#i was covering in my own vomit and crying. this is life. it is a slap stick comedy lol

[sumamitt]

i dont understand why people hate steven universe now. i love it. finally watching it all the way through.

[straykeedz]

day 15: seungmin + hair pulling

©straykeedz

tw: bff2?; mention of throwing up; mentions of masturbation (m) and several sexual scenarios; seungmin is kind of a perv if you squint???; female anatomy; oral sex (m receiving); unprotected piv sex (don't do that at home 🤨); seungmin calls reader a slut several times; creampie; ♡

wc: 4,3k;

this is part of my kinktober masterlist. you can find my regular masterlist here (tho it will not be updated until the end of kinktober) ♡

🔖 (open): @linos-kitten ; @luneskies ; @kxcies-blog ; @idunnomanmynamewastaken ; @cessixja ; @stolasisyourparent ; @kookiesbunny ; @xoxo-xoxo-bunny ; @ivyskzsworld ; @mal-lunar-28 ; @leetaste ; @sunnykynnie ; @channiesgoodgirl ; @seonghwatoothless ; @mrsminho ; @seungminluv3 ; @jin-from-the-block ; @aaasia111 ; @sulkygyu ; @whosanaanyway ; @y-ur--I ; @vixensss ; @nightimescapes ; @freckleboilix ; @dreamingaboutjisung ; @yourbeomiebear ; ♡

to make sure i add you to the taglist, your age must be clearly visible on your profile. also, empty blogs will not be added - add at least a profile picture to your blog so that i’ll know you’re not a bot. ♡

smut below the cut, minors dni.

⚑

He can’t get the thought out of his head. 

And he knows it’s wrong to jerk off to the thought of your best friend, your bestest friend in the world who’s been by your side your whole life since you were little kids, but Seungmin isn’t kidding when he says that it’s all he has been able to think about for a month. A month. And he’s gotten off to that thought nearly every day. 

Now that he thinks about it - he almost feels like a creep, especially because he keeps acting normal around you and then, when he’s in the confines of his own bedroom in his own lonely, quiet place, he wraps his slender fingers around his cock and strokes himself thinking of bending you over his desk, entangling his fingers in your hair and pulling it. All this while grunting in your ear how much of a slut you are for his cock, or how much he wants to fill your cunt up with his cum. Other times, you’re on his bed with your face down and ass up, other times you’re on your knees as he fucks your face - either way, his hands would always be in your hair, pulling it until your scalp hurts. 

Seungmin swears he’s never had that kind of thoughts involving you. Not until that night. 

How he found out you have a hair pulling kink is pretty curious. 

Being you bestest friend in the whole world, your shoulder to cry on, your entire life and the bane of existence all at once, it’s pretty obvious that he’s the one in charge of taking care of drunk you. You’d do the same for him, really, but somehow you always end up getting drunk first and don’t have the chance to return the (multiple) favor(s). Seungmin scoffs and rolls his eyes, but deep down he’s not annoyed, and he secretly likes taking care of you. 

That night - you’d drunk a lot. More than usual, and soon felt like throwing up, which you never did. Naturally, you’d grabbed Seungmin by the forearm and practically dragged him to the club bathroom - the ladies’ room, of course, ignoring a few annoyed scoffs of the girls waiting in line, who probably thought you were about to fuck in there. But no, you were genuinely feeling sick, and begged Seungmin to hold your hair in a makeshift ponytail because you didn’t want to cover it in your spit and vomit in case it ended up falling on your face. 

Seungmin followed your instructions, however, when his fingers accidentally got tangled in your hair and he pulled a bit harder - he wasn’t expecting you to moan. Like, a proper moan. It could have been literally anything, but no - it had to be a moan. 

He froze in his spot as soon as he heard the sound, eyes open wide as he breathed through his nose slowly because no way you’d just moaned because he accidentally pulled your hair. No way. And then - his brain was telling him to stop right now and don’t do it, but little devil Seungmin sitting on his shoulder encouraged him to repeat his previous motion and pull your hair once again. You know, for research purposes - he had to know. 

So he pulled it again - and, as predicted by the little devil on his shoulder, you did it again. You fucking moaned again. It was more like a whine this time, a desperate whimper, which did not make the situation any better. And now he was hard. With his fingers in your hair. And you were kneeling on the floor, trying to empty your stomach, although unsuccessfully. 

Like the gentleman he is, he drove you back home, made sure you’d drink a lot of water, left aspirin on your nightstand for you to take the morning after and asked your roommate to check in on you during the night. Then, he drove back home, hopped in the shower with the intention of washing away the stress of the week off his body, and… his dick got hard, again. And he was thinking of you - actually, of the sounds that you made, repeating them over and over in his head as he wrapped his fingers around his length, a bit ashamed of doing this while thinking of you, but it was too late now.

And since then - life has never been the same again for Kim Seungmin. 

He’d come home after his shift, take off his work clothes and, before hopping in the shower, take his time stroking himself, laying spread on his king sized bed. You’re the protagonist of the scenarios he plays in his head every single time since that night at the club. Before that night, he wouldn’t really think of anyone in particular while getting off - it’d be mainly tits or asses or pussies, if he’s particularly horny maybe even cocks, but never a person, only body parts. But since he discovered your hair pulling kink… oh, boy. All he can think about is you and how you’d sound moaning for him, because of him. Yesterday, for example, he got off in record time to the thought of fucking you on his couch - you on top of him, facing him, legs spread to accommodate his body as you sit on his cock, as he has his fingers in your hair, tugging at it. Then, as soon as he cums and takes a couple of minutes to recollect himself, change the sheets, put them in the washing machine together with his outside clothes and, finally, take that long yearned shower. 

It’s become a routine for him, and he’s seriously worried his dick might’ve developed muscle memory by now, because he’d find himself getting hard as soon as he steps inside his place. 

Like today.

He’s had the shittiest day at work, and all he could think of was going back home, taking off his clothes, pleasuring himself, taking a shower and then, finally, going to sleep. But as soon as his apartment door closes behind him and he takes off his shoes - he notices a pair of sneakers that most definitely aren’t his. 

“Finally!”, he hears your voice, and his head immediately snaps in your direction. 

You’re on his couch, covered in a blanket, phone in your hand probably checking your social media and a movie or a tv series playing in the background on Seungmin’s ridiculously big tv screen. It’s not unusual for you to show up at his house - he doesn’t show up at your place that often because you have a roommate, but he leaves alone and doesn’t mind having you over. However, you rarely show up unannounced. 

“You forgot, didn’t you?”, you ask, noticing the confused expression on his face, brows furrowed and everything. 

“Forgot what?”, is what he says, proving you right, of course. 

You shake your head and sigh, but he knows you’re not really mad at him. Otherwise, you’d just start yelling. “Yah, you’re really overworking yourself. That, or you’re just getting old and experiencing memory loss.”, you mock him. 

“Hey! I’m the one who makes fun of other people’s age!”, he eventually takes off his shoes and hangs his jacket, coming closer to you. “Now - what is it that I forgot?”

“Today, they released the last season of the series we started, remember?”

“The one with an awful plot and an even more terrible cast?”

“Yah!”, you playfully slap his arm, and he cracks a smile. “But yeah, that one. We said we’d watch it together.”

“You said it.” Seungmin points out. “I had no choice but to accept my fate.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re no fun. Go change, and bring snacks on your way back!”

Seungmin is back in his living room a couple of minutes later, wearing one of his comfy oversized t-shirts and his beloved grey sweats, and a few snacks in his hands. Chocolate, chips, popcorns, it’s like the guy has a fucking bar in his house, not that you’re complaining. You play the first episode of the new season of the series he absolutely despises, but you want to watch it so bad and he doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’d rather jump off a cliff. 

And then, the unthinkable happens. 

He blames a fucking pointless sex scene thrown into the second half of the episode for no reason whatsoever - but his cock stirs in his pants, semi-hard. He blinks a couple of times and starts to think that maybe, maybe, if he starts to think of ugly things such as an old, naked lady or literally any other things that turns him off, the situation won’t escalate, and his dignity would be preserved and remain intact. 

And it seems to be working. For two minutes. 

Because then, he feels you squirm in your place, right next to him, and he’s about to complain about it, but as soon as he snaps his head in your direction, he sees you with an hair tie in your hand, attempting at tying your hair in a ponytail to prevent your hair from falling on your face - eyes on the tv screen, fully focused on the episode. 

There’s absolutely nothing sexual about what you’ve just done, so why is his cock getting harder? That stupid boner was supposed to go away. But then he realizes - it’s because of that stupid scenario he got off to, the one with you and him fucking on the couch, this very couch you’re both now on. And you had a ponytail in the scenario. A ponytail he’s tugged at too many times in his fantasies. Okay, maybe he has a problem - maybe he’s developed an addiction to masturbation or an addiction to masturbating to the thought of his best friend. 

Either way, it’s absolutely unacceptable and he has do something about this absurd situation. However, all he can do now, is place a fucking pillow on his lap and pray to God you don’t notice the way he’s distancing himself from you, scooting on the couch as far away as possible from you. 

But you notice. Of course you do.

“What’s up with you?”, you turn your head to face him, eyebrows furrowed, tilting your head to the side. 

“What’s up with me?”, he knows he’s absolutely terrible at lying, but there isn’t much else he can do. 

“You’re sitting so far away. Look, you took the blanket with you, I’m cold!”, you scoot closer to him in an attempt to get the blanket back.

You pull said blanket with all the brute force in your body, which causes the pillow Seungmin slyly placed on his lap to fall on the floor. He’s not quick enough. You succeed in getting the blanket back, but now his big secret’s out.

“Yah!”, you squeak. “Why are you hard?”

Seungmin should’ve fucking known you have no boundaries. 

He places that pillow back between his legs, even if it’s too late now. “Yah, why would you stare at my crotch?”, he whines, embarrassed. “That’s what a perv would do.”

“Yah, how am I the perv when you’re the one sporting a boner in the middle of movie night?”, you’re not really mad or anything - you’re just making fun of him, letting out a satisfied giggle. “Besides, it’s not my fault your sweats leave nothing to the imagination.”, you shrug. 

“What are you talking about?”, he’s beyond confused, but at the same time grateful his hard-on isn’t the main subject anymore. Maybe if you keep talking it’ll disappear.

“Everybody knows that grey sweats on guys are like… I don’t know, a very revealing neckline on a girl?”, you try to come up with a similarity. 

“I didn’t know that.” He really didn’t. 

“But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?” Seungmin asks. 

“Why are you hard?”

Aaaand back to subject Seungmin’s dick. Honestly - what excuse can he come up with that won’t make him look like a fucking creep in your eyes?

“Don’t tell me it was the sex scene.”, you say, dead serious. 

“No, what am I, twelve?” Seungmin answers a little too quickly, without putting much thought into what he said. To be honest, that scene was just the tip of the iceberg. He’s not twelve, but he’s just as pathetic - getting hard because his best friend was tying her hair. 

“Then what?”, you seem to be enjoying seeing him so flustered. You even pause the fucking episode.

“Nothing.”

“C’mon!”, you insist, clearly having no intention in dropping the subject. 

“You know how dicks are! They’re weird, they get hard for no reason!”, he tries to defend himself. He’s not completely wrong, dicks do get hard out of the blue sometimes, but there’s something in the tone of his voice that just betrays him. 

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon, we tell each other everything!”, you whine. Why do you care so much anyway? “I even told you that time I mastur-“

“That’s because you have absolutely no restraints and think of me as your fucking personal diary - which I’m not, by the way.”, he interrupts you - thinking of you masturbating won’t help his erection go away. 

“Tell me!”, you insist.

“No.”, he protests. 

“Kim Seungmin.”

“Using my full name won’t let you get what you want.”, he shakes his head repeatedly. 

“Tell me!”

“Fine! It was you!”, he snaps before he can stop himself. All the bickering made him lose his lucidity and now he’s met with a couple of big eyes looking at him surprised. 

“Me?”, you ask, absolutely shocked. “What did I do?”

“You’ll think I’m a creep.” Seungmin sighs, lowering his gaze to his hands. Is he really going to tell you? Maybe he should leave out the part where he masturbates to the thought of you - no, he definitely should leave that out. 

“I already do, kinda.”, you joke, cracking a smile. 

“Not helping.”, he scolds you. 

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

He lets out another deep sigh, then fidgets with the hem of his t-shirt. “It’s- when you, uh… when you tied your hair.”, he shamefully admits. 

You furrow your eyebrows, looking at him confused. “My hair?”, you ask. 

He hums. “Yeah, your hair.”, he confirms. “Well, your ponytail.”, he clarifies. 

“My ponytail turns you on.”, it’s a statement, but it sounds more like a question. 

“If you put it like that it just sounds weird.” Seungmin points out. 

“It is weird.”

“Now you’re just kink-shaming me.”, he grunts, annoyed. 

“Kink?”, you quirk an eyebrow at him. 

He snaps his head in your direction in record time, looking you in the eye. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t have an hair pulling kink, too!”, he shots. 

You freeze in your spot, eyes wide open, staring at him. “How do you know?”, you don’t even try to deny it, it’d be pointless. 

“I-“ should he tell you? “That night when you felt like, uh… throwing up, you… you asked me to hold your hair and well- I did and you…” why is he stuttering so much? “You moaned.”, he finally admits. 

Now, you’re as flustered as he is. 

“So you… uh, you imagine pulling my hair?”, you’re not sure you got him right, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t thought of it already. Repeatedly. And you’re intrigued by the thought. 

“It’s all I can think of.” Seungmin shamelessly blurts out, and for a good ten seconds you’re taken aback by his straightforwardness, considering it took you nearly ten minutes to get him to tell you what turned him on in the first place. 

You stay silent for a while and Seungmin just wishes the ground would swallow him whole, because he feels like he just massively overstepped a boundary in your friendship, but just as he’s about to say something, you anticipate him. 

“So you… want some help with that?”, your gaze falls on his crotch, the outline his hard-on still clearly visible, and you like what you see. 

“What?” Seungmin nearly falls off the couch. 

“I’ll let you pull my hair.”, it’s clearly a joke, because you giggle right after you say those words. 

“You’re such a brat.” Seungmin scoffs, giving you the side-eye. 

“Sorry.”, you apologize. “But… I was serious. If you want some help, I’m here.”

Seungmin swallows the lump in his throat as he processes your words. Are you offering… to help him get off? How? 

“Wouldn’t that be weird? We’re friends.”, he voices his concern. He’d hate himself if he lost you over a stupid erection. 

“We’re two responsible adults who can be mature about this.”, you point out. “I want this, otherwise I wouldn’t offer to help you out.”

Seungmin instantly relaxes. “Okay, then.”

Seungmin’s breath hitches in his throat when you kneel before him without uttering another word, and he feels his soul leaving his body when you place the palm of your hand flat on the tent in his sweats, palming him over the thin fabric. A small sound leaves his mouth when you squeeze him, running your other hand up and down his thigh. 

“Take these off?”, you whisper, looking him in the eye from between his legs, and he feels a shiver run through his body. 

He nods eagerly, lifting his ass from the couch and hooking his fingers on each side of his sweats and boxers, dragging them down his thighs in one swift motion, freeing his cock, that slaps on his abdomen. Your eyes widen at the sight - it’s big. You already had a feeling he was above average when you palmed him over the clothes, but it’s even bigger than you thought. 

Seungmin feels a bit embarrassed to be sprawled on his couch, legs spread and with his hard cock out - you between his thighs, kneeling on the floor, ready to suck him off, apparently. But the feeling is soon forgotten when you wrap your delicate fingers around the base of his erection and lick a long stripe that goes all the way to his tip, before engulfing it in your mouth. He lets out a choked sound, fingers gripping the cushions as you take him deeper, jerking off what you can’t fit in your mouth. 

This definitely feels better than his hand. 

He kicks his head back and closes his eyes, hissing when you suck a bit harder on hit tip and clenching his thigh. Then, he feels you wrap your fingers around his wrist and he opens his eyes to look at you. 

“Can I?”, he asks, as he caresses your temple with his fingers. You nod, with his cock still in your mouth, and he has to bite his lip to hold back another moan. However, you don’t hold back a moan when his fingers grip your ponytail and tug at it. Hard. “Fuck, you’re sucking me off so good.”, he praises you. 

You take him even deeper, your own saliva dripping all over his shaft, coating your fingers and his balls as you can feel his tip in your throat. Each time he pulls your hair, it encourages you to take another couple of inches - and he soon starts panting, clenching his thigh and abdomen, clearly close to his release. 

You have something else in mind, so you release him from your mouth completely, earning an annoyed groan from Seungmin. 

“I was close, why’d you stop?”, he whines, releasing the grip he has on your ponytail but not letting go completely. 

“Thought you’d want to come inside of me.”, you say with a mischievous grin on your face. His cock twitches, and you crack a smile at his reaction. “I take it as a yes.”, you smile at him and he nods frantically, his brain short-circuiting. 

“I’ll go get a condom.”, he manages to say, with the last bit of lucidity he has left in his body, but you stop him before he can get up from the couch. 

“No need, I’m on the pill. And clean.”

He bites his lip and nods, which is his way to show his consent, then crosses his arms over his chest and takes his t-shirt off, throwing it somewhere in the room. You do the same, then slide your jeans down your thighs and then straddle him - wearing nothing but your bra and your panties. 

You feel Seungmin’s hand climb your back, and for a second there you think he’s about to unclasp your bra, but he doesn’t stop there. In fact, his fingers reach your hair, wrapping around your ponytail once again, and you let out a whimper. 

Seungmin hooks his other fingers on the underside of your panties, pulling them to the side. “Spit on your fingers.”, he grunts, tone demanding. It’s as if something inside of him had snapped. You oblige, collecting your saliva on the pads of your fingers. “Good. Now touch yourself to get you nice and wet for me.”

You’re already wet. Incredibly wet, but you do as he said anyway - absolutely in love with this side of him, so bossy and demanding, and you spread your spit all over your clit and entrance until you’re sure you can take his cock. 

“I’m gonna put it in now.”, he says, looking you in the eye, aligning the tip of his cock to your entrance, ready to push inside. 

You nod, eager to feel him inside of you. “Please.”

He fills you up in one, slow, motion, parting your wet walls and bottoming out with a grunt, and you moan in response, feeling incredibly full. “Took me so well.”, he groans, then both of your gazes fall to where your bodies meet. 

You cross your arms over your back to unclasp your bra, sliding the straps off your arms, getting rid of it - Seungmin bites his lip at the sight of your nipples. So, he cups one of your breasts and squeezes one of your nipples with the pads of his fingers, earning a whimper from you. “You like that, huh?”

“Yeah, fuck.”, you moan. He smirks, then starts leaving a series of kisses on the valley of your breasts, then on your other tit, until he captures your other nipple in his mouth, sucking on it. 

Then, he moves his hand from your breast to your hip, encouraging you to start moving on top of him. You do, lifting your hips and then sinking back onto his cock, repeating the same motion again and again, each time a bit faster. He lets go of your nipple to look at you, eyes closed and lips slightly parted, bouncing on his cock - and it’s the most addicting sight he’s ever witnessed. 

The fingers that are gripping your ponytail reach for your hair tie, and Seungmin starts to pull it, untying your hair, letting it fall free on your shoulders, before entangling his fingers in it once again, tugging at it with more force, pulling it as he thrusts inside of you, meeting your movements. 

“You’re such a good girl, fucking me so well.”, he mutters, not being able to tear his eyes off of you. 

You shake your head as a no. “Not good girl.”, you whimper, placing your hands on his shoulder to help you with your balance as you bounce on his cock, a mixture of his and your arousal dripping from your hole, coating Seungmin’s balls and, probably, the cushion. Neither of you seems to care.

“You’re not a good girl?”, you shake your head as a no. "How do you want me to call you?”, he says, panting heavily, feeling his orgasm approaching. 

“Slut.”, you whisper, gripping his shoulders tighter. 

He rolls his eyes in the back of his head, brain short-circuiting. It’s curious how compatible you are, even when it comes to sex, apparently. 

He tugs at you hair tighter, making you wince - he knows you like it. “Such a good slut.”, he feels you clenching around him. “You like it when I call you a slut?”, he chuckles, bringing his free hand to your hip, squeezing the soft flesh. 

You nod frantically, biting your lip. “I love it.”, you whimper. Your movements have become a bit unsteady, singling you’re close too. 

“My slut.” Seungmin grunts, slamming his hips against yours. “Hungry for my cock - practically begged to suck me off.”, he mutters, but he’s interrupted by a choked moan when your nails scrape his shoulders. 

“Min.”, you moan. “Close.”

Seungmin groans, then brings the pad of his thumb on your clit to help you find your release, rubbing it fast, yet delicately. “Cum for me, show me how much of a slut you are for me, for my cock.”, he demands, pulling your hair harder, so hard your scalp actually hurts.

“I’m such a slut for you.”, you pant, and a few seconds later, you’re falling apart on his cock with a loud cry, clenching around him as your orgasm washes all over you. “I’m coming, fuck - I’m coming, Min.”

“Good slut, you gonna make me cum.” Seungmin grunts, close as well, cock throbbing inside of you as he thrusts faster and faster. 

As soon as he feels he’s about to cum, he crashes his lips onto yours to muffle his moans and swear words, still tugging at your hair, and then he halts his movements, wanting to savor the feeling of releasing inside of you, coming with four long spurts of his seed. 

Your body falls on top of his, you face in the crook of his neck and he lets go of the grip in your hair, enveloping you in a hug, resting his chin on your shoulder. You stay like this for a while, that stupid episode paused on the tv, clothes scattered on the floor and your bodies entangled as you both relive what you just did. 

And, somehow, neither of you is scared - you know you’ll figure this out. You always do.

⚑

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[missmeinyourbones]

DRANK DRY THE RIVER LETHE

"These days I think I owe my life

To flowers that were left here by my mother,

Ain't that like them, gifting life to you again?

- First Time, Hozier

a/n: trying baby daddy touya, brief mentions of pregnancy, reader is exhausted and dealing w some parental impostor syndrome, reader and baby are referred to as touya's girls

Touya comes home to a crying baby, something that has slowly become the new norm for him.

The fall breeze is uncomfortably chilly now that the sun has long gone down, and he can hear the familiar shrieks and hiccups before he's able to unlock and open the apartment door.

You don't hear him enter over the whines of the baby you cradle and caress in your hold. Touya's met with the back of your head and the sound of your desperate coos as he kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, making his way over to his girls. His family.

"Hey," he makes it a point to speak before letting his hand come to rest on your lower back. You'd think he'd have mastered how jumpy you are after all this time, but you flinch all the same at the sound of his voice.

He lets the warmth of his touch press up against your skin in an attempt to comfort you, but the second he's able to catch your eye, he knows it'll require a lot more than that to soothe your worries.

From your gaze alone, he can sense your panic almost immediately.

"She won't stop crying," is the first thing you say to him.

It comes out rushed and nervous, like you've been waiting for him to return home for hours. You have been, he knows to be true even though you don't say it.

He winces a bit as he takes in your appearance. You look smaller than he's ever remembered, and perhaps there's a truth to that old saying about not noticing something as it happens right before you, until it's already too late.

Your eyes are dark with exhaustion, his t-shirt swallowing you whole is covered with what he knows to be stains of vomit and spit-up. Your body doesn't stop moving, heels don't stop bouncing softly back and forth as you attempt to soothe your daughter in any way possible.

He doesn't ask how long you've been at this.

The haste returns when you continue, "She's not hungry, I've changed her three times, her temperature is normal, and I hate that I even checked her temperature more than once because she fucking hates it and--"

A calloused palm finds your head, gently brushing the tousled hair behind your ear and trying to rub the tension from behind your neck.

"Hey, hey. Easy."

He tries to console you. His tone is a bit cautious, like he's trying to slowly approach a wild and contaminated animal, but it comforts you all the same.

His heart hurts as he watches you take a shaky inhale, holding it for a brief moment before exhaling it just as uneasily. You're drained.

If this was three months ago, he'd instantly grab your wrist--force you to lay on top of him in bed until you inevitably pass out and succumb to your own exhaustion.

But things are different now, and he's not just in charge of you anymore. He has two girls to take care of, one being a lot more helpless than the other who needs him just as badly right now.

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong," you weakly admit through the tears that sit heavy in the back of your throat.

Nothing, Touya wants to say. He doesn't even think you're capable of doing something that isn't right, but he's self-aware enough to bite his tongue and focus on the task at hand.

His eyes fall to where the bundle of baby still shrieks and sobs against your arms. He slowly reaches to rub a soft finger against her puffy cheek before sighing to himself.

"Don't babies cry for no reason sometimes?" he mumbles.

"She doesn't cry like this for you."

He knows it's the fatigue behind your bite, so he chooses to ignore the harsh comparison.

"Yeah, she does, baby," he calmly breathes. "You're just tired."

Wordlessly, he motions for you to hand your daughter to him, and the pass happens naturally for all three of you. She leaves your arms and enters his without so much of a struggle. And you can't shake the failure that weighs heavy on your shoulders as you watch him gently bounce the baby on his hip, her cries almost immediately softening by being in his mere presence.

It takes all of thirty seconds before she's practically silent, resting on his chest and babbling herself into a calm drowsiness. His hand cradles the back of her head gently, mimicking how it did yours mere moments ago.

The scene before you is all you've ever wanted, and it's finally yours. And you absolutely hate that you feel a sob of exhaustion wrack through your chest, ruining a moment you never thought you'd have.

Touya watches you shrink before him, your eyes on the peaceful scene before you as you choke out a teary, "She hates me."

"Bullshit, c'mere."

He readjusts your baby so she's comfortably supported with one arm, using the other to snake around your shoulders and pull you in with them. You feel his hand flat against your sore back, rubbing gentle circles and pressing you into his warmth.

The three of you stand huddled together, all clinging onto one another in one way or the other. The baby in Touya's hold rests her sock-covered foot on the flat of your arm. You lean into Touya's chest, head right next to your daughter's as he whispers sweet reassurances. You don't need to ask to know they're meant for the both of you.

After a few minutes, Touya pulls away a bit, but only to use both hands to place the baby back in her crib. The transition is easy and she's out cold as she sinks into the tiny mattress pad and sprawls out.

The two of you lean on one another, hovering over the wood to watch her sleep. Her eyelids flicker with movement, her chubby fingers squeezing around nothing every now and then.

Eventually, Touya tiredly whispers into your hair, “I learned all this from you, y'know."

Sniffling with heavy eyes and a confused pout, you weakly turn your head up to look at him in confusion.

Assuming he's talking about parenthood, his words don't make any sense in your fatigued and spiraling mind.

You learned together. He was there in the hospital when the midwives walked you through swaddling and latching and burping. When you'd discovered that your daughter preferred to eat after napping because nursing before made her sick. Watching online tutorials on which bassinet is safest for newborns---Touya was there, for all of it. He didn't learn anything about this from you.

But when he looks down into your watery eyes, through the dark of the nursery and against the shallow breaths of your sleeping daughter, you realize he's not talking about that.

His voice is a mere whisper when he confesses, “Like, how to love her right.”

Sniffling and swollen, you open your mouth to protest, but no words come out. Utterly speechless, you just stare at him a bit dumbly.

Touya fights off a smirk at your uncharacteristic silence, directing his attention back to the sleeping baby once more.

"Wouldn't know how to do this if it wasn't for you, letting me learn how to love you," he admits.

He reaches down into the crib to where she sleeps on her back, arms spread out and upward like she's stretching her tiny limbs. He takes the tips off his fingers and gently rubs her onesie-covered tummy.

“So, when she feels it from me," he whispers, not taking his eyes off of the annoyingly perfect baby before him, "it’s really just an extension of you.”

A moment of silence passes. In the heaviness of the moment, he almost thinks you didn't hear him. But he's proven wrong--something he's learned is often the case with you--when he turns his head to where you wait. Touya sees your eyes and cheeks glistening with newly shed tears, no longer the dried ones from your weariness and anxiety, gleaming up back at him.

He can't help but shake his head and laugh at the soft sight before him, withdrawing his hand from the baby's tummy and wrapping it around your shoulder.

He ushers your head into his chest, muttering a loving, “Alright crybaby, c'mon.”

He lets you sniffle and close your eyes against the cheap cotton of his shirt, letting his own eyes shut and resting his chin atop your head.

Slowly, but all the same, you feel that gentle sting of guilt eventually fade from your lungs with each gentle exhale. With heavy eyes and bad posture, you ground yourself through the senses around you. Touya's skin against yours, the sounds of gentle sighs and sniffles. The baby, the one that you had together, safe in her crib with the sole responsibility of innocently existing.

You don't want to ever forget this, or maybe you do. Half of you wishes you could forget it, just to receive the blessing of experiencing it for the first time all over again.

“Also use my quirk sometimes,” you think you hear muffled into the crown of your skull.

You open your puffy eyes to look up at him, confused.

"What?"

You watch Touya smugly shrug as he brushes the stray and sticky hairs from your clammy forehead. A sly blush creeps up his neck and jaw when he fights off a smile.

"Warm my hand up and put it on her stomach," he admits casually, caressing your soggy cheek, "shuts her right up."

You laugh, wet and pathetic and absolutely enamored by him, "That's cheating, you asshole."

You don't blame her, you think, considering the countless times you've requested the same thing from him. From period cramps to pregnancy pain to just wanting to feel him--maybe it's genetic, having your DNA and craving his warmth simultaneously.

You decide that Touya must be thinking the same thing, because he simply chuckles with you, rubbing your back as you feel the familiar heat of his fingers begin to tingle.

"Yeah, yeah," he kisses your head, "wonder where she learned that from."

[am-i-interrupting]

Hi there! Could I request fem!reader x husk reuniting in hell?

Maybe they used to be together when they were alive but then a misunderstanding happened and they split up/ or one of them just died 😭

Someone from hotel found about it, found her and brought her there or maybe she just came there and met him. Idk I leave it to you.

I know it might be stupid but I really love this trope and want to read something like this with Husk :3

We’ll Meet Again

“So,” Angel began, laying in the bar with a perfect view of Husks’s hands as he fluidly went through the motions of mixing a drink, “what’s the ring for?”

Angel had said a lot of dumb shit. Like, a lot but he’d never said something that threw Husk off enough to actually spill something.

“Fuck,” Husk grumbled.

He grabbed a rag to clean the mess. It was then Angel realized that the only reason he’d ever seen Husk grab the cloth was to clean up someone else’s mess, never his own.

Angel sat upright. “So, I’m guessing it’s personal?”

Husk looked at Angel and paused his cleaning. “No shit.” He continued on.

It wasn’t until weeks later that Angel would see Husk wasted. In fact, all the hotel residents would see Husk truly wasted for the first time.

He came in, barely able to stand much less walk and ignored everyone, promptly flipping Charlie off when she asked if he needed help, and continued to make his way to the stairs.

“Oh, yeah,” Niffty said, “it’s that time of year again.”

“What could possibly have our resident day drunk absolutely plastered?” Angel asked.

“This happens every year?” Charlie asked, much more concern coming from her voice compared to Angel’s snark which covered his own.

Alastor appeared at the end of the stairs. “Ah, the woos of a broken heart strike once again,” he said as he spun his microphone before he leaned on it, staring up the staircase. “One would think after over seventy years, he would be over it, hmm?”

“That’s not fair, sir,” Niffty said as she joined him. “She was the love of his life.”

“And his life is now over,” he said in response.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Niffty said as she began darting up the stairs. “I don’t want to have to clean vomit out of the carpet.”

“What’s wrong with Husk?” Charlie asked, standing with her hands clutched close to her chest.

“Nothing he hasn’t faced before, my dear,” Alastor said. “It happens every year. For a week expect him to disappear for long periods of time and come back completely zozzled. Although, he may be inclined to stay if I procure him something stronger. I would love a front row seat at a stage play compared to a parade, a rather sad parade but a parade nonetheless.”

“What happened?”

“Hmm? Yes, well, I suppose you don’t know, do you?” Alastor said. “Our dear Husker used to be married, unfortunately before they could grow old together, they happened to get into a lover’s quarrel and before it could be resolved, his darling wife was murdered in a street mugging gone wrong.”

Angel felt his heart sink down into his stomach. That’s why Husk had gotten so defensive. He’d probably been trying to avoid thinking about it and there Angel went with his big mouth, bringing up something that hurt him right around a trauma days.

“That’s horrible!” Charlie exclaimed.

“Yes, indeed but life is hardly kind, my dear. Death is rather the same,” Alastor said before he went to take stock of the liquor at the bar.

It was a long time before Angel learned a name but that’s all he had to go on, was a name and a description of what you looked like with an off hand comment or two about some of your hobbies.

A year paced and Angel was on his way back to the Hotel from a long night at work when he saw a woman crying as she walked. Normally he’d walk on by. It’s not like it was an uncommon sight to see in Hell but he didn’t. Something compelled him to stop.

“You alright, toots?” he asked as he slowed down so he didn’t walk past you.

You looked up at him. You weren’t ugly crying. You weren’t really showing any emotion but Angel knew just how much of a curse it was to bottle things up. He knew a vacant cry wasn’t any less concerning than a violent one.

“I’m fine,” you said as you quickly tried to wipe you tears.

Angel’s eyes flickered down to where you were fiddling with a ring.

“Martial problems?”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “Maybe it’s because I’m just bored and noisy but I’ve also been staying at the Princess’s redemption Hotel. Maybe it’s made me a more carin’ person.”

You said nothing. The two of you walked side by side for a few minutes, both going in the same direction.

“It’s my death anniversary,” you blurted out.

Angel winced in sympathy. “Those are rough. I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s not dying that bothered me. It just—“ you felt yourself getting choked up— “I died while having a fight with my husband.”

“Did he kill you?” Angel asked.

“No, no, someone else did but we were fighting and it was over something stupid,” you clarified. “I slammed the door after yelling some bad things. They were the last things I ever said to him.”

Angel’s brow furrowed. “This is gonna sound stupid if I’m wrong but,” and he asked if your name was the one Husk had given him not that long ago. When you said yes, he laughed a bit hysterically. “Fuck, I didn’t think I was right.”

You followed Angel into the Hazbin Hotel. You were wary. You didn’t believe him. You didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“Hey, where’s Husk?” Angel asked.

Charlie looked up from the charts she had spread across the table as she sat on the couch. “Vaggie helped him go up to his room not that long ago.”

“How was he doing?”

“Not good.” Charlie got up. “Who’s this.”

When Angel said your name and Charlie gasped it gave you a bit of hope. A random sinner on the street fucking with you was to be expected. The Princess of Hell who prided herself on her kindness? That’s as a bit more trustworthy.

“Here, let me take you to his room,” Charlie said as she grabbed your hand and pulled you up the stairs.

The door barely creaked as it was opened. It revealed a damn near exact replica of your home in life and on the bed was a black tuxedo cat with red wings curled up on his side.

“That’s him?” you asked, twisting your ring on your finger.

Charlie nodded. You hesitantly stepped into the room.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Charlie said as she closed the door.

You stood there for a minute. You just stared at the cat that was supposed to be your husband. He looked so tense, even in sleep.

You took another step forward and then another until you were beside the bed. On the nightstand was a hat and tie.

You picked up the loose tie and twisted it between your fingers. For some reason you couldn’t explain, you held it up to your nose. You nearly collapsed as so many memories rushed to you from the smell, from his smell. It smelled like the same cologne he used to dot on before he went to perform or go play a round of cards at the bar.

You tried to keep the sobs bubbling up in your throat at bay but it was all for not. They came out anyway as you curled in on yourself, standing at the bedside.

There was a groan.

“The fuck?” your husband’s voice said.

You said his name, his real name and his eyes went wide as he shot up. He swayed and caught himself on the headboard.

“Am I hallucinating?” he asked.

You couldn’t get words out to answer. Instead you’d hugged him, causing you both to fall onto the mattress as neither of you had the energy to keep yourself up.

You woke up the next morning wrapped in Husk’s arms and wings. You felt safe for the first time since you fell to Hell.

You didn’t want to leave. You didn’t want to let go. Luckily you didn’t have to.

No one was surprised when they didn’t see Husk for the next week. They were surprised when he came out of his room smiling, with you by his side and he refused to let go.

[thecuriousquest]

B2 & Hawks

-🧼

The Scent of Another Man

Tag List: @issamomma @repostingmyfavs @palesweetscherryblossom @chickennugnugnug

Warnings: Yandere themes, NSFW, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, non con briefly mentioned, isolation punishment mentioned, spanking threat, nudity, sexual punishment?, possessive tendencies, controlling tendencies, aggressive behavior, abusive behavior, threatening harm upon Reader, hair pulling, breast slapping, marking Reader, Stockholm Syndrome

Request: “We won’t stop until you’re so covered in my scent no one will dare touch you again.”

Master List

Yandere Alphabet Prompt

—————————————————————————

Keigo Takami is known for many things. He’s the No. 2 pro hero of Japan, he’s a charming guy, he’s rich as hell, and he started his own agency at such a young age. Those are just a few off of the long, long list.

You know Keigo for something that nobody would ever even consider. He’s fucking territorial. This man somehow always knows when you’ve been around another guy. It’s like he can sniff it out. You could just brush your arm up against the opposite gender on a bus, and when you come home, Keigo will be all over your ass, interrogating you about why you smell like another guy.

Ever since you blossomed into a more willing partner, one who shows him incredibly genuine love and devotion, he has allowed you to go outside under certain conditions. One, you must always have your phone and location turned on. Two, if Keigo calls, you must always answer. Three, you’re only allowed out until five o’clock pm. Four, you are to tell Keigo where you’re going and who you’re going with. If he doesn’t approve of those two things, you aren’t going at all. Five, you are to contact Keigo and only Keigo if something bad happens.

On the train, your phone died, and you happened to have been seated between two males with pretty heavy body odor. That’s what leads you here as Keigo grabs you by your hair and berates you in the kitchen, threatening to press your cheek against the hot griddle of the stove.

“Am I not enough for you? After all I’ve done to protect you, to give you a lavish life?! You’re going to throw all of that back in my face?”

You know what will happen if you don’t answer him properly. Sniffling from the threatening heat against your face, you groan and cry out with a heaving chest, “Keigo, I’m sorry! You’re enough. You know you are! I love you, I can’t live without you. Please, Keigo!”

You can’t hold onto him with the angle you’re bent at over the stove. The only thing you can grab is the handle to the oven, so you clutch it desperately, knuckles turning white from the harsh grip.

“KEIGO!”

You feel like you’re about to vomit as he presses your face just a bit closer, but it’s all too close at the same time. You’re a short hair away from him marring your face.

“What do I have to do to make you get it through your pea sized brain that you’re mine? You’re my girl!”

“I am your girl! Keigo, I didn’t do anything. Please? Please, let me go?!”

Your tears fall onto the griddle, splashing and sizzling as it begins to evaporate. The steam hits your eye, and it only causes more to surface upon your lashes.

He pulls you up and turns off the knob, ending the torturous heat to the stove. Keigo grabs you by your jaw with an iron clasp so tight you’re sure he’ll leave finger print sized bruises. The dew drops lingering on your eyes rolls down over his hand, and he smirks at you, licking the salty droplets.

Your boyfriend’s lips are so close to yours. You can’t turn your head away from him, and with your back to the oven, you have nowhere to go. It must be a natural instinct to him to trap you like this, giving you zero options of a way out. By now, you can’t even tell if this was something he did on purpose or if it’s just so ingrained in his psyche that it’s intrinsic to him.

Snuffling like a kid with ugly sobs, you clutch his jacket.

“Please, Keigo, please, believe me! You have to believe I’d never do anything like that to you. I’d never go against you like that! I love you so much, Keigo, please?!”

You feel as though your knees might buckle with how little energy you have left.

His grin widens seeing you beg for him. It’s the music of a seraph choir to his ears with a harp in accompaniment. Fucking beautiful.

“What are we gonna do with you, songbird? Am I gonna have to bend you over my knee? Lock you up for a day or two?” He tilts his head as he teases you.

You don’t realize he’s mocking you though, so you cry even harder and plead, “No, please, Keigo. I’ll be good!” Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and there’s no way you could keep standing if it weren’t for the grip Keigo has on your jaw.

The pro hero tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, taking his time to answer you, letting the tension weigh in the air for his amusement and your torture.

“I know what I’ll do. I’m going to come inside of you and on you until we get rid of the smell of other men. We won’t stop until you’re so covered in my scent that no one will dare touch you.”

It’s not the worst option, but your lip still wobbles at the thought. Obediently, you nod your head. You don’t fight Keigo as he puts you over his shoulder and carries you to the bedroom, clutching his jacket for balance.

You have to remind yourself that he does this because he loves you, because it’s what’s best for you, so you sigh as he strips your body down to bare skin before doing the same to his own. His hero costume lays on the floor next to a pile of your own clothes, and he crawls on top of you, pinning your arms down. Keigo kisses, nips, and sucks on your neck, leaving all types of marks as he slots his hard length between the plush of your thighs and presses himself inside of you.

He manipulates your knees, pushing them up to your chest. It’s a comfortable position for him that you’ve come to find out.

You remember in the beginning how you used to fight him so much, how he used to have to hold you down or even force you on your stomach to make things easier. All of that changed when he delivered the very first severe punishment which you later found out lasted two months. You remember how he locked you up, gave you little food and water to survive off of, took away every single comfort he afforded you since you moved in, and paid very little attention to you.

Now, Keigo is the light of your life, and when you make him mad, you need to be punished. Being disciplined makes you feel better, and that’s all he’s doing. He’s in the process of forgiving you. His forgiveness is all you want.

So as he pushes deeper and deeper inside of you, you whisper and moan how sorry you are, how you’ll be better, do better. You try to reassure him with every desperate thrust inside of you that your body is his body, and he can do with it as he pleases.

You just want him to be happy with you.

Pearlescent rain drizzles from your glossy orbs, soaking your red cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping and praying that you’re pleasing Keigo. He doesn’t stop short of groping your tits, ass, and thighs. He marks you up with bruises, navy and indigo. He smacks your panting breasts, painting them the brightest red found within a sunset.

But you deserve it. If this is what it takes to regain his favor, you’ll put yourself through it all.

Keigo fulfills his promise of coating your insides, as well as your body, with come. He makes sure you’re dripping with the slick ropes of his seed. He sniffs you, just to test it out. His lips curl into a dark grin, golden eyes taking on a brownish hue as he tilts his head until you see nothing but shadows surrounding his eyes.

“Good, can’t smell any other fucker on you now.”

Coated in sweat and multiple orgasms, Keigo settles down behind you on the bed and pulls you into his chest.

Your pussy throbs from when he milked your sweet cunt down to the very last drop. Your walls are sore, they feel like they have been thrashed with how much they burn. You’ve been rubbed raw, both edged and overstimulated by the hero right behind you. You can’t help but shudder from his hands as he moves you closer to him. You want to cry out, but you shove that want down deep. You don’t dare vocalize the pain you’re in.

“You’re not mad at me, right?” You ask tentatively, too weary to look over your shoulder to gauge Keigo’s emotions.

He nuzzles your ear with his nose and moans a soft sigh. “You’re good now. Love you.” He places a lingering kiss on the crown of your head.

“I love you too, Keigo.”

[pinkanonwrites]

I’ll Take Care Of You

“It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

My Vash/Reader sickfic that I’ve been promising! I’ve been dinking around trying to get it to a place I like and I like it now, so time to post! Read on AO3 here!

Vash/Reader, 3,700+ words, GN!Reader, sickfic, sick reader, comfort, worried vash, non-sexual nudity, cuddling, sharing warmth, emeto/vomit warning

It's strange, when you're feeling unwell, how easy it is for the tiniest things to set you off.

There are plenty of day to day irritants in life, especially living on a desolate sand ball like No Man's Land. For the most part you'd learned to take many of them in stride, laughing when you could, letting the emotions roll over you like a wave when you couldn't until they receded softly back into the recesses of your mind and you could once again roll over and face the day ahead. It helped to have good company, and despite the crowded dune-crawler and the constant driving it entailed, you usually found somewhere amidst the chaos to enjoy yourself.

Not today.

You already hadn't felt well leaving the previous town, head and stomach swimming too much to risk eating more than some dry crackers and lukewarm canteen water, and even that made your innards pitch and roil dangerously. The car was constantly shifting, massive tires ping-ponging the entire chassis back and forth whenever you climbed over a particularly rocky bit of terrain and doing absolutely nothing to soothe the vertigo pooling in the bottom of your brain. It was too hot, too cramped, and worst of all?

Too. Damn. Loud.

Wedged between Wolfwood and Vash in the backseat, you had no escape from the blond's excessive snoring on your left and Nicholas leaning up over the center console to pester Meryl about her driving. Of course she was snapping back with equal levels of vitriol, voices rising slowly with each back and forth. In the passenger seat Milly was giggling along to their vicious banter, occasionally peppering in comments or fiddling with the radio dial, weather reports and religious sermons screeching through the fuzz.

The static of the radio crackled, Meryl's window-mounted fan clicked sharply with each rotation, Vash's head made a soft thunk as it connected with the glass of his window and Wolfwood kept hitting you with his elbow as he reached over the console and Milly was laughing and Meryl was yelling and Wolfwood was yelling back and-

"Hic…"

Your wet, little gasp silenced the car's occupants like a gunshot, your own hands too slow to stifle it from coming out. You could feel everyone's attention turn to you, even Vash beginning to stir to your left, and you couldn't tell if the heat flushing to your head was humiliation, sickness, heatstroke, or some miserable combination of the three. But you do know that said heat and said gazes made you curl up in the middle seat, covering your face with your long sleeves as you let out another miserable little sob.

"Are you alright back there?"

"Oh no, please don't cry! Do you feel carsick?"

"H-Hey, it's gonna be alright. Is this cause I kept hittin' ya with my elbow? Cause I said I was sorry."

You sobbed again, tears and snot and sweat running down your face and wetting your shirt sleeves as you pulled your knees up, curling as small as you could get. "'M sorry, 'm sorry, I'm fine."

"You're not fine! Did something happen?" Meryl couldn't look away from the road, but Milly had all but fully turned around in her seat to check on you.

"Do you need some water? I still have some if you're all out."

"C'mon, birdie, don't go all silent on us."

You wanted to shrivel up and dissolve into sand in the middle seat, curling in upon your own body as if it may actually make you disappear. This didn't help, it wasn't helping, it was just more noise and more worry and more hot tears running down your cheeks and you just wanted it all to stop.

"Hey, what's going on?"

Pulling your head up from your knees, you were met by Vash's hand gently brushing your forehead. His palm rested there, warm and steady, as he looked you over with a soft concern.

"You feel pretty warm. Is everything alright?" As he pulled away he brought his thumb down to swipe a stray tear from your cheek. You wanted to bawl, to clamber into his arms and let him cover you with his coat, shielding you from the heat and the noise and the (brightbrightwaytoobright) sun. But when you opened your mouth to speak, tongue dry and unsteady, you instead croaked out four, painfully small words.

"I'm gonna throw up."

"...Eh? EH?!? H-HANG ON!" You were jostled back by the force of Vash diving forward, clapping both hands over your mouth with a low groan. Your stomach pitched wildly, thick saliva pooling in the back of your throat as Vash jammed himself over the center console. "PULL OVER!"

"Wh-What? Why?" Meryl yelped when Vash exploded into her line of sight.

"JUST DO IT! PLEASE?!?"

She hardly needed to 'pull over' in the stretches of open desert, but the dune-crawler rumbled and bumped to a jerky halt that only served to make your stomach sickness worse. Not even waiting for Vash to unbuckle his seatbelt, you clambered over his lap and opened the door, collapsing to the ground just in time to empty the meager contents of your stomach into the hot sand. There was hardly anything to hack up, everything you'd eaten over the course of the day splattering out with a few shivering gags. But your body continued to retch out of your control, fresh tears dripping off your cheeks and into the puddle as you helplessly dry heaved on your hands and knees.

"Hey, hey, you're alright. Deep breaths, okay? I've got you." There was a cool hand brushing your hair back from your sticky forehead, and another rubbing the small space between your shoulder blades.

Finally, when your stomach had finished cramping and the last thick glob of saliva had drooled from your open mouth onto the sand, your body pitched forward dangerously, elbows collapsing from exhaustion. You would have face-planted straight into your own mess if Vash wasn't there to catch you, hauling you backwards so you could slump weakly against his chest as he sat with you in the sand. You could hear shuffling around you, footsteps, but your eyes were still blurry with moisture as you squinted weakly in the afternoon sun.

"Thanks, Milly. Here, drink this." You felt the rim of a canteen press to your lips, and let Vash tip your head back to take a swig of water.

"Don't drink too fast now, or you might get sick again!" One of Milly's large hands gently caressed the top of your head. "We've got plenty of time to get to the next town, so take as long as you need!"

"I'm sorry." You whimpered again, feeling twice as pathetic in the face of everyone's kindness. You could hear Meryl click her tongue somewhere off to your right.

"You don't have to apologize! Everybody gets sick sometimes, it's just a thing that happens."

"Yer lucky we're planning on a hotel tonight, way better than sleeping in the sand-OW! HEY!"

"Dingy!?"

"Quit being a jerk! They already don't feel good and you're not helping!"

"How am I not helping?" Wolfwood hissed. "I'm reminding them they don't have to sleep in the back of a dingy car all night!"

"Ooh, boy. There they go again." Vash sighed out a chuckle, hand never pausing as he carefully rubbed your upper arm. "Whenever you feel up for it, we can get going. Okay?"

As Meryl and Wolfwood continued to bicker quietly in the background, you let yourself melt fully into Vash's chest. His prosthetic arm came around your waist to keep you from slipping too far down, and you lolled your head back against his collarbone as your eyelids fluttered. "I'm sorry…" You slurred again, even though by this point you knew the apology was not necessary. "Jus' don't feel good…"

"You get a little silly when you're sick, don't you?" There was a teasing tone to Vash's voice, one that made you feel all warm and cozy in your chest. "You're being very polite right now."

"'M tired, Vash." You whined, rolling to your side a bit to nuzzle your cheek against his chest.

"I know." He said, so soft and so fond. "When we get back in the car, you can lay on me, alright? Then you can sleep the whole ride there. I promise."

"Mmh, yes please…"

You couldn't remember exactly how long you spent on the ground, just the vague feelings of Vash helping you to your feet, buckling your seatbelt for you after you clambered weakly back to your spot. As soon as he was seated he twisted his body towards you, leaning back against the car door so you could sprawl yourself out across his chest. And sprawl you did, fingers clutching absently at his coat as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck with a content little sigh. The dune-crawler rocked slightly as your other friends climbed into their respective seats, but with your cheek pressed to Vash's chest it didn't make you feel so dangerously nauseous anymore.

"Try getting some rest. We'll wake you up in the next town." His metal hand found the small of your hip and rested there, keeping you curled safely against his chest as the engine rumbled back to life. Eyelids dipping heavily, you mumbled out a few clumsy words of appreciation before blackness overtook your vision.

"Thank you… Vash…"

You didn't jostle blearily awake again until Meryl had already paid for your respective hotel rooms, letting you rest slumped against Vash in the backseat while she chatted with the man at the desk. Given the size of the town itself, it made sense that there would only be a few rooms available. Fortunately Meryl was able to book two doubles and a single, leaving you with your own space to recuperate while the rest of the group split the two double rooms between themselves.

"We'll be right across the street, okay?" Vash gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder as he pointed out the window of your hotel room to the nearby diner. "Try and get a little more rest, and I'll bring you back something for dinner!"

“Mhm… I will.” You mumbled. You'd let your travel bag thunk loudly to the floor next to your bed as you collapsed into the mattress. Some of the vertigo had subsided after your extended nap, but you hardly wanted to push your luck by trying to go out to dinner with everyone else.

"There's even a bath if you want to take one, might help you feel better." Vash gave a final, soothing rub to the space between your shoulder blades before you could hear him stepping away, boots thudding softly on the wood floor. "I'll be back before you know it. Sleep well."

"Have fuuuun." You sighed out, door clicking shut behind him and leaving you in silence. As tired as you were, there was a tacky sweatiness to your skin, sickness and desert heat making you feel distinctly gross to the touch. Maybe a bath would be a good idea after all…

Reluctantly, you slumped into a seated position before getting back to your feet. The bathroom was larger than you'd expected for the size of the inn, and your vision swam slightly as you reached over to fiddle with the knobs and start the sudden rush of water. It was even warm; how much did this place cost? Distantly you felt a little prickle of guilt, Meryl was probably spending extra just to make sure you could rest in a vague semblance of comfort. You'd have to be sure to thank her profusely, when you could actually think straight. You clumsily shed your clothes, letting them fall to the tiled floor as you slipped into the warm water and toed the knob back off again with your foot.

It felt good at first, dunking your head under the water and coming up again with a soft huff as rivulets ran from your hair. But you were far too tired to even wash yourself properly, and though the water barely bordered on warm, something about the heat made your dizziness spike all over again. You couldn't even bring yourself to stand back up to get out, slumping against the side of the tub and resting your cheek on the cool ceramic edge. All you needed was to close your eyes for a moment, and once the spiraling in your head stopped you'd be fine to climb back out again. You'd just get a little more rest in the meantime…

"Heyyy, are you feeling any better? I brought you some soup! We just need to bring the bowl back tomorrow morning."

Vash knocked twice on your door, but received no response. Man, you must be really exhausted. Your bedroom light was visible from the street, so when he saw it on he'd assumed you were still awake. He tried the handle, finding your door to still be unlocked.

"I'm coming in, okay?" He twisted the handle, hesitating just a moment before adding. "...Don't be naked!"

He shouldered the door open, one hand holding your lidded bowl of soup and the other covering his eyes. Kicking the door shut behind him, Vash hesitated a moment before peeking through his spread fingers. Your room was empty, bed still made, bag exactly where you'd dropped it just before he left. Vash's stomach sank, quickly setting the bowl on the table as he called out your name. You wouldn't have gone somewhere, would you? Did someone see him bringing you into the hotel, maybe peg you as a sidekick of The Humanoid Typhoon? There weren't any signs of a struggle, though. Maybe you were sicker than he thought, and he'd left you all alone when you were at your most vulnerable. His gaze flickered around the room, grasping for any sign of where you may have gone or what might have happened.

Finally, it landed on the bathroom door. It wasn't open when he left, and a slim trail of light was glinting from the gap between it and the doorframe. There was silence beyond it, a blistering, agonizing silence. He took two hesitant steps forwards, knocking shakily on the doorframe, before finally nudging it open and letting himself inside.

His heart twisted and stammered in his chest when his gaze finally landed on you, rabbiting up into a thundering panic when you didn't even acknowledge his entrance. You were slumped in the bathtub, one arm hanging over the edge and your cheek lolled against the rim of the basin, eyelids shut but fluttering weakly. There was a sickly pallor to your skin, and even from a distance Vash could see the goosebumps that had broken out across every stretch of it currently visible to him. You were even shivering, hard.

"H-Hey!" He didn't have time to be flustered at your state of complete undress, too busy stumbling forward to lift your limp and unmoving body from the bath. The water was cool, almost cold as he dunked his arms in, soaking the sleeves of his shirt and jacket as he hooked you under the armpits and pulled you into his arms. Letting himself sink to his knees so you could rest in his lap, he let go of you with one arm for just a moment, just long enough to grasp blindly at a towel on the counter to bundle you in. Your head thunked limply against his chest as soon as he had you wrapped in the towel and back in his arms. "Hey, can you hear me? I've got you now, it's gonna be okay."

It didn't feel like it was going to be okay, not to Vash at least. His stomach was swimming with guilt as he carried you back out to your bed, bundling you in the sheets and using the towel to dry the tips of your hair that were still damp. You were still shaking, thin blankets doing far too little to bring the warmth back to your body. Of course there wouldn't be any more stored in the hotel room either; it wasn't like anyone needed them most of the time anyway. He could dip back down the hallway and grab the blankets from his own bed, but that meant leaving you alone again, even for just another few moments. The thought made Vash feel vaguely sick himself.

Only one thing he could do then.

Vash shucked off his coat and tossed it over the back of a chair, hesitating for a moment before doing the same with his turtleneck. Waterlogged sleeves clung to his arms as he wrestled the damp thing off, dropping it unceremoniously onto the floor before moving back to your bedside. He tugged back the top blanket, leaving you swaddled in the sheet as he clambered in next to you and pulled the blanket back up to his chin. You let out a soft sigh through your nose as you curled instinctively into his warmth, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. Oh so hesitantly, like you were made of fine china, Vash draped an arm around your bundled form and splayed his hand out wide along the small of your back.

"I'm sorry…" He murmured, clutching your shuddering body like you would dissolve away between his fingertips if he relaxed, even for a moment. "I'm so sorry. I should have stayed. I won't leave again. I'm sorry."

"Mmmrh… Vash?"

He jolted, cupping your face with a hesitant call of your name as you blinked miserably awake. Head thumping and body aching, you squinted until Vash's face phased into clarity, all quivering lip and furrowed brow and stinging, glassy eyes. Weakly, you wrestled a hand free from the sheet, wiping at the corner of his eye with your thumb. He choked on a sob, melting into your palm with a relieved gasp.

"You're okay."

"Mmh… Head hurts a lot. What time is it?" You grumbled. The last thing you remembered was stooping down to run yourself a bath, then the rest of it faded into a hazy blur. Vash sniffled, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"Evening. Probably around 8? You passed out in the bath… It was really cold."

Fragmented memories began to click back into place, and you gripped the sheets close to your body with your free hand as you suddenly processed your own nudity. A spike of humiliation shot through you, as dulled as it was by your swimming senses.

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't scare you too bad, did I?"

Vash didn't respond, but the look on his face gave you all the answer you needed.

"Oh, honey." The sheets were tucked close up enough to your chest that you didn't hesitate to free your other hand to cup his face as well. His gaze trailed off to the corner of his eye, unable to keep contact with yours. "I'm so sorry, you must have been so worried."

"I-It's alright! It's not a big deal, really. I'm just glad you're okay."

You didn't relent, not yet, instead leaning in and pressing a kiss to the center of his forehead. "It is a big deal. I scared you, didn't I?"

"Not on purpose or anything."

"That doesn't mean it didn't feel real. Oh, Vash." His breath hitched when you murmured his name, another fresh tear or two slipping down his cheeks. "I'm okay. You found me and I'm gonna be alright, alright? I'm right here."

A tiny, pained whimper escaped him as he bundled you into his arms, hiding his teary face in the crook of your neck. Both flesh and metal hands fisted the fabric draped across your back as he pressed a kiss to the soft space in between your neck and your shoulder. "I shouldn't have left. I should have made sure you were okay. I shouldn't have told you to take a bath."

"Hey, hey, hold on. You didn't make me do anything, I chose to take a bath. None of this is your fault, Vash. Things happen sometimes." Your cradled the back of his head in one hand, and rubbed soothing circles across his broad back with the other. "You came to check on me, and you found me, and you got me warm. You're so good, Vash. My wonderful boy."

He sniffled against your neck again, but you could feel the faintest hint of a smile pressed against your skin. "...I brought you some soup. Are you hungry?"

You hummed, trailing your fingertips up and down the jut of his shoulder blade. "In a little bit. Can you warm me up a bit more first? You're like a living space heater."

Finally, you could feel some of the nervous tension begin to eke out of Vash's muscles as he began to melt into your arms. He tugged you forward, just enough that your fronts were pressed together from the chest all the way down to where your legs intertwined, thin fabric sheet separating your bare chests.

"Good? Not too warm?" His heartbeat was thundering loud enough for you to feel, his hands so gentle where they rested upon your exhausted body. "Let me know if you get too warm, okay?"

"I will. But this is perfect." You nuzzled your forehead against his shoulder, making him stifle a soft chuckle. "I could fall asleep again."

"Not yet! You've got to at least eat something first, okay? After you eat, then you can sleep."

"Always looking after me.~" You cooed. "I will, okay? In just a few minutes."

Your answer seemed to placate him for now as he pressed another kiss to your neck, light and chaste. He nosed along your jawbone, breath light and ticklish as he murmured. "Can I stay here tonight? I know I have my own room, and you need to rest, and I don't want to be a bother, but-"

"Yes." You replied, before he could talk himself out of it. "Yes, please stay with me. I want you to."

There was a palpable relief in the sigh he let out at your response. "Good. Cause I probably just would have camped out in the hallway if you said no. Might get in trouble with the owners for that."

"Well we can't have that happen, now can we?"

"No we cannot.~"

You chuckled, body feeling light for the first time that day as you let Vash cradle you in his steady arms.

[dmitriene]

SOMETHING GOOD.

requested synopsis: when you get out of an abusive relationship, leon begins to loom in the distance, and you face an internal struggle with your own feelings, but he lends a helping hand and always remains by your side until you feel comfortable enough.

cw: fluff, comfort, emotional and physical hurt, bits of suggestive maybe, described past abusive relationship, mentions and description of abuse and being abused, really vile words, mentions of blood, possibly mentions of selfharm (no cutting things), cries, emotional outbursts, self accusation, many metaphors, many intimacy, one night stand, leon is helping reader and just in love, falling in love, confessions, pet names, hints on proposing. pairing: bf id leon scott kennedy x gf fem reader

author's note: after a quiet long time, i'm back with leon kennedy and with request about him, so here i am, please read all the warnings and then continue to the fic, i didn't write once in my life about such themes, but, i hope those who will read it enjoy, and if you struggle, please search help in any face you can, also tagging the one who requested the writing @paladin-heart5.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

No one is protected from abusive love, from violence, from rude words — at first it begins imperceptibly, fleeting words, too sudden control, outbursts of anger, too rough touches to scarlet, poisonous marks on the skin, almost bloody kisses, and then it’s too late, when there’s a loud crash sound in the air that come with a blow, and the cheek with the broken flesh of the lip burn with acute pain.

When the eyes swim with salty tears, flow down the cheeks and seem to leave burning traces, when it is too late to move, because the bird in the cage can only flutter its wings against the bars, but never really fly away — an imitation of freedom given to take your gaze away from the truth behind the golden cage, but a bird that can't fly won't survive, and so you thought.

— “he's just shows his love this way„ “i should appreciate it„ “it's my fault„ “if i wouldn't annoy him he wouldn't do this„

Your own thoughts are poisoning you, dissolving like an acidic liquid in your very being and the thin veins under your skin, accumulating at the bottom of your throat and rolling onto your tongue with nausea, you must spit it out, get it out of the depths of your mind and body, scratching your skin until there are bloody traces, but exposing yourself again and again under fresh blows, until bruises bloom before our eyes, which cover reality, pushing it further away.

The marks on the skin hurt and burn, your past version of you screams and vomits in salty tears, poisoned, the disgusting reflection of the current you on her once pure skin and soul, your new reflection in the mirror — causing neither emotions nor tears, there is nothing left that you would like to do, say, instead of throwing away the empty shell, you turn into it.

Your wings no longer flutter, you no longer cover yourself, you don’t snap, you don’t cry — you are slowly dying, and your abuser doesn’t like it, he doesn’t like that his doll no longer reacts when her threads are pulled, when his bird doesn’t chirp and flutter wings when they try to pull them out, he gets bored of playing, mocking, and he leaves you in this poison.

— “you're boring, barely experiencing a single emotion, so fucking annoying, sex with you is like shagging a corpse, at lough you also look like one„

— “i'm done with you„

Plays in your head like a creaking vinyl record, scratching painfully against the walls of your mind, and you don’t feel relief when he leaves, because you’re still bleeding, choking on poison, tearing your flesh and fighting with yourself, and he’s beaming, hands up to the elbows in blood which is not visible to others, teeth are exposed in a vile grin, fangs shine under the sunlight that is repelled from you, every scar and bruise burns.

You emerge with torn wings and deep wounds on your back, with a scattering of purple and yellow hues on your skin, haunted by light, uneven scars and accumulated toxins at the bottom of your body, you do not fly out of the open cage, but pause before crawling out, letting the rays wash over your skin and soul, even through pain.

— “i deserve it„ “deserve better, better life, better care, better love„

And the old you, the one behind the mirror, reaches out and wraps her arms around you, draws out all the pain and tears, changes places, locking everything behind a solid glass surface, allowing you to flutter again, spreading your regrown wings through pain, through therapy, the play of emotions and constant reminders that you deserve better, you deserve to forget, you deserve to no longer be afraid.

This better comes in someone else’s image, “Leon Kennedy„ the word rolls across your tongue like liqueur, tartly sweet, like his pale blue eyes turned in your direction, like his plump lips that folding into a smile before he stretches them wider and shows you his snow white teeth, pressing against your thin neck and scratching your skin with his stubble , leaving tickling marks and warm kisses, blowing dark strands of his hair from his face to cling to your flesh again and again with tenderness and adoration, desperation for intimacy.

This is the first time, after all the events and years of therapy, when you allowed yourself close contact, more than a nod, more than a slight flirtation — you allowed someone else's warm hands, covered with calluses, to trace every contour and curve, to bend over you to run their lips over you, kneel in front of you with such warmth in the blue pools that your knees become weak.

The first, and the last, you say to yourself and the reflection in the mirror, pushing away from the fleeting permission to feel loved, afraid to open up, afraid to let someone get too close to your painfully grown wings, even when he appears on your doorstep with a bouquet of lush flowers, with a wound on his cheek covered with a plaster, with a loose tie thrown over a broad shoulder, with playful sparkle in the eyes and bared wrinkles around.

— “it's.. no, nono — i can't, i won't, i'm sorry„ scattered pieces of sharp glass pour from your lips, your eyes burn following the skin along which warm, acidic tears flow, you reluctantly open, release the sharp thorns of self defense, grown by your own strength, and his gaze gets lost, flicker around, and you don’t even see through the wet veil, you just feel, feel how warm wide hands wrap around your body with care, as if holding a crystal.

Fresh buds scatter under your feet when he presses you to his hard, but so warm chest with absolute tenderness, collecting the scattered pieces, pressing into the thorns in response, holding you when your knees gave way and unbearable bitterness curled up in your throat, when you pull his jacket towards you, screaming into his solid figure, while he buried himself in the top of your head and whispered quiet, fragile phrases intended only for you.

— “it's alright, sweetheart, i'm here, shh.. — i won't force you, promise i won't, it's alright„

He repeated again and again in a low baritone, staying with you that night until all the tears, all the accumulated grief leaves you completely, flowing as far and away as possible, leaving you in his arms, pressed against limp muscles, in a tight embrace that doesn’t prevent you from breaking free, running away if you want, but in his arms you wanted to linger, you wanted to dig a place for yourself, to stay as long as possible.

And you stay, you let him into your abode, which he enters carefully, curiously studying and looking at, playing with the blue flashes of his eyes and toothy smiles with you, watching how new colors of blush slowly bloom on your skin, your eyes run from meeting his shyly, eyelashes tremble from his every gentle touch and stroking, treating you patiently, spreading his arms so that you can cling to him and rely on him at any time.

A sense of responsibility and anger arises in Leon — his fists turn white and his jaw clenches every time he observes what past relationships have left on you, the fear of saying something unnecessary, the fear of allowing being touched without warning, knowing that this will be followed by a reflex, an attempt to cover up , and the blood in his veins boils with acute hatred for the one who treated you this way, with contempt for the mere realization that this man is still there somewhere, and if Leon could, if he knew — he would’ve finish him off.

With each time you are around Leon, it becomes easier, simpler — you more often take the initiative, discuss your feelings with him, argue while preparing dinner together about the fact that you have already eaten this dish, and it’s time for Leon to stop fixating on the same thing, to which he snorts, waving his head and kisses the top of your head with a slight chuckle, stroking the curve of your shoulder with his thumb and silently agrees, pressing you closer, proud of every change you make.

You learn to accept his attention, bouquets of flowers, payment for purchases — be it new clothes, something for personal care, jewelry as a gift for memorable days, you learn to accept his touch, at first with slight avoidance, then with tension, and then coming to his hands yourself — hugging while sleeping, while watching a movie, kissing his bare muscular back in the morning when he is preparing breakfast, running his lips and nose along his stubbled chin and jaw, kissing the small moles on his neck, finding scars on his skin that are far from yours in meaning, but equally painful in the past.

— “i love you, truly, Leon„ you lick each other's wounds, small , but deep kisses, warm touches, skin to skin when the moon rises in the sky and his confessions turn into sweet whispers, and your love into meek, sincere smiles and tears of happiness, when he fills your insides not with poison, but with something sweetly stretching, leaving not painful wounds on the skin, but blooming buds demonstrating affection, whispering into the sweaty, warm skin under the pads of his fingers — “I love you too, darling, with everything i have, i love you„

His words are sincere, connected with your by red thread, when his dark wings bloom to wrap them around you, he is warm, covered with his own honest earnings of scars, missing feathers, problems in order to trust, but he reveals himself to you from the most beautiful and ugly sides, he tells about his past, about horrors, losses, allowing you to exchange your own experiences, when his hands stroke your bare back along your spine, and yours his in return, touching each other’s wounds and scars, whispering in unison — “I'm proud of you„

And so much more awaits you together, because Leon has long put off the idea of buying a beautiful, neat ring, the diamond for which he chose with his own hands, putted aside in a bluish velvet box and waiting in line at the jewelry store, only then, when you would be ready.

[eddiessluttywaist]

desiderium

an eddie munson series

AGELESS/BLANK/UNDER 18 BLOGS ARE NOT WELCOME TO INTERACT. PLEASE RESPECT MY RULES AND BOUNDARIES.

summary: eddie’s odd, forgotten childhood friend seeks him out when he needs her more than he realizes.

pairing: bsf!mechanic!bartender!eddie x eccentric!bsf!fem!reader

word count: 4,752 words

content/warnings: eventual smut so MDNI, angst, swearing, loneliness, mentions of drugs and crime, mentions of imprisonment, family issues, feeling unwanted, slight bullying, anxiety, nightmares, insomnia, depression, loss and grief, mentions of spit, super brief mention of alcohol and vomit, very brief mentions of breakups and inappropriate sexual relations (nothing reader or eddie are apart of). i think that’s it!

a/n: this is my first attempt at a slow burn series so i hope it’s good! i’m also trying a new setup with photos instead of gifs ^ i’ve seen a lot of other people do it and i think it looks really cool so! also creds to who owns and posted these photos! they’re not mine, i just made the collage!

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5

*

Eddie Munson had grown bitter since you last saw him. To be fair, the last time you saw him was when you were kids but still. You always knew him to be boisterous. Adventurer Eddie. Eddie with the weird ideas and cool drawings. Eddie who made you laugh until your stomach cramped and you would cry out that he was going to make you wet yourself.

You didn’t know it as a kid but even then he couldn’t catch a break from the world around him, and apparently it never stopped spiraling even when it beat him into a hollow shell covered in grease during the weekdays and alcohol—and occasionally vomit—on the weekends. He was worn down by his own worries that never seemed to cease and miserable stories of others admitting things they should’ve never said aloud. Sometimes the stories were fun or at least amusing, but mostly just depressing. This was Hawkins after all.

This wasn’t an Eddie you knew. Had someone told you that man in the garage wasn’t him, you simply would’ve nodded and kept going on your journey to find him.

But it was him, and you were positive he was meant to be back in your life. No matter how much it was hurting right now.

*

You didn’t know why he left at first. It was as if he ceased to exist, and sometimes—when you were all alone at night—you wondered if he had been a ghost. If he had been an imaginary friend, but surely not? He had his own home you hung out in. His own dad who let you guys eat too much junk food and stay up too late. He looked and sounded real when he would scarf down several bowls of honeycomb cereal with those slurping noises you always hated and would whine at him over. He felt real when you would play wrestle—and unfortunately very real when he won and would pin you down while slowly letting a string of saliva stretch down towards your face in an empty threat. He never really did it, but it was gross all the same, and when he’d let up you’d punch his arm as hard as you could.

One day, you asked if your parents remembered him and your father scoffed at the question while he stared at the newspaper, but at least he acknowledged you at all. Meanwhile your mother had all her focus on putting her earrings in and checking her makeup in the small mirror on a wall surrounded by family photos. Those framed pictures felt emptier than the looming threat of Eddie’s spit touching your face.

“Well his father’s a bottom feeder stuck in prison,” your dad flicked his paper to straighten it out again from where it had begun to bow backwards. “And his kid is probably no better. You’ll make other friends.”

You never understood why he was so cold about the loss of your only friend. You’ll make other friends. Yeah right. No one liked you. Everyone made fun of the way you sat idly on swings just to kick on occasion as you focused more on the book in your hands, or the way you’d squat down and give all your attention to a bug in front of you. Either a line of ants that you regarded with pure intrigue because you wondered how they always filed so neatly and did their best to stay together. Sometimes you left crumbs by them just to see if you could watch them pick them up. You’d watch snails and show them the attentiveness and respect you felt they deserved as they slowly trudged along—so determined, you thought. You’d watch butterflies and try to keep track of all the different kinds you saw. A lot of them were small and fluttery with those buttery white wings, but sometimes you saw a monarch and your eyes would grow large with excitement.

You cried when Zachary McKay would stomp on the anthills or teased you about how the French ate snails—something his dad would say was just more proof of how odd Europeans are. They were one of those arrogant “We love our Country!” households with an “I can do whatever I want—America is the land of the free” ideology and it showed in their unbridled and privileged ass of a child. You didn’t inform him that one Spring of the wasp nest that formed on the underside of the slide he frequented. Maybe it was mean, but you were content in silence over on your swing when you heard him crying out in pain one day. He developed a crush on you in high school that dramatically contrasted how he treated you in grade school—and even tried to make a move at Maddi Ecker’s 17th birthday party—but you could only think of the ants and the snails. You turned him down and he was horrible to you again.

You eventually did make some friends, other odds and ends throughout your school, but it wasn’t the same as it was with Eddie. Maybe it was childish and stubborn, but you could feel it deep in your gut that he was one of a kind. So you couldn’t let him go. All those years you ached for your friend who you considered lost. He always came up with wild stories and (when you were still relatively young) you imagined he had become a pirate and was lost at sea. Or became a gunslinger in the Wild West and didn’t draw fast enough. Maybe he went to slay dragons and wound up a burnt crisp of a human. That last one made you cringe the most, but he probably would’ve liked it the most. He loved mythical creatures the way you adored real creatures. By high school you weren’t as naive. You heard about his dad—caught with multiple charges of grand theft auto, a hit-and-run in one of said stolen cars, and dealing drugs. The hard shit. Not weed or shrooms. But the kind of stuff that really ruins lives.

You always thought Eddie had a good home. His dad didn’t hate him the way you were sure your parents hated you, and he had a nice house. It wasn’t a mansion or anything, but they really didn’t need anything beyond a one story and a sizable basement with only two of them. In hindsight, you supposed he couldn’t find a home in that childhood house anymore than you could with yours. Yours lacked love. His lacked a reliable source of income.

Over time you heard about the night with all the sirens and social workers. The night he turned into a spirit that had finally moved on—an imaginary friend that your growing mind ceased to conjure. He lived with his uncle over in Indiana, rather than your small town in Ohio. Even in your mid twenties, he flashed in your mind like a small blip on occasion and it still twisted your stomach.

You thought of asking if you should go to him whenever you remembered, but you thought you needed a sign. What if you showed up too early? And you messed up any possible grand plans? So you avoided indulging in questions about him to your tarot cards or over your pendulum map. On occasion you caved and just asked a simple question: is he safe? It was a yes every time you broke and just had to check up on him, and the answer reassured you for long enough until the next time the concern rose up to unbearable levels.

But then you started getting those dreams. Sometimes they were just memories playing from deep within the archives of your mind. Sometimes they were nightmares of yelling at someone to go away, only to realize it was Eddie far too late—and when you wanted to run after him to correct the mistake, you couldn’t move as quickly as you knew you were capable of.

It went on for about a month before you finally broke. Your eyes had snapped open, accidentally waking yourself in the middle of saying what you had been shouting to Dream Eddie out loud into your pitch black room. You glanced at the time. 11:11 PM. You felt your heart skip a beat before you shoved yourself out of bed. You had to take a moment to steady yourself against your bedpost from the sudden movement making you dizzy, but then you were flicking on the light and digging through your belongings. You didn’t even give yourself a chance to wipe away at the thin sheen of sweat over your skin from August heat mixed with a cheap fan that really didn’t make that much of a difference, and the stress from the events that had played deep in your mind while you slept.

With a shaky breath, you smoothed out your map on the floor where you were squatting, and steadily held your pendulum over the center. Does he need me? You finally asked and watched as the chain connected to a sphere of rose quartz slowly began to circle. It sped up and then began to dart in different directions before finally swinging back and forth between both of the “YES''s on the piece of cloth.

*

It took a little over a month to arrange your departure from your life in small town Ohio—not that small town Indiana was really all that different. You had briefly been back at your childhood house after your lease came to an end for the apartment you shared with a friend (who didn’t want to renew because she wanted to move in with her boyfriend, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her that the card spread you had laid out all pointed towards a breakup). All of this to say you didn’t have a lease or mortgage to tie you down. You certainly didn’t have a boyfriend (you haven’t had one since college), and you didn’t even like your job at the local mart so it was easy to give your two weeks. Your parents were just as sick of your presence now as when you were a child, and were willing to help you in every way possible to get you to just leave again. Had you not been so focused on your end goal, you might’ve taken a beat to really feel the hurt that always came with parents who only came to your aid when it meant keeping you at arm's length. But you couldn’t focus on it and really (for the sake of your mental health) you shouldn’t focus on it. All of your energy went towards Eddie who seemed so far, even if he was supposedly just a few hours and a state line away.

You didn’t have a place yet, which was a mistake on your part for rushing, but you could stay in a motel for the time being. The prices were pretty low anyways and the owner seemed pleasantly surprised by the sudden source of money and company. The lot belonged to her husband who had passed a few years back, so now it was only her running the place. Her daughter helped sometimes, but she had another job to focus on—only coming to help when the older woman was ill. So even though she appeared kind of grumpy at first, she really softened up to you when you wound up padding out of your room the first night and asked if she wanted to play Go Fish. You had been feeling antsy and lonely, and you were right to assume she felt lonely too.

Over the past week or so, you found a friend in that creaking, groaning motel. You did have a bit of a tendency to befriend the adults around you more often than kids your age when you were younger and it still happened now, apparently. A shrink at university pointed out once that it had to do with the lack of guardianship and guidance growing up. That you were trying to replace something that had always been missing, but you didn’t go back to him after a couple sessions. You didn’t like how patronizing he was, telling you things you already knew. And when you asked your dowsing rods if he was sleeping with any of his clients, the two pieces in your fists whipped open in a blatant “Yes!” But he wasn’t around now to make you feel low with his supercilious commentary and his notes that he always scratched down right in front of you. Your parents weren’t around to remind you of how utterly unlovable you can be. It was just you, Martha at Hawkins’ Blue Bird Inn, and hopefully a pleasant reunion on the horizon.

Today was the day to finally see Eddie, and Martha urged some confidence into you this morning before sending you on your way with the directions to the garage. No matter how many times you clarified he was just your childhood best friend, she got that sly look about her that always showed when an adult was all amused about the novice in front of them being openly or involuntarily blind to love.

So there you were. On a mild Wednesday morning in late September, standing before Thacher Tire after a lot of asking around, a lot of time flipping through Martha’s phone book, and even more odd looks. You let out a careful breath, doing your best to reassure yourself with the knowledge that the people you spoke to knew his name in the first place. He had to be here, and even if he wasn’t working today he should at least be employed here. Maybe you could be told when to come back to speak with him or where you could find him outside of work. Would they share something like that? People don’t tend to care about privacy in small towns, that’s why everyone knew (generally) where everyone else was. Maybe if you clarified that you’re an old friend, they wouldn’t treat you as a customer and tell you where he would be.

You were wringing your hands as you eyed the door in front of you. The glass looking in was worn from age and weather, clearly cleaned so people could see through it, but there seemed to be an aging to the corners where the rectangle of glass met the surrounding wood that couldn’t be scrubbed out. It felt like a portal looking into what could be, and you suddenly felt yourself getting anxious with what exactly meant could be. You had a knack for catastrophizing, and spiraled in all of the worst case scenarios until you were running back to your car and abandoning the lot.

*

“Trust me, it’s not as scary as it seems. Going for those intimidating opportunities is always better in the long run than letting ‘em slip away,'' Martha murmured to you before biting into the sandwich you brought her.

You bought typical fast food that you always came running back to when you were stressed, but she didn’t like the grease. You learned that over the past week when you brought up your bad habit, and her nose scrunched up at the mention of crappy burgers and overly salted fries. Instead you got her a tuna sandwich from the nearby marketplace, and she shared her big jug of iced, sweet tea with you.

“I haven’t seen him for over ten years…,” you sigh, toying with the crackling paper that was wrapped around your cheeseburger. “What if I’m the only one who clung onto our friendship? What if it’s stupid to him?”

“Mm, us women always do hold on longer,” she hummed thoughtfully and you refrained from your urge to correct her old-fashioned view of gender dynamics for the sake of staying on topic. “I still think you should go for it.”

“What if… what if it’s not what I think it’ll be? What if I’ve turned him into someone more fictional than Eddie in my mind, and when I’m faced with how he really is now I just… I dunno…wish I didn’t come here?”

“They never are what you conjure up. They’re always better up here,” she pointed a bony finger to her temple and you focused on one of the curls in her short gray hair for a second before bringing your gaze back to hers. “I still think you should go for it.”

You huff out a laugh at her repetition, smiling sadly to yourself as you look down at your hands and notice the thin sheen of grease on them. Maybe Martha’s right. Maybe this food is gross. You grab a few napkins from the brown paper bag and wipe at your fingers.

“Just think of it this way: is it worse knowing the truth or worse never knowing?”

*

Eddie had been having a shit day. Actually he had been having a shit week. If he let himself truly indulge in his pessimism, he’d be acknowledging that he’s altogether just had a shit life, but he was trying not to fall into that trap. It would make him the kind of depressed and bitter that made him snap at others and then feel guilty about it—which only made him feel worse about himself.

He hasn’t been sleeping well, a sudden flare up of his insomnia throwing off his circadian rhythm. He thought with how busy his schedule was that he’d knock out the second his head hit the pillow, but he only seemed to be exhausted until he finally laid down. Then was when his thoughts randomly chose to run and his heart would race with the sudden surge of anxiety-inducing thoughts. He was beginning to feel so overwhelmed by everything that his eyes burned with the beginnings of hot tears but he wiped at them carelessly with the heels of his hands before they could become too real. In his mind, they didn’t exist until they fell.

Eddie ached with exhaustion that only seemed to let up when he could actually get a shot at some rest. He ached with loss and grief. He ached with pure misery and painful seclusion and a silent trailer—besides the occasional buzz of electricity through his lamp that he turned back on when he realized he wouldn’t be sleeping anyway, or the groan of the old mobile home settling against its cinder blocks. The upcoming season made itself known through the ever growing chill that formed at night and occasionally blew through every crack and crease of the trailer, making him shiver and pull his blankets up before inevitably growing hot again and kicking them away.

He missed his friends that he rarely saw. Everyone is busy nowadays. He missed Wayne who… god, he couldn’t even think about it. He missed Chrissy who lit up his world Spring of ‘86 just for them to drift apart. People seemed to drift from him a lot. People seemed comfortable with forgetting him and giving a brief call only when they got a pang of guilt at any reminder that they were getting awfully close to leaving him behind. But who was he to drag them down? It was heart-aching enough to live the way he did sometimes, let alone when people acknowledged just how heart-aching it was. Sometimes he even missed his dad, but he always avoided thinking too hard about him before it could sink his mood to a new level that would be hard to crawl out of.

He hadn’t been able to fall asleep Wednesday night until early into Thursday morning. He settled into a deep rest around 4 AM just to be abruptly woken up by his 6:30 alarm to make sure he was at Thacher’s by 7:00.

“Fuck off…,” Eddie groaned out loud and slammed his fist down onto the alarm clock, never lifting his face from where it was planted right against his worn pillow.

He laid there for what felt like forever, but was really only a few minutes before he finally peeled himself out of his spot. Forcing himself from the comfort of his old mattress was never easy, especially when he couldn’t rely on any excuses he made up as a teenager to just flop right back into his bed. He had to get up. He had to work.

He went to make his usual toast just to see there was only the end piece left in his loaf of bread, and let out a guttural groan of frustration as he tilted his head back. He forgot to stop at the store. Grumbling a bitter so that’s how today’s gonna go under his breath, he shoved the sad excuse for a slice of bread into the toaster and then began looking through the kitchen for something else to satiate him until lunch.

He wound up eating what was left in his jar of peanut butter with a spoon after slathering the small piece of toast with jelly. He didn’t have time to clean a travel mug (which he forgot to clean last night) so he took a regular one with him on his commute, and wound up dumping his coffee all over himself mid-sip when he had to stop short for a kid suddenly biking across the road. The young teen laughed at the close call and made his way to the other side of the street. Eddie glanced down at his drenched t-shirt and coveralls, releasing his third irritated groan of the morning while he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling of his van before focusing back on the road and moving his foot to the gas. He focused on taking deep breaths as he gripped the steering wheel and made his way to the shop.

Thankfully, Linda had already started a pot of coffee in the break room which he happily drank and patted at his wet clothing with one of the blue shop towels. Staining was inevitable and it really didn’t matter with the coveralls anyways, but that didn’t mean he had to be damp. Taking that moment at the start of his shift helped with his mood, but the amount of customers bitching over the phone about how long it was taking to get their cars back were steadily draining him back into a surly mood. The most he had to look forward to and keep himself from unnecessarily snapping at someone was the fact that it was almost the weekend—and yes he would still have to work nights at The Hideout, but at least he didn’t have to get up early.

*

Never knowing was decidedly worse.

You had concluded this after ruminating on it all night—with and then without Martha’s help. And despite all of your anxieties that were just barely buried under the surface, you made yourself go to the garage again.

An obnoxious, tinny bell sounded and a dull voice said from behind a counter: Welcome to Thacher Tire. What can we do for you?

You approached carefully as if you moved too quickly, the depressing gray and beige setting around you—which held far more meaning for you than just fixing cars—would suddenly melt away and you’d wake up.

“Do you know where I could find Eddie Munson?” you asked in a soft voice, and the woman obnoxiously chomping at her gum looked up at you over the top of her glasses before looking back down at the paperwork in front of her.

“He’s in the garage. Is he working on your car?”

Your heart jumped and although you hated to lie, you did.

“Yes,” you said probably too quickly, but it seemed nothing could get this woman to care.

“Wait over there, please,” she spoke in a voice that was just as greige as her place of work.

You thanked her meekly and shuffled over to one of the worn, faux leather and hard plastic seats. The room smelled of cheap pine air fresheners and the potent combination of oil, and that specific rubber scent of brand new tires. The space with the front desk and the waiting area was small enough to be cramped if it was a busy day, but since you were the only visitor at the moment you didn’t have to be confronted by the full potential of such limited space. You toyed with your hands and tried to pay attention to the fuzzy television in one corner of the room, but you couldn’t help listening in on the receptionist’s call.

“…’s a girl here to talk to ya… uh-huh… yeah I know… uh, no I don’t think so. I doubt it. Her voice is different from the one that keeps calling about the Ford. Might be though... ‘Kay.”

You anxiously wiped your sweaty palms over your jeans as you heard the clunk of hard plastic settling back into its cradle. What if he didn’t remember you? What if he did, but didn’t care? What if he thought you were weird for showing up? What if he grew up to be someone who stomps on anthills?

Your head shot up at the sound of a door opening and then closing from the back, and a man in filthy coveralls approached the woman behind the desk. He had messy, curly bangs settled on his forehead and the rest of his long hair was in a low ponytail. He was sweaty and clearly exhausted as he wiped at his forehead and left a swipe of grease in his wake, speaking quietly to the receptionist before making his way over to you. The closer he got, the better you could smell the grease and sweat and bitter coffee, but it didn’t deter you. What truly threw you were the circles under his eyes and the sort of pale cast to his skin that people got when they were fatigued or ill. You weren’t sure why a part of you expected to see an eleven year old kid approach you with a god awful buzz cut and big brown eyes, even after fourteen years.

This was it. This was your moment. The time to reclaim your best friend, and have the greatest person you had ever met back into your life. Why was your throat suddenly so dry? You swallowed anxiously and then parted your lips to speak and-

“Miss, I know you’re waiting on your car to be fixed before the weekend—I promise I’m working as quickly as I can.”

You tried not to cringe at the use of “miss” and looked up at him with wide, sad eyes wondering why he didn’t see an almost ten year old girl with a messy braid in her hair that she did by herself, complaining at him to chew with his mouth closed.

“I lied,” You said bluntly and the man stared at you in a way that felt blank and still despite his wonderment.

“I-I don’t have a car here. I just wanted to talk to you.”

He eyed you curiously, his hands slowly wiping onto an old rag. It looked like it had been used so many times, you doubted it was even picking up any filth on his hands but just moving it around instead. He was clearly thrown off by the sentiment which brought a sort of youthfulness to his face in that moment of curiosity before his features hardened.

“Listen. I’m sure whatever prank you have conjured up is hilarious, but I’m tired and trying to do my job.”

“No-- no, no,” you tried to clarify, shooting up from your seat. “I—I-”

But he was already swiftly stomping away from you towards the back, muttering to the receptionist with a quick and surely rude comment about you on his way. You were moments from being politely asked to leave, you’re sure, but the woman hesitated with a gentle expression when she saw you approach her with glossy eyes.

“Could you please just give him this?” you asked in a soft voice that you did your best to keep even, but of course it wobbled just enough to be humiliating. You could feel the heat in your face and (even worse) the moisture in your eyes so you did your best to avoid eye contact.

You outstretched your arm and she met you halfway with a nod, allowing you to drop the old friendship bracelet into her palm.

[paganminiskirt]

Like Frieza and Vegeta’s relationship was absolutely abusive and exploitative from start to finish but I think people write it wrong. Well not wrong, just in a way that I personally believe removes the deeper horror in favor of an easy depiction of what a relationship like that looks like. He’s not getting strung up and whipped or locked in a cell to cry, he’s getting his chin scratched by a person who uprooted him from everything he had ever known on a whim and destroyed the culture upon which he founded his most nascent sense of identity. And that person is only keeping him alive because despite it all, he’s useful, and kind of cute, especially now that all the other Saiyans are dead. Vegeta’s a small child being made to commit atrocities for profit an amusing little novelty, still using the honorifics & regurgitating the legends of a planet that’s been obliterated. DBS is not a perfect sequel by any means but it did this part so, so well. “All hail Vegeta, prince of no one.” “I always thought you shined the brightest when you were serving as my pet.”

Sickening, yes? And the intimacy is the worst part, the realization that Frieza seems to favor him; seems to like him. Who knows, maybe Vegeta reminded him of himself at some ancient, half-forgotten stage of life. King Cold did drop him like a hot potato as soon as he was proven weaker than Trunks. Maybe that’s the whole reason he made King Vegeta give up his kid in the first place. Frieza’s relationship with his father is shallow and dependent entirely on his value as a soldier, the underlying cruelty of which they’ve both silently agreed to use superfluous affection to cover up? Fine. He’s gonna make the Saiyan king give up his own militarized child prince. He’s gonna strip away the cultural justifications for what he’s doing to his son by making him treat it like the cold, spineless profiteering that it always was. He’s gonna rub it in.

But hey, he’s not mad at the kid. It was his dad who got too big for the barrel. Vegeta is still serving his purpose, Vegeta is still being good. Why wouldn’t Frieza treat him in accordance with his “station,” even after it’s been rendered an empty title because of him. All he has to do is keep spinning the wheel on the Cold Empire, vomiting out violence into the endless vacuum of space & never getting too uppity about his dead father or dead planet or about the fact that, even when reduced to the most baseline level of childish narcissism, the state which this arrangement has emotionally stunted him into maintaining well into adulthood, he never actually wanted any of this. He didn’t want to leave Planet Vegeta! He didn’t want to grow up surrounded by strangers! He didn’t want to have no claim over anything he ever achieved! He wanted to work for himself! It wasn’t his choice!!! For all of Vegeta’s dickswinging and hierarchy and “pride,” he is so, so helpless, “like a tiny insect glowing in a jar,” as Frieza so helpfully summarized for us. Overcorrection layered on overcorrection layered on overcorrection layered on desperate, screeching fear and sadness and shame. Blow up a planet. Nuke a city. Wipe out a village. Fix It Again, Tony.

And that viciously indulgent cruelty that Vegeta used to comfort himself as he grew into a man is only emphasized by how blasé Frieza appears to be about the whole thing. He’s calm. He’s secure. He spends half the arc sitting down, just watching. He’s what Vegeta was in the first part of the Saiyan saga, and he slowly turns into what Vegeta slowly turned into in the second part of the Saiyan saga. An addled, wounded, unthinking mess, trying to put their self image back together as someone else’s superior ability causes it to crumble. Frieza was scared of the super saiyan. Under all that collected ambivalence, that whole time, he was scared.

Vegeta is Frieza’s heir. As gross as that incongruent, unwanted warmth is to witness, Frieza succeeded in establishing influence over & connection between himself and the child he orphaned. And the process of healing from that relationship involves Vegeta going back to square one and having to acquiesce to another foreign, combat oriented culture populated by vaguely hostile strangers. He gets new clothes. He gets a new place to train. He gets new tasks to perform. He gets called cute.

Like. It’s not physical torture, at least not as we usually imagine it. It’s this slow poisoning of a person’s ability to trust and connect with others, a process which is gussied up by regular assertions of fondness, so casual & consistent that you have to actively remind yourself that the guy who’s doing it sees Vegeta as a literal subhuman, and is only being good to him the way you’d be good to a valued piece of property. He tortured him to death, but he still thinks he was a good pet. Vegeta’s life was Frieza’s to end, but his feats of wanton destruction were also his to be proud of.

That’s the whole reason why Vegeta’s character development was slow, ugly and recidivist. Because it was his knowledge of how to grow, of how to exist any other way, that Frieza intentionally eroded for his own selfish, petty gain. And for a relationship between a man with a monkey tail and his pink-skinned alien overlord, the most uncomfortable part about the dynamic is that it’s realistic. Common, even.

[small-sinclair]

Hehehe I love you’re writing, here’s another request, angst with a happy ending

7. I told you that I fucking loved you and you stood there and laughed at me (angst prompt list)

9. “I love you doesn’t begin to express what I feel for you.” (Fluff prompt list)

Reader confessed their love, Bo laughs (it’s out of disbelief reader doesn’t take it that way) reader leaves, Bo comes home in the evening, obviously dude sucks at his emotions and they argue and then Bo ends up word vomiting a love confession too, little kissy at the end :3

Ooooooo. This is a nice one! Had to think about this one for a moment, but I think I have something for this :3

Bo x grey reader

What a Fool

Tw: sfw, confused Bo, mention of future killings, mention of murder/using a person, lovely Bo at the end,

When you told Bo how you felt in the garage, he had to take a double take on you. He looked at you in a mixture of disbelief and... hurt? Why does his baby blue eyes look so hurt when you said you want to spend the rest of your life with him?

"Say that again, honey?" He asked, wiping his hands over his pants, oil stains on his face. He was working on a 2004 Jeep today, and the motor was giving him trouble. "I think the heat is gettin' to my head."

"I said," you take a breath, "I love you, Beauregard Sinclair." You felt butterflies fluttering around your stomach and head. The way the golden afternoon light touching his skin and his wrist made him look like a saint. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."

The corner of his lips twitched as a goofy smile cracked. At first, you thought he was happy, but when he started laughing hard and held him stomach, your confidence fell. He looked at you, trying to keep a straight face, and laughed harder.

He wiped a tear from his eye. "Oh, y/n--what? Did Lester put you up to this? Goodness me, darlin'. You're the funniest human alive." Bo turned back to the jeep. "What a joke."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

You burst into tears, turning on your heels, and left the garage. You didn't mean to start crying, but a cry escaped your mouth as you ran out the garage, pushing Lester aside as he brought visitors to the station. Lester raised a brow at you then looked back at Bo, who was following you behind, confused as ever. The group--two girls and one guy--watched as you ran up the hill towards the house. You want to throw yourself on the closest thing like a Disney princess does in a moved when their love denies them. Is this what it feels like to be broken hearted?

One of the girls didn't stop watching you go until Bo said, "Don't mind 'em. They're actin' funny."

"I don't think they are, mister," the blonde said. "I've seen a broken hearted person, and that one," she thumbed over her shoulder, "just lost all of their love all at once."

The red head girl nodded. "Yeah, man. The hell did you do to them?"

Why don't you mind you own business? Bo wanted to snap, but he had to keep the good southern charm on. Maybe they won't do anything about it?

"It don't matter," Bo said, waving it off. "Y/n just said they love them."

Lester's eyes lit up like a puppy being given a bone. "Really? That's great!" He had the biggest smile on his face. "They were real nervous about it but I told 'em 'at y'all love 'em, too, Bo!"

Oh... no. "They weren't lyin'?"

Lester's not one for violence, but... "Wha did ya tell 'em, Bo?"

Bo's blood ran cold as he covered his mouth. Man, did he feel like a prick. "I thought they were jokin' an'--"

"Don't tell me you laughed at the poor thing!" The blonde said in disbelief. "Please say you didn't?"

"Yeah, I did." Why is Bo talking to the people he's going to kill? "I thought they were jokin' an' Les put 'em up to it!"

The man shook his head, clicking his tongue. "That's cold, brother."

"Ain't your brother," Bo snapped, pacing back to the counter then towards the group, covering his mouth. "Really fucked up 're."

"Yeah! Crashed and burned seems to sum it up," the red head said. She nodded at the door. "You should go after them and say your sorry."

The blonde nodded in agreement as she checked her phone. "Yeah, mister. If you go now, you can beat the rain." She then held up her phone. "Cause, like, it'll be cheesy as hell if your run through the rain to get to them."

Lester had to nod in agreement. "Yeah. Super cheesy."

Then the man held up a hand, asking, "But do you feel the same about them? Like, do you love them?" He shoved his hands back in his sweatshirt. "Because if you say it and not mean it, it'll be Oversvile for you."

"Brendon's right," the blonde girl said. "Because that could make this worse and you might lose a friend." She then looked at the red head and asked, "Remember Will did that, Macy?"

Macy, the red head, nodded. "He played me like a fucking room after that, Percy." She then looked at Bo. "You better figure it out, man."

Bo chewed the inside of his mouth as he placed his hands on his hips, thinking. What did he think of you? Sure, he would laugh with you, talk with you, sleep and hold you. Part of him wanted to kiss you when you dragged him outside to watch the fireflies dace over the wildflowers. The way you spun in the flowers as you tried to catch stars in your hand and held yourself so soft and gentle around them, your smile always warm. Cracking up laughing when Jonesy jumped up to lick your face made his heart swell like no other. Every time he was around you, he felt so calm and lighter. Bo's heart ached when you would curl up closer to him at night, hugging his wrists and scars with so much love. He hated when people looked at you wrong, and he hated when you were taken away from him just to talk to a group of people. When you fell down the spiral stairs and hurt your knee, he wanted to bend over backwards to make you stop crying. He hated to hear you cry, to see your sadness, to see your frown... He hated seeing you run out of the station, holding her face, crying. It felt like a bullet to the chest.

So, why did he laugh? What made him think that it was a joke?

Then it hit him: Trudy said it and never meant a word. The only love he's every felt was... was with you.

"Oh, shit," he said under his breath. "What did I do?" He then looked up at the group then at the door. He heard the soft rumbles of the thunder and flashes over the sky. Fuck the killings, fuck the group... he wanted you. Sweet, perfect, beautiful you.

Macy seemed to be reading his mind. She stepped aside, and held her arm out as a path to the door. "Well, get after it then!"

That was all he needed to hear. He hurried pass them and started up towards the house. The group be killed or not, it doesn't matter. You were in that damn house alone crying. What a fool he is! A damn fool! Here you were, in the shop, looking nice than normal, all dolled up for him, just for him, to ruin something that's been building up in his chest for weeks!

What a fool Bo Sinclair is.

*****************

"I'm an idiot, Vincent!" You sobbed in your pillow. He sat on the edge of your bed and rubbed your back. "A dumb, love, stupid-stupid idiot!"

You scared him when you slammed the door, causing him to drop his coffee mug of tea. It hurts seeing you cry, but it hurts more knowing your crying over his dumb twin. Vincent just wanted to hit Bo with the tow truck--

"Y/n?" Bo called from downstairs, closing the door. "Darlin'?"

"Go-go away!" You chocked out, yelling back down. "I-I don't wan-wanna talk to-to you!" You heard his boots coming up the steps as rain pattered against the glass. You hugged your pillow tighter as you cried.

When Bo saw this scene, his knees didn't feel right and he felt sick. He did this to you. He made you cry. Goods, he's like his father--

Vincent glared at Bo as he stood. His hands moved quickly. 'Talk to them. Y/n's hurt. Fix it.' He stops at the door then looks back at Bo. ‘Fix. It.’

Bo took a deep breath and nods as he brother past by him, his eyes lingering over your crying form. He took careful steps in your room and sat on the edge of the bed. He folded his hands as he listened to your tears. The hallow pit in his chest caved in faster as you flinched away from his hand touching your knee. He hated himself more. He hated himself more than anyone.

"Hey, darlin'," he hummed softly, his voice echoing inside his chest. "Wanna talk to ya."

"Why?" You sniffed. "What? You wanna laugh at me more?"

Those words were like daggers in his heart. "No, no, y/n-- I didn't mean to laugh."

You turned on your side and sat up. You brought your legs close to your chest. He brought his leg up on the bed and shook his head. "I told you that I fucking loved you," you wiped your face, "and you stood there and laughed at me, Bo."

Thunder rumbled against the roof. "I didn't mean to, honest."

Your eyes were so red and puffy that he didn't want to look at you. "What am I to you, Beauregard?"

"What do ya mean--"

"What. Am. I. To. You?" You didn't mean to sound tired or angry. You didn't mean to curl your fingers into a fist. "Tell me. What?" You used your arm as a tissue to wipe away the snot. "Do you see me as a play thing? Want me in-in the basement like the rest?"

He felt disgusted. "No, no!" The near thought of you strapped down in some place horrifying like that nearly broke him.

"Then what am I to you?" You snapped, making him jump at the suddenness. "Am I a joke? A dumb person you thought it'll be fun to play with?" Then something clicked and your mind didn't want to go there, but it did. Your body started to shake. "Are you waiting for the perfect moment to kill me?"

Lightning flashed over his eyes, his blood running cold. Your voice being defeated. Your heart breaking in his hands all because he laughed? Calling them a joke? You. Perfect you. Breaking for a damaged Bo. Why? Why are you doing this to him? His arms reached around you and pulled you into a tight embrace. He held your head against his chest, his hand covering the back of your head protectively. You could hear his heart hammering against his chest.

You struggled against his grip to wiggle free, but it felt so safe, so loving. Luckily, your struggling failed as you cried in his arms. He hushed you softly, kissing the top of your head.

"Wanna know wha' you are to me?" He whispered as rain pattered like bullets. "Yer my first thought every morn. My last thought every night. Yer the reason I git outta bed to mak' coffee. I-I fucking live to hear ya say 'good mornin' ' to me, and it drives me crazy when ya don't say it." He held your head up and cupped your cheek. You were looking up at his beautiful eyes. Those baby blues that made you hit the ground harder. "I thin' 'bout ya when I work on the cars. I thin' 'bout ya when I smoke, wonderin' if yer cooking or bakin'. Shit," he couldn't help but chuckle at thought, "I've said yer name out loud with my last name: Y/n Sinclair." He blushes. "An' it has a good rin' to it, yeah?" You found yourself nodding. He rested his head in your hair, smelling the flowery shampoo you used this morning. "I don't know what ya did to me, and I like it, y/n," he looks down at you. "I like ya a lot."

"So," you hiccuped. "You love me?"

"I love you doesn’t begin to express what I feel for you, darlin' y/n," he answered, laughing. There's a sparkle in his eyes when he asked, "Mind if I show you how much I love ya?"

You managed a nod as your cheeks flushed red.

He leaned down, brushing your lips gently with his rough thumb, and kisses you. His lips were cracked, but they felt like the softest pillows under you. The storm under your skin calmed when you pulled yourself closer, running your hands over his shirt sleeves, tugging him closer. He held your back up as he deepen the kiss. He took you in as if you were the last glass of cold water in July. His head spun as the thoughts of you twirling in the ran sent his mind a blaze, taking you as you were, putting his mama's ring on your finger to forever call you his.

"I love you, Beauregard Sinclair," you breathed against his lips.

He smiled against your skin. "Say it again?"

"I love you, Beauregard Sinclair." And you would say it until your dying breath.

[jeridandridge]

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” “No…? What are you talking about?” “Nothing. Nothing.”

Would you mind a melissa x reader? But like fluffy if you're feeling it? Or angst to fluff? Lol

Drunk Confessions

“Girl just do it. It’s better than sittin around here moping all the time.”

You groan bringing your head down to rest on the cool kitchen table. Being drunk didn’t happen too often for you, but when it did you always made sure you had friends around. Tonight, Ava was the one that brought over drinks and junk food to drown your sorrows in.

Melissa accepted a date with Gary the vending machine guy the day before and you weren’t handling it well at all. Having a crush, no, being in love with the woman but too afraid to say anything was the best yet excruciating experience of your life.

“You’re right. You’re right!” You lift your head hitting the table with your hand. “Where’s my-phone?” You ask through a hiccup.

Ava rolls her eyes pointing to the device right in front of you.

“Oh.” You giggle picking it up.

“This is gonna be messy,” Ava smiles sitting back with her frosted glass.

Blinking a couple times at the bright screen you tap away until you find Melissa’s contact, a silly picture of you two from the zoo field trip as her icon. Bringing the phone to your ear it rings and rings, eventually giving you a beep for the voicemail.

“Hey,Mel. It’s late I didn’t realize it.” You giggle. “I was sitting here drinking- I mean thinking and I wanted to say I’m happy for you. If you’re happy with vending machine guy that’s great and I’ll swallow my feelings for you. It’s gonna suck, but I’ll do it just because it’s you and I love you. I’m in love with you,” You sigh, “But if he ever hurts you, well I got a guy too. I’m word vomiting now. If this is weird we can pretend it never happened. Bye.”

You set the phone down bringing a hand over to cover your mouth. “I can’t believe i did that!” You laugh.

Ava looks at you shocked, mouth gaping. “Girl you did that.”

“I did that!” You laugh. Feeling giddy and excited, hours later you forget what you’ve done. After Ava gets an Uber home you clean up as best you can while drunk, passing out on the couch with a bag of pretzels.

The sound of banging on your apartment door shocks you awake, the sound making the throbbing in your head worse. “I’m coming I’m coming.” You groan grabbing your sunglasses on the way to the door. It was just too bright. Unlocking the heavy door you look up to see Melissa, completely confused.

“Hey, Mel. What’s up?”

“Don’t ‘Hey Mel’ me, y/n. What the hell is this?!” She barrels in holding her phone out.

“What’s going on?” You ask closing the door, confused until you see her screen. wanting to melt away into the air when you see the voicemail you drop your head slowly remembering what you did. “Shit.”

“You can’t tell me you’re in love with me just because you’re jealous or have some crush!” She tells you, moving her hands around like she always does.

“Mel, I was drunk. This doesn’t need to be a thing.” Shaking your head.

“That’s what you said in the message!” She lets out hitting play.

When you hear your own voice you cringe, it could be a lot worse, but it was still bad. Taking your sunglasses off you toss them on the kitchen counter bringing your fingers to the bridge of your nose, trying to process the message you’re hearing.

Melissa reaches out tipping your chin up to meet her eyes. When you do you could cry right there. She was so beautiful.

“You could at least look at me after admitting something like that in a voicemail of all things.” Her voice was so soft, a voice not many people got to hear from her especially at work.

“I’m sorry, Mel. Really I am.”

The redhead looks at you biting her lip, her hand gently moving to your cheek. “Ya know I wouldn’t have said yes to Gary if I knew you felt the same way.”

“Wait,” you shake your head, “felt the same way? Meaning you like me back?” You try to work it out taking the new information in.

Melissa smiles at you, a real, bright smile as she strokes your cheek. “Yeah dummy, I thought it was obvious.”

“No!” You laugh reaching out to pull her flush against you. “I thought all my pining was a lost cause after Gary asked you out.”

Giving you a soft smile Melissa wraps her arms around your neck, her fingers playing with your hair.

“He’s not you, hon.”

Looking into her eyes you see nothing but pure love and happiness.

“I’d kiss you but I really need to brush my teeth.”

Melissa laughs gently pulling away playfully swatting your butt.

“Go on, I’ll make you breakfast.”

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Inhale our sorrow, exhale our future - Simon “Ghost” Riley*Reader

content warning: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, mention of domestic abuse, trauma

Word count: 890

Probably the reason why I write Ghost so much.

Hope everyone can find the love of your life, no matter it's hobbies, friends, family members, lovers etc, and don't hesitate to find help when you need :)

Everyone wears a different mask to disguise themselves.

You and Simon have been together for a year, living together in your own flat — not too big, but comfortable.

but Simon knows you have a secret.

You always welcome him with homemade meals, massage his sore muscles, and sing him little songs that he enjoys so much even though your singing is kind of off-tune.

You buy him little things that remind you of him, you hug him when he is startled awake from his nightmares.

You seem alright most of the time, but he knows there’s something wrong with you.

You can’t watch TV shows or videos including a male yelling, you are startled by specific footsteps and the noise of fumbling keys, and you tense up when you hear others arguing loudly.

He found you woke up during the night, you said you were just going to the toilet, but he could hear you vomiting and panting in the bathroom.

Simon doesn’t want to push you too much or dig into the terrible memories you refuse to think of, but when he hears you throwing up in the bathroom tonight, he knows he needs to do something.

You ease his terror of his past, so he wants to help you too.

He watches you walk out of the bathroom, eyes widen a bit when you see him holding two mugs of hot tea and standing just beside the bathroom door.

“Simon, sorry, did I wake you up?” He can see cold sweat covering your forehead.

“Want to talk to you, let’s go to the living room?” He gestures.

“Alright.”

Simon turns on the TV, chooses a channel that is playing some soft music, and tosses the remote aside.

“Tell me what happened, hun?” He doesn’t want to scare you, his tone is soft like a feather, but you avoid his gaze, staring at the steam rising from the mug.

The silence stays in the air for quite a long, until you finally speak again.

“I don’t want to be your burden, Simon.” The whisper comes from you is trembling, he simply shakes his head.

“You catch me when I’m vulnerable, I can’t let you suffer from the past alone when you help me through those nightmares.” He can see the knuckles of your hand holding the mug become white from how hard you are managing to control your feelings.

“It’s you who tells me I don’t need to be a Ghost when I’m with you, you make me become alive again, I don’t need to hide my fear when there are you supporting me.” You let him take away the mug and put it on the table “So let me become your backing, okay?”

Simon hears you inhale deeply, holding your breath, and then exhale it slowly, like you are building the courage.

“Can I hug you, Simon?”

“Of course, love.”

Your warm body touches his, his arms lock you firmly against him, your hands grabbing on his shirt shaking uncontrollably.

and he hears you sobbing in his embrace.

so Simon starts singing the song, the song that you always use to comfort him, he’s not good at singing, but after a few minutes, you suddenly snort with laughter, and he pulls away to watch your face.

Your eyes and nose are red from crying, eyebrows drop from sadness, but he knows you have calmed down from the previous nightmare.

“Your singing sucks, Simon.” You laugh, and he just squeezes you back into his chest.

“Better than yours”

The quietness fills the room again, you two sit there, sharing the warmth and exchanging between you two.

“It’s just... my father.” After a few minutes, you murmur into his chest, and he hums, indicating that he’s listening.

“Throwing breakfast on my face when he’s angry, slapping my face when I'm not obedient like a "good kid" he wants, knocking down the door when I'm afraid of his anger and locking myself in my room, and other things... too many things...”

Your words trigger the bad memories from his past, he can feel the pain, the helpless feeling you felt in those moments. It hurts him, his heart broke into pieces after his childhood, and you mend him into a human again.

“You don’t have to say all of them, just know I’m always here, just like you’ve always got my back, got it?”

“mmhmm” He caresses your waist and back when you reply, but you let out chuckles and start wiggling”

“It tickles, Simon.” You back off from his hug, and the usual grin returns to your face again, there’s tiredness inside, but this time, there’s relief in it too.

“You want to go to sleep, love?”

“Not sleepy now.”

“Watch some Movies?”

“Great Idea.” You give him a virginal peck on his cheek and retrieve the remote.

“Not the same movie again, hun. You have watched it 10 times.”

“Shut up, Simon. I know you love it too.”

The blanket wrapping you two, preventing the warmth from leaving, you watch his eyes fixate on the screen, and you sigh happily.

Yeah, those memories already belong to the past, and the scar might be left there for years, but you have this man to create new memories in the future, and the love will shine in your memories forever too.

[ssturniolo]

Gotcha

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 - gore, vomit, fear, crying, funeral, scene in church, may disturb idk. (Sorry I didn’t proofread this)

Clinging to Matt for dear life, I sob into his shirt, completely relying on him to keep me stable. Ever since finding Madi and Laura dead, I’ve been a complete wreck. Well… we all have. Now at their funeral, I can’t keep it together, constantly going weak in the knees needing Matt for support.

I’m currently sitting in between Nick and Matt, watching tears stream down their faces through my own blurry vision. Every time I close my eyes I’m haunted by the image of Madi and Laura hanging there, limp and lifeless. And on top of it all, Nick keeps checking his phone and looking around alarmed, which is currently scaring the shit out of me. But I’m helpless. I can’t do anything but cling to Matt and stare at the floor, terrified to close my eyes.

Through all of this I can’t help wonder, who would do this? And why?

Nicks POV:

I’ve been receiving horrifying messages all day from an unknown number. I thought it was just a sick joke until the texts started listing where I was and what I’m doing.

Unknown number: Madison and Laura’s funeral, 3rd row, crying. (2 minutes ago)

Quickly growing alarmed, I excuse myself from the pew, speed-walking towards the bathroom. I groan realizing it’s not a single but enter anyway.

First mistake,

Separating from the crowd.

Leaning over one of the sinks, I glance over at my phone as the screen lights up. What I read sends unimaginable terror through my body.

Unknown number: I see you. (1s ago)

My head shoots up, gasping as I see a masked figure behind me in the reflection of the mirror.

“Gotcha” an all-to recognizable voice whispers. But before I can move or even scream, everything goes black.

Y/n’s POV:

After about 10 minutes of Nick being gone, Chris goes to check on him. Not even two minutes after Chris left, a blood curdling scream comes from the bathroom. I lock eyes with Matt, concern written through his feature before rushing to Chris.

Barging into the bathroom, I stop in my tracks.

Nick.

This can’t be real.

Nicks body lays on the floor, covered in blood. Well… most of his body. I don’t even want to know where his head is. I turn back to Matt and Chris, heart breaking as they sob in each others arms.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, I vomit on the floor as fat tears roll down my cheeks. Why Nick? He was always the light, the only person who seemed to understand me 100% of the time.

I feel myself being lifted to my feet by someone. Nate.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. We need to go now” he says urgently, earning a questioning look from me.

Pointing through the doorway to the bathroom mirror, I see it.

Written in blood in bold letters, the mirror reads: ‘who’s next?’

Well shit, this wasn’t a coincidence. We’re being targeted.

To be continued…

[holdinbacksecrets]

Oh in conjunction to the last ask by an anon can I request something like svt taking care of drunk s/o?

Looking forward to more of your works 🥰

thank you for saying that and requesting! cheol’s is suggestive 18+

seungcheol: is shocked to receive a call from your friend that the evening’s designated driver is trashed. probably laughs to himself as he grabs his keys and drives to the bar. takes a minute to coax you into his car because you’re having a hard time believing he’s your boyfriend. “are you sure? you’re incredibly attractive, and i’m not saying that because i don’t think i’m hot or something. i am. i’m so hot, but shit. have you seen me naked a lot? can i see you naked? maybe that would jog my wine mind.”

jeonghan: opens the front door of your apartment to be met by you and your exhausted looking friend. “she’s a bit…sad” but he knew what to expect. you’re consistently sad after drinking, and he offers soft coos as you waddle to the living room, asking him to lay down before covering his body with your own. “do you feel better, sweetheart?” “mhmm” 

joshua: tries not to laugh at your permanent frown and flushed cheeks. your hands are fisted, constantly rubbing your eyes, clearly exhausted but far from ready to end the night. you finally let him take you home when you fall asleep on the table after screaming along to cher with all the energy you could muster

jun: sends texts throughout the night to make sure you’re alright. reminds you he can come at any point if that’s what you want. ‘i’m pine. wit mah girlz’ but he sits in the parking lot reading and drives you home, gets you ready for bed, stays the night, and makes your breakfast in the morning 

wonwoo: sits with you on the curb outside of the bar for 3 hours while you watch the moon

soonyoung: in the morning, you wake up to a hundred messages in the group chat, realizing someone dressed you up as a tiger because it was the only way he’d ever get you in that damn halloween costume. “please don’t be mad at me. you looked adorable! orange is your color” “…i’m going to the cafe around the corner to get something highly caffeinated. that costume better be gone by the time i’m back” 

jihoon: *laughter* but he carries you home (it’s only up the street, though. no biggie) 

seokmin: fully engaged in your senseless stories that sound a lot like your weirdest dreams. gets you ready for bed and giggles every time you start sucking any part of him your lips capture

mingyu: “babe, please let me put your socks back on. your feet are freezing.” instead, you cover your hands and cry when you can’t find your thumbs 

minghao: the poor guy thought it would be a good idea to take you to the convenience store for a hangover cure, but you’re embarrassing him. “ok, now everyone knows that i’m from seventeen. there are some plushies by the door. should you tell them too?” but he kisses your forehead as soon as your expression falls. “…i love you” “and he loves me! did you all hear?!” “i’m so sorry. this moment will plague me for life” 

seungkwan: he’s never seen you drink anything besides a single glass of red wine, but tonight you got your hands on whiskey and a 2000s playlist so… lol. finally convinces you it’s time to head home after mumbling your way through genie in a bottle. rolls down the window as soon as you’re in the car because he’s afraid you’ll vomit, and then he’ll vomit, but you don’t mind because the cool breeze feels like heaven on your hot skin. “dogs are so smart, boo. they’ve got life figured out. i could stay like this forever” 

hansol: looks so endearing helping you down the hallway to your front door, with your purse around his neck, and your right shoe held tightly in his grip. “honey, let’s not knock on everyone’s door, ok? it’s nearly 3am” 

chan: he keeps a little pouch in his glove compartment with all the necessities for “drunk you”. drunk you pouch includes the following: starbursts(only the yellow and pink ones), a picture of your cat wearing a hat, dried lavender, and the keys to your parents garden store because sometimes you like to stop by and play a song or two on their jukebox

[dilf-whore]

Can I request one where y/n and Steve where dating before he got with Nacy and they have break up because he’s starts having feelings for nacy but what he doesn’t know is that she was pregnant. Maybe a time skip to season 3 where he works at scopes ahoy and that’s when he finds out??? (Plot twist robin knows this whole time because there bestie)

second chance

pairing: steve harrington x f!reader

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: teenage pregnancy (?), mentions of patriarchy and all those misogynistic shit.

A/N: okay i don’t know if i did well but this is fucking long, it’s 2.3k words lol. please let me know your comments/feedbacks, i wanna know what you think and i hope you guys like it 🫶🏻

requested: yes

requests are OPEN

masterlist

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“Look, I’m so-”

“D-don’t apologize, just leave, Steve, please” You cut him off, crossing your arms as you look away and bite your lip, stopping yourself from breaking down in front of him. Steve Harrington, your boyfriend since freshman year, the love of your life, just broke up with you. He couldn't seem to directly tell you but you know he’s trying to say that he’s fallen out of love for you and that his heart screams for Nancy.

You’ve been noticing these past few weeks that Steve and Nancy are getting close and hanging out more often - he’s even seeing her more than you.

Soon, you’ve figured that there’s something going on between the two, you wanted to talk to him but you were too scared, too scared to confirm your suspicions that he does in fact no longer have feelings for you.

Steve nods and walks out of your room, he didn't want to go but it’s for the best, he just broke your heart and he knows that getting out of your sight is the right thing to do. 

You crouch down and hug your knees, loud sobs echoing through your room and hands tugging on your hair from self-frustration as tears stream down your face. The pain’s too much to handle, your heart’s crushed into pieces and it’s gonna take a long time to put them back together - or maybe, not at all.

After a while of crying, you suddenly feel a wave of nausea and quickly run to the bathroom, you start to vomit as soon as you enter. You begin to shake from the painful, violent, and involuntary contracting of your stomach. 

The vomiting finally comes to an end and you lean on the wall, your body weak and frail. You were trying to calm your breathing and get rid of your dizziness when a realization hits you,

I missed my period.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

7 months have passed and you never came to contact with Steve about your pregnancy, you don’t even know what’s happening in his life anymore. You were grateful that your parents still accepted and supported you through the past months and thankfully, you already graduated before your bump started to grow. 

No one knows about the child growing in you - except for your best friend, Robin. She stuck by your side and bought you all the foods you craved, she would cover up for you whenever you’d suddenly rush to the bathroom to throw up, and now that she wanted to get a summer job before college, Robin decided to work at your favorite ice cream place: Scoops Ahoy so she could sneak in some free ice cream for you and your baby. 

Now here you are at Starcourt carefully wobbling like a penguin as you walk through and go to your best friend. The mall was pretty full since it’s newly opened and people are excited to come and see what’s in store. You put a protective hand over your bump and carefully head towards Scoops Ahoy, you spot a few familiar people from school and they were looking at you with shock looks on their faces - some were whispering to one another. You feel uneasy but you try to brush it off.

You’ve learned over time to just mind your own business and avoid them but sometimes it’s hard to do so when you’re by yourself.

You catch your breath once you arrive at the ice cream parlor, the extra weight from the growing bump makes it harder for you to do normal daily tasks and tires you quicker than usual.

Your exhaustion goes away when your eyes land on your best friend with a huge smile on her face, “Robin, you got the usual?” you ask, reciprocating her smile. She takes out a cone with two scoops of your favorite flavor, overloaded with toppings. You squeal in delight and Robin rushes towards you so didn’t have to walk more, “only the best for my best friend and my niece or nephew” she says, handing you the huge cone of ice cream. Without hesitation, you start devouring the dessert - the sweet, milky, coldness of it sends happiness and content to your taste buds, “you’re the best! Oh and, I don’t want you to lose your job, so I’ll pay for all the ice cream I took” you grab money in your pocket shove it to Robin. “Don’t give it back”.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Steve groans as he opens the door, Dustin and his friends have been passing through Scoops Ahoy’s back door to get in the movies and watch for free. Steve still complies despite his complaints and protests - he just can’t say no to those kids. “I swear to God, if you get caught-“

“You’ll be in trouble. We know!” they say in unison.

Steve shooks his head and closes the door. His body freezes as soon as he hears the familiar voice, the voice of the person he hurt the most, whom he hasn’t seen for a while, - the voice of the girl he misses so much. 

He slowly approaches the window and slides it partially open, but big enough for his face to be seen.

It’s her.

His heart beat speeds up, a rush of emotions come shooting at him with no warning. Is he nervous? happy? scared? delighted?, he’s not sure what exactly but he does know one thing, he’s ashamed - the feeling that’s been stuck in him for a long time. How could he break up with you for someone who never really loved him? Karma is what happened to him; Nancy leaving him for Jonathan was a taste of his own medicine and he knows he deserved it.

Steve always thought of talking to you, you never left his mind. But, he’s afraid of how you’ll respond.

Steve watches you talk with his co-worker, he’s a bit confused, you seemed very comfortable with Robin. Since when did they become this close? he thought. Despite half of you being covered by Robin in his view, you were still pretty as ever, it’s like seeing you for the first time again, he always loved the way your eyes form into crescent-like shapes when you smile. Steve can’t help but smile too as you look so happy and invested in whatever you’re talking about and not to mention, glowing.

“So, I’m going to the doctor next week Tuesday to find out the baby’s gender. Can you come with me?” you ask Robin, taking another lick on your ice cream. 

She gives you an apologetic look, “I have a shift on that day. I’ll make it up to you! I promise!” she replies, putting a hand up as she shows her sincerity. You pat her arm, “don’t worry, I understand. I’ll just...” your voice trails off when you spot him, your smile going away. 

Robin sees the change in your expression and look at your direction, “I’m sorry, I didn't tell you. Steve’s also working here” she says softly.

Steve’s eyes together with yours, grow wide when you made eye contact. He doesn't know what to do; should he come out? should he hide? should he talk to you?. He gets more surprised when Robin turns around, finally getting a better view of you, his attention lands on your growing tummy, you’re pregnant. 

You look at him and down on your bump, in spite of trying to avoid him all this time, part of you still wanted to see Steve. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Robin goes to Steve, “way to ruin the day”

“Why didn't you tell me you were friends with Y/N?” he asks. Robin crosses her arm, her demeanour changing into a protective and annoyed one, “why should I? You broke by best friend’s heart and took everything away from Y/N by getting her pregnant!”. 

“What do you mean getting her pregnant?” confusion and shock plastered all over his face. Robin rolls her eyes and takes in a deep breath, he’s getting on her nerves. “She’s 7 months pregnant, do the math”.

There was brief tensed silence between them, “oh shit” he gasps.

“Yeah, ‘oh shit’. Y/N never dated anyone after you, how can she anyways? No one would want to go out with someone who’s a carrying a baby that’s not theirs. She can’t even go out that much, she’s scared of people’s stares, eyes that says ‘you’re a slut’ to her face. You know how lucky you are? You’re so lucky because you’re a man, no one cares if you get a girl pregnant and leave them or if you fuck many girls - you’ll get praised even! But for us, women? even the smallest thing like our clothes can make us a whore. Pregnant or has a fatherless child? a whore. Fucks as many boys as you? a whore. It’s not fair”

“I never told you because I don’t think you deserve to. She’s all by herself with a child growing inside of her. She’s scared” Robin adds, her face turning red.

Steve looks down and carefully listens to Robin’s outburst. 

She’s right.

A tear rolls down his cheek, how could he let you go through this alone? how could he go on to the next girl like you’re an object?. He puts a hand on his forehead, he’s disappointed in his self

Robin looks at him, she could see his guilt and realization. Ever since she started working with him this summer, she noticed the change in him, he wasn't the asshole she used to see back in school, he’s no longer the Steve she knows. She saw it with the way he took care of the curly-haired boy and his friends. The old Steve would’ve made fun of them or not look at them at all, thinking that those kids are weirdos. And seeing how he’s rescting now just confirms that he did change.

“But you know, she still wants to reach out to you and maybe, you should try and go to Y/N” 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The day went drastically slow for Steve, he’s been out of it, he can’t focus on the job as his mind keeps coming back to you, thinking of what to say when he talks to you tonight after his shift.

They’ve finally closed the ice cream parlor, and he goes straight to your place with Robin.

They arrive at your doorstep, still in their uniforms and Robin knocks on your door with Steve fidgeting on the hem of his shorts, waiting behind her.

After a moment, you finally open the door and meet the two. “Can we come in?” Robin asks.

You don’t say anything and just move aside to let them in, it’s like your mouth glued shut. “He’s got something to tell you. I’m gonna go to the kitchen and give you space. Call my name when you need me”. Robin leaves you both before you could even reply.

You sigh and face Steve, “I h-honestly don’t know where to start” he speaks up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything, I really am. I wasted the girl who loved me with all of her heart and cared for me, I threw away the relationship with who I was the happiest with. You’re always on my mind, Y/N. I never stopped loving you - god I know that sounds stupid after all that I’ve done but believe me it’s true”

He starts to choke on his words, “I don’t fucking know what I was thinking back then and i-it’s not even a valid excuse. But please give me a chance, let me be there for you and the baby, our baby. I want to be in your lives. I’ll do anything you ask me to. Just, please” he sobs, approaching you and holding on your arms with a pleading grip on them.

“The past few months have been hard for me but, it doesn’t compare to yours and I’m the one to blame. I completely understand if you no longer wanna be with me and have to do anything with me. I’ll be out of your sight but let me at least help support the baby. I know money’s not gonna fix everything you’ve been through, I just want to try to make it up to you, j-just tell me what to do”

Tears are streaming down your face. It was the very first time you saw him cry, he always hid his emotions and stopped himself from breaking in tears in front of everyone, seeing him like this makes you realize that he’s sincere.

“You know I can’t forgive you just like that, you left me in a ditch and you weren’t there when I needed you the most” you reply, Steve nodding in response, his face full of shame. “But I-I want you to be there for our child, I want you to be the one to see them grow up, be there as a father”.

His body perks up, “And for me, I-I don’t know how long it’ll take. I wanna take things slow”.

He pulls you into a hug, his tears not stopping, “I don’t care how long, even if it takes years, I-I don’t care, I’ll take it. I’ll be by your side for now on. Just, just tell me where to start” .

He pulls away when Robin’s voice erupts from the kitchen, “you can start by going with her to the doctor next week, I’ll cover up for you”. Steve looks back at you, anticipating on what you have to say, hoping you’re be okay with the idea.

“It’s on Tuesday, at 10am. We’ll find out if it’s a boy or a girl” you say with a soft smile on your face.

“Oh my God, I’ll pick you up. Thank you, thank you, I won’t let you down” he responds with delight, putting a hand on your belly as he looks at your unborn baby. You gave him a second chance and he won’t waste it, the thought of having a small version of you and him running around in the future gets him all excited.

Steve swears from now on to do everything with you together.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[xstarkillerx]

Maul in the Jedi Temple (drabble)

I don’t know how much sense this is gonna make because it’s been a vague idea in my head for weeks, but if you’re a maul lover like me, do yourself a favour and (don’t) play the TFU Jedi Temple DLC wearing the Maul skin. It absolutely will make you confront the idea of Maul, years after the Clone Wars, seeking out the Temple Ruins for... something. He doesn’t quite know why he’s there, but he feels as though the front gate itself might smite him for daring to look upon it, even when it lets him in with ease.

He spends some time exploring the ruins, most of it untraversable now, but still grand, still teeming with light and remnants of a dead religion. The force feels different here. When he crushes the statues in the hall, or lifts the giant globe off the ground, it's not a destructive act, it's almost playful, a back and forth between him and the energy that flows through the building.

Something calls him to the heart of the temple, a dark hall with a Holocron at the end of it. Blue and holy and inviting it bursts to life without his having to touch it, putting forth a towering projection of a man, a Jedi, in a hood.

"My son..." It booms and what a novel concept, Maul thinks, a Jedi bearing children. " you now control your own destiny. The dark side is strong in you," Maul feels small, infantile, voyeuristic, dwarfed by the projection with the warm voice whose message is clearly not for him." but you can still be saved.” It says. “The blood of a true Jedi, my blood, flows through you but you must complete the trials..." He tunes the rest out. It isn't long before he is blinded and dropped in the middle of a stone abyss.

Menial challenges are set before him, the fabled Jedi trials, child’s fodder honestly, but he proceeds. Maul is led to a stone platform. From the dark emerges something that makes him want to vomit, a red zabrak with black markings, silent, stoic, no older than 22 years old. He sees it now, he was truly a frightening presence at that age. Darth circles him on hunter’s feet, never making so much as an audible scuff on the stone floor. Maul flexes his left foot, a new habit garnered by a tight joint he hasn’t had the spare part to fix yet. He knows himself, knows that Darth will attack swiftly, so he takes what milliseconds he has to try to remember how he would have fought when his body was complete. He'd be faster, lighter, more agile, but more cocky, a warrior who hasn't tasted the sour of loss; loss of limb, loss of life, of status, of sanity.

The duel is bloody, a flurry of red light. Maul hasn't thrown himself into battle like this since he was a young man, thirsty for purpose and proof that his existence is not a mistake. Maul reigns victorious in the end. He slices Darth in half and pierces him through the heart with his saber, a sickening thing to watch from this new perspective after playing in his head over and over again those long years he spent in the madness and filth. He kicks Darth’s body off the ledge into the seeming endless abyss. A guttural scream erupts from his chest and he falls to his knees. It stings his eyes and scratches away at the walls of tight throat, the urge to cry like a babe. 

The dark side is strong in you but... echoes in his ears. Maul thinks about whoever's wretched son that Holocron was meant for, what special purpose he must have to be seen as redeemable in the eyes of the pious Jedi.  

  The dark side is strong in you but... Maul covers his ears, a futile action in the in the bellowing silence of the stone abyss, but it lets him hear his own heart rate as it slows in the comedown from adrenaline. 

The dark side is strong in you but... He thinks about his own miserable little life. He thinks of parenthood, of those precious few moments his mother held him before damning her runt. 

 The dark side is strong in you but... He thinks of Sith, of Jedi, of the force that binds the two. What would he have been if they had found the runt first, those so-called keepers of peace. If they raised him in the light, would they have adorned his horns in silly beads, given him sandy coloured robes, condemned him to life lacking in riches and sex and... would they have abandoned him too?

“but you can still be saved.”  Maul retches at the thought. The Jedi failed that runt, as they failed the Galaxy those many years ago. The Jedi failed him, it was never his choice to make an enemy of them. And yet...

 Maul absentmindedly flexes his left foot and adjusts his position on the floor, folding his metal legs under himself as best he can. The thought does cross his mind that somehow he’s found himself on the winning end of their trial, their test of worthiness, at the heart of their temple. He chooses not to linger on it. Maul finds himself occupied with the lively silence of the temple instead, a warm breeze of energy passing through his body like a sheet of linen.

 Somewhere, floating in that space in time, he realizes his lightsaber went over the ledge with Darth, buried in the young man’s chest. 

Somehow it’s not a discomforting thought.