#i sniff at things and then bite them real hard

[spotsupstuff]

me eating your art + interpretations + headcanons furiously How are you so correct about everything always

GJDSKLAJGLKSDMCKLMLKG JESUS CHRIST LIKE A SHREDDER well i was born...! with a brain.......!!!!! in europe......... matured to the point i can confidently say "fuck it we ball" and make the interpretations spin around what makes me happy i guess LIGMšLKLAšKLGKCSL IDK MAN

#Spot says stuff #i sniff at things and then bite them real hard #ALSO im so sorry its taking me so long to get to ur request waugh!!!!!! #im just kind of standing with my hands on my hips trying to figure out how the fuck am i gonna translate your masterpiece of artwork + clrs #-into my minimalistic piece of zoomin shit style i am WORKIN on it the gears in the head are turnin i swear they are

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two

A small note: if you would like to be added to the tagging list please ask in a reply to the post, I won't check elsewhere.

Eddie’s sitting on the couch. He’s staring into space, a couch cushion clutched tight to his chest.

Steve creeps in after Robin, hears her say, “Eddie?” softly, presumably so she doesn’t startle him.

He’s sitting in the dark, and they both just leave it that way. Probably an unspoken understanding that they don’t want to unsettle Eddie.

They sit down either side of him, Robin rubbing at his back. Steve keeps his hands to himself, not sure what will be welcome, and even less sure what the fuck he should say. Robin’s just better at this sort of stuff than Steve, maybe because she’s a girl or whatever, but she definitely has the emotional intelligence half of the brain.

Steve doesn’t know if there’s anything he even can say in a situation like this.

Eddie’s eyes are red and his face is wet, and he doesn’t move or look at either of them.

Eventually, Robin speaks gently, “Eddie, we can’t stay here.”

Steve figures whoever did live here probably cleared out when everything went to shit. He’s kind of glad; has no fucking idea how he’d explain away Eddie Munson, possible cult leader and serial killer, breaking into their house.

Steve doesn’t think Eddie’s going to say anything, but he does, after a minute, he nods, and says in a croaky voice, “I want to see Wayne.”

“Yeah, of course,” Robin agrees quickly, “we can do that, right Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, trying to sound sure and confident with that, when Eddie flinches. Visibly flinches. Turning away, shuffling closer to Robin’s end of the couch. And, okay.

Robin looks at him over Eddie’s head. Steve shrugs. Robin shrugs back. No idea.

Steve carefully, making no quick movements, moves his hand in front of his mouth, mimes using the walkie. Robin nods.

Steve jogs out to the car, walkie’s everyone real quick so they can stop looking. The others have already woken Wayne up, discovered that Eddie wasn’t there, and then gone looking for Eddie, so they’re going to head back there and wait for Steve and Robin to bring Eddie over. Explain to Wayne that Eddie’s safe so they don’t leave him worrying in the meantime.

Steve creeps back in, hoping Robs has made some progress getting Eddie moving. She hasn’t, and Steve peeks around the corner, listening. Robin is still rubbing at Eddie’s back, but he’s talking, “didn’t make any sense to come here. It’s all wrong. It all looks wrong it’s...not how we had it. Our stuffs not here,” Eddie sniffs, his voice breaking, “I thought I’d find them here.”

And then Eddie is sobbing, face buried into the cushion, sobbing so hard his whole body is hitching. He’s making noises that tear at Steve, it’s one of the worst things Steve has ever seen, such an outpouring of grief. Eddie’s so loud with it, almost wailing, barely able to breathe his chest is so wracked with it.

Steve feels absolutely useless, but Robin’s looking for him over the back of the couch, and as soon as he sees her his feet carry him over. Robin’s crying too. Steve’s pretty sure his own eyes are wet. It’s just so awful to watch. So painful, Eddie’s grief.

Steve realizes now, why Robin was so horrified. The truth of it finally sinking in now he sees the evidence of it. Eddie loved them, loved them so much that loosing them is breaking him.

Steve sits back on the couch, Eddie looking up for a second when he feels the couch dip, and suddenly he’s thrown himself at Steve, still shaking with those heaving sobs as Steve reflexively wraps his arms around him. It hurts like fuck on Steve’s broken ribs, but Steve bites it back, like fuck is reminding Eddie of that right now.

“I shouldn't have come here,” Eddie chokes out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s making Steve’s neck wet, and his great heaving sobs make Steve arms hitch along with them. Over the fluff of Eddie’s hair, Steve sees it as Rob starts crying fully, wiping at her nose with her sleeve, her face crumpling with it.

Steve swallows thickly, trying to hold it together but knowing he’s loosing it, and he rubs at Eddie's back, telling him, "it's okay, it'll be okay," even though Steve has no idea if it is or even if it ever will be.

It feels like a small eternity before Eddie sits up and finally moves. He doesn’t look at Steve, has his eyes squeezed shut as he scrubs at his face, and when Steve reaches for him, he flinches so hard he almost falls off the couch.

Rob is there for him then, telling him, “easy, easy,” and getting Eddie up and walking him to the car, Eddie half leaning on her.

Eddie’s opening the car door before Steve even fully stops, high tailing it away like his ass is on fire. Wayne is there in the doorway of the motel room.

Easy enough to find, it’s the only motel in Hawkins, and Jon’s car is parked outside the right room.

Wayne opens the door as Steve kills the engine, and Steve watches in the dim light as Eddie practically throws himself at Wayne. He’s sobbing again, Steve can hear it.

Steve’s only half out the car, but Nancy’s there, shaking her head, “we should leave them to it.”

They’re not going to go back to sleep, but they go through the motions anyway. Steve has a shower, really feels like he needs it. He takes a few minutes extra in there, scrubbing at his face and washing his hair, being very careful of his stitches. He gets changed into sleep pants after, and a loose tee shirt, lying in bed. Even if he just lies here, at least it’s rest of some kind. The sun will be up in an hour away, and the kids had said something about helping out at the sports hall, making sandwiches and putting together bundles of emergency supplies and stuff like that.

Steve said he’d drive them.

“Come on Dingus, I can hear you thinking about it.”

“He wouldn’t even look at me, and he flinched Rob, did you see that? And then…” it just doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I did but...out of all of us, you’re the one he hurt the worst. Like, way the worst. He nearly killed you, Steve. Like, literally, if Eddie had taken another ten seconds to wake up, you would have been lights out. Maybe he remembers.”

That does make sense, Steve hums in agreement, that’s got to be hard for him, “yeah.”

“Maybe it’s hard for him to see you because...well. That’s got to be a shitty memory. Plus, trauma does funny things, what if he remembers you fighting back, you know?”

And that’s true, Steve did land one good hit on Eddie with his bat, more reflexive than anything. Before Eddie had taken the thing right out of Steve’s hands and snapped it like it was nothing, that is.

So yeah, maybe, Steve figures, “he was saying sorry.”

Robin hums again.

Steve’s ribs are healed up, his stitches long gone, all his bruises and scrapes are gone. The town is, kind of, back on it’s feet. Sure, there’s probably an abnormally high number of for sale signs in Hawkins, but everyone who was going to come back has done. Enough that Steve’s got part time shifts at the video store, at least. Mostly to keep up appearances; now that it’s all over, Owen’s got them all a pay out. Essentially for damages and trauma or whatever, but also with a very clear ‘keep your mouths shut’ attached to it.

For that first month, Eddie pretty much only speaks to Dustin. He stays with Wayne, and once every couple of days he lets Dustin know that he’s okay. The message Dustin brings back is the same every time, “he’s okay, he just needs some time.”

@autumncrocusandladybug @duckyreads @neonfruitbowl @slv-333 @starlight-archer @skys-archive @justdreamersdream @moomkin77 @prazinos @dragonmama76 @lingeringmirth @darkwitchoferie @weirdandabsurd42 @zoeweee @thennic @xiaq @tinyplanet95 @steddieyourself @chrystal-lovee @futuristicunknown86 @grtwdsmwhr @mugloversonly @wonderland-girl143-blog

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #pre steddie #the party #my writing #steddie dreamed life

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+

You line the end of your stick up with the cue ball, your tongue poking out from between your lips in concentration. Playing pool was never your strong suit, but you’re not trying to win this game per se. You’re interested in something far more valuable.

TOJI FUSHIGURO approaches you from behind, hanging his head to the side to get a good gander at your round behind. The baby tee you wear rides up from how you bend over, revealing the dimples at the small of your back. Not at all brief, and in great detail, Toji imagines other contexts. Circumstances in which his thumbs would find a handle on those divots, yanking you back onto him when you run away from a good dicking. Looking at you now, dressed up in a pink outfit two sizes too small, you wouldn’t know a good dicking if it hit you in the face, and he sure was considering batting your pretty cheeks with it.

You wiggle your hips, subconsciously rearing to prepare for your shot, and he chases you. Without thinking about it, he lines himself up with you, rolling his tongue between his lips as mere inches separate the bulge in his pants with your backside strapped in by that teeny skirt. His hand itches to fix onto your tailbone, steadying you so he can nudge up against you. Jus’ a little, wouldn’t even know he was there. Tuck his thumb in the crevice to give your asshole a massage while he did it, he’s really thinking about you here, you should be grateful.

You wind back, and flick your stick forward, pool balls knocking together in snapping sounds as you watch your move play out. He sniffs and swipes his nose pinching it between his index and thumb real quick, adjusting his pants by the back of his belt as he rounds you. A hand at the top of his stick allows him to lean on it marginally, the pool balls slowing to a stop under his gaze.

“You’re bad at this.” he tells you.

The curl to your lips deepens, popping your hip out as you tilt your head at him. He notes the flirtatious body language, the knowing glint in your eye. “Am I?”

His gaze darkens. “Can show you a few things. If you promise it’ll get through that thick skull o’ yers.” A small smile on his mouth stretches out the scar tissue overlaying his lips, and you visualize tracing it with your tongue.

“Oh, don’t be a brute.” you respond as he passes behind you, forcing you to follow him with your eyes. As he picks his target, he holds your gaze, hunching over the table as he lines up his stick. Powerful shoulders confined in a thin black t-shirt has you biting hard onto your lower lip. He breaks the eye contact long enough to hit the ball, but you don’t bother watching them scatter, focused on taking in every marginal move he makes, straightening to his full and dizzying height. The end of his stick comes to your exposed midriff, and hooks under the hem of your baby tee, flicking it up.

“You like it when I’m a brute.”

Indignantly, you tug your shirt back down. It’s clear he wanted to fake you out, make you believe he was gonna get away with flashing himself and any lucky stiff at this bar. You swat his arm scoldingly, but all your dumb brain can think about is how hard and thick his bicep is. “I do not! Why do you insist on bullying me?”

He grins, canines glinting in the dim and smoky light, snickering through his nose. “Easy to bully when you’re bite-sized.”

Bite-sized. That’s all that goes through that thick skull of yours when Toji’s pulling out your brains and shoving ‘em back in with every fuck into you later. Powerful and harsh thrusts, nailing your abused cervix so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. “The fuck are you thinking about, hah? You rememberin’ those pool tips? Got ya to lay down real low on that table. Bet everyone saw up that stupid little skirt.” Toji jeers at you while he’s pinning you by your head, big hand on your hair to pin your cheek to the mattress. “Everyone saw you leave with me. Saw a slice of cherry pie get pushed around by mean ol’ Toji, only to hang off my arm out the door. A little slutty, don’t’cha think?” He’s amusing himself, you can tell by the sound of his deep voice he’s got that wolfish grin on he wears so well. Wickedly, his reckless pace speeds up so you can’t form a response.

Your limp body has no choice but to move with him, rippling with each sheath into you. Poor cunt puffy and agitated around him as his mean cock brutalizes it some more. Tears sting your eyes but you can’t tell if they’re of pain or pleasure.

“T- Toji—“ you choke out, reaching back to finger timidly at his thighs. He won’t have it, picking himself up to a kneel so he can yank you back on him. Thumbs slot onto your dimples as fingers tuck between the folds of your pelvis and thighs. That perfect ass of yours smacking against him so hard, your skin pebbles and blushes.

“Huh?” he mocks. “What’s that? S’this the part where you lie and tell me you can’t handle it? Nah, little girl, I’m looking at the way this cunt’s slurpin’ me up. Fucking take it.”

#i’ve never read or watched jjk btw. mb if this is ooc #ch: toji #indy: drabbles #toji fushiguro drabble #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x female reader #toji fushiguro x female reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji imagine #toji fushiguro imagine #toji fic #toji fanfic #toji fushiguro fanfic

[xxchumanixx]

Hey can you make a part two of the Grey daughter part where the whole team finds out about them when she comes to drop off lunch for Grey and Tim and they starts to tease Tim about it

My Man

(sequel to 'Not just any man')

Tim Bradford x Grey!reader

Warnings/Tags: fluff, a little angst I guess? But only if you squint real hard Word count: 1.265 Authors Note: Hello love, thanks for the request! Hope you'll like it! Enjoy!

You hated your mom sometimes.

When she asked about Tim's favorite food, you should have known something was up.

Or, rather, she was up to something.

You told her, nonetheless, being sent off with two paper bags not long after, told to bring your dad and Tim lunch.

Tim's favorite.

She did it on purpose, trying to have you show your affection for him more openly, around his colleagues. They were already having their own suspicions and rumors about you two, you just hadn't noticed, yet.

So, when you walked into the mid wilshire department, carrying two hot bags in your hands, you first made your way to your dad. He was in his office, blinds up so you could see that he was hunched over some paperwork, glasses on his nose.

Not bothering to knock, you let yourself in, his gaze lifting as he heard the door. "Honey." he greeted you, removing the glasses. "What are you doing here?"

Holding up the bags you walked over, placing one in front of him. "Mom cooked." you explained, cocking a brow. "Wanted to know what's Tim's favorite food and sent me on the way to deliver some."

His head tilted, sending you a pointed look and you sighed. "I know, I know." you murmured, arms flailing at your sides to emphasize your words. "I couldn't stop her."

He shook his head, suspiciously sniffing at the bag. His hands wrapped around it, taking a hold of the plastic container inside. "Tell your mom thank you." he told you, sending you a grateful smile and you nodded.

"Will do."

Then you turned back around, walking back out to find Tim.

Grey took another sniff of the contents in the bag, humming to himself in surprise. Whatever Bradford's favorite food was, it definitely smelled good - not that he would have admitted it out loud, though.

You asked Smitty where Tim was and he directed you into the direction of the detectives, where you spotted him.

He was looking good in his uniform, ass hugged deliciously, as you made your way straight towards him.

"Oh my god." Angela gasped, causing Nyla's gaze to follow hers. "No way." she muttered, eyes as wide as Angela's. "Isn't this Grey's daughter? Why is she- Oh!" she cut herself off, as realization hit her.

"Bradford and her are a thing!"

Tim held himself from cursing under his breath, instead sending you a smile, even though it was forced. He hadn't missed the way Lopez and Harper perked up at your arrival.

You had basically made a beeline for him, not leaving any room for imagination.

"I'm bringing you lunch." you told him, returning the smile, holding up the paper bag in your hand. "And for my dad. Mom insisted that I'd bring you some, too."

He cocked a brow, huffing slightly. "Of course she did."

You chuckled, handing him the bag. "Made your favorite." you told him, sending him a wink. His eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, chuckling as they opened again. "Of course she did." he repeated himself, looking inside the bag.

He would have been lying if he said it didn't smell good.

It smelled fucking delicious.

"I'm guessing she wants the others to know." you spoke, biting your lip. "She wants to show you off as her daughter's boyfriend or something."

One of his brows lifted again, and you shrugged your shoulders. "Don't ask me." you gave back, shaking your head with a smile. "Anyways, I just wanted to bring you the food and see you."

He smiled a smile of his own, softened around the edges. "Thank you." he said, head tilting downwards the slightest bit. "And your mother."

You nodded, suppressing the urge to kiss him. You would have plenty of time to kiss him after his shift.

"I'm gonna go, then." you told him, and he nodded. "See you later." he gave back, hesitating, as he took a step closer, voice lowering to almost a whisper. "I love you."

Grinning, you shook your head. "I love you too." Then you turned around and left, but not without looking back at him.

Lucy plopped up at Tim's side almost immediately after you left, tearing him from his dreamy state. She looked at him knowingly, biting her lip to hide the smile that was threatening to take over.

"What's that look?" he wanted to know, brows furrowed as he tilted his head at her. "Oh, nothing." she quipped, smirking up at him. "That's so sweet of her to bring you lunch. I wonder why, though."

She had to be kidding, Tim thought.

Of course, she knew why you were bringing him lunch. She just wanted to hear it out of his mouth, admit that he was dating Grey's daughter.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of you - quite the opposite, really. He would have shouted it into the open world if he could, but he didn't want anyone to think that he was just using you, or you him.

Your dad was a cop, so of course you had to find someone with a badge as well, right?

Bullshit.

He would have willingly taken it up with anyone, if they just so much as dared to think like this about you.

Before he could respond, Angela and Nyla joined them, causing Tim to groan inwardly.

He was screwed.

"What was that?" Angela wanted to know, failing to hide her grin. She was happy for him, but she also wanted to tease him a bit.

Tim rolled his eyes, mocking her grin with one of his own in pure sarcasm. "What do you mean?" he retorted, clutching the bag to his chest subconsciously.

Nyla started to laugh, sending him a pointed look. "Please." she made, brows raised. "We all know what that was. Bradford is knocking Grey's daughter."

His face grew pale at her choice of words, instinctively falling into defense mode. "I'm not knocking her or anything." he told her, voice sharp as she bit down on a grin.

Of course she didn't mean it like that, but what other way to get him to talk other than this?

Angela must have picked up on her train of thought, whilst Lucy stood by and watched the scene unfold.

"Yeah, Tim, why don't you tell us what's going on between you and mini Grey?" Angela wanted to know, tilting her head with her arms crossed over her chest.

Tim winced at the mini Grey, shaking his head as he slowly came to terms with having to tell to them. They wouldn't stop bothering him, if he didn't.

"Y/N and I are in a relationship." he announced, looking between them only to find knowing smirks. "And you all knew already. Why make me spill it then?"

Lucy chuckled, her and Angela sharing a look. "Because you're grumpy and refuse to tell us about your private life." she explained, looking up at him.

He bit his cheek, swallowing the anger flaring up. "And this is exactly why I refuse to!" he retorted, shaking his head. "Because you all are fucking teases and wouldn't leave me in peace."

Angela scoffed, still smiling though.

"We're all happy for you, Bradford." she told him, her hand brushing over his arm. "We're just noisy assbutts, that want to snoop in your private life. Don't mind us, we'll just be sitting in the back, eating popcorn."

Tim sighed, shaking his head again. "Wouldn't have expected anything different." he returned with a huff. Nyla smirked, hand on her hips.

"And that's exactly why you love us."

Tag List

@newobsessionweekly @laheysfilm

@nachofriess @augustvandyne @RookieTrek

@dhunhdchrih

#the rookie #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #the rookie x u #tim bradford #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #imagine #request

[ladylooch]

would love to read anything about Nico <33 I loveee the blurbs you’ve done w him already so similar vibes to those maybe??

thank you x

A/N: Thank you for asking for more of this! It has been a stressful first week of playoffs, so let's end it with some softness from What my World Spins Around AU. I know I posted for this AU earlier today, but I just really love these two. Thank you for encouraging me to write them.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Swearing, tears/angst, fluff.

I’m having a bad day.

A few minor disturbances happened earlier like half the grocery list being out of stock and having to make an extra trip to a different store. Then I needed to stop and get gas. I pulled up to an unmarked, broken pump, having to circle around multiple times to wait for a new one. On my way up to our apartment, one of the grocery bag handles broke and smashed our eggs into the elevator floor. None of these things are big problems, but enough little things have compounded into me feeling like I am inept at existing.

This is awful timing, I think as I stir the onions and garlic in pancetta fat. I’m making Cacio e Pepe for dinner tonight. Because I am desperate for comfort food and Nico is in-between games.

Of course this would happen in the middle of the Devils playoff series with the Rangers when Nico is so focused on hockey that I only exist when I speak directly to him. I glance over my shoulder at my fiancé. His eyebrows are drawn low while he looks at his iPad stacked with clips from the Rangers Power Play. I sniff a bit, wiping at my runny nose from the few tears that have sporadically leaked out while I’ve been at the stove. This catches Nico’s attention.

“Are you okay, babe?” He asks, pausing his video and drilling his brown eyes into me.

“Yeah, the onions made my eyes water.” I lie. These are small problems that I’m not going to bother him with.

“You need those goggles.” He jokes, starting the video up again. The lack of interaction makes my body sag glumly. I feel invisible to him.

I toss the cheese, pasta lemon juice and pasta water together. The dish comes together quickly. A few spritz of seasonings has us sitting down to eat within ten minutes. I grab my glass of red wine, sucking down two glugs of it before slowly twirling my pasta onto my fork. Nico has already been eating, watching the Carolina and Islanders game play out in the living room. I’m scrolling through Instagram, looking for something funny to lift this dark cloud.

“This is amazing, baby. Thank you.” Nico murmurs, running his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. An insurance commercial plays out on the screen, so I’m getting his undivided attention.

“I’m glad you like it.” I respond, not looking up at him, but turning the app off to focus on dinner.

Nico stills with his fork close to his mouth, reading me like an open book. When I don’t meet his gaze, his fork continues to his lips. He chews slowly, then slides his bowl to the side. His hand comes across the counter, stilling mine from nudging my pasta around. 

“What’s up?” I shake my head. “No. What’s up.”

“It’s stupid.” I huff.

“I doubt that.”

“I’m just having a bad day.” I push out. My lip wobbles weakly, so I tuck it into my mouth and bite down hard.

“Were those real tears, not onion tears?” I nod my head as one spills from my lashes. “Sweets.” He sighs, scooting his chair closer to me. He encloses me in a warm, soft embrace. His designer sweatshirt is a thick, comfy fabric that brushes welcomingly against my skin. I slide my hands up his thighs to his back, clinging to him. 

I feel so dumb and dramatic. Nothing bad has even happened. Why do I feel this way?

“Will you talk to me?” He asks against my hair, breath tickling my scalp.

“There really isn’t anything to talk about.” I sniff, weaving my hand between our bodies to wipe at my eyes. 

“You’re crying.” He points out simply.

“I’m just being dramatic.”

“You’re rarely like this.” He shakes his head, pulling back to see my face. His thumb and pointer finger tilt my chin up.

“I don’t want to be a distraction to you. You have more important things to focus on than me.”

“What’s more important to me than you?” His hand sneaks beneath the hem of my t-shirt and rubs along the length of my spine. I say nothing, just stare at him with my red, tear-rimmed eyes. I shake my head. “Yeah, nothing.” He knows that’s not what I meant. “Come here.” His hands work themselves under my thighs to move me into his lap. I look down into his face. I raise my fingers to trace along his nose and cheek bones, purposefully avoiding those dewey brown eyes. “Baby.” He finally tires of my avoidance.

“I think I just miss you.” I finally bubble out, tucking my falling hair behind my ear.

“I’m right here.”

“You know you’re not.” He pauses, staring back at me with measured eyes. “It’s fine.” I try to walk it back. “I’m marrying the captain; I know what I signed up for.” My fingers reach out and fiddle with the strings of his hoodie, hanging down his chest. “I think I just want to go to bed.” Nico says nothing. He lets me crawl off his lap, hands falling to hang by his sides. I grab my phone, leaving my dishes and untouched food on the counter. I can feel his gaze burrowing into my back as I head to our bedroom.

Nico comes in after the Canes- Islanders game ends. 

“You’re not wrong.” He mumbles to me as he pulls his sweatshirt off his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head, not really wanting to get into it. “Hey.” His tone softens further. “I love you even when hockey consumes every moment of our lives.”

“I know. I love you too.” I avoid his eyes, picking at a piece of loose skin by my thumb nail.

Nico comes to the end of the bed, crawling up my body so he lays completely on top of me. his weight smothers me into the bed. He wiggles his cheek between my breasts. Reaching to his right, he places my hand on top of his hair. I do my part, weaving my fingers into his hair, kneading his scalp.

“I know this is hard for you. Thank you.” I lace our other hands together, squeezing his fingers in acknowledgement.

We are quiet for a few minutes. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his head. Nico sighs, settling deeper into my chest, breathing light. Eventually, his soft snores begin to ripple my shirt. I wrap my leg around his body, letting my foot rest against his solid thigh. I close my eyes, ignoring the fact that the bedroom light is on. Nico feels so good right here in my arms, nothing could move me.

My lips spread into a coy smile, taking comfort in knowing I’m the only person in the world who gets to see him like this. 

#nico hischier blurbs #nico hischier fic #nico hischier #hockey writing #hockey fan fiction #NHL fan fiction #New Jersey devils

[joka13]

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 8

WARNINGS: none

"I can't help with your project if this is going to be a regular thing," you whisper during Professor Flitwick's class introduction.

The twins, who sit on either side of you, stare blankly.

"What do you mean?" George asks.

"I mean the pranks. I don't mind you pulling anything on other people, in fact, please, do so! Your jokes are brilliant..." At this, the boys sit up straighter, puffing their chests out with pride. "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me the butt of them."

After a moment of thought, Fred and George nod understandingly.

"Alright, but only because you asked nicely," George says.

"And because we need you," adds Fred.

"I'm sorry, y/n, I really am," George apologizes, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. It's hard to stay serious around these two.

"I'm more sorry than he is," says Fred. He makes an even sadder expression, and you break a smile. Fred laughs triumphantly.

"Shut up," you giggle, punching him playfully in the arm.

"Can I get some physical contact, too?" asks George innocently.

You snort, then punch his arm, only harder.

"Ah, thank you," George grimaces, massaging his bicep. You laugh.

At lunch, you happily sit with Fred and George, though it's upsetting that you haven't seen Maddy since yesterday morning. You would have liked for her to join you and the twins.

"Have either of you seen my friend, Maddy Dewmond, recently?" you inquire over a salami sandwich.

Fred stops chewing momentarily, and George hides behind the Daily Prophet. You set your sandwich down.

"You guys know something, don't you?" Your stomach churns with anxiety. Why are they acting so strange? "What's happened to Maddy?"

"Dunno," George's muffled voice says from behind the paper. Fred keeps chewing and avoiding your gaze.

"I have a right to be aware of whatever it is," you state firmly. "She's my friend."

"Not anymore..." Fred mumbles. George elbows him in the stomach.

Your voice cracks. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Just then, Maddy walks into the Great Hall... holding onto Draco Malfoy. He's got his arm around her shoulders. You can't believe it. You blink twice, assuming that your eyes must be deceiving you, but they aren't.

Malfoy smirks at you, pulling Maddy closer to him. Maddy avoids your gaze and looks at the ground instead guiltily. She knows she's done you wrong. The couple go to sit down at a different table, far away from you, with a pack of Malfoy's loyal Slytherins trailing behind.

No one speaks for a long moment as you take in what you just saw. George eventually folds his paper and sets it neatly on the table beside his empty plate, asking politely, "Can we hurt him now?"

You sigh and rest your forehead on the table top, burying your face in the sleeves of your robes and ignoring George.

"I hate Slytherins," you sniff. It was all partially Malfoy's fault. No doubt he did this to get back at you for humiliating him, but Maddy has been your only real friend for four years. And she always seemed to despise Malfoy just as much as you do... Did she secretly have feelings for Malfoy all along? Did he threaten her in some way? What could possibly be going on in her head right now...?

"Nasty little buggers, they are," says Fred.

"Excluding present company, of course," George adds.

You don't respond. You're on the verge of tears, so you keep your head down. Minutes later, after you've made sure you're not going to start crying, you sit up, get out of your seat, and brush yourself off. The twins watch with curiosity as you gather your things. You swing your bag over your shoulder and plant your hands on your hips confidently.

You smile mischievously. "Let's get going with this 'Project Nosebleed' of yours."

The twins almost leap off of the bench in excitement, cheering loud enough for the entire room to hear.

#weasley twins #fred and george #fred weasley fic #george weasley fic #fred weasley #george weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred and george weasley #fred weasely x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #pov #reader pov #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #wizarding world #harry potter #enjoy

[wandering-winchesters]

When the Storm Clouds Roll in

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 3,100 Summary: On a particularly hard day, the reader relies on Dean for comfort. Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, Depression, slight mentions of suicidal ideation, self hatred, mentions of the loss of a loved one. Requested: Yes, by @roseblue373 A/N: This one struck a definite cord and I pulled from my personal experience with depression. If this resonates with you, please know you are not alone. As always, please let me know what you think. <3

Masterlist

From the moment I opened my eyes this morning, I knew it was going to be one of those days. The kind of days where any task seems completely insurmountable, impossible and overwhelming. Out of the 365 days in a year, this one was my favorite but the hardest, at least for the last four years. I have yet to convince myself to clamber out of bed, the warmth of the blankets too inviting and comforting to desire leaving. I continue to scroll through the pictures on my phone, reminiscing on the years past. I land on a picture of my family and I, taken shortly before one of my loved ones had passed away and tears spring to my eyes. It was their birthday today and all of the feelings that were bubbling within me were completely overwhelming. I sniff and wipe away the tears that had formed in my eyes. I draw in a deep breath and roll out of bed, landing on my toes. I decide against putting on real clothes, deciding that today is a laid back day anyways. I open the door to my room and glance down the hallway of the bunker, neither of the boys anywhere to be seen. I can hear music coming from the kitchen and I follow it, knowing that I would find Dean judging by the song that was playing. My suspicions are confirmed, when I round the corner and find Dean making eggs and bacon on the stove. The sight of him brings me immense comfort, something I would never admit out-loud but within the confines of my own mind its an accepted truth. He doesn’t notice me right away, his attention focused on the bacon in front of him. I open the fridge and he turns to look at me, his eyes crinkling in the way they do when he smiles. 

“Good morning sweetheart,” He says, taking a bite out of the bacon he had already finished cooking. His shirt stained from the grease spitting out of the pan. I look him over from head to toe and can’t help but give a small smile. 

“Ya know, if you didn’t cook the bacon on such a high temp, the grease wouldn’t splatter as much.” I tell him, deciding on a cup of tea to start my morning. I grab my favorite mug and the tea of my choice, before setting the water to boil. He dramatically rolls his eyes at me, mimicking me and repeating my words back in a high pitched tone. 

“Jerk.” I mumble, placing the tea bag into my mug and leaning back against the counter to wait for the water to boil.

“Bitch.” He shoots back, flipping the pieces of bacon still in the pan. He yelps when the grease pops and lands directly on his hand. I shake my head, a slight laugh leaving my throat as he discreetly turns the temperature down on the stove, following my earlier advice. Instead of commenting, I keep my mouth shut and pour the now hot water into my mug. 

“So,” He changes the subject, his eyes trained on me now, the bacon sizzling away in the background. “You up for a hunt today? Should be basic, couple of vamps a few towns away.” He offers me a piece of bacon, but I shake my head no. Hunger the furthest thing away from what I am feeling at the moment. 

“Uh, I don’t think so. I’ll hang back on this one, have some stuff I need to get done.” I look away from him, kicking an invisible piece of dirt on the tile floor. I can feel his eyes on me, his suspicions obvious on his face, hence why I won’t make eye contact with him. 

“What kind of stuff?” He presses, for whatever reason this rubs me the wrong way and I snap back at him, my words harsher than I meant them to be. 

“What’s with the twenty questions? I am an adult, I can stay behind if I want to.” I grumble, taking my tea and leaving Dean standing open mouthed, unsure what he did wrong. In reality, he didn’t do anything wrong. I just wouldn’t be able to keep myself together if I was to go on the hunt with them and I wouldn’t put them in danger like that. My inability to focus today, could not be the reason that one of the boys gets injured. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if that were the case. I walk into the library, deciding to spend my morning reading a book, in hopes of distracting myself from the sadness and grief trying to weasel their way past my internal walls. Sam is already in there, an old book carefully opened before him, his notebook open beside it. I give him a smile, hoping he doesn’t notice the tears attempting to break free.

“Hey Y/N, you coming along today?” He asks, his voice tired but he disguises it well behind the smile he’s wearing. I shake my head in response, not trusting my voice to function the way that I want it to. He looks slightly taken aback by my refusal, his eyes studying me carefully. It’s out of the ordinary for me to stay behind on a hunt, I am usually the first to volunteer. The chance to get out, learn and take out the creatures that roam the earth and harm people an opportunity I rarely pass up on. Sam doesn’t push me, but I can feel his questions lingering heavy in the air even though they are unspoken. I pull a book off the shelves and decide to return to the safety and quiet of my room. 

—

The boys leave for the hunt around noon, Dean poking his head into my room to verify one last time that I am not coming along with them. He looks disappointed and concerned when my answer remains the same. Even though there were tasks that I am behind on and that need completing, I can’t find it within me to actually do them. I have not left my bed since I climbed back in it after finishing my tea. My thoughts are becoming louder, harder to ignore to the point where I give in and let them overwhelm me. I could feel depression imminent, a large storm cloud looming at a distance waiting for the currents of wind to pick up and carry the storm in. The cloud is growing and the winds are picking up and there’s nothing I can do. The water around me is rising and I can’t swim. It feels like I am drowning. My lungs are restricted, not from water, but from my own thoughts and emotions.

Grief looms at the forefront, worthlessness and self hatred following close behind. Everything around me fades to the background, my brain fully incapacitated by the thoughts within my head, unable to focus on anything tangible. The pit in my stomach is growing and before I know it, tears are flowing down my cheeks. My chin is quivering and I feel like screaming, I slip out of my bed and sit on the cold hard floor. An attempt to ground myself, I place my head in my hands and rock myself gently. My heart hurt so much that it felt like I was going to die, unable to process just how to move forward, it felt impossible. It would be easier if I weren’t here, the burden I was to Sam and Dean would be lifted, they could go back to the way things were before they met me. They didn’t care about me anyways, it would be easier. What good am I to them anyways? I am worthless, I always slow them down on hunts, there’s nothing I can do that they can’t handle better without me tagging a long. I know that these feelings aren’t me speaking, its depression screaming. I have reasonable thoughts and unreasonable thoughts. The problem is that the reasonable side of my brain speaks in a whisper, unable to be louder. The unreasonable thoughts have a megaphone, unable to be ignored. 

The ache in my chest turns to a burn and the occasional tear turns into a constant stream. How do I recover from this? It has been years and yet the grief is still so fresh? What is wrong with me that I still cannot cope all of these years later? It’s pathetic. I feel pathetic. Good, you should feel pathetic. You’re worthless. The voice in my head is so loud, so cruel and completely debilitating. These thoughts continue to repeat, my brain a recording that is on repeat. Seconds turn to minutes, which turns to hours. I have no concept of time, I notice the darkening of the room around me but besides that I am numb to all of it. I am so entrapped within my thoughts that I don’t realize that I am no longer alone, the slight chatter of the Winchester brothers travels through the bunker, but it falls upon deaf ears.

The panic that I am entrapped in so all consuming. I don’t hear the refrigerator door slam, the clink of beer bottles or the footsteps approaching my room. I don’t hear the knock, or the gentle call of my name. Upon not hearing a response, Dean opens my door, surveying the scene before him. Unknown to me is the way his heart shatters at what he sees, something that I will not find out for years to come. I am blind to all of this, until I feel hands on my body, tugging me gently into an embrace. My sense are overwhelmed with the smell of cologne, beer and leather. Dean. His hands are on my waist, lifting me into place on his lap. I immediately sink into his touch, wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face in his jacket. So desperate for comfort, there is no space within me to be ashamed of my actions. I can hear him speaking, but I am still too worked up to focus on his words. He must be able to sense this, because he changes tactics. He slips a hand under the hem of my shirt, settling on my lower back, his fingers tracing patterns into my skin. Something he knows will calm me, because at another day and time, I had told him that was the fastest way to pull me out of my head. Skin on skin contact. He brings his other hand to the nape of my neck, his fingers gentle but firm as he angles my head so his lips can reach my forehead. He gingerly places kisses to the crown of my head, his lips still murmuring words of comfort. I begin to catch bits and pieces, you’re okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe, sweetheart. Just breathe. Words he continues to repeat until my shaking stops, my breathing calms and I am back in control of my body. 

“‘M sorry.” I breathe out, my shuttering inhale catching in my throat. He shushes me, his grip on me never letting up. 

“Don’t ever apologize for this, I just wish I could’ve been here for you. Has this been bugging you all day?” He asks, his voice deep and comforting. I nod against his shoulder, exhaustion washing over my body. My muscles aching from the position I had been in on the floor for hours. He lets out a sigh, pulling away from me ever so slightly so he can see my face. I avert my eyes from him, not wanting him to see how red my face is from crying. He doesn’t let me though, he tucks a finger under my chin and raises it until I meet his gaze. 

“Spill.” That one word is all it takes, a fresh wave of tears spills over, he wipes them all away with his fingertips. He’s patient with me, helping me regain my composure before I begin to speak. 

“I lost someone, a few years back and today would have been their birthday. It hit me incredibly hard this morning and ever since then, everything has just been crumbling around me. My depression has been all consuming, voicing my biggest fears and self doubts and- and, it just made everything seem unbearable.” My voice starts out strong, but by the end of my sentence it’s faltering. Deans hand strokes my lower back, his touch gentle but reassuring. 

“I’m so sorry, that is really hard to bear. What kind of thoughts, Y/N?” He asks, concern evident. I debate on being untruthful, hiding just how bad it had gotten from him. He notices my hesitation because he follows up his question with a plea for honesty, his voice never wavering. I nod and take another moment to choose my words. 

“I feel like a burden to you, worthless and just that- well that you and Sam would be better off without me.” Another tear rolls down my face and I quickly brush it away, shame seeping in over the feelings of self doubt and hatred. Being open and vulnerable was not one of my strengths and I fully expected Dean to laugh and reaffirm my darkest thoughts. He didn’t. His face fell, and I could see anguish written on his features. His lips were pulled into a tight, thin line. His breath catching in his chest, before he blew it out all at once. 

“Y/N, do you have those thoughts a lot?” He asks, his voice calm and his eyes catching my own once more. I shrug, fiddling with the tag on the back of his shirt where my hands had come to rest. 

“More often than not, deep down I know they’re not true, but it’s incredibly difficult to find solace in that.” I admit, my words flowing before I can stop them. He’s silent, for one minute then two. It begins to psych me out, my breathing hitching in my throat again. I shift my body, moving to climb off his lap and retreat into my shell once again. His hands stop me, firmly gripping my hips. 

“Don’t.” He pleads, and I meet his eyes for the first time in a few minutes and I’m caught off guard. Tears, he has tears in his vivid green eyes. I still and remain in his grasp, puzzled as to why he’s crying. 

“Sweetheart, I know that nothing I say can completely change the way you see yourself. Yet I can’t not say it.” He tucks his fingers beneath my chin once more, firmly holding my head in place. “You are the farthest thing from worthless, the fact that you think you’re replaceable breaks my heart. You are so incredibly valued by Sam and myself. The whole time we were gone, we were thinking of you. We were concerned about you. Do you think we’d do that if we didn’t love you and want you to be with us? I’m so sorry for the grief that you are still processing, it takes so long to come to terms with that and I am so proud of you for coming this far. It’s a difficult battle to face, everyday. If I could take all of this hurt from you, I would in a heartbeat.” His hand has moved from beneath my chin to cupping my face, his thumb stroking gently along my cheek. My eyes flutter closed, his touch filling a part of my soul that I didn’t know needed comfort. Tears begin to stream down my cheeks once again, stinging slightly as they rush over my raw skin. 

His touch is gentle as he wipes them away, the ache in my heart is easing ever so slightly as the time in his arms passes. 

“Dean?” I whisper, my words hanging heavy in my throat. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” I take a deep breath, my hands gripping his shoulders as I steady myself.

“Will you stay with me tonight? I’m afraid of what will happen if I am alone with my thoughts.” He agrees without hesitation, he lets me know he’s going to go grab a change of clothes but that he will return shortly. He stands, pulling me up with him. He instructs me to climb into bed and that he will be right back. 

I stand for a moment, dumb struck over our previous discussion, still shocked that he agreed to stay with me. 

He comes back a few minutes later, like he said he would. He smiles as he crosses into my room, a blanket and pillow tucked beneath his arm, his laptop clutched in the other. He kicks my door closed gently with his foot, dropping the bedding on the floor beside my bed. He sets the laptop on my bed. 

“Find a movie you want to watch, while I set up my bed.” He says, spreading the blanket out on my floor. He asks to borrow one of my mine and I hand him one of my favorites. He thanks me, before settling onto the floor. I find a movie I want to watch, some action movie that I know he will enjoy. 

The movie passes quickly and before I know it, his steady and even breathing is easily heard over the dialogue. He fell asleep, and suddenly loneliness is overwhelming once again. I contemplate what I should do, I should go to sleep like the adult I am supposed to be. However, there’s this tug in my heart that’s telling me to climb down next to Dean and curl up with him, once again. I give into the temptation and quietly sink onto the floor next to him, and burrow underneath the blanket he has wrapped around him. He quickly opens his arms for me and I wrap myself around him. He lips find my forehead and his sleep words catch me completely off guard. 

“I love you, sweet girl.” He whispers, his voice so soft I couldn’t tell if I’d imagined it. A question I’d have to save until morning. I pulled him closer and whispered back.

“I love you too, Dean.” It was his three words that washed away all of my doubt and self hatred. The grief and sadness too, while I know it won’t last forever. I am going to enjoy the emptiness within my thoughts while it lasts. I allow myself to drift off in his embrace and I hope that this will become a regular thing. 

#deanwinchesterxreader #supernatural dean #dean winchester #deanwinchesterblurb #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #deanwinchesterfluff #sam and dean #dean x you #dean x reader #spn #sam winchester #supernatural fic #supernatural #dean x yn #dean x reader fluff #dean winchester SPN #dean winchester imagine #dean x reader imagine #dean winchester x you #Dean Winchester x Female!Reader #fluff #fluffy #dean fluff #supernatural spn #wanderingwinchesters #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x injured reader

[rxvera]

You Don't Fear The Reaper (But I Do)

This is reallyyy heavy, be warned now. I wrote one thing, I just had to write some more for Steve and Bucky. I forgot how much I love writing for them.

So enjoy, or wallow in the angst, whatever you prefer. Warnings are in the tags.

---

Steve swipes the butter knife through the perfect surface of brand-new almond butter. He's allergic to peanuts, but he's sure this is equally as good. He smoothes evenly over two slices of untoasted white bread. The crumbs cling to the sticky residue coating the stainless steel surface.

Steve's just squishing the two halves of his sandwich together when he hears the faintest rasp of his name behind him "Stevie?"

He turns around. "Yeah?" Bucky's white as a sheet. His hands are shaking. His expression is one that puts a lump in Steve's throat and a pounding in his chest. "What's wrong?"

"I..." Bucky's lower lip quivers. His face is already tear-stained, but Steve can see the subtle shift in his eyes that means they're welling up again.

"You should sit," Steve says softly. Bucky nods and takes a seat carefully on the couch. The tension in his movements makes it look like he's expecting a hard slap for any wrong twitch, and he probably is.

Steve turns back to his sandwich. He slices it diagonally in one swift motion. He picks up one half in each hand.

"Here," He gives one to Bucky, and keeps the other for himself as he perches two or so feet away from Bucky on the sofa. He hopes having food involved will break the anxiety bubble a bit, like how a restaurant aides a bad date.

Bucky takes a tentative bite. He chews for a moment, then swallows thickly. "I..." He sniffles.

"You can tell me anything, Buck," Steve murmurs. "I promise," He takes a bite of his own sandwich.

"I'm..." Bucky takes a steadying deep breath. "I'm gonna..." He hands the semi-sandwich back to Steve and breaks eye contact. "I think I'm gonna hurt myself," His voice cracks painfully on the last few words. He sobs, although he tries to mute it with his palm over his mouth.

Steve furrows his brow. He places the almond butter bread down on the coffee table. He scooches slightly closer to Bucky. "What do you mean, Buck?" The calmness of his voice doesn't match the intense distress in Steve's gut.

"I already..." Bucky shakes his head. "It's all too much..." He crosses his arm over his chest, settling his hand over his stump. "I need to know...know that I'm real, and I need it to stop."

"Hey," Steve hovers his arm over Bucky's shoulder blades. "Can I?" Bucky sniffs and nods slowly, still avoiding Steve's eyes. "Oh, Buck..." Tears press into Steve's sinuses.

"I'm sorry," Bucky chokes out. "I'm so sorry, Stevie."

"Don't be," Steve whispers. He drops his head onto Bucky's shoulder and gently slides his palm back and forth over his upper back. "I love you, you're real, I'm here, you're here, it's gonna be okay."

"But it ain't gonna stop," Bucky mumbles. His voice breaks into a cry at the end.

"What's not gonna stop?" Steve asks. He has a feeling he knows the answer. He just can't stand the way his insides cringe when Bucky brings it up.

"What they did..." Bucky inhales sharply. "The whole damn thing, all of it," He breaks away from Steve and bends double at the waist. His chest touches his thighs, with his arm squished in between. "It ain't never gonna stop, Stevie..." He coughs quietly. "I'm sorry, it's too fuckin' much."

"I...I know, Buck," Steve wipes his own tears away. He doesn't know what to say, or if he should say anything at all. "I...I..."

"I'm so sorry, Stevie," Bucky repeats. "I just wanna be done."

"Buck..." Steve leans back and lifts his elbows over his face. "I...I know it's hard, but..." Guilt, empathy, and anger all swirl in his gut. "I can't lose you, you've gotta know that, I can't lose you, Bucky."

"I'm sorry," Bucky cries. "I don't wanna hurt you, Stevie, I just...I need help, I need some fuckin' reaper to take it all away."

"I can't let you, Buck," Steve digs his fingernails into his own scalp. "I'm so sorry, I love you too much."

"I love you, Stevie," Bucky barely sounds like himself, just an echo of the walking smiley kindness he once was. "I don't know my own mind," He shakes his head against his knees. "Don't let me go."

"I won't, Buck," Steve leans over Bucky, resting his head on his lower back and wrapping an arm around him. "I never could."

#tw suicidal ideation #tw self harm thoughts #stucky #stevebucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #writing #the winter soldier

[traumxrei-archive]

twst halloween banquet part 3 bc i'm a chatter box.

— LMAO why are malleo sitting in front of each other, who did the seating plans *wheeze* bc they definitely planned this one,,,, (NOT MALLEUS SAYING HE'LL OUTSHINE LEONA IN THE PHOTO TOO I'M CRYINGGG)

— pov: you're looking at the rich boy combi (minus idia shroud bc of course he's probably hiding under the table or sumn)

— leona when someone takes a photo of him -> >:| leona when he thinks about the draconia challenge and pissing off malleus -> >:D

— I HIT MYSELF IN THE FACE SO HARD WHEN CHEKA POPPED UP TO STOP MYSELF FROM SQUEALING HAHAHHAHA (he's so cute he's so cute he's so cute he's my little baby boy he's my baby lion cub sobsssssss cheeekaaaaaa)

— even tho he's like "ugh it's cheka" he still listens to what cheka has to say AND he says good bye and happy halloween back before he ends the call hehehehe

— HUUUUHHH CHENYAAAA ??? bro i am not surviving all these PLOT TWISTS— they really brought in the WHOLE cast just for hween...next thing you know we see ambrose the 63rd is bickering with crowley in the corner or sumn

— naurrr malleussy is missing *insert pensive emoji here*

— SNIFFS malleus came to ask us how our halloween was ??? that reminds me, he did say he chose ramshackle bc he wanted to make yuu's first halloween special....oughhh he's so softtt (ofc he ups and disappears like the dramatic fae he is afterward)

— ok but he isn't wrong tho,,,,i love taking tax bites from my friends n fam (with their consent ofc i would nEver steal food haha)

— crying over them all being so sweet towards the ghostssss TT^TT uuu they're treating them so well like yass that's my boys !! ramshackle ghosts my belovedsss (@ d/sney give them real names challenge !! icb they can make a name like leona kingscholar and then leave the ghosts with ghost A, B, and C ;-;)

— aaaa the picture is so cute !! i'm in love !!!! (grim in game: hold me up so im in the center !! game devs: no i think i will not shdjfjf)

— almost choked on the cookie i was munching on bc i saw the badge we get is titled "monster maven",,,,,my oc's name is maven and i'm currently inserting him into twst for the funsies HHAHAHA

(if you were curious about part 1 and part 2,,,)

#/trau rambles #the plot twists #the drama #honestly i love the hween story so muchhh #aaaaa #it's so comforting and funny and cool and wow and yea #man i'm gonna miss the hween eventtt #i wonder what'll happen for next year's hween #twst halloween #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #cheka kingscholar #twst chenya #ramshackle ghosts #twst grim

[oh-surprise-its-me]

in such an. angsty mood. trio angst over love language clashing ✨communication✨

angsty tears and frustration and feeling unloved but its so ooc for them theyre so cute

- f<33

Oh boy…

Honestly not necessarily ooc it could very easily happen very early on in their relationship…. Tom very much got concerned he was forcing Chris into loving him. (Idiot thought considering Chris was like *point* you two can fuck your issues out on the boat I trust Tom. Which of course turned into “I want both right now. Tom AND Ron. Come here you idiots I love you both.”)

Anyways! You are not living up to your name 🤨 bad fluffy. Phanie is supposed to be the evil one here. Not the little cute creature I brought home and named fluffy 🤨 good thing I love you and love writing for you MWAH.

—

Tom felt like he was going to start crying and never stop. He can’t keep watching Chris and Ron. He can’t do it. He feels like he is going to throw up. He can’t he can’t he can’t he-

The screen door bangs closed causing him to jump. “Tommy?” Chris is suddenly next to him. He’s got that dumb cat wrapped up in a sweater. Tom sniffs. Didn’t even realize he had actually started crying. “Hey Chris. I can go. Sorry. I’ll head to New York. See mom for a while.”

Chris stares at him. He stands back up. Oh. Tom blinks as the tears roll down his face. Tom hears the door slam again. He’s alone. He knew it. It’s fine. Ron is happy. That’s what matters most.

Suddenly there’s arms around him. He jolts but quickly realizes it’s Chris. Chris is crying along with him. Fuck. He made Chris cry. “Hey? Bab- Chris are you okay?”

Chris only holds on tighter. “Why are you leaving us? Why now?” He hiccups into a sob. Tom whips his head around to look at Chris. He looks wreaked. “I? We- uh- god Chris. I don’t want to leave.”

“So don’t leave us then yeah Tommy?”

Tom’s head jerks around to see Ron standing behind them silently crying.

Fuck.

“Well you two? And I’m here. Feels like I’m forcing it. And I just don’t want to hurt you two. It’s great to try but we can’t. You can’t do that to yourselves.”

Chris bites him as hard as he can. Tom instinctively smacks Chris’s leg before gasping. “Ow! What the fuck Chris?” Chris smacks his leg back and hugs him even tighter. “For being fucking stupid. When have I ever done something because someone forced me to.”

Tom opens his mouth but is cut off quickly by Ron. “Never. And I’ve never stopped loving you Tommy. I still see that 14 year old kid that I fell in love with. You’re ours. Just accept it yeah?” Tom shakes. Not in fear but in shock. Ron sits on the steps next to him. He’s suddenly wrapped in both of their arms. Oh god he was stupid.

“You two care about me? In the way that you care about each other.” Chris laughs. It’s not an actual laugh. More of the is that even a question laugh. Chris grabs Tom’s face and makes him look in his eyes. “I love you. I love Ron. I love both of you. Nothing is going to change that. You’re mine as long as you want to be Tom.”

The tears are back. Tom feels Ron press his face into his shoulder. “I love you both. Can’t live without either of you. Love you Tommy. And I love Chris. I need both of you.”

Tom opens his mouth and shuts it again. He can’t believe he got so lucky. “I love you too. Both of you. Course I’ll be yours Chris. I can’t live without you either Ron.” They’re all crying now. It can’t be helped.

Too much emotion in too short of a time. Top gun was only two weeks ago. Only two weeks since Chris grabbed him and kissed him. Told him he wanted them both. Tom couldn’t believe his luck, he assumed it was for only that first few nights. But as it kept going it kept feeling more real.

Clearly Tom is a bit of an idiot because it is real. They love him. He loves them. Nothing is going to change that. God his mom and sister are going to be happy for them.

That night Tom is in the middle of the bed. Chris is almost fully on top of him, Ron is curled so tightly around him that he couldn’t leave even if he wanted to. Tom doesn’t think he’s ever going to want to leave again though.

#ron slider kerner #chris seresin #tom iceman kazansky #top gun #tom x ron x chris #ron x chris x tom #Tom has anxiety #oh Tommy the adorable idiot of course they love you #mac writes top gun #the anon fluffy

[dykepuffs]

I come from a culture that is absolutely not a literate one, historically, and the more that I see those smug posts of "If you want to be an effective leftist/ally/queer/Good Person you have to READ!!!!! WHOLE!!!!!! BOOKS!!!!" the more that I want to give up on any kind of movement-building and live in a tent in the woods like my ancestors before me.

Long thoughts under the cut

When someone says that learning your theory by listening to what the people around you say is lesser and bad, and that only by reading the words written by far-away or dead Authors and Scholars will you ever become Useful, I wonder how much they can really believe that oral history is a real and valuable thing, or do they secretly sniff that cultures with a long tradition of centralised paper recordkeeping are better than ones which just trusted in storytellers?

I know that I use a lot of words that are very regional and concepts that are often dramatically different to Proper Theory - But they are the words that I learnt from the communities that I really live in, which were really used for decades and which all really developed from needing to name real people and real phenomena that we encountered. You could say "Oh but those words aren't universally understood so why use them" but there is nothing that stops anyone on earth from understanding them: they just have to ask "What does that mean?" And then to really listen to the answer, not to cut it off and say "Oh so ACTUALLY those are just the equivalent of (some other similar phenomena from somewhere else)"

But hey, that requires having a relationship with a person - To actually pay attention to the culture of the person who is telling you something, rather than just trying to absorb the information without the human.

Which is why I keep coming back to storytelling I think - Because the spoken story of a people contains so much more than a written version - Because the nature of HOW the story is told to you-the-audience is as much a part of the message as the words are.

Taking a totally apolitical (ha!) example: here's the story of Dog Bites Man.

If I tell the story to my friend who lives across the road from where it happened, it might be:

"Old Mr Fowler's dog got off the lead and ran down the back of Chucky's nightclub, where it bit one of the tradies"

If I tell it to someone who doesn't live nearby:

"A loose dog ran down a blind alley, and bit a guy who couldn't get away because all the fire doors were locked"

If I tell it to someone who I know really understands their dog breeds:

"This border collie was stressed and bored, so slipped the lead and tried to herd pedestrians, it ended up biting a guy who was digging up a road in the town centre because he couldn't move fast enough."

So if I was writing the story down I'd probably omit some of the information- Some of it is only important if you know about dogs (It's a sheepdog), some only matters if you live locally (Whose dog it was, the name of the club), some only needs to be told if you aren't already aware of the local area (everyone knows where Chuckys Club is, so I don't need to describe the alley) - And for that matter, I might add even more details (Maybe Mr Fowler is a bad dog owner, and I want to emphasise that to push for muzzle and leash laws. Maybe I want to have the building which closes the alley knocked down, so I'm emphasising that it was unsafe. Maybe I want to say that tradies need better training to deal with stray animals on the roadworks, or maybe I'm emphasising that they have a hard job so should be paid more). But, I'd need to be selective, and even if I didn't realise that I was being selective, I'd miss things out based on who I expected the audience to be.

(There is much discussion of this when talking about writing as a minoritised writer - why do I have to put a glossary note or italics when I say chavvi or chingering or ladged up, but not cafe or pasta or tycoon? Who is assumed to be the audience, and who is the afterthought?)

But if I'm telling the story, I will tailor it naturally to the immediate person that I'm speaking to - Which requires a relationship, even if that relationship is as superficial as "I know you know that in England there aren't many feral dogs, so I don't have to explain that this isn't a wild animal, it's a pet or a recent stray".

And why is that a worse way to learn about your culture or your politics, than reading a book about it? Why is it better to learn from someone that you usually don't have a relationship with, than someone that you do?

#literacy #oracy #writing thoughts

[wednesdaymunson]

Dirty Love

Minors DNI/ Eddie x fem reader/ olfactophilla-paraphilia for, or sexual arousal by, smells and odors emanating from the body, especially the sexual areas./ oral female receiving/ smut

His face buried in the side of your neck and takes a big sniff. He lets outa groan and you can feel his bulge in the small of your back. "Stop it!" You giggle and push back on him. "I need to take a shower babe."

You just came in the house from doing work in your garden. Making sure you planted the vegetables and fruit on time, tending to your herbs, and ridding of pest. You make a glass a water and chug it down. Eddie sneaks up behind you and gives you a big bear hug.

Eddie turns you around. "Y/N, you know I love your natural scent. It drives me wild!" He kisses you deeply and then pulls off your shirt, nibbling on you neck, and running his hands over your bra and squeezing your tits. Eddie then moves towards your shorts to unbutton them and slides them off along with your panties. He sinks to his knees and puts your leg over his shoulder exposing your drenched cunt.

"You're so wet for me princess and you're so damn perfect!" He cooed. You run your fingers through his hair, biting your bottom lip, anticipating what's next to come.

Eddie shoves his face into your groin and inhales deeply taking in your heady scent. Eddie growls. Your body quivering. Eddie takes his fingers to part your soaked folds as devours your warm center, lapping at your swollen clit.

"Mm-Fuck! Eds, that feels so good. You groan while grinding into his face. Eddie reaches underneath you with his free hand to grab your plump, firm ass, while pulling you more into him, his other hand having a death grip on your thigh. Eddie starts sucking on your clit making you feel heat spreading under your skin. Your hands griping his brown tousled hair.

With bated breath, your body is shaky with pleasure. "Don't stop Eds! I- I'm almost! FUUUCCK!" You cry out. You rode out the aftershocks, eyes closed, and a smile on your face. "You okay babe? " You hear Eddie's muffled voice. "Yeah! I'm great!" You breathed. "Well can you let go of my hair, it kinda hurts" He laughs lightly. You let go of his hair.

He pulls himself up with his hands on your waist. His face glistened with spit and your slick. You lean in to give him a kiss, swirling your tongue around his. You feel his hard cock pressing against your soft stomach. "Mm I guess we both need a shower." You giggle. Eddie smiles and puts you over his shoulder. "It's about to get real steamy!" He announces jokingly.

A/N- It's been a very long thing since I've written something smutty lol. I hope you all enjoyed🖤 feedback and reblogs are always appreciated.

Linebreaks-@animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Song playing:

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #Spotify

[dittolicous]

man i just remembered a stunt i pulled as a kid that could have ended verrrrry badly for me.

when i was a kid, the school bus stop was in front of this house with a big yard and a dog. the dog was kinda hostile, barking and growling, but the kids would be mean to them sometimes. i think i brought dog treats from home once or twice to give them? its hard to remember. i swear i would toss it a stick or ball to play fetch, but im not sure like. how. the dog did like chasing it though.

well sometimes the dog got loose. they werent like super big or thick, the were kinda wiry? idk. but of course this would be a problem for us getting off the bus. thankfully it was more 'stay away grrrrr!!!' hostile than attack hostile.

one day in middleschool me n a friend got off the bus to walk home while the dog was loose. well it was feeling testy and got real close in front of us. friend was scared by the aggression (they had no pets). me, in all my wisdom and dog ownership, held firm and tried to calm it down. did the thing where you like. kinda slowly hold a hand out for them to sniff (i think i made a loose fist? so like it didn't look like i was gunna grab it?)

well, doggo decides to act tough and take my wrist into his mouth. but. he didnt bite???? just pretended to???? my wrist was absolutely in his mouth but i was ok. and i didnt jerk away since i didnt feel pain nor did he like hold me. at which point i guess i passed its doggy test, because it then let me carefully take its collar and put it back in its yard.

freaked my friend out but hey. no one got hurt and dog was home.

i was a lucky child in that sense. but i had also already been chased around a tree by a neighbors rottie and bitten in the face by our own family dog at one point so *shrug* (it was my brothers fault i think, but it was a good dog)

#ditto rambles #ah memories #kids were so mean to that poor dog #i didnt like it a #always tried to be extra nice even when it growled at me

[bisexual-horror-fan]

For the raffle, may I suggest a lil drabble with Freddy coming into someone’s dreams and doing the most depraved shit, carving another letter of his name into their skin every time they moan and having them lick their own blood from the blade? Maybe him tracing the blade over their lips before deciding they could use their mouth for more useful things..

Congratulations on 2K. You very much deserve it and I’m quite proud of you.

I fucking adore this prompt. Real fucking dirty and nasty, hope you enjoy this, nice and quick and filthy! Let’s fucking goooo! 

—

Rating. Explicit. Length. 800-ish Words. Freddy Kruger X GN! Reader. No Pronouns Or Parts Specified. Warnings: Denial. Edging. Knife Play. Blood Play. Blow Job. Dirty Talk. Teasing. Taunting. 

—

Six Letters.

—

He suggested this game. He had been denying you for weeks and you were tired and just wanted to fucking cum and he said the only way that he would help you was if you agreed. Now? Slick with sweat and trembling sprawled on the bed he conjured in the boiler room with him on top of you, hands all over.

You were regretting it.

You were trying to hold back the moan with every single fibre of your being. Biting your lip so hard you feared you would draw blood, well more blood than he had been drawn already. He was making it impossible. He had you pinned below him, that supernaturally talented and long tongue working you into a frenzy. Your hips were bucking up, desperate for more contact with him, needy, so fucking needy as he worked you over, circling that most sensitive spot that made your back arch. 

You were getting close, dangerously close and you were practically panting, a deep suck made you break and cry out a horse and frantic, “Yes!”

As soon as it left your lips you regretted it, a sob and a shake of your head as you met his gaze, hungry and predatory, that awful grin nearly splitting his face in two. You sniff, a weak sob, eyes watering as you shake your head, a soft whisper of, “No, please, no, I can’t. Freddy I swear I can’t-”

He laughed as he climbed up your body, “Ooooh yes you can sweetheart, I know you can. And if you couldn’t, I’d make you and you’d take it and fuckin’ thank me for it.”

His nose ran up the length of your neck and you squirmed with a whimper, tried to get away but his hands were on you, holding you down, “Ah-ah, no escaping this.”

“Lift your leg.” The command was clear and your head fell back on the pillow in defeat, lifting up your leg, showing off the work so far that he had done on your thigh. Your eyes closed and his fell down, running over his handiwork, his non-gloved hand reaching out and his fingers ran right under the tender wounds he inflicted, “Oooh, it’s gonna look so good, gonna scar up so fuckin’ pretty.”

He said it with such affection, so much warmth that it made the boiler room seem like a freezer in comparison. You hear the sound of metal on metal as his glove moved, you shivered, face scrunching, you feel the fear grip your heart again, fists clenching the sheets. “Here we goooo-”

He takes his sweet time. One blade tracing the outline, a featherlight cut that stung but it wasn’t good enough, he simply used it as a blueprint before really digging the blade in. Sinking it a quarter of the way into your thigh and dragging it down, hard. It split skin and muscle like it was nothing. His non-gloved hand held you down to stop you from shaking but you cried, you sobbed and yelped and were sweating up a storm. 

It hurt so fucking much, more than anything you had experienced previously, the blood spilled, ran down in thick rivlets over the previously spilled and now tacky mess, down your thigh and onto the sheets, staining them further. 

He pulled the blade out quickly and it made you nearly scream, he hummed out, “Music to my ears.” 

Tears spilling down your raw cheeks you feel it nudge your lips, your eyes peek open and see the bloodied blade right there again. His non-gloved hand slid up your body, groping you as he went until it reached your face. His thumb rested on your chin and he prompted, “You know the drill by now. Open.”

You listened, your lips parted and your tongue darted out, keeping your eyes locked with his as you cleaned the salty iron taste from his weapon. “There’s a good slut. You are so good at playing clean-up crew for yourself.”

You sniffed as your tongue ran up one side and flicked carefully over the end of the blade. You wrapped your lips around it carefully and sucked and you saw the lust flicker in his eyes, “You know…Maybe your mouth could be put to better use.”

You had to admit blowing him with a mouthful of your own blood as lube was pretty fucking filthy and it made your hole clench in need, you were already sinking down and he chuckled, “Awe there you go.”

You slipped down, your hands on his hips before sliding to his belt and opening it, taking his zipper down and pulling him out, hard and thick, heavy in your palm. You leaned in and wrapped your scarlet stained lips around his head and sucked indulgently. He sighed in pleasure, his non-gloved hand on your head, pulling you down, making you take more of him and you moaned against his shaft. 

You prepared to give him the best blow job, pain in your knees be damned but he said something that made your pace falter, “Don’t think you are getting out of the game. If you want to cum you still have three more letters to try and earn it.”

You whined, the wound in your thigh, the three carved letters read “FRE-” so far ached and wept more blood as he made you choke and gag on his weighty cock.

#Slasher x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #BHF 2k follower raffle #Freddy Krueger x reader #Enjoyyyyy

[sabraeal]

don’t speak boyshit, Chapter 8

[Read on AO3]

It’s Usokawa who watches those stupid rom-coms, the ones with the hot girl-made-mousy tripping over herself to impress some j-pop idol trying to break into acting, but Kamitani is at least familiar with how this whole thing should go. A girl who weighs eighty pounds soaking wet sits on the rack, stares dreamily out over the countryside, and the boy does all the hard work. Easy.

But apparently no one’s ever bothered to give Inomata that talk. “Stop squirming, you’re not gonna fall off.”

“It’s not like there’s a seat belt back here!” she shrills, ass shifting enough to make the whole damn frame wobble. She’s lucky he’s used to Taka, otherwise they’d be sprawled out in a ditch somewhere, having some real words face-to-face. “If you take a corner too fast I’ll fly right off.”

If only. “No, you won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.” He’s half-tempted to shove her off himself if she can’t keep her butt still and her mouth shut. “The physics doesn’t work out!”

“It does,” he huffs, hating every minute of being right. “There’s centrifugal force or whatever. How gravity works.”

“Don’t you mean centripetal?” Unearned confidence, he’d call it, if she hadn’t placed first in their exams five semesters running.

It was a mistake to ever get on a moving vehicle with Inomata, let alone one where she had to be so close. The last thing she’s ever needed was an invitation to pick at him, and now he’s given her VIP seating. “I said what I said.”

She clucks, loud enough he can hear it over the click of his own gears. “Centrifugal force is fictitious. Centripetal force is what makes gravity work.”

For being wrong, she’s pretty snotty about it. But she can send as many as her little nastygrams as she likes; Kamitani’s the one in control here. All he needs to do is crash this bike, and he can end this conversation at any time. It’s nothing to just shrug it off, let her be wrong--

“You’re lucky I agreed to tutor you,” she sniffs. “You clearly need the help.”

Kamitani hauls his bike short, right in the middle of the bridge.

“What--”

“Google it.” She stares at him, jaw slack, as he shoves his phone into her hands. “I’ll wait.”

“If you think about it.” Inomata trails too close up the front walk; every few steps she jogs his elbow, and god, he’s never wanted to slam the door on someone harder. “It’s really both forces working together that make up the concept we think of as gravity.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t; a real legendary effort that keeps his hand out to let her pass through. “It’s not.”

She can’t even toe her shoes off like a normal person; oh no, Inomata sits down all primly on the lip of the genkan, knees pressed together like he cares what’s under her skirt, and gently works them off her feet. “It is.”

Kamitani doesn’t fucking care about physics, he doesn’t. And he especially doesn’t care about having a fight about terms first years should be familiar with. But he sees her stupid loafers sitting neatly in the tray next to his scuffed up sneakers, the way that old hag is always nagging them they should, and the next thing out of his mouth is, “Not unless you’re moving in a circle, or whatever.”

“A curve describes part of a circle’s circumference,” she informs him, as if he didn’t score higher than her in the general science exams. Not that he wanted to; that hag had been holding his recording of last summer’s Koshien and promised to bring it straight to the curb if he didn’t make it up on the board this year. “Which is what a turn is.”

There’s a part of him that’s tempted to prick at her-- what about when you’re at a light? Ninety degrees doesn’t describe any circle I know. He can hear her huff now, tinny in the small space, arms all folded up as if he’s the problem. I meant in motion, she would say, and he’d have to bite his cheek to keep from grinning when he clapped back with, but that’s not what you said. It’d be easy as breathing to get her all riled up, to make her stamp her foot and calling him a bull-headed idiot, and any other day he might, just to see her lose that Teacher’s Pet polish--

But it’s too weird when she’s just standing in her socks in his genkan, one toe shyly scratching at her calf. Her too-long fingers flex against her skirt like she’s some sort of character from a game without an idle animation, just hanging around waiting for player input.

“Come on,” he grumbles, putting his back to her. “This way.”

The thing about Inomata is: she’s all limb. Not in a sexy way like the girls in magazines, all long legs and wide eyes and parted lips. No, she’s lanky, with elbows and knees that by law should be registered as weapons. Kamitani’s taken one of two of them before-- by accident, she always insists, like he can’t see the gleam in her eyes-- and he’s convinced: she’s got to be some sort government project, the kind where they graft blades onto bones because one nudge from that girl could draw blood.

So when she trails him down the hall, he expects carnage; a boar let loose in a house made of paper. Broken vases, pictures hanging askew, dents in the drywall-- all of it would have surprised him less than silence. Enough that he wonders if she got lost somehow; it’s not like his house is hard to navigate, not with it’s single hallway connecting the whole downstairs, but he wouldn’t put it past her to need some gold embossed invitation just to get out of the genkan.

But there she is, just a few steps behind him, quietly padding along the hardwood in her knee socks. They’re ridiculous without her shoes on, her legs whittled down to matchsticks between the elastic around her calves and the hem at her knees. She’d look like a little kid if she wasn’t so long, made worse by the way her arms are clamped to her side, just one thin line from the floor to her head.

The old hag must have put something in his curry, since it’s not sitting so pretty now, rocking in his gut like it’s got its own tides. Hell if he knows what solar body’s causing it. It’s stupid; here’s Inomata, finally keeping her mouth shut, and he can’t even enjoy it.

“My room’s upstairs.” His arm swings out toward the staircase, and, god, he might as well step into some mascot costume and spell it out too for how cool he’s looking right now. “Over here.”

At least only Inomata’s around to see it. It’s not as if she pays attention to half of what he says anyway.

He gets one step up, glancing back to make sure she’s going to follow his lead-- last thing he needs is Inomata getting it into her head to look around or whatever-- and she’s just...staring at him. Wide-eyed, too, like he told her exams don’t matter after graduation, or that Kashima’s already had his first kiss, or--

“MOM.” Taka speeds out of the kitchen, shrieking at a decibel only dogs and big brothers can hear. There’s a plastic bag balled up in his hands, whatever’s inside lost in the mess. “MOM. You gotta open--” he skids to a stop, wide-eyed and inches away from collision-- “you’re not mom.”

“N-no.” Inomata’s shoulders roll back, her spine pulling flagpole straight, and whoever that cringing girl following him before was, she’s all gone now. Well, except for that splotchy disaster of a blush that’s still slapped across her face, turning the tips of her ears a red he could cook eggs on. “I’m definitely not.”

Taka’s got eyes so big they already eat up all the real estate on his face, but they go even bigger now, threatening to annex his forehead. “Inomata-nee-sama! Are you in my house?”

“Ah...” He watches her struggle not to look at him, to ask him to help the way he always has to when his brother gets too excited over people, like small dogs do when the front door rings. “It does look like that, er, doesn’t it?”

Taka grins so bright Kamitani nearly winces from the glare. One of his small hands seizes hers, tangling his bag between them. “Really? Kirin-chan’s going to be so jealous. Do you want to see my Ranger Five collection? I’ve got all of them, even Ranger Yellow, who has super lame powers but I felt bad leaving her--”

Kamitani flicks him on the back of the head. Not hard-- the little shit may not look like much, but Kamitani’s learned the hard way: kids his age don’t know how to hold back-- but enough to finally knock the motor out of his mouth. “Buzz off, brat. She’s not here to look at your stupid toys.”

“They’re not stupid, they’re super cool!” Taka stamps his foot too, like that helps his case. “Better than any toys in your room.”

He lets his scowl stretch into a sneer. “That’s real rich coming from the kid who’s been begging to have a turn on the playstation in there.”

“W-what? That doesn’t count!” Taka glances between them, suspicious. “You aren’t going to play on it are you? If you are, I wanna wa--”

“We’re not playing anything,” Kamitani snaps. “Go watch your Lame Five or whatever.”

“It’s Ranger Five!” His cheeks puff out, not quite as big as they used to be, but still begging to be poked. “And if you’re not playing, then what are you doing?”

“None of your business,” he grunts, unfortunately at the same time Inomata shrills out, “Studying?”

Ugh. This is what’s wrong with only children: they don’t know how to tell a kid to scram.

“Oh.” To his annoyance, Taka only looks thoughtful, shifting back and forth on his feet until he sidles up to the lowest stair. “Can I come?”

Kamitani fits his whole hand over his brother’s face, and with full feeling, shoves. “No.”

“H-hey!” Taka splutters as he pounds up the rest of the stairs, Inomata skittishly following behind him. “I’ll tell Mom!”

“Good luck,” he grunts back, shaking his head as he hits the landing. “She’s not going to be home until late, and your memory is shitty.”

“You better not play anything without me!” His shrill little voice bounces up the stairs, amplified a hundred times by the time Kamitani gets to the top, rattling his teeth in his skull. “Or you’ll be in trouble.”

He huffs as he turns the corner, muttering, “When am I not?”

“Is that something you should worry about?” Whatever spine Inomata found in front of Taka, she must have left on the stairs. She’s back to shuffling behind him, watching each door they pass as if it might leap out and bite her.

Kamitani cranes his neck over his shoulder, annoyed. “What?”

One of her skinny shoulders shrugs, a shadow beneath the surface of her shirt. “You know. Taka telling Kamitani-sensei that I was here.”

It’s no good. No matter how long he looks, he can’t figure out what’s wrong with her. Besides, well, being Inomata. “What’s wrong with that? It’s not like she’ll figure out you have a crush on Kashima from--”

“Ah! Not-- not that!” Her hands wave in front of her, like just being weird might shush him up better than acting like a functional person. “I mean that you’ll have had a girl in your room. Unsupervised!”

He blinks. “Who?”

Inomata stares right at him, putting a hand over her school tie and clearly enunciating, “Me?”

Even the old hag and her over-active imagination isn’t stupid enough to look at that regulation-length skirt and the blouse buttoned up to its last hole, bow still crisply tied even after club, and think, I bet boys want to do more than study with her. But he knows better than to say so when Inomata’s notes are on the line. “It’ll be fine.”

The noise she makes isn’t thunder, but it’s the mark of a storm moving in quick. He puts his back to her all the same, reaching for his door. “What do you mean, ‘it’s fine?’ Do you really think--?”

Inomata’s protests grind to a halt, watching with growing horror as his door swings wide and-- “You live like this?”

For a minute, he worries that Taka already got into his stuff today, the way that old hag always lets him, leaving candy smeared into his carpet and game cases strewn across the floor. But he glances in, and it looks like it always does. A little cluttered, sure, but he’s seen worse. “What?” 

“It’s a sty,” she snaps, slouch gone with a sniff. “Don’t you have a hamper? There’s clothes everywhere. How you ever have people in here is beyond me. Do you really--?”

She startles when his hand smacks the door, holding it open for her. “Get in already”

“I couldn’t possibly.”  Her scoff grates like nails on a chalkboard. “There isn’t even a place to--”

On the field, it’s a move that would have put him on the benches. But there’s no ref here, just him and Inomata, so when she sways that bare inch in front of him, her arms all crossed like the state of his room is an affront to all of Japan, he just..bumps her. A little. Enough that she stumbles, socked foot catching on a T-shirt from last weekend, gets right at the center of it all.

“Better make yourself at home.” His lips peel back from his teeth in nothing like a smile. “Because I’m sure as hell not cleaning up for you.”

“I don’t know what the big problem is,” Kamitani grumbles, plucking another t-shirt off the floor. “It’s clean. Look, you can even see the floor.”

There are bugs that have gotten friendlier expressions than the one he gets from Inomata. “You have to be kidding me. There’s a pair of day-old b-b--” her voice drops to a hiss-- “underwear right there.”

“That’s not from yesterday.” Her bumps past her-- not his fault, she’s the one standing in the middle of his room, making herself as useful as a traffic cone on the grass-- and scoops the offending article off the floor, giving it a sniff. “Yeah, that’s got to be Friday. At least.”

If that girl glared any harder, those eyes would pop right out of her head. “And you just left it there?”

“Sure.” He grabs another set of boxers, hidden by the last pair, before she can catch a glimpse. “It’s not like I was expecting anyone to invite themselves over.”

That gets a blush out of her, at least, even if it doesn’t slow her scold. “Neither do I, but I at least keep it neat! Your hamper is only two feet away, for goodness’ sake.”

He glances up at her from his crouch, and snorts, “You haven’t been in many boys’ rooms, have you?”

Scrawny shoulders hike up, a surly little picket by her ears. “Of course not.”

“Well, take it from me,” he huffs, flicking his duvet over his sheets, smoothing it out all nice. “This is about as good as it gets.”

“I doubt that.” Her head tosses, sending that haystack of hair wild, strands flying out every which way. “Kashima-kun hardly seems like the sort of person to leave his, er, unmentionables out where someone could see them.”

“Kashima doesn’t count.” He wouldn’t leave his boxers out if the headmistress might see them either. Or worse, Saikawa. “Did you come here just to nag me or what?”

She blinks. “What?”

With one last trip to the hamper, Kamitani drops into his desk chair, spread-legged and weary. “You wanted help with your boy stuff or whatever, didn’t you? So what does this whole tutor thing involve?”

For a long moment she just stares at him, lips pressed tight and toes curled into his carpet, and he thinks this is it, that she’s going to lose the courage that got her through the door and just bolt, but--

But instead, she bursts. “And just where am I supposed to sit now?”

Honestly, if it’s not one thing it’s the other with this girl. “I made my bed.”

Smoothed it out too, all nice like how the old hag nags him to do it, no bunched sheets making lumps beneath it. And yet, Inomata isn’t impressed. “I can’t sit there!”

“Why not?” His hands hook behind his head as he leans back, trying to catch something like an answer in her scowl. “You don’t think I’d actually try--?”

“Of course not,” she snorts. “But I know what boys get up to on their beds. There’s probably all sorts of...boy gunk on there.”

His sheets were washed just last week, but the way she sneers at his perfectly clean duvet makes him hold that little tidbit of information to his chest. “Are you sure you want a boyfriend?”

“What?” There’s the blush again, rising up all uneven across her face like a rash. “I didn’t say--!”

“Even Kashima’s going to have gunk.” Though it makes him feel gross thinking about it. “So if that’s a deal breaker, then maybe you should quit while you’re behind. Save us both some time.”

The glare she levels at him would make Usokawa piss himself, but Kamitani just tilts his chin; a dare. And by the puff of her cheeks, she doesn’t miss it.

“Fine.” How the word grinds out from teeth clenched so hard they creak is nothing short of a miracle. She takes one hobbling step, then another, and with a sigh nothing short of resigned, she perches herself on the corner of his comforter, legs crossed at the ankle. “There. Happy now?”

“Would have thought I’d be the one asking you that,” he grunts, bracing his hands on his knees. “After all, you’re the one with the big ideas here.”

“Excuse me?”

Her eyelashes flutter-- confused, not cute-- and his palms itch. Right at the center of them, impossible to scratch. “You’ve got something in mind, don’t you? A whole fucking binder filled with dumb ideas sorted by colored tab?”

“Ah...” That stupid flush spreads down her neck, disappearing under the stiff line of her collar. “Right, yes, of course...”

“You do, right?” Hands give way to elbows as he leans forward, curry sinking like a stone in his gut. “You’re not just going to give up your notes with no plan.”

“Of course not!” She scowls, reaching into her bag. “It’s not really a binder, not yet, but I did throw this together a day or two ago. It’s really more of a, er, thought exercise than anything else.”

He doesn’t get a good glance at it, not until she shoves it into his hands, the thin paper powdery against his fingertips. “What’s this? A...test booklet?”

“It’s just fifty of the questions I thought would be most helpful at the beginning of this project.” She strives to sound normal about it, but Kamitani catches the gleam in her eye, the victorious flush across her cheeks. This is nerd shit. “If you could just fill it out and return it to me, then I’ll be in a much better position to analyze what I need to work on and come back with a plan that--”

“You made a test? You want me to take tests?” He skims the first few pages, bile burning in his throat with every question he reads. Explain your type in ten words or less. What are the three most important criteria in a romantic partner? Describe the perfect date, using as much detail as possible. “And they’re not even multiple choice!”

Her hands wave, more cajoling than denial. “It’s not a test! It’s data collection. There’s no right or wrong answer, I just need you to answer to the best of your ability. This one isn’t going to be graded, so--”

“Graded.” He should have known better than to tangle with Inomata and tutoring. “You’re going to grade me.”

“No, no, it’s not an assessment! Or, well, it is, but it’s not about what you don’t know, but rather, what I...” Her mouth purses. “It’s just your opinions. Preliminary data so I can see where my knowledge is most insufficient. It wouldn’t really make sense if I was the one grading you, now would it?”

The booklet snaps shut-- at least, as much as the pages will let it, making more of a shush than a snap. “So I’m gonna grade you?”

“Well, er...” She squirms, his duvet dimpling beneath her, and it’s weirdly distracting, her just sitting there, thighs squeezed together. “I expect there will be a, uh, practical portion of the curriculum?”

He stares. “Practical...?”

“Yes!” Her head bobs, too enthusiastic. “Though I suppose that would have to be on a rubric. What’s measured can be improved, after all.”

“But what would I...? Her groans, rubbing at the spot that pounds between his eyebrows. “Did you want kissing lessons or something?”

Inomata’s eyes bulge. “What? No! Why would I--? With you--? Have you ever even kissed anyone?”

Kamitani doesn’t blush, he doesn’t, but the skin under his collar still burns, licking up the side of his neck to the tips of his ears. “No.”

“Then why would I ever..?” It’s terrible how her words hang, stoppered up by that suspicious squint. “Did you want there to be kissing lessons?”

“What? Hell no!” He shifts back in his seat with a grunt, crossing his arms with as much denial as he can manage. “I just asked so I could tell you it wasn’t going to happen.”

“Good.” Her mouth rucks up into a mean little knot, and god, how she ever thought anyone would want to kiss her, he’ll never know. “I wouldn’t even if you wanted to.”

“Well, I don’t, so--” he reins himself in with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So what would I be grading you on?”

“Ah...” All that confidence disappears with a cough, her shoulders inching up to her ears. “I hadn’t really thought about the specifics. But, er, I suppose whatever you’d expect a girlfriend to do...?”

Kamitani stares. “So you do want kissing?”

“No!” It’s kind of funny, the way she flushes this time. Not like her usual, all patchy and red, but an almost delicate pink, just sitting at the peak of her cheekbones. “I meant things that would be expected of someone in a relationship-- ah, besides that,” she snaps, when he fails to smother a laugh. “The sort of things that make a guy think it wouldn’t be so bad if maybe...”

Her brain must catch up to her mouth, because all at once she stops, cheeks flaring that stop-light red. “Ah...” she sighs, smothering the sound in her shoulder. “Never mind. Maybe it’s better if we just keep to--”

“Stuff that makes you attractive right?” It’s stupid, really, to feel bad for a girl like Inomata. But those big eyes of hers peek over the pickets of her shoulders, so wary of the smallest bit of help, and well-- it’s no skin off his nose to push through, to pretend like he didn’t just watch her lose every ounce of brazenness that got her this far. “Makes a guy see a girl as a woman, or whatever. Wants to bring her home to his mom and stuff.”

“I...” She clears her throat, smoothing her skirt over the spread of her thighs, right down to her knees. “Right, yeah. That. Stuff like, er...”

“Making bentos.” It’s the sort of thing Usokawa would jaw off about when he was deep into one of those stupid manga. “Going on dates. Good conversation.”

Inomata sighs, relieved. “Yes, exactly like that.”

“Good,” he grunts. “Because I can’t do anything about your rack or whatever.”

It’s weird; after all the shy shuffling she’s done this afternoon, he’s almost relieved to see her scowl. “I wasn’t going to ask you to! I’m already well-aware that I don’t really have the, um...” Inomata glances down, grimacing. “...Assets to compete on that front.”

As much as he’s tried to keep out of girl stuff, Kamitani’s heard girls talk about themselves. My butt’s too flat, my stomach’s all round, my face is so skinny, and I sat out too long this summer and now I’m all tan. It’s endless the way they edit themselves, trying to fit into some weird idea of what a guy wants-- like they don’t know they could have dog paws and three-fourths of the guys he knows would still want to hook up-- but at least they seem like they care about what they’re complaining about. Involved, even. Inomata just sounds...

Tired.

“Girls aren’t just breasts or whatever.” He doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not like he cares about Inomata’s feelings. But when she looks up at him, startled, he adds, “There’s other stuff that matters.”

Good tits help though. Not that he’ll say that, not when she’s looking at him like-- like that. Like he’s said what she needs to hear. “Oh...thanks.”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “You’ve got legs too.”

Whatever good feelings he’s earned evaporate in a groan. “You’re such a dog.”

“So? I’m seventeen.” His chin tilts back, just enough that he catches her eye. “We’re all dogs. Even Kashima.”

By the purse of her lips, she’s not precisely convinced. Fair, Kamitani’s not so sure on that either. Sure, any normal red-blooded guy his age would turn his head for any flash of girl flesh, but Kashima--

Well, Kamitani’s not really sure what his deal is, but it’s survived several cute girls throwing themselves at him, so non-existant‘s the likeliest option. Or maybe he’s just never asked the right questions, and Kashima’s a total freak. One of the reasons the kid’s so tolerable is because they never fucking talk about this stuff.

“Fine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. What subject do you need help with the most?”

He watches her rummage through her bag, eyebrows hiked up toward his hairline. “Really? That’s it?”

“Filling out that questionnaire alone is enough work to earn a study session, and since I can’t make a lesson plan until you finish it...” She shrugs, lugging some huge binder onto her lap. “Which subject?”

He’s not convinced they’re even, but, well, it’s not his problem if she wants to grab the short end of this stick. “English.”

“Mom.” Taka says the word with as much seriousness as a six year old can muster. It still makes him sound like a muppet, especially around a mouthful of rice. “Nii-chan said my memory was shitty.”

Her hand flashes out, cuffing Kamitani on the ear; not hard enough to hurt, but he does lose the strip of meat between his chopsticks. “What’s wrong with you? I’ve told you not to talk like that.”

“I’ll talk how I want,” he grunts, fishing through his stew to find another likely piece. It’s beef tonight; he’s not about to waste it all by filling up on vegetables and rice. “Besides, his memory is shitty.”

“He does have you there.” The hag tilts her head, too thoughtful. “What were you supposed to remember, anyway?”

The little shit’s cheeks bulge out around his dinner. “I forget!”

Kamitani rolls his eyes. Typical. "You’re such a pain. Why’d you even say anything?”

“I wanted to get you in trouble,” he says like it’s obvious. Which it is; he just didn’t expect the brat to come out an admit it. Not in front of the hag, at least.

“Whatever.” He stands with a grunt, shoveling stew into his mouth. “I’m out of here.”

That old witch squints up at him, mouth already puckered around whatever excuse she’s conjured up to stop him. “Just where do you think you’re going? You haven’t even finished eating.”

“I have stuff to do.”

“More important than dinner?” One eyebrow raises, practically dripping with suspicion. “Have you been screwing around with your games again instead of doing your homework? I told you I’d put that thing on the curb if you--”

“No, it’s done.” Or at least as done as it’s gonna get, even with Inomata’s notes. But there’s an exam’s worth of useless questions burning a hole in the corner of his desk, and they’re not about to answer themselves. That girl may have told him to take his time, but he knows exactly what sort of scene will be waiting for him if he doesn’t turn them in by first period. “Just...stuff. None of your business.”

It’s a mistake; the hag straightens up all at once, a storm brewing at her brow line, and he mouth opens--

“I remember!” Taka shouts, hopping out of his seat. “Nii-chan had a girl in his room.”

“Shut up,” he snaps, at the same time his mom asks, “Hayato?”

It’s surprising, he’ll give her that, but she doesn’t need to sound so incredulous about it.

“Yeah!” The little brat sits back down, smug over the mess on his plate. “Inomata-nee-sama was here.”

She whips around to stare at him, brows hovering at her hairline. “Inomata-san?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, all casual, like it’s obvious. “We were studying.”

“You were...studying?” She settles back in her seat, too thoughtful. “I suppose that could be true...since it’s Inomata-san...”

“You told me to take exams seriously this year, didn’t you?” If he hears another word about good universities and the kind of scores it takes to get in them, it’ll be too soon. “Who else was I going to ask?”

“Honestly, I just thought you were going to blow it off again, and I’d have to listen to that ass--” she darts a glance at where Taka sits, happily anticipating the punishment his tattling had bought-- “to some people at work tell me that you would have done better if you’d been raised in a more disciplined household.”

It’s habit that makes his hands clench, skin pulling so tight against his knuckles he sees bone. The hag’s not looking, not right at him, but he shoves them in his pockets anyway. “Has he said that to you? That it’s your fault.”

“Not in so many words. But I’m sure he would, if...” Her shoulder lifts in a sad excuse for a shrug, and suddenly Kamitani’s aware why she always nags at him for doing it. It’s obnoxious. “It doesn’t matter.”

It does. Sure, he’s got complaints a kilometer long about the hag’s parenting style, but it’s a damn sight better than anything that loser could come up with. If he thinks he can get on Mom’s case just because of a few points shaved off for sloppy math, well--

“That’s not what we’re talking about.” The hag waves her hand, like that’s enough to dispell the sour specter in the room. “We’re talking about you. And Inomata-san. Studying.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Even as he says it, she leans closer, inspecting every angle of his face. “Cut that out! I told you, she just came over to lend me some notes. For English. I was having trouble with the grammar.”

Her eyes narrow, but she sits back anyway, running her gaze over him like she’d find the truth if only she could turn out his pockets.

“Fine,” she hums with a chuck of her chin. “Sounds likely enough.”

“Good.” It’s little more than a grunt. “Because that’s what happened.”

“I do have one question though.” The old hag tips forward onto her hand, mouth twitching into an all too knowing smile. “Did you keep the door open?”

#inokami #inomata x kamitani #gakuen babysitters #gakubaby #inomata maria #maria inomata #hayato kamitani #kamitani hayato #my fic #don't speak boyshit #future fic #year three #idiots to lovers #slow burn #dating lessons #this whole chapter was an exercise in restraint because BOY did I want Kamitani to have an awakening #but the angel on my shoulder was like NO. the burn is SLOW #he must only be weirded out #and annoyed by her presence #but soon. SOON. the feelings will appear #and he will be belligerent about not looking directly at them #but for now they are mincing toward being friends

[gaykillermoth]

"It's Easter."

Morgan clambers into Lucibelle's workshop, holding an acid green egg.

The demon grumbles, humanoid half bent over its workbench, tinkering with... something. Knowing Lucibelle, Morgan was sure they wouldn't ever see it - the demon was apparently convinced that they were too dumb to understand the ethereal arts. It's fucking computer science.

"Don't tell me you celebrate," Lucibelle huffs, lifting its head and tucking in its many wings. "I thought you all denounced that drivel. What happened to being your own God?"

"Touchy, touchy," Morgan coos. "Look down here! I brought you a gift."

Lucibelle hums softly. Morgan watches the gears turn in its head, smoke metaphorically pouring out of its metaphorical ears. It mumbles too quietly for them to hear and turns around, skinless face twisted into an annoyed grimace.

Morgan holds the egg up to it.

"What the hell did that come from?" Lucibelle asks. It crouches down, lower half practically kneeling to face Morgan's hand. The wings on its head whack the human in the process, and if they were any less soft, Morgan might have some issues.

They take the opportunity to pinch the wet bump of cartilage and bone that was probably its nose at some point and wriggle it around.

"A dragon," Morgan teases. "A big green one. You just missed it."

"Dragons aren't real," Lucibelle guffaws.

Morgan smirks and waits for the demon to catch on.

It sniffs the egg, squinting to the best of its ability.

"This is a duck egg," Lucibelle announces, spreading out the wings on its back. "You were being sarcastic! Damn it, you know I hate sarcasm."

"But you love me."

"I would eat you if you weren't useful."

Morgan rolls their eyes. "Alright, I'll take the egg-"

Lucibelle swoops in before Morgan can react and eats the egg straight from their hand, swallowing it whole. Not that it's hard - Lucibelle is massive, even by demon standards.

"Tastes bad," it complains.

"That would be the paint." Morgan grins. There's a slight tremble in their voice, their head light from being so close to that massive set of razor-sharp teeth. That was fun, actually. They should find more excuses for people to nearly bite them.

"Blehh." Lucibelle sticks out its now-green tongue. "Can't believe you made me eat lead. Again. Get out of my office."

"Again?"

"You shot me." Lucibelle scowls. "Twice. If you forgot."

Morgan thinks for a moment. They do remember. It was kind of fun, even if they feel slightly bad about it now. "Aww," they coo. "I do remember. I'm so sorry. Poor thing."

"No. Don't do that."

"But-"

"No. Get out. Shoo."

Morgan laughs wickedly as one massive claw herds them out of Lucibelle's workshop. Time to go pester the Ravenman.

#my writing #my ocs #sightings #my art