#this is the rough and quick of it though!

[drewswife]

summary — your hot neighbor heard your baby screams, and he volunteered to help you while you shower

warnings — baby scream, fluff, you having throw up in your hair

a/n — i’m reading a book called “life to short” and the scene was so cute i got to write it

The shrill, insistent cries of a small human being ripped through the thin membrane of your sanity. It was 6:00 AM, though the pre-dawn gloom still clung stubbornly to the windows, mimicking the darkness that felt perpetually draped over your life these days.

Your baby, whose tiny lungs seemed to be powered by industrial-grade bellows, had decided that dawn was the perfect time for a full-throttle vocal performance.

You dragged a hand across your face, feeling the grit of exhaustion under your eyelids, then reached up, fingers finding something suspiciously damp and chunky tangled in your hair. God, was that carrot puree? Or worse. It was always worse.

Every single bone in your body screamed for respite, for silence, for just five minutes where no one needed anything from you. You’d been up all night, pacing, bouncing, whispering reassurances to a creature whose sole mission seemed to be the eradication of your sleep.

You smelled faintly of sour milk and desperation. Your clothes, a dubious combination of yesterday's leggings and a faded nursing tank, bore the faint but undeniable stains of recent skirmishes with baby bodily fluids. You were a walking, breathing monument to maternal disarray.

Just as you considered the profound comfort of simply sliding to the floor and joining your baby in a symphony of despair, a firm, rhythmic knock echoed through the apartment. You froze, heart thumping a bewildered rhythm against your ribs. Who, in the name of all that was holy, would be at your door at this hour? Your mother knew better. Your friends were still probably comatose.

Creeping to the peephole, you peered through the tiny lens. And there he was. Rafe Cameron.

He stood on your porch, leaning casually against the doorframe, looking unfairly put-together. His blonde hair, still slightly damp, hinted at a recent shower – a concept so foreign to your current existence it felt like a cruel joke. He was wearing a plain gray t-shirt that, frustratingly, hugged his shoulders and arms in a way that screamed "effortless perfection."

Even from this distorted angle, his sharp jawline and the lazy confidence in his posture were palpable. He was, objectively, your hot neighbor. And you, objectively, looked like you'd wrestled a badger and lost. Badly.

Taking a deep breath that did nothing to alleviate the pungent aroma clinging to you, you unlatched the door, opening it just a crack. "Hey, Rafe," you mumbled, trying to subtly tuck the clump of dubious hair behind your ear. It snagged, of course, and you winced.

He straightened, his blue eyes, usually sparking with mischief or a hint of recklessness, softened almost imperceptibly. "Morning," he said, his voice a low rumble. He tilted his head, a faint, sympathetic smirk playing on his lips as another ear-splitting shriek erupted from the nursery. "Sounds like someone's having a rough start."

You let out a humorless laugh, a dry, raspy sound. "That's one way to put it. My kid thinks they're auditioning for a touring heavy metal band. I'm pretty sure I have throw-up in my hair, and I haven't seen the inside of a shower in well, let's just say a long time." You gestured vaguely at your head, then at the baby monitor clutched in your hand, which was currently emitting the auditory equivalent of a smoke alarm.

Rafe's smirk faded, replaced by something genuinely concerned. He ran a hand through his own, immaculately styled hair. "Man, that sucks." He paused, his gaze drifting from your exhausted face to the monitor, where the baby's cries escalated into a full-blown roar. "Look," he began, his voice surprisingly gentle, "I was just about to make some coffee, head out for a surf. But, uh if you wanted to grab a quick shower or something, I could… you know, keep an eye on the little guy. Or girl."

You stared at him, jaw slack. A shower. A hot, uninterrupted shower. The very thought sent a dizzying wave of longing through you. It was a mythical luxury, whispered about in hushed tones by other beleaguered parents, a legend you’d long since given up on. And Rafe, the guy who usually seemed more concerned with his next adrenaline rush than childcare, was offering to stand sentinel over your screaming, possibly projectile-vomiting infant?

"Are you serious?" you croaked, the words barely escaping your throat. It felt like a test, like he was playing some elaborate prank.

He chuckled, a low, easy sound. "Yeah, I'm serious. I mean, how bad can it be? I've dealt with my cousin little monsters before. Pretty sure I'm immune to anything less than a full-on tantrum from a five-year-old." He gestured towards the nursery. "Besides, you look like you're about two minutes from falling over. Go get clean."

A wave of relief so profound it threatened to buckle your knees washed over you. The prospect of hot water, shampoo, and the blissful feeling of being truly, utterly clean, even for a mere ten minutes, was overwhelmingly tempting. All thoughts of propriety, of the sheer oddness of leaving your child with Rafe Cameron, vanished in a cloud of desperate anticipation.

"Oh my god, Rafe," you breathed, a tear pricking at the corner of your eye. "You would be an absolute lifesaver. I could kiss you."

He laughed outright then, a flash of his usual roguish charm returning. "Let's save that for after the shower, then," he teased, stepping past you into the living room, his eyes scanning the chaos with an almost clinical detachment. "Go on. I'll be right here."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, a flicker of parental guilt, then caught another whiff of yourself. And that was it. You practically sprinted for the bathroom, not daring to look back, not wanting to give yourself time to second-guess this wildly irresponsible, yet utterly necessary, decision.

The bathroom felt like a sanctuary, a quiet, steamy oasis. You locked the door behind you, a small, defiant act of reclaiming a sliver of personal space. The instant the hot water hit your skin, a sigh escaped your lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated bliss.

You scrubbed at your hair with frantic, grateful hands, working in shampoo until thick, luxurious suds replaced the sticky residue. The scent of coconut and vanilla, a smell you hadn’t truly registered in weeks, filled your nostrils, a small piece of normalcy in the chaos.

From the living room, through the closed door, the baby monitor offered a strange symphony. The piercing shrieks had indeed subsided. Instead, you heard a low rumble of Rafe's voice, surprisingly soothing, followed by gentle coos and gurgles from your baby.

You paused, a dripping hand suspended in mid-air. What was he doing? Was he a baby whisperer? The idea was almost comical, conjuring images of Rafe Cameron, charming an infant into submission. Yet, the relative quiet that had descended upon your apartment was undeniable proof of his success.

You washed the grime of sleepless nights and baby spit-up from your body, letting the hot water sluice away the tension in your shoulders. It wasn't a long shower �� maybe seven minutes, max – but it felt like a spa day. You emerged feeling like a new human, albeit a slightly damp one.

You quickly wrapped your hair in a towel, then pulled on the cleanest, least-stained pair of sweats you could find and a fresh, blessedly unsullied t-shirt. The world already seemed a little less blurry around the edges.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed open the bathroom door and stepped back into the living room, half-expecting to find a scene of utter devastation – Rafe tied up with burp cloths, the baby covered in marker, the room turned upside down. Instead, you found peace.

Rafe was sitting on your worn armchair, the baby nestled securely against his chest, head tucked under his chin. Your little one was utterly, completely silent. Not just quiet, but content. her tiny hand was fisted around Rafe's finger, and their eyes, wide and curious, were fixed on his face.

Rafe himself looked bewildered, almost. He was gently rocking, a faint, surprised smile playing on his lips as he gazed down at the baby. He wasn't talking, just rocking, a soft, almost domestic hum filling the space between them.

He looked up as you entered, his blue eyes meeting yours. "Hey," he murmured, his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping (or at least, very quiet) infant. He looked genuinely intrigued by the small creature in his arms. "she, uh they just kinda stopped. After a minute or two."

You walked over, disbelief warring with profound gratitude. "I- I don't know what to say. You got her to calm down." It was less a question, more an awe-filled statement.

He shrugged, a small, self-conscious smile gracing his features. "Guess I've still got the touch. My niece used to pull this trick on me." He gently shifted the baby, who stirred slightly but remained blissfully silent. "What do you do now? Does she, like, nap? Or are they just recharging?"

You let out a soft, genuine laugh, the first one in days that didn't feel forced. "Hopefully nap. Thank you, Rafe. Seriously. That was I don't even have words."

He met your gaze, and for a moment, the usual guard in his eyes seemed to drop, replaced by something warm and almost vulnerable. "No problem," he said quietly, then cleared his throat. He carefully handed her back to you, his movements surprisingly gentle.

"Just glad I could help." He stood, stretching slightly. "Well, I should probably go get that coffee. And hit the waves before the tourists clog everything up." He glanced at your baby one last time, a strange, almost wistful expression on his face, before turning to leave.

🏷, @spencerreid66 @starrii-sturns @dsfault @vxncevis

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari sniffled, looking into her papa's eyes, tears rolling down her cheeks as she just sniffled and listened. She looked down for a moment, processing what the hero said and gave a nod while her eyes narrowed a bit in thought. "I... Think I get it." She muttered, voice still slightly trembling as she spoke. She looked back at the projection and sighed. The child slowly backed away from Hawks and went back to look at the journals again, one last time.

There she read a few more journals from her mother. A few from when she was pregnant with her siblings.

"Today is September 29th, I gave birth to my little boy Kitearo a few days ago. It's been exhausting but he's worth it. Lynx has been a huge help in taking care of our son. I looked into Kite's future and I saw he was going to have a lot of siblings. Not my first choice honestly. If you asked me five years ago I would have said two or three kids would be enough, not seven. But it feels right at the same time. While I saw his whole life unravel I couldn't help but feel helpless... But a part of me knows it can't be messed with, even though I want to save my son from an early grave. I'll have to wait until all my kids are born to get the full picture."

Kari frowned, figuring out pretty quick that her mother knew the whole time, or at least had an understanding.

"It's Febuary 23rd. Flo and Fino are a few days old now. I got a bit more of the picture since seeing Kitearo's future. They meet a similar fate. It hurts, but seeing them work hard to protect their youngest sister, a little girl with white hair, something isn't adding up. I know I can't stop it but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt a whole lot."

"It's been a rough few weeks, Shade has been a bit of a handful. Always curious but always quiet which is a bit unnerving. Sure she cries and makes noises but she's more quiet than not. The doctor says she has nothing wrong with her but I still worry. I was able to see into her future. Lynx has his work cut out for him that's for sure. So far I know all my kids and my husband die on the same day, doing the same thing. I can't say for sure where I am but I can make a few guesses. Again that little girl with white hair makes a big appearance. I'll name her Kari. Kari Kana Lee Himura, long name but it looks like it suits her. When she's born I'll hopefully get all the answers and try to write them down."

"Another pair of twins. I'm not super surprised, Lynx had twin younger brothers after all so I think that runs in the family. That and I saw them while looking into their siblings' futures. These two look mirrored, it's kinda cute. I've named them Boom and Beats cuz the symbols on their cheeks are cute music notes. They are the loudest that's for sure, it's funny. I've had so many kids and all of them are so different even though they're under the same roof and have me and Lynx as their parents. I know why they look so different and why their quirks are different, it's a side effect of my quirk after all. But their behaviors and personalities aren't tied to it, I don't think. It's so fascinating to watch them grow and develop... I know I probably only have a few more years to live. I've concluded I die in child birth when giving birth to Kari. I know I'll be leaving behind my family and my friends... But I noted that my nephew is the one responsible for the deaths of everyone, under the control of my sister given his pupils... Something isn't adding up but I'm guessing Kari develops my quirk. If that's the case then she needs to exist. It strengthens our quirk and hopefully she'll be able to help others like I did, in someway. Though that's her choice and I don't want to force it onto her. I'm glad dad talked me into writing that one entry about my quirk, I hope she can read it one day so she can meet me... Well, a snap shot of me. It won't be the same I know but it's better than nothing. I just hope she doesn't hate me or get mad. It's kind of a selfish reason but there's so much going on... I just hope she understands."

Kari sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "I... I don't hate you mom." She whispered after a few moments of silence, hugging herself. "I just wish I knew you." The child gulped and moved to look back at the journal about All of the Above and began taking notes. "But yea, I'm glad grampa talked you into writing about your quirk too... It's gonna help me a lot." She muttered then looked at Hawks. "You think we can go somewhere I can train? I... I wanna try doing this thing mom talks about. I'm not sure if I can get back into that weird mind space thing but... But if I can maybe you can meet my siblings, well a snap shot of them... This is kinda confusing." Kari puffed out her cheeks then went back to writing. "But we don't have to do it today if we can't."

Hawks didn’t speak at first. He just let Kari cry. He didn’t try to hush her or pull her away. He dropped down to one knee so she could lean into him easier, wrapping his arms around her small frame like he could shield her from every painful word she had just read. His wings even curled in slightly, a quiet gesture of shelter.

He held her gently as the sobs came out in waves—her pain wasn’t small, and it didn’t deserve to be treated like it was.

After a long moment, his voice finally came—soft, steady, low enough it didn’t try to overpower her crying but just… sat with it.

“I know, kiddo. I know it hurts. It’s not fair. None of this is. You didn’t get a choice in any of it.”

He tightened the hug slightly, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“But I need you to hear me when I say this next part, okay?” He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, his own golden ones steady and full of something more than just compassion—it was conviction. “She didn’t die because of you. That’s not how this works. She died for you. And that’s something only someone who loves their kid more than anything in the world would do.”

His thumbs gently wiped her tears.

“Your mom knew the risks. She was a top pro. She wasn’t someone who walked into things blind. She fought to bring you into this world anyway, Kari. That means she wanted you here. She made a choice—and that choice was you.”

[alanisstonedd]

cockwarming w con | mdni

the smoke from yalls third blunt curls around your lip. you feel the high behind your eyes, all through your body, like sinking into bliss.

you had thought he was tapped out from the sesh, laying next you on your bed with his head on the pillow, lookin like he in another dimension. yall both had a long day, and the wind down was much much needed.

you ash the roach that’s left and set it in the tray, turning to him. he looks so sexy like this, laid out, guard down, rough body on display for you. you trace his tats, not a though in your head other than how bad you wanna lick him up.

he looks over at your lips with this corny ass grin like he got a nasty idea. “mama. i wanna be inside you”

your clit throbs. like it just hit you how much you need it. even tho practically everything sets yall off in this state. the room already feels like sex and yall ain’t even touching.

but, shit, he never has to tell your ass twice. “i need that papí. you look so yummy.” running a hand over his face and down his warm chest, you start to climb over him into a straddle.

“nuh-uh, you the yummy one… look atchu…you teasin’ me baby.” he’s feeling you up like you’re gonna float away. like he’s just making sure your real… all that woman right there in front of him, your skin glowing that rich, succulent brown that he loves. you already breathing heavy, feeling that print pressed right up against your soaked cunt. prolly leaking a wet patch on him right now. 

“i’m not even doin nothin boy” you giggle. grinding down just to feel the tip graze you right where you need it. you feel your wetness soaking through the minimal fabric that’s separating you both. it’s hot, in both ways, and makes the friction all the more delicious.

“exactly… can never stay soft around mí amor. you too sexy. made for me…”

you run your hands down the tattoos on his chest, throwing your hips back and forth on him softly. you both groan in synch like it’s deeper than a nut. like you wanna drag it out of him just so you can give him your own back. your pussy fluttering for a taste.

“fuck— you make me crazy connie” you shudder a breath out, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the feeling of him under you, unable to conjure a thought that’s not about him or his dick. you need skin to skin contact immediately, craving the feeling of his warm, throbbing dick sliding along your creamy slit — you need that yummy shlick shlick shlick sound when you grind over him.

your brows furrow with impatience as you yank his sweats down and pull your panties to the side, connie moaning under you like he physically can’t wait. his dick twitches hard at the sight of your cunt — glistening and juicy — and slaps you right on the clit, sending the most delicious tingle up your spine. “fuck—! mm, that dick—” you moan out, grabbing your tit and reaching for his hand stuck to your waist, to keep some sanity.

he groans watching you play with your sweet brown nipples, getting a little jealous of your hands so he reaches one up to grope along with you. his other hand cradles your hip for leverage to buck up against you, practically giving himself whiplash at the pure pleasure you create together — throwing his head back and lifting it back up quick just to look at you. he’s grunting, eyes locked with yours like he needs to see you to get off. watching your tits sway with each rut of your dripping pussy over his throbbing dick.

just the sight of you on him has him ready to bust, willing his balls not to tighten up again. but the way you rub your puffy, wet clit, low eyes flitting between his face and the mess you’ve made of each other? he don’t think he gon last very long at all.

“mamí— put it in already— you edging me—” his short breaths cut him off and you snicker at his whining, but quickly remember how bad you want that too. even more than the wet hump yall have going at the moment, despite how good that thickness feels under you, your clit catching on every single ridge — and when it bumps against that blushing mushroom head, you have to take a breath to keep from cumming. “i’m not edging you nigga—” you mumble, shuddering from his hot mouth capturing one of your tits.

you lift and slip him in, no resistance, “—mm fuck, you edging me—” your creamy warmth hugs him and it feels heavenly. like he could float right now if your pussy fluttered one more time. his eyes roll back from the pleasure, bucking up into you softly just to feel that little smooch on his tip when he bottoms out. you feel so good it’s almost sickening, your hands gripping his as they work your hips then quickly moving on to your tits, then your plush belly, then down to that throbbing clit peaking out above his dick.

a harsh breath leaves his lips like he was holding it in. “wait— wait— stay here mamí…. this all we need right here…” his words make you lean down to lick into his mouth, tangling tongues and lips because he’s right. sure, yall could do the most and make the bed rock for real but… if you could stay just like this? him pulsing inside you, you fluttering around him so sweetly, forever? you would do it, no question.

“mmm— fuck—” he sucks your tongue mid-make-out and it sets off a chain reaction. your pussy ripples around him, making him twitch against your walls, making you both groan out, hips still working that slow sweaty grind.

but the more you lock lips — caught in that nasty, hot dance — the slower the grind gets, until you’re just sucking each others lips, moaning into each others mouths like nothing else matters. your thighs spread wider over his strong hips so you can sink even deeper down onto him, groaning into his neck at the feeling — him twitching deeper than you’ve ever felt, the head kissing that spot that chokes you up. you feel him in your fuckin throat.

he wraps both arms around your waist, locking you down, stuffed full of him. you kiss the art littering his arms while you savor the feeling - that dull ache licking through your lower belly like a flame. your slick drips down his balls in trails even though neither of you have moved in forever. “fuckkkk— i’m finna cum mamí—” he groans into your lips, gripping you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth. “cum for me, baby” you whisper into his lips like a naughty secret.

he nuts just like that. no hips snapping, no bed rocking. just a sweet calmness and thick, warm spurts in your belly, that start to leak out around him when that creamy flow just doesn’t stop. you cum right after, heaving into his neck, grinding your clit into the mess of slick and nut between yall. it’s all heavy breathing against each others skin, sloppy kisses around breathy fuckkkk’s, in a cold sweat from the pleasure. tongues sliding in between lips, hands wandering wherever they want. just feeling each other as deep as you possibly can.

so drained you don’t even feel him sneak his hand down between your bodies, but you do feel the sharp, delicious pinch on your clit—

“CON—”

and his stupid snickering before you lay his ass out.

[pohtaytoh]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝗬/𝗟/𝗡

*ೃ༄ Megan Skiendiel x f!reader

Everyone ships Megan Skiendiel with your brother Gabriel, convinced they're endgame. He's always taking credit for the sweet gestures that make Megan swoon, and she totally believes he's the one. But you, Y/N Y/L/N, have been secretly head over heels for Megan for years. You're the one leaving those thoughtful gifts and sending those encouraging messages, watching your brother bask in the glory.

But as Megan starts spending more time with you, she can't shake this feeling. Now Megan's wondering if the person she's really meant to be with has been right in front of her all this time.

part: one. <two.> three. four. five. six.

Y/N Y/L/N had slowly, painfully, become the secret builder of Megan’s small joys. It was a role she never asked for, a strange, heavy job that both made her heart glow with a quiet happiness and, at the same time, slowly broke it. Every thoughtful act, every careful surprise, was meant only for Megan, a quiet whisper of love Y/N couldn’t say out loud. It was her way of showing, without words, how deeply she cared, how much Megan truly meant to her.

However, time and again, her older brother, Gabriel, would just step in. Like a sudden, cool shadow falling over a sunlit path, he would effortlessly claim the praise, the smiles, the grateful looks meant for someone else. It was a strange, sad dance they all seemed to be caught in, though only Y/N knew the full steps.

Y/N poured her whole heart into these actions. Each one was like a tiny, precious gift of herself, a silent promise of a love she couldn’t openly share. Yet, almost as soon as she made the move, she would watch Gabriel soak up Megan’s thanks, her happy exclamations, her warm glances.

It was a pain she put on herself, a constant, dull ache behind her ribs. Still, the thought of Megan being truly happy, even if that happiness was based on a lie, was enough to make Y/N keep going. She told herself, over and over, that it was worth it. That Megan’s smile, no matter who caused it, was enough.

She could vividly recall one particularly rough evening. The air outside was turning chilly, and a sense of quiet dread hung over campus as midterms approached. Megan had been buried in the university common room for hours, a place usually full of chatter that was now hushed by the shared stress of exams.

Megan was surrounded by piles of thick textbooks and scattered notes, her hair a bit messy from running her hands through it in frustration. She was deep into a huge, confusing philosophy paper, a subject that often tied her in knots. Y/N had seen her earlier, her forehead crinkled in a worried frown, her shoulders slumped, and her hand shaking slightly as she tried to highlight a passage in a dense, difficult book.

Y/N knew Megan’s habits well – how she always reached for warm, comforting drinks when she was stressed, especially after long hours of intense studying. She remembered Megan mentioning her deep love for a very specific spiced chai latte from a small, cozy café all the way across town, a little place with mismatched chairs and the scent of cinnamon and old books. It was a cafe Y/N herself rarely visited, because it was quite a walk.

A decision, quick and sharp, had formed in Y/N’s mind. “Should I do this?” a small, tired voice inside her head whispered. It felt like that voice was always there, a tiny, nagging doubt.

“It’ll just hurt later, when Gabriel takes credit, won't it? You know how this goes.”

But then, another voice, stronger and filled with the pure, aching want to ease Megan’s stress, spoke up, “She needs it. Look at her. She’s really struggling.”

This second voice, the one that rooted for Megan’s happiness above all else, always, always won.

So, Y/N had quietly slipped out of the common room, moving like a shadow, trying to blend into the group of students heading out for dinner or back to their dorms. The air outside was turning cold, a fine, misty drizzle starting to fall, making the streetlights glow softly, blurring their edges into halos. She walked quickly, the familiar dampness of the city settling on her skin, feeling the cool drops on her eyelashes.

The sounds of distant cars rattling by and chatter from students slowly faded as she got closer to the quiet café, warm light in the gathering dusk. Inside, the warmth and the rich, sweet smell of spices mixed with brewing tea were comforting.

She ordered Megan's exact chai, asking for it extra hot, just how Megan liked it, knowing she'd be sipping it slowly while she worked. While waiting, she found a stray napkin on the counter and, with a tiny, worn pen she always carried, drew a small, familiar star on the cup’s sleeve—a little inside joke from a conversation she’d had with Megan months ago about wishing on constellations after a particularly tough exam. It was a small, secret mark, meant only for Megan, a tiny piece of Y/N’s heart hidden in plain sight, a silent message—”I see you. I’m thinking of you.”

Back at the university, Y/N crept back into the common room. It felt heavier now, the air thick with unspoken worries. Megan was still there, hunched over her laptop, looking even more tired and lost in her work.

Y/N’s heart ached just looking at her, a tight squeeze in her chest. She carefully placed the warm cup of chai and a small, neatly folded napkin (with a little motivational doodle on it, a tiny, happy doodle she knew Megan would find amusing) beside Megan’s laptop, making sure not to make a sound, not to disturb her focus.

Then, holding her breath, Y/N quickly, silently slipped away, disappearing back into the hallway before Megan could even lift her head, before she could even notice the small act of kindness.

An hour later, Y/N walked back through the common room again, pretending to just be "passing by" on her way to grab a late snack. And then she heard it. Megan's voice, bright with pure, unburdened gratitude, echoed across the almost empty room.

"Oh my God, Gabriel, you are a lifesaver! This chai latte is exactly what I needed! How did you know?" Gabriel, leaning casually against the doorframe, a relaxed, easy smirk on his face, simply winked.

"Knew you'd be in here suffering, Megs. Figured a little pick-me-up was in order." Y/N saw him glance down at the cup, his smirk briefly wavering as he noticed the small, hand-drawn star on the sleeve, a slight frown of confusion crossing his face for just a second but he was quick, he recovered instantly, shrugging playfully.

"Anything to help you crush that paper, Megs. You deserve a break." Megan had smiled, a tired but truly grateful smile, her eyes full of warmth and thanks directed only at him. "You're seriously the best," she'd murmured, taking a long, comforting sip, her shoulders relaxing just a little.

The words "You're seriously the best" felt like a knife twisting in Y/N. They weren't meant for her, the one who had felt the drizzle, walked to the distant cafe, carefully chose the exact drink, and added the secret star. They were for Gabriel, who had done none of those things.

He had just accepted the praise, like it was always meant for him. Y/N retreated to her own dorm room, the familiar ache in her chest sharpening into a dull, throbbing pain that spread through her whole body.

It wasn't just the credit he stole, it was the feeling of closeness, of being truly understood, that he took away from her. Every thoughtful act, every attempt to show Megan that Y/N truly saw her, was hijacked, making Megan believe it was his attentiveness, his understanding, his care.

Your pining felt heavier than ever, a secret so massive and crushing it threatened to break you. You knew, deep down, that you should stop. You should pull away, protect your heart from this constant, self-inflicted pain. Sometimes you just wish that your own brother, Gabriel, would back off.

However, the thought of not being the one to bring even a tiny flicker of joy to Megan’s day, even in secret, felt utterly unbearable. So, you continued, a silent guardian of her happiness, forever invisible in her eyes.

The chai latte incident was just one of many, many times this had happened. Weeks later, Megan had mentioned, with a frustrated sigh, how incredibly confusing her advanced historical economics class was. She was struggling badly, often complaining about the dense textbooks and the complex theories. She felt lost.

Y/N, however, had always had a natural knack for breaking down complicated ideas. It was almost a personal challenge for her to take jumbled information and make it clear. Over the next few weeks, while Megan was busy with demanding soccer practice and other tough classes, Y/N spent almost every late night in the library. She didn't just read the historical economics course material, she studied it deeply, she examined every chapter, she dived into the background stories.

She created detailed flowcharts, summarized key points into easy bullet points, drew funny little cartoons in the margins to help remember dry facts, and simplified complex theories into language anyone could understand. It was a huge amount of work, a massive, carefully crafted study guide, something she herself couldn't imagine she can pull off.

She added little encouraging notes in the margins, like "You've got this!" and "Don't let the numbers scare you, they're just friends!"— things she'd say to Megan if she could, little whispers of support.

Once it was finished, a thick binder filled with neatly organized pages, color-coded tabs, and easy-to-read summaries, Y/N felt a strange mix of pride and dread. It was perfect. But how would she get it to Megan? And how, oh how, would Gabriel take credit for this?

She decided on a subtle approach, hoping for once it might slip under his radar. One morning, when she knew Megan would be in a big, crowded lecture hall, Y/N quietly slipped into Megan's locker room (she knew the code from a group project they’d done months ago). She carefully placed the thick binder inside Megan's locker, right on top of her books, so she couldn't miss it. No note, no signature, just the guide itself, a silent offering.

A few days later, Y/N was walking through the student union building when she heard Megan’s voice, buzzing with excitement. "You guys, you will not believe what Gabriel did for me!" she told a small group of friends, including Y/N, after class.

"He somehow got me this amazing study guide for historical economics! It's perfectly organized, and makes everything so clear! I mean, I was really struggling, and now I actually feel like I get it!" She turned to Gabriel, who was casually leaning against a nearby wall, scrolling on his phone, looking as cool as ever.

"Seriously, Gabriel, thank you so much! It's a lifesaver. You’re my lifesaver. My grade is gonna jump because of you!" Gabriel looked up from his phone, a lazy, charming smile spreading across his face.

"Oh, that? Yeah, no problem, Megs. Knew you were having trouble. Just whipped it up for you. Glad it's helping." He didn't even try to look modest or humble, he just accepted the praise as if it were simply his due.

Y/N stood there, a forced, tight smile on her face, feeling her blood run cold, a sudden chill spreading through her veins.

“Whipped it up?” she thought bitterly, her mind screaming. “You didn't even know what historical economics was last week, you kept calling it 'history numbers class'!"

The unfairness was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe, making her vision blur slightly at the edges.

Then came Megan’s birthday. This one was always the hardest of all. You wanted to give her something truly special, something that showed you knew her better than anyone else, something that spoke to her deepest passions.

You remembered a tiny, off-hand comment Megan had made months ago, late one night while talking about her love for classic literature. She’d mentioned an old, out-of-print poetry collection by a lesser-known contemporary of Emily Dickinson, something she’d dreamed of owning but thought was impossible to find.

It was incredibly rare, a true treasure for a poetry lover. Y/N had spent weeks searching online forums, sending emails to collectors, calling small, independent bookstores all over the world, from the US to the Philippines.

She even emailed a quirky little antique book shop she’d heard about in Cebu. Finally, after what felt like endless searching, she tracked down a dusty copy in that tiny shop in Cebu. The owner had been surprised anyone was even asking for it. Y/N paid a hefty price which cost double because of the shipping fee she had to pay for it to be shipped internationally, it was a significant chunk of her savings but the pure joy of finding it for Megan, knowing how happy it would make her, was worth every single cent.

It was more than just a book, it was a piece of her silent affection, something only Y/N, who truly listened to Megan’s quiet wishes, would have known to look for. She wrapped it beautifully in simple, elegant brown paper and tied it with a rustic twine, attaching a small, blank card, left intentionally empty. She planned to leave it on Megan’s desk early on her birthday morning, an anonymous gift from a secret admirer, a small act of love.

Unfortunately, Gabriel beat her to it. On Megan’s birthday morning, as Y/N walked past Megan’s dorm room, her heart pounding with nervous excitement, she saw the door wide open.

Megan was inside, beaming, her face absolutely radiant. She was holding up a beautifully wrapped gift – identical to the one Y/N had purchased, right down to the rustic twine and the exact dimensions of the old book. Gabriel was standing beside her, a proud, almost possessive grin on his face.

"Happy Birthday, Megs! I remembered you mentioning this forever ago," he said, pulling her into a quick, easy hug. "Took me ages to track it down, but anything for you, right? Only the best for my favorite girl."

Megan’s eyes were shining with pure delight. "Gabriel, you shouldn't have! This is... this is incredible! It's exactly the one! How did you even...?" Y/N saw Gabriel subtly glance at the book's spine, then at Megan, before shrugging with a casual, confident air. "Like I said, I have my ways. Only the best for you, birthday girl."

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Her hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into her palms so hard it almost drew blood. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to leave her gift.

He hadn’t just taken credit for something Y/N did, he had somehow gotten the exact same rare item –or, more likely, he had somehow found out about Y/N's gift and co-opted it entirely, perhaps even intercepted it or copied the idea down to the wrapping.

The thought was a chilling realization, a fresh wave of disbelief. This wasn't just stealing credit, it was stealing her unique understanding of Megan, her deep, personal connection, making her thoughtful acts seem shallow and common, easily duplicated.

Her profound disappointment turned into a sharp, bitter anger that tasted like ash in her mouth. She quickly, silently, walked away, the unopened gift for Megan heavy and cold in her own bag, feeling like she had been punched in the gut, winded by the cruelty of it all.

“Why did he choose Megan out of everyone? He could have anyone else he wanted…"

After each of these painful, heartbreaking moments, Y/N would retreat into herself. She’d spend countless hours replaying the scene in her mind, over and over, her thoughts a tangled mess of what-ifs, self-blame, and sadness.

“Why do I keep doing this?” she'd wonder, pacing her small dorm room until late into the night. “It only hurts. It’s like I’m feeding Gabriel’s ego and my own heartbreak at the same time. This is insane.”

She'd try to rationalize Gabriel’s behavior, clutching at any straw of hope.

“Maybe he just doesn't realize what he's doing. Maybe he genuinely forgets that I'm the one who does these things and just assumes he did. Maybe it’s just how he is – a bit scatterbrained, but deep down, he's good-hearted."

However, deep down, in the quiet, honest corner of her soul, she knew it wasn't true. He knew. His knowing smirk, the quick glance at the hidden details, the casual way he dismissed her hints—he knew. He was taking advantage of her quiet nature and his own loud charm, playing a role.

The emotional toll was immense. Y/N often felt drained, utterly exhausted, a dull numbness spreading through her. The constant tightness in her chest was a physical reminder of her unspoken feelings and unacknowledged efforts.

She felt stuck in a never-ending loop: Megan expresses a need or a wish, Y/N quietly fulfills it, Gabriel swoops in, Megan thanks Gabriel with a bright smile, and Y/N feels completely invisible, erased.

The cycle was relentless, and she felt utterly powerless to stop it. She couldn't bring herself to just not do things for Megan, the urge to help, to show care, to ease Megan's burdens, was simply too strong, an impulse etched into her very being.

However, she also couldn't bear the thought of openly telling Megan how she felt, not after years of seeing her so happy with Gabriel, so convinced of his thoughtfulness, his genuine care.

The hardest part, the most agonizing torture, was watching Megan’s genuine happiness when Gabriel "did" something nice for her. Megan’s smile was so bright, so full of pure joy, so authentic, that it was its own kind of deep, aching pain for Y/N.

How could she ruin that? How could she shatter Megan’s belief in Gabriel's goodness, even if it meant Y/N remained heartbroken, stuck in the shadows?

This constant battle, this secret life she led, made her feel so incredibly alone. There was no one she could talk to about it. How do you explain to your own brother that you're secretly in love with the girl he thinks is his and that he's stealing all your gestures? It was an impossible burden, a silent scream trapped deep in her throat. She was merely an observer, a ghost silently watching her own heartbreak unfold, day after day.

Maybe, just maybe, she's not the Y/L/N Megan’s meant to be with.

previous part. | next part.

a/n: If you guys did pay attention, you would know I added some of KATSEYE's lyrics into this part. It's a coincidence his name is Gabriel right? Lol. Anyway, I posted this before I barely started part four, thinking I should post two so it somehow feels complete. Somehow. I hope y'all are loving this though.

[cherry-amores-blog]

Title: “Come Home”

❥︎Pairing: !Platonic Dad Dick Grayson/Nightwing & Reader

❥︎ ︎Content Warnings: !None

❥︎ ︎Summary: You ran away from home.

❥︎Author notes: If you like this work and would want to see more, my requests are open.

The fight with your dad had been loud, sharp, and unresolved. Neither of you had backed down. Neither of you had said sorry.

You’d gone to bed angry that night—face turned to the wall, chest tight with the kind of frustration that had nowhere to go. You didn’t cry, but it was a close thing. And sometime after midnight, when the silence in the apartment became unbearable, you grabbed your bag, slipped out the window, and disappeared into the dark.

You hadn’t meant to stay gone.

But one day turned into two. Two turned into three.

And now, it had been nearly five.

No calls. No texts. Not because you wanted to punish him, but because you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know why you’d left, not exactly. Everything had just felt so heavy, and you’d needed to breathe.

You didn’t know that every night since, Dick had been sleeping on the couch with his phone clutched in one hand and your hoodie balled up in the other. You didn’t know he’d barely eaten, barely slept, too afraid that if he did, he’d miss the moment you finally came home.

And then… he heard it.

The unmistakable soft thud of your bedroom window closing.

Dick sat bolt upright, heartbeat spiking, vision blurry with sleep. But the moment he registered what he’d heard, he was on his feet and moving, barefoot, breath caught in his chest, like any sudden movement might scare you away again.

He stopped in the doorway to your room.

You stood there in the dark, facing away from him. Your shoulders were trembling. Your knees were scraped raw, like you’d tripped more than once. Mud streaked your jeans, and your eyes were red, even though you refused to look at him just yet.

The sight knocked the wind right out of him.

His voice cracked as it came out. “Where were you?”

You flinched, not at the words, but the pain in them.

“I…” Your voice was small. “I just needed to get away. I wasn’t thinking.”

He stepped closer, slow like he was afraid you’d vanish again.

“You’ve been gone for days,” he whispered, throat tightening. “Days. I didn’t know if you were-” He couldn’t finish it. Just shook his head and let out a shaky breath.

You turned, finally facing him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

And then you stumbled forward.

Dick caught you without hesitation.

His hands came up, one cradling the back of your head, the other pressing your face to his chest in a firm, protective hold. His arms wrapped around you like he could shield you from the world or from himself and every mistake he thought he’d made.

“I was so scared,” he muttered, voice low and rough in your ear. “You’re all I’ve got, you know that?”

You nodded against him, crying now, arms tight around his ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered again. “I didn’t know what to do. We fought, and I didn’t know how to fix it, and I just-”

“Shh,” he murmured, pressing a quick, solid kiss to the top of your head. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

He held you for a long minute, just standing there in your room, like he could anchor both of you back to reality through the silence alone.

Then, he slowly pulled back just enough to look down at your legs.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, voice soft but steady. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nodded again, letting him guide you over to sit on the edge of your bed. He crouched down in front of you, grabbing the first aid kit from your nightstand drawer like he’d done it a hundred times before. You winced as he dabbed gently at your scraped knees with antiseptic, but he didn’t say anything—just worked in quiet focus, like patching you up was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

When he finished, he sat back on his heels and looked up at you.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said. “For the fight. For not listening. For letting it get that bad.”

You bit your lip, tears slipping down your cheek again. “I didn’t mean to leave forever.”

“I know,” he said, reaching up again, this time to gently pull your head back against his chest.

“Just… promise me you’ll come to me next time. No matter how mad you are. No matter how bad it feels. Just come home.”

You nodded against him, breathing in the familiar scent of his jacket, the feel of his heartbeat under your cheek.

“I promise.”

And this time, you meant it.

[munsonify]

rough edges

pairing. eddie munson x fem!reader

summary. a charming bookworm finds herself tangled up with the town freak, eddie munson

content warnings. kissing, eddie being a little shit (affectionate), eddie calling you beautiful and pretty, alludes to sex

word count. 838

disney princess collection

it was an odd sight, really.

loud, outgoing, shameless eddie seemed like the type of person who’d go for someone just like him. bubbly, talkative, someone with an edge to them. so, seeing him with you, hand in hand with him, steady walking down the school hallways, it was a little off putting.

you were nice, personable, a bit quiet. you focused on your education, something eddie figured he should pick up on. there was always a book secure in your hands, something that occupied your time. he liked a good book, though it was always fantasy. you? you read any book you could get your hand on. sci-fi, nonfiction, romance. he’s caught you red-handed reading unthinkable things, things that he used against you. he teases you endlessly for it, a soft sort of jab you knew to never take to heart. the big smooch he gives you afterwards proves that to you.

eddie saw the way people gave you two judgmental glances. he was sure you noticed, too, there was no way you didn’t. it never seemed to bother you. none of it mattered to you, not when you were as happy as you were with him. they could stare all they wanted. you were the one content with your life, not them.

you felt the way eddie’s gentle grip moved from your hip to your hand, fingers interlocking gently as he begins guiding you away from the path to your class. you noticed the way people glanced at you as he tugged you away, simply smiling, your focus solely on him. he pulled you out the back of the school, taking ahold of your bag and your book as you gawk at him.

“eddie we have class,” you told him in almost a whine, eyes shimmering up at him as he continues to drag you towards his van.

“well, sweetheart, i don’t really wanna go,” eddie told you, grip on your hand tightening slightly. “you don’t actually wanna sit through chemistry class, do you?”

you watched as he opens the back of his van, hand still in yours while he gently tosses your belongings inside. the moment he shuts the doors, he turns to you, tugging your body to his. with his hand in yours and his other bracing the side of your face, eddie kisses you long and soft, pink lips slotted between yours.

it was a little difficult for you to catch your breath after he’d released the kiss, especially with the way his fingers moved against your face, gently brushing strands of hair away from your face and behind your ear. with a small, exasperated sigh, you shake your head at him. “i do when i have an exam. which, by the way, is tomorrow.”

“i know it is,” eddie told you in a whisper, eyes half-lidded and gazing into yours lovingly, faces still inches apart. “but you’ve been studying all week. you’ll live without the review. i, however, cannot live without having some alone time with you.”

he began to tug you towards the passenger side of his van with intentions of driving you away from the school for the day. you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him, a small smile on your lips. “you’re so dramatic, eds. you’ve made it this long just fine.”

“barely!” he proclaimed, opening the door for you. before he helped you in, eddie brought your hand up to his neck, pressing right against his pulse point for dramatic affect. “see? i’m dyin’ here, baby!”

you give him a quick kiss on the cheek, letting him assist you up into his van while giggles erupt from your chest. his pulse was fine, eddie’s heart was beating steady, and he was absolutely still breathing. you, however, let him keep up his theatrics. it was endearing. besides, you had been studying a lot recently, and you missed your boy incredibly much. you might as well let him drag you off for a much needed date.

“if only they could see you now, baby,” eddie told you, starting up his van the moment he hops into the driver’s seat. “sitting in my van all pretty, letting me take you on a date. it’s a beautiful sight, truly.”

it was an even more beautiful sight later that night. you were wrapped up in eddie’s sheets, one of his t-shirts covering your bare body, tiredness from how he’d just had you taking over you. you were sound asleep next to him, one of his arms wrapped protectively around your body as he flips through a fantasy book he’d been so close to finishing. he caught himself staring at you though, suddenly enamored with the thought of you.

eddie wondered how he got this lucky. how he managed to get someone as kindhearted and quiet as you are. he was grateful that he did, though, thanking whatever higher power granted him something this special. it was like you were made to soften up his rough edges, to make them more manageable.

[uhhlifeig]

Legend - June 25 - word count: 181 - @wolfstarmicrofic

There was a legend about a ghost in the Shrieking Shack.

According to the townspeople of Hogsmeade Village, there were two bouts of unearthly screeching every full moon- one when the moon rose, and another when it set.

It had started years ago, and it had stopped for a little while- only to start back up again thirteen years later.

No one knew the source of the wailing- except for the three that helped him.

One day, though, someone spotted a figure leaving the Shack- someone with porcelain skin and hair as dark as night.

A vampire, some townsfolk whispered. A banshee, others argued.

A lover, Sirius thought, pretending to listen to the woman explaining the tale to him.

“We’d best be going now,” he said, grinning before walking away from where she stood.

He gave Remus’s hand a quick squeeze, as if asking, Are you okay?

The look in his boyfriend’s eyes was steely. I’m fine, Sirius.

As they neared Peter and James, Sirius ran his thumb over Remus’s significantly more rough one. 

You’re not a monster. I love you.

[thepinkpanther83]

Hello again, I’ve come w a suggestion I was hoping you could possibly bring to life, if not though I understand! Idk if it would be a multi character fic or just one really long one so don’t feel obligated or anything!

Anyway, picture this: older Eddie, early to mid forties, he’s gruff but still lean and he’s the mechanic(if yo car fucked up don’t panic) and he’s been heartbroken so he just sleeps around and refuses to really let anyone in.

In comes you, new in town to take over some relatives business(maybe a bar or coffee shop). Late 20s, grungy and has quick wit. Eddie comes into your place of business and immediately catches your eye. You flirt and he does back, he leaves and one of the locals comes to you and gives the infamous “he isn’t looking for anything other than another notch on his bedpost” chat. So you think it’s just meaningless flirting, but he starts to come in more often and actively seeks your conversation/company.. que you having car problems and taking it into the mechanics and seeing him there. He asks for your number and you get to know each other.

Classic “he’ll change if he wants me” trope and of course, sarcasm, fluff and smut.

So, maybe something you’d be interested in? I really love your writing so I hope you aren’t uncomfortable w this request. Sending you love and positive energy!!

Grease And Honey (Pt.1 New Girl, Same Grind)

Chapter One: “New Girl, Same Grind”

Eddie Munson x Female Reader

💌 Author’s Note:

To my cherished repeat Anony requester… you know who you are. 🫶🏻

Thank you, from the bottom of my coffee-fueled heart, for this incredible story prompt. You handed me a rough sketch of a grease-stained, emotionally unavailable Eddie Munson and a snarky tea-drinking café owner, and let me run wild with them. I don’t take it lightly that you trust me again and again to bring your ideas to life. This story wouldn’t exist without your spark of inspiration.

I hope “Grease and Honey” delivers on all the slow-burn tension, banter, heartache, and heat your heart desired, and then some. 💋

Love always,

~Pinkie 🍒

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

🎸🛠️☕🍯 Summary:

In the sleepy town of Hawkins, a freshly-inherited café and a busted-down car throw two unlikely souls into each other’s orbit.

He’s the town’s tattooed mechanic… gruff, flirtatious, and known for leaving hearts in his rearview. She’s the new girl with a sharp wit, a love of honeyed tea over coffee, and no intention of becoming anyone’s flavor of the week.

But some things can't be tuned out, not a shared spark, not stolen glances, and definitely not chemistry strong enough to break a lifelong habit of running from real connection.

Because sometimes, what starts as harmless flirting over coffee turns into something worth keeping.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: "Morning Regular"

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter One: “New Girl, Same Grind”

Hawkins Indiana, Summer 2006.

There was still a faint smell of cinnamon in the walls.

Even after months of dust settling, spiders claiming corners, and sunlight filtering through untouched blinds, the old place still smelled like your uncle’s favorite scone recipe. Sweet, spiced, and just a little burnt. Comforting in a “you’ll figure it out” kind of way.

You stood behind the scratched-up counter, sleeves rolled to your elbows, sticky with lemon cleaner and something older you’d rather not name. It was your third hour in the place officially opened, and already, your back ached and your hair was tied up with a pencil like some kind of over caffeinated librarian.

The old coffee shop: Grindhouse, sat squat on the corner of Main and Beech, its windows a little foggy from years of neglect but its bones still strong. Hip enough to attract the teens, comfy enough for the town’s aging poets and angry journalers. Black brick exterior, faded red awning. A flickering neon sign in the shape of a steaming mug hung above the door like a half-hearted welcome.

It was yours now.

Inherited, unexpectedly, after Uncle Jack’s heart finally gave out during a bar fight at The Hideout (which, you were told, he started and finished). You didn’t know Hawkins well. Hadn’t visited since you were a teenager. But something about the town’s stillness… the way time seemed to stretch just a little slower here… felt like the kind of restart you didn’t know you needed.

You flicked on the ancient espresso machine, affectionately nicknamed "The Beast" in your uncle’s handwriting on a taped label, and prayed it wouldn’t explode. Steam hissed, water sputtered, and you laughed when it groaned like a wounded animal.

“Same, buddy,” you muttered, tapping a tin of looseleaf chamomile.

Coffee was fine. Great, even, when done right. But you’d always been a tea girl. The kind who keeps jars of honey in a cabinet sorted by origin. Lavender from France. Orange blossom from California. Clover from some dusty roadside stand in Nebraska. The sweetness wasn’t just flavor… it was ritual. Pour, stir, sip, breathe.

And today, you needed the ritual.

You padded across the shop’s checkerboard tile floors, wiping down tabletops and thinking about paint swatches. You made a mental note to fix the warped floorboard near the window seat. The morning light was gorgeous there, perfect for reading, or brooding, or scowling at the world with a dirty chai.

You were halfway through reorganizing the old chalkboard menu, debating whether to bring back the “Bad Witch Latte” special, when the bell above the front door rang.

You straightened automatically, chalk still in hand, fingers dusted white. The early morning haze outside had finally begun to lift, casting a warm light through the front windows. It made the place look… almost alive again.

“Morning!” you called out, too chipper for how little sleep you’d gotten.

A trio of customers wandered in, two middle-aged women deep in conversation and a teen already glued to his phone. Locals, probably. You could tell by the way they didn’t even glance at the specials board or hesitate at the register.

“You’re the new girl, huh?” the taller of the women asked, giving you a once-over with a smile that was a little too tight around the eyes to be entirely kind. “Took over for Jack?”

You nodded. “That’s me.”

“Hmph,” the other woman muttered, pushing her sunglasses up onto her head. “Didn’t know he had family left. Thought you were some big city investor come to gut the place.”

“Nope. Just me. Grieving niece with a mild caffeine addiction and a dream.”

That earned a half-hearted chuckle. They placed their orders, skinny vanilla lattes, one with extra foam, and shuffled toward the corner booth like they owned it. Maybe they did. You were pretty sure the taller one had already started rearranging the throw pillows.

“Order in!” your barista called from behind the espresso machine.

Callie, hired two weeks ago off a hastily taped flyer you’d posted at the local library, was younger than you, twenty-two, and had the kind of sarcastic energy that made customers feel both entertained and a little nervous. Her hair was buzzed short on one side and dyed a green so electric it nearly matched the apron she insisted on customizing with iron-on patches.

She slid the lattes onto the counter with the flair of someone performing alchemy. “Gossip coven’s back,” she muttered under her breath. “They already asked if I’m your daughter.”

You barked a laugh and started prepping a cinnamon roll for the teen still scrolling through YouTube. “We’re like three years apart.”

“Exactly,” she grinned, and then added with mock reverence, “Mom.”

More customers trickled in after that. A guy in coveralls grabbed a black coffee and a ham croissant on his way to the hardware store. A pair of teenage girls with matching backpacks took twenty minutes to choose between the lavender matcha and the cherry cola cold brew. You fumbled with the register once, burned your finger on a hot tray twice, and forgot to apply a loyalty stamp to a regular’s punch card, he waved it off, but you could feel your pride bruising already.

The coffee shop had a heartbeat now. You could feel it, pulsing through the rhythm of orders and names called out, chairs scraping against the floor, that occasional, comforting hiss of the espresso machine. It wasn’t perfect. But it was yours.

Around noon, you finally caught a breath.

You were sipping a lukewarm cup of Earl Grey, honey swirled into a golden whirlpool at the bottom, when the door jingled again.

This time, the woman who walked in made your shoulders tense before you even saw her face.

Sixty-ish, sharply dressed, no hair out of place. Bright pink lipstick. Heels in a town that didn’t seem to require them. You clocked her immediately as the type who didn’t order so much as declare.

She made a slow circle around the shop, arms folded over a powder-blue cardigan, eyes scanning everything like she was conducting an inspection. She paused to lift a throw pillow, then turned it over like she might find contraband underneath.

“Can I help you?” you asked as warmly as you could manage.

Her gaze snapped to yours. “Just looking. I used to come in here all the time. Knew Jack. Shame about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “He was… something else.”

“I’m Lorraine Whitmore,” she offered, like it was a name with weight. “I run the florist shop across the street.”

Ah. That explained the faint smell of roses and the air of neighborhood dominance.

“Nice to meet you. I’m-”

“Oh, I know who you are,” she cut in, smiling without teeth. “Everyone does by now. You’re the niece. Took over the shop. Drinks tea with honey instead of coffee. Wants to paint the walls. Trying to do things ‘your way.’”

You blinked. “Wow. I guess small-town gossip really does move faster than FedEx.”

She chuckled primly, then lowered her voice like she was handing over classified intel. “Word of advice, dear. Don’t go getting too comfortable too fast.”

You arched a brow. “Excuse me?”

“There are certain… rhythms in this town. People who’ve been here a long time. Things work better when you don’t try to change too much.”

Ah. There it was.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said coolly, gesturing toward the counter. “Can I get you anything?”

She waved a hand like she was above such things. “I’m off caffeine until the afternoon. But I’ll be back. Just wanted to see what the new girl looked like.”

And with that, she breezed out, leaving behind a trail of floral perfume and passive aggression.

Callie peeked out from the kitchen with a half-eaten brownie in her hand. “Was that the Lorraine?”

“Apparently,” you sighed.

“She once wrote a review in the Hawkins Post so scathing it got the pharmacy shut down for a week.”

“I believe it.”

The rest of the day unfolded in a haze of orders and overheard conversations. You started learning faces, catching names. You learned that Mr. Hathaway always wanted his muffin warmed but not too warm, and that Piper, the high school art kid with six nose rings, tipped in stickers and weed gummies instead of cash.

You learned that your uncle had a running tab with the local music store, and that Grindhouse used to do open mic nights. You made a note to maybe bring those back, when the time felt right.

There was a lull. Not quiet exactly, just the kind of brief, midday breath where the espresso machine could rest and the speakers played something low and moody from the ‘90s. You sipped your tea and leaned your hips against the counter, letting the steam fan over your face as Callie restocked muffins in the display case with the speed and intensity of a bomb tech.

Then the bell jingled.

You didn’t even have to look up.

Lorraine Whitmore had a heel-click. A little stomp in her step like she was leading a parade and everyone else was just lucky to be on the sidewalk. She marched right in with a massive patent leather tote, designer sunglasses (indoors, of course), and a notepad tucked under one arm like she was preparing to audit your soul.

“Good afternoon,” she said like it was a formal address to the nation. “I’ll have an oat milk cappuccino, extra dry, no foam, half a shot of espresso, two pumps sugar-free vanilla. And do you happen to have a gluten-free turkey sandwich on multigrain?”

You blinked. “We have turkey. We have multigrain. It… might have gluten.”

She pursed her lips like you’d just insulted her bloodline.

“Fine. I suppose I’ll survive. But no tomato. And could you cut it diagonally?”

You exchanged a look with Callie, who mouthed run and disappeared into the back, absolutely no help whatsoever.

You rang Lorraine up, prepared her beverage exactly as specified, while wondering what exactly makes a cappuccino “extra dry” and handed it off with the kind of tight-lipped smile reserved for tax season.

She didn’t leave.

Instead, she chose the seat farthest from the register and closest to the large window, facing out, so she could keep an eye on both the street and the shop. She set her bag beside her like a precious artifact and pulled out a legal pad. No laptop. Just pen and paper and the occasional squint over her glasses toward the counter.

You’d bet your last jar of lavender honey she hadn’t written anything on that pad in the last fifteen minutes, it was just an excuse to loiter and be nosy.

She was very nosy. And not even subtle about it. The kind of woman who heard footsteps and peeked through blinds. The kind who probably used the phrase “mark my words” in regular conversation.

You ignored her as best you could. Wiped down the already-clean counter. Rearranged the pastry display. Pretended not to notice her watching you like you were about to commit a crime against decorative shelving.

Then the bell rang again.

This time you did look up.

Boots first. Heavy ones, scuffed and grease-slicked around the soles. Then jeans, black, torn at the knee, and worn in the way that said earned, not bought that way. There was a slight hitch in his gait, barely noticeable unless you were looking, but you were. He had a slight half-limp, like an old injury had never quite stopped whispering to him.

Then rings, lots of them, flashing across long fingers as he pushed the door open. Tattoos curled around his knuckles and up his forearms, and disappeared under the sleeves of a black band tee so faded you couldn’t read the logo anymore. His flannel was open and rolled to the elbows. Oil stains on the hem. A chain on his belt hanging and connected to his jeans. Black sunglasses tucked into his collar.

His hair was a mess of warm brown curls pulled into a low bun at the base of his neck, with strands breaking free to frame his face in a way that shouldn’t have worked, but absolutely did. His jaw was sharp, shadowed in stubble, and his eyes scanned the place with casual disinterest, until they landed on you.

You didn’t smile.

You just watched him.

And he watched you back, slow and easy, one corner of his mouth pulling into a cocky half-smirk like he’d already decided something about you and wasn’t planning to share.

He approached the counter, dragging his fingers along it like he was checking the grain of the wood.

“You new?” he asked, voice low and rough, the kind of rasp that came from years of yelling over engines and bad music.

“That obvious?” you replied, deadpan.

He chuckled, short and smug. “Only people still trying are the new ones.”

You raised a brow. “Trying?”

He leaned in slightly, propping an elbow on the counter. “To clean. To make things pretty. To make the menu legible.” His eyes flicked toward the chalkboard you’d been reorganizing. “Locals don’t even read it anymore. They just order the same thing every day.”

“And what’s your usual?”

“Black coffee,” he said. “No sugar. No bullshit.”

Of course it was.

You moved to prep it without a word, already clocking the way his gaze lingered, not in a leering way, just… observant. Like he was cataloging something.

When you handed him the mug, he wrapped one hand around it like he hadn’t touched warmth all day.

“Thanks,” he said, then added with a cocked head, “You got a name, or should I keep calling you ‘New Girl’ in my head?”

You gave him your name, and he repeated it slowly, like he was trying it on for size.

“Eddie,” he said in return, with a grin that could’ve melted the wax off a bar candle. “Munson. Garage is a block down. If your car ever starts making a noise like a dying goose, that’s me.”

“Oh, I’ll call you right away, then,” you said dryly. “Love a man who knows his geese.”

He snorted into his coffee, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You got jokes. Not sure if that’s brave or reckless.”

You shrugged. “You got dirt under your nails and a hole in your jeans. Not sure if that’s charming or contagious.”

He laughed, loud and unbothered, and leaned back just slightly to size you up.

Lorraine very audibly turned a page on her untouched legal pad.

Neither of you looked at her.

But you both knew she was listening. Hard.

Eddie took a long sip of his coffee, still watching you over the rim of his mug like you were something interesting to study under good lighting.

Then he said, “So. What are you doing later?”

And just like that, your day got a hell of a lot more interesting.

You didn’t answer right away.

Not because you didn’t have one, but because you liked the way he looked when he thought he might’ve said too much.

“I’ve got plans later,” you said eventually, voice smooth and even. “But thanks for the offer.”

Eddie didn’t flinch. Didn’t pout or scoff or do anything dramatic. He just nodded slowly and leaned back a little, like he was reassessing, lips twitching at the corners.

“Oh yeah?” he asked. “What kind of plans? Hot date with a spreadsheet? Netflix and lemon-scented mop water?”

You tilted your head. “Dinner with a box of off-brand macaroni and a YouTube tutorial on unclogging industrial sink traps.”

He laughed again, like he couldn’t help it, and tapped the counter twice like you’d just scored a point.

“Okay, yeah, that’s hot,” he said. “Not gonna lie.”

“You sure you can handle that kind of commitment?” you teased. “I mean, things might get serious if I upgrade to elbow pasta.”

Eddie’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I like things serious. When they’re fun.”

You hummed noncommittally, but your smile was giving you away. There was a flutter in your chest that hadn’t been there this morning, a kind of stupid hope, if you were honest. But you weren’t going to toss it all at him like confetti.

Still, you didn’t want him to leave thinking it meant nothing. Because it hadn’t meant nothing.

“Some other time, maybe,” you said casually, wiping a spot on the counter that didn’t need it.

Eddie caught it. You knew he did. That little hitch in your tone, the crack in the cool.

He grinned like he’d won something.

“Good,” he said. “Would’ve hated to leave here thinking you didn’t want me to ask again.”

You scoffed softly. “You don’t seem like the type who needs permission to do anything.”

He drained the rest of his coffee like it was holy water, then reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a beat-up leather wallet. He slid a business card across the counter with two fingers, oil-smudged on the edge, but still perfectly legible.

Munson Auto. “If it makes a noise, I can fix it.”

Scrawled in dark ink below the official shop number was a second number. He tapped it twice, then met your eyes again.

“That’s my personal one,” he said, low and deliberate, with a wink that should’ve been illegal before 5 p.m. “You know. In case your sink trap doesn’t call you back.”

You stared at the card a second longer than you meant to, then slipped it into your apron pocket without a word.

Eddie pushed off the counter with one palm, gave you a lazy salute with two fingers, and backed toward the door with that same slight limp and a grin that practically had its own ZIP code.

Then he was gone.

And before you could even breathe, there was a theatrical clearing of a throat from the far corner of the shop.

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“I see you’ve met Hawkins’ resident heartbreaker,” Lorraine said, standing from her table with her half-eaten sandwich in tow. “He comes in like that on purpose, you know. Dirty boots, tattoos, all that attitude, it’s a performance. And it works. Every time.”

You raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, waiting for the rest.

“He’s not the settling down type,” she went on, adjusting her tote strap and lifting her chin like she was about to drop life-altering wisdom. “Drives fast, talks faster. He’s charming until he gets what he wants, and then he disappears, just like his father. There’s a reason his little black book is more like a trilogy.”

You blinked at her. “Sounds like you know from experience.”

Lorraine narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, dear. You seem smart. Would be a shame to see you dragged through the same story as the rest of them.”

With that, she grabbed her bag and her judgment and left, heels clicking all the way to the door.

You stood there a moment, letting the words hang in the air like smoke from a burnt espresso shot.

Then you rolled your eyes, pulled Eddie’s card from your pocket, and stared at it.

It didn’t feel like nothing.

But you weren’t about to let some nosy town watch captain ruin your afternoon.

So you tucked it away, deep in the little zip pouch behind the register, and got back to work.

Whatever this thing was? You’d figure it out later. For now, there was tea to steep. Coffee to brew. Music to change. And a damn good smirk to pretend you hadn’t been thinking about ever since it walked out the door without paying.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two: "Morning Regular"

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list! @justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne, @daveythorntonslocker, @cokepowder55, @kelsiegrin, @ash-stardust, @meankenna, @kellsck, @chronicles-of-koystee, @micheledawn1975, @fckyeahlames, @cantstandya2000, @totallysocially

Masterlist

[klausysworld]

Come Over

Summary: From an innocent text to a provocative photo to nights in my bed, it’s impossible to stay away but too hard to give in.

It was impossible not to want that man. His voice, his accent, his hair, his pretty face, the little moles on his skin, the stubble of his cheeks, the length of his body, the roughness of his hands...

And he fucking knew it.

I'd catch one glimpse of those eyes and I felt as though he'd already fucked me twice over. My cheeks would heat up, my heart pounding and It was even worse knowing that he could hear me, smell me, taste me with those stupid super senes of his.

It wasn't right, he was hurting people in my life, being a real threat to our lives and yet I was imagining being beneath him, on top of him, any fucking position he wants. But it's his fault. He was the one who stalked for my phone number and he was the one who sent the first photo.

Nothing too provocative to start off with just him in bed, clearly shirtless but nothing revealing. So I sent one back, just my face half hidden by my duvet. I wasn't sure where it was going.

~I don't even get to see your pretty face? The text was innocent enough so I sent a slightly pouty, faux annoyed snap of my face.

-Better? I questioned, tugging the covers back up and nervously watching the three dots.

~Much better, Love. Which was swiftly followed by another selfie, his whole naked chest on display with a slight peak at his abs. The shadows were perfectly placed. I could imagine my fingers tracing over him, my tongue trailing.

In response I tugged my top a little so my cleavage was just visible before fixing the angle and, with a shaky thumb, clicked send. He opened it immediately and within seconds a full view of his abdomen was sent, his adonis belt defines and pointing down to the teasing line of hair sneaking beneath the waist band of his sweatpants. I felt my stomach flutter, my thighs clench slightly as I sat up a little. My fingers curled into the bottom of my shirt, considering taking it off for him.

I must've spent too long contemplating because he was typing before I could even consider it.

~Too much? I wanted to say no and send him something worth his while but the nerves were too much. I didn't want him using anything against me and I knew that he wouldn't deep down but that underlying fear was there.

-I have to go to sleep, I'm sorry. I messaged before clicking my phone off and hiding beneath the covers as if he could still see me. I squeezed my eyes closed, digging my nails into my palms to ground myself.

By the time I woke up it was late morning and I hesitantly opened the unread texts.

~Don't be sorry. ~I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable ~Good night, love. ❤️

They made my stomach clench slightly as I read them.

-You made me nervous is all. Sorry for rushing off, it was childish of me.

I didn't expect a response so quick but it seemed he was already on his phone.

~You're not childish, I understand. ~Have a good day my love.

-You too

I got a photo later in the day of him with bloodied and bruised Damon making me suppress a small laugh at the pissed off expression on Damon's face.

-Is this what you do for fun? I asked with a smile on my lips.

~No, I talk to you for fun. I do this out of necessity.

-So I'm just a bit of fun then? It was a tease mostly but I wanted to push it.

~I enjoy talking to you. It's more than fun

-Mhm. If you say so.

Later in the evening I was sent a photo of his food with a blood bag on the side so I sent a photo of myself with my nose scrunched up as if disgusted.

-Yuck

~Perhaps it's just juice, can't hate it if you haven't tried it He replied making me roll my eyes.

-How would i have ever tried blood??

~You can try mine The answer made my stomach flip and I could almost hear the way the words would roll off his lips. It was teasing and yet somehow I knew he was completely serious at the same time.

~So long as I can try yours of course.

That made my mouth go dry. It was worse that I'd imagined, fantasised about what he was suggesting. Sometimes I wondered if he could see into my mind and knew exactly what to say to get me nervous.

-Kinky

I replied, suppressing a smile as it went through.

~Always.

Klaus proved to be completely shameless all of the time, confident beyond handling. It was undeniably attractive and it made my head spin daily. And the photos were killing me.

Once he knew I liked them that was the end for me.

His body was engraved into my mind, the soft shine to his skin, the happy trail that always dragged my attention south. The beautiful v-line showing me exactly where to look. Occasionally I got a glimpse of the bulge against his sweatpants, just the outline made my skin heat up. It wasn't long before I'd sent back photos of myself in my underwear, mostly in the mirror but sometimes if he knew I was in bed he'd tease me for it.

~Quit jumping up to get to that mirror, love. Show me how you are now.

So I did. Sat up against my pillows with my lace bra on display for him. He was always quick with a complement before a photo of his hand cupping himself through the fabric of his pants.

~You should come over, my love.

He'd tell me and I'd feel my thighs clench involuntarily.

-Why should I come to you?

~I'm more than happy to be invited into your home if you'd prefer that

I'd roll my eyes almost playfully as if he could see me and send another photo of my body, my panties the main focus and my fingers just touching the top of the lace.

~Quit teasing

He'd message before sending the photo that sent me over the end. His cock in hand, thick, veiny, just beautifully perfect and he knew it. I could just stare at it for hours.

~I want you baby.

And that did me in really.

-Come over?

And he did, he always did.

On the doorstep with a lone flower in his hand as if he hadn't charmed me enough. "Well I couldn't turn up empty handed now could I?" He'd murmur with that stupid grin on his face as his hands found my hips and guided me backwards. Sometimes it felt like he knew my house better than I did. He'd always let me knock into something whether it be the couch, a table or a countertop so that he could lift me up and have me in his grasp.

Too many times we ended up knocking a glass off the kitchen side, making me jump and him groan as my mouth left his.

"I'll tidy it in the morning." He'd mumble, trying to pull me back to him. "I'll carry you over it so your little toes don't get hurt."

"Klaus..." I'd sigh and he'd huff.

Maybe in some ways it was an excuse not to sleep with him. Not because I didn't want him, that wasn’t possible, but because I was just so anxious to. He was proud and confident and rightly so. He was...impressive from what I'd seen and I wasn't so sure what to do with him.

So we usually just ended up making out, a lot. It was like his tongue would fuck my mouth as if to encourage me to see what the rest of him could do.

Sometimes he'd get his hands between my thumbs, his thumb stroking the fabric of my underwear and making me gasp but he wouldn't let me leave the kiss. As soon as he managed to hood a finger round my panties I knew I wouldn't be moving, his fingers would be sliding through my folds, curling into me until I couldn't breathe.

"You're so sensitive..." He'd whisper, his words almost sharp like a tickle against my skin. I could feel my body struggling, my thighs shaking and my eyes watering.

"Klaus-" I whined and he kissed the side of my neck, everything he did was encouraging, pushing me to the point of no return.

"Don't beg me, love. Just come for me." And I just couldn't fucking help it.

By the time I got down from the counter my legs were useless and he was carrying me upstairs anyways. "See now, if you let me use something other than my fingers you'd be even more of a mess than you are right now." He's tease as I was tucked to his body, my head against his neck and my legs hanging from his arm as we got to my room. "What happened to all that confidence with those sexy little photos hm?" He questioned, his tone kept light but I knew he was getting frustrated, sexually that is.

"I'm sorry." I'd whisper as he led me down and his features would soften. A kiss would be pressed to my forehead instead of my lips and his hand would pet my hair.

"Don't be. I shouldn't push...nor complain, you're perfect."

Klaus had a way about him that always made me want him.

I was too nervous to do what we both wanted, what we needed, but I started using my hands beneath the covers. He'd lay on his back or facing me, his arm around me and his face resting against the top of my head as soft little breaths left him.

"That's it my love, you're doing it so well." He'd praise, his hands gripping at my skin, my sheets, anything he could grab.

"Like that?"

"Yes- just like that."

Just watching him fall a part, let alone feeling it and hearing it was enough to make me want more. His mouth would latch onto mine to muffle any sounds from him when his hips would move my their own command. It was when he pulled the covers back and I could see him in all his glory. Even when he was spent and soft again it made my stomach drop.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost, love." He'd tease, his voice rough but his gaze was soft. "I wouldn't hurt you." The words always sounded like a declaration.

"I know" I'd always whisper back, settling my head back down onto his chest.

It was strange how comfortable I was over the phone but how anxious I was in person. As soon as he was in reach I felt like my heart would jump out of my chest. But I knew he wouldn't let that happen.

Some nights he'd fall asleep listening to my heart beat, his fingers tapping to the rhythm as he drifted off. I was starting to feel more and more and it was getting scarier and scarier.

Klaus isn't someone I'm allowed, not someone I should yearn for. He'd hurt so many, killed and tortured and yet one text was all it took.

[strangererotica]

⋆˚✿˖° EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI ⋆˚✿˖°

Jim Hopper x Reader

Soft dom!Hopper just wants to enjoy his newspaper, but you keep pestering him for sex… 😏 Dry humping, thigh riding, p in v, rough oral, throat pie

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“You need to get off so bad-,” Hopper grumbles dismissively. “-You can hump my thigh.” He glances at you over his newspaper. “Somethin’ tells me you’re desperate enough to do it, too.” He shifts down in his chair and pats his lap, offering you a seat. “Take it or leave it, kid,” he mumbles. “Cause it’s all you’re gonna get.”

You scowl at Hopper as he disappears behind his paper again. Frustratingly, he’s absolutely right about you (as he usually is). You are desperate enough to settle for Hopper’s thigh right now, even though his dick is what you’re really after. He doesn’t need to see you to know you’re approaching, or that there’s a look of frustration on your face. Hopper grunts a little at the pressure when you settle over his thigh. He adjusts himself and his hand accidentally grazes your hip; his eyes snag yours over the paper. “You’re not wearing panties,” Hopper says, momentarily distracted. “Must’ve been so sure I’d drop everything ‘n fuck you-.” He chuckles. “-That’s cute-.”

“-Shut up.”

Hopper’s eyebrows lift in surprise. He raises his hands, feigning surrender: “Easy, officer. Take what you need.”

And you do. With your arms wrapped snugly around Hopper’s waist, you cage his left thigh between yours. Crinkles form beside your eyes as they squeeze shut, your focus intent on satisfying the ache between your legs.

Against your knee, you feel Hopper’s cock stiffening. He grunts now and then behind his paper, still ignoring you while he lets you use him. Witnessing you in such a desperate state is exciting Hopper in ways he didn’t expect. Denying you the thing you want most is a power trip, and knowing you crave his cock that badly makes Hopper feel powerful.

He bounces his leg under you and chuckles when you gasp in response. “No fair,” you pant. “You werent supposed to-ungh-you aren’t supposed-.”

“-Since when do you tell me what to do?” Hopper counters gently, but firmly. Your slippery cunt glides back and forth in the slick patch you’ve made on Hopper’s thigh. He folds his paper and lets it land on the floor by his chair. Big, warm hands slide up your body, cupping the bouncing globes of your breasts. Your nipples perk against Hopper’s palms. He kneads the soft flesh of your tits and works his way down to your hips, groping you as his erection swells against your leg.

He lifts you slightly and shifts so his cock is lodged between your thighs, strained beneath the zipper of his jeans. You moan softly into Hopper’s shoulder as his hands slip under your ass, helping you grind against him. His chest dips in a deep exhale as the impact of your bouncing nudges his tip. Hopper decides he’s had enough of letting you dry hump him; he needs to feel how wet you are. With an impatient grunt, Hopper shifts you back onto his thigh and hurriedly fumbles his jeans undone. After a quick adjustment, his cock is in his hand, standing tall and thick with a large bead of precum glistening at the tip. He bounces you up again- “Get on,” Hopper grunts- and you sit your cunt on top of him, your sticky lips spread apart as you sink over his tip.

You descend onto Hopper slowly, swallowing him inch by inch till your pubic hair is indistinguishable from his. He reaches around and grabs a handful of your hair, locking you in place while bucking up into you. The punch of Hopper’s fat cock lands heavy between your walls, his weighty balls smacking your ass at the end of every thrust. He yanks your head back so your chin is tilted to the ceiling and his mouth seizes your neck in a series of hard, sucking kisses. Little red marks trail down your shoulders in the wake of Hopper’s assault while his cock bullies your cunt into obedience. Sweat beads in his hairline, his sharp eyes heavy-lidded but focused. He watches your tits bounce between his body and yours, the stiff peaks of your nipples rubbing through the fabric of his shirt.

The ceiling goes in and out of focus as a powerful climax seizes you. Hopper tightens his grip around you while your body bucks and jerks, but he never eases his thrusts. Pumping you up and down on his cock like a sleeve, Hopper forces you to endure every brutal, beautiful moment of your orgasm at full force, stroking your walls relentlessly as they suck and convulse around him. “Go on,” he orders you, his palm smacking a firm warning against your ass. “You wanted this cock so bad-show me you earned it.” Hopper’s stomach tenses against yours as you bounce on top of him, his skin moist with sweat and your cum smeared against it. He clutches your tit in his palm while his other hand holds you steady at the hip, squeezing and kneading the warm, pliant flesh he owns. You snap and lurch into Hopper’s body, convulsing around him like something possessed. He’s broad and strong enough to withstand the assault as you lose control, spasming in his arms, his name broken as it tumbles from your lips.

Hopper abruptly lifts you off of him, grumbling something about how he isn’t done with you yet. He plants your spent body on the ground, positioning you how he wants you on your knees. With one hand locked in your hair, Hopper guides your slaw jaw around his cock, coated slick and shiny in your cum. Your throat spreads around the pressure of Hopper’s cock, his veiny shaft heavy on your tongue as he strokes in and out of you. His balls are wet with your cum covering them; they slap sticky and warm against your chin as Hopper bottoms out inside your throat.

Ugly choking sounds gurgle up your throat as the muscles reject Hopper’s girth. He holds your head in place, forcing your nose against the wiry hair of his bush as you struggle to take in air around his cock. Saliva leaks from the cracked corners of your lips; your eyes roll back and tears stream down your cheeks. Hopper releases your throat and when you pull off his cock, thick lines of spit and bubbles spill from your lips as you retch and cough. Hopper barely lets you catch your breath before he’s pulling you back onto his cock, pumping your throat in wet, frenetic thrusts. Frothy saliva belches from your lips around Hopper’s cock and spatters down his balls as he plunges your throat, again and again till you have to tap out. Smacking his thigh, you let Hopper know you can’t take anymore and he releases your hair, watching as you lurch away and vomit a load of frothy spit and precum onto the floor. Hopper gives you a second to recover then hoists you by the hair back onto his cock, smacking your forehead against his stomach with every descent down your throat.

You feel lightheaded, your brain going soft as Hopper’s dominance pummels you into a space of total submission. You know your role; you know your place. It’s right here, with Hopper’s cock stuffing you, and there’s no other purpose for your existence beyond this moment. He owns you, and doesn’t need words to prove it. You’re well past the point of words by the time his cock is buried down your throat. Hopper’s balls slap your chin; they’re tight and full, so heavy and it’s your responsibility to empty them. Your eyes lazily drift up and you see the intense control in Hopper’s face, the way he’s fighting with everything he has to keep from erupting inside you, to make this moment last as long as possible.

But the grip of your throat is too good-you fit Hopper’s cock too perfectly. He can’t withhold his orgasm a second longer and he relinquishes control, his body submitting to its need. Hopper growls and curses over your head as he erupts against the back of your throat, spitting cum towards your stomach, his shaft milked again and again as your muscles rapidly contract. You choke on Hopper’s cum-there’s so much of it-loud gulping sounds gurgling up from your throat as you struggle to swallow all of his load.

He pulls you back and lets the rest drain out between your puffy, fucked-swollen lips. A frothy foam of semen and spit splatter the floor in front of you as you heave over it; Hopper reaches for a glass of water on a nearby table and wraps your fingers around it. You guzzle the cool liquid down, soothing your throat. Hopper stands over you where you’re curled up on the floor, putting his dick away and zipping his jeans. “You did good, baby,” he grins down at you, offering his hand. As raw as your throat feels right now, making Hopper proud is the only incentive you need to do it all over again.

He pulls you into his arms and holds you there, making sure you finish the glass of water. When his hands begin to wander lower, you spread your legs and let Hopper fondle your pussy. Wet, slick sounds trickle up from the space Hopper’s fingers are moving, massaging a messy pattern over your clit. He slips his fingers between your labia, spreading them apart as his middle finger hones in on the raised pebble of your clit. Your body jerks in his arms at the contact, your senses on fire. With the slightest provocation, Hopper knows he can have you coming again in seconds. He decides to sit with this power, knowing you know it, too. And as morning fades into afternoon, Hopper is finally able to finish reading his paper…while keeping his finger poised on your button, making sure you stay in line…

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[lottinlover]

Pins & Sins | Kylian Mbappé

Summary: Bowling in Miami was meant to be a simple day off. But with Kylian, even a game turns into foreplay. Playful teasing turns possessive, and before long, you’re back in his hotel room, proving that for him, winning isn’t just about the scoreboard. It’s about claiming you, every way he knows how.

Tags: 18+, Smut with Feelings, Shamless Smut, Porn Without Plot, Public Teasing, Foreplay, Hotel Room Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Quicke, Established Relationship, Possessive Behaviour, Kylian x Reader, Readers POV.

Word Count: 3500 ±

Author’s Note: Because Kylian posted a photo dump looking all sexy and hot. Thoughts spiralled, delusions diffused and fingers began typing. Here’s a quick and short Kylian x Reader that hopefully satisfies your cravings from those fine, FINE, photos.

Pins & Sins

The Miami afternoon barely seeps through the bowling alley windows, but the few creaks streak golden across the polished lanes. The air is filled with the muted clatter of pins and occasional bursts of laughter, the world reduced to soft music, sticky shoes, and the weight of small, ordinary joys.

Kylian steps forward, fluid and effortless. Even with the lingering illness coiling in his chest, he moves like there’s nothing in the world that could break him down. His cream knit polo hugs his arms just enough to reveal their sculpted hardness, veins twisting along his forearms as he lifts the ball, trousers draping low and loose on his hips. He exhales, bends his knees, releases. The ball glides down the lane with clean, vicious precision.

Strike.

Melissa cheers, clapping her hands above her head. Yaelle squeals, bouncing lightly on her heels. Billy gives a curt nod, lips twitching in quiet approval.

You watch him turn around, smile spreading wide and proud across his face. His eyes flicker to yours, glowing with boyish glee. 

God, he’s beautiful. 

In all his Dior neutrals, sun-tanned, deep brown skin aglow, hair brushed sharp and fluffed and forehead damp with leftover fever. The quiet ache of recovery remains in the heat of his cheeks, the sheen at his temples.

But he’s here. 

With you. 

Because he chose to be.

He catches you staring and his grin softens into something lazier, darker, “your turn,” he says.

You walk over and pick up a ball, fingers slipping into its weighty holes. Compared to the effortless grip in his large hands, it feels clumsy and oversized. You walk up to the lane, square your shoulders, swing back and release.

The ball veers off immediately, rolling into the gutter with a humiliating thunk.

Laughter erupts behind you, light and teasing. Heat blooms across your chest as you turn, catching Melissa’s sympathetic smile and Yaelle’s soft giggle. You shrug lightly, lips curling into a small, amused smirk. You’ve always been bad at bowling, it’s never embarrassed you. 

But that smirk on Kylian’s face, that infuriatingly gorgeous, cocky little twitch of his lips, dimples protruding, makes something tighten low in your belly. You want to wipe it off him, even though you find it insanely attractive. Even though you love when he looks at you like that. Teasing, amused, knowing exactly how he affects you.

“That was…” Kylian’s voice cuts through it all, low and amused, “tragic.”

You roll your eyes, shoulders tightening, “watch me next time.”

He’s already closing the distance before the sentence ends. His chest presses against your back, warm and unyielding. The smell of him, clean skin, musky Dior cologne, something sweet like vanilla and coconut from his lotion, wraps around you until the world shrinks down to his breath against your ear.

“I am watching,” he murmurs, voice coated in dark delight.

A shiver runs down your spine. He wraps his hand over yours, dwarfing it completely. His palm is hot, heavy, his long fingers veiny and strong as they adjust your grip on the ball. He does it slowly, deliberately, each movement designed to invade and claim. His other arm snakes around your waist to hold you steady, pressing you back into him.

You suck in a quiet, shaky breath when you feel him. Feel it. The soft, warm outline of his cock rests against your ass, thick even in its idleness. Your mind swims, body vibrating at the contact, the teasing promise of him already setting your nerves alight.

“Relax your wrist…” He whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. His words rumble low, heavy with unspoken ownership. “…good girl.”

You swallow, throat tight, eyes fixed blankly at the pins ahead but seeing nothing except his reflection burned behind your eyelids. You feel his smile creep slow and dangerous against your neck, the silent knowledge that he feels your pulse flutter under your skin.

“Leave her alone, Monsieur Pro Athlete,” Melissa calls out from behind, her voice tinged with affectionate exasperation.

Kylian doesn’t move away, his grip only tightens, slightly, as he smirks, never peeling his body from yours. “I’m just helping her.” He yells back.

Yaelle giggles again. Billy flicks his gaze up from his phone, expression blank, but there’s a quiet knowing in his eyes before he looks away.

You inhale, chest lifting into his hold, bowling ball suddenly feeling impossibly heavy in your small hand. Heavy, round, dense with force, nothing compared to the weight of him pressed into your lower back, silent and throbbing with intent. The thought sears down your body like lightning, pooling molten between your thighs.

You blink hard, trying to focus. But he leans in closer, nose skimming down the line of your throat, his breath sinking into your skin like heat. You almost feel a kiss, his lips skating dangerously close to you.

“Go on,” he murmurs, voice dark with a smile. “Show me what you’ve got.”

With his hand still wrapped around yours, he guides your arm back, his other hand flattening over your stomach to hold you steady, pressing you back into the hardness of his body. You can feel every part of him. The flex of his chest as he adjusts your posture, the warm puff of his breath against your ear, the heavy, thick outline of his cock resting against your ass.

God, he makes it unbearable.

“I said relax your wrist… step forward as you release,” Kylian whispers, still oozing command, his lips grazing your earlobe, sending another shiver rippling down your spine.

You obey, body following his commands. The ball rolls down the lane in a straight line this time, clipping the standing pins and sending them clattering down in a victorious scatter.

A spare.

The cheers erupt behind you. Melissa clapping loudly, Yaelle squealing your name, Billy letting out a quiet approving hum. A small laugh bubbles out of your chest, pride mixing with dizzy relief. But before you can fully celebrate, his mouth is at your ear again, voice soaked in lazy, possessive delight.

“Good girl,” he purrs, low and intimate, only for you to hear. “Looks like you’re finally learning to take direction.”

“Oh, you’re being bad today.” You whisper back, sharing the same hunger in your eyes as his.

Still, pink flushes your cheeks, pooling under your skin in liquid waves as you turn away from his dark gaze and walk back towards the seats. He follows close behind. As you bend to sit, his hand is suddenly there, sliding under you, palm cupping your ass as you lower yourself onto him.

You gasp, eyes wide as they dart to his, your body stiffening at the sudden, filthy intimacy, then softening at the familiar touch. His smirk is slow and triumphant, eyes gleaming with dark amusement as his fingers squeeze, sinking into the soft flesh possessively.

Kylian leans in, his breath warm against your ear, voice a quiet rumble that curls low in your belly. “Careful, ma belle,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your inner thigh teasingly. “Winning turns me on… I might need to fuck my trophy later.”

Your breath hitches sharply, thighs clenching around nothing as his words sear through you, setting every nerve alight with frantic, desperate want.

Kylian pulls back casually, arm resting behind your seat now, expression lazy and innocent as if he hadn’t just promised to ruin you.

The last frame ends with a flick of his wrist and the thunderous collapse of pins. 

Another strike. 

Another perfect victory.

Kylian turns with that trademark grin, dimples settling deep into his cheeks. He lifts his hands, yelling for Melissa to capture a picture of him under the scoreboard. Melissa snorts with phone in hand, snapping a picture, Yaelle claps and cheers. Even Billy cracks a rare smile, shaking his head at the scoreboard glowing bright above the lanes.

KYKS – 139.

He walks over to you, chest still glowing with leftover exertion. His beige polo clings slightly to his collarbones, sweat darkening the delicate fabric. You hate how beautiful he looks like this. Flushed, loose, triumphant. 

“So proud of yourself, huh?” You tease, voice curling with fake annoyance.

“Always,” he murmurs, eyes roaming slowly over your navy sundress, lingering on the tight cinch around your waist and the way the neckline dips low against your collarbones, teasing your breast that sit pretty. “Winning’s in my blood.”

He leans in as he says it, whisper brushing your cheek, the low baritone of his voice vibrating deep into your bones. You swallow, eyes flicking up to meet his. The look he gives you is heavy, molten, his pupils blown wide with want.

The car ride back to the hotel is torture.

Miami’s heat melts into the windows, pink-orange light bleeding into the SUV’s leather interior. The AC is soft, scented faintly with vanilla and something musky that reminds you of his cologne. Melissa and Yaelle are giggling quietly in the back row, scrolling through photos from the day. Billy sits up front, attention half on the road, half on his phone.

Kylian sits beside you in the middle row, legs spread wide, chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm. His hand drapes heavy on your thigh, thumb tracing absentminded circles against your inner skin. The hem of your sundress rides up slightly, exposing the smooth stretch of your upper thigh to his touch.

He doesn’t look at you at first, eyes fixed out the tinted window at the palm trees swaying under the scorching Miami heat. But then his thumb drags higher and higher and higher, until it’s brushing the edge of your panties. You shift in your seat, biting back a gasp. His lips twitch, that dimple flashing briefly before his gaze finally flicks to yours.

“You were cute today,” he says softly, only for you to hear. The tone is dripping in honey but coated in harmless mockery. His eyes fall to your lips, then back up again, dark and gleaming. “Helpless.”

Your breath catches. Your chest tightens with want, skin prickling hot under the humid Miami air. But instead of shying away, you shift again, deliberately this time, turning slightly towards him. Your hand moves slowly, raking up his thigh, nails digging lightly into the soft beige fabric of his trousers, feeling the tense clench of muscle beneath.

He inhales sharply, a quiet hitch in his breath that makes your lips move into a small, knowing smile. Your fingers slide higher, bolder now, until your palm cups over his cock, feeling the heavy, warm outline of him through his trousers, soft still, but swelling quickly under your touch.

“Helpless, huh?” You murmur softly, your thumb stroking along his length with featherlight teasing, feeling him twitch beneath your touch. You lean closer, lips brushing his ear, your voice dipped in playful confidence. “Funny, because right now… you feel pretty fucking needy to me.”

His exhale is ragged, jaw clenching as his eyes darken, heavy with silent warning and lust. You keep your hand there, cupping him possessively as the car slows under the hotel’s grand entrance. Fans flashes flicker distantly outside the tinted windows, voices muffled by the closed doors.

He smirks then, slow and dangerous, eyes flicking down to your hand still gripping his cock. His own hand slides back to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp quietly, heat exploding low in your belly.

“You’re driving me crazy in this cute dress,” he murmurs, voice low and guttural, heavy with promise. “I need you. Upstairs. Now.”

The lobby is quiet, cool, vibrating with marble echo. You stand beside him in the lift, the mirrored walls reflecting every angle. Like his broad shoulders towering beside you, your dress hugging every curve under the dim orange light. The seconds stretch, each floor number lighting up in silent sequence.

When the doors slide closed, he moves. Swift and unrelenting.

He presses you back against the lift wall, his body crowding yours until all you feel is him. His heat, his scent, the tension rolling off him in waves. One large hand grips your hip, fingers digging into your flesh possessively. The other snakes behind you, lifting up your dress and gripping your ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

His eyes are half-lidded, thick lashes kissing flushed cheekbones. Sweat from bowling still clings to his hairline, the coils tightening in the moisture. He leans down, lips ghosting over yours without touching.

“You want it?” He breathes, words lazy, soaked in dominance. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, smearing your gloss, smirking when your mouth falls open slightly in silent plea.

He rolls his hips into yours, and you feel it. God, you love it. The heavy, thick outline of his cock, pressing into your stomach, half-hard but promising. 

You nod, “I need it,” you mutter, biting down on your lip to swallow the whimper that wants to escape. Your knees feel weak. Your body hums with hot, feverish anticipation.

The lift dings open.

He pulls back, just enough to let cool air slip between your bodies. His smirk widens, eyes gleaming with silent victory. He takes your hand firmly in his, leading you out of the lift into the quiet corridor, not sparing you a single glance as he walks.

But his thumb rubs slow, deliberate circles against your wrist as he holds it, a silent foreshadowing of what’s to come.

The door clicks shut behind you, the quiet snick swallowed instantly by the thrum of your heart pounding in your ears. Before you can take a breath, he’s already there, all heat and mass and hunger, crowding you back against the door, palms slamming flat on either side of your head.

His eyes rake over you, dark and molten, jaw twitching with silent restraint. The polo stretches across his shoulders as his chest heaves, each breath heavy and deliberate, nostrils flaring as he takes you in.

You're flushed, from the heat maybe, from Kylian’s stare definitely. His gaze is intense, trembling, and your dress straps slipping off one shoulder, pupils blown wide with wanting.

“Turn around,” he murmurs, voice low and ragged.

You obey instantly, front pressing flat to the cool wood, the curve of your ass brushing against the front of his trousers. His hands snake around your waist, slipping up, fingers hooking under your sundress straps and dragging them down, exposing your breasts. They bounce, giggle and the cool hotel air hits them hard, perking your nipples 

A strangled gasp escapes your lips when his hands cup you, squeezing hard, thumbs brushing over your perked nipples with measured pressure. He pulls them, twirls, anything to stimulate and moans come from you. His mouth finds your neck next, open and hot, teeth scraping over your pulse before he sucks, slow and deep, marking you. You moan softly again, head falling back against his shoulder, allowing more space for his tongue to run rouge. 

“Fuck… Ky-Kylian…” You breathe, voice breaking on his name.

He growls at that, the sound vibrating through your skin and straight down to your pussy. One hand leaves your breast to shove his trousers down just enough to free his cock. You twist slightly, enough to catch sight of it. It’s thick, caramel macchiato type colourway, with a darkening gradient as it slopes closer to his balls. He’s leaking, the tip gleaming with precum and veins pulsing along the shaft.

Without thinking, driven by instinct and heat, you reach back to wrap your fingers around him. He hisses, forehead dropping to your shoulder, a gentle bite there as your grip tightens, thumb smearing his precum down his length. He twitches in your hand, impossibly hard, heavy and burning hot against your palm.

He turns your head more, captures your mouth in a bruising kiss. It’s deep, filthy, tongue curling into yours with dominance. He sucks your tongue into his mouth before biting down gently on your bottom lip, pulling back with a quiet groan.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He rasps, his free hand squeezing your throat lightly, forcing you to hold his gaze better.

“Anything for my winner,” you breathe, voice soaked in devotion and teasing pride, meeting his deep glare.

He groans, low and animalistic, the sound vibrating down your spine, “fuck… bend over the bed. Quick!”

He steps back, the weight of him no longer pressed against you, it leaves space for you to stumble forward, thighs trembling, knees weak with anticipation. The sundress pools around your waist, tits wild and free, panties clinging damp between your thighs. He follows you closely behind, a hunger in his breath. And as you kneel on all fours at the edge of the bed, you feel the brush of his fingers, rough and needy, as he slides your panties to the side, too lazy to undress you, too hungry to wait for his meal bare and open. Cool air hits your dripping pussy and you shiver, moaning softly.

He sinks to his knees behind you without a word, hands spreading your cheeks apart. His breath fans over your soaking folds, hot and heavy. And then his tongue is on you, bold and greedy, licking a long stripe from your dripping entrance up to your clit.

"You taste so fucking sweet," He moans, tongue circling your clit with tight route, with ruthless precision before sucking it all into his mouth.

“Fuck–Kylian,” you whimper, your hands clawing at the bed sheets, head dropping as he devours you like you're his favourite meal.

He groans into your pussy, loud and greedy, the vibrations shooting through your entire body. His tongue thrusts inside you, fucking you with wet, filthy sounds echoing in the quiet room, his fingers bruising into your ass as he holds you open for him.

When you’re trembling, hips bucking back into his face, he pulls away with a final, cruel flick of his tongue. You sob at the loss, knees almost giving out.

“Perk it up for,” he orders, voice dripping with command.

You obey, slanting down your chest, letting your arch perfect as your ass hovers high in the air for him to see your beauty in high definition. He stands, towering behind you, one hand fisting the base of his cock, spreading your slick along his length. He lines up, drags the heavy length of his cock along your entrance and taps. 

Once.

Twice.

Again.

Then without warning, he thrusts in deep, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, delicious stroke.

Your scream tears through the air, muffled quickly as he wraps his hand over your mouth, leaning forward until his chest is pressed against your back, his cock pulsing inside you, stretching you wide and full.

“Shh… good girl. So fucking tight for me.” He groans into your ear, hips pulling back before he leans back and slams forward again with bone-shaking force. His other hand pushes aside your panties, placing it over the curve of your left cheek, freeing up more space for his cock to fully submerge into your wetness. 

Your vision blurs with tears of pleasure. Each thrust jerks you forward against the bed, his grip on your hip heated, keeping you in place as he fucks you with ruthless, unrelenting pace.

“Fuck me… fuck me,” you pant against his palm, each word broken by the slap of his hips against your ass.

He chuckles darkly, pulling your hair back so your vision tilts upside down, catching sight of his face. His brow furrowed, lips parted, sweat dripping down his temple, a crease of concentration between his brows, his tongue poking out slightly as he watches himself sink into you over and over again. He’s still fully dressed, trousers pooling at his ankle as he snaps into your. 

Harder each time. 

More angled.

“You like when I take you like this, huh?” He grits out, voice strained with effort and pleasure. “Can’t even bowl a ball but you take my cock so fucking well.”

His words send you spiralling. Your walls flutter around him, clenching impossibly tight as you feel it rising. Your eyes start to roll, the build up creeps and before you know it you’re hurling a loud moan. 

Your orgasm slams into you with violent, searing force. Your body convulses, hips stuttering, a broken moan ripping from your throat as your vision whites out. Your legs tremble barely mustering the strength to hold you up. 

Kylian feels you tighten around him, the rhythmic pulsing milking his cock. He groans low, deep, fucking you through your release before his thrusts grow sloppy. With a final, bruising snap of his hips, he buries himself deep, grinding as he spills inside you, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. He growls, riding his climax as you clench around him, the stimulation too dangerous to bare.

You collapse, arch faltering into the bed, chest heaving, thighs trembling uncontrollably. The pleasure leaves you hazy, dizzy, as if drugged by him and the Miami heat and the quiet intensity of his love disguised as possessiveness.

He stays inside you, leaning down to press his chest against your back. His hand fists your hair, tilting your head up again as his mouth finds yours in another messy kiss, the only way he likes it, sucking and mouthing at every inch of you. His tongue slides into your mouth, hot and heavy, tasting of you. He pulls back, a thin strand of spit connecting your tongues before it breaks, smearing across your lips.

He pulls his cock out slowly, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he watches his cum drip out of your swollen cunt.

“So pretty…” he breathes, voice thick with exhaustion and satisfaction. He strokes your hip gently where purple and red bruises bloom, the touch grounds you. “You did so good for me.”

You whimper softly, cheek pressed against the bed sheets, your body still shivering with aftershocks. Still slightly jerking from an explosion that set you ablaze. 

He lifts off you, standing now, tucking himself back into his briefs, then picking up his trousers, running a hand through his sweat-damp coils. He looks down at you with that victorious, lazy smirk, eyes half-lidded, chest still heaving. Different from the smirk from earlier on, this one is deeper, richer, with a purpose. 

As if fucking you rentlessly was always the win. 

“I’ve got training,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the base of your spine. Then trailing back up, smirking at how your body reacts in a shaking pants, still trying to catch up with reality. “Rest up, ma belle. We’ll play again tonight.”

And with that, he turns away, leaving you fucked-out and trembling, the scent of him lingering thick and hot in the air as the Miami sunset glows orange behind the hotel curtains.

Bowling had only been foreplay in the end, a simple reminder that with Kylian, winning wasn’t just in his blood.

It was in the way he claimed you too. 

Every time. 

Every way.

[spite-of-artemis]

Quick lil TADC timeline cuz hyperfixation

While we dont have much to go off for a lot of this, theres a few things that do lead to a rough timeline of events for when everyone got to the circus and how they got there. if ive gotten anything wrong or missed anything that goose has confirmed before then please correct me. also obv this is all mostly theories so might change with new episodes or based on how you interpret my proof. while i dont have any proof in universe for specific years i mention, ill be giving specific yearss for thematic reasons towards the end.

Sometime in the vauge past, though judging by the computer and kingers age id guess around late 90's, C&A creates The Amazing Digital Circus for... reasons. It is a virtual reality multiplayer game in which the helpful artificial inteligence of Caine creates fun short adventures for the players to go on. Something in this development goes wrong and during testing, 6 players are "trapped" within the game. Since Kinger has been in the circus the longest and has 7 years of computer science experience it makes sense he worked for C&A and was the first to enter the circus.

Kinger, his wife Queenie, and 4 others enter the circus in 2000, and sometime later Queenie is the first to abstract. I believe this happened before anyone in the main cast entered since the others didnt really seem to know about her.

Based on the crossed off doors weve seen at various points, we know of at least 12 players who have abstracted. Based on the trend of a new circus member entering when an abstraction happens, I believe that Queenie and 4 others all abstracted and were replaced with new players, the next player to abstract brings in Ragatha.

Ragatha enters sometime in the mid 00s early 10's, id guess around 06' 12' based on nothing but vibes. She mentions being in real estate and was possibly looking around the now defunct C&A building attempting to prep it for sale when she found the headset.

Slight weird idea, but i think it makes sense. Next to join the circus was Kaufmo. we know very little about kaufmo so hes here mostly because it just feels weird for him to have joined after jax and gangle did. he joins sometime around 09' 14'.

at this point in the timeline weve had Queenie and 6 unnamed players abstract, the most recent two having been replaced by ragatha and kaufmo. the circus currently consists of Kinger, Ragatha, Kaufmo, and 3 unnamed players.

2 of those players abstract fairly close together and are replaced by Jax and Ribbit. This happens sometime around 12' 2017 since jax makes the breaking bad refference in ep 5 and that didnt really have major success until it was added to netflix in 2011, along with his confirmed age. Jax and Ribbit likely went in together and knew each other outside the circus like Kinger and Queenie did, but after over a decade in the circus (plus seeing 9 abstractions already) Kinger has become unstable enough to not mention any similarities. Jax and Ribbit were very close.

Sometime later, ill say 15' 19', Ribbit abstracts and is replaced by Gangle, which seems to have deeply affected Jax. This likely caused his tail to fall off as that can happen to rabbits due to injury or trauma, alongside him symbolicly losing a part of himself with Ribbit. Based on his manerisms its also likely that he blames himself in some way for Ribbits abstraction, anger which he externalizes and takes out on Gangle

A few years later the last unnamed player is abstracted and replaced with Zooble, ill say sometime around 18' 22' for thematic reasons in the next point. We know Zooble enjoyed to look around abandoned buildings and likely found the headset inside the now very abandoned C&A building that Ragatha was attempting to sell.

Its now 2023 and our current cast is Kinger (in the circus for roughly 23 years), Ragatha, (~10 years), Kaufmo (~9 years), Jax (~6 years), Gangle (~4 years), and Zooble (~1 year). Queenie and 10 unnamed players have abstracted, many of them within the first 5 years of the circus first being created. its been roughly 5 years since the last abstraction, the longest period of "peace" since the circus first opened at the turn of the century. The abstractions are happening more frequently as the circus starts to break down.

Kaufmo then abstracts and is replaced by Pomni. She was exploring an abandoned building and found the headset, putting it on and finding herself in the digital circus. She tries to leave but its too late. Kaufmo has abstracted, and she is now trapped in his place.

To Pomni its meaningless, at least when compared to everything else going on. To Zooble its a coincidence that they both joined right as another abstracted. to Gangle its a pattern and another cause of anxiety. To Jax, its a sign that maybe it wasnt his fault, that he doesnt need to lash out any more. To Ragatha its another tradgey, another lost friend. And to Kinger, its another one who he hopes can find some peace and quiet inside the darkness of the Cellar, just like how Queenie found some peace and quiet inside their fort together.

I dont believe any of the main cast will properly abstract. theyll definitely get close for the sake of stakes and drama, but the circus seems to like having 6 cast members at a time.

okay ramble time now

ooo wow writing out this timeline was really fun for me, i absolutely love it tbh and it became way more then i was initially intending. my initial post was just gonna be "Kinger and Queenie joined first, then it went ragatha, jax and ribbit, gangle, zooble, pomni" and then it just kept growing as i looked through more of the wiki and everything kinda fell into place for me. this is definitely not the full extent of the theories i believe (saw someone say C&A could mean Caine and Abel and i love that. also love the trans jax truthers, idk if ill fully commit it to my headcanons, but i do appreciate yall) so i might make more scattered posts about theories and headcanons, but this is a good balance between every thought i have about this show and the barebones "what order they joined" timeline i initially planned to make.

[lilacprincess7]

can you do 11,12,16 from the fluff list about pedri 🩷

"Te quiero"

prompts: 'Reading a book together' x 'Using each other as pillow' x 'Kissing scars'

a/n: thank u anon! I loved writing this one

warnings: poorly proof-read if at all, I'll come back and fix it at some point though

It was one of your favorite days today. Why? Simply, Pedri didn't have training and you didn't have work. So it was a perfect day to stay in, cuddle, put on a movie, cook together, just take a breath and have a break from the outside world.

After the two of you took a quick morning shower, you returned to your bed for cuddles and to have a lazy morning. You had dialed the bakery down the road for breakfast so you didn't have to cook either. Right now, you had put your head against your lovers chest, his arm around your waist, his other hand rubbing circles against the skin of your thigh.

In the front of your knee, which he was touching right now, you had a pair of small scars. Nobody would ever notice them with how small they were as well as faded out. Pedri knew about them and how much they had hurt on a emotional level. When you were a teen you had torn your miniscus. It was a quite painful journey but you were strong enough to withstand it all.

Pedri always took his time when he caressed your knee, knowing how sensitive of a subject it was for you. He was always so sweet that it made you melt in his arms.

"Can I, hermosa?" he asked quietly while nodding towards your leg, to afraid to break whatever balanced silence enveloped the space between you.

You felt like your tongue was stuck in your throat from the emotions running through you. You ended up just nodding back. You felt his careful hands on your skin, slowly caressing the back of your knee, his thumb brushing against the tiny scar that was left from the painful experience.

He neared his face towards your leg easily, his lips leveled with your knee. Calmly, gently he touched his lips on your soft skin. He placed a kiss on each scar and looked up at your own eyes, his chocolate browns meeting your own pair.

It was a quality, a characteristic of his you wuld always love. How he was so soft, so attentive, so gentle and so kind towards you. Moments like this made you close to tell him that he was the love of your life secretly he felt it too.

A while passed. In his arms, time went by so easily, so quickly. When you were in his arms you wanted to stop the clock from running, stop the world from moving so fast, so ever-changing, so rough around the edges. It didn't matter, nothing did. When you were wrapped in his arms you felt safe, secure, protected, sacred. Everything seemed stopped and in slow motion at the same time. You could sit, wrapped in his arms for hours and you would always ask for more. And he would always give you more, wherever and whenever you asked.

Your stomach growled though and Pedri let a chuckle escape his soft lips.

"Is my baby hungry?" he asked as he turned towards you, his eyes meeting your own once again.

"Hmm a bit. But I don't wanna get up and make breakfast" you replied, burying yourself deeper into his embrance.

"Who said you would get up and make breakfast?"

"Oh guapoo, but I don't want you to get up either"

"Then... how about I order something from the bakery down the street, go to pick them up like super quick and we eat breakfat in bed?" Pedri asked

"Oh yes please!" you responded, your lips catching his own in a calm and gentle kiss.

Some time later, too late in your opinion, you were back in his arms. You were literally lying on top of him and he more than enjoyed it. He layed with you hair as you read a book from your endless 'to read' list.

"Hermosa, can you read out loud for me?" his voice rolling like silk of his tongue, like it always did when he was talking to you.

"You sure you're intrested in this book though? It extremely sci-fi and I know it's not you're favorite..." you trailled off, voice steady and gentle

"If you are so intrested in it I need to know what it's all about no? Plus your voice is like music to my ears so I'll enjoy this extremely, so will you read for me pequena?"

"Okay then amor."

And that's how your day went. Cuddling with your other half while reading a book, exchanging kisses every now and then, touching each other softly, skin on skin, lips on lips, hearts beating as one.

[stellargh0ul]

can I maybe get

frater imperator who is jealous and frustrated with all the attention his twin brother is getting so he takes it out on your body to make himself feel better

(tysm, u can ignore if u want to but I’d like it very much he he he)

hope the wait was worth it, dove!

-

normally, when he touches you, he’s gentle and kind- he’s hesitant, hardly daring to brush his fingers across your skin or whisper in your ear. you’d call it reverence; he just never seems to believe that he’s gotten lucky enough to be with you, never sure that you aren’t an illusion that will disappear the moment he tries to touch you.

that’s normal, anyway.

right now though, he’s touching you like he wants you to bruise, wants to imprint himself on your skin and write his breath into the very core of your being. the kiss you’re sharing is rough and his grip on your hips is tight as his tongue forces its way into your mouth, breath mingling in hot, quick gasps.

when he pulls away, he goes only a few inches, seemingly unwilling to let you go for even an instant.

“i’ll never let him take you,” he mutters.

you try to speak, to assure him that you’re his and his alone, that the idea of being with his brother has never crossed your mind- you love Copia and only Copia.

but he leans in for another kiss and steals the words away from your lips before you can say them.

the backs of your knees hit the bed and he bends over you, forcing you down on the mattress with his arms braced on either side of your body. looking up at him, framed by the flickering candlelight in your chambers, you can see past the blind rage and jealousy- you can see there the true fear that what he’s speaking might one day come to pass. that you too might be taken from right out underneath him, as though fate would give you to Perpetua.

his hands go to the buttons on your shirt and he begins to undo them, slipping and fumbling with a few. before you can help, he’s grabbed the edges of your shirt and tugged hard enough to send buttons flying in every direction.

you gasp but he’s upon you in a matter of seconds, his mouth finding the sweet spot between your neck and your clavicle. teeth bite down, making you cry out for a few seconds as you writhe against him.

Copia pops off with a wet noise, but you aren’t given time to rest before he’s latching on in yet another spot. as he leaves you a necklace of hickies dotted around your neck, his hands come up to cup your breasts through your bra.

whining out his name earns you an approving growl from your lover as his fingers find the hard peaks of your nipples, rolling them around in ways that send shivers down your spine.

“again,” he forces out. “tell me who’s doing this to you.”

“you are,” you say, and that apparently isn’t enough because he’s moving down your body, tongue tracing the shape of your bra before he finds your stomach and then the hem of your pants.

“I’ll make you scream so loud he hears it in his office. then he’ll know who you belong to.”

your head is spinning too much to do much of anything but nod, dazed.

[thedevilinmybrain]

I knoooow submissions are over, I got here too late :( but here is my prompt in case you like it and wanna save it for later or something:

Louis trying to convince Harry he is "boyfriend material". Like they want out once or twice, Louis fucked up (not that badly) but Harry is making him pay by telling everyone they are not going out anymore cause Louis isn't boyfriend material (like a nice romantic vanilla guy) and Louis wants to prove, for Harry, he can be

Hope you like it!!

(okay it's not flashfic friday but i got this last week and i just had to write it for you and for my need of all the college aus)

"Okay, but you have to tell me," Niall leans over the edge of the table, his shirt gaping dangerously close to the chai in front of him. "What did he actually do?"

"I don't know if it's anything he really did or didn't do." Harry sighs, flips his curls back of over his shoulder. They're getting so long now, hang around his collarbones and flirt with covering his sparrow tattoos. "He just…he's a boys' boy, you know? I mean, he's always around all of those lads and they're all so rough and so loud. Louis is their king and sometimes the way he acts…"

"Peter Pan syndrome." Niall nods in understanding, grimacing a little.

"Exactly. You get it." Harry leans back in his chair, crossing one long leg over another. "It's no ones fault really. We're just different. I mean, the date was nice and all, but I don't know. Seems like a waste of time if neither of us are going to get out of it what we want."

"That's very sensible." Taking a long sip of his drink, Niall waves a few fingers. "I mean, you're just from different worlds. You're so posh and proper. Can't blame your upbringing. And Louis just seems like…hm. Like he enjoys the wild side a little."

"Right. Right. I mean, some people are just like that. Good for a few fun times but," Harry searches for the words, finally confessing. "Louis just isn't boyfriend material."

"Hot though." A smirk begins to tug at the corner of Niall's mouth. "You've got to admit. That bad boy aura has its charms."

"Oh well." At this, Harry can feel himself start to blush. "No one is accusing Louis of being unattractive."

"No one with eyes would." Niall nods along.

Harry lifts his skinny, vanilla, almond milk latte and takes a long sip, careful not to smudge up his lipstick. He knew he was just grabbing a quick coffee with Niall after classes, nothing out of the ordinary, but Harry still dressed up for it. He always goes to class in carefully curated outfits - long, ironed trousers or princess cut skirts, satin blouses all tied up with fancy bows. Today finds Harry in a vintage, asymmetrical Burberry skirt, the hem on his left side a little higher than the front. It's cute, flirty, and pairs with a collared shirt nicely.

"Hey Harry," Niall comments, that grin still on his face. "Did you tell Louis all this? Why you're not seeing him anymore?"

"I did. A little kinder but yeah," Harry reaches up, fidgeting with the small strand of pearls around his throat. "I just told him I thought he would be better off finding someone to have a fling with. That I wanted a boyfriend and I didn't think he was up for that."

"So like a challenge?" Niall's dark eyebrow raises, his gaze drawn over Harry's shoulder.

"I mean not really. I didn't mean it like that." Harry tugs at those pearls again since he can't do it to his bottom lip. "Why? Do you think I was too mean? I can call and apologize to him. I still have his phone number."

"No, mate. I don't think you need to." Niall motions with his chin and Harry turns, his stomach immediately growing hot.

Louis is still wearing a pair of jeans with the knees blown out, a pair of fairly new looking Vans on his feet. At least they're not the ones covered in paint from helping Zayn in the art studios. It's not what's most surprising about him though, it's the fact that he's wearing a cardigan, like an actually oversized, wide knit cardigan, with a slightly wrinkled button up under it. There is no way Louis just had this in his closet. And for a whole minute, Harry is so caught up in what is clearly a pretty good thrift find that he doesn't notice the pair of glasses on Louis' nose either.

"Good afternoon," Louis' usually loud greeting is somewhat subdued in the bustling cafe, tilting his head down to drop an air kiss beside Harry's cheek before rounding the table to do the same to Niall. "Fancy seeing both of you here."

"It's an after class tradition on Thursdays." Niall comments, delighted when he watches Harry's pink lips opening and closing in surprise. "We just came from World Lit."

"Oh, how interesting." Louis makes a small nod towards the empty chair beside Harry, and when Niall nods, he moves to sit down. "I just came from lecture too. It's just so fascinating, isn't it?"

"What is?" Niall is still watching Harry flounder about when he says it.

"Er…" At this, Louis nerdy little persona cracks a little, but he's too busy staring right back at Harry to lose too much cool. "Learning, ya know? The quest for knowledge. University is meant to open one's eyes to the possibilities."

"Yeah, definitely." Harry finally snaps back into it, his hands moving down to smooth over the invisible wrinkles in his skirt. "Changes your perspective about the world around you."

"You're so right, love." Louis, in a move that feels too natural, casually leans his arm around Harry's chair, not touching him but lingering like a promise. "I'm really into changing perspectives right now. Seeing the potential in the world, in people, really."

"In people?" Harry ducks his chin a little, doesn't dare turn his head because he can see Niall's wide, shit eating grin out of the corner of his eye.

"Well, of course." At this, Louis' gaze slides down from Harry's, takes him all in - his cotton blouse, his mini skirt, long bare legs and the socks and oxfords on his feet - before snapping back up with a grin. "I'm really into exploring potential right now. Challenging what I can make of myself. How people can see me if I show them I have the right material."

[paramountinplace]

Van getting so worked up about dentist appointments

Don't Poke The Tiger - Little!Van

Summary: Van doesn't do so well with metal instruments and sharp things poking around her mouth. It makes dentist appointments a little rough. Thank you to 🐨 anon for the request/ideas (which can be found here)!

If Tai's being honest with herself, she's been avoiding the conversation. Van has been having such a good day that it feels downright cruel to drop the news of her upcoming dentist appointment on her, even though Tai knows she's cutting it a little close with how long she's waited to tell her already.

She can't quite bring herself to interrupt Van and Mari's post-breakfast game of spies, but she catches Van just before lunch and guides her into the study, leaving the door open just a crack.

"Buddy, I need to talk to you about something really quick," she murmurs, heart clenching at the way Van steps back from her anxiously, eyes sweeping over her. She knows that the redhead can tell something is up—she can see it in the pull of Tai's shoulders and the crease of her eyes. Van grew up analyzing each and every move of the people around her, learning when to duck and when to run and when to brace herself.

"It's okay," she tries to reassure, feeling the not-quite-truth of it stick against the roof of her mouth. Van is eyeing the door like she might bolt and Tai decides to just get it out before that happens "Van, you have a dentist appointment in three days, okay?"

It's not the gentlest she could have been, but she's nervous too, anticipating the way Van's countenance crumples and her eyes get glossy instantly, staring up at Tai like a kicked puppy. She's slipped even further. Tai can see it in her face and how Van can't quite seem to keep the tears from spilling over, a sob tearing from her chest.

"Hey," she murmurs, reaching out to hold Van, comfort her, do anything. Tai flinches when instead of falling towards her like she normally would, Van makes a frustrated sound—something almost a yell—shoving out at her. She misses badly, stumbling when her momentum doesn't land, and it only seems to make her more upset.

The study door creaks and Tai's a little guilty for how relieved she feels to see Laura Lee poking her head through.

"Van," Laura Lee says as she steps into the room, voice gently commanding. "Come here, bub."

The words don't quite seem to get through to Van, who just stares at her pitifully as more tears streak over her cheeks, and Laura Lee strides forward to scoop her up.

"Oh, don't strain yourself—" Tai tries, faltering under the look she gets in return.

"I'll decide what will strain me, thanks," Laura Lee says pointedly, tone softening as she adjusts Van in her arms. Her expression turns sympathetic as she takes in Tai's defeated stance. "You okay?"

She nods, scrubbing a hand over her face.

"I'm fine. Though, that could've gone a little better," she admits. She cranes her neck to try to get a glimpse of Van's face, tucked against Laura Lee's sweater.

"Give it time," Laura Lee soothes, swaying gently on the spot to try calming Van's tears. "Van knows you're only helping her. Isn't that right, tiger?"

She directs the words at Van, who nods obediently, even though she doesn't quite seem like she believes it. Her thumb has migrated up to her mouth and Tai chooses not to say anything. She follows Laura Lee out of the study, letting out a long breath as she does.

...

They set up a sticker countdown for Van. She gets one Ninja Turtle sticker each day to put on the calendar, which is marked with the date of her dentist appointment. Tai's careful to ask her each time how many Ninja Turtles until the day, not wanting it sneak up on her.

It doesn't seem that she has to worry much about Van forgetting about the appointment though, because the redhead seems to be thinking about it pretty much constantly. She walks around with one hand cupped over her cheek, teeth worrying at the scar tissue on the inside of her mouth no matter how many times Laura Lee gently reminds her to stop. The blonde tries to get Van to play with their toy dentist kit, offering up Leonard as a patient. Van swaddles Leonard in a blanket and tucks him gently into Laura Lee's bed before taking the dentist kit and trying to hide it in the garden, scattering the pieces wildly.

"My teeth good," she tries to assure Tai, resisting bedtime two nights before the appointment. She bares her teeth, turning her head side to side to display them to her.

"I know," Tai murmurs, smoothing some hair back from Van's face. "But it's important to get them looked at sometimes. And they need to check up on the inside of your cheek, baby."

Van's face screws up, fighting back tears.

"Stop chewing?" She asks.

"You'd still have to go if you stopped," Tai replies. "I'm sorry, tiger, but that's how it's gotta be."

Van drops her head back against the pillow frustratedly, pulling the blanket up to cover her face. She's stopped blaming Tai for making the appointment, but her general discontent with the situation hasn't subsided any. Tai keeps quiet, standing up from her crouch by the bedside to grab a teether from the night stand to offer Van, lifting the blanket just a little to slide it under. She climbs onto the other side of the bed, propping herself up against the headboard with one of Van's favorite books and starts to read quietly. Slowly, Van inches out from under the covers, moving to put her head in Tai's lap as she reads. It takes longer than usual, but Tai manages to lull Van into a slumber with the story, shifting her carefully over to the pillows once she sees the teether drop from her mouth.

...

The next day brings more of the same. Van is quiet and fussy all through breakfast, calming only when Laura Lee slides into the seat next to her. Tai has to go into work and her departure brings a bout of tears that almost make her call in sick, chest tightening as she drops a kiss to the top of Van's head and watches Laura Lee guide her into the other room.

Mel, worrying at her lip over Van's sorrowful disposition, tries to cheer her up with their favorite games. She manages to get Van smiling after too long, but Van's smaller than usual and it makes some of their games tricky, so it turns into Mel performing an entire episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for a giggling Van. She recruits Mari and Shauna to help her and they reenact a fight scene that has Laura Lee on the edge of her seat, wincing every time Mel's plastic sword whooshes too close to Mari's head.

She doesn't break it up because Van's grinning unfettered up at the display, but by the time it's over, her hands are sore from gripping at her book anxiously.

"Maybe we can find something else to do now," she suggests to Mel pointedly. The blonde nods agreeably.

"Did you like it Laura Lee? We made Van laugh," she says proudly, reaching over to muss Van's hair. It makes the short strands stick up cutely and Laura Lee chuckles as she smoothes it all back down again, nodding.

"You did real good, Mel," she affirms.

Mel beams under the praise, flopping down into the beanbag Van's been sitting in to pull the other kiddo against her side.

"What do you wanna do now, bubba?" She asks.

Van shrugs, leaning against Mel quietly. Mel tries a few more times to goad Van up into playing, but she eventually gives up and asks Laura Lee if they can watch cartoons. She agrees, if only because of how downtrodden Van looks.

She's quiet all through dinner and when Tai gets home, Van flies out of her seat to throw herself into her arms, refusing to pull away from Tai's side for the rest of the night.

Mel joins them for a story at bedtime, snuggling up to Van's side in the way that she does when she knows someone is feeling sad and isn't sure how else to help. Nat finds her way in after putting Jackie down and sits by their feet as she listens to Tai read, pretending that she's there for the story when she's really there to help Van feel a little more settled. Van drops off to sleep much easier than the night before and Tai whispers her thank-yous as the Nat guides an equally sleepy Mel out of the room.

...

Laura Lee finds herself wishing, just a little, that Tai hadn't gone into work. She knew that Tai was taking the day off tomorrow to be able to bring Van in to the dentist, but Van is fussing so badly that Laura Lee is wondering if she should've offered to be the one to take her in so that Tai could be there the day before.

Nat pokes her head into the room they're in, brows furrowed as her eyes land on Van, who is laying on the carpet curled around her dinosaur teddy. Laura Lee is sitting nearby, back to the wall with her legs out in front of her, keeping some distance.

"This is looking suspiciously tantrum-esque," Nat says softly.

Laura Lee blows an amused breath of air through her nose.

"Not quite, but be careful," she warns playfully. She leans forward to gently stick her finger into Van's side. "Don't poke the tiger."

Van whines in protest, kicking her feet annoyedly.

"I thought it was don't poke the bear," Nat replies, coming a little further into the room. After a moment, she gets down on the floor to sprawl out next to Van, mirroring her position.

"If you're talking about Shauna, maybe," Laura Lee muses. Nat hums and nods agreeably. They sit in silence for a long while and Van calms some, breathing going slow and even. Nat reaches out a hand to brush Van's bangs off her forehead and when she doesn't protest or whine about it, Laura Lee knows they're probably in the clear, at least for a while.

Van is strangely calm for the rest of the day, quieter than usual, but mostly obedient and doesn't throw any more fits. That is, until dinner. She turns her nose up at the plate that gets slid in front of her, dodging Tai's attempts to offer her forkfuls of food, and eventually pushes her chair back from the table and storms off without a word.

Laura Lee goes after her to allow Tai a chance to eat and finds Van sitting sullenly on the time out step.

"Not hungry?" She asks carefully, taking a seat on the step below.

Van shakes her head. Her arms are wrapped around her stomach protectively.

"Would you like to try something else?" Laura Lee offers. Usually, that worked whenever someone was refusing dinner, especially if the alternative involved breakfast cereal.

"No. I'll be sick," Van mumbles. Her brows are turned down, face severe like she expects a fight.

"Okay," she murmurs. "Maybe we can try again in the morning."

She nearly forgets about her own words after it takes the combined efforts of her, Tai, and Nat to get Van to bed that night. She's well aware that she's used up her last Ninja Turtle sticker and her appointment is fast approaching, the knowledge making her anxious enough to put up a fight to sleep even under duress of no video games for a week.

Laura Lee doubts they'll actually stick to the promised consequence, especially after the way Tai's face crumples once Van finally drops off with a tear-stained face and Nat sends her to go see Shauna.

The next morning, they don't even try to convince Van to eat after their first attempt ends in tears. Tai scoops her up to hold her as she talks Nat through packing things into Van's backpack, ensuring they'll have anything they need for after the appointment. Van's still sniffling when she picks herself up off Tai's lap, rubbing at her eyes as she tries to pull herself together.

She tells Tai in the car that she can handle the appointment by herself, even as she's white-knuckling the knees of her pants.

"Are you sure?" Tai probes. "I can go back there with you, it's no big deal. They won't care."

"I got it," Van replies shortly.

They realize pretty quickly that she does not, in fact, have it, when she freezes up the moment Tai parks the car. Tai takes her hand and leads her inside, giving it a squeeze as she gives the receptionist Van's name.

"Maybe you can come back with me," Van mumbles as they take their seats, looking a little embarrassed. Tai smiles gently, knocking her knee against Van's.

"I'm glad you came to your senses," she jokes quietly. Her stomach settles a little when Van gives her a small smile. She's paler than Tai would like her to be, but she seems relatively steady when a kind-looking woman in scrubs calls out her name. She lets go of Tai's hand, but glances back to make sure that she's following her as they're led further into the building.

"Right here," Tai promises, speaking softly enough that only Van can hear her. "We've got it."

Van nods once, sharply.

"Here goes nothing," she breathes as they come to a stop in front of an open door and are waved inside by the woman.

Maybe to be continued??