#{ Which is a total hassle. }

[spontaneousmusicalnumber]

I bought a chest freezer recently so I can finally indulge my grandma instincts of Make An Unreasonable Amount Of Food For Not Much Money And Eat Of It For Months

Today I bought two rotisserie chickens and made SIX large chicken pot pies (9" pie tins), used the leftover carcasses and have chicken stock going in the slow cooker, with enough leftover chicken meat and veg to make chicken rice soup tomorrow for DnD and probably have quite a bit to freeze as well.

[jessiesjaded]

you know once upon a time when there was far less variety of canon gay shit I could sympathise with people hoping absolutely hetero shit might actually maybe have a bit of subtext here or there and Maybe asking an actor or writer at a con what they thought- like fair enough, I get it. But now days when I see people go into THIS SHOW IS ABSOLUTELY 100% HETEROSEXUAL random shitty tv and then proceed to utterly harass every single person even vaguely involved with the cast or crew, do weird annoying fan ship campaigns, bitch and moan and cry bc My Gay Ship Wasn't Canonized :(( I'm just like ??? There's literally 87 Thai bl dramas where the thing you wanted to happen on Straight Person The Show happened but you refuse to watch any of those. Like at this point it's your fault lmao

[kaidabakugou]

GIVE US A KITTEN UPDATE PLS TT

i kept it :)

ik i said i was going to find a good home for her (it’s her for now bc i think it’s a girl but we don’t know yet until we take her to the vet 🥹) but after not finding anyone that wanted her plus arguing with some ppl and family members over it (i’ll rant in the tags about it) i decided to try my best and give her that home myself even though ive never had cats, only dogs my whole life and don’t know the first thing of dealing with cats so it’s gonna be an interesting journey lol

thankfully my dog is obsessed with her and she also warmed up to him quickly so now they spend day and night playing, i have an old play cushion from when my corgi had her babies so they play on it all the time bc if i leave them on the couch for too long they scratch it 😭

vid of them playing under the cut 💗

[promiscxous]

{ You know, I will likely never have Koui’s siblings' blogs up any time soon so part of me just wants to put them as temporary muses on this blog until I do cause I've been wanting to use them. }

[ndragoon]

Me: *wakes up from a dead sleep because my insides are extremely angry, only to flip from one end purging to the other*

My mother: "well, you clearly have Covid again so you won't be leaving the house for another four weeks"

Except it is because of these stupid pills and this stupid diet, which I have been complaining about for WEEKS NOW, because it been keeping my insides messed up

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[rubys-domain]

so... i think i've achieved consistent one-phase pyro regisvine by leveling up kazuha's burst to 6 and bennett's aquila favonia to 85. which is good. but it can be better. i want to get to the point where popping chongyun's burst is enough to kill it. for now i still have to do some normals and a second pop of his skill in order to kill it

[neofelis----nebulosa]

Ugh I accepted a job and I’m starting to have second thoughts

[parfaitblogs]

risk ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you have the sweetest regular, and it’s probably too soon to tell him you love him!

pairing: spencer reid x barista!reader genre: fluff tags: s1 spencer. who rambles. biblically accurate career!reader sorry if some of the coffee talk makes no sense to you. reader makes all the first moves. y'all kiss (aww). written in timeskip sorta it's not crazy (like maybe a month). not proofread sorryyy (im not). word count: 2.2k a/n: first instalment of my spencer reid eras tour🙂‍↕️ season 1 spencer reid i freaking adore you. he's so cute. gif!! i thought gifs in this series could be cute lol. envisioned 1x10 spencer bc of his nightmares if that means anything. enjoyyy ily im off to work 🏃 

series masterlist

There are many reasons you come to work each morning. The money (an obvious one), your coworkers who usually make each day a little bit more bearable. And Spencer. A regular who had become a little notorious for having an odd coffee order, that most of the store workers hated making. 

Except for you. 

It wasn't especially odd. But in a store that thrived on making the perfect cup of coffee, sometimes it meant remaking it three or four times because the shots didn't pour at the right amount of time, and recalibrating the machine was a hassle you all didn't want to deal with in the middle of the morning rush he usually came during. 

You had taken note of him the first few times he came in — always keeping to himself, flashing the most awkward smile you think you've ever seen on a human being, and ordering his old order (a large latte with as much sugar as you could fit in the cup). It was by the seventh time that had you thinking of him a little more often than just while you were at work. 

He looked a lot more exhausted than usual. His usually tame hair now loose and hanging over his face as he took a weary step towards the counter, fingers brushing strands away and tucking them behind his ears. 

"The latte, right?" you had asked him, and he had frozen, and you stood in fear of this not being the Spencer you thought he was, and you had just asked a total stranger about a coffee they've never ordered. 

But then he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head. "Uh, no. Not today. Um—do you guys have a limit on how much coffee I can have?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. "No... we don't. I wouldn't recommend any more than like five shots in our largest size, though. It'd probably taste gross. But we can add as much as you need."

"Five's good. Yeah," he nodded his head, fingers wrapped tightly around the leather strap of his messenger bag. 

"Just... a five shot latte?" you clarified, and he froze again, shaking his head once more. 

"Do you recommend anything else? I—uh, I want it to be sweet enough still."

"I can do you a mocha?" you offered. "White chocolate mocha if you're looking for it to be even sweeter."

"I'll try that," he nodded his head, and out came his awkward smile, which had you smiling back just as awkwardly. 

Which was how he got to his current usual. It honestly became a test to ensure your coffee machines were actually running well, considering pulling five well-done espresso shots at once was no easy feat. And, again, most of your coworkers hated making his drink. 

Which was why it was palmed off to you. Every single morning without fail. And maybe in another universe you would join them in the hatred for this man's frustrating drink order. But then, in that universe, you wouldn't get to talk to him every morning (and slowly break him out of whatever shell he had locked himself up in). 

"I never asked," you began, staring at him over the top of the coffee machine while putting white chocolate fudge into the bottom of the cup. "Why did you change your order randomly?"

He parted his lips and his eyebrows creased together for a few seconds, as if he was deciding whether or not to tell you. You were kind of grateful he concluded on trusting you. 

"I wasn't really sleeping. When I asked about changing my order," he explained, hands letting go of the bag strap so he could talk with them. "Then I guess I just liked the taste of it? And it kept me awake. Which is a bonus."

"I can imagine it would," you nodded your head in agreement, flashing him a small smile, which he returned, bashfully. "Why weren't you sleeping?"

He went silent, and you almost cursed yourself for asking. Maybe you had gone too far. It was why, when you had begun to busy yourself with making his drink a little faster, you jumped when he spoke up again.

"I was getting these nightmares," he said, and your head lifted from the milk you were steaming. "Because of what I do for work."

"Law, right?" you asked, and he let out a small laugh, tucking hair behind his ear. 

"Sort of. I'm with the FBI."

"Oh, that's right," you replied, nodding your head in recognition. He had said that to you at some point in the earlier days when he first started coming in, because you had asked where he works so close by to be coming in as often as he did. "Can you tell me what part? Or is that confidential?"

"No, no, I can. I'm with the Behavioural Analysis Unit," when your face twisted into confusion, he added, "We use psychology to analyse serial killers and catch them. Well, not just serial killers, actually. But that's what we focus on."

"And it works?" you asked, eyebrows rising as you placed a lid atop his coffee, sliding it out on the pick-up section where he was standing by. His face fell slightly, and so you were quick to add, "Not—I didn't mean it like that. I just mean I'm shocked. That psychology is all you really need to catch a serial killer."

"It's not all we need. There's a lot of other elements that go into finding one. But our primary focus is how their brain works and we use behavioural science to figure that out. Actually, we used to be called the Behavioural Science Unit when it was first created."

He was too busy talking animatedly with his hands for him to have picked up his coffee, and you were too busy watching him with a smile to remind him it was ready. 

When he did reach for it, you could feel the familiar pang of disappointment that had started shooting through you every time he was picking up his coffee and leaving. A weird sensation that left you clawing at the walls of your brain to come up with something to say to keep him there. 

It was probably why you blurted out, "Are you seeing anyone?" Which was followed by stunned silence from him, and regretful silence from yourself. What a question. 

Slowly, he began to shake his head, his lips twitching into a confused frown. "No. I'm—I'm not." 

It shocked you a little. He wasn't jaw dropping, per se. But he was attractive. You had said it a few times to your coworkers whenever they asked why you talked to him so much — there was a running joke that you were already secretly dating him behind their backs. Not funny.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to..." you hesitated. "Go out for dinner? Maybe? I'm so sorry if I'm totally overstepping. In fact, I encourage you to say no, because this is a little weird. I'm so sorry," you rambled when you were met with only silence from him, wondering if you had weirded him out of the ability to talk. 

"With me?" he pushed out, his voice a little higher pitched than usual, and you nodded your head, because maybe he wasn't weirded out. Maybe you had just flustered him. You hoped so, at least.

"Yeah," you said. "Is that weird? Or is it okay? To ask that?"

"It's okay. Yeah. Yes. I would love—like to. I mean, that would be nice. Yeah," he stammered, and you smiled. 

"Here," you held your hand out and gestured for his coffee, taking it back and picking up a Sharpie to write your number atop the lid, before you slid it back to him. "I get off work at one. Call me?"

"I will," he nodded, eyes fixated on the number for a few seconds more, before he returned his eyes to you. "I will. Um—bye!" he took a step back, and you let out a loud laugh when he stumbled into a chair behind him. 

He was sheepish as he waved to you, bidding you another goodbye, the sound of the bell above the door ringing once, and then again when it fell shut. 

And you had, somehow, secured a date with Spencer.

Which turned into two dates. Then three. And then, with some weird stroke of luck and twist of fate, you were spending every evening you could at his apartment, and him at yours. 

But you were yet to kiss. 

Not by any particular reason. Really, nothing either of you did ever really called for a kiss. Which was as frustrating as it was understandable. Frustrating, because you felt like you were simply friends, who sometimes went out for dinner, and had feelings for each other. But he had told you very early on he'd never been with anyone before, let alone ever been on a date. Hence; understandable. 

But frustration was more overwhelming than you had thought, because you were on his couch, blanket draped over both of your bodies, as he read you a book — The Chameleon. A short story by Anton Chekhov (an author whom you were only barely familiar with). And yet, all you could think about was kissing him. 

In your defence, he was very kissable, as you stared at his lips while he spoke, your heart stuttering quite uncomfortably in your chest. You weren't sure what it was precisely about him that made him like that. Maybe it was the natural pout of his lips, or how they twitched in humour at the little jokes Chekhov had written into the book that only made sense in Russian, despite him attempting to translate it for you. 

Whatever it was, it was overriding your senses, and in true Spencer fashion, he hadn't noticed you weren't intently listening to his reading until he glanced down to catch a reaction to something he said. You caught as he closed the book and placed it off to the side, jostling you from your haze. 

"You don't like the book, do you?" he asked, and you were quick to shake your head. 

"No, I do," which was true. The parts you were actively listening to you enjoyed. "Sorry, I'm distracted."

"By what?" he shifted on the couch to face you.

You fell silent at that, the answer hanging on the tip of your tongue, unsure whether or not saying it could ruin things. You didn't think it would. "You."

"I'm distracting?" he asked, eyebrows creasing together and a confused frown pulling his lips down. 

Which confused you. "Yes?"

"I don't think I'm meant to be sorry for that," he said. "But I am."

"You shouldn't be," you breathed out with a small laugh. 

"Right," he nodded his head, laughing too, awkwardly. "How am I distracting?"

You studied his face for a few moments, which ended up being a pathetic excuse for a lip study, because you were fixated on them again, and you decided Spencer probably didn't even realise that that was what you were doing. 

"We haven't kissed yet," you told him, instead. 

"No. We haven't," he agreed. 

"Do you just not want to kiss me?" you asked.

He did that thing he does when he's thinking — furrowed eyebrows and parted lips, eyes blinking a few times, before he comes up with his response. 

"I just don't want you to be disappointed. I've never kissed anyone before."

"I concluded that," you answered. "I won't be disappointed."

"You might be," he mumbled, and his gaze averted from your own, which had another smile stretching across your lips. 

"Only one way to find out, right?"

He hesitated before nodding his head, lifting his eyes back up to look at you. It was then that you learned that, like everything else, you might have to make the first move on him. Again.

The thought made you laugh, and though he wanted to, he didn't get a chance to question why you were laughing, because your hands were on his face and you were pulling him into you, lips meeting his in a gentle kiss that elicited a surprised squeak from him. 

"You've gotta kiss me back," you murmured against his lips, and his response was a quiet 'oh'. 

But he was a fast learner, because soon after he was. Objectively, it wasn't the best kiss you've ever had in your life. But it got better by the second, and he was doing enough to make your heart stutter in your chest, his hands reaching up to cup your own face, palms and fingers covering the mass of your cheeks. 

His hands there provided him the ability to keep you there, and you had to pry them off your face so you were able to pull back for air, breaths coming out in short pants. Only for a short second, because he was chasing your lips again, and you laughed, before letting him kiss you again. And again. And again. 

Until both of you were out of air, and he was glassy-eyed and pink-lipped. Though, you were probably his mirror image of that.

And he smiled at you, crookedly. And you wondered if it was too soon to say you loved him. 

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[aweina]

౨ৎ. MANSPREAD ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. established relationship. dry humping / heavy petting. begging. no reader orgasm ( boo ! ! ). cocky to submissive mikey + 1.8k words.

mike cannot seem to keep his legs closed. literally. sitting next to him was a total hassle. his legs covering every perimeter of leg space he could reach — leaving your knees buckled together and tucked in whatever corner you’re forced into.

you’ve mentioned his bad habit before, in which he mumbles an indolent “sorry” and then the next day, continues to do the same thing he’s half heartedly apologized for. at this point, you’re not sure he was doing it to press your buttons or his permanent restlessness has caught up with his memory.

then playful slaps on the knee became another idea. a quick sting to his skin kept his reactions stunned, buckling his knees together from your sharp touches. each slap garnered a short cry and a sudden flinch like some invisible string tied his legs together.

it worked, but only for a few days.

now mike catches your wrist halfway from making contact on his knees, gently tugging you down in the corner of the linen couch with a delighted chuckle. either that or he tosses you a knowing glance when you come by the couch, a raised brow and his hands protecting the caps of his knees — glancing his soft hazel eyes towards the tiny empty space beside him.

what a total ass.

all your solutions to stop his leg spreading habit seemed to do nothing for mike. instead, it made him even more repulsive — the spatial width between his legs could nearly reach the arms of the couch, leaving your poor body folded to regain any left over space. then his arms spread along the plush pillows — his rough hand would ever so often teasingly tug at your ears or play with the loose strands of your hair, pulling the ends while playfully twirling it in his finger.

in the corner of your eye, you swore there was a smug smile etched onto his face.

yeah, he’s totally doing this on purpose.

you thought a bit harder after that day. re-enacting different scenarios in your head without it resulting in some unneeded argument — nearly burning abby’s lunch in the process. but like a flash of light, it suddenly hit you. if mike was going to rob you of personal space, why can’t you do so to him?

“um … are you okay?” abby glances up at your blank eyes in concern, the chicken that was supposed to be golden brown violently sizzled from the bubbling oil, grimly layered under a blanket of black charcoal.

“o – oh, yes i’m fine abs.” you assured the smaller schmidt, transferring the hot pan away from the scorching stove — your inner victory delayed by your own clumsiness.

to salvage her burnt meal, you both shared a box of fresh delivered pizza for lunch.

but now it was that time.

it’s nighttime, mike was comfortably splayed on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. as it always was, his legs covered every crevice of the couch — body propped completely in between the plush cushions. the gray baggy sweatpants he changed into clung to his frame well — heavily ruffled on the parts you would love to get an eyeful of. his shirt was slightly damp from a warm shower, the gentle curl patterns in his brown hair glistened under the colorful glow of the television.

mike catches your lingering gaze, a pleased smile on his face.

“you’re not going to sit down?” he slurred a quip, patting down on the other end of the couch — seized by his thick thighs.

he refrains from teasing you for your blatant staring, but instead, for your multiple failed attempts to get him to stop his obnoxious leg spreading.

“oh yeah i will.” you mocked his sluggish tone, going to get yourself a cold drink before you make your way over to the couch.

blocking his view from the blaring screen, you purposely bent down in slow motion — distracting him from his vacuous browsing to simply put your drink down. mike quirks a brow at your little act, but still makes no effort to scoot over, barely moving a muscle.

then your body began to engulf his vision, fluorescent light spilling in the sides of your shadow. confusion knitted into his brows until suddenly, the air in his lungs were punched out from an added weight. the heavy crash of your body made mike rasp a curse, making him pathetically adjust himself after being nearly sunken in the folds of the aged couch — one hand clawing at the cushions for some stability.

“r – really? on my lap?” mike managed to breath out, holding your waist steadily with his free hand — your body felt so good flushed against his.

the innocent attempt to adjust himself ended up with him grinding on your ass, eliciting a low groan from his lips.

gosh, he’s too loud.

you hurriedly fish out the remote from his weak grasp, changing the channel to something that could hopefully muffle the pathetic noises that spill from mike’s mouth. abby’s room was still nearby the living room, the lights off and the door completely shut.

“well … you never give me room on the couch, so i think this is fair.” you explained leisurely, tossing the remote to the side as you grappled onto his spread knees, lifting off some weight to rub slow, shallow circles over his clothed cock.

mike fought back a needy whimper, biting his lip until fleshy pink turned paper white. the cooling sensation of his damp hair did nothing from how much his body was burning up. both his hands cling desperately onto the handles of your waist — kneading and lightly grazing his nails in your soft skin.

a throbbing warmth brushed against your clothed clit, mercilessly constricted by the confines of his sweatpants. you fought back a whine yourself, desperately tugging at the gray fabric with sealed lips. every steady brush of your soft flesh made mike see stars, the urge to lift his hips and grind harder into the curve of ass sat heavy in his lust hazed mind. yet his obedience seemed to glimmer brighter than his deviant instincts.

“ha ha- harder – ngh – please go harder.”

he sounded so sweet, so needy. you couldn’t deny him when the pool of his sticky precum oozes through the gray fabric — gossamer strings that weaved your dripping arousal with his own.

“s – stay still then.” you whispered, now fully pressing your weight against his hard cock — your back against his panting chest.

mike does what you ask, gluing his hips down to the cushions.

his heartbeat was racing against time, pumping all the hot blood that rushed down to his cock. his warm breath fanned the back of your neck, sending electric waves down your spine. his touches were sweaty, latching and kneading anything that pertained to softness. the open mouthed kisses he planted on your bare neck blossomed into purple hues, the drag of his teeth and muted whimpers coercing you to absolutely destroy him.

your hips rocked faster on his cock, the throbbing imprint tucked between the curve of your ass. his grip felt extra tight on your hips, reddish crescent marks decorating your flushed skin. mike throws his head back on the couch, his usual deep groans replaced with airy sighs. he closes his eyes, the same stars dancing in his eyelids — your heady scent making it harder for him not to hold you down himself and hump his cock against your pussy.

he’s so close, he can feel it.

“might cum – ah fuck.” mike warns with a high-pitched whine, the blasting audio from the television really doing him a favor.

you can tell too. his cock hasn’t stopped throbbing ever since he’s accidentally grind against you. his seeping precum never seemed to stop, only staining against the seat of the couch. he was like a horny teenager, so desperate to get off and trying so hard to compose himself. not like the asshole who was taking up all the space on the couch.

this was a great plan after all.

with one hard press against his cock, a spill of scorching heat nestled into your clothed pussy — eating through his soiled fabric and coating your covered folds. with no restraint whatsoever, mike’s deep groan vibrated the dimly lit living room, mindlessly bucking his hips lazily over your cunt like he could possibly pump some cum along your walls. the stars that whirled under his lids dispersed into a warm, satisfied feeling all over his usual restless body.

the very last minute, your hands flailed over his panting mouth — looking over to the direction of abby’s room. he seems to realize how loud he was, eyes widening as he hastily grabs onto the discarded remote, amplifying the volume to a considerate tone. not too loud to wake her up but definitely loud enough to cover the after effects of your intense heavy petting.

the light in her room remains untouched, her delicate footsteps nonexistent. she’s still asleep, thank goodness.

still both hazy from your lustful highs, mike drops the remote and snuggles into the crook of your neck — taking in your addicting scent while admiring the love marks he gave you. his cock softened under the soiled fabric, the sticky feeling making him furrow his brows. but then he realizes one thing, the sudden flinch of his body made you alarmed.

“i – i’m sorry. you didn’t get to cum.” mike sheepishly apologizes, fiddling with the waistband of your soiled shorts.

you shook your head with a relieved sigh, leaning back to gently kiss his stubble jawline — combing your fingers through his soft curls, dried on the top but the ends damp with sweat.

“i’m fine, baby, but you can make it up with one thing.” you mumbled in the base of his ear, a playful smile on your face.

in the corner of his eye, he can see the curl of your lips — the sight earning an eye roll.

“i already know what you’re going to say, but let’s hear it.” mike’s voice was baritone next to your flushed face, completely contrasting his previous whines and whimpers.

“give me all the space on the couch for now on.” you laugh when mike groans, still pulling your body closer to his despite this new ordeal.

“okay fine.” he defeatedly mumbles into your shoulder, his rough hands tracing over your bruised hips to your neglected chest — reaching under to knead your soft skin for his own enjoyment.

the moments of comforting silence were therapeutic, not even the continuous dialogue and sound effects from the bulky screen could ruin its peace. there was something still ticking mike off, he didn’t want to ruin this sweet moment but he couldn’t help it.

“are you sure my lap isn’t good enough?” he pleaded, a glint of hope in his hazy eyes — the couch being his only source of possession where he could splay himself comfortably.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes in the back of your head.

“no.”

it was an attempt.

he huffs in defeat, now kneading at your chest for some comfort.

“okay.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[uiruu]

the albums i listened to this year

https://www.tapmusic.net/

[munsster]

red wine supernova

A/N: guys... i know this is a sapphic song but hear me out on this one.... the lyrics go too well with eddie to ignore 😖 (gif creds: @keery)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Bimbo!Reader

Summary: “Baby, why don't you come over? / Red wine supernova, falling into me” 2.9k words

Warnings: fluff, dumbass pining x2, best friends to lovers, a few kisses, broody & high eddie, cursing, pet names (teddy, bug), teenage boys, underage drinking/smoking

"Hi, teddy!"

It rings in his ears like church bells. Then Eddie sees you and you're drenched in golden sunlight even though it's afternoon and the school halls provide no source of natural light. So maybe you're just beautiful. A vision in go-go boots.

Totally not his type, though.

"Hey," Eddie sighs, exhuasted from the hour and a half English lecture he just suffered. Not to mention, he was already exhuasted from the fact that he barely slept the night before. Which was maybe, possibly, perhaps caused by his overthinking about that nice shade of lipstick you always wear.

"How was Lit?"

"Shit."

You giggle, "that rhymed!" His heart skips a beat.

You're side by side down the halls—you always walk to lunch together—and, like clockwork, you tease him about trying to hold your hand when his ringed fingers brush your wrist. Of course, he would. In a heartbeat, he'd have his fingers clasped with yours like that's what they are molded for. But people would stare, and that's more of a hassle than he’d prefer.

Don't get him wrong, he doesn't actually give a shit about people staring at him, he just doesn't want to give anyone anymore reasons to stare at you. In disgust. Or loathing. With whatever judgements they'd make. Names they'd call you. He's been through the ringer, he'd never drag you along with him.

You're chattering about the state of your new, pink jellies when Eddie catches someone throwing you an off glance. He tries not to think too much of it, and he's not like jealous or anything, but every snicker and whisper sets him off. You're bubbly and kind and it's not fair people look at you different when you're with him.

"You ever notice how people look at us?"

You tilt your head at him as you round the corner of the cafeteria doors.

"You mean like how Dustin makes funny faces when I compliment your hair?"

"No, I mean like that," he huffs, pointing right at the judgemental stares of Melissa and Nicole, who promptly turn away with a gasp. He shakes his head. "And I like when you compliment my hair."

"Well, I like your hair." You smile at him as he pulls out a chair for you. You're the first ones to the table.

"Thank you, bug." Eddie ducks into his own seat, tapping his heavy fingers against the tabletop. "Off topic. I'm saying, you never notice people look at us... funny?"

The metal clasps of your limited edition Disco Fever lunchbox clack against the side as you unfold the lid. Your face contorts, considering the scenarios you've devised in your head if anyone was ever rude to Eddie in front of you. Let's just say your self-defense knowledge would come in handy.

"I guess I notice sometimes, but I just don't care. I like you lots more than I like them," you say, shrugging it off, "And I know how to fight."

His heart swells, face rosy, ears hot as an oven. Of course, you'd say that. You always know what to say.

Too bad you're not his type.

Dustin plops down in the seat across from you, nearly gagging at the way Eddie ogles at you.

"Would you get a fuckin' room already—!"

"Language," you both holler.

"Jinx!" you chirp. "You owe me a soda."

"I'll get you a soda, bug," Eddie hums. Dustin considers stocking his backpack with those little bags they give you on airplanes just in case.

...

"Weird Science or The Woman in Red?"

You're perched on the floor of his living room, wearing silk shorts and a cami. You weigh both tapes in your manicured hands like it'll tell you anything about the quality of the films inside.

"Somethin' to say about Kelly LeBrock, bug?"

"Steve suggested them! And he gave me a discount, so I couldn't just say no," you say with such a dazzling smile on your face, he thinks you're the nicest girl he's ever met. Or, at least, the nicest he's ever seen, no contest.

Just, not his type.

"Go figure," he says, "Weird Science."

"'Cause of the mutant bikers?" You beam up at him where he sits on the couch.

"'Cause of the mutant bikers."

It makes you giggle, which makes him smile like an idiot.

Then Hellfire pours onto Eddie's front porch bearing gifts of humongous chip bags and a six pack of cheap beer. He jumps a little at the doorbell, and you spring up to open the floodgates for the rowdy group of boys. They greet you excitedly and spread themselves across the rest of the couch, an armchair, and the floor.

Dustin tosses you a bag of pop rocks, and you blow a kiss in thanks, promising to bring him by the arcade next week. Eddie feels so far from you, even though your shoulders are pressed between his knees. But he can't see you or talk to you, your attention is divided, and he can't help but feel a little needy. You smack Dustin's hand when he reaches for a beer, and he whines about Mike sneaking one.

"What movie did the love birds choose?" Gareth asks. Eddie takes out a baggie of weed.

"Weird Science!" you coo, slotting the tape into the VCR. Gareth celebrates, sloshing his beer can against the coffee table as the rest of the boys high five and howl. You roll your eyes affectionately.

You laugh, smacking Jeff on the arm. “Oh, you’re all horny perverts.”

Gareth salutes, “At your service!” Which earns him a playful flick upside the head. The opening credits roll, and you stand triumphantly.

“I have to pee, but you guys can let it roll while I’m gone!” you chirp, skipping off down the hall of the mobile home.

As soon as you’re out of ear shot, Dustin whips around to scowl at Eddie who exhales a slow puff from the neon pink bong you gifted him last year. He passes it to Gareth and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I can’t tell what’s worse,” Dustin huffs, “The fact that you’re so oblivious or the fact that she is, too.”

Eddie squints. “What?”

Dustin deadpans.

“Dude, even I can tell you two like each other,” Mike chimes in, “Will thought you were dating from two thousand miles away. Over the phone.”

“You guys are fucking high. We are not dating,” Eddie says.

Mike shrugs. “You should be.”

“Okay, twerp, I’m not taking romantic advice from someone in a long distance relationship.”

“He’s right,” Dustin barks.

“That means you, too, twerp. Besides. Not my type.” Eddie sighs and slumps into the cushions, reaching his arms above his head.

“Yeah, right,” Lucas says, “If she’s not your type, then who is?”

“I don’t know, but she’s not.”

Gareth rolls his eyes. “Sounds like a lame excuse for your cowardice.” Eddie’s jaw drops, and he grabs for his bong.

“You did not just say that to me.”

“I meant it.”

You bumble back into the room, and the conversation screeches to a halt, Gareth whipping back towards the screen with Eddie’s eyes still burning holes in the back of his head.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” they grumble.

Eddie smiles when you plop down next to him on the creaky couch. He can’t focus on the movie with the stray glances he’s catching from the younger boys and the soft looks you offer every so often. Maybe he is gutless. Because when he thinks about you, he’s floored. Then—knee jerk—he has to justify his racing heart with the fact that he could never be into you. But he is. You’re beautiful and funny and sweet to him. You are his type.

Not halfway into the film, Dustin whines, “I’m bored. Can we play a game? Like spin the bottle or kiss marry kill or something?”

“First of all,” Eddie says, “there’s only one chick here, we’re not playing spin the bottle. Second, are you five years old?”

You scoff and pat Eddie on the thigh. “Hey! I’m with Dustin. Truth or dare?”

“Works for me,” Jeff interjects. Eddie glares at him, grabbing his bong from the table. “Truth or dare, Eddie.”

He exhales a puff of smoke, shaking his head.

“Truth”—The boys’ heads turn, wicked smiles on their faces like predators eyeing him up—“Fuck, dare.”

Jeff cocks a brow.

“I don’t like this game,” Eddie says.

“Do you have a crush on anyone?”

“I said dare.”

Jeff grins. “I dare you to tell me if you have a crush on anyone.”

Dustin, Lucas, and Mike chuckle.

“Fuck you all. Yeah, fine, I do. Next,” Eddie grumbles.

“It’s your turn, teddy,” you coo.

“Right. Dustin, truth or dare.”

“Easy. Truth,” he says.

“Is it fun being a little shit?”

You shove his side. “Eddie!”

“Why, yes. Yes, it is.”

“Great,” Eddie huffs.

“Awesome.” Dustin glares at him.

The game continues just like that, a vicious cycle of sarcasm and glares. It’s a little more lighthearted when Lucas asks you if you have a special skill. Without responding, you ask for a deck of cards and stand in front of the screen.

“You boys like magic?”

A few nod, the rest too stunned to speak as you show them a card, the queen of diamonds, and shuffle the deck a few times. You pull a card from the deck, and the boys lean in, anticipating the red queen. You spin the card, and they groan when you reveal the eight of clubs.

“That’s not our card, bug,” Eddie says. He expects you to be disappointed, but you grin and set the deck on the table.

“I know.” Their eyes widen when you reach into the top of your shorts, a card pinched between your fingers. The queen of diamonds. “This is.”

You toss the card, and the boys grab for it. Eddie gulps and shifts in his seat, couch squealing beneath him. Lucas pelts the hard-won card at Eddie, and you curtsy before heading back to your seat.

…

Just as the game gets a little tired, Dustin shoots his hand into the air. “My turn!”

“Okay, but this is the last one—”

Dustin shouts your name.

“Yes?”

“Truth or dare?”

You pretend to contemplate before chirping, “Dare!”

Eddie leans his head back, lulling to the side to watch you smile at Dustin. You catch Eddie staring and stick your tongue out at him. He winks.

“I dare you… to kiss the person on your right.”

“Geez, how long did it take you to come up with that one,” Eddie mumbles. But you look to your right, and Eddie looks kind of uninterested, glazed over and staring at the ceiling.

“That doesn’t seem very consensual,” you say, brows knitted just as Eddie lifts his head. Dustin glares expectantly at Eddie who slowly sits up and turns his head, smirking at you.

“You can kiss me, bug. So long as you promise not to bite.”

Eddie’s relieved when you giggle and set your hand on his knee.

“If you say so!” You lean closer, and he blushes at the new proximity. Despite his nerves, he just can’t look away, eyes locked with yours. You huff when it feels like he’s staring straight into your soul. But you’re smiling so sweetly, even with all the rascals chanting ‘do it!’.

You shift your weight and hold onto his shoulder as he slips his arm around your waist so you don’t teeter off the couch. He nods, tip of his nose just brushing yours. You press your lips to his quickly, and he can sense your nerves when you pull away and look down.

Everyone cheers.

You look into his eyes again, and your face relaxes, the heat not so unbearable when you see his smile. You duck to kiss him again, his arm tighter on your waist. He tries not to smile, but you hum softly and, suddenly, he’s a puddle in your fingers.

You pull away when someone whistles, your ears rushing with blood as you drop your feet to the floor and look away, face burning.

Eddie clears his throat. “Alright, you pervs got what you wanted. Can we finish this damn movie already?”

“It’s kinda late,” you hum, “I don’t wanna be driving too close to the witching hour.”

“Wait, what?” Gareth says, watching you stand and shuffle into your slippers by the door.

“Sorry, guys. Just… superstititous.” They wouldn’t have believe you if you hadn’t said it with a genuine smile on your face. Eddie hops up from his seat and follows you.

“I’ll walk you out, bug.”

“Ooh,” Dustin teases. Jeff slaps a hand over his mouth, and Dustin mumbles an expletive against it.

Your little, red coupe is sidled right up next to his van. He always keeps the spot closer to the door open for you. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket, your arms crossed over your chest to keep out the cold. He winces.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay? I can take the floor,” Eddie says, shucking his jacket and wrapping it over your shoulders. You smile.

“Such a gentleman.”

He rolls his eyes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, teddy,” you whisper, craning your neck to kiss his cheek. Your heart-shaped keychain jangles against the car door as you slot the silver key into the lock. When you get the door open and glance at him, he’s stone faced where he leans against the back window.

“Wait,” he huffs.

“Yeah?”

Eddie can feel himself flailing, hands shaky at his sides when you look at him. He can’t tell if it’s because of the cold or his nerves or how worried you look or the fact that this could be his only chance. Don’t be a coward. He expects you to get tired of it. Eventually, you’ll have to let go, but right now, you stand there and wait for him. Oh.

“Sorry, bug. I’m pretty high right now.”

“I don’t mind.” You shrug when he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles softly. “You okay?”

He shakes his head. “You’re so sweet. And you’re so nice to me. God, you’re so pretty.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you coo, standing close enough to feel the warmth radiate from his chest. He nods slowly, glancing down at your lips.

“Yeah.”

You thumb over the leftover slip of paper in the pocket of his jacket. And you smile, remembering when you passed him that note in chem last thursday.

Eddie sucks in a breath, sighing, “You make me so nervous.” You blink hard, and he’s seering hot under the warm light filtering through the trailer windows. “And you’re so fascinating.”

“Fascinating?!”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“That’s a new one. ‘S that a good thing?” you say, head tilted watching him push his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. Fascinating is good. To me.” You swear his eyes twinkle a little when he looks at you.

“Well,” you nod, “Thank you.”

“Yeah.” And he can’t stop himself from taking selfish glimpses at your mouth. He feels so stupid for how long he denied his genuine attraction to you. His crush on you. You’d laugh if you knew what went on in his head. “I liked kissing you.”

You take a deep breath, and he steels himself for rejection. He thinks, why should you want anything to do with him after he’s acted so indifferent towards you all this time.

“I liked kissing you, too, teddy.” Holy fuck.

He grins. “You’re my type.” At first, you think he’s joking, but even a blind man could tell Eddie was dead serious. “Textbook description of it, bug. You’re my type.”

You look into his eyes again, trying to gauge if he’s fucking with you. He has to know that you’ve liked him for years. He has to. It’s not like the boys have been subtle about it.

“I… am flattered,” you coo, “Where’s all this coming from?”

“Just. From me. You know? It’s always been there. Had a crush on you forever, just had to tell you now.”

You nod, biting back a grin and shuffling a little closer. He’s absolutely buzzing when you curl your fingers into his bicep.

“Can I kiss you?” His head is spinning when you nod and press up against him. He’s sure you can feel his heart pounding. Especially when you press your delicate palm right to it. His hand fits gently against your hip.

Now, it’s his turn to kiss you. His lips are so soft against yours, tender like he’s nervous you’ll shatter. You giggle and reach for the back of his neck, your mouths falling open against each other in a fit of excitement and heat. He tugs you closer when your tongue slips into his mouth; he doesn’t mean to, but he feels himself smile and spread his hand across your lower back.

Eddie pulls away, eyes flicking wildly across your face just before he pecks your mouth again.

“Bug?”

You nod, eyes refusing to open as he kisses your cheek.

“Be my girlfriend?”

“Yes, teddy, I will!”

You tug him down by the collar to kiss him ferocious, his cheeks instinctively hot with your baby pink fingernails gentle on his neck. You can hear the cheers and high-fives from inside the house, exclamations of ‘finally!’ and ‘i knew it’.

Then Dustin hollers, “Fuck yeah!”

And you both shout, “Language!” just before falling into each other in a fit of giggles.

stranger things masterlist

[17020]

Vitamin deficiency had hit REN KAJI like a truck.

The sugary treats that sat in his pockets were constantly in his mouth, sometimes acting as replacements for nutritious foods. He had never given the side effects of living off of lollipops any thought, until his body began to show that it had had enough.

Kaji did not wonder why he had been feeling more fatigued after patrols, brushing it off as him not sleeping enough or just being tired of the same, monotonous routine. He also, did not pay any mind to the growing pains on his bones, and how his nails were easily breaking with every punch that he threw.

The one who did notice, though, was you.

Because it was not fun to hop into the shower after a long, tiring day, only to find platinum strands scattered all over the floor.

You were a bit puzzled as to why your apartment was suddenly covered in your boyfriend's hair. It did not take long for you to realize that something was wrong when you laid on top of your boyfriend on your sofa, his fingertips softly drawing circles on your back and giving you small scratches on accident.

Ren Kaji paid no mind to his health, which meant that you had to assume the role of his personal nurse, and it was no easy task.

Pills and capsules were an absolute no, as he straight up denied them as they were 'a total hassle'. Effervescents were your next choice, disguising them as soda and offering them to Kaji, earning a scowl in return as he shook his head in denial.

So when you stumbled across vitamin lollipops while inside the pharmacy, you knew you had hit the jackpot.

Every vitamin you could think of, stuffed inside your boyfriend's favorite treat. The packaging was identical to Kaji's usual lollipops, which was the cherry on top. You had a perfect plan, and in order for it to work, patience was to become your strongest virtue.

It was a slow start.

Every morning, you would offer the blond gremlin next to you a vitamin lollipop, even stuffing them in his pockets for him to grab when he's on patrol. He would take it from your hands with no issue whatsoever, being under the impression that they were the same as usual. His brows furrowed.

"'nother flavor?"

"Mhm. They brought back the cherry ones, and there's orange too."

"Oh. Cool."

Slowly but surely, you had turned into Kaji's personal lollipop dealer, with him shooting you texts asking you for more lollies. It took weeks for Kaji to fully 'return' to normal, if you could even call it that—your boyfriend was better than ever. Sure, the lollipops cost a pretty penny, but the shine on your boyfriend's radiant skin, strong nails and full set of hair made it all worth it.

One morning in particular, your boyfriend stared at you, his palm open and extended towards you.

"Need something, Ren?"

"You give me an orange lollipop every morning before I leave."

You chuckled at your boyfriend's subtle pout, "I ran out, Ren. I'll get some more today, alright?"

Kaji nodded before placing a quick peck on your forehead, heading out the door.

Who knew the perceptive Ren Kaji was so easy to condition and fool?

n. first time writing for winbre how r we feelin tonight

[cherrylovelycherry]

𓂅new order. "tarte aux fraises and uh... a éclair au chocolat."

How un.fortunate

pairing. Boothill x fem!reader cw/genre. angst, misunderstood, crying, disappointment, frustration, bittersweet ed, some fluff synopsis. he heard part of the conversation with your friends, exactly a bad part. full menu

"Isn't he cute?" One of your friends, Elisa, blurted out. Who carried a small baby in his arms.

"Oh…yes he is!" You spoke, excitedly, taking his small hands in your fingers.

How you loved babies and children in general.

"Can I carry it too?" You asked this time looking at another of your friends, Laila, who was the little boy's mother.

"Sure! Just be careful with his head and neck."

"Hello little one." You spoke to the baby as you held him in your arms as Laila instructed.

Together with your friends, you had met after so many planned outings, which in one way or another ended up being canceled since one was always busy.

Recently one of them had another child. Of your small group of 4 friends, you were the only one who didn't have children until now.

Even though when you were in your student days, you and your friends said that you would be the first to have children.

How unfortunate.

"Oh…he's so fragile." You commented with a soft and cheerful smile.

"He's too cute!" Elisa commented looking at the baby.

"Yeah. And he cries so much." Laila commented in a tired tone. as she gave a soft yawn, it seemed that she was quite tired of the baby, which she had been looking after all the time.

"What else do you expect? He's little." Elisa spoke.

"Is he very noisy?" You asked, curious.

"He keeps us up all night with his crying, you have no idea." Laila responded.

"Sure it's cute at first," said your friend, Myre, "but when you have to deal with them for real… It's a whole other story."

"Are your children also a hassle to you?" You asked with a slight chuckle and curiosity.

"Nah, I love those little ones with my soul." She said, slowly sitting down in the chair at the table where the four of them were sitting. She had to be careful since she was 7 months pregnant.

Your friends, except for Myre, groaned at this.

"How can you say something like that when you're going to have more children?" Laila asked in a tired tone.

"Haha I do not know." She said, laughing, "And I didn't even want to have children."

They all laughed, commenting on one or another trick to make parenting easier. While you stayed talking to the baby with a soft voice. You rocked him in your arms calmly.

"Oh, and wouldn't it be a good idea to put our children in the same academy, just like we planned when we were younger?—" Elisa's words were cut off by a gentle nudge from Myre.

As if to try to silence her.

"Uh…sorry" Elisa's tone of voice was low and with some embarrassment.

You knew very well that in a certain way they felt sorry for you, refusing to talk about that kind of things in front of you.

You really tried not to let it affect you.

"Oh, no. It's totally fine, girls." You spoke, smiling somewhat embarrassed, keeping your gaze on the baby that you still held in your arms.

The baby began to let out soft cries and to move his little arms. You had no idea why.

"Oh, he must be hungry." Laila said, taking a small bottle of breast milk from the bag she had brought with her.

Putting some hot water in it from another thermos that she also brought.

"Here." She handed it to you.

"Are you sure you want me to do it?" You asked, looking at Laila.

She just smiled and shook her head.

You couldn't help but smile at him in response, as you brought the bottle closer to the baby's little mouth.

Then, the baby started drinking his food from the bottle you were holding.

Your friends smiled in reassurance, understanding that you were fine.

"Dear, I had a question actually…" Myre spoke slowly.

"Go ahead." You responded, curious to know what she would ask.

"What about your boyfriend?"

The question made you a little nervous. You had a small worry on your mind, a worry that you've told no one about. Your head was full of thoughts at that momen, it became a sudden silence in the table.

"Uh…well," You let out an awkward chuckle. "Recently we haven't seen each other much." That was the truth.

Lately you had seen your boyfriend less and there was a reason behind it. Boothill was not one to stay on one planet, as he was a galaxy ranger. But that didn't stop him from deciding to stay on your planet for a long time. I went and came back to be with you.

"Well, not all couples see each other every day." Elisa commented, taking a sip of her hot tea.

You were currently residing on a planet that orbited near Jarilo-VI. Or at least that's what Boothill told you.

"She's right, after all not every couple is the same." Laila commented.

They all remained silent, giving each other slight glances.

Of course it didn't go unnoticed by you.

"…We just want you to be a happy girl, sweetheart."

"Um…what's this all about?" You asked, looking at Myre, who after handing the bottle to Laila, took your hand.

"We're worried about you and your situation." She said, looking into your eyes.

"Why…?" That was all you could come up with.

"Lately you've been quite… Distracted or down." This time Laila spoke, with a worried expression.

It was true, you were sure that you had been acting distant lately, at least for the last two weeks. You didn't want to but they had noticed.

"I'll be honest, you're scaring us, sweety girl." Elisa spoke, taking off her glasses and rubbing her eyes with them.

"You really don't look happy, dear." Myre, after saying that, squeezed your hand tighter, as if she wanted to give you comfort.

"We care about you, you know."

The others nodded as well, you had a feeling what was going to happen, they were very obvious.

They all cared about you, you had known each other for long time after all. You knew what they were going to say.

"The truth is that we don't know if that cowboy is the best choice for you." Elisa's words made your heart feel a little heavy.

They knew almost perfectly who your boyfriend was. They knew that being more metal than human, it was impossible for you to have children.

"Dear," Laila started to speak, "You've told us time and time again that you want children of your own. And you know that he can't give you children…"

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat. That was what hurt the most.

She was right, maybe too right.

How unfortunate.

Your gaze was now positioned on the baby, who was now being carried by Elisa.

How much you longed to be able to hold your own children just as you held your friend's child moments before.

You couldn't stop your eyes from filling with a thin layer of tears.

You looked down at your legs, in an attempt to not let them see your face like that.

You let out a silent sigh.

Of course, you knew it wasn't going to be possible to have a baby with Boothill. He was more made of metal and circuits than a living being.

The only way you could have your own children would be to have them with another human. It didn't matter how hard you tried, there was just no way.

Something you didn't know was that the person your friends were talking about was right around the corner from the cafe where you were.

His happiness at seeing you was suddenly turned off, as if it were a switch.

He had heard what they had been talking about.

He saw your reaction.

You didn't deny anything, nor did you say anything in response to your friends' words. In his eyes, you just lowered your head.

If he had a heart, he would have thought his heart was falling towards his now nonexistent stomach.

The beautiful bouquet of flowers that was going to belong to you was now in an alley, exactly in a garbage container.

…

You took out your key to enter your house, you were tired.

You chose to return on foot.

You inserted the key, unlocking the door lock. Entering calmly.

It was a great surprise to see Boothill there.

He could enter whenever he wanted since you had given him a spare key that you had.

It was good for you that he returned to your planet, you really needed his affection now. You were a little down because of the conversation you had with your friends.

"Hello, love." You said, smiling softly at him.

Your eyes were still a little red from the crying that your friends had to witness and comfort.

You fully entered your house and closed the door behind you, approaching your boyfriend so you can kiss him.

Your lips met briefly. You couldn't help noticing that this time it was a much colder and dry caress than usual. He even seemed a little uncomfortable.

He was expressionless, but you could still see something of disappointment hidden behind his eyes.

"Hey, are you alright?" You asked, in a low voice, stroking his cheek with your hand lovingly.

He moved away from your touch, as if it burned his face.

"How unfortunate, isn't it?" He asked as he looked at you.

How unfortunate? The hell was he talking about…?

You took a step forward in an attempt to be closer to him. But he, in response, just took a step back and away from you.

"Don't touch me with those hands."

Those words hurt like a stab in your heart.

Hands… those hands you tried to use to comfort him, caress him.

His look of disappointment was replaced by a look of frustration.

"What do you mean…?" You asked, confused, with a worried expression.

"Oh, you know…" He said, faking nonchalance.

"You can't make your greatest dream come true with me." His words sounded cold.

Your expression dropped, tears slowly filling your eyes, at that moment you remembered the conversation you had with your friends.

"You hear..?" You asked, in a low, broken voice.

You were trying to compose yourself.

Boothill just responded with a chuckle, that hurt you more.

"It's funny how you try to hide your disappointment and your frustration when you see others living the life you want, but you'll never be able to have."

It was the truth after all. A truth that no matter how much you want to ignore, it hurt you more and more.

You tried to open your mouth to speak, but just a small incoherent sound came out.

"No matter how many nights we've lived together, you'll never bear my children."

It was the cruel truth, a reality that you were aware of, but still you let yourself live that lie.

You wanted so much to have his children.

Yet he couldn't give you what you desired.

You took a deep sigh trying to calm the turmoil of emotions that were going through you.

"Boothill…" You whispered, trying to keep your voice from breaking any more than it already had.

His name came out of your lips like a mantra as you were drowning in tears.

"Stop crying." His tone of voice sounded sharper this time, which hurt you even more.

He was acting completely different than usual. He wanted to hurt you?

No, he wanted to get away.

But the pain was too great, tears began to run down your eyes.

"Maybe your friends are right."

"Maybe you should consider looking for someone else."

The tears were falling down your cheeks like a river and your sobs were getting worse.

Those words were so cold that they made your body freeze, your breath came out shaky.

"Please don't say that." You just managed to speak through sobs.

With those words, you walked towards your boyfriend in an attempt to hold him tight and kiss his entire face. To hold him close to your body. But as you were approaching, he just took a step back.

"Just admit it." He muttered in between his teeth.

That filled your head with questions. Admit what?

"Eh?…" You blurted out, giving him a confused look. With your hand you dried the tears that stained your cheeks.

"You also think the same as them."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"You're disappointed, you're frustrated… aren't you?" This time his tone of voice was much calmer, as if he was more tired.

You couldn't respond.

"Say it."

"It's not like that, I'm not—" Your words were interrupted.

Boothill laughed lightly at your denial. "Be honest."

Your brow furrowed slightly. What had he heard then to make him say that?

"You didn't say anything when they told you i wasn't good for you, that you weren't happy."

So he had heard most of the conversation.

But not exactly everything.

"You didn't say anything when they said it was better for you to look for someone else, someone human."

Again you wanted to try to speak but his words were a constant punch to your heart, your body felt heavy.

It was a cruel reality.

You knew that if you stayed with Boothill, you would never be able to have children.

But that didn't matter, it didn't matter to you. You loved him, more than anyone could ever understand.

You loved him, more than your own life.

You didn't want to lose him.

He was the person you wanted by your side for the rest of time.

"I did say something, you didn't fully hear how the conversation went. We can sit down and talk." Your voice rose and fell in pitch as you tried to appease the lump in your throat.

He didn't respond, lowering his gaze to the ground for a moment, as if he was taking the time to think about what he would do next.

"If you're not going to make the decision, I'll help you decide."

He proceed to give you the spare keys to your house.

You stayed still before that, feeling how your eyes were filling with tears again.

Wait, hold on.

"You should search for a human male, someone who can give you what you desire more than anything."

Your body had gone completely tense.

The keys were now gently placed on your palm. Your eyes couldn't process what was happening at the moment. "I'm not going to come back."

As the moment passed and his words and his action were processed in your mind, you slowly managed to raise your face to look at him.

You felt as if at any moment your heart would explode in your chest.

He was going to break up with you. He wanted to break.

Boothill was going to leave you.

"I'm sorry I couldn't fulfill your desire." He started to speak again.

You could hear the disappointment in his words.

"That's it?" You asked through your tears.

That was the last thing he was going to tell you?

Your question was ignored.

"Take care… Darlin'."

In response you didn't manage to say a single word.

You just watched him leave your house.

As you watched the door close, your legs betrayed you and you almost fell to the ground, but managed to hold on to the furniture.

It was impossible for you to contain your tears as they now fell like waves, your breathing became heavy and the sobs were now unbearable.

You had a terrible time that night, that week, that month, that year.

How unfortunate.

"Be careful. Hold on to the ice cream you might drop, dear."

You let out a soft sigh looking at the little girl.

Your little girl.

The little girl was full of energy, you always wondered where she could get so much energy.

You adored her with your life, thanks to her you were able to stop being stuck in that hole of hopelessness in which you were.

You really wonder what things would have been like if you hadn't had the opportunity to raise and care for this little girl.

Currently it has been 6 years since your relationship ended.

Every time you stop to remember what the first 2 years were like, a chill would run down your spine. You basically left yourself abandoned. You weren't living anymore, you just survived. Your dreams of having children faded over time, you decided to give up on that dream.

You could say that it had been a difficult year, with many ups and downs.

At the end of your second year, your friends tried to cheer you up. They tried to get involved with other people, but it was all in vain, in the end they were just people who wanted to take advantage or make use of your body.

So you also chose to stop that. In your mind, you still had hope that one day he would return. However, you saw it as impossible. Because he left, it's not like it was the first time they had disagreements or big misunderstandings.

Quite apart from that, he also noticed your actions, becoming more and more discouraged with the passage of time.

For the third year, one of your friends who worked in a hospital, told you about the most recent crisis she had attended to while she was on duty.

The mother of a girl who was about 1 year old had just died and there were no records of family connections or anything.

So the hospital staff tried to take care of the little girl as much as they could. Since they knew that child care centers were not the best at taking care of children.

You don't really remember how things happened. By the middle of the third year, you were trying to get custody of the girl.

Things turned out well for you, everything happened too fast.

You were more than dedicated to her, going to new parent courses, reading books, watching videos, among other things. It was like the world gave you another chance.

You were finishing ordering your own flavor of ice cream, holding a baby carriage with one of your hands. Yes, you also fought to get the adoption papers for the baby who was barely 9 months old.

"Mom! I dropped it!" Your little girl's small voice shouted, sounding worried and sad.

You finished asking, turning your head towards the scream, sighing and laughing softly. "Leave it there, honey. Come, I'll buy you another one."

She came running again, smiling that she would have another new ice cream.

"This is the last one I bought, be more careful this time." You spoke to her with a somewhat stern voice as you watched her jump with joy, extending her small hands towards the employee who was handing her her new ice cream.

"'Kay!" She let go quickly and ran again in the opposite direction from where you were.

You shook your head as you went back to paying for the ice cream.

The little girl left the games, moving a little away from the initial place where she was. She was a little distracted, walking while happily eating her ice cream.

In one of those, she turned her gaze, opening her small eyes in surprise, now running again in that direction.

He approached a tall man, who seemed to be in his own world at that moment.

With all the daring in the world, the little girl spoke. "You look like my daddy!"

The girl's voice caught the man's attention, looking at her with complete curiosity. "Um…" He looked up, looking around, looking for his parents.

When he didn't find anything, he got a little worried. "Where are your parents?"

The little girl was more than amazed analyzing the man. "My mommy is over there." She said, pointing in the direction she had come from.

Meanwhile, when you finished paying for the ice cream, you looked for your daughter.

Not seeing her nearby, you thought the worst, adrenaline rising through your veins little by little. You started looking for her while shouting her name out loud and asking people near the playground if they had seen her.

You were so scared that your hands were shaking, you had left your freshly bought ice cream on the store counter.

Approximately 5 or 6 minutes passed until in the distance you saw a Little girl running towards you.

A strong sense of relief filled you.

By the time she finished running, coming to stand in front of you, the first thing you did was to bend down and hug her.

“Clementine! You scared me, honey.”

The little girl slipped her arms around you, reciprocating the hug. Then, as if remembering something, she pulled away as she turned her head back.

“Look mommy, that man looks just like daddy.” She spoke, excitedly.

You looked at her in confusion, picking yourself up off the floor, grabbing the baby carriage with one hand again. You looked up, and saw who your daughter meant.

You felt as if all the air in your lungs had disappeared. Your eyes could no longer open.

Your heart was now beating painfully hard in your chest.

Why is…? How…? Is it…? Your mind was a complete chaos of thoughts, all of them racing through your mind and making it feel like it would explode. Your head feels light and you feel dizzy.

You were so shocked that you couldn't even react, not blinking again or being able to move an inch.

You couldn't take your eyes off him. He was there, standing in the distance, looking back at you.

His white hair now tied in a low ponytail. His gaze, piercing and intense, remained the same, just like your memory.

He felt so many things at once. Even how fate came to work at the perfect time for you to name your little girl that name. The same way he named his daughter.

A mixture of surprise and disbelief had taken hold of him, but his body betrayed him.

His body, without even processing in his mind what he was doing, began to approach slowly.

You seemed as if you were frozen in time, he watched you as if no time had passed. Your appearance was almost identical to how he remembered you 6 years ago. The only thing was your hair, which was now short, almost to your shoulders.

"Lil' lady."

Boothill's voice sounded in the small space, watching the young girl turn her gaze towards him.

He held out his hand in front of him, letting the little girl take his fingers. “I'm Boothill, dear. May I know what's your name?”

He introduced himself to her, since moments before he had not had the opportunity to do so.

She looked at him intrigued, squeezing the fingers that held her as she raised her face to speak.

"I'm Clementine!" She replied excitedly, raising her shoulders in an excited gesture.

Your daughter, turned her little head towards you, still holding Boothill's metal hand. "Mommy, he even has a name like daddy!"

No matter how much you tried to formulate words, nothing came out of your mouth.

The child's innocence was endearing.

He just laughed softly, a warm, somewhat nostalgic smile forming on his face. “Yeah, we got the same name.”

The fact that there was a little girl right there who was calling him "daddy" and he had no idea what was going on was a complicated situation. But, he also couldn't help but find it so cute and lovely that he couldn't stop smiling even if he wanted to.

He turned his gaze to you, taking a few seconds before speaking.

"Can we talk?" His tone had a hint of imploration.

You nodded your head weakly in response.

As you did so, you heard your daughter speak again, this time in a more shy and embarrassed manner.

"Dadd— Mr. Boothill!"

"Yes, darlin'?" He tilted his head to the side, focusing his gaze on the girl in front of him again.

"Can you hold me?"

"Clementine!" You reproached her for her question, she didn't even know Boothill well and she was already being open with him. Besides, you didn't want him to get upset about it.

He was a little surprised by such a bold and direct request, but he couldn't say no, of course.

"Hah, sure, why not?"

He had to kneel down to take her gently in his arms.

Seeing your daughter in his arms was one of the most surreal scenes you had ever experienced.

Once he picked her up, she put her arms around his neck, feeling a little safe and comfortable being held in his arms. He gave you a warm smile to reassure you so as not to make you more uneasy than you already seemed.

Although that gesture of his made you even more uneasy. You avoided his gaze, looking at your baby, who was still sleeping peacefully in the stroller.

As you started walking towards your house, you could hear how people nearby whispered as they pointed at the scene.

"He's so tall!" "What a cute girl!" "It looks like it's his dad…"

You bit your tongue lightly, trying to ignore all the sounds.

Looking at his expression, you could tell that he was confused, maybe even a little overwhelmed. The way his eyebrows knitted together and there was a slight frown on his face.

He had that same nervous look on his face as before. He was as bad at hiding his emotions as you.

You remained silent throughout the small stroll of approximately 10 minutes. You could feel his gaze on you, but you didn't dare look at him. There was no doubt that a tense aura surrounded you.

You arrived at the front of your somewhat large house. It wasn't the same one you had 6 years ago, you moved because you needed more space for your children.

You unlocked the door, and let him in, he still had Clementine in his arms as the girl had her face hidden in his neck since she had fallen asleep.

Once the door was closed, you looked at her for a moment, a soft tender look filled your features. After you finished observing her, you turned your gaze towards him.

The room had a warm and cozy atmosphere, with a pleasant temperature that made it easier to breathe.

Both you and Boothill stayed quiet for a few seconds before you spoke again.

“Can you lay her down on the couch?”

You told him as you squared your other baby's stroller. Taking him out of this and carefully taking him to his room, so that he could continue sleeping.

He obeyed your request, carefully laying her down. He took a few seconds to take a good look at the child's face.

He noticed how her small chest rose and fell steadily on the surface of the couch’s pillows, letting out small and soft sighs in the process.

By the time you returned to the living room, he was sitting on the couch, frowning a little and deep in thought.

You let out a quiet sigh, trying to mentally prepare yourself for what was coming.

You also sat on the couch, only on one that was almost in front of him.

Seeing you close to him left him breathless.

Now he was able to see you much more closely.

The same bright and unique eyes, the same small and soft lips.

The expression on your face was a mix of nervousness and discomfort.

He remained silent for a couple of seconds, still trying to process everything.

He parted his lips, finally starting to speak.

"You managed—"

"Sorry for—"

You and him literally spoke at the same time.

You immediately became silent for a moment, feeling a little nervous and embarrassed.

A small, almost unintentional chuckle escaped his lips. Despite everything, the situation was somewhat funny and entertaining.

“You go first.”

He spoke in a gentle, almost sweet voice. His gaze remained focused on yours, paying attention to your expression.

You could feel your mouth going dry, the words not wanting to come out of your throat.

You fidgeted a little, feeling somewhat guilty about what you wanted to say.

"Ah, I'm sorry…" A small gasp escaped your lips as you tried to find the right way to say it. "…for the fact that my daughter said you looked like and had the same name as her dad."

You wondered where the security had gone and the many words you had thought and even rehearsed saying to him the first time you saw him again.

“Oh, nah, that's alright."

He chuckled again, sounding somewhat calm and even amused.

Your nervousness only grew as you felt embarrassed. You thought maybe he would get mad or upset.

The room was silent again.

It went like this for a few minutes until he spoke.

"You managed to have children." He said, with some nostalgia.

"Yeah…I managed."

Your voice came out shakier than you originally planned.

You didn't want him to know how nervous you were, you didn't want him to know that your heart was racing a thousand beats a minute and that you were thinking over and over again about so many scenarios, most of them bad.

He seemed to notice your nervousness, even though you tried to hide it.

He gave a reassuring smile before continuing to speak.

"It…surprises and makes me quite happy." He admitted with sincerity.

You only chose to smile at him in response in a somewhat shy manner.

"By the way, your husband won't be upset that I'm here?" he asked.

“Upset? That's an interesting choice of word.”

A slightly sad expression appeared on your face. Your lips curved downward and your eyebrows frowned.

He had misunderstood you.

You didn't know if you should clarify his comment, if you should explain to him or if you should keep quiet.

You sighed, deciding to speak and be honest with the cowboy.

“Boothill…I don't have a husband…”

The cowboy's eyes widened at the sound of the words coming out of your mouth.

He couldn't tell if you were just kidding or if you were saying it seriously. He was really confused.

"Did you divorce?" he asked.

You shook your head. You lowered your gaze, staring at your fingers on your hands that were clasped together.

“That…” You hesitated for a few moments, searching for the right words. “That implies having been married in the first place. I was never married."

You spoke as you raised your head again, looking at him with a small smile.

"…I'm a single mom, Boothill.”

The cowboy was surprised at the news. He expected many possibilities, but he certainly hadn't thought of this one.

After letting this information sink in, he looked at you with a confused expression.

"But your daughter said I looked like her father—"

Despite all the clues you gave him to understand the situation, he still didn't reach the true conclusion.

That gave you some humor, you assumed he would be nervous.

You let out a small laugh, looking away from him for a moment.

"I adopted my two children." You said once you stopped laughing, looking at your daughter, who was still sleeping peacefully on the couch next to you.

"And…maybe I made the mistake of telling Clementine about you."

He was silent for a few moments as he continued to process the information you had just given him.

Oh.

The expression in his eyes changed from one of confusion to one of surprise.

His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly in shock as he seemed unable to form any words.

He couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt and guilt at all the conclusions that passed through his mind.

“Wait…”

A few uncomfortable seconds passed before he continued. "Why do you say that?"

"Uhm…" You also took care to organize your words, so that they were direct.

And, before you could answer him, your baby, who was sleeping in his room, started crying. Probably because it was time for him to eat.

You quickly got up from the couch, smiling apologetically at him as you left the living room to enter your other son's room.

He watched as you ran into the room.

The cowboy was so distracted with the news you had told him before leaving that he couldn’t help but hear the whole exchange that was going on in the room next door.

Your voice was low and gentle, almost singing to soothe the baby’s cries.

It was like a rollercoaster of emotions.

He leaned back against the backrest of the couch, covering his face with his free hand.

He had to digest all that had happened.

Not only did you manage to have children, but you never married and on top of that you got custody of two children that you did not give birth to.

After a few minutes, you were able to finish feeding your little baby.

The crying had stopped, leaving him in a calm state.

You were able to leave the baby's room once again. Only this time with your son in your arms since he didn't want to sleep again.

As soon as you reentered the room and saw the cowboy’s position, you laughed internally, letting out a soft sigh.

You sat on the couch, but this time next to him. Placing the baby in your legs.

"Sorry for the delay."

You stayed quiet for a while, watching as your son grabbed your fingers and played with them.

"When she was younger she found a photo of both of us. And well…I had to tell her about the relationship we had." You sounded a little embarrassed, however you were no longer nervous, on the contrary, you were calm.

He dropped his hand from his face and turned to look at you, but you continued to look down at your baby.

He listened to your words for a few seconds, now putting his hand on his chin, pondering the new information you had given him.

"And she thought I was…?"

He wasn’t quite sure how to say it without being too frank, but you had a small smile on your lips, guessing what his words would be.

You nodded your head, looking up at his face and watching his expression change.

His initial surprise soon turned into something else.

Your little girl believed and thought that a cowboy like him was her father.

How cute.

You still remember when you had to tell him about your past relationship. Your daughter was barely 2 years old when she found letters and a photo. Specifically from you and Boothill.

Before her gaze full of curiosity and many questions she asked you, you were transparent with her and told her about what your relationship with him was like.

That afternoon, she began referring to him as her dad.

You, who couldn't imagine that in perhaps other circumstances you could have considered starting a family with him, you let him call him that.

Telling him more things about him, that he didn't always stop on your planet, etc.

You allowed yourself to remember him that way, since over time you managed to stick to his words; "I'm not going to come back."

The room fell silent. Your gaze focused on the baby in your legs, as he held onto your fingers, his gaze locked on Boothill.

"I assumed you would never come back so I let Clementine continue calling you that." Your voice sounded somewhat bitter as you spoke.

He remained silent for a few moments before a small laugh escaped his mouth.

"That explains why she said I looked like her dad." His own words had made it all make sense to him at that moment.

"Yeah…"

You both remained in front of the other in an awkward silence, you didn't really know how to continue the conversation.

Your daughter's words kept replaying in your mind.

“You look like my daddy! “ She said it was as if no time had passed. In your head you couldn't help but think that it felt like 6 years ago, it felt like the first time you met him…

You were so immersed in your thoughts that you felt a shiver run down your spine.

His eyes, watching you so intensely, felt like they were burning you from within.

“Why didn't you get a partner?…” he dared to ask, in a tone of voice you couldn't identify this time.

You didn't expect that question.

"Uh…"

It was the only thing you could articulate, since once again you were at a loss for words.

You avoided his gaze a bit, looking at a random spot on the floor. You didn't know how to answer that, or rather… you didn't know if you wanted to answer.

When you didn't answer, Boothill thought you didn't want to talk to him. He understood he was probably overstepping a line.

"It's okay, you don't have to—"

But he was interrupted by your voice, after finally finding the words that were lost inside your mind.

“Because I was waiting for you." Your voice came out slow. Fragile as a whisper.

You had been waiting for it. Past time.

Again you avoided looking directly at him but you could practically feel his stunned gaze on you.

He hadn't expected that answer. Instead he had expected many excuses.

'I'm not interested in a relationship.' 'I focus on my children and myself.' 'I never found the right person.'

Anything, anything. But not that.

She waited for me…? He thought.

He continued to analyze you with a stunned expression, seeing the state you were in, and then a pang of regret hit him.

He wanted to say many things. He wanted to apologize.

But his own words felt caught in his throat. His mouth parted open a little, but he couldn't say anything. His mind went totally blank.

Faced with his other lack of speech, you chose to go straight to the point this time.

"Why did you come back?" Bitterness and nostalgia.

"…What do you want of me?" Frustration and sorrow.

Those were your emotions that predominated in you at that moment.

What were you looking for? Did he want to leave you in ruins again? You didn't want to feel vulnerable again. Even though now you're feeling that way again.

Those words hit him like a punch in the face.

The frustration and sadness in your voice only made him feel worse about himself, his guilt increased as every word left your mouth.

He couldn't find the words he wanted to say. His mind was a mess, and every time he tried to start speaking. Only some incoherent sounds came out of his mouth. He tried to speak, but his words died in his throat.

His eyes watched you desperately, not knowing what to say. He felt how in those moments he had become a total idiot. A completely lost man.

"I wanted to see if you were okay." His voice also sounded like a whisper, calmly.

Your words sounded almost like reproaches, which they truly were.

There were so many things you wanted to tell him, so many questions that you wanted answered but you were holding back. You just couldn't find the words as well.

"I…" He started again, with difficulty.

"I never forgot about you."

At his words, you couldn't help but frown.

"Forget…?"

You were now even more frustrated. Frustrated with him, and even more frustrated with yourself for still feeling this way about him.

"It is unfair." you said, your eyes now filling with tears, you were holding back the urge to let your feelings out.

"After being gone for 6 damn years, you come back and tell me that?…" You refused to look at him, because if you did, everything you had been ignoring, your feelings and sorrows, were coming to the surface.

"It's too unfair…" You felt your vision now blurry and the salty taste of your tears on your lips, which simply came out without delay.

Your baby, who had stopped seeing Boothill, was looking at you, as if sensing your discomfort, grabbing your fingers with his small hands, bringing them to his small face.

The cowboy was beginning to understand your frustration, he was frustrated himself, he felt guilty that after so much time he was back in your life, and that you had to cry because of him.

He could say that you looked more vulnerable than he remembered, with your body shaking as you cried and your voice breaking and filling with frustration, despair and sadness.

You couldn't stop the tears from coming out like a waterfall.

You felt a lump in your throat as you tried to keep yourself from sobbing as much.

Each time you inhaled to take a breath, your exhale became a small broken sob.

You never thought that the reunion would be like this. When you dreamed of his return, it was always a happy dream, a warm and emotional reunion.

But it wasn't, it was the opposite.

The last time he saw you, you were crying, and now that he saw you again, you were crying again.

He brought his hand to you, trying to wipe the tears that were now freely falling from your eyes.

His touch alone sent a small shiver through your body.

You moved backwards away from the touch, shaking your head as if telling him not to do that.

His touch brought you too many memories that you'd tried to bury for a long time.

It made you miss him even more, miss the good times you had when it was just the two of you.

That simple thought caused another sob that escaped from your lips. The tears continued uninterruptedly.

"Please no."

He wanted to hold you, embrace you tightly, wipe away your tears and tell you that he wouldn't leave you again, never again.

But just a minute ago you had tried to keep away from his touch, so the only thing he could do at the moment was to keep his hands to himself.

Seeing you in this state, crying bitterly and being speechless and motionless, made him not want to move from his place. As much as he wanted desperately to hold you, he just stayed there, watching.

"Darlin', I-" He spoke, being totally interrupted by your daughter, who had just woken up.

His words echoed within you, calling you darlin'…

"Mommy? Why are you crying?"

Her small voice cut through the tense, silent atmosphere of the room. Like an oasis in the middle of the desert.

You were surprised, since you hadn't even realized that your baby had woken up, probably because of your small cries.

You turned your head quickly, looking at her as she rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up properly.

You wanted to speak, but all the words seemed to have escaped your brain. The only thing that came out of your mouth was a strangled sigh, trying to calm yourself as you wiped away the tears that continued to fall.

Until you finally managed to answer her, "I'm fine love, don't worry.", with a small, forced smile. Trying to convince her that you were fine, even though your face was red and tearful.

With one hand free, you managed to run your hand over your face, wiping away the traces of tears.

Your little girl's face was troubled as she looked at you.

You let out a sigh, asking her to come closer.

She did and you brushed a small unruly strand of her hair behind her ear.

“Honey, can you take your little brother to your room with you?” your voice to her was always sweet and soft.

“'kay, mommy.”

Despite your still teary eyes, you laughed softly at your daughter's obedience. “What a good girl.” You said in a whisper.

Just as you said, she carefully picked up the baby in your arms and walked with slow steps to her room.

Once she disappeared after closing the door to her room, you covered your mouth with your hand, in an attempt to stop the sobs that arose.

You felt his gaze on you at all times, which made your eyes sting even more. Maybe you should have refused his proposal to talk.

“Please.” At first his voice faltered a bit, being more of a whisper. Almost afraid of being expelled from his mouth.

Suddenly you felt the couch move quickly. By the time you realized it, he was already holding your face.

The metal of his hands made the heat in your cheeks from crying cool down.

With an undaunted look, he spoke again, “Please…”

Oh, if he had a way to cry, he'd be doing it right now.

“…give me 6 more years.” Even though he couldn't feel the warmth emanating from your cheeks, its softness that he only felt when your face and his face collided. He wanted you to feel his touch, soft and caring, like a piece of porcelain.

You stood still, not struggling to release his grip, your eyes focused on his.

He knew he didn't even deserve to make a request, but he wanted to try anyway.

“Give me those years you lost to try to make up for.” Just by looking at him, you could sense that he himself was two words, “please” and “sorry”.

You were terrified by his proposal, you were afraid that a similar situation would happen again. Your brain did its best to reason, while your heart gave itself totally to him, to accept his proposal.

Your mouth opened slightly, looking for words to come out, but nothing came out. Not even sobs. The only ones that came out were tears.

He didn't stop talking, he was letting the feeling that was eating him up inside take over him. “And… if in that time I don't make up for how bad you felt, I'll stop trying.”

He felt like a dog with its tail between its legs. Begging, but in a way more shameful. He was putting his pride aside by giving you this proposal.

And yes, he himself believed that only 6 years was not enough time to be able to ask for forgiveness in appropriate ways.

Your shoulders moved involuntarily and you finally started sobbing again. Even though you wanted to yell at him like you had done in the past on some occasion, you were too overwhelmed to even do that right now.

His words affected you more than you expected.

As much as you struggled to hold on to reasons, your heart longed for his presence every day for the last 6 years.

All the suffering you felt, the tears you shed, and the times you wondered what your relationship was worth to him.

It was painful. Thinking of all those things made your chest ache.

Even in such a delicate conversation, he did not release your face, still holding it tightly in his hands.

He gently wiped away your tears with his thumb for a few minutes, as if he were cleaning a mirror, which was useless and ridiculous, but he didn't care. He hoped to at least make you comfortable. He could tell how hurt you were from the tears, and it shattered his heart into pieces, leaving no trace behind.

He was scared. He was scared that you didn't want him again like before. And he understood you if you didn't.

“Let me try, please.”

You could see a deep regret in his eyes as he caressed your cheeks.

Those feelings.

You closed your eyes tightly, trying to avoid seeing that look on him.

You couldn't think, not when he was touching you that way.

His touch, a feeling that you thought you would feel no more.

You felt your heart contract at his words, his proposal echoed in your mind, repeating itself continuously.

Despite the fact that you didn't give him a direct answer, you made him close his mouth, pressing your body against his.

You really longed for it for so long.

You still weren't entirely sure if his proposal would work, but it was at least worth letting him try. Who knows how things would turn out this time.

He didn't expect your reaction, but when your body was pushed against his, his chest felt so full. He reciprocated quickly, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

He felt like he had you all to himself again. It filled him in a way he couldn't describe.

He closed his eyes gently, burying his face in your neck. The scent of you still hadn't changed, it still felt the same.

He let out a shaky breath, his arms not loosening their grip on you.

Now it only depended on time for things to get better. Time and him.

Maybe he could even really become the father of your little ones. Who knows.

How unfortunate he felt.

©cherrylovelycherry do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[nknoxe-n]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥Happy Campersೃ⁀➷

Synopsis: You're their special person of interest, one of you forgets a sleeping bag when you go camping together and has to share with the other <3

Warnings: [Shidou, that's it]

w.c 1k

note: If anyone wants, I will make little drabbles on each of them based off of these headcannons

(They'd forget their sleeping bag)

Isagi Yoichi: Sweet boy he's so embarrassed at first, he forgot his sleeping bag, and it's soooo cold out would you please let him share, he had the immediate idea to share almost like he was waiting for something like this to happen. He's so smitten once he gets inside the sleeping bag with you, once the both of you are half asleep he starts to wrap his arm around your waist and snuggle up to you, no doubt you'll wake up in a tangled mess.

Nagi Seishiro: He wouldn't care all too much but he 100% takes up most of the sleeping bag, just because he likes you doesn't mean he'll give up his precious sleeping space even if it's actually yours, besides he's just so big you can't expect to have a lot of room anyway. Nagi is totally a cuddle bug because there is too much hassle in having shame, if he wants something he'll just ask, you wouldn't mind right?

Bachira Meguru: Awh he's so sweet, when he realizes he forgot his sleeping bag he just pouts at the campfire for a good solid ten minutes before lighting up and asking if he can share with you, which how could you say no to that face? You'd have to convince him to not get naked because he sleeps naked no doubt in my mind about it, personally I don't see him asking if he can cuddle you he'll just do it but also respectful af he would pull away if you asked, surprisingly has cold hands all the time.

Reo Mikage: He did it on purpose… you both could have just stayed at his cottage to camp, but he insisted you go in a tent out in the woods with sleeping bags. He'd beg you with those big, stupid, purple, puppy eyes and I mean actually beg you, if you asked he'd get down on his knees for you (He loves to give, also soft dom or actual big bottom energy). If you end up agreeing he's actually kind of nervous, he wants it to go perfectly so he's mumbling bashfully like a school girl if he can hold you because he's a little cold, poor thing.

Niko Ikki: Ugh this little pathetic shrimp boy he's adorable, doesn't want to even ask permission to share a sleeping bag with you, he's too embarrassed, you'll have to be the one to ask or else he WILL sleep on the floor of his tent with nothing. I know for a fact this twink cuddles like a koala, doesn't matter if you're bigger or smaller than him, he will be climbing you.

Shidou Ryusei: He did it on purpose, he wants those cheeks, that's it. (#1 Shidou hater)

(You would forget your sleeping bag)

Barou Shoei: This man? You expect this man to forget, no way in hell, he'd rather march back to the house than get caught forgetting his own. He'll realize you forgot your sleeping bag before you and has already mentally prepared to share with you, in his mind there's no other alternative, what you want to freeze to death? He's super warm but will not hold you even if you ask, if you want to so badly you have to initiate it. Not only that, but he moves a lot in his sleep and finds it really hard to get comfortable, and will wake up with you on your back and him half on top of you and an arm around your waist.

Rin Itoshi: He will act SO mad at you when you tell him that you've forgotten your sleeping bag, how else are you supposed to camp now? I still will always believe Rin would never like someone unless you've known him since pre-brother removal or since he was young at least, so you've probably had sleepovers with him before. No matter how close you are just because he likes you doesn't mean he's going to act happy about it, but he's completely different once your asleep he's still awake, I see him being awake for a while just thinking because this man is emotionally constipated, but he'll cuddle you once he's sure that he can play it off in the morning as your fault for being clingy in your sleep.

Kunigami Rensuke: BIGGEST doofus ever, he is so sweet about it, instantly offering to go home and camp some other time since you don't have a sleeping bag but when you mention sharing he's a flustered mess, a MESS I say, but he'll agree to it. He asks if you're cold once you get settle and if you say yes he offers to hold you, not like there's much difference since it's a tight squeeze. He drools in his sleep so be prepared to wake up with that also he will have one of your legs in between his idk it's a comfort thing.

Tokimitsu Aoshi: Does anyone like this dork? Well I do so buckle up mf's, he was so worried about the entire trip of course he didn't forget his own sleeping bag, also how did you get this man in the woods at night? Either way, he is dying at the thought of sleeping in the same place as you, especially one so cramped because he likes you so much, and he has to make a perfect impression because in his mind he's so uninteresting and what if you hate him? It goes smoothly in reality, but he doesn't end up sleeping that night because he's afraid he might snore and wake you up. The end. No, but if you actually ask to cuddle he'll let you, but he will not only be awake all night he'll be tense too.

Shidou Ryusei: So in another universe where I don't hate this man, here's his headcannon. He wouldn't forget his sleeping bag, and he's already suggesting you two share the sleeping bag once he finds out you don't have yours, and he will cuddle up to you no questions asked. If he likes you, he LIKES you, he might try to turn it into something sexual, but if you don't want that he won't take it that far. He grips you in his sleep like he will have a fist full of your shirt, your thigh, hell even your hair. He dreams about hurting people and talks in his sleep also had the funniest bed head no questions asked.

[scientia-rex]

I've been trying to figure out what the deal is with prediabetes so I can write a meaningful response to an ask I got about it, and I just keep going wait--okay--here's one paper--but here's another one--here's a Cochrane review--but here's a different meta-analysis--and here's newer data from an RCT...

It's nuts! It's bananas. And anybody who says we have good, crisp, clear guidelines around what prediabetes even IS, much less what to do about it, is FULL OF SHIT.

What I really need to know in order to feel more confident about my handle on whether to medicate pre-diabetes is the population incidence. Not prevalence. Because if I take the most optimistic studies about medication as an intervention, specifically, I could be looking at about a 30-40% reduction in risk of progression to diabetes. But! How many people is that, actually? Because medication is not without its harms! We need to compare number needed to treat with number needed to harm, we need to have high-quality evidence that says yes, if we give this medication to everyone who meets X level of criteria for pre-diabetes (it's different in different sources AND it's changed repeatedly over our lifetime!), we will see a level of benefit sufficient to justify making these other people who would not have progressed to diabetes without it endure the hassle and side effects of taking a medication for the rest of their lives.

AND HERE'S THE REAL FUN PART: we don't really know where tissue damage begins! We thought we did! 6.5-7ish A1c. But it turns out there is a marked risk of retinopathy beginning at 5.5! Which is considered normal. AND ALSO we should probably be thinking of it as at least three separate disease based on our current ability to measure--A1c is a broad marker that collapses multiple forms of dysregulated blood sugar, and when we use more fine-grained tests, we see meaningful distinctions that probably affect preferred treatments between people who have impaired fasting glucose, people who have abnormal values on an oral glucose tolerance test, and people who have both. We should treat these groups differently because they reflect different underlying pathways: elevated fasting glucose means your liver is breaking down too much glycogen while you sleep, which is one issue, while elevated post-prandial glucose means your skeletal muscles (OR SOMETHING ELSE they're not totally sure) are behaving abnormally in response to insulin. IT'S NOT THE SAME THING and people with both impaired fasting glucose and abnormal post-prandial glucose are at higher risk of progression to diabetes/tissue damage than people with just one of those. AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, what is diabetes? What's the best cutoff? What's the best measure? How many underlying pathophysiologies are getting collapsed into the same group????

THE MORE I LEARN ABOUT THIS THE MORE QUESTIONS I HAVE and experts are all being serenely confident while contradicting each other so I have to actually dig in the data a lot harder than I usually do. I've been meaning to do this for months, but one of the presenters this morning made a comment about the benefits of putting prediabetics on metformin that made me go "hm, do I need to start doing that?" and I've gone from my kneejerk answer being "no, we studied this and it doesn't help" to "I don't fucking know and neither does anyone else."

...as always, Cochrane is probably right.