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xjustakay · 1 month

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jegulus micro(?)fic — 2,213 words. nsfw; the ‘James-desperately-needs-something-in-his-mouth’ episode (dedicated to my dear darling @imdamagecontrol<3)

James’ hands flex in and out of fists behind his back, wrists straining against silk tied in a firm knot around them. In reality, if he squirmed enough he could probably worm his way out of the restraint, it’s just one of Regulus’ ties, after all. But that’s not really the point.

The point, actually, is that James needs this.

He’s been so stressed lately, juggling more than he can properly carry, and it’s started to weigh on him. Make him overwhelmed. Change his mood enough to be apparent. Typically, he does a good job at hiding it, but some days…

Some days the itch beneath his skin gets a little too insistent. Some days his tone turns clipped and his mannerisms become twitchy and all that he feels is suddenly visible.

And those days, well. Those days pile up, to the point that he needs a good break.

Regulus doesn’t particularly enjoy it when he lets himself get so deep in it —there’s been pointed comments about taking care of himself over the last couple days as he’s noticed progressive changes in James. So when James had come home today after yet another long one, feeling ready to tear right out of his own skin, he’d asked.

“Can you take care of me tonight?”

Once he’d made sure he understood what it was James was asking for, Regulus was quick to give him just what he needed. A loose hold at his throat, a level stare as he pulled him inches away from his face.

A promise between the lines of Regulus’ murmured, “Be good and wait for me.”

He’d waited on the floor at the foot of the bed for ten minutes after stripping down to just his briefs, knees twinging as he tried to balance his weight more comfortably. Then Regulus had come in, wordlessly giving him a once-over before he undressed. He’d muttered gentle praises when James had let him tug both arms behind his back, Regulus securing his tie around his wrists.

Now, a familiar hand brushes his cheek, trails down to his neck. Regulus thumbs at his Adam’s apple and James swallows beneath it, staring at the jut of Regulus’ hip bone where he stands in front of him.

“Alright?” Regulus checks, hand curling loosely around his throat, pulling him close again, just like earlier.

James inhales deeply where his nose presses right above Regulus’ navel. He leaves a gentle kiss there, nods his head. The hand at his throat tightens.

“Use your words,” Regulus instructs.

“I’m good.”

James traces his tongue downward, through the thin trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of Regulus’ briefs. He catches the elastic between his teeth, tugs at it, lets it snap back against porcelain skin. Ducking lower, James mouths at the outline of Regulus’ cock, tongue wetting the fabric and feeling the way he’s slowly filling out under the attention. Regulus allows it for a few seconds more, a low hum leaving him that has heat pooling low in James’ stomach.

The pressure at James’ throat shifts and Regulus’ fingers sink into his dark hair, grip slowly tightening, palm a solid weight at the nape of his neck. His other hand tucks beneath James’ chin, his head guided into tilting backward between the two. James blinks slow, looks up toward Regulus’ face from beneath his lashes. Breathes deep. Waits.

“What do you need tonight, James?” Regulus asks; his voice is honey, thick and sweet and dripping warmth down every groove of James’ spine.

He keeps James’ chin in the curl of his fingers but stretches his thumb to trace a slow circle around his mouth. He leaves it pressed against James’ bottom lip, James darting his tongue out at it for the briefest taste. One brow arches as Regulus looks down at him.

“Something in your mouth, maybe?”

When all James does his nod, Regulus tugs sharply at the back of his hair —an unspoken demand. James’ mouth drops open, a soft gasp between parted lips.

“Yes,” He whines. “Please.”

“There you go, baby, that’s so good,” Regulus hums.

James’ lips twitch helplessly when Regulus moves to readjust his glasses for him. It’s such a tiny gentleness, a common show of his care for him, no matter how out of place it may seem in a moment like this.

The fond appreciation that unfurls warmth in his chest is derailed in seconds by the shift of Regulus’ foot, nudging between his thighs, pressing. James’ eyelids flutter as he sucks in a shallow breath. His hips twitch forward against the barely-there pressure on his cock, hard and aching in his own briefs.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Regulus asks.

He tugs at James’ hair again to jerk his head back further, presses his foot more firmly between his legs. James is already starting to feel dizzy with it; the waiting, the care, the teasing, all building into a burning buzz that’s much more pleasant than the anxious itch that’s bothered him for days. He rocks against Regulus’ foot with a shaking, needy sound crawling up his throat.

“I need it, baby.”

“But that’s not what I asked this time, is it?” Regulus counters, tone vaguely patronizing.

It shouldn’t make James’ cock twitch the way that it does, really. Shouldn’t make him unable to bank a whimper when he rocks his hips forward again.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Regulus repeats. He inches his foot away, and James whines in protest. “God, listen to you. You really do need it, don’t you?”

James nods urgently, breath hitching in his chest. “I do. Please, Regulus.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t whimper another time when Regulus takes a small step backward, all touch falling away from him. The silver lining is watching him tuck a thumb into either side of the band on his briefs, pulling them down and stepping out of them.

Wanting eyes immediately land on Regulus’ cock the second it’s in front of him. Even the huff of Regulus chuckling above him doesn’t draw his focus away. He watches intently as Regulus wraps a hand around himself and strokes slowly.

Blown pupils hide nearly all the grey of Regulus’ irises when James finally glances up at his face again. He shifts up straighter on his knees, mouth falling open already when Regulus steps forward. A smirk tugs at the corners of Regulus’ lips and his free hand sinks into James’ hair.

He pauses in guiding his cock to James’ waiting mouth, slick head nudging his bottom lip. “What do you say?”

“Thank you.” Punches breathlessly out of James in an instant.

Regulus’ smirk inches wider and he gives a single nod. It’s all the go ahead James needs to tilt forward and finally —finally— take him into his mouth. The grip in his hair tightens as James swallows his length down, letting the weight of him settle on his tongue. He hums appreciatively around him, keeping his motions shallow to hit the back of his throat each time.

Despite the tight hold on his hair, Regulus lets James move as desired. His wrists strain against the silk around them when he instinctively wants to reach forward and balance his hands on Regulus’ thighs, but he’ll make do. He always does.

After a little while, Regulus’ other hand joins the first in his hair. He halts James’ continued movements and holds him in place.

James moans the second he starts fucking into his mouth, eyes rolling back. There’s spit collected at the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin. Each snap of Regulus’ hips has his cock hitting the back of his throat, his moans turning garbled and wet —filthy— while Regulus looses a winded string of swears.

“This— fuck—” Regulus hisses when he thrusts forward again and James swallows, letting him feel the way his throat tightens. “This is exactly what you needed, isn’t that right, baby?”

James hums his answer, eyelids fluttering as he opens glassy eyes to look up. There’s tears building at the corners, and on a particularly hard snap of Regulus’ hips one rolls hotly down his cheek. His cheeks burn, that and the panted breaths out his nose fogging up the bottom of his glasses lenses.

James doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t care about any of it. Let Regulus make a complete mess of him. Let Regulus use him as he sees fit.

This is all James wanted, what he needed. To release the tension he’s been feeling for days, to give up the vice grip he’s tried to maintain on control of anything at all. To be taken care of in this way; something filling his mouth and Regulus just taking from him.

He knows when Regulus is close; words are no longer manageable and his thighs tremble, thrusts becoming erratic. James expects him to come down his throat, is awaiting the burst of warmth, ready to eagerly swallow all he has to give him. But abruptly, Regulus yanks at his hair with both hands, tugging him off.

James whines brokenly, a thick string of drool connecting the corner of his mouth and Regulus’ cock. His throat is wrecked; it’s a pitiful, pathetic sounding thing when he manages a desperate, “No.”

Panting, Regulus shakes his head back and forth. One hand moves from James’ hair, thumb breaking the string of spit when he smears the slickness surrounding James’ mouth. Making an even bigger mess of him. James licks after it, twists his tongue around it, trying to be enticing, trying to get him back inside.

Regulus drops his hand entirely, grips his cock instead. He stares intently down at him, demands from between his teeth, “Keep your tongue out for me.”

Wanting to be good and knowing what’s next, James obliges. Regulus drags his hand in hurried tugs over his cock and he watches hungrily. Anticipation burns a fire in James’ veins, sends his pulse roaring in his ears, as he waits, spit pooling in his open mouth, dripping more down his chin.

It’s a minute more before Regulus cries out, head thrown back and hips lurching forward as he comes. Hot strips of white land on James’ top lip, his tongue, his glasses. Cum drips down the one lens to land on his cheek and James can’t hold back a whimper, mouth still open. He hasn’t been told to close it yet.

“Fucking Christ,” Regulus groans, hand slowing over himself as he comes down from his orgasm.

His chest is as flushed as his face, heaving with uneven breaths, and he’s fucking gorgeous like this. Wrung out and a little wobbly on his legs, shiny-eyed and out of breath. James feels just as high as Regulus looks. Even with his cock still painfully hard and leaking in his briefs, his knees throbbing when he shifts his weight for the first time in too long.

Regulus finally lets go of his length, gripping James’ slick chin instead. He swipes his thumb through the cum on James’ lip, his cheek. Collects what he can from his face, and dips a little into James’ waiting mouth to wipe it off onto his tongue a few times. Gathering as much as he can for him.

Finally, Regulus tells him, “Swallow, baby.”

James does without hesitation, moaning at the familiar taste down his throat. There’s still cum on his glasses, blurrily obscuring his view of Regulus on the one side when he blinks heavy lidded eyes up at him.

“You did so good, James.” The praise has James’ lips curling in a lopsided smile, dazed in the best way. He hums his thanks, throat too sore for immediate words, but Regulus doesn’t demand that of him this time. “Do you feel better?”

It’s a mockery of a bobble head on a dashboard when James nods hurriedly in answer. His head’s a little fuzzy still, breath slowly returning to normal for himself. A different high entirely for his comedown.

“Come on.” Regulus bends down to help James to his feet then reaches behind him to undo the tie from his wrists. “We should clean you up, you’re a mess.”

“Good,” James replies, voice rough, lazy grin widening.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but there’s no denying the affection in his gaze. He rubs at James’ wrists when his hands are brought between them and James hums quietly.

“I’ll take care of you in the shower, okay?” He murmurs, eyes darting downward.

“Y’already did, baby,” James points out.

Regulus lifts a brow. “Sorry, did you not also feel like coming tonight?”

James clears his throat in order to more clearly joke, “I think if you so much as breathed on my cock right now it’d probably be over for me.”

Shaking his head, Regulus snorts, muttering a fond ‘idiot’ beneath his breath. He leans in to press a kiss to James’ cheek, recoiling when James turns his head and nuzzles into the side of his neck, smearing leftover drool on his skin.

“Go. Bathroom, now.” Regulus points to the open bedroom door, but the control in his voice is gone; it’s half a laugh —blushing and breathless and beautiful.

James smiles adoringly at him, gives him a mock salute, and follows his instruction just the same.

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus fanfiction #drops this in the dead of night and runs #-jazz hands-#had a brain itch for a “silly little smut moment” and here we are. 2K words later #s/o to nic and us talking about being deeply unserious while writing smut #i wrote this entirely on my phone while wrapped in a blanket burrito so…#have fun! (james certainly did lmfao)#kay’s writing #kay’s microfics #<-simply just not a microfic anymore but oh well #nic tag<3

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dailynakaharachuuya · 7 months

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11. Family AU

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saintbleeding · 9 months

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[ID: Four digital drawings of Basira, Martin, and Jon from S5 of TMA. Basira is a tall, fat woman with brown skin and curly dark brown hair. Martin is a short, fat white man with greying brown hair, a scraggly beard, and glasses. Jon is tallest and thin with silver, curly hair in a bun, a patchy beard, glasses, and scars across his body. All three are caked in dried blood and miscellaneous grime. In the first drawing, Basira stands with a gun pointed at Martin, with Jon standing nonchalantly behind him with a red glowing halo above him. Basira says “Prove you’re really Martin Blackwood”, Martin asks “How?” and Jon says “You could do a poem. >:3c” In the second, Basira looks on judgmentally as Jon and Martin embrace. Basira says “You done?” with a scribbly aromantic flag below her speech text, and Jon replies “Can we not have a moment?” In the third drawing, the three are walking side by side, Martin and Jon holding hands. Martin says “He needs to do it, and if he doesn’t…”, Basira offers “He gets constipated?” which Jon interrupts “Hardly.” Martin concedes “… actually yeah basically.” In the last, the three of them are seemingly asleep sitting up. Martin has one arm around Jon’s shoulder, his cheek smooshed against the top of Jon’s head. Basira leans against Martin’s other side. Both Martin and Basira look restless. Jon’s eyes are open, bloodshot, and leaking a suspiciously bloody substance as they glow red in the darkness. There is a red glow around all three of them. End ID.]

mlm/wlw hostility my beloved

#the magnus archives #tma #tma s5 #basira hussain #jon sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #magpod #my #saint draws #gun #blood #eyes #eye horror #OUGUUUGUGUH IM SO SLEEPY…….. idek if it’s appreciation week anymore #that was. sorta why i finished this today but. eh. here it #drops it on ur doorstep. runs away

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whaliiwatching · 9 months

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noir ideas…

#spider man: into the spiderverse #spider noir #peni parker #ignore me i can’t draw people running #curly haired noir brought to you by sephardic jewish noir truthers #supported by the lovely hobie gang #i rlly love the idea that he has ptosis i am keeping it from heRE ON OUT #the curly hair just doesn’t fit imo but i’ll try again another time #i’ll drop a bigger better sketch tomorrow dw #this is just prep ;)

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zorosdimples · 9 months

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HYPERFIXATION

pairing ༄ yandere!naruto x f!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, stalking, religious imagery, a bit of blood, and generally toxic behavior. reader wears a dress and some lacy underwear and has a vagina, but is only referred to as “you.” this gets icky, so please heed these warnings before reading.

word count ༄ 1311

notes ༄ this work is for the lovely @tired-biscuit! manda didn’t ask for this, but she is the reason why dark naru has infected my brain, so she must accept this creepy lil fic as a token of my gratitude <3 it was fun to write the sunshine boy as…well…a freak. please keep in mind that our narrator is unreliable and filters reality through naruto’s skewed worldview. anyway, please enjoy!

his eyes are an unfathomable ocean of blue, wide and limitless as the horizon. his gaze holds a palpable warmth, as if dipped in golden sunlight, glowing with inhuman kindness and charisma.

only a god, or perhaps a fellow monster, could see past the carefully constructed façade of his eyes. the veil of sincerity is mere gossamer, but appears too natural to be false. it’s intended to attract and allure—the ruse of a predator so beautiful his prey doesn’t perceive danger until after poison is thrumming through their bloodstream.

you are just a human. perhaps your mediocrity is what initially drew those moonless eyes. why else would they turn to you? it’s a secret he will never divulge to another soul; not until you are wholly his, anyway.

he will forever remember the first time he stumbled upon you at the market on a sun-drenched saturday. he was out of eggs and on a quick mission to grab a dozen so he could cook and eat breakfast. there weren’t many people out since it was early, dewdrops clinging to shaded blades of grass and shivering leaves, so he easily traversed the market without much of the idle chit chat that comes with being a public figure.

but there you were: sorting through oranges as vibrant as his jacket. the breeze rustled your hair into what looked like a luminous halo in the morning light. his quick pace came to a lurching halt when he saw you, lithe body slightly swaying as his feet rooted in place.

he was fixated on your handling and inspection of the citrus, fingertips delicately dancing along the skin of each fruit. you plucked up one orange at a time, rolling it in your hands to test the firmness, holding it close to your thoughtful face to check for spots, then placing it in your produce bag. you were too immersed in your methodical fruit selection to notice that the hokage was only a few feet from you, slack-jawed in wonder.

from a single glance he could tell you were a civilian. your movements were too fluid, too carefree; you had none of the mechanical sharpness that marked a shinobi. and if you were a shinobi he would have recognized you instantly. he has met every ninja in the village at least a handful of times.

no, you were a rare breed in konoha: one of the ungifted few.

his mind grew dizzy with questions: was anyone in your family a shinobi? were your parents disappointed that you couldn’t use ninjutsu? were you bullied growing up by more talented and popular peers? he certainly understood the pain of an isolated upbringing.

he thought of your plainness, your innocence, your naïveté to the horrors of his world—to the horrors his bloodstained palms have wrought and rent. in a village of expert spies and killers, you were a lone lamb ripe for the picking. it was painfully apparent that you needed protection. who better than the hokage to be your protector?

his dick twitched at the thought.

he followed you home for the first time that day, his empty stomach a forgotten memory. his deep eyes consumed you: the sway of your hips as you strolled down the sidewalk, the hem of your sundress swishing around your plush thighs, the swing of the produce bag draped over your shoulder. he hungrily watched you bend over to marvel at blooms along your route, peek into colorful shop windows, and kneel down to pet a friendly calico cat.

bitter jealousy seized his gut when you waved at a neighbor, offering a bright “hello!” and flashing the man a disarming smile. his jaw ticked and nostrils flared. the caged beast within him growled in disgust at the man’s audacity to leer at you as you bounded up the steps of your apartment building.

he had to shield you from those who would take advantage of your vulnerability.

༄

moonbeams peak through the gaps in your cheap blinds at this hour, illuminating your slumbering form, limbs curled up beneath a mass of soft bedsheets and cozy blankets. the whir of the fan reverberates through your cold bedroom and masks any noise that the stranger in your apartment might make.

naruto has watched you for days, for weeks, for months. in truth, time has been a blur of your tender laugh and saccharine gaze and supple flesh. since he fell for you, his love has been a hazy dream he can’t seem to wake from. all he can think of is you.

this is the first time he has been brazen enough to visit your apartment while you’re home. his heart was aching for an unobstructed view of you; tracking your figure through windows and computer screens doesn’t do your beauty justice, he determines as he looks down at your angelic face. the rush he feels being so close to you is pure ecstasy. he devours the sight of your sleeping silhouette. he knows that you’re nude under the sheets—he knows everything about you, after all.

he knows that you’re on your period, and that your cycle makes you especially needy. he knows that you masturbated this evening right after your hot shower. he knows that you wore a slinky pair of blue panties while you were getting in the mood. he knows that you didn’t touch yourself until your arousal soaked through the gusset and dripped down into the swell of your ass, proceeding to tease your clothed clit until it throbbed. he knows that you peeled off the soiled lace, lazily tossing the garment on the floor before you spread your puffy lips and fucked yourself with three fingers, rubbing tight circles on your clit until you cried out as you climaxed.

he wishes he could trace the curves of your soft skin, your heavenly body untainted by war and violence unlike his own. to see your eyes flutter open as he worships you with gentle kisses and prayerful praises. to adore your most sacred parts as your sole disciple. to bring you divine pleasure with his cursed lips, tongue, hands, and cock.

he picks your underwear up from where you carelessly dropped it. his calloused forefinger and thumb rub the delicate lace—the same color as his lustful irises—with reverence. he unfurls the fabric, the pearly moonlight highlighting an intimate gift: streaks of your essence and dribbled blood staining the gusset. he buries his nose in the garment, inhaling your musky scent with a shudder. he’s addicted.

he’s painfully hard as his tongue darts out to graze the remnants of your desire and ichor, tentative licks yielding to ravenous laps as he decides there is no sweeter taste. he has to stifle a whimper as he fishes his aching cock out of his wet trousers and smears a mess of precum down his shaft. he pumps his length to the sight of your dreamy face and the overwhelming smell and taste of your arousal, panties flat against his tongue. he should be worried about the schlick schlick schlick of his jerking cock rousing you from slumber, but all he can focus on is quelling the animal urge to blow his load all over your face, to officially mark you as his.

it doesn’t take him long to cum. he rips your underwear out of his mouth and shoots creamy white ropes all over the fabric with a rumbling groan, his fluids mixing with your own. naruto shoves the sodden garment into his pocket and takes a final look at you before disappearing into the velvet night.

the next day you search high and low for your missing pair of underwear; it seems to have vanished into thin air. your confusion only mounts when you find it a few days later, freshly laundered and neatly folded in the top drawer of your dresser.

#i’m dropping this here & running for the hills #goodnight!!!#naruto #naruto shippuden #uzumaki naruto #naruto uzumaki #naruto smut #yandere naruto #naruto x reader #naruto uzumaki smut #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #yandere #tw yandere #tw dark content #yandere x reader #dark naruto #༄ kae writes

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introspectivememories · 1 year

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tim "you came" drake and bernard "you called" dowd

#and also the other way around #but what's important here is that they drop everything for each other #but also tim saying this to bear at 3 in the morning standing on the deck of the boat #looking at bear who's sweaty and panting from running all the way over from his parent's house #'you came.' he whispers #bear lifts his head and smiles gently. even then tim thinks he needs sunglasses to shield his eyes from #bear's brilliance. 'you called.' bear says softly waving his phone in the air.#bernard dowd #tim drake #timbern #timber #dc

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fuctacles · 10 months

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Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess

[Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break.

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently.

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice.

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting.

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]