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astarionfixation · 3 days

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Chapter 11: +I am not a glass doll+

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: EXPLICIT ROUGH SEX (intercourse PIV)

CW: Blood, Sex

Word count count: 1.9k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/140917522

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

SUMMARY: In this chapter we simply finish the sex marathon we started 3 chapters ago -to jog your memory, she's on top, for the first time ever- Cause I imagine Pacing is of the essence for someone who's been around over two centuries like Astarion. If we had caring cuddly Astarion in the previous two chapters let's just say things get a fair bit rougher here... consider this your content warning for serious Rough stuff.

He has to close his eyes because, if along with the sensations her swaying hips are eliciting from his cock -strangled within her velvety warmth-, he also lets the vision of her soft, perfect body reach him, as it makes languid, serpentine circuits with her back arched and breast exposed as she impales herself repeatedly over him, that alone might make him come undone.

Her movements are excruciatingly slow, as if every inch of him has to be felt and pressed upon, as if her centre is gauging every sensitive spot on his cock and after a moment of attentive reactions she keeps learning and repeating exactly those that are driving him the most insane with pleasure.

His hands still gripping on her hips, though without any pressure or conviction, only to have his fingers full with the grasp of her softness.

*there’s absolutely nothing I can teach her…*

His head rolls back and he doesn’t even realise he must have arched his back enough so that now he hits a new, deeper spot inside of her and a louder gasp breaks through her throat as her movements halt with his cock completely buried inside of her. His eyes shoot open to find her biting her lip.

“Are you alright? Just… let me stay still for a moment… get used to me… we don’t need to ru–”

The words die in his throat with a groan ending his sentence as her hips have resumed their undulation, slow yet hitting harder and deeper every time she presses herself flush against his crotch.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She breathes every word as her rhythm remains unaffected. She suddenly lets him pull out almost completely and his instincts have his fingers dig deeper in her hips to keep her close

“No… please.. I was… just worried… about you”

“Stop worrying about me Astarion, I’m not a glass doll”

There is something incredibly enticing about the way she chose her words, though before he can spend any longer on them, her entire body is overhanging above him. Her hands reach to the headboard of the bed as she’s got him completely trapped between herself and the mattress beneath him. Her soft, perfumed locks caressing his shoulders are the last thing he registers as suddenly this new angle makes a scream of pleasure escape his lips. Though her own lips capture his immediately and now both their moans are just filling each other’s mouths.

This is a new kind of kiss, ravenous, she’s not just kissing him she is…

*biting!*

Her teeth are pulling at his bottom lip and yet in a flash her tongue is pressing harder against his own. Teeth clashing against his and for a moment he still tries to focus on covering his own fangs with his lips for fear of hurting her. But that’s when her words resonate and unlock something in his body

+I am not a glass doll+

A hand quickly moves across her back to press at the nape of her neck, pulling her closer still, the other one reaching for the small of her back as his own hips arch against hers, his cock buried deep inside of her, reaching surely an impossible depth for a human. He might think about how sore this will make her feel later but those thoughts have all but left his mind, finally beautifully empty for once, and all he knows is what his body feels.

Her incredibly tight cunt throttling every inch, every spot, of his insanely hard cock, every beat of her pulse reverberating around it and rippling across his crotch and dispersing around his body.

Her thighs locking his hips in place, pressing harder and harder against his bones and a fleeting thought carrying the desire to hear himself crunch, crushed by her grip, almost tips him over the edge.

Her teeth biting down on his lips without restrain as her kiss gets rougher against his mouth and her hips movements are beginning to match that raw need until she angles herself just right and another moan makes him almost roll his head back. When he does, her teeth don't relent and that's when her bite on his lip finally draws blood.

As the metallic flavour hits his senses everything turns to a blur. The pressure around his cock drives him mad and in a split second he’s grabbed her arms and reversed their positions, flipping her on her back as his hips now pound into her impossibly wet and engorged sex. Her measured slow movements are forgotten, replaced by sudden, hard thrusts that make him want to go deeper, and deeper until there’s nothing left of her to discover, to feel, to taste.

One hand grabs at her wrists and pins them above her head, holding them in place in a rock hard grip, as the other reaches to her thigh, pulling her leg up to curl around his own waist

*Deeper… deeper… deeper*

Her sighs and moans have left room to screams and heaving, and he can tell her own hips are trying to meet his thrusts best as she can in this position. He arches his back so that his mouth can devour hers again and this time there’s nothing resembling concern about his fangs, as they go directly to graze at her lip, nipping just enough to draw her own blood now wetting his lips

*We’re even now, you minx!*

His mouth latches onto her lower lip, sucking on it to draw more of her ambrosia as his hips keep pounding into her relentlessly. Even as little of her blood as this scratch allows him to take in is sending his entire body into a frenzy. His movements scattered and impossibly fast, thrusting in and out of her swollen cunt and he only realises how far he’s taken things when suddenly he feels her clenching around him, the feeling almost as if his own cock is to be strangled and torn apart from his body. The leg draped around his hips pressing into his backside as to pulling him closer *deeper* inside of her whilst her entire body convulses in spasm. Their lips separate only because, in a jolt of pleasure, her head rolls back letting out his name in a scream.

With his mouth now on her neck, he can’t even remember that’s exactly the spot he fed from just hours before, but the freshness of the wound must be what pokes at his instinct when in a moment his fangs tear at it as his mouth captures her pierced skin and finally he can swallow mouthfuls of the heavenly liquid she carries in her veins.

The flavour of her coating his tongue, just as the spasms of her climax still choke his cock, are the last thing he can grasp onto with any lucidity as his eyes roll in the back of his skull. He’s senselessly thrusting harder and harder into her that if any semblance of reason had been left in his brain he’d know he’s bruising her, but no notion other than chasing that absolutely idyllic promise of untainted pleasure is driving his rough motions now.

He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge as the random clenching from her last climactic twitches are tantalising his cock. His fangs instinctively pressing harder onto her flesh as to getting still *deeper* into her is the only vagrancy he can still follow, in every direction, be it flesh or sex.

His focus is such that it’s not until the tip of her tongue barely caresses the outer shell of his pointy ear that he realises she’s back in control of her movements after her climax. The feeling of her soft bite on his earlobe a moment later, on such a sensitive part of his body, is the gate to perdition and with a final thrust he pushes everything he has into her. A white light explodes in his mind as his own orgasm takes control of every jolt and involuntary reaction of his pale, tensed body.

Sparks are inundating his vision and his physical brain, some ecstatic and some as if pure radiant damage is dispersing across his every thought. Any flash and image that ever existed in his mind is simply flooded with the bright, gleaming pleasure that began in his cock and is now dispersing across his skin through the entirety of his body. His hips pressing flush against hers buried as deep as her fragile form allows, an animal marking his territory with his own seed filling her insides.

His skin still tingles from the aftermath of his pleasure when his brain slowly sinks back into his body and feels hers pressed against his as his mouth is still full of her blood springing from her neck

His lips keep latched onto her still, though his blood drawing has stopped, his tongue freely caressing her skin and gently soothing the wound in an attempt to close it again.

Every shallow exhale that leaves her lips still carries a soft moan. As he leaves a kiss on the closed punctures and moves to his elbows to leave her space to breathe he realises his hand is still holding her wrists down in a rock hard grip so tense he almost can't feel his own fingers.

He drops his grasp and his fingertips go to caress her forehead, her cheeks, swiping her hair aside.

“You were definitely worth the wait, my sweet… you are perfect… are you alright? Was that… too much?”

With her hands free he feels her fingers run through his own hair now, a soft hum resonating through her chest as her swollen lips, still crimson tinted, pull into a smile, her head shakes slightly before she gently speaks

“Definitely not… I don't think I could ever have enough of you… but now I know my dreams never did you any justice…”

At that he can feel the corner of his own lips pulling, the delicious stinging of his lower lip a delightful reminder of how savage her desire for him was, and that settles his mind upon the only sensation her lovely expression brings to him: bliss.

After placing a soft kiss on her lips he slowly pulls his softening cock out and a unique kind of satisfaction fills him as her body still twitches, a soft sigh exhaled with what sounds like quiet laughter, and as he rolls on his back he pulls her to his chest and he can feel immediately her arm circling to reach his shoulder, her naked leg draping possessively over his.

“You’ll have to tell me more about those dreams my darling… after all… there's nothing you desire that I'm not willing to give…”

His voice leaves the question hanging suggestively and he feels her face pressing, hiding against his chest so that the arm circling her pulls her closer as a soft laugh resonates from his lips. Her soft murmurs let him know he's not going to get that answer now as the tip of her cold nose is now pressed against his own unusually warmer skin. Her breathing is regular and slowing enough that the rhythm lulls his own senses into actual, restful, sleep.

For the first time in his entire existence.

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harmonysanreads · 1 day

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Trivia - Jeux de Vagues

I suppose this is the somewhat ‘lore’ of the aforementioned fic. I recommend reading the fic first before diving into this as this contains spoilers :> I normally wouldn't do this but per the vote of @verridaiya I was encouraged to regardless. Something to note would be that even though this is what I had in mind while writing, readers' personal interpretations are equally valid!

“Jeux de Vagues”

I mentioned this in a reblog already but the title comes from the second movement of the symphony “La Mer” by Claude Debussy, a French composer. It literally translates to ‘Play of the waves', quite fitting for a leisurely tea-party with Neuvillette, no? I also highly recommend listening to the piece in general, it might take some patience but if you love daydreaming about watching the sea waves away from your struggles as well, this is the music for you!

“6 to 12 O'clock”

Before I tell you why I'm showing this particular line, I want you guys to take a guess on what I meant by the 'noon to evening and midnight to dawn' part :>

One of the rules of afternoon tea etiquette is that when you stir the tea, the appropriate motion to do is a 6 to 12 O'clock (so towards yourself and away from yourself) instead of going in circles. I thought just outright saying it wouldn't be fun so I instead used the four time indicators of 6 and 12 ! But of course, this could also symbolize the duration of Reader “scheming” since the beginning of the marriage.

“Fin de siècle”

Fin de siècle is a French term meaning “end of century,” a phrase which typically encompasses both the meaning of the similar English idiom “turn of the century” and also makes reference to the closing of one era and onset of another. [Taken from Wikipedia]

I kept on thinking about how to incorporate the ‘Isolation’ theme for Yandere!Neuvillette while also respecting his ideal of fairness. In one of his voice lines, he encourages to speak-up against grave injustice. With that in mind, this idea of “Keeping Reader isolated but giving them a chance to gain freedom by debating against Neuvillette once every century” was born. If Reader can successfully prove that Neuvillette is a terrible husband or their marriage is unjust, they can leave. But obviously, that's just false hope.

“Mon trésor”

Mon trésor is a gender-neutral French term of endearment which means “My treasure” in English. Huge thank you to @cerulean-castle and @iceunhie (please excuse me if I wasn't supposed to tag you two ;—;) for responding to my cry of help for this one as I was puzzled about French terms of endearment for a while. @/iceunhie gave me the link to a post of gender-neutral French terms of endearment which I found really helpful <3

As for why I chose Mon trésor as what Neuvillette calls Reader, it was due to the specific connotations between dragons and their treasures. Or in Neuvillette's case, Reader is his treasure. Hence, after sufficiently provoked, he doesn't flinch from referring to them as ‘abandoned property’.

“The words unspoken are the flower.”

Directly quoted from Neuvillette's [About : Wriothesley] voice line. According to him, it's an Inazuman proverb which means “Some words are better left unsaid.” which is Neuvillette's answer to his subconscious question of why he goes to such lengths for Reader.

Now, you can interpret this in a variety of ways and I'll say some of the “possible” ones. Perhaps he refuses to verbalize the causes because doing so would force him to face the hypocrisy and irrationality behind his actions. Perhaps he truly doesn't know, as there are many things he's on the path to understanding. Etcetera.

I might add onto this post if anyone has more questions from the fic itself. Writing Jeux de Vagues was quite difficult because I had a deadline of sorts but I was determined to finish it. Although there might be room for further improvement, I'm still happy that I pulled it of :') I hope that at least, my love for Neuvillette's character can be felt through the fic <3

#french people feel free to roast me if i did get something terribly wrong lolol #about ; jeux de vagues #yandere #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette

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etherealily · 2 days

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𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Cliffhanger or series? Haven't decided. Repost because of reasons.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

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It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

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You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

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Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breach every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

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You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

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"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffel bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

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wordsofhoneydew · 3 days

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fic pride

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

thank you for the tags @anincompletelist and @firenati0n

(no pressure) pressure tags to : @cha-melodius @whimsymanaged @cricketnationrise @alasse9 @sherryvalli @nocoastposts

reading back at my work has only reminded me how proud and happy i am with the fics i have written, and i hope y’all enjoy them just as much as i do!!

stolen glances with a string attached

Henry isn’t completely conscious of the fact that he is borderline stalking now, having been captivated by this man’s beauty. Even with the fair amount of distance between their office windows, Henry could still distinguish the prominent shadows cast on his cheeks from his eyelashes, and the sharp line of his jaw clenching every now and then. His skin seemed to glow exquisitely under the morning sun; looking practically magical against the gray of the city landscape. That’s when the other man notices Henry, catching him in his trance for a split second before Henry turns his head to look down at the keyboard in front of him. That was close , he thinks to himself before slowly turning his head to look back at the window. And to his misfortune, the man is looking right back at him; his eyes squint, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow, and his face is wearing an expression as if to say caught you. And he’s not wrong. Henry’s eyes widen, his body tensing up in sheer humiliation. That’s when he sees a sly smirk make its way to the man’s lips, and it only makes the embarrassment course through his body more rapidly, feeling all the blood rush to his cheeks. The man then spins around in his office chair, reaching for what looks to be a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles on it for a swift moment before pressing the paper up against his office window. The paper reads, “TAKE A PIC,” written in sloppy, bubble-like handwriting just barely legible enough for Henry to read. The man grabs another paper and writes for a moment longer, this time reading, “JK” with a winky face. Henry cocks an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction, the embarrassment slowly morphing into curiosity as the man turns the paper over for Henry to read the other side. “ALEX.”

your body comes back to me in dreams [nsfw]

He comes back to himself in increments, the places where they’re touching becoming lighter and colder, and his vision softening around the edges. Henry grabs the other man’s shoulder with a vice grip, wanting to laze in the gratification of their love. He surges forward to kiss him again, desperate to feel the warmth of his body, but he feels almost nothing. Henry pulls away resentfully, in search of brown eyes that bear unwavering devotion—but they’re gone, replaced by nothing, and he is faced with the iciness of the man’s absence.

i became your device to name and soothe

June blushes violently and whispers, “It’s not the same when I do it to myself.” The air is eerily silent for a beat, and June hates everything that is coming out of her mouth right now. Nora’s face goes almost stoic, serious, but the sparkle of interest in her eyes never falters. “Tell me why.” “What?” “Tell me why it isn’t the same.” June stares back at her staggered, at a complete loss of what to say, or how to say it. June has never had to explain the reasoning behind why she likes spanking. Hell, she’s never really thought about it in depth herself. Knowing that it brings her euphoric pleasure is enough acknowledgement for her. “Well… I guess it has to do with the attention and— uh, being taken care of is part of it, too.” She chews on her lips subconsciously, looking down at her lap. “I see,” Nora trails off, thinking deliberately before saying: “I can help you. Only if you’re comfortable with that of course.” Nora places her hand on June’s knee, it’s a comforting sentiment more than anything, and June realizes that she really does mean to help. Not in the exact way June wishes she would, but she’ll take what she can get at this point. “Okay.” “Really? “I trust you, Nora.” “Yeah, of course. I trust you too.” June tries to swallow down the knot in her throat before speaking again, “It’ll be like, nonsexual, platonic—“ “Like a massage.” Nora’s expression is unreadable, the same face she makes when she’s in the middle of coding a script or calculating how many red bulls her body can tolerate without a wink of sleep in three days. Like a project she’s undoubtedly going to excel at. It makes June squirm in her seat. “I’m not an expert, so you’ll have to give me some… guidance.” God. What has June gotten herself into?

What are the chances? [nsfw]

“This what you wanted?” Nora whispers on her navel, kissing and licking up to the sweat that has begun to form between her breasts. The position of Nora’s fingers remain hooked inside of her, massaging repeatedly at her sweet spot, and June is seeing fucking stars. Her chest pushes into Nora’s face, giving her full permission to abuse them with her mouth. Instead Nora pulls back, laying her hand flat on June’s chest to settle her back onto the bed again. She gives a light slap to one of her breasts. “How does it feel? You were so desperate for it earlier, huh, baby? So, tell me how it feels.” June is unable to speak for a moment, her jaw slacked with no sound escaping. Her head is buzzing and her legs are trembling from how much stimulation her body is receiving. “Feels— oh fuck, ” she huffs, “feels so good, Nora. Please, don’t stop.” Nora unties one of her wrists, still maintaining the consistent rhythm of her hand. Once free, June immediately reaches out to touch her face; running her thumb over Nora’s eyebrow, cheekbones and then her lips, feeling how soft and plump they are. Nora takes that as an invitation to kiss June again, this time with a more deliberate, loving touch—she can taste a bit of herself on Nora’s tongue.

#wordsofhoneydew writes #rwrb #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #prince henry rwrb #firstprince #alex x henry #rwrb fic #rwrb alex #henry fox mountchristen windsor #june claremont diaz #nora x june #nora holleran #junora #red white and royal blue fanfic #red white & royal blue #rwrb fic recs #rwrb fanfic #rwrbsource

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wearily-confused · 2 months

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i wish it was acceptable to ask to dtr friendships

like are we treating this as bfs or acquaintances or talks casually every other month or every day gm and gn or what

like please tell me what amount of energy and care you are willing to reciprocate without pingponging between loving me and not even giving a fuck if i die, just stop with all this hot and cold bs

#like okay i get going into depressive slumps or shutting off sometimes but fuckin tell me #so i dont think you are ghosting me again with no forewarning or reason #its not like it'll be the first time #it's been more than a week #and going from gn gm and every single detail about your day from straight up no reply?#is it gonna be like last time(s) again then #dropping me for months and then getting all sorry and self destructive #its already been twice (ik i am pathetic for forgiving her but ffs i thought you had changed)#argh #ARGHHHHHHH #friendships #i swear #i hope she's just busy and nothing jas happened to her #rant #but just in the tags the post i still think is fair #thoughts #desiblr #eph #</3

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peridots-pixiwolf · 1 year

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[Start ID. A digital drawing of Minos Prime from Ultrakill, who's wearing a strapless slit dress and sandals of the same deep purple. He faces towards and slightly to the right of the camera, his head is tilted further right. With one hand he gestures in a vague pointing motion, his arm folded and held close to his body. There is nothing in the background, but bracing himself on one arm, Minos is implied to be leaning against something about the height of a countertop. The background is a blank purplish black, save for three diagonal stripes in the colors of the bisexual flag. End ID]

Shading study that quite literally came to me in a dream two weeks ago, after this post apparently beamed itself into my mind

(also a few edits below the cut! they're very slight but whatever :])

[Start ID. Three different versions of the previous drawing. The first changes the tone of the lighting from blue to pink, and similarly the shading from pink to blue. The second replaces the faint black border with pink, purple and blue, syncing with the stripes in the background. The third combines both these changes. End ID]

#the tags got NERFED so let's try this again.#peridots-art #minos prime ultrakill #ultrakill #ask to tag #organs #...? gore maybe? for the whole ''transparent chest/visible cardiovascular system'' thing. not very detailed/realistic though so #i don't think this has all of the same charm as i usually find in my posts. but i tried my best to make it work so i don't think it matters #also ''not too happy with how this turned out'' is something i've seen tacked onto posts worthy of being preserved in museums #i heard someone say his snakes should be ball pythons. i'm not autistic about snakes so i decided to listen to the masters #i still have seven levels to p-rank before i can meet this guy!! halfway there (lust/greed and 1-3 remaining) i've only had my own copy #of ultrakill for a week and i already have 33 hours in. anyway he's grown on me i think. absolute bi king and only monarch i respect <3 #i think it's interesting how i now define my queerness by being gray-ace and trans when i first only identified with bisexual. it's still #an important part of me even if sometimes i forget. sorry that sounds completely unrelated but it's related to my feelings on this piece #anyway (i wonder how many ''anyway''s i've slapped on so far) i also find it interesting how often people draw him with this body type.#i think it's cool there's variety in how people draw the uk characters. it just kinda feels right here? i know i unfortunately don't draw #fat characters often at all (partially due to being a primarily fandom blog who likes to stick to canon designs. i wouldn't say i have #trouble with drawing a realistic amount of fat even on rather thin people though lol) but i try! also genuinely unsure what counts as like.#fat vs chubby? or whatever? i don't know exactly how the terminology works and a fair amount of minos' bulk is muscle anyway but. yeah 👍#men are pretty in dresses my final message. goodbye

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forgottenflickr · 2 months

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bruh how did u blow up 😭 i am trying to do my own little upload blog thing and it seems so hard

to be honest, I think it’s just because I already had another sideblog with a few thousand followers, and after some time with this blog i happened to reblog one of my own posts there talking about it. Before then, I got almost no interaction here (though I didn’t post very much then compared to now)

regardless, it’ll take some time and then you’ll get some hit post you didn’t expect, that’s what happened on my other blog I mentioned, here too

#add on I wanted to say maybe just try to focus on your own aesthetic niche and just keep at it with proper tags and such #my other blog I started in like early 2017 as a kidcore rainbowcore one #and it took me around a year to get any real following base #now in current it has around 6k (still a lot less than here #this blog surpassed that one’s following in almost no time I was shocked #but yeah all you can do is keep at it lol #I don’t have any real amazing advice that’s just what I did on my other blog #I kept posting for my niche and eventually got hit posts though they were memes to be fair at first I think lol #but you have to build a base following first #and wait

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xannerz · 3 months

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its always surreal to me to see people praise s2 of centaurworld. s2 was so spectacularly bombastic and aimless and it ended in this awkward forgettable fizzle.

i feel like a dick saying it b/c i really do love the show lmao. or, at least half of it lmao (/stares at tnwk). gf and i've been thinking about rewatching it just to write out our thoughts on why s2 was such a poor follow-up to s1 - from the tone to the setup to all the worldbuilding the narrative had to offer in between the (far more) memorable songs of s1. idk. it's sad because cw really had the bones of a cult classic, but idek if you can call it that.

ive seen a few posts commenting on its lack of popularity, and i feel like it certainly deserves more, b/c i do feel like it's a novel idea made w/ love, but the shift btwn s1 and s2 wasnt just in the plot. there was a full-on *fracture* in the quality and direction and i'm still scratching my head over it. more than i should be, probably. but, it's just a bummer.

#centaurworld #centaurworld critical #<- a tag i never thought i'd use lol #ok EDIT: fuck it im tagging this maybe there are others who'll also see their own viewing experiences in this post too #dont mind me rambling #but i got an ask on my thoughts abt cw a long time ago (hi!! i still have it 😭) and ive been wanting to write a detailed response since.#debating tagging this since the fandom's already p small and i dont wanna bump the tag with negativity #even if it is (what i feel is) p fair criticism. but idk people are sensitive and conflate it w hate idk idk #ive seen thinly-veiled hate posts in the t*ngled the series tags and it's always bothered me.#bc you can tell op just like hates xyz character or the show entirely and its like can you just come out and say it LMFAOO #but i genuinely like cw. i so so very much do. so i get bummed out! gf and some other friends and i were so excited for s2 and #when it rolled out ep by ep we were like 'it'll get better right? right?'#also tempted to just draw more cw fanart in general bc the t t s fandom is slow and if half the people dont have each other blocked #theres simply 0 overlap in fave chars or interpretations so lmao #im going back to work i just feel sour LMAO #also adding that i think a lot of people conflate a story eliciting an emotional reaction from you = its good #but ill revisit that and all these thoughts again eventually in another post. we'll see.#and i STILL want a nwk tattoo lmao. or at least an elkie. gf and i love elk bc of this guy! the impact that he has!#xangoeswah

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the-eclectic-wonderer · 1 month

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I don’t think anything will come from this, but for your consideration, my latest brainrot:

A sort-of Grease!AU with Rose as Sandy and Blanche as Danny (or, even better, Rizzo).

That’s all. You can go.

#if you’re wondering: yes. this was brought about by Hozier’ ‘too sweet’#which is. by all counts. not a love song #but the idea of rose being ‘too sweet’ for blanche hit me like a lightning bolt upon first listen #and I had to put it out there #realistically speaking I have nothing to add to this. i already have too many wips I’m working on #and it’s still a very unbalanced idea. for one idk where to place Dorothy #she doesn’t strike me as either the Danny or the Sandy type #maybe she’d be a better Rizzo? Italian. disillusioned #but her brand of self-denial doesn’t really fit with Rizzo’s self-destruction in my mind #to be fair all of them are pretty upright citizens. none of them properly fit the ‘bad girl’ type #blanche is just the one that feels the most similar to me #and she did do some wild stuff in her adolescence (at least according to her). might all be tales. but…#idk idk there’s potential there. obviously a lot of stuff would have to be changed but rn I don’t have anything to add to it #you know. maybe I just want to see Blanche in a leather jacket now that I think about it #god I hope people read the tags on my posts. 3/4 of the post is in here #the golden girls #golden wives

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sailing-through-hawkins · 8 months

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tagged by the bestie @a-little-unsteddie ( •̀ ω ��́ )✧ who was gracious enough to listen to me ramble about this

rules: ✧ generate 5 random words using this generator and then write something using those words! ✧ tag 5 (or however many you want) mutuals to challenge! ✧ if you don’t like the five words you got, reroll them. this is meant to be a fun little challenge, not something to stress over. have fun!

✧ my words: stoichiometry, glenoid, secretion, encounter, fleam ✧ warning: this is some spooky stuff, lots of water imagery, stay safe ✧

If there's one thing Eddie hates more than sitting through another lecture from another townie about the dangers of the lake, it's being forced to listen to their made-up bullshit about what's out there.

They don't know a single thing about what lurks under the surface of the water.

They talk about the smell of blood, the sound of howling, the quick flash of fangs in the moonlight, all the typical bullshit they make up to scare kids away from the lake. They don't even put any effort, any imagination into the stories, being as vague as they can because god forbid the people of Hawkins add a little pizazz to their warnings.

And that's the real kicker really, that the scariest things they can come up with are so vague, so general it could be about any store-brand monster out there. The reality of the lake is unfathomable to them. It was unfathomable to Eddie too, once.

But he's had encounters. Real ones.

And now he knows.

The townsfolk would never talk about the goosebumps that prickle your skin when you're near the lake. The sense of awe and dread that soaks into your bones when you look at it, as though just the sight is enough to engulf you in the water. The way your limbs will lock for a moment, just a moment, when you step into old, wet footprints, the ones that leave the lakeside muddy, that make you think, wait a second, because those footprints don't go into the water.

They walk out of it.

And now Eddie is walking towards it, leaving his van and any chance of escape far behind him.

What a life.

With a grumble, Eddie stomps towards the cabin, rickety stairs creaking, and he pushes the door open.

"It's simple stoichiometry, my dear -"

"Hello friends and foes alike!" Eddie greets as he steps through the door. Or at least, he would have said that had he not been accosted against the wall with a firm arm crushing his throat to it.

He scrambles, staring into the black void eyes that glare at him. The snarl from something you can't really call a man, but there is no other word for the sight of him, echoing through his bones.

The arm against his throat pushes harder for a moment and he thinks, slightly hysterically, well, tit for tat, I guess. Not the usual tit I'd go for but beggars can't be choosers.

"Steve! Steve, it's okay, it's just Eddie!"

"Hey man," Eddie wheezes, grasping at Steve's forearm. "Been eating your greens, I gather?"

With a snort, Steve lets him go and steps away. Eddie takes a minute to gasp air back into his lungs, coughing out the instinctual fear that claws through his blood every time he sees - well.

"So," Eddie croaks out, rubbing at the skin of his neck, wiping away the cool water and the goosebumps that always take a while to fade away. "Why'd you call me here again, Henderson?"

Dustin gawks at him as Steve shuffles his way back to his stool. "I didn't call you!"

Eddie narrows his eyes and shoves his medallion, the one Will carved out for each of them, right in front of Dustin's face, making the kid go cross-eyed. "Oh yeah? So this signal wasn't from you, huh?"

"Wha - but - I didn't -" sputters Dustin, who then goes silent and turns around to Steve with his hands on his hips. "Steve."

What a sight he is to behold.

Leaning back on his stool, one arm supporting his weight from behind, Steve inspects the darkened nails of his other hand, not even gracing Dustin with a glance. It'd be the perfect rendition of the Kegstand King if it weren't for his sickly skin, always so cold and just on the wrong side of damp, and the way his face is perfectly still, no twitching, no blinking, no movement from any inch of him other than the droplets of water that drip from his hair.

Eddie always forgets that he doesn't breathe anymore.

"Steve," Dustin stresses again. "Did you call for Eddie on our emergency-only channel, the same one that has a limited amount of calls because of, oh y'know, Will's magic?!"

There's silence. Then Steve shrugs and Eddie laughs out loud.

"Steve!"

"Chill out, man," Eddie pats Dustin's shoulder. "We can always recharge the calls once your superhero girl comes back from the edge out there. She'll be back in what, two days?"

That doesn't seem to be enough to deter Dustin from glaring at Steve, who lazily looks back. An acidic taste rises at the back of Eddie's throat at how those voids stare, empty of intention, empty of the exasperated affection that he was so used to seeing.

Eddie clears his throat. "Did I hear something about science on my way in?"

And with that, the kid's face brightens up like the sun and he launches into his investigation into the "secretion from the roots closest to the lake, the colour is way off, way too green to be tree resin, and we couldn't cut through it, not even with Mrs. Byers' fleam so we figured -"

Throughout the rant, Eddie's eyes flicker between Dustin and Steve, his body freezing in place when the latter's gaze locks onto his own.

It's so bizarre to look at him. To look and see the Steve that protected the kids, the Steve that would gripe and groan, the Steve that would laugh goofily. But that Steve is a ghost, a memory laid over his body like those photographs Will brings to their sessions, proud and adamant about his brother's talent in - what did he call it? Double exposure.

This Steve doesn't laugh like that. He doesn't make much sound at all, beyond huffs and hums. This Steve doesn't look at Dustin with brotherly annoyance, or Lucas with cheerful pride, or Max with loving snark. This Steve looks at all of them with the same eyes, black and eternal, the same smile, hollow like a one-way mirror, the same tilt of his head, as if still contemplating who among them are prey.

This Steve doesn't take his eyes off of Eddie. And then he tilts his head.

"Okay, buddy," Eddie smacks a hand onto Dustin's shoulder, cutting him off. He glances back at Steve and sucks in a breath as he starts to lean forward. "Think it's time I get you home."

"What?" Dustin scrunches his nose. "It's not even sundown yet! And I still have to look at Steve's right glenoid, Robin said there might be some -"

"Kid." Eddie tightens his grip on Dustin's shoulder. Steve watches them. "Go sit in the van."

"Eddie -"

"Now."

With a grumble, Dustin gathers his books and equipment, hauling it all into his backpack. Steve doesn't look away from them. Eddie doesn't look away from Steve. Finally, the kid manages to get everything in and ready to go before he fucks it all up and sticks a hesitant hand out to Steve. "See you tomorrow?"

And then, then something incredible happens.

Steve blinks. He breaks his gaze away from Eddie, looking over to Dustin and his outstretched hand, and then he gives his own hand in return, bumping the two fists.

Dustin glows so brightly Eddie almost wants to grab the old pair of sunglasses he keeps inside his jacket pocket, the ones Robin told him to keep safe. The ones Steve used to wear.

"Bye Steve!" Dustin calls out as he leaves the cabin, snapping Eddie's gaze back to Steve.

Steve, who is smiling.

It sends shocks up Eddie's spine because that's Steve's smile, the sweet one, the warm one, the one so full of fondness it might as well have been carved into every crevice of his lips.

"Steve?" Eddie says quietly.

And just like that, those eyes snap back onto Eddie and in one smooth motion, Steve stands and stalks towards him, smile gone, warmth gone.

"Woah, woah," Eddie swears as Steve crawls into his space, the smell of wet grass invading his lungs. Steve has him against the wall again, arms caging him in, and face leaned in close. Eddie squeaks out, "That eager, huh?"

Steve tilts his head again before his mouth stretches out and up, a terrifying reflection of Eddie's nervous grin that makes sweat crawl down the skin of his back.

"Yeah, yeah." Eddie breathes out as Steve drags his nose down Eddie's neck, shivering at the ice-cold touch. "I'll be back tonight, just let me get Dustin home first."

The humming is the worst part. There's an odd melody to it, rising and lowering in pitch, as though he's using words. But he's not. He's just humming.

"Steve," Eddie whispers as the creature before him noses at his collarbone. "Just let me get Dustin home first. Please."

At the sound of Dustin's name, Steve sinks away. He stares up at Eddie, giving one, solitary nod towards the open door.

With frenzied nerves, Eddie makes his way over to the door and is just about to step outside when he hears a hum behind him. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Eddie glances back.

Steve is staring at him. None of the sunlight touches him, shadows creeping along the ground where he stands.

And then a hoarse, haunting sounds echoes through the cabin.

"Don't be late."

Eddie doesn't remember rushing into the van or the ride back to the Hendersons' place. By the time he settles back into his body, he's already standing in front of the cabin again, the sun sinking below the horizon, red skies bleeding into black trees.

Hawkins will always lament the terrors of the lake, Eddie thinks as the door creaks open for him. But they'll never know a single thing about what really lies down in it.

They'll never know who waits down there, with black eyes and hollow smiles.

They'll never know what he'd do to keep his family safe.

Who he would become.

"Welcome back," says a hoarse, lilting voice and Eddie hopes the people of Hawkins will never have to know.

and some no pressure tags:

@xenon-demon @unamusing-s @wynnyfryd @onirislanding @heartscoops

#this roll was the second attempt out of five and the other ones used equally as common words #so i'm just gonna assume this generator thinks i needed science vibes and honestly fair enough #sailor✧writes #steddie #writing #ficlet #au content #i gotta make a tag for all the monster stuff i write #or maybe i could post them all on ao3 as a monster vibes series?#also welcome to another episode of sails dropping you in the middle of a vague setting but this time with even more confusion #because it's still the 80s #just with magic apparently

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