#this takes so many turns and i blame the flu for it actually

[flowercrowngods]

it's yearning steddie get high with the others and make out about it hours (smut-ish)

Eddie hates being reminded that making promises to himself, and only himself, is pretty much useless if the only person holding him accountable to stick to his promise is one Eddie fucking Munson. Because that guy can’t be trusted. 

Especially not when it comes to Steve and his stupid perfect hair, his stupid perfect dimples, his preppy fucking everything, and — perhaps most importantly — the breathy note his voice gets when the boy replaces his beautiful piece of brain with Eddie’s finest weed. 

Steve in all his sober glory is unbearable at best, sure, that’s old news. But high? When the pained frown he’s not even aware of until he complains about a headache smoothes out and the tension in his shoulders disappears? When his scars no longer pull at every movement and he can hold himself again in the way he used to before everything — broad movements with a clumsy little edge to them that have Eddie’s heartstrings play rope skipping with his sanity.

That. That’s it. That’s it for Eddie. 

And it’s no surprise that it’s also what leaves him helpless in the face of Nancy hopefully suggesting they get high again tomorrow night; all of them. Offering Eddie the chance at getting to see that tension fall away again, and that pale smile be replaced with an easy, genuine, lingering one — dreamy and so fucking pretty. 

Luring Eddie with the most beautiful insanity.

So he says yes, despite having promised himself that he wouldn’t. Not after what happened last time. With Steve all the way up in his space, brushing his hair behind his ear with wonderment, trailing his hand down that lock until he forgot what he was going to say. What he was going to do. 

Forgetting, too, that Eddie was sober, because he wanted to watch Steve without getting caught — but Steve, all high and sweet and tactile, apparently decided to do the same. He looked. And touched. And smiled and breathed and stayed right there. Fingertips dancing around the frayed ends of Eddie’s hair.

Something shifted — first between them, then around them. And then between them again when Eddie stepped back and turned away, in desperate need of a cool drink to stave off the feeling of being caught, of being trapped, of being so fucking gone on the prettiest god-damn boy in all of Indiana. And of having said boy look at him like that. 

They shouldn’t get high again. They shouldn’t. 

But he knows it helps with the pain like their meds never do; he knows it helps Nance sleep better, breathe better, exist in this post-apocalyptic world that doesn’t even remember the apocalypse, whose only reminders lie in the scar tissue of some teenagers and some graves that nobody knows are empty. 

He knows that if he says no, they’ll find someone else to provide; and he doesn’t like the thought of that. Not one bit. 

So it’s not even the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile that gets him to agree, nodding at Nance with an easy smile, saying, “Sure, let’s do it.” 

But it is the thought of Steve’s dazed little smile, his breathy voice, his tactile nature that comes out even more when he’s high out of his mind like he knows he’s floating and needs someone to anchor him, and the memory of that stolen little moment, that makes Eddie curse himself to all hells once Nancy’s blooming smile is out of sight and he’s free of judgment to kick the kitchen counter beside him with a hearty curse. 

He can do it. He can. All he needs to do is not stay sober this time, take the edge off and get out of his head about all of this, because he’s actually far less likely to do anything stupid under the influence, and also not look at Steve All Eyes On Me Harrington. 

Easy. 

Right? 

Totally. 

Except, as it turns out, ignoring Steve is both easier and harder than Eddie expected. The thing is, he’s good at diving into any conversation with just about anyone, making it larger than it needs to be until everyone in the room will give him funny looks but still roll with it, because Eddie Munson is just Like That, right? 

But Steve doesn’t give him funny looks. Oh, they’re far from fun. There’s something in there that reminds Eddie of a kicked puppy in those fleeting moments that he lets his eyes meet Steve’s, never letting them linger, never letting them take him in and hold him and bask in the sunlight that is stored in those… Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. And that pretty, pretty face. 

A face that shouldn’t look so sad. 

He wants to ask what’s wrong, ask him if it’s a bad pain day, ask him if he didn’t sleep last night either, or if something happened. But how is he supposed to ask, to let any words come out of his mouth, when Steve just won’t look away. When he’s looking at Eddie like that again, when the little something that has shifted between them suddenly becomes massive enough to steal all the air away from his lungs and make his arms tingle in a way that he knows will only get better if he gets to wrap them around Steve. 

He can’t. So he doesn’t. He doesn’t ask. But he doesn’t look away either, and he knows he’s already lost. He knows he broke this promise he made to himself. 

But it’s fine, maybe, if the slight twitch in the corners of Steve’s lips is anything to go by. Like he, too, wants to say something but can’t. Like he knows Eddie is the same. Like his heart is racing, too, and he tried not to look but they’re so stupid and looked anyway and now they can’t— 

“Guys?” Robin interrupts their little moment, the bubble bursting with a loud snap of her fingers that makes Eddie physically flinch. 

He looks at her, spooked to shit and gasping because he does not do well with sudden loud noises or the impromptu bursting of bubbles — not after everything that happened. 

“Shit, sorry, oh my God!” Robin’s there immediately, reaching for his hand, Nancy laying hers on his shoulder, Jonathan making himself known with a gentle little, “You’re fine, man.” 

Eddie regains his footing and breathes away the panic, thinking that maybe getting high today wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He hands Robin the baggie and stuffs his hands into his pockets, making himself a little smaller by muscle memory alone. 

Steve’s hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades — reassuring and warm. Like a flower, Eddie rises to follow it. He catches Steve’s smile out of the corner of his eyes and wants to rest his face against it. Wants to feel it against his skin. Wants to feel it shift into something deeper. Something real. 

God, he’s so hopeless. 

Good thing that Robin’s got the blunt under control, because Eddie does not trust his hands right now. 

They grab the snacks and drinks and head outside to where Steve and Robin laid out pillows and blankets on the lawn, framed with dimly glowing white Christmas lights that Robin insists upon whenever they do this. Makes it feel a little less fucked up for her. Like we’re doing this because we want to, and not because we need it to sleep or to cope with the pain or whatever, you know? Put pretty lights anywhere, and it’s a choice. 

Eddie has to admit that she has a point there, but the truth is he’ll smoke anywhere, fairy lights or no. Although there’s something, a capital-s Something about watching Steve framed by a thousand little lights smoothing out the worry lines on that beautiful face and making him seem all the more angelic for it. 

Eddie actually called him angel once — the first time they did it like this. Made Steve smile like nothing else Eddie’s said to him since. Or anyone else for that matter. If he were any better at feeling the ground beneath his feet and the air in his lungs, he’d call him that again. Make him smile like that again. 

But the ground is shifting and air is always scarce these days, with Steve’s hands on his body so fleetingly, so accidentally leaving marks on scar tissue, making Eddie wish he could feel more of Steve’s warmth there. 

Making him wish he could ask. Touch me higher. Lower. Longer. Make it last. Make it count. Let me feel it, just for a second. Let me feel it where they didn’t steal chunks of my skin and my soul and, apparently, my sanity. 

Argyle is the first to spread out on the blankets with a hearty groan that leaves everyone with a fond smile, gathering around him in a semi circle of amusement. He makes grabby hands at Robin, or maybe at the unlit joints she’s safekeeping — but either way, she follows suit, cuddling up to Argyle and in turn making grabby hands at Steve, who does as he’s told and laughs in that gentle, melodic way that they so seldomly hear these days. 

Steve’s eyes fall on Eddie then, but a surge of worry and panic overcomes him, half expecting Steve to follow Robbie’s and Argyle’s example and reach for Eddie next. Or not reach for him. Either way, Eddie doesn’t want to find out, his heart beating in his chest at the endless possibilities stowed away in his overactive imagination. Instead of waiting for Steve’s next move, he sits down right here at the opposite end of the blanket, reaching for one of the pillows so he can hug it to his chest and have something to hold on to, just to keep his hands busy. 

“Just don’t crush the goods there, birdie,” he grins, watching Nancy and Johnathan find a place to sit, too. He scoots over to make room for them, moving further from Steve in the process and feeling the distance in his chest. It’s so stupid. Fucked up, really. 

“Oh, the goods are plenty safe, my dude,” Argyle says, earning himself a giggly groan from Robin that sounds a lot like, Gross!

Jonathan throws a pillow in Argyle’s face, which he deftly catches with just as salacious a grin. 

Eddie tunes them out for a moment as he catches Steve’s eyes boring into him. He cocks an eyebrow and inclines his head, silently asking him what’s up in way less magical a way than he has with Robin. 

He doesn’t really expect Steve to react in any way other than maybe a shrug or a brief, reassuring smile that really has no meaning other than, I’m fine, except for all the ways you know I’m not. 

But Steve doesn’t smile. And he doesn’t shrug. He keeps his eyes on Eddie and fucking pouts. Looks like he’s not even aware of it, his eyes a little glazed already, seeming far away. Far away and right here and looking so fucking sad about it. About the few feet between them and Eddie being all the way over there. 

It’s a bit like the moment they shared earlier, with Steve looking so sad and Eddie wanting to do something about it. He couldn’t then. But now… 

Eddie’s breath hitches a little as he mirrors Steve’s position, falling backwards and leaning on his elbows., never once dropping his eyes. Stretching out his legs until he can nudge Steve’s ankle with his foot. Watching as those eyes snap down to the briefest contact in surprise, watching as Steve looks caught. And watching, too, as his lips twitch and his foot slowly, incrementally moves closer to Eddie’s like he can’t help it. Like he needs to touch him. Always, always needs to touch him. 

And Eddie can feel it there, so he doesn’t move away. He wants to hold his hand, wants to run his fingers through his hair and for Steve to do the same. He wants to breathe him in, wants to live in a Steve-filled world and feel welcomed in it. 

But he can’t. Because they’re not like that. And because this moment is not like that. And Steve is… Well, he is like that, he’s pretty sure. But maybe not for Eddie. Maybe not like that. 

Steve’s foot is warm against his, pristine white baseball socks so stark a contrast against Eddie’s;  threadbare and black, with more holes than fabric these days. He can’t really help the wave of embarrassment that washes over him, or the urge to pull back his feet and hide them in his shoes again. Sacrifice the warmth for safety.

But then Steve seems to notice just a second after Eddie does, and he smiles. Huffs a little with it, like it just bubbles out of him. Eddie wants to lean across the blanket and chase it. Chase the fondness and keep it there forever. 

And that’s another thing about Steve that is so very fucked up: he doesn’t let Eddie hide. He doesn’t let him trade warmth for security, because — smile in place — Steve slowly moves his feet along the side of Eddie’s like he’s playing fucking Connect the Dots with the holes in his socks. It’s ridiculous. 

It’s ridiculous, and Eddie is helpless. He’s so gone, a hundred percent. He’s so fucked up over that silly boy and the way he smiles at the most lamest of things. 

It’s not his fault that he leaves his feet where they are, the warmth of Steve’s slow, teasing touch shooting electricity up his legs that leaves him with goosebumps and a sudden case of uncomfortably tight jeans.

He’s glad there’s still a pillow in his lap. And he’s glad, too, that the night is dark enough, the fairy lights not bright enough, to reveal the flush rising to his cheeks as it feels like the bravest thing he’s ever done stay like this. To have Steve looking at him like this. Eyes hooded and intense. Like he sees right through Eddie. Like he likes what he sees. 

With a dull click, Robin’s Zippo pulls him back to reality in what must be the gentlest of ways, and Eddie manages a smile as he watches her gently place the doobie between Steve’s lips before she lights it, one hand on his cheek. Their faces light up, leaving the rest of the world in the dark, and Eddie is struck with how good they are together. 

There’s something in the way she lights the joint for him, some kind of love language from the girl who burnt down the hell dimension below them and left it in ashes, and the boy who held her hand through it. 

She holds his eyes as the flame dies and something passes between them as Steve slowly closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Takes that first hit. 

Eddie’s smile falters as he watches, the glowing cherry coming to life and lighting up Steve’s face, revealing that relaxed little smile on his lips as he holds it in for five, six, seven before exhaling  around it in a slow, drawn-out way. He blows it in Robin’s face like he always does, and Robin laughs and shoves him back, like she always does. 

And Eddie wants to trade her place. Like he always does. Eyes transfixed on Steve as he takes the next hit and pulls the joint from between his lips. Holding his breath again. And Eddie wants to be held like that. Wants to fill Steve’s lungs like that, wants to leave an aftertaste that is both sweeter and biting as he does to Steve what that first hit does to him. Leaving him all soft and gentle and so, so at ease, his eyes droopy and all those lines of pain and worry smoothed out by him. Eddie. On his lips. In his mouth. Fuck, anywhere, really. Everywhere. 

He follows Steve on his exhale, his head getting a little dizzy with the lack of air, but still he is slow to breathe in again. It feels strangely intimate, watching him like this. Watching as that tension falls away and he hums a little around the bud — relaxed and relieved and appreciative. It feels like they’re the only people left in this town, in this state, maybe in the whole world. 

Eddie wants to stay alone like this forever, chase Steve’s breath and wish it would hit his face like that, caress his cheeks until the air around them claims it and erases all traces of Steve; but not from Eddie’s skin. Never from his skin. 

But they’re not alone. And Steve opens his eyes. And Eddie is caught. 

Still he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away as Steve blows out the smoke, sweet and earthy in the air between them as it slowly finds its way to him across the blanket. He imagines that he can feel it as the smell grows stronger, imagines the smoke to feel warm against his cheek as he breathes it all in, holding those hazel eyes in the dark that refuse to look away from him. 

It’s like that moment the other day in Steve’s kitchen when he was so close Eddie could smell all of him, frozen as he was, rooted to the spot — too scared to move and reveal himself, reveal all of himself, all the ugly truths and dreams. His wishes. His desires. 

Why do you keep looking? Eddie wants to ask. What are you looking to find? Am I just an experiment to you, are you looking at yourself through my eyes? Say something. Anything. 

But Steve doesn’t. He never does. Steve Harrington isn’t really the type to just say what’s on his mind, too used to Robin by his side to just read it all and react in her own way. Too used to Dustin, who’d do the talking for him. Too used to just letting his eyes, his arms, his posture convey his message. 

Too used to people knowing him. Getting a good read on him. But not Eddie, because Eddie never learned how to fucking read people like Steve Harrington cast in pretty light and relaxation. Angry, he can read him no problem. When he’s pissed, when he’s annoyed, when he’s sad. Tense. Worried. 

But not this. Never this. This intensity, this steady gaze resting only on him. He never looks at Robin like that, and he doesn’t fucking look at anyone else lately. 

It’s driving Eddie insane. 

It’s too much. 

He snaps when Steve passes the joint back to Robin, and sits up to pull his feet back to himself, covering them with his hands to pretend the warmth is still there. Frowns at the holes in his socks, feeling more exposed than ever. He curls in on himself a little, pretending to be very fascinated with a little thread that’s come loose in the blanket beneath him while the others hold casual conversation around him. 

This was a bad idea. He’s so fucked. 

Part of him debates if he should leave, if he should just call it a day and bid them goodnight. The other part of him wants to just close the distance between him and Steve and settle in beside him so the weight of that gaze won’t fucking wear him down any more. 

But knowing Steve, that wouldn’t work. 

Knowing Steve, nothing works. 

Feeling pathetic and small, Eddie lets himself fall to his side, hiding his face behind Nancy, whose hand comes to rest in his hair, combing through it just a little bit. Allowing him to collect himself. This isn’t new, and they don’t really question when Eddie just randomly lies down anywhere, or if he just stops talking all of a sudden. 

It’s why they do this, after all. No judgment. No questions. Just the sweet, sweet release of Mary Jane. 

It helps, having her hands in his hair like this, grounding him. It helps, finding no question or worry in her eyes as she looks down at him with a little smile — her way of including him in the conversation. He smiles back, just a little bit, and closes his eyes to better focus on her hand rather than the moment. She chuckles when he begins to purr, and then the smile stays a little longer. 

After a while, when she offers him the joint, Eddie shifts to lie on his back and gazes up to find the clouds have cleared and revealed the night sky behind them. It’s pretty, the summer sky, and he takes a long drag trying to think of nothing else. A hot wave of smoke hits his lungs, and it tickles a bit just like it always does, but the urge to cough it back out has been gone for years. These days, his lungs allow the warm embrace of the smoke and allow him to hold his breath as long as he wants, feeling a pleasant buzz after the fifth drag. It’s the good stuff after all. Munson’s Finest. 

He passes the joint back to Nancy, too comfortable to get up and pass it to anyone else, trusting her to do it without complaint. She does. She’s an angel like that. Puts her hand back in his hair and plays with his overgrown bangs a little while Eddie just stares up at the sky. 

Steve’s talking, but the words don’t really translate. It doesn’t matter, though. Just hearing his voice is enough for Eddie to sort of drift into a pleasant sphere of nothingness, his chest tightening a little with it. Always, always tight when he hears that voice. Like his heart has grown three times its size and his ribcage didn’t get the memo that Eddie Munson is hopelessly, helplessly, endlessly gone for a boy who refuses to look away. 

The thing is, Steve has always looked. Always. Even in the Upside Down. The first time, and the second. And then, the third. And Eddie wants it to mean something. Wants it to mean everything, or at least carry that possibility. 

But there’s no way to find out. There’s only him and the stars and Nancy Wheeler’s hand in his hair after his life took several wrong turns that left him with more scar tissue than skin these days, and the horrible realisation that, after the world ended and rebuilt, he can fall in love. That he can want. That he can have these cravings that he’d always heard everyone else talk about, wondering if that was just another layer of freak to him, or if he was simply Like That. 

They’re lonely realisations, he finds. Alienating, in a way. Because not only does he not know how to navigate Harrington, no, he’s a riddle even to himself right now. 

All he knows is that he wants to touch. To hold. To kiss. To crawl into him, on top of him, beneath him, and pull his own name from those lips in tiny little gasps that have nothing in common with the frantic gasps of panic after their first stint with the hell dimension. He wants a do-over. He wants a chance. A real fucking chance to have all these smiles, all these looks mean something. 

Arm outstretched, he reaches for the blunt again, taking it from whomever has it right now, aiming to shut off his brain a little more. Not to suppress it, but to shut it off. Even if that means he has to finish this thing. It’s fine. They have more. They always have more, because Jon and Argyle have an unreal fucking tolerance. 

With a chuckle, Nancy bypasses his hand and puts the joint between his lips and ignores his indignant hum. 

“Treat yourself”, she says, her voice wonderfully slow and lower in pitch. “I’ll be right back, yeah?” 

“‘Kay.” 

The warmth of her hand leaves his scalp, and with her body gone — getting up in way too swift a motion even for sober people — the night air seems a little colder. Eddie shivers a little, refusing to look at anyone, and just takes drag after drag, deciding he’ll finish this one. It’s his weed after all. 

By the sounds of it, Robin is already lighting the next one. Good girl. Smart girl. Best fucking girl in the whole wide world. 

Thick clouds of hot smoke waft through his lungs and all the way through his body up to his brain, leaving his arms and legs with a tingling feeling and his head with a pleasant buzz and tunes out most everything else around him. It’s great. It’s good. It’s wonderful. 

It’s why he doesn’t realise that the air is warm again and a body shielding him from everyone else until there’s a hand in his hair again. He opens his eyes to snark at Wheeler, but— 

It’s not Wheeler. It’s Steve. Knees pulled to his chest, chin resting on top as he smiles down at Eddie. 

Neither of them says a word, but Eddie’s breath hitches. Stops, stutters. Just like his heart. And yet all he can do is stare up. Wonder if it’s real. Wonder if it’s real. 

“Is this okay?” Steve whispers, fingers barely touching Eddie’s skin as he sort of plays with his hair. 

After a beat or two, Eddie nods, careful not to move too much. Careful not to chase those fingers and all the things they could mean. 

“Good.” 

And then Steve pulls the joint from between Eddie’s lips, and Eddie wants to warn him because this one’s close to the end and bound to be stronger, but it doesn’t seem to faze Steve as he just sucks in the smoke like it’s the first lungful of air he gets after a long day stuck inside. Smiling around the bud as it dies between his lips, he presses it into the grass beside him, extinguishing the last of it. 

He exhales, and Eddie can make out a tiny cloud of smoke against the night sky, watching as it wanders toward him. He waits for Steve to say something. There is what feels like intent in the movements of his hand, in the sudden appearance by his side, and in the way he— he fucking looks at him again. The sky is full of stars, the backyard full of fairy lights, and Steve Harrington is looking at him. 

“You okay?” Eddie asks at last, breaking the silence, wondering if his voice always sounds so small, so quiet, so endlessly tiny. Wondering if Steve even heard. 

But he did, because he smiles again. He did, because his hand stills. Touches Eddie’s skin. His scalp, his temple. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, looking from Eddie’s eyes to his own hand with something akin to wonder. Or marvel. 

And Eddie shivers again when that hand travels down. Caressing his cheek, definitely with intent. Electricity shoots through his body again, and the intensity in Steve’s eyes leaves him with goosebumps. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare. Barely even swallows as Steve bites his lip absently and moves on, trailing from Eddie’s cheek down to his... 

He’s touching his lips, and Eddie doesn’t breathe. Steve runs his forefinger along Eddie’s bottom lip, and in another world would he open his mouth and nip on his fingers or gasp at the touch and be better at this, be so much better at everything. But in this one, he lies motionless as Steve just fucking… explores. 

And his touch is so light, it’s so gentle, so sweet on the rough scar tissue, and yet so absent, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He could pull back his hands now and claim that Eddie had something there. He could pull back and live his life unchanged. Leave Eddie behind in this state of paralysis, changed irrevocably, and be safe. 

But that’s not what Steve does. 

Steve was never one to choose safety over bravery, and he has the scars to prove it now. The permanent stiffness of his back that barely lets him feel anything these days. The set in his jaw when he breathes through the pains phantom and real, the crease between his brows when the memory pains flare up. 

But his back is hunched in comfort now rather than in pain, and his shoulders are at ease. His lips are lightly ajar around a barely-there smile, and the skin between his eyes is smooth. Eddie wants to reach out and trace it, wants to caress it in the hopes that it’ll stay smooth forever. 

He’s so pretty. Golden light catching his skin in all the right ways, leaving him positively glowing with that look he gives Eddie. That look. 

Eddie’s never felt so exposed. So vulnerable. Laid bare, ready for dissection and willing to be taken apart in the hopes of letting him find what he wants and take it. Rip it right out of his chest. Now that he has Steve’s hand on his skin in the lightest of touches that’s anything but fleeting, he knows he would let him take anything he wants. Knows he would be helpless to stop him. 

Helpless in the face of that gaze that trails down to his lips now, if only to follow his fingers. 

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, barely moving his mouth at all around that single syllable. 

Golden hazel eyes flit back to his, and they widen a little. Like suddenly it’s Steve who’s caught. 

What are you doing? Eddie wants to ask. What are we doing? Don’t stop. Never stop. 

But words are for moments lighter than this one. Words are not meant for a world that’s changing. 

Maybe that is why Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s chin, tipping it up and turning his face toward him in a gesture so tender it’s almost possessive. Electricity shoots through Eddie again and the air between them is sizzling with it, sizzling because Steve is moving, shifting, dipping his head, his hand coming to rest on Eddie’s throat to keep him from moving away — except there is no force in his touch, and Eddie could still run. 

He could. He should, maybe. Like last time. 

But he is suspended in time, chained to the ground by the weight of Steve’s gaze and the hand on his throat, and his heart is beating so hard, so fast, that he is sure Steve can feel it. Imagines that those fingers move to find his pulse. Imagines that they find their home there, imagines that they hear the tales of stolen hearts and desires that leave his blood rushing. 

Imagines that Steve falters a little, hovering just above Eddie. Dreams of it all, dreams that this is real and that he can have this, just for tonight. He nods, and it’s a tiny little thing, far from enough to ruin this moment or wake him from his dream.

But then Steve captures his lips with such care that Eddie snaps back into his body and realises that this is no dream. Steve is kissing him. Hovers above him with one arm resting in the grass above Eddie’s head, his other hand pulling Eddie’s face towards himself and being oh so gentle about it. 

A whimper escapes him when this new reality settles inside his body, leaving him reeling and pulled towards a world of possibilities as those lips, those warm lips, rest so indulgently against his. 

No longer chained, Eddie carefully lifts a hand to Steve’s head, because Steve can feel him there, too, and because he doesn’t want this to end. Because he needs to touch. All night, all week, all this time he has needed to touch. To cradle. To hold. 

To keep. 

Steve hums, and those lips pull into a smile before closing around Eddie’s bottom lip. The first touch of Steve’s tongue has jolts of electricity and arousal zinging through Eddie’s body again, lingering this time and making a home in his legs that begin to tingle with want. 

Eddie opens his mouth, tilting his head a little to get a better angle, and is rewarded with the careful, addictive touch of Steve’s tongue against his. It makes Steve smile again, just for a second — but long enough to make Eddie’s heart jump. 

He chases those lips when they pull back, capturing them with a little hum as he realises he comes more and more unchained, regaining feeling and control over his body, his mind, his scared little heart. Steve doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pushing Eddie’s head down into the grass again with an urgency that Eddie is beginning to understand matches the hunger he’s feeling. 

The hunger that is reserved only for Steve. It leaves him breathless, leaves him with the sudden need to gasp for air, but then Steve’s tongue is in his mouth again and maybe he doesn’t need to breathe ever again. 

He loses himself in the wet slide of their tongues that feels so sensual it’s almost obscene, and all he can do is tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair and keep him right where he is while Eddie himself lies boneless, all the blood rushing down, down, down. Every nip of Steve’s teeth as he devours Eddie so entirely and yet so innocently, so sweetly, so carefully, and every time he sucks on his lips or his tongue results in another wave of intense arousal. And Eddie is stuck in the riptide of it. 

It doesn’t take long for the first moan to break the silence, a gasped little thing, almost like an afterthought, and he’s not sure if that was him or Steve; but he doesn’t really care either way, because he’s so hard, he feels like he can come from just Steve sucking on his tongue alone. 

And isn’t that an enticing thought. 

“Steve,” he whispers, not entirely sure what he’s going to say, or if that’s really all he needs to say. All that’s left to say. Steve, Steve, Steve. 

The only response he gets is a breathy little, “Fuck,” and it sounds like a revelation. Like an epiphany. And Eddie wants to hear it again, wants to swallow all the little noises and murmurs and everything Steve will give him. 

“You’re so—“ Steve begins, interrupting himself with another deep, hungry kiss. “Fuck. You’re…” 

“Yeah?” Eddie counters, breaking the kiss by pulling on Steve’s hair a little. “I’m what?” 

Steve hesitates, panting breaths dancing over Eddie’s skin and he smells so fucking good. Eddie wants to lick the aftershave and perfume and sweat off his neck and keep the taste on his tongue for days. Dark, blown eyes wander over his face, and the hand that was on his throat comes up to rest on his cheek again in a gesture so gentle that it almost gives him whiplash. The hunger is gone — or, not gone, but unimportant now. 

Steve smiles, hazy but genuine and so, so sweet, eyes zeroing in on Eddie’s no doubt swollen lips. 

“Been wanting to do that forever.” 

Eddie’s heart jumps, falters, falls. Just a little. Just the rest of the way. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna kiss you forever.” 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie breathes, voice barely there because his breath has well and truly been taken away, and this moment feels so fragile. So easily broken by quick movements or thoughts that are just a little too loud, just a little too soon. “‘M not gonna stop you.” 

Steve’s eyes snap back to his, and there’s something in there that not even the weed could ease away. “Yeah?” 

Eddie nods, frowning a little, wondering what makes him so unsure. 

“Cool,” Steve says, and it’s almost nonchalant and definitely charming in that way he always is. Makes Eddie laugh a little, his other hand coming up to wipe a strand hair out of his eyes. “So…” He trails off. 

“Hmm?” 

“Wanna stay here? Or go inside, or…” 

And then it’s not arousal that overcomes him but worry. And guilt. And a bit of fear, because that’s not what this is for him. Not like this. Not when they’re high, not for the first time. 

He swallows, schooling his face to cooperate and not give it all away right now, not give away how helplessly gone he is for that boy and how he would do anything Steve wants, how he would take anything he can get and try to make it be enough. But instead of choosing the easy thing and betraying himself, he moves his hand from Steve’s hair to his cheek, melting at the way Steve leans into it, moving his face to press a kiss to Eddie’s palm. 

“Steve,” he says, and his voice is shaky again. And small. So, so small. “That’s not what this is for me. I don’t… I wanna kiss you forever. And more. Much more. But not… I don’t—“ 

“Not while we’re high? Inebriated?” He says the word with a chuckle, referencing the way Robin will always use big words when she’s hammered. There’s a gentle sort of understanding on his face after the chuckle, though, and Eddie melts a little again. “Wanna do it right, hmm? Wanna treat me right and make sure I won’t regret it, angel?” 

Eddie whimpers at the sudden use of that nickname, because he’s not, but he does. He didn’t realise until Steve said it how scared he was — is — that Steve will regret this. The kiss. And anything that might follow. 

Not trusting his words right now, he can only nod, wondering if his eyes are as blown as Steve’s are. If Steve thinks he’s pretty, too. 

“God, you’re unreal,” Steve whispers, coming down again to press a kiss to Eddie’s forehead, brushing them down to the tip of his nose. He leans into those kisses, tips his chin up to chase it, but Steve pulls away again, his thumb tracing the pout he leaves behind on Eddie’s lips. 

“You’re one to talk,” Eddie grumbles, watching the delight on Steve’s face and deciding that he’s addicted now. Fuck the weed, fuck everything else. Steve can get him just as high. 

Along with that thought, reality works its tendrils into Eddie’s consciousness again, and he looks around the backyard around them — but there’s only him and Steve out here on the blanket, framed as they are by the fairy lights. 

“Hang on, where are the others?”

Steve huffs, his face shifting into an expression of fond amusement and gentle annoyance. “Last time I checked, Robin and Argyle were raiding the fridge, Nancy was lying on the living room carpet, marvelling at how soft it is, and Jonathan was just kinda spaced out on the couch with a bowl of chips. Don’t think they’re gonna come out here again in the next half hour or so.” 

“How convenient,” Eddie grins, wondering just how obvious the two of them had been all this time. Wondering, too, if it can really be that easy. If he can have this. If they can; after everything they went through.

“Hmm,” Steve hums, his body shifting so he’s half lying on top of Eddie now, positively vanishing any and all thoughts Eddie could have spared anyone else. He would worry about the hard-on he’s sporting, but it becomes obvious very quickly that Steve has the same predicament. It’s enticing, feeling him against his thigh like that, and Eddie has half a mind to do something about that, especially when Steve keeps shifting against him. “So. Do you wanna make out some more before we light the next baggie? It’s fine if not. We can just… I don’t know, cuddle or something.” 

“Steve,” Eddie says, pulling on his hair a little bit to underline his deadpan. “What about I wanna kiss you forever was unclear?” 

“Hey, I said that first,” Steve retorts, digging his fingers into Eddie’s sides, making Eddie squeal and squirm right into his arms. “I also kissed you first,” he continues, sounding so damn smug about it. Eddie’s never wanted to kiss him more. “So I’m winning.” 

“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Steve all the way on top of him, his hands finding his way to those magnificent thighs, so firm underneath his grip. “‘M feeling pretty lucky right now.” 

“You think you’re so smooth,” Steve hums, dipping his head to hover just above his lips. 

“Is it working?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

They’re both laughing when their lips meet again, but that doesn’t deter them from kissing and tasting and swallowing moans like they’ll find new purpose in each other. Like they’ve already found it. 

Just like Steve’s hand finds his, weaving their fingers together and pressing him further into the grass. Eddie holds on tight, not ready to let him go anytime soon, and marvelling at how sensitive his hand has become. 

There is no urgency in the way Steve slowly begins to move against him, grinding their crotches together in slow, sensual motion like waves of the ocean gently lapping at the shore. Eddie meets him right where they both need it most, not once breaking their kiss even when it becomes open-mouthed panting and moaning that the other is trying to chase and swallow and keep only for himself. 

“You feel so good,” Steve rumbles, catching Eddie’s tongue between his teeth and pulling a high-pitched whimper from him. “So fucking good, Eddie.” 

“Don’t stop, Stevie, fuck.” He’s panting, his legs tingling with want and need and a weightlessness he’s never known before. “I know I said— We can stop. We can stop, we can, but— fuck, I’m close.” 

“Yeah?” Steve taunts, and oh, there’s purpose now in the the way he’s lifting his chest off Eddie, putting his weight behind the way he’s grinding into him. “You gonna come in your pants, baby? While the others are still inside? Means you’re gonna do this with me again later, right? Try again when we’re not high, hmm?”

“Yes,” Eddie rushes to say, working his fingers into Steve’s belt loops to keep him from stopping. “God, yes, I wanna—“ 

“I’ve got you,” Steve says, kissing the words right out of his brain, chasing his own pleasure, too. “God, you’re so pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, Eddie. Wanna come with me?” 

“Uh-huh,” Eddie can only nod and moan around all the words he wants to say, all those cheesy fucking words that leave him all the more vulnerable for how true they are. The tingly feeling builds in his legs, climbing to his core, and he wonders for a split second if Steve can really make him come like this — worries that somehow it’s not enough and that he’ll ruin this, that he’ll fuck it up and make it awkward between them because he doesn’t actually have any idea how his body works when someone else is taking the reins. 

But then Steve kisses him like that again, sucking his tongue into his mouth, holding his hand and groaning when Eddie moves in just the right way, and the sizzling pleasure finally finds its release. 

Eddie comes with a broken groan that Steve swallows greedily, panting into his mouth as, shortly after, his hips begin to stutter in their movements and he follows Eddie off the brink of this beautiful madness. Steve was always beautiful, there’s no question about that. But like this, face slack, kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips open around a silent moan as he grinds his trapped cock against Eddie’s, wrecked with aftershocks as his orgasm washes over him? He’s a fucking revelation that makes Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his skull, over sensitive as he is  and yet so helpless against Steve’s aborted little motions. 

Getting high on weed doesn’t compare to getting high on Steve. It’s a high Eddie wants to chase forever, and he starts by wrapping his arms around Steve and pulling him down onto his chest again, just to hold him. Steve purrs as Eddie’s hand finds its way into his hair, combing it away from the sweaty skin it sticks to. He cages him with his legs, too, tingly as they remain on either side of Steve’s body. 

It’s stupid, maybe, and a bit much, but he wants to keep Steve like this for a little longer. Putty in his hands, his weight on top of him grounding him after that high, and allowing them both to come down slowly. 

“Man,” Steve says after a while, just letting that word hang in the air as he regains conscious thought. 

Eddie hums, prompting him to say what’s on his mind even though he’s scared he won’t like what he’s about to hear. Still, it’s only fair to let Steve say what he wants. 

“I like you so much.” 

Eddie holds his breath as he waits for the but. For the regret. But none follows. That’s really all Steve’s saying; and soon Eddie can’t fight the wave of giddiness that overcomes him. 

He hugs Steve a little tighter, not entirely ready yet to look him in the eyes and face this new reality they’ve kind of just created, needing to be a little scared for just a bit longer. But still he laughs, because scared is no longer all he’s feeling. There’s so much more now. So much more. 

“I like you so much right back.” 

Now it’s Steve who hums, shifting to lift his head and look at Eddie, but Eddie closes his eyes before Steve can catch them. 

“Said it first again.” A hand lands on his cheek again, just above the ugly scars that Steve doesn’t seem afraid to touch. “So I win.” 

And Eddie is looking now. Dares. If only to drive his point home when he says, “God, you’re so fucking lame.” 

“Is it working?” Steve grins, and Eddie never stood a fucking chance. 

“Unfortunately.” 

@izzy2210 here you go darling hehehe 🤍

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #the spicy six get high together #spicy six #yearning hours #yearning hours but make it smut #steddie smut #i like this one so much #high yearning makeout fic #this takes so many turns and i blame the flu for it actually #tone consistency?? don't know her #dio words

[foldingfittedsheets]

You wouldn’t blame a crowbar for an act of destruction, you would blame the wielder. For this reason I can’t be held responsible for what happened to my friend Charlie’s bed. I was merely a tool that force was applied through.

It happened like this: Connor, Charlie, and I decided to have a late night movie viewing at Charlie’s house. We watched The Hogfather and Groundhogs day and we stayed up until 4am. Then we were all too tired to drive home and crashed. I got the bed and the boys took the floor.

Four hours later, Charlie’s parents woke up. They learned that Charlie had people over. They. Were. Furious. Because unbeknownst to us it turned out they had swine flu. Charlie should had been quarantining not bringing people to his plague house. They ordered Charlie to kick us out that very moment.

Charlie came to rouse us. I am… not at my best in the morning hours. Four hours of sleep did not leave my disposition gruntled. Charlie began trying to rouse me to pretty much no avail. He pulled the covers off, shook me, tried to take my pillow, but I was a tiny ball of sleepy vicious rage. When he shook me I’m pretty sure I bit him.

I should be clear, I wasn’t really awake. A baseline function was taking place but no real actual thought. I was piloting on pure instinct and the instinct was: need more sleep. Charlie tried everything while Connor watched in bemusement.

Finally Charlie got the idea that if he physically lifted me out of bed I’d go. He managed to get his hands under my arms and start dragging me off the bed.

Two things happened very quickly. My toes wrapped around the top of the railing to his bed frame, and I went limp everywhere else. Charlie staggered and almost dropped me, because holding a floppy corpse body is much harder than a tensed one, a fact I had learned from many roughhousing attacks by my brother.

He swore and then gamely started trying to drag me backward, thinking it would be easy to dislodge my toes from the bed frame. It was not. I’ve mentioned before that my toes are strong, but Charlie was flabbergasted that their grip on the bed was so strong that he couldn’t drag me away.

I was going on pure stubborn instinct. I did not want to leave the bed. Charlie was fully committed that a 90lb gremlin wasn’t going to beat him in a contest of strength with only her toes. So he pulled. And I held on.

Both of us were shocked when there was a tortured shriek of wood and something in the bed frame cracked. It was loud enough that I actually woke up. The rest of my brain surfaced in confusion to join the lizard brain whose only goal had been not to leave the bed.

I released my toes and took my own weight and Charlie and I stared at the bed.

“You ripped the railing off!”

“Well, no, you ripped the railing off, I was just the tool. If you hadn’t been pulling on me-“

“If you had just let go! What is up with your feet?!”

We griped as I readied myself to leave his plague house, joining his parents in being mad that Charlie hadn’t told us they were sick. I drove home to sleep more.

Over the years of our friendship Charlie still maintained that I broke the bed. I disagreed and think I was only the tool by which he broke the bed. Only you can decide who bears the most sin, the dragger or the dragee.

#story #writing #ffs foibles #ramblies #this was before Connor and I were dating #so he got to watch the stubborn sleepy creature I was being a stubborn little limpet #funny story

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

How's about follower kallamar with a squid reader that is the head doctor and a former follower of his

On the day of your indoctrination...an ugly plague was currently infesting he entire cult. It definitely wasn't the best first impression.

You saw so many sick followers shuffling around, trying not to throw up (although some failed miserably) as they went about their daily tasks.

Lamb excuses themselves to go yell at the healthy followers who didn't bother cleaning all the puke lying around, before sending the sick to their beds and shoving thermometers in their mouths.

And of course, an elder decides to die right next to the goddamn shrine...resulting in those still hanging around to vomit at the sight.

Once everything's slightly under control, Lamb rushes back to officially welcome you into the cult, but you're not impressed at all.

"You promised me sanctuary, Lamb. But all I see is illness and death here...was I right to trust you?"

"....you can blame your "bishop" for all of this......I promise this is a safe haven."

You give them the benefit of the doubt, considering they did save you from being sacrificed to Kallamar.

But when asked why his followers chose you, you explained that you're actually a doctor who treated a lot of sicknesses back in Anchordeep. Sore throats, stomach bugs, flu, pox, etc. You were seen as sort of a miracle worker.

Unfortunately Kallamar saw your skills as a threat to his power, insisting only he can perform "miracles" and decide who's worthy of healing...and his fanatics were inclined to agree.

Luckily, your new leader allowed you to take on that role once again without fear of persecution, and you got the plague under control practically overnight.

You've implemented a system where every follower got a regular checkup. Even if they looked or felt fine, it's better to be safe than sorry.

When Lamb started bartering with ???, they gifted you a gold immortality necklace to ensure you didn't die of old age (seriously, they needed your medical expertise).

You already had a skull necklace, but were grateful nevertheless.

Ironically, Kallamar became the most troubling patient when he arrived into the cult, getting sick right off the bat just from his spiraling anxiety.

He hid behind a tree upon seeing you.....and Lamb found him, literally having to drag him over to your medbay (now a small building instead of a single shrub hut) and order you to treat him.

Great Ones forbid he caused a plague as both bishop and follower. They weren't going to tolerate that.

Ofc, he was hesitant to say anything to you, but after quietly treating his stomach ache and changing his bandages...he breaks down sobbing on the cot, begging for forgiveness.

"I-I was wrong. You do..s-so much good work. You were thriving, performing all these miracles, and....a-and I tried to take that all away....why heal me?"

"Kallamar, I'm not holding that against you anymore." You reassure him. "You're free of the Blue Crown's influence. I know you didn't really want me dead, did you?"

"..n-no, my...followers suggested it. Cult morale was low a-after what happened to Leshy and Heket so...I had to do something!"

Whether that revelation made you feel better or worse, you find it in your heart to forgive him, never denying him treatment even if others in the cult disagree.

You wanted to help him. One squid healing another.

To this day, he still feels bad visiting your medbay, but with time he becomes more comfortable approaching you whenever he gets sick.

Soon enough you find out one of the primary causes of his stomach pains.

It's cauliflower stew (while there's a 5% chance of sickness for everyone else who consumes it, his is always at 100% for some reason).

As it turns out he, ironically, has a severe cauliflower intolerance.

Poor guy never knew that was a thing.

#clanask #anonymous #cotl x reader #cult of the lamb x reader #follower kallamar #kallamar x reader #cotl kallamar x reader #headcanons #tw vomit #hurt/comfort #platonic

[bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove]

Personal Nurse- S.Rogers

Summary: Steve's wife is sick with the flu, instead of going to the Avengers holiday party, he stays in with his wife and takes care of her.

Pairings: Steve x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness(the flu), Steve is a sweetie, female reader, one use of Y/N, (Let me know if I missed any)

Author's note: I am 3 days behind but I will try to get as many fics out as I can. I am sick at the moment and trying to get better before Friday because I'm going to a concert. My asks are open if you have any questions, suggestions or feedback.

My full Masterlist

Word count: 739

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy reading!

A few days before the Avengers annual holiday party, she had started to feel off. When she woke up in the mornings, she was congested, then came a cough, then a sore throat, then the sneezing and finally came the fever paired with cold sweat and the chills. The day of the party was the worst day, her fever had hit a peak, her body was achy, she was blowing her nose every 5 minutes and she couldn’t sleep. She was so ridiculously uncomfortable. When she first started to feel sick, her husband, Steve, was quick to pick up on it. She denied being sick, just blaming it on the cold weather and the dramatic shift in temperature.

He realized not even a day later that she had the flu, she just didn’t want to admit it. Instead of attending the party like they originally planned, she stayed in bed and Steve was there to take care of her. Of course she insisted that he go to the party without her, that she would be okay by herself but that turned out to be completely false. Steve, reluctantly,  left for 10 minutes only to be called back by Friday. He so badly wanted to say ‘I told you so’ but he held his tongue, he would wait until she was feeling better.

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” Steve asked sympathetically. He had taken a wet washcloth and gently wiped the sweat off of her forehead. She just grumbled, whenever she was sick she got grumpy, something Steve adored oddly enough. “Do you want me to help you shower? We have the vapor tabs from the last time you were sick. It might help you breathe better,” He offered. This time, instead of getting a grumble, he got a gentle nod, her arms reaching out to him. Steve let out a chuckle but gladly picked up his wife and brought her into the bathroom. The two showered together under hot water, a vapor tab helping with opening her sinuses. Steve washed her hair, washed her body and her face and once they were out, he did her skincare for her and lathered her up with lotion. 

Once she was redressed, only wearing one of Steve’s shirts, she was back in bed. This time Steve had joined her, holding her tightly to his chest. “You feeling any better?” He asked her.

“A little bit, thank you, bubs,” She gave him a tired smile before resting her head over his heart. She managed to fall asleep within 5 minutes of laying there. He didn’t move for some time, afraid to wake her up, but once he knew that she was in a deep sleep, he slipped out of the bed and made his way to the med-bay where Helen and Bruce were chatting away.

“Hey Steve! Is there something you need?” Helen asked him once she noticed his presence in the room.

“Yeah, actually. Y/N’s sick, I think she has the flu because she’s really achy. Do you guys have anything I can give her?”

Bruce opened one of the many cabinets and pulled out a packet of flu medication, handing it to Steve and telling him if her fever rose above 103° to bring her down for him or Helen to check on her. After assuring the two doctors that if her fever rose, he made his way back to their bedroom where his wife was sitting up in bed, watching something on the TV.

“Honey, why are you awake? You should be sleeping,” Steve spoke gently, his concern showing in his tone.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” She answered as if it was obvious. Ever since the two of them had started living together, she struggled to sleep without Steve there and he struggled to sleep without her there. 

He got back into bed with her, pulling her close to his chest again. He took out a pill from the packet and handed it to her. “Bruce said this will help,” He told her, handing her a water bottle that found its way onto his pillow. She took the pill then relaxed herself into his side.

“Promise you’ll stay here the rest of the night,” She spoke gently.

“I promise. I’ll be your personal nurse until you’re better. Go to sleep, honey. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

“I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers x female!reader fluff #steve rogers x fem!reader #captain america #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe

[eat-your-god]

Regarding this docs in RE6 game: 

Game tries to make us to see Leon and Claire like passionate and good surrogate parents for Sherry... 

But this file is so lazy and poor. Claire flu to another continent and assaulted Umbrella's facility to find her brother but she is okey to leaving Sherry jailed for years with the condition she can visit her like "hey Sherry, take this tupper, bye Sherry" while Sherry feels jailed for years and Claire does nothing about this.

Also the reasons to have her jailed was because "she knows to much" (a little girl knows to much, but an adult woman who was actually IN Umbrellas's lab in Raccoon City seems to not be important if she knows or not, it's okey if Claire goes and leaves Sherrys jail despite all she knows… gov is not interested in Claire's dangerous position about telling stuff), later said is because her virus, but then we have in this stupid game, Jake being free while he is Wesker f*king son (and, in general, character seems to be freed after the games, despite their virus, like Ethan). Later they said in re6 file it was because Wesker wanted to find her, like HOW gov knew about Wesker intentions so concretely? You know, you ONLY KNOW about his intentiones because his report, in where he already got her. But gov magically knows so they can put her in a jail so she can stay in the game with the goods ones.

All this game about Sherry's future is lazy, vague and poor written.

Leon made a deal with gov and the deal was "leave Sherry alone" in re3 epilogue, while in re6 turned into "Ah I will work for gov and gov will get Sherry jailed ANYWAY" very good deal, my boy. You are seeing how gov uses girl and turns her into soldier risking her life and both of you are okey. Leon in re6 even told her "ah, I've heard you become agent" like "ahhh yeah I hear this but I didnt visit her nor I confronted gov for this decission"

All this because they were to afraid to make Sherry in Wesker hands as said the original report. And please, do not come to me to say "Wesker got her but prefer to let her in gov" because even re6 files said he wanted to find her. (and I just don't see Wesker leaving a f*ing important virus/person in gov when he can have in his own hands, also I don't believe Wesker is unable to find her, like cmon… Is Wesker).

So for me, Claire and Leon turned into a resigned persons who accepted a girl being imprisoned for many years, and this girl is okey with that as long is helps to move the plot.

Re6 and its poor written stuff. Jake was gonna be Wesker in re6. They changed because it was repetitive bringing Wesker again, but this means Jake campaign was gonna be "Sherry and Wesker campaign", looks more close to the report, (besides always looked strange the campaing was "LEON campaing, CHRIS campaing" while Sherry was "JAKE, THIS CHARACTER YOU DONT KNOW campaing instead her). The changed this in the last time and turned into a son from nowhere so is obvious they changed all the plot about Sherry in jail / in Wesker hands. So everything about Claire, Leon and Sherry being a super happy family was fast written and adapted and of course, it feels rushed.

And please, not, is not like I dont want Sherry to be happy with Leon and Claire, is just the written of all this is so lazy, like when in re2r she just saw her mother dying like 4 hours ago and she is like "can I have a puppy?" this scene should be more bittersweet, doesnt means Claire doesnt care about her, but you cannot just sweeten a orphan girl, traumatized with a virus and with the violent death of both parents like that. And that is not PTSD or shock, she is genuine happy and capcom wanted the scene feels happy and right.

What it bothers me to much is for years capcom, Leon and Claire just ignored Sherry in games (im not blaming characters, im blaming capcom to make them in this way), never speak about her, never let a comment about their relation ship and suddenly is all built off camera in a game, right after you have a official report who contradicts that and for years, fans though she was with Wesker, like Steve. If you are gonna change that, you cannot do rush in the last game and say "ah yeyeye, in all these years they were very friends". SHOW IT. I just dont believe the scene when Sherry talks about them because I dont feel it.

[lovemesomesurveys]

What was the last thing you had to eat and drink? Pizza earlier and just a bit ago some water.

Do you take any prescription medications? Yes.

Do you enjoy lore? Sure.

Are you afraid of what's in the ocean? YES. Just the thought of deep water is terrifying.

Do you think there are people who are capable of doing magic? No.

Do you ever like to take a drive late at night? Those can be really nice. If I could drive I probably would do that sometimes.

When was the last time you visited a museum, if ever? It's been a few years. I like museums. Historical museums, specifically.

Would you ever own a horse, or have you? No.

What is your favorite memory related to rain? Hmm, I don't know. I just love when it rains.

Does small talk bother you? I'm just so awkward and bad at it.

Do you ever experience sensory overload? Ohhh yes. It's definitely gotten worse in the past year or so, like it really doesn't take much. Brain fog is real.

Do you have a hard time admitting you're wrong? I'm usually pretty quick to blame myself for everything.

What do you think you'll be doing 5 years from now? What do you want to do? I'm not even going to try and go there, man. I have to take things day by day. Hell, hour by hour.

Have you ever written a love letter? The person never saw it, but yes.

Do you have a hard time making up your mind? Yes.

What's your favorite charity that you support? I used to donate to ASPCA often and St. Jude's Cancer Research.

What color are the shoes you wear the most? I always wear my black and white striped Adidas.

Do you consider violet to be purple or blue? Purple.

If anything was an Olympic sport, what could you win gold for? Survey taking?

Have you ever experienced bad karma? I don't believe In that.

Would you rather have whiskers or claws like a cat? Claws, I guess.

What's something you have a strong opinion on? My faith and abuse towards anyone, but giving a voice for animals and children is a big one.

Do you prefer driving, riding shotgun, or being in the backseat while on the road? Well, I can't drive so that's out. I generally sit in the front seat, but if it's a long drive I prefer the backseat.

If you ever played Mario kart, what character did you always choose to play as? I switched it up.

Do you believe that big foot is real? No.

Do you like to learn about different cultures? Sure.

Do you stay awake til 3am often? I stay up later than that every night. :/ I keep trying to work on it, but ugh I don't know why I insist on fighting it. My body actually fights to stay awake nowadays so I should just let myself get sleep, but instead I choose to just doze off and on while sitting up until eventually I lie down, which by that point the sun is coming up. It's so stupid, like close the laptop, turn off the light, and GO TO SLEEP. And I wonder why I feel so groggy and out of it all the time.

Do you know anyone or have you ever been bitten by a wild animal? No, fortunately.

What's the closest object to you that is blue? My pill crusher is blue.

When did you last feel full of life? Uhhhhhhh.

What do you normally daydream about? I find myself drifting off a lot to random thoughts.

Have you ever seen a tornado? Noo.

What was the last thing you apologized for? I don't remember.

Do you ever do anything specific for the full moon? No.

Do you know anyone or do you practice witchcraft? No.

When was the last time you were sick? Currently. The past few years? It's not the typical cold/flu sick, but in other ways. Although, I'm really thinking I may have recently, unknowingly, had COVID. That may have been the major trigger that triggered the brain fog. I've read that is a symptom many have experienced, one that has lingering effects. I've had this lingering cough I thought was allergy related, but now I'm wondering about that as well.

What was the last thing you purchased? Food.

Do you ever plant flowers for the bees? No.

What makes you feel powerful? Nothing.

What was your last coffee order? Yesterday, I got a, "Betty White Frappe", which was just a white chocolate mocha frappe with a couple pumps of hazelnut and a pump of vanilla with caramel crunch on top from Starbucks.

If you had to wear a crown, what would you want it to look like? I want the Scarlet Witch tiara/crown.

What was the last thing to scare you? Health related things.

Do you have to sleep with a blanket to sleep well? Not necessarily.

Watermelon or strawberries? Watermelon.

Do you own any clothing in the shade of navy blue? Yeah.

What was the last thing that caught your eye while shopping? I see a lot of things while browsing online.

What's your top 3 groceries you buy each time you grocery shop? Soda, snacks of some kind, sandwich stuff.

Do you ever listen to the radio while driving or bluetooth? We always have music on when in the car. My parents and brother have their own cars and they all just play their Spotify playlists.

Have you ever had a peach smoothie? I don't think so. I've always been a strawberry banana, banana, or chocolate banana smoothie kind of person.

What's the last song you sang out loud? *shrug*

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[bukojuiice]

— genshin boys and how you take care of them when they’re sick.

ೃ ft. childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, and xiao x gn! reader

ೃ tags: modern au, headcanons, and tooth-rotting fluff.

ೃ 200 to 300 words per character.

ೃ genshin masterlist  ♡ mha masterlist  ♡ aot masterlist

ೃ note: if you enjoyed this, please do reblog! and if you want to be a part of my taglist, answer this form! ♡

CHILDE:

Childe has a very strong immunity system. No lame flu could ever get him. Mayhaps it's the below 0-degree temperature in Snezhnaya that helped his body grow accustomed to certain climates and temperatures? Because according to him, he "takes colds and kicks ass." However, after having too much fun and getting too competitive with Scaramouche at the Dragonspine Ski Resort, he's struck down with a terrible fever. From Sneznaya's Greatest Love Machine to sick babie in (y/n)'s care. He's not necessarily the whiny type but Childe is very helpless. Whether it was intentional or not, he couldn’t help himself at all. He forgets about the cough drops he has to drink and you have to remind him about it, when he refuses to eat Goulash fresh from Dragonspine and demands for alphabet soup, or when you're doing work in the living room and he comes up to you wrapped in a burrito blanket, asking for cuddles because "hugs are the best medicine." to which, you would reply with a hard "no." because you couldn't risk the both of you getting sick. (Even though you were craving hugs from him too.) Due to your boyfriend's stubbornness, it took a week before he could fully recover. And when he did, you bet he rushes to you, screaming, "I'm cured!" peppering you with kisses on your cheek and enveloping you in hugs that you've longed so much from him.

DILUC:

Colds are Diluc's worst enemy. Whenever he got remotely sick when he was a kid, whether it be a runny nose or a small allergy, his immune system literally betrays him. So, when he gets sick, he literally gets sick. Since then, He vowed to maintain a healthy body. You've never even seen him get a headache! It's always been Diluc taking care of you whenever you’re down with a cold. You had always wished for a moment where the tables would turn and it would be you taking care of him for once. That would soon happen on a particularly normal day. Diluc approaches you and asks if you could check his temperature. You bring out a thermometer to check if he has a fever, and it read 38 degrees. Diluc suddenly panics. His face red as a tomato and feeling woozy and lightheaded, your boyfriend wraps his arm around you for support as you bring him to your bedroom. Then, he suddenly sneezes. An adorable sniffle you did not expect to hear from your boyfriend or from anyone as handsome as him at all. It was the cutest "achoo." you've ever heard. You giggle, reaching for his neatly folded pajamas in the closet and handing it to him. "Pretend you didn't hear that." He says coldly, trying to not act embarrassed. Since that night and until he became well, you barely left Diluc’s side. He's wrapped in a blanket, his usual well-dressed get up is replaced with a dark gray hoodie and joggers, your stuffed plushies are cuddled up beside Diluc to keep him company whilst he's bed-ridden, and you're bringing him healthy and delicious meals to help him get better soon. When he had finally recovered, Diluc thought that maybe getting sick wasn't all that bad. Especially if the the one most dearest to him could love and care for him so well while he’s at his weakest.

KAEYA:

Kaeya tries to hide his cold at first. He doesn't want to make you worry too much. After all, he's not the type to get so sick easily anyway. T'was the cursed downpour of rain on that particular Wednesday night after his evening classes to blame for all of this. When you're around him, he clears his throat every time he has the urge to cough, He tries to sneeze as quietly as possible so you wouldn't hear, and he takes his daily medicine for colds behind your back. It wasn't til you accidentally hear his loud coughs whilst he was on his phone when you realized that he had a cold for the past few days now. You were a bit sad at first because Kaeya shouldn't have hid this from you, and yet, you quickly understood when he told you why. Since then, you've been taking care of him. He would lie on your lap as you apply a fever patch on his forehead, massaging his temples, as he coos adoringly at your gestures of affection. In fact, he loved the special treatment that he was getting from you  so much, that even if he was getting better, he still asked if you could rub his temples to ease the pain he's been feeling from his common colds. Although it is very clear that he's already free of his illness, you chose to play along with him. and so from then on, giving Kaeya a loving massage became a part of your daily routine, and he was loving every minute of it.

ZHONGLI:

As a herb and tea enthusiast, Zhongli is able to keep a healthy mind and body. Chamomile tea before the two of you go to bed and a scented humidifier wafting around your house to rid of the germs. However, after eating something he had ordered for the both of you on Postmates and not knowing there was seafood in it, his mild allergies suddenly strike him with a severe cold. Zhongli hates this feeling. He hates not being able to get up, water the plants, read his books, or stroll around the city with you. He had no physical energy to do anything. He kept your house as clean and as influenza-free as possible. Yet here was, on your shared bed, speaking in a nasally but cute voice, a glass of orange juice on the bedside table, and tuned in to the Discovery Channel because it was the closest he could get to the wonderful world around him whilst he was sick. "I miss hearing your soothing voice." You say jokingly, drying a hot towel so you can pat and place it on Zhongli's forehead. "I'm afraid I can't do anything right now, my love. I'm sorry. A-Actually... my body feels hot. I think I need to take a  shower." Wearing a bathrobe or else he'd shiver and have his condition worsen, you help your boyfriend take a hot bath by washing his hair and help dry it right after. Zhongli wasn't the type of boyfriend to ask for these kinds of things, but it was such a sweet gesture. You gingerly wash his hair, spread shampoo around his auburn streaks and small upward curls, and massaging his head in the process. He hums in delight whilst you giggle at his utters of praise, leaving him once you're done with your deed. After a relaxing bath that had probably defeated the colds that was plaguing him, Zhongli is back on his feet the next day. Unfortunately, you were the next victim of this stupid flu and now, it was Zhongli's turn to take care of you and making sure you would get the love and treatment that you had given him.

XIAO:

Calling your boyfriend stubborn when he's sick is quite an understatement. As a very productive person, Xiao always sets a certain amount of things to do as his goal for the day. Going to the skate park, hanging out with you, playing sports, or playing video games were just many of the activities he would do in a span of a day. But, when he catches a cold after staying up too late (sleep is for the weak! According to the Vigilant Yaksha as the mad lad had stayed up till 7 AM) after getting too invested in playing Resident Evil Village, he comes down with a flu that same afternoon. And so, his usual routine of going to the skate park, hanging out with you, and playing video games were soon to be replaced with lounging in the bed, taking medicine, being reprimanded by (Y/N) for moving too much, and feeling like shit because he can't do anything at all. You will literally shoot daggers when you see your boyfriend dashing around because he's supposed to be in bed, getting all the rest he can get. You were very strict with him, simply because you had to. Xiao was very careless after all. You were cooking dinner that same night when Xiao comes up to you, resting his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and whispering, "I can go to school with you tomorrow." "Xiao... no you won't. Go to back to bed. I'll bring you the Veggie Radish Soup there." You reply harshly, paying no attention to him at all. His tsundere tendencies were showing when you deliver the soup to him and he grumbles, "Y-you don't have to take care of me like this. It was my fault as to why I got sick in the first place. I can take care of myself, you know." You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing yet loving look. "I know that. But, I'm doing this because I love you. You're my freaking boyfriend for petesake! Why would I not care for you like this!?"

ೃ taglist: @mignonextte @inlovewithadeptusxiao @duhsies @qimiie @kozu-zumi @volleybloop​

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin impact x y/n #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #diluc x reader #diluc headcanons #xiao x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #diluc #kaeya #zhongli #xiao #childe #genshin impact hcs #xiao headcanons #kaeya headcanons #zhongli headcanons #childe headcanons

[voiidlizrd]

JUJUTSU KAISEN CHARACTERS IF YOU LAUGHED WHEN YOU FOUND OUT THEY CHEATED

A/N: I’ve seen so many angst fanfictions of characters cheating on Y/N and they cry and can’t really get over them. What if it was just Y/N laughing because they don’t take shit and probably stand by the “you loose me, you loose me loser.” Of course they are hurt but can’t let people control them for it.

If you have been in a very toxic relationship, you are awesome and I hope the best for you!

This is my first time writing a bit of angst (if you can call it that) and this will probably be OOC, but I’m not sure.

Gender Neutral Reader for all parts except Naoya (we all know how he feels about women). Badly written angst.

Warning: toxic relationships, slight angst, just reader being a badass, Naoya being Naoya.

As much as I love Gojo, he would totally cheat on you. He’s a guy with a huge ego and pride and probably lacks commitment to actual romantic relationships, it isn’t surprising that he would cheat.

You found out when his phone went off next to you one day. Giving into curiosity, you checked to see what it was about.

It was a text from a someone you didn’t know, or care to know. The text read;

Last night was fun I can’t wait to do that again sometime.

You aren’t stupid. You knew what they meant by that. You only hummed at the message, setting the phone down and trying to ignore the pain in your heart, rising to your throat. You had suspicions, but of course didn’t push for the sake of trusting Gojo.

Gojo came back to the living room and saw you there, phone in hand. His heart immediately dropped but tried to smile at you.

“Last night was fun,” you read from the text off his phone. “I can’t wait to do that again sometime.”

His blood ran cold when hearing the casualty in your voice, like you just told him about the weather.

“So, got anything to say?”

“What’s there to say? It shouldn’t matter right? It was just a one time thing.”

He expected you to start screaming or crying, that’s how most people he had a relationship acted when finding out about his affairs. But not you, no. You smiled at him.

“You’re right. It will be a one time thing. We’re over.”

What?

“What do you mean ‘we’re over,’ and why the fuck are you smiling!?” Gojo tried to get mad at you, to rile you up in hopes of something at least. If you didn’t care why should he? But at the same time…

“I said what I said and meant what I said. I’m smiling because it’s funny.”

“The fuck is so funny about this?”

“It’s funny you think I’d actually cry over something like this, over you.”

You aren’t crying over him. You only chuckle at his surprised expression, holding back laughter. He didn’t get a rise out of you, your sobs and yells of not being able to have him truly.

You weren’t upset over him.

“Wh-“ “I’ll pack my things.”

With that you just shoved your things into your bags, taking everything with you and giving Gojo a sickeningly sweet smile at the front doorway.

“Whatever.” Gojo spat with a smirk. “You won’t find another guy like me, yknow.”

Your smiled widened, much to Gojo’s hatred. “Good to know.”

With that, you left. You left without a fuss, without a tear. Fine, Gojo thought, I don’t need you anyways.

You’d be back either way. You’d crawl back to him realizing you can’t get over someone like THE Gojo Satoru. You just can’t!

Gojo probably slept around, trying to get rid of the thought of you and tried to enjoy this “freedom.” In truth, each time after the one night stand was done, all he remembered was that goddamn smile you gave him, how casual you were about leaving him.

No second thought, no second chance.

You just left.

He shouldn’t care. There were plenty of women and plenty of men who were more than willing to be with him, of course.

So why does he feel so empty without you? Why did it set a heavy weight of guilt on his shoulders. It was only then he realized that you really wouldn’t come back.

Okay it is canon that Toji here can’t be bothered to be in a committed relationship. So it isn’t a surprise he probably cheats.

You found out when you ran into him on the way to the store. He was with some random woman, you didn’t pay much attention to who she was really.

You two just stared at one another. Toji didn’t seem to bother to explain himself, nor did he seem to care. Of course you ached on the inside.

“Gonna say anything? Cause I gotta get goin’.” Toji finally said.

“Back to your date?”

He just rolled his eyes, ready for the waterworks and the screaming. He waited, and waited. Looking back at you, all he saw was a smile. His brows furrowed.

No screaming. No yelling. You just laughed and looked at the woman;

“Good luck.”

You just walked passed him, shoulders bumping into one another roughly. It left a bitter taste in Toji’s mouth. You just… Walked away with no fuss. Sure. Fine by him right? Right.

He didn’t care and you didn’t seem to neither. No problem with him.

That’s a lie.

He saw you go about your day to day life. Despite the look of casualty on your face, you looked… worn out.

Ouch.

Right through Toji’s heart was the spike of guilt.

You were hurting, that much was obvious, but you tried to get over it. After all, plenty of fish in the sea. It would be a waste to just save it on some dude.

‘Course Toji tried to get you out of his mind. It was obvious he couldn’t. Always thinking about you, sometimes even waiting to see you text him some stupid shit he could roll his eyes at. Something.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t and you shouldn’t. If he didn’t care about your relationship, neither would you.

It was over and it was done.

But there’s times Toji really wishes he wasn’t such an asshole.

How you two got together is BEYOND anyone’s understanding. He’s misogynistic and a complete asshole. It’s surprising how you are able to put up with him sometimes.

What’s not surprising is him cheating. He believes that his male needs need to be satisfied whenever. After all he works hard so he clearly deserve it.

You were blissfully unaware until a sympathetic servant informed you of what your husband gets up to when he’s not around.

You just smiled but it was clear by the ache in your eyes you fought back the tears. You knew. You had a gut feeling but you tried to trust him.

Upon returning home, he was greeted by you sitting on the bed with your things packs behind you.

“The fuck is this?” Naoya demanded.

“I know you’re cheating on me.”

Naoya just scoffed and rolled his eyes. Women and their emotions. “I’m a man. I have needs you know.”

“I know. Whoever she is, she can do it all the time with you. I don’t really care.” You smiled.

Naoya grinned, figuring you saw it his way like a good wife. But his smile dropped when you took off your wedding ring and set it on the bedside table. No anger behind it and no hesitation.

“What the fuck are you doing.”

“Letting you have your way as a man. I mean, you won’t have a wife to be nagging you about that, right?” You grinned even wider, venom pouring from your words while your face said otherwise.

You grabbed your things and tried to walk past him. Keyword, tried.

“You aren’t going anywhere! You are my wife!” His hand gripped your wrist but you just tugged it away. “Get back here!”

You weren’t crying like he was expecting. Don’t women just bawl when they find their husband is being unfaithful? Don’t they make a huge fuss and scene?

You just continued walking away from him, ignoring him as if he were just a flu. A pest.

“You are my wife! You will-“ “Ex-wife.”

You turned with a smile. “Wish you and her the best of luck. Really, I do. She keep your man needs ‘satisfied’ right?”

For once Naoya was speechless. He could only watch as you walked away, away from the Zenin estate. You turned back and he could only wait- rather hope- you’d come running back to him and apologize for doing this to him, for saying such things to him. But you just stood, and stared, and chuckled at your own stupidity. Misogynists, am I right?

There are plenty of women who are submissive, Naoya told himself. Plenty who are willing to be pretty wives.

Yet there he stands, just hoping and wishing his dear wife would come back. His caring and loving one. That smile you gave him, that smile of pure pain yet amusement. You’d always smile when he brought you joy.

Now he just sees that sickening smile over and over. He tried to blame it on the woman he had an affair with, she came onto him! But at the end of the day, he was the one that gave in.

Hope I did good at the angst! My heart sure didn’t enjoy it except the Naoya part.

#jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu kaisen naoya

[honeystwiggypeach]

My papa talks about you a lot!

This is the first time I’ve written for Sugawara so like most of the other characters I wrote for I’m actually unsure how to go about writing their personality.(it is most likely inaccurate.)

Dad! Sugawara Koshi x fem reader

Basically you’re a teacher at the same pre-school that Suga teaches at.(one day I will make a character just pin after the other oblivious to the other who is also in love with them because I think I try to do it every time and it just turns out bad.)

Look, it’s honestly not even that bad of a morning…is what Suga tells himself as he frantically calls almost everyone he knows is off in his call log after his babysitter for his daughter canceled last minute because her friends invited her to the mall. Now Suga doesn’t blame the girl, but like come on he hired her because he was busy with work so of course he’s a little nervous.

His daughter, Aiko, had calmed down the previously chaotic man quite a bit when he realized he couldn’t do all the things he used to with a baby, but now as she edges near her fourth birthday his spunk has returned some as he gets further and further away from the schedules he previously needed when Aiko was a baby.

“Ok honey.” He sighs setting his daughters cereal bowl in the sink and quickly washing it.

“Grandma’s sick, your babysitter has the flu and not many other people are up for watching you.” He mumbles after hanging up with his work. “And I don’t have any vacation days apparently, so you’ll have to come with me” he explains looking up to see his daughter peeking above the counter with I brushed hair as her hair antenna bobbles due to the draft the air conditioner created.

Sugawara for the life of him can not do hair, not even a simple ponytail. He wants to scream when he has to fix his daughters hair, it takes him around an thirty minutes normally to remember how he did her hair last time and another thirty to actually get her wavy hair into the ponytail without half of it falling out.

He looks at his watch panicking when he sees that if he doesn’t leave now they’ll be late. “Grab the hair brush baby and meet me at the door I’ll have your coat!” He shouts rushing to the door as his daughter runs to the bathroom before meeting him at the door to put on her coat.

They lock up the house and begin walking to Sugas work around two blocks away while he tries to pull her hair back and he can say that he is certainly glad that normally they aren’t moving when they style her hair.

He’s gotten her hair into the ponytail formation as they round the corner to the school building and just as he’s sliding the holder off his wrist Aiko steps onto the stairs and her hair falls out and he wants to sob.

Yeah needless to say he’s got the ponytail in the corner of his mouth using a hot pink hair brush when he walks into the building.

“God-” he stops himself noticing a kid standing next to your leg as you pat their head, when Aikos hair once again falls out.

You glance over and watch him struggle by the door way a few more times before walking over to him.

“Would you like some help?” You ask in your sweet voice that Suga just adores.

He turns towards you with the slightestpinm blush from being caught unable to do something as simple as hair. He wanted to impress you not show you that he couldn’t care for his kid’s hair!

“Do you mind?” He asks looking at you when her hair falls back again.

“Not at all” you smile taking the brush and hair tye from him before gently and smoothly tying back Aiko’s hair, and then to top it off pulling out her bangs with your finger nail by dragging your nail along the triangle part and tugging gentle.

You turn her to face you and brush her bangs before bopping her nose softly causing her to giggle as you hand the hair brush back to Suga while he stands their in awe.

“What’s your name?” You ask gently.

“Aiko.” She mumbles gripping at Sugas coat as she smiles at you.

“Well I’m Miss (y/n)” you mumble smiling at her before looking back to Suga.

You watch Aiko tug on her dads jacket and whisper in his ear and he nods.

“Pretty” she compliments quietly as the bell rings and Suga rushes off.

The end of the school day comes quicker then usual with today being a half day, and both You and Suga stand on the steps waiting for the last few kids to be picked up while Aiko clings to her dad.

“What are you doing after this?” He asks

“Oh, I’m probably going to have lunch what about you?” You ask looking towards your watch.

“Have lunch with Aiko.” He says gently squeezing her hand.

“Can you have lunch with us too?” Aiko asks looking up at you with shiny eyes filled with adoration.

“Sure, but only if your dad would like!” You sag smiling at the small girl as her eyes crinkle up almost swallowing her little mole right under her eye that matched her fathers.

Suga glances down to Aiko to see her staring back with the cutest puppy eyes, if he wasn’t going to say yes before he will now. “Sure where do you guys want to eat?” He asks watching as the last kid runs to their parents car.

“Where ever is fine” you mumble right as Aiko starts to squeal “cat cafe!”

“Cat cafe it is.” You giggle softly and Suga wonders if this is love.

After awhile of sitting in the cafe Aiko’s got a dessert in front of her as she sits on her calfs trying her hardest not to wiggle right off the seat.

“What’s your favorite animal?” You ask expecting her to say a cat or something as you look at her.

“My papa talks about you a lot.” Aiko says looking up before shoveling her cake into her mouth.

“It’s not like that” Suga tries to excuse but seeing your hurt expression he’s quickly trying to take it back. “I mean it is like that but-” he’s cut off by your soft giggle and soft I’m sorry while you try to catch your breath and he’s got a huge blush on his face as he realizes he probably doesn’t just have a crush on you…

“It’s alright I like you too.” You smile at him softly and Aiko’s off after she finishes her job as she skips around the room looking under the tables for a cat.

#haikyuu #reader insert #x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #haikyuu parents #haikyuu dads #hq suga x reader #hq sugawara #haikyuu sugawara #haikyuu suga x reader #sugawara x reader #suga x reader

[plush-rabbit]

Uncertainty in the Household

Picture Perfect Series

TW: talk and action for miscarriage, slight manipulation

Word Count: 4.1K

A/N: I wanted to explore the reader and Danny’s relationship in this chapter, so i hope you like it, first part is p rough with the whole miscarriage, so you're free to skip to after the second - if you're uncomfy with that

-

Tears fall into your palms as your fingertips dig into your scalp, your belly- while still early in the pregnancy, still feels as if it’s protruding, and you sit on the shared bed, a faint smell of cigarettes and alcohol lingers in the air and you’re alone. For now, at least. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it were Danny who was the father. You want to kid yourself, to tell such lies that he could be the father, that sleeping with- that being forced into whatever sick game Ghostface has with you- that he didn’t impregnate you. You blame yourself. You should have taken the morning after pill, you should have purged yourself of everything and anything to make sure that you didn’t let yourself have his child. Your stomach twists and turns, a thin veil of acid on your tongue and you wonder how to explain this to Danny. If you even should. It’s still early, maybe you could get rid of the child before anyone has to know. Your eyes widen and you sit up, your eyes scanning the room and you let out a breath, nodding to yourself.

You can get rid of the child. No one knows. You made sure to throw away the pregnancy tests in a dumpster at a park and rip the receipts before anyone could ever see. No one has to know.

Loneliness, while always being your aggressor, has finally worked in your favor. You rush to put on your clothes, ignoring the burning desire to cry, your purse in your hand, you walk to the front door, pausing to leave a note to your partner.

“Went out, I’ll bring dinner.” Something short and simple. Marked with a little heart at the end that makes you feel a bit sick, like it’s something like a lie that you’re telling him. You place the pen down and grab the car keys, rushing down the steps. Each step down the stairs is something that feels heavy, chains around our ankle and the child- no, you can’t call it that. You know you’ll get attached. You’ve heard about the tactics that are used to pressure vulnerable people into keeping their unborn children, and you won’t be one of those. You can’t. Not now and you’re sure not ever. The car purrs to life, the steering wheel a bit too hot from being under the sun and you wait, letting the cool air fan against your already hot body and you reverse out of the parking lot.

-

You return with tuna, alcohol, fenugreek, a peppermint and aloe vera plant, a thin bag that is filled with peaches, different varieties of caffeine that you can already taste, and pineapple. Your hands ache, the base of your fingers sore from the heaviness of the bags that you stubbornly carried up to the apartment. You were not going to make multiple trips, that much was certain about your day. You hear his voice before you see him, a greeting cut off as he realizes just how much you’re carrying. Danny’s eyes widen, and he rushes off the couch, taking bags away and your palms are redden from the indents of the bags.

“Are we having a feast?” His hands are inside a bag and he pulls out wrapped fish, and he stops, turning to you, a tight smile on his lips that you don’t recognize. “I didn’t know you liked fish.” He places it down and watches as you carefully place a clinking bag down onto the table. “Alcohol too, huh? What-” he turns to you, a nervous chuckle filling the space of his words- “Did I forget a special date?”

You shake your head no, already biting into an unwashed peach, trying to ignore how many hands and bacteria have touched the fruit before you. “Just-” you speak with a full mouth and turn your head, covering your mouth with your hand and taking another bite. You swallow and take a gulp of air. “I was just craving fish is all. Why? Do you not like fish?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just that I- I just wanted soup, and-” your smile falls and he shakes his head. “I can get soup tomorrow. How long until the fish is down?”

“Actually-” you reach into another bag and pull out two containers- “I was able to buy some sushi on the way home.” You pull out a pack and slide the container to him. You spare him a glance as he stares at the sushi with an odd, angry feeling. “Oh, I’m uh, I have tomorrow off, by the way.” You meet his eyes for a minute and he gives you a nod, allowing you to continue.

“You’ve been throwing up lately,” he adds, taking a bite from his plate. Your heart sinks and you try to mask your emotions, turning around to grab a bottle opener from one the drawers. “I’ve been worried, you know. Maybe-” the chair squeaks and when you turn, he’s sitting down, an unopened beer beside his plate- “I should take tomorrow off too and we can go to the doctor. Just to see if you don’t have the flu or-” he tilts his head, his lips twitching- “if it isn’t anything else.”

A part of you wants to tell him your fear. You don’t want to be pregnant, and you hope that if you manifest it enough, it’ll be true. But you also fear that he wants a family and you’ll be the one ruining it for him. Maybe you aren’t even pregnant. Maybe it’s just needless worry over a few faulty exams, but you can’t risk it. Not now. Not if it has the chance to be someone other than Danny’s.

With a bottle opener in hand, you walk towards Danny, his eyes on you the entire time. You place the bottle opener beside his drink, a hand on his shoulder and the other brushing back his hair, combing it to the side. His hands leave his meal and rest against your hips, his gaze up at you and there’s a hint of a smile at his lips, and you lean down, pressing your lips over his scar that adorns his forehead.

“We have bills to pay Dan,” you mutter, “at least one of us should be responsible.” You close your eyes tightly to avoid tears spilling over, the hand on his shoulder tightening and when you pull away, he looks unbothered for a moment before giving you a forced smile. “Let’s eat, okay? You can tell me about your day.”

-

All it takes is one doctor appointment to confirm that you are not pregnant. It was just a scare. And as if life and everything else in control of you wanted to laugh, you bled through your underwear on the ride home. The vomiting in the morning was your body simply pretending to have the signs, your mind so strong that it created a falsehood of pregnancy, just because you were so scared and sure of it.

Life is odd for the moment. You tried so hard to get rid of the unwanted child and they were never there to begin with. You had to go through with the nervousness that consumed you. The call to the doctor, the waiting, the glances that Danny gave you as if he knew something. You wonder if he did know. He isn’t dumb, a bit dense when it comes to your feelings, but he’s smart in a way that matters. You hope that he doesn’t know, for both your sake and his. The little scare will be something that you take to your grave, hoping that it’ll remain just that.

The fan is turned on with a simple swipe of your hand against the light switch, the room filling with white noise. You sit on his couch, your body stiff as if it were the first time that you had visited his home. You still remember how it was. Dirty. You hadn’t expected that from him. There was trash all over, a sort of musty smell and an empty fridge. He hadn’t seemed embarrassed, but rather mildly inconvenienced even though he was the one to invite you over. However, now the place is as clean as it can be, the musty smell now replaced by a slight twinge of alcohol and tobacco, but with an overlapping floral scent from one of your candles. You can’t help but wonder if he minds that you added bits and pieces of yourself into his home. He calls it your home too, almost too eager to make sure that you know that you belong here, but even so, it doesn't feel like your home. It’s too empty, too devoid of your touch. You still feel as if you’re a guest, waiting and cleaning, tending to him when he needs it.

The simple fact of the matter is, this isn’t your home. Your stuff, your personal items that you decorated your home are still in boxes shoved under the bed. You miss your home. “I miss my home,” you say to yourself, tears pricking in your eyes. The rent was cheap, and the landlords were kind enough, but it’s gone. The place scooped up by some stranger and the thought has your stomach rising.

You’ve thought about leaving here. Perhaps not Danny, but maybe that would be a consequence of you leaving. It was too rushed. You were too scared of Ghostface invading your life again. You made a rash decision that the both of you now have to pay for. He lost his space, his privacy and you can tell he holds some resentment, the way he slams the doors close, how he locks the rooms and won’t speak to you until he needs something, until he’s pressuring you to kiss him with a half-hearted apology on his tongue.

You glance at the coffee table, old and cracked, the paint on the wood chipped and revealing the unfurnished finish. The photo frame is cold, a slight layer of dust over it, concealing your nervous smile and Danny’s wide one. He isn't happy, but he’s smiling. You both only have a few pictures with each other. It isn’t much, and you’re surprised that the photographer wouldn’t want more, but it can’t be helped.

The photo is placed back on the table, and you lay down on the sofa, grabbing at the throw blanket that you added. Your arms act as a pillow underneath your weary head, and you stare at the photo, training over how his arms are wrapped tight round you and how close that he holds you.

-

Daniel walks into his shared apartment with you, and he immediately spots your shoes in a different position than when he left. He frowns, walking further into the apartment, his eyes scan the room, his eyes landing on a crumpled bag of fast food on the table, the drink creating a water ring on the table. It isn’t like you to be so careless.

The drink rattles in his hand, nothing but cold liquid is inside the container. His bag is heavy as he leans it against the wall on the floor, and he finally finds you. You’re asleep on the couch, your body curled with the decorative throw blanket covering your body as the fan spins above.

He lowers himself to watch you, your soft breaths and the way your face is relaxed. You’re asleep and it brings him back to a time where you were under him, where night concealed him and he was able to hover above you. It’s much different now, you’re still scared but he’s able to kiss you, to have you rake your nails down his back and hold his hand as if it’s the only thing to keep you sane.

A calloused hand cups your cheek, your skin soft and blemished with faded scars that he’s studied meticulously night after night. You wake up with his fingers tracing over your face and he doesn’t make a sound, everything about him is stoic and he wonders how you are seeing this situation in your eyes. Are you scared? Do you know? Are you pregnant? What are you thinking of him at this very moment? You blink slowly at him and he’s reminded of a cat, watching and tired, and there’s a burning desire in him that wonders what you would do if he strangled you right now. Slowly, his hand lowers, his knuckles brushing over your cheekbones and down your jawline, touching against your pulse on your neck and he feels it quicken. Your eyes never leave his and he doesn’t look away. He’s sure that he could convince you that it was a joke or that maybe it was just a dream that you had. It’s been a while since you had such a vivid dream.

Your hand creeps from under the blanket and you hold the back of his hand, moving it back to your face, letting your lips press against the side of his palm in a soft kiss. “Danny,” you say in a sleepy voice as your eyes close. “How was work?” Your hand that holds his becomes limp and he watches as it slides down his hand, catching on the cuff of his sweater until it dangles off the couch.

It wasn’t smart of him to invite you to live with him. He was too reckless, too needy and desperate to have you beside him that he just wasn’t thinking. Even if you are naïve and easily pulled into a false sense of security, he can’t just explain his costume, he can’t explain the knife and all the careful cleaning kits that he has. This is all too risky.

But he can’t throw you out either. He’s become attached. You’re like a pet to him now, and as every disgruntled man says on television, don’t name something or else you’ll get attached. And now he’s fallen victim to it. It’s nice to have such an easy fuck around, to know that he cold do whatever he wanted to you and you’ll stay here with him, because the other option is much scarier. The corners of his lips pull upwards and he pulls his hand away, fixing the blanket above you and he rises from his knees with a sigh.

“Another dead body,” he says with a chipper voice that he can’t seem to hide. “All signs point to our residential serial killer.” It’s much too risky to have Ghostface visit you, you thought this as your safe haven, you have to know and think that it still is, but fuck does he miss your fear and how pitifully you cried. “You never told me why you hated him so much.” He has to bite the inside of his cheeks when your brows knit together. “I know he’s a killer, but did he ever hurt anyone close to you?”

Your eyes shift and you pull the blanket closer to you, the folds stretching across your frame and showing the curves of your body. “I’m not sure, I just-” you catch his eyes and he sees you visibly shrink away from him- “I’m scared of his mask.”

His mouth fills with saliva as he thinks about just how frightened you are. “What a shame, I was hoping to get into roleplay.” He could think about you know, how you'd hit and scream, how he could pretend that it was all part of the act and just hold you down, thinking about how you would put the pieces together and sob.

“That isn’t funny,” you say in a high-pitched voice, already cracking and sitting up to lessen the distance between the two of you. He rolls his eyes in response, standing up from his crouch with a hiss between his teeth. “People are dead,” you whine, as if he hasn’t been keeping up with the news with you. “He killed people.” You’re much more emotional than he thought, but you’ve held your mouth for so long, suffered in your silence and in your vulnerability; it's only natural you would have such strong emotions.

“Relax, it was a joke.” He takes off his jacket and tosses it beside you, watching as you pull yourself closer, further away from his jacket and only staring at it with confusion, as if he dared to have the audacity to throw something your way.

“A dumb one,” you say with with a pout, gripping tighter onto the blanket.

“I said relax,” Danny says in a stern voice, already done with the conversation. He may have been the one to start it but he was hoping for a more playful one, or rather one where you go along with him rather than try to fight him.

“Whatever,” you huff, and he sees you bundle the blanket in your arms, pushing yourself to the further end of the couch, looking at the wall with furrowed brows as your hand tries to discreetly cover your pout.

“Great,” he says sarcastically, turning around and walking towards the fridge. “Now, you’re angry,” he says loud enough for you to hear.

He rises back up with a bottle in his hand, toying with the cap, letting the ridges play against his fingertips. You don’t respond and he can feel his anger start to rise, something thick that lodges in his throat and makes it impossible to swallow. You aren’t answering him. Usually this would be a good sign, something that means he still has you wrapped around his finger, but it feels different. You aren’t moving from your spot, and you aren’t apologizing to him. He puts the bottle down, and runs his hand down his face with a heavy sigh.

“I think,” your voice is small, and he can barely hear it, but he can, “we both rushed into this… relationship. We should have taken it slow.” When you turn to him, he sees that your eyes are wet and you try to take steady breaths but to no avail. “I’m happy with you, but I don’t think we were thinking clearly when we chose to-” your eyes glance around and you look away from him- “to do this.”

His jaw twitches and he watches you, anger boiling inside of him, white-hot that makes it impossible to think and if he could, he'd grab the knife on the counter and stick it in your back but he can’t. Copper fills his mouth and he turns on his heel, the bedroom door slamming behind him, loud enough that he can hear your yelp and loud enough that it makes his ears ring. He wonders what the neighbors would think of it, but he can’t really bring himself to care. He’ll find an excuse, he always does.

His name is muted through the door and he rummages through the closet, pulling out a worn backpack and knocking a few clothes off the anger that he steps on. You enter the room just in time to witness him opening your drawer and throwing your things inside without a care.

“Danny?” Your voice sounds so fearful and it makes him stop for a second, and when he looks at you, your foot slides back out of the room. You’re terrified of him right now. “Danny, what are you doing?” You ask in a small voice, as you take a tentative step inside the room.

“You want to leave right?” He asks in a condescending tone, stepping closer to you with the back held tight in his hand. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll help you pack.”

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t you say that we rushed into this?” With every word he stalks towards you and he tosses the backpack onto the bed, only to miss and have it slide down, the contents inside spilling onto the floor. You look away from him and that only adds fuel to the fire that is tarnishing him from the inside. “Didn’t you?” He shouts, slapping his hand on the dresses, rattling your bottles of perfume and creams. He stares at you, his nostrils flared and jaw tight as he tries to keep a sense of composure. “Did you or did you not?” He asks, his voice eerily calm as he lets his nails drag along the wall. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

“I’m sorry, Dan,” you cry, your eyes spilling over with tears. “I wasn’t thinking. Please, I promise, it was just a long day and I’m sorry.”

You’re pathetic and not in the way that he wants you. He turns around and you grab his arm, latching yourself around his forearm. His name is on your tongue and before you have a chance to finish it, he turns around, his hand raised, and mouth pulled into an ugly snarl. You let go of him immediately and try to shield yourself, but he aims for the wall instead. His palm stings and you let out a choked sob.

He can’t think. Not with you here. Not with his emotions running so high. Not when his palm stings and there’s something dark brooding inside of him. He takes a deep breath and he forces himself to look at you. You stare up at him with worry creasing your features.

“It's okay,” his words are still tense, but your body lowers its defenses slightly, and he knows he’s on the right track. “I was angry.” He pulls his hand away from the wall and rubs it with his other, the palm of his hand a light shade of pink. “Why don’t we have dinner, huh?” He tries to give you a charming smile, but it falls flat. “We’ll talk about it over dinner. You know-” he reaches for your hand and grabs it in both of his- “like couple’s therapy or some shit. How does that sound?”

You break away from his gaze, glancing at the floor, and he knows your habits and tics by now. You’ll scan the floor, and look up at him and smile and nod. You play your part so well, and if he had to be honest with himself, he can’t lose that. Not yet. Not when you’re so dependent on him and him on you. He waits for our smile, to give you his own to show that he’s okay, that his anger has subsided for now, but you never give him that. Your mouth parts open and there are tears in your eyes, your hand shakes and grows clammy in his. He calls your name, but you don’t respond. Your breath is ragged, sharp inhales and shaky exhales, and he follows your gaze to the floor under the bed.

In the corner of his eye, he spots white and his nails dig into your skin. “Go get me a beer, I’ll-” he looks down at you and your eyes are stuck, glued to the floor where you can see the face that has haunted you- “I’ll clean up, okay? Just give me a moment.” It isn’t enough, you’re still looking where the mask lays, the bottom half of the face peeking from under your undergarments. Your mouth opens in a silent question and when you look back at him, you’re scanning his face. His body runs hot, his mouth going dry and he says the only thing that can come to mind. “I told you I wanted to try roleplay.”

“I thought you were,” you hesitate, and your tongue peeks to wet your lips, “I thought you were kidding,” you say breathlessly, your words slow as if you were hypnotized and the truth of the matter is, is that you are. You’re ruined by the mask that lies on the floor, the mouth of it the only thing that you can see. You peel away from him and have your back turned to him, your arms coming up to give yourself a hug. “I’ll go get you a beer,” you say in a daze, and when you turn back, your smile is weak, and you can’t look at him for long, your eyes magnetized to the mask on the floor.

He’s left alone in the room, his nails digging into the palm of his hands and red in his vision. The worst part of it all is that he can’t go out tonight. Not when you saw his mask. You’re naïve, and easily spooked, but even you could put two and two together. Even your suspicions would start to rise as you questioned why there was a murder the night he went out. Why Ghostface hasn’t come back for you. You’d suspect him and he can’t have that, not when you’re already so fearful of him.

#ghostface #dbd ghostface #ghostface dbd #ghostface x reader #danny johnson imagine #danny johnson x reader #danny johnson #dead by daylight #dbd #i really like this one #mainly the ending #of the chapter

[myaimistrue]

written for @one-more-offbeat-anthem ‘s follower celebration. congrats on 1k emmy!! you absolutely deserve it <333 

day 3: sickfic

“This is your fault.”

Dean would whirl around to glare at Cas, but his head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and any sudden movements make his stomach lurch horribly. So he settles for scoffing and saying, “Hey, don’t blame me, pal. You’re the one who brought this into our house.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had just listened to me in the first place,” Cas intones. Dean can barely see his face, he’s buried in so many blankets, but the Cas-shaped lump manages to radiate disquieting and powerful hatred just fine. “But no, it’s too much to ask that my husband would listen to anything I have to say, let alone actually—”

“You’re one to talk! I told you not to go to Sam and Eileen’s.”

“All I did was bring them soup! How was I supposed to know their flu would be so contagious?” Cas lets out a horrible hacking cough, then croaks, “But if you had just left me alone in here, we wouldn’t both be sick. It’s not my fault that we’re both slowly dying. That’s your fault.”

Dean rolls his eyes and immediately regrets it. Jesus, everything hurts. “We’re not dying, Cas; this is what the flu feels like. And I didn’t know it was a crime to wanna take care of my husband when he’s sick.”

The Cas-shaped lump lets out a sound like a huff, followed by another gross cough. Dean’s heart twinges in sympathy, and he turns just enough in his chair to get a good look at Cas. The blanket is shaking, and the tiny flash of his husband that Dean can see is very pale.

“You cold?” he asks.

“My—my fever appears to be breaking. Slowly.” Cas’s teeth are chattering.

Dean stares at the blankets that are also his husband, and he tries to imagine what it must feel like for him right now, to have the flu for the first time ever when he’s only been human for a year and hasn’t ever been sicker than the regular common cold. He feels kind of shitty for not being more patient with Cas. If the roles were reversed, Dean would definitely be as much of an asshole as Cas is right now—actually, he’d probably be worse.

“Hold on,” Dean says, and he begins the harrowing journey across the room to the couch where Cas is bundled up. It takes a moment, but he manages to find an entrance to Cas’s little cocoon and slips in beside him. They’ve both been sick for two days, sweaty and feverish and snotty, so it’s generally pretty gross under here all pressed together. But Cas immediately leans against Dean with a contented sigh, and it’s worth it for that.

“Thank you,” Cas manages. He sounds so tired, and Dean snuggles closer to him.

“Sorry,” Dean says quietly. There’s no reason to whisper, but under all these blankets, it feels like their own little world, something precious and safe, despite all the clammy skin and used tissues; he wants to keep it that way. “I know this sucks.”

“I… I know I’m not dying,” Cas says haltingly. “I know that. But I can’t control myself, and I feel so—” Cas turns his face into Dean’s shoulder so that his next words are muffled. “I hate this.”

Dean manages to slip an arm around Cas and runs his hand up and down his back in a soothing gesture. It’s all he can do. “I know. I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

They sit there for a long time, taking rattling breaths and occasionally coughing. Dean keeps rubbing Cas’s back.

“Y’know, my mom used to do this for me,” Dean says, just for something to fill the quiet. “When I was sick, she would rub my back and sing to me. Hey Jude, usually. Sometimes something by Zepp or the Eagles. But I remember Hey Jude the best. She’d rub my back and sing until I fell asleep.” Dean half-laughs, tries to ignore the way his head pounds as he does so. “I’d sing for you, but I’m a little too out of it for that.”

“Dean.” He looks over, and Cas is watching him carefully, blue eyes glassy with illness but just as intense as ever. There’s a soft smile on his face. It’s maybe a little sad, but it’s there. “Dean, thank you for taking care of me.”

Dean wishes he could pull him closer, even though they’re already as tangled together as they can possibly get right now. He settles for pressing a kiss to Cas’s forehead and saying, “Of course. Always will.”

They drift off like that, sick but healing, holding each other close. Despite having the flu, it’s some of the best sleep Dean’s had in years.

#destiel #deancas #spn #deancas fic #destiel fic #spn fic #offbeattraxx #gardenercas #del's writing #this was a fun one! it tried to pull me in an angsty direction but i think i finished it out ina sweet fluffy place :)

[noteguk]

omg can we please get an extra about jisoo and oc's friendship?? ik u teased it a long time ago but i really wanna see their friensdship miss nala :(((

Yes!!! Here you go ❤️ I’m working on a drabble about the two of them, but this is a scene I thought about some time ago. There are some texts between jk and the oc when she got sick, and this happens in the same day.

“I told you not to go out without a coat.” That was the first thing Jisoo told you when she stepped into your room, a heavy plastic bag on her hand and an umbrella hanging on her forearm. “No wonder you got sick.”

You turned around on the bed slowly, looking at her through your swollen eyes. “Thanks, mom.” You sniffed, fighting through the shivers that cursed your body. “I didn’t think it would rain. And now I’m—“ You sneezed. “God. Paying the price.”

Actually, you didn’t anticipate that it would rain so much, even if all weather broadcasts had been warning about an upcoming week of storms and low temperatures. Half of your brain wanted to blame it all on Jungkook, your local dumbass, for not giving you a ride back home — the other half of your brain knew you were at fault for not asking him. Pride did wonders to your health, clearly.

The way you were wrapped in your blanket made you look like a human burrito, only your eyes popping above the heavy fabric, watching as your friend pulled a chair to sit by your side. Jisoo took one hand to your forehead, a worried expression plastered on her face. Her cheeks were rosy, so she probably ran to your place. “The fever went down, I think. I’m glad the meds worked,” she sat back, placing the bag on her lap. “I brought you the things you asked for, and managed to get the notes from the classes you missed. I also got that brand of chocolate you like, in case you get sad.”

“Awww,” you exclaimed. You couldn’t even taste anything, but you appreciated the gesture. “You’re the best. Thank you.”

She smiled, looking inside the bag and making sure that everything was still in there. “You did the same thing for me when I got the flu last year, it’s not a big deal… and I was worried.” Jisoo sighed, running one hand through her hair. She placed the bag on your nightstand, careful not to knock things down, and opened her backpack so she could reach for the notes she had promised. “You sure you don’t want me to take you to a doctor? You had such a rough night yesterday.”

It was true — the previous night was spent in feverish dreams and horrible headaches, shivers that wouldn’t stop no matter how many blankets you piled up on top of you. Yongsun passed by to check on you a couple times, but she had class early and ended up falling asleep a little after two. Jisoo, however, texted you every hour, wondering how the night was progressing, if you were feeling better or worse.

“It’s okay, I’m feeling like a new person. I think I just had to sweat it out.” You sniffed. “Did you get any sleep?”

She pulled the pile of papers out of her backpack and placed it on your nightstand. Jisoo sighed. “Like two hours after class. But I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you,” you said, almost offended. You and Jisoo always ended up in some twisted altruistic competition when one of you was down. “Why don’t you go get some sleep in Yongsun’s room? I can call for you if I feel bad.”

Thankfully the sickness hadn’t stolen your thinking skills, because that seemed to be the compromise you two needed. This way, Jisoo could actually get some rest (your win) and also be close enough to help you in case you randomly got worse (her win). She seemed to understand that quite quickly, for she nodded right away. “Yeah. Okay, that works,” she said, getting up. “Try to get some rest too. And I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything.”

“Of course.” You yawned, already shoving your face against your pillow. “Thanks, Jisoo.”

She smiled. “No problem.”

#ask #anon #bi extras #bad influence

[coexiising]

Good Neighbors - Chapter One

SUMMARY ✦ You were excited to learn that someone was finally moving into that old house next to your own. The Skywalker-Amidala family seemed like a great addition to your friendly neighborhood, with their two twin kids and happy personalities. Though, the more you get to know your neighbors, the closer you get to the husband of the family: Anakin Skywalker.

WARNING(S) ✦ Modern! Anakin Skywalker, Alternate Universe, Infidelity, Eventual Smut, not so slow burn, Eventual Romance, Neighbors, and they were neighbors, anakin looks so good in a suit, sneaking around, forbidden love

NOTE ✦ I’ve been wanting to write a Modern! Anakin fanfic for a while now, so here we go! This will be a multi chapter fic, I don’t know how many yet but expect a lot because I’ve got some ideas to play out! This chapter is more of an introductory, but expect some more spicy drama in the next coming chapters. 

»»————-　✼　————-««

As tradition goes every year, you could smell the smoke coming from the middle of your neighborhood's culdesac while you made your way outside your garage with your mother, who held a large tray of potato salad in her hands that she insisted she carried herself over to the white tables in the distance. It was hot outside, early July was coming strong this year with the heat, reaching a staggering eighty nine degrees outside and it was already well past noon. Though, you should’ve been expecting the heat, since it seemed to creep up on you every time this yearly cookout happened.

It had been a little tradition, jokingly deemed a ‘holiday’ by your younger brother, that had been going on for as long as you could think back to. You could remember being five years old and running around with the neighborhood kids and jumping into your pool after eating the bountiful amount of food that was supplied for the families that participated. It used to be a handful of them, three or four families that came and had a small little barbeque together. But over time that changed, and now it became a whole neighborhood thing.  

The dads of the block always started earlier to get everything set up, which was really the long white tables where food could be set and setting up the large grill on the pavement. And the moms always slaved away in their kitchens making some type of side dish, whether it be fruit cups, potato salads, or whatever. You were twenty two now, almost done with your undergraduate degree, and you wondered if you would ever find this sense of friendliness anywhere else when you eventually moved from your home. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to leave, it was just more convenient for you to stay and you didn’t mind your family that much. They were supportive, there for you no matter what, and your home was close to your University anyways.

“I wonder if Lisa is going to wear that ugly dress she bought the other day,” Your mother stated, making short, languid strides next to you. “She brought it to the house a few days ago when we were having a little wine date and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was definitely not twenty five anymore and that dress did not hug her in the right places.”

You laughed, jokingly hitting your mom on the shoulder. “Mom, come on, it can’t be that bad.” She didn’t respond, only grinning towards you with a hint of playfulness filling her eyes behind her thick, black sunglasses. Your eyes scanned the crowd already forming, kids on the outside running around with a ball. You knew a lot of them, even held some of them as babies after they were born. But when you took another glance at the group, you saw that there were two you didn’t recognize. A boy and a girl, both looking similar to one another and the only difference being the slightly different shades of their hair. “Mom, who are they?” You asked, pointing to the girl and boy who were now fighting each other for control over the soccer ball.

“Oh, they’re the kids of the new neighbors,” Your mom answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You looked over at the house next to your own, a two story one with white coloring and many windows. It had been for sale forever and it became quite the local news when someone actually bought it. You guess you hadn’t realized that the people who bought it were now occupying it. “They’re twins, I think. The mom and dad are on the younger side too. Courtney says that the husband is working at that law firm down on first street and apparently the wife wants to run for senator in a year.” How the hell did she know this much about everyone? You shouldn’t even question it at this point, since she was friends with all the neighborhood moms who loved to gossip.

Looking around for any unfamiliar faces, you were surprised to see none. Were they not coming out for the cookout? It seemed like the perfect place for them to meet everybody. “Oh!” Your mom exclaimed. “I forgot the tongs on the kitchen counter, could you go get them for me, please?” Without a second thought you nodded, turning on your heel and making your way back towards your house. As much as you loved your mom, you were sometimes annoyed with her forgetfulness, especially because you asked her if she had everything three times before you left just a few moments ago. Oh well, it wasn’t that big of a deal, you would be in and out in no time.

You walked up the well cut grass of your lawn to your front door, sandaled foot almost hitting the concrete when you heard the creak of another door. It belonged to the door of the house beside you, the light tapping of shoes making their way onto the patio filled your ears, feeling somewhat foreign since you weren’t used to hearing anything from that house. You wondered what it looked like inside, if everything was rusted and worn. It had to have been almost ten years since someone lived there.

But when you turned to finally get a look at your neighbor, your thoughts were completely halted.

Your mom was right, he, most likely being the husband, was on the younger side. He had to be in his early thirties, still a lot of youth painting his broadened features. His skin was lightly tanned, it was hard not to notice the way that the sun seemed to do a good job in painting his long, muscular arms that reached to close the door behind him. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt and black pants, though it wasn’t like something that you had seen other dads wear before, it was more formal, more pristine like he was trying to make an appearance. But if the story checked out, he was supposed to be a lawyer, it was his job to look professional. You continued to look at him, almost shamefully so as your eyes trailed from his clothing to his face, taking in the sharpness of his jaw and the blues of his eyes that very much reminded you of the light blue sky above you now. And then to his hair, which was cut short and had a golden glow to it.

Right as you were about to turn and get into your house, the ball that had been with the group of kids came flying your way, hitting against the door next to you and making you jump at the loud noise. It was lucky that it didn’t fly through a window, or your parents would’ve gone ballistic. You could hear some of the parents start to shout at the kids, telling them to stay away from the houses if they were planning on kicking that thing off of the ground. The same kids you were questioning earlier ran up your lawn, most definitely to retrieve the ball that would’ve hit you dead on if you hadn’t been gawking at their father.

“Luke, I told you to not kick it that way!” The girl, Leia, yelled towards her brother, a little stomp in her step as they made their way towards you. You picked up the ball and held it in your hands, kneeling down and waiting for the kids to approach you. Luke shook his head, shaggy hair falling into his eyes and saying, “It wasn’t me! It was that other guy over there. Why do you always blame me!” You laughed, the dynamic almost reminding you of you and your brother when you were younger.

Handing them the red rubber ball, they both gave you a small ‘thank you’ and Leia muttered a tiny ‘sorry’ and they went on their way. Watching as they went, you didn’t even realize that someone else was walking up to you. Still kneeling, you looked up and saw that it was your neighbor, looking down at you with a tiny, pleasant smile on his face. You blushed, realizing the awkward position and stood up, ignoring the heat coming to your cheeks and offering a smile to him as well. Being this close to him, you could see that he was tall as well, standing a good couple inches over you. Usually this would’ve made you feel intimidated, but for some reason it made you want to draw closer to him. You mentally scolded yourself for thinking this way, knowing that he was your new neighbor, and not to mention he had two very cute twins and a wife who was probably beautiful.

“Sorry about that, I hope they didn’t scare you that bad,” He said, taking a glance at his kids who were already starting another round of whatever game they were playing with the others. His voice was low, but there was a sense of calm to it. It wasn’t rough or gravelly, almost like honey as he spoke to you. “I haven’t seen you here before, do you live here? I think I’ve seen your mom and dad around but we were waiting until the cookout to introduce ourselves.” Kind of a stupid question to ask since you were standing on your porch with your keys in your hand, though you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

“Yeah, um,” You thought back to the day you saw your neighbors two cars parked in the driveway, was that a Sunday? No, it was a Monday. “I’m usually around here more but last week I had to pick up a couple shifts at work to help my friend.” Your coworker and friend came down with the flu and had to find someone to cover her ships ASAP, and you weren’t doing anything important and stepped in to help.

He nodded. “Makes sense. I’m Anakin Skywalker, you already met my kids but they’re Luke and Leia.” Skywalker. A strange last name that confused you for a moment, realizing that you’ve never heard of anything like that before. Then again, you hadn’t heard of the name Anakin either, but somehow the unique name fit him.

“Y/N,” You responded, giving him a nod.

“Y/N,” He said, like he was testing the name out on his tongue. You tried to ignore the feeling you got when you heard it come out of his lips, which were very nice by the way when you took a second to glance at them. It sounded good in Anakin’s voice, and you found yourself wanting him to say it over and over again if he would. There was a moment of awkward silence between the both of you, a random amount of tension that you didn’t know if you were imagining or not. Then Anakin opened his mouth again to say, “My kids were looking at the pool in your yard the other day when they were exploring our backyard.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said. “They’re welcome to come over any time and use it if they want.”

“Are you sure?”

It was normal for the people in the neighborhood to use it if they wanted to. It was a big underground pool that had been built when you were a little kid. “Yeah, everyone does. Just make sure to ask someone before and they’ll most likely say yes. We like to get the most out of it every summer.” You realized that you were supposed to be back with your mother, she was most likely getting antsy as to what was taking so long. So you took the opportunity to leave, even though you wouldn’t mind staying and talking to your new neighbor for as long as he wanted to. He wasn’t just attractive, you thought that he was nice too.

“Well, I need to get something from the house and get back to my mom. See you later, Mr. Skywalker.”

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Just Anakin is fine.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. “Right, see you later, Anakin.” He gave you one last smile and right as you turned around, you could’ve sworn you saw a wink. You turned on your heel, ignoring the eyes he clearly had on you and making your way into your house. The moment the door was closed, you leaned against the wood and closed your eyes, replaying that last moment over and over again in your head. Had he really winked at you? Or was that just your mind spinning some kind of fantasy?

Oh, Christ.

It was hard to ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach.

#Anakin Skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #modern #modern au #star wars modern au

[ladyxgilex]

Humans are Space Orcs: Space Pigeons Edition

Ok, now, i know that the title it is not the most striking thing on the Internet, but i implore you to bear this one for me, because this idea may be a bit crazier than the previous one.

You see, i can see 2 powerful Alien Empires fighting for a planet for centuries, pouring resources non-stop in order to built fortifications, armies, high end technology, whatever can gives them the smallest of edge on the battle for supremacy of an extremely important world.

Until a HUMAN appears and they drop absolutely everything, run as far away as they can, and put a warming sign over the planet, placing the whole sector on quarantine.

Why?

Because Humans are Space Pigeon

Humans have always been surrounded by harmful bacteria, infections, sickness, whatever you think we have had to face it sooner or later, and so we assumed that everyone else on the wider Galaxy was like us, immune against their own world-ending viruses.

But turns out that... Nope.

The first few months after we discover FTL Travel are relatively... normal, we meet other life-forms, we meet other civilizations, we meet Jerry (and we fear Jerry) and then, finally, we managed to get into a Space-Station so we can be formally introduced to the rest of the Galaxy.

Yet the interview takes... and interesting route.

Alien: So you call yourself... “Humans”? right? Human: yes. Alien: uh, an interesting option indeed * note down* Human: * confused* why would that be? if i may ask? Alien: oh well, there was this primitive species that was knows as “Humans” or Homo Sapiens Sapiens that lived on a planet that they called “dirt” i think. Human: * sweating profusely* “lived”? like, they should be extinct? Alien: * writing more things down* i mean, they should be, we left a team in guard duty over their planet to notify us the moment they became extinct, thought their ship was an very old model, i hope they did they not crashed on accident or anything haha Human: * sweating cold* s-so you... planed on invade them or....? Alien: what? NO! we are not savages!.... we launched dozens of highly virulent diseases and organism on their planet to wipe them out, no especies could survive the assault of so many sickness at once Human: and... what if... they did? Alien: HA! i see you are from a Comedian Especies, what? are you suggesting that Humans somehow survived sicknesses and viruses that wiped out entire inter-stellar civilizations? Human: i mean, what if they became immune or developed vaccines? Alien: Nobody on the Galaxy uses Vaccines anymore, all of us use Nanobots, besides, what class of especies would willingly inject their own with incredibly mortal viruses over the chance of developing immunity? now, name your home-planet please. Human: ....Earth. Alien: * almost dropping his pencil*.... i am sorry, what?....the third planet on the Solar System? around 70% covered in water? Human: well, actually it is now around 75%-80%, the ice melted quicker than we expected Alien: You are A.... Human2: * small sneeze* Alien: * slowly turn to look at the human that sneezed, a look of complete, pure horror on his face* what was... that? Human2: oh sorry, i think i was a little... Alien: * drops over his desk immediately, not moving* Human2: sick....

It soon becomes obvious that the Alien Interviewer it is dead, as well as the rest of the freaking Space Station thank to the fact that Karen decided that a minor flu was “not gonna cause any trouble in space”.

Well, thank you very much Karen.

Fortunately, Human Politics used their most prized ability to get Humanity out of trouble.

They blamed someone else.

Alien Officer: Your delegation are the sole survivor of this whole disaster, my deepest apologies for this uh... *look notes* Humans... uh, curious name. Human: Yeah, we get that a lot. AO: Any idea of who could be the responsible of this despicable act? Human: well, i do not want to throw out blame over anyone, but i saw this guy with 5 arms carrying a suspiciously big bag AO: The Atrollians? our most trusted Allies the Atrollians? the ones that have defended our borders for generations and even given the freedom to govern and develop themselves as they see fit? Human: well, if you put it like that.... AO2: thinking about them, were they the ones that developed the bacteria of the Flu to wipe out the primitives on that planet called “Dirt” right? it have sense they still have a sample of it. The whole Human Delegation, answering at once without even blinking: Oh yeah, it was them, i saw them with my own two eyes, every last bit of it, it was definitely them. AO:... sounds legit, time to declare war.

Then stuffs develop onto a full scale Civil War that last for 10 years before ANYONE start to realize that there are is something amiss on the whole situation, but by the moment that Aliens realize it, Humans have already extended good enough to be considered a plague especies on their own, and you better pray to whatever Space God you see fitting, because trying to disinfect a world populated for Humans it is gonna be a costly endeavor.

Are we walking bio-hazard machines? maybe our immune system it is just as insane as the rest of the nature of our planet? or maybe the bacteria released by the Aliens it is simply weak against our bodies?

Maybe, maybe not, but who knows? 

#Humans #Aliens #Alien #Space #Space Orcs #Humans are weird #weirdness #Humans are Space Orcs #Pigeons #Space Pigeons #flu #infections #sick #sickness

[mmvalentine]

The Bargain Pt 2 | Feysand

Modern AU. Read Part 1 Part 3.

Feyre's first time being tattooed was surreal- positive in many ways, but mostly it just hurt a lot. There was no way of preparing herself for the pain, Rhys just sent her an email reminder of her upcoming appointment and advised that she have a big carb-based meal before she come.

And then there she was, lying on his bench, staring at the thousand ink drawings they had pinned up around the studio and trying to take her mind off the searing sensation in her forearm.

Rhys had drawn her a beautiful design, just like all the other beautiful designs she had seen on his website. She hadn't wanted to see it before today, hadn't wanted anything to make her chicken out. This appointment had been booked for three months, and the more time went on the more sure she was that she wanted this. She would lie in bed, in the dark and be able to see the ink on her skin in her mind.

The design itself seemed to be made of smoke and stars. Every tattoo Rhys made was different of course. While she had been saving pictures of florals and swirls, this one seemed to contain midnight clouds within the pattern. She loved it from the moment the stencil hit her skin. Now she just had to endure three sessions of agony and then it was hers forever.

On the upside, Rhys actually made her feel very safe. And Feyre tried very hard to convince herself that it had nothing to do with the fact that he was exceptionally attractive. There was something about the way his shoulders were so big, but his hands were so gentle as he moved her arm, that made her feel assured that even though she was in pain and her body was freaking out, he was in control.

For a while, Feyre looked around herself, for distraction. Studied the sketches pinned up all over the studio, and how each artist had a wall that was distinct in style. Counted the Japanese masks that hung along one wall, that stared back at her with empty eyes. Watched Rhys' face as he concentrated, and the muscles that moved in his arms.

"Do you get used to the pain?" she asked. Rhys, like all of the artists in the space, had both his arms and what she could see of his chest under his t-shirt covered in tattoos.

"Yes and no," Rhys answered, without lifting his eyes from her wrist. "I think the pain is just as bad but you can endure it a little longer each time. Unless of course you stop doing it for too long. Take, oh, six months, a year off, and then you have to build your tolerance all over again."

"What's the longest you've ever been tattooed for?" "I did ten hours once, but I wouldn't do it again." He flashed her a grin. "Felt like death. I was shaking so hard, I didn't even realise at first and I wanted to keep going. But the artist had to stop because I was making his lines wonky. Then I felt like I had the flu the next day."

"Wow," Feyre said. "Ten hours feels impossible." "You're doing great," Rhys reassured her. "Just tell me if you need to stop, and we can finish for the day." "I'm okay," Feyre said.

A while later, she asked, "Did you go to art school?" Rhys redipped his machine in the ink. "Yeah, I did," he said. "I actually thought I might paint murals or something. But then my first year out I was offered an apprenticeship, and this is actually a pretty stable income as far as art goes. So I never left." "Where did you go?" "I went to Burton's." "I went to NAS," Feyre told him. Rhys looked up at that.

"You went to NAS?" He whistled. "That's a great art school. I heard they got Katherine Silkie to teach a term there." "Yeah, it was the best term of my degree." "I'll bet," Rhys said. "I used so many of her pieces as inspiration works. So you paint too?" "Yeah, I do. Do you still get to paint much?"

Rhys shook his head. "Nah. Mostly drawing for work at the moment." He was quiet for a moment. "I haven't really painted since I moved out of my ex-partner's place. She used to hate the smell of paint, it made her so mad. So I stopped painting at home, and then I left school and didn't have just... never really did it after that."

"Oh. That's too bad," Feyre said. "My boyfriend likes my paintings... but I kind of feel like he thinks they're a way to keep me busy." "What do you mean keep you busy?" "Like... sometimes if he doesn't want me to go out, or go with him to things, he suggests that I 'work on my painting.'"

Rhys paused and looked up at her.

"What do you mean 'doesn't want you to go out'?" he asked her. Feyre shrugged. Memories of Tamlin telling her she didn't need to go out now that she had him, of him telling her "it's not you I don't trust, it's other guys," of him not wanting her with him when he met up with his own friends. She swallowed a lump in her throat, and when the needle touched her skin again it was almost a distant sort of a pain.

"You know," Rhys said slowly. Focusing on the drawing he was carving into her. "My ex was really controlling. She had her own stuff going on so I tried to be understanding. I think I let a lot of stuff slide because I figured it wasn't her fault, she had like a pretty horrible family and a lot of mental health issues as a result. But, then a few years in I realised we were both just steadily getting worse. And she wasn't willing to work on any of it, she just always blamed me."

Feyre looked at him, but Rhys didn't lift his eyes from the tattoo.

"I got out eventually, but actually the worst of it was the six months after I left. I was grieving, but also she was throwing everything she had at me. So I get that relationships are complicated and I'm not going to pretend like I know anything about yours. I just want you to know that I've been in a hard situation and it took me ages to leave, and then it got worse but then it got better."

Rhys turned the machine off then, and set it on the table next to him. He wet down a paper towel and cleaned up her arm.

"I hope it gets better for you, too." He gave her her arm back, and looked up at her. "You're all done."

Feyre looked down at her forearm and marvelled at the new tattoo there. The skin was red and swollen, and but the pattern was beautiful and perfect.

"Shading next time," Rhys said. Feyre just blinked down at herself.

"Thank you," she said. "I love it, so much." "You're very welcome." Rhys smiled at her. "You did a great job, especially for your first tattoo." It was a small compliment, but Feyre felt an unreasonably large bloom of pride in her chest. Not to mention a blush that was triggered by the dimple in Rhys' smile. How embarrassing, she was crushing on her tattoo artist.

Then Rhys began pulling out lengths of clingfilm to wrap her up. He went through the after care instructions, and Feyre nodded along. Honestly, she was still shaking a little from her body being under stress for so long, and was very grateful when Rhys gave her a little flyer with everything written down. Finally, they were done, and Rhys stood with his hands leaning on the bench as she tried to sort out her feelings.

"Take it easy tonight," Rhys said. "It feels weird that I just met you," Feyre said. Now that the pain had stopped, left over adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she felt giddy. And she suddenly found it odd that this person, whom she had just let cut her arm up and make permanent marks in it, was a stranger. The words slipped out before she knew what she was saying. "Can we be friends, Rhys?"

The dimple again.

"Sure," he said. "But I'm afraid I can't see you outside of the shop, at least not while I'm tattooing you. I gotta be professional, and all."

"Okay," Feyre nodded. "I guess I'll see you in a month, then." Rhys nodded. "One month," he said. "And Feyre? Thanks for the trust today."

And then she walked off into the dark, clutching her arm to her chest and feeling both relieved and a little sad that the day was over.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine

[angry-geese]

At Dawn’s Break III

PB!Dio Brando x Maid!Reader, Jonathan Joestar x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: none! sfw, mention of death, but nothing too graphic. Mostly plot. Not the healthiest relationship dynamic. Technically yandere Dio but its very tame

Notes: Part One- sfw, Part Two- nsfw, Part Four - nsfw

This has been in my drafts for so long I’m so sorry. I do have a friend helping me edit my ao3 stuff so there might be some grammatical differences between that and the stuff posted here but i'll try to keep it as consistent as possible- story-wise its still the same.

In the coming months, word would arrive of your father’s death.

Sad wasn’t the right word for it. The man was old, sick, and frail. He fell ill and never recovered. Things like that happen. It was expected. His passing was quiet, happening in the early hours in the morning. You had grieved his death long before it actually happened. Your love for him was more out of a sense of duty than anything else. He was never a proper parent, the harsh expectations of life were thrown upon you rather young. At nineteen you were left as the sole guardian of your siblings. Some nights you would scream about the unfairness of it all, others you would wallow in your pity. The constant "sorry for your loss"s infuriated you. It would not bring him back. It would not fix this hole you've dug for yourself. It did nothing to justify what you've gone through. The world wasn't going to stop spinning just for you to feel sorry for yourself.

So you returned to work.

Your meetings with Dio grew fewer and further apart. Your conversations were short, ending with arguments. What he could dish out, you threw right back. Often you found yourself bitter and frustrated with him, leaving much space between the two of you. It wasn’t that you loved him any less, but he wasn’t exactly understanding in this matter. Neither of his fathers- adopted or biological- could he stand. Putting it plainly: Dio was awful at comforting people. Sympathy was not one of his strong suits. Going to him for comfort was out of the question.

Your life was soon after consumed by the mundane nature of work. The repetition of it you found soothing. It was nice to have a routine. Even if Dio wasn’t there for you, it was. The head maid took notice in your sudden interest in work, and blamed Dio for your lacking efforts. You just nodded and kept your head down.

Mr. Joestar would soon fall ill. Due to his old age, it didn’t come as a surprise to many. Very few questioned it. He was older, but seemingly healthy at the time. He fell sick overnight with the flu, which soon turned to pneumonia. It was not looking like he would recover. His coughing fits could be heard from across the manor. Much of it reminded you of your own father, so you often stayed away, only coming around when it was asked of you.

It makes you wonder if Dio feels the same sense of duty to his father. Probably not. He does not understand family ties in the same way you do. He was very attentive when Mr. Joestar fell ill, often providing medicine for him. If you were called to help, he would go in your place. It feels false, like a mockery of a doting son. Yes- he's providing for his father, but it feels like an alien trying to copy a human. Like a robot trying to replicate human love. It’s not out of any kindness in his heart. What he feels isn’t love. Sometimes you don’t think he’s capable of it. But if he did love something, it was power. He’d never admit it, but it was also you. Having you so consumed with grief enraged him. It was a childish want for attention that he found hard to conceal. He never took out his anger on you, finding himself afraid of turning out to be like his birth father driving his mother into an early grave. Often he thought about how easily he could force your hand, make you chose between him and your family. Deep down he didn’t want to toss out an ultimatum. You had just as much of a bite as him; unstoppable force meets immovable object. In no way he saw that ending well. Others had noticed the growing distance between you. People talked- as they did- rumors spread.

“Y/N.” Jonathan’s voice startles you.

“Mister Joestar, how-”

“Call me Jonathan.”

You cringe at the interruption.

“Jonathan.” You say. “How can I help you?”

“Will you take a walk with me?”

He guides you out to the garden. Winter has left it scraggly and barren, washed out in cold, white light. A few wilting leaves cling to the trees. Only a handful of rooms are lit within the house. It feels personal, being dragged through the place where you spent so many of your nights with your lover. Calling him that feels strange. Lover seems like too innocent of a word.

Over your time at the Joestar estate, there isn’t much you know about Jonathan. Dio talked of him. Often. It was never good, though he had a way of exaggerating things. By now you’ve learned to take it with a grain of salt. Your meetings with the second Joestar son have been few and rather brief. He seems sweet, albeit a bit naive and too engrossed in high society to talk with the likes of you. The girls in the kitchen swoon over him, although he’s sweet on a neighbor girl. Erina- you’ve heard of her. She’s been over for dinner before.

"How are you?" He asks.

"Fine, I suppose." You say, a bit irritated with the small talk. "What is it you need of me?"

"I heard what happened," absentmindedly he picks at his nails, "and I wanted to give my condolences. I imagine this situation is... unpleasant for you."

"I manage." You say. "But I doubt that's what you brought me out here for."

He nods. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Then ask away. I'd be happy to answer."

“You’re close with Dio, aren’t you?” He asks.

“A bit. Why?”

While you’re almost certain he knows, it feels easier to lie. You were not the star-crossed lovers that Jonathan and Erina were, the type of partners that made the girls you work with swoon and wish for such a thing, the type of love people write books about but fail to recreate. Your relationship was more out of a mutual agreement than it was proper love, but you suppose it was there. The two of you were angry, scathing people who were capable of god knows what. Together you could be terrifying.

“You two seem to spend quite a lot of time together.” He says. “Have you noticed anything strange with him?”

“No.” You say. “I haven't noticed anything like that."

"He's awfully attentive with father..."

"It's bizarre." You say. He laughs.

"I'm heading to London in a few days- to the university. Father's medicine hasn't been working, and I want it to be examined." From his coat pocket he produces a small green bottle. it's familiar. Dio has one quite like it.

"Do you need anything while you're away?" You ask, wishing to get back to your work. There was laundry that needed to be done.

"No," he says, turning to you, "thank you for your time. I should get going."

Before you can leave, he stops you.

"I know it's no business of mine, but my brother is bad news. You're a sweet girl and I don't want anything to happen to you. Dio is capable of things you couldn't even imagine."

"You're right. It is no business of yours."

He gives you a quick goodbye before leaving you alone in the garden.

Over time, Dio has grown more serious about keeping you close. He has a malicious, possessive streak to him. Your recent distance has only brought that out more. There is no talk of marriage- his adoptive father would never approve- but he talks of the future. Often. For you, the future meant work. To some extent, you could live with that. You never knew what it meant for him. He jokes of world domination.

You’re not quite sure you want to rule the world, but you do want to get out of London.

You stop just under the apple tree. It’s sickly and sad looking. The last of the fruit has fallen off and rotted. A few wilting leaves cling onto the branches. Jonathan gives you a quick goodbye, before returning to the house.

The door to his room is open. A lantern is lit, though the curtains are drawn shut. There’s no need to knock, you’re the only person who will walk in.

“Sit with me, pet.” Dio says.

Maybe the nickname has grown on you. It no longer draws out the same reaction of disgust and discomfort. Time has softened your hard outer shell. He opens his arms and instinctively you go into them. His chest feels unnaturally cold, but being so close to him makes you feel safe. The smell of his cologne is familiar and comforting, you find yourself leaning in closer. You allow yourself this one moment of weakness. He rests his chin on top of your head.

“I don’t have long,” you say, “I must get back.”

He pulls you closer. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Jonathan came and talked with me earlier.” You say.

You could almost swear you heard his heart skip a beat. His grip around you loosens, allowing you to shift to face him. His expression is unreadable.

“Yes.” He says. “I figured he would.”

“Why?”

You almost ask what he’s done.

Accusing him of something would only make him shut down. You already have a guess. The entire conversation leaves a bad taste in your mouth. It’s a constant unease and discomfort, more than it is outright pain. He's scheming- as he does- but more importantly, he hasn't told you about it.

“My brother doesn't believe in my ways.” He says. "I would never do anything to hurt father. It's no fault of mine that he won't recover."

"Then tell me what was in the bottle." You say. "As of right now, Jonathan is on his way to get that 'medicine' tested."

"I never gave any of it to him."

Jonathan won't see it that way. The authorities surely won't be as kind as his brother. And if he gets caught- what then?

"So you give it to someone else- so some unassuming person is killing him."

Dio doesn’t respond. Do you really expect more of him? He’s proven to be capable of many things. You’ve long since learned he wants to be the sole heir to the Joestar estate. It was a given. Power is something he craves. As much as he jokes about world domination, there's always a serious tone behind them. In the beginning, it just seemed like his nature; he was always collected and intense. Some truth must have been behind them. He makes no attempt to hide that. But this...

Murder is a bit too cold-blooded for your tastes. Morally you don’t have the high ground. You don’t find yourself above much, but you'd like to think you're above murder. If its what you need to do to survive, you believe you'd give it a pass, but as the time comes you're less sure of it. Mr. Joestar gave Dio an opportunity that doesn’t even come once in a lifetime for many. It feels like a slap in the face, just adding insult to injury. This feels like betrayal in the purest sense of the word. While you aren’t close to his father, you have a bit of respect for the man. His death would not cause you the same grief as your own father’s, but you would be sad.

But he is old, and not all old people recover from illness.

Most of the estate would go to Jonathan upon his father’s death. Really, this seems short-sighted. As the younger son, Dio isn’t entitled to all that much. But getting rid of his brother might be easier said than done. Part of you is angry for how little he’s thought this through. Truly, you expected more from him. With as much as he schemes, you had expected a better plan.

Your reaction isn’t quite what he expected. Anything but blind love and acceptance is seen as betrayal to him. To you, everything that could go wrong, has gone wrong.

If he fails- if- there is no recovering from this. If he is caught, many signs point to you as an accomplice.

Silently he exits, leaving you alone in his dark room.

#jjba #jojo part 1 #phantom blood #jojo's bizarre adventure #dio brando #dio #dio brando x reader #dio x reader #jjba x reader #yandere dio brando #i guess??? #yandare dio brando x reader #cw yandere #ik i abandoned this for a full month #but #its back #fem!reader