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peachdues · 2 months

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STRESS RELIEF — TEASER

Anyways, Stress Relief (my Sanemi-gets-topped one-shot), is next up on my completion list — so have a sneak peek!

I love writing from Sanemi’s POV

CW: none really for this snippet • Sanemi trying to be a good malewife and Reader not having it • this fic will be highly NSFW though so MDNI

Sanemi had seen his girlfriend in various states of being, and he prided himself not only on being to identify what mood she was in, but how best to handle her when she was in said mood.

If she was sad, Sanemi knew she needed comfort, but enough space to not feel suffocated.

When she was angry, Sanemi knew she needed to vent, so he would put aside anything that could distract him in order to give her his full, undivided attention.

When she was sleepy, Sanemi had come to accept Y/N would never willingly put herself in bed, instead preferring to be babied. After several rounds of him telling her to go to bed and Y/N lazily insisting she was not sleepy, and was “one hundred percent awake,” she would invariably fall asleep wherever she had managed to park her ass. So Sanemi would gently gather her into his arms and carry her back to their shared bed, taking care to ensure her phone was plugged in so she wouldn’t miss her alarm come morning.

But when Y/N was stressed?

Sanemi knew to stay the fuck out of her way.

In stark contrast to himself, Sanemi’s girlfriend was not a hot-tempered person by default. Nor was she meek by any means; rather, she was quick to laugh, and an all-around easygoing woman.

However, all that calm rationality went right out the fucking window whenever she was under immense pressure, just as she was now.

Y/N was currently studying for her licensing exam. Apparently, seven years of schooling was still not enough for her to advance in her field if she didn’t pass some stupid national exam that re-tested her on everything she had already demonstrated competency in while at school. Personally, Sanemi thought it was just another excuse to make money off the poor saps who had the misfortune of pursuing her chosen career.

For the past three weeks, Y/N had lived, breathed, and (not) slept for the exam. Sanemi found himself having to constantly remind his girl to eat, stretch, take care of her basic necessities. If she wasn’t clacking away on her keyboard as she made color-coordinated outlines, she was watching review videos, and if she wasn’t watching review videos, she was handwriting flashcards until her body finally gave into its exhaustion and she slumped over at her desk.

Last week, she’d been up so late studying that Sanemi had fallen asleep before he could drag her ass to bed. When he had finally jerked himself awake well after midnight and realized that his girlfriend’s warm body was not cuddled up next to him in their bed, he had found his girlfriend in their tiny living room, still at her desk.

Y/N’s head had been resting on her upper arm and her eyes were closed, but still clutched in her hand was her pen, twitching against the paper of her open notebook. When Sanemi had moved to gently pluck the pen from her loose grip, he had peered down to see scratchy and disjointed inky lines on the paper, he had realized that her hand had continued to move even well after she had lost consciousness, as though taking notes had become mere muscle memory.

The sight had made Sanemi’s heart clench, and he felt an inexplicable urge to lock her in bed for a day just to let her rest. Sanemi knew she was doing this so they could have a better life, together, but he hated to see her put so much pressure on herself. He had thought himself smart for deliberately leaving Y/N’s phone — and thus, her alarm — in the living room, discarded between the cushions of the couch (“so it won’t bother me,” she had snapped when he’d raised his eyebrows in question at her earlier). He even thought she would be grateful to him for letting her sleep in.

What a stupid, naive fucking notion that had been.

Because when Y/N had shot up in bed the next morning, disoriented with her hair in a wild, tangled mess, and she saw sunlight streaming through the window, she promptly freaked the fuck out.

“Do you want me to fail?” She cried, storming around their room, digging frantically through a pile of her clothes as she hunted for a pair of leggings to pull over her bare legs.

“You’re not going to fail because you slept an extra fuckin’ hour,” Sanemi groaned from his place in bed, dragging a hand down his tired face. “You’re gonna run yourself ragged if you don’t take care of yourself. You need sleep, babe.”

She let out a derisive laugh, a slightly crazed look in her eye. “I’ll sleep when I pass this stupid test or when I’m dead. Whichever’s first.”

For the rest of the day, Y/N had been snippy, huffing at every slight noise Sanemi had dared to make. She’d only grown more and more irritated as the night went on, and when he had sighed at the prospect of cooking dinner, she lost it.

“Can you stop breathing so god damned loudly?” She snapped, throwing her pen down in annoyance as she whipped around in her chair to glare at him.

Sanemi stared at her in disbelief for a moment, but he’d never been one to keep calm and cool, so he bit right back.

“I’m sorry that I’m just here, existing, and tryin’ to fuckin take care of ya, Princess. My mistake.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m trying to make sure I get my damn license so I can take care of you,” she simpered right back at him, anger swimming in her eyes. “But I guess that doesn’t fucking matter, does it? No!”

A blush began to creep up Y/N’s neck, a telltale sign she was about to start yelling. “No! Because you think taking care of me means not letting me focus or hiding my phone so that i don’t hear my alarms so I can’t wake up on time, and if I can’t wake up on time, I can’t study for as long as I need to, and if I can’t study I. Won’t. Fucking. Pass!” Her voice had become shrill by the time she stopped for a breath, chest heaving.

Sanemi watched her for a long moment as she caught her breath. “Are you done?”

In the span of a nanosecond, Y/N went from an angry, possessed-looking harpy to a sniffling, teary mess. She slumped back down into her desk chair, lower lip trembling pathetically as she tried and failed to hold in a hopeless wail.

“Okay, okay.” Sanemi murmured, moving across the room to kneel next to his sobbing girlfriend, feeling a slight sting of guilt as he watched her shoulders curl in on themselves under the weight of the pressure she undoubtedly felt.

He had spent the night trying to console her, though without much success. She had alternated between despairing over “the impending doom of her failure” and hiccuping angrily at him for continuing to distract her.

Nonetheless, everything about their future was currently riding on Y/N passing her upcoming exam in a month’s time and his girlfriend was currently one belt-loop snag on a door handle from a full fucking meltdown.

So Sanemi knew the best thing he could do was to steer clear and leave her to her own devices. He could do that for her.

But god damn if the sight of her ass in those shorts wasn’t killing him.

banner credit @ cafekitsune

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader

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mountainsandmayhem · 13 days

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Aisle Amore

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader Summary: You truly never know who you might meet in the grocery store. CW: no smut, all fluff. Flirting, mention of divorce, talks of food, more adorable flirting. Word Count: 3.4k AN: I've gone soft!! I couldn't stop thinking about how the couple in Wonderful Tonight and Netflix & Chill met and even though no one asked, this is exactly how they met. I worked in a grocery store for almost 15 years and I can tell you right now that I would to SPRINTING to the pasta aisle. Special thank you to @mermaidgirl30 for beta reading and both her and @littlevenicebitch69 for helping me come up with a title. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

To you, there’s nothing worse than asking for help. You’ve been fiercely independent your entire life, and these snapped ligaments have been testing you. Your friends say they don’t mind helping, but YOU mind them helping. The pain in your ankle has finally subsided enough that you can put a little weight on it and only use one crutch.

Freedom!

You shut your laptop at 6 pm, change into something that isn’t pyjama pants and begrudgingly put on a bra. The first stop on your newly found freedom tour is the grocery store. Thirteen year old you would be appalled at how excited you are over this. You jot down all the ingredients you’ll need to make homemade pasta, marinara sauce and meatballs.

Living in downtown DC has lots of perks, one of them being you can walk to the grocery store that’s just around the block. After gingerly testing your ankles a few times you decide you can walk there. Your dad’s voice echoes through your head, “This family doesn’t cry, take care of yourself, don’t depend on anyone but you”.

The walk there is easy, it feels good to be out in the summer evening sun, soaking in the vitamin D that you’ve been missing out on the last few weeks. You grab one of those small baskets with wheels and head into the store. It might be dramatic, but it’s been almost three weeks since you’ve been out on your own and you feel that same hyped elation you had at 16 when you got your license and your parents allowed you to go out on your own the first time. Except at 16 you picked up your friends and went to the record store, you were much cooler in your youth.

“Stick to the list,” you say to yourself, realizing you’re slowly becoming just like your mother. That’s fucking depressing.

The first items are olive oil and flour, you crutch along, the sounds of metal clicking and the rubber bottom squeaking following you as you move along the shiny white tile floor. A song you vaguely remember hearing during your childhood plays overhead, Eric Clapton singing about a woman looking lovely. The bakery must have fresh bread, and the delicious scent of it makes your mouth water.

Focus!

As you turn down the pasta aisle, you brush past a man in a suit who’s looking at the canned pasta sauces, poor sap, and stop about ten feet away from him. The small bag of flour you need is on an easily accessible shelf but of course, there’s only one left and it’s all the way at the back.

Marcus holds up a jar of canned marinara, silently humming along to Wonderful Tonight by Eric Clapton. He swears he hears his grandmother on his mother’s side rolling in her grave. She wasn’t Italian, but owned a restaurant and was definitely looking down at him ashamed that he was BUYING something she taught him to make.

Sorry grams, he thinks, just as someone hobbles past him, vanilla wafting behind her, temporarily replacing the scent of the fresh bread he’s also going to pick up. His grandmother might come back just to slap him for this dinner tonight. Granted, he did just return from seeing his ex and her new boyfriend so maybe she’d take pity on him. Bake him those gooey chocolate chip cookies he loved so much.

As he turns to head toward the pasta he sees a woman who quite frankly takes his breath away. She’s so beautiful that he almost can’t take her all in at once. Her bare legs are toned and tanned, wrapped in long black biker shorts, paired with a plain grey t-shirt and unzipped black hoodie. One high top converse laced up on one foot, the other in an uncomfortable looking boot. Her hair is in a low messy bun with almost too perfectly placed pieces along her neck and face. She seems to invade every ounce of him, until all he can see is her and all he can smell is warm vanilla. His mouth goes dry, and his heartbeat fills his ears.

This next bit happens so quickly that he doesn’t have time to even think about it. But you would later describe it as not one of your finest moments, and he would describe it as the moment that changed his life.

He watches as you reach above your head, raising up on the tippy toe of your good foot. As you lean forward, your hollow aluminum crutch slips out from underneath you and falls to the ground. An echoing tinny bang startles you and you stumble, putting too much pressure on your broken foot. The sweetest sounding “Ouch! Motherfucker,” leaves your pouty pink lips as Marcus rushes to catch you.

“Whoa,” he says as he reaches out to steady you, one hand wrapping around your hip, the other cupping your elbow, helping you off your injured leg. “Are you ok?”

Your cheeks flush as you look up at him. “Sorry, thank you.”

Your bright blue eyes wash over him, and something tugs behind his heart. Eric Clapton singing "Oh my darling, you are wonderful tonight" as he stands there temporarily stunned, unsure of where he is or what is name is. It's just you.

It doesn’t make any sense, you could be married for all he knows, but something about you draws him in. He didn’t think he’d feel this way again for a very long time, but he needs to find a way to keep talking to you.

“Let me get that for you,” he says, his hand moving from your elbow, reaching up and easily plucking the flour off the shelf.

“Thanks, I could have gotten it.” You say and he fights to stop from laughing. He can tell that you’re not someone who asks for help. No, you’re independent and strong willed. And fuck if that doesn’t just make that tug behind his heart pull that much harder.

“I know you can, you just scared me.” He looks down at you softly as you stare up at him.

He’s suddenly very aware that he still has one hand on your hip. Your shirt had ridden up as you wobbled, and the skin of your hip is soft and warm against his palm. He finds himself wondering if the rest of you is just as comforting. Just as an inviting. The light scent of your vanilla perfume fills the small space between the two of you.

“Look,” he says, finding it inside himself to peel his hand off you now that you’re steady, placing your flour in your basket and bending to grab your crutch. “My grandma is already cursing me from heaven for buying canned sauce and boxed pasta. Can you please let me help you?”

You open your mouth and then close it, almost like you’re trying to come up with a reason to not let him, so he quickly adds, “For my sake.”

You laugh through your nose, shaking your head and taking your crutch from this incredibly handsome stranger.

Please don’t be married. Or a total creep.

“Smooth,” you say teasingly.

He tugs at his white button up shirt collar. “Is it hot in here?" He fakes a dramatic cough, "I swear - she’s watching me.”

You look up at the white painted ceiling of the grocery store. “OK, grandma. Chill. I’ll let him help me.”

When you look back at him he’s smiling from ear to ear, and if you thought he was handsome before; well, fuck, there’s not even a word to describe how unbelievably charming he looks right now.

He looks down at your basket before saying, “Do you have a big list?”

“Umm,” you say holding out the special lined paper you have to make grocery lists. “I have a few things, ya.”

His thick fingers brush lightly against yours as he takes the list. You can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing a wedding ring, score, his nails are trimmed short and his cuticles are nicely manicured. You assume he must have some sort of fancy office job, like a lawyer or an accountant. He seems to radiate stability and you didn't realize you could be so aroused by fingers.

“Are you making pasta? And sauce?” He asks as his brown doe eyes scan your list.

“I am,” you say proudly. You might not be a world famous chef, but you take pride in your cooking abilities.

He smiles back at you again. “Stay here,” he says softly, “I’m gonna grab a cart.”

As he turns to walk away, taking your basket and his sauce with him, you notice the way his grey suit jacket clings to his broad shoulders. Accountant by day, muscle model by night? Muscle model? Great, he’s broken your brain.

It doesn’t take long before you hear the distinct rumbling of the plastic wheels of a shopping cart heading your way. Just as your handsome stranger comes back into the aisle “At Last” by Etta James starts to play.

“I’m Marcus, by the way,” he says, grabbing a box of pasta on the shelf and sitting it next to his sauce in the top part of the cart.

You say your name and notice the tiniest glint in his eye as the sound of it wraps around him. “Well then, we’d better get going on this list.”

He moves slowly, allowing you to set the walking pace. He’s taken your list and the entire thing feels almost too domestic, like you can envision yourself doing this every weekend with him for the rest of your lives. Maybe there would even be a kid in that little part where he puts his boxed pasta and canned sauce.

“Alright, so we covered names and who grew up where. So, what do you do for a living?” You ask, snatching a bottle of olive oil off the shelf.

“I - uh - I work in law enforcement,” he says.

You look at him, then his tie, then back at him. With a hint of amusement in your voice you say, “Pretty fancy dress code. What are you? Like FBI or something.”

“Yes, actually. And now that you know that, I miiiight have to kill you.”

You laugh, “Sure know how to put a girl at ease, Agent Pike.”

The way you say agent, all teasing and flirty, goes straight to his cock. He’s been called Agent Pike thousands of times over his career but it’s never sent a shiver down his body like that before.

He runs a hand over his patchy scruff. “I’m kidding. About the killing part, not the FBI part.”

“Thanks for clarifying,” you laugh.

Whitney Houston’s voice floats across the store, singing about dancing with someone who loves her.

Neither of you is particularly paying attention to your list or what aisle you’re in. You snake up and down each aisle, both of you occasionally grabbing something you need.

“What about you?” He asks. Something about the way he asks a question seems different. It’s like when Marcus asks something he’s genuinely asking, not just trying to force conversation. With every answer you give his eyes focus on yours, he nods and seems curious and excited to hear what you have to say.

The bar is truly in hell if I’m turned on by a man who’s just treating me like a human.

“I run a small online store for my, umm, for my designs.” This part is always awkward, men change how they treat you once they find out what you do for a living. You avoid his eyes, he’s so goddamn handsome and you’re already disappointed that he’ll soon give you an ick with how he’ll respond to your career, how all men respond.

“Your designs? Are you an artist?” His eyes light up and he stands a little taller when he asks, he must love art. He’s going to be thrilled to find out your best friend owns a gallery, and probably even more thrilled when he learns you hurt your ankle falling off a step ladder she had you posing on as she painted you, and yes, you were completely nude.

“No,” you laugh. “I design clothing. Sort of.” You continue avoiding his eyes and chew on the inside of your cheek as you grab some dried oregano and place it in the basket.

“Hey,” he says softly, stopping by the spices, “You don’t have to tell me something you don’t want me to know.”

“It’s not that. It’s just,” you stop, glancing up at his warm chocolate brown eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows, and you have the sudden urge to sink your teeth into his neck. “Men just usually treat me differently once they know.”

He narrows his eyes at you and his lips curl into a tight lipped and curious smile. “That’s clickbait. Now you have to tell me.”

“Or you’ll kill me?” You laugh.

“Yes, FBI remember,” he says sarcastically.

You take a deep breath through your nose before you begin. “Ok, I design and sell lingerie.” You try to sound as casual as possible, smiling sweetly at him before you start walking again.

Marcus doesn’t follow along so you look over your shoulder at him. Is he blushing?

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat and avoiding your eyes. “I don’t see how that would make someone treat you differently.”

“Then why are you blushing, Pike?” You flutter your lashes at him as he catches up to you in the aisle.

The pink of his cheeks deepened, “I’m not blushing. Pretty sure I got a sunburn when I grabbed the cart.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard that being indoors during sunset is a very dangerous UV time.” You joke.

He laughs, “You’d be shocked how many people don’t believe it.”

You both laugh as you head towards the produce department for your tomatoes and onions. Elvis’s ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’ comes over the speakers, and even though other people are shopping, it feels like it’s being targeted at just the two of you. You pluck a few tomatoes from the shelf and he opens the little plastic bag for you to place them in.

He takes a breath to start speaking and you brace yourself for the inevitable. All men do it. They all either ask what your company is called so they can look up your Instagram later or they’re bold and flat out ask you to model some of your designs for them.

“Where’d you learn to make pasta?” He asks, his voice quivering at the closeness of your body to his.

“Umm, I sort of did an Eat, Pray, Love thing recently.” You say quietly, smiling up at him. It’s the tiniest movement, but you swear his eyes flick to your lips as your hand brushes against his while you reach into the bag. Your heart is pounding behind your ribs, it’s almost unfair how handsome he looks under these fluorescent lights.

“Oh? Like you went to Italy?” His voice is low and nervous as he watches you picking up tomatoes, squeezing them gently and smelling them. Carefully choosing the best ones.

“Yes. Without spilling my whole life story, I got married young and then divorced a few years ago. I just kind of needed a hard reset on myself.” You drop two more tomatoes in the bag and then side step, or more more like side hobble, to the onions.

“Huh,” he says, “I can honestly say that I know exactly what you mean by that.”

You both smile at each other, you swear you can see his pulse flutter in his neck before he says, “Unfortunately, I think we have everything on your list,” he finishes off his sentence by saying your name and it sends an explosion of butterflies in your lower belly. You don’t know if you’ve ever met someone who makes you feel like you have somehow known them for your whole life but is also brand new.

“Sorry. You probably have places to be and I’m -“ Your voice trails off when he slowly steps even further into your space.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says softly, his fingertips brushing against yours causing a buzzing up your arm. Just then ‘I knew I loved you’ by Savage Garden rains down from the speakers. Marcus laughs gently and continues, “Is it just me or has the music been interesting in here tonight?”

You move your pointer finger just a hair so it brushes against his, “ya, sounds like the crab from The Little Mermaid is in charge.”

A laugh from his stomach passes his lips, it’s joyous and melodic and even though you’ve just met him, you want to make him laugh like that for the rest of your life. He’s smiling so big that you can see all his straight white teeth. His head tips forward slightly and the skin around his eyes crinkles. You’re both so close, he smells like mint and a new book and everything around you seems to fall away, blurring around the edges. It’s overwhelming. Dizzying even. He’s the one. You can’t explain it, but you were meant to be in this grocery, with this annoying boot and crutch.

“That’s not quite the comparison I would have used, but yes.” His eyes dance around yours, still laced with amusement and happiness. “Is he a crab or lobster?”

“I think he’s a crab,” you say, pulling your hand back from his to stop yourself from leaping off that cliff and into his arms.

“I think he’s a lobster,” he counters, stepping back but never breaking the connection of his eyes with yours.

As you head towards the checkout you glance towards the shopping cart nervously, remembering that you walked here.

Both of you pay for your groceries in a comfortable silence and he scolds you teasingly for trying to grab your bags. “Grandma is still watching.”

The two of you head for the exit. “Did you park somewhere?”

“No. I can take them from here,” you’re not going to let this man drive you somewhere or walk you home. That’s ridiculous. You are strong and you’ve already impeded his life enough.

He lifts his eyebrow suspiciously and turns just a touch so you can’t reach your bags. “You walked here, didn’t you?”

“It’s really fine, Marcus. It’s not far. Thank you for your help. You didn’t need to do that.”

“I have an apartment that way,” he says, nodding his head in the same direction you need to go.

“Oh that’s very forward of you, but I know better than to go to a secondary location with a stranger.” And he does it again, that beautiful, happy laugh. “I’m in the same direction.”

You walk down the quiet street. People always say they wouldn’t want to live downtown because it’s too noisy, but truthfully, after the work crowd disperses for the evening and the dinner rush parts, it’s quite peaceful.

“How sure are you that he’s a lobster? Willing to make a bet?”

He looks over at you cautiously. “Alright. I’ll play along. I’m 100% sure he’s a lobster. What’s the bet?”

“Wow. Marcus Pike, does the FBI know you’re such a risk taker?”

He says your last name and follows it with, “Quit stalling, what’s the bet.”

“Ok ok. Once I’m off all the painkillers. If he’s a crab, I make you REAL pasta. If he’s a lobster, you take me out for real pasta.”

You both stop at the same time in front of the same building, “This is me. So is it a bet?”

Marcus pulls a key fob out of his pocket, “This is also me. And yes, we have a bet.”

You cross the lobby together, you select your floors and exchange phone numbers on the way up and then he finally gives you your bags.

“Thank you,” you say, smiling at him sweetly as the elevator approaches your floor. “I appreciate you using your grandma to help me.”

He covers his heart with his hand. “I would never!”

As the elevator comes to a halt he glances up at you sheepishly and your heart almost breaks open right then and there at how devastatingly handsome and heart meltingly adorable he is all at the same time.

You smile like a damn fool the moment you’re out of that elevator. Of all the ways you thought your night was going to go, it did not involve a very charming stranger making you all nervous and delusional.

The second you get inside your apartment you fight the urge to prove yourself right and cash in on our dinner, but you already miss him, so you text him.

Tag list:

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@keylimebeag @pimosworld @casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot

@lorilane33 @pansexual-potatoes @jessthebaker @jasminedragoon @koshkaj-blog

@pedroswife69 @strawberri-blonde @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @iloveenya

@javierpena-inatacvest @blazeflays @akah565 @pinkiec6-rubi @pedroshotwifey

@iluvurfather @ashleyfilm @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @littlevenicebitch69

#pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fluff #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike #the mentalist #pedropascal #pedro pascal #pedrohub

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piratefishmama · 10 months

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Finders Givers | Prompted by @aellafreya

Curiosity.

Some may call it a dangerous thing. Some may argue for its ability to lead you to the truth of things. Some may claim it leads you to temptation, to regret, to suffering.

Steve Harrington, was curious.

He’d found the source of his curiosity while visiting a bar he’d planned on purchasing. It wasn’t a huge establishment. Or a well known one. Not exactly big bucks in the making but it was sat in a prime location atop a cellar that led to miles of underground tunnels which frankly.

He wanted.

He wanted them and not for legal reasons either. The tunnels weren’t on any official city map, predating them, Robin and Nancy, his right hand, and his researcher, found them by pure chance while on a fun little jaunt through the local libraries.

Fun being a stretch for Robin, but she needed to hang out with another woman her own age. And so did Nancy.

But he wanted those tunnels, they stretched all over the damn city, with just a little bit of work they could pop up anywhere, perfect for many a less than legal activity.

So many by-chance happenings had led him to that ratty little bi-fold leather wallet. Wasn’t even quality leather either. It looked old too, black with an embossed devil head pattern that probably came from some truck stop somewhere.

He could have just handed it in to the owner he was trying to buy out, could have even thrown it away, but curiosity was a devil sometimes. So there he was, sat down at one of the many tables in that little bar while one of his people did the majority of his work for him (honestly what’s the point of having people if they cant do your work for you?) perusing the contents and feeling more and more depressed by the second.

First, there was a wad of coupons and a single quarter in there instead of bills, which was never a good sign.

Second, a single, solitary, sad, badly rolled little joint.

Third. A single bank card with Mr E J Munson on it. Not even a credit card, just. A debit. Which statistically didn’t mean great things about this person’s credit score. Could just mean the owner was trying to avoid debt, but… doubtful.

Fourth, a stick of gum.

Fifth, a guitar pick.

Sixth, a library card, oof couldn’t even afford to buy the books.

An expired driver’s license desperately in need of renewal registered to Edward Joseph Munson, the photo made him look like he’d just gotten out of jail or some shit, his hair a terrible buzzcut and eyes too big, too dark, and too haunted to be anything else, but then that was just sometimes how those photos turned out. He could have been a totally innocent man!

It had his address on it, a few descriptors, height half an inch shorter than Steve himself, brown hair, brown eyes, male, 140lbs at point of issue (he’d been seventeen), date of issue, issuing State, along with a date of birth, clocking him at a year older than Steve, twenty nine, and… that he was apparently a donor.

And finally, a month old pay stub from a local fast food joint. So minimum wage worker at best.

It was… kind of sad really. Steve actually looked up the address on his phone, just for curiosities sake, because he was already in deep enough to look through a guy’s wallet, might as well google the poor saps address, just in case he felt charitable enough to drop it off on the way back to the high rise.

Oh there was that deep sadness some people might yell ‘I told you so’ about.

It wasn’t bad. But it sure as shit wasn’t good either. Steve knew of at least six bottom dweller drug dealers that operated out of that block, which explained the joint.

And also made him sadder about the joint, the weed probably wasn’t even all that good.

“Hey Robbie?” His long time friend and platonic soulmate turned her bored gaze over to him, she’d been playing angry birds on her phone, he could hear the war cries of those birds every time she launched one. “We done any charity this quarter?”

“Mmmmmnmnnnnoooooo?” It always looked good to the public for a rich guy like him to do charity work. Wouldn’t look too deeply into him if he was seen publicly doing good. “Unless you count telling Dustin to go wild in that nerd shop last week as ‘charity’, your child nearly emptied the damn shop.”

“Nah that was his birthday present, can’t call that charity.” He wasn’t going to reiterate that Dustin wasn’t his child. He was basically mom at that point.

“Alright, so what’re you thinking?” She sat up, turning to face him properly, putting her phone screen down on the table “Sponsoring something? A drive? There’s this cute little animal shelter in Japan called HEART I read about last month, ran by just a woman and her husband working with volunteers, could be a good thing to donate to? Helping animals is always good for PR.”

“…Those sound way better than what I was thinking, this guy’s wallet is bumming me out.” The expression on her face could have probably put grumpy cat to shame. “Pick one of your choices and do something with it, whichever you want. Imma do something about this wallet.” It didn’t have to be a big PR stunt, the fact that he was doing it on the DL as well? It always came back around all sunshine and roses because people believed it was totally selfless.

Didn’t do it for PR, couldn’t be doing it for PR, he hadn’t announced it.

It was always for PR. Always. The reaction just took a little longer to circulate and people were suckers.

“Just give it back to him? That should be charity enough. It’s like nine bucks to replace a driver’s license, you’re saving him nine bucks. Charity.”

“For someone who started out poor, you’re awful, Robin Buckley. Deal with this bar thing for me would you? I’m going to go on an adventure.” Curiosity was a powerful thing!

“Alright but if you come home with another stray I’m suing!”

“That was—”

“Seven times Steve! Seven!!” It wasn’t his fault that he struggled to see teenagers down on their luck. And four of them were two sets of siblings so it technically counted as one time per set, and one came with Nancy so—!

“Fine!” –So, he wouldn’t argue.

Empires weren’t built with throw away people who held no loyalty to you although he did have many of those on staff. Empires like his were built on the foundation of family, and while the one he’d grown up with was a little bit lacklustre, the one he’d built was perfect.

So he wouldn’t argue, he knew she loved them just as much as he did, in her own way, and that any additions would be welcomed with open arms.

—

Steve didn’t take the car. Although he probably should have, he knew at least three of his people would be following him, keeping an eye on him for safety reasons. At a distance of course but they’d be tailing him for the sake of safety.

That neighbourhood wasn’t safe. No matter if he had a weapon on him or not, it wasn’t safe for people like him.

People with visible wealth.

The watch on his wrist alone was probably worth more than some of the buildings in that neighbourhood, and it wasn’t exactly early in the day either. The sun setting made for an excellent ‘rich person in the wrong goddamn neighbourhood’ future police report.

But he made it to his destination unscathed.

The fast food joint from that pay stub. He even double checked the address on it. The chances of this Edward Munson being there were low, but that was fine, he just wanted to check it out. The atmosphere in there, the management styles, he’d hang out in the corner, get a cheap coffee and people watch for a while. See how fun Edward's work life was so he could add it to his decision making tree.

Curiosity really was one depressing little bitch baby.

The manager on staff was loud. Rude. Sexist. And he was pretty sure he’d made one of the staff cry because she’d hurried out very quickly rubbing at her face and sniffling. The temptation to put out a hit on him? High. But no, that was a lot for one asshole… maybe he’d just send Jane out, let the kid take his knees out.

She deserved a little bastard ba—

Someone beat him to it. A commotion later started by someone with a lot of hair, hair that’d been put up in a net and half hidden beneath the uniform’s god awful mustard yellow cap. It’d been two hits, the guy hitting him, and the manager hitting the floor, blood pouring from a very broken nose, spectacular.

The rest of the staff looked on in wide eyed horror, one yelping “Eddie, holy shit!” as the man pulled his cap off to reveal all that hair. “You’re so fired!”

“Didn’t need this shit show anyway! Chris an I quit, peace out assholes!!” Eddie. Eddie. Steve rose to his feet. Godawful coffee forgotten in the face of the mystery Edward, who caught his eye once before continuing on his way, all big brown frankly beautiful Bambi eyes, less haunted but still so big, full, kissable lips, and god, so much hair, going in the same direction as the blonde who’d disappeared to probably go and cry.

Eddie did need that job. He really needed that job. Steve had seen the state of his wallet. He needed that job, or at least he needed the paycheque that came from that job. Couldn’t even afford to buy his own books! He rented them, he rented books.

Jesus.

God, Robin was gonna judge him so bad for the person he was about to become.

Part 2

#PirateWrites #FindersGiversFiclet #Steddie #Mob Boss Steve Harrington #No Upside Down AU #Shady!Steve #CW: Stalker Vibes #nothing nefarious it's all lighthearted non-threatening stuff #Sugar Baby Eddie who never agreed to be a sugar baby but isn’t complaining.

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bonefall · 5 months

Text

Random assorted thoughts apropos of very little;

I found out that Milkweed actually COULD be ecologically valid, but not the way you think. It's another name for Pretty Spurge, so called because it has a milky-white sap.

So I won't need to totally change Milkweed's name when I come around to her

Going to be trying to use orvet to refer to slowworms, a French term that makes a really nice warrior prefix (thanks @graphi-horse-time)

On the subject of the Ivypool super edition, if the awful place with "strange creatures" that the patrol visits ends up being a zoo, I will not stand for zoo slander. I highly doubt that The Erinzzz have targeted critique on the lack of inspectors to uphold the animal welfare guidelines of the Zoo Licensing Act of 1981.

Maybe they'll surprise me.

If not, I'll either change the setting entirely, or portray the welfare of 99% of the animals as superb except for the magic, talking things the Clan cats are trying to bust out.

I could easily make it not a zoo and just an animal center if I have to, a place that keeps domesticated animals. Just have like, James and Jane Smithton accidentally capture two demigods because they caught them rooting around in the bins lmao

#When I first found out brits don't have raccoons I was taken aback by it #Like? Nothing gets into your trash cans? and I found out no that's not really that normal in the UK unless you have a rat problem #Like sometimes it's foxes but it's not nearly as common as raccoons #Tutorial Island ass environment #If I go outside without my eagle I'm immediately attacked by 15 - 20 raccoons. Sometimes a bear.#bone babble

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slasherscream · 26 days

Note

Can you do some more until dawn characters (yandere please) like you’re trying on clothes at the mall and ask their opinion?

YANDERE UNTIL DAWN CHARACTERS + READER IS TRYING ON CLOTHES

A/N: thank you for reading my until dawn content! it's such a small fandom these days, comments/reblogs/anon reviews/asks are appreciated as they let me know people are still reading these.

- Josh has an excellent eye for aesthetics. He may not know all the words/names for the types of clothes you look good in but he recognizes them right away. He’ll try and describe something you should get, give up, wander off, then come back with examples of what he meant while you’re in the dressing room. If the shopping trip is under four hours he can remain locked in the entire time. This is the strength of will and character that comes with being the big brother to two little sisters who got his driving license first. He’s spent entire lifetimes at the mall hyping up the twins. He knows what to do. Overall helpfulness: 8/10.

- Sam loves spending quality time with you. Quality time is one of her preferred love languages, in fact. She picks you up for your shopping day with your favorite coffee shop order in hand, from the best place in town. She’s good with little details like that. You can always count on her to give you her honest opinion on what you pick out. She’s gentle about it, but she’ll never let you wear something she thinks is unflattering. She’s also mindful of waste consumption. With Sam’s help you wind up picking things you love, are comfortable wearing, and that you’ll actually use. Not a penny wasted, no matter how much you spend. Overall helpfulness: 10/10.

- Chris could not possibly, in any version of reality, fix his mouth to give you a criticism about any of your choices. Let alone choices about how you will go about decorating your body. He’s lucky he gets to look at you. It’s an honor! Thank you for honoring him! Every time you step out of the dressing room you will get the exact same answer, very enthusiastically, in the same tone: “That looks GREAT, babe!” You’ll be ready to kill him thirty minutes in. Absolutely worthless feedback. You’ll have to get help from the salespeople who work there for opinions. If you want a ‘yes man’ this is your guy! Overall helpfulness: 3/10.

Hannah is another sap. She’s more helpful than Chris, but only by the slightest margin. If something doesn’t look good she’ll be able to stutter her way around to it…. eventually. She’s nearly petrified at the thought of upsetting you. Never-mind the fact that you’ve asked her how the top looks on you five times now. “Well…. I mean… how do YOU think it looks, Y/N?” As if you’d be asking if you could come up with an opinion yourself. You’ll wind up leaving with only a few items. You’ll have to come back with a friend in a few days. You may need a new wardrobe, but if you need help picking it out, you’ll need a different set of eyes. Overall helpfulness: 4/10.

- Emily is going to be honest to the point that, yes, it will hurt your feelings a little… if you’re lucky. Mileage may vary. If you’re particularly sensitive she’ll hurt your feelings a lot. But god forbid you start trying to take someone nicer shopping with you. She’ll throw the hissy fit of the century when she finds out. Yes, when, and not if. Emily manages to find out everything you try to keep from her. Everything. On one hand you’ll wind up looking the best you’ve ever looked. Your entire wardrobe suits you perfectly. She even buys/picks out things that you’ll like, in your style, even if she finds the style personally distasteful. That’s how much she loves you. It just has to suit you, or else she will say something, and the way she says it is never very nice. You’ll look incredible, but at what cost to your mental health? Overall helpfulness: 8/10.

- Mike isn't very enthusiastic about the activity, but likes the good boyfriend points it garners him. Thus, he will come along whenever you bid him to do so. He’s only got about two and a half hours of shopping in him though, so try and have an idea of what you want to get in your mind. Before you arrive at the stores, please. If you take a long lunch break he can go back for another two hours but this is his hard limit. Knows well enough what you already look good in. Or when something looks downright awful on you. He does struggle a little to help if you’re wanting to try a completely new style. He’s as lost as you. The more underground/alternative/particular the style you want to try is, the worse the advice gets. If you’re just doing a wardrobe refresher this is your man. Overall helpfulness: 6/10.

- Beth makes shopping relaxing. You’ll stay as long as you need in order to get everything you need. She probably had you make a Pinterest board before you guys went out so that you’d be able to refer back to it. She knows getting into the stores can wipe your mind clean of what you needed/wanted to get. She’ll have you guys stop for lunch as well, but then you’re right back at it! She likes seeing your style evolve and change. Her feedback is honest, but gentle. It won’t ever feel like a criticism of your body, just the clothing. You walk out satisfied and always happier than when you came in together. Overall helpfulness: 10/10.

- Jessica is in her element here. Honestly, Jessica drags you shopping with her more than you’ll ever drag her shopping. Spending time together means a lot to Jessica. She never takes it for granted. Thus, she always tries to make any activity, but especially repeat ones like shopping, fun. She probably has a shopping playlist she made for the two of you. You both wear one wireless earbud and get to movie montage with each other. Watch out if the Princess Diaries songs or something Hip-hop comes on, she’ll start dancing to make you laugh. Her feedback is upbeat and positive, but honest. She hypes you up like crazy when you come out wearing something that makes you look really hot! Wolf whistles and everything, your face will be burning up as you flee back into the safety of the dressing room. “Baby, come back! You look smoking!” Overall helpfulness: 9/10.

- Matt knows absolutely nothing about fashion. He tries his very best to help, but he’s at a loss. Only if something very obviously doesn’t suit you will he be able to veto it for you. “I dunno… maybe it’s a little awkward in the arms or…. something?” You’ll have to take a few breaths. However, if something looks good, he can absolutely be a hype man! His eyes light up, he takes your hand, makes you do a spin. All the attention is enough to make you kick your feet and giggle. He can compliment you all day long. To his credit, he can compliment you specifically enough on what looks good. Even if it’s still a little vague. “The color of this makes you look really… wow! You know?” You’ll be able to figure out he means jewel tones make your skin look glowy one of these days. For now, at least you know your boyfriend thinks you’re gorgeous no matter what you wear. Overall helpfulness: 5/10.

#josh washington x reader #mike munroe x reader #sam giddings x reader #emily davis x reader #matt taylor x reader #chris hartley x reader #beth #hannah washington x reader #jessica riley x reader #yandere until dawn #until dawn #until dawn imagines #josh wasington imagine #black!reader

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kozidraws · 1 year

Text

Bakugo hates crowds.

He also hates malls.

Yet where does he find himself at 4pm on a Friday afternoon?

At a crowded fucking mall, no thanks to Kirishima.

Kirishima had begged Bakugo for hours the day before to go with him to check out a pop culture store because he heard rumours that there were Nendoroid figurines of their class and class B.

Bakugo very much not wanting to go, points out that they’re going to be shitty knock offs since none of them have signed any merchandise contracts yet. Logical argument, an easy victory for him.

But Kirishima’s counterpoint?

Pouting and bringing out the puppy dog eyes.

Fucking cheater.

He hates when Kirishima does that. (No, he doesn’t).

So now Bakugo finds himself in an extremely cluttered store, Kirishima’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and directing them between rows and rows of ‘official hero merch TM.’

Bakugo lifts a hand to double check that his face mask and beanie are still secure while Kirishima ushers him along. He wouldn’t be caught dead buying any of this junk, all his All Might figures are 100% authentic, thank you very much.

Kirishima on the other hand, looks like a kid in a candy store, ‘ohhing’ it and ‘ahhing’ at any figure that looks super manly.

That’s one word for them…

Bakugo spots a Best Jeanist figure that makes the fibre hero look like a blue giraffe and can’t help but bark out a laugh.

When they finally get to the rumoured Nendoroid section Kirishima slips his arm of Bakugo and practically lunges towards the shelves, instantly grabbing figures of the ‘Bakusquad’ (their words- not his), then practically shoves the boxes in Bakugo’s face.

Blobs of yellow, pink and black so close to Bakugo’s eyes he goes slightly cross eyed before huffing and softly swatting Kirishima’s hand away, “Again Kirishima, they’re just knockoffs.”

Kirishima dramatically gasps in mock offence, cradling their friends and leaning away as if to shield them, “but they’re real to me!”

Bakugo crosses his arms and scoffs, “You’re such a dork.”

Kirishima shifts the figures into the crook of his elbow as he keeps browsing the shelves, inspecting a Uravity figurine before placing it back on the shelf. “Perhaps. They may be knockoffs, but it’s the fist time I’ve seen us as merch! I want to keep them as a memento before we go pro and get licensed and all that jazz.”

“Sap.”

Kirishima grins in response, then turns his head towards the store clerk, “Hey man, do you have any Dynamight ones?”

Bakugo can’t help the instant blush that spreads across his face, he feels so flustered that the clerk is going to recognise who he is he snatches Kirishima’s sleeve, trying to yank him towards the exit but Kirishima doesn’t budge, the jerk. Giving up, Bakugo quickly hikes his face mask higher up and tugs his beanie down to hide more of his hair.

The shopkeeper shakes his head as he’s stocking the shelves, “Out of stock kid, Dynamight is always the first one to go. Will probably get a restock in a week or so if you want to come back then.”

“Aww, that’s a shame,” Kirishima pouts. He’s clearly disappointed (and Bakugo tries not to read into /that/) before the redhead perks back up with a smirk, leaning against him to whisper “Look at you Mr Popular, already number one. But that’s okay, I’m willing to wait for you.”

Bakugo elbows him in response, tempted to headlock his best friend in public but the wary glare the clerk sends his way stops him. Looking back to the figures he spots a Red Riot looking up at him from the bottom shelf and snatches it up. Now it was his turn to shove a figure into Kirishima’s face, “You forgot someone.”

Kirishima’s eyes flicker down and then away, not as enthused as he was before. “Nah don’t need one of me, I just wanted y- the squad!”

“Which includes you-”

“I only have enough money for these.”

Bakugo pauses, feeling defensive on the redhead’s behalf, because Kirishima was always dismissive of things that represented himself. He knew Kirishima could feel Bakugo eyes staring hard at him, but he pretends to look busy while he shuffles the figures in his arms.

Two can play that game.

Bakugo leans against the shelves and shrugs, “Fine, let’s go so you can buy our pack of nerds,” He watches Kirishima’s shoulders ease in relief of the conversation drop before Bakugo holds up the Red Riot box in his own hand and adds, “But I’m taking Red Riot home with me.”

It was worth it watching Kirishima choke on air, cheeks darkening by the second. Now it was the redhead’s turn to try and snatch the figure out of Bakugo’s hand, whining that it’s not worth it, but the blond skilfully dodges him. He struts up to the counter first to drop more yen than what was needed, telling the clerk to keep the change before speed-walking out, leaving Kirishima to fumble with his figurines and wallet to pay.

When Kirishima finally catches up he lightly whacks Bakugo’s leg with the bag. He lets out an exasperated sigh, but Bakugo can see the small blush that stains his cheeks, “You’re a real gremlin when you want to be.”

Bakugo smirks, bumping his shoulder into him in retaliation, “And don’t you forget it.”

————————

TBC

————————

Also on ao3!

#kiribaku #kirishima #bakugou #boku no hero academia #mha #bnha #krbk fanfic #kozi writes #my hero academia #krbk #someone help me come up with a title for this so I can post it onto ao3 #please

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planetpiastri · 1 year

Note

14- kissing under the stars with rooster please🥹❤️

hi birch!! idk what it is, but writing rooster brings the sap outta me. so here's a super sappy, super romantic, super sugary blurb about camping w roo<3 | [wc - 0.9k]

When Bradley first invited you to a weekend getaway at his family cabin with all of his Navy buddies, you weren’t entirely sure you should come. You’d only met Natasha—and Jake, once, but you tried to block out that particular memory, since it involved too many tequila shots and a karaoke machine that only had Mariah Carey—and you and Bradley had only been dating for a few months. It was too soon, right?

But as Reuben and Mickey helped you push your kayak into the lake, and Bob tossed you a half-used can of sunscreen, and Bradley watched proudly from the treeline as he put on a pair of sunglasses, you found yourself immensely glad that he’d convinced you after all.

Bradley joined you in the backseat of the kayak, teasing as he did, “Are you sure you’re supposed to be in the front? Do you even have your pilot’s license?”

“Stand back, nonbeliever,” you shot back, pushing away from the shore before Bradley even had a chance to get comfy. He cried out and laughed, nearly toppling out of the kayak, but managed to right himself.

“Easy, killer,” he chuckled. “You didn’t tell me you were a kayaking machine.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to impress you,” you shot back. “Is it working?”

“Definitely.”

The afternoon passed in a comfortable haze as everybody paddled around the lake, sharing whiteclaws and waters. Jake had blown up an inflatable kiddie pool and stocked it with snacks, booze, and a bluetooth speaker. Classic rock oozed from his round little paradise, and periodically the other pilots would paddle over in their canoes or their inner tubes and nab a soda or a beer from his cooler.

You and Bradley traded your kayak for Bob’s inflatable raft and spent most of the day sprawled out, half-napping, your limbs tangled together and sticky from the sunscreen. When he wrapped his arms around you and tumbled the two of you into the cold water of the lake—subsequently losing his sunglasses—you decided maybe it was time to head back and get dinner.

Conversation flowed easily with everyone as you all paddled back to the cabin and dragged your various flotation devices up onto high ground. Reuben volunteered to start the campfire, and Javy got nominated to light up the grill and get the hot dogs cooking. You joined Natasha in the kitchen as she showed you how to make her famous ‘miscellaneous fruit tart,’ and the two of you banded together to banish Bradley from the kitchen when he kept trying to steal fresh strawberries. Mickey and Bob were put on music detail, filling the wood cabin with old John Denver and Fleetwood Mac tunes. Jake was a surprisingly adept sous chef, helping where Javy told him to and plating out piping-hot dogs built to everyone’s particular specifications.

As the sun set and the stars came out, everyone gathered around the fire pit. You and Bradley shared a two-seater plastic bench, one blanket thrown over both your laps, your head on his shoulder.

“Thanks for inviting me,” you whispered into the skin of his neck.

“Thanks for coming,” he replied just as quietly, pressing his lips to your hairline.

Under the blanket, his calluses traced the knuckles of your hand, sending shivers up your arm. You shut your eyes and pressed deeper into him.

Mickey, who—along with Jake and Javy—had started drinking around noon and hadn’t ever stopped, was the one to finally tip the night away from ‘sleepy and romantic’ and towards ‘rowdy getaway weekend’ when he stood up and began to conduct everyone in singing along to Dancing in the Dark, which still playing from the open living room windows.

“Do you want to step away for a breather?” Bradley asked you, his hand warm in yours.

You nodded, and the two of you eased out of the two-seater. No one else seemed to notice you leave as you snuck down to the shoreline, hand in hand. The blanket was thrown over Bradley’s shoulder. When you rounded the path and saw the stars glittering on the surface of water, your breath caught in your throat.

“Way better than movie night on your couch, right?” Bradley asked, shaking out the blanket and laying it down on the pine needles.

He sat down, and you curled up against him. You could hear your friends singing and laughing around the bend, and the smell of burnt marshmallows filled the air, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to want to go back. In this moment, in the arms of this wonderful, charming man, you felt perfectly content.

“I love you,” you said before you could think better of it.

When you looked up at Bradley, he was grinning down at you so hard it looked like it hurt. His hand came up to cup your cheek, and when he kissed you, it felt like—oh, of course. It felt right. It felt like your whole life had been leading up to this moment, at this lake, with this man.

He pulled away sooner than you expected, taking your breath with him, and blurted, “Oh—I love you, too. Obviously.”

Your smiles smashed together as you grabbed him by the collar and dragged his mouth back to yours, hardly able to keep the delighted giggle trapped in your chest from spilling out of you. His hand settled on your waist, and you wasted the night away on the shore of the lake, the stars sparkling overhead and your best friends drunkenly singing a short walk away.

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