#um.. i may be struggling

[daily-odile]

unused odiles

#for the drinking ask + jolly round rondo #day 18 #um.. i may be struggling #so have two #isat #isat odile #in stars and time

[caracello]

i loooove to play with tropes with my self inserts, but i don't usually lean toooo hard into them with the ships themselves. IT DEPENDS i adore a good cheesy knight/princess romance, for example, but the more drama-esque tropes just don't usually click with how i prefer to go about romance. that said, though, i kind of want to make ocelot and somebody on-and-off lovers.

#he strikes me as um. Flighty . in relationships. To say the least. #it doesn't help that a lot of those drama-esque tropes tend to lean towards jealousy. #which i think is ridiculous at the very best. but i think some stupid drama may actually work with the kind of person ocelot is lol. #crushposting #idkkkk i need to look into him more i'm struggling a bit to really pin down his personality. #why hasn't someone posted a 4 page long character analysis on him yet. hm?

[llycaons]

truly do find 'perfect' sweet little kids who exist to be cute and protected extremely boring to the point of aggravation but alluka DOESN'T fit that description because she's been neglected and isolated her whole life, she is soul-bonded with a horrifying (to many) and nearly omniscient being, she is endlessly sweet and loving to really only one person, and she STANDS UP TO that person when he hurts someone else she cares about!! she may not have a lot going on but her character and personality contrasts her situation so much to make it really striking. and I'm a sucker for close brother/sister relationships!! so sue me!!!

#not to harp on this again but I would argue despite having similar roles as children supporting the protags and acting as #characters whose very existence means important plot or character things regardless of their personalities #alluka IS better-written than a-yuan. there is genuine conflict there. she has her own loyalties and motivations #on a plot level she may exist to 1. solve a problem 2. separate killua from gon and 3. introduce DC magic #but it doesn't feel like she exists to simply fill a shallow shipping-adjacent role quite so blatantly #or maybe I'm biased against using kids as shipping fodder. #or reducing an entire murdered family to one kid who's only referred to as the son of two unrelated characters. and whose survival #is only of value bc it helps gets them together idk! #I also really dislike how 'good' kids are treated by the narrative. #etc. etc. anyway authority figures and her own parents and siblings hate and fear and disrespect and misunderstand alluka. #and they are wrong! fuck them! it's always felt like togashi's had the backs of the kids he writes #it's um. anti-authoritarian not rly in its themes but in its general approach I think? #hm. can't rly elaborate rn as im sleepy #but alluka's sweetness isn't grating or irritating it's a breath of fresh air in the nightmare that is her home life #and it's a precious and wonderful thing to see her so affectionate with a character we the audience love so much but who has struggled #for so long to leave his past behind and do be a normal kid #her love and her kindness isn't empty or meaningless it's the lifeblood that killua needs to #have a healthy relationship w his best friend #bc it lets him step back and have more than one important person in his life #and he sends that love right back to her!!!! killua isn't just someone starved for love he's starved TO love! #the unconditional love the rest of his familiy has long denied him....he and alluka and nanika all find it with each other #and it's the most beautiful and special thing in the entire series I think. or one of them #cor.txt

[aetherose]

Seventh handed this to me so here.

#&& dash games / there is scarcely any passion without struggle #&& munday / stuff about rose! #it may not be munday but i'll put this in that tag anyway #i. think this is extremely unsurprising lmao #dont take this as strict rankings but more a GENERAL look at who i like tbh #cause i'd rank things a bit differently but yknow #kafka and swan being that high is 100% accurate though #my top 5 in actuality though is kafka swan bronya seele and #um. probably between acheron or jingliu?

[pinkopalina]

as a huge batjokes shipper i want batman and joker to hate each other in the sense they dont really hate each other, they just have really different goals and see their own version of potential in the other and right now hate is the best word for their situationship. they both love the other for what they could be but neither of them wants to be what the other one wants, and that's equally as frustrating as it is necessary for them to keep existing in their current roles. they're deadlocked and that fate surrounding each other is kind of the point -- we both have to be like this, the opposite of what the other wants, for us to keep existing at all, and for giving me that gift i both love and hate you. it's an agreement. i think the hate that's there now is born from an intense underlying love.

i think batman "hates" joker for being so amazing and smart and cunning, for being able to create grand gestures and schemes, to pull people together under his charisma and make them all believe in something, for being as extraordinary as he is but batman hates that he uses it to hurt people. he hates that joker can't channel his energy into doing something good for the world, that he hurts himself and others just because he wants to be batman's greatest enemy. i think batman wants to help joker but also hates him at this point for joker exhausting him, constantly getting hurt both emotionally and physically by him, joker never trying to improve his situation, throwing away other people's lives, showing batman he loves him by lashing out and hurting him. batman hates joker because he loves his rogues, he wants to help them, and he knows they can do better. he wants to live in a gotham that doesn't need batman but he still needs to be needed, because when there's no batman, what is bruce going to be? without joker, he will continue being batman, but it's an empty crusade. some of my favorite interactions between harvey and bruce are the ones where harvey thanks bruce for "always being there for me, never giving up on me, my very best friend." even with someone like harvey, bruce can still hold onto that hope for his rogues, never give up on them, keep going for them, even if it puts them through the cycle one more time.

i think joker hates batman in the most toxic way possible, but it's still love. i just think he's selfish and doesn't want batman to think about anyone else but him, the same way he operates for batman, but if he must think about other people then joker will make it as amazing as possible! i think he hates batman for wasting his time on ordinary people, people who are so boring that batman claims he has to protect and serve and love them but joker thinks it's all surface-level. batman won't kill joker but he'll leave room for people dying in his crusade. it's a choice he allows, and even if joker knows that's a morally fucked up way to put someone in a box, he doesn't care. batman is the type of person to train himself mentally and physically for decades and dress up in a half-silly-half-menacing costume so that everyone can have an idea about him. batman himself is not normal, and joker knows that and loves that! why is he wasting his time trying to save people that use him, abuse him, don't want him to be the best he can be? i think joker's motivations for loving batman and lashing out as if he hates him lie somewhere in between extreme admiration -- like i truly believe in your cause and that you're the right person to do it, but i'm so angry at you for wasting your time on other people and i'm so hurt and jealous that you choose them over me, just so you can be a hypocrite and let them die if i want them to anyways -- and anger at his hypocrisy -- like it's easy for joker to dedicate himself to chaos and just being in batman's life by putting batman in situations that force him to be a better and better hero, but how can batman sit there and choose and pick what morals he'll uphold and who gets to live and who gets to die?

i want to be your greatest enemy because you are the greatest hero ever, and the only way you and i can keep being the best at what we do is if we do it together, because of what we both believe in.

#does this make sense. they love each other because theyre perfect for each other #but in order to create that perfection they have to do things that build resentment #and in order to ebb that resentment they have to be in constant flux. back and forth. ebb and flow. good and evil. chaos and order. #obsession and indifference.... the two themes i think we miss out on the most bc it hurts when indifference is the opposite of love #and obviously these two cannot be indifferent toward the otther #but when they have plots that do they really fucking hurt! #like when lex luthor comes into the picture and helps joker and joker starts to make batman a little jealous #like okay maybe i dont need you to obsess over maybe any strong ideals can overtake me if u lnow what i mean #and then suddenly batmans gotta prove how well he knows joker and has to be on top of him at all times #um anyways i hope these kind of! made sense!!!!!!!!! djhdkjghijsdfhksdfh #like ideally i think joker just wishes he had batman all to himself but knows he has to share #and hes such a jealous baby that he makes it hard for batman bc of it #and batman is like yes joker jesus fucking christ i love you too but you have to let me have friends #and u have to stop killing people #and jokers like why are you friends with murderers and liars and thieves but IM BAD? #and batmans like bc i actually love everyone and want to help you all and that includes u #and jokers like jo fuck you hypocrtie hahaha see at least in my loneliness i have no laurels to rest on #and bruce is like i may struggle with my morals often but that is only because im always figuring out the best way to keep helping everyone #and if i lose sight of that ill go blind and be like you and then u wont have me anymore #lol sometimes funny tag convos get the dynamic better than the meaty posts #long post #anyways sorry i just havee 2937973957273 thoughts about them and so does everyone and i wanna throw my hat in

[danielpowell]

I, uh, hm, Hm MMM-

I'm working on it.

#mel talks #I may wind up posting them separately or just stick them on the master list post #it depends on how well I sequence them #as for my MB mixes... still struggling to find tracks to bride the gaps #once again I am begging y'all for recommendations #AND NO I'M NOT FINISHING KIM'S ANY TIME SOON #all the news around za/um has been draining to say the least

[peanutblowandjobsandwich]

ik mood n symptom etc tracking is good and it def helped me to esp realize the pmdd but before that i always uh was hesitant to do it bc like the fine line between tracking n pathologizing yourself if tht makes sense yeah i feel like well i kinda tracked consistently for the first 5-6 months n i feel like it made me focus on myself way too much so yh i dont think i will again i dont think i can safely do it without making myself worse lol

#i was gonna say like the happenings of last sem seem so far removed from me #like oh those things happened it's crazy i can barely remember it all but ik i was unstable af #but then i realized my hands dont look like my own really they seem strange #so myb i'm just dissociating #but also ik i forget n struggle to connect my past xps to myself so yh #last semester was a trip but yh no more tracking #i feel like i've been doing a bit better since i stopped? like im not um obsessing over it yh #tracking may be helpful n great but not for someone with obsessive tendencies lol #cloud nonsense

[fnafawoundleftbleedingau]

...partially considering holding off on posting AWLB part 2 until I've got like, the whole thing written, and re-read/reworked in places fully.

#insomniac hyena rambles #idk if I will. just been thinking lately #sorta realized how badly I stifle myself with my work because of someone I know #and just how much anxiety they give me over my hobbies sometimes #sitting aside for a bit and working on that personal project and just #having the space to do whatever was so damn nice and refreshing #and I want my posted works to have that same feeling #i feel like it may be why i keep having trouble with AWLB part 2 and staying focused #I keep looking at it through that anxiety lens they've saddled me with #it may just be this time of the year gettting to me too thats making really consider holding off on AWLB like this too. but. #the other stuff really doesnt help either #sorry for ranting. um #long story short. taking concerns from others into account is fine #but theres a big difference in things that are constructive and actually should be taken into account #and just not making something that's exactly what someone else wanted when you're just trying to create for yourself #don't let anyone pull the joy out of your hobbies for you. you'll just upset yourself. struggled to find joy in your work- #and get frustrated as hell with people.

[noxtivagus]

i remember again n feel better hehe 🥹🤍

#🌙.rambles #thought i'd just ramble abt this to my notes but maybe a fellow wanderer wld come across this #i mean. aside from a few irls that could very much stumble across this.. i get shy n embarrassed at the though of it but OH WELL HDKGJSKDS #majority here r basically friends acquaintances n strangers that essentially don't know. like my real name or address or wtvr. #basically we don't know each other irl directly so it's somehow for some reason much easier for me to be open about how i feel in tumblr ta #s bcs 1) i write VERY long. very unlikely that someone wld read it unless they seeked it out for some reason that only they'd know #my brain's empty rn it's a bit of a mess but i feel better than just pure emptiness bcs i remember how #genuinely when it comes to other ppl.. despite how they may feel about their own selves. disappointed hatred wtvr #that. regardless of that i know that my own truth for them would be that i'll love them the same #let's say if i don't reach a certain standard for my own grades. say i usually get grades that r 90-100 often around the higher end too #but for one course i get vey slightly below the 90 mark. i'd feel like such a failure i'd feel like such a disappointment #so much so that i genuinely can't accept how others aren't disappointment in me despite how much of a failure i feel i am #turn the tables however; how do i react for others? even if. theoretically let's say they outright fail #i wouldn't think of them as anything less. it doesn't change anything bcs i genuinely love and care for the other wholly from the heart #they're my equal. they're my friend. yeah.. i rmb times in the past where i wld nearly break down from being around the passing score for #only 1 exam. i'd have friends that failed though. & i also forgot of how for other exams i basically got perfect or wtvr #it's so easy to just blind ourselves n focus on failure n forget. things that r most important #i deal with failure.. very badly honestly bcs i achieved very well as a kid. aside from stuff in filipino which uh. yeah trauma but um #maths n sciences n english or wtvr n nearly everything else i'd get easy perfects but i'd forget them over one disappointment #i struggled w that lately w my released grades n it still hurts the regret really hurts so much n i hate myself so much for it but #i'm.. trying to be kind n i've managed to feel like myself for a while today. progress. thats enough to be proud of #bcs yk knowing how others feel of their own selves n the way i treat them despite it. i cld at least try again to do the same for myself #say 10 years from now i'd be more thankful n happy if i forgave myself for it than destroyed myself in pursuit of doing better #more than. success in terms of grades i'd much rather grow n develop as a person #that said recently i've had so much anxiety w reaching out to ppl n i reply slowly but i'm trying to do better #bcs yesterday i rmb feeling so low that i really wanted to reach out to someone.. that's a whole nother lvl of pain for me bcs that means #my hopelessness reached a level enough that i knew i really needed comfort n support or i'll break #indirectly. helping you made me realize n remember myself. n i felt well enough to reach out once more.. i'm too shy to say directly but #thank you very much for that. it means more to me than you'll ever know

[transsexual-divinity]

Had tickets to see Live tonight and my fuckin car broke down 🤪🤪so didn’t get to go

#we were literally 800ft from the venue. Two stop lights and a right turn away. #and then my stupid bitch ass car just stops moving. like my friend was pressing the gas and it wouldn’t move #he just looks over at me and says um bro it’s not moving #literally man we were so fucken close we drove the forty minutes to get there perfectly fine then literally one street away man I’m so like #come on like bruh and then we got it to start again and get to the second light and guess what happens? it does it again. then we fix it n #get to the street and boom does it again. like just stops and won’t move while we’re in the middle of the street n people are honking at us #we just try to find somewhere to park but can’t do we make it to the parking garage n it does it three more fuckin times and where on the #fucking sloped hill to even go into the lot while people are honking and shit n the car starts going backwards we manage to get up to the #third level still looking for a spot to just park and leave it n go to the concert anyways but nope it does it again so we’re stuck on this #dam slope in between level 3 n 4 and I can’t move my foot from the brake or it starts going backwards again. manage to get the emergency br #ake n have to wait the 40 minutes for my mom n brothers to come rescue us while we miss the whole concert. and guess fucking what? they com #and start it and drive it home with no problem. #man I’m so like come onnnn this stupid bitch car couldn’t make it the 800ft and yet they get in n start it and drive it home perfectly fine #like bruh. thanks for that stupid 2018 hyundai also the fact that I literally only bought it in august like dude come on #and! I’m moving into my very first apartment this weekend like I literally signed the lease on Wednesday what great timing #you bitches in league a the cosmic forces better not be cursing me or some shit #but my bff n I did get Dairy Queen to ease our struggles so maybe it’s not all bad #oh also I literally left work early for the concert too! they even asked me to stay and I said nope I’m going to a concert sorry #so stupid 🙄 starting to think maybe concerts that are far away may not be worth the struggle for me since last time we even had trouble w t #e maps n were driving on the wrong side of the road n shit cuz stupid iphone maps thought were were facing the other direction #but sadly we don’t have any venues here like we had one that was shut down cuz of christians n their complaints #anyways enough of my ranting I will make it to a concert this year even if I have to take a damn bus #m talks

[royalberryriku]

This particular part in the second last chapter of my fic just has me like: kittykittykittykittykitty!!!!

#writing kitty being cute and getting pets #very wholesome #very satisfying #this might just be may favourite part #Bubbles going meow and getting big cuddles and rubs and being a silly little guy #I love my son #fanfic rambles #um update sort of I guess #honestly this scene is so cute I'm struggling to write without without crying and going “who's a good boy??” every five seconds

[mysicklove]

Summary: four-year-old Yuuji didnt mean to bring up Mr. Gojos crush on you, which of course, leads to Sukuna's harsh teasing.

cw: fem! reader (reader gets referred to as girl, pretty, and mommy), curse words, suggestive language, lion king spoilers (lol)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: i love making sukuna an absolute menace. poor yuuji tho. i think i am going to introduce gojo as a character, because I think it would be entertaining to piss Sukuna off lol.

big brother au masterlist

“Su-kuna!”

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Language,” You scold, not peering up from your book. Yuuji lays sprawled out on top of the both of you – his head in your lap, and practically purring in content when you gently pet the top of his head, while his little legs are on Sukuna’s thighs. 

Yuuji giggles into your shirt, shaking his head mischeviously. “Bad word Su-kuna!”

In an instant, you feel the toddler being ripped away from your lap with a tiny screech. The noise startles you, and you perk up from your book to look to where the boy has gone to. But, you aren't surprised to see him dangling in the air by his ankle – Sukuna’s long fingers skillfully hold onto Yuujis chubby little leg tight enough to not drop him, but gently enough to not cause physical harm. 

The boy doesn't seem to mind this position, being in it so frequently. Giggles and squeals leave the toddler's mouth as he stares at his now upside down brother. “You learning how to speak correctly?”

Yuuji nods his head, and his hands try to reach for Sukunas shirt. You rest your head on the man's shoulder, chuckling at the boy who was squirming in the air. “Uh-huh! F-Fush-i-guro taught me!” The dark haired toddlers last name was hard to pronounce, and it was amusing watching how Yuuji sounded it out.

Sukuna makes a loud groaning noise and you cover your mouth to hold back another laugh. “Of course you made friends with Gojo’s new brat. First he hits on my girl, and now his new kid is gonna manipulate this idiot.” He shakes Yuuji in the air to demonstrate his point, ignoring the squeals. 

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Just because Megumi taught Yuuji how to say your name correctly, doesn't mean the kid is manipulating him. Y’know Yuuji struggles with words sometimes.” You watch as the child in turn shakes his head in defiance, letting out a “Nu-uh!” that only makes you smile. You turn back over to your lover, kissing his cheek. “Aw, does it make you sad that our little Yuuji is growing up?”

“No,” he quickly rebuttals, “Brat isnt growing up fast enough. I am mad that you're not denying the fact that the white haired idiot is flirting with you.” You know that wasn't the full truth, but alas, Sukuna was extremely stubborn and would never admit that he didn't want his brother to grow up. 

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo thinks you are pretty!” Yuuji announces, beaming at you from the air. You hold back a wince, smiling awkwardly back at the innocent words of the toddler. You watch as the boys cheeks begin to flush from all the blood rushing to his head, and immediately as if sensing it, Sukuna flips over the boy and instead places him on his lap, holding onto the back of his neck.

The action makes you smile, noticing the thumb that rubs gently at the pale skin. But when you glance at Sukuna, you notice quickly that he was anything but happy. Sukunas dark eyes twitches, flickering to you, and he speaks between his teeth. “Did he now? I may need to have a talk with Mr. Gojo next time I pick the little pest up. Does Fushiguro say anything else?”  

“Sukuna,” you whine, realising that the hold on the boys neck was not out of affection – instead was used to trap the boy while he was questioned. “Y’know Gojo is alot. He just wants to–”

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo has a crush on Y/N!”

“Yuuji!” 

“B-But, Y/N has a crush on brother,” the boy concludes, furrowing his eyebrows with a small nod. “Right, Ku–um–Su-kuna?” He turns up to his brother, doe eyed with his head slightly cocked to the side in question. 

In response, Sukuna ruffles his hair, nearly sending the boy landing on his back. But, instead he giggles at the rough treatment, shutting his eyes and trying his best to stay upward. “The biggest crush. You make sure to tell the little brat that. Or else Mr. Gojo is going to try take her away.”

Your eyes widen and you push at his broad shoulders. “Sukuna! You're going to get him all worked up!” You exclaim, knowing the very sensitive (regarding you or Sukuna) child very well by now. You turn to the boy, whose own eyes widen as he trying to process the words. “Gojo is not trying to take me away.”

“He is going to take her away if you don't do anything, and little Megumi is going to have a new mommy.” Sukuna was grinning at the boy, as if his brother's fearful expression pleased him. You knew that he was being purposely dramatic – Gojo wasn't even technically Megumi's father, if there was a chance that you guys would ever get together (near zero) you would definitely not be the boy's new mom. But alas, Sukuna continues on with his words. “Thats why whenever you see the two of them talking you have to make sure you to scream as loud as possible.”

You cover the mans mouth before you he can spewl any more nonsense, but it was too late. Yuuji was already tearing himself from the man's lap and into yours – his lips begin to wobble and his eyes flood with tears. “Is-um-is that what you two talk about when I am with Mr. Nanami,” he warbles, thinking back to the multitude of times he has held onto his preschool teachers hand and watched you smile at the white haired man. 

“No, love,” you reassure, turning your attention instead from scolding your lover to consoling the child. “Sukuna is being mean again. Don't listen to him. Mr. Gojo and I are friends.” You ignore the look that Sukuna shoots you, showing how displeased he is at the idea of you being friends with his least favorite person. 

The boy sniffles, wiping his little fists on his face. “I-I dont want you to be Fush-i-guro’s mommy. You have to stay with me and Kuna! P-Please?” He doesn't even attempt to say his brother's name correctly, forgetting how he started the conversation all together. He was focused on trying not to cry, because his brother was sure to tease him, but it wasn't working out very well.

You kiss at his chubby cheeks, shaking your head with an exasperated look on your face, wondering how the hell you got to this conversation. “I am not, promise. I'm not going anywhere. Even if your brother is the worst, brattiest, malicious person alive, I have kinda grown attached to him. Besides, if I left who would I have movie nights with?”

“I am not a–” You shoot Sukuna a nasty glare, and he in return lets out an astonished laugh, but shrugs without care.

Your words make Yuuji perk up from your lap, and his eyes widen with glee. “You like movie nights too?” He was always begging for the three of you to watch movies together, but Sukuna always denies him considering it would end up being a cheesy Disney movie that Yuuji would fall asleep not even twenty minutes into.

“I love movie nights. Do you want to have one tonight?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sukuna butts in, and you spare him a glance. “Babe, we have plans tonight, remember?” He tilts his head to the side suggestively and you roll your eyes at him.

“Not anymore. Me and Yuuji are going to watch…”

“Human Earthworm 2!” The boy interjects, completely forgetting about his previous experiences with the movie, not good ones.

You poke at his cheeks, shaking your head. “I was thinking The Lion King.” 

“Yes!”

“No,” Sukuna groans, covering his eyes with his palm.

You look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “No? Why are you putting your input in? You're not watching it with us.”

Sukuna, never have been told this before, looks appalled. “The fuck you mean?”

“Bad word!” Yuuji points to him in accusation, but Sukuna just ignores him.

You cock your head to the side, a sly grin pulling at your face. “You're not invited.”

“Why not?”

The two of you make eye contact for a long second, and after a moment or two, Sukuna sighs. “You're really mad about that?” You don't say anything, just continuing to stare at him. “Okay fuck–Yes that is a curse word, astute observation you brat. I am sorry for making the kid cry again.”

“And?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, but you hold your ground. Then, he turns to the boy with a sigh. “Dont scream when you see Gojo and Y/N talk, alright?” He jabs his finger into the boys chest and Yuuji nods his head rapidly in understanding. But, a foxish grin pulls at the mans face and he says, “Instead…The moment you hear him talk to her, you bite his leg.”

He barks a laugh at the confused face of his brother, but when he looks up to you, the smile falters. “Okay, c’mon it was a jo–”

You point your finger to the door. “Couch.”

“You can't kick me out of my own room!”

You don't move your finger. Yuuji glances at you, cocks his head to the side, and then mimicks your action. “Couch!”

The three of you go silent for a long minute, and at this point the boy's hand begins to tremble from holding his hand out for too long. Eventually when Sukuna realizes that there was no point of reasoning, he lets out a dramatic sigh, before crawling out of bed. 

When he notices your smug smile, he flips you off and you can't help but laugh at that. “I am coming back after the movie is done, ya hear?”

“If Yuuji does not fall asleep,” You tease in return, knowing the boy well, and Sukuna rolls his eyes. 

His eyes flicker to the boy who was snuggling up to your chest, trying to find a comfortable position to watch the movie in. Sukuna chuckles to himself, opening up the door, before turning back to the kid one last time. “Hey brat,” he calls.

“Hm?” 

“The father lion–Mufasa. He is my favorite character, so you'll bound to like him a lot. In fact, I sure do wonder if you'll get attached,” he muses, and your eyes widen when you realize what he is saying. Anything that is linked with Sukuna, Yuuji immediately falls in love with. This was bound to cause hysteria. “Enjoy the movie guys! Y/N have fun!” He calls, before shutting the door.

You pause for a moment, sighing into your hand. “Kuna likes the father lion? I want to see!”

You tried everything to avoid turning on the movie after that. But Yuuji, like his brother, was stubborn, and he desperately wanted to see the lion. He grew attached very quickly in that short period of time.

Deep laughs rumble through the house when Yuuji begins to sob over the animated lion's death. You lock the door, and Sukuna stays the night on the couch. 

#mello.writes #big brother au #sukuna x reader #kid yuuji #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #yuuji fluff #yuuji tadori fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #female reader #f! reader #fem! reader

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[love-fictional-ppl]

Being Spencer’s First

Summary: basically being Spencer’s first everything

Pairings: switch!virgin!spencer Reid x soft Dom!fem!reader

Warnings: language, smut(duh), oral(male receiving), P in V, unprotected sex, lots of pet names, mommy kink, making out, cum eating, prolly other shit

༶⋆˙⊹｡⋆ʚ♡⃛ɞ ✩ ˛˚.

You may not have necessarily been his first girlfriend, but he was definitely inexperienced relationship wise as well

Spencer is super nervous the first time you two start making out

You’re his first kiss, so needless to say he doesn’t know what he is doing.

You probably work at the bau with Spencer, so after like a particularly hard case you both go back to your apartment. You pull out a couple wine glasses and grab a bottle. Before you know it you’re both tipsy and making out, Spencer is shaking slightly so he pulls away. “Wait, go slow.” He tells you nervously.

Call him things like; baby, sweetheart, pretty boy, handsome, my love, bubba, bub

In return he will call you things, such as; mommy, mama, pretty, angel, Love

Eventually, you get to the point where he’s ready for a blow job. It’s kinda cute to watch him actually.

“What if I cum too quick?” His voice is shaking.

“You cum whenever you want to, bubba.” You respond calmly. You caress his thighs, and see after a few seconds, the rise of his of his chest slowed.

You scoot lower onto the bed, leaning forward you release Spencer’s member from his sweatpants and boxers. It was long, about 8 inches, good girth. Spencer had the prettiest cock you had ever seen, it made your mouth water.

After jerking it a few times, you took his cock into your mouth, bobbing your head on what you could fit. Spencer threw his head back in pleasure, his hips bucked upward into your mouth. You choked slightly but grabbed his hand, a silent invitation to throat fuck you.

Spencer forced your head down, causing you to deep throat. You gagged, nose full of pubic hair.

A pathetic moan came out of Spencer’s mouth, “F-fuck, Mommy, it feels so good.”

Spencer thrusted into your mouth a few more times, then came with a long groan. You struggled to swallow his load, eventually you pulled off of his cock. You licked up the cum and saliva mixture from his abdomen and dick.

“Th-thank you, mama.” Spencer shook from the overstimulation.

“Of course, bubba,” you responded happily.

Spencer quickly became in love with your blowjobs

The little perv also quickly became in love with your boobs

He def loves boob jobs but that’s for another day.

Oh my good how much this boy fell in love with your pussy.

I mean it felt it was made for him. Spencer almost came as soon as he entered. He also definitely ate it before fucking but once again that’s a story for another time.

Spencer stared up at you, mouth and chin glistening with your juices. He was lying naked on the bed with at least 4 pillows propping his back up.

You straddled Spencer’s lap, ready to ride him into the mattress. Gently grabbing his cock, you stroked him a few times then lined him up with your cunt. You kissed Spencer, then went down on his dick. You burned at the stretch, not well prepared, but enjoyed the sensation.

“Oh my god.” Spencer’s head was thrown back and his eyes were closed. He felt like he was about to cum. You underestimated the situation and tried to kiss his bare chest. “Shit, no, just don’t move. I don’t want to cum too quick.”

You grabbed Spencer’s face, forcing him to look you in the eye and told him, “this is about you, baby.” You released his face and grabbed his hands, placing them on your tits. Then you placed your hands on either shoulder and started to ride him.

You bounced on his lap, obscene noises being made. Skin against skin, the sloshing sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, the whines leaving his throat and the moans leaving yours. You felt euphoric.

“Sh-shit, mama, I’m gonna cu-um.” Spencer whined.

Soon you felt a warmth filling you up. You grabbed Spencer’s face and kissed him, hard. You pulled yourself off of his lap, using your index and middle finger you scooped up the cum that leaked out your cunt.

“Open.” You commanded.

Spencer obey easily, you forced your fingers into his mouth. Using his tongue, Spencer lapped your cum mixture off your fingers.

Out of breath, Spencer looked at you dazed, “I wanna do this again.”

You smiled at your beautiful, perverted boy.

Overall I want to fuck the shit out of Spencer.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x you

[rogueddie]

Steve wakes up to a beeping noise- a heart monitor. He struggles to open his eyes, turning to squint around the hospital room. Something about it feels off, though he can’t tell what.

A woman stumbles in, almost spilling her coffee. She looks familiar.

“Hey,” Steve tries, only to end up coughing. His throat is painfully dry.

“Steve!” She exclaims. She hurries over, swapping the coffee for a plastic cup of water. She carefully holds it to his mouth for him to drink. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you awake! I know we can’t talk here but… fuck, man, you really had us scared for a minute. Promise me you won’t do anything like that again!”

“I promise?”

“Oh! Eddie finally woke up too! Just the other week. He keeps asking about you, I should go-”

Steve is only more confused. There’s only one Eddie he knows and that Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead worrying about someone like Steve. Not unless...

“Munson?”

“Duh. Oh! Nancy! I was supposed to- you’re ok, right? I’ll just be a minute!”

“Yeah, sure.”

She throws him a thumbs up, darting out the room, calling for Nancy.

His head throbs. He’s not sure what is going on, what happened… maybe that thing in the Byers house did get him after all? Maybe this is just a dream.

"Ah, Mr Harrington," a nurse greets with a warm smile. "It's good to see you awake. I'm just going to check your vitals and all of that stuff, then we'll need to go over some questions. Does that sound alright?"

"Questions?"

"You've been asleep for a few weeks. We need to make sure that everything up there is ok." She lightly raps her knuckles on the side of her head.

Despite how light she's trying to be, Steve feels a sinking in his stomach.

"Is that possible? What- what could be wrong?"

"Nothing too serious. You're speech is clear and legible, you're conscious and cognitive." She lifts the clipboard off the end of the hospital bed. "You remember your name?"

"Yeah," he says. After a moment, he realizes; "oh! Right, sorry. Steve Harrington."

"Date of birth?"

"April 29th, 1967."

"Do you know what todays date is?"

"Um... how long have I been out? You said a few weeks, right?"

"Almost three weeks, yes."

"Three weeks, so that would make today... December 4th?"

She doesn't respond for a moment. The way she keeps her eyes on the clipboard feels too calculated.

"The year?"

"Uh... 1983?"

She only pauses for a moment, before continuing to ask simple questions about current events, how he's feeling, where he feels any pain or discomfort.

He lies when she asks if he remembers what caused him to be hospitalized. He's not sure what the story Nancy and Byers will give. He can't imagine people... involved, would want the truth out. And he's not willing to risk whatever consequences will come with that.

"I'm going to talk with your doctor," she finally says. "I'll be one minute."

"Wait! What- am I ok?"

"Your doctor will explain everything, don't worry."

Amnesia, his doctor explains.

Three years of his life, gone. They try to reassure him, say that it's still early days and he could completely regain his memory, no problem.

But they don't know. Not really. It's all 'possibly's, and 'maybe's. No guarentee. There's still a chance that he may never remember.

The woman who ran in when he woke up, sat by his bedside and holding his hand in a death grip, doesn't look anymore reassured by their optimism than he is.

"We're... close?" He asks her.

"Yeah," she says, forcing a smile. "Platonic soulmates. It's, um... Robin, by the way. Robin Buckley."

"Do we have that... Mrs Click, you sit behind me, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did." She looks stunned, almost dazed. "I didn't think you remembered, or even noticed me."

"How could I not? You're hilarious!"

"What? We never-"

"Oh, uh, you're muttering. Behind me. It wasn't exactly, um... quiet."

"Oh my god," she slaps a hand to her mouth, eyes wide. "You heard me talk about you!"

"Yeah, like I said; you're funny."

Luckily, someone else bursts into the room, interrupting whatever epiphany Robin is having.

"Steve!" He yells.

The guy looks like a kid, barely out of middle school. But he rushes to Steve, eyeing him up like he's Steves babysitter.

"Uh, hi?"

"Oh no," is the kids response. He turns to Robin. "How much does he remember?"

"He is right here, you know."

"I think some time in 83?" Robin replies, ignoring him.

"Before or after the whole... uh..." He glances at Steve with suspicion, then pointedly to the door.

"Jesus," Steve mutters, rubbing at the crease between his brows. "Did Nancy and Jonathan tell you, or what?"

"Tell us about... what?"

He rolls his eyes at them, pointing to the kid. "Whatever has short stack paranoid. The thing with the-" he flops one hand around, raised towards the ceiling, "the lights."

"Do you remember anything that happened after that?" The kid quickly asks. "At the hospital, and Will?"

"You mean the Byers kid? Isn't he, like... dead?"

"So you... don't remember me."

"Sorry?"

"It's fine," he lies.

Steve hates how sad the kid sounds. He glances between the two of them, both seemingly wallowing quietly about the situation.

"Which room is Munson in?" He asks, breaking the silence.

"What?" The kid frowns. "Eddie? Why?"

"Which room?"

"He's two doors down to the left," Robin answers. "Why- woah! Don't get up! You're still-"

"I'm fine," Steve gently pushes her away, ignoring both of them trying to plead for him to get back into bed.

Despite the bandages, bruises and sick look to him, Munson somehow looks better than Steve remembers him looking. The longer hair definitely suits him.

"Steve?" He frowns. He tries to sit up but, grimacing, he soon stops. "What the hell are you doing up? You're gonna freak Dustin out."

"Dustin? That the kid?" He asks, grunting as he sits on the edge of his bed.

"What do-" he pauses, expressions slowly twisting with the horror and realization. "Yeah. Yeah, man, Dustin is the kid."

"Right. So... um... we're friends now?"

Eddie winces. "We haven't exactly had time to talk about... that."

"What? It's been years!"

"It's not that simple."

"Are you saying that because it's true or because you don't-"

"Because it's true," Eddie rolls his eyes. "A lot has happened since then, Steve. You fell in love with Wheeler."

"What?" Steve can't hide his confusion. "Nancy?"

"Yes, Nancy. You made sure everyone fucking knew about that."

Steve snorts, having to grab at his side with a wince. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.

"So you're still easy to rile up?" He asks, smirking.

"Wh- you-" Eddie gasps. He tries to sit up again, grunting when he flops back down. "You were trying to make me jealous?!"

He's looking at Steve with disbelief, but he's also smiling.

"Are we friends now?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, Stevie. We're friends."

"Just friends?"

"I don't... Steve, how bad is your amnesia?"

Steve quickly looks away, wincing. "Not... that bad? I remember that- the first time. This, um... monster shit. Falling out with Tommy. And the doctors are optimistic- they're pretty sure I'm going to remember."

"Alright... maybe it'd be better if we talk then, instead of rushing into it now."

"Jesus," Steve frowns. "I really have missed a lot. When did you get mature?"

"Hey-"

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #platonic with a capital p #steddie fic #ficlet #hurtcomfort

[helen-with-an-a]

I am an adult pt 4

Hi. So this is pt 4 of the I am an adult. I really liked writing it and hope you enjoy it too. I definitely want to do a 5th part but I'm not sure about how many more after that I will do (if you get what I mean). Also, all of the German and Spanish is from google/google translate so if it's wrong, I apologise

Barca Femeni x Reader ; Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4

Description: Lena gets the talk

Word Count: 4.1k

TW: Slight smut (undescribed/suggestive rather than outright)

You weren’t used to waiting at airports for people. Usually, you were the one who was walking off the plane to visit friends and family. But you couldn’t deny the excitement bubbling up – just thinking about who would be walking through the door made you smile. You didn’t quite know the protocol for meeting your long-distance girlfriend off a flight. You were nervous about it – wanting to do it right. You may have gotten into a bit of a TikTok wormhole over couples reuniting; most people went with flowers and a sign, but you were staying in an unfamiliar city for both of you, and you did have a match to play. It was something you agonised over for days before the arrival. Having consulted an unhelpful Ona, a laughing Patri and an amused Jana, you settled on asking Alexia. That was an adult thing to talk about, right?

“Um … Ale, can I … can I ask you something?” You said as you curled up on her sofa.

“Of course, pequeña. Esta todo bien?”

“Yeh, um … it’s about Lena, actually” That might have been a bad way to phrase it. Alexia’s face dropped, her gaze becoming a little icy.

“Que hizo ella?” Her voice was just as cold.

“Nothing, nothing, prometo.” You reassured her. “I wanted to ask you what to get her for the airport,” you explained quietly, a little apprehensive over her response.

“Oh, cariño.” Alexia cooed, pulling her legs up to tuck underneath her as she twisted to face you, her hand reaching along the back of the sofa to pick at the corner of the cushion. “Honestly, I don’t think she’d be expecting anything. I certainly wouldn’t if Olga and I met somewhere in the middle.” Her look softened even more as you nodded furiously, eyes locked on her patterned carpet. She could see you sag ever so slightly – clearly, you wanted to get Lena something. “I think, if you really want to get her something,” she continued, smiling as you perked up at her response. “You could do something small – like a … ugh, what’s the word …” She was so fluent in English you often forgot that it was technically her third language. “It’s small and fluffy; you give it to niñas,” she clicked frantically, clearly trying hard to remember. “Un oso de peluche,” she sighed, wracking her brain to remember the English word.

“A teddy bear?” You asked, helping her out slightly.

“Sí, sí, a teddy bear. You could get her one of those? It would be small enough for her to pack away when she travels, and it is something she can keep with her when she’s back in Germany.” You smiled at her suggestion – nodding happily at her words.

The day was finally here. You were finally seeing Lena again. Madrid airport was a little struggle to navigate but you stood, buzzing with excitement, as you waited at arrivals. You looked down at the goodies you had with you – a little bag filled with a very cute and very fluffy teddy bear, some Spanish sweets, and an iced coffee in your hand. You had also packed a few extra jumpers to sneak into Lena’s bag before she left.

L💚: Just got through passport control and stuff

L💚: I’ll be maybe 5/10 more mins

[Initial] ❤️💙: eeeeeeeeeeeeee

[Initial] ❤️💙: ok – I’m like right by the exit

[Initial] ❤️💙: turn left when u walk through it and im by the pillar post thingy

5 to 10 more minutes … you could do that. With every passing minute, your excitement and anticipation grew. It had been a long few months without Lena by your side. Yes, you texted every day; Yes, you Facetimed 5 times a week minimum; but seeing her in person, being able to hug her and hold her and kiss her and smell her and touch her and … you couldn’t be more excited.

“Hola, mi amor.” Very poorly pronounced Spanish whispered to you as strong, familiar arms wrapped around your waist.

“Lena,” you squealed, clearly having missed her walk up – far too much in your own head.

“mmmm, ich habe dich vermisst,” she sighed happily as you twisted in her grip to hug her tightly. She was warm and soft and smelt of cinnamon.

“I’ve mis- no, wait,” you cut yourself off. She tilted her head to the side, drawing back to look at you. “Ich habe dich auch so sehr vermisst,” you stumbled slightly but the big, wide grin on Lena’s face told you, you had said it right.

“Can I kiss you, Schatz?” she asked gently. You blinked slightly, not expecting her to ask you that in such a public space. “I, we, don’t have to. It’s just it’s been so long, and,” she rushed to get out, hating the fact that she had made you even the smallest bit uncomfortable.

“Liebe,” you cut her off, waiting until she looked at you before you continued. When her warm chocolate eyes met yours, you struggled not to float away in them. “Please, kiss me.” You smiled as she let out a breath of relief. You met halfway, and it was just as perfect as all the other kisses you two had shared, if not more so after such a long time apart.

“As …” she cleared her throat as she pulled away slightly. “As much as I want to continue. We should get going … but later, ich verspreche.” She vowed and picked her bag up off the floor. And extending her hand for you to take.

“No, wait, gimme that.” You gestured for her bag, forcing it from her when she hesitated to hand it over. “Also, these are for you,” you said with a proud smile, giving her the now slightly watery coffee and bag of goodies.

“Schatz, you shouldn’t have.” She began, but you shook your head, denying her the chance to complain. You stuck your tongue out at her, intertwined your fingers and pulled her towards the exit.

Taking the metro back to your hotel reminded you a lot of your first date. Lena looking slightly puzzled over the Spanish being spoken all around you. On your first date, you had shyly stood next to her, closer than two friends would be not enough to make her feel uncomfortable, and quietly translated a bit of the conversation between two girls nearby; you added the voices to differentiate between the two girls and jokingly copied any actions they did. This time, you let her lean against you, one arm sneaking around her waist to fiddle with the belt loops on her jeans and the other holding tightly onto the handrail. Her head dropped into your neck, muttering something in German.

“What was that, Liebe?” You asked softly, mindful that your mouth was quite close to her ear despite the busy train.

“Müde,” she said again into your neck. It took you a minute to sift through the German in your head. You pouted when you finally understood what she was saying. She was tired. That you could understand, travelling was difficult when you understood the language, let alone one where you landed in a country where the language was entirely different and almost no familiarity to yours. You pressed a chaste kiss to her hairline, hoping to comfort her a little.

“Naw,” you cooed. "It’s okay. We’re almost back to the hotel. We can have a nap if you want,” you pressed another kiss to her head. "But Alexia says she has to see you at some point tonight,” you reminded her.

“Forgot ‘bout Alexia,” she whined tiredly, her grip tightening on you.

“I’m sorry, Liebe. I promise she won’t be too harsh or scary. I know she can come off a bit..." you struggled for the right word. “Intense? But I promise she’s really sweet.”

You finally made it to your stop, and you filtered off the train, fingers laced together so neither of you got lost (mainly Lena, as she didn’t know a lick of Spanish). Just as you were walking up the steps outside, a flustered woman appeared next to you.

“Lamento mucho molestarte. Pero estoy intentando llegar al aeropuerto y tienes una maleta. Sabes cómo conseguirlos?” The flurry of Spanish through you off for a second as you had been conversing in English almost all day.

“No, no te preocupes en absoluto. Um, sólo necesitas …” As you explained the directions to the woman, Lena couldn’t help but watch in awe. She knew you could speak Spanish – you lived in Spain, you played for Barcelona, and she’d seen you talking in Spanish on the football pitch. Hell, the first time she had met you, you were finishing a conversation in Spanish with the film and media crews. It had done something to her then, and it was doing something to her now, too. She couldn’t understand a word of what you were saying, but the accent, the rapid words, the hand gestures, your kind smile … she suddenly wasn’t as tired as she felt on the train.

“Sorry, Liebe,” you said as you finished, waving to the woman as she sped down the steps towards the platform. She was asking about getting to the airport—she had seen your bag and guessed we had just come from there.” You explained, taking her (now slightly clammy) hand and leading her towards your hotel.

The hotel room was big and welcoming, a large bed in the centre with your things thrown haphazardly across it called to Lena as she walked through the door. She left her stuff by the wall and flopped heavily down, sighing at the softness that surrounded her. You looked at her from your vantage point by the door. Her top had ridden up, exposing her abs slightly, her biceps were on full display, and the veins in her arms rippled slightly as she twisted her fingers in the bedding underneath her. She was doing things to you – maybe it was because you hadn’t had sex a good few months (it was currently the longest you had ever gone without since you started having sex); maybe it was because she looked so at home amongst your things; perhaps it was the fact that your girlfriend was finally within touching distance. You also realised you didn’t quite care enough to figure it out.

“Incoming,” you yelled as you launched yourself at her.

“Oof,” she huffed, her breath leaving her body as your weight settled on top of her, both of you laughing quietly at your behaviour.

“Hi,” you smiled at her, arms either side of her head, legs straddling her hips.

“Hi,” she smiled back, lift her hands to stroke her thumbs across your exposed skin.

“I…” should you say it? “I’ve missed you,” you chicken out from what you really wanted to say. You knew you told her at the airport that you missed her, but you needed her to know just how much her absence affected you.

“I’m sorry.” She knew the distance was difficult for both of you. You shook your head, refusing to let her think that this was her fault.

“No, there’s nothing that can be done at the moment. I’m at Barca; you’re at Wolfsburg. It is what it is.” You shrugged, hoping it would ease her sadness a little. “But … you’re here now, we have this weekend. And that is all that matters.” You smiled, the wide, soft smile full of love and tenderness that only Lena got to see often. You felt rather than saw Lena crane her neck up to try to kiss you; your smile shifted into a cheeky grin as you pulled back just out of her reach. She stopped looking at you offendedly.

“Nuh, uh, uh,” you teased, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I...” You kiss her forehead. This was your chance. “Missed.” You kissed her cheek, backing out again. “You.” You kissed her other cheek.

“And I’ve missed you, Schatz.” Her hands left your waist, coming up to cradle your face, holding to exactly where she wanted. She waited a few moments, letting her eyes scan your face, trying to commit everything to memory (even though she had already done that well before you left Germany at New Year’s). “So much,” she whispered as she finally tugged you down to meet her lips.

The kiss started out slow, sweet and tender, as your love was poured into it. As you parted, her darkened eyes roamed your body, one hand cementing itself in your hair, tugging lightly as the other moved to trace along the waistband of your shorts. Your kisses weren’t a battle for dominance, but you were falling into a pattern of give and take that was uniquely yours. Your top was the first to come off, hers following not too long afterwards. Buttons were undone, drawstrings loosened and more clothing adding to the mess on the floor. Her hands grasped at any available flesh as your fingers slipped inside. Dark spots were bitten into supple skin, moans were melodies as you rediscovered each other.

“Don’t stop,” You panted into her skin as she guided you to the brink of ecstasy.

“Never,” came her reply, equally as breathless.

“What happened to being tired?” You laughed as she snuggled into your side, her once-eager fingers tracing light shapes into your skin. She groaned at your teasing, pressing more weight onto you. You fiddled with her hair as you waited for an explanation.

“Dein Spanisch. Mit dieser Dame am Bahnhof … Es hat etwas mit mir gemacht” You didn’t understand it fully. Spanish … train station? You were a little confused.

“Sorry, I got something about my Spanish and the lady at the train station. What was the last bit?” You were trying to learn German, but you had started with the most practical things – the greetings, stuff that happened in daily life, cheesy lines you could say to Lena to make her blush.

“Um … it’s a bit embarrassing, really … you were speaking Spanish to that lady at the station,” she blushed profusely. You just smiled, letting your fingers comb through the mess her hair had become. “Es war wirklich sexy.” Your grin doubled in size. So, you speaking Spanish turned her on? That was useful to know.

“Well,” you said after a moment of silence. “If me giving directions to the airport is sexy, you should hear me when I say something truly seductive,” you teased, squeezing her gently as she buried her head in your neck again.

“Mmmm, déjame pensar. Cuando llegue a casa, debo acordarme de llamar al administrador del edificio.” You laughed as you felt her blush, the new heat obvious against your skin. You also couldn’t help but notice the slight shift of Lena’s hips against your thigh. “Liebe, I just said I needed to call my building manager – that is not sexy.” She pulled away from your skin.

“Uh, everything you do is sexy,” she countered. “Say something else? Something that’s actually hot,” she begged, ignoring your teasing smile, and raised eyebrow.

“Hm, vale, vale,” you wracked your brains, trying to think of something that you actually considered sexual. “Quiero que me tengas en todas las formas que quieras. Quiero destrozarte una y otra y otra vez.” You usually weren’t that explicit about your wants, but you were reliant on Lena not really knowing what you were saying.  Lena was gobsmacked. She had not a clue what you had just said but the way you had said it – the slight rasp in your voice, the rosy hue to your skin, the sticky sheen of sweat, the hickeys she had sucked into your skin. She rolled you over, balancing above you as her legs slotted between yours.

“Redonda Dos?” You asked. She knew enough Spanish for that.

Just as things were getting interesting again, your door swung up.

“Y/N? ¿Estás aquí? Ale te ha estado enviando mensajes de texto toda la tar -” Ona cut herself off with a shrill scream.

“Me arden los ojos.” She gagged dramatically. “Ew, mis ojos.”

“Oni, qué carajo en realidad?” You shouted back, dragging the duvet up to cover the both of you.

“Do you want to introduce me?” She grinned evilly.

“No, get out!” You glowered at her. When she made no effort to move, you threw a pillow at her.

“Ale says to come to her room.” You flicked your finger at her, letting her know your displeasure. Turning uour attention was fixed back on Lena, you heard her cackling outside.

“Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße. Alexia wird mich töten. Ich bin tot. Ich werde sterben. Ich hatte praktisch Sex mit ihrer kleinen Schwester. Oh, mein Gott. Ich werde sterben. Fuck.” Lena was panicking – real, genuine anxiety spread throughout her chest as she sat up against the pillows.

“Liebe, it’s ok,” you soothed, grabbing one hand in yours and swinging your other arm across her shoulders. “Liebe?” you tried again.

“Alexia is going to kill me.” Lena said, looking into your eyes for what she genuinely thought might be the final time.

“No, she won’t.” You smiled softly, not wanting to laugh at Lena’s ridiculousness. “I won’t let her,” you vowed, squeezing her hand tight in promise. “Now, we should probably get some clothes on and head to Ale’s room.”

As you reached for your hoodie, your world darkened suddenly as fabric landed on your head. You lifted it up to reveal a very familiar Adidas hoodie, turning back to see a sheepish Lena.

“How did that get there?” She asked innocently.

“I don’t know, Liebe. How did it get there?” You played along. “There’s only one Adidas athlete in this room, and it’s not me.” She shrugged, snatching your Barca hoodie out of your reach.

“I don’t know, Schatz. But it looks like it’s your only hoodie, and I want you to stay warm.” She was a terrible actor.

“If you wanted me to wear your clothes, you could have just asked,” you laughed as you slipped on the material, getting slightly lost as you tried to find the head hole. You heard a sigh and footsteps before the fabric was rearranged on you as your head burst through the top.

“Guten Tag,” you beamed at her.

“Hallo, Schatz,” she smiled at you before stealing a kiss. You hummed gently, allowing yourself to melt into her just slightly.

“Vamos, vamos.” You spun her around to face the door. “Let’s not keep Ale waiting,” you laughed and tapped her on the bum to get her moving.

Alexia’s room was exactly the same as yours – a wide, comforting bed with a mountain of pillows dominating the space. You tapped on the door, knowing that she would probably have at least 3 of the other girls in her room with her.

“Schatz, I know I said I would endure this for you … for us,” Lena said when it was clear Alexia was making you wait a little. Was she second guessing this? Was she regretting you? “And I will, I will.” She added when your head snapped back to look at her. “But I’m really freaking out here.” You softened.

“Oh, Liebe. It’s ok,” you said, pulling her into a hug. “I understand, really, I do. This isn’t exactly how I wanted you to meet Ale, but I promise you,” you squeezed her to emphasise your point. “She’s a giant softy with a tendency for affectionate bullying. If she starts speaking in Catalan, just ignore her; that’s what I do,” you joked, trying to lighten her mood a little. “She’s just like Alex and Svenja are to you. She’s just looking out for me – even though I don’t need her to and certainly not in this case,” you were rambling now, unknowingly easing Lena’s anxieties in an instant.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, cutting your talking off. Lucy. You smiled at her, pushing past as you guided Lena to sit on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in both of yours when you sat next to her – providing quiet but noticeable support. There were more people in the room than you were expecting. You knew Alexia would call on Lucy, Irene and probably Paños and Marta to give the talk, but Ingrid’s presence surprised you, as did Ona’s and Patri’s.

“Entonces, quieres presentarnos a Lena?” Alexia asked, leaning against the desk in front of you, Paños on her left, Lucy on her right. Irene and Marta stood blocking the path to the door – all of them with what they thought were tough expressions on their faces. Ingrid looked annoyed to be there, Ona was trying to look hard, and Patri had an amused smile dancing on her lips.

“In English, Alexia. It’s not fair on Lena to speak in a language she doesn’t know.” You said calmly, breathing deeply to keep your emotions in check. They had promised not to treat you like a child.

“Do you want to introduce us to Lena?” She asked again, voice artificially calm.

“Not if you’re going to treat us like children.” You raised an eyebrow, reminding all of them of their promises to treat you more adult-like.

“That was before we found out you were having sex,” Lucy started. She stood up from where she was leaning, you matching her behaviour by squaring your shoulders.

“Suficiente, vosotros dos.” Alexia ordered before you had the chance to comment. As much as she wanted to give a protective big sister talk, she realised that maybe this was what you meant when you said that you wanted to be treated more like an adult. It was silent as she studied you and Lena – sitting so close you were practically on top of each other, your thumb never wavering in its soothing motion against the back of Lena’s hand, the way Lena’s eyes kept flitting back to your face in search of any discomfort. She didn’t need to do the grandiose speech she was planning to give – she didn’t need to let every one of the older girls chime in with their threats. If Lena harmed you, Lena wouldn’t harm you – of that, Alexia was sure. “Everyone out. Not you or Lena,” she said as you shifted to leave. “Ona, quédate también por favor.” Alexia ignored the other’s protests; Lucy’s whining was heard even with the door closed. She had allowed Ona to stay in her role as your best friend – she wasn’t about to deny her this opportunity (especially since she knew you had promised Lucy you would exact a painful revenge if Ona ever came to you crying over something about their relationship).

“Lena. I am going to say this one time,” Alexia began, watching as Lena’s eyes grew wide and gulped noticeably. You just rolled your eyes at her antics. “If you hurt her,” she paused for dramatic effect. “I will hunt you down … and end you.” Alexia was quite pleased with herself – she considered that to be restrained enough to appease you whilst instilling enough fear in Lena to make her slightly nervous. Lena nodded, taking a breath to start making promises of never ever hurting you.

Ona cleared her throat from her perch on the windowsill, drawing all of your attention to her. She took a deep breath before letting out the sentence she had been practising since you first mentioned a German footballer had caught your eye, “Ich werde dir die Beine brechen.” The pronunciation was horrendous, but Lena knew what she meant. It was the worst threat Ona could think of with Lena being a footballer.

“Oni,” you whined, although you had no leg to stand on – your threat to Lucy had been so much worse.

“There, we have said what was needed to be said. Let’s go to dinner, sí?” Alexia smiled at the three of you, the polar opposite of the menacing Captain that stood in her place moments before. Ona laughed, looping her arm through Alexia’s and heading to the door.

“That wasn’t so bad,” You joked, nudging Lena. The tension was still very much in her body, however.

“I need them to know, and you need to know it too. I won’t hurt you, ever, Schatz. I promise, ich verspreche, prometo.” She looked deep into your eyes, willing you to understand how deep her vow went. She made the promise to herself in the shower after your first date; her mind kept replaying your almost-kiss, your bubbly laugh and the feel of your soft hand in hers. She had vowed that day to never let your smile fade, and she wanted … no, needed … you to know that.

“Liebe, I know that. They know that.” You reached up to cradle her face in your hands. You took a deep breath and said the words that had been playing on your mind for weeks now: “I love you.”

I hope you liked it <3<3<3

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