#angst but with a happy ending this time | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emphistic · 1 month

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𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝐀/𝐍: thank you all for more than 505 followers (see what i did there with the song?) have this as a token of my gratitude (this is superr long overdue, mb you guys)

𝐖/𝐂: around 2500

“Why? Why, Sukuna? Why the hell did you not pull away?” You failed to keep your voice down.

“Baby, please. Trust me, she flung herself on me. I–”

“So you didn't push her off?”

Sukuna raked his fingers through his hair, clearly exasperated and struggling to find the words to answer you. “Look — the last time I did that I almost got arrested for assault. And guess what? You yelled at me for that, too. You said, ‘Why would you do that? You couldn't have just told her to get off?’ So really, what did you want me to do this time?”

You covered your mouth to stifle your sobs, at this point, your mascara was completely ruined, running down your cheeks. “Okay, okay, I get it. I'm wrong, you're right.”

But I crumble completely when you cry

Sukuna turned away from you, scratching his neck. Your mascara was smudged along your cheeks, your tears dampening your eyelashes. He couldn't bear seeing you like this, not when he was the cause. Was it cruel of him to say, to believe, to think, that you were most beautiful this way?

“That wasn't my point, and you know that. You know that damn well, sweetheart.” Sukuna said — after a moment of silence — and turned back to face you, albeit he hesitated before meeting your glossy eyes.

“Then what was it? What was it, Sukuna? Tell me. Enlighten me.” You frantically wiped away your tears as they fell, and though desperate as you were, you were still too slow.

“. . .” Sukuna stared down at you with a stoic expression painted on his face. His gaze remained unwavering, though yours flickered throughout the room, seemingly unable to face him properly. If he knew better, he would realize it was only because you would start bawling immediately after meeting his crimson eyes.

It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye

“Fine!” You threw your arms up, utterly defeated. You had no time for Sukuna's games. “Be that way; go have fun with all your other girls!” You stomped away, but decided — in the moment — to turn around for a second just to flip the pink-haired man off. “Burn in Hell, Sukuna, for all I care. I don't want to see your stupid, stupid face ever again.”

Sukuna sighed, his eyes burned holes into the back of your dress as you left him standing there. Standing there with nothing but his thoughts, dreams, and regrets. Standing there in the club alleyway. The same club alleyway that you pulled him away to so you could yell at him.

But it didn't feel like the same club alleyway, because Something was missing. Something very dear to him — but he was no better than a man.

I'm always just about to go and spoil the surprise

He was no better than a man. He didn't have the courage. He didn't have the brains. He didn't have the wit. He didn't have the assets. He didn't have anything that he had had with you. Not anymore, at least.

Take my hands off of your eyes too soon

He didn't have anything, because you were his everything. You were his light. His match. His flame. He didn't know what his point was. He didn't know. He didn't know. Because alas, he was no better than just a man. A man helplessly in love — with you.

So what would a man — helplessly in love with you — do? Perhaps he would visit your favorite jewelry brand and buy you an exquisite necklace. Maybe he would stop by a florist's shop and get you flowers. Or he could get you a baked good from the local bakery you like so much. And so, Sukuna — possibly being the most indecisive man alive — did all three of those things.

He purchased you a glimmering diamond necklace, a bouquet made up of your favorite flowers, and a cake of your favorite flavor.

Now, Sukuna was never a nervous nor self-doubting man, that was until he met you. He gets butterflies at the thought of you, though he'd never admit that. What could he say? He loved your laugh, the way your eyes crinkle as you do, your smile, your habit of tucking your hair behind your ear, your meticulousness when choosing earrings to match your outfit, your eyes — especially when they appeared to almost be glittering, he loved everything about you. But most importantly. . . He loved you. And that is why he sits in the driver's seat of his car, with his head in his hands and his back hunched over in thought.

He messed up. He messed up bad. And now he had to clean up the mess.

Fifteen minutes prior, his younger twin brother — Yuuji — had given him a pep talk, hyping him up. Yuuji knew how much you had helped Sukuna. He remembered the way Sukuna appeared happier, as if 100 pounds had been lifted off his shoulders — not that he would have any trouble carrying that weight — when Sukuna came home from your first date together. Yuuji saw the difference in Sukuna from that day on. Yuuji saw, Yuuji heard, and Yuuji felt the difference.

Albeit the younger twin could be a bit . . . dull, at times, Yuuji knew that you were what Sukuna needed most. If you had affected Sukuna so greatly when you came into his life, just think about the effects that would take place if you two separated. Yuuji got chills just thinking of that, which was why he was so desperate for his older brother to just rip off the bandaid, set his ego aside, and make amends.

I'm going back to 505

Sukuna was going back. He was going back to you . . . even if it was the last thing he would do. He finally raised his head from his hands and started the car. He was going to see you, apologize and explain how stupid he was being, and he was going to give you all the gifts he purchased. If his words couldn't satisfy you, he was going to spend the rest of his life proving himself to you with his credit card.

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

The drive to your apartment from his penthouse was only 3/4s of an hour, though it felt much longer as his dread grew and grew. It didn't matter how long, how far, how dangerous, the journey — he would always go back to his girl.

His girl.

That's what you were. That's what you are. That's what you will be — for as long as Sukuna lives. He would make sure of that.

The knife twists at the thought that I should fall short of the mark

But it didn't feel that way, certainly not when you opened the door with a frown on your face that only deepened as you immediately moved to close the door upon seeing the pink spikes of Sukuna’s hair. But he was already two steps ahead of you. He — already expecting that reaction — had quickly blocked you from closing the door by sticking his foot out between the door.

Frightened by the bite, though it's no harsher than the bark

“Sukuna. Didn't I tell you to never—!”

“Baby, please. Hear me out — for just a second.” Sukuna's lips were dry, his throat parched.

“Fine.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, he would've missed it if he was not as desperate as he was now.

Three days. It had been three days since you two had last spoken, in that damned alleyway. Three days of plain torture. Three days of sleepless nights. Three days without you. Three days of Hell.

God, he was so glad to hear your voice again; it was like music to his ears.

The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to start

You slowly pulled the door back and took a step backward, silently giving Sukuna your consent for him to enter. However, he didn't feel deserving of it, so he stayed in his position.

“Look, this is probably a waste of your time—”

“It is.”

He shoved the gifts into your hands.

“Oh? What's this?” You raised a brow, digging your hand through the bags to investigate, but Sukuna cleared his throat and you met his eyes.

“I want to apologize, for what I said and for how I acted. I'm really, really sorry. You know I'm not the best with these kinds of things, but, I really am. Believe me. And . . . I wasn't in the right state of mind, I was already a few drinks in — y’know that — and I know that's not an excuse but, I just. . . I'm sorry, okay? I haven't slept a wink since you left. And I was a fucking coward: I should've done this earlier but I didn't. So—please, forgive me.”

You didn't say anything, averting your gaze to the ground at your feet, and still processing his words. You mulled over what he had said in your head.

“Say something. Anything. Please.” Sukuna was so close to getting on his hands and knees that it was almost embarrassing.

“Sukuna, I don't know what to tell you. I believe you're sorry but I. . . I'm not ready to forgive you, not yet. It's just a lot, y’know? I mean, if you were in my shoes right now, you would feel the same way—”

“That's why I'm apologizing.” Sukuna cut you off, his desperation quickly turning into agitation.

“Yes, I get that, but . . . I'm just not ready to forgive you yet. I'm not ready to just push this aside and move on. I'm not . . . ready — for any of that.” Your eyes softened, as did your tone.

Despite his desperate pleads, you couldn't bring yourself to just forget the whole ordeal and why he was apologizing in the first place. But Sukuna was no better than a man. He had no clue why you felt this way. The only thing he's known in life was to move on. That's what he does and will do. That's why he is the way he is. That's why.

“Do you even want this relationship to last? Can't you see I'm trying to fix this problem?”

“I do, Sukuna. I really do. Couples fight and have arguments. It's normal. It's what we're doing right now. But just because it's normal doesn't mean I'm going to brush it aside as if it didn't happen.”

“Are you out of your—!? Do you have any idea how many girls would like to be in your spot right now? Do you have ANY idea?” By now, Sukuna had completely lost it. He was frustrated, so frustrated. He didn't understand what more you wanted from him.

“I—Sukuna, what?”

“Have you any idea? Any idea at all?”

You would be lying if you said you weren't scared, utterly afraid of the man standing before you right now. For you could see nothing past his eyes, no love, no care, nothing. Only the deep, rich crimson color that you once loved and held so dear to your heart.

“You know what? Good for you. Good for you that you have so many other better options but you chose me. Good. For. You. I guess you don't need me anymore. Goodbye, Sukuna.”

You slammed the door [shut] in Sukuna's face, falling with your back against it seconds later and bringing your knees to your chest. The waterworks started soon after and Sukuna could hear your quiet sobs from beyond the door.

He was dumbfounded, absolutely appalled. Did he really just say that to you? Sukuna knew he was not the brightest, but, damn, he's really done it this time.

Sukuna ran his fingers through his hair, now sitting in his car. He definitely did not mean to say what he said. In fact, he didn't even know how it slipped out. One second he was basically on his knees for you and the next, he . . . wasn't. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? He thought. He continued to sit there, reflecting on his actions and words. But he still couldn't believe it. What the fuck just happened?

He came to your apartment hoping to salvage the remnants of your guys' relationship, but he ended up ruining it — forever. Sukuna was 100% sure this was the worst fuckup in the history of mankind.

But he couldn't just leave it like this. He could still fix this, right? Alas, Sukuna had lost all hope; he lost his mind; and he lost the love of his life.

“Shit,” Sukuna muttered. He had really lost it, he thought, as he walked back to your apartment door. He had really lost it, he thought, when he spared a glance at your apartment number.

I'm going back to 505

That was the whole point of this, right? He was going back — no matter what, right?

When you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect?

He had really lost it, he thought, when he saw your glossy — yet still absolutely mesmerizing eyes after reluctantly answering the door, waiting for Sukuna to say something, anything. Anything at all. But he didn't. He didn't say anything at all. He had really lost it, he thought, when he pulled you in for the most zealous kiss he had ever experienced that left you gasping for air. His lips slotted against yours, moving fervently simultaneously. Albeit, he pulled away rather quickly — afraid of what he had just done.

I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck

Mere seconds after Sukuna pulled back, you moved your hand so quickly — that Sukuna didn't even notice at first — and slapped him. Hard. You slapped him hard as fuck. But then you did something that surprised the pink-haired man even more. You embraced him in a hug, and a tight one at that.

“Hug me back, dumbass.” You quipped.

Or I did last time I checked

“You just slapped me.” He hugged you back, nevertheless, wrapping his arms around your figure. Because, he had to admit, it was kinda hot [getting slapped].

“Duh. ‘Cause you're such a loser.”

A pause of silence occured, before Sukuna spoke up.

“I didn't mean what I said,” Sukuna murmured against your hair. He had longed for this moment. God, you made him so soft sometimes.

“I know.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I know.”

“I missed you.”

“You never stop talking, do you.”

“To you? Never.”

I'm going back to 505

If it's a seven hour flight or a forty-five minute drive

In my imagination, you're waitin' lyin' on your side

With your hands between your thighs and a smile

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @lich1 @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius

#sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna angst #with a happy ending #sukuna #first time writing angst #pls dont flop

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hairmetal666 · 10 months

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Eddie's supposed to be writing. The guys, they all agreed they'd each come to practice armed with two whole new songs they could pick from to add to their set list at the Hideout. And he's got his pen, and he's got his most recent trusty Composition Book, and all his lyrics are fucking bullshit about golden tanned skin and honeyed eyes and tracing constellations in freckles and moles, pathetic lines about being twisted in bed sheets, and the hopeless love he found himself in.

For the fifth time in an hour, he rips out the offending page, crunches it into a tight ball, and throws it across the room.

He can't write about Steve Harrington for the rest of his life; spend his nights aching for the boy who established himself as a fixture in Eddie's life and then just disappeared.

The worst of it--the very worst--is that Eddie knew better. Steve was never his, not in any real way, no matter how many times they fucked. He's Steve Harrington. Straightest guy in Hawkins. Popular. Rich. Whole fucking life laid out for him on a silver platter. And Eddie fell for him. It's the Munson curse, he supposes; always wanting what you can't have.

It started the way these things usually do, "got any weed?" and "come back to my place, Harrington" and "I got this stupid job at the mall, meet me there?" and lying "hey, guys, can't make band practice, gotta help Uncle Wayne" and "Munson, I really want--can I kiss you?"

In every other fantasy Eddie's ever had, it ends there. Steve gets his kiss and they never see each other again. But Steve Harrington--he's full of surprises. It catches Eddie off guard, makes him want, makes him trust. Because it's not just kisses. It's hands and mouths and "anything you want, Eddie. Let me make you feel good."

Maybe it wouldn't have hit so hard--maybe Eddie could've stopped from falling--if Steve hadn't been so good. Bitchy, sure, but genuine and kind. Had this whole gaggle of junior high kids he babysat, like what the fuck. Would hang out with Wayne and shoot the shit about whatever sports nonsense was on tv. Harrington never was as mean, as spoiled, as superficial as Eddie suspected.

Then Starcourt. That's when it all changes. Steve stops coming around then, in the aftermath. It hurts, but Eddie tells himself it's for the best. Now, he knows it would have been.

Two weeks with no contact, and Steve shows up at his door in the middle of the night. Eddie winces at the healing bruises and cuts on his face, can't imagine how much worse they were to start. He steps aside, lets Steve in, plans to say that he can't be whatever they are anymore.

Steve kisses him. It's a hot, needy thing, wild with teeth and tongue, nothing like before. Eddie is helpless to it, helpless to the way Steve grinds against him, already hard. He should slow it down, check-in that Steve is in the right headspace for this, but Steve is moaning low in his throat and Eddie can't think.

They're in Eddie's bed and Steve says, "fuck me, Eddie?" and Eddie says "are you sure" because he can't stop himself. Steve rolls his eyes (beautifuly bitchy), says, "I need to feel you inside me, baby."

How can Eddie say no?

Eddie's never done this before, but it doesn't matter. It's everything--Steve is everything--he could ask for.

The next morning, he expects Steve to be gone. Thinks they'll never see each other again. But he finds Steve in the kitchen, in his boxers and Eddie's Iron Maiden shirt, making eggs and talking to Wayne like it's the most normal thing in the world.

The next month and a half are the best of Eddie's life. He and Steve spend more time together than they do apart. Nights at Eddie's trailer, in Eddie's bed. Days lounging at the Harrington pool and driving around the nothing that surrounds Hawkins. Sometimes they'll stop in the middle of nowhere, climb on top of the van, and just--be. Steve takes his shirt off, and Eddie traces their names in the sun-soaked freckles, thinking maybe he really gets to have this, have Steve.

It ends as quickly as it started. One morning in September, Steve is cupping Eddie's neck, pulling him in for a goodbye kiss, saying, "sorry, baby, gotta get home for my parents. I'll see you later tonight, yeah?"

Except Eddie doesn't. Eddie doesn't see Steve that night, or the night after, or the night after that. He stops coming around and all Eddie is left with is a broken heart and these piss poor excuses for songs.

He rips out the latest page, waxing lyrical about the wonders of August, and time slipping away, and the boy he'll never forget. Crumples it into a ball and bats it into a pile of junk accumulated in the corner of his room.

Eddie needs a break.

He flies into the living room, snatches up his keys from the floor by the coffee table, and flees his house and all those memories of Steve. It's not like he has anywhere specific to go, so he drives around town, with his windows down and his music up.

His tires screech as he rounds the corner to the video store and arcade. He's not planning on stopping, but honestly, maybe a few rounds of Space Invaders is exactly what he needs.

The van hasn't even come to a stop in the parking spot when his eyes fall on Steve Harrington. He's standing in the middle of the parking lot surrounded by a gang of kids (including some of Eddie's new little sheepies) and Robin Buckley. Steve wears a sunny yellow sweatshirt, tight jeans, and his hair is perfectly coifed, falling in an elegant wave. His hands are on his hips, mouth and brows pinched stern. He's gorgeous, perfect.

It's an assault, an attack, Eddie's entire body shakes as the months they spent together crash over him. He has the van in reverse before he consciously thinks to do so, flooring it out of the space hard enough to burn rubber.

The noise, the speed, it draws the entire group's attention to him.

His eyes meet Steve's.

Time stops and so does he, idling in the middle of the parking lot. For a second, one moment in time, Steve's face falls. His mouth loses that grumpy pinch, his eyebrows drop, his beauty transformed by grief, by fucking longing.

Steve takes a step forward, and Eddie hits the gas, van screaming out of the parking lot. He watches the group shrink in his rearview mirror, sure that he imagined the sorrow in Steve's face, anyway.

They're nothing to each other.

Never were.

By popular request: Part Two

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #oneshot #ficlet #angst #no happy ending #august #summer romance #heartbreak #mutual pining #based on a taylor swift song #i probably went overboard with the references to the lyrics #i'm not sorry #it's about the longing #august slipped away into a moment in time #whatever you do don't think about how the next time they see each other is Eddie pinning Steve to the wall in the boat house

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metalhoops · 1 year

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The Five Times Eddie Wondered Who His Soulmate Was and the One Time He Didn’t Have To

The worst thing about knowing your soulmate was in trouble was understanding there was nothing you could do about it.

As a whole, Eddie thought the concept of soulmates was bullshit. He thought all that fate and destiny crap was a scam to sell the idea of monogamy or co-dependence. If people were too busy fretting over when they’d meet ‘their person’, they’d forget that actual shit was going on in the world. Who had the time to care about systemic oppression when they were busy trying to work out if the cute girl across the corridor was their one true love?

That being said, sometimes Eddie got curious about who they were. Not many people found their soulmates. It wasn’t as obvious as you’d think. When they were in pain, you would feel it. Two people could live across the world from one another, feeling each scraped knee and broken wrist but never meet. Hell, you could live across the street from someone and unless you were there to watch them get hurt and feel the same old pang of shared pain, you’d never know.

It wasn’t like Eddie had never felt his soulmate before that day. They’d twisted an ankle when Eddie was twelve and sprained a wrist when he was fourteen, but he’d felt no pain from them so strong as when he was sitting in detention during his junior year.

He was counting down the minutes left until he could get out of the high school, hell hole when a sharp and sudden pain flooded his jaw. He gritted his teeth and cradled it with his palm, feeling as though the wind was knocked out of his body. Eddie knew what being punched in the face felt like, and that was it. Just when the ache started to fade, another thud of pain to his cheek made his vision swim. From there, Eddie held his breath, waiting for the pain to end. He rested his head on his desk and felt his heart in his throat as the blows kept coming.

He missed Mrs Click telling him to go home, too busy gripping the desk for dear life, his fingernails digging into the poorly carved desk graffiti, slicing a line through ‘RB 4 TT.’ He was elated when the pain finally stopped.

Eddie kept his head down the whole walk home, trying to tell himself soulmates were bullshit, and that he didn’t care about his, but his thoughts kept returning to visions of them. He hoped they were okay.

Eddie never wanted to know who his soulmate was until that moment. They’d had a hell of a day and Eddie wanted to be there with them, tell them he knew what it was like. He wanted to hold their head in his lap and tell them everything was going to be okay, that if it were up to him, no one would hurt them like that again, but he couldn’t. For all he knew, they could be a hundred miles away.

The next time it happened, Eddie was at home alone in the trailer. Uncle Wayne was working a night shift, and he was watching a horror movie marathon on the T.V. It was shaping up to be a good night, with him curled up on the couch watching a schlocky creature feature when he felt all the air knocked out of his lungs.

For a moment, he was worried something horrible was happening to him. When Jeff had appendicitis, he’d reported the same kind of pain. Eddie rolled up the hem of his shirt, watching a black-blue bruise bloom and fade in the span of a second. Sometimes, if the pain was great enough, you’d get what they called an ‘echo’ of the injury. It only lasted a moment, invisible ink fading on pale paper.

The pain had been so strong that Eddie hadn’t been able to tell if it was theirs or his. From there, it got worse. He felt a sharp pang crash over his head, then another series of blows to the face. It was always the goddamn face.

When it was over, Eddie was left feeling lightheaded. The sensation faded quickly, but he knew his other half would be stuck with the ache for the rest of the night, if not longer.

There was a lot of conjecture when it came to soulmates. It was hard to conduct scientific studies on something based entirely on sensation, and any research that had been done was less than ethical. All the same, for the rest of the night, Eddie curled his arms around himself, holding his body in the hopes his person could feel it, that he could give them some comfort.

“I hope you’re okay,” he whispered, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow.

Back at school, Eddie floated through the halls feeling less than himself as thoughts of his person swirled. The school was abuzz with rumours of a fight between Billy Hargrove and the former king of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington. Eddie couldn’t care less about some pissing contest for the highest rung on the social ladder, as he still felt the echoed ache of his soulmate’s pain throughout the day.

He ditched gym, opting to hide beneath the bleachers and smoke. To his surprise, he wasn’t the only one with the idea. When he arrived, he found the overthrown king sitting cross-legged, cradling his still-bruised jaw. Eddie wasn’t a fan of the jocks, but they were the biggest contributor to his wallet, so he tried to play civil with them. Plus, Eddie wasn’t one to kick someone when they were down, and boy was Steve down. He sat beside the man, examined his face, and thought for a fleeting second. Maybe he was the one, but that was crazy talk. The Freak and the King. In what world?

“You look like you’ve had better days,” Eddie noted.

“I’ve had worse,” Steve replied. Eddie had a pit in his stomach.

The two lapsed into silence, hiding out until the bell sounded for the end of gym. Eddie gave the boy a half-hearted salute as he stood.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie spoke before he left.

“You okay?”

Steve gave Eddie the ghost of a smile, all charm drowned out by Steve’s two black eyes.

“I will be.”

Eddie had been worried about his soulmate before, but he’d never thought he’d lose them until the summer vacation after his failed attempt at senior year. He and the rest of Corroded Coffin had just finished their set at The Hideout. Eddie and the boys were carrying their instruments back to the van when the feeling hit.

He fell to the asphalt. The whole scene sounded all the more dramatic as the hi-hat he’d been holding fell with him. He really wished his soulmate would learn to keep their head down and stay out of trouble because this was getting ridiculous. He got ready to hunker down and wait it out, having gotten morbidly used to their annual beatings. Only this time the pain didn’t stop.

He was hit with wave after wave of agony. This time, it wasn’t just the face. He felt blows to his jaw, his stomach, and his side. He also felt a sharp spike of pain in his hand, as though someone was trying to peel his nails from his skin.

He could hear his friends around him, desperately trying to get something coherent out of Eddie, trying to work out if it was soulmate bullshit or if the guy was having an aneurysm. By the way he was acting, either seemed possible. When the pain subsided, Eddie felt foggy, like he was going through the worst goddamn high of his life. The neon signs of The Hideout and the street lamps danced before his eyes. Hundreds of little halos clouded his vision. He couldn’t think straight.

He managed to prop himself up against the wheel of the van and pulled his knees to his chest. He knotted his hands in his long hair and tugged, trying to remind himself what his own pain felt like, though stopped when he realised he’d also be hurting them. That was the last thing they needed.

“You okay?” He heard Gareth ask when the world came swimming back into focus. Eddie shook his head. Far from it.

“Are they okay? Are they... alive?” Eddie hadn’t let himself entertain that idea until it was brought up.

He felt the last flush of colour drain from his face. He could still feel them, but there was something wrong with the connection. Maybe he was dying. Eddie couldn’t help but think of his soulmate as ‘he’. He just knew.

Eddie kept trying to tell himself he didn’t care about them, but the fact that he could die without Eddie ever having met him made his heart ache. People thought the reason you felt your person’s pain was to protect them, to know when something was wrong. Eddie had done a bang-up job at that.

“For now, but it’s weird. I don’t... I don’t know how much longer-,” Eddie didn’t let himself finish.

The rest of the band suddenly took on a sombre mood. Jeff and Grant finished packing up the van while Gareth offered to drive. The boys stayed at Eddie’s trailer for the rest of the night, holding their breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Eventually, Eddie dropped off to sleep and when he awoke hours later, he was relieved to realise he hurt all over. He was still alive, still waiting for Eddie to find him and god did Eddie want to.

His uncle came home at the crack of dawn and let out an elongated sigh of relief at seeing Eddie and his band of merry men curled up together on the living room carpet. Wayne greeted Eddie with a tight hug that still hurt like hell.

“I was worried something happened to you,” His uncle stated in his gravelled tone.

“Why would something have happened to me?” Eddie asked, perplexed.

“The mall burnt down last night. I was worried you were close by.”

Eddie shook his head and let his uncle hold him as his mind ticked away. He wondered if it was possible his soulmate was in Hawkins. Eddie wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence.

Eddie started seeing spots during his lunchtime speech. By the end of his rant, the room had started to tilt. He felt unsure on his feet as he clambered from the top of the jock table to scamper back to the hellfire group. He must look worse for wear because he noticed one of his new recruits watching him.

“Eddie, you good?” Dustin questioned, sounding further away than he should. The lights in the cafeteria were too bright and his head was killing him.

He felt close to throwing up and wondered where the pain had come from before realising the familiar distance from the sensation. It wasn’t his pain. Eddie didn’t want Henderson to butt into his love life any more than he already did, so he gave the kid a tight-lipped smile that more closely resembled a grimace. This wasn’t the first time he’d felt this sensation from his soulmate, but they were growing more frequent.

Again, sweetheart? Eddie thought, knowing it was the second migraine that week.

“Migraine,” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth. He could feel his band members' eyes on him. They knew exactly who the ache belonged to.

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin passed him a cool glass of water and barked orders at Mike, getting the kid to remove the ugly Hawaiian over shirt, before throwing it over Eddie’s head, blocking out the light. It wasn’t Eddie’s pain, so it didn’t help but he could appreciate the sentiment.

“Did they teach you first aid at science camp, Henderson?” Eddie guessed offhandedly.

“Nah. Steve gets migraines all the time. Helps to know how to deal with them.”

Eddie would never understand how a kid like Dustin came to know Steve Harrington, let alone worship the ground the guy walked on. Usually, Dustin had such good taste.

“Eddie’s soulmate gets them too,” Gareth spoke unhelpfully.

Even without looking, Eddie knew he was shooting him a shit-eating grin, knowing the rest of the afternoon Henderson would ask him about his soulmate. Just because the kid found Suzie, he thought the whole world deserved to find their one true love. Instead, Dustin came out with the most bullshit statement Eddie had ever heard.

“Maybe Steve’s your soulmate.”

Yeah, right. On what planet would that happen?

With everything that had happened to Eddie in the past few days, he hadn’t had time to think about his soulmate. He’d watched Chrissy die before his eyes, learnt the existence of another dimension and was walking through said dimension after witnessing Steve Harrington take a bite out of a demon bat’s tail. It’d been a weird ass day.

He wished he’d been like Robin and Nancy, able to jump in and rescue Steve on a whim, but as Steve disappeared beneath the black water of Lover’s Lake, he’d felt his throat close and his lungs ache for air. It wasn’t a good time for a panic attack. Nevertheless, he’d managed to get his ass in gear and follow the rest of the group down into Watergate.

He’d dropped back to walk with Steve and found himself complimenting the man. Steve was nothing like he imagined. He was not only kind, but as Dustin had put it, a total badass.

Once the adrenaline faded, Eddie found himself lifting the hem of his shirt, examining his side. He felt a dull throb of pain. It’d be his luck to bleed out without noticing, but he found there was nothing there.

“You good?” Steve asked.

Eddie couldn’t help but let his gaze settle on Steve’s bleeding side. He held his breath. He thought about pushing his hand against Steve’s wound, hurting him more just to check, but Eddie couldn’t hurt Steve. Not now. Especially if he was who Eddie thought he might be.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You okay?” Eddie asked, gesturing to Steve’s side. The boy nodded.

“I’m fine, just a scratch. Can hardly feel a thing.”

If Steve was his soulmate, he was full of shit. If Steve was his soulmate when everything blew over, they had a few things to talk about.

Something was very wrong. Vecna was going down in a blaze of flame when Steve’s body started to ache. He felt the familiar sting of interdimensional bat fangs digging into dermis flesh. Robin and Nancy were cheering, wrapping their arms around Steve, whooping, hollering and panting while Steve was busy feeling like he was being torn apart.

He was pulling away from the girls and turning on his heels before he had the chance to explain, running from the Creel House to the trailer park as fast as his feet could carry him. There was only one person this pain could belong to.

Steve had spent his whole life searching for his soulmate, desperate to know who they were, and he’d been under his nose the whole time. The fact that Steve’s soulmate was a boy hadn’t surprised him as much as it should. That’d been a crisis bubbling away in the background of his brain since he’d gone to his first swim meet. He’d seen a boy in tight swim trunks, with tan skin and felt the familiar heart-pounding, crush he’d experienced on pretty girls he’d passed in the school hallways.

By the time he got to Eddie, he’d hardly been able to fight through the pain surging through their connection. Dustin was wailing, holding Eddie in the wake of a bat graveyard. He looked up in alarm at Steve’s figure, noticing his pale skin and sweat-slicked brow.

“Harrington?” Eddie’s weak voice came from Dustin’s lap.

Steve was busy removing his clothes, trying to stop the bleeding. Dustin didn’t need to show him where the man was hurt, he could feel it.

“I really must have got some brownie points in the end,” Eddie murmured.

Both boys hissed as Steve shoved his shirt into a wound at Eddie’s side. That was when Dustin appeared to catch on, his eyes swelling wide as they darted between the two boys.

“What’re you talking about, Munson?” Steve asked, trying to keep the guy talking.

“Must’ve got into heaven after all,” He hummed, his deep brown eyes gazing beyond Steve at the distant red sky.

“Hey. No. None of that. You aren’t in heaven because you’re not dying,” Steve hissed, using what little strength he had left to lift Eddie’s body.

“Gotta be in heaven, if you’re here,” Eddie spoke, giving Steve a lopsided grin. Steve felt Eddie’s pain beginning to fade and panicked, not ready to let things end before they’d even had the chance to begin.

He hoisted Eddie up through the portal and waited to do the same with Dustin. It wasn’t long before the distant sound of sirens once more surrounded the Munson trailer and Steve found himself passing out from the pain as red-blue lights swallowed the world whole.

Eddie woke in pain, his whole body humming with a familiar dull ache that was unarguably his. It took time for him to make sense of the scene. He was in the hospital. Steve was slumped over at the far edge of the room, sleeping in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his head thrown back and his mouth agape. Eddie’s eyes trailed to his bedside, where he met Dustin’s.

“Holy shit, you’re awake,” the boy gasped, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

Eddie cringed as he felt a rush of pain swarm through his body. He must have gasped, because Steve sprung to life, waking with a start as his eyes trailed from Dustin to Eddie. Steve’s eyes were a storm of quiet conflict, punctuated by deep purple bruises.

“Eddie,” Steve breathed, standing to hover beside the bed, unsure of what to do next.

He was surprised Steve was there at all. He wouldn’t say the two were close. Though Steve had probably found some way of twisting Eddie getting hurt into some fault of his, ever the damn hero.

“Thought I was a goner for a second there,” Eddie admitted, trying to shake some of the strange tension from the room.

“If Steve hadn’t gotten there in time, you would’ve been,” Dustin spoke. Eddie watched as the boy’s hands trembled. He leaned over, fighting through the pain to ruffle the kid’s hair. Steve’s shoulders hunched over, doubling into himself.

“I’ll get the nurse. Your uncle left for his nightshift, but he should be back in a few,” Dustin muttered as he made a beeline for the exit. It seemed strange the boy was extracting himself from the scene.

Henderson called over his shoulder. “I told you so.”

And just like that, Eddie knew.

He looked up at Steve with wide-eyed alarm, only to find his look mirrored.

“How’d you know we were in trouble?” Eddie asked, though thought he knew the answer.

“After we killed Vecna, I felt... I could feel you. I knew you were hurt,” Steve explained.

“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie pushed.

“Thought it was too much of a coincidence that it felt like my soulmate was getting eaten alive by giant bats. I’d call it an educated guess.”

Eddie gritted his teeth and nodded. Surely, as far as soulmates went, he hadn’t been what Steve imagined.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, surprising Eddie.

“For what?”

“Not being the person you wanted me to be, I guess,” Steve spoke so candidly, it made pain and panic swell in his throat. How could Steve think Eddie was disappointed that he was his soulmate?

“I’m not disappointed, Stevie. Why would I be disappointed?”

“You had to have known,” Steve reasoned.

Eddie didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but it sounded like Steve had been overthinking every second of it.

“You give me more credit than I deserve. I didn’t know it was you, sweetheart. Cross my heart,” Eddie admitted, surprised at how quickly the term of endearment he’d used for his soulmate slipped off his tongue when talking to Steve.

He hadn’t worked out shit. He’d had hunches, as though his heart knew, but the logical part of his brain kept overriding it. In what world were he and Steve perfect for each other?

Eddie threw caution to the wind as he saw the genuine look of affection and excitement painting its way across Steve’s face. He looked hopeful. Eddie cringed, sitting up and trying to lean closer to Steve.

“Come here before I hurt the both of us,” Eddie grumbled.

Steve shuffled closer to Eddie’s bed, crouching down, so the two were at eye level. Eddie wanted to kiss the boy so damn bad, and Steve was sending him all the signs that he should, but there was something he had to do first. He took Steve’s face between his hands, running a thumb over the purple bruises beneath his eyes.

“No more playing hero, okay?”

Steve nudged his face into the palm of Eddie’s hand and nodded, letting out a weak chuckle.

“I think I can agree to that.”

Eddie crushed their lips together and despite the pain, it felt like everything was right in the world.

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phoebepheebsphibs · 5 months

Text

Draxum's Nightmare: A Post-ROTTMNT Movie Comic, Part 8/9

Freshly baked comfort for the angst!

OH MY GOD HE IS SO PROUD OF HIS LIL BOY HE LOVES HIM SO MUCH

First || Prev || Next

Let the child get his naptime, Drax.

Y'all see what that kid did to the sapling???

Mikey is the Lorax, he speaks for the trees…

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stevesbipanic · 1 year

Text

"It's just a weekend trip." Steve tries to remind himself as he watches Eddie's van drive away.

Eddie's band got a gig in Indy for two nights and Eddie looked so excited and Steve would've gone too but he had an really shift Sunday morning and after all, "It's just a weekend trip."

Eddie calls of course the moment they get settled at Jeff's cousin's apartment. Steve can hear his smile through the phone and picture it clearly in his mind. He can hear the others teasing Eddie in the background, classic fake kissing sounds from the other boys.

"I'll be home before you know it, sweetheart."

"Yeah, it's just a weekend trip."

Eddie is back in his trailer happy and smiling ready to tell Steve everything that happened by the time he's back from his shift two days later. Just a weekend trip.

Except it wasn't.

"You're going again?"

"Yeah just for the weekend, no biggy."

"Right, just a weekend trip." I was the fourth in six weeks.

Eddie wasn't in Steve's bed by Sunday night and there was a voicemail left on the machine.

"Sorry sweetheart,"

"Sorry Steven,"

"They want us to play a couple more shows this week."

"Your father has a few more meetings to go to."

"This could be really great for the band though!"

"It's going to be great for the business."

"I'll be back soon."

"We'll be back soon."

"Love you!"

"Goodnight Steven."

He's back by Wednesday night. He looks so excited, Steve wants to be too.

"Are you going next weekend?"

"Of course not, that's your birthday baby, can't miss that."

"Course not." See it's fine Eddie isn't them, he's different, he loves Steve.

"I've just gotta go for a meeting in the morning sweetheart I'll be back by the end of your shift you won't even notice, then we'll have cake and I'll make you dinner which will be burnt but burnt with love Stevie!"

It's easy to get swept up in it, to take the kiss on the cheek and the wave goodbye and the promise of later.

There's a leftover slice of cake in the fridge when he gets the call.

"Hey, sweetheart I'm so sorry I missed your birthday, the fucking van carked it a mile outta Indy, I'll be there when you wake up ok? I love you."

"Love you too Eds."

It's easy to accept the excuses because they're easy, the van breaks all the time, Eddie's band is getting more shows, just one more weekend, just one more night.

There's boxes scattered around the trailer.

"Going on a trip?"

"Three months."

The Harringtons last three month trip was four years ago, Steve wonders if they even remember the house phone number.

"It's just three months."

Steve can feel the end is standing in front of him. He wants to freeze this moment, he wants to hug Eddie and he wants to tell him he'll see him Sunday night and he wants to get excited hearing about Jeff tripping in a wire and he wants Eddie to stay and he wants Eddie to go and he wants this moment to just freeze and never end.

He wants his parents to choose to stay in Hawkins and not miss his birthday or graduation or hospital trips and he wants his mom to have kissed his cheek goodbye or his dad to at least wave, he wants one more phone call of we'll be home soon.

"I won't go if you don't want me to and if you want me to go I've gotta have you there, Stevie."

Steve feels his heartbeat stop.

"What?"

"I don't want to miss your birthday ever again, sweetheart, I don't want to come home and you're already asleep, I want you there or me here no more it's just one trip. I don't want to be your parents, Stevie."

Slowly, Steve's heart starts beating again, and the moment doesn't have to end.

#the whole time writing this i debated whether i would make it a happy or sad ending #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #steddie #st4 #angst #hurt/comfort #fuck the harringtons #steve centric #ficlet

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dclovesdanny · 2 months

Text

Dc x dp

Dead on main 5/5

Jason never wanted to see his family die again. He could still hear the replace- Tim’s screams. He could still feel Damian’s blood coating his hands as he desperately tried to put pressure on the wound, could see Dick’s wide yet unseeing eyes.

Everyone had died, except for him. He was alone.

Then he and Danny made a plan.

Danny had been his friend for a few years, and knew loss as intimately as he did. Jason had held his friend as he sobbed not too long ago over his clone/daughter Ellie. He knew that sometimes, you couldn’t come back.

Instead, he and Danny promised each other that if they could do it again, they’d be better. They would save their family. They wouldn’t let themselves loose everything again. They just wished they could do it again.

They were both so drunk that neither of them heard Desiree’s whispered “So you wish it, so it shall be.” Neither of them saw her exchange a glance with Clockwork.

Next Morning, Jason woke up to his phone ringing off the hook.

“What!”

“Jason, it’s Danny. You need to look in the mirror or at a calendar or something!”

Jason checked the date on his phone, and stared.

It was two months before he left the league. As he surveyed himself, everything was the same as the past except his jacket. It was the only thing that was the same. Wait, Danny!

“Danny, what happened with you? Why the hell is this happening?”

Danny looked around his old room. The only thing that wasn’t fitting with the past was his phone, which he had woken up with clutched in his hand. He could hear his parents downstairs. He looked like he did before. Then, he noticed a familiar green sticky note on his mirror.

Here is your chance to save them. Your consort can help you.

Only you two shall remember, but your abilities remain.

Danny clutched the note.

“ I think Clockwork just gave us a second chance.”

#dead on main #time travel #dcxdp #dc x dp #clockwork helped #only Jason and Danny remember #Jason is definitely going to steal Damian #Everyone else will be so confused #Danny just fought the lunch #everyone else died in the future #I’m blaming GIW #and League of Assassins aka Ra #misunderstanding #angst #chaos and angst #angst with a happy ending

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petricorah · 9 months

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“Is this what it felt like? After I got poisoned?” Zuko asks quietly.

“Depends. What are you feeling?”

“Worried. Helpless. Terrified. Relieved.”

Sokka nods. “Then yeah, pretty much.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on making a habit out of it,” Sokka winks.

(id in alt) a scene from @bisexuallsokka 's fic "i'll tell you the truth (but never goodbye)" which is AMAZING pls go read it

#for anyone who didn't read it: he's finnneeeeee dw dw #blood tw #blood cw #divorced zukka #yall i went crazy over this story. i dont have time to draw more from it but i hope to in the future #angst with a happy ending

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thisrobinisred · 2 months

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Spoilers ahead The kisaragi station AU’s ending really just felt like a reminder about Mitsuba and Kou’s inevitable ending. The fact that, no matter what they do, no matter what universe it is, they can never truly be together.

And we have seen this time and time again.

Starting from Mitsuba’s death.

Then they reunite, but Tsukasa intervenes.

And this affects Kou greatly, to the point where he feels like he can no longer fail when protecting people or making promises. Eventually they meet again,

But he’s no longer the Mitsuba Sousuke. Sure he looks and acts like him (and is made from a part of him), but he doesn’t have his memories or experiences. Kou is clearly shown to be practically heartbroken by this. Perhaps it’s because of this, that Mitsuba wants to know who he is properly, and to know his original past. Which eventually leads to the picture perfect arc. Where Mitsuba knows a bit about himself now, aswell as Kou. Through Mitsubas actions you can tell that he really does want to be friends with Kou. Yet they’re both aware that this is all fake. Mitsuba knows that who Kou really wants is the original one. However..

Kou was perfectly willing, happy even, to kill himself to be with Mitsuba - so that Mitsuba wasn’t alone anymore. But, Mitsuba doesn’t want this for Kou so in the end he intervenes. When they return to the real world, he still keeps an eye on Kou. To the point where during the summer sleepover he even goes to Kou to try and help him with his problems after overhearing the conversation between Yokoo and Satou.

But merely hours later, the severance occurs. Separating them once more. During this, Yashiro and Kou meet Mitsubas mother. It’s during this that Kou seems to finally process the fact that he is dead, and has been for a while now.

Seemingly out of nowhere, once supernaturals are able to return to their world, Mitsuba goes to Kou. Which is nice, but Mitsuba ends up asking Kou to exorcise him. Obviously, Kou refuses to, why would he even ask him that in the first place? Then everything with the clock keepers happen, causing them to make a new present.

But it’s different. Basically everyone who is dead, is alive. And for one of the first times, both mitsuba and Kou are alive, happy and close, without it being fake. In a timeline where everything is practically messed up for everyone else (especially their relationships and friendships) it isn’t for these two. Which is another reminder of why they will never be able to stay together. Everything that makes the original timeline the original, is what keeps them apart. So, just like mitsuba said in the kisaragi station AU,

‘I can’t follow you anymore.’ He is incapable of being able to join Kou.

They can never walk the same path forever, as one way or another, they’ll never get their happy ending together. Perhaps that’s why in this event Mitsuba wasn’t wearing either of his scarfs, as it doesn’t really matter which one he is for it will always end like this for the originals.

Sorry I’m not really good at wording things and I’ve never doing anything like this before-

#mitsukou #mitsuba x kou #mitsuba sousuke #kou minamoto #tbhk #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #i love my doomed yaoi #I love all the angst for these two #But at the same time part of me wants them to have a happy ending 😭#robin rambles

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inoreuct · 3 months

Note

more sanji drinking angst plis,,, 🙏🏼😁

y’know, it’s normal when zoro drinks. he has an iron liver and a sky-high tolerance. he get mildly tipsy with the amount of alcohol sufficient to kill a regular man.

when sanji drinks, though, it’s usually… not very good.

they’re in the galley, have been since dinner. zoro’s drowsy and full and slumped over the table with his chin in his hand as he watches sanji scrub at the dishes until they squeak, divested of his suit jacket and shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow, and the cook looks haggard. they’ve all been expecting it, really, what with Whole Cake being a fucking doozy— but sanji’s been holding it together perfectly. big smiles and neatly-pressed suits and coiffed hair and all.

zoro knows him well enough to know that he’s due to break at some point. still, tonight is the first time he’s seen sanji like this; like he’d just decided to say fuck it all and throw pretence to the wind. maybe it had been thanks to the emptiness of the galley, save the both of them. maybe sanji had considered it safe because zoro was in no place to judge.

but when sanji had picked up that bottle of rum, he hadn’t put it down until there was nothing left.

zoro had let him drink. the cook hadn’t even been smoking any more than usual— hadn’t had a single hair out of place, no sign of the pressure except the strain at the edges of his smile. everybody had been walking on eggshells for the past few days and sanji had just kept going like nothing was wrong, which zoro knows means quite a lot is wrong, because sanji’s a self-sacrificial bastard who wouldn’t be able to ask for help if his life depended on it.

didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt, though. he’s felt like he couldn’t breathe, the whole of last week; it doesn’t feel right seeing the cook with a bottle between his lips instead of a cigarette, liquor wetting the corners of his mouth instead of smoke. it makes part of zoro tighten into a dead knot. on one hand, it’s an unspoken show of trust— deliberately left alone so as to not draw attention to it, but one all the same. sanji would never let himself go in front of anyone else like this. maybe a few months earlier he’d think the cook just didn’t care enough for his opinion and get all offended, but now?

sanji knows he’s here. he’s never unaware of his surroundings, and especially now after… everything. he’s believing that zoro won’t judge him, and he won’t. he doesn’t. but enough is enough, and sanji’s grip on the edge of the plate is tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

it’s almost a relief in a really twisted way. zoro’s been hovering by the sidelines, sleeping with one eye open and waiting for sanji to crack just so he can catch all the pieces before the cook falls apart completely, and it seems like this is it.

his chair scrapes against the floor as he stands. “alright, let’s get you to bed.”

“no.” sanji doesn’t stop scrubbing. he doesn’t even bother looking up. “why?”

zoro scoffs. “because you’re fucking drunk, cook. you’ve been washing that plate for five minutes.”

“well maybe it’s just not fucking clean, yeah?” sanji spits, quiet vitriol leadening his words even with his head bowed, and his breathing is jerky as zoro walks forward.

“oi.” it doesn’t come out harshly, exactly, but he needs sanji to know that he isn’t fucking around with this. “What the hell’s going on?”

“i don’t know.”

“what do you mean you don’t—”

“i don’t know!”

zoro lurches back at the outburst as the cook whips around, seething within the span of a second, plate dropped carelessly into the water in the sink. he hears it thunk when it hits the bottom.

“i don’t know, alright?” sanji laughs, eyes wild. “nothing’s wrong. everything’s wrong. everything is fucking perfect and i feel like i’m fucking dying inside.” his voice cracks right before he takes a visible breath and turns sharply, dipping his hand under the water to grab the plate and sponge again.

zoro watches his shoulders tremble. every movement of his now is precise and carefully calculated; he’s moving like a fucking robot and zoro hates it. hates the way his spine looks rigid enough to snap with a touch. hates the way his face is a placid mask, still water with a storm roiling beneath. zoro doesn’t know how to approach this other than with barbed words and concern thinly veiled as confrontation. he doesn’t know what to do other than be here because it’s better than not being here at all.

sanji’s hands have been scrubbed pink and raw. “get out, mosshead.”

“no.”

the cook’s cuticles are peeling, his fingertips pruned. he never lets either of them get this bad. “i said get out—”

“and I said no.” zoro crosses his arms. he counts three seconds of silence before sanji snaps.

“god, for once could you fucking listen?!” the cook snarls, rounding on zoro like a cornered animal and waving his arms. “i don’t want to talk to you right now! i do not want you here! so please, fuck off and— put me down, you piece of shit!” sanji borderline screams, struggling and wiggling over zoro’s shoulder as he’s hauled up and marched out of the galley.

zoro winces as the toe of a steel-capped oxford jams into his ribs, digging in deeper as sanji grunts with the effort. he doesn’t know where he’s going but they end up outside the infirmary, and he shoulders the door open before depositing sanji on the bed without preamble. “stay,” he grunts, ignoring the noises of outrage and turning to go get water.

“you can’t tell me what to do,” sanji spits from behind him, cheeks red from more than just anger as he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. he either doesn’t realise that he’s listing to the side or he doesn’t care.

“sit down or I’ll make you.”

the cook barks a laugh that snaps in the air like a neck in rope. “try! i fucking dare you, marimo, you—”

zoro tackles him down and he screeches like a trapped cat, trying to escape even as the swordsman pins his legs and shoves his shoulders down into the bunk. “you are drunk. stop it.”

“why?” sanji shouts in his face. the cook is straining against him, all wild eyes and bared teeth, shoulders jerking with a sardonic laugh. “don’t wanna fight anymore?”

“no. i don’t.” the air is suddenly too quiet, too heavy, with something zoro doesn’t know if he should name. he watches as the cook’s face falls and twists into something sullen as he tries one last time to jerk his way out of zoro’s hold. “not like this.”

their ship rocks gently as zoro slowly eases off, shifting his weight back and sitting on the edge of the mattress with a soundless, weary sigh. there’s still a stubborn set to sanji’s chin even as he lays there on his back, unmoving from where zoro put him— leave it to him to be contrary for the sake of being contrary. the swordsman takes a deep breath to suppress an eye roll and opens his mouth to say something—

“it hurts.”

zoro stills, turning so he can see sanji better. “what hurts, cook?”

“everything.”

the blond is staring at the ceiling, unblinking and unreadable. the fabric of his slacks is riding up and zoro swallows down the urge to curl a hand around his pale ankle for comfort. he tells himself he doesn’t know where the urge to soothe came from, but he knows, he knows— this melancholy is something that sanji buries so deep, none of them catch even a glimpse of it on a normal day. his face is a blank slate, his usual fire banked, and he looks so drained. an cracked shell of himself running on empty. “i don’t want to feel it. i don’t want to feel anything,” he continues, softly enough that zoro has to strain to hear, leaning in instinctively.

glossy blue eyes flick over. golden hair scrunches against the off-white sheets as sanji turns his face towards him and whispers, “doesn’t that make me exactly like them?”

no. zoro swallows, at the same time both too wet and too dry, feeling a little like he’s been gutted with a dull knife. he says a mental to hell with it and slowly shifts his hand to wrap his fingers around sanji’s ankle, just a gentle grip, his thumb resting beneath the notch of bone. he can hear the soft sounds of the waves outside as it melds with sanji’s breathing, as he opens his mouth and comes up dry for things to say. “…get some sleep, curls.”

“can’t.” sanji purses his lips, shrugging a shoulder as he looks away like it’s no big deal. “can’t sleep. not well, at least. not since…”

zoro feels his own heart thud against his ribs as his gaze slips over sanji’s face, the redness rimming his eyes and the dark circles beneath. “i’m sleeping with you tonight,” he decides.

the cook makes an aborted noise of indignation before apparently deciding that it isn’t worth the effort. “we can’t fit two people in a bed.”

zoro shrugs, unaffected in the face of the venomous look sanji shoots him. “we can try.”

sanji mutters something to the ceiling under his breath. the swordsman pretends not to hear it.

they end up crammed onto the infirmary bed, sanji squashed against the wall and zoro almost falling off. the blond wiggles around in discomfort for five minutes before sitting bolt upright with a hissed curse and undoing his dress shirt in a frenzy; zoro stifles a laugh as he balls it up and hurls it at the desk across the room before flopping back down with a loud huff.

the cook scrunches himself up, spine pressed against the wall and one knee pulled up between them to maintain the distance, pointed at zoro’s gut as a subtle threat. “i’m not gonna bite you, y’know,” zoro grumbles. here he is doing this out of goodwill and this is how he’s treated.

“i wouldn’t put it past you,” sanji snips in reply. “also, you stink.”

“no i don’t. i just showered.”

“irrelevant.”

“priss.”

“moron.”

“spoiled.”

“i have standards, you sentient piece of kelp.”

“you—” zoro grits out, before he stalls. somehow, throughout this whole exchange, they’d inched closer and closer together and now sanji’s shoulder is digging into his breastbone, his breath warm across zoro’s cheek even as a brush of his skin above the loose, low front of zoro’s shirt feels completely opposite. “why’re you so fuckin’ cold?” he mutters, briskly rubbing at sanji’s upper arms before the cook bats him away with a startled hiss.

“don’t—” he cuts off and huffs a harsh breath, sneering in the dark as he digs for the right word, “—coddle me.”

“why not?” zoro shoots back. the words are out of his mouth faster than he can process, but it’s too late to take them back. “give me one good reason and i’ll stop. just one.”

the quiet that falls into place after that is broken by the sound of sanji’s swallow and nothing else. it’s nearly pitch-black; they’d put out the lamp on the wall and the infirmary has no windows. if zoro strains his eye he can see sanji’s outline curled close to his own front, golden hair darkened to honey and arms wrapped around himself.

he recalls how it had felt to have fine bones beneath his hand. how the cook hadn’t kicked him off.

the hand he rests on sanji side is tentative. barely-there pressure, a ghost of a touch with enough space for sanji to back away. he settles his palm down more firmly after a few seconds, tracking his thumb up and down the bumps of sanji’s ribs, and he barely stops his breath from catching when the cook wiggles away from the wall and presses his spine into zoro’s hand.

sanji’s looking at him. he can see the occasional flutter of long lashes, feel the weight of the cook’s attention like sanji’s preparing to say something, but it never comes. a soft breath slips from his lips before zoro feels a hand curl around his waist, fingers curling into his shirt.

“sanji.”

the cook heaves a long-suffering sigh. it doesn’t hide how he’s affected by zoro using his real name; zoro can read him too well for that. knows him too well for that. “what.”

zoro readjusts, fingertips pressing into the small of sanji’s back to pull him closer, and wonder of wonders, the cook lets him. “you’re nothing like them.”

he pretends he doesn’t feel sanji’s arm tighten around him after a few seconds. he notices that his shirt’s damp right before he falls asleep, right where sanji has his face buried in his shoulder.

he doesn’t mention any of it.

the next morning is… interesting.

zoro had woken to an empty bed, with the sheets just barely warm and hazy recollections of a lithe body tucked to his side, a leg thrown over his and soft hair under his chin. he stretches and ambles down to the galley, scratching at his stomach beneath his shirt as he yawns, and right on cue— sanji’s disdainful little tongue click reaches his ears, and he smiles. everything’s back to normal, then.

there’s more of the usual; luffy getting yelled at to leave the eggs alone, i don’t care if you’re hungry, they are raw, and nami and robin being handed their special little tiny cups of coffee and tea respectively. the rest of the crew filters in, and zoro people-watches from his spot on the ratty corner couch before he eventually gets up and slides into his seat at the table.

but when sanji takes his spot beside him, it feels different. the cook’s made onigiri for breakfast, the plate set down just a little closer to zoro’s side than usual before he sits, and zoro pauses with his chopsticks in the air as an ankle bumps into his.

not roughly, or painfully, nowhere near, no. just a reminder. a small nudge that could say any possible number of things, but from the way sanji’s gaze meets his before darting away, he’d guess it’s the thank you that their cook always has so much trouble saying. it’s never a lack of gratitude— more of a refusal to acknowledge that he needed help in the first place, that he accepted it, but zoro will take what he can get.

the circles under sanji’s eyes aren’t quite so dark anymore.

zoro knocks back. he feels the rasp of his boot laces against the heel of sanji’s patent leather oxford, and neither of them pull away. the swordsman presses his lips together and takes a big bite to hide his smile, failing momentarily when sanji immediately starts berating his abysmal table manners, marimo, honestly, if you choke i will leave you to die, and yeah, sure. back to normal.

he catches sanji’s eye again, sky-cornflower-ocean blue, and he wonders what sanji could be seeing in his to make his face soften like that.

normal, and maybe a little something new.

(he isn’t quite sure what to do the following night. sanji’s already in his own bunk when he slips in for a quick few hours of shut-eye, but it isn’t long before he feels someone climbing in with him, and he just knows instinctively without even needing to open his eye. they’ve got limbs hanging out here and there but they fit reasonably well and zoro wakes with sanji’s sleep shirt tucked in his fist and his thin blanket pulled up around his shoulders.

it goes on like this night after night to the point where their crew knows, he thinks. even if zoro discounts the fact that most of them share a bunkroom, they’ve still got to know something’s up; sanji glows like sunlight reflecting off the ocean now, real smiles and laughs that have him tossing his head back and holding his stomach, eyes in sapphire half-moons. robin brings it up offhandedly one day and zoro hums that proper sleep’s doing their cook good— she gives him that look that she does, and he turns away with a smile that he hides in his arm.

the first time sanji finds him in the crow’s nest, he’s still asleep when zoro’s watch ends. the cook’s stretched out on the bench above as zoro sits on the floor, hand draped down against zoro’s collarbone, his face so peaceful that zoro can’t— fuck, he can’t wake him.

and it can’t be comfortable lying on his own arm like that; zoro sits down and carefully pushes him up until sanji’s leaning on his shoulder, that sharp nose tucked under his jaw, and drifts asleep.)

(he stirs awake before sanji’s gone. his eye flutters open to find the cook mid-yawn, working out a crick in his neck and bathed in early-morning light, warm and golden. the cook realises he’s watching and freezes, shoulders going tense and stiff—

he deflates a little when zoro blinks at him, sleep-warm and bleary. “gotta make breakfast, marimo,” he murmurs, reaching out after a moment’s hesitation.

the hand that cups zoro’s cheek is gently callused and somehow familiar. he turns into it like a flower to the sun and breathes in something that he never even realised he’d gotten used to, olive oil and shoe polish and orange blossom pomade. “i know,” he replies, pressing the words into sanji’s palm, and a thumb drags across his cheekbone.

“need anything before i go?” sanji asks, and they both know it’s half a joke. what could he possibly give zoro in here? a dumbbell sandwich?

that other half, though— it’s far too serious. a cold plunge of water through zoro’s muddled early-morning brain. he knows what he wants, but zoro also knows that patience is a virtue for a reason.

the cook already has a hard enough time letting people in. zoro doesn’t want to push. the hand against his cheek is enough for him, even if it is all sanji could ever want, and so he slips the blond a wry grin. “onigiri?”

“you— ugh, fine.” sanji huffs. “anything else?”

zoro frowns, growing increasingly convinced that this is some sort of trap. these are unprecedented levels of generosity. “…protein shake?”

it takes all of two seconds before sanji puts his face into his hands, taking a deep breath before zoro hears something about having to do everything myself, don’t i? the cook plants his hands on his hips, tapping his foot with one brow arched. “of all the people in the world,” he mutters through his teeth, advancing on zoro with enough of a menacing air that the swordsman leans back into the backrest, “of course it had to be you.”

“me what?” zoro says warily, eyeing sanji up and down, and opens his mouth to continue before a fist grips his collar and there’s a brush of contact at his temple— a kiss, he realises, before all the thoughts drain out of his fucking brain.)

(he’s still reeling when he stumbles his way to breakfast. still wide-eyed as he washes the plates, for once, without complaint. it’s when it’s just the two of them, when zoro twists around to ask a question that he hasn’t yet phrased, that arms lock around his waist and sanji’s forehead presses to his nape.

they’re quiet for a long, long while. “you remind me that i’m not like them, y’know,” sanji breathes, barely loud enough to be heard.

zoro turns in his hold, hands dripping all over the floor, fuck, the cook’ll make him clean that up later, he knows and he isn’t even mad about it. “what do you mean, curls?”

sanji leans into him, all sharp edges and bony joints softened by lean muscle and zoro’s fondness, fingers long and thin and laced together over zoro’s hip. “i’m pretty damn sure they’ve never felt like this.”)

(not much changes after that. franky does make them a bigger bunk to share, though, and they fight perhaps even more fiercely now; afternoons are spent toying with each other across the deck, pushing their limits, pushing each other higher until nami yells at them to stop making a racket. zoro doesn’t pretend that he can’t tell when sanji needs a little more contact, keeping him close when perfectly filed nails dig into his shirt. sanji takes care of them all like he always does, and he lets zoro take care of him— most of the time, at least. it’s still a toss-up on whether he’ll explode or break down whenever anyone tries to help him, but with zoro it’s either both in succession or neither.

sometimes he picks a fight and then cries afterwards. others, he concedes to being wrapped in a ratty old blanket and tucked into zoro’s chest where he can hide from the world.

he sleeps through every night now, though. he’s fiery and sharp-tongued and bright-eyed and when he’s had a bit too much to drink he just gets loud, fooling around with their captain and cackling with nami in a corner of the galley between conspiratorial whispers, but zoro can’t deny him anything even though he’s fairly sure they’re plotting his downfall.

he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

#THANK YOU FOR THE ASK ANONNNN #will never get tired of angsting this babygirl. i’m sorry he just has so many Issues #BUT I ALWAYS GIVE THEM HAPPY ENDINGS ALRIGHT SO IT BALANCES OUTTTT #it’s almost 4am this time this is actually horrid #GOODNIGHT ZOSAN NATIONNN #zosan #one piece #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #one piece sanji #one piece zosan #one piece zoro #sanji #zoro #ino writes #ino’s ask box

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houseofoddballs · 5 months

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Loved and Lost

Based HEAVILY on @charliemwrites 1fur1 AU!! Recently fell in love with a dog that I can't have after reading through their "Woof Woof Johnny" things, and it absolutely tore me up inside because the sweet boy looked a lot like I imagined her Ghost boy to look. So you are given this. I poured a lot of that pain into this fic, and i hope you like it. (2,644 words)

They say that the more the loss hurts, the more you loved. Maybe that’s why you’ve cried yourself to sleep the past week, his favorite blanket clutched to your chest. “Grow up (Y/n), it’s just a dog.” Your sister had chided when she caught wind of the incident, your mother must have told her. She was never really an animal person.

A whiff of pin and gunpowder fills your nose, tantalizing you with the essence of that sweet dog who would sit patiently near you no matter where you were in the house. The fluff of the black blanket was soft, but nowhere near the dense fur of your cream colored good boy. If you closed your eyes, you could still see his face, his sweet sweet face. It didn’t matter what you were doing, those brilliant amber eyes were always trained on you, peeking up from the black skull-like patch of fur on his face. But he wasn’t yours anymore. Your Ghost had been wrenched away from you by the cruel jaws of fate, taken away from you in a horrible accident. It wasn’t abnormal for Ghost to disappear into the woods for a day or two at a time, but this time in particular was different.

You didn’t think anything of the way that Ghost sat in front of the door, blocking your exit stoically. A small huff of laughter pulled past your lips as you dropped to your knees and cupped your pooches face in your hands and went to place a gentle kiss on his fluffy forehead. Ghost wasn’t too keen on touch, preferring to initiate by laying on you or something, but in those rare moments where he did want affection he would express it by doing something like blocking your path like this. So imagine your surprise when he huffed and snapped his head to the side, pulling out of your hands like a pouting child. “Fine, have it your way big guy, but I still need to get to work.”

But he didn’t want that. He growled as you stood, His fur fluffing up as he also raised from his haunches to block your exit. He was adamant that you weren’t leaving. As much as you wanted to stay home with your pup, you were already going to be cutting it close to clocking in late. So, you tricked him. You walked into your room, closed him out, and climbed out your window. You were on the first floor, so it’s not like the drop was going to kill you. But you should have known better. As soon as your feet hit the ground, Ghost was there, growling with an unsaid threat.

He tried so desperately to get you to stay, you honestly felt so bad with the way that he chased your car well down the driveway and past. Your heart absolutely broke as you finally watched him give up through your rearview mirror, his chest heaving and his brown eyes looking so desperate as his figure grew smaller and smaller until he turned around and walked into the forest, his head hung low.

That was the last normal moment you spent with him. Brushing him to the side and heading to work. You wished you had just called out, or better yet, quit entirely. When you made your way home, it was with apology treats and even some new toys for enrichment (Even though Ghost had always preferred sticks to proper toys.) Pulling into your driveway, you hurriedly made your way inside, calling for your pup with a grin on your face. “Ghost! Ghost! I’m home!... baby boy?” You expected him to be laying on the couch or your bed pouting like he always did when he didn’t get what he wanted. But he was mysteriously absent. You shrugged it off, figuring that he was still in the forest doing whatever it was he did. You didn’t think anything when he was gone the next day either, chalking it up to you making him really mad. Ghost always knew how to hold a grudge, after all. It was the fourth and fifth days that began to drive you mad with worry. You had begun combing through the forrest until your legs were heavy and your throat was sore calling for Ghost, dreading the thought that maybe he was laying somewhere, hurt and alone. You didn’t dare entertain the thought that he might be dead. Finally, midway through the fifth day, a heavy knock came at your door. You must have looked a mess, heavy baggs under your eyes, sloppy unbrushed hair, still in your hiking clothes from yesterday. You opened the door to a strapping older gentleman with a kind face and an impressive set of chops. “Hello, mam. Is this the house of Miss (Y/n) (L/n)?”

His voice was kind, a british accent intertwining with his words like clouds in the sky. Any other day, you would probably be incredibly flustered by this attractive and muscular man ending up on your doorstep, but not today, not with Ghost gone. It just felt incomplete without him trying to push his furry head through the doorway to growl at the strange man. You had to swallow hard, biting back tears at the thought as you nodded your head. “Yes, that’s um- That’s me.” Your throat was too tight, voice too high, laced with too much stress and exhaustion.

A flash of remorse and regret passed over the mans face for a moment, and you definitely feared the worst. He cleared his throat and placed his hand in his pocket, pulling out a familiar leather strap with a silver buckle and silver tags. Your breath caught in your throat as a shaky hand reached out to gently brush against the collar. A whiff of pine and gunpowder caught in your throat, making you retract your hand to your chest so quickly as if you were burnt.

Tears flooded your eyes and down your cheeks as you let out a choked sob. “No, no, NO!” This couldn’t be happening, not Ghost. Not your sweet boy Who you couldn’t convince to get into bed with you at night, but you would wake up to him licking your face in the middle of the night as he laid on your chest. Not the big brute who would pull your dirty laundry into his bed while you were gone just because he missed you. Not your precious puppy who huffed and grumbled whenever you got the urge to have photoshoots because he was just such a gorgeous dog. Not your Ghost.

The man knelt down next to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder as he held the collar out to you once more, his voice deceivingly soft as it caressed your ears. “I’m sorry lass, he’s gone…”

Ghost sat in the back of a military vehicle, skull balaclava fit neatly over his face and covering the deep frown that pulled at his lips. Hybrids were never meant to find mates, it’s why they were supposed to be doped up with suppressants and kept away from normal society. They were the military’s bioweapons, nothing else. They weren’t people, they weren’t given the graces of normal lives, they didn’t get to enjoy life unless it was in the ridiculous way that Johnny seemed to milk joy from every part of their job to keep his spirits up. Simon almost forgot.

It was so easy to forget what kind of monster he was when your hands were so gentle, smoothing down and running through his fur so tenderly, cooing softly at him as you stared down at him with those big doe eyes of yours, humming softly as you filled his dish, surrounded by your comfort and scent, the comfort and scent of his mate.

His grip on his gun was especially tight, his teeth gritting as he imagined the devastation you were going to feel. He had fought tooth and nail against the entire squad to keep the collar, going as far as to challenge Price. But not even Ghost could hold his own in a fight against his squad and his alpha.

“Can ya’ believe the’re shippin us all the way to the bloody states? Downright mad lads.” Ghost shot a nasty glare at Johnny, making the poor boy practically wilt in place. Normally Ghost would be thankful for the distraction that Johnny provided, but not when he was being distracted from you. He could still remember the scent of your shampoo, the sound of your voice, the feel of your soft hands on his face as he ripped his head out of your grip. What he wouldn’t give for one last kiss right now. He had to bite back the tears that threatened to prick his eyes, a feeling so foreign that he couldn’t even remember the last time he cried.

He knew it was coming. It was all so perfect. He could leave during the day to meet up with the squad, go out on whatever stupid mission was required of them, whether it required the wolf or the man, and at the end of the day he would come back to you. He would come back to your soft giggles and your warm cuddles. He wasn’t the best at showing it, or the most affectionate, but god did he love you.

Turns out, they aren’t lying when they say one missed day is enough to knock medication out of your system. One day without his suppressants, and he had been drawn away from his pack formation by the most peculiar scent. Simon didn’t remember what he smelt like that day, but he remembered how it made him feel. Seeing you in the middle of the woods, humming so softly and sweetly to yourself through your earbuds, was like meeting god. His chest was suddenly tight, his knees almost too weak to hold him up, his heart thrumming in his chest, his fur bristling, a shiver running down his spine. He had to resist the urge to take off after you. But you were too sweet for him, too gentle, he would ruin you. So he turned away. Simon is nothing if not a man of patience and restraint, but walking away from you was the hardest thing in his life.

He had told himself that it was just not having the suppressants in his system that was driving him mad, that you were just a pretty girl and his instincts were reacting to the first female they found. But when he returned to base and felt no such thrumming in his heart or tightening in his drawers for any of the few females on base, he knew that it was more than instinct. Ghost stopped taking his suppressants after that. He would flush them down the toilet, throw them away, put them in his pillowcase, whatever it took to keep Price from finding out. Every day the pack would pass your house on their training regimen, just close enough that your scent could flood his nostrils and fill him with that shaky feeling of pure bliss.

One day though, you found him. Simon could never forget the look of pure awe and adoration as you caught sight of him through the trees, slowly getting down on your knees and holding your hand out as you cooed. “Such a pretty puppy, oh my goodness. Who do you belong to?” And that was the final nail in Simon’s coffin. Sweet thing you were, smart too. You didn’t even make eye contact upon first meeting, a surefire way to challenge any other wolf. Not Simon though, he knew that you would never challenge him like that.

When he returned to base that night, it was with a dopy grin under his skull balaclava, his hand absentmindedly over his heart. He had been careful to roll around in the dirt, scrubbing himself of any of your delicate scent. He made up some excuse to Price about disciplinary training, living in the wilds and whatnot. Whatever he had to say to stay with you.

God, it had been great. Getting to come home every night to you. Getting to relax on the couch with you, simply bask in your presence. You were like a goddess, his savior in this damned world. You would delight in playing with his paws that were almost as big as your tiny hands, completely unaware of how many lives they had crushed. You would let him lick at your face without the slightest idea of how many throats those jaws had ripped out mercilessly. You would change in front of him so peacefully, without the slightest idea that it was a man hungerly watching you. But Simon would never make a move. Even if you knew what he was. He didn’t deserve you, he couldn’t taint you with his filth. He was content to simply be with you, to exist with you, to bask in your presence as if it were the sun.

All it takes is one mistake.

“You wear perfume now Lt? Smells fuckin amazing, i’d rail ya smellin’ like that.” Soap’s teasing comment was easily brushed aside as one of his usual flirtatious remarks with no base, but the damage had already been done. Ghost had gotten complacent, used to having his cake and eating it too. So the one day that he didn’t fully cover your scent, of course a pack of male hybrids would notice. Simon made eye contact with Price from across the room, watching as he lifted his head and sniffed the air.

“Lieutenant. My office, now.” “Yes, sir.”

A deep sigh pulled from Price’s chest as he drug a hand down his face from his perch atop his chair behind his desk. Simon didn’t know what to expect, but he already had a million excuses ready on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for the signal to burst free. What he didn’t expect was for Price to reach into his drawer and pull out a plastic baggie of the little white pills that Simon had been decidedly not taking.

“Mind explainin’ why you’re clean fella?” A grunt. That was all Simon could muster. There was no reasonable excuse for that, and he knew it. Price’s eyes darkened with recognition as he gave a single curt nod. “That’s what I thought. You get one more night, Ghost.”

Simon’s eyes practically bulged out as he looked at Price, an obvious question in his gaze. Why? Price, ever vigilant, only sighed in response- the air leaving his lungs as if it were heavy and laden with history that Ghost could only imagine. “Say goodbye, son. You’re not gonna get another opportunity.”

This isn’t what Simon thought Price had meant. Moving the Task Force all the way to the bloody states. When you left for work that day, you took Simon’s heart with you. You surely didn’t even notice your favorite picture with your pup absent from it’s frame. A bitter chuckle left Ghost’s lips at the thought of how little you really saw about your environment. Even when Simon had been living with you as well as Ghost, you never noticed.

So as you laid in bed, sobbing your heart out and clutching his blanket close with one hand, the other hand so tight around the black leather strap what your knuckles were white; Simon was all too far away, pressing his chapped lips softly against the picture of you from a tiny cold cot in a base somewhere in america, trying not to do the same. He could picture your small frame, trembling as sob wracked through you and tore you up inside.

Why does loving something have to hurt so bad?

#simon ghost riley #cod #ghost mw2 #one shot #angst #no happy ending #Hurt #my writing #@Charliemwrites #1fur1 #my heart is breaking #but i'll live #it will just take some time #and some healing #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 7 months

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The Babysitter (18)

I Love You

MILF Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: In need of money and a way to escape the problems at home, you get a job babysitting two lovely boys named Billy and Tommy Maximoff. What happens when you start to feel things you shouldn't for their mother? Will it bloom into love or leave you heartbroken?

A/N- I would just like to say that there will be some sensitive issues in this story such as alcoholism, homophobia, anxiety as well as more mature content such as smut so, if you continue to read this, please consider this warning.

The Babysitter Master list | General Master List

Chapter 18- W/c 3.7k- This chapter contains 18+ Content

Tag list- @natsluttt @cerberus-spectre @dorabledewdroop @bibliophilicbi @hopelesslyfallenninlove @simpform1lfs @get-the-fuck-outta-here @natashaswife4125 @marvelwomen-simp (Comment if you want to be added)

I Love You

Your heart shatters as you walk in the heavy downpour, the rain mixing with the tears streaming down your face as block out everything around you. The sound of rain thrashing against the concrete, the engines of cars, and the laughter of people in surrounding buildings all fade into the background, the noises fuzzy while your mind reels.

Completely losing yourself to the torment of your own thoughts, you miss how your name is desperately called out and how Wanda's steps quickly approach when she runs after you, only noticing when her arm reaches out to stop you.

"Y/n," she whispers, voice raw with emotion and eyes brimming with tears. You still due to her hold on you and turn slowly to look at her, taking in her features through watery eyes while letting her hands move to cup your face. "Detka," she murmurs, her own heart shattering at the sight of you so destroyed at what happened.

You don't say anything, another tear spilling from your eyes as you look into her pained ones.

"It's not what you think," she says, pushing back some of the wet hair that's fallen in front of her face.

"He kissed you," you mutter, the whole interaction replays in your mind while you try to focus on what else happened besides the kiss as it was distorting the way you remembered the interaction. All you could remember though was his hands cupping her cheeks, his lips pressed against hers, causing your heart to break a little more and insecurities to build inside you.

"Exactly, he kissed me," she emphasises, your mind now remembering how her arms moved to his chest to push him off, not returning the kiss at all, "I didn't want to kiss him."

You remain quiet, letting the rain continue its onslaught on you both while you stand on the pavement. You think about Melina's words, trying your absolute best to consider Wanda's side of it, trying to look at it from her perspective and not be rash but all that happens is you remember her hesitance.

"You hesitated." Her brows furrow at your words, the confusion and insecurity that's surfaced in your eyes replacing the hurt. "Why did you hesitate?" When she struggles to respond, you let out a sigh, lowering your head and avoiding her gaze. "You considered it, didn't you?" the tone of your voice almost pleads her to prove you wrong, prove that she didn't consider getting back with him.

"No," she says, her voice laced with honesty and desperation to show you that she didn't. "I hesitated because... all I could think about was the man I fell in love with all those years ago." Slowly, you raised your gaze to meet her own, astonished by the amount of emotion swirling in her eyes. "All I could think about was how much he changed, how much I hated him now."

Her hands are still cupping your cheeks, her thumbs wiping the rain and tears off your cheeks as you both stay locked in the moment. You simply both gaze into each other's eyes, losing yourself in her eyes like you always do before breaking the intimate stare.

"He still loves you," You say more out loud to yourself then her, his words causing doubt to stir inside you. He could provide for her better. He's the more stable option. He's the twins' father-

"I don't love him," she murmurs, stepping closer to you and letting her fingers softly brush your soaking hair out of your face. "I don't want him," she whispers, her eyes staring into your own with nothing but love and tenderness. "I want you Y/n. I love you."

Your heart splits into two at her words, part of you revelling with joy because she loves you, but the other half breaks once more as insecurities and doubts gnaw painfully at you. Your mothers words ring around inside your head, Vision's subtle little smirk after kissing Wanda, the pain and grief of the last time you heard those words joining the vile words of your mother.

Noticing the conflict on your face, seeing that disheartened and insecure look in your eyes, Wanda brings you out of the spiral of thoughts, sensing the things your mother had said were making you feel like you were unworthy of her love.

How could someone ever love you?

It won't last, you know?

Do you really think anyone will love you after what you did?

"It's true," she murmurs softly, caressing your cheeks and offering a comforting smile, trying to get you to think like yourself. The thoughts fade away at her soft tone, that gentle tone that causes warmth to take over your chest and calm you down.

"I love you, Y/n. You're all I want. All I could ever want."

The negative and insecure thoughts continue to drift away, your mind now able to comprehend what she's actually saying: she loves you. The revelation makes a small smile break out on your face, her immediately noticing the shift in mood.

"There's my Detka," she murmurs, your hands going to hover at her waist as she leans forwards so she can press her forehead against yours.

"I'm sorry," you sigh out, an apologetic tone lacing your words. "I'm sorry I freaked out-"

"Shh," she gently whispers, hushing your apology, "You don't need to apologise Detka." Her head moves so that her lips can press a featherlight kiss to your forehead, lingering at the wet skin before pulling back and gazing into your eyes.

"I..." You trail off, wanting to say the three words back to her but your throat closing up, the anxiety around the words stopping you. As always, she notices and understands you're not ready, pressing another soft kiss on your cheek before moving to ghost her lips over yours.

"You don't have to say it if you're not ready," she murmurs and her just being so, so perfect, makes you want to say it even though you can't.

"You're everything I want and more," you whisper with a raw tone, trying to convey the love you feel for her in your gaze and words. "You own my heart, Wanda, and because of you, I don't have to make an effort to be happy again. You're my everything."

Wasting no time, her lips crash to yours and the whole world seems to stop. All you can feel is the way her lips meet your own, the way her hands are cupping your cheeks, her body pressing up against yours. It's her, it's all her and that's all you want.

***

Your back hits the door as her body pushes you up against it, the contrast between her warm home and the bitter wind and rain causing a pleasant feeling to flow through you as you heat up a little.

Your whole body soon feels like it's on fire though when her lips press to your own again, her tongue dominantly sliding into your mouth and taking control. Her hands move to your soaked hair, pushing the wet strands back as they fall between your faces while your mouths crash back together.

She steals your breath away, both literally and figuratively as her lips are relentless and that sultry look in her eyes short cuts your brain. The look of pure desire and want causes an unbearable heat to build between your thighs as her body presses further against you, leg slotting between your legs.

A small moan leaves you at the action, your head lolling back while you pant for breath. The older woman takes this as an opportunity to mark your neck once more, letting her teeth scrape down the sensitive skin, which causes a shiver to run down your spine, before littering it in hot, open-mouthed kisses.

"Please," you whimper as your hands helplessly hold onto her waist, the submissive tone of your voice not going unnoticed by her.

"Please what?" she teases with a low tone, pulling away from your neck to admire your dishevelled state. Her eyes scan over your own, watching the way they somehow darken even more before glancing down to your lips, admiring the way your tongue subconsciously wets them. "You have to use your words Detka."

Her lips ghost yours, waiting eagerly for your response but you're rendered speechless by her, too consumed by your arousal to voice what you want.

"Wanda, please," you whisper once more, the desperate look enough to make her take mercy on you. Her hands guide yours to her blouse, helping you unbutton it before shrugging the item off, leaving her in a white lace bra. "Fuck," the word spills from your lips in an enamoured tone, your mind unable to comprehend how someone can be this beautiful.

As your lingering look comes to an end, she pulls away, hooking a finger in the belt loop of your jeans to pull you with her until her back reaches the wall near the stairs. Her hands roam your body while yours do the same to hers, confidence building in you at every little sensual sigh and low moan.

"Fuck Detka," she groans when you suck on the juncture of her neck, her fingers tangled in your locks as you mark her neck. She tugs your head back and manoeuvres so she can walk up the stairs while keeping you close.

It's as if the world would end if you stopped touching each other, the contact necessary to live as the two of you refused to part on the way to her room. You lost track of how many times you pinned each other to a nearby wall, unable to control yourselves as you passionately pour all your emotions into every kiss.

Eventually, you make it to her room, her body swiftly straddling your lap as her hands drift down your body, pulling on the bottom of your shirt.

"Is this ok?" she murmurs, her tone soft and gentle contrasting the hungry and rough kisses.

"Yes," you sigh out, voice laced with neediness as you look up into her enticing eyes. "I need you, please," the way you look at her indicates what you want, the older woman's gaze softening when she sees how much you desire her touch.

"Tell me to stop and I will," she whispers against your lips, pushing you back so you're laid on the mattress with her soft body on top. You move your arms so she can easily pull your shirt over your head, her eyes drifting down your body while she bites her lower lip. "You're beautiful Dekta," she husks out against your lips, pressing her mouth to yours briefly before letting her kisses trail down your jaw and neck. You blush at her words and the way she takes in your body, breath hitching when her kisses travel lower to your collarbone.

Her hands glide up your body, feeling all the soft skin under her fingertips and enjoying the way your muscles twitch under her touch, moving them until they reach around your back to unclasp your bra. Her eyes ask the silent question causing you to nod, her fingers swiftly taking the item off.

"Oh fuck," you moan out, hands shooting out to grasp at her hair when her tongue licks down the valley between your breasts, pressing sensual kisses around your nipple before casting her gaze up, holding the eye contact, and taking your breast into her mouth. A lewd noise is ripped from the back of your throat at the way her tongue swirls around your sensitive skin, her hand moving to your neglected breast and giving it attention.

Your fingers thread properly into her locks, the soft hair heavenly to touch as her mouth works wonders on you, moving to the other breast and letting her fingers pinch and pull your now wet nipple to make you groan beneath her.

When she pulls back, a string of saliva is attached from her mouth to your chest making you curse at how hot she looks peering up at you with that dominant and seductive look. Her thumb moves to her lips to remove it, the action fuelling your arousal as she smirks at the way your breath hitches at her movements, deciding to torment you a little more. Her face returns to yours, lips pressing against yours for a bruising kiss before pulling back and moving to whisper in the shell of your ear,

"Remember what I said to you on our first night," her tone is sultry while her teeth nibble gently on your ear lobe, a small hum escaping you as that's all you can manage in response. "I said I was going to ruin you Detka, and I will," she chuckles at the way you moan at her words, her index finger moving to the base of your neck so she can drag it teasingly down your body. Her nail scrapes softly at your skin, travelling down your desperate body, between your breasts, over your stomach until it reaches the waistband of your jeans, slipping a finger under briefly before taking it out as she gauges your reaction.

"Please," you whimper, eyes pleading her to finally touch you. "Please, I need you so bad, Wanda please," you beg and her lips silence you, a moan being muffled by her mouth.

"Hush Detka," she coos a little condescendingly and you're embarrassed at how much that turns you on, "I've got you, I'll take care of you." Effortlessly, her hands unfasten your jeans and slide them down your legs, you helping completely rid the item and watching as her fingers glide over the expanse of your thighs.

The green in her eyes has completely disappeared, replaced by hunger and desire as she takes in your needy form panting in anticipation while her fingers inch closer and closer to your dripping core.

A moan spills from your lips as your head lolls back when her fingers finally meet your soaked panties, hips pathetically bucking at the small action. She smirks at your reaction, letting her fingers slowly circle your clit through the fabric, gradually building the pleasure inside you. As she persists with her deliberately slow pace, your hips move against her hand, grinding unabashedly as you crave to feel her doing more.

"So needy, so desperate," she mutters against your lips, claiming them while she removes the drenched fabric from your body, your heart beating wildly in your chest. "So wet," she purrs when her fingers slide through your folds, your arousal coating her digits. A sinful noise escapes you at the feeling of her circling your clit, pleasure taking over all your senses, hands moving to clutch desperately at the sheets by your side.

"Wanda," you sigh out when her fingers move lower, a moan leaving her lips at the way you say her name. You're about to say her name again but it's interrupted by a broken moan when she slides a finger inside you and slowly starts to thrust it inside you.

"That's it baby," she praises, knowing how much you liked it last time, "Such a good girl, taking my fingers so well." You moan once again when she adds another finger, pumping both long, slender digits inside you and curling them beautifully inside you. Her leisurely pace soon vanishes when she seems to struggle holding back, teasing herself as well as you at how slow she was fingering you.

"Fuck!" you scream, her mouth claiming yours to muffle the noises she rips from the back of your throat as her fingers speed up, fucking you at a merciless pace. Her thumb moves to circle your clit, adding to the overwhelming pleasure as your hips grind frantically against her hand.

Her free hand moves to interlock with yours, placing it near your head and squeezing it encouragingly as your orgasm approaches quickly, her mouth parting from yours to whisper soft words.

"I've got you Detka, you can let go," you whimper in response, your legs trembling at the amount of pleasure coursing through your body. "Come for me," at her command, you crash head first into your orgasm, a string of moans spilling from your lips while you ride out your powerful release. She presses soft kisses over your face as you come down from your high, tilting your head to catch her lips for a passionate kiss.

"That was..." you sigh out, too blissed out to describe to her the way she sent you all the way to heaven.

"Amazing? Fantastic? The best you've ever had?" she mutters playfully, a chuckle escaping you as she knows it's the first time and therefore the best.

"Don't get too smug," you say, smiling up at her. Her lips tug upwards as she mirrors your content expression while you try and regain your composure.

"Can you do one more?" she asks while letting her teeth bite down on her lower lip, becoming irresistible. Your eyebrows raise at her question, body craving to feel her once again so you nod, letting her take a hold of your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Swiftly, she removes her remaining clothes, her true beauty on show as she straddles your lap completely bare. It was as if Aphrodite crafted her body, sculpting it to perfection.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" she murmurs against your lips, your hands travelling down her body to where she guides you to. She lets you slide a finger through her folds, groaning into the kiss at feeling wet she is, how wet she is because of you. "You drive me insane," she moans out, your finger delicately circling her clit before her hand stops you, a confused expression taking over your face. "I want to try something," she explains, a smirk tugging at her lips as you watch her get into position.

A guttural moan escapes you when her dripping core meets your own, grinding down gently to cause pleasure to consume your body. Her hands brace themselves above your head, interlocking your fingers as she grinds down against you unabashedly.

"Y/n," she moans out near the shell of your ear, a pitiful noise escaping you at the overwhelming feeling of pleasure. The sensation of her clit brushing yours, the small sighs being released next to your ear and the fact you just orgasmed causes your next one to rapidly build. Your fingers tighten the grip on Wanda's, your hips bucking up in search of more friction to send you over the edge but restricted by the body on top of you.

A desperate noise rips from the back of your throat when she grinds a little harder, her mouth moving to press against yours momentarily before pulling back and gazing into your eyes.

"Wanda," you groan out, hoping by the way your body starts to tense and tremble she gets the hint that you're close.

"Hold it," she sighs out, grinding even harder and faster against you, the relentless pleasure wracking through your body causing you to throw your head back against the mattress.

"Please," the tone of your voice is nothing but submissive, laced with desperation as you plead the woman to let you come.

"Just a little longer," she pants out, nearing her own release as she thrusts her hips down against you, cursing lowly in Sokovian at the way your soaking cunt feels against hers. "Fuck, come with me Detka," she groans against your lips, both of you falling over the edge.

The room fills with quieting moans and sighs as you ride out the aftershocks of your powerful orgasms, your body twitching under hers as your body buzzes with a slight overstimulated feeling.

A few moments later, soft fingers brush along your jawline and at your cheek, coaxing you to open your eyes and look at her. She smiles tenderly down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead before moving off you, pulling your body closer to cuddle into her side.

"I'm sorry about earlier," you murmur into the tranquil room, your head resting on her shoulder as your fingers trace random patterns on her skin, her hands scratching up and down your back.

"Detka-"

"No, please let me finish," you interrupted with a soft voice, tilting your head to look up at her. "I shouldn't have reacted in that way and assumed things without letting you say your side of it." You gauge her reaction to your words, her features softening, "I'm sorry."

"Thank you for apologising," she murmurs back, understanding that you felt like you had to apologise to her even though, in her opinion, you didn't need to. It was an appropriate reaction to seeing someone else kiss the person you care about but she could sense a certain guilt inside you, making her drop the subject.

The two of you remain quiet, simply embracing the moment together and relaxing into each other's arms, the comfort of her body slowly lulling you to sleep.

"Not yet Detka," Wanda whispers, waking you up a little bit to which you groan drowsily at, " You need to get cleaned up and go to the bathroom before we can sleep." You want to protest, too sleepy to do anything but the semi-stern look the older woman shoots your way for not wanting to do any sort of aftercare makes you begrudgingly slip out of the bed to listen to her.

Wanda does the same and helps your tired form, cooing loving phrases as the exhaustion from your orgasms catches up on you, scuffing your feet across her room back to the bed. A content smile plays on her lips at the way you steal one of her shirts and slip it on before joining her in bed, snuggling as close as you possibly could to her.

"I love you," she whispers into your hair as you drift off into a peaceful sleep, unable to stop the smile that forces its way onto her face.

She would never have thought that you, the babysitter, would have been the person to make her feel loved again, but here you were, giving her everything she wanted and more.

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sleepy-moons · 7 months

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gojo constantly tells you he'd die for you. at the start of your relationship, you would kind of roll your eyes at the comment. he's so dramatic, you'd think to yourself, though you'd appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. but as time went on, and as your relationship blossomed, you began to feel a pang in your heart every time he said it.

an ache so deep in your spirit, that you could cry whenever he'd go on a mission. because you knew, that while he was fighting for a better society, for the eradication of curses and corruption, there was a large part of him that was fighting solely for you. for your safety. and if that meant he had to die for that to happen, so be it.

i don't want you to die for me. words you never thought you'd have to say to the love of your life. you want to spend the rest of your life with this man. why must he insist on showing his love in death?

he'd always give you a little smile when you'd say that, because he knows tears will be following soon after.

i know. there wasn't much more to be said after that. just a mutual understanding that a devastating heartbreak is lingering somewhere down the line, inevitable. he just hopes that in his next life, he gets to spend more time with you.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #I've been thinking a lot about gojo recently #I'm not the type of person to indulge in angst (does this classify as angst???)#or any type of sad media bc I'm delulu and like happy endings #but this has been floating around my noggin and I had to write it down #he is so so devoted to you. he doesn't care to throw his life away for you #anyways hello my friends long time no see !!#this is longer than I intended and it has hardly been proofread but I hope y'all enjoy !#.satoru

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hairmetal666 · 9 months

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Read Part One here

cw: implied child abuse

Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.

They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.

They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.

After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.

What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.

But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.

The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.

Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.

"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.

"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."

"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.

He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.

"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"

"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."

Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"

"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."

Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.

He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.

"Steve?"

It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.

His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"

"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."

"I'm sorry--"

"--Steve, I--"

They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."

Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"

Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.

"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."

Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.

"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."

"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.

"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."

He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."

Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."

Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."

He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"

There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.

Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"

"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.

"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."

Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"

"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."

"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.

"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."

Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #getting back together #mutual pining #fluff #ficlet #part 2 #time jump #a tiny bit of angst #here's the happy ending #implied child abuse #part one was august i guess part two is the one #we were something don't you think so #and if my wishes came true it would've been you #jk eddie is the one #they're in love your honor #steve's parents are pieces of shit

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