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strawberryspence · 1 year

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I love the headcanon that Steve takes care of everybody and when he gets home, Eddie takes care of him. But I love it more when Steve doesn’t really know?

Like yeah, sometimes before he goes to work Eddie makes him sandwiches for lunch but that’s only because he was already making one.

Yeah, ever since Eddie and Steve started living together, it seems like Steve’s shampoos are bottomless. Steve found out that Eddie buys the shampoo so he never runs out, but that’s only because Eddie likes it for his long hair.

Yeah, Steve knows Eddie hates doing the laundry. But sometimes when he comes home, his work clothes have been folded and have been cleaned already. But that’s only because Eddie’s already doing a load.

It doesn’t really click with Steve, that this one person who loves him, is taking care of him. Maybe it’s the lack of caring from his parents, or maybe it’s because he grew up alone. But it’s not clicking to him.

It clicks for him one afternoon.

The sun is beaming high in the sun, but there’s a lovely breeze sweeping that keeps them cool. Lucas and Mike are screaming at each other as they pass the ball at each other. It’s not the best team up, but it’s not really a great practice if it’s just Steve and Lucas. So they’ve somehow convinced Dustin and Mike to come, in exchange of Steve finally trying to learn D&D.

Steve’s wiping his sweat with his shirt as he watches Dustin explain the science behind basketball. Something about velocity and gravity and mathematics. Steve’s trying his best to ignore it.

“Steve!” He hears Eddie call from the sides. He’s been sitting there the whole time, watching and laughing.

Steve jogs closer to his boyfriend, who immediately hands him a hand towel.

Steve blinks at the towel, “What’s this for?”

“For your sweat, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

Steve reluctantly wipes his sweat with it. Maybe Eddie packed a towel for himself and decided to give it him instead. He knows Eddie also hates sweating under the sun.

“Water?” Eddie looks up at him with a smile, a bottle of water in hand.

Steve squints at him, worry clear on his face, "What about you? It’s pretty hot, baby.”

Eddie smiles at him, “I bought one for myself. I bought that one for you.”

Huh. That's... great.

“Thank you for bringing me water. I forgot to pack myself one.”

Eddie smirks at him, but there’s something endearing twinkling in his eyes, “I know. You always do. You always pack for the kids and me and Robin and then forget about yourself.”

The sentiment could melt him, there and then. But instead, Steve looks around, checking his surroundings before he kisses Eddie’s cheek in gratitude. Steve turns so he can go back to the boys who’s still fighting over the science behind basketball when he hears Eddie running after him.

“Stevie! Wait!”

He turns, watching as Eddie runs up to him, “Yeah?”

Steve’s eyes widen in surprise when Eddie suddenly kneels in front of him. There’s a drumming in his heart that makes him feel like he’s having an actual heart attack. He knows— He knows that Eddie’s not proposing to him on a random Saturday morning, in a random basketball court in the middle of Hawkins. There’s also the fact that they can’t actually marry each other. But with Eddie kneeling in front of him, Steve feels an intense longing for a ring on his finger.

Steve blinks back into reality when he feels Eddie’s hands against his feet. Eddie is— Eddie is tying his shoes for him???

When he finally comes up again, Eddie is smiling at him, big and gummy and brighter than the whole sun, “Your shoe laces are untied. I think I forgot to re-tie them this morning before we went out.”

“You’ve been tying my shoes? Every morning?” Steve whispers, disbelief laces unto every word.

Eddie nods at him, there's an expression of pride on his face, “Every morning since we started living together.”

And here’s the thing, Steve thought he was doing a good job hiding it. He does know how to tie his shoe laces, but he does it super slow and has to redo it multiple times. It’s one of the things that makes him feel— dumb. Like he's an actual idiot. How could Steve fight monsters and he can’t fucking put the bunny’s ear into the other fucking loop? He doesn't know who to be mad at, no one really taught him how to do it. He learned it from a book in the library with no visuals.

“I— I— I don’t know what to say.” Steve stutters, “How do you even know that? I’ve never told anyone.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I won’t tell anyone.” Eddie shrugs, smiling at him, “I saw you one morning struggling to do it. I think I heard you singing that bunny song and I thought I’d make your life a little easier by tying it, so you can just slip into it, ya know?”

“Oh.” Steve blinks back at him, the tears starting to pool on his eyes, “Thank you.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me for taking care of you. It’s my favorite thing to do in this whole world.” Eddie stares at him, brushing a few wisps of hair out of his face.

With the way Eddie is staring at him, he already knows that Eddie knows what he’s thinking about, what the tears in his eyes signify.

“Go play with the boys. They’re suspiciously quiet.” Eddie snickers, “We’ll talk when we get home, hmm?”

Steve searches in his eyes, there’s a morbid part of him that thinks Eddie is realizing that he doesn’t want to be with Steve anymore. Maybe he's realizing how much of a burden Steve truly is. But there’s nothing in Eddie’s eyes that says that. There’s only love and warmth and tenderness all mashed together in two sparkling brown eyes.

“Okay.” Steve answers quietly.

“Okay.” Eddie pats his cheeks before walking back to the place where he’s sitting.

And Steve walks back to the kids and they start playing again. When he looks at Eddie, Eddie’s always tracking him with his eyes, smiling and waving at him as soon as their eyes meet.

They’ll talk later. They’ll talk about how Steve doesn’t know what it feels like to be cared for, and how his parents ruined him. They'll talk about how Steve is cared for now, that their own little found family cares for him so much. They'll talk about healing and changing.

But for now, the fact that Eddie— a person that truly loves him— takes care of him without wanting anything in exchange, is more than good enough.

#see #i can write fluff #this is fluff to me #HMP #steddie #steddie fics #steddie headcanons #steddie hc #steddie ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson fluff #steve harrington x eddie munson #dae writes #daeheadcanons

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lovelybucky1 · 8 months

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Special Request

Kinktober Day 2- Anal Sex

warnings: AFAB!reader, anal sex, anal toys, sex work, pre-established scene, unprotected sex, creampies, f!masturbation, 18+ minors dni

main masterlist

kinktober masterlist

being a call girl for the richest businessmen in america was a high profile job. not only was desertion and privacy required of you, you were also expected to keep up with your clients’ sexual desires.

most of them were tame, not requiring too much physicality. most of them wanted to worship you. unsurprisingly, powerful men like to be submissive in the bedroom. it didn’t take much work on your end to lay back and let them put their hands and mouth on you, occasionally giving praise and direction that made their cocks leak.

one client, however, stands out from the rest. he is very dominant and demanding. when you first met him, he made his desires clear to you.

“when i’m paying you, i own you. i dont care if you have other clients or a husband or a kid. when you’re with me, i’m the only thing you think about. before each session i’ll give you a list of things to prepare and give you money if you have to buy anything. then you’ll come here at 5:15 to set up and be ready for me when i get home from work. i’ve given the security guards notice that you’ll be coming and they’ll let you in. i will tip very generously for your services, but if that is not enough incentive to keep up with my needs, we will part ways.”

you agreed to his terms and since then, things with mr. fischer have been wonderful. he does, in fact, tip very generously, but that is nothing compared to how he is in bed.

he expects obedience but will also occasionally instruct you to disobey so he can punish you. he gets off on power and control, and he makes sure to constantly display both of those with you.

he texted you two days ago sending details about tonight’s session. he was short and to the point as always.

red lace. buttplug- brand new, never been used. dark makeup. i want you stretched and prepped with the plug when i get there.

along with the message he sent $40 for the plug he wanted you to buy. later that day you went out to the sex shop and bought one you thought he’d like. now, robert was going to be home any minute and you’re dressed and prepped exactly how he wants.

“front door open,” the robotic voice from the security system announces.

you tremble slightly in anticipation as you hear his shined shoes click on the hardwood stairs. you left the door to the bedroom open per his request. he made it clear that you’re a toy for him to use, not his wife preparing a cheeky surprise.

mr fischer has a lot of hang ups, but he pays well and has a wonderful cock, so you put up with it.

he walks through the door and lets out a deep sigh when he sees you. though you’re face down on the bed, you hear the familiar rustling of his clothes and can picture what he’s doing behind you perfectly.

he’s loosened his tie and unclipped his cuff links, placing them on the dish on the dresser. then he shrugs his suit jacket off and drapes it over the chair he likes to watch you from occasionally. you can’t hear his steps on the carpeted floor, so his cool hand on your ass makes you jump.

“hello, sir,” you greet him. he says nothing in return.

his thumbs trace over the lace edges of your panties, taking in the scarlet color that he loves so much. he then begins to knead your ass cheeks, digging fingers into your soft flesh hard enough to bruise. without warning, he brings his hand back and spanks you, the slap ringing through the bedroom. you successfully stifle your whimper.

clearly not in the mood for foreplay, robert grabs the waistband of your panties and tugs them down so they gather at the crook of your knees. you chose a cheeky pair of panties, wanting something that will hide the base of the plug until they’re completely off.

from behind you, robert lets out a low groan. you chose a silver plug with a red jewel that glitters in the dim light of the bedroom. he pushes on the base with his thumb, watching you take it deeper before it moves back out when he takes away the pressure.

while you would like to be talked to, you understand that this is mr. fischer’s stress relief. he’s pent up from a long week at work, but once he’s closer to cumming, he won’t be able to shut up.

robert grasps the end of the plug and slowly pulls it out. he waits until the widest part of the plug is stretching you before pushing it back in. he repeats this, slowly fucking you with the bulb and watching as your cunt drips.

mercifully, he pulls the plug out and tosses it to the floor. it makes a faint thud, then you hear the sound of a zipper. robert slaps his cock on your right cheek, leaving a sticky patch of precum behind. he spits on your hole and pushes his blunt head against it.

he doesn't ask if you're ready or give any warning before he starts to push in. despite wearing a plug, there is still a bit of a stretch. he goes slow, but unrelenting. once he's fully seated inside you, he grabs you by the hips and uses his hold as leverage to fuck you.

"tight fuckin' ass," he groans.

the slow drag of his cock inside you makes your toes curl. you know he isn't doing this for your benefit, for your pleasure, but in some way, that makes you enjoy it more. he's using you like a fleshlight, just a warm hole to stick his dick in.

lewd squelches come from behind you as he fucks into you, using you for his own pleasure. his cock stimulates your g-spot from a different angle than you’re used to and it makes you dizzy, abdomen burning with need.

“you’re so fucking good,” he says, thrusting harder.

you try not to make noise, wanting to be a perfect toy for him, but it’s hard to suppress the whines he’s punching out of you.

“who owns this ass?” he asks, giving you a spank.

“you do, sir,” you whine.

speak when spoken to is the rule he likes you to follow. and when you do speak, you must use a title showing your respect.

“i’m gonna cum in you, honey. fill you ‘til you’re fucking dripping with it.”

robert loves to cum inside. to him, it’s the final display of ownership during sex. after a few hard, rough thrusts, robert’s cock twitches and the first spurts of cum fill you.

“fuck,” he hisses through his teeth.

he pulls your hips flush against yours and moves you onto him, pushing and pulling rapidly to milk his cock dry.

it was over too quickly for your liking, but he’s not paying you to cum on his cock. you’re here for his pleasure and nothing else.

robert stays inside you for a few moments to catch his breath, then he pulls out slowly, careful not to let any cum escape. he then picks up the plug from the floor, wipes it off on his suit pants, and slides it back into you.

“good girl,” he says, tapping your ass as a single to sit up.

robert beings to undress fully in front of you, but there isn’t anything sexual about it besides his enticing body. he isn’t putting on a show for you.

he leaves his expensive suit in a crumple on the floor, uncaring that it will get wrinkled. his dry cleaner will make it neat again, and if not, he can buy ten more just like it as a replacement.

“i’m gonna go shower. money’s on the dresser. feel free to get yourself off before you go.” he says casually.

he walks out of the bedroom and into the master bathroom. you watch his ass until your vision is obstructed by the door.

you sigh and scoot up the bed to bury your face in his pillow, inhaling the masculine scent of aftershave and shampoo.

you slide your hand down your front and begin to rub your clit. you wish, just once, he’d request a longer session. one where he fucks you thoroughly and makes you cum repeatedly before the night is through.

#robert fischer #robert fischer x reader #inception #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #robert fischer smut #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

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mamas-ethereal-gun · 3 months

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𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𐙚🧸ྀི

Actor!Kento Nanami x Fashion Designer!Black fem reader

‘10 things Nanami Kento can’t Live without ┃GQ’ was the title of the video that blew everything off. It started fairly normal, with Kento showing things such as his glasses and his favourite tie. But all things went out of proportion when he showed his wedding ring.

“This is.” He points to his ring. “My wedding ring. As of now I’ve been married for…” he thinks for a moment. “Almost 4 years now.” A small smile and a pinkish blush begins to take over his face. In the background you can hear someone ask if Kentos wife is also pretty popular, which he replied “I would say so, she’s a pretty famous Designer, in fact almost all of the suits I have worn to events were made by her.”

This specific clip took the internet by storm trying to figure out who this mystery woman is. Even looking at some of Nanamis old “Get ready with me to go to the Met Gala” videos. Once they Finally found out that it was you, it could’ve made anyone slap their heads because the only fashion shows Nanami would be seen at were yours. There’s clips of you and him talking after shows yet, no one could’ve guessed that you were married to the famous actor.

. You didn’t necessarily pay much attention towards your and Kentos little “outing”. You had other things to focus on, such as your new fashion line. This line to months to make and you’d be damned if you let Kentos littles fans distract you.

“Darling..?” Kento called out. It was so silent. Unusually silent. Right about now, youd probably be running into his arms. Placing soft kisses all of his face. And yet you were no were to be found. Your shoes were at the door so you could’ve gone out right? He walked around stepping over left over fabrics and lace. Until he finally found you laying on your shared bed, manikins stood tall next to you. They were filled with beautiful suits and gowns.

“Ken…?” You called out, lifting your head up to check who was at the door. “Angel are you alright?” He asks, walking towards the bed. You grown. “Okay sit up” He pulls you onto his lap and places kisses all over your face. “Yeah I’m okay.” You say bluntly, rubbing your head. It was obvious that you were in fact, not okay. “It doesn’t seem like it.” He mumbles. He turns to your designs. “They’re beautiful Darling.” “No they’re not. That one.” You point to one of the suits. “Looks obnoxiously plain and the other…” you point to another suit. “That one is just ugly.”

“Are we looking at the same thing?” Kento chuckles. “They are amazing (y/n), I personally think they are your best ones yet. ” “I just feel-“ Kento places his figure on your mouth, shushing you. “They’re amazing, you’re amazing”He pulls you into a passionate kiss. He smiles. “I love you Angel.”

➽─────────❥ ➽─────────❥

A/n 𐙚🧸ྀི: sorry I’ve been gone for so long, sorry has lowkey been so hectic and I’ve just been exhausted😭 this was really rushed but I have a x reader thingy coming guys 😼😼😼

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peaches-creek · 5 months

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It had been years since he had last seen you, his girl. You weren’t his girl, but you were his girl. He had only been Jason again for maybe a year or so, leaving the Arkham Knight in the past, and bringing the Red Hood into the light. He was still brining himself back, still having days where he feels nothing but rage. Days where he feels disgust, sadness, trauma. He has to be able to feel those things before he is able to love anyone else, not that he wants anyone else, you are it for him. You loved him for the little Jason that would show up on your doorstep with bruised and scraped knees, a belly needing to be filled. Instead of telling him to find help elsewhere, that you can’t let him in because your father would absolutely flip, you quietly let him in.

As he sits on your little twin bed, he takes in your room and pays attention to the small things. The pretty little pink flowers on your sheets, the Justin Bieber poster beside your desk. He scoffs at that. He notices the little finger paintings your younger sister made you, the well loved stuffed animals, and the little tea cup set you had at your play table. The last thing he payed attention to, while you gathered as many band-aids aid alcohol pads as your little 9 year old hands could hold, was all the knitted scarves and hats you had around your room. One was pink, another blue with a white rim, many rainbow colored ones, but the one that looked the warmest, was the red one. It had a white Pom-pom on top with little red laces on the bottom to tie it tight around your squishy little face. He imagined you in it, with your puffy cheeks. You scurry back into the room.

“Okay so these kinda sting,’’ you say ripping open an alcohol wipe, “I can hold your hand if you want.” You were half teasing. You did want to hold his hand but you knew he was like a scared rabbit, if you moved too fast he would scamper back into the darkness.

“I think I will manage, barely.” he smirks. He wanted to hold your hand too.

You payed attention to him as well. You payed attention to how his knees weren’t just bruised, but scarred. How his teeth were only a bit crooked. His hair was curly in the most perfect way, with a little curl falling right in front of his face. His freckles and blue eyes. You loved everything about him. You also noticed those pretty little blue eyes looking at your red hat.

“My nana makes those y’know,” you chirp, “she can make you one if you want.”

“I’m all set.” He says, looking away.

“Alright. Well guess what happened the other day! I went to the store and I found…” You rambled on, getting back to doctoring his knees.

He spent the remaining time of the night listening to insignificant stories about your little life. About the silly man you saw wearing a bright yellow suit and pink polka dot shoes. About the stray cat with one eye. He started looking at you again, looking at your funny little bed head, cowlick sticking straight up. Your blue striped pajama set. Bunny slippers. Everything about you was cute, you were only a year or so younger than him.

You met him at the Gotham Public library. You were both looking for books on mythology, he was looking for Greek while you were looking for Norse, different but alike, just like the pair of you. Ever since then, you were always around one another. He walked you home from school, made sure you got into your apartment okay. He would go to the park with you, push you on the swings. He even read you stories when you were sick and your mother let him in to see you. I mean, how could you deny him, he looked like a kicked puppy when he found out you couldn’t play.

You weren’t like the other city kids, you were kind. That’s why he liked you so much. All the obstacles you overcame, and you were still forgiving and patient. He envied that. Everything he went through made him angry and unforgiving. He would tell you about that, but you would just tell him that there’s two sides to every coin, and he didn’t know what the hell that meant. Sometimes you just said stuff.

You finished up with a quick kiss to his knees and exclaimed that you were all done. You turned on your heel and walked right over to the little red hat. You walked right back over to him and put in on his head.

“It’s a little too big for me, but it fits you just right!”

“I can’t take this.” He says, without taking it off.

“Yes, you can.” You quip.

“No I can’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Jason Peter Todd I will win the fight and you know it.” You giggle.

His response is nonverbal, just a huff. You smile.

He moves toward the window in your room, opens it and climbs onto the fire escape. He takes one last look into your lovely room and one last look at your lovely face. He waves his hand at you, beckoning you to come to him. He presses one little kiss to your cheek and quickly, but quietly he shuts the window. Then he’s gone, probably going home, leaving you with a red hot face and a goofy smile.

#jason todd #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd headcanon #mygirl!verse

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martybaker · 6 months

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Only Fools Rush In

So the setup for this is that Hob and Dream are professors in their forties at the same university, they’re friends who are very much pining for each other. They’re not oblivious, just taking things slow. Unfortunately, some meddling students and staff didn’t get the memo 😅

There will be more parts to this fic - as the word count kept running away from me I just decided to split it up and post the parts separately, however, I cannot promise when the next part will be completed.

——

Part 1

“Seriously? Where are your gloves? Hat? Scarf? Literally anything to keep you warm??”

Dream scoffs at getting scolded upon sight, taking the few more steps necessary to join Hob at the entrance to the outdoor ice skating rink.

“I’m warm enough,” he argues, earning a disbelieving look from Hob, who takes off his own gloves and grabs Dream’s hand, finding it cold, as expected. Dream snatches his hand away with a petulant pout.

Hob laughs at him. “You’re freezing! And you’re ridiculous! Having a fashion style to uphold is all fine and dandy, but dressed like this you’re just asking to catch a cold!”

“I thought I was here to try ice-skating, not to get a lecture on the way I dress,” Dream grumbles. “Besides, won’t I warm up by the activity? All this fuss is unnecessary.”

He makes for the door of the building where ice skates can be rented, with a ‘the sooner to get this over with, the better’ attitude.

Hob follows, raising an eyebrow at him: “Oh, Mr. Confident thinks he’ll be skating circles around me in no time? We’ll see how you’ll feel about the lack of gloves and padded clothing when you’ll end up on your arse, time and time again!”

Dream rolls his eyes. “I’m sure that was your exact intention when picking this activity, making a fool of me, all for your amusement.”

“Hey, I won the bet fair and square! Didn’t you have a blast when you won the last one, making me shave my stubble clean and draw a fake beard on? The students weren’t able to look at me in class without bursting into laughter!”

Dream cannot help but grin at the memory. “You were able to captivate them with the material nonetheless.”

“Yeah, but I had to work twice as hard to shift their attention away from the beard!”

—

They keep bickering as they rent a pair of skates each, finding a spot on the bench to change into them. Hob demonstrates how to properly tie the skates.

After Dream’s finished, he checks Dream’s work, grabbing onto the skates and testing the wiggle room.

“It needs to be tighter. Tied loosely and your ankles would move about, unsupported. You could get hurt.”

Dream nods, listening carefully. Hob is the expert here, or at least the one with lots of experience to draw from.

“Here, let me help you,” Hob slips from the bench down to his knees, Dream’s foot held in between them, and reties his laces, pulling them tight. Dream blinks rapidly, surprised by the action.

“There, that’s better,” Hob says, looking up and laughing at whatever expression it is that he finds on Dream’s face. “What? No one has ever tied your shoes for you before?”

Dream huffs. “Of course not,” he says, cheeks a little rosier than before, and lowers his gaze down, as if to inspect Hob’s work.

Luckily, Hob doesn’t tease more, he slowly stands up and then offers Dream an inviting hand. “Ready to rock and roll?”

Dream sighs. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” and takes Hob’s hand.

—

The ice rink isn’t too crowded, which is good. Firstly because they have room to move slowly on the ice, with Hob skating backwards and helping Dream learn the ropes without the danger of being run over by someone. And secondly, it means there are less witnesses to Dream’s mortifying struggles.

“Why, again, is this considered fun?” He grumbles, letting Hob pull him forward slowly, feeling extremely embarrassed as he can’t figure out how to move forward on his own without turning it into awkward stumbling rather than skating.

Hob laughs, squeezing Dream’s hands tighter.

“It is fun, it just takes some time to get into it. You’ve gotta lean forward a little, you’re too stiff and upright,” he advises.

Hob explains and demonstrates the right motions to him, over and over with great patience. Dream tries his best to follow the advice, and after a while, it does get better. Hob praises him and asks if he wants to try on his own for a bit, but Dream gives him an anxious look.

“Hmm, maybe you could try with the skating aid?” Hob suggests.

Dream grimaces. “Over my dead body,” he says, prompting Hob to burst into laughter again.

“Okay, got it. No skating aid for grown-up Dream. How about you skate near the boards and I'll be on your other side, so you could have something to grab on when you feel unstable?”

Dream nods.

Hob moves into position on his left side. Dream skates forward a few feet, wobbles and immediately grabs onto Hob’s arm with both hands, holding on for dear life.

Hob chuckles. “That’s alright, you’re doing great! Mistakes and falls are an inevitable part of the learning process!”

Dream glares at him. “Thanks for the tip, professor Gadling.”

Hob grins. “I’m no professor here, just an ice-skating teacher.”

“Whatever. Hold my hand,” Dream commands, and Hob happily obliges.

They do a few rounds like that, and it’s…actually not bad. Dream is getting used to the mechanics of the movement and he’s not that anxious with a steady support by his side.

He tries speeding up, and it works. He maybe even starts to feel a little bit of that excitement that attracts people to practice this activity regularly.

“You’re doing amazing!” Hob says, and Dream cannot help but preen.

He raises an eyebrow at Hob: “What were you saying earlier, about me landing on my arse again and again?”

Hob laughs. “Clearly, you have a good teacher!”

Dream snorts. “Clearly, I am a good student.”

“That you are,” Hob says with a smile, and pulls Dream to skate faster.

And faster.

And Dream stumbles on uneven ice, falling backwards and taking Hob with him.

They both land on their arses.

Hob, of course, reacts to this with laughter. Dream really doesn’t know where that man takes all that optimism from.

“Sorry, my bad, I went too fast!”

“Yes, you do that,” Dream mutters under his nose.

“Pardon?” Hob asks, brows furrowed as he picks himself up from the ice and holds out a hand for Dream.

Dream looks at the outstretched hand but doesn’t take it. “You’ll have to have patience with me, Hob. I don’t have the guts for barrelling into things headfirst anymore.”

“It’s generally recommended to avoid barrelling into anything while you’re ice skating,” Hob jokes. Dream gives him a look and this time Hob does catch on that Dream’s not talking about ice-skating anymore.

His gaze softens. “You can take all the time you need, Dream, I’m not in a rush.”

He plops down onto the ice next to Dream, back against the boards. “Wanna just chill here for a while?”

Dream gives him an unimpressed look. “We can’t sit here, we’re in people’s way.”

“Eh, they’ll make do for a minute.”

Dream shakes his head and pulls them both up to stand again. “I should get back on the horse, shouldn’t I?”

Hob grins. “I think that’s a different sport, love.”

Dream rolls his eyes. “It’s called an idiom, you twit.”

Dream dusts off his gloved hands and picks up the hat that he was wearing. Hob actually forced his own gloves and hat on him before they started and Dream has to admit to himself that he’s glad for them now. Of course, he’s not about to voice that and give Hob the satisfaction. The pompom on top of the hat is silly, but it does keep Dream’s ears warm, so he’s willing to commit this small fashion crime in the name of comfort.

To top it all off, Hob’s knitted Doctor Who scarf is now also in Dream’s possession. He has no objections to that one, though it does look better on Hob.

He would feel guilty for leaving Hob to freeze but the man’s actually wearing a big puffer jacket, zipped up to his chin. And his cheeks are endearingly rosy when he smiles at Dream, which is also, uhm, something.

“Shall we?” Hob asks, and Dream reaches for his hand again. This time, Hob doesn’t pull, but matches Dream’s own tempo.

#dreamling #dream x hob #hob x dream #the sandman #sandman #my writing #dreamling fic #sandman fic #I would tag this as conscious slowborn #as in they both have feelings and are aware the other one os on the same page #but they decide to take it slow #unfortunately meddling coworkers and students are there to create chaos #more in next part #ofri dreamling au

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stars1997 · 1 month

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Lover boy - part 4

Warnings: Smut!! NSFW!!! (18+), unprotected sex, some spanking, some choking, swearing, semi public sex, car sex

(not edited)

Pairing(s): Jeremy Swayman x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N Ullmark gets a job with the Bruins as their new photographer. They haven't seen each other in a few years, some things have changed. What happens when her brother's best friend develops a crush on her?

Authors note: The smut you guys have been waiting for! There will be more smut in the next chapter!

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It didn’t take me long to get ready. I put on a pair of black leggings and a cute sweater that I got the other day. I was slipping on my shoes when there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” I yell, standing up and making my way over to the door, opening it.

“Good evening, little lady. I’m here to take you out for a surprise.” Jeremy says in a horrible country accent.

He holds out his hand sending me a small smile. I take his hand and he led me to his truck.

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“Where are we going?” I ask for the hundredth time already.

“If I told you then it wouldn’t be a surprise now would it,” he says, giving me a side eye look.

I let out a little huff in frustration. But it wasn’t until we pulled onto a street that I realized was the back way to the arena that I said, “Why are we going to the arena?” I look over at him. his mouth now turned up into a smile.

“Now that were here you can’t turn back. Buuut, I brought you here so I can teach you how to skate. If you look in the back seat, I even got you your own skates.” His smile now stretching all the way to his ears and making his eyes look like little slits.

“Oh, your such and ass for tricking me into this.” I turn around and look in the back seat to find a box with the word Bauer written on it.

I grab the box and open it to find the cutest pair of ice skates. “Jer. You didn’t have to do this. But thank you. I appreciate it a lot, thank you.” I look back over at him and send him a soft smile.

“Okay enough with that sappy talking, let go get on the ice.” He claps his hand before he shuts off his car and grabs his skates from the back as well.

_____________________________________________

Jeremy brought us both out to the player benches. He got his skates on in less than a minute, but I was struggling to tie my laces. “Need some help their peeps?” he asks, getting down on his knees to help me tie my skates before I could even respond.

He stands up and makes his way onto the ice. “What if I fall. I don’t like falling.” He just sends me a small giggle.

“Don’t worry about falling. I’ll be right here to help you. I promise.” I gave him a little look that basically told him that if he was lying, I would be kicking his ass later.

It took me a minute, but I finally got out on the ice. Jer kept up with his promise to be here to help me.

_____________________________________________

“So, you really never been skating before?” he asks me. He’s holding on to my hands, sort of skating backwards so he can pull me.

“If I have been skating before I wouldn’t be so scared now, would it? No, I haven’t been before. And I know what you’re going to say next, but your brother plays. I just never found the appeal for it. It was always my brother’s thing. He had hockey and I had my camera…let’s not talk about my brother, how have you been? We have only had one chance to catch up and I kind of got shit face and don’t remember most of that night.” I lift my eyes from the ground to look up at him.

“I’ve been good. last season was amazing, and I couldn’t have asked for anything more. you really don’t remember that night? Because I remember you hitting on me.” He smirks and my mouth drops open.

“No, I did not!” I say in a shocked tone.

“Yup you did. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you have a crush on me.” My cheeks got really red. I move my eyes back down to the ice.

“So little miss y/n has a crush on me. That cute.” I let go of one of his hands to slap his chest, but I lost my footing and ended up falling forward making him fall backwards.

He lets out a grunt as I land on top of him. My eyes find his and it was like he was thinking of something. Like he wanted to do something but was stopping himself.

I move off his chest so now I’m basically straddling him now. He sits up so we are face to face. I go to speak but get cut off by him kissing me.

A little gasp left my mouth when his lips slammed onto mine. It took me a second to kiss back. My hands finding his hair and his hands move to cup the bottom of my ass. Pulling me closer to him so now are chest are touching.

“Fuck, y/n. I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time. Do you remember the day after easter. I was visiting you and your brother, and you came walking into the house with literally fifty boxes of peeps because they were on sale. That was the day that I knew I liked you.” he squeezes my ass before running his hands up and down my back.

I kiss him again and he’s quick to kiss me back. He gives my ass another squeeze making me gasp into the kiss. He slips his tongue in my mouth. But not long after he pulls away from me.

“We need to get off the ice, my ass is starting to get cold and wet.” He laughs.

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He was quick to climb into the passenger seat of his car. Tapping his lap as a way to tell me to get in. I’m now straddling him, I can feel his hard on pressing into me.

“You don’t know what you do to me y/n. That night you were drunk, I was really wishing you weren’t. I was wishing that it was sober you that was hitting on me.” I was quick to kiss him again.

“You have me now, now use me.” I say wail kissing his lips. He brings his hands to my back, sliding them down so he can grab my ass.

“I’m starting to think you’re an ass guy now. I’ve always thought you were into boobs.” I pull my sweater over my head, his eyes lock on my boobs.

“I can like both can’t I. You just got such a nice ass…and tits.” He unclasps my bra, sliding the straps down my arms.

Once it off he tosses it in the driver’s seat. He kisses my neck and slowly makes his way down to my boobs. His lips wrap around my nipple as his thumb finds the other one.

“Fuck. Yes, that feels so good.” My hands pull at his hair making him moan around my nipple.

“This needs to come off.” He says pulling at the waist band of my leggings.

I climb into the back seat pulling my leggings down and tossing them to the side. Jeremy does the same with his sweatpants. I climb back on top of him. His underwear and mine are the only barrier between us. He reaches between my thighs to move my underwear to the side.

“Your so wet baby.” He says between giving me kisses on my neck as his fingers run through my folds. He pulls out his cock, lining himself up. I let out a breathy moan as he slides his cock all the way in, bottoming out.

“Fuck you feel so good.” He thrusts up, letting out a grunt with every thrust.

“Oh yes Jer, right there.” I moan out, reaching my hand down to play with my clit but he moves my hand away replacing it with his own.

If someone walked by, they would know what’s happening. Jeremys hands move to my waist helping me bounce on his cock. Loud moans leave my mouth every time his cock slams into me.

“Come one pretty girl. Cum on my cock so I can take you to my place and fuck you on any surface I can bend you over.” One of his hands makes its way around my neck the other one staying on my hip. His thrusts become faster, his hand now squeezing around my neck.

“I’m going t-” I was cut off by my orgasm. My body shakes as my back arches into Jeremy. Jeremy was quick to pull out, his cum landing on my stomach.

He rips my underwear at my hips and uses it to wipe of the cum off. He then takes of his shirt and pulls it over my head.

“Go sit in the front so I can take you home.” He says, kisses me. I climb off his lap and turn around to climb back into the passenger seat. As I’m climbing onto the center console, Jeremy now has a full view of my pussy.

His hands are back on your hips. He leans down and gives me a kiss on my ass. The thought of his mouth being so close to my pussy. This makes me shutter a bit.

“I’m going to eating you out when we get to my place. Make you sit you pretty puss on my face.” he says giving my ass a hard slap.

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Jer was quick to get out of the car. coming to my side and opening the door for me. I was barely out of the car before he picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder and landing another slap on my as he brings us to the front door.

#jeremy swayman #jeremy swayman fic #jeremy swayman fluff #jeremy swayman imagine #jeremy swayman smut #jeremy swayman x reader #boston bruins #hockey fluff #hockey smut #bruins

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luimagines · 1 year

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He’s Flirty, You’re Flustered Part 3

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2

Part three will include Legend, Hyrule and Wind!

Content under the cut!

Legend

Legend slid up next to you and smirked. “Good morning.”

You blinked and couldn’t help but instantly blush “Good morning Legend.”

He softens his look and bows a little bit. With his hand extended, he looks up to you with the most charming look he can muster. “May I ask for your company?”

You tilt your head and struggle. Legend is patient with you however, watching the gears turn in your head as you consider his offer. The blush that hasn’t left your face only encourages him but he’s not going to make things difficult for you on purpose.

“What for?” You settle with. Legend’s eyes dip to the way you bite your lips. It’s only after you lick them in your nerves that he flicks his eyes back to yours.

He clears his throat and straightens up somewhat. “The Old Man asked for a supply run and I’m the best when it comes to haggle merchants.” He leans in conspiratorially and whispers. “Don’t tell the Captain though. He can talk in circles no doubt, but only I can get us the best prices.”

You snort a little bit, covering your mouth and nose in mild horror that you just made that sound. Legend smiles though. “Cute.”

“N-no.” You frown and smack his shoulder. “I am not!”

“Are you coming or not?” Legend laughs it off, catching your hand as you go to smack him again.

The quick action catches you off guard and you still within his grasp. Ever patient, Legend waits for you to come to an answer. A beat passes and it takes you a minute to gather up the courage to meet his eyes. Legend isn’t entirely sure what look he has on his face right now, only that you see him and look down again as you blush deepens. Legend takes a bit of pride in that. He feels his overflowing adoration towards you leak onto the surface of his expressions and he’s not feeling a smidge guilty about it.

“...Yes.” You say quietly. “I’ll go with you.”

“Great!″ Legend grins, feeling bubbly and light for a change in his life. He’s sure that you catch it with the way you bite your lip again.

Feeling emboldened, Legend bends to kiss the knuckles of your still captive hand. “I’ll look forward to it, My Sweet.”

Legend waits for a beat before you start to combust. He takes his leave, feeling marginally better after he winks at you.

You try to speak and to tell him off but you can’t find the right words in tie as he goes to get ready for the trip.

“Link! You Menace!” You cry out and Legend explodes into giddy giggles.

Sky looks over to the Vet and shakes his head. “What did you do this time?”

“Nothing!” Legend grins and waves off the older hero. “I only asked if they would accompany me to the supply run.”

“Uh-huh.” Sky raises and eyebrow and crosses his arms. “And that’s why they decided to use our name instead of calling you out specifically?”

Legend shrugs. “It’s nice to hear my name every now and then. Is that so bad?”

Sky snorts. “You’re terrible.”

“I am not.” Legend’s smile tells Sky that he’s lying. “Anyway, I have to get one more thing before we go and then we’ll be back before sundown if everything goes smoothly.”

“Not going to treat them to a date?”

“I’m collect my bet money.” Legend smirks. “It might be dinner by candle light. But I’m treating them for sure.”

“Good luck. Have fun.”

Hyrule

You were watching your feet as you walked. There wasn’t anything on your shoes or any thing interesting on the ground but you wanted to look down and keep your head low.

Why?

You couldn’t be dared seen to be... soft while Hyrule walked next to you.

It was hard enough keeping your face straight. If Hyrule was going to be pushing your buttons today, he had another things coming!

“Can I hold you hand?” He asks bluntly.

You snap your head to him and bite your lip. Okaaaay....Not what you had in mind. But!....You want to hold his hand too.

You nod and hold your hand out. He takes it gently and laces your fingers together, swinging the two of them together. His hand is warm. Strange. You didn’t think you would have been able to feel it through his gauntlets.

Hyrule takes a side step closer to you and bumps your hips with his.

You look at him again and he shoots you a stupidly blinding grin. “Come here often?”

You snort and look away, hiding your face with your other hand. Your smile betrays you though and something about the way Hyrule walks a little straighter tells you that you not only did he notice, but he’s also very proud of the fact that he caused it.

Dumb. This is dumb.

Your blush is the last piece of evidence that you want him to use against you. “No. In fact, I don’t come here often. I’ve never been here before in my life.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” Hyrule comments nonchalantly. “Back home we have saying that goes ‘a person’s beauty can only compare to the places they surround themselves with. For in each spot they leave a little of themselves behind to grow and bloom for others to enjoy while in turn they take a piece of the experience with them to hold and protect in their hearts.’”

“Oh really?” You raise an eyebrow, not entirely sure what he means by that or where he’s going with it. “That’s... quite sentimental, Link.”

Hyrule nods. His features soften when you say his name. “However, I was just thinking that this place is a little lackluster.”

That surprises you. Hyrule was typically the first to admit that he found other homes beautiful and wasn’t shy about complimenting new scenery. You blink and give your attention fully to the Traveler beside you. “What makes you say that? I think it’s just as pretty as any other place we’ve been to.”

“I see the appeal.” Hyrule shrugs. “But it’s missing a little bit of your charm. Maybe it’ll look a little bit better after we spend some time here and your beauty can spread here. Lighten things up a bit.”

His word and his saying catches up to you know and you choke a bit on your own spit. “Now you’re just-” You rip your hand away and frantically wave him away. “Nu-uh. Nope. Why? Don’t be silly. There’s no way that would work. How am I going to make this place petty in your eyes?”

“By being in it.”

You trip over your toe. Your face explodes in color and you fight the urge to scream.

Hyrule looks at you with a small smile and waits for you to calm down again, not at all minding that you’ve pushed him away for the time being. “Cute.”

“Link! The Traveler and Hero of Hyrule, the first!” You say loudly, failing to say his full name and title, even though the attempt is forever going to be burned into Hyrule’s mind. “This is not....”

Hyrule pokes your cheek. “Should we keep walking?

“YES PLEASE!”

Wind

There was something about the way you avoided him that caught his intertest. At first, it seemed like a challenge. He was going to befriend you at all costs!

You were going to be best friends and there was nothing you could do about it.

Wind would try to crack jokes and make you laugh and he would try to be cool and impress you and maybe you would talk to him.

Weirdly, it wasn’t working.

If anything it just made you avoid him even more and your face would get all red and Wind didn’t get it.

Wind sighed and laid on the ground, putting his arm over his eyes. Maybe he should ask one of the others for help. But knowing them, they would say something dumb like you liked him or something...

But what if you did? Wind tilts his head at the thought, not moving much from his spot. That would line up with some of your actions if he thought about it long enough.

Wind hummed to himself and eventually got up in one swell swoop. He lands on his feet and begins his mission of seeking you out.

He finds you talking to Twilight and Wind can feel himself begin to lose his nerve. Wind is at least a little glad that you’re not talking to Warrior. The other one would have made it impossible to talk to you this way.

But! The other boys are heroes of courage and Wind is just like them! He can do this.

Wind marches up to you and taps you on the shoulder. You jump and smile a bit, waving shyly. “Hi Wind. Did you need something?”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Wind replies easily, trying to ignore the way his palms are beginning to sweat.

Twilight nods and grins. “Alright. Well you know what to do.” He salutes lazily. “Have fun.”

“Wait-! Twilight wait-!” You call out, reaching out to the older boy but he’s out of your reach before you can hold onto him. This emboldens Wind now that there’s no direct audience.

Wind grabs your hand and laces your fingers together, smiling widely. “Want to go on a walk with me?”

You blush slightly and nod, softly shutting your mouth. “Where to, Wind?”

The pirate shrugs and pulls your close to his side. “Anywhere away from all these old guys.”

“I heard that!” Warrior calls out.

Wind snickers and calls back. “Good. Then you know we’ll be back.”

“Wind!” You whisper yell, not putting up much of a fight when Wind begins to tug you along. He’s still hoping that you don’t notice how nervous he is by being this bold.

When you’re far enough away from the group, Wind slows down and you both simple walk down a beaten path a little ways away from the camp you’ve set up. You sigh and rub your other hand on your pants, not letting go of his hand. “Ok, we’re here now. What did you want to talk about Wind?”

His brain stalls. Wind didn’t think this far ahead. “Uhh... I just wanted to say that you looked very nice today. I liked what you did to you hair.”

You flush even more so, looking away and covering part of your face with your free hand. “ThAnks... Wild did it.”

It’s a pretty look for sure. Wind notices. But what he’s focused on is your reaction. Maybe he can get you to do it again.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #not me realize at the very end of this that i actually wanted to *save* this request to pair it with some other one i got #i was going to make an entire saga you guys DX #it fit so well!!!#such is life #Legend's *fought* me #that is not the prompt at all #my apologies

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echo-bleu · 9 months

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your smile tells me I'm safe

4k, also on AO3, first part of my modern Russingon QPR AU on that tree I'll carve your name.

“I’m in love with you,” Fingon says one morning in September.

Maedhros is perched on the couch’s armrest, bent down, struggling to tie his laces. It’s something he can normally do easily, if slowly, his stump pressed against the loops as he forms them with his hand. But on some days, his shoulder protests the twist it requires, and he can’t quite get his forearm at the right angle. That’s why he has several pairs of boots that zip up instead, but today is the first staff meeting of the autumn semester, and he wants to wear his nice shoes.

He looks up at Fingon as the words sink in. His unbound hair makes a curtain in front of his eyes, and he can only see parts of him, the hand on his shoulder bag, the golden beads in his perfectly braided hair, his hesitant, expectant smile.

His face falls the longer Maedhros takes to answer. They’re running late for the meeting, and there’s a lead weight in Maedhros’s gut that pulls painfully as words fail to form on his lips. I’m in love with you too, the words are right there, but it’s like someone has sucked all the sound out of him.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it,” Fingon says, too fast, too high-pitched, a garble of words Maedhros’s brain can barely decipher. “It’s the worst possible moment, but I’ve been waiting and there’s never a right one and you looked so lovely with your hair hanging like that and—”

He stops to draw a breath, shaky and panicked. Maedhros still feels strangled, but he gives up on his laces and shakes off the shoes to cross the room. He cups Fingon’s chin to make him look up.

“It’s okay, I just.” He stops there, abruptly, with no idea what to say. “Need time,” he finishes after a moment, but the pause hangs between them like a condemnation.

Fingon gives him a brave smile. “Okay,” he says. “Take all the time you need.”

But his posture is tight like he already knows how it’s going to go. He expects Maedhros to turn him down – of course he does. To push him away again, this time for good. He expects Maedhros to ask him to move out, or to pine until they drift apart because of the awkwardness.

Maedhros wants to reassure him, but the only things that come to mind are platitudes – it doesn’t change anything, whatever happens we will stay friends – and they will sound far too much like no, I don’t love you back. And if he knows one thing, it’s that it isn’t true.

So he goes to get his zip boots from his closet and they walk out of the flat in silence. Fingon won’t meet his eyes, and he’s careful not to touch him at any point as they board the metro together.

They make it to the meeting on time, somehow, and they sit together through three powerpoint presentations and an hour of arguing because they always do, and Maedhros doesn’t absorb a single thing that has been said.

I’m in love with you.

The words run on loop inside his head, leaving no room for anything else.

It’s not a surprise, not really. Fingon had a crush on him even back before the accident, according to Káno. They’ve grown very close since reconnecting, and his brothers have teased him about it more than once. Looking back, the signs are there. Maedhros should have seen it coming.

And he does love Fingon back, doesn’t he?

Once home, after another awkward metro ride, he lies down on his bed and stares at the ceiling, the question running in his mind.

The reality of it is that he doesn’t know. He loves Fingon as a friend, as his best friend, there’s no doubt about that. He loves hanging out with him, watching movies on the couch together and working side by side on their laptops. He loves how they laugh together about the most ridiculous things, how Fingon beams at him whenever they cross paths at uni even though they’ve already seen each other in the morning.

He wants to be there to comfort him when he has a bad day. He wants Fingon to be there for him when he has a bad day. He wants to celebrate their victories together, and commiserate on the small annoyances, and hug each other through the hard times.

He can barely imagine his life without Fingon in it. He doesn’t want a life without Fingon in it.

Is that being in love?

And if it is, then why couldn’t he say it back?

He tries to say it out loud, alone in his bedroom. I’m in love with you. The words still won’t make it past his lips.

Letting out a frustrated groan, he gets up again and goes to cook dinner.

The next day, Maedhros’s shoulder hurts enough that he is forced to use his sling. It means that Fingon doesn’t push, doesn’t ask him anything more. He is as he always is on those days – worried and considerate, and there’s almost no awkwardness. He smoothly anticipates Maedhros’s needs, and if there is a slightly different quality to his posture when they spend the evening on the couch, Maedhros’s head on his lap, well, Maedhros is in too much pain to notice.

It lasts almost three days, leaving Maedhros exhausted for another two. There is no energy to spare for feeling guilty, though Fingon’s words are still in his mind. Fingon grows stiffer with him – not purposefully, but he stares at Maedhros’s back at lot, and he’s quick to look away when Maedhros turns around. Several times, for no discernable reason, he stands up and walks out of the living room, going to work in his bedroom instead.

It’s Sunday by the time Maedhros feels well enough to get out of the flat for any length of time. Feeling cooped up, he goes for a walk, but the sky starts pouring when he’s only made it around the corner. By the time he makes it back home, he’s drenched.

Fingon looks up from where he’s typing on his laptop on the couch. Seeing Maedhros dripping on the welcome mat like a wet dog, he starts laughing.

It’s a beautiful sound.

“That’s right, make fun of my misery,” Maedhros rolls his eyes, but he can’t help smiling.

He runs his hand through his dripping hair to get it out of his face, and Fingon’s smile slowly wanes, a thoughtful, sad look taking its place. This has happened too many times in the last week. Fingon hasn’t brought it up again, but it’s obvious that he’s thinking about it.

Maedhros steels himself as he dries his hair with a towel in the bathroom and changes. While he’s not Fingon, who tends to run head-first into danger, he’s never been one to avoid the things that scare him. He can do this. Fingon deserves an explanation, at the very least.

“What you said the other day,” he starts as soon as he comes out of the bathroom. “Are you certain?”

Fingon startles, looks at him, closes his laptop and takes a breath. “Of course. But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same.”

He doesn’t sound as if anything about this is okay, but he’s trying. He’s just never been a good liar. His hands are restless, pulling on one of his braids compulsively.

Maedhros sighs and sits down in the armchair across from the couch. “I can’t be with you in that way.”

He’s half-proud of the way his voice didn’t waver, but Fingon looks gutted, and all of his pride immediately fades away.

“May I—” Fingon says, working his jaw and looking anywhere but at him. “May I ask why?”

Maedhros thinks of all the excuses he’s constructed in his head. That relationships between roommates often end in disaster. That they’re basically cousins, and their fathers hate each other, and it would be terrible for the family unity. That Fingon is already taking care of him far too often as it is, that Maedhros and his chronic pain and his missing hand and his depression would make a terrible partner. They are all true.

They’re also just excuses.

“Because,” he says. He pushes his still-damp hair out of his face. “Because you’re lovely, and kind, and brave, and beautiful, and everything I could ever want, and I love you, but… I can’t give you what you want.”

Fingon frowns, now biting on his nails. “I don’t want anything except for you.”

“No, I can’t—I can’t be the person you deserve.”

“I don’t understand.”

Maedhros sighs. There they are. He takes a deep breath, looking at his lap.

“You deserve someone who can love you back, fully, who can be with you in every way, and I don’t—I don’t have it in me. I just don’t… It’s not there. Something in me is broken. I don’t know if it’s the depression, or the trauma, or if I was born this way, but I can’t give you that, and you deserve better than someone who can’t love you properly.” He swallows a sob on the last word. “I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”

Fingon stares, and doesn’t say anything. Maedhros can’t tell if he’s shocked, or disgusted, or simply waiting for him to pull himself back together. He buries his face in his hands.

He works on the breathing exercises he learned in therapy for a minute, in silence. When he feels calm enough to look up, Fingon is still staring at him, his head slightly tilted, as if trying to solve a mystery.

“Maedhros,” he says slowly. “Are you aromantic?”

Maedhros blinks. His brain halts to a stop.

Is he?

“I—” He gestures helplessly. “I don’t know?”

“It means you don’t experience romantic attraction to people,” Fingon explains helpfully, but Maedhros already knows that.

It never seemed like a very useful description to him. What does it even mean? Is he supposed to get butterflies in his stomach? That’s just an overly dramatic metaphor from teenage romance novels, surely adult relationships are about something else…

Right?

“Ah,” he says, because he can’t think about anything else.

“It would be okay,” Fingon says, still trying to be helpful. “If you are.”

Maedhros thinks about that, and he definitely can’t dig into it deeper without getting overwhelmed. He puts his head in his hands again. Breathes.

“Maedhros.”

He looks up. Fingon has stood up from the couch, and he looks like he wants to come closer, but he doesn’t. He starts pacing instead, in a tiny line down the length of the couch, four steps forward and a turn. Then he sits down again.

“What I’m hearing,” he says, enunciating carefully, “is that you’re perhaps not attracted to me romantically, but you think you could have been if you were wired that way. Which suggests that you are perhaps attracted to me in other ways?”

Maedhros feels himself blush. “Um, not… not—”

“Sexually? No, I already know you’re ace, I’m not expecting you to— Wait,” he stops himself when Maedhros’s eyes bulge out. “Are you not ace?”

“I—”

Fingon grimaces. “I assumed because of how you’re always avoiding the subject, but I should have asked, sorry.”

“No, I… I don’t—”

Maedhros searches for words for an awkward moment before Fingon finally catches on. “Valar, you don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I know what ace is,” Maedhros says. “I just. Don’t know what I am.”

Fingon bursts out laughing. Maedhros watches him uncomprehendingly, still reeling from the new thoughts hammering in his brain.

“I’m sorry, this is totally inappropriate,” Fingon says, wiping his eyes. “I just… Only you. You’re proudly out as queer, you go to pride, you’ve known that you’re nonbinary for – how long?”

Maedhros hesitates. That is, somehow, something they’ve never really talked about. Fingon took it in stride when Maedhros came out to him, but they never really dug into the subject. “When—when you came out, and Ñolo wasn’t… great about it, I started researching, you know, studies and articles about gender, so I could make sure I was informed and maybe send them to him.”

He feels his cheeks heat up. Fingon’s amused grin turns into a beaming smile, lighting up his face. “For me?”

“Of course. It took me a couple years to really start questioning it for myself, and by then…”

“We weren’t speaking any more.”

“Yeah.”

He opens his mouth to apologize, for the hundredth time, but Fingon holds up a hand. “And in all that time, all that research, you never heard about aromanticism?”

“No, I did. I know what it is, I just…”

I just didn’t think it could be me. I just thought I was broken. He doesn’t say it out loud.

He’s not convinced that it isn’t the truth of it. That there are the real aromantics, the ones who are perfectly valid in their (lack of) orientation, and there’s him, the imposter. It took him years and dozens of hours of therapy to accept his gender – he still slides back on the regular, feeling like he’s claiming a label that he has no right to. This – this is too much.

“Whatever I am, whatever – it doesn’t matter,” he says. “It doesn’t change anything for you.”

Fingon worries at his lower lip. “Putting words on it helps. And it means…” he hesitates. “It means it’s not me you can’t love.”

He’s fiddled with the bead at the end of one of his braids so much that it’s coming apart. Maedhros sighs. “It’s not you,” he confirms. “If I could want someone, anyone… It would be you.”

He wonders, suddenly, if Fingon will want to keep his distance now, if trying to get over him (how do you get over love?) will mean staying away. The thought slithers inside his throat and swells until he can barely breathe.

The idea of losing Fingon…

Fingon is following his own train of thoughts, and giving him a sad smile. “I’m glad to know that,” he says softly.

“Is this— Does this mean—” Maedhros can’t even ask. He runs his hand through his hair, pulling hard at the ends.

“I don’t know,” Fingon says. “It depends on what it means for you, I suppose.”

Maedhros frowns. “How?”

“If you can’t feel attraction to me, does it mean that you also don’t want a relationship? It doesn’t have to be romantic, or sexual.”

“What else is there? You’re already my best friend, unless you don’t want to—”

“No!” Fingon almost shouts. Maedhros blinks at him, surprised. “Not that, I’ll always be your friend if that’s what you want,” he says more softly, but no less forcefully.

“Oh,” Maedhros murmurs, only now noticing how fast his heart is beating. That eases some of his dread. “Good. Because I don’t want to lose you.”

“Me neither. Never.”

Fingon looks close to tears. Maedhros wants to hug him. He makes an aborted gesture toward him with his stump, to check if it would be welcome, and Fingon opens his arms.

Gratefully, Maedhros switches from his armchair – which suddenly feels too far away – to the couch beside Fingon. Fingon scoots over so that Maedhros can be on his right, and slide his left arm across his back. He’s careful of Maedhros’s shoulder when he returns the hug, nuzzling Maedhros’s neck.

“I’m not letting go of you,” he murmurs. “No matter what.”

Then he raises his head again. “Some aro people have queer-platonic relationships. I think. I’m not exactly knowledgeable, but we could research. Is that something you’d want?”

Maedhros gives himself a minute to think about it properly, running his fingers up and down Fingon’s arm. He tries to push away the intrusive thoughts – you’re just broken, you’ll never be good enough for him, he’s generous enough to give you the benefit of the doubt – and actually considers the question.

“I don’t know,” he says.

The thing is – the thing is, he doesn’t think he would want any kind of relationship, aside from friendship, with anyone else than Fingon. So what does that make him?

And Fingon… Fingon is normal, and beautiful and smart and kind, and he could have anyone he wanted. He shouldn’t have to settle for someone like Maedhros.

“Fingon,” he says slowly, prompting him to meet his eyes. “I love you, and I want you in my life more than anything, but you still deserve better. You deserve someone who can love you for real.”

“Oh, Mae.” Fingon reaches up to push his hair back behind his ears. “It doesn’t make your love any less real.”

“But I can’t love you the way you love me.”

Fingon shrugs. “I don’t care. I just want you. From where I’m standing, this just means that we get to define our relationship in whatever way we want. We can just throw other people’s expectations out of the window. I don’t need romance. I don’t need sex. We can figure out what we like together.”

“So if we just continue as we have, you’d be satisfied?”

He smiles. “Without being afraid that you’ll bolt if you find out my feelings? Without feeling like I’m lying every time I look at you? Yes. I don’t need more than that. I just want to be with you.”

“With me,” Maedhros repeats, trying to taste what that would feel like.

Fingon turns to lean against his chest, propping his feet on the edge of the coffee table. “So, can we try? We can research QPRs and see how other people do it. And if nothing fits, we can just make it up.”

“I— Okay,” Maedhros whispers. “We can try.”

It feels easier, perhaps, to say it to the top of Fingon’s head, rather than to his face. He’d do anything for Fingon, but he can’t give him what just isn’t there. How long until Fingon gets bored or frustrating and realizes what he’s missing? How long until Maedhros’s lack comes between them?

But Fingon looks so relieved, relaxed in Maedhros’s arms, and they’ve been cuddling like this on the couch for months. Maybe things don’t have to change too much. They can figure this out as they go along, and if one day it’s no longer enough, then – they’ll cross that bridge when they get there.

So for now – for now, maybe.

“Shit!”

Maedhros looks up from his sketchbook, alarmed. He twists around to check on Fingon, who is standing in front of the sink, peeling tomatoes.

“What did you do this time?” he asks nonchalantly, when he’s determined that nothing majorly dangerous has happened.

“Nicked my finger. It’s fine, it’s just a small cut.” Fingon turns on the tap and holds his hand under the water.

“No need for stitches?”

“No, just a band-aid, maybe.”

Maedhros nods, even though Fingon has his back turned to him, and he puts down his pencil to go get band-aids and antiseptic from the bathroom cabinet.

“Give me your hand,” he says, hooking his foot around the rolling stool they keep in the kitchen area to pull it closer. He sits down and Fingon holds out his now dripping hand. Thankfully, it is only dripping water and not blood, and the cut is objectively very small. Barely enough to justify a band-aid at all, if not for the fact that Fingon will never leave it alone and keep re-opening it if it’s not protected.

Maedhros struggles a little with the box, which is not made to be opened one-handed, and takes out one of the child superhero-themed band-aids. He got them for Fingon as a joke, because he goes through boxes of bandages seemingly like candy, but Fingon unironically loves them. They already adorn several of his fingers like so many rings, little explosions of colour against his dark skin.

Maedhros slaps the newest one on his index finger and jokingly bends to kiss it better – but he lingers, just a little. Fingon doesn’t take his hand back. It lasts no more than an extra second or two, but it’s enough for Maedhros’s brain to start spinning.

Very little has changed between them since their talk. Some of the awkwardness of the last weeks has faded, and new embarrassment arises in entirely different places, but it’s all very subtle. They’ve hung out just as much as they usually do, and Fingon truly seems content with what they have.

Maedhros is still cataloguing moments. Trying to sort what counts as romantic, and what is just friendship. What the distinction even means to him. Kissing Fingon’s finger – is it a joke, or a moment of tenderness? Can it be both? Is it an issue if it’s both?

“You’re overthinking again,” Fingon says lightly.

“Ugh,” Maedhros mutters, standing up and leaning forward to gently headbutt Fingon on the way.

“Whatever feels right,” Fingon reminds him. “It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.”

“What if what feels right to me isn’t what feels right to you?”

Fingon shrugs. “If it feels wrong to either of us, we don’t do it. You just have to be honest about it.”

They’ve looked up queer-platonic relationships together, but there seems to be as many ways to be in one as there are people who are. The only requirement is, well, declaring it a relationship.

If Fingon is truly serious about this, about not wanting to seek someone who can actually love him properly, then Maedhros wants to give him at least that. Commitment.

It shouldn’t be difficult. Tyelko often jokes that Maedhros is more loyal than a dog (but then, Tyelko loves dogs more than people). He has, always, given a hundred percent of himself to those important in his life – more than was healthy, sometimes. He loves Fingon, and there is no doubt in his mind that he wants that to continue.

But he’s abandoned Fingon once. Not out of any desire to hurt him – on the contrary – but that’s how Fingon experienced it, and it stands between them even now. He pushed Fingon away, and they didn’t see each other again for almost a decade. They went through the worst times of their lives separately, because of Maedhros’s misguided desire to protect him.

Maedhros takes a breath and catches Fingon’s arm before he can turn away.

“I want a queer-platonic relationship with you,” he says – just a touch too fast, but going by the sudden glow of Fingon’s eyes, it’s still understandable.

Fingon has already made his desires clear. He’s been patiently waiting for Maedhros to express himself, never pushing.

“I don’t know what it will look like exactly,” Maedhros warns, like an apology. “I just know I want to be with you.”

Fingon beams. “I will never push you to do something you don’t want,” he promises. “We can explore. Take it slow. Not do anything different at all, if that’s what you like.”

“I—would like to hug you,” Maedhros says.

And it’s not something new, they’re both tactile with each other, but they’ve never hugged as partners before. Or whatever words they’ll end up using.

Fingon makes a noise of excitement and launches himself at Maedhros, catching himself with his arms around his neck. Maedhros would have toppled over, had he been even a little shorter or lighter. As it is, he hurriedly stabilizes himself with a hand on the counter and returns the hug, squeezing Fingon tightly against his chest.

“I love you,” Fingon says. “Is that okay to say?”

“You already said it before,” Maedhros points out.

“Just wanted to make sure.”

Maedhros squeezes him a little tighter, until Fingon squeaks in protest. They both laugh, Fingon’s head still buried in Maedhros’s shoulder.

“I love you too,” Maedhros says quietly, and it doesn’t feel romantic, or wrong, or anything but the most genuine truth. He loves Fingon. Fingon loves him.

If this is to be them, this openness and communication and mutual respect, then – then he thinks he can get used to it.

reblogs and comments make my day!

#silmarillion #silm fic #the silmarillion #maedhros #fingon #silm modern au #tolkien #russingon #tolkien fic #russingon qpr #echo's fanfiction #on that tree i'll carve your name

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sleepyowlwrites · 8 months

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writer positivity tag

a tablet engraved in a language I don't know from @365runesoftheamalgamations

What motivates you to write?

literally anything. overall, it's because I have the stories in my head and they're taking up brain space! I need to get them out! and it's fun! and in the moment to moment of it, it's that one singular idea or emotion that was tumblr through my brain spaces and I really want to capture it in THIS story, with THESE characters. so I do that. I like taking things that I couldn't previous convert from wispy colors and spiky feelings into sentences that can impact people, whether in such a way that it makes them giggle or it sucker punches them or whatever. I like to do the thing. and! bonus for me, 'cause at this point, after all these years, I'm really good at it. so that helps.

A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not, maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them):

there's not a thing I'm most proud of. I keep improving, you know, so I keep writing things I'm newly most proud of. but then also, I'm still really, really proud of things that I don't think are that well written anymore, but that represent something for me, some part of who I was or what I was going through. I don't know about "most" but, here's something.

a sketch, bold lines, chromatic (2021)

do you want a self-portrait? I can give you one.

my heart is here, on my sleeve, right next to my elbow. I keep it in a plastic bag so it doesn’t get wet, but you can see it. it’s real, and pulsing, and the love can come out of it just fine. love is not tangible, you see, unless it has already left the heart in which case I can put it in my hands and lay them on your cheeks and then it is very tangible in so far as you will allow yourself to feel it.

I wear my shoes with the laces double knotted and I rarely untie them. I slip them on for work and kick them off when I get home. they fall haphazardly by the door, but they are by the door, kept, not lost, and are ready for use when I need them.

my hair is large around my head until I tie it back, but it curls as it will and I let it, because that is what my hair does. it is mine, and I intend to keep it, no matter what color it is or if it’s only half-braided because I slept on my side. my freckles go away in the winter, but I don’t miss them because I know they’ll return. there’s a small scar beside my eye. it shows more when I’m tired, and it hangs there like a mark on the moon and I’m not ashamed of it. it does not say that I am shadowed, it just means that I fell down as a child.

I drape myself in the colors I like, not the colors I think I appear to be. others will see me and hear me and decide what I am, and I like that I am more than shades of purple to the people outside of my head. I am purple to me, and that’s the most important, but if you see me as yellow and it makes you smile then I accept it with honor, I wear it like a pin beside my chest cavity, a souvenir for when I’m sleeping and my heart has crawled back home.

I can go on. but I know you’re not listening, or seeing, either. I hold out my arm so that my heart beats directly in front of yours and yet you are empty and walled and distant. I can wait outside for you but if you won’t open the door I can’t force my way in. and I won’t try, either.

I wear my heart on my sleeve but it’s up to you to choose to see.

Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them, and what are they like?

I have too many ocs for this, but here's my main guys:

R - dramatic, flirtatious lad, always on the verge of self-destruction until someone pulls him back by needing him. he's 17 and lives like it, one quip at a time. his heart is large and melty, and he just wants to be good, and is learning how to put in the work.

Jet - angry, tired, needing something to live for but unwilling to find it himself. he'll punch all your demons before confronting his own and finds too much exultant delight in the act. he doesn't want to experience emotions but he'll do it for you. and maybe, maybe for himself, as a result.

Nyks - sunshine child. delight of everyone's lives. he's lost his memory and his family but he has friends who love him. is always in need of cuddles and always gets them. encourager extraordinaire. a guardian angel, a baby.

(all my ocs can be found through a handy link in my pinned post if you wanted to hear me talk about some girls, maybe)

What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

draft 0. just writing whatever story comes out first and running with it. is it coherent? is it linear? is it on track to end? who knows! finding out is part of the fun! it's so enjoyable that I spend all my time here.

What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

dialogue is an easy answer. but also setting the tone, showcasing a particular dynamic in a short amount of time, and summarizing a very specific vibe or emotion with one pointed metaphor or paragraph. I do sensory emotion really well, and create whole atmospheres in just a few lines. maybe I don't mention where the heck the characters are but you definitely know what they're feeling (or what the pov is, anyway)

What is something in the writeblr community that is most enjoyable?

having friends! that I don't even just talk about writing with. we have random and strange and wonderful conversations about anything and develop inside jokes and I adopt a lot of them. it's great! and also I love tag games. I'm so slow about doing them because I am *rolls eyes* advancing in years and it takes so much more energy to do stuff *rolls eyes again* but I love them. I hoard them.

A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

scrivener is the best thing. I literally just updated to version 3 today and it's cleaner and smoother. I used onenote all through high school and beyond but then I just stopped? something about it didn't click with me anymore but I needed something with organization. I refuse to write in word or googledocs. so three? years ago I bought myself scrivener for my birthday and it's been amazing.

I do also keep a writing journal (I say journal very loosely) and sometimes bring it with me places and there's all kinds of random thoughts and snatches of scenes and what have you in there. I used to never write by hand because it's so slow, but my brain has changed a bit over the years and now I can write up to like, 4k by hand before I just can't anymore. I usually just do between 400-900 words though.

A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law, etc)

I love that the kids in Youth Story have superpower for literally no reason. I just stuck them in there and they just have them. it turns the slice of life into slice of surreal life and I love it.

and I love the cities in my stories. Sinderport and Rasterpool are the only ones with names at the moment but I have a bunch and they all have character and layouts in my head and specific attributes like being on a river or the gangs or the street slang. for being not a city person I really like to write about them.

and I love the magic in Guild Story. it's unwieldy and tricky and doesn't just "solve problems" and also I just love the three guild houses. they just came to me! and I was like "really, the ya x of x format" but c'mon. House of Favors sounds cool. anyway I gotta write more of this wip it's really interesting.

Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters:

Maybe Sorcery @akindofmagictoo Ember @ashen-crest (buy her books! so good!) Ghosty @zmwrites Idea @oh-no-another-idea Breezy @blind-the-winds Celadon @abalonetea (buy books!) Klaus @kaiusvnoir Klove @klywrites Rainstorm @avrablake Moonink @drippingmoon Stars Books @vellichor-virgo Cozy @ink-fireplace-coffee Glowstick @ellatholmes Ren-rill-ren @ren-c-leyn Rarity @uraniumwriting Sounding @diphthongsfordays Ocelot @ambiguouspuzuma Bender @writing-is-a-martial-art Tangerine @the-orangeauthor and everybody else on the nickname list

but also I love all of my Sleepyheads.

^people feel free to do the tag, and anybody else who sees this, and also maybe @crypticcodexcreations @thegreatobsesso @sarahlizziewrites @thetruearchmagos @sam-glade

#tag game #sleepy's story stuff

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hideyseek · 8 months

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ahhhhh kakehai for 15 (things you said with too many miles between us) please!!

craaaaaaaaaaaaaab hi!!! everyday i appreciate you for encouraging my kakehai writing!! here are some words about haiji and kakeru and shoelaces, ten years after canon.

(from the things you said prompts)

Haiji nearly drops the plate he's washing when he hears it.

Even the interviewer, it seems, is surprised enough to cough onscreen and say with open curiosity, "Really, Kurahara-san? Shoelaces?"

But Kakeru turns to look seriously at the camera and says, "It's true. The way I lace my shoes is the same way my college track captain used to. I made him sit down with me, the afternoon of his graduation ceremony, just to show me.” He laughs, and to Haiji’s ears he sounds wistful. “I wonder what he thought of that.”

Haiji had forgotten, but he remembers it now — the cherry blossoms in Kakeru’s hair, the unbearably blue sky. The way his hands had trembled when he’d leant over to tie the knot with Kakeru’s laces. How absolutely certain Haiji had been, in that moment, that there was nothing between them to start.

Onscreen, Kakeru is smiling at the camera, an unexpected curl to his mouth. "I wouldn't be anywhere near here if I hadn't met him. I truly believe that joining the Kansei ekiden team changed the course of my life.” He ducks his chin. The tips of his ears are pink, even in the studio lighting. "Anyway. I owe him a lot. I suppose the lacing was, selfishly, a way to keep him in my life after he left running."

"There you have it," the interviewer says. "Kurahara Kakeru, Japanese national team marathon runner, on the greatest influences of his running life.”

“Thank you very much,” Kakeru says, bobbing politely. Haiji can’t tear his eyes from the screen. A way to keep him in my life after he left running.

The interviewer continues, “Kurahara-san’s college running career culminated in running Section 10 of the Hakone ekiden three years in a row, breaking his previous record each time. Kurahara-san will be one of our guest broadcasters for this year’s ekiden, please be sure to tune in next week to catch his segment!”

The show cuts to commercial and Haiji lunges for his phone. Even as he's dialing he has no idea what he'll say, and no idea how long ago this segment was filmed, only that he can't just — leave that said without a response.

There's a thirteen hour drive between them, but he can close it with a call.

The line clicks over to voicemail. Kakeru's voice — Haiji's heart thuds — says, dry and rote, "It's Kurahara Kakeru. Please leave a message."

"Kakeru," Haiji says. It's been years since he addressed Kakeru by name. He’s always Kurahara-san when he comes up in the newsroom at work.

Haiji doesn’t know what to say next. His university self would have found a way to just — start talking, shrouding the truth in layers of misdirection, discovering what he meant to say midway through and talking in circles until it was hidden again. But now, a decade later, he just wants to get to the point.

“I saw your interview,” Haiji says. He chews at the inside of his cheek, and adds, “I remembered you asking me to teach you how I tie my racing shoes. Only after you said it, though.” He paces a slow circle in his kitchen. It’s easier to say this, knowing that Kakeru will only hear it later. “I don’t know your racing schedule, but … if your season brings you here to Fukuoka, I would like to meet up, or — dinner, perhaps, if you would like. I’ve mi—”

The line clicks again and for a moment Haiji thinks he's run out of time. But then, a breath over the line and Kakeru's voice, worried, says, "Is this ... Haiji-san? Is something wrong?"

Of course he’d think that. They’ve barely texted in the decade since Haiji’s graduation. Calling like this…

“Nothing’s wrong,” Haiji says. “I’m sorry to call you so suddenly. I — I watched your interview. The teaser for the ekiden broadcast.”

“Oh,” Kakeru says. A surprised little laugh. “Really?”

“I watch most of your interviews,” Haiji admits. “This time, I just wanted to—” This had been so much easier without Kakeru on the other line. “I remembered, after you said it. When you asked me to show you how I laced my racing shoes.”

“Ah,” Kakeru says. He sounds embarrassed.

Haiji almost says: I didn’t think there was something between us, then. I thought it was just me. “I was happy to do it,” Haiji says instead, as firmly as he knows how. “It made me happy that you asked.” It’s been years. The circumstances have changed. They’ll be different people, when they meet again.

“Come to the team reunion this year, Haiji-san,” Kakeru says. Haiji can hear the tentative smile in his voice. He presses his phone closer to his ear to hear Kakeru add, “It hasn’t been the same without you there.”

The rush of wind outside Haiji’s apartment window. The feeling of a new beginning rising in his chest.

“I’ll be there, Kakeru,” Haiji says. “I’ve missed you.”

#kazetsuyo #kakehai #hidey speaks #i loved this prompt!!!!!! it hurts me somehow!#also sorry this is about .... shoelaces lol #in my defense this is the shoelaces website #also i just find phone calls SO INTIMATE somehow!!!!!! in fic. irl all my phone calls are just #kind of normal idk

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mistiell · 2 years

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Quirks Stranger Things Characters have

Contains: The Fruity Four (AKA Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, and Nancy Wheeler)

Eddie Munson

- His room is constantly a mess

- Clothes on the floor, sheets and blankets askew, unfinished homework strewn all across his desk

- He tries to tidy up when you come over, but it’s still a little chaotic in classic Eddie fashion

- The man cannot cook for shit

- He lives off of cereal and microwaveable dinners.

- He tried cooking you breakfast when he stayed over once and nearly burned your house down

- safe to say you banned him from ever touching another kitchen appliance until you could show him how to not set the toaster on fire.

- He has a habit of fidgeting with his rings and biting his nails

- Whenever you catch him doing the latter, you take his hand and let him fidget with your fingers instead

- Which he loves btw-

- His handwriting is messy but in a pretty way

- His brain often moves too fast for his hands to keep up so the letters always look rushed and are slanted to the right

- He’s like an encyclopedia for the most random shit ever

- He can’t tell you who the president was 20 years ago or who invented the light bulb

-what he can tell you is that he learned that turtles can breathe through their butts after getting fucking zooted and watching animal planet for 5 hours straight

- He loves late night drives

- Bonus if you tag along with him

- He likes to say he drinks his coffee black “like his soul”, and he does most of the time

- but in reality, he actually prefers it to be sweet as fuck

- he’ll only ever get it that way if you’re ordering and no one can see what’s in the cup though

- or if you two are home alone

Steve Harrington

- He hates white chocolate

- I have absolutely nothing to back this up. It’s just a vibe

- Before all the shit with the watergate, he used to love swimming

- He still enjoys the water, but he gets a little anxious now when he can’t see the bottom

- He has a hoard of comfy sweaters

- You’ve stolen at least three

- dw, though, cause he doesn’t mind at all

- He actually really likes when you wear his clothes

- you’re the only person he lets touch his hair

- and the only other person aside from Dustin who knows what his hair routine is

- he cracks his knuckles absent mindedly

- he’s made it a habit to just bend down and retie your shoe laces if he notices they’re starting to come undone

- but unlike eddie, he would never tie them together

- Eddie teases him relentlessly for being whipped for you but he doesn’t care

- He chews on the ends of his pens and pencils

- He won’t do it if he’s borrowing it from someone else though

Robin Buckley

- she counts her fingers discreetly when she’s nervous

- It’s repetitive and it gives her something to focus on to calm down

- She cuts her own bangs

- If you have longer hair, she’s always asking to cut yours

- She hates black coffee, but she also hates when it’s overly sweet

- Her bed is filled with a bunch of pillows and blankets for top tier comfiness

- seriously. Cuddling is the best in her bed

- She has a habit of forgetting her things at your place whenever she sleeps over

- She’s left her toothbrush, hair brush, half her wardrobe

- You often joke that she’s slowly moving in with you

- She has a habit of talking during movies

- Especially horror movies

- She yells at the characters as if they could hear her

- Lots of “No, no, no! What’re you doing, you idiot!”

Nancy Wheeler

- She has a bunch of polaroids that she keeps in a little box

- Some are of your friend group, others are of the two of you

- She’s an amazing cook

- She makes you breakfast whenever you stay over at her place and it’s always amazing

- her handwriting is always neat, even when she’s rushing

- It’s kind of a mix between cursive and printing

- She writes little sticky note reminders and sticks them to her mirror

- Sort of like a to-do list

- She colour codes her notes

- And her annotations whenever she annotates a book

- Her room is normally spotless, so when it’s a little messy, that’s a tell tale sign that she’s not doing well

- She prefers sweet stuff over salty stuff

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve stranger things #nancy stranger things #nancy wheeler #nancy x reader #robin buckley #robin x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson st4 #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #eddie st4 #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson

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probssomethingorother · 8 months

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🚨NEW UPDATE 🚨

Cried out, to you alone: a tlou fanfic

sorry this took so long to update I'm an ass.

Sarah's death, lots of hurt no comfort, canon compliant

Joel, Sarah, Tommy

Rating: Teen

Sarah's gone. Joel is a wreck. Tommy is caught in the middle of needing to get his brother to safety and grieving his niece. A (hopefully) sad sad continuation of that heartbreaking scene from Tommy's POV

Words: 7,790 -- last updated 10/19 :)

Read the latest chapter on AO3 here or down below ⤵️

Chapter 2:

It was the static buzz and distant sound of chatter humming through radios that Tommy focused on next, ears acutely trained to pick up on the distinctive sounds after years of carrying one strapped to his tactical vest. He took one last look at the approaching shadows before screwing his eyes shut, the sounds of their footsteps and the rustle of their uniforms getting louder and louder as his own heartbeat seemed to do the same.

His brain was threatening to bring him back to a different life lived - younger, standing on the outskirts of a rural settlement west of Kuwait, apprehensively waiting on orders to move forward despite the firefight clearly visible on the horizon. It was nighttime then too, and distant explosions and screams wafted through the air just as they were doing now.

The only thing rooting him to the present was Joel’s anguished mewls-more than the most desperate cries, long past even complete heartbroken sobs.

“Drop the gun, now.” A voice sternly said behind Tommy, and he promptly and willingly complied, dropping his rifle into the grass. If they were going to shoot him, they would have done it by now- still could do it in fact. He knew he was horribly outgunned and his old rifle wasn’t going to do him any good against anything military-grade.

“Turn slowly.”

Hands raised, Tommy complied again, taking the time to look at Joel and Sarah as he turned. His brother had crumpled over his niece’s body, now barely visible under Joel’s broad shoulders. Obscured under him, the most Tommy could see was Sarah’s legs splayed out lamely in the grass, blue jeans dirty. Yet, even amongst the grime, he could still see the pen ink clearly - a blue dolphin, a pink flower, a red heart - doodles of when she was alive and carefree. Another pair is stained with scribbles too, has a small game of tic-tac-toe she started with him. He’s glad she’s not wearing that pair now, at least then the game hasn’t died with her.

His gaze traced the length of her leg, ending at her worn white shoes. One shoelace hung loose, and he felt an inexplicable urge to tie it, even though it mattered none now.

He always used to help her tie her shoes when she was little. She is still little - was little.

Of all the details to notice and memories to remember, he hated that these were what he was now left with- doodles and undone laces.

Tommy swallowed and cleared his throat, “We ain’t sick,” he called, voice shaky as he turned the rest of the way away from Joel and Sarah. Unbeknownst to him, echoing Joel from mere moments ago.

Once fully turned he found the soldier wasn’t even armed, or at least not holding a gun in his grasp. The only thing pointing at the three of them was a flashlight. There were two other soldiers a few paces behind the lead, but even their guns were trained down towards the ground -fingers still on the triggers of course.

The sight should have settled Tommy, but after everything that has happened tonight, a general feeling of being unsettled can’t be unstuck from his body.

The military just had tried to kill his whole family, he wasn’t going to just drop his guard completely at the sight of lowered guns.

“Ain’t going to make a move toward you either - no need to do anything to us, alright?” he stated, his raised left arm coming closer to his face to shield his eyes from the flashlight's piercing glare.

The soldier shifted the light’s beam from Tommy to Joel and Sarah, letting it rest on them as he took measured steps in their direction. Tommy stood still, held by the silent threat of being gunned down, his gaze intently following the soldier as he neared them.

There was a clear question hanging in the air, even if going unsaid.

“He - ,” Tommy gulped, “she’s gone….it’s his daughter.” He pushed out, the truth threatening to close his throat.

He yearned to add, “killed by one of your fucking friends,” but now hardly seemed the time to be picking fights.

The soldier came to a halt, just inches from Joel and Sarah, flashlight still trained on their bundled form. Joel rocked back and forth as he whispered sweet nothings to her, still utterly distraught and seemingly oblivious to the precarious position they were now in.

“Joel.” Tommy pleaded, albeit without much force, hoping his brother would finally just key into the situation.

But the situation for Joel was simple. The light of his life was gone. His fucking baby was dead. Bleeding out in his arms. The situation was that he would follow her to the ends of the earth, and stay by her side forever. What was happening around them could all be dammed. He was staying with his girl even if that meant following her to the other side. He didn’t care.

A ray from the flashlight hit Joel’s eyes in just the right way and he squinted, forcing them to shut, squeezing out even more tears. His gaze flickered to the source, and for a second, it looked like he finally might be cluing into reality, but just as quickly, his head moved back down, eyes on Sarah.

Tommy lowered his arms, drooping them at his sides, defeated.

The soldier cautiously retreated a step before pivoting towards Tommy. He couldn’t help but hold his breath as he got close, still on edge. The soldier moved the flashlight from his left and to his right, and for a second Tommy thought he was going his for his gun - would shoot him the head, done; but, instead of his hand traveling to his holster, it went up to his shoulder, clicking on his radio.

“Two civs in the field, not with the crash,” he dictated clearly, his gaze scanning Tommy from head to toe as he spoke.

Two.

Tommy was about to correct him, but then abruptly stopped, words falling to silence as his mouth went from open to shut with a long sigh.

“Copy,” crackled a voice through the radio, distorted by static. The soldier waited, taking another look at Joel and Sarah, and then to his unit members, and then back to Tommy.

For a long moment, the air was filled with no talking, just the chorus of Joel’s cries, distant sirens, the hum of the engines, and the chirping cicadas - somehow still heard amongst the onslaught of all the other noises.

“Cleared for transport,” the radio voice crackled through one last time, ending the monotonous lull in action. In an instant, the support soldiers were on the move, heading back toward their truck.

“We’ve got a secured zone, about three klicks north, taking people that way. Get in the truck.”

Tommy nodded quickly, despite some reservations. His mind caught on “secured” and the logical part of him was clinging to it, knowing it was the best choice. “Okay, okay,” he mumbled lowly.

“Get him moving.” The soldier told Tommy, turning on his heels and walking away, leaving Tommy to it.

It.

Getting his brother and dead niece off the ground. Off the spot she died. Off the spot Joel’s life changed forever. Up and away, like it wasn’t the end of the fucking world, like it wasn't the end of everything.

Tommy took a deep breath, using the brief moment to gather his wits. He made a cautious step toward Joel feeling every inch of ground under his boots.

"Joel," Tommy practically whispered, bending down beside his brother. He gently laid a hand on Joel's shoulder, squeezing slightly, trying to convey support and urgency in one touch. "Joel, we have to go.”

Joel's entire frame trembled under Tommy's grip, but he didn’t respond. His face was buried in Sarah's curly hair, his arms clutching her tightly to his chest, hands scrambling to keep Tommy’s shirt wrapped over her. His breaths were ragged, each one sounding like it was tearing its way out of his throat.

”Joel,” voice soft but insistent. Tommy’s heart was breaking with every word, “they’ve got a place for us, somewhere safe, we need to move now, okay? It’s time to move.”

No response. Just strangled sounds like Joel was some dying animal.

(Dying, yes, he was.)

Taking another long breath, Tommy snaked his arm from Joel’s shoulder to his back, coming more toward the side of him, positioning his own body closer to Sarah’s head. He minded the space carefully, not wanting to jostle her body as it hung in Joel’s grip.

“I know this is hard man, I know…” Tommy muttered, eyes on Sarah for a moment, as his hand rubbed tenderly in soft circles. He could feel tears forming in his own eyes again, his nose itching as his jaw began to quiver.

He wasn’t sure why it hadn’t caught him up before, but Sarah’s open eyes suddenly seemed to be bearing into his soul. Deep big brown eyes.

He used to tease her with that song - Brown-Eyed Girl. Make her scream the “sha-la-la’s” with him while all the windows were down in the pickup. Hair flying, music blaring, big smiles everywhere.

He sniffed back tears as a particularly loud ring of a police siren echoed somewhere close, calling him back to attention. He looked around, momentarily dazed the last few moments, feeling almost fuzzy. The soldiers were a few paces out, looking less than enthused, borderline irritated - impatient.

Tommy wiped his hand down his face, trying to clear the flood of somber emotions. They both couldn’t go off into a haze, someone had to stay present.

He could hear his heartbeat echoing in his ears as he tore his gaze away from the transport and back to his family. Swallowing, he removed his hand from Joel’s back and brought it to his face, his other hand doing the same, and then gently moved it away from Sarah to meet his gaze. Although their eyes met each other, Tommy still couldn’t tell if Joel was seeing him. Or listening.

“We are going. Get. Up.” Tommy said sternly.

A zoom of a helicopter overhead had Tommy pulling his shoulders up to his ears instinctively, head wanting to turn up to follow the sound, but he couldn’t. He was cradling his brother's face in his hands - he couldn’t get lost in the commotion. He had to stay with Joel. Joel had to stay with him.

“Get a move on!” One of the soldiers yelled over the increasing sounds whirling in the air. He didn’t have to say it, Tommy knew.

He was trying.

“Joel, it’s-”

Another helicopter rushed above drowning out Tommy’s voice, low enough that wind picked around them, grass blowing, hair swept up.

Gritting his teeth, he began again: “You’ve got to listen to me. It’s time to move. We can’t stay here. They’re going to take us out of here.”

When his eyes darted around Joel’s face, it was then that he noticed his own hands were shaking, the quivers jostling Joel’s head. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was the adrenaline or if was unintentionally doing so out of frustration.

It didn’t matter much either way.

Joel’s eyes looked through him, red and puffy. Unblinking. He was practically as unresponsive as Sarah now.

“Let’s go!” Their transport called aggressively, the command punctuated by the sound of a spread of heavy gunfire, too close for comfort, but not immediately a threat. Still, it made a wave of goosebumps travel up Tommy’s spine as a distinct ringing started filling his ears.

The tunnel vision was incoming, he could feel it. If they stayed out here like this for much longer he wasn’t sure he could stay here. He screwed his eyes shut, and then forcefully opened them, recentering.

Joel. Sarah. Out.

Get them out.

Tommy’s grip tightened, fingers pushing into Joel’s skin as he firmly shook his head, exasperation bursting through his otherwise calm demeanor.

“Joel!,” he said sternly, desperately.

“You need to get up now. We are going. We are fucking going.”

His chest was heaving, anger and frustration and overwhelming sadness mixing with a new wave of adrenaline - adrenaline that felt disgustingly similar to the type he would carry in his body day after day, years ago. Adrenaline that kept him fighting on the frontlines, evading gunfire, extinguishing hostiles, and dragging his battle buddies across the ground to safety.

He never left a man behind. He wasn’t going to make Joel the first. He didn’t want to drag him - drag Sarah - but Jesus fuck if Joel didn't start moving soon he would do it.

Thankfully, that wouldn’t be the case.

With a slow solemn blink from Joel, Tommy released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and then released his hands too. He slid them down to Joel’s shoulders’ giving him a little pat of encouragement for him to continue to break out of his grief-induced trance.

“Just gotta move brother, that’s all,” he whispered with a flicker of hope that Joel was truly finally, responding.

Joel’s eyes flicked back down to Sarah before giving Tommy a long slow nod and dragging in an equally long breath. He shifted in his spot, right arm looping under Sarah’s knees, left hand coming to her head to press it against his chest, as he shakily rose from the ground with her, his own knees buckling.

She wasn’t heavy by any means, but the weight of his sorrow threatened to bring him right back down. Joel swayed for a second, feet crunching in the grass as the sought a steady stance. His eyes were hollow, but at least he was standing. There was progress.

The shirt Tommy had lent melted off Sarah’s form, landing in a heap at Joel’s feet. He watched it fall listlessly before his gaze refocused back on the now pair. Uncovered once more, he was reminded just how much blood a body can hold - fuck.

Taking a breath, Tommy muttered a soft, “Alright,” with a curt nod, scooping his rifle from the ground before placing a hand gently at Joel’s elbow ushering him toward the trucks.

The trio barely got more than two steps before the lead soldier was loudly barking at them from a yard away, shaking his head.

“Just two. You two. You can’t take her.”

He should have seen this coming, heard him speak it over the radio for godsakes, but still, it landed like a punch in the gut. It hit Joel hard too - automatically crumpling down with his baby girl in his arms.

Tommy tried to keep him upright, but the flimsy grasp on only one of Joel’s arms did little.

Joel was back on the ground, staring at his child, wiping gently at her face.

Tommy looked at Joel and then back to the soldiers, and then once again found himself kneeling in front of his brother.

Surprisingly, Joel was the first to speak this time.

“Ain’t leaving her Tommy. Can’t -“

“-I know, I know but….it’s time….we’ll…we’ll come back.“

Tommy hated the words coming out of his mouth, hated what he was suggesting, but he found himself saying it nonetheless. He knew if they left now, they weren’t coming back. His heart sank to the ground.

Joel shook his head, a new wave of tears pouring down his face, he knew it too and he wasn’t going to ever let that become a reality.

“I’ve got her, go… I ain’t going,” Joel said choppily, words getting caught in his throat.

“Please Joel,” he begged- practically whined -tugging at Joel’s arm in a futile attempt to make him budge. It came out almost childlike, the sound reminiscent of when he would press Joel to go play catch in the yard or ride their bikes together.

He just needed his big brother to listen.

“Uh-uh,” Joel mumbled, heading falling atop Sarah’s once more, smushing his cheek into her hair, head turned away from Tommy defiantly.

“You coming or what?” The soldier yelled again as he began walking back toward Tommy and Joel, clearly in no mood to be dealing with them any longer. “Don’t got all night,” he added, coming to a halt just above the pair, practically hovering.

Tommy looked up and gave him a nod.

“I know, I know….he’s just…he ain’t…” His voice trailed off, weighed down by an overwhelming desperation and a bit of hopelessness.

He knew Joel wasn’t going to move, not without his baby.

Tommy had been prepared to move them both, drag them all the way to the truck, and chuck them inside, but hell, ripping his brother away from his child? That was an entirely different task - almost inconceivable.

His eyes came back to Joel and Sarah.

Sarah - a dainty little thing under Joel’s rigid form. She was small, and seemed even smaller now - it wasn’t going to be that much of a difference in two bodies versus three.

Shaking his head, he looked back up, anxiety and hopelessness plastering his face. Although a proud man, begging wasn’t beneath him. Not today.

“Can ya’ just let him take her, she won’t take up room - please - he’s gonna, he’ll hold her,” he pleaded, hoping that maybe this was all just about the physical space and not anything else.

“Two, that’s it,” he said loudly over the roar of another helicopter, holding up his pointer and middle finger to Tommy to reiterate.

Two.

It rolled around in his brain, as his shoulders slumped and his head dipped down.

Two.

His eyes bore into the ground as he brushed his hand back and forth against the barrel of his rifle.

Two.

Tommy couldn’t lose them both.

“I’ll stay…I’ll stay, he needs- he won’t get outta here without ya’ll. Two - take them,” Tommy begged and bargained, pulling at Joel’s arm again in an effort to get him to stand. Joel barely moved, but Tommy knew they were pressed for time and rose to stand without him.

Two.

Locking eyes with the soldier, suddenly filled with more certainty than he'd felt in a long time, “There’s your two,” he implored, his voice teetering on the edge of a shout. “Take ‘em, please. Take’em,” the last words almost cracking with emotion.

But it was a non-issue.

The soldier's expression remained stony, though there was a hint of impatience in his eyes.

“No.”

“Are you serious man? Two you said two!” Tommy spat, his face reddening with a mixture of anger and desperation. His hand gripped his rifle that hung low, knuckles going white.

The subtle action wasn’t lost on the soldier whose own hand went to his holster, resting it there as a caution.

“Ain’t cleared for casualties,” the soldier declared, his voice a rumbling growl that resonated with authority, clearly trying to remind Tommy who held the power right now.

“Bullshit,” Tommy snapped back, his voice shaking with fury.

“Protocol.” The simple reply was firm, given with a definitive shake of the head, allowing little room for argument.

Tommy's eyes darted from the soldier to Joel and Sarah, his heart aching, gut tugging with an urge to fight him - maybe even pummel into the ground if that's what it took. He squeezed his fist tight, pushing his emotions there.

“Come on man….just say she’s wounded, died in the back on the way…”

His voice quivered, his words a plea rather than a demand.

The soldier looked at Tommy, his gaze cold. “Walking wounded or better, that’s all we’re cleared for. Don’t like it, don’t come."

As if on que, two long drags of the truck horn echoed through to them, the solider with Tommy turning over his shoulder toward the sound He gave a little shake of his head before thrusting his hand up into the air, finger swooping around to tell the rest of his crew it was time to go.

Tommy's breath hitched, tears threatening to spill, eyes wide in fear that he was suddenly about to lose the only real chance of keeping his brother safe.

“No no no just wait, I’ll get him,” he quickly said, hastily dropping to his knees in front of Joel, painfully, and quickly, coming to the realization of what was going to have to happen next.

The very thought of leaving her here was like acid, burning through every vein in his body - you’re leaving a man behind, a voice in his head rang - but he had no choice - they had no choice.

Another explosion from the wreckage of the plane crash at the far end of the field reverberated through the air, rattling the ground, cementing the stark reality that they no longer had time to wait.

Tommy's voice was almost a whisper - his own body vehemently opposed to giving the truth any power, any sound- as he pleaded, “Joel, brother, listen to me. We’re going to have to leave her for now.” He paused, choking back his tears before continuing, “I’ll…we’ll come back for her, I promise.”

He wiped at his tears quickly before snaking his hands into the practically nonexistent space between his brother and his niece, trying to find purchase around Joel’s arm, but it was glued so tight to Sarah that there was no room for Tommy’s fingers to weasel in. Gulping down, moving quickly, his hands instead found Joel’s - they were still clutching at the back of Sarah’s head, nestled in her brown curls. Pushing his own hand into her hair, Tommy found Joel’s fingers, gripped them firmly, and attempted to pry away his digits. But, Joel’s grip was relentless, leaving Tommy to bend his fingers so far back that he worried he was about to break the knuckle joint, and at the very least, certainly causing Joel some pain.

Not that Joel could really feel anything but pain anymore.

“Let go, come’on,” he all but whined, putting more force into detaching Joel from Sarah. His brother’s steadfast refusal was just making his own heart feel worse, tearing it in two from the guilt of it all - of intentionally torturing Joel.

He was, and he wasn’t.

Failing to get his hand away from Sarah, Tommy moved to Sarah herself, scooping his arms under her body, wedging them up and into Joel’s lap.

Tommy shuddered and turned his head away when his bare arms touched hers, her skin already going slightly cold.

He found a grip by some miracle on her side, but when he tried to pull Sarah close to him, the once stony Joel was reacting instantaneously, more alert than he had been.

“No!” He growled, almost a snarl, as he forcefully twisted his whole body to the side, Sarah in tow, ripping her away from Tommy’s hold.

Joel’s wide eyes bore into him, nostrilled flared like he was about to rip Tommy’s head off, before suddenly the death stare flickered out when his gaze fell away and went back down to his daughter, all within just seconds.

“You’ve got a minute, you can’t get him to come, that’s it,” the soldier informed Tommy, still hovering a few paces away, waiting for the brothers. They had done a service in stopping, but now this had gone on entirely too long.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Tommy mutters under his breath entirely exacerbated. He has literally faced rocket launchers and that wasn’t this hard. “I can get through to him. Just give me a moment,” he yelled to the soldier who was getting further and further away by the second. “Please!,” he yelled, tugging at Joel with all his strength, “…please,” he said in defeat again - to Joel, to the solider, to the goddamn fucking universe.

His every muscle strained as he pulled at Joel's arm, grip slipping against sweaty skin and clammy hands. His feet dug into the grass for leverage.

“Joel brother, please, I know - I know…we can’t leave her here, but we have to. Okay?”

Tommy’s eyes flicked to the caravan - the soldiers huddled together talking, their eyes flicking back to him as well. He couldn’t remember a time when his heart thumped this forcefully in his chest, when he was this hopelessly desperate. Even in the theater of war, under showers of gunfire, he had been more steady than he was now.

“I can get through to him,” Tommy whispered, entirely to himself, before moving his sweaty hands to Joel’s pant leg, tugging at the fabric in a frantic effort to find a firm grip somewhere.

Another loud boom rang through the air, some explosion somewhere. The whole world seemed to be falling apart around them, dark night turning orange with flames on the horizon on all sides.

“….It ain’t safe. Sarah would want this, she would want us to go, be safe,” he entreated as he pulled heartily with a gruff, making Joel skid just inches on the ground, but being largely unsuccessfully in moving him otherwise.

For better or worse, mercy was taken on the Miller brothers then.

Invested in Joel, Tommy had become completely unaware of the encroaching military, to the now several soldiers surrounding them. Hands wrapped around his biceps, and Tommy’s body tensed, head suddenly snapping around to see who was grabbing him. There was almost no time to process it all after that- the tugging, the dragging, the thrashing.

Tommy was being wrenched away further and further from his brother by the second, dragged backward. He dug the heels of his boots into the earth, scraping through the grass, trying to slow the soldier's pace.

“Get the fuck off me!” he spat, struggling to break free. But the soldiers held fast, their grip firm and unyielding, contorting and holding his arms in a way that made his muscles burn. His jeans roughly scrapped across the ground, his white undershirt turning brown by the dirt. If he had still been wearing his overshirt, it would sure been ripped by now from his struggle.

“What are y-,” Tommy began, eyes going wide as he craned his neck up to keep Joel in his sights, not wanting to lose him for even a second.

No no no no.

His heart bottomed out.

“JOEL! JOEL!”

The remaining soldiers encircled his brother, side arms being ominously pulled from holsters as they stared him down. Through the spaces of their legs, Tommy could just make out Joel - still fiercely gripping his daughter, eyes looking anywhere but up at the men.

After everything, he was still going to lose them both. He never should have trusted them, never should have agreed to leave.

“You motherfuckers… let me the fuck go,” he screamed, gutterly, just as the reached the back of the van and aggressively pulled Tommy to his feet.

He tried to dart forward back to Joel, but it was no use, the soldiers immediately moving in an almost calculated formation to restrain and hold him back.

“We’re trying to help you!” The soldier at his back said into his ear, still roughly manhandling his arms, forcing his shoulder blades to squeeze together as his wrists were pulled down behind him, keeping his arms in my place.

Tommy watched as the three soldiers with Joel leaned down, and grabbed at him. One placing firm hands on his shoulders, the other two going to his arms, ripping them away. They smashed the butts of their handguns into Joel’s arms, hoping that would cause enough pain for him to instinctively loosen his hold. It seemed to do just the opposite, with Joel tucking himself more around his daughter and holding tighter, eyes screwed closed. Their efforts continued, with their hands, but the guns still were being held, and the pieces hit senselessly against Sarah as their efforts continued- a fact that made Tommy’s stomach particularly roll.

One arm came free, and then the other, and Joel was yelling. Fighting. Screaming.

Of all the things tonight to bear, somehow Joel’s screams then we’re the worst. Not even really conceivable words, just sounds. Desperate, painful, infuriated shrieks and howls.

Sarah’s body was left behind with little reverence, falling to the ground in a heap when she was out of Joel’s secure grip. Her head dropped facing down into the grass, body turning back to Mother Earth.

Tommy gagged, the sights and sounds viscerally making him sick, a small bit of vomit purging from his throat and into his mouth. He swallowed it down quickly.

There wasn’t much of a fight as the soldiers wrestled Joel away. It was three against one, but Joel fought nonetheless - elbows being thrown, fists flailing, feet kicking, quite literally clawing his way back to his child. His nails dug into the ground as he was pulled, scrapping against the fabric of pants and jackets trying to get away from the three men. Every time he made any sort of progress or got even the slightest bit of an upper hand, Joel was taken back down, dragged, and pushed away again and again.

Tommy pushed and pulled against his own soldiers’ grip as the others began to get particularly aggressive with Joel, coming just feet away from the transport truck. His eyes anxiously darted around the tumultuous scene. It was abundantly clear they were hurting him- mentally, physically, emotionally - and Tommy knew it was his fault.

He wanted this to some degree.

Tommy found himself calling out to Joel without much force, voice cracking: “Joel. Joel…brother…” The words trailed away as his heart and mind came at odds, grappling with who he wanted to stop more, his brother or the soldiers.

For a moment he couldn’t pick a side. But then he had to.

It happened quickly. An elbow to the groin, a falling soldier, a stolen gun.

Joel raised the weapon up, taking a large step back and free as all the other soldiers immediately raised their own guns at him. It only took Tommy a second longer to react as well, jutting his head back, nailing the soldier in the face holding his arms, and stealing his sidearm in one fell swoop.

His side would always be his brother’s.

“Okay okay, let’s just take a second alright,” Tommy said, trying to bring down the extremely fragile tension. He gulped down, trying to make his own demeanor shift to as nonthreatening as possible. He didn't need this to go sideways now.

Despite everything else happening in the world around them, the only thing that really could be heard was the constant hum of the trucks and their own heavy breaths - every single person on edge with weapons raised at the ready.

One move could see anyone’s head blown straight off.

Joel took another step back, and a soldier's grip twitched, pushing Tommy to react as well, training his gun on them.

“Hey whoa. Don’t you dare,” he said sternly. “He ain’t doing anything.”

Joel continued to take large steps back, gun raised, eyes glued on the people trying to rip him away from his baby. His Sarah. Everyone’s eyes cascaded around the ring of guns, trying to discern what moves to make. What moves they should take in a situation like this.

“I’m not leaving her,” Joel mumbled, as his eyes softened, hand and arm going lax. The stolen gun dropped down to the ground with a muffled thump as he took another step back, shoulders drooping body neck falling just a bit, the weight of grief overtaking him again, suddenly back into a desolate trance.

He turned his back on the group and walked toward his discarded daughter.

Cautiously, Tommy followed, slowly moving after Joel, sidestepping along to keep both his brother and the military in his sights, moving his head back and forth as he walked.

His heart was beating faster in his chest the closer he got to Joel, hands growing sweatier against the cool metal of the firearm. He let out a long exhale as they got closer to Sarah and further from the men that had almost provided them safety, but it wasn’t a breath of relief.

Tommy’s eyes briefly found Sarah’s bloody form and dread rolled through his body from head to toe.

With a fleeting look at the soldiers, then at Joel, he acted swiftly without hesitation, jamming the butt of the gun against the back of Joel's head, rendering him instantly unconscious.

His side would always be his brother’s.

6 notes · View notes

morguemaw · 2 years

Note

1. I saw an ad for burial plots, but that’s the last thing I need.

2. Did you hear about the silk worm race? It ended in a tie.

3. I got fired from the calendar factory, just for taking a day off.

4. Q: What’s the best thing about Switzerland? A: Well, the flag is a big plus.

5. Clones are people two.

6. I wanted to learn how to drive a stick shift, but I couldn’t find a manual.

7. Napoleon may not have designed his coat, but he did have a hand in it.

8. I put up a high-voltage electric fence around my house. My neighbor is dead against it.

9. What are windmills’ favorite genre of music? They’re big metal fans.

10. The past, present, and future walk into a bar. It was tense.

11. Shopping centers, you’ve seen one, you’ve seen the mall.

12. My ceiling isn’t the best, but it’s up there.

13. I love whiteboards. They’re re-markable.

14. Which country’s capital has the fastest-growing population? AIreland. Every day it’s Dublin.

15. The machine at the coin factory just suddenly stopped working. It doesn’t make any cents.

16. I tried to make a belt out of watches. It was a waist of time.

17. I went to a new mechanic. They came highly wreck-a-mended.

18. What’s the difference between a hippo and a Zippo? A hippo is really heavy, and a Zippo is a little lighter.

19. Yesterday a clown held the door open for me. It was such a nice jester.

20. Why can’t you run through a campground? You can only ran, because it’s past tents.

21. Becoming a vegetarian is a big missed steak.

22. Why can’t Harry Potter tell the difference between his potion pot and his best friend? They’re both cauld ron.

23. An atom lost an electron. It really should keep an ion them.

24. What’s the best time on a clock? 6:30, hands down.

25. Please don’t make my funeral too early. I’m not really a mourning person.

26. I got fired from the bank. A man asked me to check his balance, so I pushed him over.

27. Why did the lizard say he named his baby “Tiny?” Because he’s my newt.

28. Someone stole the police station’s toilets. They have nothing to go on.

29. Having sex in an elevator is wrong on so many levels.

30. What’s the difference between a poorly dressed man on a bicycle and a nicely dressed man on a tricycle? Attire.

31. What does C.S. Lewis keep in his wardrobe? Narnia business.

32. I put all my cash into an origami business. It folded.

33. I was worried about being in a long-distance relationship. But so far so good.

34. I suffer from kleptomania. But I take something for it.

35. I’m afraid of negative numbers. I’ll stop at nothing to avoid them.

36. Acupuncture is a jab well done.

37. Two antennas got married. The ceremony wasn’t much, but the reception was excellent.

38. I quit my job at the donut factory. I was fed up with the hole business.

39. I once ate a watch. It was time consuming.

40. RIP boiling water. You will be mist.

41. Why did the monk refuse novocaine when he had his tooth pulled? He wanted to transcend dental medication.

42. Just found out sticks float. They would.

43. My boat was cold, I tried to make a fire but it sank. I guess you can’t have your kayak and heat it too.

44. I went to that new restaurant, Karma. There’s no menu, you just get what you deserve.

45. Why do cows have bells? Because their horns don’t work.

46. You can’t trust atoms, they make up everything.

47. I met a criminal with a bounty on his head. That was a weird place to keep paper towels.

48. A psychic tried to sell me information on my past lives. I hate used karma dealers.

49. I’m reading a book about anti-gravity. It’s impossible to put down.

50. I met my wife on a dating site. We just clicked.

51. I did a theatrical performance about puns. It was a play on words.

52. Thanks for explaining the word “many” to me. It means a lot.

53. My roommates suspect I’m stealing their kitchen utensils. But that’s a whisk i’m willing to take.

54. I’m going to try velcro instead of shoe laces. Why knot?

55. I decided to get rid of my spine. It was holding me back.

56. Long fairy tales have a tendency to dragon.

57. Knowing how to pick locks has opened a lot of doors for me.

58. No matter how kind you are, German children are kinder.

59. Architects are good at coming up with concrete plans.

60. I should have been sad when my flashlight batteries died, but I was delighted.

61. Who designed King Arthur’s round table? Sir Cumference.

62. What happened when the semi-colon broke grammar laws? He was given two consecutive sentences.

63. I recently took a pole and found out 100% of campers were angry when their tent collapsed.

64. I couldn’t remember how to throw a boomerang. Eventually it came back to me.

65. A friend said he didn’t understand cloning. I told him that makes two of us.

66. I had a pun about amnesia, but I forget how it goes.

67. Santa Claus’s elves are subordinate clauses.

68. I’m designing a reversible jacket. I’m excited to see how it turns out.

69. A man went to the hospital with eight plastic horses in his stomach. His condition is stable.

70. To the guy who invented Zero, thanks for nothing!

71. There’s a new type of broom out. It’s sweeping the nation.

72. I tried to draw a circle, but it was pointless.

73. Getting paid to sleep would be my dream job.

74. There’s a fine line between numerator and denominator.

75. Velcro… what a rip-off.

76. I gave away my dead batteries, no charge.

77. One-fifth of people are just too tense.

78. After the birth of your child, your role in life will become apparent.

79. A backwards poet writes inverse.

80. Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead to know basis.

81. My kid swallowed some coins, the doctor told me to just wait. No change yet.

82. My friend’s bakery burned down. Now his business is toast.

83. You should wear glasses while doing math. It improves division.

84. I’m glad I learned sign language. It’s really handy.

85. Bad gardeners are rough around the hedges.

86. A boiled egg in the morning is hard to beat.

87. This girl thought she recognized me from vegetarian club, but I’ve never met herbivore.

88. Why can’t you explain puns to kleptomaniacs? They always take things literally.

89. Did you hear about the man who lost his left side? He’s all right now.

90. I make apocalypse puns like there’s no tomorrow.

91. A cartoonist was found dead. Details are sketchy.

92. I removed the shell from my racing snail to make it faster. It just got more sluggish.

93. Life as a professional yo-yoer has its ups and downs.

94. I don’t trust stairs. They’re always up to something.

95. My wife told me to stop speaking in numbers. But I didn’t 1 2.

96. I failed my Braille class. It’s a touchy subject.

97. I used to hate facial hair, but it grew on me.

98. The shovel was a ground-breaking invention.

99. My leaf blower doesn’t work, it just sucks.

100. Need an ark? I Noah guy.

101. A plateau is the highest form of flattery.

Suffer

i wish to shit on your computer.

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