end. Tempered by wars and helplessness and a desperate bid to save the world.

 “I’m fine,” he said again, and Isshin let it go. Ichigo didn’t exactly know how to feel about that.

 He spends the rest of the day flitting from family member to family member. School starts again in four days and he heavily considers skipping it to hang around his      dad    of all people.

 He can’t help thinking about Mash. She didn’t have anything like this.

 * * *

 They move from one fire to another.

 Ichigo knows if he stays among all this smoke he’s going to end up with permanent damage. Because you know. Fuck him. He has no idea what happening, just that he thinks he’s teleported and apparently magic is as real as ghosts are. And he’s not dead, Fou sits on his shoulder.

 He doesn’t know where Mash went but he doesn’t have time to worry about it. Some kind of skeleton gang, at least five of them are approaching. Skeletons, living, breath - well, moving in any case, skeletons. Half of them have swords. One has a spear.

 Ichigo thinks he’s broken his hand when he throws the first punch, but the skeleton crumble into a strange yellow powder that tastes like what Ichigo assumes a graveyard would. Death an d decay and strangely damp.

 He can’t stop with one but by the time he’s kicked the absolute shit out of the last of them the sky lights up with another shade of red. Like a handful stars falling from the sky, and he realizes belatedly that there’s no way for him to block whatever the fuck is flying at him.

 So he tries to run, but there’s a flash of purple and pink and Mash is in front of him. Only she’s taller now, older, and she’s holding a shield bigger than her body is. She’s not alone. White hair, snake-yellow eyes. Olga Marie, the director that had been pissed at a ‘commoner’ like Ichigo was with her too. Only, she wasn’t really there.

 It had been years since Ichigo hadn’t been able to tell the dead from the living, but this time it takes him a few minutes to realize that Mash is very much alive, if not apparently a magical girl, and Olga Marie is anything but alive.

 They don’t have time to worry about it, because they’re under seige and Ichigo is apparently a      wizard    .

 He should seriously be more surprised.

 But he’s not. It explains a few things. Like how he can see ghosts on the regular, and why his punching skeletons actually works.

 They pick up another stray on their way, a wizard named Cu Chulainn. He and Mash swear themselves to Ichigo as his ‘servents’, familiars who he supplies with energy and they fight on his behalf. It almost reminds him of Chad, except here he’s entirely outclassed.

 The helplessness tastes bitter and vile.

 A third servent appears, a woman this time who likes to turn people to stone.

 “You’ll all join my garden,” she tells them, hanging off a petrified man. Ichigo can vaguely remember reading something about a person like this. The eyes, he thinks. It’s her eyes.

 He meets them squarely and bonks her harmlessly on the head. He’d have more luck punching the statues than her.

 “Hey,” his voice is gruff. “Stop being a lunatic. We’re all getting out of here. So either come with us or let us go.”

 “You- what?” Everyone is staring at him. Bewildered, but Ichigo had never done what he was supposed to. He does what he wants, and even though she’s threatened them somehow he can feel her. Like the rush of scales across his skin, cool and potentially threatening but if she really wanted to kill them-

 Well, they’d just been hanging out by the river. If nothing else should have taken his head off with her curved spear.

 “Am I gonna have to repeat myself? Damn, I said we’ve got bigger things to do than fight you, lady. So just come with us, or let us go!”

 “Master!” Mash takes a startled step towards him. “Please step away from her! She could kill you!”

 “Why would she do that?” Ichigo demanded, turning towards them, “We haven’t even done anything!” It’s not like he’s against fighting. He fights all the time. But they need to get out of here. He needs to get back to his family, to his own damn      time    .

 Besides that, he can see her power. He isn’t sure how, but he can see her strength and that of the two other Servants. Not see, maybe, but he can feel it. Like he can feel ghosts even with his eyes closed. Either way, she’s not strong enough to beat both of the others at once, even if Mash is a novice.

 “This is a war…”

 “Look,” he spun to face her, staring fearlessly into her eyes. “Just say yes or no already!”

 She blinks. Once, twice, thrice.

 “Yes?”

 So with three servants in toe, he sets out to fight the ones who holds the holy grail. All of this destruction, a city of fire devoid of the living and ghosts both... Only servants and masters remained, all because of a cup.

 All for the sake of a wish.

 Was it really worth it?  

 * * * *

 Ichigo’s bed is equal points familiar and foreign.

 He ends up going to sleep on the floor, the bed too soft and too warm and he feels like he’s going to suffocate.

 All he can think of are late nights spent in Chaldea with Mash, with Roman, and Di Vinci, and countless others. He misses the solid presence of Mash and her near encyclopedic knowledge of history. Everywhere , everywhen they went. He misses the sharp bite of Mordreds tongue betrayed by her sea-dark eyes. He missed the quiet, hulking form of Asterios, always well within reach. He missed the sharp bite of his guard dogs tongue and the quiet prayers of the saints at sunset. Even Kiyohime, her claws digging into his arm, afraid she’ll be abandoned again-

 He’s up before dawn.

 Ichigo puts together enough breakfast for twenty people. Rolled omelette and rice and foreign things. Shakshuka and fried green tomatoes.

 His family stares when they come down for breakfast.

 Ichigo stands, in his dads ‘kiss the cook’ apron, with a bowl of matcha stirring swiftly in his hands.

 “Are you sure you’re okay?” Karin asks, looking him up and down, trying to find something. Isshin’s stare is particularly disconcerting. Like a scientist trying to understand something new, he’s never seen his father look that way, especially not at his own son.

 Ichigo has to turn away from their staring.

 “The time is different there,” is the understatement of the century. “I wanted to make breakfast.”

 “There’s enough here for an army!” Yuzu cries, gesturing to the spread out in front of them.

 Or enough for two Berserkers.

 “We can have leftovers for lunch?” is about the only explanation he has. How does he explain that he used to cooking with EMIYA enough for an actual army?

 “Yeah… I guess so,” Karin is still staring.

 Isshin pitches himself at the portrait of their mother, sobbing grossly.

 “Masaki! Our son is growing up so fast!”  

 * * * * *

 Lev Lainur has an ugly smile. Everything about him is slimy and distrustful and Ichigo has seen enough ghosts to know, just by looking at him, that he is      not    human.

 So when Olga Marie tries to go running to him, Ichigo wraps a firm arm around her middle and holds her back.

 “Let go!” she shrieked, clawing towards the slimy man, “It’s Lev! Lev will fix everything he’ll-”

 “He’ll kill you.”

 Olga Marie freezes in his arms, looking towards Medusa. Rider. Her eyes are narrowed and her hair writhes with snakes, hissing a spitting venom.

 “Kill her?” Lev laughs, a sound like metal grating and children screaming. There’s nothing pleasant about it. “I already have! I planted that bomb directly under her feet, I have no idea how she’s even here!”

 Ichigo knows.

 It’s because of him. Because of his interference in the explosion. The other hand he’d grabbed, it must have been Marie’s. And they’re all here together.

 “W-wait, no. I’m not dead! I can’t be!” But the fight goes out of her. She lets Ichigo hold her, and when Lev beacons gravity shifts and the world tries to pull Olga Marie from his arms. He tightens his hold and barks at Medusa. Chain snake out, lashing them together and to the ground and holding them there, even as Lev pulls until it feels like his skin will come off. Ichigo can feel it again, the drain on his energy. Mana, magic energy, pulled when the servants fought. He has no idea how much he has but it must be just enough for Lev to scoff.

 He shows them the red earth again. The world, the future. Humanity, all gone. Destroyed in an instant, and they the only survivors. All of the past, all of the future.

 There is nothing left of it, save him, Mash, and the ghost in his arms.

 Something inside him writhes and snarls, thirsting for vengeance and at the same time is keens a wailing cry of anguish.

 It’s his mother all over again. Laying on the riverbank, bleeding out and Ichigo helpless in her arms.

 It’s Mash in the command room, crushed under burning stone and Ichigo only able to hold her hand.

 No, no, no, no!

 He won’t allow it. He will not let himself be so      useless    .

 There’s a flare of energy and Medusa gasps. Mash and Cu straighten up like dogs that heard a whistle and their fight turn on a dime. The archer falls, and his king a second later until all five of them stand before Lev. United.

 * * * * * *

 School starts.

 The world turns on.

 Everything is the same, and nothing is at all.

 * * * * * * * *

[simp-for-spencer-reid]

Sugar with a Side of Coffee Ch. 9

Series Masterlist

Chapter 9: Crossed Lines

Spencer was not sure what overcame to do something like that. He did not drive straight home, instead he chose to drive aimlessly through the city. His palms were still sweating, even though Cate was long gone from his car. He was worried he had seriously messed up; she hadn’t even kissed him back. He left so fast he didn’t even want to see the look of disappointment on her face. Before he knew it, he found himself outside of JJ’s house. 

It was late, just past eleven. He knew she’d be sleeping, and also that her kids would be put to bed. He couldn’t help himself. He pulled his phone out and called her to see if she was awake. She picked up on the third ring.

“Spence? Is everything okay?” JJ tried her best to sound awake. He tried to ignore the lack of butterflies when JJ called him by the nickname. 

“Would it be okay if I came over? I think I ruined my friendship with Cate.” He chewed on his lip and drummed the fingers of his left hand over his steering wheel. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll get a pot of coffee started.” He could hear JJ get out of bed and the ruffle of what he could assume was her putting on a house coat over her pajamas.

“Good because I’m already here.” He hung up and went to her front door, which opened as he got closer. He could see JJ’s tired figure.

“Of course you are.” She said, letting him inside. They made their way to the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible due to JJ’s family sleeping. Will had walked through the hallway to the bathroom, mumbling a greeting to Spencer.

JJ had to listen carefully as Spencer recalled the events of the night. He had chugged the mug of coffee. His fingers jittered and his hands flew about as he rushed through his admittance of feelings for Cate and how good she was. Just an all around good person. Too good for him, too good to be brought down by his job. 

“Then tell her, Spence.” JJ said as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Spencer’s mouth opened and shut without making any words. “Tell her how you feel; you’re getting in your head.” JJ reached a hand out to Spencer’s shoulder. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

Cate paced back and forth in Marta’s small bedroom, not taking more than a few steps in either direction. She could still feel the buzz on her lips, but she wanted to blame the blur of thoughts on her tiredness from the late night. 

“I’m sorry, why is this a bad thing?” Marta asked sarcastically. “I thought you were into him?” Cate pushed the heels of her palms into her eyes. 

“I do! But I don’t know, I think I was misreading things.” Cate started to bite her nails. “Why would he just, like, run away like that?” Cate laid back on Marta’s bed and covered her head with a pillow. “Maybe it was a mistake.” Cate convinced herself. Marta placed a hand on Cate’s arm. 

“Here’s a thought: how about you talk to him?” Marta was the logic to Cate’s unreasonable doubt. When Marta pulled the pillow off of Cate’s face, she was met with a glare from the brunette. “He always stops by for coffee. Why not just ask him about it when he comes?” Marta swept Cate’s stray hairs from her face.

Spencer’s three day absence had not gone unnoticed by Cate when she was working the cart. Something in her told her he wasn’t away on a case, like the usual reason. Even though Cate had wanted to address their friendship-relationship limbo, she was glad she hadn’t seen him because it gave her time to mull things over and think of exactly what she wanted to say to him. 

Spencer had taken a short leave of absence from the bureau to visit his mother in his hometown of Las Vegas. He hadn’t been to see her in a few months, so he was due for a visit. He wrote her weekly and sometimes daily when he had time. The days he had seen her were good days. Seeing her, helped Spencer forget about the situation he left behind in D.C. 

Cate would be lying if she said she didn’t miss seeing Spencer most mornings. They had grown close in their friendship and not to mention he still had her books. She missed laughing with him and fixing his coffee for him. She remembered their chess game and seeing him at the bar with a drunk Marta. Mostly, she just missed him.

Coming back from his getaway, he was met with relentless questions from Garcia about his trip to the Smithsonian with Cate. He tried very hard to dodge her questions and dance around them. He channelled many every tactic from his training to give as little information as possible.

“I know you’re hiding something from me, Doctor.” Penelope pointed a fuzzy-capped pen at the lanky agent. “And I will find out.” Her heels clacked against the tile of the hallway as she walked away. But, the questioning did not stop there. Spencer had entered the bullpen. After placing his bag down on his desk he made his way to the coffee corner they had. Even though they had started getting their supply from The Empty Mug, his coffee wasn’t the same as when he ordered from Cate. Next to him, Derek was making himself a coffee.

“So,” he stirred milk into his coffee. “How was your museum date?” Derek raised an eyebrow at Spencer.

“Pleasant.” he said curtly, heading to his desk.

“Really? That’s all you got for me, Pretty Boy?” Derek sat at his desk, next to Spencer’s and leaned towards Spencer with intent. “You take little miss coffee out on a full fledged date and you’re not going to spill the details?” Derek teased Spencer, but it was apparent that that was the last straw.

“I kissed her and I haven’t seen her since, okay? Is that what you would like to hear?” Spencer spoke a little too loudly, earning stares from other agents around them. He leaned toward Derek and spoke more in a hush, not needing any more prompting. “I ruined our perfectly good friendship and managed to scare off the only girl who even showed remote interest in me. Thanks for making me relive that.” Spencer opened a drawer in his desk to search for a file. Derek took the hint and let the topic go. 

Spencer tried not to think of the stack of books on the table in his study that belonged to Cate. He tried not to think of her smile when they discussed theories or the first time he saw her in her glasses. He tried to push her to the back of his mind, but his memory wouldn’t allow that. He found himself seated at the round table with his team.

His mind looked to their latest case: a stalker who had been taking pictures of the team. Pictures of Hotch coaching one of Jack’s soccer games, Emily looking out her window with Sergio- her cat, Derek exiting the building, and the last one was of Spencer, walking down the road that The Empty Mug was on. He was pictured walking next to Cate. It was the night he had walked her home. He remembered their chess game. 

The picture made Spencer hate his job. He tried so hard to keep Cate out of the mess of criminals and serial killers. It made him never want to talk to her again, even if it broke his heart. He wanted her to stay safe, and it was clear to him how to make that happen.

This stalker became sloppy and the team managed to catch him after a week and a half. It was a bootcamp drop-out. He failed the test to make it through to the FBI agent training and he wanted revenge for being overlooked. He wanted to show the team how easy it was to follow them and how vulnerable they could be to him.

Cate tried hard not to let thoughts of Spencer distract her from her work. It had been a few weeks since she had last seen him. Her life seemed to go back to normal: She was able to move back into her apartment, which helped ease her mind of the million thoughts running through it. The cart’s shifts seemed mundane without her chat’s with Spencer. 

This particular rainy day she had swapped with Marta and was working the shop. Marta was in a stand-off with her parents and wanted to use the cart as an excuse to steer clear of them. Their fight was something about Marta’s monthly rent payment to her parents.

Cate had her back turned, cleaning their brewing machine before closing when she heard the bell of the door ring, signalling a new customer had entered the shop. Cate turned around, her face wearing her best customer service smile, when she had come face to face with the man she had least expected. 

Her smile dropped when she saw Spencer, standing before her, wet hair stuck to his face and his dress shirt clung to his body. She tried to not look so surprised, and entered his usual order into the register.

“The usual?” she didn’t even cover his coffee like she used to. She extended a hand for his payment. 

“Yes, and. Uh, can I talk to you?” Spencer wore his pleading eyes with a lopsided smile. Cate tried to stifle a sigh.

“About?” Cate hoped he was referring to what she assumed, because she had a lot to say to him on the matter. 

“About the last time I saw you. I have some explaining to do.” Spencer admitted. Cate was ready to admit that she wanted to admit her feelings before she felt like he had abandoned her. She opened her mouth, ready to speak, but Spencer continued:

“I know that I was the first to make the move, but I thought about it a lot, and I think we should stay just friends.”

[deepslateemeraldore]

Peach (one shot)

Reddie

Inspired by “Peach” by The Front Bottoms and that one textpost that said “when someone writes Reddie shotgunning they’re not the only ones getting high” or something like that

3.4k words

E / fluff / drug and alcohol use (weed)

It’s the end of everyone’s first semester of college, and the Loser’s congregate at Mike’s to celebrate.

 It was common for Eddie Kaspbrak to fall asleep on his friends shoulders during long car rides. And with his head on someone’s lap, legs sprawled out on a loser’s couch. And, on rare occasions, cuddled up to Richie in his bed after a long night. He’d wake up to tangled limbs and Richie’s warm breath tickling the back of his neck, an arm draped lazily around Eddie’s mid section. And if he were to be completely honest, Eddie was the happiest to feel the warmth radiating off of his best friend upon waking up.

 On this particular night, the two boys had been at the Hanlon residence, partying with their friends to celebrate the end of their collective first semester of college (they had all decided to get general ed out of the way at Bangor CC, not ready to move away from their hometown just yet). Beverly and Bill supplied alcohol, Stan and Mike prepared dinner and snacks, and Ben, Richie, and Eddie himself were in charge of baking and dressing a cake for the celebration (Ben and Richie were great at eating baked goods, but needed Eddie’s guidance and direction for creating something edible). The night pulled on like any other of their parties, full of shrill shrieks and laughter, the sounds only amplifying with the added effects of rum and beer.

 By ten PM, Ben had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, moments after the cake had been cut and served with seconds and thirds. Bill, Stan and Mike helped Ben to Mike’s room to sleep off the IPA’s Bill supplied (he’d only had four, but he was always a lightweight). Eddie poked at the crumbs of remaining cake on his and Richie’s shared plate.

 “I tried to tell him to take it easy tonight,” Bev began to speak, eyes following Stan keeping Ben balanced out of the kitchen.

 “But the boy just wants to party hard.” She smiled, turning her attention to Eddie. 

 “The cake was amazing, by the way. I’ve never had a peach pound cake,” Eddie blushed, dropping his fork on the plate. “I could eat that for the rest of my life.”

 “Hey, I made the cake, too!” Richie chimed in, feigning hurt that Bev ignored his help in the production. Eddie gave him a poke in the ribs with his elbow, Bev chuckling at the interaction.

 “Thank you, Bev. I can give you the recipe if you’d like. I made a few tweaks, but I can write those down, too.” Eddie smiled at Bev, pushing his chair back to stand up in search of a pen and paper. Richie followed suit behind him, the chairs legs scraping on the linoleum.

 “Speaking of peaches,” Richie pointed to Eddie’s ass, smirking, earning a cheap snort from Bev. “This plum’s gonna have a smoke.” He announced, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room.

 “If anyone cares to join their dear friend, I’ll be in the back.” Mike reappeared with Bill hot on his heels. Bev stood up to follow the boys, nudging Eddie as she passed behind him as a way of saying “join us”. He finished scribbling ingredients down and grabbed a bottle of water before rejoining with his friends outside.

 The aroma of shitty weed made Eddie scrunch up his nose upon first contact, his lungs feeling a little heavy, too. He watch Bev hand Bill a lighter as he made his way over to stand next to Richie. He smiled up at his best friend, earning a smile and a wink back in return. Eddie was grateful that the backyard was dark and wouldn’t expose his flushed face and ears. He heard the click of the lighter and watched Bill take a long hit from the joint in between his lips. Bill smiled as he exhaled, passing it to Mike. Then Mike to Bev, then Stan came outside to join them and took two hits before passing it to Richie. Feeling like time was going by oddly fast, Eddie took a step back, watching as Richie held the blunt between his long, nimble fingers, taking the longest drag yet. However, as soon as Richie pulled it away from his lips, Eddie felt everything go in slow motion.

 The cloud of smoke coming out from Richie’s nose, only to be sucked back in through pursed lips shouldn’t have made him appear more attractive to Eddie, but somehow it did. Butterflies wrestled through Eddie’s stomach and up to his chest, swarming around his heart before settling in his throat.

 “Is today the day, Ed’s?” Richie asked, holding the damn thing out to Eddie. He shook his head and pushed it back towards Richie.

 “Sorry, I don’t want your cooties.” Richie snorted at Eddie’s retort, passing it back to Bev. She took one last hit, motioning to Bill to come over to her. He obliged, and Eddie tried to look away as he parted his lips, close enougb to kiss Bev, as she blew the smoke into his mouth. The interaction made Eddie feel anxious but curious, having seen them do this a million times but still coming as a shock every time.

 The night had winded down from there. Bill fell asleep on Mike’s couch as soon as his high kicked in, which was Mike’s cue to call it a night. Stan stayed up a while longer, chatting with Bev and Eddie (and ignoring Richie, who kept trying to get Stan to moon Ben and Mike, who were both asleep in Mike’s room, for a keepsake photo opportunity), before falling asleep himself on the couch next to Bill.

 “Ready to make like a banana and split, my dear friend?” Richie asked Eddie as soon as Bev had joined Stan and Bill to make a trio of couch sleepers. Eddie had started to yawn, and nodded to Richie who was shaking Bill awake to let him know they were heading out. Bill planted a kiss on Richie’s cheek before erupting infinity quite giggles. He waved as they left the front door of the Hanlon residence.

 Eddie wasn’t even close to being tipsy, a stark contrast to Richie who was crossfaded and giggly, and took on the role of navigator for their walk home. Eddie walked behind Richie, watching from the sidewalk as his friend tried and failed to walk a straight line in the gutter. The back of Richie’s head was bobbing up and down with his steps, curls bouncing with his body. It amazed Eddie that he hadn’t fallen down yet. He smiled as Richie tried to walk the line again, feeling grounded and warm that they got to share these moments together.

 The walk wasn’t particularly long or far, but Eddie had lead them on the scenic route, trying to milk the amount of time he could have with Richie before they’d pass out from exhaustion. He was back to feeling like time was passing too quickly, although this time was due to being deep in thought about how much he cared about Richie, how much he loved him in every sense of the word.

 The butterflies in his chest were gone, now replaced with angry wasps making a nest in his heart. He thought about college, how he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to try and attend a university because community college was pretty decent. But the loudest thought (pun intended) bubbling in his brain was that maybe he did want to get high tonight, and maybe he did want Richie’s cooties. But he also didn’t want to say this to Richie and make him think that Eddie only felt this way because of their friendship, that his feelings were a buffer to hold him over until he met someone who deserved him. Before he could expand the idea mentally, Richie spoke up, breaking Eddie’s train of thought.

 “Hey, Ed’s,” Richie pulled Eddie’s sleeve, turning to face the smaller boy.

 “Are you scared of vampires?” Richie asked, his tone so serious that Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. He kept walking, but Richie, anchored in the asphalt, held him back.

 “I’m serious, are you?” He asked again, Eddie’s expression dropping from content to cross.

 “No, Rich. I’m not scared of vampires. Why are you even thinking of th- OUCH!” Eddie cried out, confused because Richie had just lunged at him, sinking his teeth into Eddie’s neck. “What the fuck, Richie?!” Eddie shoved Richie’s hold on his arm off, staring at him in a jaded disbelief.

 “You said you weren’t scared of vampires, and I may be a lil drunk, but I wanned to see if you were scared of me ’cause I’m a vampire now.” Richie’s words were slightly slurred, and his logic was flawed, but Eddie could see something in Richie’s eyes, an emotion that he couldn’t make out. They seemed to say “don’t be mad at me”, with a hint of “I need you to give me attention”, which in turn kick started the anxious feeling inside Eddie once again.

 “Oh shit, you’re bleeding, oh shit,” Richie launched back at his friend, gently pressing two fingers to the small pool of blood above Eddie’s collarbone.

 “WHAT?!?” Eddie panicked, pushing Richie away again, feeling his neck for himself to discover the tiniest wet spot. There couldn’t have been more than a pinhead of blood actually coming from the world's smallest cut. Relieved that he wasn’t bleeding bleeding, he picked up his pace, walking with a little more urgency, Richie following.

 “I’m sorry, Ed’s. I’m really sorry, I was just trying to be funny,” Richie apologized from behind Eddie. Normally, when apologizing for “being funny”, Richie was not truly sorry. But his tone this time around sounded sincere. If Eddie could compare it to anything, it would be the tone a guilty dog would use if he could apologize to his owners for knocking over the fish tank if said dog could talk. It made his stomach tighten up.

 “Rich, it’s okay. It’s a tiny cut, and I’m not really bleeding at all.” Eddie tried to sound soft, to show that he wasn’t angry, but his words came out more sad than anything. “I’m not mad at you, I think I’m just kind of… in shock, I guess, that you did that.” He sounded even more uncertain. He reached out to touch Richie’s shoulder as an act of forgiveness.

 “Once I get it cleaned up I’ll be fine. I promise.” His smile matched his eyes, and Richie lit up a bit. Eddie beamed, earning a giggle from his friend, and in that moment Richie looked absolutely angelic to him. The street light illuminated the taller boys face, highlighting every imperfection that Eddie secretly loved looking at, and bringing a sparkle to Richie’s eyes. Eddie looked away when he felt blood rush to his cheeks, guiding them up the block silently.

 Originally, Richie had planned on staying at Mike’s with the rest of the guys, but changed his mind after hearing Eddie mention that his mother didn’t want him to sleep over if there were going to be girls at the party. Somehow, he had convinced Eddie to come and stay at his house because there wouldn’t be girls and Sonia somehow agreed. It wasn’t until the two had made it to Richie’s house that it came up.

 “I just realized, you could’ve lied all along and said that you were gonna stay at my place from the beginning. She’d be none the wiser.” Richie whispered as the two of them made their way up to his room. His parents were in bed and the lights were off. Eddie followed him up the stairs, not speaking until they were in his room.

 “I guess.” Came Eddie’s response, quiet and soft.

 “Here, let me get an alcohol wipe or something to clean your neck with.” Richie rushed to get the words out. Not waiting for a response from Eddie, he turned on his heel, back out the door and into the bathroom. Eddie had left an emergency first aid kit under the sink years ago, insisting that it was for Richie’s own good, that he’d be prepared if he fell off his bike.

 Richie flipped the light switch on, glancing at himself in the mirror above the sink, taking in his appearance. Bags under his eyes, shaggy unkempt hair with a touch of fizz. He looked haggard from partying. He shook his head and opened the cabinet to get the first aid kit concluding that it didn’t matter if he looked like shit because Eddie was there to sleep, like he had time and time again in the past. This was no different. He flipped the light off before rounding the door and practically sprinting back to his room.

 Eddie was standing in the same spot, still as a statue. Richie cleared his throat before closing the bedroom door behind him. Eddie jumped, startled, turning to face Richie.

 “Rich, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt, it stopped bleeding forever ago.” Eddie reached for the first aid kid despite his words. Richie opened it himself, grabbing an alcohol wipe and packet of hydrocortisone, holding them between his teeth as he set the small box down on his bedside table, out of the way.

 “C’mon. I got it, it’s fine.” Eddie nodded at his friend, stepping closer to him, hoping that Richie wouldn’t notice his rapid heartbeat and breathing pattern.

 Richie took the packages out from his teeth. Opening the wipe first, he lightly tugged Eddie closer to him, giving it a quick rub (a wince from Eddie at how cold the cloth felt on his skin) before doing the same with the cortisone. He swallowed hard, as did Eddie as he pulled his hand away from his neck, dropping the packets into a trashcan opposite his nightstand.

 “All better.” Richie’s voice cracked. “Doctor Tozier completes another successful surgery!” His voice doesn’t recover, shame tugging at his tongue. Eddie cracked a toothless smile, more present in his eyes than lips.

 “Thank you.” Eddie took a step back, cold air rushing around Richie as he moved. His voice was soft and silky and continued to ring in Richie’s ears as he walked to the far end of the room.

 It made Richie’s stomach do weird things, his voice. The voice Eddie used when it was just the two of them wasn’t something new, he’d been using it forever. And it had tied Richie’s stomach in knots just as long.

 Richie changed into pajamas after taking everything out of his pants pockets, back to Eddie as he did the same. They’d sit in Richie’s bed and talk about random shit, classes and stupid people they’ve met. It was routine. It all was, down to them laying down next to each other, back to back, waiting for alcohol tainted sleep to take over. He’d fall asleep after Eddie, feeling safe only when soft snores and deep breaths were the only sounds he could hear. He prides himself on this routine, keeping him safe from doing anything regrettable. They’d been in this situation time and time before, and every morning they’d wake up the same. Richie was on the brink of sleep when he felt Eddie roll over to face him. This isn’t routine.

 “Rich, are you still awake?” Eddie’s voice was like silk, a little deeper than usual. Richie’s eyes shot open, while the rest of his body was frozen.

 “I… I think I did want tonight to be the night.” Eddie whispered, lack of context making Richie shoot up.

 “W-what?!” Was all he could muster out, blood rushing from his hands and legs, going tingly.

 “The night I got high for the first time.” Eddie was even quieter, and Richie slid back down onto his pillows in relief (it was secretly disappointment). Ah.

 “Oh. Okay.” Richie responded, a pregnant pause causing his nerves to act up again. He tried to level out his breathing as sly as possible.

 “Richie,” Eddie spoke, breaking the silence. He shifted his position, leaning on his left arm and looking into Richie’s eyes. “Will you get me high?” The question sent shivers down Richie’s spine, and he couldn’t sit up fast enough (whether it be fear or excitement he couldn’t tell).

 “How do you want to do this?” Richie croaked out, voice rough with sleep he hadn’t gotten. He pulled the shared blanket over his lap, bunching it up just in case his hormones betrayed him. There was another pause as Eddie thought it over.

 “Do you want a bowl? A rip from the bong? A baby joint?” Richie offered what he had to Eddie, waiting for him to make a decision.

 “Can you do what Bev did to Bill that one time?” Eddie asked meekly, his eyes traveling to a loose thread on the blanket. Richie blinked. And blinked again.

 “You… you wanna shotgun?” He asked, not quite meek but not quite hopeful. Eddie kept his gaze down, nodding.

 “Yeah, I guess. Bev said it’s not as bad.” Shyly, Eddie looked up at Richie, cheeks flushed and eyes dewy. Richie modded a few times to himself.

 “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.” Richie leaned over to his nightstand, one foot on the floor for balance, opening the drawer and pulling out his rolling tray, papers, flower, and grinder neatly sitting on top of it. He could feel Eddie watch his every move, nose scrunching up at the smell as soon as Richie opened the dimebag of pot. Mindlessly, he put a little in the grinder, getting a paper when he was ready, and rolled (in Eddie’s mind) a perfect joint. He put everything back in its place on the tray before putting it back in the drawer, pulling out a lighter and old dirty ashtray. He looked at Eddie again, catching his eyes to ask “are you sure?”. Eddie nodded, and watched as Richie lit up with shaky hands taking the first hit for himself.

 Eddie watched patiently as Richie inhaled deeply, shifting himself to lean against the backboard before exhaling, smoke drifting out his nose up into the room. He held the joint over the ashtray on his nightstand, ashing it. Eddie watched Richie’s Adam's Apple bob and he pulled the joint back to his lips, before inhaling whispering:

 “Come here.”

 Eddie scooted closer to Richie, heart racing not only because Eddie Kaspbrak was about do a drug (besides that placebo shit his mother had forced on him since his youth), but because he was going to have his lips mere millimeters away from Richie Tozier’s.

 Richie took a long drag, holding the joint in between the fingers of his left hand, his right reaching to cup Eddie’s cheek. He rubbed Eddie’s bottom lip with his thumb and leaned in, blowing the smoke between Eddie’s partially opened lips. If I lean any closer, I’d be kissing him, Richie thought.

 And as if Eddie was some sort of fucking mind reader, he leaned into Richie’s lips, kissing him. It felt natural, like he was meant to. He wrapped one arm around Richie’s neck, the other feeling around and grabbing hold in his hair. He could feel Richie smile into the kiss as he leaned over to put the joint out in the ashtray, pulling Eddie down with him, and back up. Richie pulled away for a moment smirking at Eddie.

 “You’re not supposed to blow it back into my mouth, dumbass.” Richie joked, hooking his left arm around Eddie’s waist. He smiled, Eddie smiled back, and before they could get back to their previous position, Eddie laughed.

 “Well maybe if you gave me instructions in the first place,” he started to poke, no malice behind his words. Richie laughed, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek, eyes heavy.

 “Honey, I’m a little stoned, I’m not trying to start an argument with you. Shut up and kiss me.”

 The next morning, Eddie woke up tangled in Richie's limbs, as he had numerous times before, but this was intentional. He felt lips on the back of his neck.

 “I’m sorry that you’re a little…uh… y'know.” Richie struggled to say bruised, but Eddie already knew, and he didn’t care. He turned over to face him, planting a lazy kiss on his best friends lips to shut him up.

 Richie rested his forehead against Eddie’s, reaching for a hand to intertwine his fingers with. Eddie opened his mouth to speak.

 “As long as it’s you, I couldn’t be happier.”