#yeah there was something wrong with misty before all this

[stardustalien]

knowing misty is the ONLY one who couldn’t listen to coach scott scream in pain and yet the rest of them still treat her like she’s a complete monster or the craziest of them all in the adult timeline? drives me crazy

[elizabeth-mitchells]

OKAY YAY FINALLY FINISHED WATCHING THE EPISODE (there's a power outage so i dont have internet so i cant post my regularly scheduled silly little screenshots so instead. huge rant in the tags of this post <3)

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑

- xavier x reader

a new friendly colleague has joined your team, but your boyfriend is convinced he is up to no good... and that's why xavier is determined to show it that you are his

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—jealousy, fluff explicit smut: slightly rough sex, fingering, doggy style, based on xavier's card misty silhouette

note: skxmskcjsf bye don't look at me. this fanart and xavier's card messed me up :') this banner is so unhealthy for me i swear </3

Xavier knew he wasn’t the most patient person.

But even patience, he thought, has limits. And he had been patient and reasonable for a week, to be precise.

It all started ever since that damned new recruit entered his team. He didn't know why, but he kept coming to you for everything—directions, advice, even trivial nonsense like lunch recommendations. It was almost as if on purpose.

This afternoon was no different. Xavier had been looking forward to having lunch with you—just the two of you. You’d promised him, after all.

And yet—

“There was this one time I got trapped inside the N109 Zone—”

“N109 Zone!?”

“Yes!”

“Really?! What did you do then?”

“Hmm, so at first, I was in total panic, but then—”

For the past 15 minutes, your lunch break had been taken over by recounting your tales of valor as a hunter to the new recruit. Nearby, Xavier sat in brooding silence, scathingly sparing him a glance. The slight frown on his face said it all—blatant disinterest and a touch of irritation.

And you too... why are you engaging him so enthusiastically?

Then again, given his age, Xavier knew he had to be mature about this. He tried, really. If it had been someone like Jeremiah, he might have let it slide.

But there was just something about this new recruit—Sean, was it?—that rubbed him the wrong way.

“Whoa, you're so cool, Miss Y/N!” Sean exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “Not only are you pretty and talented, but you're also incredibly skilled! What do you even lack, eh?”

“Really, it's not that much,” you giggled, brushing him off. The way you got sheepish only made Xavier’s annoyance flare even further.

“Let me guess— a boyfriend!”

So that’s what it was. Now Xavier understood what about Sean that set him off. The entire time you’d been talking, he had been giving you those googly eyes.

He didn't like it one bit. He looked ridiculous while doing it.

Despite being silent as a mouse all the way, before he could stop himself, he blurted, “She has a boyfriend already.”

You turned to him in surprise, clearly not expecting him to announce it so bluntly.

“Oh...? Xavier, you know who her boyfriend is...?” Sean turned to him with curiosity.

He noticed it. How his expression fell ever so slightly upon he told him that you were already taken. Xavier huffed and stuffed his mouth with his ramen.

“Yeah. Her boyfriend lives next door.”

Technically, he lived upstairs, but the detail didn’t matter. He just needed to make his point known.

And somehow, for the rest of the day, the new recruit finally seemed to develop some sense—at least enough to stop hovering around you so frequently. Particularly when Xavier was nearby.

“Xavier... why did you tell him that?”

You fell into step beside your quiet boyfriend as the two of you headed home that evening, tilting your head as you replayed the events of the afternoon.

Xavier gave you a brief glance before looking straight ahead again, ignoring your question.

You observed him. There it was again—that gray cloud hovering over him. It always seemed to appear when he was in a bad mood.

Puckering your lips, you pressed further. “We haven’t even told anybody else about our relationship... And what you did there—you’re literally telling him we’re dating.”

“So what?” he shot back, his tone sharper than usual. “Are you afraid people might find out we are? Or—”

Xavier abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning to face you. His usually vibrant blue eyes darkened, piercing into yours with a sharp gleam. “Are you afraid he will find out?”

There was something in his gaze that held you captive—that made your silly heart skip a beat.

“N-no...” you looked away, swallowing the heat that were about to take over your face. Why does Xavier look kind of... hot like that...?

Your cheeks warmed regardless, but you had to appease him. “Like I told you before, I just thought it’d be easier if this stays our little secret. It’s less of a bother if they don’t know…”

Reaching for his hand, you gave it a reassuring squeeze and flashed him a soft smile. “Besides, why would I be afraid if he knows? My boyfriend is cool, handsome, and the best hunter there is.”

You watched as Xavier's expression softened, the tension melting away. A faint blush crept up his cheeks too, and the gray cloud that had loomed over him finally disappeared. He squeezed your hand in return, looking away as if to hide the way he got bashful.

Adorable. For all his brooding, your boyfriend was surprisingly easy to soothe.

For the rest of the walk back to your apartment, you two remained hand-in-hand, the tension of the afternoon slipping away with each step.

. . .

You were staying over at Xavier's place tonight. After a relaxing bath and a hearty dinner, the two of you found yourselves standing side by side in the kitchen, doing the dishes together.

It was mundane things like this that Xavier considered his favorite routine to do with you. Just as you handed him the last plate to dry, you spoke up, your voice breaking the quiet hum of contentment—

“Xavier, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just thinking... Sean seems nice and friendly, but from what I’ve seen, you seem kind of... unwelcoming— almost hostile even towards him.”

At your words, a frown etched itself onto Xavier’s forehead as he turned to face you fully. You seemed so oblivious, standing there with a look of genuine curiosity.

“Do you really not know?” he questioned you incredulously.

You blinked. “Know what?”

Damn it. Xavier sighed and put down the dish he was holding, but the words faltered on his tongue as a sour expression crossed his face. “No matter,” he muttered under his breath.

He took a deliberate step closer, his movements slow and heavy, and you instinctively backed away—

“So,” he said, his voice low, his blue eyes boring into yours as he took one hot step forward after another, “while Sean is nice and friendly, I’m hostile and unwelcoming, huh?”

—only to find yourself pressed against the window, unable to retreat further.

He stood in front of you now, his arms caging you in, creating a barrier that sealed off any chance of escape.

Uh-oh. Apparently, you had flipped that switch—

The air between you grew thick, and you could feel your pulse quicken under the weight of his gaze. “That’s not what I'm getting at—”

“He’s been eyeing you all day, following you around... getting lunches with you—”

In that moment, your phone erupted to life, its ringtone cutting through the tension. It sat on the small table near the windowsill, and Xavier gave it a quick glance, his expression darkening upon seeing Sean's name flash on the screen.

“Oh?” His voice dropped lower, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes. “He’s now calling you at nights too?”

“No!” you quickly refuted, your words tumbling out almost too fast. “Xavier, don’t get the wrong idea—”

He tilted your jaw to face him, holding your spooked gaze. “Then what idea am I supposed to be getting when he’s so blatantly pursuing you and you don't even do anything about it?”

The plot twist is... you know. Of course you knew it when a guy was trying to make a move on you, you just pretended not to notice it because it was easier that way. You didn’t know which devil had planted this rotten idea in your head that made you want to push Xavier to the edge, just to see how he'd react when he held nothing back—

The call tonight was a coincidence though, but definitely fueled your lover's ire even more. It was a dangerous game, but now that you’d crossed this line, you couldn't go back any longer.

Your lips curled into a bewitching smile then, and your boyfriend was almost mystified. "So, what will you do to me?"

Xavier looked at you with slightly widened eyes, not expecting your boldness at all. But then he grimaced, as at the same time, the irritation in his veins suddenly flared up—

With a swift, fluid motion, he turned you that you faced the window, his right arm wrapping around your waist from behind as he pressed his body against yours—his hardness pressing, almost poking you.

“You’re so clueless,” he growled into your ear before going after your neck, sucking hard and fast. His hips began to grind against you, pressing harder with each movement. “Too damn clueless...!”

His fingers that gripped your belly moved then, slipping inside your frisky nightgown to finger you— and you lost all your wits in that instant. “Ah-h—!”

Two of his fingers pumped in and out of you, dragging them almost rashly, and it took everything in you to stay upright. "X-Xavier!"

“Mmph,” he breathed against the skin of your neck, his other arm pressing you against him tighter, simultaneously squeezing your breasts. "You asked for it."

Your thighs were trembling in no time, and your breaths came in shaky moans. Your boyfriend was not exactly gentle, but this is probably the first time in a while that he was being rough without reservations. While you wanted to protest, it felt too good—

He turned your face towards him then, crashing his lips on yours.

It almost felt like you were punished, but you couldn't do anything about it. The tension in your lower belly was steadily building, ready to snap at any moment, and the way his fingers relentlessly hitting that one unforgivable spot was starting to made you dizzy.

"Ah—ngh!" You finally shuddered when you reached your climax. It was freeing when you felt yourself burst on his fingers, the release smearing your thighs.

And right then your knees buckled—

But Xavier immediately got a secure hold over you, lifting your body effortlessly into his arms, one hand supporting your knees, the other cradling your back. Through your teary eyes, you met his gaze once more. His expression was unreadable, a dark haze of disapproval clouding his features.

“I’m not done yet.”

He brought you over to his bed, gently lying you down despite the roughness of his voice. He parted your legs, getting himself between them—

Ring! Ring!

The shrill sound of your phone pierced the coolness of the room, and you almost jolted.

But your lover... the sound was like a spell to him, only intensifying his irritation as his features twisted with frustration, and you knew that he was about to take it on you.

As if changing his mind, Xavier suddenly flipped you over that you laid on your stomach and straddled you from behind. He quickly turned your head to face him and claimed your lips in a deep, urgent kiss.

“Mm, hmmp—!” The ringtone of your phone blared in the background, a jarring sound that wasn't pleasant at the slightest. It wasn’t until it finally stopped that he pulled away from the kiss.

You were gasping for breath, your chest heaving, and a stray tear slipped from your eyes. Xavier stared at you, and gently wiped it away with his thumb.

Flushed, sweaty, tearful... you looked so enchanting in his eyes in that moment. He almost felt bad that he had manhandled you this roughly.

Almost.

His hands gripped your waist, and he paused, his gaze locked with yours, silently seeking your approval— or more like, commanding you to give it to him.

In response, you arched your back— a silent affirmation, bracing yourself.

From then on, he was no longer holding back. He tugged your panties down and let his throbbing member out of his pants. It was laughable how insatiable he was— both of you were still clothed, save for his unbuttoned shirt, but he was already this aroused and hard.

He nudged forward, his tip breaching your entrance. The feeling of that familiar stretch left you keeling, babbles and whimpers falling from your lips as he slowly eased into you.

It was hard to take him in fully, and you were a mess of breathy gasps the moment you did. But you were in for the main ride when he started ramming into you, pushing in and out of you in a merciless pace.

"Ah... Xavier!" you panted between thrusts, feeling how it started to be too much for you the more he went on. "Ahh, hrah!"

Behind you, Xavier groaned in reply, his lips sucking your shoulder as his hips quickened, striving to bring you to the peak faster. One of his large hands dug into the skin of your stomach, urging your back to arch more, while the other clasped yours, fingers entwined in the sheets.

He watched intently as your face twisted and contorted in ecstasy, a surge of pride swelling within him, greater than he thought possible.

It was mind-blowing, slightly forceful, and your senses were all heightened. The harsh pace drew cries from your lips, your tears falling to the sheets, yet the pleasure also catapulted you into the stars—

The sinful delight of having him so deep within you.

The sinful rapture of being thrusted over and over.

“Ahhh!” And then, all at once, it was as if heaven and hell collided in a cataclysmic burst. Everything inside you shattered as you cried out—a scream morphing into a high-pitched gasp—as the two of you reached the climax together. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your walls clasped around him impossibly tight as Xavier filled you with everything that he had in one shot.

You collapsed against the sheets like a ragdoll, the pressure finally easing from your sore spine.

“Hello? Yes, it’s Xavier...”

The morning after. You stirred awake, your mind still foggy with sleep, as muffled voices filtered in from outside the bedroom.

“I have to take an urgent leave today...”

You were still utterly drained, your body heavy and unwilling to move. Instinctively, your hand reached out to your side, searching for your lover, but the spot was empty.

“Yes. Y/N too. She isn’t well today... We will be back tomorrow...”

You let out a soft, tired whine, your voice plaintive, as you lay sprawled across the bed, wishing for his warmth to return. Honestly, everything was still sore, and you were this close to tears again.

The door then opened with a creak not long after, and you let out a whimper, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Are you awake...?” Xavier's voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he stepped closer to the bed.

You blinked up at him, your vision still blurry. He was already dressed, his crisp appearance in stark contrast to your disheveled state. In his hand, he held a small plastic bag.

“What’s that...?” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as you struggled to prop yourself up, curiosity flickering through your tired gaze.

“Don’t get up too quickly,” Xavier murmured, his hands steady as he caught you mid-movement. He guided you back down and tucked the blankets snugly around you, his touch gentle yet firm. “Just rest for now.”

A low hum of contentment escaped you as you leaned into his touch. Your bleary eyes focused solely on him, and despite himself, Xavier found a smile tugging at his lips.

“I just went to the drugstore downstairs to get you some painkillers,” he explained, lifting the small plastic bag slightly. “Take them after you’ve had some breakfast later.”

He then fixed you a bashful grimace, looking down. “Sorry for... uh, last night... I think I’ve pushed you too far.”

His fingers reached out, brushing gently against your cheek. The same fingers that had driven you to the brink of madness the night before now so tender against your skin. “You were crying,” he murmured, guilt lacing his voice. “I feel bad.”

“Mm-hm, so that’s what happens when you don’t hold back at all,” you snickered softly, the corners of your mouth curving despite the lingering ache in your body.

Xavier shifted his gaze away, his confidence faltering. “Will you... hate me for it?”

It was hard to contain your smile from breaking out into a grin. Your boyfriend, a ferocious wolf in a sheep’s clothing, had no need for this shy charade when he had railed you that hard last night.

“No, but you’re going to have to make it up to me. I can’t even walk now.”

Xavier blinked before he patted your head. “Yeah, I’ll fulfill any of your wishes,” he sighed in relief, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. “So, what is it?”

You paused for a moment, then with a mischievous glint in your eye, you said, “Take me to the bathroom? I want to have a shower first.”

And, of course, he obliged. With a effortless motion, Xavier scooped you up into a princess carry, holding you close. His arms cradled you with care, and you rested against his chest, the warmth of his embrace offering a sense of security.

Just like that, you spent the rest of the day as lovers, sleeping in with careless abandon, unburdened by your duties.

Epilogue

Later in the afternoon, you were once again deep in a sleep as Xavier cuddled you close, when suddenly the doorbell of his apartment rang incessantly.

Frowning, Xavier carefully eased himself out of bed, making sure not to disturb your slumber. He moved quietly towards the door, and when he saw the intercom, his frown worsened.

Sean, the newbie, was at his doorstep. He had half a mind to ignore him, but after a beat, he decided to open the door.

“What do you want?” his voice sharp with annoyance.

“Oh, Xavier!” The guy was stunned for a moment as his eyes lingered on Xavier’s chiseled abs, exposed through the his unbuttoned shirt. “O-oh, so... I’ve been trying to ring the doorbell to Y/N's apartment to give her a fruit basket to wish her a fast recovery, but she’s not answering—” he hastily explained, gesturing toward the basket in his hand. “Can you reach her—?”

Xavier felt like popping a vein at how meddlesome this guy was. Was this guy an idiot? Didn’t he realize by now that he was your next-door boyfriend?

Nevermind. The hard way it is.

“She’s with me.”

“H-huh?”

He shot him a pointed look. “Don't think you’ll have a chance with her, newbie.”

And with that, he shut the door in his face.

[yamujiburo]

Here's an arc I thought about doing but won't do because, it'd be a bit too sad and also it's too similar to the Turing Point Arc I already did and also it would be long. But I'll write it here for you angst enjoyers. This ended up being longer than I thought.

Despite getting the "okay" from Ash to date Jessie, Delia still worries that she's not doing the right thing or being a bad mom. Up until now she'd convinced herself that she had the right to be selfish for once after knowing only sacrifice and putting herself last.

Jessie and Ash, while not as antagonistic towards each other, still go at it. A Pikachu zap here, an angry "twerp" being uttered there. The guilt settles in for Delia and figures that it's best to just cut things off before things potentially get worse or before she gets too attached to Jessie. Her son comes first after all. That's what she signed up for when becoming a parent.

She sits Jessie down, eyes watery (it's the first time Jessie's ever seen Delia come close to crying). Delia says she thinks they should end things. Jessie is stunned but accepts it quickly. She sucks it up in the moment, puts a resigned smile on her face and tells Delia she'll leave immediately and not to worry about her. Delia's also broken up about it but promised herself she'd never cry over a goodbye and she wasn't gonna start now.

Jessie goes to James and Meowth's place greeted similarly to this, lightly teasing her about blowing it with Delia, and she breaks down sobbing. Oops it's real this time. James and Meowth do everything in their power to make her feel better. They let her know that things like this happen and they're ready to go wherever she wants to go (knowing that it'd likely be to painful for her to stay in Pallet). As much as she wants to leave, she doesn't want James and Meowth to lose the good thing they have going. She's not in the right headspace to make any decisions so she'll get to it later.

Ash returns home after doing a little training at Oak's lab. He notices Jessie's not around and asks his mom where she is. Delia is about to tell him but can't quite bring herself to say the truth out loud yet. She simply says "I don't know". Ash looks disappointed. "Aw man, I wanted to see if she wanted to battle. She makes a good battle buddy for all of my newer, baby Pokémon." Delia perks up that this. As quickly as he came, he leaves again to go train his Pokémon.

Later, Delia approaches Ash, asking him if he really meant that what he said about Jessie being a good battle partner. He gives her an enthusiastic "yeah!" and tells her that it's been nice having another battle ready trainer around since there's not many in Pallet. Delia starts to pry a little more. "I thought you and Jessie didn't get along?" Ash is confused, and tells Delia they get along great! "Jessie doesn't steal anymore! And she's getting better at battling which is cool." Delia brings up that she's head them argue before. "Oh... well I guess that's just how we are. I'd be weirded out if she was suddenly too nice to me all the time. Jessie's actually a lot like Misty. But taller!" This gives Delia a lot to think about but what's done is done and it's no use pressing on. It's easier this way.

The next morning Delia's getting ready for work. She must not have noticed that she was acting weird but Ash picks up on it. "What's wrong mom?" Delia's shocked he noticed (he's not usually this perceptive). She tells him it's nothing and that she just slept bad. "Hm. But Jessie says that when you're upset you get really quiet and intense." Delia notices that she was pretty intensely mixing the pancake batter. "Jessie told you that?" Ash nods. "Hey speaking of, where is Jessie? Haven't seen her since yesterday." Delia stops mixing and tells Ash that she and Jessie aren't together anymore. Ash is confused and upset at the idea of Jessie doing something that would hurt his mom enough for them to break up. Delia lets him know that Jessie didn't do anything like that and that them breaking up was just for the best. But Ash questions this, pointing out that he's never seen Delia as happy as she was when Jessie was there and also how Delia looks really sad now. Delia can't argue with that but then tells him that it's complicated. Ash, to Delia's surprise, looks a bit disappointed. He's bummed he wasn't able to say goodbye first and asks if she thinks Jessie would still be willing to come by and train with him sometimes. Delia asks him once more if he was really okay with her and Jessie dating. "Yeah I thought I said that already? Jessie's pretty cool when she's not being evil. And she really likes Pokémon which is a plus!" Such simple criteria. Delia's now worried that she might've made a mistake. She finishes making breakfast and heads to work.

At the restaurant she's met by James. She can feel an awkwardness hanging in the air. She knows that James knows. Before she can say anything James tells Delia thank you for employing him and helping him, Meowth and Jessie get back on their feet but that he's going to quit working at the restaurant and that they'll likely be leaving Pallet soon. Delia's heart sinks. There's now a ticking clock and she has to decide what she wants to do SOON. She asks James where Jessie is. James hesitantly tells her that she's at his and Meowth's place. Delia pleads with James to work the restaurant for one more day at least and to cover this shift. She has to go talk to Jessie. He agrees, hoping that this is a good thing.

Delia runs to James and Meowth's place. She knocks on the door upon arrival and waits. It takes a moment but she hears the door unlock. Jessie opens the door, disheveled, tears and snot all over her face, draped in a blanket. Jessie notices it's Delia and, frightened, slams the door. Delia's stunned for a moment and goes to knock on the door again but before she can the door opens. This time Jessie's tears are gone, her hair's fixed and she ditched the blanket. "Oh hey, Delia! What brings you here?" Delia can't help but be charmed. But this is serious. She shakes it off and asks if they could talk. Jessie invites her in. They get to the couch and Jessie starts frantically cleaning up all the crumpled tissues and dirty dishes off the ground. "Heh I caught a cold yesterday. A one day cold. I'm fine now." Delia doesn't call out the obvious lie and gets straight to the point.

She tells Jessie that she's worried she made a mistake. She made a panicked decision that she was hoping would protect Ash and her future self. But now realizes that she was afraid of the idea that she'd made a selfish decision by dating her. It was a selfish decision but that didn't mean it was a bad one. She was the happiest she'd been, Jessie and Ash were learning to get along and were getting along much better than she'd though. She acknowledges that Jessie has been there for Ash in a way that she can't quite be and is also grateful to her for managing to keep Ash home a little longer. She asks if Jessie would be willing to take her back (despite the distress she caused). Jessie starts sobbing with happy tears. She tearfully says she'll try even harder to get along with Ash and be a better person. Delia reassures her that she's doing just fine.

They kiss passionately but then realize it's weird that they're making out in James in Meowth's place and say they'll continue later. Delia tells Jessie to head back home and that Ash is looking forward to battling with her (and she also needs to let James and Meowth not to quit their jobs).

The end~

[yanderenightmare]

tomura with hero reader whose quirk he's stolen, rendering them defenseless

Shigaraki Tomura

TW: slight nsfw, implied prev noncon, captive reader, Stockholm syndrome, implied mental break, mental deterioration, disassociation, manipulation, angsty, but also weirdly fluffy? reader is super fragile

gn reader

The chub of your inner thighs is still wet with the act. You rub them together for no other reason than that it feels pleasant. You trace the awful scars on his arm, using his warm chest as a pillow—the sound beating of his heart thumping rhythmically at your ear, a soothing presence.

 He balances a red book atop your crown.

He doesn’t seem very interested in reading it—only regarding it with jaded eyes, a meager scoff then and there before turning the page. But still, even though the book didn’t excite him, it bothered you that his attention was elsewhere. It sowed the seeds of doubt and gave root to way too many intrusive thoughts, sprouting out and spreading like weeds throughout your mind, making your chest curl at the possibilities.

“Do you think I'm ugly?” you have to ask. You have to know, why isn’t he looking at you.

He pans away from the page, beady garnet eyes softening from scrutiny to nonplus.

Your question stunted him—nearly made him believe he’d heard you wrong. Why someone like you would ever ask someone like him something like that seemed beyond all reason. It would be the same if a flower asked gravel.

But then again, you’d become a little ditzy as of late. Or maybe you’d been so for a little while already. It’s hard to say—you don’t talk as much as you used to. You no longer scream either, though that had ceased even longer ago.

You continue to delicately run your finger over the tear where his tough skin meets the even tougher purple tissue as though mapping the damage. There’s a frown on your face. No, not a frown—a pout. 

He thought for a moment to use it against you like he’d done everything else so far. Lie and say yes, tell you you’re about as ugly as he is—gravel—make you fall even further apart than what you were already. But something compelled him to choose differently.

“I think you're the prettiest thing in the world.”

Your pout is sucked between your teeth as you pick yourself up to peer down at him—eyes round and misty and something more, something strange—dare he say joyed?

You're scaring him.

“Really?” you choke out as if you’d been holding back a lump.

He hasn’t known how to treat you lately. You’ve become too soft to handle poorly—too frail to harass and too willing for him to feel the need to. Earlier, you'd even begged him to fuck harder and deeper—even cum inside. Actually, you hadn't veered away from his touch in a while. More like you've been embracing it.

He'd brushed it off as mere compliance at first, a state of meekness, weakened by being touch-starved, something that perhaps developed into a minor case of Stockholm syndrome.

But the way you're acting now—seems more concerning.

“Yeah,” is all he warrants as an answer. Though, he was curious as to yours as he begs the same question, “What about me?”

A smile graces your face then—there’s a comfort to it, a mild and affectionate one, unexaggerated, honest, as you smoothly swing your leg over his lap.

A look like that has no place on your face, especially when regarding him, and yet he finds himself hoping for more. He lays his book aside as you lean forward and doesn't stop you when you cup his face in both your palms.

“As far as I'm concerned, you’re not just the prettiest boy in the world—you're the only boy in the world.” You say it with a kiss, lips just as soft as the words leaving them. It shocks him, though he accepts and gives it back.

You close your eyes, laying your chest against his—he keeps his open to look at you. Observing and assessing.

You’ve truly become a whole other person altogether. A far cry from the tough hero you once were—the one who’d beat him within an inch of his life and leave him to choke on the blood.

“Will you stay with me today?” you ask against his lips—playing with his hair, looping the curly tresses around your fingers.

There’s a neediness to your voice, a certain desperation, a sadness—something lonely and something that reminds him all too much of himself. He feels both a strong urge to reject and soothe it all at the same time.

“No, I gotta go,” he says despite it. He had business.

You hide your face in his neck and continue with your tracing, now on the scrapes striping his throat where he’s raked his nails time and time again. “When will you come back?” Your tone comes out even sweeter, only a murmur mushed against his skin.

It nearly makes his heart twist. “It’s better I don’t answer that.”

It’s funny. Though the thought had struck him, he didn’t gauge any ill intentions. You could be asking, acting, plotting some escape based on the hours of his absence—yet somehow, with the way you nuzzle into him like that, as though you’re pouring your all-too-candid grief into him, he can't sense any other ulterior motive.

“Last time you left at this hour, you came back all beaten and bruised,” you mutter, now with a hint of bitterness—as if you’re cursing whoever hurt him under your breath.

It’s ironic. He sneers lazily, almost fondly, at the old memory. “You’re the one who used to beat and bruise me, remember?”

He’s truly curious if you do. Or if something’s spirited your past life away and left you like this—no longer an aspiring young hero, but something whose only value is warming his bed at night.

You arise, an appalled look of affront upon your face.

“No, that can’t be right,” you very nearly cry, as if the very thought was killing you. “I would never hurt you—I love you too much.”

Apparently, you don’t remember who you were at all.

“Love me?” he all but croaks. It’s a laughable prospect, and yet he doesn’t even smile. There’s something awful in his gut that prevents him. “Don't be stupid. You can't love me.”

Your face doesn’t drop its grimace, only further tears with forlorn outrage. “Of course, I love you!" you insist. "You’re my whole reason for living...”

You look so despaired—wrecked from his dismissal. The tears well quickly then slip down your face just as fast—and yet it isn’t the same crying as you used to. This time, it’s quiet—in wait or in dread as you beg the question, 

“Don't you love me?”

It’s an unexpected one, and it quickly proves to be an existential one—even more so than your unnerving confession. Despite not wanting to, it leaves him to dig through the muck in his head he’d long ignored, down in the dark where he’d tried burying the truth he'd felt oncoming. He'd wanted to deny it, reject it, amend it, simply because it confused him too much to acknowledge—complicated things—changed things he didn’t want or need changing.

He wonders if it’s somehow proof of fate—even though he despises such a concept. That, no matter how much you practice free will, no matter how many knots you make upon the red string, the world will pull and straighten it out, and you’re left to realize you’d brought it all on yourself.

First, he took your quirk, then he took your body—your mind shortly followed—and now it seems he’s managed to take your heart, too. 

There’s nothing left of you that isn’t his. 

There was a time he’d frolic at the thought of having reduced you to such a pathetic ghost in a shell—back then, he’d do anything to destroy you—he’d surely shatter you into a million little scattered pieces if presented with the chance, make sure you were broken for good. 

But that was the old him. Or rather, that was his dream for the old you—the hero he loathed down to his rotten core.

But the pretty misty-eyed thing looking down at him now, aching for his answer, wasn’t that person anymore.

And the truth is, the person you are now scares him more than that hero ever did. 

You were… well, you were the person who warms his bed at night, the person who traces his scars and plays with his hair—the person who wraps themselves around him and keeps him from falling apart when he stumbles through the door into the tiny little room he keeps you a prisoner in. You're his.

This time, his heart does twist. He’s never before spoken the words that dance on his tongue, or if he has, they’ve been long forgotten and come out as dust balls as he affirms them now, 

“Yes. I love you.”

There’s a flash of hope in your eyes, though it just as quickly diminishes—as if you don’t believe him.

Your lip warbles as you confirm it, “No, you don’t.”

More tears run silently down the tracks on your cheeks, gathering at the tip of your chin before dripping upon his chest—each one like a gunshot through something hollow.

“If you did, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t leave me here in this room, all alone.” Your nails curl into your palms where they rest atop him. You bow your head as though you can’t bear to look at him, as if it hurts. The next words come out beneath your breath, “How am I supposed to compete with the whole world?”

You’re making him feel like dying. The continuous twists of his heart feel as if you’re about to tear it right out of his chest.

He sits up and lifts your face. It’s strange, even with his two-finger gloves on. He doesn’t think he’s ever held you like this. Though, suppose it’s been a night of many firsts already. And here comes another,

“As far as I’m concerned, you are my world.”

There you are, the one thing he doesn’t wish to destroy.

Your sore eyes become round, then swell with different tears. There’s a hitch in your breath as you sigh through a shuddering sob, throwing your arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly—your body jostling while you rub your wet face into his neck, holding him close for comfort as if you're scared to ever let go.

He returns the gesture, though somewhat hesitantly, wrapping his arms around you and laying his head to rest against your shoulder.

And then, as he holds you—for the first time ever, fear of actually losing the fight ahead strikes him.

He hadn’t much cared about the outcome before. Either he’d destroy or be destroyed.

This wasn’t as simple. As said earlier, this complicated things.

But then again, it was even more of a reason to go.

“But I still have to leave.” 

You part from him—the betrayal in your tone demanding his justification, “Why?”

Suppose, in some ways, this actually made things simpler—as that was a question he had no problem answering.

“‘Cause there are monsters outside…” He rests his forehead upon yours, gazing back into those terribly glassy eyes looking back at him as he speaks to you about your dear old colleagues. “Monsters who want nothing but to take you away from me.”

If only they could see you now, they’d know… you no longer want to leave him.

“So I have to go out there and make sure they have no chance,” he explains, almost like a vow, “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who says otherwise to keep you that way.”

The way your eyes melt makes him feel all fuzzy. It’s a special type of glee, a victory before the battle even begins—to see you root for him—so deep in love with him that you’ve forgotten you’re celebrating the onset of death to all of your former friends.

They probably wouldn’t be able to take you away from him even if they somehow managed to invade this very room. You’d sooner die than betray him.

And that makes him feel all the more ready for the war ahead.

“So kiss me good luck, and I’ll come right back to you soon.”

♡ SHIGARAKI TOMURA ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

say yes to heaven

how spencer and you deal (or don't deal) with the fact that he doesn’t want a baby anymore after coming home from prison, and you really do.

MDNI | angst

word count: 2226 warnings & tags & stuff: bau!reader, avoidant reader, avoidant spencer, no happy ending (wtf), reader wants a baby, one line about reader not having a certain religious belief, they like almost have sex, spencer undresses reader, lots of talk about a condom, they dont really fight at all?, very underdeveloped/bad description of quantum immortality author's note: heyyyyy guyss whats up..... this is a different vibe to my regular stuff and i fear it may be really ooc?? i don't know how to feel but i literally have to post or i'll go even more crazy sooo here we are!! have a delightful day, let me know your thoughts if you have any, ily!!!

Antique shops, you and Spencer have decided, are the hidden gems of this nation yet to be appreciated enough by the general public. 

Each town or city you visit is bound to have one, and going to them has become a little celebratory tradition. In the early mornings after cases are solved, right before the plane ride home, you take a look around. You’re typically the first and only ones in the store, wandering with intertwined hands and sipping on ‘2 extra foamy cappuccinos with an additional shot of espresso, please’ and occasionally, but not necessarily, choosing something to take back to D.C.

You’ve been trying your absolute hardest to fill your home to the brim– sometimes with objects, and other times with words, or touch, or the ever so valuable and fleeting concept of shared time– in effort to replace what had been lost in that three month long period when it was completely devoid of tangible, fresh love.

It’s today you’re wandering through a quaint, very cluttered shop in western Oregon, the Pacific visible from the store’s windows. 

Wheels up in an hour. Don’t be late. Hotch’s text buzzes in your pocket, but you barely glance at it– there’s something about the Oregon coast that reaches into your heart and gives it a gentle massage, enveloping you in a refreshing lack of urgency.

Spencer, in his own peaceful world, is staring at a tall wall of books. He reaches out to pick up a dusty rendition of Moby Dick, carefully cracking it open to the first few pages to check the publication date, brow scrunching as he reads. You go to peer over his arm to check as well, when something catches the corner of your eye. You let go of his hand to inspect.

A bassinet. Dark wood, surface polished to a faint sheen, with intricate little waves engraved on the sides, like the ocean’s misty outreach had come all the way into the shop and placed this here for you to see. 

You weren’t exactly sure when this now familiar ache had started; this deep, internal desire felt in your stomach for a little hand to be gripped around your pointer and for tiny onesies to fill your laundry basket, but you’re sure, with every fiber of your being, that you want it to be there.

“Spence,” you say softly, voice jarring in the otherwise stillness of the shop. “Come look.” He carefully closes the book and puts it back where it was and pads over, looking down at the bassinet. His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Wow. It looks like it was made in the 80s, maybe even earlier. You won’t find any level of detailing more recently than that, it’s too labor intensive for modern production methods. Good find.”

“I know. Should we get it?” you ask, biting a smile. He quickly meets your eyes, brow raising slightly.

“Do you want to?” he asks, voice even.

“I mean, I just think it’s really cute, with the waves and stuff.” you say bashfully, nudging it with your toe so it rocks back and forth. Spencer swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

“Yeah, I just…” Spencer hesitates. “I don't think we’d be able to bring it on the jet. It would probably snap in half if we held it in the wrong way,” he says, making your brain race even though he hasn’t said a single thing that should cause it to do so.

“Oh.”

You blink.

“No, yeah, you’re totally right. It’s too inconvenient. You should get that copy of Moby Dick instead. That edition looked cool, with the forward explaining all the names,” you say gently, pushing a smile, nudging him back towards the shelf. He goes, shooting you one last glance as you move to observe a few clocks hanging on the wall.

Spencer doesn’t reach for your hand again when he comes back.

…

The house is quiet when you arrive back home, hours later. Spencer sets his bag down by the door, and yours goes next to his to be dealt with later.

Exhaustion from the case is heavy in your limbs; the long flight and the sleepless nights are seeping into your bones, but Spencer seems perfectly intent upon kissing it better. You rest your forehead on his chest, exhaling softly, contentedly, as he presses kiss after kiss into your hair. He gently rests his hands on your waist and pushes you against the door– not as an act of dominance, like if someone were viewing you two from afar might assume, but one of simple convenience.

His hand reaches up to tilt your chin to the position he wants. Before leaning in to your neck, he pauses. 

“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to bed?” he asks. “You didn't sleep last night.” You shake your head, giving his cheek a small peck of your own.

“It’s one of those tireds where I can’t even think about sleep ever again.” 

A small smile grows on his face.

“I bet I can change that,” Spencer offers, knuckles skimming over your waist. You smile and let him tug you upstairs to your room and guide your hips to sit on the bed. His hand cups the side of your jaw, as always, lips moving to press against yours in a soft, affectionate display of his adoration. His other hand moves to your waist, squeezing, and you shiver a little in response, making him hum gently. 

His hands go underneath the hem of your top. “Okay?” he asks. You nod, lifting your arms to help. His eyes take their time tracing over you, but never in a way that couldn't be defined as sweet. His hand leaves your cheek and goes to the bedside table, sliding open the drawer. It draws toward the front left corner, as it always does, when it pauses. He turns to look at you, hesitating.

You, whose legs are now pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them. You stare at the yellow light of the lamp you and Spencer picked out months ago reflecting against those countless little squares of foil. 

Your lips are drawn inwards, between your teeth, unable to help your mind from racing to other realities, ones where every detail is the very same, except Spencer chose not to open that drawer tonight. 

…

Spencer explained the basis of quantum immortality to you a long time ago, in the early stages of your relationship, at a time so late in the night where a regular person would never be able to form coherent thoughts, let alone thoughts like these.

You were slumped over the kitchen island, peering at him as he wandered around, silently marveling at the preciousness of your boyfriend the world seemed to take for granted as he tried to get you to understand how cool this concept was.

“There’s also an interpretation of quantum mechanics proposed by a physicist named Hugh Everett which involves a ‘many worlds’ concept: essentially, it suggests that every possible outcome of an event creates its own branch of reality, meaning an infinite number of parallel worlds exist, each containing a version of events where everything that can happen, does happen,” he starts, widening his eyes for dramatic effect. “So quantum immortality is rooted in the concept that when we die in one timeline, we essentially just move on to the next one where every detail is the same except… well, you don’t die.”

He went on to emphatically talk about some guy’s cat in a box, but how this time, in a thought experiment that demonstrates this theory of immortality, you’re the cat.

You had pretty much lost him when he got to that part.

…

You blink, shoving the memory from your mind. 

“You’re staring,” you point out quietly.

“You’re pretty,” Spencer responds. He sits next to you on the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You watch as his other hand fiddles with the condom he grabbed, running his thumb over the edges of the wrapper. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Did I do something?” You shake your head softly. 

“Mm-mm.”

“Really? Because we’ve been sitting in silence and you haven’t stopped staring at the condom in my hand for the past two minutes.”

You exhale quietly, internally screaming at yourself to just spit it out.

It’s never been easy, being an agent dating an agent. Sure, agreements have been made to not profile each other, but with so many years of experience, small observations and connections about your partner’s nature are an automatic practice. You know that Spencer takes 3 sugars in his coffee just as well as you know he says your name more frequently and shortens his sentences when scared, almost like he tries to instead convey the appearance he’s mad.

You also know very well that you and Spencer have both been consciously avoiding this conversation like the plague, especially since his homecoming. 

You gnaw at your lip, trying to think of something to say, but your mind can only come up with freaky images of cats that are simultaneously alive and dead until observed.

“`M sorry, I was just thinking. Lost in my mind.”

“Thinking about what?”

Relationships that are simultaneously kept and broken until a certain conversation is had.

“Um. Quantum immortality. Who’s that guy? Hugh Jackman?”

Spencer straightens, eyebrows raising a little. “Hugh Everett,” he supplies. His tone is gentle, coaxing. “You’ve been thinking about that? I told you about him months ago.”

He stands as you quietly think of a response, grabbing a hoodie from the closet to tug over your bare torso, letting his hand gently cradle the back of your head after doing so.

“Yeah. I did a little more reading on it. It’s kind of a nice thought I keep going back to. Obviously really, really scary when you think about it for too long. But nice in the sense that there’s probably a version of us out there somewhere where…” you trail off, suddenly extremely aware of the weight of your words. 

He glances down to the condom he left on the comforter.

The thick silence that follows feels like it stretches across a thousand timelines, each one probably also filled with countless what-ifs and unspoken words and really bad communication, and at the very root of all of it, fear. That deep, gaping hole in both of your souls.

When Spencer finally looks at you, his eyes are so deep it takes your breath away. So deep that it jars you into just saying it.

“Spencer,” you begin, voice so quiet. “Do you still want kids?”

You find yourself shooting up a silent prayer to whoever is out there looking out for you– God or Isaac Newton or Hugh Everett or Jason Gideon: 

Pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes.

When he doesn’t answer right away, you continue– a habit probably picked up from the person standing right in front of you. “I just feel like there was a time where we were almost talking about it, but then it… went away.”

He reaches out to gently take the condom you were now fiddling with and sets it back in the drawer, his hand resting on the edge of the table as if grounding himself. His face is soft, almost glowing in the dim yellow light.

“I know,” he starts, voice crackling at the edges.

You stay dead silent.

“I didn’t mean for it to go away,” Spencer says, the crack in his voice causing you to glance up and see his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You nod, shakily, though the perpetual ache in your stomach is sharper now, more like it’s a knife stabbing you through the gut.

“I get it,” you say, even though part of you doesn’t want to. “You don’t need to be sorry.” You can’t even bring yourself to think of the implications of what he just said– all you know is that there is something fundamentally different between you and Spencer that wasn’t there before.

“It’s not that I don’t want it. I do. You know I do. But I can’t. Not now.”

You reach out your hand for him to take.

“Spencer,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Really. We don’t have to talk about it any more.”

His lips press into a thin line, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Clearly. It wasn’t a statement said to be believed. There was nothing okay, at all, but this isn’t a fight- there’s nothing to fight about. There's just a quiet understanding. He nods, finally, and steps back. “We should get some sleep,” he says, his voice almost too soft to hear.

You watch as he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, still in his work clothes, leaving just enough space for you beside him. After a moment you curl up next to him because, despite everything, doing the alternative would be so much worse.

Spencer's arms wrap around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, and you close your eyes and let the silence settle over you both, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. Something you would have given anything to have not so long ago.

[blackdollette]

"i fell for another loser." | spencer reid

in my feelings. - lana del rey

⊹₊⋆ synopsis: it didn't take a genius to detect when something was wrong with spencer...

fill out the taglist form! : @thirtyratsinasuit @auggiethecreator @oliviah-25 @sleepysongbirdsings @pleasantwitchgarden @emma-e-a @bellasprettywords

⊹₊⋆ pairing: bau!female!reader x spencer

⊹₊⋆ word count: 651

⊹₊⋆ contents: nervous spencer, slight tension, a little fluff

you quietly placed a hot, coffee-filled cup beside the two empty ones on spencer’s desk, the slight click sound it made as it hit the hardwood making his head jerk up. this was the third time he has dozed off like this, and it was only 11 in the morning.

he rubbed his eyes, his hair falling in disheveled tufts over his face as you leaned against his desk. 

“thanks… again.”

you nodded. “anytime.”

he picked up the cup, looking up at you. “blonde espresso with two teaspoons of sugar, right?”

you rolled your eyes. “this is my third delivery of the day. i even opted adding a quart of sugar.”

he mustered a little laugh, taking a long sip with a deep sigh, leaning back in his chair as he set the cup back down, starting to fidget with his thumbs like a nervous child. you were still standing there, confused at his unkempt disposition.

“something keeping you up at night, spence? i’ve never seen you this… disordered before.”

he locked eyes with you, hastily trying to fix his hair as he shook his head. “n-no, i’ve just…” he hesitated. “it’s nothing.”

your mouth nearly curled into an amused smile. on a normal day, you wouldn’t even need to ask spencer before he began telling you all the things he dreamt of and all the ways he would spend his evening. you wanted to pry, but didn’t want to strain him any further.

“well, you know where i am if you wanna talk.”

you smiled and gave him a half wave, heading to the exit door of his office. as you began to turn the handle, he blurted out quickly. “do you have any idea why i can’t get a date?”

you turned around slowly, raising an eyebrow. “maybe because i’ve never seen you ask a girl out, casanova.”

his cheeks flushed a little as his head angled downward, staring intensely at the ground. the realization suddenly hit you like a freight train.

“oh… is that what’s been keeping you up at night? you… like a girl..?”

spencer swallowed hard, nodding just a little. “i guess you could put it that way.”

you two fell silent for a moment, spencer not even being able to look you in the eye. he was blushing like an embarrassed school boy and could barely formulate a single sentence. 

you cleared your throat to break the silence. 

“so… you got any plans for her?”

spencer nodded, shuffling around a few papers on his desk. “y-yeah. i got her and i tickets to a ball game, reservations to her favourite restaurant, and… i was gonna ask her to be my girlfriend.”

your heart would’ve warmed up if the lump growing in your throat hadn’t appeared first. “wow, it looks like you’ve got the whole night planned.” it was your turn to fidget with your thumbs. “i-is she pretty..?”

spencer finally loosens up at that question, a full smile breaking out on his face. “that doesn’t begin to cover it.”

you nodded, feeling a stab of insecurity in your chest, but you masked it with an endearing smile. “well to the looks of it, you’ve got a plan, you’ve set everything up, and it seems that you really like her. so go ahead and ask. i promise that no girl could ever say no to you. and if she does, you’re way out of her league.”

spencer’s eyes grew a little misty, along with yours. your hand fell to the door handle once again, turning it slowly.

“good luck, spence…”

god, that nickname, the one that no one else in the world ever used. the butterflies in spencer’s stomach had increased significantly. he knew that it was now or never.

his voice coming out shakier than ever stopped you in your tracks as you began to leave the room.

“so, uh, a-are you free this saturday..?”

author's note: ugh.

[moonwateraura]

“Almost” pt. 2

“We Almost Kissed, Right?”

(Van Palmer x Reader – pre-crash, slow burn, yearning, first kiss, eventual smut)

⸻

Van couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The way you looked at her right before Misty interrupted. The brush of your hand against hers. Your voice, teasing, low, a little breathless—“You ever stop talking?”

No amount of sarcasm, deflection, or self-deprecating jokes could cover how wrecked she was from that moment. Or from the way you’d smiled before walking away with a “Maybe” about their date.

She replayed it over and over, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling of her tiny-ass room, clutching a pillow like it could tell her if you’d actually wanted to kiss her back.

And now it was Friday. The movie night.

And Van was panicking.

⸻

“You’re not even watching the movie.”

Van flinched, caught. “I’m watching it. I’m just… also watching the door. In case someone tries to break in and stop this moment of cinematic genius.”

Natalie rolled her eyes, arms crossed as she sat on Van’s bed. “You’re a disaster. Why are you freaking out? You like her. She obviously likes you back. You have this stupid smile every time she talks to you.”

“I do not,” Van muttered. She absolutely did.

“You do,” Natalie said. “Like a Golden Retriever seeing their leash. It’s embarrassing actually.”

Van flopped back on her bed with a groan. “What if she’s just nice? Like, what if I’m reading everything wrong? Maybe she almost kissed me because she’s polite”

Natalie gave her a look. “Yeah, that’s what people do. They politely lean in to make out by firelight.”

Van threw a pillow at her.

⸻

You showed up fifteen minutes late. On purpose.

Your heart had been racing all afternoon. You kept reliving the bonfire, too—the closeness, the way Van’s voice dropped when she flirted, like even she was unsure if it was safe to hope.

And that stupid, perfect, almost-kiss.

You wanted it. You still wanted it. But a part of you had been so used to playing it safe—keeping your feelings inside, holding back just in case it was all in your head.

But then Van opened the door.

Hair a little messy, wearing her favorite hoodie and a lopsided grin like she’d been pacing for the past hour. And her eyes when she saw you—like the world had tilted just a little in her direction.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly shy.

“You came,” Van said, breath catching.

You stepped inside. “You invited me.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know if you were just flirting back out of pity.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I flirt out of pity?”

Van looked like she was about to dig herself into a hole, so you took mercy and dropped your bag, brushing your shoulder against hers as you stepped into the room.

“Depends on the movie,” you said casually. “If you picked something terrible, I’m leaving and never talking to you again.”

Van perked up. “So high stakes. Perfect. I thrive under pressure.”

She had not picked a bad movie. You ended up on the couch together, both pretending to focus on the opening credits of The Thing while your knees brushed and your shared blanket got pulled just a little too high.

Halfway through the movie, you realized neither of you had spoken in fifteen minutes. You were both too aware of the silence.

You turned to say something just as Van turned toward you.

Your faces were close. Like bonfire close. Like someone move or this is happening close.

You didn’t move.

Neither did she.

Van licked her lips nervously. “So, uh. We almost kissed, right?”

You blinked. “That’s what you got out of this movie night?”

“I mean…” Van swallowed. “It’s not the only thing. But it’s up there.”

You looked down, smiling—shy, a little embarrassed.

Then you nodded. “Yeah. We almost did.”

Van’s voice dropped. “Is that something you… wanted?”

You met her eyes, heart pounding. “Yeah.”

Van exhaled, like she’d been holding her breath since the bonfire.

And then, slow and uncertain but so goddamn gentle, she leaned in. This time, you met her halfway.

The kiss was soft—more emotional than either of you expected. Her hand came up to your cheek, warm and shaking slightly. Your fingers twisted in the fabric of her hoodie, pulling her closer.

You parted just an inch, foreheads touching.

“Took you long enough,” you whispered.

Van laughed against your lips. “You’re the one who walked away!”

“You got interrupted!”

You both dissolved into quiet laughter, grinning like idiots, still touching, still too close to think straight.

And then she kissed you again.

This time with more certainty. Less fear.

More heat.

Her hands found your waist, tugging you closer until you were halfway in her lap, and neither of you were really paying attention to the movie anymore. Her lips moved with yours like she’d been waiting forever for this—and god, maybe she had. All the yearning, the wondering, the near-misses—all of it spilled into this kiss.

Your hands were in her hair now. Her hoodie was halfway off. You both broke apart, breathless.

Van looked at you, eyes wide and bright. “So, uh. Is this still technically the first date?”

You grinned. “It’s going very well.”

She laughed, giddy. “Do we stop?”

You kissed her again, slower this time, thumb brushing her jaw. “Do you want to?”

Van groaned softly against your lips. “Not even a little.”

The blanket was kicked off. The movie forgotten. Her hands explored your sides like she was memorizing the shape of you. You kissed her neck and she shivered, letting out the softest sound that went straight to your core.

She kissed you like she was starving. Desperate. Like she couldn’t believe you were really there.

It didn’t go further than heated kisses, tangled limbs, roaming hands and soft gasps—but it was enough. It was more than enough.

When you both finally collapsed back against the couch, wrapped in each other, flushed and breathing hard, Van whispered, “This might be the best movie night in the history of the world.”

You nuzzled closer to her neck. “Even better than The Shining?”

She laughed, wrapping her arms tighter around you. “Okay, now you’re pushing it.”

But neither of you moved. You just stayed there, tangled up, hearts still racing.

And Van, for once, didn’t wonder if you liked her.

She knew.

[anjee0]

Week 2 - Cookies and Hot cocoa

Female!reader x Eminem (Feel free to put in your own oc insert)

Description - Y/n and Marshall decide to bake cookies and make hot cocoa together.

Warnings - no warnings

The warm rays of the sunlight peeked through the curtains and basked in the room where Marshall and Y/n laid in bed, wrapped in each other’s embrace. The light gently shone upon Y/n’s face, making her flutter her eyelashes as she batted her eyes open. She moved her arms away from Marshall and stretched before relaxing and laying down still. Marshall stirred next to her as he placed his arm around her waist and pulled her closer with a muffled goran. 

“Marshall, baby. Let’s get up.” Y/n asked softly.

“Now?” he groaned into Y/n’s neck.

“I wanna do something fun today.”

“Sleepy sex?”

“No. Maybe another time. I was thinking we would bake cookies and make some hot cocoa. What do you think?”

“That sounds great, babe. But can I sleep for a little bit more?”

“Sure babe, but I’m gonna get up now.”

Y/n stretched herself out of bed as she walked over the bathroom groggily, her eyes still drooping down low. A good splash of cold water was enough to wake her up and fill her with the energy she would need for the day. After finishing her daily skincare routine, she headed on downstairs to the kitchen and started rummaging through the cupboards, finding all the ingredients for cookies.

She took out all the necessary ingredients and measured them out carefully, making sure it was absolutely perfect and precise. She also connected her phone to her mini speaker as she played some festive music to set the mood. As Y/n started to measure out the flour, she heard footsteps residing behind her as a pair of arms wrapped around her waist. She immediately knew it was Marshall and she couldn't help but smile as she leaned into his embrace. He rested his chin on Y/n's shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Hey babe.” He said. “What cookies are we making?”

“Chocolate chip, but we're decorating them too.” Y/n responded.

“Sounds good.”

They both started to mix the ingredients together, making sure nothing spilled out of the containers. The flour cascaded down in a quick swoop, creating a fine white mist in the air. She browned the butter and poured it in, creating a nutty and warm scent in the kitchen. Sugar sparkled like tiny sprinkles as it was added to the mix. The eggs cracked against the bowl and escaped its shell smoothly as drops of the rich vanilla extract landed in. Finally, Y/n sprinkled in some small chocolate chips and large chunks of chocolate.

Marshall used a wooden spoon to mix the ingredients. It scraped against the sides of the bowl, blending the ingredients into a sweet, soft dough. The kitchen soon started to take on a delicate, sugar aroma that lingered in the air. 

“I personally think an electric whisk would work 10 times better.” Marshall said.

Y/n scoffed and shook her head. “No way. We’ll make a mess.”

“You’ll make a mess. Not me.”

“Turning into Mr. I’m-too-cocky-and-confident-for-my-own-good, huh?”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” Marshall located the electric whisk in one of the bottom cabinets and plugged it in. “I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

He put a steady grip on the handle of the whisk and he lowered it into ingredients.

“I just remembered, it’s actually better to mix ingredients manually when it comes to cookies-” Y/n started to say but she was immediately cut off by the loud mixer.

“What did you say?” Marshall asked smugly. “Sorry my whisking skills are too good.”

Suddenly, his thumb slipped, making him change the power of the whisk all the way to the highest. All of a sudden, some of the ingredients went flying everywhere in Marshall’s face. He yelped loudly as he turned it off as set the whisker aside.

An indescribable silence hung in the air as Marshall turned his head to turn to Y/n. As soon as she saw his face, she couldn’t help but burst into a loud cackle. Some of his face was white with misty flour and some butter was caught in his beard.

“It’s not funny.” He said monotonously.

“It kind of is though.” Y/n chuckled. “I’m sorry. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Afterwards, Marshall cleaned his face off the batter and helped Y/n clean the kitchen. Luckily, most of the ingredients were still in the bowl.

“I’m so sorry. I just made this harder for us.” Marshall apologised.

“Don’t apologise babe. If anything, it made my day.” Y/n teased.

“Of course it did.”

Afterwards, the couple took balls of dough and formed them into cookies as they sang along to the Christmas music playing. Y/n placed the cookies in the oven and left them to bake. 

“Those smell really good.” Marshall said. “Can't wait to have them.”

“Me too! We should make some hot cocoa too and then we can snuggle up on the couch. How does that sound?” Y/n asked.

“I love that.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her forehead lovingly.

The upbeat Christmas song came to an end as it faded away to a final finish. The next song came to play soon after, it was a slow one with a somber tune and gentle beats.

“Care to dance with me?” Marshall asked.

“I would love to.” Y/n giggled.

She placed her arms around his neck as she adjusted herself closer to him. They both gently swayed to the music as they held each other close, not leaving even a millimeter of space between them. Their hearts felt warm with love and their smiles were filled to brim with pure joy. He spun her around quickly, nearly knocking a bowl down.

“Ooh! Be careful! This is a kitchen not a dancefloor.” Y/n said teasingly with a small chuckle.

After dancing, they held each other close and breathed each other’s scent, they both felt safe and at heart. They continued to stay in each other’s embrace until the small chicken timer on the counter went off and rang a high pitched bell. 

Marshall opened the oven and immediately, the buttery and syrupy scent of the freshly baked cookies travelled to his nostrils. He set the tray down on the counter, as its buttery scent laced the air around, creating a warm and sweet atmosphere. The cookies looked soft and had a golden crust on the outside. The chocolate chips and chunks make the cookies look more mouth-watering.

“Gosh these look great.” He reached his hand over to pick one up but Y/n slapped his hand just right in time. 

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“What are you doing? I want my cookie.”

“Well, that cookie is gonna be hot. And plus, we need to decorate them.”

“Oh right. You got icing?”

“Yup. And sprinkles!” Y/n exclaimed with a bright smile.

They spent ages setting up all the piping bags with icing of different arrangements of colours and laying out different sprinkle shakers. On the bright side, the cookies had cooled down and were ready to decorate. They both took a cookie and a piping bag of the choice and started to decorate their cookies. Y/n was very careful with hers and made sure her pictures looked accurate. Meanwhile, Marshall took it as an opportunity to mess around.

“Did you seriously draw a penis on your cookie?” Y/n asked.

“Yeah. It looks great, does it not?” Marshall chuckled.

“Are you gonna eat that?”

“I don’t know. Why? Do you want it? Although, you’d probably prefer the real thing, right?”

Y/n scoffed and pushed Marshall playfully. “Marshall Bruce Mathers the third! Are you crazy?”

“Uh oh. She pulled out the Government name. Well Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, I am crazy. For you.”

Y/n chuckled and kissed his nose. “I’m crazy for you too.”

“Well, what did you draw? Is that Santa?” Marshall asked as his eyes darted over to Y/n’s cookie.

“Yup. He looks so cute! I used these chocolate sprinkles for the eyes.”

“It looks nice babe but I could do way better.”

“Really? Come on, you can’t even draw a penis properly. It looks deformed.”

“Oh it’s on! I’m gonna prove you wrong.”

“And what happened last time you did that?” Y/n asked with a cunning smirk on her face, referencing the whisk incident earlier.

“That was just a small mishap. Watch me. I’m gonna do this so well.”

Marshall then spent his next few minutes decorating his cookie, attempting to draw Santa Claus. He used the same chocolate sprinkles for the eyes and additional details.

“Ta da!” He said, holding up his cookie proudly.

“That looks like a Picasso portrait of Santa.” Y/n replied.

Marshall scoffed and took a look at his cookie, only to realise his girlfriend was probably right. The frosting was a bit lopsided and looked messy. The sprinkles were starting to fall off and one of Santa’s eyes somehow landed on his white, frosty beard.

“I guess you’re not wrong.” he muttered. “But that’s besides the point. I tried my best.”

Y/n chuckled softly and shot a loving smile at her boyfriend. “I know you did. And that’s why I still love it.”

They continued to pipe the soft and sweet icing on to the cookies, forming different characters and funny pictures. Unfortunately, they ran out of icing to decorate the remaining 4 cookies left on the tray.

“Guess we didn’t have enough icing. What do we do?” Marshall asked.

“I have an idea.” Y/n replied. She walked over to the pantry and came back, her arms full of different chocolates and sweets. She set them out onto the table and spread them out.

“What are we doing?”

“I’ll give you a cookie and pair it with another chocolate. You have to close your eyes when I give it to you and guess what flavour the cookie is.”

“Alright. Let’s do this then.”

Marshall closed his eyes tight as Y/n opened a packet of Reese’s. She took it out of its paper cup and placed it on top of the cookie. She popped it into Marshall’s mouth and watched as he scrunched his face up in thought.

“Hm, so I taste peanut butter with a hint of… love?” He asked.

“You are impossible.” Y/n chuckled.

“It’s Reese’s right?”

“Correct, your turn.”

It was Y/n’s turn for her to close her eyes and wait in anticipation as Marshall picked out a chocolate. He paired his cookie with a KitKat and fed it to her.

“Easy. KitKat.” She responded immediately.

“Correct. Are you getting any hints of love?” Marshall asked.

“Tons.” She responded as she opened her eyes.

After they finished up their fun little game of combining chocolates with the cookies and making new flavours, they decided to get started on the hot chocolate. Y/n poured some milk into a pot, she watched the liquid swirl as she set it on the stove. She added a few spoonfuls of cocoa powder, watching it turn the milk into a rich chocolatey brown colour of delight. Marshall added some sugar, making the milk all the more creamy and peachy. He stirred it slowly as the sickly sweet aroma of the chocolate embraced the kitchen fully. After they finished preparing it, they poured it out into two mugs. The chocolate poured down smoothly like a grand waterfall as steam curled up from it like a white ribbon. They then topped it off with some thick whipped cream and sprinkled a few mini marshmallows on top. It looked luscious and engaging, looking ready to be drunk.

Afterwards, they settled on the couch as a soft and fuzzy blanket embraced their bodies. Their bodies were warm, compared to the cold misty wind outside. They had their plate of uniquely decorated cookies and hot chocolate with them. Y/n took a bite of her cookie, feeling the rush of all the encaptivating flavours rush to her mouth. The edges were crispy and the cookie itself was soft and buttery. The chocolate chips were gooey and melted in her mouth instantly.

She then took a sip of the hot chocolate, it was velvety and coated her mouth in an intense cover of sweetness and richness she couldn’t describe. The whipped cream added an additional creaminess to the flavour and the marshmallows enhanced it, making the experience even better.

“This is so good!” She exclaimed.

“I’m pretty proud of how this turned out.” Marshall replied, his mouth full with his cookie.

Y/n chuckled and kissed his cheek. “I really enjoyed today, Marshall.”

“I enjoyed it too, baby.”

[airandyeah]

Sins (Alpha Geto X Omega Gojo X Omega Reader) Part.14

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, fated mates, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ ANGST!! I kinda started crying tbh

The visit had been going well—better than you expected.

The warmth of your childhood home wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. The scent of fresh soil clung to your hands from helping your father in the garden, and the familiar chatter of your mother filled the air as she sliced fruit for both of you to snack on.

She had gasped when you showed her your mating marks, her hands fluttering over them in awe.

“You found them,” she whispered, eyes misty as she traced the marks with gentle fingers.

You smiled, feeling an odd sense of peace settle in your chest. “Yeah… I did.”

“And they take care of you?” she asked, her voice soft but firm, as if daring you to say otherwise.

You nodded. “They do.”

Your father hummed from his spot by the back door, wiping his hands on a towel. “They’d better.”

Your mother swatted him playfully. “Oh, hush. I’m sure they’re wonderful.”

“They are,” you assured her, your fingers unconsciously ghosting over one of the marks. “They love me.”

Your mother smiled, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then that’s all I need to know.” ~~~

The third morning of your visit should have been peaceful. The house smelled like coffee and warm bread, and the distant chirping of birds filled the quiet. But what ripped you from sleep wasn’t the scent of breakfast—it was the loud, sharp crack of gunfire.

Your body moved before your mind caught up, heart hammering as you stumbled out of bed and down the hall.

Then you saw it.

Your father lay sprawled on the living room floor, blood pooling beneath him. The crimson spread across the wooden panels, staining everything it touched. Your mother knelt beside him, her breath coming in panicked gasps, but her hands were steady—one pressing down on his wound, the other gripping a handgun aimed straight ahead.

At him.

Toji Fushiguro stood just a few feet away, head tilting slightly as if amused. The dim morning light cut across his face, illuminating the casual smirk on his lips.

“Well, this is a mess,” he drawled, eyes flicking between you, your bleeding father, and your mother’s trembling grip on the gun. “Didn’t plan on a family reunion.”

Your stomach twisted as fear and fury clashed inside you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, voice sharp despite the way your hands shook.

Toji exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. Unbothered. Relaxed. Like this wasn’t a home invasion. Like your father wasn’t dying on the floor.

“Business, sweetheart,” he answered simply. “Nothing personal.”

Your mother cocked the gun with a click. “Like hell it isn’t.”

Your breath was unsteady as you took a step forward, fists clenched. "Why?" Your voice cracked, but the anger in it was undeniable. "Why the hell did you let me go—only to come here and do this?"

Toji’s gaze flicked to you, his smirk fading into something unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing, just watching you like he was weighing his options. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, only broken by your father’s ragged breathing and your mother’s steady grip on the gun.

Then, with a lazy shrug, he said, "I let you go because it wasn’t your time." His tone was maddeningly casual, like he was discussing the weather instead of your family bleeding out on the floor. His eyes darkened as he tilted his head. "This? This ain’t about you."

Your stomach churned. "Like hell it isn’t," you snapped, voice trembling with fury.

Toji exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You were never the target." His gaze flicked to your father, then back to you. "But him? Your old man pissed off the wrong people a long time ago. I’m just here to finish the job."

Your mother’s finger twitched over the trigger. “Over my dead body.”

Toji’s smirk returned, colder this time. “Suit yourself.” The world tilted.

Your mother’s body crumpled before you, her gun slipping from her grip as blood splattered across the floor. The deafening ring of the gunshot still echoed in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your knees felt weak, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a vice crushing your ribs.

Toji stood there, gun still raised, the barrel smoking. His expression was unreadable, but his stance was relaxed—like this was just another job. Like he hadn’t just ripped your mother away from you in an instant.

Your father gasped from the floor, his hand trembling as he reached out—but he was losing too much blood. His movements were sluggish. Weak.

You dropped to your knees beside her, shaking hands pressing against her shoulder, as if that would wake her up, as if this were just some nightmare you could shake yourself out of.

“Mom?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Mom, please.”

No response.

Your chest heaved, panic clawing at your throat, but then—then you felt it. A shift. A prickle down your spine.

Satoru. Suguru.

They were coming.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

Your hands trembled as you clutched at your mother’s lifeless body, desperate to feel warmth, to feel something other than the cold, damp sensation of her blood seeping into your skin. Your breath came in sharp, broken gasps between your sobs, the sound raw and guttural, echoing through the room.

You hadn’t even realized Toji was gone.

You hadn’t noticed the distant sounds of tires screeching as he vanished, leaving nothing behind but death and destruction in his wake.

All you could do was cry, your body curling over your mother’s as if you could shield her from the truth of what had already happened.

You barely registered the rushed footsteps—didn’t even flinch when the door burst open.

But then—then you felt it. The overwhelming, suffocating presence of them.

Satoru. Suguru.

Your Alphas.

Your grief-stricken wail tore through the room as they surged toward you.

Satoru was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees and pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His scent washed over you—warm, familiar, safe—but it did nothing to stop the violent sobs wracking your body.

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice trembling as he ran his hands over your back, rocking you gently. "I've got you, I've got you."

You clutched at him, burying your face in his chest, your cries muffled against his shirt. He didn't care that you were staining it with tears and blood; he only held you tighter, cooing soft reassurances, his own distress evident in the way his breath hitched.

Suguru, meanwhile, was crouched beside your father, his face set in grim determination as he pressed his hands to the bleeding wound. "Stay with me, old man," he muttered, his voice low and firm. "Ambulance is coming. Just hold on."

Your father let out a weak, ragged cough, his eyelids fluttering. Blood pooled beneath him, but Suguru wasn’t giving up—not yet.

The distant wail of sirens grew closer, but it was drowned out by the way your world had shattered.

Satoru tightened his arms around you, his scent thickening in the air in a desperate attempt to soothe you.

"We're here," he whispered, his voice breaking. "We're here, baby. You're not alone." ~~~ The pen in your hand felt impossibly heavy as you stared at the stark black letters on the paper before you. Your mother’s name. Time of death. Cause. It all blurred together, a meaningless haze of ink and formality that reduced the woman who raised you to a simple document.

Your fingers trembled as you signed, the moment feeling surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. The second the pen left the paper, the weight of it all crashed down on you. Your breath hitched—then broke—before a sob tore free from your chest.

Satoru caught you before you collapsed, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His scent enveloped you, strong and grounding, but it couldn't stop the pain from consuming you whole.

“I got you,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I’m right here.”

You clung to him, your fingers twisting into his jacket as you shook against him. He didn't care that your tears soaked through his clothes, that your body trembled violently against his own—he just held you, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back, murmuring soft reassurances that neither of you truly believed.

He never left your side. Not when you signed the papers. Not when you broke down in the hallway. Not even when Suguru came back with an update on your father.

He was there, keeping you upright when the weight of your grief threatened to crush you entirely. ~~~ Sitting stiffly in the hospital chair, you felt like the air had been sucked from the room. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors did nothing to soften the weight of your father’s words.

“I never wanted this life for you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from pain and the lingering effects of anesthesia. His fingers twitched against the scratchy hospital blanket, and his gaze—guilt-ridden and tired—met yours.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I was involved in things before you were born. Your mother was, too,” he admitted, shifting slightly in the bed. “Our families arranged our marriage to strengthen alliances, to keep the business… stable.” He swallowed hard, looking away. “She never forgave me for it.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater, trying to process the weight of his confession.

“She blamed you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He gave a slow nod. “She thought if I had done things differently—walked away sooner—you wouldn’t have been born into this world. That we could have escaped.” His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. “But I was already too deep. We both were.”

Your stomach twisted violently. The mother who raised you with such warmth, who always told you to be strong and to choose your own path, had resented the very foundation of your existence?

“She loved you,” your father added quickly, seeing the devastation flicker across your face. “More than anything. But she hated what our past brought into our lives. She hated what it did to you.”

Your chest ached, confusion and grief intertwining into a suffocating knot.

This wasn’t the life she wanted for you.

But it was too late to turn back now.

Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself out of the chair, staring down at the man who had once been your pillar of strength.

“This is your fault.” Your voice was raw, thick with grief and rage, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

Your father’s tired eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t argue. He just stared back at you, accepting your words like he had been expecting them.

“Toji said it himself,” you spat, your breathing uneven. “He was only there for you. Not for me, not for Mom—for you.”

Your father closed his eyes briefly, pain flickering across his face, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“She’s dead because of you,” you choked out, the weight of the words nearly buckling your knees. “If you had never been involved in any of this—if you had never dragged her into your mess—she’d still be here!”

Satoru shifted beside you, his presence grounding even as your world crumbled. But Suguru remained silent, his arms crossed, his jaw tight as he stared at your father with barely concealed disdain.

“I know.” Your father’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with regret. “I know.”

But that wasn’t enough.

Regret wouldn’t bring your mother back. Regret wouldn’t erase the image of her lifeless body from your mind. Regret wouldn’t heal the gaping hole in your chest.

You turned on your heel and stormed out of the room, unable to look at him any longer.

Satoru followed you like a loyal hound, his steps quick and desperate as you barely made it down the hall before your legs gave out. Your back hit the cold hospital wall, and you slid down, hands clutching at your face as the sobs came hard and fast.

Without hesitation, Satoru was on the ground beside you, arms wrapping around you like a shield, his warmth pressing into you, anchoring you as the grief swallowed you whole.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice soft, reverent. “I got you, sweetheart.”

Your fingers dug into his shirt, twisting the fabric as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely. Satoru rocked you gently, his scent wrapping around you, soothing in a way only a mate’s could be.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered against your hair, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Never alone. We’re here—we’re always here.”

You sobbed harder, burying yourself in his embrace, the pain unbearable, the world so cruel. But Satoru held you like he could take the pain for you, like he would if he could.

And when another set of arms joined—stronger, grounding—you knew Suguru had found you, too. ~~~ In the weeks that followed, you found solace only in the familiar warmth of their shared bed. The world outside felt too cold, too harsh to face, and you couldn't bring yourself to leave the comfort of the blankets that held the scent of your mates. Moose and Hime, your constant companions, seemed to sense your grief, curling up next to you in silent solidarity, offering the kind of quiet support only animals could provide.

Moose, the large, fluffy cat, would rest his head on your lap as if trying to ease the weight in your heart. Hime, the sleek black cat with an attitude, would sit near your head, watching over you with piercing eyes, as though she understood that something deeper than physical pain was causing the heaviness in your chest.

Suguru and Satoru never pressed you to move, to get up, to face the world. They understood your need for space, for time to process. They stayed with you in the bed when you wanted them there, and they gave you quiet moments when you needed them. Their presence was a constant, soft comfort. They never pushed you to talk, never demanded anything from you beyond what you could give.

But still, there were moments when you would feel them staring at you, their gazes heavy with concern. You’d feel their eyes on you from across the room, as they tried to read the depths of your sorrow. Suguru would often try to coax you into eating, bringing you your favorite dishes, but you could barely stomach them. Satoru would sit beside you, not saying much, just quietly offering you his shoulder or a hand to hold when your grief would choke you once again.

The house felt quiet, and yet, their presence—warm, comforting, constant—was the only thing that made the emptiness bearable. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything you had lost was too much to bear, that the weight of your grief might crush you before you could even begin to heal.

And still, they waited for you, patient and understanding, letting you take the time you needed, never leaving your side. ~~~ A few days later, as you sat in the quiet of their bedroom, Satoru and Suguru approached you, their faces serious yet soft. They had been careful, giving you the space you needed, but now it was time to tell you something you had a right to know.

Satoru sat beside you on the bed, his usual playful energy subdued, his gaze focused on you with a somber kind of intensity. Suguru leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed but his expression unguarded, a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

"We handled it," Suguru said quietly, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the room. His voice was steady, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper. "The group who was responsible for your father's attack... they've been dealt with."

Satoru's hand reached for yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he spoke next. "We couldn't let it go. Not after what they did to your family... to you." His words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything that had happened in the past weeks—the anger, the need for retribution, the helplessness they had both felt watching you go through such pain.

"Toji was just the beginning," Suguru added, his voice low and calm, but you could hear the steel beneath it. "We made sure they wouldn't hurt anyone else ever again. Everyone who was involved—gone."

You felt a strange mix of emotions flood through you. Relief, yes, but it was bittersweet. Your father's life had been entangled in so many dangerous webs, and you could feel the weight of his past weighing on you still. But they had done what they felt needed to be done. They had taken the steps to eliminate the threat, to give you some measure of peace.

Satoru’s fingers traced the back of your hand as he leaned closer, his face softening. "You don't need to worry about them anymore. They're gone. But we’re not going anywhere, okay?" His voice, usually filled with playful banter, was now low, comforting—an anchor in the storm that still raged inside you. "We'll take care of you. Always."

Suguru walked over slowly, coming to kneel beside you. He reached out, his hand gentle as it cupped your cheek. "You don't have to carry this weight alone. We're here for you, every step of the way."

The sincerity in their words—though simple—struck you deep. You wanted to say something, but all that came was a shaky breath, a flicker of gratitude mixed with the ache in your chest. You weren’t sure if it would ever go away. The pain. The anger. The confusion. But you could feel their promise. They were there. They would stay. And that was enough for now.

"Thank you," you whispered, barely able to get the words out. The weight of the past few days, the horror of what you’d seen, still sat heavily on your shoulders. But their presence, their unwavering support, made the load a little easier to bear. For now, that was all you could ask for.

They both nodded in understanding, their quiet resolve shining through. They didn’t expect you to forgive them for what they had done. They didn’t need you to understand everything about their choices. ~~~ The day of your mother’s funeral felt heavy, oppressive, the air thick with the weight of grief that pressed down on you like a physical force. The service had been somber, the quiet whispers of condolences from friends and family blending with the sounds of the wind rustling through the trees. Yet through it all, you felt disconnected from everything, the world moving in slow motion around you.

Satoru stood beside you, his presence grounding, even though he remained uncharacteristically quiet, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. Suguru was on the other side, his gaze fixed on the casket as it was slowly lowered into the earth. He, too, said little, but you could feel the quiet strength radiating from both of them, a silent promise that they would be there for you, no matter how hard this moment was.

The small crowd had started to disperse after the service, their murmurs fading into the distance as the final act was about to unfold. You stood there, unable to tear your eyes away from the casket, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Your mother, the woman who had once been so full of life, was now gone—her legacy reduced to this moment, to this burial.

As the casket sank deeper into the ground, your throat tightened. You wanted to scream, to shout that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, that you weren’t ready to let go. But the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, the ache inside you was deep, a quiet sorrow that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Satoru squeezed your shoulder gently, his voice soft as he whispered, "We’re here. Always." His words were simple, but they cut through the haze of pain that surrounded you, reminding you that even in the midst of your grief, you weren’t alone.

Suguru stood silently, his presence unwavering as he watched the casket disappear from view. His eyes were focused, unreadable, but you could feel his hand brushing against yours, offering you a silent touch of comfort.

The grave was filled with dirt, and the moment stretched on, the finality of it settling in the air like a thick fog. You felt as if you were suffocating, but then you felt the warmth of Satoru's arm around your waist, pulling you in gently. Suguru’s hand found your back, his touch steady as he positioned himself closer to you.

"Do you want to stay?" Suguru asked quietly, his voice gentle as he rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles. He had always been the more reserved of the two, but in this moment, he was there for you in the way you needed.

You shook your head, wiping away the tear that had escaped down your cheek. “No,” you whispered. “I don’t think I can. I just… need to go home.”

Satoru gave a soft hum of agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling away slightly. "We’ll go whenever you're ready," he said.

Together, the three of you turned away from the freshly-filled grave, heading back to the car. The weight of your mother’s passing remained with you, but the presence of your mates—Suguru’s calm strength and Satoru’s comforting warmth—provided you with a quiet solace. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew that, for now, you had them. And that was enough.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @purpleicing , mini-kunoichi , @gravity-valley , @jinjen , @c0quin , @makingtimemine , @asweetblueberry2 , @vyxte I think that's everyone who asked to be tagged, I apologize if I missed anyone!!! Perma-tags: @thenightperson

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 2

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

There's commotion from the house, loud enough for Eddie and Robin to hear it outside. Both turn towards the house, Robin halfway to standing up already, and the door is pushed open, El falling through it to get outside.

Someone calls El's name from inside, but she doesn't even turn around. She marches across the lawn to Eddie and Robin. "They are too loud and angry in there. Take me somewhere else."

Joyce makes it out the door next and with a raise of her hand behind her, one finger up, she stops everyone in the doorway. She descends the steps of the porch and Eddie is in awe about how much power she wields because no one follows after. Not even Dustin, who is the absolute worst at following orders.

"Whatever you need," Eddie answers El. He doesn't think she's blinked since exiting the house.

"We can go to Steve's," Robin offers. She's standing now and roots in a pocket of her jeans before pulling out a keychain with three keys on it. "Maybe it'll help being around all his stuff?"

"We can take my van," Eddie offers.

"That would be great," Joyce says, reaching out and grabbing one of El's hands in her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, let's get some shoes on."

"Thank you," El says, shooting Eddie a smile before her eyes drop down to look at Steve. A frown returns to her face before she turns and heads back into the house with Joyce.

Robin turns to Eddie, offering a hand to him. She's probably offering to pull him up, but he holds Steve out to her instead. He doesn't understand why she looks surprised at that, but she takes Steve, cradles him close to herself like he had done earlier.

Eddie climbs into his van, starting it and reaching over to turn the dial on the radio down so it's not blasting at the loud volume he keeps it on. Robin hovers with the passenger door open. "You getting in, Buckley?"

"Yeah, eventually. Just thinking if I should crawl in the back. Let Joyce and El have the seats?"

"Oh. Yeah. Probably."

She's absently petting Steve's hair, eyes slightly misty. He watches as she blinks away the tears before letting out a big sigh. "I just want to pass Steve off to whoever will be wearing a seatbelt. I've seen how you drive, Munson."

Eddie catches the teasing tone in her voice and laughs. "Fair. I'll take corners about 3 miles per hour slower than I normally do."

Robin laughs. "That's probably still ten above the speed limit."

"You should not speed," El's voice makes both Robin and Eddie jump. She's standing just behind Robin, and a quick look around shows Joyce on the porch, a worried look on her face but she makes no move to step off the porch.

"Is your mom coming?" Eddie asks. A complicated set of expressions crosses El's face and he's worried he might have asked the wrong thing somehow but then El answers.

"No. Just me. I will sit in the center," She slides past Robin and crawls up onto the bench seat of Eddie's van, scoots across the seat until she butts up against Eddie, and searches for the seatbelt before securing it.

"Here," Robin holds Steve out to El, who takes him, before Robin pulls herself into the van, shutting the door and buckling herself in.

Eddie doesn't go immediately because he's a bit busy watching El look at Steve. She's holding him like she's not sure how. She wraps one hand around an arm and his waist and uses the other to poke a porcelain cheek, right over the two moles just below his cheek bone. He can see the creases of a frown on her face.

"Are you okay, El?" Robin asks, which is good because he was about to, and he thinks his voice will come out more watery.

"I...," El looks up to Robin, then back down to Steve, "I do not know."

It hits Eddie like a freight truck just how young El is. He has to put the van in gear and drive to give his mind something to focus on or he's going to do something stupid, like bear hug El and ugly cry into her grown out buzzcut.

"Hey, that's okay," Robin says, "it's okay to not know how you're doing. This is a complicated situation."

"I barely know Steve," El says, which surprises Eddie. They all seem close, so much so that Eddie still feels like an intruder at times. Still, there is a tone to her voice that seems off to Eddie. "We do not have a reason to hang out. Not like everyone else. Lucas plays basketball with him. Dustin and Max claim him as their brother. Even Erica-"

El stops talking abruptly. Eddie glances towards her but she's staring down at Steve, so Eddie flicks his eyes to Robin, who is already looking at him and making an 'I don't' know' gesture with her hands before Eddie returns his eyes to the road.

"Mike does not care for Steve much," El continues suddenly, the tone still there and Eddie feels like he knows it, "I spent so much time with Mike that I think I did not care for Steve, either. Not on purpose. But- but in a way that you do not care about a thing because it is not important in your life?"

No one says anything else, because what can they say? Shortly after, Eddie pulls into the driveway of the Harrington residence behind Steve's Bimmer. "Alright ladies. Once more unto the breach!"

They crawl from the van and Robin unlocks the door. El and Eddie step through first. El moves into the house, clutching at Steve like he's her favorite stuffed toy. Robin freezes in the doorway, looks like she's not even breathing.

"Buckley?" Eddie is whispering and he doesn't know why.

"Sorry, sorry," Robin exhales a shaking breath. "It's just- Nancy and I- sorry. Uh, El, do you need us to do anything?"

She glides past Eddie to catch up to El and he is left to close the door. He wonders if, maybe, Robin should have also stayed at the Byers-Hopper home. It had been her and Nancy that had come to check in on Steve just this morning. It wasn't unusual to not hear from Steve sometimes (everyone needed their time to just be alone) but today must have marked Too Many Days for Robin because she'd called Nancy for a ride, and they'd found this. A locked house, Steve's car still here, and resting against the pillows of Steve's bed had been the porcelain replica. Nothing out of place, no ransom notes, nothing to make it seem like nefarious going ons had been taking place. Just the Harrington house, devoid of a flesh and blood Steve Harrington.

Coming back must be surreal.

"Eddie, you okay?"

"Oh, uh, yeah," Eddie startles a little. He'd been lost in his own head for a moment there.

"Can El have your bandana? She needs something to use as a blindfold."

"Yeah," Eddie moves through the house, to the living room where El has sat herself on the floor in front of the TV. Steve is lain in her lap, a mirror of the image Eddie must have made on the front lawn. He pulls the bandana from his pocket, folding it diagonally before offering it out to El.

She takes it, eyes flicking up to Eddie's. She looks sad. "Can you make the TV staticky?"

"On it."

Robin closes all the blinds and curtains, making the house a bit darker and Eddie gets the TV on, white noise filling the room.

They sit in that white noise for what feels like an eternity but when Eddie checks his watch, is actually about 22 minutes, before El suddenly yanks the makeshift blind fold off with a frustrated huff.

"It is not working!" She shouts.

Eddie looks to Robin, but she looks just as lost about all this as Eddie feels. Well. Eddie's always been good with kids. He'll make the attempt. "El, you said earlier you didn't know if you were okay. Maybe figuring that out will help? It can't be easy to get into the right headspace with other thoughts floating around. "

She looks down at Steve, then back to Eddie. Her eyes are wet. "I am scared."

Eddie nods, "me too. This is scary."

"I am scared I will not find him," she says, then drops her voice to a whisper to continue, "but I am more scared that I will."

He really wishes Joyce would have come with. Or Hopper, Jonathan, Will, anyone who actually knows El. He thinks she need a kind of comfort he and Robin cannot provide. "Well, El, what's the part that's really scary?"

She's quiet for a long time. "Steve has never needed saving before. Not by me. What if I can't?"

"Oh El, it's not on you to save him," Robin says, sliding off the couch to be on the floor with them. She must have more information than Eddie about why El would say that, which makes since, because Robin was part of the conversation when they'd decided to have El try and reach out to Steve. "It's not fair that it's only you that can do this, but we didn't ask expecting you to fix it. That's not the pressure we meant to put on you. All we want is a confirmation. And if you can't, that's okay, too. That'll be okay."

El frowns, bottom lip quivering before she reaches down and picks up Steve, shoving him into Eddie's arms before she launches herself at Robin, arms around her neck and burying her face into Robin's neck. Robin looks startled, eyes wide going to Eddie. He pulls Steve to his neck, in an imitation of the position El is in, then hugs him with one arm and uses his other hand to pet at Steve's hair, trying to make meaningful eyes contact with Robin. She gets with the program, hugging El and petting the back of her head.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You want us to call Joyce or Hopper over?" Robin soothes, her body now gently rocking with El in her lap.

There's a muffled, quiet 'no' from El but that's it. She doesn't say anything else, or move, for a couple minutes.

El pulls back finally, away from Robin to sit up straight. "Okay. I am ready again. Please hand me Steve."

He does, belatedly realizing he was still cuddling and petting Steve. Oh. He really hopes that if Steve is the doll, that he doesn't have any sort of touch receptors going on. That'll be embarrassing.

Steve settled in her lap again, blindfold back on, El tries again.

It takes about two minutes before Eddie watches a bit of blood trickle out of her nose. He shoots a worried look to Robin before lifting a hand, intent on reaching out to El, but before he fully extends his arm, Robin stops him with a shake of her head.

Another eternity passes before El gasps and pulls the blindfold off.

"What happened? Did you find him?" Robin asks.

El looks from Robin to Eddie, then down to Steve, then back up to Eddie, a small smile on her face. "Yeah. He wants me to tell you 'thank you, for taking the time to explain because Dustin never does.' He said you would know what he was talking about?"

"Holy shit." He and Robin say it at the same time. Robin scrabbles over the couch, rather than around it, and dashes out of sight. Eddie doesn't think he could make his legs work if he wanted to. Steve can hear them. (Ha Dustin!)

El deposits Steve into Eddie's arms. "It is him. He does not know what happened, either. He can hear and see. He appreciates that you did not let the sun blind him."

"El, you are the most amazing person I've ever met," Eddie says and watches the grin grow on El's face. "Alright. Well, the first step to a solution is knowing and now we know."

Robin pops back into view behind the couch, "everyone is on their way here now. I tried to tell Will we'd go back to them, 'cause y'know, less people and cars to worry about but I guess they want the base of operations to be here. How mad do you think Steve would be if I got copies of my key made for everyone?"

"I can ask him," El offers.

"Nah," Eddie grins, "it's always better to ask forgiveness than permission. And you'll forgive us, won't you, Stevie?"

Steve, of course, does not answer, but it does settle something inside Eddie knowing that he hears the question.

Steve's a doll. They know that for sure. Now, they can find a solution.

[obsessivestar]

'What If It's All A RomCom?' - a Ted Nivison x Reader (smut)

{{-Yoooo sorry for making Chapter 14 take almost like 20 fucking days LMAO I'm here now.-}}

//General Warnings: 18+ Fic (MINORS DNI), Reader is implied to be afab! and under 5'5.

Chapter Warnings: Use of Marijuana, brief masturbation, praising, riding. Oooh maybe exposition?\\

Word Count: 4.3k

☆▪︎▪︎▪︎Taglist!▪︎▪︎▪︎☆

@k-k0129 , @callsign-scully & @limecorpse

☆Love Ya To Death!☆

Chapter 14: Honey, Blunts and Lust

I didn't have a lot of time to see exactly what Ted was smoking, but I knew he definitely had something. I watched with a curious smile as he quickly stuffed something into what I could only assume was an ashtray hidden behind some knick-knacks on his bedside table, fanning his hand back and forth to clear any smoke around him. If he was trying to hide all of this from me, he was doing a poor job. It was kind of funny, actually.

"Shit--okay, don't tell Tanner." Ted spoke up with a nervous little shake in his voice, holding the palm of his hand out like he was trying to de-escalate the situation. I wasn't sure why he was so nervous, but it made me laugh a little, making sure to close the door behind me as I step into his somewhat misty room.

"Dude, I'm not gonna narc on ya." I reassure him with a relaxed chuckle, crossing my arms in front of my chest. "I already knew you smoke.."

"No, it's--" Ted closed his eyes and let out a little chuckle, looking a bit relieved as he moved off his bed. "Tanner doesn't know. I'm supposed to be smokin' outside."

I raise my head a little and make an 'Oh' shape with my mouth, nodding slowly. My eyes glance over at the window, seeing that it was wide open. At least Ted was decent enough to air everything out.

"Have you really been smoking in here for the last hour?" I ask with a knowing smile, turning my head to look at Ted again.

"Shit, has it been an hour?" Ted anxiously slips his hands into his pockets, then takes them out to feel his back pockets--even though he has none--turning his head around to look back at his bed. "Fuck."

"You could've texted me, yknow. I would've just come in here.." An amused smile creeps along my lips, raising my brow as Ted moves over to his messy bed, slipping his hands underneath to try and search for something.

"I would've. I should've--I-I--" Ted is a bit more relaxed, but he's still stuttering. I can't help but wonder if something is wrong, watching him take in a deep breath to calm himself. "I can't find my fuckin' phone."

Both of my brows raise up, I'm visibly surprised. A sudden sharp laugh leaves me, keeping my arms crossed in front of me.

"How high are you, dude?" I ask through my laughter, moving over to his bedside table. Ted defeatingly sits at the edge of his bed, watching me move his stuff aside so I could get a look at his ashtray. It was hardly dirty, he had probably just bought it. There was only one joint crunched up in there, pretty small. He had just about finished it before I walked in. I glance over at Ted. He's watching me like he's anticipating some sort of discipline. It makes me let out another laugh.

"Last timed I checked, isn't weed supposed to help you relax?" I ask him, turning more towards him. "Why you lookin' at me like that?"

Ted's nervous expression flickers into curiosity. I watch his eyebrows furrow a little and a small smile creeps along the corners of his lips.

"'Last time'?" Ted repeated, his eyes narrowing at me a little. "You've...never given off the smoker vibe."

"Mm, probably because I don't smoke.." I scrunch my nose a bit as I reply. "Not anymore, anyways.."

"Yeah? What made ya stop?"

"I just...got bored of it."

"You got bored of getting high? I've..never heard of that before."

"Okay, well, it stopped feeling...interesting, I don't know."

"It stopped feeling interesting."

"Yeah, I'd usually smoke alone and it stopped being interesting."

"....You wanna make it interesting?"

Ted pulls out a fully rolled joint from his front pocket, raising his brows with a enticingly optimistic smile. How he managed to keep that in there so neatly was beyond me, but I was impressed, and....curious.

"Didn't you just smoke that one?" I ask with a light chuckle, gesturing to the crunched up joint in his ashtray.

"That was like...less than half a joint. I can't even feel it." Ted admitted with a dismissive scoff, gesturing his hand down a bit. "It's not one of those obnoxious strands either. It'll smooth us out."

"If you can't even feel it, what were you doing in here for the last hour?" I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I see Ted's expression change. It's very subtle, but I notice it. His eyebrows relax but his eyes widen a little, though he's still smiling at me. It's like I caught him, and he knows it. Either he's purposely downplaying how high he really was for the last hour, or he wasn't really high and he had another reason for being in here alone; a reason he seemed hesitant to share. I wish I could read his thoughts, ease whatever anxieties he had about being completely upfront and honest with me. It's moments like these that remind me how...oddly secretive Ted is about some things.

After a brief moment of silence between us, Ted's expression softens.

"...Share this with me." He speaks, holding the rolled blunt up in front of him. "and I'll tell you.."

I furrow my brows at him, smiling in genuine disbelief. "Are you really propositioning me with weed now that I've caught you in your lie?" I ask with a soft laugh, placing a hand on my hip. "On top of that, aren't you worried Tanner is gonna notice? That's a whole joint."

"This is the one and only time I'm having a joint on this trip, and I want to share it with you." Ted admitted, standing up off the edge of the bed. "Come on, you'll smoke half, I'll smoke half."

"Would you have wanted to share that with me if I hadn't walked in?"

"...Probably not."

"Oh, we're being honest now?"

"I'm--I'm tryin', believe me."

"You're trying?"

"Yeah. I...I think...I just need a boost."

"You need to share a joint to be honest with me?"

"I want to share a lot more than a joint with you."

"Like what?"

"Like why I didn't approach you at Joe's wedding."

Now I'm intruiged. What started as a one-off comment in our very first conversation has turned into one of the biggest mysteries of this relationship, purely because Ted has refused to talk about it and Joe insists on him being the one to tell me. If he needs to be high to finally tell me about it, I'll take it. I take a small breath and hold my hand out, smirking up at him. "Got a light?"

Ted gives me a relieved smile, placing the joint in my hand, then reaching into his other pocket to hand me his green lighter. I can't help but chuckle at how excited he is, shaking my head as I place the skinny end in between my lips and flick the green lighter to light the joint, taking a breath in once I knew it's lit enough. I knew nothing was going to hit me immediately, but knowing I hadn't smoked in a long while still gave me a weird feeling in my stomach. Maybe I was nervous. I was either nervous about getting high, or about what Ted would say once we were high. Once I took in my puff, I passed the joint over to Ted, watching him take in a deep hit from it. I knew he'd probably smoke it a bit more than me. Honestly, I was okay with that.

It took a few good minutes for me to feel anything, but once I was feeling it, God...I was feeeeeling it. Ted and I were now laid out on his bed, taking turns, albeit slow ones, with the blunt. Ted had taken his glasses off, completely relaxed against his pillow. If he truly wasn't high before, he definitely was now, as was I. The haze that had settled into my brain felt smooth and pleasent. I felt comfy. I felt content. Ted had closed his window slightly so most of the smoke would stay in the room. It made me a little anxious about Tanner finding out, but once we started talking about it, we couldn't stop laughing about it.

"I can't--I can't even picture Tanner angry..." I admitted with a soft laugh, breathing in a hit from the joint before passing it to Ted again, my gaze locked up on his ceiling. "Unless he's acting in a fuckin'....DnD game, I've never seen him angry.."

"He would be. He would be angry, I'm tellin' you, he'd be pissed." Ted admitted with a smirk, taking the joint from me. "He'd kick me off the set."

"He would not!" I laugh out, turning my head to look at Ted.

"He absolutely would."

"You're the lead! This whole thing--"

"He absolutely would."

"The whole thing--"

"I'd be a--I'd be a goner, dude."

"The whole--stop!"

"Absolutely a fuckin' goner."

"Stop interrupting me!"

I playfully swat at Ted as he tries to take another hit from the blunt, but we both can't stop laughing. I'm trying to quiet my laughing so we don't wake up the whole damn house, but Ted's insistence was just so fucking funny for some reason. It was maddening how attractive Ted really was. He was handsome, he was funny, charming and amazing at his craft. While I'm lost in my thoughts, I realize I've been staring at Ted. I watch as he turns his gaze towards me, his eyes sparkling with realization.

"You starin' at me, princess?" He asked, his tone low and relaxed. I meet his dark gaze with my own, a warm smile creeping along my lips.

"Kinda.." I admit in a soft tone, resting my head a bit more on his pillow. "I was thinking.."

"About?.." Ted purrs, sitting up a bit more on his side to fully face me. I feel a sense of warmth wrap around my body like a warm blanket, particularly around my eyes as if I were tired, and my core, as if I were...tempted.

"I was thinking about you.." I admit after a short pause, blinking my eyes a little to ward off any real tiredness I was feeling. I wanted to hang on to this a little while longer, to really...ride it out. "I was thinking about your handsome face..." As I speak, I rise up a bit from my side of the bed, slowly moving my body over to crawl overtop of Ted, comfortably straddling his lap. "I was thinking about your sultry voice...how...infuriatingly funny you are.."

Ted made sure to turn his body to lay on his back, resting one of his hands on my thigh. I see that he's still holding the joint in his other hand. It's much, much smaller than it was earlier. I realize I have...no idea how long we've been smoking it or even what time it was. Honestly, I didn't care. "And how I wish I could read that stupid mind of yours.."

"You wanna read my mind?.." Ted asks with a low chuckle, his dark eyes gazing up at me. He takes another smooth hit from the joint, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He slowly blows the smoke out towards me, watching me close my eyes in response with another deep chuckle. Fuck, his voice...

"Mmm, here..." Ted hands me the small blunt, sitting up a bit more to be at my eye level. I take it into my two fingers with a curious hum, knowing Ted was probably giving me the last hit. "You finish that up...and I'll tell you exactly what I'm thinking..."

X-----

I could already feel the last of my judgement slipping because of this strand. I had completely lost track of time and we had nearly turned Ted's room into a hot box, but fuck, that voice, that...hungry look he was giving me, I just had to do what he wanted. I had to. I wanted to.

I lock eyes with Ted once more, bringing the skinny end of the blunt up to my lips to take a good, looooong hit. He gives me a devilish but proud smile, his hands moving up to toy with the waistband of my pajama pants.

"Good girl..." Ted purred at me, moving his head to begin trailing little kisses along the side of my face, moving them down to my jaw. I close my eyes and blow the smoke up into the air, leaning my head back to allow Ted to bring some attention to my sensitive neck. Pleased hums and moans are escaping me, every little touch feels so...fucking...nice....

"I'm thinking about how beautiful you are.." Ted tilts his head up slightly to whisper into my ear, his tongue lightly grazing the edge of it to send a little shiver up my spine. "I'm thinking about how soft your skin feels..." Every word he purrs into my ear mixes with the stronger high I'm getting from the last of the blunt. I feel wonderfully dizzy, euphoric even. "I'm thinking about aaaaaall that tension we had in my truck..I really gotta get you in that backseat, eh, princess? Would you like that? Mm?..." Once again, all because of Ted, I lost all sense of my self. Every time. Every single time he gets me alone, coats his words in honey and lust, I can't resist. There was something in the back of my mind I knew I was forgetting, but oh fucking god, Ted...

My thoughts are cut by the feeling of Ted removing my pajama top for me, all of my focus on him once more. I looked at him with a surprised smile, showing that the blunt was still in my hand. "You could've set that on fire.." I chuckle a little, watching as Ted tosses my pajama shirt onto the floor.

"It's a joint, not a lightsaber.." Ted snickers, eyeing my now bare chest briefly before moving back up to return to my neck. Another moan escapes my parted lips, using the last hit from the blunt to muffle my voice. It was hard to tell how loud I was being. I was sensitive in some ways and numb in others. It was maddening, it was thrilling, it made me uneasy but absolutely serene all at the same time. I begin to anxiously rock my clothed hips against his own, feeling his sweatpants become tighter and tighter, grinding against his clothed length in a slow, even pace. I take the blunt out of my mouth to moan for him, holding his shoulder in my free hand.

"You finished it, baby? Good girl..." Ted whispers against my skin, pulling back briefly to remove his own shirt before pressing his body up against mine once more. The tingling heat building up in my core was already becoming unbearable. I knew how attracted I was to Ted, but the joint had made it all much more intense. I was already aching for him, I could feel it. I pull from Ted for a brief moment to push the joint into the ashtray, finally able to wrap my arms around Ted as he leaves kisses along my neck and jaw, feeling his fingers still toy with the waistband of my pajama pants. I run my fingers through his tall dark hair, my eyes fluttering closed.

"Touch yourself for me, baby.." Ted purrs lowly into my ear, his hands moving from my thighs to my lower back to trace my skin with his fingertips, his lips grazing my ear to make me shiver once more. I instinctively raise my hips up a bit, a shaky breath leaving me. I didn't think for a second about his command, I just did as I was told, raising my hips up off of his lap a little more before moving one of my hands from his hand, slipping it into my pajama bottoms to feel myself. God, was I wet and sensitive. My fingers danced between my soaked folds easily, my sensitive bud reacting to the tip of my finger. I moan for Ted, my eyes remaining closed with my mouth hung open. Any noises that my body wanted to let out were free. I wanted him to hear me.

"That's my good girl. Good..." Ted let's out a another low purr into my ear, removing one of his hands from my back briefly to slip his own sweatpants down. It was a little challenging with me still straddling him, but he managed to slip them down just enough to slip his length out for me. The sight of his rigid cock fills my mind with a strong sense of hunger, my bloodshot eyes gazing down at it as I rub my sensitive bud inside my pajama bottoms. Such a familiar sight. I'm so enthralled, I can't even recall a single moment of my life where this man wasn't in my life, fucking me right, making me feel so good. Ted carefully takes my arm with his other hand, pulling my hand away from core to bring it up to his mouth, running his tongue along my fingers just to get a taste. His tongue slips between my fingers, a hungry moan escaping him. "If I wasn't f-fucking throbbing, I'd make you fuck my face.." A shaky chuckle leaves him as well, bringing two of my fingers into his mouth so he could help me slip my pajama bottoms down my legs more, finally giving him the access he's desperate for.

He carefully holds his length with his hand as I move up to hover over its, spreading my folds to give him a nice view. As I press downwards to help him slip inside, a shaky moan escapes me, pushing down slowly until his entire hardened shaft was inside me. Everywhere was so sensitive, I felt the satisfaction of him entering me shiver throughout my entire warm body. I begin to grind against him once more, feeling the tip of his length already rubbing against the right spots. I don't normally go for this position, but the added sensitivity from the blunt made it so, so good. My mind is stuck in a pleasent, lustful haze, and I need more. More of him.

I start to pump my hips up and down on him, I don't bother to take my time. He feels so good, he sounds like sin. I bring my finger down once again to rub my sensitive bud as I continue to ride him, my voice whining and whimpering out desperate moans I didn't even consider myself capable enough to make. I'm so wet, he fits inside me so nicely. I watch him run his fingers through his hair and lean back for a minute, his eyes closed, in absolute blissful euphoria. The moans that are leaving him as just as desperate, just as satisfied. Everytime my hips smack down with his, it's a rush of warmth and pleasure for us both. It feels invigorating, it feels like I could do this for hours.

"God, y-you are so...fucking beautiful.." Ted whispers, opening his eyes to look at me with a small, tired smile. He takes both of my hips into my hands to start grinding his hips up against me, the new force making my voice sing out desperate pleasures even louder, barely muffled by our smacking hips. I rest my free hand on his hairy chest, toying with the silver chain he still had on around his neck. He leans up to whisper sweet nothings into my ear, holding me close to fuck me from below. His praise is making me weaker; making my body feel warm and lazy, but I know what it's preparing. I know what he's urging me to do. I can feel his cock throbbing in me, I can hear him panting in my ear, the occasional desperate moan escaping his heavy breathing.

"You are so fucking good, my beautiful girl. Are you my beautiful girl, hm? Does anyone else get to see you like this?.." His dirty words once again fill my thoughts and make them dance in my head, an excited smile spreading along my dry lips when I begin to feel a familiar knot building up in my lower stomach, making my hips crash down on his faster and faster, as fast as my body will comfortably allow. My finger is flicking along my sensitive bud, urging for what I know will be an intense release.

"I-I am, I am, Teddy..." I moan, my voice girlishly soft. I can't normally feel this much aching pleasure in this position, but the mixture of Marijuana and my absolute unwavering attraction Ted made everything so good, so fucking good. "O-Only you get to see me this way, Teddy.." I moan for him again, my mouth feeling almost forced open with how much I was moaning for him. It was so much, oh fuck, it was so, so much. I hear a dark, almost possessive chuckle leave him and ring into my ear, and that's the trigger for everything to come undone. Just his voice. Just his fucking voice is enough to finally make me cum.

My moans get louder, much louder, as I reach my peak. My finger along my bud moving almost just as fast as Ted's crashing thrusts against me. It feels like an overwhelming tidalwave of pleasure it taking over my body, drowning me in it all. It's so warm and intense, it feels like two different orgasms had flickered on at the same time. I'm moaning out his name, or at least trying to, my eyes rolling back as I desperately ride out my orgasm and my high. I must sound like a pornstar to him, but fuck, he fucks me like one. He makes me feel sloppy and easy. Just as I finish riding out my release, I feel an immediate shot of warmth enter me, his own pleasantly low growls and moans coming into focus as he releases inside of me, pumping me down on him to fill me up as comfortably and as deeply as he desires, so much so that I can already feel his hot seed dripping out of me. My head flings back as my last, shaky moan comes out of me, my entire body suddenly feeling so...hot...

X-----

Ted and I sit there for a moment, both of our eyes closed with the only sound in the room now being our collective heavy breathing. I make sure to slowly lift off of him before he lays down, resting my body against his. We're both feeling warm and a little sweaty, the smell of sex and cannabis still lingering in the air. Most of the smoke had cleared from the open window...

...oh god, the fucking window.

I raise my head a little to look over at it, my eyes widening a little when I confirm that the window was indeed still open. It wasn't wide open, but I knew it was open enough. If anyone else had their window open for the last hour, they heard us. Fuck.

"You...lookin' at the window?.." Ted asks in between pants, looking up at me with a shaky chuckle. "Whoops.."

"Oh, we're...fucked now..." I whisper annoyingly, crawling off of Ted's lap to lay on my back beside him, placing a hand on my chest to feel my heartbeat. "Do you...know if anyone...sleeps with their window open?.."

"Well..." Ted takes a deep breath, seemingly as exhausted as I am. "Dan and...Tanner...have air conditioners.."

"Oh fuck, Joe doesn't.." I suddenly remember it as I say it, bringing one of my hands up to cover my eyes with an embarrassed chuckle. "We're bad. We're baaaaad, Ted.."

"I know.." Ted gives a dry, tired chuckle as well. "I know, I know..."

We both sit there and just...laugh it out. Maybe it's just how ridiculous we both are with each other or maybe we're still high, but we just sit there and laugh for a good minute or so, making comments and jabs at each other, playfully smacking our bare bodies as we giggle and chuckle like troublemaking teenagers. It got even worse when Ted discovered he had given me a hickey near my ear, a spot that was nearly impossible to cover. I was piiiiiissed, but in a...'I' still very high and this is actually hilarious' way. I go to playfully smack Ted's arm, but grabs both of my wrists to fight me off until I grow tired enough to give it up, letting out a defeated huff with this big, stupid smile on my face....

....

I still feel like I'm forgetting something.

Ted gazes into my eyes for a moment, bringing one of my hands up to his face to kiss the back of it. Suddenly my stomach feels are warm, filled with butterflies and all. I see his expression turn warm, his dark eyes practically sparkling as he looks at me. Briefly, his smile falters, like he too just realized something. He exhales from his nose, moving my hand to cup the side of his face.

"...alright.." He speaks softly, breaking his gaze to sort of glance his eyes away.

"Alright what?.." I ask, a small smile still spread along my lips. "You're not kicking me out, are ya? I think Tanner might've taken my bed.."

"No, I'm--" Ted relaxed for a moment at my joke, a sudden chuckle escaping him as he shook his head. "I'm not kicking you out, I'm..." His smile fades again and he pauses, nibbling on the dry skin of his lips before meeting my gaze again, his expression turning serious.

"I'm...I'm gonna tell you what happened...at the wedding."

--------------------------------------------

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 (smut) || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 (smut) || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 (Here) || Chapter 15 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18 (smut) || Chapter 19 || Chapter 20 || Chapter 21 || Chapter 22 || Chapter 23 || Chapter 24 || Chapter 25 (Final) ||

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag angel baby @guiltyasdave <3 • 18+ under the cut! MDNI!

wip #1 • far too familiar a stranger…feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

a long time ago, logan howlett knew a woman with your face…

i couldn’t not write a ‘worst!logan coming face to face with his tragically dead love interest but from wade’s universe after wade forced her to help them stop the TVA and hating her for bringing up that time in his life until he doesn’t anymore’ fic.

it's crimson because i felt that making whole new mutant reader would be sort of confusing so this fic is in the to the bone universe but it's not the same timeline...if that makes sense lmao

Wade Wilson is the worst neighbor in the entire fucking world. It’s really something you should have known sooner, like ‘the very first day in your new place ending with him breaking in through your window fully suited up after counting the floors wrong and bleeding all over your brand new pottery barn throw rug because he was still a little too concussed to walk’ sooner. Even after that whole fiasco left you with a broken window latch and a beyond fucked non-refundable $80 carpet, you still let yourself entertain his crazy. Just like everyone else whose life Wade crashed into, both physically or metaphorically. And once he's in, you can never really get him back out again. So yeah, maybe this whole thing is your fault. Maybe getting thrown into a barren, dusty void with two somewhat failed X-Men is just all your bad karma manifesting in one huge finger from the universe.

wip #2 • red and yellow kill a fellow! feat. logan howlett & wade wilson

logan doesn’t appreciate you letting wade get one up on him…

finally finally finally getting off my ass and writing logan x reader x wade! i was inspired by this one episode of satc (which is like my favorite show ever bee tee dubs) where charlotte goes out with two guys at the same time and she has sex with one but not the other until one of them catches her with the other guy and they all break it off.

my vision is a little different cause instead of getting mad and leaving when logan finds out reader fucked wade and not him, he figures it's his turn to get even. aka wade in the cuck chair and loving it.

The three of you pass a BMW sitting in a no parking zone, all four windows rolled down as Madonna blasts through the speakers. "So," Wade says, voice breaking the silence for the first time in five minutes. "Who white-washed your guts better?" You nearly trip over your own feet, whipping your head to gape at Wade. "Fucking excuse me?" "You know," Wade shrugs, like it's a perfectly normal thing to ask. The leisurely pace of his stroll not slowing, his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. "Who carved the lyrical railway better?" He just keeps going as you stare at him with a repulsed look on your face. "The number one stud that's stuffin' your muffin? That's takin the ol' bald-headed gnome for a satisfying stroll in the misty forest. Pick one hot stuff, they all mean the same thing." Before you can even answer there's a rough, questioning grunt from your right and your stomach flips. Oh. Logan, he was still here too. Still here and right next to you, listening. Oh yeah. "You fucked?" You still haven't slept with Logan yet. You turn to him face slowly, eyes a hair wide as you take in the sharp raise of his brow. "Um..." "Whoops," Wade snorts from somewhere behind your shoulder. "Cat's out the bag."

wip #3 • it's the easiest thing (just love me and eat me) feat. logan howlett

it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…

the same requested sub!logan fic from last wednesday just with a new name and weirder energy! like this has really gotten away from me and turned into something that i can't really explain well enough to make it sound like chill...

lots of religious imagery and symbolism...and some metaphors of cannibalism...idk i'm just a girl with religious trauma and a weird blood fetish sue me.

You've come to think that being in bed with Logan is like being in church. The familiar weight of his body pressing you into the mattress is the alter. The heat of it like laying in the burning flame of a candle. The strong planes of his muscles each a different scripture that you take in by touch alone, skating your hands over his skin with something close to worship. Each bead of sweat on his skin feels sacred, a testament to the intensity between you, as though every part of him has been crafted for this moment of devotion. The hard length of his cock carves a place for itself inside you, each heavy smack of his hips punching another desperate sound out of your slack lips. His breath, deep and ragged, is a chant that pulls you into reverence. It puffs against the wild beat of your pulse, his lips brushing over the fever hot plane of your skin. The sound of your name pulled from his mouth sounds like a prayer answered. You can’t help but close your eyes, not in exhaustion, but in a kind of spiritual surrender, like by shutting out the world, you can truly grasp the divinity of it. There's a holiness to the way he holds you—like you’re the only thing worth believing in.

kisses!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing @superhoeva

[gw-tl-rjk]

Stop Being Obtuse

It happens while they're sitting around the café, cups of overpriced coffee (Roy still doesn't understand what more anyone could need in their coffee besides coffee) growing cooler by the minute. Keeley looks her usual chipper self in a bright pink and gold jumper while Jamie is practically sprawled in his chair in some gaudy monstrosity of a hoodie that probably cost more than all of Roy's wardrobe put together.

It's a Saturday morning in the off season much like every other Saturday of this off season, just the three of them, hanging out as they seem to do so regularly ever since Roy and Keeley had followed Jamie to his mum's house that time. 

There's nothing special about today, or even the moment, when it happens.

"I still don't get why they look at the audience and ask us questions if they don't want a response!" Jamie argues back to Keeley, without any heat, completely settled into the clearly familiar banter.

The night before, the team had been roped into attending a local theatre production, for charity and because Zoreaux of all people had had a bit part. Roy had been pleasantly surprised—he hadn't grunted or growled once during the entire performance—that Zoreaux hadn't been half bad for all ten of his lines as Man at Train Station and that the plot wasn't completely terrible. 

Jamie, however, had barely been able to sit still, his leg bouncing until Keeley had steadied it with a hand. Roy had thought Jamie was annoyed or bored with the play, but come to find out, he'd been invested. When the main character had come to the edge of the stage and wondered if he would ever find his true love, Jamie had gestured widely, nearly smacking Roy in the face, towards the set piece door where the female lead had just exited and he had blurted, loud enough for the whole theatre to hear, “Why don't you just open the door, mate? She just fucking left!”

The actor hadn't broken—true professional, he was—but it did seem like his eyes drifted towards Jamie whenever he faced the audience for the rest of the play, as if wondering if Jamie would give an encore performance.

“It's called a monologue, babes, you know this,” Keeley teases. She pats Jamie on the hand, running her thumb over the knuckles, but she’s still laughing a bit at him. She's adorable like this, with that cheeky little grin and her eyes lit up in amusement. Under the table she knocks a knee against Roy’s and looks to him as if to say, He's ridiculous, isn't he?

Well, Roy can't argue with that and he gives a bit of a grunt as the corners of his mouth twitch upwards against his will.

“Then why's it called breaking the fourth wall if we're supposed to act like the wall’s still there?” Jamie asks. Roy didn't know Jamie even knew what breaking the fourth wall meant. “Seems unfair, they get to break it but we don't. Like one of them one way mirror-window things like the police’ve got, for interrogations, like.”

Roy takes a sip of his coffee and thinks Jamie might have a point. Fuck him, he's agreeing with Jamie fucking Tartt on theatre of all fucking things, while the vain bastard pushes his stupid “misty walnut” (or whatever the fuck it's called) highlighted hair out of his eyes.

And then it hits him.

“Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

Keeley and Jamie immediately stop their banter to look at him.

“What's wrong, love?” Keeley asks.

“Yeah, you having a stroke or something there, mate? You smell toast?”

Roy glares at Jamie. “I'm not having a stroke, you twat. And since when is me saying ‘Fuck’ cause for alarm?”

Jamie leans towards Keeley. “He's got me there.”

“Shush,” Keeley says. “Well, what is it?”

Roy exhales sharply through his nose. “Alright, Keeley, you've dated both of us and even though you rightfully tossed us on our arses when we showed up asking you to pick one of us, you must not think we're that bad if you keep hanging out with us idiots.”

“Oi,” Jamie protests, ignoring that Roy'd lumped himself in the idiot category, too.

Keeley nods, clearly a little unsure of where Roy’s going with this. “Yeah, ‘course, I'm fond of you both…”

“We're fond of you too, Keels,” Jamie says. Roy nods in agreement before turning to Jamie.

“And you've wanted to shag both of us since you were a fucking teenager.”

Jamie’s jaw drops and it looks like he's about to deny it but Roy cuts him off.

“We saw the posters in your bedroom. Strategically placed, they were.”

Jamie hunches his shoulders. “Yeah, alright.”

Keeley reaches over and pats him on the shoulder. “Aw, I think it's sweet.”

Again, Roy's not gonna argue with her. He needs to barrel on, say his piece before he loses steam.

“And you know how Lasso was always going on about triangles being the strongest shape…” 

Keeley seems to catch on a second before Jamie does, her smile widening and her eyes sparkling. She looks almost giddy.

When he gets it, Jamie blinks and his shoulders relax a bit. “You saying what I think you're saying? If you're taking the piss out of me…”

He tries to sound as flippant as possible, but there's a true note of worry in his voice that Roy wants to growl at on principle but he knows that would probably send the wrong message. His growls are nuanced but they might not be that nuanced.

Instead, he just nods solemnly. Somehow, Jamie's eyes widen even more than Keeley’s and he glances at her as if for confirmation that he hasn't just entered Bizarro World.

“Fucking hell, you're serious?” Roy nods again and Jamie grins. “Keeley?”

Keeley is practically bouncing in her chair. “Yeah,” she says before settling a bit. “But we should really talk about this, yeah? Like you're both fit as fuck and I can't say I haven't imagined this a few times but…” She looks at Roy. “You sure about this?”

“More sure of this than anything else I have been in awhile.” And she's right: they have to talk. This can't be casual and he (can't believe he's saying this) cares too much about both of them to fuck this up. He doesn't want this to just be a bit of fun. He wants more.

“Hold on,” Jamie cuts in. “I've known I were into blokes since I was, I dunno, fifteen. Got that crisis out of my system ages ago, even if I never did nothing about it. But you're from the Stone Age. You sure you don't need a minute to have a crisis of your own?”

Roy stands up. “Maybe I do, but I sure as hell don't want to have it in the middle of a fucking café. And I'm pretty sure anything else I wanna do also shouldn't be done in the middle of a café, either.” He looks pointedly between the two of them.

Jamie chugs the last of his coffee and scrambles up from his chair. “Right, yeah, cheers. Let's get out of here.” 

They both hold out a hand for Keeley on instinct. She rolls her eyes as she stands. “I can get up from a table on my own, boys. But I can definitely think of something I’ll need your help with later.” She winks, and this time, Roy does growl while Jamie’s smile gets that old swagger back. 

Outside, Keeley loops her hand into the crook of his elbow and leans against him, like that's where she was always meant to be. Roy touches a quick kiss to the top of her head, earning himself one of her sunniest smiles when she looks up at him. He wants her to smile like that every day. Jamie's on his other side, his hands tucked up into the front pocket of his hoodie, but his shoulder knocks against Roy’s as they walk. It's not enough, so Roy loops his own arm around Jamie's shoulders and Roy feels something flip in his gut when Jamie lights up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

Fucking Lasso and his fucking triangles, but damn if he didn't have a point. 

[helpimstuckposting]

Strangers All Around Me

Prompt: Amnesia | Rating: T | Wordcount: 3,407 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Steve wasn’t… entirely sure what his problem was. He woke up, worked at a shitty retail job, avoided his weird coworker, and then took his sorry ass home. Every day. That was just… his life since graduating high school. And that was fine, don’t get him wrong, it was fine. It wasn’t ideal by any means, but it’s not like his life was stressful or in peril or anything, it was just… it was fine.

But lately he kept thinking that something was wrong. Something… vague and unattainable. It was just niggling in the back of his mind like a whisper or some misty haze that he could almost see, but not quite. It kept hovering in his periphery, poking him for attention, always just out of sight; if he tried focusing on whatever it was, then — poof — it was gone, like it had never been there in the first place.

It wasn’t always there, either. Usually, he’d just go about his day like a mindless zombie and wish that he was on good terms with Carol and Tommy again, just to have something to do. He felt their absence like a missing limb, like part of him was gone but he could still feel his fingers somehow, a phantom itch on his wrist that he couldn’t scratch because it wasn’t there. Or at least, he thought that feeling was the absence of his once-best-friends, because what else would it be? His parents? He hadn’t missed them since he was twelve.

But sometimes that itching, cloying absence would just fester like an open wound, calling to him — begging him to fill it with… something.

And he couldn’t figure out what that something was.

It might have been Nancy, too. Things were weird with her, though he couldn’t remember if they fought at some point or another. It felt like… like maybe they’d broken up without ever actually saying it. She was avoiding him, too, so it must have been a mutual… whatever it was.

So, he didn’t have friends, he didn’t have a girlfriend (maybe? Jury was still out on that one), and he didn’t know what scratched at the folds of his brain every so often. Big deal.

And if that was everything, he probably wouldn’t think much of it. People drift away, they leave, they move on and leave Steve behind, it’s happened basically since the dawn of time — or, the dawn of Steve Harrington, at least. He was used to it.

But that wasn’t all that was weird. Sometimes he woke up with a scream on his lips, his arms and legs sore from thrashing, and a massive black hole where the nightmare was supposed to be. Sometimes he flinched when the lights flickered, and he could feel panic clawing its way up his throat with sharp talons, digging its way into him until he was gasping with it. Sometimes he’d wake up two hours before his alarm, 6 AM on the dot, scrambling for his bedside clock because he thinks he’s late, but late for what? He hadn’t woken up that early since high school, when he picked up Nancy before first period sometimes.

It just didn’t make sense, and Steve had the thought every so often that he was going a little bit crazy. It was still easy to ignore most of the time. Like he said, it was just a whisper, just an intangible mist that floated around his brain until he focused on it and it disappeared again.

It was… fine. He just wasn’t sure what the issue was.

To be honest, it could have just been residual weirdness from the earthquake. Lights flicker during natural disasters, right? Yeah. And everyone has their own losses and emotions to grapple with from the event. Even his weird coworker, Robin, flinches sometimes when the lights aren’t steady, so really Steve had nothing to worry about, right? Everything was normal.

Everything was normal.

Except when his hands shook and his breath escaped him and he felt like he shouldn’t turn his back to the room; except when he looked at raw meat and felt a rolling in his gut that he never felt before; except when he saw Robin duck to grab something off the ground, and he covered the corner of the Family Video counter with his hand so she wouldn’t bump her head.

She looked at him like an alien for that one, and that was saying something — she usually looked at him like he’d stepped in dog shit right before clocking in. If Steve had been watching himself, he was sure he’d have made the same exact expression, because he’d never done that before. Not for anyone. It had never even crossed his mind until that point, because why would it? He felt like some kind of mom on a daytime sitcom, it was weird.

Robin had brushed it off with an eyeroll and a scoff, acting like the small gesture was something condescending, something he’d done to mock her clumsiness.  And that… that also didn’t feel good. It sort of prickled in his chest, another barb that poked and prodded and said this isn’t right. But it was right, it was normal, Robin had always assumed the worst of him since the moment she saw him walk into Scoops. They were on opposite sides of the high school hierarchy, and she took any moment to knock him down a peg or two.

Which was fine, again. It was annoying and it was stupid but Steve never really cared, never paid attention. If she couldn’t stand being around him, she could just quit and get a different job, there was no reason to stay at Family Video if she really hated him. It was already a little weird that they’d accidentally ended up at the same store twice, but… small towns, Steve guessed.

Or she was a stalker. Either way, it was her choice to leave, so she couldn’t really hate Steve that much. Though, sometimes it certainly felt like she tried. He didn’t want to deal with the barbs, the pointed return of the You Rule/You Suck board, which she’d started to use again in order to tally pretty much everything. Flirting with other girls felt weird, presumably because he still wasn’t sure if he’d broken up with Nancy or not. It made his stomach roll — just like raw meat occasionally did — and it usually caused that weird prickling in the back of his mind again.

Robin had resorted to teasing him about every dorky thing he’d done instead, filling up the “You Suck” side multiple times a week. He made a dumb joke in the absence of anything to talk about? Tally. He miscounted the candy in the storage room? Tally. A girl came in and blatantly flirted with him, and he didn’t flirt back? Tally! He surely thought that would give him another mark under “You Rule”, but apparently he was wrong. He’d gotten exactly one tally in the “You Rule” column, a few weeks ago, and never again.

Some kid he thought might be friends with Nancy’s little brother had wandered in with his mom, making odd faces and gestures as his mother laughed and rolled her eyes. He did this weird thing, where he’d brought his shoulders together like he was made of rubber, and Robin had whispered ‘oh my god, what the fuck,’ under her breath in shock.

“It’s cleidocranial dysplasia,” he’d whispered to her, and she’d reeled back, looking at him once again like an alien had snatched him up and inhabited his body.

“Huh?”

“No collar bones,” he said with a shrug.

She looked at him appraisingly for a moment, eyes combing up and down like maybe he was hiding a textbook under his shirt just to spout random facts and fuck with her.

“How did you know that?” She squinted at him, backing up another step like that one piece of information was a weapon she didn’t know how to disarm. He scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. She was being ridiculous, over dramatic and a little bit mean, assuming Steve couldn’t possibly just know things sometimes.

Except… he shouldn’t have known that. He didn’t know that. But… clearly he had?

He shrugged, that wriggling little worm of annoyance squirming around in his head again. “Must have read it somewhere.”

“You can read?” Robin gasped, acting for all the world like she’d expected him to be illiterate. And like, rude? He may not have graduated with any honors or prospects, but he did the damn thing. He’d passed English every single year, for fucks sake.

“You can read?” He mocked back, voice entirely too high and whiny to sound anything like the girl in front of him — but if she was allowed to be a bitch, then so was he, goddammit. ‘If you can’t take the heat’ and whatever.

So she’d scowled at him for the impression, and begrudgingly picked up the whiteboard to scrawl the tiniest little tally she possibly could, right in the “You Rule” column. He was shocked for a minute, but the smug smile he wore for the rest of their shift felt good, for the first time in a while something felt almost right about their teasing. Robin had scoffed every single time she caught him smiling, which inexplicably made him smile more. His cheeks hurt after that shift.

He hadn’t gotten another ‘You Rule’ tally since, but her teasing did seem a little less mean from then on, and he’d take whatever win he could get.

It wasn’t until a few days post-tally, that he’d had another… thing to add to his list of Weird Shit Going On.

Eddie fucking Munson.

Munson, king of the freaks, lord of the… the fucking cafeteria tables or whatever. Steve had never even talked to the guy — never even had a class with him, he thought. Though, Steve supposed he wasn’t exactly the best at paying attention. 

Now, though. Now, he couldn’t stop paying attention. He’d caught one glance, one glance at the guy from across the strip mall parking-lot and he felt like he was choking on his own heart. He saw the mass of curly brown hair and all of a sudden, felt like he was trapped in a bubble and couldn’t breathe. The wiggling little weirdness in his head was clawing, tearing at him to pay attention but the more he tried to understand it, the worse the pain in his head became. It wasn’t a wiggling anymore, wasn’t an itch or a mist, it was a pickaxe chopping away and he still couldn’t see what it was picking at.

His heart squeezed in his chest and he had the most irrational urge to step forward, to push through the swinging glass doors, to… to… do something. And then Eddie turned, catching Steve’s eye through the glass, and he felt the tension at the back of his skull snap, like a rubber band against skin. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he staring at Munson of all people?

He shook his head, swallowing a few times to dislodge the lump in his throat. It was another tick in the ‘something’s weird’ column, another thought with nowhere to go, another shadow at the edge of his mind. It was gone again when he glanced out to the empty parking-lot, no Munson in sight.

“You okay?” Robin’s voice cut through the silence like a needle poking right through his bubble, bursting the last bit of haze in his periphery.

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

He blinked a few times, looking back down at the stack of tapes to rewind. What the fuck was that? He’d never once felt… whatever that was — that desperation, that jolt of… something. Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe he’d seen the back of Munson’s head, and thought it was Nancy? Maybe he was anxious about seeing her, after avoiding each other for weeks.

“You were staring at Eddie like you were about to burst through the door and… like, tackle him like it was one of your sports things.”

He rolled his eyes. First, that was ridiculous. And second, that was ridiculous.

“I played basketball, Robin. There was no tackling involved.”

“I played basketball, Robin, bluh bluh bluh,” she muttered, voice deep and grumbled, low enough that Steve assumed she didn’t mean for him to hear it. Whatever.

He shook his head again, and returned to the task he was actually being paid to do. There was no sense in fighting with her, or analyzing the weird reaction he’d had to Munson. It was behind him, it didn’t matter.

Except that every single time since then, any passing glimpse of that curly brown hair, or jingle of chains on his jeans, every rumble of a van way too old to function and Steve’s heart was right back in his throat, struggling desperately to escape. If he thought about it at all, his migraine returned, so Steve did his best to shove it away.

He had never once, in the entire span of time he’d known of Munson’s existence, felt anything but vague annoyance or general indifference. He was just that guy that stood on tables, the weirdo who interrupted lunch when no one really cared what he had to say except his own friends. He’d maybe weaseled a few extra bucks from Steve every so often for… party supplies. But he’d never, not once, weaseled his way into Steve’s head this persistently.

But hey, that was a thought. Maybe this was all just residual stress from losing his closest friends, and the mall fire, and the earthquake, and the blank-space nightmares, and the weird Nancy thing. Maybe he just needed to relax a little bit, and his brain was subconsciously connecting Munson to the solution. That had to be it.

Which was why, the next time he caught a heart-skipping glance of that head of hair outside of Melvald’s, he dropped what he was doing and followed Eddie into the parking lot. He probably could have done it more tactfully, could have waited by Eddie’s picnic table and done this all a bit more professionally, but he wasn’t even sure the man still claimed that table, after the earthquake forced Hawkins High students to relocate classes a town over.

It was just… he was desperate for some kind of relief. He just wanted his mind to float away instead of poking at him; he wanted to forget about all the weird shit for just a second, and maybe it would jumpstart his brain back on track.

But cornering the guy was probably not his smartest move. When he rounded the corner to where he’d assumed the van was parked, his back hit the brick wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. It felt like whiplash as he was pinned down, hot breath ghosting over his face and brown eyes dark, squinting with suspicion, as they stared him down.

For a second he had the insane thought that Munson would bring a knife to his neck, could almost feel the cold edge as it pressed into his skin. Instead, both of Munson’s hands were clenched into Steve’s cotton polo, keeping him tight against the wall.

“What are you doing, Harrington? Hmm?” He asked, clenched teeth making the words come out muffled and stilted. His eyes flicked back and forth between Steve’s own, and that stupid fucking itching in his mind was back, cataloguing the details, twisting his stomach like deja vu — like he’d done this, like he’d been here before.

He’d taken too long to answer, Munson’s hands tightening in his shirt, and the rough edges of brick were digging at Steve’s back. It felt significant.

“I don’t remember pissing anyone off lately, so either tell me what you want, or get lost. I’m not really in the mood for a fist fight, got it?”

Steve probably should have expected the reaction, he’d followed a drug dealer practically into an alleyway and though Munson wasn’t exactly known for violence, he was pretty skittish. Steve shook his head with a tight smile, hands up by his head like he was surrendering to the man before him.

“I’m cool, I’m cool, I wasn’t like… I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“Sure, and I graduated the first time,” he scoffed, not letting go of Steve’s shirt. His hands did loosen their grip, but Steve wasn’t sure that was a sign of peace.

“What. Do. You. Want?” His words were sharp, digging in just like the brick at Steve’s back, and he had the absent, bizarre thought, that if Munson just leaned in a little he could probably smell the cherry gloss on Steve’s lips.

“Do you still sell?” he breathed, quieter than intended, like Munson’s intimidations were working. Which they weren’t, Steve was just caught off guard.

With a huff and a groan, the man loosened his grip on Steve’s shirt and stepped back. Steve felt like — if he’d let himself — he could fall to the ground right here, knees giving out from the sudden loss of pressure. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. There was no way he would fall to his knees in front of Eddie Munson, of all people.

“Jesus H. Christ, you gave me a heart attack for a dime bag? Learn some decorum, Harrington.”

Steve scoffed, subtly adjusting his shoulders and trying to appear more collected than he felt. His hands were trembling from the abrupt slam against the wall, the proximity of Munson’s breath against his face, the absent feeling of a sharp blade against his neck like he’d felt it before. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Sorry, I just…,” he floundered for a second to come up with a plausible reason, something that wasn’t ‘I just needed to talk, because it feels like I’m going crazy and I figured weed might help the gaping hole in the back of my head and for some reason my feet keep wanting to walk toward you, like you have the answers to everything.’

“I just haven’t been having the best time lately, and I wasn’t sure where else to find you,” he settled on.

Munson watched him for a second, dark eyes raking over him from head to toe, like Steve was hiding something — like Eddie knew he was hiding something — but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The parking-lot light flickered above, and Steve was too stiff to flinch, holding himself tight so he wouldn’t give anything away.

But Eddie flinched.

He looked up at the light like it personally offended him, shaking his head to collect himself. He tugged at his jean jacket, and smoothed it out before addressing Steve again.

“Fine. I assume even the king knows where Forrest Hills is?”

Steve nodded, following along as Eddie jerked his head toward the van. Steve was parked around the corner, still in view of the beat up van that Eddie tossed his small bag of groceries into. He watched — a bit anxiously, leg shaking the whole car as he bounced it in the footwell — and waited for the hunk of metal to start.

He took a deep breath. It would all be okay. He’d follow behind in his beemer, he’d buy a whole fucking ounce or even two, and he’d smoke away the itch and the weirdness for at least a few hours.

He slipped out of the parking lot as Munson’s van finally growled to life, squealing as he braked for Steve to follow him. He couldn’t really tell if he was anxious, excited, or nervous. He knew he could dull the itch, fill the empty spaces with smoke and leave it there, and that was an exciting prospect — to finally have a moment of peace where he wasn’t drowning in confusion over his own brain. But that wouldn’t last forever.

Eventually, the smoke would clear and he wouldn’t be drifting through the fog, eventually he’d run out of weed and have to go back for more.

He could keep ignoring it, find his way to Munson’s trailer again and again until someone forced him to stop. But something was weird in Hawkins, something had to be going on in those blank spaces that his mind seemed to drift just outside of — and eventually, Steve didn’t think he’d be able to ignore it any longer.

—

Bingo Prompts

[juchily]

Yellowjackets S3 Ep5 thoughts

spoilers below ⚠️

Misty and her love for smelling dead people's stuff... my favorite girl of all time everyone

Shauna and Melissa match each others freak so bad I don't think I've seen a more freaky lesbian couple and that saying something because we have adult taivan right there

Shauna electing burning but then when Natalie says firing squad she tries to put it on her... Shauna isn't just mad at Ben (because her anger was riled up by her baby being brought up in the trial by Tai) but also Nat by proxy of her hiding him, putting it on Nat would be cruel and she knows it

Another card pull... When has that ever gone bad guys?

King of hearts? This is interesting, I have no clue why Van would propose that but it's definetly important. Maybe it has something to do with adding more cards to the pull of meaning someone was chosen

Oh, the suicide king. Nevermind. This could symbolize many things but honestly I should just keep watching before coming to conclusions lol

This is so funny, Shauna and Walter are both following Misty you can't make this up. Walter is so bad at tailing that Shauna can't even focus on tailing Misty, who is absolutely oblivious.

On another note Misty is so cute, her car, her white picket fence, in another world she's a foster cat mom I know it need a domestic life with her NOW

Suicide king, Taissa, and Coach Ben, thats probably something to come back to later

Yeah... Taissa does not sound confident at all about not killing Lottie

HOLY SHIT CRAZY LOTTIE LORE DROP

Lived in a penthouse with her parents, then they divorced (probably over Lottie's schizophrenia and how the Matthews had different feelings about it), in the pre crash with her taking her meds we now know that she lives with her mother so Mr Matthews is out of the picture. This gives new light to "yeah that's pretty much his only form of parenting" when it comes to him renting the plane for the girls trip. I used to DREAM of this lore

LOTTIE'S BEEN LIVING WITH HER DAD SINCE GETTING KICKED FROM SHAUNAS???

Ooo getting Other Tai to shoot Ben? Yeah that also totally won't go wrong... Having a DIRT EATING version of Tai who BITES have the only gun. And possibly incriminate Tai if Other Tai does something bad in that situation.

Shat is sooo cute oml Shauna just can't imagine someone actually loving her (the exact thing that led to Jackie's death)

We talk about have Misty had something wrong with her before the wilderness, Lottie did, etc. but maybe Melissa did because damn she knew Jeff and Shauna were hooking up? Did she have a crush on her pre crash??

God... Akilah's going to die or exposure to toxic gas because WHY does Lottie think it's a good idea to— oh wait we're talking about Lottie who's been encouraging Travis to do shrooms, perhaps contributing to setting him on the course for addiction post rescue

God she's really dead I don't think I'll be able to function as a member of society anymore guys 😁

Can't believe Travis is going. I don't think Lottie somehow convinced him, I think he's going to supervise and protect Akilah to make sure Lottie doesn't do anything drastic

Mr Matthews definetly has dementia or idk maybe not, shit I wonder how this is going to go because Misty already abuses the elderly... Better yet a shithead like Mr Matthews

Oh... Mr Matthews out right saying he's paying off the police to call Lottie's death an accident. As if we didn't have more reason to hate him

Oml really Shauna and Walter were already there the adult timeline really is a comedy half the time. I almost feel bad for Mr Matthews, no wonder he didn't want to let Misty in he already had two people lying to him and being suspicious to get into his home 😭

Shauna bringing out the middle school humour she really does hate Misty right now

I just KNOW Lottie has some devious stuff in her search history

TAIVAN FOR THE WIN 💥

goddman van palmer can get it shit

Did Tai think it was a good idea to bring Van or did Simone figure it out and tell her to bring Van? Either way this is the shit I've been dreaming of, more Simone, Simone and Van meeting... Elite

Well that was underwhelming and confusing, why would Sammy ask for Tai then seem to get scared when she comes (unless it's Other Tai here, or Simone lied about Sammy wanting this, or whatever the hell)

Walter is severely fucked in the head to think it's a fun competition when it concerns one of Misty's DEAD FRIENDS and her perhaps BEING NEXT IN LINE TO DIE IF THIS IS A CONSPIRACY

but you don't need me to tell you that

This low-key has to be the start to Misty finding a girl to kiss because honestly... Yeah at that point you need a whole palate cleanser

Or maybe that's just me wanting Misty to kiss a girl but like Christina Ricci wants it too 🤷

WHOA YOUNG LOTTIE'S FACE COVERED IN BLOOD? Also ButcherQueen moment... She's mourning her situationship guys...

Ugh that scene with Shauna/Lottie and Mr Matthews... So bittersweet

Theres probably some symbolism from Akilah's hallucination... Something something Coach Ben leading them/them using him to get to civilization in some way

like father like daughter... God Nat being the first one picked by the wilderness and getting the necklace and telling Shauna to look her in the eye... Coach Ben being the second and doing the same while Nat gives him the necklace...

The fact they had to bag him, they had to dehumanize him in their vision to even come to be able to take his life, the speech DID effect them

Not Shauna calling Nat a saint... She always loved the saints guys... Especially the tragic ones.

Jesus thats just...

I can't explain it but somehow that final scene with Melissa cutting Ben's ankle (achilles heel? I don't know) is somehow more disturbing than if they burned him alive, or ate him, or shot him.

Like he already can't walk well, he's missing a leg. But the idea of him being held captive as their "bridge" and being unable to have any autonomy to move around... That is body horror. Like it feels like they just cut his other leg off, but without actually having done so