#to make things even better I personally reached out to the opposite side and asked to get coffee for us to discuss the recent drama

[prozach27]

.

[lovebugism]

rockstar!eddie x shy!reader , christmas party shenanigans, shes so sweet she made cookies & sweets for everyone but she wasn’t asked to , run ins w celebs 🤭

hope u like it angel!! — a rockstar flirts with eddie munson’s girl minutes before corroded coffin plays a show (shy!reader, established relationship, fluff, 1.4k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Corroded Coffin’s got their own green room — backstage at one of the biggest music festivals of the year. There’s a team of people dressed in black waiting at their beck and call. Eddie’s pretty sure KISS is in the suite down the hall. As a boy from Middle of Nowhere, Indiana, he doesn’t feel very deserving of any of it.

He feels like he’s dreaming, really. The only thing keeping him from pinching himself is Dustin and Lucas’ roughhousing and Steve’s stupid belly laugh. Having all his childhood friends here is strangely humbling.

Eddie lazes on an expensive leather chair, totally unsure of what to do with himself when he’s not holding you. He’s trying to get comfortable in the foreign leather drab that stylists put him in when the door yawns open. It swings with such ferocity that the metal knob slams against the opposite wall with a low thud. It isn’t any surprise that the culprit is Robin Buckley.

She storms in first, followed more quietly by you some seconds later.

“Woah, woah, woah— what happened?” Eddie wonders aloud, already on edge with anxiety. Robin swooping in like a dark grey storm cloud doesn’t make it any better.

You shrug with a tin of Christmas cookies in your hand. Some are already missing because you wanted to pass them out to the workers. “It’s not like I don’t have enough to go around,” you’d said with a shy chuckle, nodding to the table lined with homemade pastries. You always bake when you’re nervous.

“We bumped into someone on the way back,” you explain in a gentle murmur, mindful of the emotional girl across the room. “I think she might’ve known him…”

“You didn’t recognize him?” Robin blurts from where she’s flopped on the leather couch. Her eyes go wide, the edges of them smudged with brown eyeliner. The look she gives you makes you cower.

“…No?”

“That was Roger Taylor,” she tells you. And then, when it still doesn’t hit you— “From Queen.”

Your doe eyes flood with a similar, more innocent look of shock. “That’s who that was?”

Robin groans and shoves her face into the fluffy throw pillow beneath her. She decides to talk to the only person in the room who could understand her and her wild emotions. Steve, sitting next to her with cookie crumbs all over his mouth, somehow manages to cipher her mumbled, emotional slurs.

“You don’t get it— it was like seeing an angel, Steve. He was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen— and I don’t even like men!”

“Yeah, so that’s definitely saying something,” the boy mumbles through a mouthful of pastry.

Eddie, still wide-eyed with amazement, turns to look up at you. You’re lingering at his side, a sweet thing dressed in pastel pink. He reaches over to smooth a hand over your pale tights. His ringed fingers are almost achingly warm when they curl around the back of your thigh. He tilts his chin to smile at you with all his teeth.

“I thought you loved Queen, babe,” he chuckles, squeezing gently at your leg.

“I do,” you insist, always shy in your way, as you shift your weight on your feet. Your sheepish gaze flits to the tray in your hand — to the hand-made snowmen, trees, and snowflakes. “I just didn’t know that’s what he looked like.”

“Was he pretty?” Eddie teases with a knowing squint in his chocolate eyes.

You shrug, burning with misplaced embarrassment. “I don’t know… I didn’t really look,” you mutter. His chest swells with something short of pride. “They just wanted to try my cookies—”

“That’s what she said,” Gareth quips. Followed by an audible slap when Jeff reaches over to smack him. “—Ow!”

“Was Freddie Mercury there?” Dustin wonders from across the room, smiling wide at the thought. His giggle is boyish and high-pitched. “That’d be insane.”

You shake your head in response. “No— but now that I think about it, that’s probably why they said they needed to take some extra for Fred. There was another guy there, though.”

“Yeah?” Eddie lilts to egg you on.

“Yeah. He kinda looked like a poodle—”

“Brian May!” the room choruses.

“Um…” you mumble under your breath. “Maybe?”

“One of the best guitarists of our time Brian May?” Robin wonders, a tad bit dramatic, and filled with life all over again. “Astrophysicist and super genius Brian May?”

Your smile is innocent and utterly sincere. “Oh, he’s an astrophysicist? That’s so cool!”

Robin groans again, and you flinch.

“…What?”

“Nothing,” Eddie answers for her, squeezing your leg to bring your attention back to him again. His rosy grin widens when your eyes meet his. “You’re just cute.”

Your face heats like it’s the first time he’s ever complimented you. Your warm cheek tilts to your shoulder as you smile quietly back at him. “Well, thank you,” you mutter shyly.

“Why can’t anything good happen to me?” Robin whines.

Steve doesn’t mean to laugh, but it tumbles out before he can stop it. “It did happen to you. You were there.”

“Well, it didn’t feel good at the time!”

The door creaks open again. Nancy and Jonathan walk in together, fashionably late. It wouldn’t be surprising if she stopped a couple of musicians for impromptu interviews and didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer — bound to be on the front page of Hawkins Post come Sunday morning.

Jonathan, however, looks a little bit dazed. “Is that— Is that Queen in the hallway?” he whispers to the group of you, like he’s scared the band might hear him.

“Yep,” Robin deadpans in response, popping the p.

“Ooh. Smells like a bakery in here,” Nancy lilts with a pretty pink smile.

You get all shy because it’s entirely your fault. “Yeah. Sorry. I kinda… went overboard with the cookies.”

“Don’t be sorry. I love when you bake us stuff,” she assures you, then bites the head off of a sugary snowman. She sighs at the heavenly taste and nods with it stuck in her cheek. “Don’t ever, ever be sorry.”

You giggle all pretty in response.

Jonathan reaches into the tray and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “Woah. What’s this?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry. I meant to throw that away—”

Nancy rips it from his hands. She straightens it out as best she can and squints when she finds writing on the back of it. She grins like she’s found some kind of hidden treasure. 

“Wait, this is someone’s phone number,” she announces to the rest of them room. She reads it out loud for all of you, each of you on the edges of your metaphorical seats. “Thanks for the cookies, but I bet you taste sweeter. I’m free after the show. Call me. Roger.”

The room goes deadly silent.

Eddie is among the gaping mouths of shock, unsure if he should be jealous or amused.

“He wanted to try your cookies, alright,” Gareth chuckles under his breath. Jeff snorts out a laugh, then reaches over to slap him again. The curly-haired boy cowers. “Oh, come on! You thought it was funny, too!”

“Let me see that,” Eddie insists, rising on his feet to take the paper from Nancy’s painted fingertips. 

His brown eyes flit back and forth as he reads it for himself. Once, then twice, then a few more times after that. He’s about to play a show for thousands of people, yet this is somehow harder for him to grasp.

“Roger Taylor wants to fuck my girlfriend,” he murmurs in amazement to himself.

For some reason, feeling the need to defend yourself, you rush to get the words out. “I didn’t know that’s what that was, Eds, I swear— I figured he thought I worked here, and he was just giving me his trash to throw away.”

Eddie turns to you, still silent. His chocolate eyes are slightly glazed over as he blinks at you — the sweetest thing he’s ever laid his eyes on, so polite in her shyness and aloof with it, too. 

Still in a state of subtle disbelief about all of this — the phone number, the looming performance, and the fact he ever landed you in the first place — he shakes his wild head with a dumbfounded smile.

“I love the shit outta you, you know that?” he says with a burst of low, boyish laughter. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to answer before wrapping you up in his leather-clad arms and pressing a smothering kiss to your mouth.

[hanyacoded]

if i had to choose her or the sun! megumi x reader

repost from old acc! reblogs are appreciated<3

megumi fushiguro x gn!reader

cws; none really, femcoded(?) reader, swearing, reader drinks coffee, megumi whipped for reader, first kiss, small [physical] fight between megumi and yuji for funnies

wc: 1154

TO SAY THAT megumi fushiguro hates mondays would be an understatement. he doesn't hate them, he fucking despises them. there's nothing he can think of that's even close to likeable about them. the mornings? the worst part of his entire week. the nights? he's so tired he can't even think. and all the time in between? literal ass.

today's even worse. he normally hates waking up to go to class, but even that sounds better than waking up at 5 am to go to yuuji’s stupid sports practice. the fact that yuuji manages the patience or energy for this is astounding. 

it's the worst day in his entire life, he thinks. but then he sees you, and suddenly it doesn't feel so bad anymore. you're dressed in layers and layers of fluff and wool, trudging through the soft layer of unshoveled snow on the ground, making a beeline straight for him.

there's a cute little grin on your face as you bounce towards him. your cheeks and nose are flushed,  and your pretty, sparkly eyes are trained on one single thing: the steaming cup of coffee that he's cradling in his freezing hands.

“hey!” you yell, using your hands to form a makeshift microphone before you reach him. you plop down beside him, onto the bench. 

“what flavour?” you demand, not noticing the way he stiffens, or the way his cheeks turn a even brighter shade of pink, a shade that no amount of cold can ever produce. he shifts uncomfortably as you lean into him suddenly, with no regard to his prsonal space. you take a deep breath, then close your eyes.

“caramel?”

“mm.” he offers it to you quietly, and you happily cuddle into his side as you take a big sip. you always tell him how surprising it is that the two of you, despite having opposite personalities, have the same taste in coffee. the short answer is, you don't.  the long answer, however, complicates things wildly. he's never been a fan of sweet things, but you absolutely adore them. and when you'd told him how much you “love, love, love!” (your words, not his) sweet things. and of course, the one day he'd tried out caramel coffee, you'd tasted it too, and decided that you loved it.

“homemade?” 

“yeah,” he murmurs. somewhere along the line, he's started making it at home. just for you. he enjoys seeing your little reactions every day when he hands it to you, and it goes without saying that being unable to savour his own coffee in peace is so worth watching you savour yours. he's used to it now anyways, choking down his own black coffee in seconds before setting out with “his” coffee, that's actually always been yours.

you tug at the thick muffler that's hanging half off your neck with one hand. 

“wait– lemme–” you pull again, and the coffee almost spills out of the cup. he takes it from your hand gently.

“there, do it now.” 

you rip off the muffler gratefully and reach for the cup. but before you can take your coffee back, yuuji jogs over and snatches it up, pouring some into his mouth. megumi grabs it back from him, annoyed. 

“stop touching my stuff!”

“why are you always mean to everyone?” groans yuuji, collapsing onto the bench.

“wh’d’ya mean?” you ask, voice muffled by your megumi’s coffee cup. you put it down beside you. “i don't get it, he's never been mean to me!”

“nyeh!” yuuji sticks out his tongue at you. “that's cause he likes yo–”

your eyes widen. you've never seen megumi move this fast before; he lunges at yuuji, hissing “why'd you say that in front of–”

“i’m sorry, it just slipped out!” he gasps, trying to wriggle away–but even though he's stronger than megumi, the angle at which he's being held down is enough to hold him in place. and that's when it finally clicks.

“megumi… you like me?” your eyes are filled with wonder and surprise as you stare down at the pair, unmoving on the ground against a striking backdrop of snow.

yuuji shakes his head vehemently. “no, i was joking, i swear!”

“that's not true!” yells megumi at the same time. but then he sees how you seem to deflate, and your bright eyes dull. fuck it. he twists around to look at you properly. “i mean, it is true, but–”

he sees the way a small smile plays up on your lips. it's the prettiest sight he's ever seen–and distracting enough for yuuji to shove him away and take off running. beinf an s-class track star, he doesn't have to run for long before he's out of view. now it's only you and megumi left.

he's sitting on the floor of the pavilion, in front of the bench, scared to talk to you. you, on the other hand, have never been so bold. you walk over to him, and kneel between his spread out legs. you touch his face.

“hey, megumi.”

“yeah?” his voice is nervous, shaky.

“can i kiss you?”

he nods.

taking a deep breath, you lean forward, pressing your lips tentatively to his. megumi freezes, before pulling you closer to him, hand on your waist. holy shit, your lips are soft. but what if someone sees them? it would be so embarrassing. he pulls away briefly to catch his breath, but you look disappointed, like you wanted more. and then he's effortlessly pulling you up onto his lap, embarrassment be damned. your hands are tangled up in his hair, and he kisses you again, fervently. 

“we should,” he gasps, out of breath. “we should really go somewhere more private.”

“oh,” you say, surprised. “we're still in the pavilion.”

he nods, lifting you off of him, then gets up. he pulls you up too, but then his eyes widen as soon as he sees your lips. picking up your muffler, he wraps it securely around your neck and the lower half of your face, so they're no longer visible. 

“what's wrong?” you ask, confused.

he shakes his head, cheeks dusted a pretty pink.

“your uh,” he clears his throat. “your lips are swollen, it'll look weird.”

your laughter is infectious, and he's also laughing by the time you get to gojo’s car. when the two of you get in, his chauffeur–because when is gojo not going all out over little things–starts the car, and you immediately cuddle into megumi's side.

“so.” 

you ignore him, eyes closed.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

LATER

“wait, so you actually like me?” you ask, peering down at the heart-shaped box of chocolate in your hands. there's a note stuck to it that says, happy valentine's day. you look up at megumi, who's holding a bouquet of flowers and the three stuffed animals you've won from the claw machine at the arcade.

“baby,” he groans. “we've been over this already, we've been together for two damn years!”

[just-a-torn-up-masterpiece]

christmas lights and tension

part two of home for christmas

natasha romanoff x reader

The hallmark movie inspired Christmas story that nobody asked for.

Natasha Romanoff fell out of love with Christmas, but perhaps a certain someone could help her find the festive magic once again.

Coming home to her small hometown from her life in New York City, the children’s author is reunited with the people of her past; some are happier to see her than others.

But, will rekindled relationships inspire the Christmas story she’s struggling to write? Or will she go home empty handed?

fluff, friendship, an attempt at humour, cringe of course, tension and bickering, meddling gyals, feelings good and bad, found family

wc: 2.9k | part one | part three

The night prior played on in your head the entire journey to work. You thought about the pathetic way she could still make your heart beat with just a look of her eyes into yours and how, even after all this time, a brief closeness still made the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight. As though, they too, just wanted her nearer. 

It was aggravating, the way you wanted her within your periphery despite the hate you’d accumulated with regards to the redhead in her time away. Since she left with little goodbye. 

The festive ornaments Wanda had decorated the cafe door with dared to annoy you when you let the door shut heavily behind you and each motion you went through was carried out with more force than necessary. You loathe how easily Natasha had gotten beneath your skin. With just one evening leaving you in such a way, you dare to think what else was in store. The mere fact only sets your plan in stone - you have to avoid her as much as possible. She’ll be gone in a week, it’ll be a simple task to execute. 

–

When Sam and Wanda arrived they only had to share a glance, darting their eyes towards where you huffed and puffed at each menial job you carried out. The annoyance bounced off you and they knew better than to drag you into a conversation. 

They let you stew in your Romanoff-stained head, plastering on your best customer service grins before retreating to make their orders with an obvious and venomous taste left on your tongue. 

Pietro, however, was the allegorical spanner in the works. The blonde hurried into the building when he knew you’d reached the afternoon lull, an expectant smile on his face for the gossip he was waiting to hear from your lips. Wanda had warned him, and she did so again with a muttered scolding beneath her breath. She’d told him all about it last night - of course. But he wanted your side of the ongoing feud (that had been significantly lacking ignition for longer than he’d prefer).

Despite what his sister may say, he will not deprive himself of hearing your angry retelling. 

“So,” he began with a playful lilt to his vaguely accented voice. “Anything interesting happen last night?”

He merely laughed at the glare you shot his way, a trait you’d grown to despise after all of these years. 

“I told you not to say anything,” Wanda sighed, slapping his hand away from the cookie he tried to help himself to. “She’s angry,” she finished with a stage whisper and a nowhere-near-subtle gesture to where you stood beside her, 

“I’m not angry,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes that proved just the opposite. 

“So you definitely didn’t almost break my favourite mug, huh?” Sam laughed, still milking the emotional wound of the morning. It wasn’t broken, which you had assured him multiple times, but the near fatality was enough for him to hold against you for the foreseeable. 

“It’s an ugly mug, Sam,” you mumbled, letting a huff of a laugh break through your tough exterior at his overly dramatic gasp. 

“Only an angry person would say such a hurtful thing,” he frowned. 

“I’m not angry. I’m totally over it. One hundred percent, completely, over it.”

You couldn’t even convince yourself, let alone the lifelong friends who stared back at you incredulously. You could just about kick yourself with the effect she somehow has on you. You could practically suffocate in it. 

“Right,” Pietro nodded, seemingly agreeing with the others to feign the slightest belief in your statement. “So last night was good?”

“It was great,” you nodded, possibly giving yourself whiplash with the intensity. “Right, Wanda?”

“Yes. Definitely,” she agreed. “Very, um, tension-free and comfortable.”

“Yeah. It’s not as though somebody I haven’t spoken to for years was just staring at me all night,” you grumbled. 

“Someone you’re totally over.”

“Exactly. Someone who has no hold on me at all. In fact, I actually forgot about the time she blocked my number, moved away and just never talked to me again.” 

“So the annual Christmas Eve party at the Romanoff’s is still good to go?” Sam chimed in. 

“Oh - I actually have plans that day,” you stumbled out - completely blanking on the tradition you’ve all kept up since high school.

It was an unconventional family you’d all found yourselves a home within; what began as a friendship group sitting together at lunch turned into gatherings during the holidays. Melina and Alexei had become parental figures for a few of you; large gatherings were held for all holidays celebrated within the social circle you’d accumulated, and the time you’d all spend together only grew you ever closer. 

When you were younger, the ‘adults’ would be forced into the kitchen whilst you had your own teenage gatherings in the living room. Yelena would sneak a bottle of vodka from her parent’s cupboard, Kate would supply pizza, and Kamala would always amuse you with the comic stories she’d write herself into. Maria had often fondly commented on her wish for you to just ‘go to a party and get the cops called on you for underage drinking’, but you were all happy with Monica bringing her telescope - her prized possession - to show you the stars. You’d all rather critique Sam’s baking endeavours and tease Carol about her weekly changing crushes on various cheerleaders. Watching Kate clumsily lose her balance in an attempt at a race against Pietro was your preferred way to spend a Friday night. 

You and Wanda would giggle at your friends, at the way Kamala would have to be practically carried home by her parents. She’d feign tipsiness and you’d all pretend you didn’t know it was just from all the Pepsi she’d drink. And then you’d gossip. Your favourite pastime for all these years, it was the pair of you against the world. She’d try to convince you of the obvious crush Natasha harboured for you, analysing each and every time she’d looked your way to see if you’d laughed at one of her jokes. Telling you of the eyes that constantly tried to find yours across a room as though she noted down each interaction - knowing her, she probably did. 

She’d told you for years that your feelings were mutual and just as you let yourself believe her, the girl that held your heart in the palm of her hand just took it with her to college. And then to New York. And now that she was here, you swear you could see it peeking out of her jean pocket. 

“Melina’s apple pie is literally your favourite,” Wanda spoke with a poke of her elbow into your side, knowing your stubbornness could easily subside if she had anything to do about it. 

“Just bring me a slice,” you grumbled. 

“No. You’re coming,” she returned with a shake of her head that never failed to put you in your place. “Besides, you’re over the Romanoff phenomena, right?”

“Right.”

And just as though the universe is desperate to see you in a fugue of embarrassment the bell above the coffee shop door sounded, and the hinges you always mean to tend to creaked, as the subject of your aching resentment sauntered in. You caught a brief glance of the soft smile that pulled at her lips as she looked around before you ducked out of view, hitting Wanda’s leg when she looked down at you with a laugh. 

“You’ve got a nice place here,” she spoke. You hate how much you still adore the rasp of her voice. 

“Yeah,” Wanda answered, you saw her nod from where you sat. And hid; your cowardice seemingly ever present only when it comes to her.  “We opened it a couple years ago.”

“She always said you’d open a shop here. I knew she’d do it.” You could hear the smile in her words and though Wanda is always on your team she couldn’t miss the fondness in Natasha’s eyes. The same glint from before; she made a mental note to tell you later. She does love romance after all, even if one half of the beloved couple is on her naughty list. She couldn’t completely let go of her matchmaking fantasies, even if she had to work with a friends-to enemies-to lovers debacle. 

You rest your chin on your tucked-up knees as you remember the day she’d walked with you through town, sharing a cup of ice cream whilst you spoke about your dreams for the future. You’d pointed at an empty space with a ‘for rent’ sign plastered to the window and claimed it would be yours, that you’d let Wanda decorate and give Natasha free coffees. She’d laughed and told you she’d write her books in the back corner and name a character after you. 

Neither of you mentioned the key elements of your desired futures. The presence of one another, sharing kisses and tender embraces. 

“My mom sent me,” you heard her say. “Something about cookies to have while we decorate? Apparently you come over to help?”

“You’d know that if you ever came back, Nat.” Wanda hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, she almost felt bad at the way the redhead nervously cleared her throat at the unspoken accusation but she couldn’t just forget the way she’d treated you. It was impossible to forget the way you only let her see you cry. 

“Yeah, I know,” she breathed. “It’s busy in New York, y’know? Deadlines and meetings,” she added, trailing off when she realised her excuses weren’t even good enough for herself. “I was hoping I’d bump into her actually, is she not here?”

“No, sorry,” Wanda lied seamlessly. “She had to go and chase up a delivery.”

“I guess I’ll see her tonight?”

“I’ll see if she can make it.”

–

She didn’t ‘see if you could make it’ at all. Each protest you made was debunked by persuasive words and puppy dog eyes she knew you couldn’t resist. You let any attempt she made of Natasha being a ‘changed woman’ glide right off of you, Wanda Maximoff’s belief in true love be damned. 

So, you were forced into attending the annual get-together where Melina sugarcoated her forced labour with promises of eggnog. She only enlists you to help because she knows Alexei and Yelena are less use than a chocolate teapot when it comes to festive decorations. 

You muttered beneath your breath as you dawdled your way to the front door, arms full with the box of cookies as requested (Sam’s own recipe), hoping to savour as much time as possible before you were thrust into close proximity with the woman you’d made it your mission to avoid. Wanda was orchestrating this on purpose, you’re sure. 

Before you’d even had time to fish the key out of your jacket’s pocket, the face you hoped not to see was smiling at you with the door opened wide enough to let you in. You didn’t let yourself pay attention to the familiar scent of the perfume she still seems to wear. 

“Hi, you made it,” Natasha smiled, taking the box from your hands, feeling the same pull as you when her fingers brushed against yours. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t let Yelena go without her cookies, could I?” you smirked, laughing when the aforementioned woman hurried over to take them from her sister. 

“Kate Bishop, I have acquired the goods,” she shouted through a mouthful of crumbs that you knew must’ve left a trail behind her on the carpet. 

“Wanda wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Melina promised eggnog, of course I’m here,” you smiled, directing it towards the woman who approached you with a glass and a grin. She couldn’t help the twinge of hurt that washed through her at your obvious coolness towards her, how you hardly looked at her, though she couldn’t blame you for it. 

You were soon roped into hanging stockings along the fireplace with yours and the Maximoff’s still given a place. In hindsight, you wish less of your energy was focused on being on the opposite side of the room to Natasha and more on the sly whisperings between the women in the corner. 

It wouldn’t have been as much of a surprise when the two of you were given the task of fixing stringed lights on the porch. You could’ve wrestled Wanda to the ground at the way she laughed behind her hand at each subtle way you attempted to push the job into somebody else's lap. But their minds were made up and four pairs of eyes glinted with mischievous amusement when you begrudgingly made your way out into the cold Ohio evening. 

The yellowed light that filtered onto you both from within the house made her skin glow, her milky complexion just like cream. The kind that’d entice the swipe of your tongue across your bottom lip, wanting just a taste, but wanting to steer clear of its addictive elixir even more. You didn’t let her catch sight of your eyes tracing the side of her face whilst she attempted to unbind the tangled mess of lights bundled in her hold; mapping the contours of her jaw and the sharp turn it took as it dipped down to her exposed neck. You still knew each sporadic freckle and you chased a glimpse of each one before you darted your eyes elsewhere. 

It was confusing. How all those antipathetic emotions she stirred up within you, adding to the mixture with each passing year of being out of your life, were somehow joined by those old feelings flooding back. It all washed over you in a blearily muddled wave, filling each space it could find, bubbling and boiling, spitting out in ways that made you flinch. 

How could one woman cause you such upheaval? 

“Here,” she muttered, holding out the stringed lights that seemed to be in even worse condition than they had started with a scrunched up face of surrender. “I give up.”

You took them from her wordlessly, still hoping you could get this over with as quickly as possible. 

“Things like this take time, Natasha,” you spoke. Your voice was quiet and directed downwards with your chin against your chest as you picked apart the mess she’d handed you. “You can’t just expect it to unravel all perfectly just because you want it to.”

“Why do I feel like that has a double meaning?”

You only shrugged in response, weaving the wires with care so not to damage them further, getting there slowly but surely. 

“And here I was, hoping you’d talk to me tonight,” she murmured, scuffing her foot against the worn down wooden decking beneath her boot clad feet. 

“I don’t have much to say.”

“Alright.”

“Things don’t always happen the way you want them to, that’s all,” you breathed. “You can’t just come here and have it all fall in your lap all perfectly neat. Life doesn’t work like that.”

“Right, so this definitely isn’t about the lights,” she laughed. It was humourless and the second you dared to spare in her direction showed you the grimace that washed over her lips for just a moment before it faded again. 

“I don’t find any of this funny, Natasha. It’s a lot,” you sighed. “You being here after all of this time - after all that time I was just forgotten by you. You must be really dense if you’d expect me to just welcome you back with open arms.”

“I didn’t forget you,” she returned, brows furrowing at the way you truly believed that. “I could never just forget you.” 

“Then why’d you leave me behind?”

Any words that lay across the length of her tongue wouldn’t garner the courage to venture past her lips. Her mouth opened and closed. Opened and closed again. Words were never easy when it came to you. 

“I’m done,” you stated, doing all you could to push down the sting at her lack of reassurance. You felt foolish that, just for a moment,you’d thought that something heartfelt and profound would ease the ache. Sweet words spoken in her velvet-soft voice, saccharine enough to fix it all. You held out the neat and tangle-free length of string lights for clarification and she cleared her throat as she pulled her hands out of the front pockets of her jeans to take them from you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The woman didn’t shy away from letting her sights linger on your body when she held the ladder still for you to climb. Still, she kept her hands away as much as she wanted to feel the solidity of you beneath them, only instructing you with words. 

“Move them a little to the left, maybe?”

“I know how to hang lights, Natasha,” you grumbled, straining the muscles of your arms to reach above you. 

“I’m sure you do but they’re uneven,” she bit back. 

“Whatever you say.” You rolled your eyes out of her sight whilst she snuck a peek at the exposed skin of your back where your shirt lifted. 

“Alright, now just hook them over the corner and we’re done,” she added, smirking at the dramatised groan you answered her with despite the tension in her jaw at the thick atmosphere between you. 

“If I’d known you’d back seat decorate, I would’ve got you to do it all,” you scoffed when you could finally make your way down from the stepladder. 

Neither of you acknowledged the hand she lay on your back, fingertips ghosting your cool skin with warmth that bit past the winter cold. Neither of you said anything about the way it stayed there. And you definitely didn’t admit to yourself that it left you willing its return when it drew away. 

Wanda was going to have a field day with this.

[agaypanic]

Hello! I'd love to request Charlie Swan with a teacher girlfriend. Perhaps he comes to visit on his lunch or something and sees how attached the kids are to her and it makes him happy to see how caring she is. Please and thank you!(I work with pre k but my former class was todds and they are still clingy 💖💖)

Lunch Break (Charlie Swan X Teacher!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Chief Swan visits his girlfriend on his lunch break, and can’t help but adore the way she is with her students.

A/N: i know nothing about taking care of or teaching little kids lol

***

Charlie wasn’t used to being around a toddler, let alone twenty of them. Even when his daughter Bella was at that age, he didn’t see her much. 

Yet here he was, sitting in his girlfriend’s classroom, having lunch with her while a group of toddlers napped on the floor.

“So, how’s your day been?” You asked in a whisper, picking at the burger and fries that Charlie had brought you from the Carver Cafe.

“Oh, not much.” He responded in an equally low voice, but more gruff. His fingers smoothed over his mustache before speaking again. “Still looking into those missing persons cases, but we’ve been coming up with nothing.”

“You’ll find something, bear.” You squeezed his shoulder, and he leaned into your touch. “You always do.”

“Yeah, maybe… But enough about me, how’s your day?”

You let out a tiny laugh, not surprised that Charlie would bounce the attention onto you as soon as he could.

“Well, today we had an art day.” You gestured to one of your tables on the opposite side of the room, covered in different drying papers. “Watercolor, crayon, markers, that kind of thing. That was really fun. I know I shouldn’t play favorites, but I really like Delilah’s. You know her mom, right? Samantha?” Charlie nodded after a quick moment of thought, and so you continued. “Well, she wanted to make a meadow, so she covered her paper in green, and then she stamped little fingerprints all over as flowers. I mean, you kinda have to ask her what it is to figure out what it is, but I don’t know, it was really cute and- oh my god, I’m rambling, huh?” You covered your mouth to stop more word vomit from spilling, a little giggle slipping past your fingers.

Charlie pulled your hand away, laying a kiss on your knuckles. He nudged your knee with his own, a coy smile on his lips.

“No, I like hearing you talk.” Your cheeks reddened, and you scrunched your nose at him. He squeezed your hand. “Come on, keep going. What happened after painting?”

“Read the kids a story.” You answered, trying to remember the title. “They really like that Llama Llama book. But some of the kids really wanted ‘Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!’ so I told them I’d read that after nap time. Then they all had food, fell asleep, and then you came with lunch.” You ate a fry before stealing a sip of Charlie’s coffee. You liked how he didn’t mind, instead watching you with a fond expression. “Which is delicious, by the way, thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

“Ms. Y/n?” A tiny voice sounded from one of the sleeping mats. You gave Charlie’s hand a quick squeeze before letting go and standing up from your chair.

“Jayden?” You asked quietly, even though you knew it was him from his voice. “Are you okay?”

“Bad dream.” The little boy answered, rolling off his cot and looking at you with bleary eyes and a frown.

“Aw, I’m sorry, honey.” You said softly, crouching down close to him. “Do you want a hug?”

He nodded a few times, carefully walking through his sleeping classmates to reach you. He latched his arms around your neck, and you patted his back, waiting until he felt better.

Charlie saw the interaction from the corner of his eye, not wanting little Jayden to feel watched. He couldn’t help but smile at how quickly you were able to comfort him. It was clear that you were made for this kind of work, being so caring and nurturing without even thinking about it.

“Feeling better?” You asked Jayden as he let go of you, and he nodded. You smiled at him. “I’m glad. Now, you have a couple more minutes before we gotta start waking up. Do you wanna lay back down?” Jayden nodded again, and with a little wave of his hand, he tiptoed back over to his mat. 

When he was settled, you stood up from your crouched position and went back to Charlie, who was looking at you with a twinkle in his eye.

“What?” You asked, finishing off the rest of your food.

“Nothing.” He said, shaking his head a bit. Charlie looked at his watch and sighed, realizing his break was almost over. “I should probably leave. The boys’ll need me back at the station soon.”

“Okay.” You said with a slight pout, wishing you had more time with him. The two of you cleaned up, Charlie insisting that he could throw the trash away on his way out. “I’ll see you later, bear.”

“See you soon, sweetheart.” Charlie kissed your cheek and went to the door, giving you a wave before exiting the room.

[scremogirl]

☾✧꥟ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ✧✰☀︎︎

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐀𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

Yandere! Serial killer x Sadistic Reader (final part)

GN! Reader, Mentions of blood, Mentions of mutilation, Sadistic behavior, Mentions of Stalking. y’all ik I ask you every post but PLEASE read the note at the end! Part 1 is here part 2 is here. Enjoy!

“What…”

You mean to tell me your best friend of ten years has secretly been conspiring with your stalker!? After all you’ve confided in her, all you trusted her with, the secrets you’ve shared, have been relayed to another person in the twisted name of love!?

“He’s- I-…” she sighs, attempting to regain her composure.

“You remember in 4th grade, when I liked that boy? Evan Daniels? I had the hugest crush on him,” she giggles a bit, snotty and nostalgic.

“I was convinced we’d be together forever; get married, have five kids and two dogs. But that all changed when I confessed. He told me… he told me he liked you. My best friend,” you gotta be joking. All of this just about some guy in elementary school that you don’t even remember!?

“It’s not about that!” she explains harshly, her gaze shifting from sympathetic to something much darker.

“When he told you he liked you, you agreed! You knew how much he meant to me. I got over it sure, but the years after that… nothing ever seemed to change. So I became popular but you did too, I started wearing makeup and so did you, I found my passion and you just so happened to like it too. You were always better than me; hated it! You liked all the attention you got, the praise and looks of adoration. So when I found out what Keegan was doing… why would I try to stop it?” she smiles to herself before looking back up at your glossy eyes. The bright lights of police cars spread through the area and loud voices call out for you.

“How long has this been going on?”

“How long have we been friends?” She smiles. That bitch!

“You were my best friend so it wasn’t hard to give him the information he wanted; killing Gill was just a plus,” she walks closer to you, pushing down on the dirt. Keegan tightens his hold on the axe and narrows his eyes but stops when he sees you glance over to him. “All I’ve been doing was working behind the scenes and guess what, it paid off,”

“I’m sorry things had to turn out this way,” she looks at you one more time before heading into the opposite direction as Keegan advances towards you. There's no way you're letting this slide. Your first move is to jump towards her and push her to the ground, hitting her face in as hard and fast as you can. Despite Keegan's attempts to retrain you, you grab a loose clothes pin from your costume and stab the area near his eye. In the midst of his screams, you sprint through the woods more quickly than ever. Yeah, it's dumb, but with Malika blocking the way of the police and a psychopath standing before you, you had no choice.

As you rushed to hide behind a tree, it felt as if you had been running for years. It's better not to look back, not to make a noise, to remain silent and out of sight, you think to yourself. It makes no sense how you've gotten here. I mean, you know how you got here, but you can’t rack your brain. It does explain why she always tried to sway you from going to any authoritative figure. Why she would grin to herself the handful of times you’ve lost competitions, why she all of sudden had a thing for Gill after you mentioned how cute he was. The blood on your hands fills your nose with the scent of metal and plastic. The air in your lungs has long left and your legs ache from how you sprintied every which way. This is all your fault. Just when you think you’ve reached the end, you hear bright lights shine your way and a voice calls out but when you turn your head Keegan stands before you.

“Found you,” a hand grabs at your ankle and you take the last clothes pin you’ve kept clutched at your side and stab it straight through. They howl and pain and you take this opportunity to dash your way into a different hiding spot. He regains his composure and brushes off the wound like it’s nothing. Following you into the dark before screaming out.

“You can’t hide from me forever, darling. I always know where you are,”

………………………………………………………………………………….

You were his muse.

Ever since freshman year he knew you were the one. It was love at first sight really, you’ve just been placed in Hon Visual Arts Program, seated right next to each other. How could someone be this beautiful! He would always be scribbling in his little sketch book pictures of you in all of your glory. He’d always try to talk to you but that witch you call your best friend took up all your time. You’d talk every once in awhile but never noticed who he truly was and nothing could ever satisfy the craving he had for your love. So, he took it upon himself to fill up various different pages of you; from enjoying your time around campus to painting upon paintings lining the walls of his basement in more lewd positions. However, his favorite artistic liberty was creating faces. I know it sounds weird but the way he could replicate one’s features down to a T was incredible! From paper mache masks, to clay, to porcelain dolls and to your horror, skin.

“Hey, (Y/N)! I was wondering if you could help me with a project of mine? You're the greatest fashion designer I know and I can’t think of anyone else to do this for me,” aw how sweet! Of course you’d help him.

You two worked like dogs the next couple of days, working so much in sync, his movements felt like your own. You felt so comfortable around him and became so close throughout your sessions. Eventually, after the project was done he asked you to hang out after school, no work involved. Coincidentally, that’s when the same eerie notes popped back into your life. You were shocked. How could this happen? You thought this was all over with and pushed it into the deepest part of your mind. You became so paranoid and Keegan picked up on it lighting fast, wonder why.

“Sh, it’s okay. Look at me, baby, look at me. Shh it’s okay, I’m here. I’ll protect you,” you ignored the baby part, to wrapped up in your own anxiety to actually be paying attention to anything other than your safety. It's ironic now that you think about it; the person you trusted the most is now the person you’re currently pulling a Usian Bolt on.

Oof!

You’re tackled to the ground and before you could react, your hands are tied behind your back and his axe pins your shirt to the wooden stump behind you. He’s out of breath and panting, hands coming down to rest on your waist. He straddles you and you struggle before he knocks you out cold. He sighs hauling your body over his shoulder and dragging his weapon behind him. His large frame somehow goes undetected through all the chaos he’s created.

“Why are you always running from me, Darling?”

………………………………………………………………………………….

It’s dark and cold and the only thing you can hear is the sound of your own heavy breathing. Fuck! Why is this happening?! What did you ever do that deserves this? The weighted sounds of boots from the floor above grow closer as someone descends down the stairs. Soon, your blindfold is ripped off but the gag in your mouth remains. It’s him. He looks at you sympathetically, like a puppy who knows they’ve done something bad but couldn’t stop itself. Right next to him stands Malika, battered and bruised from your assault. You take in your surroundings, and as she flicks the light on you see it. A shrine filled with you, and I mean that quite literally. From your hair to used panties and explicit photos. Some are from the earliest years of highschool and some are as recent as last week.

However, what really catches your attention is the mural on the old brick wall behind them. A empty mannequin standing front and center waiting to be dressed. There, the faces of all you once knew lie. From Mr. Sicowutz- the teacher that lead you to this death trap- to the freshly scalped features of Gill and his side piece.

“I’ll admit, you really did a number on me. I never would’ve expected that from you,” she says, snapping you out of your thoughts. Stepping closer she winds her hand back and hits you as hard as she can, rendering you even more less concise than you were before. Again, Keegan fits the handle of his weapon at the sight of her touch but does not say anything.

“I loved you, (Y/N). I really did. But after all, you’ve took from me? I could never forgive you. Goodbye,” with that said the axe swings down on her back, slicing straight through the skin and muscles. Oh, you didn’t think this was the end did you? She lays on the ground and does nothing but watch as you're freed from your binds. Keegan rubs the bruise she left on you face and attempts to massage your tender wrists but you brush him off.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You really had me questioning myself for a second, Malika. I didn’t know if I could go through with this but, we all need a reality check every once in a while,” She stares wide-eyed before croaking out a small “how?”

“Oh c’mon, you really think I didn’t know? Just like you said, I’m better than you; always two steps ahead. I’m not stupid. I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, I really did,” she still looks confused attempting to crawl away but Keegan picks her up and places her on a hook attached to the wall. She looks even more confused so you give her the explanation she rightly deserves.

“It all clicked to me when I realized how much you encouraged me to go to my that last school. How, when I brought up the letters again you acted like you didn’t know what I meant. How you smiled like a Cheshire when Gill rejected me,” Keegan scoffs at the last part but all you do is smile.

“I dug a little deeper and found out the truth. He told me everything. Neither of you are good liars. So like the good puppy he is ,” you say, grabbing his chin bringing him down to rub his head, kissing his cheek lovingly.

“He helped me with a plan. I was the one who dragged you here. Who made you think you had the upper hand, let you carry on with this delusion of yours,” you snatch the axe from his hands before swinging it above your shoulder.

“I loved you, Malika. I really did. But after all, you put me through. I couldn’t ever forgive you. Goodbye,”

………………………………………………………………………………….

“The anniversary of what is now being called the “ Mayham Massacre” at the annual Freak do Shek carnival is this coming Halloween night. (Y/N) (L/)- Victim and former schoolmate of the killer known as “The Mask Maker” speaks about their experience with the crazed lunatic and how they feel with the reopening of the festival. Here’s Jim Saltovy reporting live”

“Thank you Carla’s. So, M(r/rs/s/x) (L/N) how did you know him?”

“Well it all started in highschool when me and my dear friend Malika were transferred to an art class. I-“

This channel is boring. Hm… is there anything else to watch? Oh I know, some good ol cartoons! As he lays his head in your lap snuggling closer, you finish the last details of your mask for this year. Albeit a little slimey, it’s just how you remembered to be. Somehow managing to make it out of his grip, you stumble down into the basement . Placing the mask in the finnish costume, you smile.

“Perfect,” you say shutting off the lights and making your way back up straits where your crazed lover awaits. She may have always hated being I second but this year she’ll definitely be first.

Hey y’all! I wanted to start off by saying I hope you enjoyed my Halloween special! It took a lot outta me. I did become lazy at the end so… yea. I wrote and edited this part all in 1 day 😭. I also recognize that the dynamic between reader and yandere isn’t touched upon as much besides backstory and that’s on purpose. I was experimenting with a third party character that’s not the main or y/n for future story’s. This was based off the movie Hell Fest, so go check it out if you want to; I think it’s on Netflix still idk.

-Love, Sosa ❤️

[eddie-sweetheart]

Spare me! - Part 1

You and Eddie have a crush on each other, but it takes Murray Bauman to make it embarrassingly clear.

Tropes: Eddie Munson x Henderson female reader, fluff, Murray exposing your feelings, forced proximity, a very soft Eddie.

Warnings: Mention and/or depiction of fighting and wounds, teeny-tiny diversion from the show's timeline (this one's more about the concept than the overall S4 plot😉).

Word count: 5.4k

Author’s notes: I recently rewatched all seasons of ST and noticed how Murray always knows what's going on in the gang's hearts... thought I'd give his Cupid skills a try with Eddie eheh

✨Part 2✨

🌹 Masterlist 🌹

Happiness can be found in the strangest of things; but it never occurred to you that happiness - or, better, relief - might one day come into the shape of a faded and battered-down warehouse in the outskirts of Hawkins. 

However, as soon as the once yellow and light blue building comes into sight as you come out of the woods at the side of the road, panting and with your feet hurting like hell from walking all that way, you almost feel like crying. 

“We’re here” you state with a tired exhale, a smile warming up your face as you turn to your side. “We made it, Eddie”. 

“Thank God” is all Eddie can mutter under his breath before tripping on his feet and almost falling to the ground. You rush to his side, throwing one of his arms around your shoulders as you try to support him. 

“Hey, hey, stay with me” you tell him, your free arm on his chest, holding him steady. “Just a few more steps and then you can rest”. 

You can feel his chest rising and falling into heavy breaths under the thin layer of his Hellfire shirt as he nods slowly. You’ve never been so physically close to him, you’ve never touched him like this - and sure enough, he’s never leaned on you like his life depended on it, as he’s doing now. The whirlwind of feelings is enough to send your head spinning, but now it’s not a good time for fluttery butterflies and quickened heartbeats: you need to take him inside before he passes out. 

You’ve been walking through the woods outside Hawkins for hours after escaping Jason and his crew of insane jocks. You were supposed to bring Eddie some food at Reefer’s Rick, but when you reached the boathouse it was too late: Jason and his goons had found Eddie and had cornered him, turning him into their personal punching ball. He’d been able to stall them for a bit with the same broken bottle he’d used to attack Steve, but it hadn’t been enough. 

You even tried to stop them, but Andy had mercilessly elbowed you away, making you trip and fall into the freezing waters of Lovers Lake. Soaking wet, you were struggling to climb back up on the floor of the room when it happened. 

Patrick was suddenly frozen still, eyes white and blind. Andy noticed it first, and he tried to bring him back into consciousness by calling his name, shaking him, but you knew he was gone now. You took your chance as soon as the boy started levitating, knowing well enough what was next - and the horror and stupor that possessed Jason and the others as Patrick’s bones started to snap was just the diversion you needed. 

While they helplessly tried to save their friend, in a rush of desperation you managed to rise from the lake, grab a semi-unconscious Eddie and make him barely stand up to get him into the boat in the middle of the room. And just as everyone else started to scream in despair at Patrick’s death, you were rowing away from the boathouse, towards the opposite shore of the lake. 

Eddie’s wounds, thankfully, weren’t as serious as you feared; but he was bleeding, and you needed a safe place where you could contact the rest of the group and set up a meeting. You needed the help of someone you trusted, who wouldn’t ask too many questions and who lived reasonably close. That’s when it clicked. 

You met Murray Bauman two years ago, when you went to his house with Nancy and Jonathan to expose the secrets of Hawkins Lab. Last year, he joined you and the others at Starcourt to bring down the Russians and their damned machine, which opened the Upside Down once again. He knows everything and he would understand - and that’s how you ended up buzzing his intercom in the middle of the night, with Eddie’s body slumped against yours. 

“State your name”

Murray’s voice echoes from a speaker above the door. You really don’t have time or energy left for this ritual, but you know it’s mandatory. 

“It’s me, Y/n Henderson” you urgently speak up, trying not to be too loud, “Murray, let us in - we need help”. 

“Show your face” Murray adds through the speaker, his tone as flat as that of an answering machine.  

“Murray, please” you hiss through your teeth, your voice edging towards desperation as you snap your head up towards the camera above you - wondering how he’s going to see anything more than a blurry shape in the dark.

A second later, the metal door of the warehouse swings open to reveal Murray Bauman standing in front of you, with nothing but a white tank top and matching boxers on. 

“What do you want?” He asks you, his eyes lingering inquisitively on an almost zoned-out Eddie and his black eye. “You woke me up”. 

“It’s back” you blurt out, “it’s back and we’re in danger. I’ll tell you everything, but we need a place to stay for tonight - he’s not doing well” you add, nodding at Eddie. “Please, Murray”. 

Murray’s face suddenly turns pale at your words, and he gives you a single, silent nod. He then moves to the side to let you in, his head turning left and right to look at the street before closing the door. 

You stumble towards the sofa, Eddie’s weight almost throwing you off balance as you carefully place him down. As soon as he lays his head on one of the pillows, he finally passes out. 

“So” Murray addresses you, his head tilted to the side as he nods at Eddie, “who’s that?”

You adjust a strand of Eddie’s curly hair away from his closed eyes and check his temperature and breathing to make sure that he’s okay before turning towards Murray. 

“He’s Eddie Munson” you explain with an exhausted sigh. 

Murray’s eyes widen as if they’re about to pop out of their sockets, Eddie’s name immediately reminding him of the latest news reports on TV. “Munson? You’ve brought a wanted murderer into my home?” He exclaims under his breath, hands frantically moving in the air. 

“He didn’t do it” you’re quick to add, a glimpse of anger straining your voice as you drop down on a chair next to a small table in the kitchen corner, “He’s innocent. I’ll tell you everything, I promise… but I need some water first”

Murray glares at you, but then he moves to the cupboard, grabs two glasses and proceeds to open the freezer. 

“I think I have something better than that” he states, taking out of the cold compartment a bottle of vodka. 

As you two drink a few shots, the liquor tingling down your throat and burning inside you (but bringing you some much needed comfort), you tell him everything from the start. How you met Eddie by giving Dustin, Mike and Lucas endless lifts to their D&D campaigns, how you and your brother looked for him with Steve, Robin and Max after the events at the trailer park, swearing by his innocence and supporting your claims with Max’s story about the flickering lights and Eddie’s own recounting of Chrissy’s death. How you’re now on the run from Jason Carver and the Hawkins High basketball team, and how you’re planning to meet with everyone else tomorrow.

Murray stares into the void as he listens, taking in every word and growing almost imperceptibly paler. 

Once you’re done with the story, the bottle is half empty and your head is slightly spinning. Murray is looking at you with a resigned expression, still sipping on his fifth glass of vodka. 

“You can stay” he finally tells you, “but just for tonight. I have a plane to catch tomorrow”.

Even if you knew he would say yes, you’re so relieved you almost hug him. You wouldn’t do that in any normal situation, especially not when he’s still half naked, but you’re so grateful that you’d even be willing to go past that. 

However, before you stop yourself, he immediately puts up his hands, shaking his head. 

“Uh-uh” he says, “Don’t come any closer, please - you stink. Go take a shower, there’s a clean towel you can use in the bathroom closet”. 

Now that the pressing need to find shelter and let Eddie rest and recover is resolved, you remember that you actually need to take care of yourself, as well: your hair and clothes are still a bit damp (and, yes, smelly) from when you fell into the lake, and your side is hurting where Andy’s elbow crashed into it. And, now that your body is finally starting to relax, you’re realizing how exhausted you actually are.

You get up and head towards the corridor, stopping by the sofa to glimpse at Eddie. He’s still knocked out, hair sprawled around his face and a ringed hand resting on his chest. Your gaze softens visibly as you lower your head over his to check his breathing one more time - and you realize that he’s probably shifted into a sleeping spell.

“Can you keep an eye on him while I clean myself up?” You ask Murray as you straighten yourself up again.

Murray knowingly looks at you with his eyebrows raised. “Yeah, sure, it’s not like I’m going anywhere at this point” he blurts out, ushering you with a quick movement of his hands. “Now please go, go, go”.

You get into the bathroom and as you close the door behind you, you finally allow yourself to take a big breath. You carefully remove your t-shirt in front of the mirror to check the damage and you notice that a black and yellow bruise is already forming on your side. You touch it slightly with the tip of your finger and, yeah, it hurts, but it seems quite superficial and not that serious - Eddie has it worse, for sure.

You get into the shower and the hot water makes you sigh in pleasure as soon as it hits your tense shoulders. You’d love to spend a whole hour under the heavy flow, surrounded by warm steam, but you really want to check on Eddie and be there when he wakes up. So, with great effort and a lot of resistance from your body, you turn the water off and get out of the shower box, grabbing a large white towel from the closet that Murray mentioned and wrapping it around your body. Then, you tiptoe back into the living room, trying not to drip too much water on the floor. 

“Do you have some clothes I can borrow, by any chance? Mine really need a wash” you ask Murray, who’s still sitting at the table while flipping the pages of today’s newspaper.

“Oh lord, and then what? A VIP ticket to Area 51 as well?” Murray sighs loudly while rolling his eyes, but he immediately pushes the newspaper away and gets up from the chair. “Let me guess: he’ll need my clothes too, right?” He asks you, nodding at Eddie.

“Uhm… yeah, I think so” you shyly reply, earning a glare in return.

“You’re lucky I’ve done an extra load of laundry today” Murray replies, pointing a finger at you before disappearing into the corridor.

You’re about to sit back down on your chair when a low groan makes your head snap around.

“Y/n” Eddie murmurs, his eyes flickering open as you rush to the sofa and kneel by his side on the carpet. 

“I’m here, Eddie” you tell him, scanning his face as he comes back into consciousness and feeling his forehead with the back of your hand to check for any signs of a temperature. 

“Wait, are you naked?” He slowly asks once he looks at you, still in a confused daze as a tilted smirk appears on his lips.

You let out a chuckle, your hands rushing to tighten the towel around your body. “Don’t even think about that, Munson” you reply, shooting back up on your feet as Murray comes back into the room.

As soon as Eddie sees him, he tries to sit up, but he struggles as pain makes him hiss at any attempt at moving. You help him, accompanying his body up by gently taking his hand with one of yours and placing the other on his back.

“Welcome back to the world of the living. Shower’s that way” Murray states, pointing back towards the bathroom before dropping a bundle of clean clothes on the sofa next to Eddie. “You can use these. I’m also getting you a first aid kit because, if I can be honest, your face looks like shit”.

“Uhm… thanks, man” Eddie tentatively replies, throwing a questioning look in your direction.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s told me everything already” Murray addresses him again, “I know you’re not a serial killer”.

Eddie’s shoulders drop, relief visibly filling him up as he grabs a pair of faded sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt from the pile next to him and manages to stand up, making a few steps towards the bathroom door. 

“Do you… uh, do you think you need help with that?” You ask him, blushing slightly at the idea of following him.

Eddie turns towards you, his signature grin back on his lips now that he knows he’s safe. “I can manage that” he says, looking for support on the doorframe as he stumbles a little, “Besides, I don’t think you want to see the sweet old tatties on full display” he jokes.

Your cheeks get even redder as you desperately hope that he’s not reading your mind right now. “Yeah, uhm, cool” you reply, catching a glimpse of a visibly stupefied and slightly annoyed Murray behind you, “I’ll get changed in the meantime. Once you’re done, we’ll try to patch you up”.

“Roger that” Eddie replies, finally closing the bathroom door behind him.

“Was all that flirting necessary?” Murray asks you as he leads you to the guest room, where you plan to change into the remaining gym shorts and hoodie.

“It wasn’t flirting - we’re friends” you briefly explain, shutting his protests down. “I’ll be back in a sec and then I’ll need your radio” you’re then quick to add, getting inside the room and closing the sliding doors. 

“We’re friends” Murray mocks you in a high-pitched voice as he goes back to the bottle of vodka, “Yeah, and I’m Russian”.

When you come out of the guest room and sit on the slumped sofa in the living room, Murray brings you his radio, dropping it unceremoniously on the coffee table. You thank him with a smile and start fiddling with the channels until you find the right one. 

“Dustin, do you copy?” You ask into the speaker. While you wait for a response, the bathroom door opens to reveal a cleaned up, but still limping, Eddie. He stumbles back to the sofa and sits down next to you. 

After a few minutes of silent buzzing, the radio crackles and Dustin voice echoes in the room. 

“Y/n, thank god” he exclaims, his familiar voice making both you and Eddie smile, “are you guys okay? You didn’t check in when we called you”

“Yeah, uhm, we had a little setback” you explain, “Reefer Rick’s is compromised - Jason found us. But we made it out and we’re safe at Murray’s. Eddie’s here with me” you add, glancing up at him. 

“Hello, Henderson” Eddie says as he leans down towards the radio, his damp hair brushing against your cheek.

“Munson” Steve voice suddenly echoes from the speaker, “do you know where Skull Rock is? Glad to know you’re okay, by the way”

“Hey, I was talking to them” Dustin mutters in the background. 

You and Eddie exchange a look, then he gently takes the speaker from your hands to reply. His fingers lightly graze yours with the gesture, making your skin tingle. 

“I know it, yeah” he says, nervously scratching his hair, “are we meeting there tomorrow?” 

“Yes, ten o’clock, Skull Rock” Steve repeats, “We have to go now, but we’re keeping the line open if you need us. Say hi to y/n for me and try to be careful in the meantime. Over and out”. 

Eddie places the radio speaker back on the table and slumps down into the sofa, his hands running up and down his legs. 

“Hey” you ask him, placing a hand on one of his to calm him down. “Are you okay?”

He looks at you, his gaze softening. “That’s a good one, sweetheart” he replies, absentmindedly intertwining his fingers with yours. Your stomach turns into a swarm of butterflies as you notice the glint in his eyes - what is going on?

Murray coughs, and you both immediately let go. 

“So, uhm, let me take a look at those” you stutter, nodding at the few wounds on Eddie's face as you gently touch him with the tip of your fingers, slowly moving his head side to side to inspect the damage. He has a split lip, a cut on his left cheek and a black eye, with some leftover blood dried just under his nose. Your heart tightens at the thought of what Jason, Andy and Patrick did to him. 

“Murray” you ask, turning around to face him, “what about that first aid kit?”

“Yes” Murray exclaims, clapping his hands before rummaging through one of the kitchen drawers until he takes out a small, white box. “This is it, but I’ll leave you to it and go back to sleep” he says, handing the box to you over the sofa, “you know where the guest room is - just don’t be too loud, okay? I’m not in the mood to listen to you two-” 

“Murray!” You exclaim horrified, as Eddie’s eyes run back and forth between the two of you in shock. “We’re not sleeping together- I mean, I will stay here on the sofa” you specify, feeling the heat of shame rising up your neck. 

“I’m not letting you sleep on the sofa - I’m sleeping on the sofa” Eddie interrupts you in mild confusion. 

“Eddie, you’re hurt-” you try to talk back, but he puts one hand up to shush you. 

“Nope” he says, shaking his head, “You brought this old, battered body here, you need to rest in a proper bed”. 

“Exactly” you specify, “your body is battered, so that’s why-“

“GUYS!” Murray interrupts you with a yell, “Enough with that lovers’ quarrel. Just sleep in the same damn bed like you both clearly so desperately desire and let me rest in peace”. 

“It’s not a lovers’ quarrel!” you and Eddie both exclaim, immediately exchanging a look. 

Murray stares at you in disbelief as silence suddenly falls in the room - however, it doesn’t last long. 

“Oh, spare me!” Murray finally blurts out, loudly. “Fucking unbelievable. Listen” he addresses you both, a finger pointed at your faces. “I’ve been through this shit twice already - Byers and Wheeler first, then Joyce and Hopper. It must run in your whole damn Ghostbusters slash Scooby-Doo group, I swear. You” he turns to Eddie, who looks at him with wide eyes, “you’re the nerdy metalhead that nobody in the whole world would ever love because he’s a freak, am I correct? So you hide behind an unnecessarily thick wall of sarcasm and cynicism because if you don’t put up that façade someone might actually find out that you crave to love, and to be loved. And what happens one day? You find her“ he adds, turning to you next. “And it’s a fucking cliché, because she’s your best friend’s sister and oh my god she’s untouchable and she will never look at you, right? Wrong! Because every time she looks at you - and boy, she does that a lot - she basically melts into the ground, turns literally purple, loses all sense of reason and logic and starts waking up people in the middle of the damn night to keep you safe. On that note: Y/n, stop lying to yourself and finally admit that you’re head over heels about him - and stop being so insecure, so dubious, so full of useless self-pity and worry. Open your beautiful girly eyes and get a grip, because YES - he’s head over heels about you too, okay?”

Murray takes a deep breath as you and Eddie sit there in silence, avoiding each other’s eyes like the plague. 

“Good” Murray finally exclaims, proud of his little speech - he’s convinced he’s the best Cupid out there by now. “Have a good night, Mr. and Mrs. Just Friends” he concludes, heading towards his bedroom and locking himself in. 

The living room is so silent that you can hear the faint chirping of the crickets outside the house. Your hands are sweating on your lap as their grip on the first-aid box tightens, your eyes locked on it because you’re too embarrassed to meet Eddie’s. Your mind is spinning as it tries to analyze every single interaction, every word you’ve exchanged with him, looking for any possible instance of you slipping up and showing your true feelings - and, for a second, you also consider looking for signs that might confirm what Murray has just stated. That Eddie might actually feel the same. 

Little do you know that Eddie is doing the exact same thing. But he’s quicker to find a way to change the subject and tone down the awkwardness, because yes, he’s just been blatantly exposed, but making sure that you’re okay - that both of you are okay with each other - is way more important than finding a way to recover from Murray’s words.

“So, uhm…” he begins, stuttering lightly as he nervously starts playing with his rings. “Is there a… uhm, a bandaid or something in there?” He asks you, nodding at the kit with a tentative smile. 

You snap back to reality. “Oh, yeah, I guess so - let me look for it” you blurt out as you open the box, fidgeting with its contents until you manage to find a tiny bottle of disinfectant, a few cotton balls and two bandaids with a red and blue polka dot print on them. 

“Not so metal, I’m afraid” you tell Eddie as you show him the bandaids with a small smile that matches his own, making him chuckle as he realizes that yes, probably you’re still okay.

“As long as they keep these battle wounds from bleeding” he jokes, taking them from you before starting to peel one of them open, “I think they’ll do”.

“Oh no, wait” you exclaim, blocking him with your hands. If someone asked, both of you could swear that the sparkles erupting from your hands touching were brightly visible in the dim light of the room. “We need to clean those properly first”.

Eddie sighs in defeat and you proceed by pouring some disinfectant on one cotton ball, dabbing it on the cut on his lip and the wound on his cheek. 

“I’m sorry, I know it burns” you apologize as you feel him holding his breath, guessing that it’s because of the pain. That’s true, but just in a very small part - mostly, it’s having you so close to him that leaves him breathless and clueless about making any move. He’s actually too absorbed in admiring your long eyelashes and how they flutter as your eyes attentively scan his face, counting the pale freckles and tiny skin marks scattered on your cheeks and nose, noticing the clean scent of shampoo from your still damp hair and the faint hint of your cologne still left on your neck. Actually, the burning is welcome to him, as it’s the only thing keeping him grounded and restraining him from doing something stupid and way too risky - like, he guesses, kissing you.

“All done” you finally state, tapping on the edge of the bandaid you’ve just placed on his cheek before moving back away from him. Both of you feel the space between your bodies, and it seems as deep as the ocean.

“Thank you, kind lady” he replies, his eyes still lingering on yours.

You both stand up at the same time, the awkwardness back in the room as you nervously look at each other with an embarrassed smile - because, you’ve just realized, it’s time to make a decision on the bed thing.

“Soooo” Eddie tentatively begins, taking a strand of his wavy hair and barely hiding his face behind it as he looks sideways at you, “Since there’s no way I’m letting you sleep on this sucker…” he begins, waving one hand at the sofa.

“Eddie, come on-” you try, but he accepts no protests on your side.

“And you’re too kind and stubborn to let me be the knight in shiny armor” he continues as you scoff, smiling, “I guess we could, uhm…” he concludes, words dying in his throat as a wave of insecurity washes over him. Maybe what he’s about to propose is way out of line…

“Share?” you ask, finishing his sentence - but it’s more a wish than an actual question. 

Eddie’s lips curve upside down in one of his signature smiles. “If that’s okay for you, of course… I- I don’t mind” he tells you, waiting patiently for your consent as he begins fiddling again with his rings.

You give him one warm, matching smile. “Seems big enough for two” you say, nodding towards the bed that is visible through the sliding doors of the guest room across from you. “It’s okay for me”.

“Great… great, okay” Eddie states, finally taking a breath as he nods repeatedly. God, not even bullies at school have ever made him so nervous. He should really get a grip.

You head towards the room, bumping into each other as you unsuccessfully try to get in at the same time. You both let out a timid laugh and Eddie moves sideways, bowing slightly and showing you in with an extended arm. 

“Ladies first” he theatrically states, letting you into the room.

You take a few steps inside and sit down on the folding bed, which is set up with clean sheets. Probably Murray got it all prepped when you were in the shower and Eddie was still knocked out.

“Good, I always sleep on the left side” Eddie exclaims, as he notices you’ve taken your place on the right edge of the mattress. 

You chuckle as you lie back, while Eddie crosses the room to get to the other side of the bed. He lies down with a sigh, too, looking at you one last time for permission to turn the lights off. You nod slightly, tiredness already making its way through your exhausted limbs, and with a flick of Eddie’s fingers the room gets pitch black.

“Goodnight, Eddie” you whisper in the dark.

“Goodnight, sweetheart” he replies, the nickname he started to use as a joke (but that doesn’t feel like a joke anymore) escaping his lips before it’s too late, lingering in the air as silence falls between you once again.

You both turn around away from each other, facing the outer side of the bed. You close your eyes, feeling safe for the first time in hours (and, maybe, days), the comfort of Eddie’s presence next to you and the warmth of the blankets wrapped around you making your mind drift farther, and farther away…

But it takes you just a few seconds to understand that you can’t sleep. 

It’s one of those cursed situations in which you’re actually too tired to get some rest, and as your body finally relaxes your mind jolts awake, fully active and functioning better than it ever did.

You sigh deeply, the mattress creaking loudly as you move to turn around and switch position - just to find out that Eddie has turned around as well, and he’s now facing you.

His breath warmly and regularly fans over your face, and you figure he’s asleep - until his voice breaks the silence with a whisper.

“Y/n” he softly asks, “are you awake?”

You smile in the dark, your eyes still closed. 

“Mhm”

“I just wanted to say, thank you for today” he murmurs, “You saved my life. Very metal of you”.

“Anytime, Munson” you whisper back, “take it as a thank-you gift for keeping Dustin busy and relieving me of my big sister duties once a week for the past year”.

“That little devil” Eddie chuckles as he scoots closer to you. Your heart starts beating a little faster, as you feel the faint thread of electricity that has formed between your bodies. “I guess stubbornness runs in the family. But I’m grateful to him, actually” he adds, shuffling slightly under the covers.

“Why is that?” you ask him, the thought of sleeping now completely forgotten in some corner of your mind.

Eddie stays silent for a few seconds, then speaks again.

“I guess you don’t remember the first time you brought him to Hellfire” he softly says, and you think you can catch a glimpse of his smile.

“Actually, I do” you reply, the memory of that late September afternoon easily coming to your mind. “Especially because you kept staring at our car when we got there. Leaning against the school’s front door like a dark, mysterious character straight out of a fantasy novel” you joke, tentatively moving your hand in the dark to poke him.

And just as you actually find his body, Eddie finds your hand. His long, slightly calloused fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb drawing soft circles on your burning skin. He’s glad the lights are off, because he’s too scared that you’d back away if you saw the nervousness mixed with badly hidden love in his gaze.

“As nice as your car is” he says, chuckling, “I wasn’t staring at it, at all. I was…” he hesitates, before deciding to risk it all. “I was actually wondering how Henderson could have such a beautiful creature for a sister” he blurts out. 

You lie still in the dark, speechless, your hand still into Eddie’s. Your brain is running ten thousand miles an hour, trying to wrap around what he’s just said.

“I mean, he’s a, uhm… a cute kid, I guess?” Eddie quickly adds, trying to make sense of his words, “but when I saw you I thought… I mean, I actually thought, that’s how Arwen must have looked like. And that’s how Aragorn must have felt when he, uhm… ”.

He can’t finish the sentence, because your hand has moved from the gentle grasp of his fingers to his cheek, pulling him closer to you until your lips meet in the dark.

The kiss is soft and slow, and you pour into it all the words you’ve never said and feelings you’ve kept hidden for months, careful to avoid the healing cut on his lower lip as you move. Eddie’s arms wrap around your body, his legs now intertwined with yours under the blanket. 

You explore each other’s bodies - your hands through his hair, his lips down your neck, t-shirts lifting up and skin burning at any soft touch as the steel of his rings slides under the thick cotton of your clothes. You both feel safe, understood, and seen even in the pitch black of the room. It almost feels like meeting for the first time, too.

Eddie doesn’t let go of you, not even when you stop kissing to take a breath, the weight of the day now finally overcoming you both. As you lie in his arms, your head placed on his chest so that you can hear the beat of his heart, you realize that this is what true relief - or, better, happiness - must feel like.

“Guess your friend was right” Eddie says, his hand caressing your ruffled hair as his words are followed by a yawn.

“He usually is”. You chuckle, closing your eyes as your breaths deepen and slow down.

Then, you both fall asleep.

—♥︎—

✨Part 2✨

[sword-is-bored]

Can I request a botw Link x reader. They we're best friends pre calamity and they awake in the shrine of resurrection together. Link realising his friend would've had to die in order to be resurrected but it makes no sense bc his friend wasn't in battle. His friend unalived so he wouldn't be alone when he woke up

OH MY GOD YES

The Bestest

Tw!! SH and Su!c!de mentions!

Those fuzzy words. Link. They echoed in his head. He sat up in the water, looking around the place. It was cold and confusing, stuffy as well. He tried to move his legs and found he couldn’t. Link peered down, finding another body with him. He wanted to panic, his instincts told him to panic. However, seeing another person laying opposite to him was calming. He looked down and noticed scars trailing up his torso, his hands and arms littered in the scars as well.

The person who laid with him had a single scar across their neck. Link reached out and gently shook them, their eyes fluttering open. Their body and face were familiar to him. They slowly sat up, the water dripping down their side and they looked around. Link was nervous to speak, it’d be so long since… actually he didn’t know. The person in front of him turned and a smile crept on their features. “You’re alive. And so am I. Thank the goddess.” They crawled over to Link and wrapped their arms around him. Link realized they were both painfully naked. He hugged back and pulled away, a confused look on his face. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” Their face fell for a moment, before their smile returned. Softer, this time. “At one point.” They reached out and tucked a stray hair from his face back in.

“I’m (Y/n). We were friends. Best friends. I heard this is where you were going when you were in war. So, the only way for me to be with you was to come with.” Link’s hand reached out and trailed the scar that ran across their throat. “Oh, don’t worry about that.” (Y/n) said quietly, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “I was told you might lose your memories, so it’s alright.” They reached out and caressed his face. Link felt himself sigh and lean into the hand. It was nice to have someone who knows you with you.

It had been a few months since the two woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection together. Link had regained most of his memories, and even remembered who (Y/n) was. However, there was something that bothered him. (Y/n) wasn’t a warrior, how were they brought back by the shrine? How did they die? Why… why did they die? “I figured you’d ask.” (Y/n) had said. Throughout their journey they’d bought themselves clothes. Right now, in their Rito outfit, they attempted to show Link the scar. “When I found out you died, I was distraught. Someone made the mistake of telling me where you were, so I clawed my way to you. You’ve always been my everything. I knew the only way to be with you was to wound myself as badly as you’d been. So I came prepared. I remember staring at you as you slept in the water. I never wanted to die, but to be with you? You shouldn’t have to be here alone. I remember falling into the water with you, and trying to turn so we could wake up holding each other. I was unconscious by the time I tried.”

Hearing someone killed themselves for you was never a romantic thing. Link stared at (Y/n), admiration filling his chest. “Oh wow.” He whispered. (Y/n) blushed and pulled their shirt back up. “It’s nothing much.” They murmured. Link’s eyes fluttered shut and (Y/n) realized he was remembering something. They quickly steadied Link so he wouldn’t fall over, these memories took a toll on him each time. He was doubled over, gasping for air. “Link, are you alright?” (Y/n) asked softly. “Come here,” Link whispered. (Y/n) lent their ear to him. “I know who you were to me even better now.” (Y/n) turned to ask him a question and their lips were captured in his. Link straightened his stance, pulling (Y/n) with him. They melted into the kiss before he pulled away, smiling at them. “You were my best friend, weren’t you?” The jig was up, wasn’t it (Y/n)? “The bestest.” (Y/n) smiled, a blush spreading across their face.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Coffee Shop

G/N. Ah the coffee shop!AU trope. Or alternatively, Goo owns a coffee shop on the side. Either way, you work with Goo in a coffee shop.

The coffee shop you work at is famous for two things.

One - the quality of the coffee. Apparently the owner is something of a snob and only sources and serves the best.

Two - the shocking customer service, courtesy of your coworker, Goo Kim. You don't know how he gets away with it. You don't know how he is still employed.

Maybe it's because no matter how long the queue is, once they get to Goo, all frustration dissipates as soon as he says, "What can I do for you, babe?"

Or it could be that even though he messes up orders, he has the gall to say: "You'll like it better that way, trust me sweetheart." Worst of all, it works.

Actually, you do know how he gets away with it.

Correction, the coffee shop you work at is famous for three things: the best coffee, the worst customer service and the hottest barista known to man.

Goo Kim is hot. Period. The kind of hot that draws customers. That makes them return time and time again even as he gives them the wrong drink and overcharges them. That lets him get away with his shitty attitude and cocky behaviour.

That's just how hot he is.

.

.

"The owner is kind of a tyrant." At least, that's what Goo tells you as you've never met the owner before. "And me and him are kind of tight," he says, waltzing into his shift exactly two hours and thirty seven minutes late.

You know this because you've been keeping an eye on the clock in between serving the horde of tired, irate customers during the morning rush on your own.

You would happily bet you're now more tired and more irate than all the previous customers combined.

"I don't give a shit," you snap, rushing past him to complete the next order as he casually puts on his apron. Fuck, did they ask for oat or soy? Damnit. 

"Language," he sing-songs, plucking the finished drink out of your hand and calling out for the customer to collect.

"Medium latte, two shots caramel, oat milk!"

It's entirely unnecessary. The morning rush is largely over and there's only one customer waiting. She approaches Goo looking annoyed.

"I asked for soy milk."

"Sweetheart," he says, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. What should really be demeaning and patronising comes out all filthy and seductive, "It tastes better like this."

You watch in disbelief as her irritation evaporates and she honest to god giggles, taking the drink and handing over a hefty tip.

Goo pockets the money.

"Hey! That's mine!" You square up to him. He comes in late, does nothing, then practically steals from you?

"You got the order wrong. She would be throwing a fit if it wasn't for me." It's less chastising you and more a chance to inflate his ego. Still, you begrudgingly admit he's correct.

.

.

It's only been a month working together, technically less than twenty shifts, and already you're sick of the guy.

Goo was the one that interviewed you. Both crammed into what you assume is the owner's office. Even for such a small space, it's well decorated.

Maybe well decorated is a reach. But everything in there screams expensive. Designer logos everywhere that even you, with your lack of knowledge, can tell is worth more than your entire, pitiful, savings.

The blonde sits opposite, knees knocking into yours when he crosses his long legs.

He explains that he works here. "Just a lowly ordinary barista," he says with a laugh, as if he's letting you in on a joke. Except he's dressed in a fancy blue suit and you wonder what sort of barista wears a suit to work and also gets paid that much.

He tells you, perhaps as a way of small talk, that the chair you're sitting on is imported from Barcelona. Ok. You don't care. It's not like you'll ever import one yourself.

Instead you launch straight into your spiel. The one where you make all your work and personal achievements seem bigger and better than it is. Embellishments. Harmless enhancements you've memorised from your resume.

The more you talk, the higher Goo's eyebrows recede into his hairline.

"And I increased the footfall by 113% last December-"

"Are you nervous?" He cuts you off. You wonder what sort of question that is, is it part of the interview, is it a test. You settle for answering honestly.

"Kinda," you say, giving him a lopsided grin, "I'm being interviewed."

Goo takes a moment to consider this, then- "What do you think of my hair?"

Your mouth runs before your brain can, "Your roots are coming through."

The moment you leave the coffee shop, bell jingling above the door, your phone rings from an unknown number.

"You're hired," A voice tells you, and you know it's Goo Kim. You can even hear the pout in his voice. "The owner likes you."

"Thank you!" You're practically vibrating with glee, you thought for sure you messed up your chances.

That was, coincidentally, the last time you were happy to hear from Goo.

.

.

"You'll get coffee on my white suit!" Your belligerent, infuriating coworker snips at you and you want to smack him.

"I'm not the idiot wearing a white suit to work in a coffee shop." You snarl back, then drown out the sound of his whines with the frother.

You watch the milk temperature climb in time with your own temper.

"Don’t be mad," his voice drifts into your ear and you jolt at the proximity. Turning around, you find his face inches from yours, lips pulled down and big brown eyes peering straight into yours.

He doesn't look like his usual smug self here. He looks silly and maybe- the teeniest bit cute.

Ugh, you shake those thoughts from your head. However, a part of you thinks you should be a bit more amenable with him. You're still new and it's obvious that he pulls some strings around here.

"It's fine," you mutter, rolling your eyes to high heavens and returning back to the task at hand.

.

.

"What are you doing?" you blink at Goo flipping the sign from Open to Closed a full four hours early.

"Shoo! Out!" He shouts at the practically full store, motioning at them all to leave. "We! Are! Closed!"

Angry grumbles fill the air as the patrons start to shift.

"This is unacceptable!" A guy still gripping onto his full cup of coffee rounds on Goo. You wonder if he's gonna throw it at him. It wouldn't be undeserved.

"Sorry babe, personal emergency. You know how it is," Goo smiles, toothy and affable, "I'll make it up to you next time." He grabs the mug out of the other man's hands and he doesn't even react. "Come back soon!"

The customer leaves without further argument. You think you catch him mumbling sure and see you soon. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt as you catch the guy blushing, he will be back to catch a glimpse of the blonde barista and hear Goo call him babe again.

Goo wheels around a TV that you think must be at least 85 inches. You didn't think the shop had anywhere to store something so big. He must have pulled it out of his ass.

"What is this?"

"Season finale time," he tuts at you, as if you're the one being an idiot for not following this absurd chain of events.

"What?"

Goo mentions a name that you think could be a show, or it could be a new coffee bean, you're not sure. He ignores your confusion, positioning the TV in front of one of the many sofas and fiddles with the remote.

"Are we really doing this?" You ask as he flops down with a bowl of popcorn (and where did that also come from), giving you a grin and patting the space next to him.

"You're getting paid, aren't you?"

You can't argue with that and take your seat.

.

.

You don't really know what's going on, but the animation is good enough and the character dynamics are fun so you keep watching.

You keep watching even once your shift has officially finished and it turns dark outside. Eyes glued to the screen, you cheer when one of the characters dies, gasp when another one also dies, then clap your hands once the credit rolls.

"That was good-"

Sounds of sniffling cut off your next words and you turn to look at Goo. Both his hands clutching white knuckled to the now empty bowl of popcorn.

It's kind of jarring seeing him like this. Your coworker who pisses you off more often than not. You didn't even realise he's capable of any emotion that wasn’t meant to spike your blood pressure. It's… sweet. A change from his usual bravado.

You reach over and swipe with gentle fingers at the tears under his glasses and he gives you a watery smile in return.

"Yeah, I felt sad when they died too," you offer and you see his lip wobble.

"IT WAS SO FUCKING SAD!" He wails, throwing his head back and bowl clattering to the floor. "I can't believe they did that," His emotions take a turn, face scrunching up in anger as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, "I'm going to send the writer death threats."

You hear tap tap tap followed by unhinged cackling.

You never understood the kind of person that would send death threats but you take one look at the maniac typing next to you, fingers a blur across the keyboard, and you realise this completely tracks.

.

.

If possible, your coworker becomes more annoying after that.

He's taken to neglecting the majority of his duties, and instead mostly watches you work.

"Help me out," you plead, spirit broken as he barely lifts a finger to help with the lunch rush.

"Ah ah! I'm supervising."

You consider strangling him.

He does, however, prevent you from slipping on spilled coffee after you miscalculate your footing.

Happening too quickly for you to form any thoughts apart from 'fuck’, you tilt backwards, head ready to hit the ground with a loud, sickening crack.

Which would have definitely happened if not for the large hands gripping you around the waist, yanking you upright and then tugging your body into his.

It's something out of a cheesy romcom and you want the earth to swallow you up. Although if you were wanting anything, you would prefer the earth to swallow Goo up instead.

"Careful there, sweetheart," You feel his chest vibrating with quiet mirth. Somewhere behind you, you distinctly hear a group of customers swoon.

.

.

"Do you think I'm hot?" he asks. Entirely inappropriate because you're in the middle of serving a customer.

"No," you grit out because you will not be entertaining this manchild. It doesn't matter if you're technically lying.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Really really?"

"Yep," You release a pent up breath and address the customer, "And that'll be 7000 won please," 

He swipes his card, then eyes darting to Goo and trying his luck, "I think you're hot. If you wanted to grab a drink or-"

"Maybe next time, sweetheart," Goo directs a smile at him and you can feel the man practically melt. Ugh. Seriously?

He pours the contents of his wallet into the tip jar.

.

.

"We would make a cute couple," Goo leans across the counter, watching you wipe down tables. "You should date me."

Did he just...? Your hand briefly pauses as you consider his words, then resume the circular cleaning motions. It’s no longer as easy as it was seconds ago.  

"And you should help me out instead right now," is all you could muster. 

"No can do, sweetheart." He inspects his nails, "The cleaning products aren't good for the skin." Then he adds for good measure, "You shouldn't be cleaning either."

You stare down at the cloth gripped in your bare hand and consider throwing it at him. Date him? No. Your fantasy right now consists of the sound the wet rag makes when it hits his face.

.

.

Goo is in earlier than you.

Goo is in earlier than you, and he's working and he's cleaning and you think it's a dream.

"Morning cupcake!" He tells you in a chirpy voice with a sunny smile that is far too bright for this time in the morning.

It truly is a testament to what a slacker he is. You're so used to him being late or not doing anything, that now he is doing really the bare minimum, it short circuits your brain.

"I’m making your day easier," he explains, "So you'll date me."

You boggle at him. "You're doing this to date me? And not because you should just be doing your goddamn job? Are you serious?" Your tone rises with each word and you think you sound hysterical but you can't bring yourself to care.

"Yep, nope, yep."

He starts whistling and you want to tear your hair out.

.

.

"Can I get your number?" A particularly brave patron asks.

"Sorry babe, my partner is just over there." He jerks over to you with his thumb and your jaw drops open. "They're beautiful, right?"

Goo sounds sincere and you don't know what to do with that. You know for a fact right now you don't look beautiful. You look kind of a hot mess. You can't remember the last time you washed your hair, and it's currently resembling something of a nest from all the rushing around. Your face is likely bright red and you have coffee and milk stains down your front.

The patron looks incredulously at you. And Excuse me?! Rude. But you also can't blame them.

You think Goo needs stronger glasses.

.

.

"Can I get your number?" An unwitting customer asks you this time and you tell him no, sorry, not interested.

"Come on," He leans across the counter, into your space and you take a step back. It's not fun or silly or anything like when Goo asks. It's predatory and you feel your hairs stand on end.

"No. Please just pay for your coffee or leave."

"Why are you being so uptight-"

"Hey," The blonde materialises next to you. He's smiling. He always is. This time it's wild and feral and dangerous.

The smile never leaves his face as he tells the other guy to get the fuck out and that he's permanently banned.

For a moment you think one of them might start throwing hands. Actually. Despite Goo's fancy tailored suit and his meticulously groomed hair and expensive aura, you know he would be the first one to lunge. You also know with complete certainty he would win.

The clean up might be a mess though, for the other guy.

It luckily never comes to that as the man mutters something under his breath and scarpers out with his tail tucked between his legs.

You hope to never see him again.

A part of you is angry. Rightfully so. That it takes someone else for your no to be heard loud and clear. A small part of you thinks of Goo's smile and oh. It’s pretty hot.

.

.

"Sorry about that," Goo approaches you on your break and you wonder who is actually minding the shop right now.

"It's fine." You tell him. It's not, but it's not Goo's fault either.

"Do I make you uncomfortable when I ask you out?" His words aren't playful and you know he's asking because he wants to know.

You think about all the times he's been all slippery with his honeyed words and to your mounting realisation and horror, you find you actually like it. If he's being honest, so will you.

"No."

Your answer seems to surprise him. "You're fine with me asking you out all the time?"

"Sure."

"Huh." Then he grins again, similar to before and you feel your knees wobble. You can't believe you are feeling things for this smarmy idiot dressed in an overpriced ridiculous suit.

You think he's going to wreck you. You think he knows it too.

.

.

"Go out with me?" Goo sidles up to you despite the fact you're in the middle of ringing up an entire office load of coffees.

"Not right now," you grunt at him, distracted and trying to get the order straight.

"Later?" he asks because for the first time it's a maybe, a possibly. Hope tinges the single word. You don't need to look at him to know he is beaming.

Your movements stutter. You sort of regret your words but you also don't.

"Later," you tell him and it's a promise. Goo smiles, eyes fond and crinkling at the corners as he sends a finger heart your way.

[estelofrivendell]

A Change of Heart (Aragorn x Female Reader)

At first, Aragorn thought you to be the most despicable woman he’d ever come across. In his eyes you were the embodiment of everything wrong with the race of Men. You were in a notorious group of sellswords roaming around the North and you were the worst of them. Rumor had it that you were a rogue as much as you were a sellsword; doing the bidding of others ranging from thieving to killing for the sole purpose of money. Seeing you embrace your lifestyle made him seethe. Actually, seeing you made him seethe.

Men of Bree had enough sense in them to fear you. Being the ignorant people they are, their fear was not limited to mercenaries and extended to the Rangers. Everyone in town knew who Strider was: long legged, creepy and out to come and get you. He had a reputation, a negative one much to his dismay.

One day, a new threat in the region was so large it left Aragorn with no other choice but to contact the very person he hoped he would never have to interact with. As much as he despised everything about you, with your high prices and lack of hesitation to do almost any task, you had a reputation of getting everything done. With a sigh, he lifted his hood and left for the Prancing Pony, bracing for what was to come. 

It is an understatement to say he did not expect how everything turned out in the end for the both of you.

-

“Well? What do you need? I never fancied a visit from you, Strider, so speak. I want to hear it all.”

He explained everything he needed as he watched you smoke your pipeweed, leaning back on your chair to be more comfortable. He didn’t need eyes in the back of his head to see everyone watching you two carefully. His ears were not sharp enough to hear what exactly they were talking about but even the most dense of people can determine it was about them. Each time Barliman Butterbur passed by your table, he picked up his pace as if he had a bounty on his head.

“You’re right, that’s not easy work at all, but I’ve done many jobs that make this one child’s play.”

Grabbing the stash of coins in his pocket and placing it down on the table, you took one look at it and already decided it was a task you can live with. Your decisiveness did not make Aragorn respect you. It did the opposite.

-

One of his biggest philosophies in life is to treat others the way they want to be treated. In his life he has encountered many people that made him want to reject it and punch them in the face for his own good. You were one of those people. He’s known since the beginning that getting on your bad side would do him no good if he got what he needed done and he knew you held him in contempt. Not as much as I hold her in contempt, he thought.

Just as he heard, you were extremely effective in case anyone needed something done. Cover up a murder another person committed? You’ll remove the evidence. Steal something they need? No problem, as long as they tell you where it is. Kidnap someone for questioning? A little difficult, but you’ve done it before. How you never got arrested for everything you did Aragorn cannot tell.

He believed nothing could ever bring him to lose his temper, but everyone has their limits and he reached his breaking point. 

“Tell me, why do you do this? Does it make you feel better when you look back and think about how you live your life?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you have to ask? I do it for the money. Nothing else. I don’t care one bit about anyone’s beliefs or who’s going to war against whom or anything else in the world. I don’t ask you why you keep being a Ranger when everyone insults you, both in your face and behind your back. Do you know what that fat man in the Prancing Pony, whatever his name is, says about you?”

Aragorn clenched his jaw. “If you’re doing the right thing, then what people say shouldn’t matter one bit. Even the most unenthusiastic ‘thank you’ would have sufficed but people would rather thank you than me and I don’t get paid for protecting Bree.”

“By all means, join us. If that’s what you think, you would be happier this way. Your skill is unmatched.”

Nothing offended him more. “I would not kill even if it meant I would become the richest man alive. Would you rip a newborn out of its mother’s arms and kill it in front of her if it would give you so much money you would never have to work a day in your life ever again?”

Now it was your turn to become enraged that he was sure you were on the verge of leaving him right there and never do the bidding while keeping all the money you got. He was too mad to care and he thought your angry silence told him what he needed to know.

Until you answered, “If you must know, Strider, I do not take joy in murdering people. This is the only way I make a living. If I could have it my way then I would do something else completely different. I feel nothing but pity when I look into a man’s eyes unless there is good reason for them to be dead. But I have made my word and I stick to it.

You left him there as he processed your words, leaving him stunned. You did come back in the morning; all you did was steal some food and clothes.

-

He still didn’t like you a lot, but he was beginning to be more considerate since that night you told him the truth. Somehow, he never considered that some people have no choice and in this he apologised to you. Still, nothing can bring back all the innocent lives lost from your hand. 

“I think it’s my turn to ask you. Why are you a ranger?” You asked, resting your chin on your knuckles as you leaned forward.

Aragorn took a sip of his wine. “I was born into a family of rangers. This is all I ever know. I cannot decide how I was born nor can anyone else.”

“That explains it then. Have you ever thought of… simply leaving? Not that I’m suggesting you do it, but you always seemed miserable.”

“And where would I go?”

You shrugged. “Like I know the answer to that? I don’t know, anywhere you want. You’re a man, you’ll find a place in no time.”

If he could do things his own way, he would have taken the throne of Gondor a long time ago. He’d waited too long yet it was not the right time to do so.

He thought about how you liked to talk. Silence was not your friend and every time he did not answer you (which happened many times) you switched the topic. Not even Sauron himself can get it out of him but he enjoyed your company because he had someone to talk to. His fellow Dunedain were respectable but they lacked the charm you possessed.

“Am I right in assuming no one has won your heart?” You asked. “You are too pleasant looking for me to ignore.”

For the first time, Aragorn gave you a smile that was neither a sneer or a sarcastic one. “Since you are curious to know, no. What are you suggesting?”

You didn’t need to answer him. The gleam in your eyes told him all. 

-

There were many negative adjectives Aragorn would use for you. He thinks every negative word in the Common Tongue and Sindarin were not enough to describe how terrible you were.

Now, he saw you as a friend. That was an appropriate term. You were beginning to soften up around him and his hatred for you was dissolving. He decided you weren’t so bad after all and had the capability of acting out of pure kindness. After the adventure you went through together, you two kept in touch and indirectly hinted to him you would do him any favor he needed free of charge.

He realised he did not like the idea of you dead the night you stumbled to his place, nearly dead. You fell forward in his arms, feeling blood soaking on his clothes and he saw blood dripping on the floor in the corner of his eye. Immediately gathering that you needed his attention and whatever happened was undoubtedly urgent, he placed you on his bed, giving no thought to his sheets turning red in an instant. You look like you just got beaten in the face with bruises and a black eye but that was no worse than the wound on your abdomen, though you at least applied pressure to it.

“What have you been doing?” Aragorn shook his head. You tried to answer but he shushed you. “No, no, rest. Now is not the right time to scold you.”

You never protested, quickly entering a deep slumber as he tended to you, humming to himself.

-

As he waited for you to wake, he gained an interest in your hair. Combing it to take the tangles out was a tiresome task, but after that, he was mesmerised with your hair and he ran his fingers through it. It was long, fluffy and soft and he thought how he never imagined you with such beautiful hair.

He started braiding your hair while singing a song in Elvish, half because he was curious to see how you look with braids and half because the act comforted him. He couldn’t explain it, but perhaps braiding your hair was his unique way of letting out his stress and worry from keeping you alive.

No words were spoken and no conversation can be held if only one person is conscious, yet Aragorn felt he got closer to you this way.

-

When you awoke approximately five days later, Aragorn was sitting on a chair by the bed. You were showing signs of consciousness and he spent the time reading a book. He put it down as you sat up on the bed.

“How do you feel?”

“Better,” you said. “Thank you, Strider. I never underestimated you but I never knew you had a skilled hand in healing either.”

Calling him Strider no longer felt right and he thought about it for a second before saying, “Aragorn. My name is Aragorn.”

“Aragorn,” you repeated. “Aragorn. That is a lovely name. Fits you. It sounds… kingly.”

That is a story to be told at a later time, Aragorn thought.

“I cheated someone out of money,” you explained as you looked down your wounds. “There was a man who paid me a hefty sum to kill one of his enemies. I couldn’t turn it down, I needed the money-”

“Of course,” said Aragorn, unsurprised.

“Don’t interrupt me. Anyway, when I found who I was looking for, I couldn’t kill him. He was begging for his life, he’s far from the first to do that. But I couldn’t do it and I lowered my knife. He started crying and fell to his knees, saying that he would do anything.”

“I told him to run away. Take on a different name, live a new life. He thanked me over and over again, and when I left, that I was the last I saw of him. I don’t know if he did actually run away, but I like to think he did. But the man that paid me, found out I let him go, and, well, let’s say he was not happy I took his money for nothing.”

“He gave me one hit as you can see and got me in the gut.” You pointed at your black eye then at your abdominal wound. “But if I were to die, I wanted to make sure I would kill the one who did it so I can take them with me, and I did. I cut his throat and he was dead instantly.”

“To tell you the truth, Aragorn, I’m not sure how I lived. Maybe the gods decided it’s not my time to go just yet, or maybe not.” You shrugged. “I’m not even sure why I thought of coming to your place. I guess I thought I wanted to see you one last time. Well, it doesn’t matter, coming here turned out to be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

Aragorn smiled. “I’m glad you came to me, for multiple reasons. Do you know what I think? You’re starting to see the beauty in sparing others.”

“There was no point in killing him. I don’t think he did anything wrong. The one that wanted him dead? I can name a lot of things he did that would frighten the most brutal of orcs.”

 That wasn’t the point and Aragorn could believe it flew over your head completely, but he knew there was some kindness in you that was not yet lost.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you tell me, and maybe you’re right. It’s not worth killing people over money. Sometimes, I see the families of lost loved ones and it does make me feel a lot of guilt. That’s why I started to cheat people out instead. Obviously, that comes with a lot of uncertainty.”

Nothing you ever did had any certainty in it.

You brought up your hand to presumably push back your hair, but found your hair neatly braided.

“I think the idea of you braiding hair is silly. But I guess I underestimated how little I really know you. You should open up more. Believe me, it helps.”

-

“Me? Aragorn, you want me as your queen? You’re not doing this to make me feel better, are you?”

Assuming you said yes, Aragorn understood he would spend the rest of his life explaining why he chose you over any other woman. Having a better life was your motivation for everything you did, yet when you are faced with the option of becoming a queen, you try to turn it down and avoid it like it was the plague. True, the people of Minas Tirith would most likely revolt if they found out their queen was a once scandalous rogue with bounties placed on her head and was a subject that struck fear in the Northmen’s hearts.

But Aragorn would not want to marry anyone that isn’t you, and if they had a problem with you as his wife, then they had him to deal with.

It was the council at Rivendell where you found out who Aragorn really was and you were upset that he never told you before that. He never thought of an appropriate time to disclose it, however.

“There is no other I love more than you,” said Aragorn. “I wish to marry you and I will give you the security and stability you sought for in life. But if you prefer simplicity in the North and to be away from me, then I shall respect that and ensure you are accompanied by Legolas and Gimli for a safe ride back home.”

“But why me?” You repeated. “I’m not fit to be a queen, I am no queen, Aragorn. Nor do I deserve to be one. Oh, Aragorn, I do love you and I always have! I will marry you, for it is what my heart has desired for years.”

 -

Years have passed and life in Gondor goes on. Frodo has sailed west with the Elves and Gandalf and Legolas and Gimli are enjoying their lives in the country. Recently, they asked Aragorn to give them leave to travel around the realms of Middle-Earth. The remaining Fellowship had left and it was just the two of you.

It took you a while to adjust to this new lifestyle. It even intimidated you a lot. At the end of each day, Aragorn would come to your shared chamber and take care of your hair and braid it, an action that was special to the both of you and makes you think of the past. You did not miss your old lifestyle and you were glad to give it up, but you missed the friends you made in the journey.

“If you were old and dying and could not move, would you let me braid your hair in return? I’m afraid doing hair is not my forte, but I had this sudden thought and I believe you would enjoy it,” you asked, looking up at him.

“I would indeed,” said Aragorn, smiling as he ran his fingers through your hair. “You can braid my hair anytime you want. Practice makes perfect. Who knows, you might be better at it than me one day.”

“No chance of that, if you were braiding since you were a small child.”

The tale of the king and his queen ended the same as any other tale with a happy ending. True, it did not start off as happy if they were initially foes, but they would not change a single thing and they only appreciated each other more for their change of hearts.

[storiesofsvu]

Solace in Solitude Ch 12

Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings: language, alcohol, canon typical conversation, smut. This ch feels a little it jumpy, partially because it is, partially because of how it needed to be. Each of the breaks represent a time jump, just little pieces of our girls lives while they figure out how to go about it. Two to three chapters left until this series is finally done with!

“Fuck…” Emily muttered with a small huff, flipping the cover to her iPad closed before she gently tossed it onto the coffee table.

“You good?” You asked, glancing between the television and her.

“Yeah, just lost another round of scrabble.”

“Cheeto breath’s the blonde, right?” You asked, redirecting your attention towards her as you picked up your glass of wine.

“JJ.. yeah..” Emily’s eyes drifted out the window for a moment, reminiscing about her memories with Jayje over the years.

“I take it you two were good friends?”

“Yeah.” She cast you a small smile.

“You know… you are allowed to talk about them.”

“I know.” Emily sighed softly, picking up her own drink, “it just almost feels surreal now. Like that part of my life was some kind of fever dream, the years between Doyle were reality but the way things worked out it almost seems like the fake memories were it, not the time with him.”

“Did you go straight from that undercover gig to your team?” You asked your brow furrowing.

“Basically.” She laughed, the grin staying on her face, “a few months to recuperate, make sure all the loose ends were tied.”

“How does that work on a resume? I mean, you can’t exactly put an entire fake identity on there.”

Emily laughed again, taking a bigger swig of her drink while she mulled over the entire topic, “the bureau and international teams have their way of covering things up. It wasn’t really me who did all that, it was Lauren, so Emily Prentiss came off a desk job, well recommended to the BAU.”

“And they believed that?” You raised a brow in her direction. It didn’t take a federal agent to notice the way Emily behaved, the little things she picked up on that made her seem like someone with extensive experience.

“Everyone had their walls up, they weren’t ready for a replacement on the team yet, it wasn’t exactly welcoming. Not to mention Hotch seemed to have it in for me, thinking my mother had swindled the job for me.”

“Hmm.” You replied over the rim of your wine glass, “it didn’t stay like that though?”

“No.” She smiled softly, “they became family. I spent more time with them than anyone else in my life, we all did, even outside of work. If I wanted to have a girls night I knew JJ and Penelope would always say yes, Derek was never going to decline a visit to the gym or shooting range, Rossi was always dying to teach someone his latest recipe…..” She trailed off, her eyes slowly misting with tears as she thought about how likely it was that all of that continued despite her absence, how they were all coping with her death, with their grief while she tried to figure out her own on the opposite side of the world with only one person by her side. “We were all a better family to each other than our own ever could have been.”

“They sound amazing.” Your hand reached out, squeezing at her elbow and she cast you a grin.

“They are.”

“So aside from being a total bad ass federal agent chasing down serial killers, what is it exactly that your unit does?”

“Behavioural Analysis, it’s more psychology based, figuring out trends, triggers, history, patterns, geographical locations,” she waved her hand with each statement, “putting it all together to figure out who our unsub is.”

“That’s honestly really neat. I kinda wish hospitals had people on staff to help with that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah.” She laughed, “me too.”

***

Thick flakes of snow were drifting down through the air, coating the city in a fluffy white blanket, which meant going nowhere. Emily crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a huff as she looked out the balcony window. The temperature had been decreasing daily and she was getting pent up, cabin fever increasing and had been hoping to get out of the house this weekend.

“You okay?” You asked from your spot in the kitchen, packing up leftovers to toss in the fridge before pouring out a couple fresh glasses of wine.

“I’m bored.” She practically whined, turning around to face you, “if I have to watch another episode of The Bachelor I will blow my brains out.”

“Okay…” you laughed, picking up the wine to move back into the living room, handing her her glass. “You have anything else in mind? New show, game?”

She chewed on her lip, eyes darting around the room while she tried to find something to entertain her and you knew you were in trouble when they shot back up to you with that dangerous glimmer in them. “How about poker?”

“We’ve played every night this week, you think that’s gonna cure this?” You asked, grabbing the deck of cards from behind you before you settled on the couch.

“How about we up the stakes?”

“What? Play for real money?” You asked with a laugh, nearly gulping at the look she gave you in return.

“Or… we could make it strip poker?” She offered with a wild grin and you couldn’t help but roll you eyes.

“Fine.” You started to deal the cards out, “but you better take it easy on me, we all know you’re the poker champ.”

Emily in fact, did not take it easy on you.

It didn’t help that the cold bothered her more, her body aching at the temperatures meant she was bundled up, thick socks, leggings, tank top, thin pullover, hoodie. You preferred cool temperatures, meaning you were already down to just a pair of lace panties while she still had pants and a bra on.

“This is not fair.” You grumbled, letting out a little shiver as you crossed your arms over your chest and she laughed, draining the last of her drink. “You were wearing so many more clothes than me.”

“Sounds like someone’s a poor loser.” She chuckled, the cards in her hand finding home on the coffee table as she shifted toward you on the couch, “but I’m pretty sure I can make it up to you…”

You let out a small laugh as she caged you into the couch, your back hitting the arm in the same moment her lips hit your neck and you were suddenly out of complaints. Her hands toyed with your chest, groping and pinching at you, her lips smirking up into a grin as your hips rutted up against hers. It only took a few moments before her hand was sneaking into your panties, gently rubbing at your clit.

“Fuck…” You muttered, your head dropping back against the couch, eyes fluttering shut as her mouth wrapped around your nipple.

Your moans became louder when her fingers slipped into your pussy, twisting and curling just where you needed them. Emily’s breath hot on your neck, her teeth scraping against your skin as you fluttered around her, whimpers leaving your lips as she toyed with you, getting louder and louder until you hit your peak and losing a poker game was the furthest thing from your mind.

***

Emily let the apartment door swing shut behind her, flicking the lock before dropping the bag of groceries on the counter. After hanging up her coat and kicking off her boots her eyes finally swept through the living room, her head tilting when her gaze landed on you. You were perched in your usual corner of the couch, fuzzy blanket over your lap, mug of coffee in your hand but instead of staring at the television, your gaze as focussed on the corner of the room. She watched you for a couple of minutes, wondering if you were just zoned out, off on some tangent of medical language in your brain but you didn’t even blink to notice that she’d even come home.

“Okay you’re freaking me out. This is like when your cat is staring at the wall and the only explanation is a ghost.”

“Should we get a tree?” Your head titled to the side but your gaze remained in the corner.

“Uh… what?” She asked, laughing awkwardly and you finally looked over to her.

“For Christmas.” You explained, eyes sweeping through the living room, “every where’s all decorated, lights, garland, trees, I could do without the Christmas music at the hospital constantly but it’s a little drab in here, don’t ya think?”

“And you want a tree?”

“Not a real one,” your nose scrunched, “too much work, and it doesn’t have to be a big one, a mini one, just some lights to make it a little festive in here.”

Emily crossed through the living room, dropping down onto the other side of the couch as she looked through the apartment, “you’re right. We should decorate, even just a little, make it feel more homey in here.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at her and she couldn’t help but smile at the excitement in your eyes.

“Yeah.” She squeezed at your leg through the blanket, “we watch enough tv as is, we could be marathoning Christmas movies. I picked up hot chocolate,” she nodded toward the grocery bag.

“Now that, sounds like a festive night.”

“After decorating though.” She grinned and you raised a brow, “there’s so many little celebrations going on out there.” She gestured toward the window, “I walked past two separate Christmas markets today, we should go check them out, pick up some stuff for the apartment, maybe some treats.”

“You wanna go now?”

“Well I was gonna make baked ziti for dinner, but that could wait cause I have a feeling you really love Christmas.”

“Yeah…” you nearly winced with a small smile on your face and Emily laughed.

“Well c’mon.”

Five hours later the two of you were curled up under the same blanket on the couch while The Holiday played on the television. Empty pasta plates sat on the coffee table and mugs of steaming hot chocolate spiked with Baileys were cupped in your hands. Multi coloured lights from the tree and the tops of the wall cast a warm glow throughout the apartment, the smell of gingerbread wafting from a candle burning on the kitchen island.

“You were right.” Emily mumbled “this is much better. I guess I forgot how just how nice actually embracing the holidays can feel.”

“Oh really?” You glanced up at her with a small grin and she raised a brow in your direction.

“What?”

“I’m just saying, I saw an ad for a really cool looking ice sculpture festival next weekend.”

She laughed, nudging your shoulder with hers as she shook her head at you, “alright, fine. It’s not like I have much else to do anyways.”

“Exactly.” You settled back into the couch with a satisfied sigh, “though we need to get some presents for under the tree.”

***

“If you don’t hurry up, you’re gonna miss the countdown!” Emily shouted over her shoulder, puling her sweater tighter over her shoulders, her eyes sweeping through the stars sparkling in the night sky. A dreamy look on her face, no doubt partially thanks to the bubbly the two of you had been drinking since dinner.

“I know, I know!” You scoffed back, hurrying back onto the balcony and handing her a flute, “but you absolutely cannot start a new year without champagne, and this is legit champagne.”

“Classy.” She replied with a laugh when she took the glass from you.

The streets below you were filled with laughter, cheers and the general sound of celebration as midnight ticked closer and closer. You shivered and Emily tugged you closer to her, her arm linking into yours as smiles broke out on both of your cheeks while you joined in on the countdown echoing from the street below. The clock hit twelve and choruses of ‘Happy New Year’ and cheers bounced through the air as the two of you clinked your glasses together and took a swig of your drinks fireworks exploding in the sky above you.

“What?” You asked when Emily swiped your glass, putting it along with hers down on the small table.

“C’mere.” She tugged you to her, “you can’t not have a new year’s kiss.”

Her arm wound around your waist, lips meeting yours tenderly, moving with grace against each other as your arms wrapped around her shoulders. Her tongue slipped into your mouth and you let out a happy sigh into the kiss.

“You know, you’re really good at this.” She murmured, lips curving into a grin and you chuckled.

“I’m good at a lot of other things too.” The smirk on your lips pulled a laugh from Emily.

“I like this.” She replied, stepping backwards and you let out a squeal when she pulled you down onto the couch behind her, your legs settling around her hips as she adjusted you on her lap, her lips meeting yours once again.

The kiss was full of little laughs, happy breaths, satisfied sighs as you held each other tighter to combat the chilliness of the now January night air. You could only hope that if this was how you were starting the year off that it would end up being a better one overall than the last.

***

Emily was in the kitchen scrounging up what she could for dinner out of leftovers when you finally emerged from your bedroom. You glanced up to her with a happy smile,

“I take it the meeting went well?” She asked.

“Yeah. The hospital wants to fly me out for a couple of consults on Tuesday.”

“That’s amazing!��

“You’re good then..” your brow scrunched, “like… if I take off for a few days? It feels weird to leave you… unsupervised, for lack of a better word.”

Emily barked out a laugh, “I’ll be fine, I’m sure I can handle a few days on my own. You go save some lives.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, “you’ve cleared me, the shrink has my med load decreased, I was cleared at the beginning of the month by PT to up my workouts. Hate to break it to ya, but you’ve been downgraded from babysitter to roommate at this point.”

“Okay, okay.” You laughed, sliding onto a stool at the island.

“I’m guessing this is the same research you’ve been working on?”

“Yeah, finally found the right place with the right fit and resources.”

“So you’re moving then?”

“God no, I don’t even know if there’s an actual job available. They might just want my research, might offer me a grant to keep working here, fly me in when needed. I could probably do ninety percent of it over Skype, it’s all about collaboration at this stage.”

“Well whatever happens I hope it’s good.”

“Me too.”

While Emily did actually enjoy her solo time in the apartment, she found it feeling just a little strange. Knowing that you weren’t coming home those nights, that noise out in the hallway were just the neighbours making their way to their own apartments. That she wasn’t waiting for you before starting dinner, she could eat whenever she wanted and that there was no one to start the coffee for her in the morning. Your absence was felt, even if you were still keeping in touch over text the three days you were gone.

**

It was barely noon and there was already a sense of urgency shooting through the apartment as you practically jumped out of your bedroom into the living room.

“Em!?”

It wasn’t even a second later that she came barrelling out of her room, duffle over her shoulder, still open so she could grab her phone charger and tablet from the kitchen island to shove into it.

“I, uh.. I think I need to go.”

“What?” You asked and she stalled suddenly,

“The guardian I had for Declan, he just called me. Declan tried to call him, there’s something going on, I need to get back stateside.” She took a deep breath, feeling the jitters in her chest starting as her pulse started to race, “oh god…” She suddenly dropped to a squat, her elbows on her knees so she could bury her face in her hands, “I really didn’t think this was gonna happen so quick.”

“Em…” you stepped toward her, a hand resting on her shoulder, squeezing softly and she was able to take another deep breath, calming her racing heart enough to bring herself up to standing and you could see the misting in her eyes.

“I… I know you’re not my therapist or anything, but you have honestly been the closest person since we got here, and I… I don’t know if I’m ready to go back.”

“If Declan needs you…”

“What if this is some kind of trap? What if Ian got to Tom, and this is just a fucking set up?” She ran a hand over her face, turning back to you, “sorry, I’m freaking out. You were gonna say something when I first came out.”

“Yeah,” you smiled, “you don’t have to worry about Ian. Your team has him.”

“What?” Her eyes widened and you gestured to your phone in your hand.

“Hotch called; they want you back to help break him.” Reaching out you squeezed at her wrist, “you’re ready. They need you, the real you... you get to be yourself again.”

Emily couldn't help the warmth flowing through her at the thought of that, at getting to return to her real life after all this time. “And you what, keep playing pretend here?”

“No.” You laughed, “actually right before Hotch called, St Thomas’ called…there was a job and they just offered it to me. I move to London at the end of the month.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing.” A smile burst out on her face and she pulled you into a tight hug until you were nudging her away.

“You need to go.” You practically laughed, “there’s a jet waiting for you, a car will pick you up on the other end.”

“Fuck, right.” She quickly zipped up her bag, double checking that she had everything she needed.

“Text me if you’re missing anything crucial and I’ll ship it out.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” She paused, looking up at you with genuine gratitude written across her face, “and I mean that, both literally and figuratively. Thank you, for everything.” Stepping toward you she wrapped an arm around your shoulders, placing a kiss on your cheek before she stepped away.

“Yeah well, you can pay it back to me by not ruining all my hard work in your first day back in the field, okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“Stay safe.” You warned her and she cast a smile back to you while she opened the door.

“I will. And don’t be a stranger.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

_________________

@momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @daffodil-heart @its-soph-xx @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @hopelesslyfallenninlove @peanutbutterprincess @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @happenstnces @sapphicprentiss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @five-bi-five-mind @niyizh @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @hotchs-bitch @ollysmulti @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @romanoffsho @ratsnestinmyhair @assgardangod @hopedoesntknow @dj-bynum3718 @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx @lesbodietcoke @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak xnovak

[munson-blurbs]

Inspired by a drawing by the absurdly talented @dr-aculaaa 💚 thank you for allowing Steve’s chest hair to live rent-free in my mind.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), sub!Steve, dom!fem!Reader, pet name (“Miss”), praise & degradation, chest riding, brief handjob

WC: 909

Everyone assumes the man formerly known as King Steve is also the king in bed. And he used to be, until you came along and showed him just how fun being submissive can be.

You’re laying in his bed—king-size, of course—legs on either side of his torso. He’s had a long day at work, and you’re great at helping him relax.

“Poor thing,” you coo, leaning over and pressing soft kisses along his jawline. “Need me to take care of you?”

Strong hands grip the back of your thighs as he whimpers a barely audible, “mhm.” You’d normally make him use his words like a good boy, but you decide to cut him a little slack tonight.

“Clothes off.” Steve does as you say, wasting no time as he yanks off his jeans and boxers, cock springing free. It might be his only body part that isn’t exhausted; just the opposite, actually. A bead of pre-cum pearls at the red, angry tip, and it takes all of your willpower not to get on your knees and lick it clean straight away.

He starts to lay back down, erection in hand as he slowly bucks his hips into his fist.

“Shirt, too, Stevie,” you tut disapprovingly. “C’mon, you know how much I love that chest of yours.”

Reluctantly, Steve lets go of his achingly hard cock and lets you tug his shirt over his head. You toss it to the ground haphazardly, climbing back on top of him. Your body is a bit higher on his now, and when you lower yourself onto him, your pussy makes direct contact with his chest hair.

Steve realizes it faster than you expect him to. “You’re not—are you not wearing anything under this?” he incredulously asks, giving the fabric of your bunched up skirt a small flick. The sight of your bare sex has his eyes rolling back, a wanting groan drifting from his throat. “S’pretty,” he finally manages.

“You think I’m pretty?” Of course he does; to him, you’re the most beautiful person in the goddamn world. But you’re not really looking for an answer. No, your favorite pastime is asking him simple questions during sex and watching him struggle to respond.

Right now, for example, you’re rubbing yourself against the soft brunette tendrils between his pecs as you say, “What makes you think I’m pretty, Stevie?” Your voice drips with feigned innocence, as though you’re not using his body to get yourself off.

His fingertips squeeze the plush of your ass, firm enough to stabilize your movements without anchoring you. “Eyes,” he mumbles, cock twitching when he feels his chest hair become wet with your slick. “Y’got pretty eyes, baby. An’ your lips…”

“What about my lips?” When he fails to answer—as you knew he eventually would—you heave an impatient sigh. “If you’re not gonna tell me why I’m pretty, I’ll just have to give you a reason to be quiet.” With that, you wrap your fingers around his neck. The slight pressure has him reaching for his dick, but you use your free hand to slap him away.

“Did you ask me?” you snap, scoffing when he only shakes his head. “And now we’ve forgotten how to use any words, huh? I haven’t even touched your cock yet and you’ve already gone dumb?”

“N-No. No, I did-didn’t ask you,” Steve stammers, voice low with lust and from your grip on his throat. “‘M sorry, s-so sorry, Miss.”

And there it is. He’s slipped into subspace just from being choked and watching you ride his chest. Fucking pathetic.

You grind against him faster, reveling in the way the hair feels against your clit. “I was gonna be so nice tonight, Stevie. Was gonna suck that beautiful cock of yours. Maybe even let you eat me out while I did it. But now,” you pout, “I’m just gonna use you to cum, and if I’m in a better mood after, I might let you cum, too.”

“Yes, Miss,” he whines, saliva pooling at the left corner of his lips. “I’ll take whatever you give me. I’ll be a good boy for you now, I promise.”

You dutifully ignore him, focusing on your own needs. You lean on him a bit more, a delicious friction building between your core and the hair now matted to his chest. All he wants is to grab onto your breasts that currently hover over his face, but he knows better than to push his luck right now. Not when he’s already gotten himself into trouble.

Your non-dominant hand digs into his shoulder as you bring yourself to orgasm, your sweet release sticky on his body. Steve is shaking, trembling, and you choose to take pity on him.

“Don’t worry; I’ll take care of you now,” you grin, watching as he gasps for air, relief flowing through his veins.

He’s writhing the moment you take hold of his dick. You’ve barely touched it, but the small, staggered movements within your grasp are too much for overstimulated King Steve. Thick, hot ropes of cum shoot from his cock and trickle down your knuckles.

“Shit, y’just—too much—had to cum.” He’s babbling, not making any sense. “Couldn’t stop—”

You quiet his blathering with a kiss to his lips, hand remaining on his softening length. “Get some rest, Stevie,” you murmur, noticing his heavy-lidded eyes already beginning to flutter closed. “Maybe you can be a better boy for me in the morning.”

—

[rorywritesjunk]

So hold my hand, I'll walk with you my dear

It's the three year anniversary since everything changed in Buggy's life for the worst.

Rating: PG-13, just to be safe. Warning: Angst. References to Roger's death, Buggy and Shanks' fight, there's mention of teasing, there's a protective friend, Buggy has Big Feelings, yells at Reader. There's tears. A/N: A request from the lovely @chochotorianime10 who wanted a young Buggy with an s/o who is like Kagura from Fruits Basket, who is the Boar in the zodiac. Buggy in this fic is 19, full of angst. He just wants a drink. Honestly these two probably both need some kind of therapy, especially Buggy. Title comes from "Little Talks" by Of Monsters and Men.

It had been three years since Roger’s execution and the falling out between two friends, but you saw how Buggy’s eyes still flashed whenever he heard mention of Red Haired Shanks or saw a straw hat or anything that could remind him of the friend he once had. You had remained by his side after that, despite being friends with the two of them at a time. Love made a person do silly things and with how much you loved Buggy, you turned your back on Shanks when you saw how hurt Buggy was after their fight.

And it didn’t help that you loved Buggy so much that sometimes your emotions got the better of you. You were in a pub with him, bringing drinks to your shared table to help him feel better when you overheard someone make a passing comment about the clown over there in the corner lookin’ sad, aren’t clowns supposed to be happy and funny?

And well, your nickname on the Oro Jackson had been The Boar with the way you often charged forward into chaos without much thought and this was no different. You didn’t even make it to the table before you swung one of the bottles around, striking the stranger in the face and knocking him back into his friend. 

“Say that again, asshole!” You snapped as arms encircled you, pulling you away from the fight that was about to start. It was the third anniversary of That Day and Buggy wasn’t in the mood for a fight, even if he wasn’t involved in it. 

He dragged you out of the pub before the guy’s friends could retaliate, pulling you down the street and ducking into an alleyway. You managed to get out of his grasp to peer around the corner, grumbling about asshole drunks before looking back at Buggy with a worried expression. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, demeanour opposite of how it was seconds ago. He just stared at you before shaking his head.

“I wanted a drink, why did you have to do that!” He demanded angrily, clenching his fists. “Where else am I going to go?!”

“There’s another pub down the street, looks better anyways.” You chuckled, not bothered by his tone. He seethed, teeth clenched as he glared at you. You just smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, my love. We’ll get you good and drunk to forget what the day is.”

He glared and shrugged your hand off. Today wasn’t the day he wanted to put up with your antics. This was the one day of the year where he wanted to be miserable, to mourn for what life had been, not drag you away from a brawl because you overheard him being insulted by some drunkard. 

“I'm going to find a different place.” He grumbled as he started for the street, but your hand grabbed his and stopped him. He jerked his hand out of your grasp and spun around to yell at you to just leave him alone for a few seconds, but he bit his tongue when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“I'm sorry, Buggy.” You sniffled as you reached for his hand once again. “I just… that guy said somethin’ mean about you and I couldn't stand it. I hate it when people are mean to you.”

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before counting to three, exhaling slowly before he opened his eyes. You always looked out for him ever since the two of you met as children on the ship. The first time you heard someone make a jab about Buggy’s appearance you kicked the person so hard in the kneecap it shattered. You were ten. The crew started calling you The Boar affectionately shortly after that with how you attacked anyone without warning when it came to Buggy.

“Yea, well! Keep it together at the next place.” He snapped. “Don't get us run out of every pub in this town, okay?! I want to actually enjoy my drinks!”

You nodded, still holding his hand while your other hand wiped away the tears in your eyes. “I miss’im.”

“Yea, I do too.” Buggy mumbled as he started for the street again, tugging you along with him. While you drove him crazy, he was happy to have you with him, and the fact you chose him over Shanks made him feel a bit better about how everything went after the fight. You always chose Buggy over Shanks no matter what the situation was, even down to a stupid argument between the two and Shanks was right, you still agreed with Buggy.

“I'll make you breakfast tomorrow.” You told him as you trailed behind him, still holding his hand. He sighed and pulled you close so you walked beside him, not wanting his arm stretched that far back. Sure, he could pop his hand off and you could hold it for him, but he hated that. He wanted you by his side, not behind him.

“You don't have to.” Buggy mumbled. You looked at him, biting your bottom lip.

“But I wanna.”

He looked at you with a frown. You weren't the worse cook, the food was kind of edible, but you two had a room at a nearby inn that offered breakfast and well, Buggy planned to load a bag up of rolls and anything else that would keep so he wouldn't have to have your cooking.

“The inn offers breakfast.” He reminded you. “Just… don't worry about it.”

“Buggyyyyyy, can I at least fix your plate in the morning?” You begged, hand in yours as you swung your arm back and forth as you two made your way to the next pub. “You know I'll make it with lots of love.”

Ugh, love. You said that to him enough that he figured you must mean it, but he maybe said it once to you. It wasn't that he didn't have some kind of love for you, he just wasn't really sure how to define whatever the relationship between the two of you actually was. He never bothered to flirt with anyone, even if you weren't around, because no one would reciprocate. Often they'd just laugh at him, thinking it was a joke, and hide their snide comments to their friends behind their hands while Buggy walked away.

Shanks always made it look so easy. He had always ended up with a pretty girl on his lap or in his arms while the three of you would go to a pub together. You were all young and dumb, unaware of what was coming to tear you all apart, but it was all in good fun. There were times Shanks tried to hug you or give you a kiss on the cheek in front of Buggy, but you would always laugh and punch him in the shoulder before he could, not paying attention to the anger and jealousy in Buggy’s eyes.

He wasn't really sure what he was jealous about at the time. Was it Shanks trying to be too friendly with you or was it the fact Shanks could have anyone but he was going after you? Buggy couldn't understand why he had felt that way, and years later he wondered if he was still in denial in some way. 

He wasn't in love with you, he was positive of that, because while he appreciated you stuck around there were times he wondered if it was out of pity for him. Did you think he wasn't capable of taking care of himself? You were always there for him, ready to take someone down, and he knew growing up that others didn't think he could.

But you knew he could, you just didn't want him to do it alone.

“Buggggyyyy?” You asked in a sing-song voice as you two made your way to the next pub. He glanced at you with a frown while you looked at him with big, hopeful eyes. “Can… can I have a kiss?

“What?! Why?!” He demanded. “Why do you want one?!”

“B-Because that's what people do when they're in love.” You mumbled, suddenly averting your gaze from him as you looked down at your feet as your cheeks turned bright red. “I see couples do it all the time, y’know, and… and wished we would.”

“We are not a couple!” He shrieked, patience vanishing at the request and the look in your eyes for him. “Why the hell would you think that?! I don't love you!”

He dropped your hand and took a step back, breathing heavily as he glared at you. The silence was deafening, you were looking at him with big, surprised eyes. Was that too far this time? He often lost his temper but this was the first time he spoke to you like that. 

When you didn't respond, he started to panic just a bit. Now you would leave him too, just like Shanks, because he couldn't keep his damn mouth shut. He hated that you weren't talking just then, this had to be the longest period you've ever been quiet for when you weren't sleeping.

“Wi-Will you say something?!” He demanded, clenching his fists tightly as he narrowed his eyes. “I just said I don't love you, okay, so you might as well just leave me alone now! Like everyone else!”

You lifted your hands up to his face and he started to take a step back; he knew your strength, he awaited the blows you would surely deliver, and when your fingers touched his skin, your palms pressing against his cheeks, he flinched, trying to jerk away.

“Buggy, it's okay.” You told him calmly, and he hated the soothing sound of your voice just then. He needed you to be mad at him, shrieking with the same intensity you showed for that man back at the pub, yet your tone was quieter, comforting him like you had many times before. “It's… it's okay.”

“No, no it's not.” He snapped back as he tried to pull away from you. “You should just leave me already! Everyone else has!”

You wouldn't let him get away, instead dropping your hands to his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. He didn't fight you too hard to get away, the frustration and anger bubbling to the surface his arms wrapped around you. Buggy didn't want you to go, he didn't want to be alone. Today was a hellish day, the events years ago replaying in his mind every waking moment, but you stayed by his side no matter what he said to you, taking his emotions in stride.

“I'm not leaving you.” You assured him as you tightened your arms around him. 

“Why not?! You should!” Buggy shot back as tears welled up in his eyes. “I don't understand why you stick around, I don't love you!”

“That's okay.” 

He didn't miss the hitch in your voice when you said that or your own tears that started streaming down your cheeks. You still managed to smile at him despite what he just said.

“I still love you, Buggy, because I know you need someone to.” You sniffled. “I know you don't mean it.”

His eyes widened slightly and he stopped fighting to get away. He hesitated when he hugged you. He didn't deserve your kindness, he never did, but you still stuck around. He let the tears fall, not bothering to hide them, knowing you were the only person he trusted to see him this vulnerable.

“Let’s go get a drink, okay?” You suggested as you pulled back from the hug a few minutes later, once the tears stopped for the two of you. “I’ll be good this time.”

Buggy sniffed, rubbing his nose before wiping his hand on his shirt with a shrug, trying to ignore the fact he was just crying. You used the hem of your shirt to wipe your own face before smiling up at Buggy. He looked away from you and crossed his arms.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He mumbled as he started walking again; you trailed after him, linking your arm around his. He didn’t say anything or try to pull away. “You… you were defending me. S’okay.”

You giggled and slipped your arm away from his, slapping your hand against his shoulder lovingly, causing Buggy to stumble a bit from the force. He bit back a retort, letting you once more link your arm with his as the two of you headed for the next pub. 

He wondered if he was going to regret this, but he suddenly turned to face you, pecking you on the cheek so quickly you weren’t even sure he actually made contact with your skin, but you weren’t going to point it out. You just hugged his arm and let your head rest against his shoulder as the two of you walked along, and while it may take Buggy some time to admit it, he loved that you stuck around for him, took care of him, and put up with him, and he figured at some point he may tell you that he loves you, but it would have to wait.

[milflewis]

1k. nigelio. sewis. a glimpse at a what if conversation at a what if silverstone grand prix 2023 ft. nigel mansell being a Gossip

“Nigel.”

Lewis pauses when he opens the door, faltering. It takes a lot to surprise Lewis Hamilton, Nigel knows. And even more to make him show it. He smiles.

“Hello, Lewis.”

“Uh.” Lewis looks past him and then back at his face before shrugging, a grin coming easy. He always did have a face made for smiling. “Hey, man. I heard you were around this weekend. How’s things?”

“Ah, alright. Your race engineer – Bono, yeah? – said that you weren’t scheduled to be out on track for a while. Thought I’d drop by for a minute. Have a chat.”

Lewis raises his eyebrows, tilting his head to the side. Nigel stands very still. After a long breath, Lewis steps back. He opens the door wider, arm stretching out behind him. “Sit wherever. You want a drink?”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

Lewis’s motorhome is acres nicer than any of theirs back in the day, though that can be said for any of the new digs of the drivers nowadays. It’s tidy enough – no empty water bottles lying around, a racesuit thrown half folded over a massage table, a heavy looking shimmery jacket hanging off the back of the door. Cluttered but not dirty. Lived in. Nigel sits down on the couch. There is dog hair on the cushion.

The cross on Lewis’s smooth back stretches and relaxes as he pulls on his fireproofs. His waist is ridiculously tiny. The arms of his racesuit hang low on his hips.

All this pampering he does, Niki had said to him years ago, fond. For fun! He had sounded exasperated and, strangely, proud. Him and James would’ve been insufferable. Not a minute of peace – cut your hair like this, Niki. Grow it out like this, Niki. Why don’t you use conditioner or whatever, Niki.

Lewis sits down on the small chair opposite him, legs falling open at the knees. He’s barefoot. His nails are painted a familiar shade of green. Something in Nigel’s chest hurts.

“I’ve been talking to Sebastian,” Nigel says without any preamble. Lewis barely even blinks.

“I’d guessed,” he replies dryly, and Nigel wonders, not for the first time, how much exactly Lewis notices about what’s going on around the paddock.

“I think you should strike,” Nigel says instead, leaving that question for another day. “Sebastian agrees. He says it might be better if he’s the one to talk to Fernando.”

Lewis’s mouth quirks up at the corner, smile lines winking. He hums quietly. He does not ask why Sebastian isn’t here to tell him himself, or giving him a call. Nigel still isn’t really sure what’s going on there either. Niki was never much help, for all that he loved gossip, and Keke has been firmly staying out of Lewis’s business the past few years, especially when it involves Sebastian, because: “Do you want me to hate my son, Nige? Do you want me to hate you? This is what will happen if I have to listen to any of shit again.”

“Better if you get Jenson to follow up after.” Lewis doesn’t look away from him. “Fernando doesn’t like being told what to do. Jenson knows how to chill him out.”

Nigel isn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.

Lewis watches him. “We do have Charles to play the piano.”

Nigel laughs. “You do.” The sound feels like it gets caught on a hook in the underside of his stomach. “I’ve heard you play too.”

Lewis scruches up his nose. It is interesting, Nigel thinks, the things that Lewis let’s himself be modest over and what he doesn’t.“Only a little.”

“A piano is a good distraction,” Nigel advises. “You’ll need to get rid of people’s phones. Or at least, have only one person keep them on hand.”

Lewis smiles wryly. “That’d be fun.”

“Probably.”

Lewis reaches down by the side of his seat and straightens up with a pair of thin white socks in hand. He unrolls them and pulls them on, foot by foot. Right. Then left.

Nigel isn’t sure what the right thing to do here is. Does he tell Sebastian that Lewis is, painting his toenails a colour that is strikingly like the Aston Martin green, or does he stay out of it?

Keke would tell him to stay out of it.

“I’ve been thinking of it too,” he says, leaning back. “Of saying no. Making a stand. Things are – things are getting messy.”

“They’ve been messy for a while,” Nigel offers. Lewis doesn’t take it. He only shrugs, slipping his feet into his boots.

Nigel wonders if he and Sebastian talk about that year. He isn’t sure what to hope for.

Lewis tucks his hands under his armpits as he sits back and waits for Nigel to continue. Nigel has said all he came here to say – or at least, all he knows for sure he can say. He looks rather tired. Weary. He should take a long hot bath. Nigel thinks about telling him.

“A piano is a good idea,” he starts. Or tries to. It’s not quite what he intended to say. Lewis’s shoulders relax minutely. Nigel hadn’t realised he was tense.

He looks at Nigel like he knows Nigel knows what he wants to ask.

“Sebastian will agree, I think,” Nigel tries again. He bites at his cheek. He’s too old for this. He doesn’t know how to talk like this anymore.

He thinks of Elio’s smile. He thinks of the swoop of his g’s and his y’s in his data notes that he’d swap with Nigel when they were both at Lotus. He thinks of the only proper way to cook spaghetti bolognese that Elio never got around to showing him. He thinks of how he is nearly fairly sure Sebastian hasn’t called Lewis once since last year. He thinks of Sebastian turning qualifying off in the background of their call a few weeks ago after Lewis had done his run.

“I don’t know if it was love,” Nigel lies despite himself. He has always been very English unfortunately. “Or – at least – that kind of love. We were friends. Very good friends. One of my best, I must say. You notice – when they’re there. And when they aren’t. It’s better – when they are.” He pauses, grimacing. He doesn’t speak on his championship. On how winning tasted faintly like losing.

“Sorry for the poetry,” he laughs and it only rings out slightly hollow. Lewis smiles at him, the lines around his eyes soft. He reminds Nigel of Elio for a quick breathless moment. That same kind brutality.

“Sounds like love to me,” Lewis says, quiet.

Nigel thinks of Lewis’s career. Of whose name is beside him in the history books. Of the Lewis-shaped pauses in Sebastian’s calls to chat that were not there before his retirement. Of how Lewis doesn’t say his name much anymore. Of the look on Sebastian’s face in that one photo from Monaco.

He wants to shake them both, suddenly viciously full of anger. His fingers feel like they’re full of fizzy drink, prickling away at the under-bed of his nails.

They’re so terribly, awfully — enviously — young.

Lewis looks back at him, face calm like a lake. It doesn’t feel like a dare. It doesn’t quite feel like it isn’t one.

He should learn how to ask, Nigel remembers overhearing Aryton complaining about Michael. Just fucking ask for what he wants. Being told no is not dying.

The irony, as it was wont to with Ayrton, was lost on him.

Nigel breathes.

“Yes,” Nigel allows himself – and Lewis. “I guess it is.”

[m1d-45]

small miracles

summary: washed up on the sands of ritou, inazuma’s famous helper lends you a hand.

word count: ~2k

-> warnings: n/a, just standard imposter au things. you are on the run, technically. very minor gore i guess(like veeeery tiny)

-> lowercase intended!

< masterlist > || second part >>

dirt collapses beneath your feet, your torn shoes skidding on the edge of the cliff north of liyue harbor. you can hear the waves lap at the rock thousands of feet below you, layered under the huffs of the people in front of you.

steel blades shine in the hot sun, the millelith wielding them just as fierce. you can see the hatred in their eyes, the need for your end, whether by the spears in their hand or the waters behind you. the only reason they haven’t struck is because of the woman behind the ring of them.

a dark oak pipe balances on the tip of ningguang’s finger, her eyes as sharp as their ruby hue. she lets it tip to one side, her head following the tilt, before she spins it back into her palm. every action is defined with grace, not so much as a hair out of place. every golden ornament shows off her prestige, her power, how without even lifting a finger she has you pinned in place against a cliff.

perhaps if you weren’t at risk of dying, you might feel different about it.

one of the millelith asks if they’re allowed to strike. the red tassel on her forehead swings as she shakes her head.

“no. this fake is not worth liyuen metal.” ningguang tucks the pipe away in a smooth motion, crossing one arm over her chest to rest the opposite elbow on it. a clawed finger swipes an invisible hair back into place on her bangs. “send them to the sea. their bones will serve as an excellent toothpick for osial.“

well, that was a horrific visual.

in an instant, the millelith spin their spears around, careful to keep the blades away from themselves and each other to jab to dull ends at you. behind them, ningguang barely looks fazed, examining a geo crystal in her hand. you know the nonchalance is manufactured, a subdued silence, but that doesn’t make it any better. she doesn’t care that she’s sending you to your death. she knows it, wants it, and what would the millelith be if they couldn’t remove one person from the tianquan’s presence?

your left foot is standing half on air. the part that is on ground is shaky, uncertain, dirt nowhere near as stable as stone.

you risk a look at ningguang.

ruby eyes are the last thing you see before you fall.

you wake up on a beach, sandy and exhausted. invisible wounds bleed harder as sand gets into them as you sit up to look around. your clothes are hard with saltwater, and it’s a miracle you made it here alive. though teyvat has been kind, fruit and clean water always within reach, you didn’t think that you would live long enough to hit land.

you stand—nearly falling—and shake out as much sand as you can, looking around. across the sea is a small island, within swimming range, but youre not inclined to explore when your limbs still feel so heavy. to your right, the beach narrows off, overtaken by the cliff behind you, but it seems to open up more to the left.

you decide to stumble that way, passing a spike of driftwood, and stop just as quickly.

you can see green roofs of houses, spires and what is maybe a watchtower in the distance, the architecture familiar. red and orange trees are interspersed between them, and your hopes fall.

you’d hoped you were in the stone forest. you’d hoped that you’d have a chance, knowing the abundance of hilichurls on the small islands, but now you’re…

you start walking, hoping to find some clues to prove your hunch wrong.

you see an okay looking boat, but youre preoccupied by the path branching to the left. wooden boards seem to make a walkway, and you step over them on your way inside. theres a small tent, a lantern, a block of supplies and a cooking pot. in the tent is a bed fashioned of hay, but embers light up the wood beneath the pot.

it would be a cozy enough place to stay, but you can’t risk whoever owns it coming back.

you head back the way you came and continue towards the city. the sand slides beneath your ragged shoes, but theres flowers following the breeze in the grass near the cliff. purple and a soft blue, they distract you long enough that a guard walks to their post further down the beach.

oh.

oh no.

you recognize the uniform, and the logo of the tenryou commission embossed on the armor. if inazuma is the same as any other nation—likely worse, considering the way its run—you need to avoid those guards at any cost.

you look to the cliffside. its steep, too steep to climb when youre still soaked from the sea.

you sigh, and decide to find another way up.

youre not quite sure how none of the guards saw you, but under the dwindling light of dusk, you manage to make to the southern(?) outskirts of what appears to be ritou.

…not that that means anything. you still don’t know how to get off the island, and trying to forcibly get deported will only result in an arrest. though there’s a food cart that most certainly can see you, the worker didn’t report you to the guards when they passed. you don’t remember her name, but know she sells some kind of food. maybe a fish dish? or was it egg? not that it matters, food is food, and if you’re lucky you’ll have enough mora for some.

you sit against a wall, checking your pockets. most of your stuff was either stolen or lost to sea, but your mora was still securely tied to your waist. after checking twice that you were out of people’s line of sight, you started to count, stacking the coins in piles of 10 on the grass in front of you. after a hundred, you moved them into one bigger pile.

you had more than you expected. though your pouch always seemed to weigh about the same, you didn’t think you could fit almost three thousand mora inside- or that you even had that. then again, chests typically had a few hundred, and you’d been pretty lucky in mondstat…

you set aside five hundred and hope it’s enough, but knowing teyvat’s economy… if salt was 60 mora, who knew how much you’d need?

whatever the case, you needed to eat. cradling the coins against you as you attach your pouch back at your waist, the go to move for the food stall.

your plans are dashed the second you stand.

a familiar face walked up the path towards the food stall, but quickly diverted towards you.

shit.

you step away, behind a tree, hoping against hope that he’d only seen somebody next to you instead of-

“hello there!”

you jump at how quickly thomas voice appeared at your side, taking another step back.

shit. that’s definitely him. weird horn headpiece, blonde hair, too-short jacket, dog tags and all.

you lick at your lips. they taste of salt. “hi?”

you hate how shattered your voice is. how quiet and rough it’s gotten.

“hey! i’m thoma.” he extends a hand, the small ribbon on the back of his glove rippling in the soft breeze. “it’s nice to meet you!”

you hesitate. it feels like you do a lot of that lately.

you remember him being affiliated with the kamisatos, which means he’s almost certainly heard of everything you’ve been accused of. but… there’s no way he would come up to you so casually if that was the case, right?

you want to trust him. you do. but there hasn’t been anybody else yet that you could.

carefully, you meet his hand with your own weak grip. the cloth on his gloves is leather, unsurprisingly, and though it is cold with the dusk chill, his fingers are warm. you have a feeling it’s from his vision, and your mind flickers to the last time you slept by a fire.

it’s been months.

“oh, you’re freezing! what are you doing outside?” his voice jumps a few octaves and his hand tightens around yours. “oh jeez, you’re going to catch a cold if you’re not careful. what are you doing without a coat in the middle of winter?“

is it winter? you don’t really remember the last time you knew the date for certain, but if that was true, then it was bad news. the clothes you wore you got from hilichurls and abyss mages, but the main enemies in inazuma were nobushi…

your worry must show on your face, because thoma’s frown deepens.

“now that i look at you… you’re not from inazuma, are you?”

you shake your head no.

“oh no… did you get caught up in the outlander affairs agency? they haven’t gotten any better after the decree, have they….”

“no, i-“ you cut yourself off with a coughing fit, tasting a bitter mixture of salt, blood, and bile climb up your throat. it’s disgusting, and alarmingly salty. you must have drank more ocean water than you meant to; it’s a wonder you didn’t choke on the trip over.

(how did you make it over? the distance from liyue to inazuma was too large for you to have simply floated, surely? but didn’t thoma himself float over?)

thoma’s other hand lands between your shoulder blades, patting lightly. “hey, it’s okay. it’s good you haven’t ran into the agency, but that cough doesn’t sound good at all…”

you adjust the tattered mask on your face, straightening and doing your best to look like you haven’t been on the run. “i’ll be fine.”

your chest tightens with the need to cough, but you set your jaw. you can’t afford to get involved with the yashiro commission. you’re certain the mora clutched in your grip is enough to buy you a decent meal and—alongside the rest of it—some kind of warm herbal tea.

gentle green eyes catch the money in your palm and widen. you can see the gears clicking inside his head, and he speaks before you can.

“is that all the mora you have?”

“i-“

“and you don’t even have a- ah, i can’t leave you out here like this. could you come with me to the teahouse? there’s a waypoint just inside ritou, and i’d feel a lot better if i could get you some tea and clean clothes. it won’t be the fanciest, but i know there’s some spare sets and anything would be better than risking an illness. inazuman winters aren’t kind, and the shogun hasn’t been in the best mood as of late.”

the pros and cons weigh in your head. you could go with somebody you know is kind, and get what is certainly good food and hot drinks with clean clothes to boot. or, you could risk walking into a trap with, arguably, one of the most influential people in the yashiro commission at least, if not all of inazuma. it’ll either be the best choice you’ll ever make, or one that’ll land you in front of tenshukaku in chains.

thoma picks up on your hesitation, taking his hand off your shoulder and giving you space, though he keeps your hands linked. “can i at least bring you some dinner, then, if you don’t want to come with me? or a blanket? or- or something?“

he’s awfully worried for somebody he just met. you’re not sure if his determination is evidence of his benevolent nature, or if he’s trying to make you trust him as he calls over some shogunate soldiers.

…you also can’t decide if it’s your desperation for connection with somebody you can rely on or your need for a better environment that makes you agree.

maybe his bright smile has something to do with it. or the comforting warmth in his hands as he leads you away? maybe it’s the way he holds you tightly against him after you ask to go to the teahouse and are nearly sick coming out of the teleporter.

or maybe, by chance, it’s the light in his eyes when you say ‘thank you’.

[karume-everything-else]

Whumptober 2023

Day 28: "Please don't make a promise you can't keep" [Reader x All Might (Toshinori Yagi)] {My Hero Academia}

Being late to everything was never fun, Toshinori knew that all too well. And yet, here he was rushing into a reservation nearly an hour late because of a villain attack that he'd tried to stop. The foolishly hopeful attempt was to finish everything off long before now and just barely be late by maybe five or six minutes.

But here he was showing up just as you were getting ready to leave.

As understanding as you were about Toshi being All Might, there had to be a line somewhere. Not only was it difficult on you to always be put to the side like this, but it was putting extra strain on him. Nothing about the situation seemed fair, but you didn't know what to do.

"[Name], sorry I'm late." He panted as he settled into the chair opposite you, "Work was a little-"

"Please don't Toshi." You were almost whispering, trying to keep the hurt feelings out of your voice, "I already know how busy you are. Maybe we should just call it a night?"

"I know it's rather late, but I just got here." He could tell what you were holding back, "Please, let me make this up to you?"

"Don't make a promise you can't keep." It came off much more bitter than you truly intended but... "Please, for all our sakes. I know you're always busy and maybe that's a good enough reason to be a little... distant. Cause we both know how much your career means to you."

"It doesn't mean nearly as much to me as you do though." He reached for your hand, "Surely you know that?"

"Unfortunately yes."

"Unfortunately?"

"I'm smart enough to know you mean everything you say," You looked up at his bright blue eyes, "But emotionally I can't say I know anything. And I know that's my problem to deal with but--"

"No, it's not just your problem to deal with sweetie." His hand tightened carefully around yours, "I just don't know how to make things better. Not unless you tell me."

You couldn't help but look away, down at the small candle in the middle of the table. Of course he would make every effort to be there, but he was also the number one hero in Japan. Anything you asked would feel like a selfish demand, regardless of what Toshi might say to the contrary.

"[Name], I'm well aware of how it must feel." He continued, "Trust me, I don't want to be late for everything like this either. I really want to do better, to find a better balance between work and you. Cause you're the love of my life. Something I never thought I'd ever be able to have."

There was a brief pause while the waiter took your orders, locking you into this date and conversation. Not that you minded, if you were really that upset, or even remotely unwilling to forgive Toshinori you'd have left before he had a chance to get this far in the first place. But there was still something bittersweet about what he was saying. As if he were trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you.

"[Name], sweetheart, I want you in my life. I've honestly never felt this way about anyone before." He sighed, "I just want to be able to say I did my best, that it wasn't my job driving you away, but my own stupid choices. I know that technically means the same thing but... I can't help but feel like the nature of my job makes it more difficult for you to speak your mind. And I really don't want that to get in our ways."

"I... we'll see..." You murmured, "But maybe we should discuss this at home, where we don't have to dance around the subject. Or have some random person put their two cents in where it doesn't belong."

Toshinori nodded, wondering how he was going to fix this. After all, it wasn't like he could just solve this and move on with his day. This would undoubtedly take a lot of time to get just right.