#I guess I’m going to try and write or something

[yukioos]

hii may you write katsuki taking care of sick fem!reader?? like she gets the cold after being too long under the rain or something like that 🥹

katsuki takes care of you when you’re sick

you should’ve listened to katsuki.

last night, you were in the rain for a couple of hours doing god knows what, and you came back to the heights alliance soaked, shivering and sniffling with red cheeks and a red nose. even after taking a shower, you headed to bed with a runny nose and an uncomfortable feeling in your throat. after sneezing multiple times and not being able to sleep, you hear a knock at your door.

reluctantly, you stand up from your bed, feeling the cold air hit your bare legs and arms. a small whimper comes from your mouth, and you open the door, standing behind it just to see katsuki glaring down at you tiredly.

“i thought i told you not to go out,” he scolds, “you clearly didn’t listen to me.”

you frown and roll your eyes, then ask, “did i wake you up?” he hesitantly nods, not wanting you to feel guilty, then you mumble, “i think i’m gonna ask if i can skip class today, i don’t wanna get any of the others sick.”

katsuki stares at you for a moment, tapping his slippered foot against the ground before sticking his tongue to his cheek. he finished all of his projects early, and there are no upcoming tests that he’s too worried about. he’s studied, still has the flashcards in his room, and there’s no topic in class that he needs to learn with the teacher.

he sighs, “i’ll stay tomorrow too.” your eyes widen, and before you’re about to interject, you sneeze. he takes the chance to continue with a small grin, “i’ll tell kirishima to give me his notes tomorrow.”

you shake your head and argue, “katsuki, there’s no reason to stay with me, you need to keep learning—“

“if you go around grabbing all those utensils and food in the kitchen, you’ll contaminate everything and everyone will get sick. there’s not much in the fridge and everything’s just ingredients, so i guess that means,” he sighs, “i’m making you food.”

you continue to argue, “no, katsuki, you don’t have to make me food, just go to class in the morning—“

he rolls his eyes and grabs you, carrying you bridal style before throwing you onto your bed and pulling up the blankets to your chin. he puts his fist near your neck, and you whine, kicking your feet. you’re practically trapped.

“i’ll tell the principal we’re staying in the dorms. wake me up when you’re ready for breakfast or lunch.” he softly pats your cheek, “go to bed, you need the energy.”

you give him a soft smile and curl up further into yourself, and he leaves your room, retreating to his. this time, it’s easier to fall asleep.

when you wake up, katsuki’s already in your room, lying at the foot of your bed as he scrolls through his phone. steaming miso soup and water are on your nightstand, and you smile at how kind he’s acting.

once you slowly sit up, katsuki murmurs, “good, you’re awake,” he turns off his phone and looks at you with care, “got some pills for you in case you feel extra shitty today, they might make you sleepy though.”

you nod and drink some water, your throat already feeling a little better. once you try the miso soup, your mouth is salivating for more. katsuki can see the shine in your eyes when you quickly take more bites of the tofu, and within a few minutes, you’re done with the soup. a hum escapes your lips at the warm feeling in your stomach, leaving you satisfied.

“thank you,” you mumble, shyly smiling at him.

his eyes soften, and the corner of his lips slightly twitch, something only you would notice. he stands up and walks over to you, bends down, and places a soft kiss on your forehead.

his hand is on your thigh when he affectionately speaks, “i’m gonna refill your water, stay here and don’t do anything too stupid.”

you nod and he takes your glass, hurrying to fill your water before returning in under a minute. when he returns, he only cracks open your door, not fully closing it because it was just you two. he places your now full glass on the nightstand and climbs into your bed next to you.

you complain, “i’m tired!” and groan.

katsuki dramatically sighs before softly pushing the back of your head to his chest, silently telling you that you can lie on it. a giddy grin spreads across your face, and you wrap your leg and arm around him. it’s a bit odd he’s letting you do all this, especially when you're sick. you’re thankful, nonetheless.

he’s so warm.

katsuki kisses your forehead once again and mumbles something incoherent into your hair, and you cuddle up further into him. he wraps a strong arm around your body, comfortingly securing you against him.

the two of you quickly fall asleep in each other’s warm embrace.

when school is out, the two of you are still passed out with each other, and you don’t hear the shuffling of steps coming up the stairs of the heights alliance. however, jiro and kaminari walk by your room and look at each other in confusion. kaminari quietly opens the door, peeking through to see you and bakugo cuddling?

a gasp comes from his mouth and katsuki’s eyes shoot open immediately. his dark eyes glare at kaminari, whose mouth is still open until it turns into a mischievous smile. he takes out his phone and opens the camera app, panning it to your sleeping form being held by bakugo, who has a scowl on his face.

he considers sending a little explosion towards you, but goes against it. he doesn’t want you to wake up yet. you feel too perfect in his arms.

i love this idea! thank you for requesting this, sorry i got a little off track near the end

[juliettejwnewinesa]

I'm so happy you're writing again after that unnecessary hate and I've been hooked in, like always.

Can you do a Seongje fic with an insecure gf. It's a constant thing for her to hear other girls talking about her boyfriend like they could have him. We all know Seongje doesn't care about other people, but for the reader, it's something she can't ignore, even when she tries her hardest to not care. She's always telling herself she got lucky because he's way out of her league and starts to get anxious at the thought of him leaving her, even though they've been together for a really long time. He eventually starts noticing the change (like faking a laugh or smile etc.) He decides to ask her about it one day and she eventually tells him when she realizes she can't avoid the questions

Title: "Way Out of My League" Pairing: Seongje x Insecure!Reader Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst to Fluff Warnings: Self-doubt, anxiety, implied low self-esteem, soft possessive comfort.

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You’d been faking it for weeks.

Smiling when girls giggled and not-so-subtly talked about your boyfriend like you weren’t right there. Laughing like it didn’t sting when someone said, "If I were her, I’d never let him out of my sight.”

If only they knew how tightly you already held on. And how afraid you were that one day, it wouldn’t be enough.

Because Seongje? He was everything you weren’t. Effortlessly confident. Beautiful in a way that made heads turn without trying. Sharp eyes, sharp tongue, sharp edges—yet somehow, he was softest with you.

But you couldn’t stop thinking it. He could do better.

You told yourself it was irrational. That he’d never made you feel replaceable. But those thoughts were insidious. They didn’t need a reason; they just dug in.

So you got quieter. Smiles more delayed. Laughter a bit strained.

And Seongje, of course, noticed.

He let it go at first, thinking you were tired. Then maybe stressed. But the cracks didn’t mend. You started saying things like, “You’re too good to me,” or “I still don’t know why you picked me.”

And when you stopped initiating affection at all—that was his limit.

You were curled up beside him one evening, legs tucked to your chest on the couch. A movie played in the background, but you hadn’t reacted to anything in twenty minutes.

He nudged your arm.

“Hey.” His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked up at him, forcing a smile. “Hmm?”

“Cut it out.”

You stilled. “Cut what out?”

“That fake smile. The ‘I’m fine’ act. I’m not stupid, you know.”

That stunned you silent. You sat straighter, blinking fast. “I didn’t—It’s not—”

“You’re pulling away from me.”

His tone wasn’t angry. Just certain. Like he already knew and only needed you to say it out loud.

“I’m not—” But your voice cracked halfway through, and that’s when he sighed and shifted to face you completely, pulling your hand into his.

“Baby,” he murmured. “What’s going on?”

The tenderness in his voice almost broke you. Your throat tightened.

“…Nothing,” you whispered, eyes dropping.

“Try again.”

You shook your head. “You’re just… you’re you, and I’m—” you stopped yourself, then exhaled shakily. “I keep hearing people talk about you. About how you’re too hot to be tied down. That they’d snatch you if I ever slipped up.”

Seongje didn’t interrupt. He just listened.

“And I know I should ignore it. I try to. But it’s constant. And I don’t—” You clenched your fists. “I don’t want to be the girl who’s always scared her boyfriend’s gonna leave, but I guess I am. And I hate that.”

His silence made your heart race. You didn’t dare look up.

But then he leaned in and cupped your cheek, making you face him.

“You know what pisses me off the most about that?” he asked softly. “That you think I’d ever want anyone else.”

Your eyes welled up instantly.

“You think I’d trade you for girls who don’t even know me? Who see my face and nothing else?” He shook his head slowly. “That’s not just insulting to you. That’s insulting to me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want easy attention. I want the girl who knows what I’m like when I’m quiet. Who sits through my moods. Who never tried to change me—even when she could’ve.”

He moved his thumb under your eye to catch a tear before it fell.

“I want you,” he said. “Only you. And I hate that people’ve made you feel like you have to fight to keep me. You already have me, babe. All of me.”

A tear slipped down your cheek. “I just… sometimes I feel like I got lucky.”

He shook his head. “No. I got lucky. I’m the one who pulled the girl who could handle me. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for. And if I have to keep reminding you every day, I will.”

You laughed through your tears, finally genuine. “You’re sappy when you want to be.”

He smirked. “Shut up.”

You leaned in, burying your face into his chest. His arms immediately came around you.

“I hate that they get in your head,” he murmured. “Next time someone says some shit like that, tell me. I’ll shut it down.”

You snorted. “You mean threaten them?”

“If I have to.”

“Seongje.”

“…Fine. I’ll politely threaten them.” (break a finger or two)

You laughed again. “I love you.”

“I know.” He pulled back to kiss your forehead. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

[jsprnt]

recovering from getting your wisdom teeth removed isn’t as simple as you had expected…

jude bellingham x fem!reader

a/n: it’s been way too long since I’ve written or posted anything on this account. but I’m so happy I could write something! as you might have guessed, I’m currently suffering from having my wisdom teeth pulled, and needed to find a distraction to not go crazy at home.. anyhow, hope you like it, enjoy!

w/c: 1.480

"I can't talk a lot right now.."

You mumble out, trying to bite down on the white gauze in your mouth. The jaw surgeon and her nurses had just pulled out two of your impacted wisdom teeth half an hour ago, the numbness from the local anesthesia still making your tongue and cheek feel incredibly weird.

"That's okay, love. Just come and sit on the couch.."

Your boyfriend, Jude tells you, one hand on your waist and one holding up an ice pack to your right cheek. The coldness soothing your sore face.

The morning birds were still chirping outside, as you had scheduled your appointment as early as possible. Wanting to get it over and done with.

"I really want a drink.." You choke out, placing your head on the couch cushion, the soft material more comfortable than the hard chair in the surgeon’s office you had lain on earlier.

"The doctor said you can't drink until the anesthesia has worn off, babe." Jude voices out, his thumb wiping away some bloody spit coming out the corner of your mouth.

Being a professional footballer for years had made him absolutely immune to anything pertaining to blood and wounds. He'd experienced and seen so many injuries to count on his hands, which turned out to be beneficial for you in a moment like this.

He'd gone as far as to postpone his post-season family vacation when he'd heard you planned to spend your post-opp days miserable and alone in your apartment. Wanting to be there for you when you were healing and needed some extra love and support.

"That's so unfair.." You whisper, closing your eyes as you let out a strangled sigh. Still emotional from what happened back at the hospital.

Yes, you were fully numbed, but being conscious and aware of the fact that your gums and jawbone were being cut and drilled into made you squeamish and extra nervous.

"I know, baby.." You hear your boyfriend say, a warm towel coming to wipe your mouth and face.

"Let's change you into your pajamas. It's best if you sleep off the numbness.."

He'd changed and helped you into bed within minutes, planting a sweet and comforting kiss onto your forehead, as he pulled up the comforter to your chest.

"I don't want you to go.." You whisper out when you notice him back away, his hands reaching for the doorknob.

"Hm? You want me to stay?" He cocks a brow, hesitating as he was planning to call his mum to ask if she could make some soup for you. He'd obviously want to make some himself, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to take his chances— of you ending up even more miserable when you tasted his cooking skills, or rather lack thereof..

"Please.."

Jude's heart clenches in his chest as he hears the emotion in your voice, he lets go of the doorknob, making a beeline towards his side of the bed.

He makes quick work of texting his mum, before placing his phone on the nightstand, and coming to wrap his arms around your waist. His warm body and muscular arms providing some much- needed comfort.

"Here, here.. close your eyes, baby, hm? I'll be here when you wake up.."

You make a small noise, before turning in his hold to face him. You look him over, his concerned brown eyes, and plump lips set in a line of worry. Unconsciously, his hand comes up to fix the ice pack underneath your head.

"C'mon, sleep now, yeah?" Jude goes in to kiss your forehead once more, a thumb swiping over your brow bone.

Nodding softly, you close your eyes. Exhaustion taking over you, as a result of your nerves not letting you sleep properly last night.

The last thing you see before nodding off, is Jude's handsome face. And as he promised; the first thing you see when waking up hours later in the afternoon— is his face again.

"Morning, sleepyhead. How are you feelin'?” Jude's gentle voice coaxes you awake, your consciousness slowly getting clearer. You immediately notice the fact that the ice pack underneath your head is frozen solid, noting that Jude must've switched it for a frozen one while you were asleep.

"It hurts.." Your first words make him frown in worry, one hand coming to check the size of your swollen cheek.

"You're a bit swollen, baby.." He comments, his gaze overridden with worry and guilt. Jude can't help but feel relief at the fact that he'd decided to stay home until you’ve recovered, since he couldn't have left you alone in your vulnerable state.

"Here, sit up so I can feed you some of my mum’s soup.." He says, stabilizing your back as you move to sit.

You immediately groan at the change of position, feeling your cheek swell up wasn't for the weak..

"I want medicine.." You comment, frowning in pain. Your hand coming to cling onto Jude's bicep, fingers curling around the bulging muscles.

"Okay, baby.. here— let me..."

Jude makes quick work of grabbing the painkillers on the nightstand, grabbing two for optimal effect.

"Take one at a time, slowly.." He muses, slowly placing one into your mouth. Jude brings up a cup of lukewarm water, helping you wash away the medicine.

"Remember, no rinsing your mouth until tomorrow..." He comments, placing the empty glass back on the nightstand.

"Gross.." You mumble back, the idea of having a crusty-bloody mouth until tomorrow makes you want to grab a bottle of mouthwash and rinse your mouth until you feel and taste only the mintiness of the liquid.

"I won't kiss you until then.." Jude teases, a smirk pulling on his lips, a hint of mocking in his eyes.

"You're so mean.." You mumble out, clinging onto the ice pack for some relief.

"I love you too.." He muses, wrapping an arm around your back to pull you closer.

"Do you want to eat in bed, or would you like to sit at the table?" Jude asks, fingers playing with your hair strands, the feeling making you slightly ticklish.

"Here.." You comment, eyes going to the bowl of soup on his nightstand. No way did you have energy to move to the dinner table.

"I love your mum.." You add, appreciating the fact that she had taken the time out of her busy day to cook for you.

A silent declaration of love.

Jude chuckles at your love for his mother, moving his arm to grab the warm bowl of soup.

"I'll let her know, or— you should tell her yourself when you see her.." He stirs the liquid with a metal spoon, then holds up a spoonful of soup, and blows on it.

He knows it would be better to eat lukewarm and warm foods, as anything very hot could cause you to burn your mouth. He’d rather not add anything to your list of burdens today...

"Here you go, have some.." Jude coaxes, feeding you slowly until you finish the bowl of soup with a sigh.

"That was good.." You mumble, humming when you feel a warm towel on your face.

"Are you still hungry?" Jude asks, wiping away the residual soup from your lips, as licking them was harder with half your jaw stitched shut.

"No, I'm good..."

You move up to his lap, thighs pressing against his, as Jude gets the queue to wrap his arm around you, stabilizing the ice pack on your cheek.

"Hands around me.." He tells you, knowing it was the most comfortable for you to rest your hands, and not to worry about holding the cold, icy plastic to your face.

"Good girl, we'll let the soup settle into your belly, and then I'll prepare a warm bath, 'kay?" Jude whispers, running a soothing hand down your back.

You hum, taking his signature cologne in. Normally, when he would go out— he'd smell like sandalwood and bergamot— like the perfume you'd gifted him on his birthday years ago. Something he would rebuy and apply all the time, just to think of you when you weren't there..

Now, he smelled the definition of clean. A soft, gentle smell of the shampoo in his recently washed hair, and the smell of his sweet cocoa body lotion, something you couldn't help but steal from him..

"I want a smoothie after this.." You mumble, taking in the soothing touches. The taste of a freshly made smoothie was heavenly to you, especially when you were feeling down or under the weather..

"Of course, whatever my princess wants, my princess gets.."

You don't catch the soft, soothing smile Jude has on his face, but do know that no matter how hard this recovery process gets, he'll stay by your side no matter what...

[harkness-pet]

chaos makes the muse - pt. 2

Pairing: Agatha x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, dom!agatha, sub!reader, manipulation, praise kink, toxic relationship

Plot: your relationship with agatha starts taking a toll on you, but you can’t let go. maybe you can fight back a little bit.

MEN AND MINORS DNI!

Your relationship with Agatha deepens. Your nights are spent between her thighs, the days are spent thinking of being between her thighs. 

Your bed is used as another table, you never sleep there. You’re always in Agatha’s. And she never lets you be the big spoon, always tucking you under her arm, holding you tightly, possessive. 

Then one day you come to your room late after a long study session in the library and you find Agatha curled in bed, tears streaming down her face. 

She doesn’t want to tell you what’s happened, but you can guess her mother had something to do with the tears. You’ve never met Evanora, Agatha hasn’t told you much either, but you can guess a lot from the soft flinches when her name is mentioned or from the fearful look on Agatha’s face when “mother” appears on her phone screen announcing a phone call. 

Agatha lets you embrace her, kiss the tears away, and you don’t even change out of your clothes and spend the whole night holding her, keeping her safe. 

The next day, she changes so suddenly you feel breathless. 

No kisses. No touches. Not even her usual venom-laced sarcasm. She goes quiet, completely.

You panic and try harder. 

You write her five poems in three days, do every task before she asks. You even skip your favourite seminar just to stay near her, in case she needs something. 

She barely looks at you. 

You confront her, crawl to her on your knees. “Did I do something wrong?” You hate the way your voice shakes. 

She tilts her head, blinks slowly. Then she reaches for your face and grips your jaw firmly. “You’re just a little slut needing to hear you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” 

You gasp and feel tears rush to your eyes. But you know the words aren’t hers and you wonder where she’s heard them. 

When you start sobbing, reaching for her, she merely pulls away and goes to the bathroom. 

Later you find a note under your book. “You break so beautifully, it’s almost art.” 

Next morning when you’re buying her breakfast, she trails a fingertip down your spine and whispers into your ear: “thanks, pet” and even though it’s so completely toxic, you find yourself able to breathe again. 

She starts punishing you for the smallest things, a burnt dinner, wrong brand of shampoo, the fact that someone talked to you. But you start craving the punishments because of what happens after. A kiss so slow you think you might explode from the inside out. A whispered praise. A note tucked into your notebook that you find during a class. 

And it’s not like the punishments are horrible. Once she leaves you tied to her bed, with a silk scarf she wears to class. 

She doesn’t do anything, she’s just lying next to you fully clothed while you’re shivering there naked, waiting for something, a touch, a kiss, a command. 

Her fingers trail across your cheek, your chest, the soft curve of your belly, but never touching you where you need her the most. 

“Do you think I’m cruel?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she whispers into your ear as she bites at your earlobe. 

“I like it.” 

She chuckles, her hand grabbing a handful of your breast. “You’re mine now and always.” 

~~~

You tell Agatha you’d be back by 7pm, cook dinner and read her your new poem, but you get held back, talking to a girl from your class.

She laughs at something you say. Not even flirtation, just joy. 

But when you come to the room, Agatha is waiting cross-legged on her bed with a face so cold you know you’ve fucked up somehow. 

She doesn’t speak, not at first. Waits for you to put away your jacket and your bag. 

“Did she make you feel clever?” 

“What?” You turn to her confused. 

“That girl. I saw you grinning like a dog.” 

You swallow and hate how fast the guilt comes.

“We were just talking—”

“You don’t talk to people. You write poems and worship devils.”

She stands. Crosses the room.

“You’re mine,” she whispers, right against your lips.

And then she grabs you. Pulls you into a kiss that isn’t really a kiss, but a possession, tongue and teeth and bruises. 

Her hands pin you against the dresser. You don’t fight. You don’t want to. You let her mark you.

When she pulls back, her breath is shallow.

“If I see you smile at anyone like that again, I’ll carve my name into your thigh. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

She leans in, kisses your neck. Softer. “Good girl.”

The next night, there is a box on your bed. Black velvet ribbon tied in a knot.

Inside: a choker. Simple, black, delicate. But at the center, a small smooth coin with the letter A carved into it.

She appears behind you before you can react. Her hands brushes your hair aside. She fastens it around your throat.

She turns you toward the mirror. Stands behind you like a shadow, arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

“Now everyone will know,” she says. “Who you belong to.”

You nod, dangerous heat settling into your lower belly. 

“Say it.”

“I belong to you.”

~~~

It was supposed to be a simple evening. You went out with a few friends, students from literature, people you barely know. But as the night progresses, your vision becomes blurry, your voice slurred and you leave before it gets worse. 

Agatha finds you before you can even knock on your door. Her hands are steady and warm as they catch you by the arm.

“Jesus,” she mutters. “Look at you.”

Her voice isn’t mocking. Not this time. It is… concerned. You blink at her, dazed. She pulls you into the room, closes the door behind you and gently sets you on the edge of the bed.

“You’re a mess,” she whispers, brushing damp hair away from your face. “Did you drink this much to punish me?”

You mumble something, her name probably. And then your head falls against her shoulder and you deeply breathe in her smell. “I missed you.” 

“Shh,” she hushes you softly. “It’s okay.” 

She unties your shoes, takes off your coat, wipes the smeared makeup from under your eyes with a tissue. You try to speak again, but your mouth doesn’t work.

“Don’t talk,” she whispers. “Let me take care of you.” 

She lays you down, careful as if you were something fragile. 

You close your eyes and you feel her weight beside you on the bed. She pulls the blanket over both of you, her arm sliding under your shoulders, cradling you. 

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says into the dark. “You’re supposed to be the strong one.” 

You let out a pathetic little sound. Something between a laugh and a sob.

“It’s true,” she says, stroking your hair now, and you don’t know why she’s saying these things, maybe because you’re so drunk there is a chance you might not remember it in the morning. “You make me feel like maybe I’m not completely empty. I don’t know…” She stays silent and you think she’s done talking, but then she continues: “I don’t know how to be good and still keep you.” 

You are quiet, you don’t want to say something wrong. You feel her arm tighten around you. 

“You belong to me, my love,” she whispers into your hair. “You make me so completely crazy and I can’t let you go no matter what she…” Her voice trails off into the darkness. And just before you fall asleep, she promises: “I’ll burn down anyone who tries to take you.” 

She didn’t call you pet, she called you my love. 

Even though Agatha might have hoped you’d forget the words, you do remember and you also realise there is a pattern in her behaviour. 

Agatha has good days and she has bad days. Good days make you feel like floating on a cloud, worshipping a goddess who somehow granted you the access to her body, her mind, her soul. 

The bad days make you feel like a caged animal.

The next week Agatha stumbles into the room drunk, not tipsy, not flirty. You can see the darkness in her eyes and you know she’s drowning. 

“Do you still want me?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She climbs into your lap like she is claiming a throne, her nails scratching down the back of your neck. Her mouth finds your collarbone and she bites hard, possessively.

“You’re too pretty when you bruise,” she murmurs. “Makes me want to break you open.”

She kisses the mark afterward like it is a prize.

“I want to bury myself in your ribs,” she whispers. “Make a nest. Live there.”

You should run.

But you moan instead.

The next morning you wake up and she’s curled around you, crying. 

“You’re going to leave me,” she whimpers into your neck and clings to you harder. 

“No. Never.”

She shakes her head. “You’ll get tired of being mine.”

“I’d die first.”

She raises up on her elbow and looks into my eyes, her hand lifting to caress my cheek. “If you do, I’ll follow you. Do you understand me?” 

You nod and kiss her.

You don’t get tired of her, you never would, but you feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into her universe. You’re tired of life, you don’t have enough time for anything because Agatha occupies every single cell of your body and mind. 

When you start getting worse grades in your subjects and your student advisor tells you your stipendium is at risk, you subconsciously start pulling away. 

And Agatha notices. She is lying in bed, one leg draped lazily over the sheets, wearing your hoodie like it belongs to her. Her eyes follow you as you move around the room. 

“You haven’t written about me in days,” she says. 

You don’t answer. You’re trying to think, to breathe, to reclaim some corner of yourself that doesn’t have her fingerprints all over it.

“Are you tired of me?” she asks and her voice is so timid you just stare at her wordlessly. 

In the evening she wraps herself around you, hunger in her eyes. Her eyes that search your face desperately for signs of something. “You’re slipping away from me.” 

She looks like she’s about to cry and you cannot see her cry again because every tear that falls carves a hole in your heart. You turn away from her and move to sit on the edge of the bed. 

She follows, her hair is a mess, her eyes shadowed with something close to panic, but you see the love in there too. 

“You belong to me,” she says, maybe more to herself than to you and catches your hand between hers and guides it to her chest, right over her heart. “This is yours.” 

You stare at her, aware of the broken confession and the tenderness hidden underneath all the cruelty. 

She does love you, deeply and obsessively. 

You kiss her then, slowly, achingly, honestly and she kisses you back. The longing you feel is accompanied by sorrow, because you can’t continue like this. She will ruin you. 

As if she already hasn’t… 

~~~

She started trying. Actually trying. 

One day she makes you breakfast, terrible breakfast made of burnt toast and watery eggs. She stands in the doorway holding the plate like a small child expecting to get yelled at. 

“I did something for you.”

It’s so weird how the tables have turned. Here is Agatha waiting for your approval, waiting for your praise. 

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, but accept the plate because you cannot bear to see her like this. 

“I want to,” she whispers. “Isn’t that what you want?”

You push the plate on the table and continue preparing your school bag. 

“Then what do you want?!”

Her voice cracks mid-sentence. She looks stunned by her own voice, like she doesn’t recognise the sound of herself not in control.

You brush past her. You can feel her shaking.

She doesn’t follow you.

~~~

Three days.

That’s how long it takes.

She corners you in the library, between the postmodernists and the Russian revolutionaries.

“Please,” she whispers.

That word has never touched her tongue before. It feels foreign. Ugly. Real.

“I don’t know who I am when you’re not with me.”

You stare at her. She looks small. Eyes rimmed red. Sleepless.

“You’re still Agatha.”

“Not without you.”

She reaches for your hand. You don’t stop her. Because she can hurt you milion times and you will still crawl for more. 

“I miss you,” she says and kisses the back of your hand. “I miss what we were.”

“You miss being worshipped.” 

It looks like you’ve slapped her. She is so close to breaking down and you cannot bear it. You bring your hands to her face and kiss her deeply, hoping she can understand what you mean without having to say it out loud. 

I hate you, I love you, I can’t survive without you. 

Later in the evening she is in your bed. She waits until you settle under the blanket, back turned to her and she quickly climbs up behind you and holds you. 

You hate how safe you feel again, how hollow you have been without her arms around you.

“I’ll be better,” she whispers into the darkness. “I’ll say I’m sorry. I promise.” 

You don’t speak. 

“I’ll write you poems, I’ll give you everything.” 

You turn in her arms and maybe you’re a fool, but God, you love her so much it hurts, so you kiss her on the lips and move your hand between her legs and everything is okay again. 

~~~

Agatha trying doesn’t last very long. You don’t know if she’s ever had a healthy relationship in her life, not just romantic, but any kind of a relationship. She lashes out, acts possessive, hurts you again and again, and you take it all. Because you’re still hoping for her good days. 

One evening you come home especially tired and pissed off after a failed discussion at the end of a class, when you decide to fight back. Just a little. 

Agatha is on her bed, scrolling on her phone. She doesn’t look up when you walk in, just says “took you long enough” lazily. 

You don’t respond, you lock the door behind you, take off your sweater and walk toward her. 

You don’t feel rage or resentment. You just need to win at least once in this sick toxic relationship. 

You climb onto the bed and over her in one slow motion, straddling her thighs before she can pretend to act unbothered. Her phone drops to the side. You don’t let her speak.

You grab her wrists and pin them to the mattress.

Her eyes narrow. Sharp. Curious. “What is this?” she asks, voice low.

“Shut up,” you say.

She blinks. Once. Then smirks. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Her lip curls, somewhere between amusement and arousal. Her hips shift slightly under yours. “Feeling bold tonight?”

“Feeling tired of being your pet,” you say. “You want to own me? Fine. But just know that I own you, too.”

Her expression falters. Just for a second.

You lean closer, your voice dropping. “So I’m going to touch you now. The way I want. Slowly. Because you’re mine.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t breathe.

And you kiss her. Not rushed. Not rough. Patient. Purposeful. Her mouth opens under yours like a sigh, like surprise, and her body tenses, but doesn’t resist.

Your hand slides under her shirt. You feel the heat of her skin, the curve of her waist. You pull the fabric over her head, exposing her, your lips immediately attaching to the bare skin. 

“Say you’re mine,” you whisper against her neck. 

“No,” she breathes out, half a sigh, half a moan. 

You bite her earlobe gently. “Say it.” 

She hisses in frustration, whether at you or herself, you can’t tell.

“You think this makes you in control?” she asks. 

You kiss down her throat, slow and deliberate. “No,” you whisper. “But I want to see what happens when you aren’t.”

Her head falls back against the pillow. Her pulse pounds under your lips. And when you slide your hand between her legs, she moans and finally gasps it.

“...Yours.”

Afterward, when she lays against you, chest rising fast, lips swollen, breath shaky, she looks up at you with wide wild eyes.

“Careful,” she whispers, voice hoarse. “You’re playing a game I invented.”

“Good,” you say. “Then you already know I don’t plan on losing.”

And for once, she doesn’t reply. She just stares. Like she isn’t sure whether to kiss you harder, or destroy you completely.

~~~ 

You have managed to get your grades under control, but not Agatha. You have never wanted her under your control, because you are exactly where you want to be when she claims your lips against the book stalls in the back aisles of the library or when she pushes you to your knees and makes you worship her. You just need her to access her stable side sometimes. The side that doesn’t go ballistic when you talk to another person, the side that does not expect you to come crawling like a puppy every time she needs something. 

But maybe you two are not made for stability. You are back in her bed and she is back in your notebooks as if the whole “trying” thing was a dream. 

The rules have change a little bit, though. 

She asks, with a tremor in her voice, “Can I touch you?” 

“Yes,” you whisper pleadingly, already writhing under her. 

“Will you stay?” she mumbles against your neck, kissing the choker that is now your second skin. 

“Always.” 

Because you can never leave. You want her. Her teeth, her chaos, her desperation disguised as passion.

You don’t heal. You merge. 

You start needing her chaos to write because what is a poet without a muse… She needs your need to feel real. 

You feed each other shame and kisses and sleepless nights full of shaking limbs and whispered names. Of carving your poems into her skin with your tongue. 

You make art from it. You make religion from it. 

“This won’t end well,” you say one night, after sex, still shaking.

She lights a cigarette, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t want it to end. Well or otherwise.”

And in the dark, you reach for her hand, kissing her wrist. 

Her mouth brushes your jaw. “Tell me you want me.” 

You smile and pull her hand towards your mouth, taking a drag of her cigarette. “I want you.” 

“Say my name,” she whimpers and leaves the cigarette in your lips, moving down your body. 

“Agatha,” you breathe out. 

“Again.”

“Agatha.” 

You gasp as she bites down lightly on your inner thigh, marking you, claiming you. Your breath quickens and you drop the cigarette onto the ashtray. 

“Good girl,” she murmurs against your skin as your legs wrap around her head. “Look at you. Coming apart like you’re mine. Because you are. You are.”

She starts exploring you with her tongue, she knows every sensitive spot, knows every corner of you and when you come undone, shaking, breathless, full of her name, she holds you. 

Agatha pulls the blanket over you both and lays her head on your chest. 

“You’ll never leave me,” she etches the words into your skin with a tone so final it’s a prophecy. 

“I wouldn’t know how to breathe if I did.”

You will burn, but you’ll burn together. 

[dayasfilms]

Chapter Eight - The Real Story

Summary: Vecna shows you his plan, and it leads you to wonder why he targeted you in the first place. You knew he must have done it for a reason.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Y/N, blood, weapons, death, kidnappings, angst, war

Word Count: 5k

Note: One more chapter to go! It’s so crazy, I can’t believe this series is coming to an end (at least until season five comes out). I’ve had a blast rewriting this series and I’m so happy many of you have been enjoying it! If you want, leave some requests in my inbox about some one shots you would like to see with Star and Steve, or even the other characters. The ideas will definitely help me write!

Series Masterlist

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Yasmin gently tied a cloth around Hopper’s forearm, securing the final knot. He watched her, his expression softer than usual. Across the room, Murray and Dmitri worked to get information out of the remaining Russian guards, trying to find a way out of the facility. Joyce sat nearby, occasionally chiming in with Yasmin and Hopper’s conversation, before quietly stepping away with a knowing smile, leaving the two of them alone.

“Guess you got my message, huh?” Hopper said as Yasmin leaned back into her chair.

She rolled her eyes. “No, I just always dreamed of visiting the Soviet Union. With Joyce. And Murray.”

He chuckled. “You and him getting along?”

Yasmin glanced across the room at Murray. “He’s definitely…something,” she said with a laugh. “Thank God Joyce is here to keep me sane.”

Hopper’s smile faded into something softer, more bittersweet. “I thought you were dead,” he said quietly. “Thought I lost you.”

Yasmin’s breath hitched. She looked at him, her eyes soft. “We did lose you. For eight months. We had a funeral.”

He let out a half-laugh. “Anybody show?”

Her brows furrowed. “Are you kidding? You’re the hero of Hawkins.” Hopper shook his head, like he still couldn’t believe any of this. Yasmin placed a hand on his arm. “It’s true, Hop.”

He gave a faint smile. “Yeah, well…I always felt I’d be easier to like when I was dead.” She rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue. He looked at her again, more serious now. “How about El and Y/N? They okay?”

“They’re doing good,” Yasmin said quietly, picturing her daughters. “They miss their dad. We all do.”

Hopper’s eyes went glassy, and he looked away. “I think I finally get how Y/N must’ve felt. Locked in that place for years.” He glanced back at Yasmin. “And now here you are. Still the one saving everyone.”

Before she could respond, Murray’s voice broke the moment. “Uh, I hate to interrupt, but apparently…they can climb too.”

They all turned to the monitor. On the prison yard security feed, a demogorgon was climbing the wall fast. The Russian guards began to fire, but it barely slowed down the creature. When they ran out of bullets, the monster lunged at them one by one, tearing them apart.

Then suddenly came a loud bang from the nearby room. Everyone froze in terror.

“The hell is that?” Dmitri asked.

“Please tell me they don’t have another one of those things,” Murray exclaimed.

Yasmin instinctively reached for her gun and stepped forward. Murray did the same, only for Hopper to snatch the weapon from his hands and move to the front of the group. A Russian scientist began shouting in panic, warning them not to enter the room. None of them listened.

The group crept up the stairs quietly. Hopper slowly turned the handle and pushed it open. Inside, a demogorgon was chained to a table, and it shrieked and thrashed, desperate to break free. Hopper didn’t hesitate as he stepped forward and fired directly into its open mouth. The beast went limp, blood splattering across the room.

Behind another door, Hopper led them into a larger chamber, and what they saw made them all stop in their tracks. There were many tanks and inside them, more demogorgons floated, suspended in some kind of fluid. They were here to be used as weapons.

Yasmin’s heart pounded as she stepped forward, eyes moving from one creature to the next. She knew the Russians were always planning something. The Cold War paranoia had led to cruel programs, even the one that turned her daughter into a weapon. But this was something else. They had brought these things, the monsters from Hawkins, across the world and locked them in glass cages.

At the far end of the room, they found a larger tank. Through the thick glass, they saw dark particles swirling violently, like a tornado. The fragments of the Mind Flayer were still pulsing with energy, being kept alive in this place.

Brenner set the machine down, gently wiping Henry’s wrist. “All done,” he said. “Not so bad, was it? See? There’s nothing to be afraid of. Is there, Y/N?”

Your body locked up. You couldn’t move. Your eyes widened as Brenner slowly turned his head to look at you, his voice deepening.

“Do you understand now?” He asked. “Do you see how similar we are? How we were taken and used against our will?” You staggered back, your breath catching in your throat. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

You turned and ran, bolting into the hallway as the lights flickered violently above you. Somewhere behind you, a high-pitched screech echoed. You turned a corner and found dead bodies sprawled across the floor. You stumbled back in horror, then sprinted in the opposite direction, your lungs burning.

In the real world, Steve grabbed your face, panic overtaking him as your eyes rolled back. “Y/N? Stay with me! Stay with me, okay?!”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, blaming himself for your situation. If he hadn’t gotten dragged underwater, you still would’ve had your music on. He looked up into the opening and shouted at the others who were scrambling to find music for you.

“Whatever you guys are doing, hurry up!” He held your face gently, trying to get you back. “Please wake up! I can’t lose you,” he cried, forehead pressed against yours, tears finally falling.

You reached a dead end. A heavy door blocked your path, sealed with wooden planks. You dug your fingers under one board and pulled with everything you had, grunting in effort.

“Y/N.” You froze. Vecna approached from behind, his tone calm. “What are you doing? It’s not time for you to leave.”

You turned back and yanked harder, ripping plank after plank away. You could feel him getting closer.

“Now that you’ve seen where I’ve been…” He paused. “I’d like to show you where I’m going.”

Tears streamed down your face as you tore off the final board and flung open the door, only to stop again. Inside was a small room, identical to the one where you were first taken. Brenner stood waiting for you.

“Take a seat, Y/N.”

The lights shut off. You turned to run, but something yanked you backward. Vines coiling around your arms and legs and dragging you into the chair. You tried to move, but it was no use. The lights flickered back on.

Flashbacks crashed into your mind, all the memories you buried, moments you tried to forget. Tears spilled freely now. Ahead of you, Vecna walked forward. He stopped in front of the chair and leaned down, placing both hands on either side, caging you in.

“I’m not taking you now,” he said. “Your time isn’t over yet.”

You were frozen in place, lips trembling. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even cry out. Vecna leaned closer.

“You have so much potential, Y/N.” You shook your head slowly, shutting your eyes, until you felt his cold finger brush your cheek. “You and I…we could be so powerful together,” he whispered. “Like I said, we are the same.”

“No!” You cried, sobbing harder.

Vecna’s eyes darkened. He pulled his hand back with a low grunt. “Fine,” he said coldly. “Then tell Eleven.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t know what he meant.

“I want you to tell her everything you see.” His hand hovered over your face. And then you saw all of the visions that were poured into your mind. You saw red cracks tearing through Hawkins, splitting the earth apart. You heard four chimes of the grandfather clock.

You screamed. “No!”

“Tell her…”

“No!” You cried, shaking your head violently.

“…Everything.”

The images kept coming. All the deaths and destruction. You saw your mom, Steve, Jonathan, Nancy, the kids. All of them…dead. You sobbed, louder now, trying to fight it, trying to break free.

“Your time isn’t over yet,” Vecna said. “But I will have you. Sooner or later.”

You gasped awake, eyes wide as your body collapsed backward. Steve caught you instantly, cradling you in his arms.

“Hey, hey–whoa, whoa, whoa.” He brushed your hair back, breathing hard. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even process what just happened. Tears poured from your eyes as you looked up at him, only to realize he was crying, too. Steve held you tighter, his voice trembling.

“I’m here. I’m right here, honey.” He cupped your cheek, thumb gently stroking your skin. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

He pulled you into his chest, holding you like he’d never let go again as you broke down in the arms of the man who loved you more than life itself.

You eventually calmed down enough for you and Steve to climb the rope and pull yourselves back into the real world. But the visions still clung to you, haunting your mind. Once on the other side, you all went to Max’s trailer, knowing that it wasn’t safe to stay at Eddie’s place. After going inside, you sat numbly on the couch. Your limbs felt heavy and your mind was spiraling. The others hovered nearby, concern etched into their faces.

Nancy sat beside you, her hand moving gently up and down your back. You focused on the motion, trying to match your breath to it. Max handed you a glass of water and you nodded gratefully before downing it in one go, the coolness burning down your dry throat.

You leaned into Nancy, letting your eyes close. But the moment you did, the images returned. The red lightning, screams, blood, the sound of that clock. You flinched. Nancy tightened her hold around you, reminding you of her presence.

The others kept their distance, giving you space, but you could feel their eyes. You cracked one eye open and caught them staring. The moment they noticed, they all awkwardly looked away, suddenly busy with anything but you.

You slowly lifted your head from Nancy’s shoulder. She hesitated, but when you gave her a soft nod, she released you. You stood up, legs shaky but steady enough. You cleared your throat. Everyone turned toward you. Dustin was the first to speak.

“What happened?” He asked, eyes wide. “And how did you escape?”

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to tell them the entire truth about Vecna.

“He showed me things that haven’t happened yet. The most awful things,” you said, your voice hoarse from not speaking for so long. You sat down in the chair Max pulled out for you. “I saw a dark cloud spreading over Hawkins. Downtown on fire. Dead soldiers. And this…giant creature with…a gaping mouth.”

The room stilled around you. Everyone exchanged worried glances as they settled into place, waiting for you to continue.

“And this creature wasn’t alone,” you continued, your voice breaking. “There were so many monsters. An army. And they were coming into Hawkins. Into our neighborhoods. Our homes.” You looked down at your hands, your breath shaking. “And then…he showed me my mom. And Mike. And Lucas. And Dustin. They were all…” The tears came before you could finish.

Steve leaned forward. “Okay, but…he’s just trying to scare you, Y/N. Right? I mean…it’s not real.”

“Not yet,” you said quietly, eyes locking with his. “But there…there was something else.” You paused, steadying yourself. “He showed me gates, four of them, ripping open across town. They looked like the one at Eddie’s trailer, except they kept growing. And this wasn’t the Upside Down Hawkins. It was our Hawkins.”

“Four chimes,” Max whispered. All eyes turned to her. “Vecna’s clock. It always chimes four times. Four exactly.”

“I heard them too,” you said, the memory flashing again. You remembered what Vecna told you, that your time wasn’t over. He didn’t want to kill you. Everyone froze in realization.

“He’s been telling us his plan this whole time,” Max breathed.

“Four kills. Four gates,” Lucas said, looking at Max. “End of the world.”

“If that’s true…he’s only one kill away,” Dustin added grimly.

“I don’t get it,” Erica said. “Why did Y/N have all those symptoms if Vecna wasn’t going to take her?”

“He said…he said it wasn’t my time yet,” you replied. “He wanted to show me his plan. That he was preparing me for the worst.”

“Oh Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ,” Eddie muttered under his breath.

“Try ‘em again. Try ‘em again,” Steve urged, nodding at Max to call your house in California. Max picked up the phone and dialed. After several rings, she slammed the receiver down.

“Anything?” Dustin asked, though the silence was already an answer.

“No,” Max said. “Rang a few times, then went to a busy signal.”

“Maybe you punched it wrong,” Steve suggested. “Try again.”

“I didn’t punch it in wrong,” Max snapped.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Dude, I think she knows how to use a phone,” Dustin said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just saying, she could’ve typed it in wrong.”

Max tried again, and still got the same result. “Same shit.”

Your stomach twisted tighter with worry. You had no idea what was happening in California, you had no clue where Eleven, Jonathan, Will, Mike, or even Joyce were. The thought of something bad happening to them sent your heart pounding.

“How is that possible?” Lucas asked, hands on his hips.

“I told you. Joyce has this telemarketer job. Always on the phone,” Dustin explained. “Mike won’t stop whining about it.”

“Yeah, but this phone’s been busy for, what, three days now?” Max said. “That’s not Joyce. No way. Something’s wrong.”

“She’s right,” Nancy agreed, walking to the window. “It can’t be just a coincidence. Whatever’s happening in Lenora is connected to all of this. I’m sure of it.” She stared outside, thinking about Jonathan, Mike, and Will. “But Vecna can’t hurt them. Not if he’s dead.”

“You’re right.” You stood up. “We have to go back in there. Back to the Upside Down.”

“Whoa, no, no, no. What?” Steve stood too, walking towards you. “Let’s think this through.”

“What is there to think through, Steve?” You said, exasperated.

“We barely made it out of there in one piece!”

“Yes, and that’s because we weren’t prepared,” you argued. “But we will be this time. We’ll have weapons and protection. And then we’ll go through the gate, find his lair, and finally kill him.”

“Or he’ll kill us,” Steve countered. “The only reason you survived is because he wanted you to. He’s not scared of us.”

“And for good reason,” Robin added, getting to her feet. “We were wrong about Vecna. Henry. One.” She frowned. “Sorry, what are we calling him now?”

“One,” Dustin said.

“Vecna,” Erica argued.

“Henry,” Nancy added.

“Right. We’ve learned something new about Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One. He’s a number like Eleven, only a sick, evil, child-murdering version with really bad skin. But my…my point is, he’s super powerful. He could turn us inside out with a snap. It’s not a fair fight.”

“So then why fight fair?” Dustin asked. “You’re right, he’s like Eleven. But that gives us an upper hand. We know Eleven’s strengths. And weaknesses.”

“Weaknesses?” Erica asked skeptically.

“When El remote-travels, she goes into this sort of trance-like-state,” Dustin explained. “I bet the same is true of Vecna.”

“That would explain what he was doing in that attic,” Lucas added.

“Exactly. When he attacks his next victim, I’ll bet you he’s back in that attic. Physical body defenseless,” Dustin said.

“Defenseless? What about the army of bats?” Steve asked, pointing to the red mark around his neck.

“Right. True. We’ll have to find a way past them,” Dustin admitted. “Distract them somehow.”

“And, uh, how do we do that, exactly?” Eddie asked, beginning to stand up.

“No idea.” Dustin shrugged, and Eddie sat back down. “But once they’re gone, he doesn’t stand a chance. It’ll be like slaying Dracula in his coffin.”

“That all sounds good in theory, but there’s no pattern to Vecna’s killings,” Robin said. “At least not one I can decipher. We don’t know when he’s going to attack next. We don’t even know who he’s going to attack.”

“Yeah, we do,” Max said. Every eye turned to her again. “I can still feel him. I’m still marked. Cursed. I ditch Kate Bush, I draw his focus back to me.”

“No.” You stepped forward, pointing a finger at her. “Absolutely not. I’m not letting you go as bait.” You met her eyes. “If he’s going to attack someone, let it be me.”

Steve grabbed your shoulders. “What are you saying? You’re not doing that!”

“I thought you weren’t one of the people Vecna wanted to kill?” Nancy asked. “It wouldn’t work, right?”

You shook your head as Steve dropped his hands. “No, but…”

“But what?” Steve pressed.

“He said that my time isn’t over. Yet,” you murmured. “He said he’ll have me sooner or later.”

“What?!” Steve exploded.

“What does that even mean?” Lucas asked, staring at you.

“I don’t know,” you said truthfully. “But he wouldn’t have done all that just to scare me. It was all for a reason.”

Max shook her head. “I still think it should be me.”

You sucked in a breath, your pulse pounding. “Max–”

“You have actual skills that could be put to good use. I don’t.”

“Max is right,” Dustin said quickly, turning to her. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But we need you, Y/N. You can help us defeat Vecna.”

You crossed your arms, looking away. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

“Well, too bad, because I’m going to do it,” Max said, meeting your eyes.

“Max,” Lucas said softly. “You can’t. He’ll kill you.”

“I survived before,” Max said. “I can survive again.” She lowered her eyes. “I just need to keep him busy long enough for you guys to get into that attic. Then you can chop his head off. Stab him. Blow him up with some explosive Dustin cooks up. I don’t care how. Just…whatever it is…whatever you do…try not to miss.”

The room fell silent. You clenched your jaw, fury burning quietly beneath your skin. Steve was still watching you, but you didn’t say a word. You didn’t want her to do this. She’s just a kid. You knew it should be you instead, but you also knew they all needed your help to defeat Vecna. You wanted to scream, to grab Max and shake her, tell her that she shouldn’t do this. You wanted it to be you. Because if something went wrong, you didn’t think you’d ever forgive yourself.

After a few moments, everyone gathered around the table, Eddie slapping down a newspaper. “Check this out. The War Zone. I’ve been there once. It’s huge. They got everything you need for, uh…well, killing things, basically.”

“You think fake Rambo has enough guns?” Robin asked, then pointed at a picture. “Is that a grenade? I mean, how is any of this legal?”

“Lucky for us it is,” Eddie replied. “This place is just far enough outside of Hawkins. As long as we steer clear of main roads, we ought to be able to avoid cops and, uh, angry hicks.”

“If we’re trying to avoid angry hicks, maybe we shouldn’t go to some store called the War Zone,” Erica muttered.

“Normally, I’d agree,” you said, crossing your arms. “But we need the weapons. So I think it’s worth the risk.”

“Me too,” Lucas said.

“It’s definitely our best option,” Nancy agreed.

“But is it worth the time?” Dustin asked. “It’ll take all day to bike there and back.”

“Who said anything about bikes?” Eddie grinned.

“You got some car we don’t know about?” Steve asked.

“It’s not exactly a car, Steve,” Eddie replied, standing up straight. You furrowed your brows, looking between your ex and the metalhead. “And it’s not exactly mine but, uh, it’ll do.” He turned to Max. “Hey, Red, uh, you got a ski mask or bandanna, something like that?”

Max nodded and left, returning with a Michael Myers mask. Eddie slipped it on and gestured for you to follow. You all left the trailer, weaving behind another. The owners of another trailer sat outside, completely unaware. Eddie rushed behind and found an unlocked window before climbing in. One by one, you all followed. Eddie then yanked the mask off and jumped into the driver’s seat, hot-wiring the vehicle. Steve, Robin, and Eddie had their own little chat before the vehicle roared to life.

“What the hell? Hey! Open this door!” One of the owners shouted from outside.

Eddie scrambled out of the seat and Steve slid in. You jumped into the passenger seat, your heart racing as everyone situated themselves in the RV.

“Everybody, hang on to something!” Steve shouted.

“Drive, Steve! Drive!” Dustin screamed.

“Go, go, go!” Everyone shouted at him from the back.

With that, Steve pressed the gas, speeding off with the trailer as the owners began to chase you. “Shit, they look pissed,” Dustin muttered.

“It’s not every day you lose your house and car in one fell swoop,” Robin yelled, holding on for dear life.

Steve made it to the road, the ride a little bumpy. “Hold on! Hold on!”

You glanced back, seeing the owners yelling behind you. Your chest heaved. “Oh my God,” you breathed. You could see the owners fuming with rage, and a wave of guilt hit you hard. You hated what you’d just done, but in your defense, there really hadn’t been another option. Your car was still near Skull Rock and you had no other car. As the adrenaline began to wear off, your breath caught in your throat, lips parting slightly in disbelief at what had just happened.

As Steve kept driving, you sat quietly, the noise of the engine filling the silence. Every now and then, your eyes drifted toward Steve. You weren’t sure if he noticed, and if he did, he didn’t say anything.

“How’s it handle?” You asked at last, your voice breaking the quiet.

“Not half bad,” Steve replied with a small chuckle. “Considering that this is a…house.”

You let out a laugh, your lips curling into a grin. “Yeah, I could imagine.”

Steve glanced at you briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching before he turned back to the road. “Yeah, it’s…it’s silly,” he said after a moment, voice quieter now. “But I…I’ve actually…I always had this dream that I’d have this really…really big family.” You turned toward him, brows arching in curiosity. “I’m talking, like, a full brood of Harringtons. Like, five, six kids.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, brows pulling together. You and Steve never really had the talk about kids before. You were both still young, and the topic had never come up. This was completely new to you. “I’m sorry. Six? Are you trying to start a basketball team or a small army?”

Steve laughed at your reaction, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys. And…and every summer, I figured all of us Harringtons, we would pack into something like this and…just see the country.” His gaze met yours again, lingering this time. “You know, the Rockies, Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone. End up in some beachside town in California. Spend a week parked in the sand. Learn how to surf or something.”

You gave him a small, thoughtful smile, the image he painted lingering in your mind. It sounded kind of perfect. Except for the kids part.

“That sounds…nice,” you said softly.

“Yeah?” He asked, grinning.

“Yeah.” You met his eyes again. It lingered for a moment too long, until you finally looked forward again, shaking your head. “Um, except the six-kid part, though. Maybe knock it down to, like…two kids. Six kids sounds like a total nightmare.”

Steve laughed, then looked over his shoulder. “If only I had some practice.”

Following his line of sight, your smile returned at the sight of the teens in the back. “Yeah. That’s fair.” You turned to find him already watching you.

He gave you a gentle smile before shifting his attention back to the road again. Your grin faded slowly, and you let out a quiet breath, thinking over his words.

You all arrived at the War Zone, but only you, Nancy, Robin, Erica, Max, and Steve headed inside to gather weapons. The moment you stepped through the doors, you were hit with the sound of chatter. You weren’t the only ones stocking up.

“So much for avoiding angry hicks,” Robin muttered, eyeing the other customers as she glanced at you and Nancy.

“Let’s be fast,” Nancy said, already scanning the aisles.

“Yeah, the quicker the better,” you agreed.

“Yep.”

“Definitely.”

Everyone split up to search for their own gear. You made your way to the counter, asking the guy behind it for a shotgun and extra bullets. Once it was in your hands, you gave it a brief examination, making sure it was in good shape.

You wandered through the aisles in search of anything else useful when something caught your eye, a black leather jacket hanging on a rack. You slid it on without hesitation, sighing quietly when you finally found something to cover you.

Turning the corner, you spotted Robin and Steve a few aisles down. Steve hadn’t seen you yet, so you hung back, watching as Robin’s attention was locked on something…or someone. You followed her gaze and saw a couple making out near the end of the aisle. A second later, Robin spun around, bumping right into you before quickly rushing off.

Steve finally noticed you standing there, and you raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Uh…she’s just a little jumpy,” he said, clearly making up something fast. “First time in a store full of weapons and all.” He gave you a sheepish look, then darted after Robin. You glanced back at the couple, eyes widening in realization, then turned and continued browsing without comment.

Something caught your eye in one of the displays. It was a sword, the blade long and sharp. You lifted it carefully, running your fingers along the smooth silver edge. You were definitely taking this. After paying for your weapons, you were gathering your things at the register when a hand grabbed your shoulder. You flinched slightly and turned to see Nancy, her eyes wide with alarm.

“We have to go. Now,” she said, voice urgent.

“What? Why?” You asked.

Nancy subtly nodded toward the far end of the store. Your gaze followed and landed on a familiar face. It was one of the basketball boys you’ve seen at Lucas’ game. Your stomach dropped.

Grabbing your bags, you turned on your heel and rushed out with the others. You sprinted toward the RV, throwing open the door and climbing in as the group who stayed back started asking questions.

“We gotta go,” Steve said, already sliding into the driver’s seat. You dropped into the passenger side, setting your bags down.

“Your old friends are here,” Erica said, throwing a look out the window. Everyone began to panic.

“Shit!”

“Let’s go, let’s go!”

“I’m going! I’m going! Sit down!” Steve shouted, slamming his foot on the gas. He drove until he found a secluded area, deep into an empty field with no houses nearby. One by one, everyone filed out of the RV to prep the weapons and get ready for what was coming.

You slung your shotgun over your shoulder and carried the sword in your other hand as you walked out with Nancy and Max. The three of you sat on the grass, and Nancy pulled out a hacksaw, placing her shotgun across a metal bin.

You raised an eyebrow as she started sawing the barrel down. “What are you doing?”

Nancy glanced at you, then gave a small shrug and smile. “Jason said something to me in the store. Gave me an idea.”

“Interesting,” you smirked, watching her work. Max held the end of Nancy’s gun steady. You listened to her own advice, grabbing your own shotgun and started sawing as well.

Max looked between the two of you. “Is this even legal?”

Nancy exhaled, eyes still on her work. “Technically? It’s a felony.”

You tilted your head and gave a half-smile. “I’m basically a walking felony anyway. What’s one more?”

Max laughed under her breath. “Right.”

“But at least it guarantees one thing,” Nancy said, meeting your gaze.

“We won’t miss,” you finished, sawing down the barrel completely as it fell on the grass.

You all climbed back into the RV after changing and gearing up. Your weapons were secured and plans were in place. Steve took the wheel again, driving you toward the Creel House. It was beginning to dawn on you that this was it.

As the RV slowed to a stop, you stood and turned to Max. Without a word, you took her by the shoulders and pulled her into a hug, holding her tight.

“Finish him,” Max whispered into your ear.

Your stomach twisted at her words. You gripped her tighter, like maybe you could protect her if you just held her for a second longer.

“I will,” you murmured back, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest.

You reluctantly let her go and watched as Max, Lucas, and Erica stepped off the RV, standing in front of the house. You returned to the passenger seat beside Steve, trying to shake the unease creeping in. The feeling lingered as Steve drove off. You stared out the window, the blur of trees passing you. Your gut clenched with every second, telling you that something was coming. You didn’t know what but your intuition kept warning you that something was going to go wrong. Still, you held onto that bit of hope. Even if your heart told you it wasn’t enough.

[immodestly-marina]

All I want - Part two

Summary: Somehow, confronting you is easier than loving you.

A/n: part of me wants to write hcs for this

Warnings: Sam pathetically pining and yearning for you, completely oblivious reader, Sam raises his voice at you a little, it’s left up to you on whether or not you and Sam take things further ;)

The bus ride to the motel wasn’t an agonizing trip, there were maybe 8-10 other people quietly riding along with you. You kept your eyes on each motel sign until you found The Blue Bird coming up ahead, raising your hand and plucking the bell cord to get off at the next stop.

Dean had already left the room to seek out some more leads, so Sam was left alone to lazily surf the TV channels until he felt like going to sleep. He hadn’t heard the soft knock coming from the door over the TV’s loud static, and the rain coming down outside, so you impatiently slammed your palm against it until you saw him move through the curtain.

Sam sighed after looking through the peep hole, unlocking the door in disappointment. 

When you were face to face, he had the most monotone look to him, and you realized he was most likely completely uninterested in discussing what the hell happened earlier. Despite that, he opened the door and stepped aside to let you in, and out from the pouring rain.

You let your bag fall beside the window so you could strip off your wet hoodie, toeing off your boots in the process. You were about to break the awkward silence when Sam came over with a towel and tried to carefully wrap it over your shoulders, which lasted half a second before you instinctively shoved him off of you.

Sam dropped the towel with a scoff and turned around, but when you had your other boot off you knelt to pick it up off the floor.

“Sorry, m’just a little skittish.”

Sam nodded with a hum as he walked towards the bed to sit down, you hesitantly followed, wrapping the towel around your arms. He let the room sit in silence for a minute before you spoke up, “Is that really what you think?”

He looked up at you with grit teeth. “Think what?”

“That I.. just know everything, and that I don’t care for what you have to say?”

Sam bit his lip, scoffing. “You haven’t given me any reason to believe otherwise..”

You looked down at the torn seam at the end of the towel. “Well, it’s not true-”

“Really?” He laughed, “Because you clearly show interest in whatever Dean has to say, I mean..” Sam sighed and pushed his bangs back to run his hands over his face.

“Y-you entertain every word that comes outta his mouth–no matter how absurd it is–but if I were to say the exact same thing,” You took a step back when he started talking with his hands, becoming visibly more frustrated by the second.

“You'd turn to me and make me feel like a complete idiot for trying to talk to you!”

You wanted to defend yourself, because surely, you couldn’t have been shutting him out on purpose. Have you?

“Sam, I’m like that with everybody I-”

“If you’re gonna tell me that you don’t pick up on your own tone, I don’t wanna hear it.” You both held eye contact for a few beats, neither one of you knowing what should be said next. The tension grew higher and higher until the room became clouded from Sam’s emotion.

“I just don’t get it.. You seemed so interested in me until you got close with Dean and now, now I’m just the guy you only talk to when you need something.”

It started to become clear to you what this was all about. “You’d tell me about your day, the things you were excited over, hell, you’d even compliment me as if you had feelings for..”

You could’ve sworn you saw his eyes well up with tears, and maybe he noticed, so he looked down at his feet.

“And the best part,” he let out a strained laugh. “The best part is that I knew you months before you met him.” And there it is.

“So, I guess those few months didn’t really mean as much to you as it did me.”

You slowly moved to sit down beside him, still giving him the space to settle after his admission. There wasn’t much else to say, and you were both a little appreciative of the silence. You were still playing with the hem of the towel, and by now the feeling of your wet clothes sticking to your skin is slowly kicking in. You look at him from the corner of your eye, but Sam’s eyes just stay trained on the mirror across the room.

“Is that really how you feel..?” You spoke as gently to him as you used to.

Sam’s eyes fell to the floor again, “I don’t know..” he sniffled a little, “Maybe.” 

You nodded slowly. “I take it this isn’t just about my tone with you, is it?” Sam didn’t respond. “If I’d known that you feel that way about me, I would’ve chosen it differently.” He nodded too. “Sammy, I’m really sorry.”

He pursed his lips and shook his head a little bit, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Don’t worry about it.” was all he said.

Tags! ➣ @shypilled @s7nburn @starzify @insensiblelimerence @jaredpadonlyyyy @kiapepper @wa1ks @sunnyteume @mostlymarvelgirl

[leaderwon]

chapter 45 — INK & MEMORY

wc — 500+

prev — masterlist — next

It takes days before the embarrassment dulls. You spend most of your time in bed, blinds drawn, phone on Do Not Disturb. You can’t stop replaying the way Sunghoon looked at you, calm, almost pitying — as you stumbled through that drunken confession.

Confused. That’s what you’d said. And he had believed you.

You told him you didn’t know what you felt. And he believed that.

But that wasn’t the truth, was it?

Because as the days go by, and your head starts to clear, you remember things. Stupid things. Little things. And every single one of them has his name written all over it.

You remember the way he’d always walk on the side closest to the road. The way he’d quietly take your tray and dump it when you forgot. How he’d never laugh when you tripped over your words, just wait patiently and let you try again.

And then there were the times he’d show up outside your apartment when you were sick, pretending he "just happened to be in the area" with soup in hand.

You remember it all now. The warmth of those moments, the familiarity of him. The softness.

He had always been there.

You lie on your bed, fingers tangled in your blanket, and the guilt hits you like a wave. Because he had always been there. And you had looked right through him.

Not anymore.

You pull yourself out of bed and reach for your notebook. It's the one you used to use for journaling, back before everything exploded. Most of the pages are empty now, except for messy, half written thoughts and angry scribbles.

But this page, this one will be different.

You start writing. No edits. No second guesses.

Dear Sunghoon,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. Honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever give it to you. But I need to write it.

I need to say this somewhere, even if it’s just to myself.

I think I’ve been in love with you longer than I knew.

It’s not the kind of love that comes with fireworks and drama. It’s not loud or chaotic. It’s not like how it was with Jake or even Jay. It’s quieter. Softer. Slower. Like I blinked and one day I realized you were the only person who’s ever made me feel safe just by being around.

I miss you. Not just in the way people say they miss someone. I miss the you that would wait for me after class. The you who always knew when I needed to get out of my own head. The you who never pushed, who always stayed just long enough.

You told me you wouldn’t be my rebound.

You were right.

You’re not my rebound. You were never second choice. You were just… someone I didn’t understand I needed until it was too late.

I don’t expect anything from this. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or talk to me, or ever feel the same. I just needed to admit it.

I love you. And I’m sorry I didn’t know it sooner.

Love, Y/N

You stare at the letter for a long time after the ink dries. Then, without thinking too hard, you fold it once and tuck it into the back of your notebook. It’s not meant to be sent. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But for the first time in a long time, something in your chest feels lighter.

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[katyawriteswhump]

wip weekend: new omega kitty cafe fic 🐈‍⬛

this little idea isn't set in the same universe as Love and other Catastrophes at the Omega Café.  i wanted to write more Omega kitty café fic, but didn’t want to disrupt the arc of the previous one… so i guess it’s an AU of that fic with a different set up. O!Steve owns the cafe, which is Comfort Omega focussed (he still wears the cat-boy ears ofc) and A!Eddie is his pastry supplier. i will try and get the first part up tomorrow...

🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚🐈‍⬛💚

“Anything else I can do to help?” Eddie sidestepped a dainty afternoon tea table, as he headed back across the café.

“No, thanks. I’m good.” Steve snapped his chin up. He’d been fixating on the snug fit of Eddie’s ripped jeans, particularly around the crotch. “Um, Wayne always delivers to the other entrance. Will he be back tomorrow?”

“’Fraid not.” The Alpha sighed toward a fluffy purple rug, and his face twitched strangely. “He’s in hospital.”

Steve’s stomach dropped like a stone. “Shit! Is it serious?”

“Honestly, Honey? I dunno.”

Wayne. In hospital. Possibly seriously ill. Steve stared through Eddie like the Alpha had vanished. No, not Wayne. Not kind, ever-supportive Wayne…

“Christ, Steve, you look like you need a hug.”

Steve barely took in the words. His knees wobbled as dramatically as his lower lip. The Alpha approached, and Steve hunched in on himself, braced for… something. Instead, Eddie opened his arms, a respectful foot away, and the pull proved magnetic. Steve tumbled forward, strong Alpha arms banded around him, and he buried his face in Eddie’s t-shirt. His arms hugged around the Alpha’s neck like a crazy little spider-monkey scared of falling out of its tree.

“Hey, it’s all right, Sweetheart.” Eddie rubbed circles between Steve’s shoulder-blades. “Sorry I scared you. Listen, this is Wayne, huh? He’d be cut up if I told him you were upset, and… he’s gonna pull through, okay?”

Steve sniffled into Eddie’s solid chest. “I’m sorry. It was… kinda the last straw this morning. Running a business as an Omega is hard. Most people try to rip you off, trip you up, but n-not Wayne. N-never Wayne. He’s the best, and… and, I don’t feel so great this morning… and th-the m-mess with the coffee beans, and… Oh crap, I’m making this all about me. I’m such an unforgivable moron.”

“Hush, you’re good.” Eddie patiently soothed and rocked him, while Steve whimpered, and his inner voice sniped, What the fuck are you doing snivelling all over a stranger, and an Alpha one at that? “You know, you’re my last delivery. I really can stay and help sweep up those beans. What d’ya say, Kitty-cat?”

“Huh?”

Steve peeped up through the blur of his lashes. Eddie’s eyes were chocolate-cinnamon whirlpools that seemed to suck him in.

Kind eyes. Not something he ever expected in an Alpha. They were a little like Wayne’s.

“Steve? You want me to stay and help?”

Steve nodded vacantly. While his heart still bled for Wayne, the rest of his ditzy O-head senses were going crazy for pastries again. He inhaled a fruity hint of blueberry, mingled with still-warm all-butter pastry, apart from…

He plastered his wet face against the Alpha’s throat, snuffling and rooting around.

Oooooooh, that makes sense!

The irresistible smell was not the muffins, nor even the cinnamon swirls. The most sumptuous threads of fresh bakery goods radiated from Eddie’s scent gland.

Steve wallowed in it, all but chewed on it, while Eddie’s delicious musk fizzed and frothed to every corner of his lungs. Then a laugh rumbled from the Alpha’s chest: “You scenting me there, Kitty?”

“Shit!” Steve jumped away, sending a chair toppling, and sweeping his hair from his clammy brow. “Oh my God, I honestly don’t know what came over me. Christ! I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He straightened the chair then his cat ears and started pacing, arms wrapped tight around himself. “I've been a comfort Omega since I was 19! I’ve never, ever, done anything inappropriate like that, and… and… I drooled on your t-shirt!”

“Relax, Steve.” Eddie’s squeeze of his shoulder stilled his feet and calmed him slightly. “Look, I reckon we both needed a hug this morning, and the hospital won’t let me see my uncle till noon. I can hang around, or do I give you some space?”

Wayne was Eddie’s uncle?

Steve gawked up at him, on the verge of losing his shit all over again. He’d been sobbing over Wayne, when it must be so much worse for Eddie. Whose kind, reassuring gaze captured Steve’s and held it. Another gentle squeeze, and Steve was okay again.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

no pressure tag @wheneverfeasible 💕💕💕💕💕

my steddie fic on AO3 💕💕💕💕💕

[chanelgrll]

Could you please do Ronin taking care of a reader who caught the flu or something similar (just sick!reader in general haha)?? I love your works and how closely you write Ronin to the source material! <3

A/N: aaaaa thank you so much!!! <3

You’re Breathing Wrong (But I Guess I’ll Let It Slide)

You didn't remember falling asleep on the couch.

You definitely didn't remember Ronin carrying you to bed, though the ache in your bones told you you'd been moved, maybe a few times as he fussed with blankets and temperature controls you vaguely registered as too hot, then too cold, then too everything.

You wake again to the clink of something ceramic and a muffled curse. "Shit."

You try to respond but your throat makes a noise between a whimper and a dying animal. You settle for blinking at him again. He sighs.

Fifteen minutes later, you're still horizontal and thoroughly miserable, but now you’ve got a glass of water, two cold meds, a damp towel on your forehead, and, possibly the most shocking part of all, a bowl of instant noodles. The good kind, too. Not the ones you bought in bulk for emergencies, but the ones Ronin always hides in the back of the cabinet like a dragon hoarding spicy treasure.

“You’re giving me your good ramen?” you croak, voice rasping against your sore throat.

He shrugs, dropping onto the armchair like his joints are optional. “Figured it’d be your last meal.”

You snort, and then immediately regret it as it turns into a coughing fit. Ronin glances over, eyebrows drawn.

“Christ. You sound like a haunted accordion.”

You wheeze out a laugh anyway. He looks half-proud of the line.

Eventually, you manage to slurp down some broth and nibble a few noodles, though you don’t get far before your arms feel too heavy to lift the bowl. Ronin’s watching from across the room, one foot propped up on the coffee table, arms crossed.

“You’re doing that thing,” you mutter between sips.

“What thing?”

“The… looking at me like I’m about to break thing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, voice dry. “I’m just trying to figure out whether I should take out your enemies while you’re down or let them have a sporting chance.”

A wheezy laugh escapes you before it turns into a cough, your whole body curling up with the force of it. He’s there instantly, one hand at your back, the other grabbing tissues and lifting the soup out of splash range.

“Okay, okay—slow down. Jesus. You’re like a dying ferret.”

You try to flip him off. Your hand barely twitches.

“Wow. Powerful.” He adjusts the cloth on your forehead again with unexpected gentleness. “Don’t get up. Drink this.” He puts a cup of water to your mouth, and helps you drink it. He then brushes the hair out of your eyes with the back of his hand, and presses the thermometer under your tongue. He doesn’t say anything when he sees the number, but his frown deepens. You know what he’s thinking.

“I’ll live,” you mumble.

Ronin snorts. “Don’t jinx it. I already promised your ghost I’d keep the apartment clean.”

You let your eyes flutter shut, the warmth of his hand at your temple enough to lull you halfway into sleep again. But then you feel him shift. Pull away. You reach out.

Your hand finds the hem of his jacket and tugs, weak and awkward. He stills.

“…Stay,” you whisper.

There’s a long pause. He’s quiet for so long you think maybe he didn’t hear you—or that he’s going to say something sarcastic—but then you feel the mattress shift.

He climbs in next to you, above the covers, just close enough that your knees bump. You feel the weight of his arm settle beside your head. Not touching you directly—he’s always careful like that, especially when you’re vulnerable—but he’s close. Tangible. Warm in a way that doesn’t suffocate.

“…This doesn’t mean I want your germs,” he mutters.

You make a small, amused noise.

“You always act like you’re so tough,” you murmur. “But you made me soup.”

“Shut up.”

“You tucked me in.”

“Shut up.”

You smile.

“Bet you even kissed my forehead while I was asleep.”

His hand twitches like he’s deciding whether to shove you off the bed. You grin wider. You know you're right.

“I should’ve let you marinate in fever dreams,” he grumbles. “Let you hallucinate your way through the week.”

“You love me,” you whisper sleepily, triumphant.

He doesn’t say anything. You drift in and out of sleep after that, fever dragging you under and shaking you around like a snow globe. Sometimes you dream. Sometimes you just hallucinate that Ronin is talking to you in the form of a large crow on the windowsill. But between the blurs of light and sound, there are moments. Moments of warmth and quiet.

Ronin adjusting the blanket over your shoulders. Picking up the tissues you dropped. Sitting on the floor beside the couch, back against the armrest, humming low under his breath. Not music. Just something to fill the silence. At one point, when the sun’s gone down and you’re too weak to hold a glass on your own, he holds it to your lips without a word and waits until you finish drinking.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he mutters afterward.

Your lips curve in a faint smile. “Tell them what?”

“That I’m not letting you die horribly.”

“I’d never snitch,” you whisper.

He grunts. “Better not. I’ve got a reputation.” The next morning, you're barely any better, but you wake up tucked under Ronin’s arm. You’re pretty sure he ended up there by accident. His fingers twitch when you stir, like they’re unsure whether to withdraw or cling harder. His mouth moves like he wants to complain but can’t find the energy to do it.

“You’re still breathing,” he mumbles.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Don’t be.” He squeezes you briefly, like a secret. “I don’t think I could make good noodles again if you weren’t around to call me dramatic.”

You hum. “You are dramatic.”

“Shut up and die quieter.”

But he doesn’t let go.

And you don’t die.

[whinelo]

I totally understand that u feel more comfy with fem and gn readers but I had the stupidest dream where you uploaded a male!reader crack fic of the reader going “you got me pregnant” to X as a joke and X low-key thinks he knocked up the reader even tho they’re both guys (i wish I were making this up)

A/N : First time writing a male reader I'm shy 👉👈Dreaming of me Anon? I know, I know I’m irresistible /j This is so crack, but so suggestive I don’t regret writing this at all. ( more X boombayah scenes in the future /j ) don't ask why I'm writing so many suggestive X requests im going through heat /j

CHARACTERS | X ( Bai Xizhuang ) , M!Reader ( You )

INCLUDES | Male Reader, Idk what the request said, very suggestive.

Sipping on your wine— You leaned against the balcony railing, the cold and fresh breeze passing against you- Dim golden light ran into the secluded area you brooded in alone, pressing against your form kissing it soft and warm with the light; chugging on the red liquid like it was water a small bit of it dripped past your lips spilling unto your chin and soon staining the ivory railing.

Steps then zeroed in on your lonely figure, “ Didn’t think you enjoyed being alone, “ A dark silhouette who was too recognizable for you too even try and guess,

“ Didn’t think you’d be attending the gathering at all, “ You quipped back in lightning speed, glaring at the side as his shadow loomed over yours like he purposely wanted to make you feel trapped. He hummed, a soft ahh as he stepped closer to your form, arms slowly wrapping around your waist- as he put his chin atop your head.

“ You smell.. Different. “ He stated sniffing you, nuzzling into you more- feeling his lips tickle and gently pepper the top of your head, huffing- you spun the wine glass, the red liquid swirling around as a small portion of yourself reflected off of it, X being seen more as his white color palette remains blinding. Finally, you responded “ What are you a dog? Get off me, X. “ Hands reaching to the ones X had below your chest.

“ Nope, “ Like always, he’d respond— His voice getting lower, “ Have you been seeing someone else? I’m hurt, sweetheart. “ X teased with a hum, deciding to humor the white haired man-

“ Is the all-mighty X, envious? And so what if I am? “ You weren’t, you weren’t seeing anyone else- the truth is you just switched your shampoo, cologne- and everything else. X’s arms gripped on to your waist tighter, pulling you against his hips as you feel him behind you, shifting and grinding against you.

As if he was purposely baiting you, “ That won’t do.. Mm not at all, I wonder— What should I do with you? “ he lulled out, some words elongating as he spurred you on- Mischievous hands traveling to unbutton your dress shirt, fingers ghosting over your skin- tickling and touching you just where you liked it, unfortunately you were born stubborn.

“ How about leaving me on ghost? “ While you long gave up on trying to stop his prying hands your mouth still ran, giving him a teasing look as you groaned from his touch alone- fingers traveling higher to your chest— “ That’s something you want- I want something else, “ X rolled his eyes, feeling your face become warm as you understood the implications,

“ At this rate you might just get me pregnant- “ Jokingly, you say— No thought no rhyme or reason behind your thoughtless words, and yet, X responded too fast— “ You are? “ His voice rose an octave, something you didn’t hear outside the bedroom- his moving hold stopped, and now you’re left to wonder what the actual fuck is going on in this man’s mind.

“ X- What the fuck we’re both dudes— “

“ We can make things work, "

More of him later on the night !! :3 i miss my rat bastard very much.

[rainrot4me]

hii i'm the person that asked for dialogue advice! i would send asks with anon off but i can't send asks from side blogs and my main blog is a religious one so that would be a bit awks i think

anyway! i'm here once again to ask for your advice, but i feel like asking for advice and tips gets a bit redundant. i guess it all boils down to: how do you get these ideas and turn them into words so effectively? i know realistically nobody really posts first drafts (and if you do then you are insanely talented and likely have a lot of years of writing under your belt) but my issue is that i don't really know how to improve something from a first draft.

i'm really sorry if this is annoying, you're not here to teach me how to write but i just genuinely don't know how to make my writing better

Don’t even worry about it!! Here’s the best advice I can give:

Honestly, I think a lot of it just comes from writing a lot. I’m constantly drafting, reworking, and experimenting, and over time you start to get a feel for what flows well—both in your own voice and in the character dynamics you’re writing. I almost never post first drafts. The first draft is where I spill the idea out, but it’s messy and usually too close to my head to see clearly, so it’s just various time stamps and plot points that I eventually work the story around later.

To improve it, I reread with a specific goal: sometimes I’m checking for flow, sometimes for character voice, sometimes for emotional payoff. I read my scenes out loud a lot—it helps me catch awkward phrasing or moments that don’t hit quite right. I also pay attention to where I get bored or disconnected, because if I’m losing interest, a reader probably would too. I have a bad habit of reiterating details constantly, so I have to make sure I haven’t told you the same sentence four times within the last two paragraphs.

And honestly? Reading fanfic helps me as much as writing it. When I find something that makes me feel something, I’ll go back and study how the writer pulled it off—pacing, word choice, dialogue balance, whatever. I don’t think there’s one magical moment where it all clicks, but with every piece I finish, I learn something new, even if it’s just what not to do next time. Every fic I post has something better than the last, and I feel like that’s true for every writer. You learn as you go, you don’t just magically have all the talent at one (and even if you feel like you do, you’ll look back at a work you wrote months ago and think “wtf is this??”)

Besides writing fanfiction, I am constantly in my diary, writing reports for work and school, and helping my gen x parents try and write good emails (lol). So I am almost never not working my brain and my fingers on material, so I feel like that aids a lot.

For getting ideas flowing and coming up with new things: Pinterest is amazing! Literally just search up ‘writing ideas’ or ‘story starter prompts’ and thousands of posts dialogue or not will come straight to you. Not ashamed to admit I’ve gotten a good couple of ideas from a pinned post.

Hope this helps!!!! Don’t hesitate to ask advice or any more questions!!

[thatfriendlyanon]

i think part of my problem is i lived with my best friend for two years of my life and have been searching for the same feeling of joy & acceptance & support ever since

[motleyfam]

Re: your Grayson apt post, I’d love to read it!! I love reading sick Tim haha! I can never get enough, and it never mattered to me whether or not it was plausible spleenless or not!! Sorry you get negative comments :(( but know there’s people out there that love your work!! Thank you for sharing your writing with us :D

I’m actually working on it right now!

[leviiackrman]

Welp, I finished replaying Origins so naturally, Lyna's timeline is finished!! Read her full story here

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @carrionsflower @statichvm @risingsh0t @simonxriley @tommyarashikage @jacobseed @lasersinthejungle @unholymilf @florbelles @thedeadthree @shellibisshe @roofgeese @aezyrraesh @faerune @tekehu @jackiesarch @minaharkers @sergeiravenov @carlosoliveiraa @rosenfey @nokstella @queennymeria @heroofpenamstan @mistrias @cybilbennettgf @d-esmond @solasan @bigbywlf @delzinrowe @fenharel @imogenkol @auricfog

[stormcried-a]

So, here’s the general idea that I’m probably thinking of right now:

I NEED a break from Drake right now because all in all, I’m not having fun with him right now as I want to try and do. Drake’s been my oldest OC since 2014/2015 and I honestly am glad with the growth he’s had to get here to make him all the more interesting and all the more able to interact with. But… apart of me is tired of the fact that Drake feels like he goes nowhere and that sometimes Drake’s interactions don’t matter.

I want Drake to matter in some sort of way or some sort of manner that makes replies and interacting more fun (although that’s also on me for not really knowing how to ACTUALLY be apart of a community or really interacting with said community)

But; alas, I’ve been diving more and more into my my OC who I’ve actually really wanted to have fun with and actually try to develop them in a way that matters to the RPC. Which is my new OC is super experimental and less selective then I am for Drake. So far; he’s Been a lot of fun to mess around with and I’m hoping that he’ll grow as much as Drake does.

[uchiha-gaeshi]

I’m calling off my SI/OC fic.