#just fucking bleach my brain. she had no right

[moe-broey]

Hhnghb

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

More of my favorite Prudes <3

Alright, left to right, top to bottom:

1. I just get the vibe that Grace has beef with Richie specifically but for no discernable reason ("Richie, the whole point is that it's in the dark!" + "No, this is where you GROW UP!") and the second the sentence popped into my head I had to draw it. Also consider how goddamn funny the image of Grace pulling bleach and gloves and a bone saw out of her backpack is because holy shit did she have a contingency plan

2. I think that Pete saw Ted as the coolest big brother in the world right up until the exact minute he introduced him to Steph and suddenly Ted had the power to be very embarrassing in front of Pete's friends. (He would be used to this, as this is standard older sibling shithead behavior, but he's never had friends for Ted to tease him in front of.) I do think the Spankoffski brothers are really interesting, especially with what an asshole Ted is. In Abstinence Camp Pete does seem to really look up to him. Ted does not hide the fact that he's a massive prick, so the fact that Pete sees him as a positive figure implies that he's one of the very few people that Ted actually tries to be a good person for. Makes a lot of sense too, the age gap between them is massive, so Pete has no way of knowing the kind of sleazy shit Ted does, he's just the cool older brother to him. Also heheheh I did the funny meme

3. All her brothers got one so I gave Webby a humansona. I don't know why she ended up looking like 90s Gwen Stacy but I kinda like it? I was going for classic straight-a student, not quite as frilly as Grace, but very academic and cute. I also think that Webby should be allowed to be a little cosmically horrifying as a treat (watching her casually fucking evaporate Willabella was so unnerving and cool, I would love more of that.) She lets herself be soft and gentle for Hannah's benefit, don't want to scare a little kid after all, but she exists far beyond those... Limitations.

4. Ok this one is highly inspired by a series of drawings by @samglyph , the concept of Ghost Ruth and Richie took my brain captive. So go show them some love!!!!!

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #10] Blonde

warnings: b is in her bleach era. love that for her!! jaykay is in the chapter for like 1.5 seconds and still manages to be the best thing about it. also if u think wow holly sometimes your chapters end very similarly, uhhh yes. ur right. mainly because my brain is smooth but also because jungkook is a creature of habit! it’s within his character traits! not because im stupid! even if i am!

soundtrack: space - audrey nuna;  blonde - maisie peters

wc: 3.5k

bd total wc: 540k (on-going)

minors dni | AO3 | series masterlist 

You suppose you really shouldn't be surprised when Seokjin leaves you on read. It happens as soon as he escapes the city, just like it always does. 

It's always the same; he'll come back to town for a few days - to visit friends, his family, or maybe for a haircut with the only barber he trusts - then leaves just as quickly as he comes.

The predictability of it all would be funny, you think, but your knees are getting worn out from how many times you fall for it; his charm, his deception, his pretty lips that soothe the burn of his selfish choices. 

He'll be radio silent for a while, and then suddenly, as if he's finally changed the batteries in his walkie-talkie, he won't be. It'll most likely be when he's on his way back to town in a few months time.

The saddest part is that you know you'll want to see him when he does. Will have the burning desire to show him just how well you've been; how well you've coped without him.

Most of all? You'll want him to know just how much you don't need him.

Inevitably, he'll end up in your bed, and you'll end up all in your head - again - overthinking and underestimating just how easy it is for him to drop you. Forgetting just how badly he fucked you up, only for him to remind you in the most callous of ways.

When Danbi comes home on Thursday night - three days since Seokjin's last message - she knows exactly what's happened. You've got a special kind of pout reserved for Seokjin-related upsets. It's always a little soft yet incredibly hard to break.

"You gotta stop letting him in," she says over a glass of red. She hates the taste, but loves the soft buzz in the pit of her stomach. Though she's much better suited to Moscato, Danbi will never turn her nose up at free wine.

If she knew why you were drinking it, she might consider rejecting it.

Seokjin's favourite. You'd bought it on the way home from work. Just couldn't help yourself.

Had figured that at least when you hugged yourself to sleep that evening, your lips would taste like his used to do, on the nights when he'd tell you that you're the most delightful thing he's ever laid his eyes upon. Would be all giggly. Wine drunk. Happy. In love.

But it's been a while since he did that. Feels like a lifetime ago, now. 

You shrug as you let the ruby red liquid swirl in your glass. Fighting against your feelings feels like swimming against the tide.

Always struggling to breathe. Never winning. Failing. Falling. 

"I don't know how to, Dan."

"But you do," she insists.

And she's right. Of course you do. 

His number has never been blocked, but a simple restriction of access to you would solve so many of your problems.

Thing is, you kind of like him still being your problem. At least that way, on a technicality, he's still yours. Kind of.

Every time he comes back to the city, it's still your bed that he ends up in.

Never for the night. Just for an hour or two - but for long enough for you to convince yourself that he can't stay away.

The lies you let your mind whisper are insidious. You're irresistible. He's still just as affected by you as you are by him. He can't possibly leave you.

And yet he does, each and every time.

He doesn't ever let you go. Not fully. Whenever you think you're getting over it, he shows up just to get you under him; his thumb, his spell, his body.

You're halfway through the bottle of wine when Danbi tells you once more that you need to get Seokjin out of your hair.

You've reached the end of it by the time you're grabbing your purse and heading for the closest Olive Young.

It's just down the street, by the crossroads that lead into town, and the staff there have seen you in worse states. A little tipsy has nothing on the mascara-stained eyes they used to be greeted with during the worst days of the breakup.

"Sure about this?" Danbi asks just to check before you take the boxes in your hands to the counter.

"Absolutely not - but he always hated me blonde," you grin a little sardonically. The happiness that comes with this change will be temporary, but you have to remind yourself that so was he. "At least even if I can't resist him, he'll resist me."

Peroxide and perhaps a little fried, your blonde hair had caught his attention in the early days - but you had dyed your hair dark in a bid to keep it. 

He'd said some bullshit in a conversation amongst friends about his preferences, and how he favoured the 'natural look'. You weren't together at the time, not officially - but everyone there was a friend of his. They all knew you'd be going home with him. It only took two boxes of dye to get him asking to be exclusive. A week later he was introducing you to his friends as his girlfriend. 

Funny what a little bit of conformity can do for a man who loves playing by the rules. 

You assume his desire to tick the boxes and do what is expected of him is also why he was such a bellend when it came to the glitter you liked to dust yourself in. 

Nobody's perfect though, so he was willing to overlook it. Was just one of the flaws he perceived in you. When you love someone, you accept them.

He ultimately never grew to love it, but for a while, you thought he might.

Bleach boxes in one hand, another bottle of wine in the other, you waste no time and head straight for the bathroom. Danbi follows you right in. She's always there to lend a hand or at least provide a Spotify playlist to get you through your woes. 

Folding the powder into the developing lotion by the sink, you know your bleach-induced bathroom antics could get you a spot in a Brad Mondo video.

All a little haphazard, you're without a mixing bowl and brush, so are having to use an old takeout container and a plastic spoon, instead.

It's not quite how the instructions suggest you should mix it all up, but no good ever comes from following the rules.

You'd tried for Seokjin, and look where that got you.

Unlike him, trusty Tupperware has never done you dirty before. No reason why it should now. 

Danbi sits on the closed toilet seat, legs crossed, a small bottle of bubbles in her hand. The bubbles had been a Christmas party favour from the office job she'd quit four months ago. Rediscovered when she'd been cleaning her room earlier that day, Danbi had taken to blowing pretty little bubble flurries your way all afternoon. 

Your reflection is captured in the peacock sheen of the bubbles while you study your rapidly developing hair in the mirror. 

You haven't bothered to change out of your shirt. It's not yours. One of Seokjin's. It's navy, and you hope the bleach ruins it.

"I think I've fucked up," you say all rather calmy, talking about your hair and not the shirt. It's not the end of the world if you have. Just hair, you always think.

Danbi shrugs. Has clearly spent too much time in your company, because she echoes exactly what you're thinking: "Just hair, babe. It'll grow."

That's the joy of your friendship; you both encourage each other with the same dumb remarks whenever you feel like you've reached the point of no return. 

After all, if you can't go back? 

Go forward.

"Plus," she adds, blowing more bubbles instead of taking a breath. "You can just chalk it up to being your hot mess era."

"Been in that for months already," you smile at her in the reflection of the mirror. You prod a little at your roots, and know that you definitely should have waited a little longer to work the bleach up to them. Bollocks.

You've done this enough times to know you'll end up with a gold band haloing around the top of your hair thanks to how easily your roots always lift. Nightmare. 

"Exactly, so you may as well look the part," Danbi encourages. Worst influence going, she is. Also the best at times, too. You find comfort in the fact she won't always say what you want to hear, but what you need to hear instead.

The conversation dissolves into empty chatter, gossip about Danbi's dog walking clients, mentions of Taehyung and how he's still trying to talk her into a mates-rates discount despite the fact they aren't actually 'mates'. She asked you about your Bartender That Smiles, and you say he's all good - before you have to insist there's nothing going on there. 

"He's got issues with his ex," you explain.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't they all? Boys and their first loves, I swear to God."

"Not sure she was his first," you defend, though you're not sure why. The thought lingers as you rummage around for an old tube of toner that you know you have hiding in the bathroom cabinet somewhere. It's been a while since your hair was pale enough to take toner, so it's been pushed right to the back.

Danbi is shooed from her perch on the toilet seat and into the living room as you let the shower run to heat it a little.  

The first crash of water against your skin is lukewarm. Tepid. Unappealing, but necessary. 

You hate anything other than boiling-you-alive degrees Celsius, but know you need to be kind to your hair after the torture you've put it through. The water runs cloudy until the bleach is rinsed out, and then it runs purple thanks to your silver shampoo. It pools around your feet and seeps into the drain. Wishful thinking has you hoping memories of Seokjin will do just the same.

It's just to preemptively tone it, but you can't help but worry about the pigment taking too strongly on your roots. 

The ash toner you found in the cupboard is in a box by the sink. You plan on putting that over the top of whatever mess your hair is anyway, but it doesn't hurt to get a head start on the process. 

The water glistens a deep violet, briefly coating your skin - and for some reason, all you can think about is Jeongguk, and how you'd really like to be downing a Purple Starfucker (or five) with him right now. He really is the perfect distraction. 

Still, you have a task at hand. You rinse your hair; ring it out. Sigh as you frown at the mess that greets you in the mirror - lilac roots, a yellow band haloing just like your thought it would, and silver ends. Brilliant.

It's as you're sitting with Danbi in the living room a little while later - body wrapped in a towel that isn't half as fluffy as Jeongguk's favourite, ashy toner smothering your peroxide blonde hair - that you notice your phone flash on the coffee table.

Danbi clocks it first, and stifles a laugh as she reads the screen. "Isn't that the guy from the club?"

You assume she means Jeongguk, and are a little perplexed to see it's Jimin's name on your screen instead. 

"Yeah... Jimin. Smooth talker, shit shagger."

"A glowing review."

"Hey, I still let him think he was good," you say as you reach for your phone to read his message out loud to Danbi. "You guys out tomorrow night?"

Sipping on her wine, Danbi raises a brow. Shakes her head in confusion. "He hoping for round two?"

"Fuck knows."

It's just gone midnight, so you consider maybe he's thinking about his desire for a hook-up, and is hoping for a safe bet in the form of you. 

And so you don't reply. If he double texts, you'll just lie and say you've fallen asleep.

The scent of your toner is beginning to give you a headache, so you go to rinse it and bid farewell to your final day as a brunette.

Sleep evades you. Doesn't want to let go of who you were, apparently. Wine makes you sleepy, and yet you're wired as if you've just had a triple shot americano.

But then it's three in the morning, and all you can seem to smell is the deep conditioner you bathed your hair in that evening. 

Somehow, when you look to the empty space beside you - delicately ruffled, a dent prevailing in the pillow - you convince yourself that you can smell fig leaves and coconut. The notes of his favourite aftershave linger like the ache in your chest. It's hollow, and you can't work out why it hurts quite as much as it does. 

If there's nothing there, how can it be so painful?

You sniff back tears that fail to truly form and pull your phone from beneath your pillow. It's hard to move your fingers when they're tangled up in puppet strings that Seokjin is refusing to let go of, but eventually you manage to tap through some Instagram stories in a bid to distract yourself from him. 

Inspirational quotes don't do much for you, nor do the engagement pictures of people you haven't given a second thought since graduation. There's an abundance of them. Smiling faces. Diamonds, or maybe just cubic zirconia. Fresh sets of nails, hands that are pink and warm from the heat of whoever's been holding them.

It's a curious thought; what people who haven't spoken to you in years must think of you now. 

You were the one who was going to succeed. Going far in life, made for a boardroom, would look incredible in a pantsuit - and yet you're working in a cafe, first-class degree of no more worth than the tissue paper you flush down the toilet. 

See, you switched out life goals for glitter. You wear it like armour; protect yourself from the world around you. Who cares about seriousness and success when you're a constant disco? Not you. Could never be you.

Or at least, you hope that's what people think. Hope that no one realises you're covering yourself in artificial shine; like a canvas in acrylic because you were too impatient to watch the oil paint dry.

One day you'll glow. Glow for real. 

For a while, you thought you had been with Seokjin. 

All you see when you look in the mirror these days is tarnished silver; copper alloy pretending to be much more than what it really is. Your skin will turn green eventually.

There is, however, one person you've managed to fool. 

When his story pops up - a repost of tomorrow night's paint party event at Dionysus - you find yourself clicking through to your DM thread without much thought. You know he's at work. Know it's a 50/50 whether or not he'll get back to you before your mind begins to berate you again for how miserable you feel. 

It's a simple message - hey - and you're pleased that it's met with an equally simple reply not even a minute later.

JustJK: To what do I owe the pleasure?

You decided that 'I'm about to cry over my shitbag ex so chose to message you instead' probably won't be Jeongguk's favourite thing to hear, so you opt for a little white lie.

You: Just wondering how the kids are <3

Part of you worries he won't understand what the fuck you're on about - but of course, he does. He's Jeongguk. Gets you better than you get yourself, these days.

JustJK:  Missing their mother. 

JustJK:  Perry the Pigeon almost fell earlier.

JustJK:  Roger the Robin looks like he has a broken wing.

JustJK: Must be one of yours. Inherited his mother's wonkiness <3

With each message that comes through, your smile grows wider in the midnight darkness of your bedroom. 

You: Careful or I'll file for joint custody.

You: Get poor Roger away from his father's cruel remarks </3

There's an ease to how you joke together, both aware of how unserious you are. There's no second-guessing, no worrying about saying the wrong thing. If you do, you'll say sorry and move on. No harm, no foul.

JustJK: Your appeal won't hold up in court, Byeol.

JustJK:  You've neglected them ever since you spawned them.

JustJK:  Haven't even paid them a visit!!!

Laughter stifles in your throat as your body curls up into a more comfortable position. The audacity of this boy, you think, ignoring the way he manages to get you entirely focused on something that isn't your own despair.

You:  You've got full custody!!!

JustJK:  And you're still allowed to come for supervised visits!!!!!

JustJK:  smh and to think you call yourself their mother.

JustJK: I'm their mother now.

You pout at your screen, and whine a small little 'nooo'. 

You:  They need me :(

JustJK: Come and see them, then. They miss their mother.

You:  Tomorrow?

He reads the messages instantly, but takes a little longer than usual to reply. It worries you slightly. Makes you more aware of your surroundings. The scent of Seokjin's aftershave begins to permeate the air once more.

Until, all rather suddenly, it doesn't anymore.

JustJK:  I'm not working tomorrow night, but Jimin's insisting on going to the paint party - you coming?

You:  Will Perry the Pigeon be there?

JustJK: If he falls before I leave for the club, then yes.

It's not a bad proposition. One that quite intrigues you. One that has you agreeing, and him telling you to fuck off and go to sleep. He's got work to do, he says. 

It's actually quite quiet at the club - Yeonjun just caught him looking at his phone with a dumb smile a few too many times for Jeongguk's liking. Doesn't wanna get caught out again. 

Especially doesn't want him catching onto the fact that there's a reason Jeongguk's eyes light up like Disco Balls when he looks at his phone.

Yeonjun doesn't really have friends who are girls, Jeongguk reasons with himself. Won't understand that he's perfectly capable of having a little flirt without it meaning anything more than that - after all, isn't that just what banter is? Friendly flirting? He does it with the boys all the time. Doesn't mean fuck all. Just fun.

Jeongguk's a couple of years older than his cerulean-haired coworker, and has learnt the hard way that you really shouldn't escalate friends above the level of purely platonic. One day Yeonjun will realise this. 

For now, though, Yeonjun'll shag anyone who looks at him in the right direction. Has probably already ruined a few good friendships. Doesn't even realise he's done it.

Jeongguk trusts himself not to make the same mistakes he's made in the past with you. Thinks that he's pretty happy with how things are. Has missed the dynamics of friendships with girls. Is looking forward to Monday movie night with you and Danbi again.

And yet when he gets home to find Perry the paper pigeon on his bed, he can't help but smile.

You wake up to a picture of the fallen bird in your DMs - and even though you'll whine and complain about it when you see him that evening, all you can do is smile, too.

JustJK:  Looks like we're having a wholesome family trip to Dionysus tonight.

You: Mummy and Daddy reunited at last <33 Perry will be so happy.

JustJK: It's okay, you don't have to lie.

JustJK:  I know you're talking about yourself, not Perry.

Jeongguk doesn't send the message where he tells you not to call him Daddy. Knows you'll read into it; tease him about it. It's not like he's got a thing for it, or anything, he just... maybe wouldn't be opposed to it, and so he'd rather not be called it when he's having casual conversations with you. Wouldn't wanna get flustered. 

Part of you already knows this. Is precisely why you'd said it. It's not really your style, not the kind of thing that gets you going.

But it is also exactly why you choose to end your next message with, 'See you tonight, Daddy x'.

You're laughing as you send it.

And as he receives it, Jeongguk groans. Buries his head into his pillow. Crumples Perry a little in the process. Whines. 

"Don't fuck this up, Jeongguk."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT

[krikeymate]

Please except this as my random fic title “For the love of God… Put. It. Down!”

Sam was having... the worst time. She honestly thought this night couldn't have gotten any worse... and then Tara took out the knife.

She thinks she must be losing her mind.

She's not crazy, right? This was not how the board game was supposed to go, right? There were rules... right?

Not according to anyone else, apparently.

Sam had been wary when Mindy barged into the apartment with a Monopoly box earlier in the day. She'd thought she was going to have to spend all evening joining them in an extremely boring and unfun game.

It turns out that her kids don't know the meaning of boring and unfun, and had their own methods to... liven it up a bit.

They forgot to warn Sam about how they play, however.

She'd spent the game so far irritated and horrified as she watched Chad - the banker - continuously miscount the cash in a way that she's now getting the suspicion may have been deliberate.

Her sister had proven herself to be the world's worst decision maker, which... tracks actually.

She can never repeat that.

The twins had been taking advantage of her sister the entire time, convincing her with silver tongues to make subpar trades or purchases. Sam had thought about intervening, but she's been trying to coddle Tara less, and besides, it's just a game.

It's. Just. A. Game.

Or, it was, up until Tara whips the kitchen knife out of nowhere - prepared and ready to be used - and holds it to Chad's throat.

"This is a robbery," she says, smirking.

Chad, to his credit, looks surprised, but not scared. He slowly raises his hands, plastic money slipping from his fingers and fluttering down.

"Please," he whispers, "I have a family. Take what you want, take it all, just don't hurt me. I'll do anything!"

Sam doesn't have time to digest the weird display or Chad's suddenly southern accent - and not a good one - before Mindy is groaning beside her.

"EUGH. Please keep your weird roleplaying to the bedroom!"

Sam snaps her head between Mindy and Tara, the implication making the room feel stuffy and her chest feel tight.

"ALRIGHT," she says - louder than intended - as she climbs to her feet. "I think that's enough for tonight." She needs to bleach her brain, maybe read a rule book.

"Aww what, but I was finally making money," Tara whines, knife held sloppily in one hand, the other bursting with fake cash.

"Yeah!" Chad agrees, despite being the one with a fucking knife to his throat.

Sam cannot be the only adult in this room right now. She looks down at Mindy and gestures to the scene, a silent beg for her to do something.

She does not.

"Nah," Mindy says, leaning back on her hands, "I want to see where this goes."

"No! No you don't- I don't- This is... the game is done," Sam stutters.

"But who won?" her sister asks, blinking up at her as if that's what's important right now.

Sam stares back at her for a moment, trying to determine if she's fucking serious. She is. Of course she is.

"Nobody won, you're all going to jail. Robbery, embezzlement, insider trading. You're all going down for it," she says dryly, wishing she could get the last four hours of her life back.

Mindy sniggers and Sam only has a second to be filled with regret before she says "Yeah, horny ja-"

Sam cuts her off with a box lid to the face.

With a heavy sigh, she turns back to the other two. "For the love of God... Put! It! Down!" she demands, gesturing at the knife.

Tara gets a look on her face, the one that says Sam's being unreasonable again.

She watches her roll her eyes and slowly put the knife on the floor with so much attitude that Sam feels the overwhelming urge to tell her that she's grounded.

Sam's too young to be a parent, look what they've reduced her to.

Bending down to snatch the knife from the carpet, she holds it up to her sister.

"Your knifework is sloppy and you could have easily been disarmed in a real combat situation, I'm disappointed in you."

The indignation on Tara's face kind of makes it worth it.

[skrunklybf-archived]

bad influence!

pairing: step-brother!connie x reader x jean

warnings: dark content! step-cest! smut! mdni!!! maybe ooc?

tags: mfm threesome, dubcon(?), smoking weed, they're all high it's whatever, step-cest, unprotected sex, creampie, doggystyle, blowjob, swallowing, praise, pet names, almost getting caught, not proofread

notes: hi i'm not dead 🤪 take this connie/jean smut as a peace offering mayhaps?? reblogs are appreciated as always xoxo love you stay safe

"I know you have shit in here, so you better share or I'm snitching."

You raise your gaze from the game on your phone to the young men inviting themselves into your room. Jean leans back against the door and closes it with a soft click, much softer than the threat Connie entered with. You cock a brow, unamused.

"What?"

"You know what."

Connie, despite the faux menacing look he gives you, emits the familiar air of playfulness he's known for. He crosses the space between your door and your bed in record speed, diving for the little table next to your head. Dexterous hands scavenge through the drawers and ignore the annoyed protests you shoot at him.

"Dude, fuck off!"

"You fuck off," Connie dodges your swatting hands and plucks a tie-dye colored jar from the bottom drawer, "holding out on your poor, misfortunate brother. You should be ashamed of yourself." It'd be a surprise if you couldn't see the your own brain with how hard your eyes rolled themselves back.

Your step-mom had been adamant about Connie staying clean after a rather hilarious call she received from him at three in the morning, begging her to come pick him up from the side of the road. He'd gotten away with just a warning from a "generous" officer that night, meanwhile you had gotten plenty to make fun of him for and his mom gained a bargaining chip she'd been putting to good use. The house had never been more bleach-and-lemon scented.

"Oh, boo hoo," you fake cry, jutting your bottom lip out in a pouty fashion, "maybe don't get pulled over with your dumbass friends next time, Con."

"Hey," Jean pipes up from his stationary position at the door, seemingly offended but grinning all the while. Connie tosses the jar from hand to hand casually, trying to ignore the big doe eyes you shoot him in your little mockery scene. "Not my fault Sasha drives like a menace," he replies, twisting open the lid and taking a deep sniff of the flowery contents. Lost in an overdramatized state of bliss, he fails to notice you sitting up and snatching your weed jar right out of his hand. Connie whines at the loss. "C'mon, just smoke us up one time." he begs much like a puppy, even going so far as to clasp his hands together in a cartoony fashion.

Your lip twitches.

"Just me and Jean," he continues, "Sasha's on house arrest until further notice. Her dad was pretty pissed, won't let her leave."

A conniving and dark chuckle surprises your step-brother and his oddly quiet friend, coming straight from your chest. The little jar suddenly feels so heavy in your hand, weighed down like a giant golden poker chip. "So, you come to me in your time of need," you slur out dramatically, "on the day of my daughter's wedding--"

"Alright alright, cut the shit, you're weirding me out. What do you want? I already have to clean the damn house for two months."

Connie almost looks nervous before you, switching his weight between his feet. This is a strange sight for you; he's usually boisterous, carefree, charismatic. You pull your feet up to sit criss-cross on the bed. A thoughtful look passes over your face. "You gotta walk Scout--"

"Done."

"Okay, fiend, I wasn't done."

"Whatever you want, I don't caaaaare. Just smoke with us."

Jean was easy to forget about in the moment, sitting as a hopeful but cautious observer a ways away. You blink at him, off-color thoughts dripping into your sleepy brain like a shoddy faucet.

"Fine. Garage."

Okay, so maybe your mind wasn't pure and fluffy and wholesome, and maybe some would label you a dog for these fleeting thoughts that came to you in the strangest moments. Maybe you shouldn't be feeling that heavy, burning sensation in the pit of your belly when your step-brother takes an unnecessarily strong drag off the blunt, bathing his face in an orangey glow from the cherry. Connie always had a fresh face, a contagious grin that got to you in ways that it most likely shouldn't have, given your relationship.

Well, technically, your parents relationship -- one that began right as Connie was starting his freshman year of college -- but still.

He passes the blunt up to Jean in the passenger's seat, who had easily won the race you declared on the way to your car. "First hand on the hood gets the front seat," you announced, and the young men scrambled over each other like excited puppies to slap your poor Honda in victory.

Jean takes a normal, sane hit, pinching his bronze eyes closed to avoid the flying smoke. It almost feels mesmerizing watching these two through the haze. Invisible green hands relax your face into a look of contentment, massaging away any irritation Connie had sparked by interrupting your game. Behind you, your step-brother coughs into his fist dramatically, heaving out a big sigh once his lungs quit their spasming.

"You seriously saved the day," he says, letting his cheek rest against the side of your headrest. If you turned enough, your noses would touch. Amused, you take the blunt from Jean, quietly admiring how his long fingers hold the wrap so delicately.

"I'd say we owe you, but you're kinda evil, so I'll just say thank you," the brunette beside you adds. His voice has dipped low and gravely since you all started hotboxing, reaching a baritone that leaves your heart hammering.

"Evil? Wow," you reply flatly, "I feel the gratitude in waves."

Connie smacks Jean lightly on the cheek while you take your puff. "What he means is, your genius is only surpassed by the world's most prolific professors," he says in a much-too-serious tone, "like, y'know, Hannibal Lecter, or like, Dr. Evil."

Pulling up a leg to rest in your seat, you snort in laughter, thick white smoke billowing out from your nose.

"Thanks, Con."

"No problem, babe."

Jean guffaws before you can. "Did you just call her babe?"

Connie, golden eyes wide, throws himself back into the backseat. He waves his hand flippantly, as if he could bat away the subject. "What? No, shut up."

You and Jean whip yourselves around at the same time, shoulders pressed against one another. "You totally did." You tease, smirk wide on your face.

Connie melts into the dark fabric. A heavy warmth surges over his face. "I just, y'know, I'm usually a gentleman and I smoke girls up," he runs a hand through his short hair, "slip of the tongue."

Jean snorts, letting his gaze slide over to you in his peripheral. "And then you compare her to the girls you fuck. Interesting."

Your shared laughter embarrasses Connie more than it irks him, sending his hands flying up to scrub over his face. In a show of mercy, you pass the blunt back to the poor boy, fending for his life all alone in the back of the car. Connie pinches the wrap and suddenly smirks toward his friend, charged and ready. "Jean, I could end your entire career right now."

Curious, you lean back some and look at Jean next. He pauses, switching a suspicious gaze between you both.

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"Oh, bullshit! How many times have I caught you staring at her ass?"

Shock formed your mouth into a tiny 'o' first but unbridled amusement twists it into a devilish grin. "Is that so?" You nudge a finger harshly into Jean's bicep. The young man swats your hand away and shoots his friend a glare. Connie's cackling jumps around the cars walls, spurring your own laughter to bubble out and making Jean roll his eyes.

Wiping faux tears, you watch Jean snatch the blunt from Connie and take a pouty puff, his jaw tense. "Not sure how to take in this information, honestly. Who knew both of you weirdos wanted to fuck me?" You twist back around to lean properly against your seat. A victorious glow radiates from your warmed face, neck, chest -- even if it was all jokes, the idea sits heavy in your mind and lower belly.

"I think you're the weirdo for being so psyched about it." Connie says from behind, his usually chirpy voice dragging low, like he'd just woken up from a long nap. A few quick puffs burn the blunt to your fingertips and you pinch it out with freshly licked fingers.

"I don't hear either of you denying it." You chime, dropping the roach into your cup holder to deal with later. Jean, still awkwardly turned in his seat, looks back at Connie, and there's a moment of quiet that you get lost in, brain and body fuzzy from your high.

Inside the car, a sheen of smoke blankets over you three and beads sweat over your skin. The warmth feels more comforting than suffocating. Swirls of white and gray are barely illuminated by the dim blue nightlight inside the garage. It feels dreamy, almost ethereal in a strange way.

Jean pulls you back into the moment when he runs a large hand through his hair. He's relaxed into the seat, long legs cocked out enough that his knee threatens to knock into your hand on the center console. Connie leans forward, resting a hot hand over your shoulder. "It's hot as fuck in here, let's go inside."

"Alright, yeah. You guys go, I'm gonna park outside and air this baby out before heading in."

Connie squeezes your shoulder and all but rolls out of the backseat, stretching his legs and arms out like a sleepy kitten. Jean hesitates opening his own door beside you. He clears his throat. "Just so you know, I stare at your face too," his voice is quiet, like he doesn't want Connie to hear, and you quirk your brow at him curiously. He sputters for a second, "y'know, not just your ass. I mean, it's nice -- you have a nice ass. But like, that's not all that's nice. Your -- you --"

You cut him off with a giggle. "I'm glad you think my face is nice, Jean."

The low light was just enough to see the goofy grin grow over his face before he slid out, joining his friend at the door leading inside. Connie bumps into him playfully and the two stooges shuffle off, leaving you all alone in the smoky blue garage.

Heading in, you expect to spy the two raiding the fridge, or perhaps even locked away in Connie's room playing games. Instead, you find two men in your room, lazing around like they own the place. Connie sits in your computer chair, his slippered feet propped up onto a bare spot on your desk, while Jean sits at the foot of your bed, leaned back on both palms. Only Jean looks at you once you enter, his bronze gaze only slightly sleepy as it rolls over your form.

"Oh, hello," you quip, hand hovering over the doorknob. For some reason, it feels like you intruded on them, versus them plundering your room. Connie, in his stretched out position, nods too casually in your direction. A little bit of his stomach peeks out from under his shirt -- you can see the waistband of his boxers, stretching around the V shaped muscles that disappear under his sweats.

"Let's watch a movie." Connie reaches toward a few figurines you keep beside your monitor, itching to busy his hands with something or another. You look between the two, wondering if there's something you're missing -- but ultimately, you shrug, closing the door behind you.

Twenty minutes into a Marvel movie you've seen a thousand times, there's two hands on your thighs and not a single thought in your brain. Jean, on your right, squeezes gently every few moments, and the pressure feels so warm and comforting -- Connie, on the other side, swipes his thumb in a mesmerizing half moon, leaving tingles in its wake. Their skin is hot against your own.

The coyness surrounding you all is nearly suffocating. You want so badly to acknowledge the growing sense of want, of need in your center, but all you can do is stretch your legs out and lean back against the wall.

Connie lets his pinky fiddle with the hem of your shorts, between your legs. As small as the action is, it still draws a tiny gasp from you, something that doesn't go unnoticed by anybody. He glances over, a little smirk on his face. "Weirdo." he mumbles, but takes it as a good sign. His hand glides upward just the tiniest bit, spread wide and gripping at the soft flesh more eagerly. Jean follows suit, watching curiously as he trails his own hand upward, slipping a few fingers under your shorts and dangerously close to touching your panties.

Your legs react on their own. Knees bending, they butterfly out, allowing the men more access. There's no use in thinking any of it over; Jean has a hand on the side of your face, gently urging you over to look at him, and Connie messes with the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis before you can make any internal argument about it. Looking up at the brunette, you feel so vulnerable, a far cry from the cocky attitude you held in the car earlier. He smiles down at you, drinking you up, savoring the doe-eyes and the way your lips part when he leans in.

Lips slotted together, it feels effortless to kiss Jean, but it takes all your willpower not to gasp into his mouth when Connie retracts his hand, only to press directly over your clothed center. The heel of his palm digs into your clit through the thin layers of fabric, purposeful and direct, and he uses a finger to press between your folds. You end up losing the battle, but only partly, letting a little whimper loose against Jean's surprisingly soft lips. He slowly licks into your mouth and raises his hand to rest over your lower belly, dipping under your shirt to smooth over the warmed skin.

Your eyes are closed, body alight with so many exciting sensations you're not sure what to focus on. Regaining a moment of sense, you can feel yourself reaching for both of them, settling on their legs at your sides. It grounds you, anchors you, but it doesn't last long. Connie's chuckle sounds out beside you. "You're wet," he says, nudging your shorts aside to urge a finger against your underwear. "I can feel it through your panties."

Breaking away from Jean, the urge to pant and catch your breath is as tempting as it is embarrassing. You glance at Connie, looking at you like a hungry wolf, and slide your hands over both of their laps, somehow surprised to be met with strained fabric. "You're one to talk." You reply, gripping the noticeable bulges beneath your palms. Both of them utter a sort of groan, stretching themselves out to allow better access. Connie's dickprint could clearly be seen through his sweats, strapped to his thigh by a pair of boxer briefs, but Jean's dick laid more concealed beneath his dark jeans, the rigid fabric keeping you from getting a whole hand around him. You wonder for a moment how different their dicks looked -- how different they would feel, bare against your hand, your tongue, even stretching you out.

The clothes come off in a sort of frenzy, confidence blooming in your chest once the men were down to their underwear with their cocks begging to be freed. Suddenly, you lost the shy feeling of toeing around what you all wanted. You found your voice.

Straddling Jean's hips backwards, you face Connie, holding onto the brunette's strong thighs for balance. Jean teases his dick through your folds and gasps when you grind against him, brushing his head over your needy clit. Before you, at the foot of the bed, Connie leans back, legs spread so he can jerk off comfortably to the sight in front of him. Your eyes follow his movements -- working up the veiny shaft until dollops of pre ooze out from his flushed tip.

Jean's hands shift from groping and massaging your ass to gripping the supple meat of your hips, rocking you up and down as you slide your pussy over his cock. Arousal leaking, you're so wet he could slip right inside, given a good enough angle -- but he lets you move whichever way you want to, lets his eyes roll back with a groan.

"You wanna watch me fuck your best friend, Con?" You ask sweetly, voice tinted far too innocently for the hungry way you look down at him, splayed open on your mattress. Connie flicks his wrist, caught between watching your cunt work around Jean's dick and watching your face, such a sly smile crawling over your warmed cheeks. "Gonna watch me ride him stupid?"

Beneath you, Jean's hips twitch. His fingers dig into you with more urgency, a deep groan leaking from his chest. "Hold on, baby. Be a good boy for me." You coo, reaching down to cup his balls and press his cock flush against your wet lips. Shockwaves pulse through your body when you rub your clit against the silky smooth skin of his dickhead. Little moans spill out from your lips, urging both of the men on in their own motions; Jean bucks up into your hold, Connie grips his cock more fervently.

"You sound so fucking pretty like this," Jean utters from behind you, and Connie grunts, adding, "you look so pretty like this. Wanna see you all filled up."

Pleased, you lift your hips and align Jean's long dick with your entrance. It takes a moment for you to ease down all the way. A delightful burn shoots up your center, working to stretch around his meat and accommodate to his size, but you feel so full, so satisfied once he's buried inside you. His dick curves just the perfect way to hit the right spot deep inside your cunt.

"Oh, fuck," you mutter once you're pelvis to pelvis.

"Feels good?" Connie squeezes his tip, smearing more pre over himself. Eyes sliding shut, you nod eagerly and rock your hips, drinking in every gasp and moan that Jean offers so generously from beneath you. For a few moments you simply scoot and rock, massaging that spot and working up a tight coil in your belly. With the motions your body leans forward, providing Jean with the perfect view of your ass and Connie with the jiggle of your tits. Wet, lewd sounds slip into the space between you all, making the moment feel all too real.

"That's it, baby, take what you need," Jean smooths a hand up your curved spine. His heels dig into the mattress so he can press harder into your core.

Connie watches you start to bounce, a look of utter bliss washing over your face, and groans with every broken little moan you breathe out. He jerks into his fist in time with Jean's half hip thrusts. He can be patient, he can wait, he tells himself; no matter how he feels about Jean fucking you, the view and symphony you've selflessly provided him were more than enough to have every ounce of blood rush from his brain straight to his dick.

"Kiss, k-kiss me, Con," you mewl out, your breathing already growing heavy. The man jumps onto his knees and crawls forward, so eager to hold your jaw in one hand and give you exactly what you asked for. The kiss is sloppy, messy and wet, tongues sliding around each other without much direction, but it feels like exactly what you need, adding fuel to the flame in your core.

Connie slicks his hand up and down his shaft while he tongues you, eyes shut and abs squeezing tight. So many new experiences tonight, so little time to process them -- the thought of a threesome with Jean wasn't too out of left field, but the fact that you were smack in the middle of it was almost crazy enough to make him question if this was all a long, wet dream, one that would leave him sticky yet unsatisfied when he woke.

"You take me so fucking good," Jean grips your ass cheeks roughly, spreading them to take in the view of his cock sliding in and out of you with such ease. The desk lamp catches your arousal in a glimmer, leaking out and into the smearing of dark brunette hair around his pelvis. "Shit, so fucking good."

The praise makes you melt and stutter your bouncing, mewling into Connie's mouth and choosing to rock yourself back and forth to gain composure, but it's a fruitless effort. Pulling away from his mouth, an involuntary cry rips from your throat and that pressure inside mounts to an unbearable edge.

"F-Fuck, fuck fuck fuck--"

"Oh shit, are you cumming already?" Connie's eyes grow wide, looking down at you like a world wonder. He drops his hand from your face to grope at your tits, smoothing over the pert nipples and pinching them lightly to make you gasp.

Jean takes control. He holds onto you like you'd rocket off into space without him and hammers upward into your spasming cunt, jaw tensed as you milk him, your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. "God, fuck -- yeah, she is. C'mon baby, cum on my cock," he pleads more than commands, voice almost lost against the lewd slapping sounds coming from between you. The orgasm feels nearly shocking, crashing over you from head to toe and bathing your entire body in sparks and a deep, burning heat. Silken walls squeeze and shake, much like your hands, which grasp onto Connie's strong forearm to keep you from simply falling over in the peak of your pleasure.

The most you can offer is little squeaks as the wave dies down. You feel a little lightheaded and let out a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering open to meet those of your step-brother -- his gaze feels impossibly heavy as it flicks over your face. He licks his lips and offers a sly grin. "You're so fucking pretty." Connie says lowly. An almost ditzy smile flashes his way and you close the minimal space between your faces, catching his lips in another kiss.

Jean slows his movements to more purposeful, deep thrusts, and relaxes his grip, but rolls his head back into the pillow and utters a deep groan. "Where -- Where d'you want me? M'close," he breathes.

You break away from Connie, who whines a little, but watches you closely. Jelly-like legs work with you to unmount Jean and twist around so that you can take him into your mouth, propping your ass up into the air in front of Connie, almost like an offering. Jean watches you with half lidded eyes. His cock looks even bigger with your hand wrapped around it -- wetness and a little thick cream coat his bare, flushed skin, which you lick up in long strokes of the tongue. He pulses under your touch, eagerly lifting his hips to meet your lips as you kiss over his sensitive skin.

The brunette curses under his breath when you meet the heated eye-contact, smiling coyly before sliding his meat between your lips, suckling him and flicking your hot tongue over his frenulum.

Connie, behind you, eyes his friend's undoing, watches as Jean grips the pastel sheets beneath him with strong hands. Your ass dangles so teasingly in front of him, darkened shapes in the form of fingerprints ghost around your plump skin from where Jean held you just moments before.

He never thought himself to be possessive, but watching you impale yourself to the point of cumming over Jean's cock and licking up the delicious mess you made without so much as touching his own needy prick sparked something in Connie, a strange, primal sort of urge that drives his hips forward on their own. His hands grip at your hips and draw a surprised hum from your busy mouth, but the way you wiggle your ass in reply is enough to bring a grin back to his face. Your thighs are still slicked with your own cum and arousal, your hole flutters around nothing as he spreads your cheeks and peers at the mess you made.

Connie marvels at the way your supple skin feels cupped in his hands, so soft and smooth under his touch. He nudges his leaking tip against your center, rubbing up and down through your lips and gathering up wetness to spread over himself. "This okay, baby?" he asks smoothly, leaning over you to speak closer to your ear. With a mouth full, you nod and press back against him, gasping when the motion pushes just a little of his fat tip into you.

Jean locks eyes with Connie for a moment. The novelty of the situation hasn't worn off yet -- they share a few seconds of raised brows and near drunken grins before Connie presses into you with a firm and concise thrust. Vibrations from your rather deep and needy moan flutter around Jean's cock and immediately push him right up to the edge, rolling his eyes back as his stomach muscles grow taut. Cockhead pressed against the back of your throat, Jean gasps out the neediest sound he's made all night, "fuck, 'm cumming, 'm-- aah," his legs shake as he releases his load straight down your throat. You moan around him, sucking and flicking your tongue over the underside of his pulsing dick, resisting the urge to gag and gathering pinprick tears across your waterline.

Connie waits, already filling you to the brim, rubbing his hands over your hips soothingly. The room feels hotter and thicker than ever before -- Jean pants at the head of the bed, lids heavy as he gazes down and watches you lick up wayward spit strands from his throbbing dick. "Holy shit," the brunette breathes. "Holy shit. Thank you."

A little giggle spills out from your swollen, plump lips, and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. "You don't need to tha-- ah, ah, fuck!"

Connie snaps his hips to and fro, urging you forward and back with the motions. He slides so easily in and out of your cunt. Straight pornographic sounds punctuate the stuffy room and he throws his head back with a long, purposeful groan, settling his thumbs into the little indents above your ass like perfect riding handles. His cockhead pushes and presses inside you. There's some muddled emotion behind these thrusts, so strong and sharp in contrast with the rather bubbly persona you knew Connie to hold.

Jean sits up onto his elbows, watching your tits sway and jump with his friends motions. "Bring her over here, Connie," he jerks his head at an angle and beckons you up the bed. Connie, after a few more thrusts, obliges, though his brow is furrowed in a rare look of concentration as you two shuffle up, still locked together in a slick hold.

You find yourself between them both yet again, your mouth uncoordinated in all your post-orgasm-slash-pre-orgasm haze. Jean doesn't seem to mind -- he lazily kisses over your cheeks, your jaw, licking trails up the column of your throat as you hover over him with shaky arms. Connie ruts into you at a pace that surprises you, drawing louder and louder moans with every slap his balls deliver to your throbbing pussy. "Y'love it, don't you?" He groans, "you love taking your step-brother's cock, don't you, pretty girl?"

With a hot mouth sucking little bruises over your neck, you utter a little cry, eyes pinching shut as your cunt flutters around Connie's dick.

"Yes, yes yes yes," you manage, "fuck me, give me more, fuck-- Connie--"

"You close already? Hold on for me, baby, wait for me."

At the command, you find yourself clenching your thighs together, whimpering when Jean absolutely pushes you in the other direction by tweaking and pinching your nipples between his fingers. The brunette grins against your flushed skin. He flicks the sensitive nubs playfully, biting down on your shoulder and sucking hard enough that there'd surely be a big blooming bruise the next morning. Desperate whines greet both mens ears as your cunt drools recklessly between your legs.

"Please, please Con, need'ta cum," you beg. "Please let me cum--"

Groaning, Connie watches the ripple of plump flesh that accompanies every thrust. His mouth drops open before he can think through what he says next: "Gonna let me cum inside?"

Your hole clenches around him on its own accord. "C-Cum inside?"

"Mhm," he rolls with it, too lost in his building orgasm to care anymore, "gonna let me fill you up baby?"

Of course, it's all talk straight from a thoughtless brain -- he'd finish wherever you wanted him to. But if he didn't at least try, he'd be kicking himself for the foreseeable future.

Jean eyes his friend over your shoulder, but kisses a trail up to the shell of your ear, where he breathes hot waves over you. "Good girls leave no mess," he coaxes, making you shiver.

The coil in your belly is strung impossibly tight. Right at the edge, ready to plummet for the second time that night, you whimper and grasp for Jean, digging your nails into his arms. You feel a release, a dam breaking deep in your core, sending a dizzying wave washing over you yet again.

"Cum in me," it almost comes out as a whisper, "please c-cum in me, Connie."

And it's music to Connie's ears, sending goosebumps over his sweat-slicked body. He needs no more than a few more pumps before your swollen, twitching walls milk the cum out of his cock, squeezing him so tight he utters a moan one might label as pathetic -- but he couldn't care less, tilting his head back and burying himself as deep as he could to shoot his load against your abused cervix. Jean peppers light kisses over your face, to the corner of your mouth, hung wide in another fit of pleasure.

The delicate smoothing of Connie's hands over your lower back, the soft hum from Jean beneath you, it all lulls you into a state of exhaustion you weren't sure you were capable of staying awake for.

After a moment, Connie pulls out, eyeing the cum mixture that threatens to drip out of your twitching hole with wonder. "Holy shit," he says quietly, voice nearly cracking.

Holy shit. There's no train of thought to be found for the rest of the night, even as all three of you re-dress and bid Jean goodnight an hour later -- he gives you a kiss, feather light and unsure as it lays at the corner of your mouth, but you don't mind in the slightest -- and, as you pad to up to your room once again, a creaking door startles you straight out of your still-tingly skin.

How in the fuck had you forgotten, or, perhaps your horny brain simply ignored, that your parents were sleeping just down the hall?

The tired, bleary face you know to belong to Connie's mom searches for you in the darkness. "Everything okay?" she asks, voice rocky, as if she'd just woken up. The hammering in your chest rings in your ears as you nod. "Was that Connie? And Jean?" she continues, looking you up and down for a moment.

Panic washes over you. Sure, you're a grown woman, you're certain both parental figures know you have a sex life -- but the pure taboo of the night doesn't escape you.

So, you sputter out the only excuse you can scrounge up in the moment. A half-truth, to save your conscience, and maybe even save Connie's grounded ass in the process.

"Jean came over, but not for Connie. He's been in his room." You say quietly, nervous fingers fiddling with the hem of your shorts -- too reminiscent of how your step-brother played with them earlier in the night.

A moment of silence passes between you two, before your step-mother hums to break it. "He's nice, that Jean boy. Sometimes I think Connie's a bit of a bad influence." And with that, she wishes you goodnight, and closes her door once again.

Retreating to the relative safety of your room, you shove yourself under the covers and heave a heavy sigh. There's no time to think over the potential consequences of your actions before there's a figure clicking the door shut behind them. Connie traverses the space confidently, as if it's his own room he's crossing, and doesn't even ask before crawling into bed next to you.

There's no fight in you, even if you had the energy for it. Jumbled, disorganized thoughts drift in and out of your mind as he snuggles into your side, his bare chest hot but comforting.

Connie, a bad influence?

He presses a lazy kiss into your hair.

Maybe, but you're no better.

[tellmeumissme]

"Breakup"

Mikasa Ackerman x Female!Reader

Do NOT repost or translate my work anywhere pretty please!!

Warning(s): Alcohol, Breakups, Jealousy, Crying, Venting, References to Canon.

You’re at another one of Porco’s stupid frat parties, alone. Annie dragged you here to help you get over your breakup, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and cry. 

Not over your ex, that breakup was mutual and long overdue, no, the reason your eyes are stinging tonight is because Annie is flaunting herself and her relationship right in front of you. Bertholdt wraps his arms around Annie and kisses her with a smile, she rests her arms around his neck and you scowl, gripping the beer in your hand so hard your knuckles turn white. 

You can hear a dull ringing in your ears as you stare at the two, Annie notices your glare and swallows hard, you shift your gaze to Reiner and Porco playing beer pong in front of you, feigning interest in the two frat boys competing for fuck all besides “street cred” if you could even call it that. 

You hate everyone here besides Annie, and as you stand alone in Porco’s shittily decorated living room with a room temperature, below-mediocre beer in your hand, you desperately wish you were better at saying no to her, she had you wrapped around her expensively manicured finger and she didn’t even know it. 

You glance back over at Annie to see her pushed against a wall, making out with her boyfriend as he pushes her skirt up the side of her thigh. You grit your teeth and set your beer down on the pong table for Porco to finish—he’s a human garbage disposal for anything liquor related—and walk off to the bathroom to calm down. 

As you splash water on your face to try and sober up enough to drive home—you’ve only had half a beer and your house is a 2 minute drive—you hear a sniff and look behind you to see a pretty girl with short black hair, naked from the waist up, laying in the tub with her head tipped back, she looks drunk out of her mind. 

“You alright?” you ask, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes flutter open and she looks at you hazily, her arms hang limp off the edges of the tub and she hums in acknowledgment. 

You pull your jacket off and cover her chest with it. “How much have you had?” you ask, she shrugs loosely. “Uhhh..mm likeee.. 7, maybe 10” You push her short cropped hair out of her eyes and she looks up at you through her eyelashes with big steel-blue eyes. 

She seems to be falling asleep, and you call back to your first aid training last summer and do your best to keep her conscious.

“What’s your name?” You ask, she frowns. “Mikasa Loser-man...” A memory surfaces in your brain as her first name, Zeke’s brother's girlfriend. You met her a few times at previous parties, always hanging off of Eren’s arm like a puppy, but as far as you knew she was pretty friendly. 

“Aren’t you Eren Jaeger’s girlfriend?” You ask, tears well up in her eyes and she pouts, her head hangs low and she sniffles. “Not anymore…” You take a deep breath and sit down next to the tub, resting your forehead on the porcelain side. 

You feel something touch the top of your head and you turn your head to the side to see Mikasa looking at you intently with tears staining her pale cheeks, she keeps her hand resting on your head before you sit back up. “Do you have a ride home?” she shakes her head, you stand up and put your hand out to help her up. “I’m sober and my car is just down the road, I can drop you off.” she smiles goofily and lets you help her up before she slumps against you. 

“My legs are tired..” she says, you set her down on the toilet lid and stick your head out of the bathroom, Reiner is standing near you with a red solo cup in his hand, telling a story to a couple of girls surrounding him. 

“PSST! Reiner!” you whisper-yell, he turns towards you with a questioning look. “You’re strong, right?” He raises a bleach-blonde eyebrow and nods, you gesture for him to come closer, he puts his pointer finger up the people he's talking to with a smile before walking over. 

“What’s up?” he asks, you open the door to reveal Mikasa slumped over sitting on the toilet, wearing nothing but a short pleated jean skirt and the jacket you gave her. 

You look up at Reiner with a pleading look. “I’m driving her home but I can’t carry her to the car all by myself.” He takes a deep breath and looks you both up and down. “How much have you had to drink?” He asks “Half a beer like an hour ago, and I’ve had lots of water, I’m clear.” 

He nods and walks past you to pick Mikasa up bridal style, her head hangs off his bicep and you rush to his side. “Support the head!” Reiner chuckles. “She’s not a newborn, Y/N, I’ve seen this girl jump off a roof into a pool more than once.” You roll your eyes and walk to your car with Reiner behind you. 

“I can trust you alone with a drunk girl, right?” Reiner asks as he sets Mikasa down in your passenger seat. 

You look at him over the roof of your car with a disgusted look “Reiner Braun so help me god-” He puts his hands up beside his head with wide eyes. 

“I’m just checking!” You roll your eyes and slip into the driver’s seat and roll down the passenger window to wave goodbye to reiner but he opens the backseat and slides in, you look back at him with a confused look. 

“Party’s boring anyways, drop me home?” You chuckle and turn the key in the ignition, the car starts loudly and Mikasa jolts awake beside you, turning to you with wide eyes. “Good, you’re awake. What’s your address?”

…

You drop off Reiner first, his house is only 10 minutes away and Mikasa’s is 15, and he waves at you and watches you drive off safely like a dad. Mikasa waves at him as you drive off and you smile, putting Mikasa’s address into google maps and hitting go. 

You feel Mikasa’s stare burning holes into the side of your head and you shift your gaze to her for a moment. “Can I help you?” You ask, she shrugs. “I dunno, do you have a time machine?” she crosses her arms and lets her head hang low. “I might, depending on how you plan to use it.” She leans back against the headrest and stares at the ceiling with a frown. 

“My boyfriend broke up with me earlier today, he found someone else, or something.” she sighs. “And then I drank myself stupid, and here we are.” she takes a sip from the water bottle you gave her earlier, she’s had four bottles and has started to sober up, hopefully enough to get to her apartment safely.

“I went through a breakup recently, too.” She looks towards you with interest. “Different situation from yours, though, it was mutual, we just couldn’t stop fighting and we were both tired. It was long overdue.” Your hands tighten around the wheel and your muscles tense. “It was for the best,” Mikasa nods. “Mine was too, I think. Eren.. changed, I’ve known him since we were kids but now.. He’s different. He’s meaner. He almost killed Armin. Granted, Armin started it, but he sent him to the hospital with a broken nose and a concussion. It was rough.” 

She sighs, your eyebrows pull together in pity for Armin, you’ve only met him once, but he seemed like a pretty stand-up guy, responsible, smart, and somewhat funny. God only knows what could’ve set that guy off enough to start a fight, must’ve been bad. 

You pull up to the parking lot of Mikasa’s apartment building and put the car in park, she gets out slowly but ducks her head though the open window. “Wanna come inside? I could make some tea.” You consider it for a moment and decide it couldn’t be that bad, you nod. 

You walk up to the third floor together and she lets you inside, she turns the lights on and a fluffy white cat rubs up against her leg, she picks it up while kicking off her shoes and walks into the kitchen. 

“Make yourself comfortable!” she calls from the other room, you sit down on one of the stools connecting to the kitchen island and the cat from before hops onto the counter and headbutts your hand. 

You smile and scratch it behind the ears. Mikasa walks back into the kitchen—wearing a white tee-shirt and grey sweatpants—with a smile. “Weird, she usually doesn’t like people. She hated Eren so much he couldn’t even come over without being scratched, but I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of her, y’know?” 

You nod as she joins you in petting the cat. “What’s her name?” “Pickle.” You look up at her with a quizzical smile. “I named her when I was like twelve, okay?” you laugh and go back to petting the cat.

The kettle starts whistling on the stove and Mikasa pours it into matching cups with daisies painted on them. “Cute cups.” “Thanks, my friend Historia sculpted them, I painted them.” 

You hum and bring the teacup to your nose, the tea smells amazing, you blow gently on the liquid before taking a sip and humming as something other than alcohol or tap water warms your insides, Mikasa seems to feel the same way as she hums while drinking.

You finish your tea and set the cup down. “I should get going.” Mikasa looks up at you with a hesitant expression. “Okay.” you chew on the inside of your cheek as you walk to the door to put your dumb uncomfortable heels back on, but Mikasa stops you with a hand on your arm. 

“Are you sure you wanna drive this late? I’ve got a nice guest room and we could even watch movies and get to know eachother better.” you look at her light pink manicured nails resting on your arm and back up to her face, you set your heels back down on the shoe rack and take a deep breath, you smile. “Sure.”

[cosmerelists]

True Confessions of a Cosmere Blogger

[There's a Stormlight spoiler in here! For Oathbringer specifically]

Followers, friends, people who ended up here through tumblr's broken search function: it is time. Time for me to lay bare all of my most terrible secrets as a Cosmere blogger. I am ready, and I hope you are too, for these very honest and real confessions.

1. I don't fucking know how to spell Gavinar Galivar Gavilar's name

Real talk: I had to look up the spelling to make this joke because I couldn't remember which was the right spelling and which were the wrong spellings. It's the grandson, I think. It's not fair to have Gavilar (I had to look at the wiki again) and Gavinor (I had to look this up too) have such similar names, not to mention Dalinar (I'm good there) making me forget whether it's the L or the V first in that dude's name. Seriously, this guy's name is the hardest part of writing any Roshar list.

2. My wife came up with my most popular list

I think my very first post is still my most popular: "How Other Cosmere Characters Would Convince The Stick to Become Fire." And who came up with this awesome idea? My wife! I was hemming and hawing about whether to actually start this blog, and she was like, "Hey, what about a list where everyone tries to convince the stick to become fire?" and let me tell you, that list wrote itself--I couldn't type fast enough. The jokes may be mine, but the idea, which is the funniest part, was all her.

My wife had another really good list idea that I still haven't written, since I haven't found a way to do it justice, but when I finally write it, I bet it'll do great.

3. I don't watch Brandon Sanderson's videos

I don't know. I just have trouble watching Videos On The Internet. I had to FORCE myself to watch the Secret Projects announcement since nobody would say what it was, and that was super hard.

4. I don't read fanfic

I think my blog would classify as fanfic, so it would be fair to say that I write it but I don't read it. I've only read like two fics in my life, and they were both because the girl I had a crush on at the time ordered me to (and yes...it was Wincest). No real idea why I don't read it; just something about my brain, I guess. It does mean that I am trying to understand shipping dynamics and fan preferences through tumblr osmosis, which is why my shipping-based lists may occasionally just leave out some huge pairing I was entirely unaware of (like Navani & Ialai, apparently! Whoops)

5. This is my third list blog

I like to pretend that "list blog" is a genre. It actually worked for a while! I had atlalists first--I joined tumblr because I was writing lists for my own amusement and my roommate at the time told me they thought it would do well on tumblr-- and then bleachlists. Bleachlists was the height of my success; I got so many asks & list requests that I had to create a whole separate blog, askbleachlists, just to handle them. I wrote three lists...A DAY. And some other people made their own "list blogs" inspired by bleachlists, which was wonderful. People made art--I still have some of the bleach art people made hanging in my office. It was fun! Then I left tumblr for a while, and now I'm back with cosmerelists.

6. I thought about making this blog a LONG time before I did it

It just felt really scary! The Cosmere has so much lore and so many characters and so many magic systems and I do NOT have a handle on it all. I read Stormlight Archive 2 1/2 times in preparation, hoping to at least have a handle on that part. But what helped, actually, was going to the Cosmere DragonCon panel last year, listening to the questions, and realizing that nobody really understood the majority of what was going on. So that made me feel better. And in the end, it was just something I wanted to do, and it's my way of enjoying a fandom, so I thought I'd give it a try.

7. Sometime I forget major plot points (Oathbringer spoiler)

I put Demid in a poll as a Bondsmith candidate and people were like, "isn't he dead?" I still don't remember him dying. I'm so sorry, Demid.

At least I can spell your name...right?

[alphabetboyluvr]

bad decisions - jjk | ten

When his story pops up—a repost of tomorrow night's paint party event at Dionysus—you find yourself clicking through to your DM thread without much thought. You know he's at work. Know it's a 50/50 whether or not he'll get back to you before your mind begins to berate you again for how miserable you feel.  It's a simple message—Hey—and you're pleased that it's met with an equally simple reply not even a minute later. JustJK: To what do I owe the pleasure? You decide that "I'm about to cry over my shitbag ex so chose to message you instead" probably won't be Jungkook's favourite thing to hear, so you opt for a little white lie. You: Just wondering how the kids are. Part of you worries he won't understand what the fuck you're on about - but of course, he does. He's Jungkook. Gets you better than you get yourself, these days. JustJK: Missing their mother. 

Bad Decision #10 - Blonde

warnings: b is in her bleach era. love that for her!! jaykay is in the chapter for like 1.5 seconds and still manages to be the best thing about it. also if u think wow holly sometimes your chapters end very similarly, uhhh yes. ur right. mainly because my brain is smooth but also because jungkook is a creature of habit! it's within his character traits! not because im stupid! even if i am!

soundtrack: space - audrey nuna;  blonde - maisie peters

wc: 3.5k

bd total wc: 370k (on-going)

minors dni | wattpad | series masterlist |

You suppose you really shouldn't be surprised when Seokjin leaves you on read. It happens as soon as he escapes the city, just like it always does. 

It's always the same; he'll come back to town for a few days—to visit friends, his family, or maybe for a haircut with the only barber he trusts—then leaves just as quickly as he comes.

The predictability of it all would be funny, you think, but your knees are getting worn out from how many times you fall for it; his charm, his deception, his pretty lips that soothe the burn of his selfish choices. 

He'll be radio silent for a while, and then suddenly, as if he's finally changed the batteries in his walkie-talkie, he won't be. It'll most likely be when he's on his way back to town in a few months time.

The saddest part is that you know you'll want to see him when he does. Will have the burning desire to show him just how well you've been; how well you've coped without him.

Most of all? You'll want him to know just how much you don't need him.

Inevitably, he'll end up in your bed, and you'll end up all in your head—again—overthinking and underestimating just how easy it is for him to drop you. Forgetting just how badly he fucked you up, only for him to remind you in the most callous of ways.

When Danbi comes home on Thursday night—three days since Seokjin's last message—she knows exactly what's happened. You've got a special kind of pout reserved for Seokjin-related upsets. It's always a little soft yet incredibly hard to break.

"You gotta stop letting him in," she says over a glass of red. She hates the taste, but loves the soft buzz in the pit of her stomach. Though she's much better suited to Moscato, Danbi will never turn her nose up at free wine.

If she knew why you were drinking it, she might consider rejecting it.

Seokjin's favourite. You'd bought it on the way home from work. Just couldn't help yourself.

Had figured that at least when you hugged yourself to sleep that evening, your lips would taste like his used to do, on the nights when he'd tell you that you're the most delightful thing he's ever laid his eyes upon. Would be all giggly. Wine drunk. Happy. In love.

But it's been a while since he did that. Feels like a lifetime ago, now. 

You shrug as you let the ruby-red liquid swirl in your glass. Fighting against your feelings feels like swimming against the tide.

Always struggling to breathe. Never winning. Failing. Falling. 

"I don't know how to, Dan."

"But you do," she insists.

And she's right. Of course you do. 

His number has never been blocked, but a simple restriction of access to you would solve so many of your problems.

Thing is, you kind of like him still being your problem. At least that way, on a technicality, he's still yours. Kind of.

Every time he comes back to the city, it's still your bed that he ends up in.

Never for the night. Just for an hour or two. Long enough for you to convince yourself that he can't stay away.

The lies you let your mind whisper are insidious. You're irresistible. He's still just as affected by you as you are by him. He can't possibly leave you.

And yet he does, each and every time.

He doesn't ever let you go. Not fully. Whenever you think you're getting over it, he shows up just to get you under him; his thumb, his spell, his body.

You're halfway through the bottle of wine when Danbi tells you once more that you need to get Seokjin out of your hair.

You've reached the end of it by the time you're grabbing your purse and heading for the closest Olive Young.

It's just down the street, by the crossroads that lead into town, and the staff there have seen you in worse states. A little tipsy has nothing on the mascara-stained eyes they used to be greeted with during the worst days of the breakup.

"Sure about this?" Danbi asks just to check before you take the boxes in your hands to the counter.

"Absolutely not, but he always hated me blonde," you grin a little sardonically. The happiness that comes with this change will be temporary, but you have to remind yourself that so was he. "At least even if I can't resist him, he'll resist me."

Peroxide and perhaps a little fried, your blonde hair had caught his attention in the early days - but you had dyed your hair dark in a bid to keep it. 

He'd said some bullshit in a conversation amongst friends about his preferences, and how he favoured the 'natural look'. You weren't together at the time, not officially - but everyone there was a friend of his. They all knew you'd be going home with him. It only took two boxes of dye to get him asking to be exclusive. A week later he was introducing you to his friends as his girlfriend. 

Funny what a little bit of conformity can do for a man who loves playing by the rules. 

You assume his desire to tick the boxes and do what is expected of him is also why he was such a bellend when it came to the glitter you liked to dust yourself in. 

Nobody's perfect though, so he was willing to overlook it. Was just one of the flaws he perceived in you. When you love someone, you accept them.

He ultimately never grew to love it, but for a while, you thought he might.

Bleach boxes in one hand, another bottle of wine in the other, you waste no time and head straight for the bathroom. Danbi follows you right in. She's always there to lend a hand or at least provide a Spotify playlist to get you through your woes. 

Folding the powder into the developing lotion by the sink, you know your bleach-induced bathroom antics could get you a spot in a Brad Mondo video.

All a little haphazard, you're without a mixing bowl and brush, so are having to use an old takeout container and a plastic spoon, instead.

It's not quite how the instructions suggest you should mix it all up, but no good ever comes from following the rules.

You'd tried for Seokjin, and look where that got you.

Unlike him, trusty Tupperware has never done you dirty before. No reason why it should now. 

Danbi sits on the closed toilet seat, legs crossed, a small bottle of bubbles in her hand. The bubbles had been a Christmas party favour from the office job she'd quit four months ago. Rediscovered when she'd been cleaning her room earlier that day, Danbi had taken to blowing pretty little bubble flurries your way all afternoon. 

Your reflection is captured in the peacock sheen of the bubbles while you study your rapidly developing hair in the mirror. 

You haven't bothered to change out of your shirt. It's not yours. One of Seokjin's. It's navy, and you hope the bleach ruins it.

"I think I've fucked up," you say all rather calmy, talking about your hair and not the shirt. It's not the end of the world if you have. Just hair, you always think.

Danbi shrugs. Has clearly spent too much time in your company, because she echoes exactly what you're thinking: "Just hair, babe. It'll grow."

That's the joy of your friendship; you both encourage each other with the same dumb remarks whenever you feel like you've reached the point of no return. 

After all, if you can't go back? 

Go forward.

"Plus," she adds, blowing more bubbles instead of taking a breath. "You can just chalk it up to being your hot mess era."

"Been in that for months already," you smile at her in the reflection of the mirror. You prod a little at your roots, and know that you definitely should have waited a little longer to work the bleach up to them. Bollocks.

You've done this enough times to know you'll end up with a gold band haloing around the top of your hair thanks to how easily your roots always lift. Nightmare. 

"Exactly, so you may as well look the part," Danbi encourages. Worst influence going, she is. Also the best at times, too. You find comfort in the fact she won't always say what you want to hear, but what you need to hear instead.

The conversation dissolves into empty chatter, gossip about Danbi's dog walking clients, mentions of Taehyung and how he's still trying to talk her into a mates-rates discount despite the fact they aren't actually 'mates'. She asked you about your Bartender That Smiles, and you say he's all good - before you have to insist there's nothing going on there. 

"He's got issues with his ex," you explain.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't they all? Boys and their first loves, I swear to God."

"Not sure she was his first," you defend, though you're not sure why. The thought lingers as you rummage around for an old tube of toner that you know you have hiding in the bathroom cabinet somewhere. It's been a while since your hair was pale enough to take toner, so it's been pushed right to the back.

Danbi is shooed from her perch on the toilet seat and into the living room as you let the shower run to heat it a little.  

The first crash of water against your skin is lukewarm. Tepid. Unappealing, but necessary. 

You hate anything other than boiling-you-alive degrees celsius, but know you need to be kind to your hair after the torture you've put it through. The water runs cloudy until the bleach is rinsed out, and then it runs purple thanks to your silver shampoo. It pools around your feet and seeps into the drain. Wishful thinking has you hoping memories of Seokjin will do just the same.

It's just to preemptively tone it, but you can't help but worry about the pigment taking too strongly on your roots. 

The ash toner you found in the cupboard is in a box by the sink. You plan on putting that over the top of whatever mess your hair is anyway, but it doesn't hurt to get a head start on the process. 

The water glistens a deep violet, briefly coating your skin - and for some reason, all you can think about is Jungkook, and how you'd really like to be downing a Purple Starfucker (or five) with him right now. He really is the perfect distraction. 

Still, you have a task at hand. You rinse your hair; ring it out. Sigh as you frown at the mess that greets you in the mirror—lilac roots, a yellow band haloing just like your thought it would, and silver ends. Brilliant.

It's as you're sitting with Danbi in the living room a little while later - body wrapped in a towel that isn't half as fluffy as Jungkook's favourite, ashy toner smothering your peroxide blonde hair - that you notice your phone flash on the coffee table.

Danbi clocks it first, and stifles a laugh as she reads the screen. "Isn't that the guy from the club?"

You assume she means Jungkook, and are a little perplexed to see it's Jimin's name on your screen instead. 

"Yeah... Jimin. Smooth talker, shit shagger."

"A glowing review."

"Hey, I still let him think he was good," you say as you reach for your phone to read his message out loud to Danbi. "You guys out tomorrow night?"

Sipping on her wine, Danbi raises a brow. Shakes her head in confusion. "He hoping for round two?"

"Fuck knows."

It's just gone midnight, so you consider maybe he's thinking about his desire for a hook-up, and is hoping for a safe bet in the form of you. 

And so you don't reply. If he double texts, you'll just lie and say you've fallen asleep.

The scent of your toner is beginning to give you a headache, so you go to rinse it and bid farewell to your final day as a brunette.

Sleep evades you. Doesn't want to let go of who you were, apparently. Wine makes you sleepy, and yet you're wired as if you've just had a triple shot americano.

But then it's three in the morning, and all you can seem to smell is the deep conditioner you bathed your hair in that evening. 

Somehow, when you look to the empty space beside you - delicately ruffled, a dent prevailing in the pillow - you convince yourself that you can smell fig leaves and coconut. The notes of his favourite aftershave linger like the ache in your chest. It's hollow, and you can't work out why it hurts quite as much as it does. 

If there's nothing there, how can it be so painful?

You sniff back tears that fail to truly form and pull your phone from beneath your pillow. It's hard to move your fingers when they're tangled up in puppet strings that Seokjin is refusing to let go of, but eventually you manage to tap through some Instagram stories in a bid to distract yourself from him. 

Inspirational quotes don't do much for you, nor do the engagement pictures of people you haven't given a second thought since graduation. There's an abundance of them. Smiling faces. Diamonds, or maybe just cubic zirconia. Fresh sets of nails, hands that are pink and warm from the heat of whoever's been holding them.

It's a curious thought; what people who haven't spoken to you in years must think of you now. 

You were the one who was going to succeed. Going far in life, made for a boardroom, would look incredible in a pantsuit—and yet you're working in a cafe, first-class degree of no more worth than the tissue paper you flush down the toilet. 

See, you switched out life goals for glitter. You wear it like armour; protect yourself from the world around you. Who cares about seriousness and success when you're a constant disco? Not you. Could never be you.

Or at least, you hope that's what people think. Hope that no one realises you're covering yourself in artificial shine; like a canvas in acrylic because you were too impatient to watch the oil paint dry.

One day you'll glow. Glow for real. 

For a while, you thought you had been with Seokjin. 

All you see when you look in the mirror these days is tarnished silver; copper alloy pretending to be much more than what it really is. Your skin will turn green eventually.

There is, however, one person you've managed to fool. 

When his story pops up—a repost of tomorrow night's paint party event at Dionysus—you find yourself clicking through to your DM thread without much thought. You know he's at work. Know it's a 50/50 whether or not he'll get back to you before your mind begins to berate you again for how miserable you feel. 

It's a simple message—hey—and you're pleased that it's met with an equally simple reply not even a minute later.

JustJK: To what do I owe the pleasure?

You decide that "I'm about to cry over my shitbag ex so chose to message you instead" probably won't be Jungkook's favourite thing to hear, so you opt for a little white lie.

You: Just wondering how the kids are &lt;3

Part of you worries he won't understand what the fuck you're on about - but of course, he does. He's Jungkook. Gets you better than you get yourself, these days.

JustJK: Missing their mother. 

JustJK: Perry the Pigeon almost fell earlier.

JustJK: Roger the Robin looks like he has a broken wing.

JustJK: Must be one of yours. Inherited his mother's wonkiness &lt;3

With each message that comes through, your smile grows wider in the midnight darkness of your bedroom. 

You: Careful or I'll file for joint custody.

You: Get poor Roger away from his father's cruel remarks <;/3

There's an ease to how you joke together, both aware of how unserious you are. There's no second-guessing, no worrying about saying the wrong thing. If you do, you'll say sorry and move on. No harm, no foul.

JustJK: Your appeal won't hold up in court, Byeol.

JustJK: You've neglected them ever since you spawned them.

JustJK: Haven't even paid them a visit!!!

Laughter stifles in your throat as your body curls up into a more comfortable position. The audacity of this boy, you think, ignoring the way he manages to get you entirely focused on something that isn't your own despair.

You: You've got full custody!!!

JustJK: And you're still allowed to come for supervised visits!!!!!

JustJK: smh and to think you call yourself their mother.

JustJK: I'm their mother now.

You pout at your screen, and whine a small little 'nooo'. 

You: They need me :(

JustJK: Come and see them, then. They miss their mother.

You: Tomorrow?

He reads the messages instantly, but takes a little longer than usual to reply. It worries you slightly. Makes you more aware of your surroundings. The scent of Seokjin's aftershave begins to permeate the air once more.

Until, all rather suddenly, it doesn't anymore.

JustJK: I'm not working tomorrow night, but Jimin's insisting on going to the paint party—you coming?

You: Will Perry the Pigeon be there?

JustJK: If he falls before I leave for the club, then yes.

It's not a bad proposition. One that quite intrigues you. One that has you agreeing, and him telling you to fuck off and go to sleep. He's got work to do, he says. 

It's actually quite quiet at the club—Yeonjun just caught him looking at his phone with a dumb smile a few too many times for Jungkook's liking. Doesn't wanna get caught out again. 

Especially doesn't want him catching onto the fact that there's a reason Jungkook's eyes light up like Disco Balls when he looks at his phone.

Yeonjun doesn't really have friends who are girls, Jungkook reasons with himself. Won't understand that he's perfectly capable of having a little flirt without it meaning anything more than that—after all, isn't that just what banter is? Friendly flirting? He does it with the boys all the time. Doesn't mean fuck all. Just fun.

Jungkook's a couple of years older than his cerulean-haired coworker, and has learnt the hard way that you really shouldn't escalate friends above the level of purely platonic. One day Yeonjun will realise this. 

For now, though, Yeonjun'll shag anyone who looks at him in the right direction. Has probably already ruined a few good friendships. Doesn't even realise he's done it.

Jungkook trusts himself not to make the same mistakes he's made in the past with you. Thinks that he's pretty happy with how things are. Has missed the dynamics of friendships with girls. Is looking forward to Monday movie night with you and Danbi again.

And yet when he gets home to find Perry the paper pigeon on his bed, he can't help but smile.

You wake up to a picture of the fallen bird in your DMs, and even though you'll whine and complain about it when you see him that evening, all you can do is smile, too.

JustJK: Looks like we're having a wholesome family trip to Dionysus tonight.

You: Mummy and Daddy reunited at last <33 Perry will be so happy.

JustJK: It's okay, you don't have to lie.

JustJK: I know you're talking about yourself, not Perry.

Jungkook doesn't send the message where he tells you not to call him Daddy. Knows you'll read into it; tease him about it. It's not like he's got a thing for it, or anything, he just... maybe wouldn't be opposed to it, and so he'd rather not be called it when he's having casual conversations with you. Wouldn't wanna get flustered. 

Part of you already knows this. Is precisely why you'd said it. It's not really your style, not the kind of thing that gets you going.

But it is also exactly why you choose to end your next message with, 'See you tonight, Daddy x'.

You're laughing as you send it.

And as he receives it, Jungkook groans. Buries his head into his pillow. Crumples Perry a little in the process. Whines. 

"Don't fuck this up, Jungkook."

minors dni | wattpad | series masterlist |

[rinusagitora]

I'll be the villain you blame.

Fandom: Bleach Characters: Momo Hinamori, Sousuke Aizen, Nanao Ise, Izuru Kira, Shuuhei Hisagi, Renji Abarai Pairings: badship AiHina, minor RenShuuKiraHina Words: 2.5k Summary: A study in invisible labor, gender inequity, & rage. Warnings for abusive relationships, cannibalism, & mild gore. AO3: works/50610688 A/N: I forgot what list I used for this & can't keep a schedule worth shit, so I'm just posting it now lmao I used various black metal, In This Moment, & Otep songs as inspiration. There are so many good ones.

"What do you mean you won't make dinner?"

It's not a question, but a demand for a damn good answer. Momo is elbow-deep in a wash basin bubbling with soap and waterlogged shitagi. Sweat pours down her sides from her pits.

"I have shit to do," he replies.

Her teeth grind. "And I don't?"

"You're washing laundry."

Thank you, Captain Obvious, and here she thought her hands were cramping from doing nothing.

"These stains are going to take hours getting out," she says, "so unless you want dingy laundry or dinner late, I need you to make us some food."

"I'm going to an Association meeting. I'll be eating there."

Momo's seen the Shinigami Men's Association. It's an excuse for officers to goof off.

"Okay. And what am I going to do for food after washing the laundry? It's going to be late when you finish."

Sousuke rolls his eyes. He doesn't even shut the door behind him when he fucks off.

It's times like these Momo wants to take his skin and put it through a wash cycle while he cries for help from their bed. See how he likes it.

Momo ought to, at least, lock the door behind him. He'll have to sleep on the engawa and explain to a passerby why that it. Briefly, it makes her smile thinking of it. My wife locked me out because I'm a piece of shit who dicks around while she scrubs my house clean. What a bitch, right?

It's pipe dreams. Even if someone catches him sleeping on the engawa, he'll make her look like a hysterical cunt.

---

He's home at three. Wakes her up to regale her with the fun he had while the Men's Association sang songs around a campfire.

Momo groans. "Honey, I need some sleep before we go into work."

He snorts. "You've slept for hours."

She really hasn't. There's maybe four hours under her belt. The bottoms of his socks took hours to whiten completely. Part of her was tempted to leave it, but picturing her husband in gray laundry just reminded her how bad his feet smell, and she couldn't bring herself to neglect it the way he's able to.

"I'm really tired, Sousuke, laundry took forever."

His face scrunches. "God, is it such a chore for you to listen to me?"

Momo wants to laugh, but knows it would start an argument she's much too tired for. "Fine. Go on."

She tries to sleep while he blathers, but he doesn't stop talking until the blue light of morning peeks through their window.

---

Sousuke takes a sick day. If Momo joins him, nothing will get done in the office, and he'll bitch about it for days like it wasn't something avoided easily enough by just having made dinner.

Nanao sometimes visits during lunch breaks. Momo thinks their friendship spawned of their mutually useless men. Her uncle can't even be bothered to wear socks or spit out poisonous reeds he chews on.

At least his feet don't smell as bad.

"Oh my god, you look exhausted."

Momo hums. "Sousuke was out late and woke me up when he came home. I couldn't go back to sleep."

"On a work night?" Nanao says while she scowls.

"It was a Men's Association gathering."

"Well, that's stupid," she says while unpacking bento. "I brought goodies, though, if you'd like to take a break."

The smell of soup and steak wafts to Momo and it makes her misty-eyed. When is she ever cared for? How long have she and Sousuke been married, and what has he done for her?

Momo wracks her brain while she and Nanao eat but can't think of a single chore he's done, or even a single thank you he's uttered.

---

All she wants to do is sleep when she comes home, but Sousuke has other plans.

"The irori is full," Sousuke says. Sure enough, the pot is laying on coals. "I have some paperwork to finish. Can you clean it out before dinner?"

Momo's teeth grind. "What's this paperwork?"

"November's budget."

"Wasn't that due yesterday?" she says.

"Yeah, but I was busy,"

"Busy goofing off with the Association members."

Sousuke scowls. "Can you just clean the fucking hearth?"

Her teeth grind. "Fine. Please run a bath for me."

"I told you, I have to do the budget."

"The budget that was due yesterday. Yesterday, which you spent hours goofing off during, instead of working."

"Will you stop nagging me?" he snaps. "Just clean the fucking irori."

Momo takes a deep breath. There's a beat of silence between them. "I'll clean it... please run me a bath so I can wash off when I finish."

"I just told you I'm fucking busy," Sousuke says.

Another beat of silence. "You can't take ten seconds to turn a fucking faucet?" she says.

"You can run it yourself. You're a big girl."

She curls her fists and utters a long groan. Her teeth grind. A headache radiates into her skull. "Indeed. I'm also a big girl who hasn't slept since three in the morning, am very tired, and would like a bath after cleaning the irori. I'm fairly certain your budget can be turned in twenty seconds later than it would be without you running a bath for me."

"What the fuck is this martyr act about? Seriously, you're behaving as if I've shot you."

"I don't know how to explain it anymore clearly than I have already!" she snaps. 

"You haven't explained shit, Momo!" he returns with equal vitriol. "You're blathering on about nonsense like I'm some fucking criminal. What the fuck is wrong with you tonight?"

Something inside Momo snaps like a dry twig.

"You fucked around last night instead of doing the budget, and now it's overdue, then you woke me up, chat for hours about how much fun you had procrastinating the budget so I've gotten no sleep, then you called off work because you fucked around too late to get any meaningful sleep before we're supposed to go to work, which left me to pick up your slack, and when I come home utterly exhausted, you can't even bother to turn a faucet for me while I get filthy cleaning out the motherfucking hearth. Is that fucking clear enough, Sousuke?"

His hands slam on his desk and he flies to his feet. It rattles Momo like he's going to hit her. "I don't have to fucking listen to this shit, Momo. I'm your superior officer and you will treat me with respect I'm owed."

"You're my husband! You asked me to marry you because you loved me!" Her scream is so shrill that she wonders if the windows will shatter in its wake. It would be nice to be validated. To have some fucking control. To turn Sousuke into a pin cushion of glass shards. Maybe then he'll listen. Maybe he'll tiptoe around her instead and give into her whims so she can fucking rest.

He spits on her instead.

The glob of saliva and mucus rolls down her cheek. It leaves a trail like a snail. She's stunned while he storms out. It's like there's a delay between her and reality. Like time decompresses. When it returns to normal, there's an explosion.

Momo throws her fist into the wall. It gives underway. She's bleeding and full of splinters when she frees herself but can't bring herself to give a flying fuck. Instead, she storms out like Sousuke, hearth be damned.

She needs a fucking drink.

She doesn't even know the name of the bar she storms into. Momo thinks she scares the bartender because he doesn't make a peep when she asks for a pitcher of beer, just places it in front of her a few moments later. She doesn't even use the provided glass and tips it into her open mouth instead. Some of it dribbles onto her collar but she doesn't fucking care because it doesn't even begin to wash down her outrage.

"Hinamori?"

Beer goes down the wrong tube when she hears her name. Izuru takes a seat like nothing happened. For a moment, his fair face has semblance to the wall she put her fist through, and her brain feeds her an image of his skull exploding around her right hook. It makes Momo want to throw up.

Izuru pats her back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's fine, I'm just a little absent-minded because I haven't slept well."

Momo hates that she's making excuses, that she's covering for her husband, but she isn't sure she has it in her to be told she's making mountain out of mole hills, even if it's by a dear friend.

"I can tell," he says. "Hey, Abarai and Hisagi are with me, why don't you drink with us? It's been awhile."

Momo kind of doesn't want to, but isn't able to concoct a reasonable excuse to decline, so she follows Izuru to their booth.

"Hey, it's been awhile," Shuuhei says while she slides into the booth next to Renji. "How's it going?"

"Fine," she fibs politely, then sips beer like she isn't a ravenous, vexed alcoholic.

Renji looks her over but he doesn't say anything. Momo wonders if he's clocked her exhaustion. He's always been good at reading people.

Shuuhei laughs. "Good to hear. We thought something was wrong when we saw you pounding your drink."

Momo groans. "It's fine. My husband and I just got into an argument and I wanted to blow off some steam."

"Makes sense," Renji replies. He reaches under the table and rubs her leg. It makes her head fall onto his shoulder. For now, she'll chalk it up to exhaustion.

"Marriage seems... hard," Izuru says.

"I can imagine so," Shuuhei says.

"It's just..." Momo trails off. She pinches her sinuses so she doesn't start bawling her eyes out. "I just don't get why he can't do simple things. Like, I was cleaning the irori when I asked him to run me a bath, but he threw a tantrum over it for some reason."

Part of her expects them to shrug it off, to call her hysterical, but Izuru says, "I don't understand why that would be a chore for him."

"Thank you," she says with wry laughter.

"Yeah, it's not hard," Renji agrees.

Momo takes another drink. "I'm sure all couples argue about chores." She hates herself more for bitching about him and then covering for him. It feels wishy washy. It feels like malicious lies.

"Sure, but... I don't know. It doesn't seem hard to just run a bath while you clean," Izuru replies.

It's times like these Momo wishes she married Izuru. It makes her sad she thought poorly of Izuru's intentions. For now, she'll chalk it up to exhaustion, like the day dream she has of being facedown in her pillow with Izuru's fist around her neck while he rails her slick pussy.

She laughs. "I thought so too. Alas, I'm the insane one asking for a simple favor."

"Why'd you even marry him?" Shuuhei asks. "He's unpleasant to be around as, like, a whole. He's pedantic."

"He was different not too long ago." Alas, this is her punishment for fucking her superior. Blow up the relationship and the squad blows up. Her career blows up. Everything blows up. The shrapnel will only go into her face, and he'll be unscathed, even if she screams about his incompetence from the rooftops.

Momo should've fucking married Izuru. He isn't an asshole even if he doesn't put his socks in the hamper.

---

In the lulls of her contributions to their conversation, Momo daydreams of each of them kissing her sore limbs and making love to her. Of being passed around them. She doesn't say anything even after taking her home around eleven. It's later than Momo would've liked but she didn't really want to escape their company after Izuru bought them a round of tequila shots. They took her home because she could hardly walk between exhaustion and intoxication.

Momo knows she passed out the second she covered herself in her quilt, but it's like she hasn't slept a wink when Sousuke shakes her awake and kisses her.

She's expecting an apology, but then he unties his obi. He's hard.

He's an asshole and expects her to fuck him at three in the morning when she's exhausted and angry. Somehow, his sobriety makes her even angrier, like this shit would be better if he was wasted.

Momo throws a right hook into the center of his face. Bones crunch under her fist, like the wall, and he squeals like a stuck pig.

"You wanna fuck after everything you said?" she screams in disbelief. "You can't even be bothered to fucking apologize?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Sousuke howls while he clutches his face. He's like a petulant child. It makes her cunt recede into her pelvis.

"What's wrong with me? It's four in the morning! I haven't slept hardly five hours since yesterday morning, but you wake me up after a huge fight when I'm utterly fucking exhausted to fuck me like you weren't a raging fucking asshole earlier!

Sousuke doesn't get a word in before Momo is on her feet and knees him. He's pushed into a fetal position, grunting and crying, and it's oil on fire.

"You're the most neglectful fucking asshole I know!" she screams. "You can't do anything! You're seriously a fucking baby and you expect me to fucking spoon feed you! If I wanted to marry an infant, I would've robbed a fucking cradle!"

Magic coils in her hands. Her rage is consistently underestimated, the same as her labor is unappreciated and unreciprocated. She could spend months cleaning his home-- his home, because it's not hers, its not theirs, she's just a maid-- without so much as a thank you or a finger lifted to help.

It coalesces as fire in her palms. It barrels into Sousuke's face and roasts his hair and his skin. The smell is acrid, but there's no air for him to scream. She can see him trying to but all it's doing is burning his insides. There isn't enough oxygen to scream, not when its eaten by fire.

Sousuke wheezes when the fire stops. Momo assumes his vocal chords are fried. It's pathetic and blissful. 

Momo recenters and sends fire to his crotch. She'll find better cock.

---

She's quite bedraggled and the floor is blackened once she finally finishes. Sousuke's top layers are charred to shit. The smell of burnt hair is long gone, and there's just the smell of seared meat now.

It makes her belly rumble.

There's the issue of the body, of course, and the most horrific epiphany occurs to her while her chest heaves.

He can't make dinner. Why can't she make him into dinner?

---

Momo sends a courier to Izuru, Renji, and Shuuhei inviting them over for dinner when she goes to work in the morning. She sliced Sousuke's buttocks and thighs into steaks, rubbed them with chilis and spices, and served them over potatoes, onions, and asparagus. There isn't a clean plate in the house before the night ends. They even help with the dishes.

[scaryscarecrows]

I'm Fine. I Prom...

Sheila blinks and she’s not in her apartment. Harley’s nowhere to be found, she doesn’t recognize her surroundings, and Jason’s not--no. Jason is here, actually. He’s on the couch, with blankets on him, staring hazily at a framed photograph of the...oh, that’s the Iceberg Lounge, but it’s an old picture; Cobblepot doesn’t have the bottle in his eye, even.

Where are they?

“Jason,” she says, and her voice sounds...urgent. Scared. She’s not scared. She’s confused, that’s all. Harley was there, she had a gun, she promised to leave Mother alone if Sheila brought her Jason. “Jason, what happened?”

He doesn’t answer, and Sheila gets the shock of her life when another woman walks right through her and crouches down near his head.

“Hey, kid,” the stranger says, like she didn’t step straight through Sheila’s chest, “I called Jim, okay? He’s gonna get Bats to come get you.”

What is going on.

“Hrm…?”

“You with me?” She gives him a little shake. “C’mon, honey.”

Jason blinks and his left hand emerges from the blankets to rub at his face. It’s bandaged from fingertip to wrist but Sheila doesn’t care because she’s been walked through .

“Batman?”

“Coming soon. You wanna sleep, ‘til he gets here?”

Jason’s hazy and he’s not looking at Sheila or the woman. But he nods, slow and careful, and closes his eyes when she bends down to kiss his forehead.

“Okay, honey. Sweet dreams.”

“T’anks…”

“Shh.”

Apropos of nothing, she remembers a gunshot. Harley had had a gun, yes, and Jason had stepped in front of her. Idiot. But a gun had been fired. Not hers, because it wasn’t loaded, but a gun. Probably Harley’s, because she doesn’t remember Jason having one.

She thinks she might be dead.

Oh God, she thinks she might be dead.

“Jason,” she says again. “Jason, what happened? Where are we?”

“He can’t hear you.”

Oh, no.

Sheila met Catherine Johnson one time. It was at a party that Willis had dragged her to. She hadn’t stayed long-hadn’t been feeling well, which, in hindsight, had been pregnancy caused-, but he’d flung his arms around them both, laughing, and said, “Cath, this is my best girl Sheila! Sheila, this’s Cathy!”

She’d suspected, then, that he’d been cheating on her. She hadn’t really cared. Will was never the man she’d wanted to marry.

But what’s going on?

Catherine doesn’t look like the fresh-faced girl Sheila almost remembers. She’s older, worn, and...and just a little bit faded, like a sun-bleached photograph.

“What?”

“He can’t hear you,” Catherine says again, perching on the arm of the couch by Jason’s head. Jason’s breathing is deliberately even and he’s still staring off at the old picture on the wall. “I’ve tried.”

“What’s going on?”

“You died, apparently.” Catherine’s voice is dry and incredibly unamused. “Harley Quinn blew your brains out.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what you thought would happen.”

“What are you doing here?”

The look she gets is furious and she remembers, just now, thinking that Cathy Johnson was fully capable of winning a bar fight.

“Checking on my son,” she hisses. “Who you put here.”

“I--”

“This is your goddamn fault!” The venom in Catherine’s voice makes Sheila take a step back. “What is wrong with you?”

“Willis gave him to you? ”

“He’s your--” Catherine laughs, an angry, half-hysterical thing. “Well. Maybe he made a smart choice, after all.”

“You don’t seem to be doing too hot, yourself,” Sheila shoots back, unsure why she’s so defensive. Jason’s fine, he’s right fucking there. “So--”

“I didn’t hand him over to a psychopath--”

“Mm…”

They both shut up. Jason twists and burrows further under the blankets, breath stuttering and eyes flicking around the room. Catherine sighs and leans over, flickering oddly the closer she gets to him.

“Sh-sh, baby.”

He groans and all of a sudden, his body just goes slack and his eyes slide shut. His breathing evens and slows and, when his head drops to the side, Sheila gets a better look at the brand on his cheek. He’d kept it in shadow, when they talked, never giving her a full look at it, and she can understand why.

She represses a sympathetic shudder-it looks like it hurt like a bitch to get-and fixes her eyes on Catherine.

“What the hell is going on--”

“Get the hell out!” Catherine snaps. “Just get out! This is your fucking fault!”

You know what, she’s going to. She didn’t ask to be here. She doesn’t care about Jason, not...not really. Not the way Catherine seems to think she should.

And that seems to do it, because she blinks, and Jason and Catherine and the strange apartment are all gone.

THE END

[writinginstardust]

Real Conversation Prompts

Compiled a list of various things that have been said by myself and friends either irl or online and turned them into this silly little prompt list that’s mostly just humorous or general but has some fluffy and potentially angsty ones as well if you wanna take them that way. Feel free to use however you like and also to tag me in anything if you want because it would be fun to see my conversations with friends recontextualised. Have fun!

"You always being in my life is gift enough"

"I just wanna hug [them] forever"

"Baby, I'm so proud of you!"

"Just me, huh?" "Just you."

"I miss you, come back"

"I can't wait to see you"

"You're adorable"

"I wanna marry [them]"

"I support you in whatever decision you make"

"Every time I think about you my heart goes all fluttery"

"It feels like torture, but I don't want it to stop"

"You're a godsend and I adore you"

"I never want to leave"

"Get on your knees"

"They can't keep us apart"

"I feel like a monster"

"If I don't, then who will?"

"Don't do this to me"

"It's called being soulmates, bitch"

"You're not just a snack, you're a whole damn picnic"

"Hush with your valid arguments"

"Rain can suck my ass"

"I'm gonna start eating people if I don't get food soon"

"I'm ready to simp"

"You can murder, if you like, it's chill"

"I am gay and I love drama"

"No joke, I will cut a bitch for you"

"Okay fuck this, fuck it right to hell!"

"Babe, I am going to scream"

"I take payment through love"

"She's a goddess. And a villain." "So just my type then?"

"Thanks for the trauma"

"I wanna pour bleach onto my brain"

"Laptops can sense fear don't you know?"

"Interesting 3am impulse you had there"

"That ass is keeping me going through this sickness"

"Honey… that's illegal." "well no one has to know…"

"Everyone go away, no one perceive me please"

"I swear I hate [them] more with every word"

"Why is war always [their] answer?"

"God, go get therapy and embrace your emotions, damn."

"I may have gone and done something slightly insane"

"I have some questions about your sleep schedule, ma'am"

"We all had our emo phase and he is our emo dream boy"

"I’m marrying that sweet son of a bitch"

"Chaos is my main personality trait"

"How do you even manage that?"

"Send. Pic. Of. Dog. Now."

"Everyone else is just gonna have to live with my decisions"

"But darling, why would I stop when it gets me what I want?"

"I love you too, but please go to bed"

"Can I fuck [them] over to the good side?"

"I am a [woman] of many talents"

"I personally think I'm hilarious, but no one appreciates me"

"You know I'm illiterate"

"Guess whose been a dumbass again"

"Karma can fuck off, I want a refund"

"I make it my mission to ace every rainbow road to assert my dominance"

"Expect that in 6-8 business months"

"I don't know why, but I'm not really up to taking that sort of advice from you"

"You’re meant to be the nice one"

"What the ever-loving fuck happened?"

"I've lost control"

"Don't you dare." "I'm gonna do a thing. You can't stop me"

"I could sleep but at what cost?"

"I am not dramatic. I am sensible. I could fall and DIE [name]. DIE. Do you want me to die? Do you?"

"My leg has gone dead. Cut it off, it's no use to me now"

"Bitch, don't laugh at me! …I'm sorry. You're not a bitch. I love you"

"That did not occur to me…"

"Wisdom teeth can honestly fuck the fuck off"

"Are you gonna be done soon or what?"

"Who will triumph? Common sense or my impulsive dumbassery?"

"I'm so incredibly unhappy with this development"

"My problem is I'm a nosy bitch"

"It's 11:11, make a wish" "I wish I was dead"

"Don't laugh about my misery"

"'Twas an angstier time"

"You ever just want to go back in time 258 years and beat the shit out of someone?"

"I don't know who I am"

*proposes with a Haribo ring over snapchat*

"I'm getting this 'fuck you' in early"

"Self care ain't always pretty"

"Guess who's about to decapitate Santa?"

"Goddamnit, how did we end up here?"

"Look, I'm dying"

"It's coming for me, I know it"

"Time to sell my kidney"

"I wanna burn a house down- I mean what?"

"What else are friends for if not providing alibis for murder?"

"Do it" "fine, but I'm making you pay for my therapy"

[kitsmits]

New Chapter of Mono no Aware is UP!

Chapter 27: Trust

The next chapter of Mono no Aware is up on AO3 and FF.net! Check it out, leave a comment…and be ready. It’s a heavy one. Check below the “read more” line for a preview!

“Wake the fuck up, ya snot-nosed baldy!”

Hiyori kicked the orange-haired brat right in his empty skull. “You owe me a hundred sets o’ katas! What kinda weakling passes out after crashing through one measly fucking boulder?!”

“To be fair,” Shinji called out lazily, “he went through that boulder headfirst, Hiyori. And Ichigo's only got one head, so let's not bash it around too much!”

“Shut the fuck up, baldy-Shinji! So what if he's only got one head? Doesn't mean shit when there's no brains in it.”

“Hey, I have enough brains to know that your teaching style sucks!” Ichigo shot back, rubbing his head as he sat up.

“Oh?” Hiyori turned back to Ichigo with her arms crossed. “You wanna make it two hundred kata sets? An’ did I say you could take a break? Get to it already! The longer you make me wait, the harder I'm gonna kick your ass in the next spar!”

Though really, she’d hardly consider what they just did “sparring”; the idiot could only keep control of his masked state for a few seconds at a time. Once those few seconds were up, the brat got so wiped out that Hiyori pretty much spent the rest of the time knocking him around like a ragdoll. Even when he did get a few real moves in, he was way too predictable.

You keep attacking from the front - that’s what I mean by ‘predictable’…

Hiyori’s lip curled into a sneer. Why was she thinking about her freakin’ Academy days all of a sudden? What the fuck did that have to do with anything? Those days were long gone, and no amount of pouting or crying or staring wistfully into the distance would bring them back.

Shinji sidled up to her, watching as Ichigo began performing katas like his life depended on it. “Gotta say, the kid’s got stamina. What’re we up to now?”

Hiyori scoffed. “Ten seconds. Little over. He ain’t tryin’ hard enough.”

“He’s still afraid,” Shinji mused. “We all went through it - well, maybe not Mashiro, but still. We all had to figure out how to live with our new Hollow roommates, an’ it ain’t an easy thing to do. ‘Sides…he ain’t the only one we gotta rely on now.”

“I ain’t relyin’ on anyone who ain’t in front o’ me,” she said, acid lacing her every word.

“But everyone’s kinda behind you right now…”

Lightning fast, in a move she could do in her sleep (and sometimes did), Hiyori whipped off her sandal and smacked him with it. ”Shut up, Shinji! You know what I mean!”

She could rely on the other Visoreds - they’d gotten each other through this hell together, after all. Urahara…she wasn’t so sure about relying on him. Never had been. But he usually came through when it mattered.

Unlike some.

Just then, Hiyori’s pocket began buzzing. She pulled out her phone to see who the hell was calling her at a time like this.

Unknown number…?

Oh, did that clog-wearing dipshit really think she wouldn’t know this was him?! This was a freakin’ spirit phone! He’d sold it to her - no, extorted her for it was more like it, but still! There was no way anyone was calling her on it that she wouldn’t already know about!

She flipped the phone open like a switchblade and snarled into the receiver, “The hell do you want, baldy?!”

"Hiyori-san!” Just as she suspected, Urahara Kisuke’s overly-cheery tone immediately set her teeth on edge. “I’m so glad I reached you! You see, I have a bit of a predicament on my hands. You know Kurosaki-kun’s friend, Sado-kun? He needs a new training partner.”

“Well get some other dopey Shinigami to do it! I’m busy trainin’ yer other idiot over here!”

”Oh, I’m sure Kurosaki-kun will be fine under the tutelage of one of your colleagues for a while,” Kisuke dismissed. “But you’re the only person I could think of for this particular case. I mean, I could just keep having Abarai-kun work with him, but Sado-kun requires a particularly strong Melee-type fighter to help him, and while I would never speak ill of Abarai-kun's abilities, he simply doesn't have your talent. Besides, frankly...he's a bit of a pushover. And I know you would never pull your punches."

Hiyori squeezed the phone so hard she was sure she heard something crack. That damn Kisuke…he thought he knew exactly what to say to butter her up, didn’t he? Like she’d trip over herself to show up some damn Shinigami that she was obviously better than anyway…because he was right, she wasn’t a pushover, and if that Abarai-or-whatever was pulling punches and calling that “training…”

She growled and snapped the phone shut without giving Kisuke an answer - because she was sure he already knew what she was going to do.

“Oy, dumbass,” she called out.

“You talkin’ to me,” Shinji answered, “or the kid? Hard to tell when ya don’t use people’s actual names.”

“Well, both o’ you are dumbass baldies, so what does it matter?! ‘Sides, I’m talkin’ to both o’ you, so listen up!” Hiyori jabbed her finger at Shinji. “Take over baby-kun’s training ‘til I get back!”

Ichigo stopped his kata mid-swing, sputtering in indignation. “‘Baby?!’ The hell you get off calling me a ‘baby’ when you’re barely two feet tall? And what ‘training,’ anyway? You just keep kicking me in the face!”

“Did I say you could stop doin’ katas?!” Hiyori brandished her sandal at him. “Or do ya want a permanent imprint o’ this on yer cheek?!”

He glared at her but resumed his exercises, grumbling under his breath.

”Why d’you need me to take over?” Shinji asked. “Who was on the-“

”Just do it, Shinji! I ain’t gotta explain shit to you!”

“Okay, fine, whatever, do your thing.”

Hiyori could feel Shinji’s lackluster gaze follow her out of the warehouse, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t any of his business what she was doing, and he certainly had no right to tell her off about it. Hell, she was doing old hat-and-clogs a damn favor out of the goodness of her heart! Shinji should be praising her for such altruism!

Hiyori lifted the brim of her baseball cap as she approached the innocuous-looking shop. Just outside the entrance were two small figures, each armed with a broom - though only one was actually using it properly.

“The pitcher winds up,” narrated the red-haired kid, gripping his broom like a bat. “The batter stares him down like a hawk - the pitch is made and whoosh!”

Hiyori caught the broom single-handedly, interrupting Jinta’s daydream. “Oy, brat, watch where ya swing that thing! You wanna hit your customers an’ get sued?!”

Jinta jumped back from her and glared. “Yeah, like you’re a real customer, pigtails! The heck’re you doin’ here anyway?!”

Hiyori’s hand squeezed the broom handle hard enough to make it splinter. “Clearly, your boss ain’t teachin’ you proper manners, but I ain’t got time to give you a lesson! Where is your stupid boss, anyway? He’s the one that begged me to come all the way out here, the least he could do is greet me like a proper host! No wonder you brats don’t know how to mind your p’s and q’s!”

“A likely tale,” Jinta retorted, squinting his eyes at her. “How do we know yer tellin’ the truth, huh?! You could be a spy or somethin’-“

”Ano, Jinta-kun,” Ururu piped up in her mouse-like voice, “We know Sarugaki-san…and if Urahara-san sent for her, then…”

Jinta cut her off by pouncing on her back and tugging at her pigtails. ”Hey, I’m in charge o’ the shop when the old man’s busy, so I’ll decide who comes and goes!”

Hiyori rolled her eyes and strolled past the brawling children. “Whatever. I’ll just let myself in. Not like I was requested or nothin’.”

The shop was quiet inside. “Oy, baldy, get out here! I came all this way, you gonna show some respect for that?”

No answer. With a scowl, Hiyori stomped behind the counter and headed for the back room. If he didn’t want random people barging in, he shouldn’t have left everything unlocked with only a couple of brats in charge! Hell, he should’ve just been a good host and actually been here when he asked her to come over!

There was no one in the back room either - but there was an obnoxiously bright, flashing red arrow pointing at a spot on the floor. When Hiyori looked down, she found a note laid out on top of an exposed trap door. Come on in, Hiyori-san!

”Freakin’ dumbass baldy ‘oh I’m just a humble shopkeep’ Urahara Kisuke,” she grumbled as she lifted the trap door and started down the stairs. She knew where this led; after all, Kisuke had built the Visored’s training area as well. She blinked as the dark stairs gave way to obscenely bright artificial sunlight, momentarily blinding her.

“Ah, Hiyori-san!” came the annoying shopkeeper’s voice. “Thanks for coming so quickly! How’s Kurosaki-kun’s training coming along?”

“Can it, Kisuke,” Hiyori snapped, blinking until her eyes adjusted properly. “Where’s the big lug you wanted me to whip into sha-“

She stopped and stared down into the arena. “The fuck is this…?”

Below them was what could only be described as some sort of ground zero. It looked like a bomb had gone off, but someone had hit the “pause” button mid-explosion; mesas and plateaus had been reduced to rubble that hung suspended in midair.

But that wasn’t what made Hiyori freeze. Down in the arena were two figures, one of whom she recognized - but it was the other one that kept her from leaving right then and there.

It had a mask.

That was the first thing Hiyori noticed. It had a bone-white mask with dark streaks on either cheeks falling from empty sockets; its exposed teeth formed a terrible, mirthless grin.

“Why the fuck,” Hiyori breathed, “is a Hollow in here?”

”That,” Kisuke answered calmly, “is Kaede’s Zanpakuto spirit.”

Hiyori did a double take. The actual fuck? That couldn’t be right. No way was that a Zanpakuto spirit. She’d seen plenty of Shikai in her time, and even a few Bankai; she’d experienced the Hollowfied weapons of her fellow Visored lots of times over the years. None of them made her feel like…like…like a rabbit that stumbled upon a wolf by accident.

Deep in her soul, Hiyori felt her own Zanpakuto stir. Kubikiri Orochi had always appeared to her as a large serpent with a spiked spine that closely resembled the serrated edge of her Shikai; even before her Hollowfication, it had been bloodthirsty and battle-hungry, quick-tempered and all too happy to answer her call. It didn’t matter how strong their opponent was; Kubikiri Orochi took any hint of strength as a challenge to be conquered.

After Hollowfication, that delight in battle had turned to an ever-present ache of hunger that could never be satiated. For the first few decades, she couldn’t even be near human civilization for long because even a whiff of a living Soul’s spirit energy awakened a primal imperative to hunt and rend and tear and consume. Even now, she was wary of coming into Karakura proper too often; high-spec Humans still made her salivate, and there were way too many of those sorts of people in this freakin’ town.

But now…even though she was in the presence of some of the strongest reiatsu-emitting beings in this world, Hiyori’s mouth had gone dry. Her Zanpakuto stirred, but not to strike; instead, it shrank back into her soul, like it was trying to hide.

Whatever the hell the thing in front of Kaede was (because she sure as fuck didn’t buy it being a Zanpakuto spirit), Kubikiri Orochi was afraid of it.

Hiyori swallowed and gritted her teeth. She didn’t care what her Zanpakuto wanted right now; she didn’t run from anything. “What the fuck did you bring me here for, Kisuke?”

“I admit that I called you here under false pretenses,” he said somberly, all traces of false cheer gone. “But I do need your help…and so does she.”

Hiyori jerked out of his hold with a sneer. “She made it real fuckin’ clear that she doesn’t need anybody.”

Least of all me.

Her lip curled into a snarl as she beat back that thought. Who cared what Kaede did or didn’t need? She sure as hell didn’t.

“She’s been training almost nonstop this past month,” Kisuke told her.

“So have all of us,” Hiyori dismissed, looking away from both him and the fight below them.

“True,” he conceded. “But right now, she’s risking irreparable harm to herself-“

”So have all of us,” she reiterated with a sneer. “So what?”

”So,” Kisuke continued patiently, “she’s not doing it to get stronger or to conquer an inner demon. She’s doing this because she’d rather destroy herself than face what happened.”

Hiyori’s gut clenched a bit, because she could absolutely believe that Kaede would do such a stupid thing. Not that she cared.

“Then let her do it,” Hiyori uttered in a hollow tone. She didn’t have the energy left to spare on someone who…who…

”Aw, I know you don’t mean that, Hiyori-sa-“

”You think I don’t?” Hiyori seethed, her fists shaking at her sides. “You think I give a damn about someone who ran away ‘cause she couldn’t face the consequences of her own actions?”

”That’s not exactly what happened,” Kisuke said, an edge to his voice that she didn’t often hear. “She wasn’t running away from what happened to you and the others. If that was the case, why did I find her getting ready to run before she knew what had happened to all of you?”

Hiyori’s eyes widened, her muscles practically seizing with impatience and rage. “The hell does that mean?”

“Maybe it was by design,” he mused, “maybe it was pure coincidence, but I found her in the lab exactly when I was getting ready to come after you and the other Hollowfication victims. I’ll admit, I was as surprised to see her as she was me. Not just because she was supposed to be on assignment in the Human World, but because it was pretty clear that she was getting ready to run away. However, when I told her what was happening, and that you were in danger…she came with me without a question.”

There wasn’t much about that night that Hiyori remembered. Her body remembered the unbearable, ripping pain as her soul was turned inside-out; she vaguely recalled trying to warn Shinji to run…and, though she’d tried to deny it over the years, she remembered a familiar voice shouting her name over and over again…

“Don’t try to tell me that I’m the reason she turned on him,” Hiyori seethed. “I ain’t fallin’ for it. If she actually gave a damn-“

”She left because she gave a damn,” Kisuke snapped back, a hint of impatience coloring his tone. “Look, I could give you my theories on the matter, but they’ll be just that: theories, conjecture based on what I happen to know for certain. Or, you could hear the truth straight from the source.”

Hiyori whirled around and gave Kisuke her fiercest glare, her fists clenched so tightly her skin threatened to split. “She coulda said whatever she wanted years ago, but she fuckin’ ran away instead! Why the hell should I listen to anything she’s got to say now?”

“Because she won’t talk to me!”

Hiyori flinched - not because of his tone, but because of the slightest flare of reiatsu that came with it. She stared down at her former captain in astonishment. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him lose his temper - not with her (despite her best efforts at times), not with anyone. But now…she saw the tension in his jaw, the way his own hands had balled into fists in his lap. Urahara Kisuke wasn’t one to show his hand to anyone, but for this one second, he seemed to slip. Frustration, impatience - no, that wasn’t it.

He was worried.

Within a blink, he had donned his usual, relaxed visage once again. His hands relaxed on his lap; his expression turned thoughtful, even a little sad. “Please believe me when I say that I wouldn’t have asked you here if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary. Of all of the people she believes she directly harmed, you are perhaps the one she feels the most guilt over, and the one she did the most to protect. If anyone is able to get through to her, it will be you. Now please, Hiyori-san, if you’d just wait a few more minutes - it shouldn’t be long now.”

[lovecanbesostrange]

Oh no, I did a stupid thing. Flipping through old stuff I dared to look at Uncanny Avengers Vol 1. CHARACTER ASSASSINATION OF THE HIGHEST ORDER! Let me rant:

Seeing Wanda under the telepathic Red Skull influence is the most icky. Honestly seeing her work with Hydra in the MCU was at least understandable within that framework. But that stuff is shlock for the shock factor. I hate that run so much, but I have forgotten the finer details why and now I need to bleach my brain again...

Actual meaningful interaction from Young Avengers: The Children's Crusade

X-Men have all shown some anger towards Wanda and when leaving Cyclops made a big speech that he would kill her himself if she stepped out of line again. But then Rogue looks back and tells her they will come around. There is a long moment in this story where Wiccan rattles of a list of all the bad most of these people have done before becoming heroes and he was right. And it makes so much sense that out of everybody there Rogue does extend a hand...

Honestly, the only thing that should have happened when those two met again was jokes from Wanda about if she could call Rogue Step-Mom now or something for fucking Magneto. But no, I get this bullshit in Uncanny Avengers:

They fight next to Xavier's grave. Rogue calls Wanda a race traitor blending in with humans and Wanda bitches about X-Men playing the victim card.

I can't even describe how bad this fiasco is! I reblogged that fun post with the deragotory-pepperoni - yes, that was Brian Michael Bendis adressing the very shitty respectability politics brought forward in this trash pile comic run. When Havok said he didn't want to be called a Mutant, because he's a Human. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...

My blorbo was used in the worst way possible. Let my girl kill people, be emo, make bad decisions in the field, partake in unethical methods for the greater good - but not this! And this is the insulting offender that in the end not-Magneto's-kids with Axis. RAGE! RAGE!

There are many moments I like to ignore in X-Men history (because it's a long history and of course weird and stupid stuff happened). I am so not on board what they did to Moira for the whole Krakoa era. But if there is one comic book I want to erase completely? It is this. I suffered. I suffered so much. The shadowban on the X-books was bad enough, but my little blorbo had to take part in this and was estranged from her family. (And I liked the O5 and the stuff going on in the X-books, she could have had some fun there.)

And then you keep reading and UA Volume 3 rolls around and somehow Gerry Duggan gets back to the storyline and Red Skull is still his evil self, but the story works. Everything is so terrible how Wanda is written in Vol 1 under his influence, but when later he has Rogue almost beat Deadpool to death - it works. I can't explain it, but when you read those issues next to each other the difference is just FELT. The respect for characters and telling a story with their emotions in mind, not going at it to shock readers and be edgy.

[sempsimps]

Copper Howard x reader

fallout has changed my brain chemistry and as a die hard fan from years ago the release of the show has altered somthing within me somthing just snapped when i seen cooper and i don't think i have properly written about the monster fucker inside of me sooo now is the chance for me to save a horse and ride a cowboy :) apologies if my writing sucks

me and my friends just chilling

me; ....so anyway ya know cooper the ghoul in fallout, he has no nose so i cant ride his face

innocent friend; (didnt understand) aw, he cant wear sunglasses

bestie; (fucking done with life) oh my fucking god, the innocence one "he cant where sunglasses" and then there's you going (tch) "dang, i cant ride his face"

tags;

liking the smell of blood (idkf)

mentioned death of course

ghouls how scary (sexy)

fallout as a whole is a warning

sexual tension

ride a cowboy... (so obviously this is 18+)

my innocent friend wanted to read this so there will be a line warning of the NSFW usually i would get right into it but for the sake of their innocence there's a line

you travel with the ghoul of the wild wild wasteland but stay mostly out of the bullshit and gun fights, opting to just be a side piece. after my cryo-pod busted open in my vault, i noticed mine was the only one that worked, and the rest of my colony was long dead. 'damn economy class shit' some must of been awake, but were now skeletons dancing from beyond the glass. once i exited the vault and i was told that a hundred years had pass. i met some weird doctor he gave me some "magical" ailment to heal my beyond mangled arm, the aftermath of a deathclaw attack. the limb in question was barely hanging on by a muscle, when this eccentric man dragged me back to his house? im guessing it was. the strange individual gave me this weird yellow and brown mixture, after talking about some random shit i was going to die of blood loss listing to him, or whatever he put in here. so i might as well take it swallowing it down without a second thought, it was stupid but what choice did i have. i began coughing and throwing up what little food i ate, it tasted disgusting a mix of dirt and bleach my arm healed fully within minuets. but now i found im half ghoul still smooth skin for the most part but my left arm to my collar bone and hand, cheeks, eyes sunken and nose was starting to flake off and wither I had the healing properties but not quite as strong as-

BANG- i jumped out of my skin when rogers brains decorated the bland yellow wall with crimson. 'jesus christ okay then' cooper began to cut open the poor ghoul, ripping out and placing the teeth to the side, which i picked up examining them. 'bone... is always so interesting' i for the most part stayed away from the cannibalism on the surface, but got to admit seeing cooper eat that guy stirred something in me. poor lucy though, she didn't have to see that or to join in.... welp cant change the past now. cooper cut strips of flesh off and lucy cut some chunks of meat, and handed it to me. i placed them into a container that sat in the bottom of my bag. as we started to walk out of the building i hung back carrying some of Roger on my backpack to soak in the sun like the ghoul Infront of me, i stayed behind copper to the left of lucy, keeping guard and making sure there was no attacks or following raiders and scrapers. i looked away for one second hearing somthing fall behind me, it was nothing and i turned back, and seen lucy drink from some fucked up green water. 'uh gross' i slowly tread towards them taking my sweet time drinking some water from my own flask, ready to refill with a rare water filter as i couldn't digest the radiation just yet. vault girl was desperate for water i dont blame her still felt bad for her, but it wasn't my place to intervein she did break the last vials we had on a fucking axolotl mutant as i walked over i only heard the last bit of the low and quite conversation.

"....are you?"

"oh, im you sweetie. just give it a little time"

cooper began to have a coughing fit, and lucy ran off i chased up to the cowboy but he was already up and gone, and as i got there he already had lucy in his lasso 'he's damn good with that rope...god can i shut the fuck up' she was on the floor, and he was over her lucy, then bit off his finger. The awkward amount of blood was a strange colour, and lucy spat out the finger.

"there you are you little killer"

and with that cooper was quick to pick her up one handed doing an eye-for-an-eye cutting off her pointer finger on her left hand just witnessing it made my stomach twist in distaste but also a blush 'yikes- but treat me like that god damn' i walked over and carefully picked up the bitten off finger and placed it into my pocket humming. 'need to get another sewing kit for that' we quickly kept up the walking pace after the situation was over. i was now in front of lucy, dragging her along rather gently, by the rope cooper had attached to her i lead her through the broken chicken wire fencing, but as we got closer to the place i quickly realised what this was going to be. 'man this blows only time i seen another female and a fellow vaultie out here, and were selling her to codsworth. what a great way to make friends'

well its actually where me and cooper met i needed a vial desperately i was twitching, growling and having to manually breath i had a whole stash of caps for the robot and dumbasses co. then he appeared there some dead body in a big duffle bag, some scrapper tried attacking the sharp shooter. cooper seen me and smiled that signature smirk. tossing his last half a vial over to my feet "keeping ya' in check, until robo can sweetheart."

we stopped at the buzzer, and i let lucy out of the rope cutting it neatly with a rusty bread knife. cooper then took his satchel things off and pressed the button for the robotic voice answered. i turned to give a small smile to lucy mouthing a sorry.

"transaction"

"yes?"

"two months of vials exchange one female mint condition..... near mint condition"

"condition grading requires physical evaluation please send her in"

i stood next to the ghoul and nudged him and leaned to whisper quietly.

"seriously coop? its a bit harsh, dont ya think?"

he blatantly ignored me and harshly spoke to lucy instead, gesturing for lucy to go inside with his gun.

"go on"

i scoffed as she was walking into the super duper mart, taking one look back before going for good. i sigh deeply as i sat down on the desert floor wondering if that was really necessary, cooper stood still head tilting down but he looked like he was wobbling a little before collapsing in front of me.

"jesus christ coop!"

i got up and dragged him into some shade at the trading shop wall out of the blaring sun. it seemed like he was half paralyzed, only moving his eyes and breathing making a slight wheezing sound.

"codsworth better make this shit quick, but i do feel bad for her though"

after realising he wasn't gonna be able to speak or move until the yellow stuff came out from that British talking can of bolts, i decided to just fill the silence with my dumb talk.

"sooooo..... what now the head is gone, and we can't get it out of that axolotl and that was a lot of caps too...that sucks.. so did we really have to do that? You know i can afford at least a months worth with my caps..... okay, i know why, but still..... little of topic, but you looked really hot with that lasso... im going to shut up now"

looking away and blushing, i settled on whistling some old song i listened to ages ago. I might have been on a radio. i can't remember 'lay that pistol down, babe. lay that pistol down pistol packing mama lay that pistol down' its catchy.

some ghouls came out of the front of the super duper mart, they looked anywhere between newly turned and almost feral i just nodded at one and they continued 'well shit that totally isnt going to bite us in the ass later' hearing a loud gunshots made me jump out of my skin, and thankfully it stayed inside the building. 2 shots rang out and then silence before another loud shot. 'fuck well those idiots are dead and so is lucy dang she was nice' i sucked in through my teeth and waited for codsworth to get the supplies out, waiting and waiting and soon after lucy came out 'huh wow she's not dead and looking better in that' with her jumpsuit half off, wearing some armour and got a gun holster, she stood over us and dropped down facing cooper before speaking.

"if you dont get theses you turn into one of those? that how it works?"

she stood there looking at us both. i made no attempt to move, just shrugging lucy, then leaned to me, placing some vials in my palm before turning back to Cowboy Man.

"i may end up looking like you, but ill never be like you"

"you were nice but fuck your friend"

"rightfully so, actually im trying thanks"

she turned back with a "you fucking serious glance" i just returned a smile and a wave off she shook her head with a sigh and walking off.

"golden rule mother fucker..."

as she left as i prepped the vial into the asthma pump looking thing and putting it to coopers face in which he quickly breathed it in chocking a little and he slowly sat himself up and hastily taking another one out of my hand before standing up and having another leaning back taking it in fully and speed walking into the building i walked behind him slowly and halting as i looked at the bloody mess made in here 'jesus a massacre happened they killed each other' cooper rummaged through stuff at a table before making a loud slamming noise and glass falling to the floor

"haha! darling look at all of these!"

"Holy hell, that's gonna last us for ages a year maybe... your condition is getting worse..... It's a shame that we need a new supplier now. i kinda liked those guys"

walking over to the table there was dozens of vials enough to suffice for a year if rationed, and i started to pick up the carelessly thrown ones from the ground looking them over before deciding they weren't broken and placing them into my backpack in every pocket i could fill them in. while cooper stuffed his cowboy hat full of handfuls from the case and about while i inspected the bodies i was right about dumbass and co being dead but this one ghoul looked like an ammeter shot her it must of been lucy, non the less i was moving all the bodies to one place and out of the way this would be a great place to rest for the time being and that sofa looked really comfortable wouldn't want the bodies making the place smell horrid although the blood was a nice change the metallic smell almost comforting to me.

"hey coop? maybe we should stay here for the night it'll be far to tiering to get to a town from here and the sun is already setting"

"hm?.. oh yeah sure thing (...)"

hey seemed distracted by a tape but he was quick to throw it away over his shoulder and turning to face me.

"how about we uh celebrate this little victory eh darling?"

he walked over to a fridge opening it, and then grabbing two glass bottles of nuka cola. the rocket shape was part of the brand and an effective market tool, cooper passed me one i held up the glass and a shot rang out as he clipped the cap off of my glass, and doing the same for his own and he sat next to me on the sofa. the fizzy liquid sizzling in my hand.

"thanks, should we cheers?"

cooper smiled smiling facing me and clinking our glasses together and nodding his head.

"cheers"

we linked arms at the elbow 'almost like a couple nope nope stop that' and took a sip from our respective bottles sighing as i got my arm back from him.

"so what now?"

"we'll figure it out"

i leaned back taking another sip of the nuka cola clinking the bottle with my nails as a distraction 'welp its now or never' taking another large sip before leaning over and giving the ghoul a quick peck on the cheeck, and quickly turning away and drinking my embaresment down.

--------------------this is the line stop reading sophie--------------------

"the hell was that?"

"nothing dont worry about it"

"no no darling why did you stop?"

"I ..huh?"

I looked at him now kinda shocked, and dumbfounded, my face heating up more than the radiation

"I'll ask again. Why did ya stop with just that?"

"I m mean it took a lot out of me to just fo that"

"Come on, you think I wouldn't notice how you looked at me, and the hell was that confession earlier you like my lasso skills aye sweetheart? I could show in in more depth"

His hot fingers run along my clothed thigh, slowly tracing patterns up them, edging near but then going back down before he stopped completely I was caught up in his actions

"Hey darl, ya still with me? I need an answer"

"I uhm that would be uh nice"

Cooper places his half drunken nuka cola on the table with a small clink noise, and soon he was on top of me smirking like he dose his knees now between mine as we lay on the sofa moving to the side to lay down, and cooper hanged over me leaning down to kiss my decaying lips, the same rough texture that slotted into his perfectly. as the kiss deepened the more hungry the both of us got, now teeth clashing in the heated kiss trying to fight for dominance, I felt a hot hand run up my side before coming under my shirt the radiation heat was intoxicating, literally. his touch travelled up until it reached my bra. In the wasteland its not smart to take anything off, so he carefully got around the fabric, brining my bra down a letting the soft skin come out. the same hand now playing with them slowly making circle's around my nipples and pinching them. his body pushing closer to finding friction and my hips followed, down into his. the heated kiss broke and we both pant desperately, getting oxygen into our body's. the downsides to being a ghoul was of course the radiation, but also the loss of touch, the skin was so much different leathery and stuck in the position it decided to wrinkle to. I couldn't feel my hand or arm that well, so who knows how deprived cooper was he acted feral if it wasn't for the fact he had like 5 vials I would assume he was.

"How about we switch us darling. let you ride the cowboy you so desperately want"

He got off of me and stood up, taking his coat off. I sat up quickly and he laid down on the scratched up sofa, motioning for me to get on top I could see now just how hard he was straining against the fabric of his trousers, my mouth went dry and I was quick to get on top of him, before he stopped me with a calm tine and that stupid sexy smirk.

"Ah no take those of first"

He nodded his head to the bottom half of me, so I did just that a little to fast, my pussy was begging for this, and I couldn't stop to think as I took of my trousers, leaving my underwear on for some dignity. and then I got onto my legs on either side of his waist I felt him thrust his hip slightly up and it caught me off balance a squeak coming from my lips as i gripped the side to keep me upright, he chuckled knowing full well he did that, and he continued rocking my body forward I agve up trying to stay up and caught his lips again this time slower, more coordinated melting into each other. his hands coming back up to play with my chest moaning into the kiss, the slow movements almost driving me insane I broke from the kiss and rocked my hips across his clothed erection

GET CUCKED BECUSE I LOST MOTIVATION

Honestly though I was trying for weeks to write this properly and well I hate the second bit I had no direction to go in and welp also I want to start writing for black butler since the season came out and well I live fallout but yeah again lost all inspiration for it sorry but I hope it was some what good sorry if my writing sucks :)

[itsaninfestation]

🎭

Kylee woke up.

She had never awoken in a prefect sitting position before, but she supposed she had little choice in the matter when her hand and securely taped to the back of her dining chair.

Her head throbbed. She wanted to curse in pain, but the motion only revealed that her mouth was also duct taped.

"Well, good morning sleepy head! Or should I say, good evening? It's, like, 6pm." The voice was peppy and bright with a haunting hint of familiarity that sent chills up her spine.

Her vision was blurred from her skewed glasses made it difficult to properly see the brightly colored figure that approached her. The stranger chuckled and adjusted them for her.

The first thing Kylee noticed was the amber eyes that stared back at her through their own cat eye frames. The same eyes she saw in the mirror every morning.

Kylee let out a muffled cry of confusion. She could taste the adhesive on her lips.

"I know, weird, right?" The woman giggled as she pulled up the matching dining chair. She sat down with poise, ensuring that her pencil skirt did not wrinkle. "I was particularly confused when I arrived here. I wasn't supposed to dimension hop here. I was supposed to end up in a world where we don't exist, but c’est la vie."

The woman pauses a moment, looking upset, but that is quickly replaced with the same canned smile.

"Yes. I did say 'we', because we are the same person in a sense," she huffed and waved a manicured hand. He bright yellow nails flickered in the light. "Though I'm sure you know a thing or two about alternate dimensions since you keep close tabs on the X-Men of this world. So, we can simply say that I'm just a better version of you and just move on."

She did look like Kylee; if Kylee decided to bleach her hair blonde and wear the gaudiest clothes imaginable (she hated cheetah print)! The woman was every bad esthetic that she would have never picked. A twisted, colorful version of herself.

Emphasis on the 'twisted'; who the hell kidnapped a version of themselves instead of having a normal adult conversation?

(Scratch that; she could think of at least one.)

Kylee wanted to protest; she wriggled conformably as she tried to mumble through the tape.

"...No, I'm not going to un-tape your mouth; I'm not an idiot. I just establish that I'm you. That includes powers. Powers that you never truly tapped into; I might add."

Kylee cocked her head.

This time that alter-Kylee smiled a genuine, terrifying smile that showcased her large front teeth.

"'Bugging' people is only the bare basics of what we can do," shed slid her chair closer to Kylee -- close to the point of uncomfortable. "Did you know we infiltrate a human body; that we can taint their soul with a piece of our own and bring out their worst insecurities? I can even tap into my little beauties while they are separated from me. I can use them to manipulate a person's body. A person's mind, like the psychics we both hate."

She laughed a truly joyous laugh.

"The Betsy Braddock of my world learned very quickly that there is more than one way to get into someone's mind. She may have had control of the metaphysical, but she could not touch the literal bug crawling inside her brain... She will never read minds again."

"Don't worry, I won't kill you or make you braindead."

Alter-Kylee's voice echoed through her head. Her head pounded with each word.

"I actually would like to be your friend! You can even think of me as a twin sister if you want; I'd like that!"

"I'd hate for things to go south between us. That's why I had to show you who the superior Kylee was first, to prevent any unnecessary squabble.

Fuck, in another world she was a psychopath.

"Psychopath is a bit of a strong word. No, I'm not insane. I'm just ...assertive."

The woman gently danced her fingers on the tape that covered Kylee's mouth.

"What do you say, sis?"

[penny00dreadful]

First Impressions - Complete

We're here! We did it! My Pride and Prejudice AU is finished! I've had such a good time writing this and I hope you've loved it as much as I have.

Here's a little snippet of the epilogue that can be read as a standalone: UNHINGED and chaotic shovel talks (all in good fun, no angst here) from Eddie and Robin.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 AO3

Eddie would never admit it to anyone but at the moment he was regretting his lack of athletic prowess. He’d done some pretty wild things in his youth but he’d never had the chance to scale the side of a house in order to climb through a bedroom window before and it was a struggle.

God damn it, his arms were so skinny. And his knees were close to giving out, his back was starting to hurt and he was gulping in air like a fish out of water, though it didn’t seem to be doing much. Would it have killed him to put on some muscle at any point prior to this?

Eddie tossed his bag up onto the flat roof in front of him, finally managing to pull himself over the ledge and immediately collapsing flat onto his back, leaving his legs dangling over and panting big heaving breaths out into the evening.

God he was super out of shape, he needed to quit smoking. The sky was a dusty pink and orange above of him, completely indifferent to his struggle to breathe. Steve and Robin would be home from work soon, he needed to get up. He needed to prepare.

The sound of car doors slamming below brought him swiftly back to the present. Shit. Okay well, they usually started dinner once they got back in so he still had time.

“Hey degenerate.”

Eddie jerked in surprise as a voice called out to him from behind. Twisting his head around he saw Max leaning out her bedroom window with her chin in her hand.

“You’ve got the wrong roof.” 

He shook his head, still breathing hard. “No, it’s the right roof.”

“The fuck it is if you think you’re sneaking into my room-”

“God no, don’t flatter yourself.” He groaned, finally dragging his legs over the edge and getting to his feet. “This is the right roof, Steve and Robin don’t have a ledge under their windows and the other roof is a much more difficult climb. This is my best option. I’m going in through the guest room.”

“You should’ve gone around to the other corner, there’s more footholds along that pipe.” She pointed.

“And how would an innocent young lady such as yourself know that?”

With almost perfect timing a second bag was thrown onto the roof before Lucas popped into view, pulling himself up with far more strength and grace than Eddie had managed.

Lucas froze to a dead stop at the sight of him, his eyes darting wide and panicked between him and Max. Eddie turned back to look at Max who just shrugged. Lucas’ shoulders dropped minutely once it became obvious Eddie wasn’t going to scream at him or throw him off the roof.

“Why are you up here?” Lucas asked, looking like a cornered animal. “Why didn’t you use the front door?”

“Why didn’t you use the front door?” Eddie challenged. “Steve knows about the two of you. You’ve kissed in front of him. I had to hear all about it, he was traumatised.”

A blush was steadily darkening Lucas’ cheeks and his eyes had gotten wider before he gave Max a panicked glance.

Max for her part looked completely unbothered until she caught sight of Lucas’ distress, her face breaking into a wide, evil grin.

“I dunno, Eddie.” She sighed, putting on her best dramatic interpretation of a wistful woman. “But there’s just something so thrilling about your boyfriend sneaking into your room in the middle of the night, don’t you think?”

Eddie’s mouth pulled into a frown. “Ugh. And it’s not even night time, it’s evening.”

Max glanced back to Lucas before looking Eddie dead in the eye. “That’s okay. We can just play pretend.”

“Okay, I’m gone.” Eddie snatched up his bag and hurried over to the guest room window. “I need to go bleach my brain or drown myself or something.” He yanked the window open. “I’ll send you my therapy bills.” He clambered inside before sticking his head back out again. Lucas still had not moved, staring at him with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. “Don’t tell anyone I'm here and I won't tell anyone what I just saw."

“Why are you here?” Max asked, leaning nearly halfway out of her window to keep looking at him.

“Mind your own business, Red.” Eddie said, closing the shutter to punctuate his statement and shuddering violently. If he wasn’t in the middle of something right now, he’d get as high as humanly possible to wash out whatever kind of role play he’d just unwittingly interrupted, hopefully forgetting it forever.

Still, he didn’t have much time left, he needed to set this up before one of them came upstairs. Eddie cracked the guest bedroom door open, peeking out into the dimly lit hallway, looking up and down like he was breaking into the Louvre and not Steve’s house, which he knew intimately enough at this stage to avoid the creaky floorboards.

He had Shirley Bassey's Goldfinger playing on a loop in his brain and he didn’t know if it was a help or a hindrance.

Slipping out and closing the guest room door softly behind him, Eddie crossed the hallway and slowly, painfully slowly, he opened the bedroom door. The room was nearly dark, the sun was on the opposite side of the house and in just a few minutes it would be plunged into complete blackness, perfect.

He kept the door cracked while he set up the room so he could see without turning on the light, removing language books from the swivelling chair and setting them down on the desk. There was a table lamp with a flick switch that he pulled closer to him. He’d have preferred a pull switch for the drama but it would have to do.

Situating the chair so the back of it was to the door, he pulled the final touch from his bag.

Chrissy’s pink stuffed whale.

Just as he tucked his bag out of sight he heard the telltale creak of the first step on the stairs. 

Eddie shot to his feet and tried to close the bedroom door as quietly as possible. He nearly tripped over what must have been an empty trumpet case when he made his way back to the chair, swivelling around so his back was to the door again and put the whale on his lap, waiting in the darkness of the room.

When the handle jiggled he took a deep breath to steady himself and placed a hand lightly on the switch for the lamp.

A second after the door swung open he spoke.

“Evening, Buckley.” Eddie said in his lowest voice, the one he always adopted for his villains or… certain activities with Steve and switched the table lamp on as Robin screeched out in shock.

He swung around in the chair until he was facing her, the picture of nonchalance, one leg crossed tightly over the other and gently petting the stuffed whale like a cat.

“What- what the fuck, Eddie?!” She clutched at her chest, half collapsed back against the wall.

“We’re gonna have a conversation.” He growled, trying to sound as over the top evil as possible.

“So call on the phone like a normal person!”

“Sorry babes.” He shrugged, attempting to bore into her soul with his eyes. “This is something that needs to happen face to face.”

“Jesus Christ.” Robin rolled her eyes, running a hand through her hair and Eddie maybe felt a little bad. “Okay, well I’m changing into my pyjamas so you’re gonna have to deal with that.”

He waved a hand at her just as she stripped off her top, leaving her standing in her bra.

He allowed the silence to stretch for dramatic effect, stroking over the whale again. Maybe he should have brought a monocle. 

“Chrissy is very special to me-”

She snorted, popping the button in her jeans. “Oh, that’s what this is?”

Eddie glared up at her, his voice falling back to its normal tone. “Do you mind? I’m trying to do a bit here.”

“Rob, are you okay? I heard a scream- Eddie?”

Steve turned into the doorway and stopped dead, blinking at the scene before him. Robin in just her bra with her jeans open and Eddie sitting in her desk chair like some kind of voyeur with a large pink stuffed whale in his lap.

“Hello precious.” Eddie smiled at him bright and warm, his menacing character completely gone.

“Do I want to know what’s going on here?”

“I’m being threatened.” Robin wiggled her way out of her jeans.

“I want to preserve your innocence, Stevie. This doesn’t involve you. She’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Steve looked back and forth between the two of them as Robin reached behind her to unclasp her bra. Steve abruptly turned his back and Eddie covered his eyes with the whale.

“Rob, what the fuck?”

“Robin!”

“Oh, now you’re uncomfortable? You broke into my room, Munson, you deal with the consequences.”

“Okay,” Steve said, throwing his hands up and already walking away. “I’m going back downstairs and away from whatever the fuck this is. Dinner's nearly ready.”

“Make it snappy Eddie.” Robin pulled the whale down and made a ‘speed it up’ gesture at him, now clothed in a loose shirt and pyjama pants. “I’m hungry.”

“Give me a second.” He placed the whale back on his lap and rolled his shoulders. “I need to get back into character.”

He allowed his face and posture to melt back into something casual but evil. “Chrissy is one of the most important people in my life, and if you hurt her, I’m afraid it’s not going to end well for you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m going to have to fight you.”

“Oooohhh.” Robin fake cowered. “To the death?”

Eddie’s grin split wide into a huge satisfied smile. 

Perfect. 

Right into his trap.

“No.” He growled softly. “To the pain.”

“Oh my god. Is there going to be a dance break in the middle of this production, Dread Pirate Roberts?”

“I’ll have you know I’m a triple threat.” He huffed, snaking his head, trying to keep his character in the forefront of his mind. “No. To the pain.” He repeated, waving his hand at Robin as if to say ‘come on’.

Robin rolled her eyes but there was a smile tugging at her lips.

“I don't think I'm quite familiar with that phrase.” She recited, mimicking an English accent.

Eddie sighed. “I'll explain and I'll use small words so that you'll be sure to understand, you warthog faced buffoon.”

She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth in offence. “That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me.”

“It won't be the last.” Eddie continued to stroke the whale like it was a cat. “To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose.”

Robin got to her feet, waving an imaginary sword in his face. “And then my tongue I suppose, I killed you too quickly the last time. A mistake I don't mean to duplicate tonight.” She lunged for him before he held a hand out, stopping her.

“I wasn't finished. The next thing you will lose will be your left eye followed by your right.”

She hung her head back in mock exasperation. “And then my ears, I understand let's get on with it!”

“WRONG.” Eddie cried, jumping to his feet and pointing at her. “Your ears you keep and I'll tell you why-”

“Food!” Steve’s voice called from the end of the stairs.

“Thank god.” Robin groaned. “Not that I didn’t love this production Eddie, though I’m sad there were no tap shoes involved, my stomach is literally eating me from the inside out. Are you coming? We made chicken enchiladas.”

“Oh, fuck yeah.” He dumped the whale on her desk chair and followed her downstairs.

Once he’d made his way into the kitchen he latched onto Steve’s back, holding tight to him while he tried to finish plating up their dinner.

“Mmm.” Eddie hummed with his lips pressed against the back of Steve’s neck. “Smells so good.”

“Ed’s, please. I’m in the middle of something. Go sit down.” Steve was trying his very best to sound irritated but his voice was coming out too soft, leaning his head back so it rested on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie lifted his hands from Steve’s stomach, grabbing a fistful of pec in each hand and squeezing as he pressed a long slow kiss to Steve’s cheek.

“Honk.” He whispered, squeezing again and causing Steve to break away from him with an involuntary laugh, bright and loud and his favourite thing.

“Oh my god, you’re the most irritating person. Go. Leave me finish this in peace.”

Eddie unwound himself from around Steve with a smile and seated himself next to Robin.

“Are you the two of you going to explain what happened upstairs?” Steve asked, setting the plates down in front of them.

“I told you. Eddie was threatening my life.”

“Uh, excuse me. No I wasn’t.” He turned back to Steve. “I was threatening to mutilate her.”

“Right.”

“Yeah, it was this whole production.” Robin spoke through a mouthful of food. “He made me recite lines.”

“You loved it.”

“I think you could have done with a monocle.”

Eddie snapped his fingers. “I knew it!”

“Are you two in a play I don’t know about?”

“No, it was Chrissy’s shovel talk.”

“Ah.” Steve nodded before turning to Robin. “So what are you planning for mine then?”

“I need a plan? I figured I’d just threaten to cut all of his hair off.”

“Oh no. Robin, you will not be outdone with this. He brought a prop. It needs to be a thing.”

“And I already did ‘campy villain’ so you can’t do that either.”

“God damn it, well now you’ve issued me a challenge. How far can I go?”

“Go as far as you need to. Scare me. Make me feel like I’m being stalked by a serial killer or something, I don’t know. Just don’t touch my hair. Or actually kill me.”

“Oh come on now Eds. You can’t take all her fun.”

Eddie shrugged. “Sorry. I draw the line at my own death.”

“Party pooper.”

~x~X~x~

Eddie was just about ready to tear his hair out. One thing that he fucking hated about being a manager now was all the goddamned paperwork that was involved. All he wanted to do was go home and wolf down whatever magnificent feast Chrissy and Steve had decided to experiment with today.

Sometimes it weirded him out a little just how similar they were. The two of them loved sports and exercised for fun, which both he and Robin just stared on in bewilderment and a little bit of lust whenever it happened. They both came from controlling mothers and emotionally absent fathers. They both had spent most of their lives being forced into a mould that would fit their parents ‘upper-middle class perfect image’ sensibilities that neither he nor Robin had ever had to deal with. 

They had both been the most popular person of their respective years in high school, the King and Queen respectively, before shedding all of that with the help of a weird soulmate and a healthy dose of trauma. 

They both stared on with empty eyes as he and Robin got into yet another ‘debate’ about whether music theory was necessary to the art form, or what made camp cinema camp or whether Lord Douglas fucked over Wilde.

Then when Steve started cooking more and more in their apartment, Chrissy latched onto a new joint interest between the two of them easily. Eddie was sure he’d never eaten better in his life before.

So heading home and falling face first into a plate of whatever they’d whipped up tonight was something he just could get his mind off of. He only had a half an hour left anyway.

Fuck it, this paperwork could wait until tomorrow, he could spend the last bit of his shift out in front where it was slightly easier to waste his time.

Pushing his way out of the office door he was surprised to see Robin sitting at the bar, he had expected her to already be at the apartment.

“Robbie, my dear. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m bored.” She said, slumped over the counter, placing her cheek in her hand. “And I have a question.”

Eddie mirrored her position. “Okay, shoot.”

“Can I have a drink first?”

“Is that your question?” He smiled at her while she pouted.

“Obviously not.”

“Alright.” Eddie straightened up and stretched, his back was starting to act up from all those hours sitting on an uncomfortable office chair. “What can I get you? The usual?”

“I don’t know if I should feel good about having a usual at my second favourite alcohol dispensary of choice. But sure, the usual.”

“Second favourite?” Eddie scoffed, turning to pull the bottles down for her Tequila Sunrise. “What illustrious dispensary could possibly compete with our nicotine stained and beer lacquered majesty?”

“My own home. It’s less sticky there.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” Robin hissed. “Steve is very clean. And don’t make some kind of gross sex joke about the stickyness, I know you were about to.”

Eddie clamped his mouth shut and slid her drink across the counter to her. “I would have done no such thing.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” She took a long sip through her straw, shuddering a little at the alcohol. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“You ever met Gabriel Buckley?” 

Eddie blinked across at her. That was her question? “Uh… no. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

Robin nodded. “You’ve never come across him in any particular bars or clubs in the city?”

“Can’t say I’ve had the chance to frequent them much anymore.”

Robin seemed surprised by that. “You and Steve don’t go?”

Eddie shrugged. “He’s full time at the daycare now and I’m working on my trilogy so we’ve become a bit of an old married couple.”

“Sucks for you guys.”

“Not really. We’re happy.” He smiled across at her as she rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be getting all gooey on me now, you’ll make me lose my train of thought.”

“Sorry.” He said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Well anyway, Uncle Gabe was the first person in my family I came out to. He took me under his wing and all but adopted Steve too. He introduced us to the queer scene in the city. He does drag up there and we went to a few shows, had the time of our lives honestly and he’s actually pretty well known. Or his drag persona is at least.” Robin smiled to herself but her face suddenly became contemplative, almost hard. “You know how hostile the world is towards drag queens, right? He’s been shot at in the street before but it’s never fazed him, he’s a real hard ass. A survivor. And he’s endlessly loyal to his people. Hardly blinks at things that would turn regular people’s stomachs.”

Eddie nodded at her a little wide eyed, trying to figure out just where this was going. Robin set her gaze on him again and he nearly recoiled at how intense it was, like she was bearing huge sharp and fierce teeth and he had the sudden urge to run or to play dead. His whole body felt chilled.

“Do you know how to get rid of a body?”

“I-” he swallowed involuntarily. “I have some theories, I suppose. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Theories.” She laughed, cold and dismissive. “Cute. I do. I know how. Barrel. Drain cleaner. Maybe fire. But that’s an awful lot of effort, right? Lucky for me, my favourite Uncle Gabe works for Hawkins Crematorium.”

She took another sip of her drink, letting the silence permeate between them. “I mean it’s insane,” she emphasised with a sharp hiss, “the body doesn’t even need to be dead to be fed into the furnace. Just… incapacitated. I suppose it depends on what your favourite method is. Like take for instance if you have someone who sleeps like the dead. You could bind and gag that person easily.”

Robin sent a pointed look his way and he suddenly remembered with startling clarity the morning he’d woken up with his bandana tied around his wrist. He’d been so confused, he hadn’t remembered doing it the night before and it had been one of the few nights recently he’d slept alone. Steve had been busy with a bake sale at the day care and hadn’t come over and Robin and Chrissy were staying overnight after a city date night. How had she… how could she have-

“Another example.” She cut through his thoughts, nearly making him jump. “Sloppy eaters. They don’t pay much attention to what they put in their body. They just wolf anything down as long as it looks halfway edible. Or they can’t function without their morning coffee, even if it does taste a little… off.”

Oh Jesus H. Christ. Robin had turned up at the apartment more than once with his coffee order first thing in the morning and while it didn’t always taste wrong, occasionally there’d be something strange about it. Not exactly a bad taste, but weirdly different. He’d still knocked it back carelessly while she’d watched.

“And afterwards, when the body is nothing more than dust you could just… flush ‘em down the toilet. And no one would ever know what happened. I can only imagine Uncle Gabe would be more than happy to help his favourite niece and her best friend if someone needed taking care of.” Robin folded her arms on the bar in front of her.

“Fucking hell, Robin.”

“What?” She asked, the spell of her cold and menacing figure immediately broken as she looked at him curiously. “These are just hypotheticals, silly.”

“I suppose I did ask for this.”

“Exactly. Come on.” Robin lowered her voice again, pinning him with her stare. “Let me walk you home.”

“Stop it!”

“Don’t hurt my soulmate and you have nothing to worry about.”

Eddie unwrapped his apron from around his waist and waved goodbye to Lionel.

“Never on purpose.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting away that easy. Don’t do it by accident either.”

“I’ll try my best but sometimes I can be a bit of a dumbass.”

“At least you’re self aware.”

Their conversation flowed easily between the two of them on the way home like it always did, but when he pushed his way into his apartment he immediately broke away from her. Eddie threw himself into Steve’s arms who had barely enough time to turn and catch him with a shout of surprise, stumbling back into the kitchen cabinets.

“She’s so scary, Stevie. She threatened to kill me and flush me down the toilet.” He mumbled into Steve’s neck, holding on for dear life.

“Did you go full serial killer on him?” Steve asked, trying to brush some of Eddie’s hair out of his face while the other arm held him tight and close.

“I gave him what he asked for.” Over Steve’s shoulder he could see Robin wrap her arms around Chrissy from behind, hooking her chin over her shoulder.

“She’s crazy.” Eddie whispered into Steve’s ear. “Baby, she’s trying to kill me.”

“What’s going on?” Chrissy asked, looking between the three of them.

“Shovel talks.” They all answered at the same time.

“Oh.”

Eddie pulled back just enough to free his face, still pressed flush against Steve from chest to hip, a firm arm around his waist. “Have you two been doing the same?”

Chrissy and Steve glanced towards each other for a second before looking away.

“We’ve discussed it amongst ourselves.”

“You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Wait.” Eddie and Robin looked at each other. “What does that mean?”

“What did you discuss?”

“Never you mind.” Steve pinched Eddie on the ass, out of sight of the other two. “Dinner’s up.” He pulled away, starting to plate up the food.

“No, you can’t leave it there.”

“That was so cryptic, you have to tell us.”

“Yeah, tell us.”

“Tell us.”

“Tell us.”

“Tell us.”

“Tell us.”

“I regret ever introducing the two of you.” Steve sighed like the most put upon mother in the world.

“They’re the worst, aren’t they?” Chrissy agreed, helping to set the table while Eddie and Robin buzzed around them like annoying bees.

“Robin, are you hearing this?”

“They don’t appreciate us, Eddie.”

“Why don't you two run away and get married if you prefer each other so much?” Eddie asked petulantly, crossing his arms.

Chrissy and Steve looked at each other for a moment before Steve put his arm around Chrissy’s shoulders. “Maybe we will.”

Chrissy for her part, wound her arm around his waist. Together they looked like a picture perfect couple, a white picket fence practically manifesting behind them, like a middle page spread of Good Housekeeping. “That'll leave the two of you for each other.” She said. “Feral cats, a match made in heaven.”

Robin and Eddie looked at each other and simultaneously scrunched their noses in disgust and then offence.

“Fuck you Buckley. I'd make you a fantastic wife.” Eddie poked her hard in the shoulder before she smacked his hand away with a scowl.

“I'd be an even better husband,” she tugged hard on a lock of his hair, “just watch me!”

Eddie was gearing up to tackle Robin and engage in some kind of childish slap fight. They’d both more than likely end up hurting themselves more than each other in the tussle but before he could start, the plates were set down on the tables with a thud.

“Are you two going to sit down to dinner or not?”

Chapter continues on AO3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9