#late tuesday/early wednesday

[pawzunyan]

I just got ☆ Fired ☆

i dont have money to fly home yet and theyre just gonna kick me out :D knowing i do not have the money to afford a flight home. fuck you Xanterra Travel Collection.

[sweetlikesunflowersandhoney]

every single day there is at least one call where ask a patient a yes or no question and they start rambling about every detail of their life, their spouse, their childhood dog, the neighbours' marital problems, the car that broke down last week HAVE YOU HAD TB YES OR NO

[honeyoats]

visiting the homeland (puerto rico) next week very excited but Not excited about when we leave because our flight leaves at FOUR AM. so we need to be there at TWO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[the-kipsabian]

maybe im just sad cause i havent seen kip in almost a week

that must be it

[thursdayg1rl]

society if they just got rid of the last week of school

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part eleven

922 words

one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

Tuesday and Wednesday go much the same. Steve doesn’t watch Eddie at lunch anymore. 

That’s where Eddie does most of his staring, though. Steve wonders if Eddie felt like this knowing Steve was watching him. He hopes not. He feels like he’s on fire. In a bad way. 

He can’t help himself but go over everything he did, trying to find where he gave himself away, but he comes up blank. Anything he shared about himself in the notes could’ve been from anyone. 

He didn’t hint at it whenever he actually spoke to Eddie, either. 

The only thing he can think of is that he delivered the notes at the same time every day, barring the one time he was late. Eddie must’ve figured it out; saw him one morning. But he thought of that beforehand, too! The only door unlocked then is the gym door because no other sports or clubs meet that early. If Eddie were there, someone would have seen him. 

Then there’s art class. Steve gets whiplash from all the staring at lunch to business as usual in class; Eddie acts like nothing is out of the ordinary. That is to say, they hardly speak to one another, but when they do they’re friendly. 

Come Thursday. Carol is out sick so Steve has no distraction from the boy next to him. He can’t even try to convince himself he isn’t tuned into Eddie’s every movement. 

That day, the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens.

“Next to you, you’ll find your partner for this month's project. Go ahead and get acquainted, you’ll be spending a lot of time with one another.” 

The person on Eddie‘s left turns away from him to pair up with the person on their other side and Steve's stomach drops. He waits for Eddie to request a new partner, but he just drums his pencil on the table noncommittally. 

Steve would just put them both out of their misery and ask the teacher if he can wait until Carol returns to school, but he doesn’t want Eddie to think he minds being partnered with him, especially if Eddie isn’t going to be the one to interject. 

Steve has no reason to be upset with Eddie and, loath he is to admit it, he’d take any chance to be around him. Even now that he knows Eddie doesn’t want him in the same way. 

That’s another thing that’s been nagging him. Eddie was fine with H before he knew it was Steve - liked him even. Then the staring happened and he took off the ring. 

There’s only one explanation: Eddie doesn’t like Steve. 

You’d never guess it, though, not with the way he turns to him and grins. “Well, would ya look at that.”

Steve smiles hesitantly. “Hey, man.”

The teacher claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, alright.” Once everyone has quieted down, she hands each of those in the front row a stack of paper to distribute to their respective columns. 

“This is the project outline. In a moment, I’ll dismiss you to read through it with your partner. After you’ve done that, you’ll notice there is a brainstorm worksheet on the last page. Now, you only need to complete one of these for the both of you…”

Once she’s done giving directions, Eddie turns to Steve. “Do you wanna read or should I? Or separately?”

Steve doesn’t even have to think about the answer. “You.” There’s not really an option there. Not only does he get to hear Eddie’s voice for a prolonged amount of time, but he doesn’t have to stutter his way through reading, or watch as the words seem to evade him? Yeah, Eddie can read; no hesitation.

Eddie nods and clears his throat before starting. Steve reads along on his paper, and finds it much easier than if he’d had to read it on his own. 

The concept is pretty straight-forward. They’ll each have to make a portrait of themselves and the other, collaborating orally while not seeing the other’s work. Even when they’re finished, they have to turn in the projects without the other seeing. There will be an exhibit in three weeks before they go on spring break where all of the portraits will be displayed.

When Eddie’s finished, they flip to the worksheet. “Okay,” Steve says, “I’ll write since you read.”

Eddie hums his approval and they get started. 

At the end of the hour, the teacher tells them to hang onto their packets and take a moment to schedule time outside of school to meet. There will only be one day a week dedicated to the project at school.

Steve clears his throat. “So, I- uh, I’m free most days. When works best for you?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side. “What, no court activities? Responsibilities?”

Steve hesitates. “You mean basketball? I mean, we practice in the mornings and there’s a game next week, but other than that…” Steve trails off once he catches sight of Eddie’s amused look. “What?” He asks, immediately self-conscious.

Eddie waves him off. “Nothing, nothing.” Steve frowns but Eddie keeps talking. “How about Mondays and Wednesdays, right after school?”

Steve chews on his lip before nodding. “Yeah. Where are we meeting?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, drumming his pencil on the desk again. “Uhh, how about we decide that during class those days?”

“Sounds good.” Steve holds up their project outline/brainstorm worksheet. “I’ll just hang onto this.”

Eddie chuckles. “Honestly, man, that’s probably for the best.”

twelve

tag list (closed)

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@flustratedcas @ajeff855 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @pearynice @imaginary-maggie-waggie

sorry if i missed anyone!!

[charliemwrites]

(Re)organized Crime, Part 8!

I was going to wait a little longer to post this (I say, looking guiltily at the queue) but I felt bad leaving it on a cliff hanger!

Content: Attempted Breaking and Entering, Fear for Safety, Hurt/Comfort

Four months ago, Simon drove you home for the first time.

It was a bad week all around. On Monday, Soap broke his arm. Gaz left with Farah and Alex on Tuesday for a business trip on the other side of the country. Wednesday brought about two dozen emails from Philip Graves’ wretched assistant, ugly pastel green borders framing each one. By Thursday, you almost weren’t surprised by the call about a lost shipment.

You were surprised when Price raised his voice at you, though.

“The fuck do you mean it’s missing?” he snarled.

You stood across from him with your tablet in hand, grossly unorganized logs open onscreen.

“I don’t think there are other ways I could mean it,” you answered lightly. “The crates left port and didn’t show up at the next one.”

You were scribbling on the screen, compiling the log into something more comprehensive. Purposefully not making eye contact because you could feel the angry heat radiating off him. It was making your hands tremble, but you’d be damned if you let it show.

“Well then where the fuck are they?” he demanded.

“If I knew that, sir, they wouldn’t be missing.”

“Are you taking the fucking piss?”

At that, you let out a heavy breath and looked up, expression flat. Price’s expression was dark, mouth tight. One hand gripped the arm of his office chair while the index finger of the other tap, tap, tapped his desk. You stared him down for a moment, reminding yourself to breathe with each uneven beat of your heart. Waited through a count of 20 before he huffed.

“Just find the damn thing,” he growled.

“Shall I use my crystal ball?”

You nearly jumped a mile when he barked your name in reprimand. And that was about the time you had enough.

“John.”

He froze. Across the room, so did Simon and Soap. You were so shocked by your own outburst that you came up a bit short as well. Didn’t even have a chance to gather more words when Price’s shoulders dropped. The anger melted away, replaced with apology and self-deprecation.

“Christ, luv, I’m sorry. Where have my manners gone?”

He ran a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose where you were sure a headache was brewing.

“Thank you for the apology. I know this is important,” you soothed, softening your voice. “Give me 30 minutes and I’ll have a list of people you should yell at.”

He grimaced, “Take 45 for the trouble, darling.”

You used the extra fifteen minutes to brew him a fresh cup of tea and served it with a couple pain meds. When you’d delivered the analysis, he told you to head home early, that it would be a late night regardless and there was no need for you to do more than you already had. (It hadn’t helped the way that he’d ducked his head, still sheepish. You’d squeezed his wrist as you’d dropped off a list of damned names.)

With your usual drivers gone, Soap’s arm broken, and Price out to rip several people a new one, Simon drove you home.

He scowled in the vestibule while you fumbled for your keys. Then glared at the entryway as you trudged to the elevator. He grumbled as he accepted the invitation into your apartment, only to sneer (yes, you knew he was sneering even with the mask) at the doorknob and deadbolt.

“This place is a bloody deathtrap,” he finally declared, crossing his arms.

“It’s not that bad,” you replied, shaking your head.

“One solid kick and this door is coming down.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Then don’t kick it.”

“I’m sure a robber will be polite enough to knock,” he scoffed.

“The crime rate is good in this area,” you argued. Not great, but decent enough…

“Bloody hell. Did you even – are your fucking windows unlocked?”

You blinked. “We’re on the third floor, Simon.”

“I don’t give a rats arse—”

“And stop swearing at me.”

“—that you’re on the third floor. Lock your windows.”

You rolled your eyes but faltered when he narrowed his eyes, looming in the doorway like a fussy boogeyman. A clear indication that he did not plan to leave until you complied.

“You can’t be serious!” You were not whining.

“As the fu— as the damn plague.”

You snorted. “I think ‘damn’ is still swearing.”

He didn’t deign to respond to that, just arched his eyebrows. You mirror him right back, preparing to make a snippy comment about wasting company time.

“I’m sure Price would agree,” he said as you opened your mouth. You shut it with a snap.

Smug bastard.

You groaned but made a show of padding to all the windows and clicking the latches shut. Even when into the bedroom to secure those too. When you were done, he grunted in satisfaction and turned for the door.

“Lock this too.”

“I will, I will, I’m not dumb.”

You scrunched your nose at the skeptical grunt you received that time.

Before leaving, he pointed at you again, eyes narrowed. “Lock. Them. All.”

“They are!”

“From now on.”

“Yes, Simon.”

If you survive this episode of Dateline you’ve found yourself in, you owe him a scone and those nice cigarettes he pretends he doesn’t smoke.

“Open th’ fuckin’ door, Bunny!”

Your fingers twitch around the hilt of the knife. It’s not a big one, but it is serrated. That’s not going in or out without some serious damage. If not the fatal kind, at least the messy kind. Brandon’s not doing anything to you without leaving a crime scene investigator’s wet dream behind.

“Bunnyyyyyyyy!”

The banging starts again, nearly as fast as your heart. You could swear it gets louder every time. Maybe it’s just getting closer, layers of wood chipping away, closing the already too-small distance between you.

You glance desperately at your phone, but the screen remains damningly dark. Price promised he’d be here soon, but it feels like hours since you hung up to preserve what little battery life you had left. Your stomach churns as the pounding turns to thicker, harder thumps. Throwing his body into the door again, trying to force entry. Simon’s mutterings about kicking the door echo in your head.

You should have listened.

“Bun—fuck!”

You jolt as something slams into the door, nearly taking it (and the entry table you braced against it) down. There’s scuffling and scraping, muffled shouting, rapid footsteps— then silence. You hold your breath, every muscle in your body wound tight enough to snap.

“It’s alright now.”

You lurch from your protective crouch in the hallway, shove clumsily at the table. The mangled front door swings in crooked on one hinge, cracked and splintered from top to bottom.

And John is there on the other side.

You’re not sure if he reaches for you or if you throw yourself into his arms. All that matters is that he’s clutching you tight to his broad chest, tucking your head beneath his chin. Safe, protected. Your head spins as you lean into him, knowing that he’ll support you. His heart is beating hard against your cheek.

“John,” you breathe, now that fear isn’t squeezing your lungs in a vice.

“I’m here, luv,” he murmurs into your hair.

You’re shaking. Adrenaline seeps from your bones, takes all their heat and steel with it. You’re left cold and feeble in the aftermath, fingertips numb as they curl tight into his shirt. You don’t know where the knife is; you don’t care. You don’t need it now.

“H-He… He…” you start.

John shushes you, squeezes a bit tighter in reassurance. He knows; you don’t need to tell him, don’t have to remind yourself of what could have happened.

“Where…?” you try instead, but words are so hard. All the trembling must have knocked your voice loose, lost somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

“Soap and Gaz are taking care of it,” John says.

The last of the tension drains away. Your boys will scare Brandon off, maybe enough that he won’t ever bother you again. (The thought alone makes your eyes burn.) John is here now, and – when you peek out from around his bicep – so is Simon.

“You were right,” you mumble, “a-about the door.”

Simon winces. “I’m sorry that I was.”

Somehow, that’s what finally bursts the bubble of your restraint. You sob. It’s loud and sniffly and ugly. In the back of your mind, the part that can never just let you rest, you’re mortified to be doing this in front of your coworker. And on your boss’s nice shirt too. You have an image to maintain—

Except John’s broad hand is rubbing soothing circles into your lower back. He’s gathering you even closer, letting you shelter in his warmth and strength. Easing you through hiccups with quiet murmurs, telling you he’s proud and that you did so well to call him.

Through tears, you see Simon reach out. Scarred knuckles run gently down your wet cheek.

“We take care of our own, little miss.”

You warble out a broken little “Simoooon” that seems to break the solemn atmosphere, John sighing against your temple and Simon’s shoulders slumping in what might be fondness.

It’s not long before Soap and Gaz return, looking no worse for wear, thankfully. (Not that you think they can’t handle themselves – but Brandon was drunk and who knows if he had a weapon or not. Accidents happen.)

“Aw, lass,” Soap coos when he sees you. Calmer now, but still sniffling and wiping at stray tears. “He’s gone now. Won’ be botherin’ you again.”

You blink at the fresh blood on his knuckles and don’t ask. You believe him.

“Thank you.”

“Nothin’ to thank us for, doll. Should have taken care of ‘im earlier,” Gaz replies.

“Earlier?” John asks. He’s trying for your sake, you can tell, but you know him too well to miss the sharp note in his voice.

“Hadn’t had a chance to debrief, sir,” Gaz explains regretfully.

You untuck your face from John’s chest to be better heard, clearing your throat. “Still, for all four of you to come here…”

“What else would we do, sit with our thumbs up our bums?” Soap teases.

“That’ll do,” Simon snips, but you giggle anyway.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to leave your apartment – it takes a bit more to convince you to go to John’s. Unfortunately, you’re outnumbered, and while that normally wouldn’t be a problem, you’re not in a headspace to be stubborn, argumentative, or superficially brave.

All the boys have bachelor pads ill-suited to guests, especially on short notice. Maybe on some other night, under different circumstances, you would have insisted on a hotel.

But the idea of being alone in an unfamiliar place makes your skin crawl. You don’t want to be alone. You want to be near John.

“We take care of our own,” Simon said – so you let them.

Gaz, Soap, and Simon help to pack you an overnight bag, scattering to different corners of your apartment to collect items. In the meantime, you keep clinging to John because he keeps letting you. Exhaustion creeps at the edges of your mind, doubling gravity on your slumping shoulders.

“Did I interrupt something important?” you ask finally, voice hoarse.

“No, luv. Just a card game with some old friends. Soap was losing anyway.”

You sigh, relieved. At least you don’t have the loss of some important business deal weighing on your conscience.

“Poker again?”

“Kid can’t keep a straight face for the life of him.”

You hide your smile against his shoulder and appreciate the chuckle you feel more than hear in his chest.

Simon takes the lead out of the building while Gaz and Soap bring up the rear. You’re a bit self-conscious of any neighbors seeing you in this state, but thankfully none make an appearance. It’s too late in the evening for anyone to be coming in or leaving, and if there were any witnesses to Brandon’s bullshit, you never saw (or heard) them.

(“The hell is their problem, actin’ like they didnae hear that bawbag?” Soap grumbles. “Bystander effect,” you answer, shrugging. He grimaces in understanding, but still looks pissed.)

The car is warm when John bundles you into the back seat. Soap takes the wheel, Simon the passenger side. Gaz sits on your other side and leans his knee gently into yours.

“It’s over now, doll, you can rest. We won’t let anythin’ happen t’you,” he promises.

You smile wearily, lean in to drop a grateful kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you four,” you sigh as you snuggle into John’s side again.

“Don’t need to,” Simon answers gruffly, “we’re not goin’ anywhere.”

John hums in agreement, low and pleasant by your ear.

“You always take such good care of us,” he murmurs. Quiet, just for the two of you. “Let us return the favor for once, won’t you, darling?”

You want to resist. You should. You drop your head to his shoulder and sigh, “Okay.”

Between the gentle motion of the car and the pattering of a fresh rainstorm, you don’t stay awake for long. You nod off within four blocks of your apartment, peacefully unaware of the dazed and bloody body in the trunk.

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Masterlist

[hairstevington]

call me when you get this

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Eddie and Steve are best friends, but even the best of friends have secrets.

WC: 3K

Warnings: Story told through voicemails, mild angst, coming out to each other, secret feelings, friends to lovers, kissing, swearing, light angst very brief, references to Robin and Gareth, drunk shenangians, idiots in love, set in 1991 but it doesn't matter too much, no mention of the Upside Down stuff

A/N: I have like three other WIP's happening and zero time but this idea was given to me by the beloved @tinytalkingtina in the discord and then I couldn't get it out of my head. Ao3 link here for those interested!

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 12:52am

GARETH hi yes I know it’s late but HAVE YOU LISTENED TO THE ALBUM YET? I need all of your thoughts immediately. Like, all of them. Every thought. Dude, my head is spinning. Ohhh, man. Kurt is a fuckin’ legend. Woooow. Okay, I could talk about this shit for like three hours but I don’t want to run out your tape so just call me back when you get this and then talk to me about it for three hours. Can I come over a little early tomorrow? Yeah, I’m gonna come over a little early tomorrow. Maybe a lot early. Alright, catch ya then. 

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 3:40pm

Uhh, ha. Hey Steve. Thiiiis is Eddie, obviously. I, uh, I just realized I called you in the middle of the night last night on accident, and - uhh, sorry about that. It was just - ah, screw it. You know what I am. Byeeeeee-

Tuesday, September 24th, 1991, 7:30pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eds, how many times do I have to tell you to change your answering machine message? What if, like, the president calls? Okay, maybe not the president. But an employer or something. Or, like, what if you give the girl of your dreams your number and she calls you and hears THAT? Food for thought. Uhh, anyway, it’s fine. I wasn’t even home when you called me. Robin was, though, and so you’ll probably hear her wrath next time you come over for movie night. Good luck with that. Oh, wait. You’re at a show tonight, right? Damn. I swear I’ll make the next one. Okay, bye, dickhead. 

Wednesday, September 25th, 1991, 1:12pm

“You have reached Steve Harrington. Figured I should say that in case whoever is calling me thinks they’re calling someone else. Anyway, I’m busy right now so I’ll call you back. Bye!”

Ha, ha. You are so funny, Harrington. You ever think about being a stand-up comedian? Jesus, and you say I’M the dramatic one. Uhh, the show last night went well, by the way. Not that you were THERE. Seriously, what kind of friend even are you? I’m hurt, Steve. I’m hurt. Anyway, see you tomorrow for movie night. I get to pick. It’s only fair, right?

Thursday, September 27th, 1991, 4pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

You’re not picking the goddamn movie. No way. Last time you did that we got scarred for life. Also, um. I can’t tell if you’re joking or not about me and your shows. I didn’t realize you - uhh, you’re probably joking. Forget I said anything, and see you tonight. I’m at work right now, so I’m gonna rent some backup options just in case.

Sunday, September 30th, 1991, 2pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dustin says you were being a total dick last night. Good. That shrimp deserves to be humbled every once in a while. Your answering machine message still sucks, by the way, and yeah I’m gonna tell you every time. 

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:21pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steve. My guy. I can’t believe you make fun of me for my bullshit message all the time and now you’ve created and advertised THAT abomination?? I’m - wow. I forgot why I even called.

Monday, October 1st, 1991, 3:23pm

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Okay, I remember now. I know you said you have that date tomorrow with Heidi or Melissa or Samantha or whoever is currently obsessed with you, but I really do want you at the show if you can make it. You can bring her, if you want. Actually, it might be a good test. If she hates metal, she fails. I only want the best suitors for you, Steve Harrington. Be there or I’ll be REALLY annoying about it forever. 

Tuesday, October 2nd, 1991, 11:45pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Hey, it’s Steve. So, uh - I saw your show tonight. You’re probably not home yet, but I don’t know where you are. Cuz like, I tried to find you after your set but you disappeared. I hope everything’s okay. You sounded great, by the way. I mean, you all did. Remember me when you’re playing at the Garden? Oh also, I heard like three women talk about how badly they wanted you, so…I dunno, just figured you’d like to hear that. Hey, maybe you got with one of them and that’s why you’re not answering. In that case, hope you’re having fun? Okay, now it’s weird. Bye, Eds.

Wednesday, October 3rd, 12:54am

“Hey, this is Steve.”

“And Robin!”

“And you’ve somehow managed to call us when neither of us are here.”

“We are probably together.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Or we just don’t want to talk to you.”

“Oh, that too.”

“Either way, leave a message and we’ll get back to you later!”

“Probably.”

“Probably!”

Steeeeeeeeeeeve. You absolute buffoon. You beautiful, oblivious man. Why’dya think I wanted you there’so badly t’night, Steve? T’wasn’t for the girls. Ha, girls. Yeah, okay. I may have had several alcoholic beverages, Steve-o, but you’re still the dumbass. Cuz you’d have to be an absolute idiot t’think I have any interest in those women. ‘Specially yours. Your women, I mean. Sandyyyyy. Ugh, she was perfect for you, Harrington. Juuuust perfect. So perfect I didn’t wanna stick around to see any more of it. I hope you two have beautiful children. Name one after me, will you? Uhhhh I think I might puke. So, I’m gonna go, but - but do you get what I’m saying? Do you - do you get it? Tell me you get it. Steve, I - Oh, hey Gareth. Do you wanna talk to Steve? Wait why are you - Dude, I’m FINE. I’m handling it! Stop! Gareth, don’t hang up the phone, I haven’t -!

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 9:05am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Dude, did you fucking break into our apartment last night? Robin and I came home this morning and found a broken lock and some shitty note we could barely read next to the answering machine, and - what the fuck, man? You wiped the damn thing clean. Just - call me back, okay? Jesus. 

Wednesday, October 3nd, 1991, 11:36am

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

Eddie, come on. We really need to talk. I’m not - I’m not mad, honest to God. Call me back, as soon as you get this. Got it?

Thursday, October 4th, 1991, 3:47pm

“Hey, it’s Eddie. I proooobably won’t listen to whatever you’re about to say, but shoot your shot anyway.”

It’s movie night, but I’m assuming you won’t be here considering you’ve pulled your magic disappearing act. Thanks for that, by the way. You know you really piss me off sometimes? All the time, actually. I’m getting real tired of you constantly poking fun at me, and then you pull this breaking and entering shit and just take off? Just like that? We’ve been friends for years, Eds. You and me. But you never want to just be serious, not once in your goddamn life, and I’m over it. So, uh, thanks for that, I guess. I dunno what I did. 

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:12pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

Huh. You know what? I kind of miss the old message you had. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m impossible to please, yada yada yada, and now I’m doing the avoiding with humor thing again. Shit. Uhh, hi. Listen, I’m sorry I disappeared off the face of the earth for a while. Really, really fucking sorry, if you can believe it. I was just, like, mad embarrassed, and I didn’t wanna - uh, can we meet up soon? Alone? Like, without Robin even? I know that’s - like, unheard of these days, but I figure maybe you’d make an exception for me. Or maybe you won’t. Just let me know, yeah? 

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:30pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

See, I would just hop on over to your place to talk but the thing is, I’m a total chickenshit and it’s not like I did super well the last time I showed up to your place unannounced, so…Uhh, while we’re on the subject, I’m sorry about your lock. If you haven’t replaced it yet, I will. I’ll at least pay you back. In my defense, that thing was like two seconds from falling off anyway. But still. Anyway, I know you always spend Sundays at home, soooo…hellooooo? Come on. At least pick up the phone and tell me to fuck off. I know you’re listening. At least - I hope you are, anyway. Just pick up, man. I - I really gotta talk to you. 

Sunday, October 7th, 1991, 1:37pm

Hi! You have reached Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley’s home. Leave a message at the beep!

So, quick update, I called Henderson. He confirmed you are at home, which means you are DEFINITELY listening, and either you’re trying to punish me or a part of you still finds my piece of shit ass charming somehow. Look, I know I fucked up, but - but I can explain. Shit. I mean, I’m not good with words or anything and I’m a total asshole but I - just, please. Pick up. Pick uuuuup. Come on. Now you’re just being a dick. Ha. Figures, I’m apologizing and calling you a dick in the same message. Dude. Seriously. Your tape is gonna run out of space and then what? You stop hearing from me? I’ll find other ways to annoy you, promise. This is a threat. Steve. Steeeeve. Pick up pick up pick up pick upppp -

“Will you just shut the hell up already?”

Eddie dropped the phone and heard it clack against the floor. He would have recognized that voice anywhere. 

He turned around and there he was. 

“Steve, what are you -?”

“You would just be yapping on that damn answering machine my whole drive here,” Steve said with his hands on his hips. “I don’t know why I expected any less. And, thanks to you, we had all the space in the world for you to take up, so -”

“H-how did you get in here?” Eddie stuttered. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “What? You think you’re the only one who’s not afraid of breaking and entering?”

They hadn’t seen each other in five days. Hadn’t even talked, aside from a few voicemails. And those never told the whole story. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie began. 

“Yeah, you should be,” Steve replied, taking a step closer to Eddie in the kitchen. 

Eddie winced, his heart racing a million miles a minute. He just had to get all of the words out, while he still could. While Steve was listening. 

“I left you this really stupid voicemail,” Eddie explained. “That night, after the show. I was drunk off my ass, and - and Gareth told me I’d said shit I shouldn’t have said, and then I panicked, and the two of us went to your apartment and I - well, you know the rest.” He slumped down into the chair at the dining room table, putting his head in his hands. “Which is all just so dumb. And I didn’t wanna deal with the aftermath, so…”

“So you stopped talking to me?” Steve said, taking another step closer. “Because you thought that would be the straw that broke the camel’s back in our friendship?”

Eddie shook his head. “I dunno, I -”

“You’ve done some real weird shit over the years, Munson,” Steve continued. “Sneaking into my apartment doesn’t even make the top three.”

Eddie buried his face in his hair. No amount of boyish charm would get him out of this one. Jesus H. Christ. 

He sighed. “Okay, so I overreacted, what else is new?” 

“I heard the voicemail, dickhead.”

Eddie’s heart went from breakneck speeds to stopping entirely. 

“What?”

Steve sat down in the other seat at the table. “I heard the voicemail. It was 1am, again, so yeah I was at home.”

“I thought you would have been with Sandy,” Eddie muttered.

Steve shook his head. “Nah, Sandy was - she’s great and all, but she isn’t - she’s not -”

“So you heard the voicemail, but you weren’t home when I showed up,” Eddie noted.

“Right,” Steve said. “Because I was headed to your place.”

“What?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I just - I didn’t understand why you never told me you were queer. Like, you know I don’t care about that. You know about Robin…”

As Steve talked, Eddie realized that Steve only heard half of what that voicemail was trying to express. So, it was time for Eddie Munson to face the music. 

“I didn’t tell you I’m gay because I knew that once I did, you’d figure out the rest of it,” Eddie blurted out.

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “The rest of it?”

Eddie groaned. “Oh, God. See, drunk me had the right idea saying this kind of shit over an answering machine. Christ, I’m so bad at this, but I’m just gonna say it, because if I don’t I think I’ll lose my shot with you and I - I can’t deal with that. So, here we go.” He squeezed his eyes shut and powered through. “Steve, I - ha, shit. I love you, dude. I’m - I’m IN love with you. I have been since, like, forever.” He opened his eyes, but kept them fixed on their feet against the linoleum kitchen floor. “Which is, uhh, a lot, I know. But it’s the truth. So if there’s any chance -”

“Oh, my God,” Steve interrupted. His voice wasn’t angry, or scared, or anything like that. It was soft and understanding. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Wait, what are you thinking?” He looked up to see Steve staring off into the distance before meeting his gaze. 

“I’m thinking,” Steve replied. “That I owe Robin twenty bucks.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and felt his heart skip back into rhythm. “You do?”

Steve nodded with a slight smile. At some point, his hand had ended up on Eddie’s knee. “Yeah, I didn’t believe her. Told her no way, not possible.”

Eddie didn’t know how to feel about this reaction. It wasn’t the worst possible response, but it certainly wasn’t Oh, Eddie! How I’ve longed for you all this time! Take me now! 

A middleground, if you will. 

“Oookay,” Eddie said. “Well, I don’t really know what to say now.”

“I’m queer too, ya know,” Steve continued.

"Wait, really?" Eddie balked. "Steve Harrington, ladies man?"

Steve chuckled. "Uh, yeah. Turns out, not so much," he said. "I feel like I’m pretty open about it. Guys, girls, whatever -”

“Yeah, but we all do that,” Eddie reasoned. “Me, you, and Robin all talking about how hot everyone is on our movie nights. It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Except that it totally does,” Steve countered. “Because, like, what do we all have in common?"

Eddie thought about it, and he didn’t have any other defenses.

“O-okay, so you’re queer too,” Eddie said. “And the other thing I said?”

Steve took a deep breath and looked Eddie directly in his frightened eyes.

“Eds, obviously I love you too,” Steve admitted at last. “Come on, seriously? After all I’ve put up with? I’ve been waiting around for like five days for you to call, like some lovesick puppy, and the moment I heard your voice I drove here instead of picking up the phone like a normal person. I’ve got it so bad for you that Robin is sick of it, and honestly, I’m sick of it too, because I hate having feelings. It blows, dude. I swear to God, if you try to bolt again when things get tough -”

Eddie lunged forward and cut Steve’s words off with a kiss. Their first kiss, even if it didn’t feel that way. Eddie had cupped Steve’s cheek in the past while he teased him. Steve had curled his fingers in Eddie’s hair in the past the night Robin taught him how to braid. Eddie and Steve had all kinds of physical contact in various ways over the years, and it was as if all of that was just practice for this. 

Eddie broke away from Steve’s lips purely out of necessity, because he needed to catch his breath. “Okay, woah,” he said.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Woah.”

Everything changed after that. But also, nothing changed at all.

-

Tuesday, October 16th, 1991, 4:12pm

“Hey, this is Eddie Munson’s phone. Leave a message and I’ll call ya back.”

Hi, Eds. Okay, I was wrong. This new message you have is, like, super boring. Anyway, I’ll see you at the show tonight, Rockstar. Love you. 

xx

I did have a taglist way back when but the tagging system is super annoying on tumblr, so please reblog this if you liked it and follow me or my Ao3 for other works! Masterlist is the pinned post on my page for those interested. Thanks for reading!

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Can i get headcanons for whats it like everyday in the mansion

I hope I did okay on this, I tried to just summarize a general average day for you

While there can be a lot of chaos in the mansion with so many people going through so many different things, on any random given day it's actually more normal than you might assume. They've all lived together for so long that they essentially function as a family, and they tend to get along for the most part. If it's a training day, their days start early. They're usually up by 6 or 7 on training days, all working in groups to train specific aspects for their job, or just working out together and getting in their exercise for the day. If it's not an exercise day, they all tend to sleep in to different times, and if they don't have work at all for the day some of them can sleep quite late.

Usually Slender handles breakfast as he's always the one up the earliest, but generally they try and rotate shifts for meals. I think they'd have a board in the kitchen, and whoever is going to cook the following day will write down either what they want to make for their meals, or they'll write a few foods that they can vote on and they'll make whatever wins. Depending on their schedules and how much they like cooking a creep might cook all three meals or just one or two, as cooking for that many people is a lot of work, so they tend to work in pairs sometimes as well. After breakfast, they tend to disperse for the day. Anyone on duty to handle chores (dishes, cleaning, organizing, etc.) will usually begin doing that, and anyone who has a mission to handle will get ready for that. Anyone who has nothing to do usually hangs out in their friend groups in the mansion, and they'll go out or stay in and play games or watch something, or just hang out. Most days in the mansion are actually pretty calm, with not a lot of rambunctious energy and trouble happening. Someone will make lunch and everyone home who is hungry will group back together to eat and chat, and then they tend to disperse again.

Dinner is the one meal in the mansion that requires mandatory attendance (unless you're not feeling well) because Slender likes to have everyone together for dinner. They all fill up Slender's long dining table and eat and talk and joke around, and it's when all of them tend to be most content. I said in a very, very, very old post that they have different events happening every day of the week as well. Monday night is Slender's book club night in the mansion, Tuesday afternoons Toby and Helen host an art club, Wednesday mornings Jeff hosts a workout class to help everyone learn new exercises and target specific types of workouts, Thursday night is movie night and Friday night is game night and BEN is in charge of both of those, Saturday afternoons Slender teaches cooking and LJ teaches baking, and Sunday afternoons is group therapy hosted by Slender. The only one that requires attendance is therapy, but generally, everyone tends to go to different events every week when they feel up to it, which is pretty often. They're all required to be back in their bedrooms between like 12-12:30, but they're free to do anything before that, and they can stay awake if they'd like to, Slender just tries to encourage healthy sleeping routines. The only exception to that is EJ since he's nocturnal, so he tends to have the mansion to himself overnight, which he doesn't mind because he likes the quiet. Anyone with an overnight mission will leave for their missions around the time everyone else goes to bed, and they tend to return in the early morning hours and try to quietly shower and go to bed so they can sleep as much as they need.

[iwasntstable]

n.s. | if i'm there

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I didn't want to believe how much you needed help / And I just left you to be all by yourself / And now I wish I had seen that you weren't doing well / But I just came back to see how hard you fell Well, if I'm there to catch you when you fall / You'll have a friend down in Hell after all 　　— If I'm There - Bad Omens

summary: when things start getting bad, you withdraw. ignoring calls and texts, and descending into bad habits as you self-isolate. but noah knows what you're like and he loves you too much to let you suffer alone.

content tags: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, poor mental health, mentions of disordered eating, discussions of food, self-destructive behaviour, fluff.

word count: 3.8k.

note: having a rough time recently so enjoy the self-indulgent product of my stressing. 　　PS: please tell me if the layout of this post is fucked up so I can fix it for you.

Things are getting bad again. You find your sleep schedule sliding later and later, falling asleep in the early hours of the morning and waking in the afternoon, bypassing the day altogether. Meals are becoming infrequent and poor in quality. Appetite dwindling and opting to eat half a bag of microwave rice at 3am rather than dedicating time to creating a nutritious and satisfying meal. Truth be told, you didn’t have the energy to cook anything more, and the malnutrition itself likely played a part in that lack of energy. The trash was left to build up, and the laundry hadn’t been done in weeks.

The progression of all of this was gradual. So gradual, that by the time you recognised what was happening, it was all but too late to stop the rapid descent into your depression. And as the days go by, you start to withdraw into yourself. Messages from friends begin to go unanswered. You tell yourself you’ll reply later, when you have the mental bandwidth to engage in conversation. But later ends up being not at all. Too many days have passed, and you feel like it’s too late to reply now; you don’t know how. That includes your boyfriend.

　　　　　　　　　　　[Noah 💘]

　　　　　　 　　　　　Tuesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　10:45AM

— Morning! Do you wanna call later?    Miss your voice 

          morning! I have a headache —             right now and I feel like it's             not gonna go away :( I'll let                you know though.                 I miss you too ❤️ —

— Aw I'm sorry :( — I hope you feel better soon — Text me later and let me know    how you are ❤️

　　　　　　　　　 　　02:27PM

— Hey babe how are you feeling?

             my head still hurts :( —

— Want me to come over and look    after you? — Have you eaten yet?

       you don't have to do that, I'd be —            shitty company anyway                   just wanna sleep —

— Okay :( — I'll text you later tonight so    you can sleep

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:09PM

— How are you feeling? — Are you sleeping? — Hope you’re resting well. Text    me when you wake up so I know    you’re okay — I love you ❤️ — Goodnight ❤️

　　　　　　 　　　　Wednesday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Morning, how’re you feeling?

　　　　　　　　　 　　09:13AM

— Are you awake? — Babe, are you okay?

      hey! sorry I was still asleep. I feel a —       little better but my head still hurts :(

— I’m gonna cancel today and come    over — I don’t want you to be alone when    you’re not well 

       no don’t do that, i’m okay really —              you know this happens          sometimes. I just wanna rest,            you don’t have to cancel for        me. not when work is important

— You’re important too — Please let me look after you

          I love you and I love that —           you want to be here for me,         but all I want to do right now                   is sleep

          I don’t want you to cancel —           important schedules just           to watch me sleep all day                I’ll feel better soon.             just need to give it time. —

— I’d cancel to sit and watch you sleep    in a heartbeat — I love you, I just want you to be okay — I have to go, I’ll text you later okay?

         I’ll text you back when I can, —            if I don’t reply I’m probably          asleep so don’t worry have a                good day I love you —

　　　　　　　　　 　　10:26PM

— Hey babe sorry I didn’t text all day I    was so fucking busy — How’re you doing now? — Are you sleeping again?

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 10:31PM]

— Text or call me when you wake up,    even if it’s the middle of the night I’ll    leave my sound on — I love you ❤️

　　　　　　 　　   　　Thursday 　　　　　　　　　 　　08:41AM

— Hey, are you awake?

　　　　　　　　　 　　08:55AM

— Hello??

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 08:59AM]

— Message me when you wake up

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:20PM

— Babe?? — I’m worried — Even if you don’t wanna talk can     you please let me know you’re okay?

　　　　　　　　　 　　12:46PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 12:48PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　01:20PM

     hey, sorry I missed your messages —         I’m okay sorry for worrying you —

— I was just about to come over — I still might — I’m worried about you

           please don’t I just don’t —          wanna see anyone right now

— Even me?

                  I’m sorry —             I’ll text you tomorrow — — If that’s what you want — I love you

　　　　　　　 　   　　　Friday 　　　　　　　　　 　　03:47PM

— I don’t want to bother you, I’m     trying to give you space if that’s    what you need — But I’m worried about you — You haven’t messaged me all day — Did I do something wrong?

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:10PM

— Babe please answer me

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:12PM]

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:15PM]

　　　　　　　　　 　　04:18PM

— Your friends said they haven’t heard    from you in days — What’s going on? You can talk to me. — You don’t have to talk to me if you    don’t want to but text someone back,    please — I just wanna know that you’re okay

　　　　　　　[MISSED CALL: 04:23PM]

And that’s how Noah ended up outside your door. Banging incessantly and shouting your name through the wood. You could hear him from where you were wrapped up in bed, but you were half hoping he would just drop it and go away. Realising quickly, however, the futility of that hope when you heard another voice join the sound of his. That of your neighbour, the nosy one from the house on the right.

You groan and throw the blanket off yourself, flinching a little when your feet touch the cold floor. You have no choice but to go downstairs, and no time to change your appearance. Hoping to whatever God will listen that Noah doesn’t make a comment on the clothes you’d been wearing for the past week before you can get in the shower and change.

“I’m just really worried about her,” you can hear the unmistakable tone of Noah’s voice through the door before you even open it.

Hesitating for a moment with your hand on the door handle, you decide to eavesdrop on the conversation. “I haven’t seen her for, ohhh let me think... has to be about a week now,” despite the man’s voice wavering with age, it came loud and clear through the door. An unfortunate side effect of his hearing loss.

“A week?!” Noah exclaimed. Having enough of the old man sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong, you unlock the door quickly, wrenching it open and taking a surprised Noah by the arm.

“Oh! Nice to see you, dear. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” The old man sneers.

“Yeah, nice seeing you, Trevor,” you barely extend him a glance as you drag Noah in through your doorway, slamming the door closed and turning the key. You let out a deep sigh, your palms and forehead resting against the cool wood.

Noah calls your name softly. You squeeze your eyes tight and take in a breath before you turn to face him. Putting on the best phoney smile you can muster.

“Sorry about him, he’s always in everyone’s business. What are you-”

“He said he hasn’t seen you in a week,” he says matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of a smile on his face. “Your friends said they haven’t heard from you in days either, and you’ve been ignoring my texts. And calls.”

Your heart seizes at the sadness in his eyes. He stands there in your front room, his usual sweatpants and hoodie, but he just looks so defeated. You always tell him he looks like an upset puppy when he’s sad, and the puppy-dog eyes are working overtime on you right now. “I told you, I’ve just been busy, and I-”

“And you had a headache, and you missed my texts, and you didn’t want to talk,” his voice was as stern as his expression. You knew he wasn’t an idiot. That there’s no way he’d believe your—at best—flimsy excuses. You stand frozen to the spot, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. Picking at the stitches, trying to distract yourself from the lump forming in your throat. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Noah questions.

You swallow roughly, “I don’t know what you... I don’t-”

He says your name firmly and takes a step towards you, “I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly.”

Feeling your heart begin to race in your chest, you swallow again, but it does nothing to get rid of the tightness in your throat. Or the dizziness creeping up on you.

“Are you doing bad again?” He sounds softer this time, and you almost wish he would just scream at you because when he’s kind and attentive like this, you can’t help but crumble and shut down.

You clench your jaw as your breathing gets quicker, shallower, and you feel the unmistakable burn of tears in your eyes. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out cracked and weak, not at all the sound of someone who's fine. 

“Don’t pretend you’re okay. Please don’t lie to me, because I know you’re not okay!” Noah crosses the room to meet you, holding his hands outstretched towards you, “what can I do for you? Please, I want to help.”

You cover your mouth as you choke back a sob, wrapping your other arm around your middle; you can’t hold it in anymore, and the floodgates open. Gasping for breath that seems to never come, you grip the front of your shirt tight in your fist, the clothing suddenly feeling suffocating and stiflingly hot.

“Oh, baby. Come here,” Noah takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into his chest, where you fall into him and cling onto him like he’s your only lifeline. “I need you to breathe for me, okay? Slowly, in and out,” he strokes soothing circles against your back as he demonstrates to you how to breathe. “Come and sit down here, yeah? The couch is right here.”

You barely register your legs moving for the numbness extending across your entire body, from your fingertips all the way down to your toes. Your tears are hot on your face, and every time you try to wipe them away, they’re just replaced by more in a never-ending stream. The room feels like it’s spinning around you as you move, only worsening the feeling of nausea rising in your throat. The plush cushions of the couch are a welcome relief.

“You’re holding your breath, I need you to breathe. Just how I am, that’s it,” he cradles your head to his chest through your shaky attempts to take in a breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Your breath hitches uncontrollably with every inhale, taking in tiny bursts of air at a time. Noah, though, has nothing but praise on his lips: “That’s it. You’re doing so well, just listen to my voice.”

You missed his voice. As you worsened and withdrew, you found any excuse to avoid going out to see him, and you had been ignoring his calls for days. You knew you were doing it, and you missed him desperately, but with every day that passed, you found it harder and harder to reach out. It was hard for you to reach out for help in the first place, hard for you to admit to anyone that you needed help. Hard to admit it to yourself. Opting instead to suffer in silence and just push through it until you finally broke. You didn’t know any other way.

The familiar presence of him by your side eases the pace of your racing heart, allowing each breath to come a little easier. A little calmer. “I hate to see you hurting like this,” he whispers into your hair, his hand stroking through it gently, working to soothe the seemingly unquenchable anxiety. “I want to help you, please let me help you.”

It broke your heart to hear the pain in his voice. You never wanted to hurt him, but that’s all you seem to do. That cold hand of dread tightens its grip on your chest again, panic filling your lungs and replacing all the air. “I’m sorry,” you barely choke out, gripping onto Noah tighter. Warring with yourself, wanting to hold him close, but feeling like you need to push him away.

“You don’t need to apologise, ever. I’m here, I’m right here,” he runs his hand up and down your back, cradling you close. He can’t help but notice that through the fabric of your shirt, the bones of your spine are ever so slightly more prominent than before. He keeps his mouth shut. Focussing instead on quelling your distress and holding you tight in his arms. 

“I just- I fuck everything up. I can’t do anything right, I don’t deserve your love, I don’t deserve you-” Once you start talking, you can’t stop, finally letting it all out until Noah cuts you off, incapable of hearing you degrade yourself anymore.

“No. No, that’s not even remotely true. Don’t say that about yourself,” he says firmly, holding you just a little tighter. 

You shake your head against him, “all I do is hurt people and push you away, and I don’t know how to stop. You don’t deserve that, you shouldn’t have to put up with me.”

“I don’t ‘put up with you’. I love you, and I want to be here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

“You shouldn’t have to drop everything to come deal with me when you’re so busy. You deserve someone that isn’t so fucking hard to love.”

With that, Noah pushes you backwards by the shoulders, holding you there so he can look into your eyes when he speaks. “You are not hard to love. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever had the privilege of doing. You just…” He takes a deep breath, cupping your cheek and brushing away the tears from under your eyes. “You just need to let me in, and let me show you you’re just as worthy of love as anyone else is.”

The image of him blurs when the tears overflow from your eyes again, your face crumpling as you bow your head. “You’ll leave me," your voice shaking with the force of your sobs.

"Why would you ever think I'd leave you?" he asks, dismayed by your fear.

"Everyone always leaves," you tell him, voice brittle and quiet, shaking your head. "It's only a matter of time before you leave too."

"I love you," Noah feels tears prick at his own eyes. "I love you so, so much. And I'm not going anywhere." He lifts your head, once again brushing away your tears so he can look into your eyes, "please trust me to help you."

"I'm just so tired," you confess, and he pulls you into his arms again. 

“I can't promise to fix all your problems, but I can promise you won't have to face them alone. There’s nothing you could do that would drive me away. And the things that would, I know you’d never do,” he runs a comforting hand through your hair as you cry, his other arm secure around your waist. Your tears soak into his shirt, but he doesn’t mind. He wants you to give it all to him—all your sorrows, all your grief—so that he can bear it with you.

You desperately want to believe his words. To lean on him when you need him the most, but that insecure piece inside of you won’t let you yield. You don’t know how to open up to anyone without feeling like a burden.

Noah stays right there with you until the tears subside and your breathing evens out. Your head resting in his lap as he reassuringly strokes your hair, you feel the beginnings of a dull ache in your head that makes you drowsy. He rubs soothing circles into your back with his other hand, shifting slightly to get a better look at your face. “Have you eaten yet today?” He asks tentatively. Feeling your throat constrict under the pressure of guilt, you know you can’t lie to him. You know he sees right through you, so you decide to try being honest by shaking your head. “Want me to cook something for you? Or we can order something? My treat.”

You know he means well, but you don’t know how to say you don’t have an appetite without worrying him. He won’t let you go the entire day without eating, but all you want to do is sleep.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads, “I need to hear you.”

On a shaky breath, you settle for a half truth. “I don’t think there’s anything to cook.”

“That’s fine, we can order food then. What do you want?”

Chewing on your lip, you freeze. The silence stretches on far too long for you to be deciding what restaurant to order from, it’s clear you’re unable to answer.

Noah sighs your name, “you have to eat something.” 

“I know. I just… I just don’t want to,” he remains quiet, waiting for you to continue. “I don’t feel hungry. Thinking about it is overwhelming. I just want to sleep so I don’t have to think about it.”

“What have you been eating these past few days?” He asks cautiously, his tone light. Conscious to not sound accusatory.

You sigh, knowing there’s no way of escaping this. “Microwave stuff, mostly,” you play with the fabric of his sweatpants, feeling his leg underneath, fidgeting your anxiety away. “Rice, oats, ramen. Stuff I don’t have to wash up after.”

“Have you been eating every day?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, the tension only thickening when you answer "no,” barely above a whisper.

You feel him nod. Quiet for a moment until he too speaks so quietly, you almost didn’t hear it. “You can’t go on like this.”

“I know,” you confess.

“Please let me help you.”

The desperation in his voice is what does it—the final straw. You sit up straight, turning to face him. Wiping the residual tears from your cheeks and looking him in the eye. You know it’s time to really be honest. 

“It’s hard for me-” Your voice catches in your throat as the threat of crying again creeps up on you, not quite realising how much your body would resist. Taking a second to compose yourself—a deep breath in, eyes closed, releasing it slowly—your resolve strengthens and you continue. “It’s hard for me to open up to people. To admit when I’m struggling. I’m so used to feeling like I’m burdening everyone with my problems, so I just keep it all to myself. And by the time I realise I’m going down that road again, it’s too late to stop it.”

“It’s never too late,” Noah says reassuringly, tucking both sides of your hair behind your ears—the left first, then the right. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, but you don’t get to decide whether you’re a burden. You don’t get to take that choice away from me. The choice to help you. Your problems will never be a burden to me, no matter how big or small. You will never be a burden to me. I love you. I choose you. And I’ll never think poorly of you for needing help, ever.”

You don’t know what to say. Your eyes fixed on his. One of your favourite things about him is his big brown eyes. Always so full of comfort. So full of love that even you, with all of your self-doubt, can’t deny it. “I’m sorry. I know you said not to apologise, but I think I need to. I’m sorry for making you worry and for pushing you away. I’m sorry for hurting you.”

Noah takes your hands in his. Large palms enveloping your own entirely. “Seeing you hurting is what hurts me the most. I love you so much, all I want is for you to be happy and healthy.”

You squeeze his hands in yours, “I love you, Noah. I’ll try harder, I promise. Feeling so unwanted for so long before I met you, I think I didn��t realise just how lucky I am to have you until now.” Noah raises one of your hands, kissing the back firmly and holding it there, savouring the feel of your skin against his lips. Timidly, you ask, “can we get pizza?”

He breaks out into a smile, “of course we can! But you have to text your friends back first," he bargains, "even if it’s just something short.”

“Deal,” you can’t help but return his smile. “My phone is upstairs, I’m just gonna go get it.”

“Wait!” he calls as you stand, pulling you back to the sofa and into him with a hand on the back of your head, “can I kiss you first?”

Without a word, you lean into him, closing the gap between you and feeling his lips on yours for the first time in weeks. That familiar burn of tears threatening to escape your eyes returns, and when you pull away, those beautiful brown eyes are full of concern.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, laughing awkwardly, “happy tears. I just missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” his smile taking on a more solemn appearance this time. “But I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, please don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t forget that I love you too. No matter what happens. No matter how stupidly self-destructive I act.”

Noah pulls you in for one final embrace before letting you retrieve your phone. You spend time texting back each of your friends, apologising for your absence and telling them you were okay, that Noah is here, and you’d explain more later. Noah, sitting at your right, creates your pizza order, periodically asking what else you’d like adding.

The two of you spend the night watching trash TV, settling into your usual comfort and hurling insults at the characters for making stupid decisions while you eat your food. Only realising after it arrived just how hungry you really were. And when you’re finished eating, Noah and you head upstairs.

You feel like a new person after you shower, coming out of the bathroom to find Noah relaxed against your headboard. The sheets on your bed changed, and a fresh set of clothes lay waiting for you to change into for bed.

Accepting finally how much lighter everything feels when someone is around to help you. You slide under the clean sheets, comforted by the warmth of Noah’s body beside you for the first time in too long. And just as you fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat and the feeling of his hand stroking your back, you’re determined to never let things get this bad again. Knowing you need to trust him, because trust is the foundation of love, and you love Noah with every fibre of your being. And despite how hard it is sometimes, you need to let him love you back.

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

✉ C:/SYSTEM/APP/TAG

ᯤ 𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗦 (21) :　 ⌞⬤ 7 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @english-fucker @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard | @seven-glass-kids @runadaggerthroughmychest

@lma1986 | @shayzillaaaa

⌞⬤ 5 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒⌝ @madamaaubergine | @thewrstinme | @amourtoken @livingdeceasedgirl | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

⌞⦵ 5 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻⌝ @xcllnt | @romanreigns-supreme | @slutforcoffein @deathofpeaceofmindem | @lovesick-evangelist

⌞◯ 4 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ @bluestdai | @fadingangelwisp | @broken0mens @ferduttini

　+[MSG : join the taglist!]

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Madeline Ashby’s ‘Glass Houses’

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Glass Houses – published today by Tor Books – is Madeline Ashby's terrifying technothriller: it's an internet-of-things haunted house story that perfectly captures (and skewers) toxic tech culture while also running a savage whodunnit plot that'll keep you guessing to the end:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780765382924/glasshouses

Kristen is the "Chief Emotional Manager" for Wuv, a hot startup that has defined the new field of "affective computing," which is when a computer tells you what everyone else around you is really feeling, based on the unsuppressible tells emitted by their bodies, voices and gadgets.

"Chief Emotional Manager" is just a cutesy tech euphemism for "chief of staff." The only person whose emotions Kristen really manages is Sumter William, the boyish billionaire CEO and founder of Wuv. Sumter hired Kirsten because they share a key developmental trait: both were orphaned at an early age and had to raise themselves in a media spotlight.

Both Sumter and Kristen had been in the spotlight even before their parents' death, though. Sumter was the focus of the intense attention that the children of celebrity billionaires always come in for. Kristen, though, was thrust into the spotlight by her parents: her prepper cryptocurrency hustling father, and her tradwife mother, whose livestreams of Kristen's childhoods involved letting the audience vote everything from whether she'd get dessert after dinner to whether her mother should give her bangs.

Kristen's parents died the most Extremely Online death imaginable: a cryptocurrency price-spike sent her father's mining rigs into overdrive, and when they burst into flame, the IoT house system failed to alert him until it was too late. The fire left Kristen both alone and horribly burned, with scars over much of her body.

Managing Sumter through Wuv's tumultuous launch is hard work for Kristen, but at last, it's paid off. The company has been acquired, making Kristen – and all her coworkers on the founding core team – into instant millionaires. They're flying to a lavish celebration in an autonomous plane that Sumter chartered when the action begins: the plane has a malfunction and crashes into a desert island, killing all but ten of the Wuvvies.

As the survivors explore the island, they discover only one sign of human habitation: a huge, brutalist, featureless black glass house, which initially rebuffs all their efforts to enter it. But once they gain entry, they discover that the house is even harder to leave.

This is the setup for a haunted house story where the house seems to be an unknown billionaire prepper's IoT house of horrors. As the survivors of the crash suffer horrible injuries and deaths on the island, the remaining Wuvvies bolt themselves inside, setting up a locked-room whodunnit that runs in parallel.

This is a fantastic dramatic engine for Ashby's specialty: extremely pointed techno-criticism. The ensuing chapters, which flip back and forth between the story of Wuv's rise and rise to a top tech company, and the company's surviving staff being terrorized on a paradisaical tropical aisle, flesh out Ashby's speculation and the critique it embodies.

For example, there's the political culture of Ashby's future America. Wuv are a Canadian company, headquartered in Toronto, and we gradually come to understand that Canada is the beneficiary of an exodus of tech companies from the US following a kind of soft Christian Dominionist takeover (Kristen and Sumter often have to wrangle rules about whether women are allowed to enter the USA in the company of men they aren't married to and who aren't their brothers or fathers).

The flashbacks to this America are beautifully and subtly drawn, especially the scenes in Vegas, which manages to still be Vegas, even amidst a kind national, legally mandated Handmaid's Tale LARP. Ashby uses her futuristic speculation to illuminate the present, that standing wave where the past is becoming the future. Like everything in the shadows of a haunted house tale, this stuff will make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

I'm a big Madeline Ashby fan. I have the honor of having published her first story, when I was co-editing one of the Tesseracts anthologies of Canadian SF. I've read and really enjoyed every one of her books, but this one feels like a step-change in Ashby's career, a leveling up to something even more haunting and brilliant than her impressive back-catalog.

Madeline and I will be live at Chevalier's Books in LA on Aug 16 as part of her Glass Houses tour:

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/book-talk-madeline-ashbys-glass-houses-tickets-965286486867

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/13/influencers/#affective-computing

[weemssapphic]

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 16

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

summary: Wednesday gets herself into some trouble. (chapter-specific warning for smut)

words: ~ 4k | ao3 link in title

A/N: here's another chapter to make up for being gone so long! once again thank you to @afeatherformills for all of the planning and beta-ing, and to my gf as well. enjoy!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Tuesday was one of the most hectic days you’d experienced since the start of the semester. You’d wanted to show up at Nevermore in the early evening, preventing Larissa from working even more overtime and spending as much time with her as possible - but now it was nearing 8 pm and you were still stuck in your university’s art studio, desperate to finish up a project that was due this week. You’d let Larissa know that you’d drop by a little later than planned, apologizing profusely and promising to text her when you were on your way. She said she didn’t mind, of course, but you still felt bad.

A nervous energy filled your entire being as you painted the last stroke on your canvas, then hurried to clean up after yourself. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you rushed out of the art studio and through the halls straight out to the parking lot. The only thing on your mind was getting to see Larissa as soon as possible - you shot her a text that you were on your way, then pulled out of the parking lot and started the drive to Nevermore.

You decided to take a shortcut tonight - usually you weren’t a fan of this route, especially late at night, as it was even more remote than your usual way and kind of gave you the creeps. But it would be worth it tonight, and in your hurry to be with Larissa you didn’t pay any mind to the miles upon miles of tall, dark trees looming on either side of the road or the light fog blanketing the street as you drove. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your phone screen light up from where you’d tossed it onto the seat next to you - with half an eye on the road, you leaned over and picked it up, glancing down.

Larissa: Drive safe, my love.

You smiled down at your phone, biting your lip as you dropped it into the cupholder next to you and looked back up at the road - your heart leaping as you found yourself slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting the girl running across the road towards a parked car. 

Your car screeched to a halt, the girl illuminated by the glow of your headlights. She stared back at you with wide eyes, looking absolutely terrified - and vaguely familiar, with her blonde hair and pastel sweater. With your heart pounding, your eyes darted over to the side of the road and you felt your stomach drop. Wednesday. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

Putting your car in park, you tentatively opened the door and stepped out onto the road, taking a step towards the blonde, who still stood inches away from the hood of your car. There was a loud clattering as the flashlight she held dropped onto the road. 

Your gaze darted questioningly towards Wednesday, whose face was an impassive mask, impossible to read. She was flanked by two boys - one of whom you recognized as the Weathervane’s barista, though why his shirt was ripped open and covered in blood, you couldn’t fathom. You glanced behind them at the open gates leading up to a huge, desolate mansion, overgrown with weeds and vines - it made a shiver run down your spine, and made your blood go cold as you imagined these kids out here alone. 

“Dare I ask?” 

“Do you know her?” one of the boys asked Wednesday. She opened her mouth to speak, but the next words came out of the mouth of the young blonde who was practically trembling in front of you.

“She’s Weems’ girlfriend.”

“I-” you felt your cheeks heat up at the interested glance the boy then afforded you. You swallowed thickly - there was no point in playing coy now, not when you were standing on a remote street in the middle of the night with a bunch of teenagers who were clearly hurt. “Yeah, I am. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that she doesn’t know about this and that you’re not supposed to be out here?”

When you received no answer, your gaze darted back over to the mansion. It was definitely giving you the creeps, and you weren’t keen on wasting any more time standing out here in the cold staring at it. “Well either way, can I take you guys back to Nevermore?”

“Yes, please!” the blonde exclaimed - though she was quickly cut off by Wednesday.

“Tyler is hurt, we need to get him home first.”

“I can do that,” you said gently. 

“What about my car?” 

You raised your eyebrow at the boy who’d spoken, whose chest was practically ripped open and dripping blood. “Pick it up in the morning,” you suggested firmly. “I don’t think you should drive like that.”

He looked like he was about to argue, but then he winced in pain as he stepped forward. “Fine. My dad’s gonna kill me…”

With another nervous glance towards the mansion, you gestured towards your car - the blonde immediately picked up her flashlight and got in the passenger side. The two boys looked to Wednesday, waiting for her lead. After another moment’s hesitation, she got into the back of your car, the boys squeezing in next to her. 

You grabbed your phone, unlocking it and handing it to Tyler. “Put your address in Google Maps.” He obliged, handing you the phone back with an address in Jericho - you started the car again, driving a little faster than usual to put the creepy old house behind you.

“What happened to your chest?” you asked with a glance in the rearview mirror. Tyler caught your gaze, then looked nervously down at Wednesday. 

“He was attacked.”

“By…?”

The other boy interjected, giving you a distrustful glare. “The bear that’s been all over the news.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s lucky to have gotten away then.”

The kids remained silent for the remainder of the drive, sharing looks amongst themselves. Once you reached Tyler’s house, they hopped out of the car, escorting Tyler inside. You trailed in behind them - at the other boy’s raised eyebrow, you told him you weren’t driving back to Nevermore without Larissa’s students.

Wednesday took a few minutes to patch Tyler up - the blonde girl (Enid, as you’d come to learn) sat off to the side, openly panicking until Tyler’s wound was dressed and you managed to usher the three Nevermore students back out to your car to drive them back to school. Before pulling out onto the road, you shot Larissa another text.

Y/N: I’m sorry, I had to get gas. I’ll be there in 10.

Okay, so it was definitely a lie, but there was no use worrying her prematurely - you’d figure out how to explain the situation in person.

“I didn’t know Weems was a lesbian.” 

“Xavier!” Enid exclaimed, turning in her seat to glare at the boy. You looked into the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m sure there are a lot of things your principal doesn’t feel the need to share with you,” you replied coolly. 

“You can’t tell her we were out, though,” Enid said, her voice laced with panic. “Nevermore is on lockdown, if she finds out she’ll expel us.”

“I’m sure she won’t expel you,” you replied softly, trying to sound comforting as you chewed at your lip. Would she? 

~~~

The decision of whether or not to tell Larissa about her students being out during lockdown was taken from your hands, however, when the four of you entered the school. Wednesday turned the corner towards the stairs first, stopping abruptly and looking up to the landing - Enid stopped dead in her tracks next to you, her eyes widening in fear. 

Larissa’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “Ms. Addams, I see you’ve found your way back to campus.”

Enid glanced up at you, biting her lip. You placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay,” you whispered, leading her around the corner with Xavier trailing behind you.

Larissa stood on the landing of the staircase, glaring down at Wednesday. Her eyes immediately darted over to you when you came into sight with Enid and Xavier in tow and her brow furrowed. You could see her lip quivering as confusion and uncertainty filled her gaze. “Would someone care to explain to me what is going on?” She both looked and sounded furious. “I’ve just received a phone call from the sheriff, who informed me that he came home to find his son injured.”

“I drove him home,” you offered. Larissa’s eyes darted from Wednesday to you, drinking you in carefully and taking in the way you were squeezing Enid’s shoulder. “I took a shortcut here and ran into them, I gave them a lift.” You smiled apologetically - Larissa’s gaze softened a fraction, though she still looked both angry and worried.

“I was beginning to worry. About all of you.” Her voice caught in her throat and you suddenly felt guilt pool in the pit of your stomach for worrying her. 

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed, watching the almost imperceptible upward curl of Larissa’s lips in acknowledgment of your apology, before the smile was replaced with a deep frown as she directed her attention back to her students.

“Mr. Thorpe, Miss Sinclair, I’d like to ask you to come to my office tomorrow to discuss disciplinary action for violating lockdown. For now, please go straight back to your dorms. I’d like to speak with Miss Addams alone.”

Enid met your gaze - after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled you into a tight hug, before turning and walking dejectedly up the stairs. Larissa watched her go, a mixture of disappointment and something else you couldn’t quite place in her gaze.

“Um, I’ll wait in your office?” you suggested, biting the inside of your cheek as you watched Larissa carefully. 

“Please.” Larissa’s tone was just a hint softer when she spoke with you, sapphire eyes swimming with emotion.

You nodded and made your way up the stairs - as you passed by her, Larissa reached out to give your hand a squeeze. You could barely make out the sound of her scolding Wednesday as you disappeared down the corridor towards the office.

~~~

It didn’t take long at all for Larissa to come back to her office - you were sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, picking nervously at your nails when the door swung open and then slammed shut. You didn’t bother turning around as you heard the click of Larissa’s heels come closer and closer, until they were right behind you. 

“Darling,” Larissa sighed, pressing her lips to the crown of your head. She buried her nose into your hair, breathing you in as her arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind. “You took so long, I nearly called the police.”

You twisted in her grip to look up at her, rushing to explain yourself and stumbling over your words. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to break it to you over the phone that I found Wednesday standing outside of an abandoned old mansion with her friends in the middle of the night without worrying you even more.”

Larissa chuckled, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I suppose you’re right, I don’t think that would have assuaged my worries…” She opened her eyes, looking directly into your own and cupping your cheek ever so gently. “I’m extremely glad you’re alright, though.” Her lips pressed against yours in a soft kiss that took your breath away with its tenderness. “Thank you for looking after them and taking them home.” 

“Of course.” You hesitated for a moment. “You aren’t going to expel them, are you? Enid is very worried.”

“I’m not going to expel them,” Larissa confirmed, straightening up and walking over to a little cabinet in the corner of the room. “But Wednesday is on thin ice. I can’t afford to give that girl any more chances.” She let out a deep sigh as she turned to face you again, approaching the sofa with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“What were they even doing out there?”

Larissa rolled her eyes as she settled next to you, pouring a generous amount of red into each of the glasses. “Wednesday is convinced there’s a monster behind those attacks, and that she can find out what it is.”

You nodded your head slowly, mulling over the information carefully. “And what do you think it is?”

“It’s just a bear,” she said with a sigh, her gaze dropping to the flames in the fireplace, watching them flicker and dance. The worry in her eyes was not lost on you but she seemed unwilling to talk about it further, so you decided to drop the subject. For now. Larissa handed you one of the glasses - you clinked it against hers, causing her lips to curl into a small smile.

“Seems like it’s been quite the semester - my high school wasn’t nearly as interesting,” you said playfully, causing Larissa to chuckle. 

“There’s always something happening at Nevermore, but it’s been an unusual semester even for myself…” She took a sip of her wine, humming softly and kicking her heels off so that she could put her feet up on the sofa, turning to face you. She slid her feet towards you until her toes were stuck underneath your thigh - even through your jeans, you could feel how cold they were. 

“Jesus, Riss, you’re freezing,” you said with a laugh, leaning away from her and trying to shoo her away. She pouted, sliding her feet out farther and chasing your warmth. You rolled your eyes and placed your glass down on the coffee table. “Fine, come here.”

Larissa’s pout turned into a satisfied smirk when you lifted her feet onto your lap, your hands providing her with some warmth. “What would you do without me?” you teased.

“I’d be living a sad life, indeed. And I’d be freezing constantly,” she teased back, taking a sip of her wine. Her gaze softened a fraction and she rested her head on the back of the sofa, watching you with a relaxed, pensive look on her face.

“What?” you whispered, feeling your cheeks grow warm under her gaze.

“Nothing,” she whispered back. “I’m just lucky to have you, that’s all.”

“I’m the lucky one.” 

“Don’t even try to argue with me on that one, darling.” 

You smiled, biting your lip - of course you were ready to argue that point until your face went blue. Subconsciously, your hands began to rub Larissa’s feet, trying to get them warm. As your thumbs soothed over a pressure point on the arch of her foot, Larissa’s eyelids fluttered shut and a barely audible moan left her lips. Watching her face carefully, you repeated the movement - her lips parted slightly, her eyelids fluttered. 

You began alternating between using your thumbs and your knuckles to loosen up the muscles in her feet - every movement of your hands caused Larissa to moan louder and deeper, her cheeks reddening as she seemed unable to control the noises she was making. You paused in your massage, leaning over her and plucking the glass out of her hand, setting it aside.

“Lay back,” you instructed. Larissa’s eyes opened and you could see how turned on she was from how wide her pupils had gotten. She nodded, leaning back against the armrest of the sofa and wiggling a bit to get comfortable. You settled at her feet, continuing the massage, your eyes never leaving Larissa’s face as it relaxed once again. This time, though, you moved your hands higher, rubbing your fingers against her calves and really kneading into her muscles. You took your time with her, delighting in every moan and groan that you were able to extract from the blonde beneath you, every breathy sigh and pleased hum that left her lips.

Once you reached her knees, you pushed her dress up her thighs - though you quickly found that it was a bit too tight to go as far as you’d have liked. “Can I take it off?” you murmured sweetly, waiting for an affirming hum before pulling it as far up Larissa’s body as you could - she sat up to help you pull it the rest of the way off of her body, and you tossed it to the floor.

Settling back between her legs, you returned to massaging Larissa’s calves - nice and slow, reveling in the supple softness of her skin, switching between each leg. The blonde relaxed under your touch, her eyes falling shut again and her head tipping back against the armrest of the sofa. 

You couldn’t help but stare at the ethereal woman before you, desire pooling in your core as you drank her in. The flames flickered and danced, illuminating the soft curves of her torso, catching on the off-white fabric of her bra, bouncing off the golden necklace she wore and kissing her neck. Her lace-clad breasts, her stomach, her face - all cast in shadow. She was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen - a divine, heavenly creature who seemed to exude a light of her own, one that you were all too happy to bask in.

This time your hands didn’t stop as you reached her knees - you began massaging her thighs, your firm touch becoming lighter the higher you went as Larissa’s breath grew heavier, her moans giving way to soft gasps. When you reached her upper, inner thigh, you leaned in, replacing your hands with your tongue - this elicited a shuddering whimper from the blonde, who arched her back off the sofa. Her hands, which had been folded over her stomach, came to rest on your head, fingers curling into your hair and tugging gently.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your mouth inches away from her cunt. There was a wet spot at the center of her panties and you felt your own arousal grow at the sight. 

“Yes, darling.” Larissa’s voice was breathy with desire and she spread her legs wider, gently pushing your head towards her center. 

You chuckled at her neediness and began to press featherlight kisses to each thigh, alternating as you got closer and closer to where she needed you most. The scent of her arousal filled your nostrils - it was enough to make you slightly dizzy, drool pooling in your mouth. You placed a gentle kiss to her clit over her underwear, then used your teeth to tug at the waistband of the lacy panties - Larissa moved her hips to make it easier for you to pull them down her body. 

Returning to your position between her legs, you used the tip of your tongue to lick a path up her slit. She bucked her hips up into your mouth, her hands returning to your hair and twisting so hard that it hurt a bit - the pain felt delicious in contrast to the pleasurable throbbing of your own clit, and you squeezed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension so that you could focus on Larissa and her pleasure. 

You allowed your tongue to explore her folds, slowly getting drunk on the taste of her and losing yourself in the sheer ecstasy that came with feeling her drip onto your tongue, knowing that her arousal was all for you. A pleased moan clawed its way out of your throat, vibrating against Larissa’s pussy and drawing an equally filthy groan from her own throat. 

She began to gyrate her hips against your face, setting a fast pace which you met with eager licks. Red-tipped nails scratched at your head as she tugged your hair, drawing more whimpers from your lips which went through Larissa’s body like shockwaves of pleasure.

As Larissa’s moans became louder and more animalistic, your arousal grew, until the ache between your own thighs was impossible to ignore. You found yourself reaching between your legs, rubbing your hand desperately against your cunt, through the fabric of your jeans. The pressure wasn’t nearly enough and you growled in frustration, fumbling with the button and forcing your hand inside your underwear. 

That first touch against your clit felt like heaven - it was nearly more than you could handle as you continued to suck Larissa’s clit. You gathered your wetness on your fingers, smearing it eagerly over your sensitive bundle of nerves and moaning loudly as you matched the pace of your fingers to that of your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Are you touching yourself?” Larissa’s voice was gravelly and low, and you opened your eyes to find she’d lifted her head to meet your gaze - she looked down at you through hooded eyes, her cheeks gorgeously flushed.

“Mmmh, yeah,” you mumbled, not bothering to stop sucking her clit as you replied. Larissa’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head, and she dropped her head back against the armrest again with a mumbled “fuck”.

Your desire was building more by the second and you could tell that Larissa was close, too, as her thighs began to tremble and the rolling of her hips became somewhat erratic. 

“You close?” you murmured breathily, just loud enough for Larissa to hear.

“Y-yes - ah - ‘mm close…”

“Cum with me?” The words had barely left your mouth as you felt your orgasm wash over you, every muscle in your body tightening as you came. You let out a strangled groan and both your tongue and your hands stuttered in their movements, even as you tried desperately to keep a steady pace. Larissa’s orgasm soon followed, a direct response to hearing you cum, her thighs snapping shut around your head as she reached her peak.

Her hands tightened in your hair, holding you firmly in place to keep her riding her high for as long as possible. You only let up when she released your hair from her grip and allowed her thighs to fall to the side. You pulled back slightly, breathing heavily from your own orgasm and trying to calm your pounding heart when you felt Larissa’s fingers grip your chin. You allowed her to guide you up towards her, your lips meeting hers in a heated, passionate kiss. 

~~~

Larissa let go of your chin as you kissed, placing her hands on your waist and pulling you snugly against her. Her own heart was hammering away in her chest, her breathing hard and uneven.

“I really needed that,” she said after a few moments, her voice still hoarse and shaky. Your laugh vibrated against her chest, the sound filling her heart with joy.

“Happy to help,” you quipped, causing Larissa to giggle. You propped yourself up above her, reaching behind her neck to take off her necklace and gingerly lay it on the table so that you could rest your head against her chest.

“Mmm, better,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her cleavage before resting your cheek against her and letting out a contented sigh.

“Will you stay tonight? I don’t want you driving home alone…”

“Yeah, of course. But you know, I don’t think I’d get attacked by a bear from inside my car or anything.” 

Larissa’s stomach churned uncomfortably. She didn’t know how much longer she could continue lying to you about the monster roaming Jericho’s woods - she didn’t want to lie to you, after all. But fear held her back - the fear that your acceptance of her and her world, of outcasts, wasn’t as all-encompassing as she’d like to believe. The fear that, once you found out that it was an outcast - a hyde - responsible for the attacks, for the many deaths, you’d never look at her the same way again. That you’d see her as dangerous. She swallowed thickly.

“I don’t care. I can’t risk anything happening to you - I was worried sick tonight. I don’t want you out in this area alone at night.”

“Okay, okay. I promise, I’ll stay the night and I won’t go out on my own.” You raised your arm to give her a mock salute, trying to lighten the mood. 

Larissa let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. As you nuzzled your cheek against her chest, she felt both an overwhelming sense of relief and a gnawing sense of guilt. Her arms tightened around you and she sighed into your hair, squeezing her eyes shut to stop a single tear from sliding down her cheek.

x

Taglist: @littledollll @nlr-33 @mysaviorfalsegod @imlike-so-gaydude @rainbow-hedgehog @enchantressb @alder-saan @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @amateurwritescm @brienneswife @principal-weems09 @messynessi @larissaoftarthweems @anti-bright-places @lvinhs @catechristiesstuff @ladyzmilf002 @milfsloverblog @opheliauniverse @orangeisnttheonlyfruit @im-a-carnivorous-plant @alexusonfire @bigolgay @kimiinou @wastdstime @scream-queenlover @imprincipalweemspet @justcallmelittleone @willowshadenox @milfsloverblog @leftoverenvy @yahaqueen @peggycarter3 @lilfartbox1 @makemyworldworthliving @crow-raven-crow @mosscoveredcrucifix @opalthefrog @barbarasstar

Let me know in the comments if you'd like to removed from or added to the taglist <3

[lovezbrownies]

Hohoho! Requests are open, eh?

I need more of Lauren. May I please request Lauren with a darling who goes missing? First, they're absent from school, but then days passed and they still haven't come to school. Eventually it's all over the news and there's a whole investigation.

Oomf icl to u this was kind of a pain in the ass to write, I'd never written something kind of high stakes like this, and i honestly had no clue where i was going writing it but i think it came out okay! I went with the emotional route instead! Enjoy!

Missing. (F!Yandere Bully x GN!Reader.)

Lauren's Masterlist - General Masterlist.

Synopsis: You went missing, Lauren went insane.

Lauren McCanister x GN!Reader

Warnings: Reader goes missing, emotional turmoil, Lauren kinda loses it but not in an aggressive way more like never leaving the bed way

Day 1 – Tuesday Night

Lauren sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at her phone. No new messages. No missed calls. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, as if willing it to buzz with a response from you. The silence was deafening. Her heart pounded harder with every second that passed, a sickening drumbeat of dread.

You were never late. You never missed school. The idea that you were just out of reach, somewhere in the dark, gnawed at her like sharp teeth sinking into her skin. She squeezed her phone tighter, biting her lip to keep from screaming. Maybe you were just sick. Maybe you lost your phone. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

But none of it felt right. A chill crawled up her spine as she sat alone in the quiet of her room. She could hear the faint hum of the television from downstairs, her mother probably watching some late-night news. Lauren’s mind whirled with images—what if you were lying in a ditch somewhere? What if something worse had happened? Her throat tightened as she tried to swallow the panic rising in her chest.

She wanted to call you again, but the thought of hearing the ringing tone, unanswered and hollow, twisted her insides. Instead, she typed another text, her fingers trembling.

Lauren: Just tell me you're okay. Please.

She stared at the screen, the word "Delivered" mocking her. Time slowed. Her pulse quickened. How could a few hours feel like an eternity? She threw her phone onto the bed, pressing her hands to her face, trying to steady her breathing, but all she could see was your face—the way you always smiled through your exhaustion, how determined you were to show up, no matter what. She had teased you for it, but now, in this choking silence, she wished she had done more. Forced you to stay with her. Dragged you to school. Anything but this.

Her chest tightened, and for the first time in years, Lauren felt truly helpless. That night, sleep didn’t come. Only the cruel sting of fear.

Day 2 – Wednesday

Lauren had never felt this empty. It was as if a hole had opened up inside her chest, and everything that made her "Lauren" was slowly being sucked into it. She could hear the whispers in the hallway—students and teachers alike, all murmuring your name. They didn’t know where you were either. The school felt different today, the usual buzz of laughter and chatter muted under the weight of your absence. Even the teachers seemed shaken, their glances darting to the empty seat where you should have been.

She stared down at her phone in class, willing it to light up with a text, a missed call—anything. Her eyes burned from exhaustion, her fingers shaking slightly as she typed yet another message:

Lauren: r u ok? please answer me, im going crazy here.

Nothing. No reply. She set the phone down, but her heart was already racing, her skin hot with anxiety. What if you were hurt? What if something had happened in those early hours of the morning when you were walking alone? She clenched her fists under the desk, nails digging into her palms until they left red crescents in her skin. It wasn’t fair. You were supposed to be here. Right now. Laughing at something dumb she said, rolling your eyes at her teasing. You were supposed to be here.

The day dragged on like molasses, every minute a fresh torture. By the time the final bell rang, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She was going to skip her next class, run straight to your house, and demand answers. You couldn’t just disappear. Not you.

But as soon as she reached the gate, she saw her mother’s car, waiting for her like a bad omen. Julie’s cold, stern expression meant there was no escaping today. She was trapped. As they drove in silence, Lauren’s mind screamed.

That night, the panic settled deeper in her bones. She curled up in bed, clutching her phone so tight her knuckles went white, praying for the buzz of a notification that never came. When sleep finally took her, it was full of nightmares—of you, reaching out to her from a dark forest, your face pale, your eyes pleading for help she couldn’t give.

---

Day 3 – Thursday

By Thursday, the fear had solidified into something worse—guilt. It clung to her like a suffocating fog, weighing down her every thought. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was her fault. She had let you walk to school alone. She had let you go when something inside her told her not to. If only she had insisted, forced you to ride with her, maybe you would still be here.

She skipped practice that day. There was no point in playing football when every fiber of her being was screaming at her to find you. She wandered through the halls like a ghost, barely hearing anything around her. The questions from teachers, the concerned glances from friends—all of it blended into a blur of noise. Nothing mattered except finding you.

Her phone buzzed, and for a split second, hope flared in her chest. But it was just another concerned message from a classmate, asking where you were. She didn’t reply. She couldn’t.

Her mother noticed the change in her, of course. Julie’s sharp eyes missed nothing. But all she offered were logical explanations. "They’ll turn up. Missing persons are found more often than not, especially in a small town. You’re overthinking it, Lauren."

Overthinking? Lauren wanted to scream. This wasn’t overthinking. This was raw, gnawing terror that had taken root in her stomach and wouldn’t let go. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus. The only thing that kept running through her mind was what she would say to you when you finally showed up. Would she yell at you? Hug you? Cry? Probably all three.

But as the day ended and there was still no sign of you, the guilt deepened. She couldn’t stop thinking about how much she had teased you, pushed you. What if you had run away? What if her constant needling had driven you off, made you hate her? The thought tore through her like a jagged blade, leaving nothing but raw, open wounds in its wake.

---

Day 4 – Friday

Friday was a blur. The weight of your absence had finally settled into Lauren’s bones, making her feel heavier, slower, like she was wading through a thick fog. The world outside kept moving—people laughing, cars honking, life continuing—but for her, everything had come to a halt.

Her phone had become an anchor, something she checked compulsively every few minutes even though she knew there would be no new messages. She hadn’t heard from you in days, and the silence was unbearable. It pressed in on her from all sides, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

By now, the rumors had spread. People were talking—about you, about what might have happened, about why no one had seen you. Every whispered word felt like a knife in Lauren’s chest. She couldn’t stand it. She wanted to scream at them, tell them to shut up, that you were fine, that you’d be back any minute. But the truth was, she didn’t know that. She didn’t know if you were okay, if you were alive. And that thought—the possibility that you might not be—was slowly killing her.

That night, she lay in bed, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. She stared at the ceiling, tears streaming silently down her face as guilt gnawed at her insides. You had always been so kind to her, so patient. And what had she done? Teased you, pushed you, maybe even hurt you without realizing it.

"I’m sorry," she whispered into the empty room,

her voice cracking as the words escaped her trembling lips. "I’m so, so sorry."

Her chest tightened with every breath, a weight pressing down on her that she couldn’t shake. It felt like drowning—an endless sea of regret and worry, pulling her deeper with every second that passed. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think about anything but you and where you could possibly be. The image of you lost, scared, or hurt played over and over in her mind until she couldn’t bear it anymore. By the early hours of the morning, Lauren found herself curled up into a ball, tears staining her pillow as she begged the universe to bring you back.

---

Day 5 – Saturday

By Saturday, the numbness had set in. Lauren hadn’t slept in days, her body running on pure adrenaline and anxiety. Her eyes were bloodshot, her head pounding from the constant cycle of worry, guilt, and fear. She hadn’t gone to practice, hadn’t answered her mom’s questions. Nothing mattered except finding you.

The house felt like a prison. Every time she moved, it felt like the walls were closing in, trapping her with the weight of her own thoughts. She couldn’t escape them. They followed her, whispered to her, taunted her. "You should’ve walked with them. You should’ve kept them close. This is your fault."

Every time her phone buzzed, her heart leapt into her throat, only to plummet when it wasn’t you. She hadn’t left her room in hours, her fingers scrolling endlessly through your old text messages, clinging to the words as if they were the only connection she had left to you.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to punch something, to break something, to do anything to relieve the overwhelming pressure building inside her. But instead, she just sat there, frozen in place, as the world outside continued to turn without you in it.

---

Day 6 – Sunday Morning

On Sunday, something broke inside of her. It wasn’t the sudden shock of hearing about your disappearance anymore—it was the slow, creeping acceptance that maybe… maybe you weren’t coming back. Her heart ached, raw and open, every beat a reminder of her own failure. The police had told her not to worry, that missing persons were often found within the first 72 hours. But it had been more than 72 hours. It had been five long, torturous days.

As she lay in bed that morning, staring blankly at the ceiling, her phone rang. Not a text this time, but an actual call. She sat up, her heart racing as she grabbed it, it was her football buddy, he knew of everything and had tried all he could to comfort her, sweet but Lauren never liked him. Her fingers shook as she answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lauren!! You’ll never gues-” The voice on the other end was elated but she cut him off, Lauren didn’t have the time to play the guess what game when you were missing, “John fuck off just tell me.” 

"I think they found them!"

The words didn’t register at first. Found them? Found you?

"What…? What do you mean?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder would shatter the fragile hope suddenly blooming in her chest.

"They found Y/N! A couple recognized them walking near the forest this morning. They're–" John could barely finish his sentence before Lauren rushed out the house, ending the call before hearing what he had to say, she couldn’t waste time listening to that absolute loser.

---

The Reunion

Lauren didn’t remember much after that. Her mind went blank, her body moving on autopilot as she bolted out of the house, barely registering her mom’s startled shout. She didn’t care. She couldn’t care about anything except getting to you. Her heart was racing, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she ran—ran faster than she ever had in her life.

When she arrived, you were there, sitting on a bench, disheveled and pale but alive. Alive.

The sight of you hit her like a freight train, the emotions that had been building inside her for days finally crashing down all at once. Without thinking, she ran to you, dropping to her knees in front of you and pulling you into the tightest hug she could manage. She didn’t care how dirty or exhausted you were—she just needed to feel you, to know that you were real and not some cruel dream.

"Oh my god," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. "I thought I lost you. I thought—I thought you were gone."

Her words came out in a frantic rush, her hands gripping you as if she were afraid you’d disappear again if she let go. Tears streamed down her face, uncontrollable and raw, every sob a release of the fear and guilt she had been holding in for days.

"I’m sorry," she whispered into your hair. "I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve—" Her voice broke, and for the first time in her life, Lauren felt completely, utterly vulnerable. No teasing, no bravado, just pure, unfiltered emotion.

You pulled back slightly, your own eyes glassy with exhaustion, and gave her a tired smile. "I’m okay, Lauren. I’m okay."

But that wasn’t enough for her. It would never be enough. She squeezed you tighter, her heart aching with the realization of just how much you meant to her. How much she loved you. How terrified she had been of losing you.

For the first time, Lauren let herself feel everything. The fear, the love, the regret. She held you close and promised herself she would never let you go again.

[neuroticboyfriend]

I just saw a post someone made about what they usually do in a day (re: disability) and it really made me feel less alone. I've been really beating myself up for not doing or being enough. So I wanna share what my days are like too.

I wake up anywhere between 9:30am and 3pm, because I can't keep a consistent sleep schedule.

I pray, take my morning meds, and hydrate.

I sit in my room for around 30 minutes to an hour and a half, depending on if I have the wherewithal to leave my room or, if I have somewhere to be.

Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday I have therapy in the afternoon. The ride comes around 11 on Tues/Weds. I miss appointments a lot, and spend around 3 hours at the clinic when I do go.

*I may eat a meal, or have a snack. Maybe not, who knows. I sit on the couch, on my phone/computer. Lately been playing minecraft with a few small creative activities sprinkled in.*

At 4:45pm, every day, I go across the street to work on addiction recovery. I come home around 6:15-6:30pm. Mondays I take a ride with some friends to another place, from around 6:30 to 8:30pm.

Repeat asterisked bullet. Except maybe I watch something with my boyfriend. Maybe I call a few friends, if I didnt already early/for a few days.

Around 7:30-9:00pm I work on my addiction recovery at home.

More lounging on the couch on my computer/etc. Take meds between 10:45pm-12am. Hopefully I can get back to taking them at 9:30.

Fall asleep around 1-3am.

Repeat (+ i bring my cane or rollator, and fidgets, and often earbuds, everywhere i go). I only shower or do laundry when the energy burden is worth not feeling like total crap.

And you know what. That's enough. I'm alive. I'm sober. I may be in a lot of pain, may have a lot of fatigue, may still struggle with depression and mood swings and anxiety, but. That doesn't make a bad person. It just makes me a person - one with disabilties. I am inherently worthy just by virtue of being alive, too.

What you don't see by that list is the kindness I share with my friends. Or the strength it takes to get through the day. Or any of the personal emotional and spiritual moments I have, or any of my dreams. But I see them, the people close to me see them, and they don't want me to hurt or hate myself.

So to hell with what anyone else thinks or has said to me. What matters is that I love, and I am loved, and I always will be. Because there will always be people in this world who see me as a person and love me unconditionally for it. This world is bigger than the people who spread hate.

[saltofmercury]

omg yas fluffy könig can we have domestic scenes of him and reader just doing stuff around the house wearing his casual tshirt and sweatpants 🫣😍

yeah….. I went a little overboard but I love him and I love you.

Pairing: König x reader

A/N: hope you like :)

Summary: domestic scenes of your week with König.

"Life”

When König comes back home, he falls back into routine with you…

Monday:

Since it’s the start of the week that he gets back from a mission, he starts slowly going back to routine. He’s already been up since 4AM at the gym, working out and decompressing from the mission. He knows you won’t be up until 6:45, so he has plenty of time to be at the gym, come home and shower. 

When he showers, he uses a citrus body wash, (because you had mentioned that orange/citrus body washes are good for waking up) and if he’s staying home, he wears a fitted white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and black socks. He knows he’s going to be lounging around the house, so he makes sure he’s comfortable.

He always does laundry on Monday, because he’s a believer in getting boring things done before the weekend. (Same thing with dinners, he eats his ‘boring’ food first, then gets to the good stuff,)

By the time you’re awake, he’s got a lunch packed for you and your coffee in a to-go cup.

Most of Monday is laundry, and putting it away, while he naps and waits for you to come home.

When you do get home, you two order take out and have dinner together. His excuse is “because you’re being hit with the reality of the start of the week, it must be hard”, so he just wants you to feel at home.

After dinner you two get cozy in your pjs and get in bed by 8:30pm. You were NEVER one to be in bed early, you’re more of staying up late but König has dragged you into his early routine saying constantly 

“You can be on your phone in bed, come on, it feels lonely without you.”

Then nagging you about 

“That will ruin your circadian rhythm you know”

Even though he's always watching something on his iPad in bed. 

Tuesday 

Tuesdays are grocery days. You weren’t sure WHY König insisted on Tuesdays, it seemed odd enough going into the store on this day, but it wasn’t until you two both went that you realized there are less people in the store this particular day. Which could be why. You like leading the way while he reads the list and pushes the cart behind you. 

Every time you pass the produce aisle, he looks at you with so much love and adoration, he gently taps you with the cart, so that you’re looking back at him as he always brings up “remember when we first met here?” and of course you do, because it was humiliating for you, but König melted knowing someone wanted to get to know him. Now look at you two, going through the aisles and practically living together? 

He likes watching how you pick the fruit and then sneak bites of grapes on sale. He’s also a punk and loves to shout things like “I think she’s stealing” whenever you take another grape. You shush him, feeling your face turn red, and he lives for this because he loves seeing you blush. 

Tuesdays are soup days, no matter the weather. König remembered you mentioning that your mom used to make different kinds of soups when you were younger and how it brought you so much comfort after coming home from school. SO he picks a new soup every week for you to try. He tried asking you a couple times about the kind of soup your mom made, but you always give little to no details 

“It’s just veggie”

“We had garlic bread with it”

“Sometimes it was chicken”

Wednesday

Wednesdays you get the luxury of working from home. It’s your favorite day of the week.

This is also one of König's favorite days.

He's up early before you, makes you a cup of coffee as you brush your teeth, you wrap your hair up away from your face, and get into comfy sweats. 

He places the coffee on your desk, and he gets to baking. König always has some sort of recipe he wants to try. Baking reminds him of home, so he’ll always bake bread for the week, and a dessert you two share at dinner. 

He needs to have something to do or else he’s constantly near you and you two get distracted. One time he didn’t know what to do with himself when he got back from a mission and he just sat in your office asking you 

“What's that?”

“What are you doing?”

“Was that the lady with the mass email mistake?”

He always walks into the room pretending he loses things muttering things like, “Where could I have placed it?”

Followed by,

 “OH RIGHT I found it” 

He sneaks up behind you, grabs a hold of your chin, and goes in for a deep kiss. You can’t help but giggle because he’s so cute and clearly soooo bored. 

You guys take a break, have lunch together, and you try to sneak open the oven to see what he made for dessert for tonight. He’s so quick to pick you up and lead you to the table. 

Sometimes he surprises you because he’s not a judgy person or will say mean things so when you’re talking his ear off about the first couple of hours of work, you hear the “what a fucker” or “that guy is a shithead” you’re always taken aback but ALSO you’re kind of happy he’s taken a little bit of a mean side to do that.

Dinner usually is made by both of you. He likes to watch you tell him what happened at work today apart from your lunch break. He loves seeing you animated, throwing your hands in the air, how your eyebrows almost touch your hairline, the way your mouth curves when you call someone “stupid.” He loves that you share the rest of the day with him even though he can hear most of it down the hallway.

When it comes to dessert, no matter HOW many times he’s made you something new, König gets so shy about showing you.

He looks at you and says “ok tell me if you don’t like it.” and you can see his nerves in him, how he will not make eye contact with you, but will focus on your lips instead watching you take the first bite. He chews on the left side of his tongue, and then looks up at your eyes when you moan about how good it is.

“Really?” he says, wide eyed

“Yes really!”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Babe I'm not” as you have another spoonful of it.

Thursday

Thursday is König day. Apart from your usual morning routine, he likes to get into sports on this day. He likes all kinds of sports. Football, baseball, basketball, soccer, rugby, tennis, even golf. 

He’s constantly watching something from any country, any sport. He also likes to have this day to play video games. He’s always playing a game online with Hornagi.

—Horangi, who he always thought was just a work friend, became his new fantasy football friend, an online game friend, and best friend.

When you come home and sneak up behind him, Horangi mutters online—

 “well game over” and König is quick to turn around to hug you and welcome you home. Before you get into a heated makeout session, you break the kiss to say hi to Horangi, 

“Hiiiii Horangi” 

He waves at you, but he’s still talking on the headpiece to König who is relaying messages to you.

“He says, hi and if we can have 20 more minutes.” König is smiling and holding back laughter while you nod “no” towards the screen and Horangi is running his hand through his hair.

You take the headset off and grab his face, and tell König

“1 hour and we’re having dinner” you smile, wave at Horangi and leave the room.

During dinner, König gets so animated telling you about all the things he and Horangi were playing today. The line up they have in their fantasy football, the updates on whichever sport they had been watching. You love hearing the jokes Horangi tells which make König almost spill his water when he’s retelling them. You’re so happy to see that he has a friend he can talk to and is interested in his hobbies.

Friday: 

After a long day of work, coming home to König dressed up in a tight knit sweater, dress pants, and dress shoes kind of makes your heart race. It’s so fun seeing him not in his usual sweatpants and t-shirt when he’s at the house, or in his work uniform covering his face. He looks so good wearing a watch, with his hair combed to the side. He always feels/seems out of place, because he’s never had to dress up for anybody, or go anywhere, but he knows dating you is important and he tries his best to take you out, spend time with you, and give his full attention to you. Plus he likes how you blush when you come home and look at him. He knows it's a rare thing to see him like this. He does like the attention from you.

König has a list of completing small things with his social anxiety. Friday is date night and you two always go out for dinner. During the car ride there, he tells you what he usually wants to accomplish. Sometimes it's small things like asking for extra condiments, ordering for himself, (which he's able to do but sometimes he just prefers you do it) ((accents)) or even just getting the attention of the waiter. So you try to help him reach his goal for the week/day. You’re really supportive of him trying to get his goal done. 

After dinner you guys walk around and eat ice cream, come back home, and settle on starting a new show.

Saturday:

Farmers Market day! This happened when one day König was complaining about the honey tasting weird.

“This isn’t organic, this tastes weird”

König went online to try and find a supplier that could deliver good honey.

After constantly searching and searching, he told you that you two needed to go to the farmers market so that you could try this so-called organic and sweet honey.

Once there, you two were on the search for the honey stand, stopped by several vendors selling breads, produce, handmade candles, jewelry, soaps, and you two eagerly tried the samples people gave out.

Now that has happened, it became routine for you two to come on Saturday mornings, get a coffee from a french press stand, shop around for things for dinner, and then get breakfast at a truck.

Sunday: 

Sunday you leave for cleaning. Sunday you love to put on a pot of coffee, put your earphones on, and just clean away. Sunday is when König gets to “sleep in.” He tried to help you one time but you weren’t exactly happy with his version of cleaning, so he stays out of your way, only coming out to either have lunch with you, or to throw the trash away. 

It doesn’t take you long to clean, so after cleaning your house, you shower, get comfortable in his shirt, and lay down on the couch together. If you’re not watching something together, he’s laid out on the couch, you in between his legs reading a book while he plays with your hair. 

By 4pm, you start to get the Sunday blues of going back to work, so König tries to distract you with lists he’s already created to help you. You two have a dinner of leftovers or take out, and spend the rest of the afternoon lazily hanging around, stealing kisses from each other, or glances toward one another.

König still can’t believe he would have ever had someone living with him, someone he looks forward to seeing every morning and afternoon, someone he shares a space with, and hes glad he’s found his person he can do all these things for, because whatever his life was before this, it wasn’t truly his life.

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Wheezy winters pt.2

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 900

Summary: after your asthma puffer runs out your girls keep a close eye on you as your wait for another. Will you be ok?

TW: Asthmas attack (is that a warning? Idk.)

A/n seeings you guys seemed to like the first part so much here’s a part 2 for y’all

|| PART 1 ||

“Y/n/n? Love? Come on or we’re gonna be late to training.” Wanda called from the bathroom. Grumbling you threw off the sheets and pulled on some winter appropriate training clothes.

“Y/n/n, wands? You coming? Steve’s waiting.” Nat called, knocking on the closed door. She was always up early and so of course she was ready to go.

“Coming” you called grabbing your coat. With one foot out the door, you felt an arm wrap around your bicep.”

“Love. Have you taken your puffer?” Wanda asked eyes sparkling. She had checked every morning of the past week to make sure before letting you leave the shared bedroom.

You sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of your nose. You had hoped she would forget, but you knew she wouldn’t.

“Its out?” You said sounding so unsure it was phrased as a question.

“Love.” Wanda sighed looking at you and visibly deflating.

“I’ll be fine.” You smiled, grabbing your mini backpack which housed your ‘in case of an attack’ puffer. Quickly you rushed out the door, Wanda sighed before following, knowing you wouldn’t be talked out of coming on the run.

“Ok but take it easy.” Wanda called after you, grabbing her own coat and following behind.

When the team was all gathered at the base of the compound, Steve began the run. Wanda and Nat jogged close behind you, talking in hushed tones, you knew they were talking about you.

“Wands I’m worried, why didn’t she get a new one.”

“She said she’s waiting for her prescription from Cho. And the new puffer wont be in until next Tuesday.”

“But it’s Wednesday.” Nat frowned “thats too many runs without her preventer.”

“I know love, I’ll love for pietros spare when we get back.”

“Ok” Nat nodded. “Then I guess we’ll just keep a close eye on her today.”

Wanda nodded in response.

Your chest felt ok. Or at least it had when you started the run. You were nearing the ten minute mark and feeling a bit too confident. Picking up your pace, you felt a hand on your lower back.

“Love. Take it easy today.” Nat’s voice was softer than her hands as she spoke so the rest of the team, who were all way ahead, wouldn’t hear. You nodded a response, the tell tale tightening wheeze confirming her words. In an attempt to stifle the attack, you tried to steady your breathing. Taking slow deep breathes and trying the wheeze quietly. Unknowingly in your focus to slow your breathing, your speed had dropped almost to a stop. Nat and Wanda appeared on both sides of you.

“Love?” Wanda called.

“Y/n/n sweetheart?” Nat echoed

“Yeah.” You huffed between breaths.

“Are you ok?” Nat asked

“Peachy.” You grinned, the pause making you cough and your chest tightened. Wanda frowned, guiding you to the floor. Her furrowed brow deepening at your lack of protest. You were almost as stubborn as Nat when it came to your health.

“Breathe love.” Wanda smiled, pulling you into her chest. You were sat between her legs on the concrete, your back against her chest. As Wanda held you close in an attempt to stem the panic she could feel rising in you, nat fumbled with the zip. Blushing slightly as the mighty black widow was defeated by a simple zipper.

“Here.” Wanda stretched out a hand, her eyes never leaving your form.

Nat handed over the bag and Wanda unzipped it, pulling out the puffer and handing it to you. Unfortunately your hands were shaking far to much to be of any use. Nat gently took the puffer from you, handing it to Wanda. You were gasping at this point. Nat’s hand rubbed circles on your back as Wanda uncapped and slipped it between your lips. Tilting it back slightly and pressing it down, she instructed you to hold your breathe for the count of five. Both girls slowly counting out loud in sync. When they reached zero, you deflated your puffed up chest. Wanda repeated the process, push, puff, count, breathe, until the wheeze was lesser and you could take a half breath.

Nat lent down scooping you out of Wanda’s embrace and holding you bridal style as she carried you back to the compound in a slow jog. Wanda running close behind.

When the three of you made it back, your girls explained the situation to cho. Who promptly put you on a low flow oxygen mask and put a rush on your puffer.

Tiredly you laid on the bed, nat on one side running her hands through your hair. Wanda on the other side rubbing circles on your thigh. You fought to keep you eyes open, tired from the near hyperventilating.

“Its ok love, you can sleep.” Wanda cooed.

“We’re not going anywhere.” Nat smiled.

Closing your eyes, you drifted off to dreamland.

A/N I literally had an Asthma attack (kinda) while writing this lol. I have a love hate relationship with winter. My mind loves it. My lungs hate it.

masterlist