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pileofmush · 2 months

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you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood.

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares.

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold.

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed.

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him.

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?”

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.”

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows.

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?”

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it.

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first.

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.”

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin.

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,�� he interrupts.

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly.

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?”

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something.

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen.

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it.

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple.

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yeaaaah. It’s true.

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used.

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again.

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor.

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open.

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway.

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you.

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?”

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you.

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his.

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard.

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen.

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods.

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe.

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life.

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return.

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again.

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes.

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock.

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you.

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask.

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—”

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out."

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean.

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones.

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu.

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs.

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear.

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart.

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly.

…You don’t know if you want to.

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close.

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh.

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?”

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement.

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it.

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done.

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment.

You scrub, and scrub.

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command.

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body.

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting.

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.”

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night.

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together.

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on.

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?”

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—”

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—”

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him.

You look at him.

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you.

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish.

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?”

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach.

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams.

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

#mushy writes .𖥔 ݁ ˖#yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #jjk x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuuta x you #yuta x you #jjk x gn!reader #jjk #tw: blood #tw: death #m.jjk #m.yuuta #battle scarred;#yuuta my beloved <3

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jujutsukatsuki · 1 year

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Bakugou vs TikTok Trends Part One: There’s a flea in my hand!

“Suki!” You hum softly as you set your phone up in the living room.

“Yeah babe?” He calls back from the garage, where he was working on his gauntlets

“C’mere!”

He makes his way into the house and stands next to you in frame as you start recording.

“Okay so I have a flea in my hand.” You hold out your empty palm

“We have fleas?! Our dog better not have them!” He scowled, your guys dog was currently laying on the couch in the background.

“What? No. Okay just listen. I have a flea in my hand, his name is Miko..” Bakugou looks skeptical at your empty palm

“Uh huh?” He cocks one eyebrow “Go on.” He encourages.

“Okay so in my hand is one flea and he’s gonna do three backflips. Okay? Now watch.”

“One.” Bakugou watches as you watch your palm before looking into the air and back down. This repeats one more time then once more after that.

“Okay now clap for him but quietly, he’s small.”

He looks even more confused as he mimics you in tapping your pointer and thumb together.

“So he wants to do more, so he’s asking if you’ll do him a favor. Hold his top hat.” You pretend to take a invisible top hat off the flea and give it to Bakugou, who grabs it and holds it in his palm. You can tell he’s getting more confused and annoyed.

“Alright, he’s about to start, keep watching.” You smile. Bakugou blinks a few times before he takes the hand that’s suppose to be holding the hat and smacks your palm like a high five.

“No dirty nasty fleas in this house.” Bakugou scowls and walk off.

You look at the camera in shock “He killed Miko!” You yell as the video ends.

Posting it to TikTok was fun, all over the news ‘pro hero dynamite kills Miko the flea’. You never laughed so hard. Bakugou on the other hand was grumpy and would never do another TikTok with you.

#Katsuki Bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #Bakugo katsuki x reader #Bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #Bakugou x reader #Bakugou vs TikTok #Bakugo vs TikTok #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha x reader

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dancingtotuyo · 5 months

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Home | Part 2

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: You and Frankie come to a crossroads

Tags: fluff, angst, family, recovering!frankie, girl dad!Frankie

Warnings: references to past drug use (cocaine), addiction recovery, struggling to cope, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: once again- thank you to the lovely @wannab-urs for beta reading!

I don’t think this is going to turn into a full fledge series but I definitely foresee myself revisiting this little family at least once more.

Words: 2225

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

Life either feels like it’s rushing by in a blur or crawling at a snail's pace. Layla is growing like a weed, standing as tall and as straight as a yardstick. You celebrate her third birthday in the summer, filling this old house with smiles and laughter. You wish it could always be this way.

Frankie gets his helicopter license reinstated the year before. It helps, but you still see the struggle in his eyes. Despite his assurances that he’s not touched cocaine since he got busted, you find yourself checking his old hiding places and searching for new ones. You haven’t found anything yet. He’s given no indication of using again, but you see the stress carved out in his forehead and the weight of the world on his shoulders. It feels like a when, not an if. You don’t know how to slow down the barreling train.

Then, one night he’s not home. It’s well past midnight as you sit on the couch wrapped tightly in a blanket staring out the window. You pray for his high beams to blind you. There’s a pit forming in your stomach. He always tells you when he’s coming home. The only pictures you can conjure up are of him snorting lines. The background changes, but you always see the same blown pupils staring back at you.

The night you met, you’d done lines together off Frankie’s dealer’s coffee table. The dealer was dating your roommate at the time. It hadn’t been the first time you used or the last, but you could count the times you had on your hands. You escaped the addiction. Frankie hadn’t.

It’s after 1 am when his headlights finally shine in your eyes. You stay on the couch, not eager to greet what’s coming through your back door. Frankie’s feet are heavy on the back stoop. There’s a pattern, a routine to them. Two knocks on the side of the house, three stomps on the doormat. The rattling storm door opens and then the ever present squeak of the backdoor echoes through the quiet house.

Taking a deep breath, you pull yourself up. Frankie's eyes meet yours as you flick on the kitchen light. It stings both your eyes. You search for any signs of a fading high. He seems calm, a bit shaken but not in a coked out way. His eyes dilate as they should. He catches your careful inspection. “I’m not high.”

You bite your lip. “Then where have you been?”

Deep bags stain under his eyes. His shoulders slump. He looks exhausted. “I went to get high… sat in the alley for hours.”

“Fuckin’ christ, Frankie!” You hiss, pinching the bridge of your nose. You’re not sure you can survive another relapse.

“Baby, I didn’t. I told you.” He grabs your hand, voice breaking. He needs you to believe him. “Please.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I’ve been worried sick!”

“I’m sorry. I had a bad day and-” a sharp little cry interrupts him, and then another. It reminds you of a kitten. They seem to be coming from his duffel. “Shit.” Frankie drops your hands, rushing over to his duffel.

Carefully, he unzips the bag, catching a ball of black fluff that threatens to escape. Your jaw drops. “Francisco Morales! What the fuck is that?”

He holds the kitten to his chest, fingers scratching behind its ears. It’s tiny, probably not old enough to be weaned from its mother yet. “I saw him in the alley.” The kitten nuzzles into Frankie more. “I couldn’t find any other kittens or the mom. The little guy was all alone.”

“And probably infected with fleas.”

“So, I’ll throw my bag in the dryer.” Frankie shrugs. “and pick up some flea and tick medication tomorrow.”

“We can’t take care of a kitten. We’re not prepared.”

“Can’t say we were prepared to take care of Layla either, but she’s still alive,” A faint smile graces Frankie’s face either from the joke or the way the tiny animal is falling asleep in his solid arms.

You bite your lip. Frankie is tired and worn and barely fighting off the demons, but he’s smiling, maybe even relaxing a little. He chuckles as the kitten perks back up, swatting at Frankie’s fingers.

You sigh. “He has to stay in the bathroom tonight, and he’s going to the vet as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frankie winks, stepping toward you.

You sigh, letting the night’s tension out. Frankie is here. He’s okay physically. He’s not coked up. Of all the outcomes you spent hours worrying over, this one is sunshine and rainbows. As the tension eases, you feel more inclined toward the kitten. He’s a little ball of midnight fur, not a speck of other color to be seen.

“I swear to god, Frank if he has rabies-”

“Then I’m already dead.” He teases.

You smack his shoulder. “Or any other communicable diseases, I’m going to kill you.”

“He’s just a kitten, Babe.” Frankie smiles, kissing the tuft of fur between his tiny ears.

You sigh. “I’ll grab some newspaper. You’ll have to give him milk.”

“Don’t kittens like milk?”

“He’ll probably get the runs. Cats can’t digest milk.” You shoot Frankie the side eyes, gathering the necessary supplies to get the kitten settled.

Frankie is in the bathroom with him until almost 3 am. You have to admit. You almost feel bad leaving the tiny animal alone. Almost. The last thing you need is a flea infestation.

Frankie eventually curls up next to you, sighing as he nuzzles into your neck. “Think he’ll be okay?”

“You found him in an alley. One night curled up on a towel in our bathroom won’t hurt him.”

“Layla is going to love him.”

A laugh sputters from your lips. “If she doesn’t choke him to death. We’re still working on gentle hands.”

Frankie’s laugh joins yours from deep within him. It’s the kind that brings a smile, a true one, about. It’s something that’s been rare as of late.

His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His hands wander haplessly. You bite your lip, soaking in the feeling of his warm hands across your body as you remember how close you came to losing this tonight.

He kisses your neck. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You always worry me.”

Frankie inhales sharply, squeezing you tighter. His lips play at your ear. “I’m sorry for that too.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It kinda is.”

“Addiction is a disease, Frankie.”

He huffs, never accepting that response. He feels guilty. He feels responsible for getting hooked on coke, putting you through hell and back.

“If I never-”

“If you never- we wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t have met. We wouldn’t have Layla.”

Frankie sighs, dropping his forehead into your shoulder. You feel the hot tears slipping down your neck. Kissing his head, you thread your fingers through his thick brown curls. Something else is waging war inside him and you think he may finally tell you.

“I think I almost died tonight.”

Your fingers still. Frankie pulls back so that he can look you right in the eyes. The moonlight flickers off of them in your favorite way. “What happened?”

Frankie shakes his head. “Nothing. I looked at that alley for so long tonight. I just had a feeling that if I went in, there was no coming back.”

Your heart clenches in your chest. You’ve felt it too, the boulder hanging over your heads, like a sixth sense. If Frankie slips again, there’s no coming back, and relapse has felt so close.

He clenches your pillow in his fist. More tears pour from his eyes. “And what’s worse is the only thing that kept me from it was that damned cat.”

You thumb away one of his tears. “I don’t think that’s true, Frank.”

“I was about-”

“And how long did you sit there before the cat showed up?”

“I don’t know. An hour, maybe two. It took me just as long to catch the cat.”

You stifle a laugh, caressing his cheek. “He might’ve given you a reason to walk away, but I don’t think that cat is the only reason you didn’t relapse tonight.”

“We need to do a better job at talking.”

You nod. “Agreed.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep checking my hiding spots.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You know about that?”

“Yeah,” Frankie nods. “And I don’t blame you either.

You stare at him for a moment. His eyes seem clearer today than they have in months. He’s warm against you. He’s home, and he’s your Frankie.

“Will you tell me what happened in Colombia? What really happened?”

He sucks in a breath, rolling onto his back. His hand travels to the meat of your thigh. He squeezes and rubs as if he’s self-soothing. “Please don’t leave.”

It comes out just above a whisper. Your heart clenches. This is why he won’t talk about it. Not because of the trauma, but because he’s scared you’ll walk away from him after. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He takes in a long breath, holding it, and then releasing it. Then, he recounts it all until the sun is peeking through your bedroom windows.

As predicted, Layla is obsessed with the kitten the moment Frankie brings him out. You give him a bath before you let her touch him, treating him with flea and tick medication Frankie grabbed from the grocery store that morning.

Once he’s bathed and treated, the three of you sit on the kitchen floor for hours with the newest member of your family. You’re exhausted and you see the same in Frankie from not sleeping the night before, but your daughter is enthralled by the kitten as the two of them stay occupied with an old shoelace. Nap time is a long way off.

Layla throws a fit to get the kitten to take a nap with her, but you stand firm. He needs at least 24 hours for the flea medication to do its job. You and Frankie fall into sun-soaked sheets once she’s down. Your eyes drift close immediately and Frankie pulls you flush against him.

“Kitten needs a name.” He mumbles.

“Never said it was staying.”

“Ya didn’t need to.”

“You name him. You’re the one who brought him home.”

It’s quiet for a second. Your brain slips further into darkness.

“Cocaine.”

“What?”

“His name. I went into the alley to find Cocaine and I found him.”

You sit up, eyes bleary, but sleep the furthest thing from your mind now. “Our three-year-old daughter is not going to yell out for Cocaine, Frankie.”

His chest shakes with laughter, a smile dancing on his lips. “C’mon. It’s cute. She can call him Coke.” You cross your arms across your chest. Frankie sees none of it, eyes still closed. “... or Coco. That’s cute.”

You huff. Frankie still doesn’t seem to notice but pulls you back down against him instead. “Said I could name him, babe.”

“She’s not calling him Cocaine.”

You fall asleep to Frankie’s deep chuckle.

To Layla, he’s Coco. Frankie calls him a rotation of things like Coke and Cokey, his actual name, and sometimes Little Shit. You call him Crack from the way he zooms through the house at all times of the day.

Layla is obsessed with her newest little pal, always wanting him to be in her room or bed, or to take him to the grocery store, but he spends the nights curled up in your bed – usually around Frankie’s legs.

The times that little Cocaine Morales isn’t flying through your home on a fruitless hunt, he’s curled up somewhere. If Frankie is home, you can find him on his lap, or riding his shoulder. You know he’s much more than a cat to Frankie.

You like having him too. He’s brought joy into your home. It’s a joy that had become rare- only showing up for Layla’s milestones and sparing minutes. You know it’s not just Cocaine. It’s what he represents. He’s a marker for the night things changed for the better.

You and Frankie are talking about it all, the nightmares, the demons. Something that’s been absent for too much of your relationship. You both have begun to seek out help, separately and together. You don’t check Frankie’s hiding spots anymore. The deep, swelling love you’ve always had for him once again bubbles over, filling every crack and crevice of your home. Frankie is more present, more attentive. Slowly but surely, ghosts flee one by one.

Layla’s nickname for the kitten dies the moment Uncle Ben walks into your Labor Day cookout. From the moment on, she spends her time calling out for Cocaine. Her plethora of uncles are a gaggle of hidden chuckles and mischief each time. You shoot glares their way, but you can’t help but find it just as cute.

This thing that nearly tore your family apart, is now something you laugh about bundled into a cute little ball of black fur. The catalyst for things getting better.

There are still dark days, but they’re few and far between. While the thoughts play through Frankie’s mind from time to time, he never returns to the alley.

#pedro pascal #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #pedrostories

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thesimquarter · 7 days

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hello! sims 2 miniopolis update!

first of all, my current sims 2 urbz sims >:3 outside of the obvious change of a default skin, they don't look that different compared to my old versions of them. But! believe me they are better.as well, this time! there's the DS exclusive characters and a few sims intended to be townies. In order, Lloyd, Red Man, Daschell Swank, Chet R. Chase, Bucki Brock's sister, Joe from the Flea Market (yes, he does have a name), Ava Cadavra, and Gordie Puck. Indeed, they're very red.

And an update to the town in general! I've finished most of the easy lots now, mostly having harder lots to do now. Such as the Mausoleum, Circus, Brownstones + Slice O'Life (which I… attempted. can you believe that the map of this game doesn’t follow the laws of physics?), etc.

New lots include: - Junked Schoolbus (which IS connected to the Chopper Garage visually but they aren't the same lot) - Chopper Garage (which i am not going to put underneath the road/jail! it looks cool in-game, but possibly impossible to do in the sims 2 but it makes no sense spatially!! the other side of the garage would just be underground!!!) - Cemetery (Mostly just empty buildings for aesthetics. No graves… yet. and there probably won’t be until the final version of the hood.) - Miniopolis Chronicle (TINY) - Miniopolis Hospital + University (if this was ts3 i probably would have made them separately) - Club Xizzle (what is it supposed to look like on the outside + should there be two?) - Glasstown Megamall - Cinema d'Urbania (how do you make a cinema in this game? big TV?)

I redid King Tower as well, just to make it fill out a 3x3 lot instead of a 2x2 lot, and Café Multiplaya has a new outdoor seating area (to fill in space). The Coffee Shop, the Market, and Glasstown apartments were in my last post, just kinda in the background. The Market has a lot of creative liberties taken to it, as I just didn't like how it translated into the Sims (as in it's made to represent the real-life French Quarter Market more). The Glasstown Apartment has a few other units in it for some of the Urbz sims (more on that in a bit!)

I removed pretty much, all the elevation from the .s4c terrain. It's easy to put back butttt, the sims 2 just doesn't work in a way that's friendly to sloped lots (and simcity 4 for slopes that take <1 unit of distance, you can't make steep cliffs in these games. so, basically, due to the compactness of the city, there isn’t enough room to add in slopes without making it all janky). They may come back at the end if we can Wizard the slopes to work the lots, but for now...

Ignore the weird road off the Sim Quarter. I was experimenting with what could be done with the riverboat. I was thinking about putting it on a beach lot and making a joke about it being temporarily landlocked (read: i already did) and was trying to find a good, functional place to put it. There may be other ways to do a riverboat though… hmmm

Anyways onto housing for the Sims. So, the Glasstown Apartments has a few more units to fit in a few other characters (Lottie Cash (I did manage to squeeze a bowling alley in there), Lily Gates, and Darius) but other than that? Very little! (I did Ewan’s House. however, it’s just a box; i took modest pretty literally). I might make a post soon where I talk about where each Urb would probably live, just as an excuse to talk to myself for a little while.

#ts2 #urbz #miniopolis #ts2 miniopolis

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ocean-sunfish-hater · 12 days

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Parasitoidism and Deep Sea Mechs

ID: A white/ transluscent crustacean inside of a barrel-like jelly structure that is transparent. They are set against a black background.

This shrimp-like creature is a type of deep sea amphipod called Phronima, referred affectionately by some as a barrel bug. Look! It's got a little house for itself! How did it get there? Why is it doing that? Oh god, what does this have to do with the title of this post?

Parasitoidism is an extreme form of parasitism where the host will eventually die. This is different from the other types of parasitism where there may be detriments to the host, but they rarely die as a direct result of the parasitism. Think of a flea - they might suck their host's blood and they may cause damage to it, but one flea will never suck so much blood as to kill the host (of course, it may later die of a disease transmitted by the flea). For a parasite killing the host isn't the best strategy, because then you are essentially destroying your home, your restaurant and your social life all at the same time.

ID: An orange parasitoid wasp sits on top of a bristly caterpillar, with its sting buried inside its victim. They are both sat on a leaf, and the picture is taken close up so that the finer veins of the leaf are visible.

Parasitoidism, on the other hand, eventually results in the death of the host due to the extreme amount of resources taken from it. Most famously, parasitoid wasps lay eggs inside a paralysed host, keeping it alive long enough for its offspring to hatch and consume it. Some larvae even eat non-essential organs first to keep their hosts alive for as long as possible as they grow. Apparently Charles Darwin thought this was so fucked up he questioned whether his God was truly omnipotent or benevolent if such a creature existed.

ID: A picture of a sea salp, a type of marine invertebrate. It has a transparent, jelly-like body that is somewhat tube shaped. Inside the body are two major structures: an orange, spherical mass to the right hand end, and an opaque, white rod-like structure that runs along the body (right to left in the picture). It is set against a dark background.

Anyway, that jelly-like structure that the Phronima is sitting in, it's not something that it made itself through some bodily secretion or scavenging. It's actually the hollowed-out body of an animal called a salp, which is a type of tunicate (these can sometimes form massive colonies, hopefully have a post coming about that at some point).

The Phronima eats the inside of the salp then climbs inside the remaining tunic, in which it makes its home and lays its eggs. It then proceeds to pilot the carcass around like a fucking mech, steering it through the deep sea. Moving its new mobile home round like this allows fresh water and food to flow in through the front, nourishing the happy new homeowner and eventually its larvae once they hatch.

Of course, at this point the salp is likely dead and has been for a while, which is what makes this parasitoidism.

Hope you enjoyed! Have excellent nightmares.

#calling these guys purely parasitoids is actually a bit wrong #some relationships between phronima and tunicates are arguably symbiotic #but the point of this post was parasitoidism #i am not done with parasitoids but i do not want this post to get too long #barrel bug #crustacean #ecology #neon genesis evangelion #queue

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two-white-butterflies · 2 years

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orange and tangerines | daemon targaryen x targaryen!reader

Description: Y/N learns the art of making her own decisions, in which daemon targaryen teaches his niece all about being a woman-grown. (niece!reader)

(smut: slight breeding kink, public sex, orgies in the background, slight degradation kink, sex, first time sex, fingering, oral sex [f. recieving] and incest)

Daemon was always temperamental, hence Viserys always made sure to keep his daughters away from him. But once you dangle a carrot in front of a pig, you can't stop it from eating.

Now he has his sights on a new woman, his own niece, Y/N. The beautiful yet reckless second daughter of his brother.

He entwines his hands with hers as they walked through Flea Bottom. There had been a sliver of doubt in the maiden's head but she was successful in sending it to the back of her head. After all, no harm would come when she was with her uncle.

"You need to learn how to make your own decisions," he exhales as he leads her inside the whorehouse. She looks around, and he callously leads her towards an orgy. "You are a second-daughter, but that doesn't mean you should follow blindly." he explains as he places his hands on the bottom of her chin, his fingers lightly grazing upon her lips.

"I'm a princess uncle, I don't have choices." she replies as she stabilizes herself, and uses him as a sturdy pillar. He reaches for her hat, and exposes her white locks.

No one looked at them however, they were far too busy with their own pleasures. "You always have a choice. A choice on who you should fuck, and it's as easy as eating those lemoncakes that you love." he answers as he leans closer, breaking the wall of ice between them.

She could feel his warmth, and his bulge lightly touching her hips. She places a hand on his nape and traces it down to his chest. "Fucking is an art you see. Reaching your peak, only to go find it again." he whispers as he places a hand in between her legs.

The warmth seeping through her thin clothes. She lets out a moan, and he chuckles after. Maidens as young as her were lusty and imbalanced, as a princess of this realm she has to gain more balance, more power, if she wishes to survive.

"And one might assume, I'd choose to fuck you." she breathes out as she looks away and casts her glance on the people around her who were fucking. He reaches for her arm and corners her into a wall.

He smiles, perhaps the Rogue Prince underestimated the Unruly Princess. "But should I not be dutiful? Should I not perform my duties for the realm?" she inquires defiantly as he shrugs. "Perform your political duties, but seek pleasure where you wish to find it." he answers as she leans closer towards him.

His hot breath beginning to send shivers down her spine. She licks her lips and stares up at him. "I wish to find it in you," she hushes as she kisses him. She could taste the ale in his breath, but she could also feel the tenderness and lust in his kiss.

His hands traced down to the buttons of her clothes as he began to unravel it. His hands moving back and forth from her hips and from her chest, his fingers lightly trailing towards both of her breast as he began to feel it's fullness.

"Fuck," she curses as she breaks the kiss and unbuttons his cloak. "Was this your plan all along, uncle?" she chuckles as he presses a kiss on her neck, his lips leaving trails of blue and red. "I do not plan anything, Y/N." he replies cheekily as he unbound his leather trousers.

He moans loudly, as their voices began to drown out the other voices in the brothel. He kneels down, and she raises an eyebrow. "Fucking is an art. Should you call me an artist?" he queried as he presses a kiss on her flowering cunt.

"Daemon," she whines as she holds his head in place. He chuckles darkly, and sends vibrations up her body. "This is what you deny yourself by acting hollier than thou. Submit to pleasure, Y/N." he says as he goes under once more and begins licking her maiden.

Her head jolts in pleasure, as her knees began to feel weaker. He licks once more, this time with more fervor. "Ahh," she moaned as he raises a finger and inserts it.

He stands up once more, and grabs a fistful of her hair. Watching as her eyes rolled in pleasure after every thrust of his. "You act mindless, as if you weren't a temptress mere moments ago." he chuckles as he pulls his finger out.

She bites her lips as he gives her another one of his kisses. "Put a child in me uncle, let us revive the Blood of Old Valyria" she mutters through the kiss and he chuckles. He didn't expect his niece to be such a wanton whore.

His dick prods through her entrance, as he grunts. "By the end of tonight, the whole realm will know who you belong to." he announces as he inserts his dick unto her swollen entrance.

Her grip on his shoulder tightens and she moans loudly. "Fuck," she curses as tears threaten to spill from her eyes. He rests his head on her shoulder and thrusts in a steady rhythm, as he waits for her to adjust to his length.

"It hurts at first, but the pleasure only grows." he whispers unto her ears as blood trickles down her thighs. She's heard all about losing your maidenhead, they say that it hurts at first but turns into something beautiful once done with the right person.

He slowly realizes that she isn't in pain anymore and begins thrusting again. His hands gently fondling and twisting her breast, and she gently rests her head on the wall.

He thrusts harder this time, his dick gently nudging her womb. "Daemon," she moaned out again as her eyes shut in pleasure. His moan slowly becomes louder and he presses a kiss on her cheeks.

"This is what pleasure feels like, you must not fight it." he explains as she feels her peak. She's touched herself before, when no one was looking. But sex just feels much more better.

She opens her eyes, this time meeting his lilac ones. "I'm close." she whispers as she places her hands on his shoulder for stability. He nods, as he begins thrusting much faster.

She looks down and sees where their organs are connecting. He reaches for her face and makes her stare at him. She bites her lips, and begins to feel herself cum.

She moans softly, and he chuckles in return.

A few more thrusts, her hunger was quenched -- and he was the one who broke her fast.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen lemon #daemon targaryen x niece reader

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bananacakepie · 3 months

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So there’s a webtoon called Cinderella Boy by Punko, and I’m hooked. There are some spoilers about the plot up to the 17th episode, so if you haven’t read that far: continue at your own risk.

The plot goes like so; there’s a boy who goes by Chase, and his mom is sick. He wants to make a magical wish to save her, but to do so, he needs both a magical liquid called Narration, and a set of 12 magical archtype keys. Each of the keys can turn into a little person, but also allow whoever is using that specific key to enter a story, and seemlessly take the place of whatever character holds that specific archtype. There’s a dangerous group called Ex Libris that wants the keys (assumingly to fulfill their personal goals with the wishes) and has most of one, but Chase is on a mission to find all of them.

My big question is this: What keys are there?

So the plot kicks off with Chase finding Silver, the Heroine Key.

So she then tells Chase thst the last thing she remembers is being held by Ex Libris, and dhe refers to the other Keys as her family, and she encourages Chase to find them.

While trave Ing through stories, Chase meets “Buddy”. He wants Chase to stop using the Heroine Key and hand it over to him. Buddy has a Key of his own - but he hides it under his shirt.

Buddy holds the Villainess Key (who’s name Silver tells Chase, is Violet), and is implied to work for Ex Libris. So that one will definitely be hard to get.

In a recent storyline, Silver spots two Keys at a flea market, but by the time Chase runs away, grabs the money to but them, and comes back, one of the Keys has been sold. Chase buys the remaining Key.

The Key that Chase does get turns out to be Bronze who is the Helper Key. The archtype of a sidekick.

And that’s all the know Keys! The Heroine Key (held by Chase), the Villainess Key (held by Buddy/Ex Libris), and the Helper Key (held by Chase/Chase’s cousin).

You get the idea. 3 known, 9 unknown. 2 held, 10 with unknown locations.

And Chase wants to find them.

One of the Keys got sold at the flea market, so it’s likely nearby.

(Left Picture: The lighter colored Key is the missing one.)

And there’s another Key mentioned on the paper that Chase found.

(Right Picture: We can see symbols on 3 of the Keys. From what we can see, the top left is labled “Hero-”, has a rose on top, and a heart shape on the bottom. The top right’s lable is obscured, but we can see the sun on top and the circle shape on the bottom. The bottom left is labled “Villa-” before being cut off, has a gem on top and a curved diamond shape on the bottom. There are no visible details on the bottom right Key.)

The right picture tells us more about the unknown Keys. We know about the Villainess and Heroine Keys that match up with what is seen on the bottom left and top left respectively. But the top right Key’s name is unknown.

So aside from that, we can also guess what the rest of the keys are, because they said to represent the 12 archtypes in stories.

Chase initially mistook the Heroine Key for the Hero Key, which is a good guess for one of the archetypes.

But things get interesting if we look at the 12 Jungian archtypes: The Innocent, Everyman, Hero, Outlaw, Explorer, Creator, Ruler, Magician, Lover, Caregiver, Jester, and Sage.

Breaking down these roles, they are:

The Innocent - The dreamer or a romantic

The Everyman - Kinda background character

The Hero - You know this guy, he’s the warrior, the dragon stayer, the HERO

The Outlaw - The rulebreaker, or revolutionary who dislikes the status quo

The Explorer - The wanderer/seeker, they like their freedom and seek to keep it

The Creator - they seek to bring their vision to fruition as an artist or innovator

The Ruler - The big boss who wants plwer/control (maybe the VILLAINESS)

The Magician - They seek to make others all happy and are charismatic leaders and healers

The Lover - The HEROINE; goal is to be in a relationship

The Caregiver - The HELPER

The Jester - The fool or the trickster who lives for fun

The Sage - The smart one, often the mentor

We do pick up some potential archtypes from this, but we can’t really be all that sure of the names for some vauge ones. Some new ones I feel more sure about might be: Mentor, Trickster, Fool, Leader, Wanderer, Artist/Creator, Rebel, Everyman.

But what do I know? Do your own research, or share your own opinion on the future Key archetypes!

#cinderella boy webtoon #cinderella boy #webtoon

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sweetandgentlecreature · 9 months

Note

Hiiii since you’ve been killing the headcannon game, if you’re up to it,

Can we please give Walter Marshall a dog? That man needs a dog. I don’t care how busy he is, I’ll even walk it for him. He gives me “dad and the dog he didn’t want” vibes where they get bullied into it then wind up being a total pushover and spoiling the shit out of the dog 🥹 That man is secretly so soft I just fucking know it.

Hey, girl! So sorry for how late this is. It's a slow day for work, so I threw Nomis on in the background and got to it.

ABSOLUTELY! Walter oozes Daddy-Bear Energy™️ and I’m always here for it. Thanks for reaching out, babe! Hope you like it ❤️❤️

In the Dog House: Walter Marshall is a Pushover

Warnings: Bring a lint roller. There's plenty of fluff to go around.

"No. Absolutely not."

He'd cross his arms over his chest and scowl. Life was hard enough, between juggling her schedule and his own, the sleepless nights and open cases that pile up on his desk, he didn't need any more distractions. Faye pouted, bat those big brown eyes up at him and stuck out her bottom lip. What started out as a normal Saturday morning grocery run had taken a detour when she saw the wet little noses in the window of the animal shelter downtown. They'd only stopped to look.

"Come on, dad, please?! Look at him!"

The little ball of fluff gnawed at her fingers and looked up excitedly, cocking his head to the side as if to say "Yeah, dad! Bring me home!"

Who was Walter to say no to that?

His apartment quickly shifted from its cold, sad status of bachelor pad to...well, still a bachelor pad, just covered in puppy pads as well. Though the little bugger had been neutered, he wasn't potty trained just yet. Faye was getting good at taking the dog out before school, and spent most evenings playing with him until bedtime. When she was at her mother's house, Walter would care of him. He felt ridiculous, standing out in the cold, holding the leash while the pup sniffed around for somewhere to do his business.

"Come on, lad," he'd encourage gruffly. "Anywhere will do."

Back inside, they'd stare at one another. Walter, sat on the couch, would pick through his leftovers while the puppy, lovingly named Moose, sat on the floor, tearing his squeaky toy to shreds. Moose with yip and growl at it, a real predator, and shake out the stuffing to rain down around him in a cloud of fluff. Walter would sigh, crook an eyebrow at the beast, and shake his head in disapproval.

"No dogs on the bed," he'd declare. He wasn't concerned about fleas or ticks (the little menace loves a good soak in the tub), he didn't think Moose would have any accidents in the night; he just didn't want the connection. Walter wasn't good at making friends, dating was a joke at this point. Faye was really all he had...Faye, and Moose.

It was late when he made it home that night. Bleary eyed, he'd toed off his boots at the door, disassembled his weapon and stashed his badge on the table beside the entryway. The house was quiet, a little too quiet, and it made him suspicious. He checked around the living room, the kitchen, and hell, even the bathroom. Nothing was out of place.

In the bedroom, he found the culprit, snug as a bug all curled up in the middle of the bed.

"No," he growled. "Down."

Sleepily, the dog lifted his head at the sound of his owner's voice. Bright blue eyes grew wide and limp, floppy ears with plenty of room to grow flopped to one side of Moose's head. The black duvet cover, once pristine, was now covered in a thin film of white and gray fur.

Walter sighed. He was too tired for this shit. It wasn't worth the fight. He didn't even bother to undress. No use in getting too comfortable, when he'd be up in a couple of hours anyway. Pulling the blankets aside, he settled in against the pillows and let the heavy shrouds of sleep overtake him. His eyes fluttered closed and his breath began to deepen. Walter never dreamed, hadn't in years, yet just as he began to doze off, he could've sworn he felt something. Warm and fuzzy, Moose nuzzled up against Walter's leg and sighed contently. For a moment, in the quietness of an empty house, Walter smiled. It was starting to feel just a little more like home.

#sweetandgentlecreature's requests #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill fluff #walter marshall fanfic #walter marshall #walter marshall fluff #walter marshall one shot #walter marshall x reader

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

Text

Keith is halted in his tracks again by Lance’s sudden stop.

“Lance. Dude. Come on.”

Lance isn’t listening even a little. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, furrowed as they are, and his dark eyes flit rapidly back and forth, scanning the hustle and bustle of the giant crowd of the market they’re in.

Keith tries tugging Lance’s hand again. It does nothing. Lance always suddenly grows a ridiculous amount of muscle when he’s being stubborn.

“Lance,” Keith tries again. “What’s up? If you want to go to a stall you can say so, you know. You don’t have to just look around until I guess what you’re thinking.”

Lance doesn’t take the bait, which is worrying. Usually Keith has no trouble riling him up even playfully.

Lance mumbles something, standing on his tiptoes and leaning to try and look over the crowd. (Fat chance. The Megel people are tall as all hell. Even Hunk barely passes their shoulders.)

“What? You’re mumbling.”

“I think she’s lost.”

Keith blinks.

“Okay, that cleared up exactly nothing.”

Lance finally looks over at him, and Keith’s earlier judgement was correct. Lance is biting his lip. He looks upset, anxious.

“The little girl. I think she’s lost.”

“What little girl?”

“I’ve been seeing this little girl walking around every few minutes. She looks scared. She keeps walking up to people and running away when she sees their faces. I think she’s crying. I haven’t seen her in a while, but I have a bad feeling.”

That sobers Keith up quickly. Unbidden, a memory he hasn’t touched in a decade floats up to the forefront of his mind; blurry around the edges, like an old home video: him and his Pa, at a flea market in west Texas. Keith couldn’t have been more than three. He remembers holding his Pa’s hand, as he always did, his tiny palm wrapped tightly around his father’s calloused finger. It had been so loud that the noise had coalesced into one constant swelling sound, like the constant background noise of the desert.

He’d let go of Pa’s hand for a millisecond. Just — just for a second, as he’d waddled over to someone’s kiosk, awed at the shining jewellery and glittering stones. The old woman manning that kiosk had been amused by him, spinning him a tale he doesn’t remember about a brooch and the ancient princess it had belonged to. He’d wanted to keep it, he remembers, and when he asked if he could have it she had told him he could as long as his parents paid for it.

The terror had come so quickly.

He’d looked over immediately and realised he couldn’t see his Pa at all. He’d even climbed on the top of the kiosk to try and see better, but all he saw was a sea of baseball caps and cowboy hats, and no sign of his father’s messy black hair or broad shoulders. He remembers how quickly the tears came, how they’d blurred his vision until the massive crowd was a smudge of colours and shapes. His chest had felt so tight that he’d struggled to breathe.

He doesn’t remember how he found his Pa. He thinks his Pa must have found him.

But he remembers that fear in startling clarity, the galloping of his heart, the first time he’d ever really thought I am all alone.

“There she is!” Lance cries, and that’s all the warning Keith gets before he’s yanked in a random direction. He barely manages to keep himself upright, balancing only by his hand clenched tightly in Lance’s.

Seconds later they’re stopped abruptly when Lance lets go of his hand to brace them on his knees, bending down to the little girl’s height. She looks at him distrustfully, wary of both a stranger and a stranger who is so clearly foreign.

“Hey, kiddo.” The words are delayed by a fraction of a second, meaning they’re translated — Lance isn’t speaking English.

By the instant look of surprise and then familiarity that rushes through the girl’s features, Lance is speaking her native tongue. Where the hell Lance had time to learn Megeli, Keith doesn’t know.

(Except yes he does, because he’s stayed up with Lance before diplomatic missions, unable to sleep with all his nerves — diplomatic missions are not his strong suit. Keith has caught Lance, though, on several occasions, quietly teaching himself a few key phrases in the language of whatever people they’re visiting. He does it if he can on rescue missions, too, small phrases like his name and his purpose, and “we are not here to hurt you”. Comforting words, soft words. An active proof that the person coming to save you cares enough about you to learn your language so you can hang on to whatever familiarity you can, in your most frightening moment, without the just-a-second-too-long delay of the translators. Keith got a little choked up, when he first saw it; Lance’s purple eyebags and lost beauty sleep, all so he has an off-chance of comforting whomever may need it. He still feels in intense affection bubbling up in his chest when he thinks about it.)

“Where is your home?”

The phrase is a little klunky, kind of a strange thing to ask — Keith can’t imagine that Lance is fluent, or anything, they only learnt about this mission yesterday so Lance can’t have had much time to memorize many phrases — but it drives the point across.

The little girl bursts into tears, flinging herself into Lance.

“I can’t find my mama,” she wails, sobs wracking her tiny frame. Lance wraps his arms around her immediately, unhesitatingly, pressing her head to his shoulder and standing carefully once he’s got her secured.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here to help. You know Voltron?”

It takes her a moment to gather herself, maybe to place the name, but she nods.

“I am part of Voltron.” He makes sure she’s supported properly, balanced on his hip, then uses his other hand to point at Keith. “Him, too. We can help.”

The little girl contemplates them for a moment. Keith tries to make himself look as helpful and non-scary as possible, but only really succeeds in making himself look constipated and dumb.

The little girl giggles. “He looks silly.”

Lance laughs too, bright and loud and obnoxious, and it takes up all the air in the room and Keith wants to breathe in the sound like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever inhaled.

“He does look silly. I think it’s the hair, hm? Very dorky.”

Lance’s words are no longer delayed, he’s back to English, but the little girl is unphased. She wipes her tears with her hands, and then on Lance’s flightsuit.

Lance doesn’t seem to mind.

“Can we find my mama now?”

“Of course, kiddo. How about you sit on my shoulders? I’m not very tall on this planet, so it might help you see better.”

The little girl lights up.

“Can I stand on your shoulders?“

Lance snorts. “Absolutely not, pequeña. That’s a great way to fall on your head.”

The little girls pouts, but offers no further complaint as Lance lifts her by the armpits over his head and onto his shoulders. He plants on arms across her knees once she’s situated, and then reaches over to curl his free hand around Keith’s, beaming at him.

“Can’t forget Shiro’s rule,” he says, winking.

Keith swallows, face heating up as he entwines their fingers together, even though they’ve held hands a million times before.

That’s Shiro’s version of the get-along-pants, you see. Everyone has to do it. If you’re bickering for longer than what is acceptable (a standard known only to Shiro, who’s patience flounders between a level so awe-inspiring that Buddha would be ashamed, and shorter than even Keith’s fuse, depending on how long it’s been since he’s been in the same room as Slav), then boom! Guess who’s holding hands for the next several hours. Keith and Lance are a special case — since they spend inordinate amounts of time, and Keith is quoting here, “doing goddamn somersaults on my last nerve”, for every time they argue they have to hold hands for ten missions in a row.

Lance did the math. Based on all the arguing they did in their first few months in space, they’ve wracked up a handholding debt of about 54 straight years.

So it’s become normal for them, now, to hold hands all the time. Keith has pretty much gotten used to it — he leaves his room, sees Lance, and neither of them even blink before linking hands and moving on. It shouldn’t be a Thing. It isn’t a Thing.

But sometimes, it really is.

(Sometimes, like when Lance’s brown eyes are amused and mischievous and looking to Keith like he’s in on the joke, or when Lance is tugging Keith along to whatever dorky thing has attracted his attention, or when Lance is swinging their arms back and forth when he gets bored, or when he makes Keith twirl him around and Keith does without question, because as much as it makes his heart pound he will take any opportunity to have Lance twirled and dizzy pulled back against his chest, or or or —)

“What’s your name, buddy?” Lance asks, yanking Keith back into focus.

He has a funny way of doing that, Lance. Of dragging every inch of Keith’s attention on him.

“Gehma,” the girl says, appearing to be playing bongos with Lance’s head. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Lance. And this is Keith.”

Keith raises his free hand as Lance introduces him, wiggling his fingers in an awkward half-wave. She imitates him, the way kids do with the world around them in general.

“Those are silly names. Do all of you have silly names?”

“Probably, by your standards,” Keith says, cracking a grin.

He loves kids. They’re hilarious. He’ll forever laugh at the time a random child walked up to Shiro at Walmart one day and told him he would look better bald with long nose hair. Keith laughed until he was hunched over, crying in the produce section.

Gehma continues to chatter on, asking a myriad of questions and making out-of-pocket observations about people. She also frequently yanks on Lance’s hair, who winces but allows it. At one point they even stop for snacks, because they’ve all been in the sun for a few hours and also because Keith’s stomach growls so loud that several people turn to stare, so. Food time.

“What does you mama look like, Gehma? It’s hard to see over everyone’s shoulders, but Keith and I may be able to help a little, at least. Do you remember what she was wearing?”

Gehma rattles off a description, half-helpful and half-information that would only ever be notable to a kid (“And she makes an excellent monster impression, so watch out for that.”). Keith keeps on high alert, though, looking for pink braids and a blue tunic that Gehma mentioned.

“Mama!” Gehma yells, after another twenty minutes of aimless wandering. She lunges forward so abruptly she and Lance start toppling forward. Keith rushes forward to plant on hand on the back of Gehma’s shirt and one hand on Lance’s chest, yanking them upright. He reaches up to help lift Gehma down, who takes off in a sprint the second her little feet hit the ground, into the waiting arms of a woman who looks very, very relieved.

“Oh, baby! Oh, Gehma, my girl, my little monster —” Every word is punctuated by a kiss, Gehma’s mother’s fluttering hands frequently patting random areas, making sure her kid is alive in one piece. Gehma herself has gone quiet, all the fear catching up to her, reminding her how scared she was without her mama.

It’s a lot for a little kid to handle.

“Thank you,” Gehma’s mama says, once she’s satisfied that her kid’s okay. “I couldn’t — I turned around for one second and she was — I was so scared —”

“It’s okay,” Keith interrupts softly, surprising himself a little. “Uh, yeah. Happens to the best of us. Not that I would know. I mean. Yeah. But it’s cool. I’m glad we found you.” He’s bright red by the end of it, and lowkey hoping something blows up so he has a reason to exit the scenario immediately.

Lance’s quiet laughter is not helping. It’s making Keith redder.

God, he’s going to find some way to blame this on Shiro and then yell at him later, for his own sanity.

“Thank you, paladin,” the mother says again, and this time she sounds amused.

“All good,” Keith chokes out. Lance squeezes Keith’s hand, nodding.

“Yeah! That’s what we’re here for. Stay with your mama now, okay, Gehma? Don’t let go of her hand.”

Gehma promises to be more careful, and then she and her mother are off. Keith watches them go with a fond, semi-wistful smile.

He misses his Pa.

“I miss my mom,” Lance says quietly, voicing exactly what Keith is thinking.

“Me too. Uh, my dad. Not your mom. Not that I wouldn’t miss her if I didn’t know her! I’m sure she’s great. But, I don’t know her? So. I don’t. Miss her. But —”

Lord above, someone put him out of his fucking misery. God. Is it impossible for him to, like, speak like a normal person?

At least the word vomit that just came spewing out of his mouth had one benefit, he supposes. The horrible sad look has dropped from Lance’s face, replaced with the pinched expression of someone trying desperately not to laugh.

Keith sighs. “Go ahead.”

That’s all the permission Lance needs. One second he’s shaking every so slightly as he tries to keep himself together, the next he’s collapsed onto Keith’s shoulder, laughing himself sick.

“Jerk,” Keith mutters, but it’s far to soft to have any impact.

“You’re such a loser,” Lance says fondly. It takes him a few minutes for the giggles to vanish completely, but eventually the do, and he steps out of Keith immediate space and starts to pull him along in a random direction.

Keith doesn’t miss him being so close.

He doesn’t.

(They’re still holding hands, for fuck’s sake. When did he get so greedy? When did he need Lance so close to him, all the time?)

“We should meet back up with the others,” Lance says, swinging their arms together. “It’s been a few hours, I’m sure everyone else is done shopping. Ooooh, maybe we’ll be the first ones back, and we can go for a swim! What do you think?”

Keith smiles, whipped as all hell, Lance’s endless enthusiasm and love and affection and joy just making every part of him feel all fond and squishy.

“Sure, Lance. Whatever you want.”

The worst part is he means it. Lance could ask if Keith wanted to go skateboarding on an active volcano, and Keith would say yes without a second thought. (He would still have the wherewithal to complain, thankfully. He’s not that far gone yet.) But as he looks at Lance, who’s beaming, dodging elbows of random passers-by and pointing out every little stall that he thinks Keith would like (“Hey, Keith, check this out! It’s like little knives but for your nails! That’s right up your alley, Freddy Krueger.”)…

Keith can’t say he minds.

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pizzaqueen · 11 months

Text

Steve Harrington time stamps

For when you just want to watch Steve’s scenes

I had the idea to do this during my current rewatch thanks to @harmonictechnicality (who was very happy for me to post this) and then @al-ghoul sent me his timestamps so a HUGE thank you there!

Oh, and @faequeentitania has a supercut of all of Eddie's scenes (link is in their bio) so I didn’t add Eddie’s time stamps to this post

My original intention was to not post this until it was completely done, but I honestly don't have much energy right now, so there are only time stamps up to S04E05. But I do intend to finish it one day! (If anyone wants to help out with the remaining ones, that would be great.) You can also see where the formatting changes and that's where I stopped typing up my notes and just used what @al-ghoul sent me, but I do want to reformat it so it's uniform, and add in songs used for his scenes, but I just wanted to get this out there

And I want to say sorry if someone has already done something like this in the meantime! I tried searching but Tumblr search isn't great

SEASON ONE

Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers

14:54 - 16:07 Steve’s first appearance in his rendezvous with Nancy in the bathroom

37:59 - 38:42 Mike sees Steve trying to climb through Nancy’s window

41:04 - 43:12 helping Nancy study

Chapter Two: The Weirdo on Maple Street

12:26 - 14:04 asking Nancy to the party at his house (mention of his parents); the scene cuts to Nancy and Jonathan at 13:20 but you can still see Steve in the background until 14:04

38:17 - 38:37 opening the door for Nancy and Barb (song: Raise a Little Hell by Trooper*)

43:06 - 45:39 pool scene with the drinking, etc., with Tommy H, Carol, Nancy and Barb (song: I Melt With You by Modern English)

49:18 - 49:40 drying off and going upstairs

50:22 - 51:18 we see Steve and Nancy through the window from Jonathan’s POV then it cuts to inside Steve’s room

52:36 - 52:50 getting hot and heavy with Nancy (song: tiniest snippet of the opening strains of Hazy Shade of Winter by The Bangles)

*seems to be playing inside Steve’s house because it’s muffled and gets louder when he opens the doors

Chapter Three: Holly, Jolly

00:40 - 1:50 sleeping with Nancy, intercut with Barb being killed (song: Waiting for a Girl Like You by Foreigner)

3:03 - 3:50 Nancy tries to wake Steve, then leaves

10:16 - 11:11 at Nancy’s locker

20:48 - 21:56 cafeteria with Tommy H, Carol and Nancy

30:07 - 32:16 confronting Jonathan about photos

36:01 - 36:43 waiting for the game in the hallway with Tommy H, Carol and Nancy; Nancy leaves

Chapter Four: The Body

13:16 - 14:30 meeting Nancy between buildings; asks her not to tell the cops about the beer (mention of parents)

Chapter Five: The Flea and the Acrobat

25:47 - 27:51 Steve shows up at Nancy’s to say sorry and invite her to the movies (mention of parents; song: Steve singing a bit of Old Time Rock and Roll)

Chapter Six: The Monster

3:29 - 4:45 driving to Nancy’s with Tommy H and Carol; sees Jonathan and Nancy on bed through window (song: Sunglasses at Night by Corey Hart*)

30:46 - 33:18 alley fight with Jonathan

* playing on the car stereo

Chapter Seven: The Bathtub

14:21 - 16:00 Tommy brings Steve a can of Coke and painkillers; Steve has fight with Tommy and Carol then drives off

18:40 - 19:21 offers to help scrub graffiti off cinema marquee

Chapter Eight: The Upside Down

14:42 - 17:03 comes to Jonathan’s to say sorry; gets introduced to the upside down shenanigans

18:53 - 22:00 Nancy gives Steve an out; he runs, then he comes back (it cuts to Hopper and Joyce at 21:18 for a couple of seconds)

22:27 - 23:50 following the lights with Nancy and Jonathan that Joyce and Hopper are lighting up as they go through the UD version (intercut with scenes of Joyce and Hopper)

48:01 - 48:24 epilogue snuggling on couch with Nancy in Christmas sweater

SEASON TWO

Chapter One: Madmax

12:13 - 14:02 Nancy looking over Steve’s essay in the car outside the school (song: Talking in Your Sleep by The Romantics)

20:09 - 20:38 waiting by the corner in the hallway to pick Nancy up and twirl her around by the lockers

31:38 - 33:50 dinner with Nancy at Barb’s parents

Chapter Two: Trick or Treat, Freak

15:58 - 19:22 studying in the library with Nancy/Steve is worried about the government if they talk too much about what happened and suggests going to party and pretend everything is normal (between 17:15 to 17:36 it cuts to Nancy thinking she sees Barb)

31:23 - 32:17 Tommy H and Billy come over while Steve is with Nancy at the party; Tommy H: “We’ve got a new keg king, Harrington.” (Song: Shout at the Devil by Mötley Crüe)

42:03 - 44:14 dancing with Nancy (song Girls on Film by Duran Duran)/spills drink on her/bathroom ‘bullshit’ scene

Chapter Three: The Pollywog

19:11 - 21:14 playing basketball against Billy (Song: Go! By Tones on Tail) and talking with Nancy between the buildings

Chapter Four: Will the Wise

16:23 - 17:53 basketball again (Song: Scarface (Push it to the Limit) from Scarface) and the shower scene with Tommy H and Billy

Chapter Five: Dig Dug

35:17 - 35:52 shows up to Nancy’s with flowers and is waylaid by Dustin

Chapter Six: The Spy

00:51 - 3:43 In car with Dustin (song: Hammer to Fall by Queen*) going to kill Dart with bat

12:39 - 13:06 bringing meat with Dustin

24:51 - 27:34 laying trap for Dart with Dustin (meat on the railroad tracks) and talking about girls

31:48 - 32:37 at the junkyard with Dustin

33:10 - 33:21 at the junkyard with Dustin, Lucas and Max

35:27 - 35:38 fortifying the bus/setting stuff up at the junkyard

35:49 - 36:02 pouring gasoline

36:48 - 37:01 going into the bus

37:44 - 38:24 inside the bus; flicking the lighter

40:46 - 45:06 demodogs appear; Steve goes out as bait/to fight them

* playing on the car stereo

Chapter Seven: The Lost Sister

Doesn’t appear in this episode

Chapter Eight: The Mind Flayer

08:35 - 10:33 walking from the junk yard with kids at night, looking for Dart on the train tracks

13:27 - 13:56 in front of Hawkins lab; meet up with Nancy and Jonathan

15:15 - 15:45 in front of the lab

16:15 - 16:21 gate opens

21:58 - 22:22 waiting at gate; Hopper picks them up

23:06 - 23:42 at the Byers’

24:43 - 29:03 in Byers’ kitchen; Steve is in and out of the frame/sometimes in the background

29:23 - 29:55 duct-taping the shed with Nancy

31:51 - 32:07 finishing the shed with everyone

33:05 - 33:10 practicing with a bat at Byers'

34:32 - 34:35 blinking lights at Byers’

38:52 - 39:16 morse code

40:31 - 40:56 “close gate”

41:31 - 41:37 hearing demodogs

42:15 - 44:34 preparing to fight/El arrives

S02E09:

00:07:23 Steve (at Byers with everyone) (00:08:03)

00:09:08 Steve (at Byers backyard with Nancy) (00:10:02)

00:10:50 Steve (on the Byers porch with kids) (00:11:06)

00:15:22 Steve (putting demodog in the fridge) (00:15:57)

00:16:17 Steve (at the Byers with the kids / Billy arrives) (00:19:09)

00:19:47 Steve (fighting Billy) (00:21:02)

00:24:41 Steve (waking up in the car with Max) (00:25:54)

00:26:43 Steve (arriving to the tunnels) (00:28:17)

00:30:00 Steve (at the tunnels) (00:31:42)

00:33:40 Steve (torching the tunnels while Will burns) (00:34:43)

00:36:52 Steve (running through the tunnels) (00:36:59)

00:38:00 Steve (freeing Mike / meeting Dart) (00:39:38)

00:40:16 Steve (running out of the tunnels) (00:41:19)

00:43:40 Steve (gate closed) (00:43:44)

00:45:19 Steve (at the Barb's funeral) (00:45:27)

00:48:51 Steve (driving Dustin to the Snow Ball) (songs: Love is a Battlefield by Pat Benatar and Twist of Fate by Olivia Newton-John*) (00:50:10)

*both are playing inside the Snow Ball Edit: actually the Pat Benatar song seems to be coming from his car on re-watching 😅 it definitely sounded like from inside the building to me before but now it doesn’t

--------------------------------------------------------

S03E01:

00:09:15 Steve (letting the kids through Scoops Ahoy back door) (00:09:40)

00:10:46 Steve (lights go out) (00:11:01)

00:12:12 Steve (lights go back) (00:12:18)

00:24:42 Steve (Scoops Ahoy with Robin, hitting on ladies) (00:26:46)

S03E02:

00:10:15 Steve (Scoops Ahoy with Dustin) (00:12:34)

00:17:52 Steve (translating Russian with Dustin) (00:19:24)

00:35:27 Steve (Robin translated first Russian) (00:35:54)

00:41:26 Steve (mall after hours with Robin and Dustin) (00:43:37)

S03E03:

00:17:23 Steve (spying for spies in the mall with Dustin) (00:19:19)

00:27:12 Steve (found a sport fitness "spy" with Dustin) song: Wake Me Up Before you Go-Go by Wham!* (00:28:32)

00:29:20 Steve (with Dustin returning to Scoop Ahoy) (00:29:26)

00:30:03 Steve (Robin cracked the code) (00:30:12)

00:39:20 Steve (in the rain looking at delivery) (00:40:30)

*playing in the jazzercise class

S03E04:

00:09:04 Steve (Scoops Ahoy, devising a plan) 00:10:08

00:21:14 Steve (Robin brings Starcourt blueprints) (00:22:58)

00:24:32 Steve (bringing Erica into the plan) (00:25:11)

00:34:51 Steve (Erica goes into the vent) (00:35:05)

00:36:22 Steve (Erica got to the room) (00:37:00)

00:40:28 Steve (opening the boxes with the team Scoops) (00:42:08)

S03E05:

00:00:07 Steve (the elevator room falling) (00:01:58)

00:16:25 Steve (stuck in / getting out of the elevator room) (00:19:46)

00:25:19 Steve (walking the tunnel) (00:27:16)

00:34:40 Steve (finding the russian base / fighting the guard) (00:37:01)

00:37:21 Steve (Robin found The Machine) (00:38:21)

S03E06:

00:00:14 Steve (being apprehended by russians) (00:01:48)

00:17:12 Steve (being beaten up / questioned by the russians) (00:20:21)

00:31:06 Steve (tied to a chair with Robin) (00:35:58)

00:45:25 Steve (truth serum kicks in / Dustin saves them) (00:48:50)

S03E07:

00:06:31 Steve (Dustin is driving away through the tunnel / elevator) (00:08:45)

00:13:13 Steve (running from the mall guards into the cinema) (00:14:04)

00:14:30-32 / 00:14:41-44 (tweedldee and tweedledum in the cinema)

00:23:19 Steve (drunk with Robin in the cinema hallway) (00:25:08)

00:28:27 Steve (confesses Robin in the cinema restroom) (00:35:02)

00:39:07 Steve (sneaking out of the restroom) (00:40:03)

00:48:50 Steve (hiding from mall guards under the counter) (00:49:16)

00:49:41 Steve (El defeated the guards) (00:50:51)

00:51:09-14 Steve (El collapses)

S03E08:

00:00:36 Steve (Eleven's fucked up leg) 00:01:25

00:02:50 Steve (El pulls the Flayer out of the leg) (00:03:16)

00:04:28 Steve (everyone is catching up on things) (00:05:11)

00:06:34 Steve (hanging around while everyone prepares) (00:06:43)

00:07:40 Steve (driving away from the mall) (00:08:10)

00:13:32 Steve (driving kids to the radio hill) (00:14:42)

00:17:50 Steve (on the radio hill) (00:18:19)

00:24:19 Steve (on the radio hill, Flayer attacks Starcourt) (00:25:12)

00:26:03 Steve (on the radio hill running back to the car) (00:26:14)

00:32:54 Steve (hitting Billy's car at Starcourt, Nancy's driving away) 00:33:35

00:34:39 Steve (Flayer pursues the car, Suzie appears) (00:34:50)

00:35:49-53 Steve (in the car while Dustin sings over the radio)

00:36:28-31 Steve (in the car while Dustin and Suzie both singing)

00:38:04 Steve (in the car while Flayer goes back to Starcourt)

00:42:29-34 Steve (throwing fireworks at the Flayer in the mall)

00:43:03-04 Steve (keeps throwing)

00:44:16-22 Steve (on the radio with Dustin)

00:50:33 Steve (Flayer disassembles) (00:50:43)

00:54:58-01 Steve (at the ER car in the background)

00:56:44 Steve (arriving with Robin at the Family Video for a job) (00:58:04)

00:58:55 Steve (bumping into the cardboard figure) (00:59:12)

--------------------------------------------------------

S04E01:

00:15:24 Steve (in car with Robin) (00:16:58)

00:54:43 Steve (with Brenda at basketball game) (00:56:24)

S04E02:

00:07:56 Steve (at Family Video with Robin) (00:09:49)

00:28:13 Steve (at Family Video with Max & Dustin) (00:29:06)

00:44:58 Steve (at Family Video flirting / searching for Rick) (00:47:43)

01:01:45 Steve/Eddie (at Reefer Rick's) (01:06:14)

01:07:22 Eddie, Steve (talks about Chrissy / Vecna revealed) (01:12:30)

S04E03:

00:12:28 Eddie, Steve (receiving supplies at Rick's) (00:14:23)

00:15:14 Steve (at Fred's crime scene) (00:15:29)

00:25:29 Steve (with kids and Nancy discussing Vecna) (00:28:12)

00:38:21 Steve (outside shrink's house in the car) (00:39:28)

00:41:22 Steve (driving away from the shrink) (00:41:33)

00:42:00 Steve (driving the car while Lucas radioes) (00:42:43)

00:50:53 Steve (breaking into school shrink's office at night) (00:51:38)

00:55:54 Steve (at the shrink's office) (00:56:53)

S04E04:

00:02:09 Steve (school after Max's episode, Nancy and Robin arrive) (00:04:50)

00:07:29 Steve (the Wheeler's house - Max writes letters, Nancy and Robin arrive) (00:10:44)

00:17:35 Steve (Max finished the letters, wants to go) (00:20:04)

00:31:33 Steve (driving Max to the trailer park) (00:31:53)

00:34:35-49 Steve (Max returns to the car)

00:48:17 Steve (driving Max to the cemetery) (00:49:00)

01:02:32 Steve (going for Max at the cemetery) (01:03:04)

01:03:17 Steve (trying to wake Max up) (01:03:35)

01:04:58-07 Steve (with Dustin and Lucas trying to wake Max up)

01:09:01-12 Steve (Dustin brings music to Max)

01:10:45 Steve (everyone searching for the tape) (01:11:06)

01:11:50-00 Steve (Max flies)

01:13:43 Steve (Max is out) (01:14:14)

S04E05:

00:14:32 Steve (sleeping in Wheeler's basement) (00:14:38)

00:36:19 Steve (arriving at Creel's house with everyone) (00:40:06)

00:49:55 Steve (checking Creel's house with DNR) (00:52:36)

#Steve harrington #stranger things #st4 #steddie #steve x eddie #st3 #st1 #st2 #(steddie is the target audience but it's also for anyone!!)#(reblogs very much appreciated on this one!)

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fanficsthatmakemybraingobrr · 5 months

Text

A Night In Cairo

Chapter 4

Indiana Jones x Gender-Neutral Reader

You’re a Intern at Marshall College in Bedford Connecticut and you work with Dr.Jones, but he sucks at his job and is never there and is always behind with work making you get the short end of the stick. Then he drags you on a trip to Cairo with him.

I actually liked how this chapter turned out! i don't think it's half bad. but i am still very open to criticism! anyways i hope you enjoy! :}

link to: Chapter 1/Chapter 2/Chapter 3

Link to AO3

Regret. That is all you have right now is pure regret. You wish you slept on that damn bed. You should have made him sleep with that sad pile of comforters. You also regret using comforters, you should’ve taken the sheets you woke up in the middle night drenched in your own sweat and what feels like a broken back.

That’s also the reason you’re up so early you couldn’t fall back asleep. If you had to guess it’s probably 7:00 in the morning? Indy was passed out and sprawled across the bed, laying on his stomach hugging a pillow smooshing it against his face. He's pretty knocked out and is sleeping soundly, his face is gently illuminated by the sunlight coming through the window.

You just stare at him.

His eyebrows slightly furrowed.

You seem to be doing that a lot lately. Just starring.

His hair all tousled.

Why are you looking?

The way the light played on his face perfectly framing his facial features was intriguing.

Maybe because you've never been able to get a good look at him? I mean the time you spend around him you're always grading things or helping him plan out his syllabus day by day because he didn't do it before the semester started?

You never noticed the scar on his chin- damn this man has long ass eyelashes!

Stop it. You're being creepy, you're standing over his body like he's a cadaver or something. You turn your gaze to the window hearing the sound of busy streets, the calls of vendors and talk of passersby. An idea pops into your head. This Is your first time out of the US, why not explore the city for a bit? You tiptoe across the hotel room grabbing your things and making your way to the door.

The minute you step outside it's hotter than hell, you almost want to go back inside but this is a once in a lifetime chance for you right now. Hm? Where do you start, which direction do you walk in? You shrug your shoulders and think whatever and you just start walking. Your Arabic is pretty rusty so when you read signs you're mainly going off context clues. You start to pass by little shops and vendors admiring what they had to sell. The city really starts to feel alive as you take in the small details around you. In the background you hear people chattering, having small conversations About how busy they are today or their plans, the playful screaming of children, the sound of vendors selling their goods. You see how different areas of the city are all unique with different stores and goods available. At one point you see a small cat wandering around. You stop and pet it. You can feel it purr as you glide your hand down its back and off its tail.

As you were enjoying your enrichment time petting the stray cat you didn't notice Indiana come up behind you. He looked over your shoulder watching with a small smile patiently for you to notice him.

Wow.

It’s been like five minutes. Indiana is taken back for a moment. He finds it almost… What's the word, Endearing? that you're putting so much effort into petting this damn cat. He almost feels jealous.

“You know that thing probably has fleas?” He let slip out in a teasing and joking tone. He didn't mean to say it truly…okay maybe he did. You were a little startled when he talked, you looked up from the cat at the older man and lightly rolled your eyes and let out a small chuckle.

“Your being mean Jones!” you exclaim. Indiana walks over and kneels down next to you in the cat. He extended his hand out letting the cat sniff him, the cat let out a small meow and it nuzzled its small head into his hand. You smiled as he began to pet the cat. You noticed how gentle he was in the way he treated the animal. The cat seemed to like Indiana as much as it liked you.

“Now you have fleas” you teased back. Indy was caught a little bit by surprise by you making that sly comment but he couldn't help but smile at you.

“Yeah, I probably have some fleas now.” he said while smiling. A faint growl came from your stomach, oh yeah eating. You forgot about that. Indiana laughed as he heard your stomach growl.

“Seems like someone skipped breakfast, come on i know a place that has some great food” You stood up and the cat walked away probably to seek attention from someone else.

“Yeah, I'm very hungry.” you say with a tinge of embarrassment. Indy then smiled and offered his arm to you. You looked at him a little confused. You let out a little ‘hm?’ and then you realized, he wants you to hold on to him. You awkwardly take his arm and he starts leading the way.

“This place gets pretty busy around this time and… ya know…i don't wanna end up losing you in this crowd.” you look at him and smile. He could have just told you to stay close but you let him keep his pride.

Indy led you into a little hole in the wall restaurant that was tucked away. Once you both walked you took a seat at a table for two in the corner of the small but humble restaurant. The decor was simple but comfortable and it had a warm and cozy atmosphere. The walls were painted a warm shade, with decorations hanging from them. The restaurant was busy with locals eating and enjoying their food. You picked up the menu and realized you could only read about half of it. You looked at Indy and he had on his round reading glasses. They made him look mature and intelligent. The round frames complemented his face.

“Uh Indy i can't read the menu that well…” you say as you sheepishly look over your menu. Indy looked up from his own menu at you and smirked at your statement.

“That's alright sweetheart, I'll get us something we’ll both like.”

“Okay..” you nodded.

Sweetheart? You were frozen, you moved your eyes down towards your menu finding it hard to concentrate on it. Did he mean to call you that? Why did he call you that? You could feel your face slightly burn. You found yourself almost wanting him to call you that again.

He did not mean to call you that.

Indiana Jones, a full grown man who has plenty of lovers is failing to suppress his feelings. What's going on? He's never done this before. He doesn't slip up like this (yes he does). Did you notice his slip-up? Indy suppresses these thoughts, glazing his eyes over the menu picking something out for you two to eat. Indy picked something out, called over a waiter and put in the order. There was an awkward silence between the two of you. God this is horrible. Indiana does want to know you better, he never really has sat down and had a genuine conversation with you except once. But that was your first day on campus.

Indiana had just walked out of the faculty lounge with a cup of coffee in one hand and his briefcase in the other. He had just gotten back from Turkey with his father. He was tired, his back hurting, he was behind on work, and did not have much patience. As he turned the corner to his office he noticed someone standing in front of his office door. He sighed as he approached them.

“I know I haven't graded exams but i'll get to them today.” he grumbled as he walked by them and unlocked his office. The person turned their head to the side in confusion.

“Um sir i’m not one of your students..” Indy stopped and turned around.

“What?”

“Sir i'm an Intern, My name is ___! I was told I'll be working with you this semester!” They gave him a smile and extended their hand out to him. Oh yeah, Indiana forgot about that. Oops.

“My bad,” he said, extending his hand to shake theirs. "I'm a bit out of it today I suppose. It's nice to meet you, I'm Indy.” Indiana Jones then sighed, still feeling tired and slightly irritable after his most recent trip abroad. He took a sip of his coffee and rubbed his neck, as he could feel the tension building up in his shoulders. He looked at the intern and forced a smile, trying to mask his tiredness. "Well then, let's get to work."

Okay…maybe not too genuine, but you two are always so busy from that point on he doesn't know that much about you.

“So..” Indy mumbled, breaking the silence. “Did you sleep well last night? I saw that you made that…nest?” You finally looked up from the table and at Indiana. You laughed as he called your bed a ‘nest’.

“Yeah it was fine, just a bit warm.”

“I'm sorry you had to sleep on the floor, i mean i would have but by the time i came out of the shoulder you were already asleep.”

“No it's okay, I really don't mind!” the waiter came back with your food and placed it on the table. You and Indy started eating and enjoying each other's company. It was nice, you told him about your life growing up and how you ended up at Bedford as his intern and he told you stories about the different adventures he’s been on ending on the last trip he took with his father.

“The holy grail?” you looked at him in shock. Indy smiled and let out a small laugh.

“I thought it was just a myth!” you added. Indy looked at you with a slight smirk on his face.

“Yeah, so did I. Even though my fathers obsession with it I never thought the damn thing had a basis in this reality. I always thought of the relic as mythical.” he let out a half hearted sigh and called over a waiter asking for the bill. You pulled out your wallet but Indy interrupted you.

“Hey I've got it.” you shook your head at his comment.

“Come on, you brought me on this trip for free! It’s the least I could do!”

“To be fair this trip is already funded by the college and I'm not paying anything either.” you stayed silent for a moment trying to come up with an excuse to pay.

“Could we at least split the check?” you suggested with a nervous smile. Indy looked up from the bill and stared at you for a moment. Then his lips curled into a playful smile.

“How about this? I pay for this meal and to pay me back and at the banquet tonight you owe me a dance?”

#indiana jones x reader #harrison ford #indiana jones

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