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tubbytarchia · 4 months

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Traffic/Life series roster as dinosaurs

A lot of these don't make for very good hybrids unless you wanna get into freaky territory or full on centaur but... Hope it's a fun scroll nonetheless!

Grian - Novialoidea

A small birdie... The name also means "New wings" which I find fun. New lives and death games to be part of, new wings to accompany him... (Honorable mention to "Shuvuuia" the "desert bird" who unfortunately is not a pterosaur (doesn't fly)) (Yes we're including pterosaurs! Just using "dinosaur" as a conveient blanket term)

Tango - Aratasaurus / Pyroraptor

Fire raptor! Either works just fine and Tango as a skittery little raptor is perfect for a creature like him

Scar - Apatosaurus

"Deceptive Lizard" harkening back to Scar's scamming tendencies. Though I've always liked the idea of him being some larger gentler animal in any hybrid scenario and a long-neck fits the bill well. He can poke his nose into people's conversations easily to start marketing something useless to them and swishes his tail to ward off anyone who's about to stop him

Impulse - Nasutoceratops

Ren - Regaliceratops

Horns. COOL horns. I don't know what else you want from me ceratopses are just way too awesome. Nasutoceratops is a wicked cool dinosaur for having its horns point so forward much like a bull and I for one can jive with some Impulse bull symbolism. Bulls are often viewed as strong, sturdy and loyal, traits also assigned to Impulse a LOT of the time. But though he IS intensely loyal in many cases (+ Ceratopses are also known for how they defend their own!), and he's not very outward about the following traits, he can get quite petty and bitchy and hold grudges. Still, you don't think of that when you look at him and he seems to agree! Eg him feeling like he should be accepted into Cleo's alliance in 3rd life without actually proving himself when Cleo was rightfully hesitant, at which Impulse more or less rolled his eyes. And him proclaiming "betrayal!" when killed by Bdubs when their alliance was as firm as a rat's tail

(And I feel the need to point this out too just in case: "bulls are also known for their temper" yeah but they're not like that! Bulls like many animals become defensive when exposed to aggravating behavior or movement! Which you could work into Impulse's grudge holding and intense loyalty...? I don't know enough about him sorry but do with that what you will)

Regaliceratops! Regal!! Crown shaped frill!!! Need I say more?

Gem - Therizinosaurus

Theris are so bad bitch coated to me and I would love to have one as my wife I mean um I couldn't decide on a less generic specimen so Gem can just be a Theri! A herbivore - often associated with the belief that herbivores are gentle passive creatures, but far from it, especially with Gem! She bares her claws like it's no one's business

Martyn - Stygmoloch

A Pachy with a tough head and a tendency to bonk people - I think it fits Martyn's tendency to perpetuate drama haha. The Stygmoloch's name though more or less translates to "demon of the styx river", the river of the underworld representing loathing of death. To me this makes sense with all the watcher lore (that I have a hard time understanding but whatever!!) especially with how Martyn became in LL. The watchers themselves don't loathe death (??) of course. They're death games. But someone within the game trying to stay alive and win? Probably loathes the idea of themselves dying. I have no clue what Im saying

Pearl - Carnotaurus

Ok maybe a hot take not to make her into a pteradon or even a raptor with wing-like features but those just didn't fit that well in my opinion. Rather I wanted her to have some kind of horn motif in place of her wings as visual symbolism for her character. I'd like to imagine her having fine horns, to then have them damaged (one broken off) and simultaneously the other more grown out. Think of how domesticated goats for example have their horns trimmed. I think human hybrids with horns would do the same to keep them from becoming a bother but Pearl would neglect to after her heartbreak in DL. I was heavily considering the Diabloceratops for this, especially because of the name (Devil horned face - good ostracizing material) but Pearl strikes me a lot more as a carnivore and there are only two horned carnivores out there so... Carnotaurus it is haha. And even now I'm making her horns unrealistically big but.... We can suspend some belief

BigB - Oryctodromeus

"Digging Runner"! I've already talked plenty of why BigB is very rabbit behavior to me and my reasons for assigning this burrowing dinosaur to him are similar. Tldr he is fidgety and cautious yet clever and constantly buries himself underground

Lizzie - Anurognathidae

I don't even fucking know man it made me think of Lizzie and then I wasn't able to assign anything else to her. Lizzie often claims to be confused and if any dinosaur looks to be in a perpetual state of confusion then its this one. I know a lot of people like to portray Lizzie as a butterfly also so there you go, wings!!! And it's quite cat-like too for those who like to draw her as a cat

Mumbo - Leinkupal

I really struggled with Mumbo... So many different dinos fit him imo but I figured it should be at least something moderately large (so "Technosaurus" was out of the question lol). Then I rediscovered this dinosaur whose name translates to "vanishing family" and then I thought about LL and SL and how Mumbo went out quickly after the initial death/s and left a very felt absence in someone's alliance and then I became really emotional and forgot what I was doing

Joel - Nodocephalosaurus

Bdubs - Psittacosaurus

"Knob Headed Lizard"

Joel as an Ankylosaur has been stuck in my head from day one of assigning dinosaurs to the Lifers and I'm frustrated that I can't truly explain why. You'd view an Ankylosaur as a slow and docile creature, even compared to other herbivores, but...

1. Maybe not so much nowadays, I don't know what non-dino nerds think, but I feel like ankylosaurs were largely believed to be HUGE back in the day, much like velociraptors, when in reality they're not that big. The Nodocephalosaurus is especially small even among other ankylosaurs. But, well, we all know what Joel loves to say about himself

2. Joel is or likes to make himself look well in control, just as ankylosaurs have little to worry about as far as predators go. Especially in earlier series where he was content basing mostly by himself. It's always when things get dire and he enters his red life that he becomes very impulsive and erratic like an ankylosaur flipped on its back

3. I know there's a distinction between Traffic Joel and Empires Joel and whatever other Joel but... Even in death games his more charitable traits shine through here and there. He really becomes a dangerous rascal for a large majority of the time and he's very good at it, he's not putting on a mask or anything, but I like to remember that underneath that tough spiky armor is gentleness and caring. His care towards Lizzie and Pearl and Etho etc etc

4. The image of Joel as a hell of a spiky creature is just really fun to me. Yet heavy and blunt ones! And someone once proposed the idea of him having a club tail but having chiselled it to be sharp to mirror him being a menace. (Added benefit also that it's lighter that way haha) To me he's always been an obvious heavy hitter rather than stealthy or particularly creative etc. Him as a carnivore just doesn't work as well for me

The name bares no fitting meaning but when I look at Bdubs I think of Psittaco. All other species close to it in looks are already ceratopsians and we have like... 3 of those already lol. Im sorry Bdubs you look so stupid

Cleo - Lythronax

There's so few predators in this roster lol oops, but Cleo deserves to be an apex one! The name translates to "Gore King" because you know, zombies... and you know, Cleo is very king so true. If any of the Lifers should be able to boast rows of razor sharp teeth to gore others it should be ZombieCleo

Scott - Theiophytalia

I've been really struggling with Scott but how about the dinosaur whose name translates to "Belonging to the garden of Gods". There's only one known specimen of this species and it's an Iguanadon looking dinosaur which I think a lot of people would regard as the most basic, possibly boring type of dinosaur (if it weren't for the Allosaurus which already takes the title of "basic straight white guy") but that further fits Scott imo. It's always been a strong point of appeal to me how MUCH there is to his character that so often goes under the radar or unexplored, and how he's very often portrayed as just some handsome looking guy as opposed to a hybrid etc. He's not at all extravagant yet has mastered his craft of bending fate in his favor, he so often has things perfectly under his control just as he wants them, etc... reflective of the name "Theiophytalia" even if you wouldn't think such a dinosaur to sport one of the most prolific names a dinosaur can have. Also garden something something flower husbans. Basically whatever Bree's take on Scott is lol. I don't wanna blab for 5 paragraphs about that blue mf here but. I hope this makes sense

Jimmy - Yinlong

I struggled with this mf the most because he's another very hashtag deep character. I felt really bad to remove his bird motifs completely because the canary is so essential to him, but a raptor nor a pteradon fit my image of him at all. I spent so much time looking into various species but it just aint it, but Yinlong was possibly quilled and we can still cover him in feathers, even if he has nothing close to wings haha... BUT ANYWAY. Yinlong is a small kind of pathetic looking dinosaur, and Jimmy definitely isn't small but he'd sure be made to feel that way. Yinlong translates to "Hidden Dragon" however, a rather thought-provoking name for such a dinosaur. Given his character, it sure does feel like there's a soul of a dragon laying dormant somewhere in him, buried by all the self deprecation and curse labels. Honorable mention to Tianyulong, a very similar dinosaur who was named after a museum, but "Tianyu" also translates to peace and content. Something that Jimmy can't yet but deserves to be

Etho - undefined raptor

Already made a loong post about raptor Etho haha which I assume yall have seen since the support towards that post is the only reason I'm even making this post

Skizz - Olorotitan

"Titanic Swan" close enough to an angel right. I feel the whole angel thing is a bit overdone when Skizz can become a malicious little creature every now and then, but swans much like angels do get viewed as beautiful and taken as symbolism of love. Much like Skizz is largely viewed as an angel and often as someone who can do no wrong. But mostly I wanted Skizz to be a hadrosaur/duck-billed dinosaur, because those are dinosaurs known for their speculated vocalizations. And what is Skizz good at? Talking and voicing his love and appreciation? Yeah? Yeah... I'm so sorry Skizz btw this hybrid idea does not work out

Again, a lot of these don't work so well as hybrids... Some like the long-neck ones I cant imagine to have more than a spiky spine back and a tail, but! These picks aren't based on hybrid potential but rather what I think genuinely fits. I did really work on this all day looking through a bunch of dinosaurs and research haha, but I do love dinosaurs a lot... If you disagree with any hey thats cool! Feel free to give me your opinions if you've any and I hope this was fun to scroll through regardless

#oh boy here we go with the tags #grian #tangotek #impulsesv #rendog #I feel bad tagging these Im not gonna tag them all alright forgive me #zombiecleo #joel smallishbeans #geminitay #ldshadowlady #ok thats more than enough forgive me traffic gods #trafficblr #but also blabber?#rendog is my fave... and Joel but I have ankylosaur bias #ankylosaurus best animal sorry to every other animal #oh and Gem of course haha....... Theris are so cool man #second best animal #tubby art

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howtofightwrite · 11 days

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Most traditional boxing instructors will tell you that if the opponent is taller than you, has longer arms than you, or is heavier than you, you're fucked and you need to stay extremely aware and work really hard to compensate for all the advantage he has over you.

In a recent forensic survey, it was determined that most traditional boxing instructors who get into real world altercations die when they're shot in the head.

This is the problem with a lot of these kinds of arguments. No one practices traditional boxing. At least, no one does so publicly. How do I know this? Because traditionally boxers fought in the nude. Yeah, we're not seeing that, are we? Now, maybe they meant bare knuckle boxing, but really no one does that either, these days. Boxing without safety equipment is not a particularly good idea, for fairly obvious reasons.

The only reason the word, “traditional,” is in the ask is to lend their statement unearned credibility. It's an attempt to make their statement sound more authoritative, without offering any evidence to support the statement.

Who said that?

“Traditional people did.”

Okay, but, 'traditionally,' people cleaned shit off their ass with a stick. So, maybe appealing to Hellenic sports isn't the best gauge of how a fight will play out.

Also, I know I just said it, but, who are these authoritative sports guys? Because they're not named. We're simply told, “most,” of them agree. Which starts to sound a lot like “four out of five dentists agree.” Who are these instructors? What do they teach? Why are the currently in prison for indecent exposure? And how much did you pay them to get their uninformed opinion? Salient questions which may need to be answered, if the original question wasn't invalid on its face.

Why do I say it's invalid?

Because boxing isn't fighting.

Boxing is a sport.

Boxing has rules.

Kick your opponent in the groin, or shin, and you're punished.

Step on their foot, push them, and watch them tumble to the ground before you start stomping on them, and you'll be punished.

Throwing your opponent will be punished.

And of course, as mentioned at the top, pulling out a gun and expanding your opponent's mental horizons is extremely frowned upon.

These are all things that can happen in a real fight.

These are all things that do not benefit from increased height or reach.

There is one genuinely accurate statement. In a fight, you do need to be very aware of what's going on around you. Everything else is the product of someone who's been punched in the head repeatedly until the CTEs got them thinking that boxing is analogous to a real fight in any way. (And, statistically, will probably end their career sitting in a jail cell over an aggravated assault charge, because their emotional self-control was completely destroyed by those same head injuries.)

The rules that boxers need to follow are designed to (somewhat) protect the participants. It reduces the dangers of a boxer being killed in the ring. In an observation that I would hope to be self-evident, those rules don't exist in actual combat.

It's also amusing, because the original Asker had to go so far as to single out an ill-defined, “traditional” boxing, because no other martial art they checked gave them the soundbite they wanted.

And, of course, women box. Historically, you could say, “traditionally,” there were even boxing matches between men and women. It wasn't until the 1880s that women were excluded from competitive boxing in the UK. (I'm not sure of the exact date when women were banned from boxing in the US, though that prohibition lasted for less than a century, before the modern return of women to the sport.)

So, either these “traditional instructors” don't know the history of their own sport... which doesn't sound particularly “traditional” to me, or they're full of shit.

My advice to everyone would be, maybe, don't take the advice of a sports coach about how he's secretly an absolute badass in all the delusional fantasies he's cooked up about how he'd like to inflict violence on others because they wouldn't date him.

-Starke

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#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers

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willowser · 7 months

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you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds.

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating.

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is.

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

#narrator voice: willow did not have the spoons to extend the ending #whoopsie #okie okie part 2 #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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missmeinyourbones · 9 months

Note

ahhh congrats on your milestone leah!! you deserve it all and more!

oh my god all these prompts are so good and you write everyone so well, how can we choose? for your event, may I suggest eren and "this this the first time i've felt the need to confess." or "it's okay, we're the best of friends."

ty for hosting this! I can't wait to see everything you come out with ٩(⌒‿⌒)۶

FIRST TIME I'VE FELT THE NEED TO CONFESS (e. jaeger)

a/n: drunk eren and dd reader, mutual pining but eren is shameless and reader has class, LOSER CORE EREN, reader referred to as "ma'am" once in a teasing context

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

If anyone saw this situation out of context, it might be funny. But in content—your context specifically—it's nothing less than a headache.

Because you've been saddled with the pleasure of driving home an absolutely trashed Eren, pulling him by his collar to your car as he whines and thrashes with objections.

"One date," he repeats, plopping dead weight into the passenger seat of your car and looking up at you with clouded eyes.

Your response is expected, "Nope."

Eren opens his mouth, but before you can hear whatever bullshit he was conjuring up, you shut his door and walk over to the other side of the car.

Without fail, as soon as you open your door, he's continuing his pleading.

"Just dinner? That's literally all I'm asking for, just one dinner where—"

"You know," you interrupt him as you slide into the driver's seat, "you're a sloppy drunk."

You watch the thought process (or lack thereof) in his mind as he smirks and leans his seat further back, "Drinking isn't the only thing I do sloppy if you—"

"Don't finish that sentence."

Eren's eyes travel in amusement from your blushing and aggravated face to where you turn the key in the ignition and white knuckle the steering wheel. He huffs and kisses his teeth, before defeatedly joking.

"Too far?"

You don't speak, but the glare you shoot him says enough. He holds his hands up in defense and turns his attention to his window.

Silence takes over the car for a few peaceful moments and you don't bring yourself to question it, because Eren not talking is a whole lot better than Eren talking. Not only talking, but asking you out—something he's never thought to do before in the entire three years of knowing you.

Between your own exhaustion and his pathetic alcohol tolerance, you're almost positive you can write it off as nonsense. That is, until Eren opens his big fat mouth up again.

"What if I beg?"

At a red light, you rest your forehead against the steering wheel in exasperation. You hear him borderline giggle as the action gently beeps on your horn.

Your voice comes weak, "Since when do you even want to ask me out? Are you that off your ass right now?"

That changes something in him, because even though he is off his ass right now, he's wanted to ask you out when he was sober about ten times over by now. It's not his fault he's never gotten the courage to do so until now. Right?

"No, fuck no, I—" he stumbles over the slurred syllables as his brain fogs, "I mean, I am drunk, yeah. But I've been far drunker."

Comically, you stare through him, as if he doesn't have a single thought in his puny little brain. When the light turns green, you turn away from him and start driving again, suddenly far too calm for his liking.

"Believe it or not, that doesn't make me feel any better."

Eren rubs his blurry eyes with a calloused hand. "Shit—yeah, I know, okay? Just, hold on. Let me start over, 'cause I do really do wanna buy you dinner and—”

"Why now?"

"Not now," he states matter of fact, "when I'm sober and know where my wallet is."

"No, Eren," your voice is soft now, humiliated. You won't even look at him when you weakly whisper, "Why are you telling me this all of a sudden?"

He takes pride in the way he holds your stare for all of three seconds, before turning down and looking at his shoelaces.

"This is just the first time I've felt the need to confess," he mumbles.

You deadpan, "The first time?"

"Yup."

"There were other times you kept it to yourself?

"Like two whole years worth, yeah," he huffs under his breath. "But I wasn't gonna lead with that because that sounds lame and this makes me sound more manly and suave."

The car hums beneath him when he hears you laugh, and his drunk mind can't tell if it's out of pity or honest amusement, but he likes the sound of it all the same.

Though your words might be meant to sting, the delivery is silky when you tease, "I'm driving you home because you can't handle your liquor. Nothing about you is manly or suave right now."

He nods along obediently, "Okay, sorry."

Turning his attention back to the condensation dripping from the window, he suddenly speaks so gently that you'd think he was sober if you didn't see what he drank tonight.

"If you don't actually wanna go out, you can just reject me already. It's fine."

Now it's Eren who won't meet your eye as you're pulling up to his house on the corner of the street. Throwing the car into park and tapping his bicep, he slowly sighs, a bit embarrassed but too drunk to actually care.

"Tell you what," you breathe, and you're surprised Eren's neck doesn't snap on impact with the speed he turns to face you. You bite your cheek at his desperation and exhale, "If you wake up in the morning and still want to take me to dinner, then we can talk about it tomorrow."

"Yeah?" you swear you can physically see the light reenter his eyes at your simple words.

Nodding, you smile. "Yeah, but for now, get your ass in your apartment and drink a shit ton of water."

Gently shoving him, Eren gets out of the car. In the slightly drizzling rain, his eyes never leave yours as his lanky legs stand up and he salutes in a corny way, "Yes, ma'am."

You reach over the middle console to pull his door shut, but before you can even grab it, he's reaching for the handle and holding it open.

"Wait—!"

"What now?" exasperation crawls from your throat.

You watch unimpressed as he pats down all of his pockets before meekly whispering.

"…Do you have my house keys?"

#L's MIDNIGHTS EVENT!#eren x reader #eren jaegar x reader #eren x you #eren jaeger x you #eren fluff #eren angst #eren jaeger fluff #eren jaeger angst #eren fic #eren jaeger fic

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icedragonlizard · 2 months

Text

I might get torn apart for posting this, but imo it must be said.

To make it crystal clear, I don't excuse Susie's actions in Planet Robobot. But I don't excuse Taranza's actions in Triple Deluxe either.

I think people in the Kirby fandom infantilize Taranza way too much.

I am not joking when I say that I've seen people go as far as to say that he was "never a villain in the first place". That he's "innocent".

I'm sorry, but that's just flat out wrong. He was objectively the villain during Triple Deluxe. "He was just following orders!" is not proof of innocence when he was following the orders of a dictator. Taranza was a dictator-enabler. A dictator's right-hand man. That's not innocent. He lowkey kidnapped people in the name of this dictator.

Who knows what he could've done off-screen during the game while dragging Dedede around with him... probably could've tormented a lot of unshown Floralians while Kirby was trying to stop the takeover.

I also believe that Taranza loved playing the villain. He looks incredibly smug while dragging Dedede around and provoking bosses into fighting Kirby. Not to mention the very things that he says in his monologue right before he uses Dedede like a puppet to fight Kirby.

.... So much for the claims of "never a villain in the first place".

I very much believe he's reformed (Susie too, tbh) but I wish people would stop totally erasing his actions and pretending he did no bad.

This is not meant to demonize Taranza in any way. It's just... I absolutely hate that people treat him like a poor little innocent baby while simultaneously treating Susie like an irredeemable, unforgivable monster. They committed very similar crimes, but somehow get treated like they're opposite ends of the spectrum morality-wise.

Now, when comparing them, Susie is indeed the worse of the two overall, because her actions were done on multiple planets vs. one country. But that doesn't change the fact that it's still hypocritical to treat one of them like they're innocent while demonizing the other.

Regardless of the different scales of their crimes, they're both ultimately just second-in-commands to corrupt higher-ups that then helped give Kirby something to fight the final boss when it mattered.

I like to think that Taranza and Susie are both rather morally grey people with good and bad qualities. To me, they're friends with Kirby now, but they still have flaws despite not being as bad as they were before. I'd put Magolor on the same boat alongside with them too.

Taranza can both have grief and still have flaws. And I think Susie 100% has had grief for her dad too, even if she's less open about it.

One of the reasons why Susie discourse is so aggravating is because people simultaneously downplay and infantilize other villains, especially Taranza. People are hypocrites. I bet people wouldn't give a crap if Taranza or Magolor were to turn Meta Knight into a robot.

I get why the colonization and capitalism themes for both Susie and Planet Robobot as a whole can strike a nerve to some people and elicit discomfort, but I don't really think that warrants a massive and unfair discrepancy to how she gets treated compared to the others.

While I can get why those themes can make some people not like her as much as others, I don't think it makes it fair to treat her like an unforgivable demon because her villainy happens to be more real.

Just because the others are less real doesn't mean they're innocent.

The double standards suck.

#kirby #taranza #taranza kirby #susie haltmann #susie kirby #susanna patrya haltmann #magolor #kirby triple deluxe #kirby planet robobot #kirby star allies #queen sectonia #max profitt haltmann

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ddejavvu · 10 months

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Omg omg bodyguard!anakin taking care of you when you get carsick in long car rides!!! He lets you sleep on him and brings a lemon for you to sniff when you feel sick and a water bottle too :( and he gets mad at your driver if he’s going too fast on the windy roads :((

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

okay wait i did this within the star wars universe so they are not in a car but they are in a speeder <3 thank you for your prompt and please send me more anakin requests <3

There are two words that Anakin Skywalker never expected to be saying in a moving speeder: Slow down. But they come out venomous and rough towards the pilot that's steering you through a narrow canyon, over a less-travelled route to your destination. He's perhaps taken the mindset of bodyguard a tad too serious, and he's ordered your pilot to steer clear of any populated areas to avoid potential danger. It means, though, that you're not rewarded with the straight-shooting lanes of the city that you're used to, and instead you're hurtling through winding passageways and bobbing up and down through any available gaps in the rock face.

"I can't go much slower than this," Your pilot has clearly never been spoken to with such malice, but Anakin has little time for pleasantries as he pulls you tightly into his side. He keeps his grip pointedly off of your stomach, not wanting to aggravate it any more than the ride already has, his hand resting on your shoulders rather than your waist.

"Unless you want sick on the back of your head and a demotion from the Princess's personal staff, slow down." Anakin snaps, hand rubbing broad strokes down your back.

"No, it's-" You choke on a barely-concealed gag, breathing heavy where you're hunched into Anakin's side, "It's okay. It's not his- fault."

Anakin chooses to ignore the way you so easily spare your pilot; he thinks that if he were on your permanent staff he'd live every day making sure you never had to suffer from things like motion sickness again.

"Anakin," You breathe against his shoulder, somewhat of a pant as you try catching your breath without turning your stomach again, "I'm sorry. I know this is not what you signed up for."

"Shh," He hushes, reaching down to dig through the bag that you'd helped him pack. You'd been nervous about getting sick on the way so he'd loaded every nausea remedy he could think of, including a citrus fruit to relieve your symptoms.

"Here," He unwraps the cut fruit from its container, his palm molding around the curved, bumpy skin as he brandishes it beneath your nose.

"Breathe this in," He instructs you, voice calm and soothing despite your iron grip on his leg. You do as you're told, and he makes it easy for you by keeping the citrus close to your face. You find that you really don't have to do anything around him; he's always got it covered.

"That's better," You mumble, head hung and stomach still upset but not churning as it was before. He rubs that same soothing hand over your back and you relax further into his hold, no longer imminently afraid of spewing vomit all over the nicest man you've ever known.

"Give me your hands," He murmurs, carefully re-wrapping the fruit so that the juice doesn't stain anything, "There's pressure points on your wrists, and if I squeeze them, you might feel better. Can I try?"

"Mhm," You squeeze your eyes shut, holding back tears as the speeder tilts to the left, your stomach once more violently angry with the movement.

Anakin's hands are soft but firm as he takes your wrists into his grip. His large thumbs roll pressure against a spot just beneath your wrist, the thin skin there bending to his will. He massages them carefully, craning his neck up to fit his chin over the crown of your head where you're slumped against him.

"Is that working?" He asks, once more in that same smooth, careful murmur. You nod almost imperceptibly but he feels it against his shoulder, and he has to fight himself to not press a kiss to your scalp while he's nestled into it.

"Okay. Close your eyes, Princess." He instructs, teeth clenching as the speeder winds down a narrow passageway. He doesn't want to disturb you, but he wants to snap something fierce at the pilot. Next time, he'll drive.

"Try to sleep the rest of the way. I'll keep pressure on these," He breaks his rhythm against your wrists to press steadily into them, "And I've got bags if you need to be sick. Okay?'

"Okay," You whimper against his shoulder, and the sound strikes him deep in the chest. He wishes he could ease your pain, he hopes his impromptu acupressure is enough. You're more than happy to take his orders, and Anakin is acutely aware of every single rise and fall of your chest as you slowly doze off against his shoulder.

He wants the ride to be over, because he wants your pain alleviated, but he lets himself indulge in the thought of doing this all day. Of being stuck to your side for eternity, your bodyguard, healer, and pillow all at once.

Once the speeder is docked safely at your sanctuary he lets the pilot disembark with one last scathing glance, and settles into the seat. He can't bear the thought of waking you, even if you would be happier in your bed as you sleep off the nausea, because he's happier here, with your face squished against his shoulder blade, and your hands in his own.

If he has to spend all night in the cramped speeder bay, he happily will.

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rhaenzokla · 4 months

Text

Smoke In My Lungs

Suguru Geto, Satoru Gojo, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader (separately)

Summary: Stoner Boyfriend head canons and blurb

CW: teasing from Gojo (ofc), sexual innuendo in Toji's blurb.

Suguru Geto

Sweet Suguru would be a wake and baker and a night-time puffer.

As soon as his eyes are open in the morning, he's reaching for his grinder and bong.

His bong is his prized possession of his smoking materials.

It's dark blue with black accents wiping all around the triangular base and long neck.

It has a wide hole as he prefers to stick his lips in the opening instead of over the lip.

He defiantly loves to put on some lo-fi in the background as he smokes.

He will absolutely smoke on his own if he can't find anyone to share his stash with, but he prefers a group setting.

He loves the bond between sharing bud and telling/listening to some vulnerable stories.

He's generous with his stash as well (except for Satoru).

One of his friends, or worse, you, doesn't have anymore stash left?

He's bagging up some from his own stash for you to take with you, but only after he smokes you out, that is.

At night, he's smoking bowl after bowl to get ready for sleep.

He's an insomniac with his work, so smoking before always helps him sleep.

Imagine his shirtless frame waking you up from the bubbling sound of his first pull of the morning, smiling at you as he releases the smoke from his lungs. "Want some, baby? It's gooooood." he asks as he waves the bong lightly in front of you. "It's 7am, Suguru, of course I want some." you playfully bite out as you sit up in the bed, taking the bong from him and slowly taking a hit. His lungs are far more used to being abused so early in the morning than yours so you take your time. His eyes droop lowly as the affects of the drug start to take over, making his heart calm and mind slow. You cuddle up into his side and block his arm in the process. "How am I supposed to hit this when you're laying on my arm baby girl?" he asks with a slight aggravated smirk. "Just light the bowl and I'll pull it for you." You're pretty sure you saw hearts in his eyes at your words and he instantly sparks up the lighter, setting to the bowl. You carefully watch the chamber as to not let it get too opaque, pulpit for him as he takes in the hit. He hums softly as he releases the smoke and kisses your head. "I think I just fell in love with you all over again..." He smiles and goes in for an actual kiss, you can taste the left over residue on his tongue. "Why?" you ask, genuinely confused." "Only stoners will know why you touched my heart just now. You'll get there in no time." He chuckles and hands you the bong.

Satoru Gojo

Satoru would be the smoker who will whip out a joint just about anytime he can, especially after any inconvenience.

As you might've guessed, Gojo's medium is joints.

He loves the classic Raw 1.5s but he also loves splurging on flavoured papers, as well as flower wraps.

He has a light blue Bic lighter that he keeps in the inside pocket of his sorcerer jacket.

He used to carry his joints in an altoids container to try and hide the smell before you, his loving girlfriend decided to gift him joint tubes.

Now its smell proof, and he doesn't have to walk around smelling like spicy baby powder anymore.

He can easily finish a joint by himself in 10 minutes or less.

While he enjoys a group sesh, he'd much rather smoke alone or with his partner.

Will only share his stash with you and Suguru, unless they can pay for their share.

Loves shotgunning with you, no surprise here, he loves teasing you, after all.

What better way to do that than to get your lips impossibly close and get the remnants of smoke he allows you to have.

Satoru had just finished up work for the day and he's making his way down the street, smoking a joint. He was meeting you for dinner at a little shoppe at the corner of this road. it hadn't been long since you had made your way to the dining space either, bumping into him on the way. "Funny seeing you here." He says with a smirk, joint lit and realising a thin line of smoke in its wake. "Were meeting for dinner, literally, right now." You chuckle because you knew he was teasing. "Hmm. I remember now... this shit is pretty good, want some?" His head tilts down towards you to gauge your reaction as he takes a slow drag. When you nodded, he pulled the perfectly burned joint from his lips and placed it against your own, his fingers touching your cupids bow in the process, sending shivers down your neck. He chuckled lightly as he pulled away and a light couch left your lips from the potency of the hit. "Let's eat and then I'll teach you how to hit this properly, maybe ill even teach you to shotgun." he finished off the joint as you both made your way to the restaurant, hand in hand.

Kento Nanami

This man, is in no way, shape or form, a stoner.

HOWEVER, he does enjoy a good edible when work gets rough, and a celebratory bowl from his pipe he has just for the occasion.

Now, normally when I say bowl or pipe, you're probably thinking of a glass blown bowl or a titanium two-hitter, but no.

His father passed his tobacco pipe down to him when he passed and since Nanami liked the taste of tobacco even more than Mary Jane, he uses it exclusively for his celebratory bowls.

What celebrations he might break it out for is an engagement announcement, baby announcement, death of someone, and/or birthdays (under certain circumstances)

His favourite type of edible is gummies. They're easier to eat without leaving a residue in his mouth, and its not overly sweet.

He'll definitely take his edible in whatever way you want to make them, but he doesn't have a big sweet tooth, but he'll eat anything you make for him.

"Hey baby! Welcome home!" You smiled wide as your boyfriend walked into the kitchen. "How was work?" He smiles at you, immediately brightening his day. "Not so bad now, Angel." He pulls you into his chest for a quick hug before he realises what he smells. Marajuana and sugar flood his nose after he realises its there. "What ya making, sweetheart?" you can see his nostrils flare slightly as he takes in the smells. "Just some chocolate chip cookies for you. wanted to try a new recipe and since we have that trip coming up soon, I thought that now would be the best time to try it. They should be ready any min-" you were cut off by the timer on the oven, you pull the cookies out and let them set. Two hours and two cookies, for each of you, later and you are relaxing in each others arms on the couch with a random movie on in the background. Both of your eyes start drooping as you slowly drift off in each others arms. Maybe you only need one cookie next time. This recipe is really good.

Toji Fushiguro

This man right here, is the king of stoners.

Bitch is broke because he spends all his money on upping his stash.

He ONLY smokes blunts and wraps. Mofo will pack that shit tight.

And know that he will be using the stash he dropped on his couch two days ago to fill in the gaps.

He can't afford to let any of it go to waste.

He has a four compartment grinder and he waits until he's done with his oz to open the kief collector and smoke a kief only blunt.

He smokes in the morning, during the day, at night before he sleeps, he'll even wake up in the middle of the night and roll another blunt.

Expects you to have your own stash if you wanna smoke with him, no charity cases with him. Even for you, pookie.

Will smoke in a group setting, but he not sharing, and he's the only one allowed to roll.

Rolls fat dubies that take forever to smoke because he packs those shits hella tight.

Makes sure his shit burns slow to make it last.

Toji grumbles under his breath as you make your way down the street, towards a shoppe you wanted to stop by for some time now. "You don't have to come in, babe. Just stay out here, ill be just a second." You smiled sweetly at the tall, fit figure looming over some poor kid that was sitting at the bench closest to the store. The kid instantly booked it when he realised Toji was going to sit and wait for you. He waits deadass two minutes before he gets impatient and pulls out his smoking case, pulling a pre wrapped blunt from the sleeve, holding it in his mouth like a cigarette as he flicks his lighter, carefully lighting the dark brown blunt. He's half way done with it by the time you return back to him, bags in your hands. "See you couldn't wait for me?" You look at him with a fake pout. He stands, taking your hand in his and walking towards your shared apartment. "This is the blunt with just my stash. We can crack our shared one open at home. Then maybe I can crack something else after with those clothes in your bag." He snickers as he pulls one side of your bag open to see a set of lingerie. "Who said I bought this for you?" you snicker evilly as his eyes darkened and stayed silent the rest of the way home. You knew what you were doing, and he knew it too.

©RhaenZokla

Part 2? Let me know!

Thank you for reading!

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bunnybeandraws · 1 year

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I would like to thank @crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington for giving me the inspiration to write this because their recent lethan comic has been stuck in my head all day <3

It was always hallways with these kinds of places. Long, never-ending hallways with dull gray walls and dull white floors with dull metal doors lining each and every corridor. It made these places exceedingly difficult to navigate in stressful situations.

The sound of gunfire snaps Leon out of these thoughts, and he twists around to return fire, roughly pulling Ethan along as they turn into yet another identical hallway.

Leon can count the amount of times he's been in this building on one hand, this specific event being one of them. He hadn't even planned on returning to this place ever, but Chris had called in a favor, and who is he to say no to an old friend? Especially if it's to save an innocent person from being treated like a monster.

The sound of more gunfire makes Ethan flinch for just a moment, slowing the two down temporarily, and Leon has to wonder… Is this really the same person who survived the Dulvey Incident? The same person who had their heart ripped free from their chest and came back to tell the tale?

Because Ethan certainly doesn't seem like it.

A large double-door opens behind them, and Leon curses at himself internally. Of course the bastards would bring back up, but it doesn't make the situation any less aggravating. He twists around once more to return fire, forcing his burning legs to move faster because goddamn it, they're almost home free!

Ethan suddenly jerks, and a flash of red in the corner of his eye tells Leon the worst has happened. A single bullet between the eyes, Ethan already slumping forward.

Shit, fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen, they were supposed to get out of here, Ethan was supposed to see his wife and child again, he was-

He wasn't slumping anymore, his back arching like a puppet suddenly pulled back by its strings. Black seeps from the wound, consuming the top half of Ethans' face, and out of instinct, Leon starts to ready his pistol. He's already dealing with aggressive, murdery humans, he doesn't need an aggressive, murdery B.O.W on top of all of that.

For a moment, nothing happens, the mold simply writhing before it's pulled back into the bullet wound like someone unplugged a drain. And when the mold has fully receded, the wound too has disappeared, and Ethan is already running again, not stopping to even question what happened, like he didn't even realize that he just came back from the dead once more.

Leon simply stares for a moment, all sound around him muted and his vision focused entirely on Ethan. He knew the younger man wasn't human, but seeing his regeneration in action was something else entirely.

A sudden sharp pain across his cheek yet again snaps Leon out of his thoughts, and he grits his teeth, returning fire once more.

Maybe he had just been seeing things, the stress of the situation just getting to him. Ethan certainly seemed completely fine, just running ahead of Leon…

But that patch of glistening red on the floor seemed very real.

#resident evil #ethan winters #leon kennedy #resident evil village #re8 #lethan #genuinely its comic has been stuck in my brain all day and i just has to write this out before the day was over <3 #i don't even know how to explain my thought process tbh #just enjoy the 10:00 pm writing <3

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grapebritain · 8 months

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Pretty much everything Shawn does can be pinpointed back to his childhood, and it's sad too see because most of his toxic traits could have been mended if his parents just had a bit of stability, or just where a little less controlling when he was younger.

His relationship with henry for example is one of the most obvious pointers to why Shawn is the way he is.

Shawn HATES losing, he hates not being on top and he hates not being the centre of attention. Even though some of this is ego, a lot of this is to do with self worth issues as well which is why he gets so irritable when people 'beat' him.

One time this behaviour really stuck out to me like a sore thumb was an episode or two after "from earth to starbucks". In the episode itself , shawn helps lassie with his mental health. he gets it so he feels as though he can solve cases again, and as a result of his confidence boast Lassiter really DOES start solving cases on his own much better than he was before. Evethough Shawn clearly was happy for him at first, and does care a whole lot about Lassiter than he would say out loud, a few episodes after when Lassie starts getting TOO good, Shawn starts acting pretty toxic about him and competitive. Which is a little paradoxical when originally he wanted him to be better, and do better than he was before. I'm pretty sure he does anyway cuz i remember watched a few eps after being like "why is he doing that, i thought he wanted him to do better?".

Regardless, Shawn starts getting hostile to people "better" than him because his dad basically engraved into him that if you are anything other than a winner , you are a loser and you see this all the way from episode 1. When shawn wants cake, he has to get all the hats in the room perfect otherwise he won't get anything. This same thing comes up again when he goes to his dad much older now to ask for help. he has to "win" the hat game in order to get anything out of his father. No matter if his dad had good intentions or not with it, mostly only rewarding shawn when he wins and being so intense about being 'the perfect cop' MADE shawn hate being anything other than the top of the top. the best of the best. Especially when it came to police work.

It's why he gets hostile over any form of competition, and even gets more hostile when people in his life show more interest in anyone but him. He does it with Jules, he does it with Lassiter, and i think he may even do it to gus at some stage. Jules it was her boyfriends, because he viewed himself as the 'best' to be with her. He was on top, so he should be the one to be her boyfriend right..? Then with Lassiter, there are two guys that are somewhat similar to shawn,are good at police work and Lassie clearly admires a lot which makes Shawn pretty heated and sulky that Lassie is no longer looking to him. With gus he got annoyed because Lassiter started spending time with him and 'took away' his best friend from him when be believed gus was HIS friend, not Lassies.

life doesn't work as black and white as 'winner and loser' .People don't have to be the 'best of the best 'to 'earn' love and appreciation, which seems to confuse and aggravate Shawn. It sort of makes him insecure. If people like them more, they...must be better than him because the 'best' are only deserving of appreciation. Well, in his eyes anyway. I think some part of him knows thats insanity as he only has this mentality with his own self worth, but because it was programmed into him at such a young age, it isn't something he can easily brush aside.

To him, having someone be admired more than him, to be 'better' than him for even a second basically diminished his value as a person and makes him less deserving. That and he still feels as though hes the best so people should be looking at him (bro has a HUGE ego). A lot of his anger issues have roots in insecurity , especially this one, and i think it's why for a comedy show there is something so....almost tragic about Shawn despite all the jokes and references he makes.

#psych #shawn spencer #psych show #psych tv #annualizing shawn spencer lol #carlton lassiter #juliet o'hara #burton guster #henry spencer #psych the show #GrapeBritain

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rootsofdread · 1 year

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Autism be damned my brain can hyperfixate anyway wowowo requests >:D

Could i get reader who (before they were taken by the entity) was a professional tag player and can hide on the cellings and parkour really well? With Leon, Ghostface, Trickster romantic and platonic Legion (Any/All how you prefer)

ALSO look up professional tag on yt cuz MY LORD THEY'RE FAST AND GOOD

did actually watch a little bit and i was amazed, honestly love parkour sm and am sad it fell out of style. anyone who says parkour isn't cool is LYING

Leon S. Kennedy:

Leon feels confident having you by his side. Sure, he’s known for his cockiness, but he feels it’s warranted this time — a professional tagger could run a killer around for hours while he and the others work on generators. It’s perfect! And besides, if you end up getting caught, he always has a surplus of flashbangs ready to run and save you because you’ve bought him so much time to make them.

He gets a kick out of watching your loops from a distance, seeing you almost instantly lose a killer thanks to your prior experience. Seeing them confusedly look around for you until they decide to leave always makes his day, honestly.

Until you decide to loop him, too, when the two of you are just running around. He laughs harder than you’ve ever heard him laugh when he realizes you’re now on top of something, or up in the ceiling.

You make trials much more tolerable for him by making him laugh with your antics, plus he appreciates your almost supernatural ability to buy him (and the other survivors) time. You aggravate the living hell out of the killers and he loves that, there's no one else he'd be more proud to call his.

Danny Johnson / The Ghostface:

Danny is endlessly amused by your shenanigans. He usually hates variables and unpredictability, but he's always been charmed by your variation and unpredictability. It makes things more exciting, more fun.

You always manage to run him around for a few generators, where he's usually aware enough to know when to leave someone alone. He just gets so caught up trying to catch you and having fun doing it, he almost forgets there's more survivors to go after.

He tries to match your skills during chases, he's not too bad at parkouring himself. He can nearly keep up with you most of the time, narrowly missing you with his knife. It just motivates him more.

After he realizes a few generators have been completed, he then realizes he should leave you alone so he can get some work done. He'll stop and get your attention, leaving you with a cute little wave and his signature 'call me' gesture.

Ji-Woon Hak / The Trickster:

Ji-Woon is exhilarated having someone fun to chase around. Someone who he sees as a performer like himself — someone who takes pride in their talents. He loves that about you, your confidence and your talent.

You're wonderful target practice for him the way you bob and weave and jump and duck, you're nearly impossible to hit. But he tries, he's always trying to nail you and get better. When he manages to hit you, you'll hear his maniacal little giggle. You know he’s having fun.

Like Danny, Ji-Woon is pretty good at matching your movements, he’s quite acrobatic himself (probably even more so than Danny). He enjoys leaping and running around with you, chasing you all over trialgrounds, all while trying to land some knives in you.

He doesn't even particularly care if he loses matches to you, if it meant you were both having fun and honing your abilities. Practice makes perfect, after all, for him and for you, and he wouldn't want anything less than perfection.

Frank Morrison / The Legion:

Frank mostly finds it comical. He especially loves hearing you tell him about other killers you ran around and tricked into losing you, he’ll usually bring it up to them later to poke fun at them. You’re his best friend and even if you’re more modest about your talents, he’ll boast about them for you. Well, maybe boast isn’t quite the right word…Brag, more like.

He’s often astonished by your ability to completely lose him. He’ll spend a few seconds looking around for you, ducking around walls he was sure he last saw you between. Then he hears you laughing above him…High up on the dilapidated wall, curled over the edge like a cat. He cracks up.

You’re one of the few people who can outrun or simply outlast his Frenzy, and that amazes him. It’s a feat he feels he has to congratulate you on at least a few times when it happens, during a trial he’ll just give you a quick nod to acknowledge your accomplishment. But afterwards, he’ll give you a slap on the back and tell you that was great. He really has fun with you.

He loves seeing the reactions from other survivors when they witness your professional skills being put to use in the realm. Meg is the most athletic of any of them, but they’ve never seen her pull stunts like you do. Sometimes he’ll quietly watch their amazement, then when they finally realize he’s standing there, give kind of a nod in your direction, signifying he knows you and he’s proud of you.

Susie Lavoie / The Legion:

Susie finds it the most fun out of everyone, really getting a giggle (more than just one, actually) out of your antics. She loves seeing you dart and jump around like crazy to outrun her, you can hear her maniacally giggling the entire time she’s chasing you. At some points, she’s laughing too much and has to take a break. But she knows you’re hiding nearby, just out of her sight, waiting for her to kick back into gear.

Sometimes she’ll get you in a chase just to see what crazy tricks you have up your sleeve. She’ll even steer you to specific areas of realms to see what you’ll do there, how you’ll use the environment to your advantage. It’s amazing to her how you can use just about anything to dodge the swings of her knife.

She absolutely asks you to teach her some moves outside of trials. She wants to use them to impress and distract other survivors during chases, and use them to cut chase time and get to them faster. She knows you’ll be a great teacher for her, and she gets so excited to try doing some stunts of her own during trials.

If you hide up in the ceiling or on top of something tall when you’re getting chased by her, she’ll actually stop and offer you help down. She knows you can do it yourself, but you’re her friend. She holds her hand out to you and stands on her tiptoes so you can actually grab it and she can pull you down.

#inbox #leon s kennedy #danny johnson #ji woon hak #frank morrison #susie lavoie #gender neutral reader #dbd imagines #dbd x reader #dbd x you #leon s kennedy x reader #danny johnson x reader #ghostface x reader #ji woon hak x reader #the trickster x reader #frank morrison x reader #susie lavoie x reader #the legion x reader

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green-eyedfirework · 1 month

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Dick can tell that the alpha is angry from the moment he spots him. To be fair, no father would be calm right now, but angry seems like an insufficient word for Slade's current mood.

When the alpha growls, the entire clearing bows their heads.

The men chasing Dick and Rose are already dead, ripped apart by a furious wolf pack, and Dick is numb, wondering if he's next.

He was supposed to keep Rose safe. He was supposed to teach her and protect her. And he failed.

Rose is slumped unconscious in Dick's arms. She isn't seriously hurt, just bruises and scrapes and magical exhaustion, but Dick can practically feel the murder exuding off of Slade as he stalks closer.

"She's okay," Dick tries to reassure, voice hoarse. "Just tired."

Slade's gaze snaps to him, and Dick abruptly regrets getting the alpha's attention.

The sound Slade makes is a cross between a snarl and a roar, and it's enough to start the trembling. Slade closes the distance, lips pulled back, teeth gleaming, and Dick stays on his knees, frozen to the spot. The sound of his heartbeat is the loudest thing in the clearing.

Dick's whole face is prickling. "I'm sorry," he forces out, because he failed, and then he shuts his eyes. He can't watch his death.

The bite is sudden and deep and agonizing as sharp teeth sink into the junction of neck and shoulder.

Dick cries out, or thinks he cries out, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the way he's getting dizzy. His arms are losing strength and he makes a muffled sound when he feels Rose slipping, but hands skim across his, picking her up easily.

His eyes are open again, but that doesn't make a difference, not when the world is growing ever more blurry between each gasping breath.

Slade disengages, and this time, Dick screams.

It feels like a thousand fire ants chewing on his collarbone, like someone carved him up with a superheated blade, and if this is how bad it hurts, Dick doesn't want to know how bad it looks. The world tilts around him the moment Slade lets go, and Dick finds himself sprawled in the dirt, sobbing so loud he can't hear anything else.

Something wet and cold touches his face, wandering across his skin. Please, Dick tries to say, please make it quick. If the alpha decides to play with his food, well.

The darkness is approaching swiftly, Dick's own injuries catching up with him, and Dick swears he can feel the rough, sandpaper edge of a tongue before it washes over him.

~#~

Dick wakes up feeling warm, which is pleasing enough to almost ignore the other throbbing aches that demand attention. His shoulder is pulsating with soft waves of pain and he very carefully turns his head to avoid aggravating the injury.

He remembers—the fight, Rose passing out in his arms, his own magic drained, the wolves appearing, Slade.

The bite.

Dick swallows. Slade was snappish the entire time Dick was teaching Rose how to use her magic, he doubts that this episode endeared him to the alpha. The only niggling problem is that Dick feels far too cozy right now.

He cracks open an eye. Fur. Dim light. Silver hair. He blinks, looking down in surprise at the curled-up wolf pup sprawled across his chest, breaths softly whistling through the air.

He honestly thought he'd never see Rose again.

There's another pup tucked under his left arm, light-colored and drooling on his shirt, and a bigger, dark-furred adolescent wolf with his back to Dick, and on Dick's other side is—

A cold, ice-blue eye meets his gaze. The alpha doesn't look any less angry, any less murderous in human form. Dick is stuck to the spot, trapped by more than a sleeping wolf pup and heavy furs, as the alpha leans over him.

"Sleep," Slade says, in a voice that makes it sound remarkably like a threat.

Dick shuts his eyes, and sleep follows quickly.

#my snippets #sladick #wolf/mage au #dick is contracted to teach rose magic #of course this means he spends half the time butting heads with slade

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brbsoulnomming · 9 months

Text

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 16

-----

Eddie wakes up screaming.

He doesn't even remember the nightmare he must have had, just the overwhelming feeling of terror mixed all in with aching grief. He closes his eyes and he can taste lake water, hear the echo of Patrick McKinney's screams and the crunch of breaking bones like they're right there in the room with him. He opens his eyes and he sees Chrissy smiling at him, sitting at that picnic table looking so scared that he couldn't do anything other than try to make her laugh, try to make her feel a little less alone. He told her that he'd help her and then he left her, and she died just as scared and alone as she thought she'd been when she came to him for help, all by herself in a stranger's living room, with only a boy who'd rather run and hide than stay by her side.

Part of him is aware that his breath is coming in huge, hiccuping sobs, can feel the pain from the way it aggravates his injuries, knows he must be crying because his pillows are wet, but he can't break himself out of it, can't - he breathes, deep and gasping, picks up the smell of Steve's shampoo. Remembers how Steve had helped him breathe last night and tries to replicate it in his head.

It doesn't work nearly as well.

Steve finds him like that, huddled in bed and folded in on himself as much as he can manage, head between his knees as he trembles and pants. At least he isn't fucking crying anymore, but he still hadn't heard any sign that Steve'd gotten back, and when he finally does manage to look up at him, the concern in Steve's eyes tells him he'd probably said his name more than once.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he flinches when Steve reaches out, and then he has to bite off a noise of protest when Steve steps back.

Steve stays frozen where he is, his expression unreadable. "What is it?"

Eddie laughs at him. It comes out sharp and hysterical and fuck, he knows it's only because it's either laugh or break into sobs again. Jesus Christ, what isn't it? There's a creeping, poisonous feeling roiling low in his gut that he can't quite name, that he's too afraid to look closely at, like fucking everything he does these days, apparently.

"Did something new happen?" Steve asks, apparently changing tactics.

It works well enough for Eddie to shake his head, though that doesn't make him feel any better.

"Okay," Steve says, letting out a rush of air, and Eddie only realizes that Steve'd been holding so much tension when he watches most of it drain out of him.

Then Steve sits on the edge of the bed, seemingly more steady now that he knows some new kind of horror hadn't gotten to Eddie while he was gone - that Eddie's only freaking out again over the old horrors, the ones that are yesterday's news now that they're a few days old, and fuck, how does he live like this?

How is Steve so calm? How has he been so calm, how did he watch someone get lifted up into the air and almost die, how did he get nearly drowned and bitten to hell and march barefoot through hell and go back into hell and drag Eddie out of it and stay so fucking calm and collected and confident? The whole damn time, Eddie never once saw him break, not even when Eddie had a broken bottle against his neck and was questioning his own sanity enough that he might have actually used it, not even when it was all over and they were in the hospital.

Shit, Eddie knows what's flooding through his veins. Steve's steady hands and soothing voice might have been a comfort every time before, but now it just makes him furious - makes him wonder what the fuck is wrong with Eddie that he's reacting like this when Steve fucking Harrington has been as strong and sure as any hero Eddie's ever read about.

"How can you just be like this?" Eddie asks, and he can hear the despair in his own voice.

He guesses Steve can, too, because he opens his mouth, and Eddie snaps.

"Don't," he says. "Shut up, okay, just don't, don't say anything, don't answer me when I'm not done."

Steve's jaw shuts with a click, and Eddie almost wants to look away from him, but fuck he's all fired up now, and he feels like if he doesn't get this out he's going to explode.

"I knew who I was before this," Eddie says angrily. "I'm the freak, okay, I'm loud and obnoxious and I'm scary and I could always back it up if someone tried to mess with me or my flock. Then this happens, this shit that should be right up my alley, and I fucking run! And don't tell me how you ran too, all right, because you ran for about fifteen seconds before you turned right back around to save your girl and the guy who punched you in the face, and I ran and hid for days like a rat. And I ran again and again, and the one time I didn't run I almost died, and now I realize that all those other times I thought I had it in me to do what it takes were a giant, steaming pile of crap. How do you just - how am I supposed to come back from that, man? How am I supposed to just keep going on?"

There's a long, long silence, and then Steve raises a pointed eyebrow at him.

"I'm done," Eddie says belatedly. "Yeah, I'm done, I'd like an answer to that."

God, he'd like a fucking answer to that.

"You aren't," Steve says quietly. "You aren't supposed to come back from that. I don't think any of us really have, not the same as we were before."

"Fuck," Eddie swears, mostly just to swear, because he knows Steve is right. It makes him deflate, the anger draining out of him and leaving a bone deep exhaustion. Still, he asks, "Can I get a different answer?"

Steve quirks a little smile. "All right, I got a couple of them. First - it was way longer than fifteen seconds. I'm pretty sure I stood there surrounded by Christmas lights shouting this is crazy for at least a solid thirty, and that was before the physical running."

Despite himself, Eddie barks out a little laugh, wincing as it pulls at his stitches. "Fuck you, dude, don't make me laugh."

The look he gets is entirely unapologetic. "Second - you're right. We can't really compare yours to mine. Eddie - my first brush with this was a demogorgon crawling out of the walls of the Byers house. Yeah, it was terrifying, and it haunted my dreams for a little bit, but it was still just one monster that I could whale on with my bat. You got hit with clock obsessed evil wizard who kills people with his mind right off the bat. That's like taking an all star little leaguer and dropping him right into the World Series, man, and you still held your own."

Eddie groans. "Again, with the sports metaphors?"

"Yup," Steve replies, shooting him another look. "Isn't it annoying when someone gives what's probably a really apt metaphor for the situation that people who aren't up to date on a specific terminology can barely understand?"

Eddie's brows narrow, but mostly to hide his snort of amusement. "I feel like I'm unfairly getting the brunt of a bunch of decisions made by a bunch of freshmen."

"Look, my point is that this is the kind of shit that no one expects to happen to them, ever. And you're not going to come back from that the same guy that you were before it. You're going to have to look at yourself in a different light, and there's going to be some things that you'll see that you won't like. But the great thing is - shit, man, you get to change them. You get to look at yourself and go no, I don't want that to be who I am, and I'm not going to let it. And yeah - the people that you couldn't save before you changed are going to haunt you. Maybe you'll always feel responsible. But the best thing is, you've got people on your side to remind you that you don't have to do any of it alone."

It's not a surprise that Steve sounds like he's talking from experience. It is a surprise that it makes Eddie feel… better. Makes him feel like he's not the only one who's freaking out about this, like someone else has not only gone through the same thing, but felt something similar.

"For the record," Steve says, very quietly, like he's not quite sure how to say this or where he's going with it. "It wasn't facing down the demobats that made you brave. It wasn't - redemption, or whatever, all right?"

Eddie feels caught out, like Steve's looked too closely at him and seen what he usually keeps all wrapped up and safe, like he knows the kind of stories that Eddie tells himself about the world, and the place he's thought he occupied in it this last week. "No? Then what was my redemption?"

"You didn't have one," Steve replies, and fuck, ouch. Steve must read something in his face, because he hurries to add, "You didn't need one. Every time you ran, you did exactly what you should have done, and when it came down to it you went with us to Mordor without hesitation. None of us ever thought you were a coward, man, you had nothing to prove to us."

"I did," is what comes out of his mouth, and he didn't realize until he said it that it's true, that he knows what he needs to tell Steve. "Look, I - I know in the grand scheme of all of this, high school doesn't really feel like it matters all that much anymore, but I was still a jerk. The way I treated Lucas wasn't all that different from what I've always said I was protecting those guys from, you know? Tearing him down, excluding him because he liked something we didn't think was cool. Took a murder rep and almost getting eaten to realize it, but, you know, I got there. I'm getting there."

Steve's looking at him like he's proud of him again, even after his little outburst, and it hits him even harder this time around. "You apologize to him?"

Eddie opens his mouth to say that he had, then closes it, frowning. "Uh. I mean, I told him I should have moved Hellfire and it wasn't okay the way I treated him? I'm not actually sure the sorry part made it out. But I will!"

Steve makes some kind of gesture that Eddie's going to interpret to mean there you go, but he doesn't say anything.

"Sorry," Eddie mutters, fingers twisting in the sheets. "For snapping at you."

Steve tips his head in acknowledgement. Doesn't say it's okay, doesn't say it isn't okay, just holds Eddie's gaze for a moment before he moves on.

Eddie is sharply, ridiculously grateful.

"I told the others they couldn't come over yet," Steve says. "They're probably going to invade tomorrow, though."

Eddie pulls in a breath and lets it out, slow and shaky, and very carefully unfolds himself more, stretching out his legs and letting his arms fall to his side. "Yeah. That's fine, I can get it together by tomorrow."

Steve's looking at him with these big, sad eyes, something like resignation in them.

"What?" Eddie asks.

"That's how I do it," Steve says. "When all this is going on - I just get it together, because I have to."

"What about when it's not going on?" He hadn't meant to ask that, he doesn't think, but it just slips out.

"Kind of feels like it's always going on," Steve says with a rueful little quirk to his smile, then shrugs. "I don't know, man, I'll get back to you when I've figured that out. But as far as I'm concerned, there's no wrong way to try to handle all this, all right?"

Eddie thinks about that for a moment. Then, "Who couldn't you save that you feel responsible for?"

He's not sure what possessed him to ask - maybe because he wants to give Steve the opportunity to be comforted over something the way Steve did for Eddie, maybe because he's too fucking curious for his own good, maybe because he selfishly wants to know how much from his own experience Steve was talking about. Still, he watches Steve closely, ready to back off if the question makes him shut down.

It doesn't. If anything, Steve looks like he was kind of expecting that.

"Barbara Holland."

Eddie frowns. "The girl that was killed by a chemical leak from Hawkins Lab? Nancy's friend?"

"Wasn't a chemical leak." Steve pushes his fingers through his hair. "It was a demogorgon, the very first one. Nancy and Tommy and Carol and Barb were all over at my house, and we were drinking and horsing around and shit. Barb cut her hand trying to shotgun a beer. Nance told her that she should head home, that Nancy was going to stay over. We all thought Barb left, but… she didn't. While we were all inside, the demogorgon grabbed her from my backyard, dragged her off to who knows where."

"Goddamn. That was, what, 1983?"

Steve hums an affirmative. "November 83, yeah."

All the way back then, and Eddie didn't have any idea this was going on. "How'd you know it was from your backyard?"

"Jonathan was out in the woods looking for Will, and he snapped some pictures of all of us. He caught Barb sitting alone at the pool, bleeding, with the demogorgon coming out of the woods behind her."

Eddie's brows slam down before he can help it. "Wait, that actually happened? I mean, everyone heard the rumor that Jonathan was a perv, lurking in people's yards and taking pictures through their windows, I just kind of figured it was exaggerated."

Steve gives a little laugh, short and humorless. "It was exaggerated. I don't think he did it again, but, yeah. Nicole caught him developing the pictures at the school. A couple of them were of Nancy getting undressed when she and I were in my bedroom. Nancy forgave him, though, said it ended up being a good thing considering what they found out because of it."

Eddie - doesn't really know what to think about that. "What about you?"

Steve wrinkles his nose. "I called him a perv and broke his camera."

Eddie's eyebrows shoot up. "You broke his camera?"

"I told you I really was a douchebag." Steve glances away from him, and Eddie can see the line of his jaw tighten a little. "I felt bad about it after everything, got him a new one."

"No, I meant - did you forgive him?"

Steve looks back at him, brows furrowed like he wasn't expecting that question.

Eddie's stomach clenches a little. "Steve," he says softly. "Has no one asked you that before?"

Steve's frowning still, and for a moment Eddie thinks he won't answer, then he says, "I haven't really talked about it with anyone who didn't already know about it. It's not - it's not like I have anything to forgive, you know? Nancy was the one undressing in the picture."

"Sure," Eddie agrees, biting his lip for a moment as he tries to decide if he wants to let this drop or to keep going. "But - it was your house, Steve. Your window, your bedroom. You were there, too."

Steve's quiet for a very long moment.

"It's not-" Eddie starts, then stops, considering. "You didn't ask to have someone take pictures of you like that. It doesn't make it okay just because you're both guys."

"No, that's not-" Steve stops, too, and Eddie wonders if as he said it, he realized that he was thinking something like that. "I guess I've just never really thought about it like that before. I was pissed because of Nancy, and when she let it go, I kind of figured I should, too."

"And now?" Eddie prompts.

Steve shrugs. "I still don't know. I'll talk to Robin about it, I guess." There's a pause, and then he freezes, seeming to realize what he just said. "Uh, not that-"

"Dude, it's fine," Eddie cuts him off with a laugh. "I'm not offended that you'd rather process that with someone you've known a little longer."

Steve shoots him a grateful little smile. "I'm going to go down and make dinner," he says. "You wanna come with?"

Eddie considers that for a moment. He's not sure he wants to be alone again, but - he's more sure he doesn't feel up for tackling the stairs, not even with Steve's help.

Especially with Steve's help. He needs a breather away from being pressed all close to him, particularly since he knows he's going to have to ask Steve to stay in the room with him again tonight.

He shakes his head. "I'm good up here. Just, uh. Leave the door open?"

Steve leaves the door open, and a couple of minutes after he goes downstairs, Eddie can hear music playing. Queen. It makes Eddie smile, makes him wonder if he'd normally put music on while he was cooking or if he'd done it specifically for Eddie. Either way, it makes something fond and warm settle in his chest.

Damn, Eddie's got it bad. He should be embarrassed, should be feeling too vulnerable and caught out after all of that, but he doesn't. He feels…

Safe. It's fucking with his head, so he tries not to focus on it too much.

Dinner is tomato soup and mac and cheese, split between them as they sit across from each other on the bed. Eddie eats half of each of his and then mixes them together, just to get Steve to make faces at him as he happily digs in.

"It's just like dunking grilled cheese into tomato soup, Steve!" he insists.

"Grilled cheese has a crunch that makes sense, that's just mush on top of mush," Steve replies, pointing his spoon at him as if for emphasis.

He can't get Steve to try it, but it doesn't really matter. After everything, it feels good just to mess around like this.

Steve clears their dishes away when they're done, then comes back and says, "All right, let's go."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "We're going where, exactly?"

"My room," Steve replies. "If we're sticking together again tonight, my bed's a lot better and it has my bat within reach."

For a moment, Eddie considers teasing him about calling it sticking together instead of what it is, but decides against it. For one, the first thing that'd came to his mind is to say what, trying to avoid making it sound like you're inviting Eddie The Freak Munson into your bed? which sounds perfectly light and teasing in his head, but would probably come out a little too serious, and he doesn't actually want an answer to that. For another, well. It just reminds him that sticking together is what it is.

Despite how chill Steve'd been this morning with Mike's reaction, despite that Eddie still can't seem to completely smash his hopes down, he knows what this is. The only reason that Steve Harrington slept in the same bed with him last night is because they're both beat to hell and can't sleep without someone there who understands what they've been through, and the only reason Steve's inviting him into his bed now is to try to ward off nightmares, or at least make any that crop up a little easier to deal with.

He hasn't even gotten up the courage yet to tell Steve that he thinks they might be soulmates, he can't let himself get too lost in believing it might be romantic.

So he just says, "Lead the way to your chambers, then, your Majesty."

Steve rolls his eyes at him, helps him out of bed and stays by his side as they head down the hall. Eddie only needs to lean on him a little, which makes him feel pretty damn good, and he's even up for heading into Steve's bathroom to get ready for bed first. There's a brand new toothbrush there, still in its packaging, and Eddie assumes it's for him, so he adds brushing his teeth to the list of activities he can manage on his own now.

They swap when Eddie's done, and he climbs into Steve's bed without waiting for him - mostly because he doesn't want to overexert himself, and because he knows which side of the bed Steve prefers to sleep on now, which. Is definitely not helping his hopes stay shoved down where they should be.

Steve leaves the bathroom door open a crack, just enough that he can hear him bustling around in there, can hear him humming to himself. It's pretty - Eddie can't place whatever it is, but Steve sounds good.

He shuts off the overhead light when he comes out of the bathroom, but leaves a lamp on.

"Sounds nice." Eddie yawns. "Didn't know you could sing."

"Humming isn't singing," Steve counters, but he gives him a soft little smile as he climbs into his side of the bed.

"What song is it?" Eddie asks, and feels his heart kick up a little when Steve scrunches his nose.

"You're gonna make fun of me."

"I won't!" Eddie insists.

Steve scratches his nose. "It's a kid's song, I think it's based on a poem. I learned it from Robin, and I'd sing it sometimes when they couldn't sleep after Starcourt."

Eddie should probably let it go so they can both get some sleep, but he's so eager to learn more about this world that was going on right under his nose that he can't help but ask, "After Starcourt?"

Steve hums an affirmative. "Remember I said it wasn't my first time having someone stay over in the aftermath? We usually check on each other for a while. That first time, it was mostly me and Nance, and we'd check in on Jonathan sometimes. She made me talk to Mike a few times."

Oh, shit. Eddie practically vibrates with the urge to pounce on that with all the glee of a cat distracted by a laser pointer, but - no, no, he has to stay strong, he -

"How'd that work out for you?"

Damn it.

Steve snorts. "He was barely twelve, so not all that bad. It was when we all thought El was still gone, and he just - he really missed her, and Nancy didn't know how to talk to him. I told her to ask him how Will was doing. Mike's a little asshole, but he cares so much about his friends, you know? Asking about Will meant she wasn't asking him about his feelings, she was asking about his friend. She made me come with her, and it kind of worked. I dunno. We talked about what they might be feeling, what they used to do for fun, and how they should get back to it. Nancy reminded him how much they loved that game you guys are all obsessed with, so they started playing again."

Eddie looks up at him, remembering looking up at Steve Harrington in the comic and games shop, watching him try to figure out what to get Will Byers for a going away present, and thinking about what a jackass he was.

God, Eddie's never been more glad to have been so wrong.

Steve still takes the silence as a cue to keep going, though, and he runs his fingers through his hair. "The second time, Dustin just showed up at my house, and the rest of the little shitheads followed pretty quick. They had movie nights and invaded my pool and ate everything in my kitchen, and sometimes they'd sleep over. Dustin was here more often than he wasn't for a while."

Eddie tilts his head, glad to be back on more even ground. "What'd you guys even do?"

Steve shrugs one shoulder. "I dunno, stuff. I drove Dustin to his first school dance, helped him get ready, watched Star Wars, talked about girls and his science camp and my job searching. He was away at camp when I started working at Scoops, but I used the back entrance to get the rest of them into the movies. Lucas and I played ball, Max'd come over and we'd make dinner sometimes."

"You really are friends with them." It's soft and awed, but Eddie knows the moment it comes out that it doesn't sound like he meant it to. "I mean - being the babysitter and the paladin's one thing. It's obvious that you step up when shit's going down and they need you. But you're still there, even when the world's not ending."

Steve smiles at him, a little pleased, a little surprised. "I try, anyway. Hit or miss on it now that they're all in high school." Another shrug. "Anyway, it - after Starcourt, Robin and Dustin and Erica and I were in pretty close touch for a bit. Robin stayed over most nights, and Dustin when he could, and Erica'd say she was fine but she'd walkie us a lot, 'specially the first week or two. I got in the habit of singing it for them, and it seemed to work."

Eddie just watches him. He doesn't have nearly enough mental power to try to process the way Steve keeps getting to him, digging his way deeper and deeper under his skin - barely has enough to acknowledge the want that lingers on his tongue, sharp and bittersweet. They've built a family, this little rag-tag party, and Eddie wants to keep being folded into it so bad he can taste it - just as much as the very thought scares the shit out of him.

"Will you sing it for me?"

"You will a hundred percent make fun of me," Steve protests, but it isn't a no.

"I won't," Eddie promises softly.

Steve sighs, the same way Eddie's heard him do right before he gives into one of the others, and Eddie can't stop his wide smile.

"Close your eyes, at least," Steve insists, and Eddie obeys.

There's a few moments of silence, as if Steve is hyping himself up, and then his humming starts again.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly, lavender green," Steve croons softly.

The absurdity of the situation hits him hard - he's in Steve Harrington's bed, while the man himself sings him a lullaby about lavender that includes the words dilly dilly. He manages not to let out a slightly hysterical giggle, but his face must do something, because Steve's singing cuts off.

"See?" Steve demands.

"I'm not!" Eddie protests. He lets his hand move, fingertips just barely pressing against Steve's arm. "I'm not, I promise. Please?"

There's a moment of silence, and Eddie struggles to keep his eyes closed and wait patiently, but then Steve starts humming again. It goes on a little longer this time, like he's either skipping past some things or making sure Eddie's face isn't going to do whatever it was doing before, but then he starts singing again.

"I told myself, dilly dilly, I told me so."

There's more lyrics, but Eddie stops paying attention to them, feeling himself relax more and more. It's not about the words, really, it's - it's about the melody, the repetitive flow. It's Steve's voice, lovely and soft, it's knowing someone's with you, someone who's been through the same things you have, someone who cares. After everything, knowing you're not alone.

"Let the birds sing, dilly dilly, and the lambs play," Steve sings, as Eddie's limbs grow heavy and sleep hovers so closely he could almost melt into it. "We shall be safe, dilly dilly, out of harm's way."

It's not about the words.

"Lavender's green, dilly dilly, lavender's blue. If you love me, dilly dilly, I will love you."

God, Eddie is so fucked.

The bit about Nancy making Steve talk to Mike after season one is from one of the Stranger Things free comic book day issues, because I saw it and immediately loved its dorkiness. The song/nursery rhyme Steve is referencing is this, for anyone curious!

-----

Part 17

I've got the next two parts mostly written up, and we'll be diving into the start of the soulmate reveals.

Tag list (always happy to add more, even if I'm still figuring these out!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #steddie soulmate au #soulmate au #stranger things fic #stranger things #one day eddie will stop comparing himself to the group thats been doing this for years #but today is not that day #i have a lot of feelings about eddie's line where he says 'that's what ive discovered about myself this week i run'#and how he has to reconcile it with his understanding of himself #eddie you are not a coward

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yesimwriting · 10 months

Note

Hi! You asked us if you should keep the tension or let the bubble pop and all I have to say is KEEP YHR TENSION. 1. It does seem more realistic bc it doesn’t seem like the reader is the kind of person who would do that to her friends, and 2. The casually intimacy they all display with the bubbling tension of something more constantly keeps me going on the hard days, I NEED IT‼️ Like desperately (im so normal about this fic and is in no way unhealthy attached to it, why’d you ask?🙂*eye twitch*/j kinda) this actually got me thinking I wonder if other people ever notice how casually intimate they are? Like Stu’s naturally touchy but the way he dotes on her and the way Billy is just different from normal Billy when he’s with her,like not even just Randy, tate, and sid like other people who have known them for a while but they aren’t friends, like aquatints I’d love to see that

I’m sorry this spiraled, anyways all im saying is i personally love the tension, I love this story and I love you and you’re brilliance *MWAH <3* sorry for any spelling mistakes I was kinda rushing

a/n this ask is so sweet!! <3 also love the chance to expand on the final girl universe!!

i love this ask especially bc i feel like billy and stu have gotten so relaxed around final girl fic y/n that she probably just thinks they're like that and doesn't pick up on anyone finding it different 😭

the fic under the cut is in the final girl fic universe but it isn't a part of the main fic so it can be read as a stand alone

i think all the context needed is in the ask :) anyway here are some moments that made the people around billy, stu, and y/n raise their eyebrows a little 😭

----

"Billy." That's all it takes to snap him out of sludgy version of auto pilot he lets take over on days like this. Days that drag on in their mundaneness in a way that makes it hard for him to keep up the version of himself he's crafted for public display.

He turns his head, a strange type of fondness pinching his chest a little harder than usual thanks to the fact that you've saved him from whatever the peaked-in-high-school-quarterback-in-the-making was droning on about. Some party Billy would dip out of at the last minute or a recap of his last game.

You're smiling at him, casual but warm. He can take your appearance in more openly now than he did this morning when you were rushing to class. You're in a tank top that's a little low cut, paired with a cardigan that seems thin for today's weather. You're also wearing a skirt that's short enough to make him wish he had insisted on picking you up this morning instead of letting you walk.

Maybe he could get you to agree to a ride home. He could suggest it casually, bring up the idea of getting something to eat after school. Today's your least favorite lunch day, so it'd be an even easier sell than usual.

"Hey," he finally says when you're close enough, keeping his tone indifferent.

You stop farther than usual, eyes darting towards the walking varsity letter. It's a shift in attention that has the potential to jab at him, but the stiffness in your demeanor keeps Billy from spiraling in that direction.

"Uh...guess what?" A rhetorical question, probably an attempt to keep yourself from seeming too excited in front of the intruder. "Ms. Johnson paired us up for group projects today and this time she was a lot less mean to me...so that's cool."

Billy can almost feel the details that he's not getting because you're not alone. It's enough to make his apathetic feelings about the unwanted third party take on a violent tinge.

He wants to hear you talk more than usual today because it forces him to be present. It makes the aggravating need for patience go down easier. "So no more cheeto fingers?"

For a brief second, Billy's feels the comment in his chest. A call back to a joke you had only made a few times awhile ago. There's a chance you won't remember. A chance he remembers more than--you laugh, it comes out quick and clearly takes you by surprise.

You clamp your mouth shut, eyes glancing to the left again. "No more cheeto fingers on my notes or on my final project. I got paired with Stephanie McDonald, who I don't know for sure won't do the same thing, but she gave me a hair tie during PE one time so she doesn't seem the type."

Billy makes a mental note of the name, not being able to recall anything specific about anyone named Stephanie, but that doesn't mean he doesn't know her. It's Woodsboro, even if he's never met her he'll be able to find out something if he needs to. "Classy."

You tilt your head, eyes briefly squinting in that way that means you're trying to decide if he's teasing you or not. "You might be making fun of me, but she didn't even let me give it back."

"Not making fun of you." He shakes his head once, keeping his expression innocent, silently promising that he could never.

"Nah, that seems nice." A new voice that has you angling your body closer to the lockers. Billy fights the instinct to glare, wondering why he didn't give the guy a reason to leave as soon as he saw you. "Johnson's AP history, right?"

You nod instinctually, a small dip of your chin Billy can't fully read. "Yeah."

Billy knows the guy well enough, but they're not exactly friends. The guy's name is somewhere in Billy's head. After a second of thinking, all he can come up with is that it probably starts with a D. Damian? Or is Damian the other football player that's in his math class and always nods at Billy in the hallway?

"Cool," varsity jacket says it in a way that makes the word feel void of its typical meaning. Billy isn't sure where he's going with it, can't remember if he's one of those self proclaimed jocks that use high school as a four year power trip or just a guy that likes football. "You tutor?" The guy tilts his head, Billy presses his nails into the skin of his palm to resist the urge to step closer to you. "'Cause I wouldn't mind learning a thing or two from you."

The blatant line is finished with a bit of a laugh. Billy wants to role his eyes--a cop out in case you reject him. A built in safety net that makes it seem like he's almost making fun of you so he can laugh off your reaction if you don't instantly drop to his feet.

Your eyebrows draw together and even though your lips are neutrally set, something about your eyes makes it feel like you're frowning. Anger or annoyance for the sake of someone else is rare, Billy doesn't know how to handle the spike of defensiveness he feels. He's used to passiveness, never caring about who's messed with.

"Ignore him," the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself, "He has a hard enough time keeping his GPA high enough to not get benched."

Billy doesn't know how factual that dig was, but the guy's face falls enough for Billy to assume his guess was accurate enough. The satisfaction of being right is nothing compared to what he feels when he looks at you.

Your lips are still pressed together, now in a way that's more amused than sad and your eyes are wide. The comment wasn't the kind of insult that Billy finds particularly cruel or hurtful but he knew you'd find it biting. Your reaction's enough to ease the tightening feeling in his chest without fully alleviating it. He needs to get you away before the guy says something else and more of Billy's control slips.

"You seen Stu?"

Billy knows the answer. "Yeah, this morning before homeroom." You stand a little straighter, one hand gripping the strap of your backpack. "His next class is next to mine, so I'll probably see him again in a second, why?"

"Good," he mumbles, reaching into his locker and grabbing a random notebook, "Can you give his notes back to him? He needs them back before fifth period and I missed him this morning."

Not true in the slightest, Billy knows Stu will go with it anyway. "Sure." You take the notebook, fingers brushing against his. "I'll go find him. See you later."

Billy nods as you turn away, "See you."

You're now gone. The guy who can't take a hint is still there. Maybe he's waiting for some kind of apology or explanation. Billy's turning on him does seem random considering that most of their conversation has revolved around Billy placidly agreeing to whatever. Instead of bringing anything up, varsity letter laughs. Billy raises his eyebrows, silently asking what that's about.

"Look, man, I get it, she's cute." That heavy feeling that Billy's always struggling to work with rises. The dark feeling twists its way around his lungs, making it hard to breathe without giving into impulse. "But she's so...nice and school...y." Cute, nice, and school-y. Those are the adjectives he's using to describe you. Billy was right to assume his grades are suffering. "It'd be like hooking up with a middle school try hard. Not worth whatever you're putting on."

The anger grows in density, a physical force expanding in his chest in a way that borders on painful. Rationality attempts to lighten the pressure, reminding him that it's a good thing this guy doesn't want anything to do with you. Logic tries to convince him that his focus should be on hardening himself, on making this guy and everyone else think that you're just another friend to him and that he's fully committed to Sidney.

Billy shuts his locker, harder than he meant to. "Good thing she'd never fuck you then."

The last of his patience and civility has been scorched, leaving nothing but bitter ash in its place. Billy walks away, already trying to think of an excuse to find you and Stu.

----

Stu turns angles his head to the side, just enough to look at you without really looking. You're content, watching some trailer with a measured level of investment. He focuses on that as you absentmindedly extend a hand to grab a few pieces of popcorn from the bag that he's still holding.

You're happy, he's here with you, that should be enough. It's no one's fault that more people that both of you know are here than he expected. That's the hard part of Woodsboro, one slip in front of the wrong person and the rumor mill will have an exaggerated version of events spread to over half the school by the next day. The guy that glommed onto Stu the second he noticed him in the theatre definitely falls into the category of wrong person.

Jacob whatever-his-last-name-is is a try hard. He's been searching for some kind of in, some kind of leverage on anyone that seems even slightly cooler than him since middle school. This need to be bigger and better has forced him into a permanent act that even good old, 'high school stereotypes are bullshit' Randy finds off putting.

You hadn't looked particularly bothered when Jacob stood up and waved Stu over, forcing the two of you to sit closer to the center of the theatre than Stu wanted. After realizing that the screening he had expected to be empty on a Saturday afternoon was crowded, Stu wanted to sit towards the back. It was a strategic goal, it would have given him the permission to be a little more openly touchy.

Stu had to actively focus on not holding it against you. You didn't complain or give any indication of feeling ambushed because you're nice to a point of fault.

"What'd you think of that one?" Stu shrinks down in an attempt to make whispering to you easier.

Your eyes shift away from the screen and towards him. "Hm..." You're debating, analyzing, "Not as good as the one before, but it doesn't look bad." You reach forward, taking another piece of popcorn and popping it into your mouth. "You?"

Honestly, Stu had been more focused on you than the trailers, but this last one had felt like a flat attempt to balance out horror with something artsy. But the chance to get to you is more appealing than just bashing a movie with a title he can't remember. "This one is so much better than the last one."

You snap your head away from the screen. "No." He presses his lips together to keep from grinning. What do you mean 'no'? You asked for an opinion. "You just want to start an argument."

He lets out a breath that's meant to take the place of a laugh. Is he getting that predictable? That transparent? "I never want to fight with you." You narrow your eyes, skeptical. "If Billy was here, he'd agree with me."

Your lips pull together in what's almost a pout. For a second, you're quiet, one hand coming to your opposite arm, smoothing the exposed skin quickly, like you're trying to keep warm. "He wouldn't and you know it."

"Okay," Stu's voice is suspiciously innocent, "We'll call him when he gets back from that thing with his dad."

Stu knows that Billy's dad tends to keep him out until late on weekend trips to the boat. When it gets too late to fish, he likes to keep them out on the water, spewing bullshit about Billy's mom because Billy can't escape.

"What are we going to do? Describe the movies over the phone or...?"

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging and letting his shoulder bump into yours, "Sounds like you're scared."

You grin, adjusting in your seat to make it easier to cross your arms. "Fine. If it's gonna be like that, we'll call him."

You're cold. You have to be. "Told you to bring a jacket," he sighs, already unzipping his hoodie.

"I'm fine, it's--" Too late. The jacket's already off and only somewhat awkwardly being pushed onto your lap. You touch one of the sleeves, oblivious to the way Stu struggles to look at you. "C'mon, Stu, now you'll be cold."

It's said so softly, so earnestly, Stu has to fight the urge to squirm. He can never tell if the nervous energy he feels makes him want to draw you in closer or force you away.

He ignores the touch of warmth rushing to his face. "I'm good." Stu shakes his head once, almost dismissively. "Run hot," he mumbles, finally glancing at you before nudging you with his elbow, "You know that."

You roll your eyes, smiling more than you mean to as you shrug on the jacket. The fabric is warm and criminally soft. "Totally." He'd call you out on your sarcasm, but you're already pulling on the jacket. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

"Sure you don't want to pick up some twizzlers before the movie starts?" You pause for a second too long and Stu knows that the suggestion has hit. Your eyes had lingered on the red plastic while buying tickets even though you insisted you didn't want them after accepting the fact that Stu wasn't going to let you pay for anything.

Scratching the back of your wrist, you give in with a sigh. "Okay." You start reaching for your purse. "I'll grab some." Stu reaches into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out some cash. "Stu."

"What?" He already knows where this is going. You're always trying to pay your own way. Every once in awhile, he lets you win just so that he can justify buying you something else. This is one of those things he probably should let go, but the additional shadow has already downed his mood. "I want them more than you do."

You sigh, pulling your purse onto your lap. "I have twizzler money."

"Oh, I'm sure, but my dad left me a bunch of cash before his latest trip and you're too pretty to buy your own twizzlers." Your resolve is cracking, like you often do whenever Stu mentions his parents. "C'mon, get me some milk duds, too."

Another sigh, the sound sharper as you let go of your purse. "You are so annoying." Stu smiles at the lack of bite in your tone as you stand, finally accepting the cash and putting it into the jacket's pocket.

"You love me, I keep you supplied in twizzlers."

You gasp, jaw dropping in offense. "Asshole."

He laugh as you turn away, "Remember the milk duds."

You glare, passive aggressively setting your bag on his lap. Stu takes it, adjusting his hold on it comfortably as you walk down the aisle.

"That's a fun thing you've got going there."

Stu can feel himself immediately tense even though Jacob's comment should feel innocent enough. There's just something about the way he says it, the hint of an edge implying more. Stu should be bothered because Jacob's the kind of guy who could turn this into a story for Tatum because he wants to have something over Stu. Instead, Stu's feeling defensive over Jacob looking at you like that.

Stu shrugs, "It's just Y/n."

Jacob's eyes briefly leave the screen before refocusing. "That was friendly even by your standards."

Feeling even more defensive over you and the way he acts around you, Stu sits up straighter. "We're friends."

"Yeah," Jacob concedes, amusement in his voice that Stu doesn't quite get, "And she's turning you into a softie."

That hits him in a different way. Sure, Stu's nice to you, nicer than he is to some guy that doesn't get that no one likes him. Stu can also admit that he's touchy with you and likes taking any excuse to be close to you. But he's not soft about it.

"What?"

Jacob laughs, the sound restrained, like he's scared he'll forget where he is and give in fully. "You're cold, here's my jacket."

Stu scoffs. That wasn't--you're--whatever, it's not like Stu cares about what Jacob thinks. He'll do what he wants, treat you however he feels like. You're the only one that comes close to getting him outside of Billy, Jacob could never get that.

"Whatever, man." Stu mumbles, hoping that you'll come back before he can get too caught in his own head. The lack of aggression in his own comment surprised him and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep it up.

Another preview begins to play on the screen and for a brief second, it feels like that might be the end of the conversation. "If my friends looked like that, I wouldn't mind acting like that either."

Stu tightens his grip on the arm rest. "Maybe if you didn't make everything a thing, you'd have some."

"You're the one holding her purse," Jacob mumbles, attention turning back to the screen as if that proved something.

Stu's knuckles strain white. There's nothing sensitive about the way he feels about you. It's not Stu's fault he can't pursue right now the way he wants to, and if this asshole knew half the stuff you let him get away with he wouldn't be so smug. "Fuck off."

Maybe the comment could have been played off if Stu's tone had been lighter, more relaxed. But he didn't. It landed with the same intensity a threat would, and Stu's not completely sure he didn't mean it that way.

Soft. Hard to call someone that's pulling out your insides soft. He'd have to wait for Billy to get back, talk the idea up to him and explain why someone they've tolerated on and off since middle school deserves a call. It'd be worth it, though, because should they really leave someone that talks about you like that? Why shouldn't Stu treat you in a way that's totally normal?

"Hey," you whisper, slipping back into your seat, "Guess who got the last box of milk duds." Stu's attention shifts to you, that bloody itch becoming a lot more bearable as you smile a him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he eases, "Commercials are just getting worse."

You stop tearing into the top of the box enough to look at Stu and wrinkle your nose. "I feel you." You shake out a few pieces of chocolate into your cupped palm. Stu expects you to take them, but you don't. You just extend both hands, the box and the candy you had gotten out. When Stu doesn't react, you prompt him, "Here."

Stu moves his hand, letting you spill them into his palm, the edge of your pinky briefly resting against his. The gesture is so gentle he almost feels like he's being suffocated by it. Stu takes his hand back silently. If you notice the change in his demeanor, you don't comment on it. Instead, you just take your bag back and hand him the unopened pack of twizzlers and box.

The latest commercial comes to an end and the screen fades to the start of the opening credits. "Okay," you whisper, "Last chance to predict if this movie's going to be good or not."

"I picked it," Stu says, moving his hand enough to have the milk duds roll into each other, "Why would I think that it's bad?" He's not acting normal enough, he can feel it. "Why would you come if you think it'd be bad?" A weak question, considering that Stu knows sometimes you purposefully watch the worst movies you can find for entertainment.

You don't point out that sometimes trashy movies are worth the suffering, you just shrug. "I don't know, I kinda just wanted to hang out with you."

Something in Stu's chest cracks. His face feels warmer than it did a second ago. He's not one to feel mushy or look into tone the way Billy does from time to time, but you had said it so innocently.

"Aw," he hums, finally coming back to himself, "You like me."

"Shut up," your response is immediate, "Movie's starting."

He leans down, placing a hand over the one you're laying on the arm rest. "You like me."

You roll your eyes, "Give me a twizzler."

----

He knew. Even when Stu was still insisting that they were capable of keeping it together enough to keep the circle of people small, Billy knew that the night would turn into a party.

Billy's annoyed and slowly becoming genuinely irritated thanks to the beer and pot mixing together on an empty stomach and the drowsiness that came for him with no warning. Everything feels louder now, heavier.

He shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose harder than he should. Another 20 minutes, half an hour tops, and he'll get Stu to start shutting it all down.

The only good thing about nights like these is that you crash with them. You always choose to sober up at Stu's even though your mom doesn't seem like a hard ass when it comes to drinking. You still don't want her or your practical step dad seeing you drunk and you can't help that other people are smoking, which is something you've made clear your mom would kill you over.

It'll take some time getting you into bed. Unless you're drunk enough, you'll offer to sleep on the couch, like the three of you haven't justified sleepovers before. Sometimes drunk you has a tendency to get a second wind out of nowhere. If you get all hyper on him then it'll take even longer.

"Billy!" He opens his eyes and you're there.

He smiles easily, watching as you walk towards him. "Hey."

You stretch out an arm slowly, open palm gently pushing his arm. There's something sluggish about the movement and something else in the way you nearly miss him all together. Are you that drunk? Stu said he'd watch your drinks.

"Hay...is for horses," you state blankly, almost like some external force had possessed you to get the thought out coherently. And then you burst into a fit of tired giggles.

Billy presses his lips together. He knows you, knows how you get when you're not handling your alcohol. This isn't exactly that. It's more like you at the beginning of...

Ugh. You didn't--Stu didn't--With a sigh, Billy grabs your arm and glances around the room. Everyone's caught up in their world, and even though Sid's around here somewhere, there's nothing inherently suspicious about Billy checking on you. Especially while you're like this.

Still, better safe than sorry when Billy's not in the mood for self control. He tugs you forward, you follow as he leads you two to a nearby corner. You barely protest when Billy angles you so that your back's against the wall.

Billy squeezes your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your head so that you have to look him in the eye.

"Hey--" You mumble, protesting a second too late, "Oh, I just," you laugh, "--I said the horse thing."

Great. Your eyes are tinged red and considering the fact that Billy saw you take a few shots earlier...

He told you at the start of the night to pick one, and the easy decision for everyone had been for you to stick with alcohol. Drunk you can handle crowds and the general party atmosphere. High you is clingy and easily startled and usually more complicated to deal with.

Billy watches you intently. It only takes you a second to still in his hold, staring at him in a way that makes it harder to keep his edge. "You're high." It's not an accusation, it's a statement. "And drunk."

Your eyebrows pinch together briefly. It'd be easy to lie for the sake of it. "Not high," you defend weakly, "I smoked a little, but not--it wasn't that--I'm good. Not high."

He sighs, letting go of your face. "I told you to stick to one."

"You and Stu smoke and drink at the same time all the time." Billy just stares blankly. It's not a strong defense, but it's all you have. "'S'not a big deal."

Not a big deal now. Just wait until later when it's hitting you harder and tomorrow morning, when you're hungover. Then it'll be a big deal and it'll be his big deal.

"No?" You tilt your chin down in a barely there nod, trying to solidify your stance. "You do whatever you want now?"

You sigh, lips pulling downwards in a slight pout. "It's not like that."

"Who gave it to you?"

Your eyes won't meet his. "I don't--" You cut yourself off, still aware enough that trying to hide things at this point is the quickest way to make things take a turn for the worst right now. "Stu let me use his--a little--but it wasn't like that. It was only a little."

Yeah, considering how red your eyes are and how much slurring and concentration it took for you to get through that, Billy really doubts it was as little as you're trying to convince him. "You're going to feel sick tomorrow."

To be fully honest, you can see that, a tiny bit of off-ness already starting to pull at the edge of your current buzz. You also don't love the way the usual giddiness of alcohol is blending with the easy uncertainty of your high. But Billy doesn't need to know that right now.

"'M okay." True enough, since you're not actively spiraling, "But I believe you."

He hasn't eased and a part of you is now starting to feel bad. You know you're not the easiest person to deal with when you're like this, but you also don't think you've done anything particularly annoying. His sour mood is starting to make what's wrong about your buzz feel magnified. Yeah, Billy told you to stick to one thing but he didn't make it sound like it was a big deal to him.

You swallow once, ignoring how dry your mouth feels. "C'mon." Billy's still close, within grabbing distance. The second you realize that it'd be easy to touch him, you reach out and place a hand on his arm. "Don't be mad."

He tenses under your touch, but you don't move your hand away. "Thought we didn't listen to each other." You half-sigh-half-groan as you drop your forehead against Billy's chest. He doesn't push you off, which has to be a good sign.

Billy places a palm on your back, rubbing soothing circles against the fabric of your shirt. "Let's get some water."

That feels okay enough, so you straighten, nodding once. "Okay."

He keeps a hand on your back, leading you back towards the main area of the party and into the kitchen. You're quiet as you walk, instinctually following Billy without question.

"Hey, I was looking for you--" Stu cuts himself off as soon as he sees Billy's expression. "You guys good?"

You nod placidly, "'M good, he's--"

"You gave her some?"

Stu holds his hands up in defense, "She was begging for it."

Begging is definitely an exaggeration. You want to explain, to defend the situation and take just enough blame to keep the peace without making yourself look like the bad guy. The words jam themselves in your head, twisting until they're in such a knot that all you can manage to get out is, "Nuh-uh."

Stu turns to glare at you, "So when I'm the bad guy it's all 'please' and 'I thought we were best friends' and 'it'll be our secret' but the second it goes a little bad you run to Bill--"

"Didn't run," you defend, but it doesn't matter, it's like you didn't say anything.

"You told her not to tell me?"

"No." The single syllable is so urging you can almost imagine that the question sobered him up. "I didn't say that."

There's a weird wave of tension between them, so thick and tangible a small part of you can't believe that the rest of the party continued, unaffected. You get why Stu snapped back to normal so quickly. "Guys," you try, even though you have no idea where you're going with this, "I just--I asked--asked like a lot--but I didn't beg. And it's--" You squeeze your eyes shut, really wishing you had been better at hiding your high. "It's not worth fighting over." Squinting your eyes open, you cross your arms across your stomach, hoping it'll make you seem more awake. "I love you guys, 'm good, let's just chill out for a second."

Billy and Stu both blink, exchanging a look that you don't get. You know you wouldn't get it if you were sober, either. It's one of their moments, a silent exchange you can't imagine anyone else ever getting.

Stu breaks the silence with a laugh. "She's way more out of it than I thought." You glare at that, not finding anything funny in what you said. You were nice, you diffused the tension. They're such assholes. And you always hate when they talk about you like you're not right there.

You glare. Maybe ditching them's still an option. They'd eventually accuse you of pouting, but there's a chance it'd be worth the future teasing. You could find Sid and Tate again, hang out until you calmed down.

"Aw," Stu hums, reaching for you, "She's pouting."

You push at the hand on your shoulder, too tired and distracted to be good at getting him off of you. "Am. Not." Stu squeezes harder. Normally, that'd just get you to fight back more openly, but now your stomach feels tight and things are starting to feel too warm. "Stu, knock it off--I'm nauseous."

Billy presses his hand against your back, the pressure comforting. "Give her a minute."

Stu lets go but makes a point of staying close. "You okay, sweetheart?"

Nodding slowly, you focus on feeling the words coming out of your mouth. "Yeah, yeah."

"You need to step out? Get some air?"

You shake your head once. You're okay, stable. "I'm good."

Billy's hand moves up and down your back gently. "You need to drink water."

The fighting risk is gone now. You should be completely happy, but the conflict rubbed you the wrong way and you're starting to feel like you might need space from them. "I kinda want to look for Sidney and Tatum."

"C'mon, cutie." Stu takes your hand gently, squeezing it softly. "Don't be like that." You're torn between arguing that you're not being like anything and telling them that they started it. "Do what you want, but no one's going to want to put up with you like this."

The comment stings more than it should. It's been mentioned before, that you're the the lightweight, the one that can't handle their substances and takes over without meaning to. Never cruelly, but it still hurts. "Mean."

"Not that mean," Stu pulls on your hand, "Because you love us."

You roll your eyes, hating past you for letting that come out. "Not right now."

Stu starts walking forward, you follow without complaining. "Don't say things you don't mean."

Billy's stays close as you walk, one hand on your back as you're guided to the kitchen. There are some people lingering around the fridge and the bar, but it's a lot less crowded than the main living room.

You stop at the island counter, moving to push yourself onto it with no warning. It takes Billy less than a second to pick up on what you want, he keeps a hand on your waist to stabilize you as you sit.

"Here." Stu hands you a glass filled with ice water.

You take a few long sips before setting it down next to you.

"Better?" It worked a little too well, and a part of you hates them for it. You reluctantly nod. "Told you."

More like Billy told you, but you're not opening that up again.

A small half-scoff-half-laugh snaps the three of you out of your bubble. Stu turns his head towards a semi-familiar blonde holding a beer bottle, "What?"

"Nothing." The voice is also familiar. A girl named Marley that used to hang around freshman year. "Just remembering the first time I got high and freaked out, you told me to get it together."

You crane your neck to look at the stranger, unsure if her comment's meant to attack Stu or you. "I'm not freaking out."

"Yeah," Stu defends, placing a comforting hand on your knee, "It's just water, Marley, if that's an issue, go be bitter somewhere else."

The girl scoffs, "Not bitter, just different."

You soften a little at that. Maybe she hadn't meant to come off as that hostile.

Stu shrugs, "I've grown." You watch the exchange curiously, wondering how well they know each other. There's a chance they met in kindergarten or on the first day of middle school or in some random sophomore class. Sometimes living in a small town that you didn't grow up in is the constant fear of becoming a third wheel in a matter of seconds. "In more ways than one."

Marley pretends to scoff, "Yeah, I'm out." She holds her hands up in a display of surrender before walking away.

"You know she used to be obsessed with me."

There's a 50-50 chance he's exaggerating. A more sober, more adjusted you would be able to make an educated guess, but right now you can't and for whatever reason that twists your stomach. You reach for your glass, taking a few sips to stabilize yourself.

"He's delusional," Billy corrects, voice so low you think you might be the only one that hears it. "She used to hang around, mainly for Sidney and Tatum, but never stuck." You nod absentmindedly. "No one else did before you."

The comment is small, muttered like saying it felt like pulling teeth. You smile regardless, way more warmed by it than you should be. Billy finally looks back at you. For a second, you let yourself openly watch him. A wave of casual drowsiness hits you with no warning, so you lean forward, resting your forehead against Billy's shoulder.

"You okay, angel?" Stu places a hand on your back. "Jealousy making you feel a little sick?"

You let out a breath that's almost a laugh as you force yourself to straighten. "You're right," you look at Billy, "He is delusional."

"Hey," Stu makes a point of poking you in the shoulder, "Don't be mean."

"You're right, I'm totally obsessed with you and--" A yawn breaks your sentence into two, "Close to bursting into jealous rage."

Stu's fingertips brush up and down your arm. "You're staying over, right?"

You nod, "Mhm, if that's okay."

He almost rolls his eyes. You're always prone to formality, always wanting to make sure that you're not bothering anyone. "I'd never kick you out of bed, sweetheart." You try to glare at him, but you're too tired to seem bothered. "You should go lay down for a little, I'm going to start kicking people out."

Hm. You are tired, but you never like being the first to go, the first to head upstairs and be left alone. You're about to protest, insist that you're fine when Billy speaks up, "I'll go, too." Billy straightens, holding out a hand to help you hop off the counter. "Over it."

You take his hand, getting off the counter with minimal complications. Billy moves an arm around your shoulder, deciding that that'd be the quickest way to help you get to the stairs.

#final girl fic #scream x reader #scream 1996 #stu macher x reader #stu macher #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #poly! ghostface #ghostface x reader #poly!ghostface x reader

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