#imagine being a brown teenager and having nothing to look up to fuck

[blakbonnet]

i know a lot of you are feeling like this was wasted effort, the entire fight but let me tell you something - before this, all i had were shows that baited us openly and us, knowing full and well what was happening, still supported those shows and settled for crumbs because "it was the best we could hope for". the actors, cast and crew made fun of our art and fics, not even hiding their disdain, and we just shrugged through it all.

then ofmd came along and gods, a brown lead? who thinks he's unlovable and then the show goes on to show me that he's the most worthy of love? he's a genius in his field and clever and kind and quirky and full of love? an older queer discovering love so much later in life? not crumbs? explicit representation? the cast and crew gleefully laughing at homophobes and racists right alongside me and people who look like me? even the antagonist honours the pronouns of the nb character?

it was cancelled and it's devastating and take your time to grieve but it wasn't for nothing. some of us were here back when things were worse. and are still living in places where queer rights are LOL. it means something to get two seasons of this, it means something that they made love while fireworks went off, it means something that we were on Times Square, it means a lot. take pride in that. YOU did that. All of that.

It didnt mean nothing.

#ofmd #our flag means death #meow speaks #looking at you Sherlock :))) #and all the others that came before and after #imagine being a brown teenager and having nothing to look up to fuck #and imagine being a teen now and having all we have now #not perfect no #but something more #more than what we had #(I'm by no means saying this is the first queer show lmao) #(it's the first queer show that hits all the right buttons for me)

[rebelfell]

Currently being plagued by thoughts of an older!fem!Harrington!reader... 18+, MDNI

Like you’re Steve's aunt, late 30s/early 40s.

And you have always been kind of a fuck-up compared to your "perfect" older sister who got the good grades and who every guy in school had a crush on; who married the rich, handsome dude and popped out a kid and lives in this big house in this picture-perfect suburban neighborhood.

And you tried to do all that, too—really, you did. But your husband ex turned out to be an asshole, and he's got a really good lawyer so he's probably gonna get the house in the divorce.

So you move into your sister's for the summer because they're gonna be in Europe and they’d prefer someone be there to keep an eye on Steve who's home from college and tends to get a little out of control when he's left unsupervised...

And one day you’re woken up from a nap by the loud, relentless grinding of a lawnmower and look out your window to see the gardener.

He's young. Maybe Steve's age if not a touch older. And he is just stunning. So Beautiful it is hard to look at him, but in your current state, staring at him is about all you can do.

Alabaster skin decorated with black ink, dark curls tied up in a bun to keep them off his sticky neck. Threadbare tank top clinging to his slender frame he's so drenched with sweat from the heat. Arm and leg muscles flexing, shiny with sweat.

Then suddenly he stops and his eyes drift to the upstairs window to lock onto yours. You freeze in place, wondering if he can even see you, and just when you’ve convinced yourself he can't...a smile curls across his lips and he raises his hand to wiggle his fingers at you in a wave.

And it makes you fling yourself away from the window, knocking into the dresser and sending your make-up rolling over the top. And it hits you now, far too late, that you were just staring at him wearing nothing but sleep shorts and a camisole. One that did absolutely nothing to conceal how hard your nipples were.

Jesus Christ—what were you thinking? Staring at this guy like some horned-up teenager?

What is wrong with you?

You yank the curtains closed and hide in your room until you're certain he's gone. And by the time Steve comes home for dinner, your hair is wet from the cold shower you had to take when you couldn't stop imagining what it would be like if instead of mowing the lawn, that guy had come running upstairs to trim your hedges.

Seriously...what the fuck is wrong with you?

Then a couple days later the heat spikes to an oppressive degree. You put on your suit and are dancing in the kitchen, stirring up something cool and sweet to sip by the pool, crushing some fresh mint to add into the pitcher.

And you hear a splash. A big one.

Your head whips around to look out the window just in time to see that familiar head of dark curls bursting through the surface. He swings his head wildly like a dog, flipping his long hair out of his face before he dunks himself back in the water.

It's not panic that stops you in your tracks this time, but rage. What the hell is the gardener doing swimming in your sister's pool?

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

Your voice is commanding as you storm out onto the pool deck, but your cover-up isn't tied around your waist so it flies open behind you to reveal the shape of your body. And you kind of can’t squash the prickle of shame at the thought of this young guy seeing all your cellulite up close.

He turns toward you, awfully smiley for someone who just got caught trespassing. And his eyes are bright as he looks you up and down, the rays of sun hitting them just right so his deep brown irises glow like the richest honey.

Nope, nope. You're not gonna be flustered this time. You're not, you're not, you're not—

"Just waiting for you, sweetheart,” he says.

His voice is too smooth for his own good, words dripping from his lips the way water drips from his bangs and runs down his handsome features. You roll your eyes and feel your hands settling on your cocked hips. It's a stance you often find yourself in, wishing it was more intimidating. An inherited trait, you guess, considering how your nephew would stand the exact same way sometimes.

"Since when do gardeners get swimming privileges?" you scoff, eyes narrowing.

He just glances around at the freshly mown lawn, grass looking lush despite the sweltering heat.

"Didn't I do a good job? Don't I deserve a reward?"

The sun beating down overhead would be easy to blame for the way your body gets hot all over just from the way he says it, his brow arching to drive home his meaning, as if you couldn't tell.

"Take that up with your boss when she's back on this side of the Atlantic. For now, you can take a hike before I call the cops.”

A plush pink lip juts out in an exaggerated pout, but he shrugs his shoulders in an admission of defeat. He plants his palms flat on the concrete, forgoing the ladder and the steps to lift himself out of the pool to stand directly in front of you.

Water spills over his pale shoulders, rivulets of it running down the planes of his back and body you have to purposefully tear your eyes away from. He's not even in a bathing suit, just the same pair of ratty black jeans cut off into shorts he'd mown the lawn in just days prior.

He's still smirking, all sly and as he takes one last long look at you before he saunters away. And in spite of yourself, you glance over your shoulder to watch him as he goes, eyes drawn to a tattoo of a broadsword that starts between his shoulders and runs down the length of his spine, the tip of the blade ending just above the small of his back.

He pauses at the gate and shoots one last look back at you, clearly pleased to have caught you ogling him again—and fucking winks.

And he does leave, but now you’re all frustrated and flustered and too pent up to even attempt at relaxing now. So you give up on your swim and go to the store instead, the trip taking longer than it should because you don't—or can't—stop yourself from thinking about this guy.

You’re certain he had to be messing with you. What else besides an ego boost would a young guy like him get out of flirting with someone like you? A divorcee a decade older than him? Please. He probably had his pick of the litter in a town as small as Hawkins. All dark and wild, mysterious and dangerous and…

God—why did he have to be so hot? It would be so much easier to ignore him if he weren't.

Then you finally get back, cranky and tired and struggling under the weight of all your groceries. And when you push open the door and step into the foyer, you freeze in place again.

Because there he is. Splayed out on the couch, his knees spread wide, his long hair a little damp. Smiling at you all pleased with himself, like he’s been waiting for you. Cocky, even.

Like he planned it this way.

It all makes you gape, your mouth hanging open in total disbelief as you drop your bag at the door and draw your breath to snap at him.

"What are you—"

"Hey, you're home!"

Steve cuts you off as he strides into the living room, coming from the kitchen holding a couple of beers. He passes one to the guy on the couch, who's grinning like he ate a whole menagerie of canaries, and Steve nods in your direction.

"This is my aunt I was telling you about."

Those dark brown eyes rove freely over you now, no light shining in them this time as he smiles into the mouth of the bottle he's raising to his lips.

"Hey, there," he says, wiggling those long fingers at you all over again. "I'm Eddie."

next

#welp #I couldn’t sleep and now this exists #so that’s how things are going #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #TSITA

[b33zlebubz]

RECKLESS ABANDON--------

CHAPTER TWO - an interrogation

TASK FORCE 141 X READER (PLATONIC)

PREV CHAPTER || MASTERLIST || AO3 LINK || NEXT CHAPTER

TAGS: gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, slow burn found family, PTSD, trauma bonding, kidnapping, reader is a foster kid in high school, family drama, blood, violence, guns

"After your life falls apart at the seams very early on, you work hard to keep the small amount of peace you still have. Foster care is rough, work is draining, school is a drag...but you eventually find yourself in a good place. All of that quickly goes to waste, however, when your family's unfinished business finally finds its way back to you."

"You've got the wrong person."

"I can assure you we don't."

"Then what the fuck did I do?"

Price sits back in his chair with his arms crossed, staring out the one-sided mirror that separates him from the interrogation taking place.  The room is dark save for the mirror, the laptop in front of him, and the red-yellow embers of his third cigar in the span of an hour.  He fidgets uselessly with it, rolling the paper between the fingers in his right hand while the other clutches a pair of dog tags.  The metal feels twice as cold in his palm as he listens to the two people in the room in front of him.

Laswell looks tired—typically perfect hair beginning to fall from her bun and the bags under her eyes deeper than usual.  He doesn’t doubt he looks the same, if not worse.  Despite the majority of the day dead and gone, the only thing they have to show for the amount of time spent in this room is a quickly filling tray of cigarette ashes and a messy desk of conflicting files, open laptops, and empty mugs of both tea and coffee.

"Nothing.  We just have some questions regarding your birth family."

You chuckle bitterly, your voice strained from the day's events even through the intercom.  "You had me kidnapped and nearly killed for a couple of questions?"  

Laswell's mouth opens and then snaps shut again. 

Price flips the dog tags through his fingers like the world’s most unlucky coin.

"This isn't an interrogation,"  she eventually responds.  "We’re trying to help you.”

“Then why am I in an interrogation room?”

He thinks its hard to find anything surprising, nowadays.  Price thought he saw pretty much everything there was to see already.  He’s traveled the world, faced every obstacle with bared teeth and clenched fists.  He’s seen death in all its forms, he’s seen someone come back from death—and yet, this was a new problem.  One he hadn’t encountered before.  A mission he, for once, didn’t know how to approach. 

He sighs, leaning forwards to rest his elbows on his knees as he watches Laswell shuffle through papers.  This is usually what the chief specialized in—getting intel—but it appears even she's left flustered and clueless with how to handle the iron will of a shell-shocked teenager.

You’re sitting in a similar position as Price himself as you sit across from Laswell; a too-big S.A.S. sweater on your shoulders paired with sweatpants of a similar fit, your previous clothes ruined with blood.  Eyes downcast, hands clasped and shaking; Price can’t imagine the things running through your head.  He felt even worse that they didn’t have spare shoes, leaving you in your untied sneakers stained red-brown with the blood from earlier that day.  

You’re lost in thought.  You try to focus on what Laswell says, but her questions seem to go in one ear and then back out the other if you don't snap with a sarcastic comeback.  Laswell swallows heavily, much more used to this routine involving adults with war crime lists as long as the very building is tall.  She’s being gentle—well, as gentle as she can manage given your sharp tongue—but you haven’t given them any answers since you showed up.

You're scared.  You want answers.  Anyone in your situation would be the same.

So, after a few more minutes of talking and getting nowhere, Laswell stands.  She spares you one last, sympathetic look before crossing the room to the door—where she leaves the room in favor of the small office Price resides in.  A long breath leaves her as she stops at the table, lifting her arms and then letting them fall back to her sides in defeat.

“Nothing,”  she breathes.

Price nods.  He takes another drag of his cigar and exhales the smoke in a heavy sigh.

“Figures,”  he says, leaning over to snuff the embers out in the dish.  “Simon scared ‘em shitless.”

Laswell scoffs.  Shaking her head, she drops the file on the desk with a slap before sitting down herself—rubbing her tired face.  Her gaze falls to you sitting alone in the room, her brow furrowed tight.  In all his years of working with her, Price doubts he’s seen someone get under her skin like this in a long time.  

“We can’t wait for answers—not with the news spreading like this.”

He hums.  “You’re right.  We can’t.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?”  She asks, genuinely.  “Because this isn’t working.  The kid's not talking until we tell them what's going on."

Price is silent for a moment.  None of the team had expected anyone else to catch wind of your location so quickly—nor had they expected such an organization like the Shadow Company to get involved.  What was supposed to be a silent search-and-rescue mission turned into something more of an ambush.  Something Price knows Graves will eventually seek repercussions for.

He feels his stomach twist from the thought, but he shakes it from his head.  Right now, proving to you that you weren’t in any danger was his priority.  The sooner you felt safe, the sooner you would answer questions—the sooner Price could formulate some semblance of a plan going forwards.

He pushes himself to his feet.  “Then we'll just have to give 'em what they want."

Laswell sighs, “John—”

“We owe the kid answers, Kate,”  He insists.  "We have for a long time.  Far too long."

“And if Graves or someone worse gets to them?  What happens then…when they give up intel?”  Laswell argues.   “We’ll just have to keep them until they’re ready to give up answers.  It’s the only way to make sure we don’t get compromised if shit hits the fan again.”

Price’s brow furrows.  He looks back out into the interrogation room for a moment, at how you stare down at the table wiping your bruised face on your sleeves.  Laswell is right, of course—she usually is.  If you gave up sensitive information to save your own skin after everything you’ve been through, nobody would blame you.  It could ruin everything, and it would be his fault, but that’s a risk he’s willing to take.  

He turns to Laswell again, his voice low as he steps closer. Palms flat on the desk, he leans down to her level.  “Then we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, yeah?”

Laswell just stares at him for a second, her gaze hard in calm resolve.  She seems to consider his preposition, carefully weighing the pros and cons as she searches Price’s gaze for any hint of self-doubt.  As usual, she finds none.

She sighs again, shakes her head, and reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the table.

"Fifteen minutes, Captain."  She says, resolute, as she lights a cigarette between her teeth.  "That's all you get."

Fifteen minutes.  He’s saved lives with less, but yet he still finds himself taking a nervous breath as he grasps the doorknob anyway.  Up until this point he hasn't officially met you.  In a perfect world, he probably never would have needed to.

He swallows the lump in his throat and opens the door.

Immediately, your eyes dart up to meet his.  Your expression is a tangled mess of things.  Fear, maybe.  Anger, definitely.  There’s sadness and anxiety in there, too, as Price meets your gaze for a moment before padding inside.  He makes a point to leave the door open behind him as he walks forwards, pulls the chair out, and sits down with his hands on the table.  Your legs are pulled up to your chest now; arms hugging your knees as you stare up at him—defensive.

Like you're a cornered animal ready to bite.  

You are, but that's besides the point.

He regards you for a moment, attempting to look past how you have your father’s eyes—bright and focussed and unrelenting underneath the deep, puffy bruise on your left eyelid.  The wound looks old, at least by a few hours, so he knows it wasn’t caused by any of his men.  Even the Shadows wouldn’t swoop so low as to hurt you without reason.

"Nice eye,"  is all he says.

Immediately, you look away, suddenly self-conscious as you wipe at the aching, bruised flesh.  It hurts, that’s for sure, but you do a good job at hiding it.

"The other guy looked worse,"  you lie.

"A soldier?"

"No…"  you clear your throat and shift, your shoulders easing just a little from exhaustion.  "No.  Some kid.  Long story.”

"Ah,"  he chuckles a little, as if you aren't sitting across from him with your hands still stained in some dead guy's blood.  "Somehow, I don't doubt that."

"Who are you?"

Hm.  The dreaded question.  For a second, Price debates how much he should tell you—and he knows Laswell is holding her breath hoping he'll hold his tongue, but you deserve answers.  It's the least he could do.

The dog tags feel like they were burning a hole in his pocket.

"Captain John Price.  British Special Air Service."  He answers through a sigh as he sits back in his chair.  "But you can just call me Price."

That furrow in your brow loosens just a little.  Slowly, you remove your arms from around yourself, letting your shoes hit the linoleum flooring.  Maybe you recognized his name somehow, or maybe you’re just relieved to be talked to like a human and not a cornered animal—but you’re more relaxed than you have been that whole day.

"And the woman?"  You press.

"A friend,"  Price answers honestly.  "She helped us find you.  You can trust her, too."

"And how do I know you're telling the truth?"

Price hesitates at that, glancing towards the one-sided mirror where he can feel Laswell watching.  Then, he reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out the dogtags.  He tosses them over and they slide across the metal table before landing in your hands.  You turn the metal chips over in your palm, tracing the enamel with shaky hands.  When you look back up at Price, it's in disbelief.

They're your father's.

"To make a very long story short: over a year ago he had a mission,"  Price begins.  "Your old man was tasked with disarming a missile.  He succeeded, changed the code...and died before he could deliver it.  As of a month ago, it's been missing.”

It's a grossly summarized version of what happened over the course of the past year and a half, but Price figures he’ll spare you the details.  Details like how your father was tortured for months before he was finally killed while escaping.  Details like while he was stuck in enemy territory—you were all he would write about.  Your interests.  Your face.  Your words.

You're silent for a moment, squeezing the cold metal in your palms.  When you speak, it's quiet.

"That's a lie," you argue.  "Dad died when I was five. In Mexico."

Price nods.

“Maybe,” he says quietly.  “But, like his kid—he wouldn’t go down easy.”

You let out a breath, sitting back against the chair as you digest the information handed to you.  He watches dots string together in your mind as you mull over your whole life up until that very moment.  He knows what you’re thinking of already; not because he ever met the man personally, but because with the past few months he spent reading and rereading every letter, email, and assignment report—he feels like he did.  He knows you’re rethinking every letter your father sent you right up until his supposed “death" and every call promising his return soon.

He knows it’s a lot to take in, and that aching guilt in his chest rears its ugly head.  He wished he could do more—apologize on behalf of your father, reassure you things would be fine, take you back to your home…but, alas, all of those things were impossible.  So, instead, he’d answer whatever question you asked.

Because that was all he could do.

Almost a full minute passes before you speak again, quietly.  "And why, exactly, am I so important?"

"Because your father kept a journal,”  he answers promptly.  “In that journal, he said you knew the code.”

You laugh bitterly.  “It’s not like he was around to tell me—I don’t know shit.”

“I figured,”  he sighs, nodding.  “So, until we figure things out…you’re sticking with me and my men."

You bristle again, shoulders tensing.  "I never agreed to that."

"I never gave you the choice,"  John hardens his tone, not leaving any room for argument.  "It's what your father would've wanted.  Those were his last orders."

At that, you fall quiet; your face scrunched with frustrated anger and unshed tears as you look away to steel yourself.  John sighs and softens again.

"You’ll have a temporary room for the next few days.  Then, Friday; you, me, and my team are moving to a different base to plan and gather intel.  Everyone here answers to me, and if any of ‘em give you trouble—I’m never far away.”

He leans in close.

"I'm sorry, kid.  Really," he says, "but you can't go home."

Finally, you nod in understanding, your gaze falling to the table.  Lost in thought again, another long moment passes.  He watches as you look down at the dog tags before, hesitantly, lifting them up and over your neck.  They fall to rest at your chest as you clasp them before looking up at Price.  You won’t ask the question—won’t admit what you’re thinking—but he meets your gaze with calm resolve as he speaks again.

"You'll be safe here," he says. “Alright?”

You purse your lips, thinking.  John almost holds his breath, waiting for your response.  Conflicting emotions swim in your eyes as you squeeze the metal on your neck. 

He pretends not to notice the tears pricking your eyes as you swallow heavily and nod.

“Yeah…yes,”  you choke out.  “Not like I have anywhere to go, anyway."

After that, things go smoother.  There were supposed to be more tests—more questioning, interviewing, and other supposedly mandatory things that would get everyone nowhere.  Instead, Price decides to bypass all of it with Laswell’s permission.  The walk to your room is silent, and he assures you, again, that nothing will happen to you here.  He apologizes profusely, but he’s not sure you truly hear any of it—simply nodding and thanking him before the door is shut, and the halls are quiet.

Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, slipping his hat off to run his hand back through his hair.  There’s paperwork he has to do, a briefing to attend to, and he still has yet to touch base with Soap and Ghost about what exactly happened earlier that day.  Despite it all, though—he feels somehow lighter.  Months of tracking down your father’s only family coming to a close now that you were found and safe.  Or, maybe, it was just because the dog tags were weighing him down.

Nevertheless, he barely spares himself a moment to recollect before his hat is placed back on his head, his expression is hardened again, and he finds himself walking back down the hallway—already itching for another cigar.

It was going to be a long fucking week.

@brokenpieces-72 @warenai

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty x reader #call of duty reader insert #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader

[luveline]

Jade!!! I’m so in awe of how you write Steve, like you capture his character so well! I was thinking about if the reader had also been dragged into the mess that is saving Hawkins and, as a result, has also unofficially been anointed a baby sitter - Steve would be all heart eyes seeing how well you get on with the kids and just how much you care for them (and how much they care for you)

thank you! Steve and you having a quiet moment between all the hubbub and just loving each other and being proud of each other for how you take care of the kids (word count: 1k) fluff and softie steve 🥺 ST4 EP 4 SPOILERS AHEAD

You try not to be too obvious about what you're doing as you stare across the room at Steve. He's sitting with his back pressed against the chair Dustin's currently slumped in, eyes blinking slowly as he attempts to stay awake. 

You're opposite on the sofa between Max and Lucas, Max finally asleep. Her face is pressed into your arm. She might be drooling. You decide that this is more than allowed considering what she's just been though. 

Lucas is still awake. Still worried. 

"I don't know…" he confesses quietly, almost too quiet to hear despite the room's silence, "what I would have done. If something happened." 

If Vecna got her, he doesn't say. 

You brush your knuckles against the back of Max's hand as you twist, giving him what you hope is a soft, reassuring smile. 

"Nothing happened, and nothing is gonna happen. We're gonna work this out. She's safe, Lucas. I promise," you whisper, putting on an exasperated tone. You're not sure how truthful you're being but you believe vehemently that everyone's gonna be okay. You have to.

You don't know him very well, any of them, only through Steve. They love Steve and seem to like you, and despite a big risk of going too far and overstepping, you really want to reassure Lucas.

These kids are so young, they don't realise how young they are. Growing up is traumatic enough without the constant threat of an evil power, and it shows on all their tired faces that they're stressed beyond words. 

Lucas sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, reminding you of Steve. You look to him, find your brown eyed boy watching you with an earnest, fond smile stretched over his lips. 

"Steve and I," you say, a little firmer, "we won't let anything happen to Max… or to you." 

"I'm a great fucking babysitter," Steve agrees, voice rough with fatigue. "And so is Y/N. That's double the protection, Sinclair." 

"Exactly. We've got a basement full of dorks who, including yourself, are smart and brave enough to get through this." 

Lucas starts to get that look on his face despite his overall maturity that you recognise as embarrassment; too much heart to heart for a teenage boy right now. You dial it down. 

"And to do that you need to sleep. Get some rest, gather your strength. The campaign isn't over," you say. Both Steve and Lucas snort at your cheesy joke. 

Lucas settles down and eventually falls asleep after you make a big show of not feeling tired. "I got it," you whisper. "I'll be on Max watch." 

Now, with all the babies asleep including the academics who basically saved the day, it's only you and Steve. 

"Are you okay?" you whisper. 

"Baby, I should be asking you that. I've been through this whole shtick three times already."

"Don't you think that's worse?" You can't imagine how scared he is. 

Steve straightens up with an awful groan and sets a dead stare at you that withers your bravery almost too fast. "I'm fine. I am," you say, words riddled with a scratching weakness, like your voice might break. "I'm okay." 

Steve gets up. You lift your head as he walks towards you, careful not to make too much noise. His hands are soft and very, very careful as he bends at the waist and takes your face into them, like he's assessing you.

His thumbs aligned at your jaw and his fingers cupping the underside, Steve dips his head towards his chin. "It's okay if you're scared. This is ridiculously terrifying," he says seriously. Then, less so. "Not that I'm scared. Shit's getting kind of old for me, if you know what I mean," he says, rolling his eyes. 

You laugh and shake your head, eyes closing. "Don't make me laugh, I don't want to wake up the kids," you whisper. 

His bravado softens. "You're good with them," he says, hands smoothing down the column of your throat, over your shoulders and up again, massaging you with a light pressure. "Really good." 

"I'm just following your lead," you murmur. 

He smirks. "Yeah," he says, leaning in, the heat of his lips fanning over your own, "I must set a good example, 'cos you're amazing." 

He kisses you, a soft, chaste peck that eases some of the tension you're holding, his smile pressed to yours. 

His fingers flex around your neck. 

"Are you really okay?" he asks as he pulls away.

You don't have to think about it.

"I'm good, Steve." 

"Yeah, you are." 

He leans down to give you a hug, an awkward struggle because of your position and the bodies you're acting as a pillow for. You can only use one arm when you hug him back, the other sandwiched under Max's shoulders, but it's a pretty good hug, all things considered. 

"You wanna sleep in my lap?" you joke into his neck. 

"Don't tempt me. I miss you," he says. Your arm tightens where you're wrapped behind his neck, crushing his perfect hair. 

"I miss you too." 

And you do. Taking care of the kids, trying to stop whatever it is that's happening from happening, you'd never not try your hardest but you can't wait for this to be over. To fall asleep next to Steve, and to not worry that it'll be the last time you see him when you close your eyes. 

You're on Max watch, but you're on Steve watch too. 

Steve pats your face gently, just once, and goes back to play guard dog at Dustin's side, though he lies on his back.

Max mumbles something in her sleep. You turn to her, your heart racing at the idea that she's having a Vecna related nightmare. You're tentative as you rub her jacketed arm, hoping to soothe her through it. 

"Poor kids," you murmur. 

"They have you and me," Steve says quietly. "They're gonna be fine." 

"Go to sleep, Harrington," you say, not bothering to turn to him. 

"They're gonna be fine," he repeats, sounding both amused and affectionate at your worrying. 

"I know. Now go to sleep, idiot." 

"Wake me up when you're tired." 

"Yeah, whatever you want."

"Wake me up when you're-" he starts again, in a tone usually reserved for the kids when they aren't listening.

"Alright, Steve. I will," you say, laughing under your breath. "Control freak." 

"What did you say?" 

"Nothing." 

"Yeah. S'what I thought." His scathing tone is dampened by the sleepiness. Your chest fills with warm affection.

#stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things spoilers #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #spoilers stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve and max my beloveds #steve x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 22. little dark age

chapter tags/warnings: megumi is very mean but he's very uwu in the end. dad! toji. angsty! megumi. family drama. mentions of death. classism. strong language.

word count: 4.2k

notes: despite my long hours at work and the word count, I finished this update at a speed that impressed myself! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

The next morning, you woke up alone in Toji’s bed.

Sunlight filtered into the room through the lace curtains, the brash beams softened into a gentle glow, a cinnamon and honeysuckle candle flickering in the corner. 

While you could be disappointed that Toji’s warm presence was not beside you, this was your chance to stretch out on the mattress and rub at your eyes, feeling the crisp sheets against your skin. 

With your mind growing more alert, memories from last night made their way back into your mind: how Toji touched you, kissed you, fucked you, made you feel so sexy. Only he could make you feel like he was the luckiest man alive. That you were the only girl in the world.

Like an idiot, you curled into a smiling and giggling ball, kicking your feet in a flustered bout. 

Even with six months of marriage under your belt, it was actually…weird, to remember sex as something enjoyable and fun, rather than an obligatory action.

Sure, Toji might view last night as normal given his abundant sexual endeavors in the past. But this was totally a different thing for you. Naoya had never bothered with ‘unnecessary acts’ like aftercare, after all.

Hell, he could not even care to look at you most nights.

Several weeks back, you would have been racked with guilt.

However, you have recently discovered a renewed sense of self-worth, a belief in your own agency and right to pursue happiness outside your tattered marriage. This was the realization that, if Naoya Zenin could feel like he could do whatever he wanted, you could too. 

You could do better.

Toji had said so himself.

Not to mention, with Toji, you were heard. 

You were understood. 

With him, you were special.

Keeping these thoughts in mind, you practically hopped toward the bathroom and washed up, then skipped down to the lower level to search for him. Looking for him didn’t take long when the kitchen bustled the sounds of cupboards being opened then closed, the clatter of metal forks against porcelain plates. 

You rushed in that direction, unconsciously smiling at how thoughtful Toji was to be preparing breakfast. He must be anticipating you to be awake soon (and how surprised he would be to see that you had risen from your slumber already!).

So you can imagine how disappointed you were when you turned into the kitchen doorway, ready to implode from giddiness, and Toji was not the person you saw.

Rather, you found Toji’s son.

Megumi did not even notice you at first.

He leaned over the kitchen island, his upper body shifted onto the one forearm that rested casually on the counter’s surface, his free hand swiping at his phone. His gaze was locked onto the device which was why he had not sensed your presence, instead occupied with reading his friends’ texts and chuckling to himself as he scrolled through the messages.

Megumi looked like a completely different person now that he wasn’t clearly pissed off.

The contrast was like night and day. 

His morning appearance was remarkably neat. With the abundant lighting, his tall and fair features became clear, with sparkling dark eyes that glimmered like the evening sky. He had taken off his rings and been wrapped snugly in a baggy brown pajama set. 

For once, he looked…soft and sweet, and when he laughed heartily at his screen, everything in his smile was a reminder that this young man was nothing but a kid in the end. 

Briefly, you did not want to believe that this was the same anguished teenager you had encountered last night. All over, you searched for one singular flaw. A loose strand. A crack in his lips. A budding, rosy pimple. But, with Megumi, there was nothing.

How could this possibly be the same person who accused you of being a demon, who lashed at his father for thinking with his dick rather than his head?  As you wondered how your plain presence could turn such an innocent boy into someone filled with contempt, your heart filled with chagrin. 

“Yuuji, this bumbling idiot,” he snickered quietly at a video from his friends. As he pressed replay, he brutally stabbed an apple slice with his fork and popped that bit into his mouth. “If your older brother hasn’t already, Nobara is definitely going to whoop your ass.”

Still chuckling, he shifted his weight, leaning from one arm to another, and that…was when he spotted you.

Quickly, his grin fell flat. 

“Oh,” you heard him mumble. 

Even a half-brained goldfish could tell Megumi was horribly disappointed to see you here. He straightened up a bit, chalking up the invisible and seemingly impenetrable wall that you recognized from last night.

Megumi didn’t want to smile. He didn’t want to be your friend. For all he cared, you only stopped by for a few hours in his life, and he had no obligation or expectations to ever see you again.

So, with that, the atmosphere became thick and awkward. 

Horribly awkward. 

“H-Hey,” you uttered, unsure of what else to say as the gloomy teenager turned around toward the refrigerator and effectively ignored your presence. 

He did a terrific job in avoiding your gaze as he reached for an orange juice carton and a new glass, pouring himself a drink in silence once he returned to the kitchen island. Since you were older, you shouldn't feel humiliated by how you were being treated like a fly on the wall by an eighteen-year-old. 

Yet, you were. 

Megumi made you feel irrelevant and insignificant, as though all idiosyncrasies that made you feel helpless in your marriage came to haunt you through him.

He could hardly bother to glance in your direction even as he downed his drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. Then, once his glass sat empty, he treated himself to another cup. 

All in silence.

When Megumi finally decided that, fine, he could not simply pretend you didn’t exist forever, he turned to face you and asked, “Why are you still here?”

The question caught you unprepared, leaving you frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.

Although Megumi didn’t roll his eyes on the spot (which probably demanded great self-control from himself), he leveled a piercing stare that bore right into yours. For a moment, his looks resembled his father’s greatly, but the intensity in his indigo eyes was nearly palpable, like a spear that grazed along your throat. 

Instantly, your mouth dried at the scrutiny, his look disapproving and judgeful. 

Perhaps you should head to the water cooler, hoping to rehydrate yourself and avoid his direct line of sight in the process. He left you unsettled with how he examined you with narrowed eyes, likely sending death wishes your way.

“I’m here because—” 

You paused.

Here because your father and I fucked last night in the bathroom two doors down from you. 

No. In times like these, honesty was not the best policy. Knowing this, you felt more exposed than ever in Megumi’s presence and tugged at your shirt collar to cover the dark marks on your neck, but the teenager had already seen them all.

“Unbelievable,” he scoffed, his eyelid twitching with irritation. 

Megumi slammed his glass down in exasperation (which, to your amazement, did not shatter despite the force), and he stormed into the next room over.

His signs were clear that he would rather not spend another minute talking to you, but you persistently trailed behind him. There was still a lot to understand about him. At the very least, you would like to sort things out.

On the other hand, he wanted to avoid all that, escaping into the library. Even with your goal for conversation, you had to slow down in awe to admire the newly discovered space. A grand brick fireplace occupied the wall opposite the entrance, a magnificent woodblock painting hanging above the mantel as plush beanbag chairs encircled the hearth. Shelves crafted from dark cherry wood lined the rest of the vicinity's perimeter, showcasing not only an impressive literary collection but also antique figurines and framed family photos. 

“Leave me alone,” Megumi deadpanned amidst your amazement. "My dad's busy on a call in his home office upstairs, but that doesn't mean you should be following me now."

He could never let up on you, could he?

“Well, no one ever said I was following you.”

“Yes, you totally are. Why else are you tailing me here?”

You shrugged. “Because this is a nice apartment, and I’m just exploring.”

“Well, I’m sure you live in a very nice place too, given who your husband is.”

A small part of you was still amazed at how publicized your life was given your ties to the Zenin Corporation’s CEO, but you had been growing accustomed to the attention in recent weeks.

“I like the aesthetics here, though. Drawing inspiration for my own place.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled in finality but did not miss how you stopped at one particular framed photo. Immediately, he rushed to your side, the proximity introducing you to his grapefruit fragrance that was accompanied by ambery cedar notes. Forcefully, he swung his sleeve in front of your face and hampered your view. “Nuh-uh! Don’t be nosy.”

“I’m not being nosy!” you protested. “That was your baby picture—”

“Yes, exactly. So, you are nosy,” said a Megumi trying to hide his embarrassment. “You’re a dreadfully nosy, horribly pushy, and appallingly insistent old snooper.”

“Old snooper?!” 

Sure, you weren’t a high schooler anymore, but that didn’t mean you were old.

“Control yourself,” Megumi went on, ignoring how offended you have become. “You’re victimizing us all.”

While Megumi’s original mission was to slink away and enjoy his personal space, he now decided that he had to monitor your every movement instead, worried about what other awfully cute childhood photos you might come across if left alone. Knowing there was no use in arguing with a stubborn teenager, you took your gaze away from the photos and spotted a large maroon pennant plastered above the doorway. 

“Oh, Harvard?” you asked, 

“Yes, my dad completed his college degree there. Double major in economics in psychology,” he stated matter-of-factly, not that you were surprised. “That, and I’ll be starting school there this fall.”

“Oh, congratulations!" you praised (and questioned why Harvard would accept a cynic like him) before using this chance to make some meaningful conversation. "My husband also went to school in the United States as well. He could give advice about starting university in a foreign country. He went to—”

“Yes, Yale.” 

Wow. Just how many hours did Megumi Fushiguro spend on Naoya Zenin's Wikipedia page? Obsessed much.

Creepy, even.

“Well, look who’s the snooper now,” you teased the boy, jokingly pointing out how he seemed to know more about you than you knew about him.

But perhaps, that was a terrible idea.

Megumi stopped, falling quiet as he turned back slowly to face you. His lips were pressed, as though he internally debated what charged and hateful thing to say next.

How dare you involve yourself in his matters? How dare you use his words against him? Arrogance was never a classy trait. So, how dare you challenge Megumi, an incoming freshman at one of the best universities in the world, while you were a sidepiece in Japan’s aristocracy.

You braced yourself, expecting a barrage of insults, until he asked, “Are you feeling better since yesterday night?”

Caught off guard, you froze, not sure if you heard him right. 

Meanwhile, Megumi did not meet your gaze. He almost appeared ashamed to do so, regarding the nearby bookshelf instead, his long fingers running over the wooden engravings.

The room, once filled with apprehension, now held a rare glimmer—a shred of kindness that left you realizing how complex the teenager was.

To respect his space, you stayed put from where you stood, the library growing quiet while waiting for your answer.   

“I am better, thank you for asking.”

While Megumi tilted his chin forward in thought, he still did not glance your way. He stayed silent for a long while, sucking on his teeth.

“Sorry,” the boy spoke up again. With his head hung low, he took in a deep breath through his nostrils before admitting, “I know I'm a complete asshole sometimes.”

This, naturally, was the last thing expected from the younger Fushiguro. Observing him from your position, you noticed how his features softened as he thumbed through the shelved pages of one book.

Was this real?

Five minutes ago, this was Angsty Megumi. The don’t-bother-me Megumi. The hated-your-fucking-guts Megumi. 

Yet suddenly, he began apologizing. While Toji presumably had some influence in bringing about this change, Megumi appeared to mean what he said given his idle fidgeting.

The easier—and frankly, more childish—comeback was to make a scene and accuse him back. After all, Megumi’s slander and actions had torn a hundred gashes at your fragile heart, but you knew better than to hold grudges at your age. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Another silence, this break twice as long as the last. He continued to drill his stare into something far less interesting, but only because he seemed hesitant to speak more. His lips parted and then closed as he visibly fought with himself regarding his next words. 

“This doesn’t mean I trust you, though.”

Oh. Just when you thought you advanced two steps ahead, you had merely been circling around square one. Right, you should have expected that because this was only the first time you two were holding some semblance of a civil dialogue. But, despite all this internal rationalization, that didn’t make your disappointment any less.

“That…is fair,” you replied, trying to mask the rejection in your tone though the defeatedness still bled through. 

“Look,” Megumi started quietly. 

He sighed and ran a hand down his dark hair. When he finally turned to you again, gone was the outright scorn that once dwelled in his eyes, replaced by a countenance far more sad. His lips pursed into a strained line, his forehead marked with concern, and brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“I don’t know what your intentions are. Just…please don’t hurt my dad.” 

Your chest tightened. 

Megumi could judge you for all he wanted, but you felt unfairly blamed. He had said something similar last night. What could you—a young and inexperienced housewife to the Zenin family, yourself with no real power—possibly do to hurt Toji?

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The boy stared at his feet, rocking on his heels. “Dad’s been through a lot. All to protect me. But, as an unfortunate result, he had made several awful decisions in the past to the point I feel like I am the one watching out for him instead. Ever since my mother passed away, he had been a mess.”

Ever since his mother passed away.

While you were aware that Toji had an ongoing affair with ‘Tsumiki’s mom,’ you had not stopped before to think about Toji’s other past wife who must be Megumi’s mom, much less wrap your head around the possibility that the latter no longer existed in this world.

Not that you were to blame.

Toji, who preferred to keep many private matters to himself, didn’t mention his first wife in conversations before, her premature death being a likely reason.

This might be rude, but you had to ask, “What happened to your mother?”

Megumi had expected the question, putting on a front to seem tough and act as though the past didn’t bother him. Yet, pain flashed visibly across his face.

“Involved in an accident many years ago. She was an event coordinator and traveled to Canada to visit a vendor when she crossed an intersection, and then…” 

He paused.

Even though you had an inkling about what he was to do next, adrenaline coursed through as Megumi raised his outstretched fingers and collided them to create the letter T.

“Boom. Gone.”

Your heart sank. 

How come no one had ever mentioned this to you before? 

While you could understand why Toji did not want to discuss this traumatic event, the other therapists never brought up their leader's tragic history either. Therefore, the realization wrecked you—to think about how a young woman’s life could vanish from an unpredictable freak accident, leaving behind a husband who could never tell his wife that he loved her one last time and a son who could never feel his mother’s tender affection again.

“That’s horrendous,” was the most appropriate reaction you could conjure to sum up your thousand thoughts. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…”

Your voice trailed off. 

Despite the time to process, you still didn’t know the proper verbiage. Only now were you scratching the surface regarding who Toji and Megumi Fushiguro truly were, and you could only wonder what else there was to know about them.

“Don’t say sorry to me.” Noticing your loss for words, Megumi had interjected. “I don’t remember much about my mom since I was seven when she passed, so not that I really care anyway.” 

A lie. The teenager tried to seem unbothered, but his voice wavered. Even Megumi himself must have noticed how he began choking up a little, turning away to distract his sadness. 

“My dad, though…” Megumi continued, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand the rest. “He truly loved my mom.” After propping his elbow against a nearby shelf, he rested his head on his palm and sighed. “He had given up everything just to be with her.”

Both warmth and sadness shone through like he was retelling a bittersweet story of star-crossed lovers—two people deeply in love yet destined to be apart.

“I see.”

“Dad has not been the same since,” the boy continued to explain. “He slept around a bunch and got charmed by some pretty lady. Blinded, my dad got married to her and life had been a living hell afterward—treated me like a bag of shit, spent all my dad’s money on her shopping sprees every weekend, and even neglected her own daughter—my stepsister—which forced my dad to raise her instead.” In the end, Megumi huffed loudly in exasperation and seethed in anger, his hands balled into fists that turned his knuckles white. “A fucking bitch.”

He’s talking about Tsumiki’s mom, you realized. 

“They’ve gotten divorced, no?” you inquired, referring to Toji and his second wife.

“Thank all the Shinto gods, they did! About several months ago, yes. Would have taken their marriage certificate into my own hands if they hadn’t by now!” Megumi exclaimed, extending his hands out to rip an imaginary piece of paper for illustrative purposes. “That…That whore did my father really dirty during the years they were together. No, the craziest shit is that she continues to bother my dad all the fucking time.” Scoffing, he threw his arms into the air. “She’s got a new shiny boy toy, so why is she still trying to bother the ex-husband that she placed the divorce papers in front of?”

His eyes slid to observe you, as though he attempted to read through your thoughts or elicit some reaction. Therefore, when you did not, Megumi simply continued.

“I am this close,” he leaned forward, bringing his thumb and index closer just about together, “ this close to placing a restraining order on that lunatic. For my sake, for my stepsister Tsumiki’s sake, and for my father’s sake.” Then, he dropped his hands down in one long sigh. “Therefore, I hope you can understand why I have trust issues.”

With this newfound information, you finally understood why Megumi had been so hostile to you during your first few encounters with him. He had a good reason to be. With all these years gone by, he hadn’t seen anything good come out of his father’s escapades ever since his mother’s passing, and Megumi was desperate and determined to protect what he had left. 

Like you, Megumi knew that Toji deserved none of this.

Toji did not deserve to agonize alone after his first wife’s untimely death, he did not deserve to be taken advantage of by his second wife who sought opportunity in his heart’s emptiness, and he did not deserve the suffering of having no one by his side to comfort him during these times. 

Seriously, how could you possibly be complaining about bad sex to a man whose lowest lows tortured him far beyond your comprehension? Juxtaposing your therapist’s tragedy—from loss to grief to betrayal—against yours made your problems seem minuscule compared to the vast amount in his. Even though Toji suffered through many colossal heartaches, he still lived, smiled, and gave each day his all, living through the halcyon days of sunshine. 

Meanwhile, Megumi stared at the ring that was already on your finger. “Are you going to marry my dad?" 

Spit nearly catapulted past your mouth. 

“What?” you blurted, dumbfounded. 

“I don’t want another stepmother,” Megumi clarified, assuming that the answer to his question would be yes. “I just want a mother.” He crossed his arms and hugged himself, the loneliness evident in his orotund voice. “I…want to know what having a mom feels like again.”

You could feel and see, for the first time since you two met, the vulnerability that resided within Megumi. A side that would only come out whenever he thought about his childhood, which must have been filled with love, joy, and beautiful memories. 

Seeing this made your heart tear with sympathy. 

Because, in him, you saw a reflection of yourself.

“Back when I was in high school, my mother passed away after a long battle with kidney cancer,” you divulged, recognizing and validating his sorrow. "The immediate years after were extremely difficult for me because I had known my mother for so long in my life, and I sought a presence that could replace hers. My father, like yours, recognized my struggles and took it upon himself to fill my mother's shoes. Still, my mother cannot ever be replaced, and I similarly do not think I can completely substitute your mother either. But there is one thing for you to know: that my very last goal would be to hurt you and those you care about, Megumi.”

Words, you knew, did have the capabilities to mend the rift alone, so you took slow steps toward him. In the closed distance, the desolation in his eyes became more vivid, the ever-present struggle between his confused emotions and the barriers he fortified to protect himself and those he loved. 

Without saying more, you tugged at his arm and pulled him into an embrace.

Beneath your hands, you could feel his shock.

He resisted at first, a subtle rigidity in his frame.

Gradually, however, those tense muscles in his body softened as he sunk in the warmth you provided him. His shoulders seemed to lower along with his guard, and he leaned into the hug. Not every issue may have been resolved, but at that moment, you found a common ground with Megumi that replaced the once-charged disagreements with a consolation transcending words.

“I only know a small part of your story, but I want to be here for you,” you whispered, voice a soothing murmur. 

Megumi did not respond immediately, but his grip on your shirt tightened as if acknowledging the shared vulnerability. There was warmth from his body that assuaged your broken and throbbing heart, and with great sincerity, you hoped that he could at least get the same comfort from you. Like a little child, he rested his head by your neck and let out a deep breath. 

“Thank you for talking to me.”

With a sad smile, you patted his back. “Of course.”

Even the room seemed to exhale in relief, releasing the lingering tension that had gripped the vicinity.

The peace and serenity were only interrupted when a holler thundered from the upper floor.

“Boy!” Toji, who must be done with his call now, boomed. “I told you to clean the bathroom, already! Mopping and scrubbing today!”

Megumi groaned at the command and peeled away from your touch. “I’m going to do that soon!” he shouted into the void, hoping that his voice somehow made its way back to his father.

“That’s what you said an hour ago!”

“Okay, yeah, he’s right,” Megumi conceded, huffing. He stepped back, a faint blush dusting across his pale cheeks.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered shyly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just some chores to do. Sorry.”

Toji must be lucky to have such a good son like him.

“No worries.”

With Megumi rushing out to obey his father’s commands, you found the library now all yours. You were smiling ear to ear, your entire body much lighter now that you had resolved many misunderstandings with Megumi. As you waited for his return, you scanned the room in search of something to help you pass the time, your gaze fell upon the Harvard pennant again, this time also noticing the framed document that hung beneath the banner. 

“What is this?” you mumbled to yourself.

Yes, as Megumi had pointed out about you earlier, you were incredibly ‘nosy.’ In your defense, this was your chance to learn more about the Fushiguros, a family whose past you just began to uncover through the conversations earlier. 

Besides, what harm could be done from just some innocent curiosity?

You approached the piece slowly, unable to comprehend the English print quickly when your first language was Japanese. Yet, with just enough foreign language reading skills, you figured that this document was in fact a Harvard University diploma. Impressed, you admired the gold embossed letters, the university's iconic emblem, and the dark ink that conferred the degree to… 

Toji…Zenin.

What? 

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: We have officially hit the turning point in this fic! The reason I enjoyed writing this chapter so much was how many topics and emotions were explored. While our hot therapists didn't take the spotlight, we got a chance to explore our very elusive Megumi.

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#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk season 2 #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #toji x y/n #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #toji #megumi #naoya #geto #sukuna #choso #anime smut #anime angst #anime fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #jamms.sextherapy

[cobrabobra]

"Dick"

Carl Grimes x male!reader

This is part two to "Asshole", I didn't plan for it to have a second part but since there was a request I decided to come up with something, english isn't my first language so I apologize for any mistakes, contains description of masturbation and oral sex and alcohol usage, I've never wrote something like this before but I've tried my best so I hope you enjoy

Carl's once again found himself frustrated and of course it was because of (Y/N), again.

Grimes believed that the kiss will change everything, that they'll get closer, maybe start dating. That everything he'd dreamed of would come true.

Not only that did not happen, it made things worse, (Y/N) acted like nothing happened, like that kiss was nothing to him, but it was everything to Carl. It was supposed to help him find out something about his sexuality, which it didn't, but he didn't have time to think about it now, it only made things worse. It made things awkward between them, the other boy seemed unfazed, but Carl tried to insinuate that he'd like another kiss or maybe even more and when nothing happened, neither of them knew how to act around each other. They used to talk on walkies all night, sometimes they didn't even talk, they just sat there, in their own rooms and found comfort in the fact that there was someone on the other end, but know they didn't talk. That used to hang out together all the time, joke around, play video games at Anderson's house, go on runs together, now it was all gone. Carl hated himself for destroying their friendship, because he did, he destroyed everything. He made a mistake telling him about his feelings that day, he made a mistake thinking that something would change. It was all his fault. He should just accept the fact that nothing will ever happen between them and move on, try to fix their relationship, but he couldn't bring himself to. He still imagined what would it be like if their relationship became a romantic one, how they would go on walks and hold hands, hide behind the corners and kiss so Ron wouldn't see and yell at them, how they could... How that could be intimate with each other. He imagined how (Y/N)'s body would look like, they saw each other shirtless a couple of times but that's it.

"Fuck" he sighed, feeling the heat in his abdomen at the thought of the other boy's body. He couldn't help it, he was a stupid teenager, he was horny all the time, especially now, after he tasted his crush's soft lips.

He started to undo his pants, remembering how it felt to have those sweet lips against his. How good he smelled, how beautiful his eyes were, looking into his, how fluffy his hair were.

It drove him on the edge, he slid his hand into his boxers and hesitatiantly grabbed his cock, like it was his first time doing this.

He felt a blush creep on his cheeks as he imagined that (Y/N) was sitting between his legs, that it was him stroking Carl's cock.

How would he do it? Would it be fast, trying to make him come fast, wanting to see Grimes panting, bucking his hips into his hand? Would it be slow, teasing, wanting Carl to beg him to go faster? Would he say that he's handsome, that he looks good like this, that he sounds good, moaning and desperate to cum?

It didn't matter, it would've been perfect any way, because (Y/N) was perfect, everything he did was perfect.

Carl, he'd pant, getting aroused himself, Carl, he'd say his name and it'd sound so good, Carl...

"Carl!" it was real, (Y/N) was standing outside, throwing rocks to get his attention.

"Fuck!" he whispered, tucking himself back into his pants, trying to make himself look presentable.

He opened the window, his palms sweaty, his heart beating fast. What if he'll find out? What if he'll find find out Carl was masturbating while imagining him being the one doing this to him?

"Finally, I thought you were ignoring me" Anderson sighed as he crawled inside.

"I was just sleeping" the brown haired boy lied quickly. Last thing he wanted was for (Y/N) to think Carl's mad at him, at he's ignoring him, that he's the one who fucked up.

"With the lights on?" he chuckled, he knew that his friend was lying, hiding something and he wasn't going to push to get Grimes to tell him what he was doing. If he didn't want to tell then he'll respect that. He smiled when he saw that the other boy's face got red, it's cute when he gets shy.

"I- um" he tried to think of something to say but embarrassement got better of him.

"I got something" (Y/N) put his backpack on the floor and took out a wine bottle. The same bottle he found when they kissed.

They sat on Carl's bed and opened the alcohol. Of course this would end well, they've drunk together before and Anderson always ended up wasted. Of course it was fun, seeing him like this, loosened up, giggling every five seconds, hugging Grimes every chance he got. But with Carl being heartbroken, he wasn't sure it was a great idea, no, he knew it wasn't.

And who would've guessed, half an hour has passed and they were tipsy, half of the wine was gone and they talked like nothing ever happened. Though Carl wanted to kiss him again and blame it on the alcohol, he could get the thought out of his head.

Oh no, no, no, no, he thought when he felt himself getting hard in his pants, he didn't finish earlier, he was pent up and his crush was laying on a bed before him, his shirt slightly rolled up, his stomach showing, of course this would happen.

"And then I- Carl, are you even listening?" (Y/N) got up, sitting supporting himself with his hands to not fall on the bed again. His beautiful, clever eyes studied his friends face.

"Yes, I'm listening"

"Don't lie to me, you suck at lying. Tell me what's wrong" he got closer, much closer than he wanted to, their noses almost touching, their breaths mixing.

"It's nothing, really"

"Like you not knowing if you liked boys nothing?" he was irritated. He didn't mean to start this topic, not when he was drunk, but Carl was acting weird for a while and they needed to talk about it.

There was a moment of silence, silence full of frustration, anger and pain, before (Y/N) grabbed Grimes' chin and made him look into his eyes.

"What's going on with you Carl?" this time he didn't sound mad, he sounded sad, his eyes soft as he looked at his friend. He wanted to help him, fuck he wanted to help him so bad, but how can he do that when Carl didn't tell him anything?

"I don't want to say" lies, he wanted to say, he wanted to scream in his face how much he loved him, how much he desired him, how much he needed him.

"You absolute asshole! Can't you see I'm worried about you?!"

"I'm the asshole?! It's you who doesn't see anything!"

"Because you don't show me!"

"I show you every day and you just push me away!"

"I don't push you away! You're the one who's pushing me away!"

"I'm not!"

At this point they were both standing up, anger and desperation flowing through their veins as they yelled at each other, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time with each word they said.

"I'm sorry I fucking kissed you, okay?! I only wanted to help! I'm sorry okay? I'm fucking sorry" he started to cry, he could help it anymore, it was too much, too much being in the shadows, not knowing what's going on, too much of feeling guilty that he destroyed their relationship that day.

"I'm not" Carl said softly, he should've felt bad for making his friend cry but he felt better than he felt in ages, (Y/N) crying showed him how much the boy cared about him.

With his heart pounding like crazy in his chest, voices in his head telling him not to do this, his rational side clouded by the alcohol, he kissed his best friend.

Last time it felt rushed, hungry, now it started slow, like they wanted to burn the shape of each other's lips in their minds. This sweet kiss quickly became as hungry as their first one, but it was different this time, this time they both were sure that the other one wanted this, that it wasn't a joke, it wasn't just to find something out. They wanted this kiss, just as badly as they wanted each other.

"Carl" (Y/N) whispered when their lips separated, his hands clutched on the other boy's shirt.

"Don't talk, just let me- just- please" Grimes was practically begging. He knew as soon as this moment've passed it would all be gone, that it would become even more awkward between them and he didn't want that. He wanted this moment to last forever, to feel the boys lips on his, to taste him.

"I'm not going anywhere" Anderson said and in a moment of courage, he lead Carl's hand to his pants. He made Carl feel how hard he was for him, how badly he wanted him, this.

"You're drunk, you don't know what your doing" he wanted to step back, he needed to, before he did something stupid.

"The only thing I'm drunk on is you. Believe me, that kiss really helped me sober up"

And this is all Grimes needed, to know that this was mutual. He kissed him again, even more harshly than before, their saliva mixed and so did their scents.

They found themselves on the bed, Carl's hands struggling with his zipper, his hands shaking with stress and lust. He finally managed to get out of his pants only to find (Y/N) looking at him, like he was a beautiful painting.

"You're not-?" his brows furrowed. Oh fuck, what if he got ahead of himself? What if he didn't want this after all?

"I'm not drunk, but I'm still tipsy. I don't want to have my first time like this" he said smiling cutely, even though his eyes shimmered with desire. "But we can do this" he said as he put his hands on the outline of Carl's cock.

"You don't have to-"

"I want to, so fucking bad, Carl"

He felt those soft, swollen lips on his abdomen, kissing every freckle they found. His fingers slipped under the band of Grimes' boxers and slowly pulled them down.

"Mmh-" he moaned and closed his eyes when he felt (Y/N) kiss the tip of his cock. "Fuck" he bit his lips to stop himself from making too much noise, he didn't want his dad walking in on them and he wanted to hear the wet sounds that the other boy's lips made as his mouth moved, licking a stripe down his shaft. "Yeah, like that" he grabbed Anderson's hair and moved his head a little.

His toes curled as he felt himself get closer, he never felt so good in his life, he didn't know what felt better, (Y/N) actually reciprocating his feelings or him sucking on the tip of his dick.

This was heaven, he felt so good, he could practically high five God himself.

"Doing so good, fuck" he moaned as he felt more and more of his cock dissapear inside of (Y/N)'s hot, wet mouth. "So, so good"

He never wanted this to end, this feeling of being touched by another person, by his loved one. He felt tears running down his face, all he could hear in his head was a voice telling him that this was finally happening, that their friendship was indeed destroyed and from it's ashes something new, something beautiful emerged like a phoenix.

This was all too much, too much pleasure, too much happiness, he could stop himself, his fingers still tangled in (Y/N)'s hair, his head bobbing in a fast pace, his tight throat clenching down on Carl's cock, it was all too much.

"Carl is everything-" he stopped when he realized that he was crying, he thought he might've done something wrong and he definitely didn't expect for the boy to cum right on his face.

Grimes still moved his hips for a while, muttering something under his breath, sense of relief coming down on him.

When he finally came down from his high he looked down, just to see his friend's, or whatever the fuck they now were, face covered in his release.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's fine, just, next time warn me before you cum on my face, you dick" he chuckled.

He probably would've laughed too if it weren't for those two words that overtook Carl's mind. Next time.

#carl grimes x male reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes smut #twd x reader #male reader

[aledethanlast]

This David Wesninski AU is making me love Browning like nothing else, because this man is probably experiencing every emotion under the sun and inventing a few new ones just in the short period of time between realizing the Hatfords fucking slaughtered (almost) everyone in that house instead of trying to take them alive like they said they would and finally just letting the Foxes just have Neil, anything to relieve the headache the Foxes are causing over the whole thing. Imagine being Browning, you’re desperate to arrest Nathan Wesninski on the murder charges absolutely everyone knows he is guilty of and making a deal with a crime family isn’t your ideal method of catching him but you are desperate and you know how much they hate this guy so you’re confident they won’t help him, and then after an utter shit show of a night you discover that the Hatfords have a very loose interpretation of “take these people alive” and have vanished so you’re already dreading the paperwork you will be required to fill out to arrest the living members of Nathan’s circle and also the paperwork about this mission, and you discover this kid who looks a lot like Nathan but is either very babyfaced or is way too young and then this kid looks like he’s been tossed through a meat shredder several times and he just looks at you and says “my name is Nathaniel Wesninski and my father is dead” and while you’re trying to determine if this kid can be any help in sorting out the remaining arrests and figuring out what the hell was going on, he bursts into hysterical laughter and you wonder if perhaps you should call a psychologist to come visit the hospital. Two agents call to tell you some exy team is here looking for the guy, saying his name is Neil and he’s their teammate. Then, this kid is finally able to talk at the hospital and he will not tell you anything until he sees his teammates, who you figure will not want anything to do with him; then you get another call from the agents informing you that the teammates won’t answer any questions until they see and talk to Neil and they have had to handcuff one of the players to the coach. This situation does not improve any part of your mood and by the time the kid is released back to the Foxes, it is 95% because of the fact that you are about to burst into tears from frustration; you wonder if you can go home but Towns offers you nothing but a coffee and a “sorry buddy, but it’s 2:00 pm and we’ve still got several hours left.” You wonder how much vacation time you have and how much of a notice you must give before using it and if 1 day is enough. Then, you come home a few weeks later and your daughter is watching an exy game and there is that annoying little shit on your screen, smirking at the camera like he knows you’re watching. You nearly scream

TFW you joined the fbi to bust up hardass career criminals and save hapless teenagers except someone put both groups in a cocktail shaker and served it neat.

#the foxhole court #aftg

[ihateeveryone357474]

Party girl

Note!

This is my first thing ive written in like almost a year.this lowkey is kinda ass but I wanted to post this to get feed back and to see if you guys like it so please tell me all yours thoughts!this is also not proof read😝

Also I have a pt 2 writing so tell me if yall want that

That’s all enjoy loves🩷

I was in my room sitting at my vanity finishing my makeup. I was getting ready for the party my bestfriend nick invited me to,I’m not usually not a party person so I’m not to thrilled to be going. A bunch of drunk people dancing sloppily and throwing up is not really my scene.

But Nick would be lonely without me so I kinda have to go for him and secretary i wanna go just so I have an excuse to dress like a slut for matt to see.

Me Chris Nick and Matt have been

friends since 9th grade. Chris and Nick always felt like brothers to me but with Matt it was different. There was always this tension between us just wanting to be broken. I always found him attractive but these past couple months have been different, every time is see him I just wanna jump him, I could just imagine our body’s tangled together mouths moulded together tounges slipping in between our lips, fitting perfectly together like we were made for eachother his hands goin-“Y/N!”

I heard my name being called by Nick snapping me out of my thoughts.”ARE YOU READY!” The same voice rung, I was ready I looked good, a tight leather mini skirt with fishnets hugging my glistening legs, And a black strapless top that hugged my chest perfectly.

I go downstairs excited to see Matt’s reaction to my slutty outfit.

I’m putting my boots on when I hear breathing behind me. I look back to see Matt looking at me with his eyes wide.i realize that I’m bent over with my Lacey thong on display. “What you looking at perv” is all I manage to get out not wanting to start anything. “Nothing” Matt mumbles I can hear the smirk on his face as he is walking away.

“Your just friends y/n stop think like this”

I say to myself.

-at the party-

I find myself immediately wanting a drink. I’m not the type to drink a lot or go crazy but I just wanted to shake off this weird tension in my chest from Matt.

I was up against a wall observing the dancing drunk teenagers in front of me.

Bringing my red solo cup to my lips and downing the liquid that was in it, I feel a pair of eyes on me as I look over to see Matt staring at me with an unreadable expression. We held eye contact until I feel a hand on my shoulder. I jump taking the cup that was resting on my lower lip away from my lips. When I see a man in front of me I had never seen him before and he just smiled down at me. “Fuck you scared me” I sighed out breathing a little heavy, “I’m sorry gorgeous” he spoke with a laugh making my stomach twist but not in a good way.

All I could think was of Matt wishing it was him calling me that name.I snapped out of it still seeing the boy looking down at me. I didn’t get that butterfly feeling because he was looking at me with dull dark brown eyes. I could get lost in Matt’s eyes forever his blue eyes.

“What’s your name gorgeous” he asks, staring at me like he wanted to take a bite out of my face. “Y/n” I say with a soft friendly smile.

“What’s yours”I ask trying to wrap up this conversation fast.

He was starting to open his mouth to speak when I look over to where Matt was earlier just wanting to see his face.

Thankfully when I look over I see Matt staring at me.

His jaw was clenched and his stare was sending shiver down my spine,He looked like he was ready to pounce on this guy like a fucking tiger. I was getting turned on just looking at Matt, i needed to get away from this guy

I was about to wrap up the conversation when I feel my hand being grabbed and I’m being pulled away from the wall I was once leaning on.

I looked up to see who I was being literally dragged upstairs by its Matt.

 “Matt?” I whine out from the tight grip on my arm starting to burn.

“Matt?” I ask again but he didn’t even look at me.

This is short asf lemme know for pt 2 it gets better I promise😝

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo smut #chris x reader #matt x reader #nick sturniolo

[anadiasmount]

maybe moving on is better? -- mason mount x reader.

helloo! first fic, thinking about making this into a three-part series!!

quick summary: after cutting of ties with mason you find yourself in a tough spot. until a certain night where you see yourself you didn't imagine being.

Sometimes it's hard to let go. Let go of yourself, be free, and be on your own. It's significantly harder to move onto reality, where you look for any trace of him. His scent, brown eyes, brown hair locks, and the iconic blue jersey.

You had wished it was easier to let go, but it was difficult. How could you let go of such precious and cherished memories? How could you forget the late-night talks that brought you happiness? Let go of the deep and profound love you had for him.

Anywhere you go, there he is, billboards, coffee shops, even small posters with his face and name plastered on street lamps. You wanted and wished so bad to let go of him. But what exactly is holding you back?

Is it the fact that you two grew up inseparable in your teenage years, or him being the only one there when no one else was? To say the least, you weren't ready. You weren't ready to give up on him, hope buried deep inside you, hoping he’d come back.

Sometimes even walking around your flat, you vision him laughing, scolding you for not wearing socks in the winter, helping you cook dinner, cuddling on your creme sofa. Am I crazy for still holding onto him? Maybe. But who cares?

Vivid images of the way you and he left things replay and cause nightmares. Those images were not letting you sleep or even do anything right. His words filled with venom and pure hate, never seeing this side of him confused the hell out of you. The redness in his eyes as he walked away from the broken promises, the happy ever after we created.

“So what y/n? I'm doing what I want. How is it selfish for me to leave you?”

“You're not a kid anymore grow the fuck up.”

“You're gonna cry, really? How pathetic, just look at you.”

“Are you seriously going to hold me back? I'm leaving, please don't contact me, as I wish nothing to do with you…”

Even his family were confused as to why you wouldn't show up to certain events, it was complicated. You didn't want to throw him under the bus like that, you found any excuse that in the end, always worked.

After many months you still weren't the same, everyone around you saw that. You felt weak, empty, sad, numb, lost, afraid, you were slightly slimmer, a new haircut below your bra-line shaped into layers.

Slowly but surely, you were going to grow into a new person. After a drunk night with your two best friends, confessing everything, the stolen kisses, unexpected gifts, comforting him after a match, and the photo album still hanging in your office, it was time to move on.

And so you did, applied to jobs, stepped out of your comfort zone, made new friends, grew a passion for painting, got rid of his items that were still laid out in your flat, and even traveled a bit, helping others while at it.

Sure, there were times when you wanted to see how he was, what he was up to, but it wasn't worth it after finding out he was dating a girl. Remembering the pure disgust and punch to the stomach when you saw the headline and picture of his broad arm wrapped around her waist kissing her deeply.

In the end, that could've been you, but it wasn't, that was the hard part. You constantly blamed yourself for how things ended, wishing he was still present in your life. Should have you begged him harder, gave him the space when asked?

After your crazy week at work, your family was invited over to his family’s house. It had been a while since a homecooked meal which made you decide to go. You put on a comfortable warm outfit as the November weather wasn't going to get any warmer.

Quickly tying your laces, and grabbing your bag, you head out for the short 30-minute drive. Pulling into their driveway brought old memories from when you two snuck out, played tag in the front yard, making snowmen and snow angels during the holidays.

And once again, his face appeared in your mind. How the bridge of his nose would get red in the winter, his freckles showing under the glowy sun, his smile when he would score goals in the mini goalie, all that made you miss him even more.

To say the least, everyone was shocked to see you there, his mother cried hugging you tightly, “Goodness y/n it has been a while since I’ve seen you, sweetie! Where the hell have you been?” she pulls back smiling, wiping her tears away.

“I recently got a new job that has cost me to stay out longer. I'm living in central London with a german shepherd, finishing my last year before finally graduating. It's so nice to see you again, everyone” you say with a shaky voice.

After greeting others you help out in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables, prepping the table, and singing along. Jaz's daughter begs to play dollies with her, so now you're seated in a corner criss-cross watching her dress them all up.

She asks you for opinions and makes you hold them, this one is quite the chatterbox. Your stomach drops as you hear his father comment about him, “Mason should be here soon, he's bringing the wine I asked for.”

This would be the first time in months you’ll see him, after everything. Were you mentally and physically prepared for that… no. Anything could go wrong so fast, your overthink gets its best of you, would he be mad you're here? Would he talk to you? Does his family know were not friends?

“Sorry y/n but do you mind taking her upstairs for her nap? I would go but my mother wants me to help her finish off,” Jaz goes up to you wiping her hands with a cloth. You agree, carrying Summer upstairs while she cuddles into your arms. After rocking her gently she's out.

Loud commotion and cheering make you understand he’s here. You avoid any eye contact making you way over to Jaz but notice he’s staring deep into your soul. You practically feel his eyes burn into your figure.

His voice, that stupid voice, the voice that helped you relax, helped you sleep, talked to you when you felt lonely, but that exact same voice who told you to go away. Building up the courage and confidence you look up, immediately making eye contact with him.

“Look y/n is here! She finally came out of the dug-up hole she had been living in,” his mom motioned at you. You nod your head slightly and nod. A flash of hurt runs into his eyes, yet a confused face plastered on.

No one seemed to notice, going back to what they were doing. You sighed trying to hold back tears and the upcoming headache. “So what really happened between you two, I'm not blind y/n. You avoided coming here for a while,” Jaz's question catches you off guard.

“We had our differences, said hurtful things to each other, and decided it was best to stop being friends. He wanted to focus on his career more, and I as well. Its… it's just confusing and hurtful…” you bite the inside of your cheek.

She sighed deeply, giving you a hug, you wanted to be honest and tell her you didn't need pity, but deep down you felt safe in her arms. You pulled back with a smile, “But it's okay now. It seems like he’s doing okay, doing big things at Chelsea and the England team as he always wished, I imagine.”

“But what about you? How are you doing?” the fact she's willing to hear you out almost makes you burst into tears, “Honestly, not well… I'm under a lot of pressure right now, and just stress. I can promise you, it's nothing, just work,” at that moment your phone rings, a call from you boss.

After excusing yourself you go outside, the cold air hitting your skin making you shiver, goosebumps appearing. “Yes hello? I apologize I'm not home right now James, of course, I’ll send them as soon-, yes I understand the consequences, have a good night, bye!”

You lean against the railing, sighing and taking deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together before going back outside, “who was that? Your boyfriend?” his voice startles coming off a bit jealous, maybe even mad? You scoff at his words, preparing to yell at him before being cut off.

“Y/n? We need to talk.” Mason says. You quickly stand up wrapping your arms around yourself. He notices your cold body, reaching to take his hoodie off but you stop him, “No. It's fine, what did you need to tell me?” your voice coming out firm and serious.

You take your time roaming your eyes at him. Those months did do some small changes to him. His hair was a bit shorter, a full beard, maybe a bit more muscular?

A long pause of silence appears before he speaks up again, “Why… why are you here? I'm so confused, there are some things I wanted to-” he doesn't get the chance to even finish speaking as his father emerges at the doorway.

“Mason your girlfriend is here.”

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount one shot #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount fanfic #mason mount blurb #chelsea #chelsea fc #money mase #mm19 #cfc

[werdlewrites]

masterlist - ao3 - twitter @ djomamma - kofi

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Posting days moved to Friday and Tuesday!

summary: “It felt like an addiction, I guess. Feeling so high, and then the crash when you see what you’ve lost.” Her chest tightens—words of remorse slip through her veins to constrict her insides, robbing her of air and letting the hurt flood in instead. Her lungs begin to fill, and it rises into her throat, her teeth clamped tight to keep it all in as he continues. “Then...it hurts, and you keep going back. Because you realized you already belonged somewhere, and you ruined it.” warnings: swearing lol typical school bullying? steve's an idiot wc: 3,310

Hawkins High. A fuming cesspool of wicked, ugly, and grimy teenagers. They wear masks to shield their insecurities, having too much to say all too boldly, or whispering behind a hand to a friend. Everyone’s got an opinion, and while before the incident, Autumn would take it on the chin, she’s less sure of her strength now. There’s always been some sort of anxiety before the bell rings, but she was capable of charging forward through the crowds, glaring daggers at the twisted looks of judgment and lungs ready to spit fire. Taking looks of pride and melting them to nothing—until they grow bored of the taunts or horrified by her comebacks. Now, she’s sat low in the passenger seat of a brown BMW, hiding from wandering eyes as she chews at her nails. It was a habit the girl never realized she had until strong hands grabbed at her wrist to forcefully end the assault. “C’mon, don’t do that,” her escort grumbles, practically tutting in disapproval. “I’d rather be homeschooled in the woods,” she retorts, her eyes not once drifting from the flock as they mingle at cars or walk in groups toward the main entrance. She only looks his way once he laughs, a small shake of his head sending curls bouncing across his forehead. “You’d be miserable. And I can’t imagine Hopper being the best teacher.” She cracks a smile at that, though it’s easy to fall as someone locks eyes with her from across the lot. She’s sinking impossibly lower—focus cast away in hopes they’d lose interest—yet somehow it feels as if everyone is suddenly staring at the parked car, purposefully resting far from the door to avoid the flow of bodies.

Steve had offered to take her to school for the first few days, though she didn’t find the need for it. She had asked why, and his simple response was, “Oh, I-I don’t know, I thought that maybe-maybe it would be nice t’have a familiar face? So you won’t be alone.” Maybe she was grateful at the time, settling into the passenger seat like she belonged in the early morning. And now, she feels like a beacon to pull lost souls in, though all for the wrong reasons. It’s worse than the first day of school, already anticipating the questions and theories about how and why King Steve was carting around the freakshow. She almost wished he had dropped her off on the way, letting her complete the journey on foot. “Everyone’s staring,” Autumn sighs out, arms clung tightly to her bag. He hums in reply, completely oblivious as his torso stretches towards the back seat, grabbing his belongings. “Didn’t notice-” “D’you really not care? People—people are going t’say shit. That-that’s not new for me. But for you-” He’s all smiles, already cracking the door to let the November wind pour in and cool her roaring embers. “Let them talk. They’ve got nothin’ better t’do anyway.” And like that, he’s gone. He pulled himself from the warmth of his seat and into the misty morning, beckoning her with the wave of his hand as he made his way towards the hood. The girl rolls her eyes, following suit with an unintentional slam of his door. “Fuck, fuck-” She mutters to herself, though easily picked up by Harrington as he refuses to leave her side. “It’ll be fine, I promise.”

And it is fine—for the most part. Autumn’s head remains low, and he acts like a guide, following after each of his steps and towards the sea of people inside. In here, it’s far too busy—bodies easily blend in with one another. So, she allows herself to relax. There are scattered murmurs—too incoherent to truly understand if it was about the pair or even her. But her mind is playing an evil trick, taking their nothings to warp into what sounds like her name, and suddenly she’s speeding past the boy towards her locker, ignoring the cries at her back for her to slow down. Steve is unshakeable, finding great ease in slipping by students and their cliques, finally coming to a rest with a relieved sigh as she rips open her locker. Autumn has this sickly feeling that everyone knows about the man in her home. Knows about her father's abandonment and half expects cruel notes to spill from the inside. But the space is vacant, safe for a few personal items left behind. “I told Hopper I wanted t’come back,” she mutters. “Can’t imagine why, now that I’m here with these idiots.” The locker slams shut after sorting through her things for the first period; the bag is now freed of its heavy burden and can lay easily over her shoulder. “You’ve worked hard since I’ve known you,” he replies, his eyes wandering without care as his fingers fiddle with unfolded sunglasses. “Even with your impressive lack of ability t'stay awake in class,” he ends with a laugh. It’s a long routine of restless nights. Find peace for some time before being forced awake by the faces in her mind. Even in the dark, she can find them staring back at her through the haze of exhaustion. She seeks normalcy. Blending in with every other student, as impossible as it may be.

Autumn takes note of the way his body stiffens, frozen with an unmoving gaze locked on a freckled boy across the way. Tommy Hagan stands with his girlfriend, eyes darkened black, as he wears a twisted smile of amusement. She can hear the rumors before they’ve even started, and he does nothing to ease that anxiety as his finger twirls around his temple, mouthing “Freakshow.” The teen could handle the likes of Tommy; he’s easy to read and easier to deflect. Damn near-predictable. His words do nothing but cause the girl's eyes to roll; she is already beginning to turn away when she sees Steve raise his arms. They hover for only a second before his palm connects roughly to the bend in his arm, fist high in the air. It’s a silent “fuck you," and in case Tommy lacked a few extra brain cells, he added a middle finger for flare. It’s a wild sight to take in—brothers once inseparable in their misery, now ripped apart at the seams. Autumn remains speechless, her mouth hanging agape in surprise, and she allows Steve to take her by the arm with care, escorting her away from the scene. “Assholes,” the boy spits. Further and further, he goes, dragging her along the way with a firm but delicate hold. He’s speaking nonsense about her first class, almost muttering to himself as a distraction from just how annoyed he was. Annoyed with the scene that mocks them and the fact that he was once a part of it. Allowing them to spill their poison and eat away at the hearts of others like a delicacy. “Steve,” she calls softly, and at first he continues to ramble, listing off his classes as if they were to meet up in between. An old routine he’s desperate to resurrect, for her sake or his own.

“Steve!” she cries out, planting her feet firmly against the scuffed tile, littered with crumbled leaves. The boy finally hears her, his focus whipping in her direction as he too stands oblivious in the hallway, eyes wide. “I can get there myself,” she reassures with a kind smile, her fingers reaching to ease away his touch, letting his hand fall awkwardly and empty at his side. He’s a tad bit dazed, and thoughts scrambled as she tries to veer off the path—the quiet plan made between him and Hopper. “R-right. I-I just-” “Well, shit,” a familiar voice calls out, earning a curious stare from the pair as the new company inches closer. Her knuckles are bruised, and she wears them like a trophy. A subtle threat against the sad soul should he speak poorly again, and to anyone who had considered the idea. Her cheeks are clear of assault—not a scratch to break her skin, a telling tale of her victory before being carted out of the building. “Look who finally showed up,” she teased, rolling the gum in her mouth as curious eyes drank in the sight of Autumn, observing with care. “Looks like he wasn’t full of it after all.” Autumn is left nearly speechless, casting an uncertain look toward the boy at her side, who remains equally lost and of no help. "W-who?" "Eddie," she replies, her body slumped against the lockers and hands tucked deep into pockets. "Saw you walking around town the other day. Which is odd, considering... the word on the street is that you broke your leg?" There’s deflation in her posture, shoulders slumped as she gathers up the remaining strength to not cast a glare towards the only person remotely interested in squashing the question of her absence. He stands right at her side, a nervous smile on his lips as his fingers strangle the strap of his bag. “Wha-? That's—that's crazy,” he says in a breathy chuckle, attempting to ease down the heat radiating from her body.

Steve had panicked when a few students asked about the witch who had gone missing. He hadn’t considered when the girl would show her face again or the fact that he hadn’t spoken to her properly since they fell out on that empty field. It was a rushed and poorly thought-out excuse, just wanting to douse the fire of curiosity and shrinking in on himself as they cast him suspicious looks. He hadn’t anticipated for it to make the rounds, but teenagers live for the gossip, and it spreads like a virus, despite it being particularly boring. There was pride in deflecting them, thinking he had saved her. But now he’s not so confident, and it makes him all the more anxious. “It’s actually, uh,” Autumn pauses, her focus veering off to ponder her next words carefully. “That’s just—y'know, it’s a lot more embarrassing,” she says with a weary grin. “I actually-” “Horrible sinus infection,” Steve suddenly blurts out, his pitch all too high and cracked from the bundle of nerves gripping at his throat. He sees her then: Autumn. Her irritable stare increases the pressure in his chest, and he feels as though he’s about to collapse. Heat rises to freckled cheeks, sweat building on his brow as he continues to struggle through the war zone. “Just-just snot, everywhere. Awful-” “That’s enough, Steve,” the girl cuts in. Her words are as sharp as the glare in her eyes as she leans in, intimidating despite the boy towering above. “Goodbye.” A fire is lit beneath his feet, hastily bidding his farewells as he escapes the scene, finally able to breathe again and refusing to cast another look over his shoulder, wanting to forget the interaction ever happened. The two girls are left to watch him flee, though, for varying reasons. Once he disappears into the crowd, Heather’s gaze falls back on her friend, a curious brow raised and a slight smile of amusement on her face. “Since when d’you hang out with Harrington?”

Returning to a normal morning routine was more difficult than expected. Missed assignments were handed in with the understanding of a lower grade out of fairness and a look of pity from her peers. Hopper had written letters and made phone calls, coming up with the miserable lie that her father had suddenly become too ill, and he was simply doing the man a favor by seeing she was cared for. She had dodged the questioning looks of classmates, returning to her designated seat for every class. Autumn was quiet, refusing to gain further unwanted attention. And it works, despite the fear that rattles in her bones as she looks out the window towards the treeline, where she swears a large shadow moves, long arms swaying and snarling teeth looking for prey. But the girl blinks, and all seems to vanish into thin air. The fear of a hellish monster hunting her down to finish the job in the middle of history class—or trample through the halls in search of her flesh. Fingers tighten around the book's edge laid out before her, knees bouncing with an unshakeable feeling that tells her to run. The bell rings for lunch, and she’s barely packed up her belongings, giving in to her instincts and pushing through crowded shoulders in search of some safety. It’s been hours since she first walked through the main doors—the interest in her resurfacing is now long gone, yet somehow she feels as though everyone is staring. Somehow, they know her secrets—her demons. She half expects to find Steve waiting at her locker with a look of something mixed with shame and remorse for completely dropping the ball. If not him, then Heather would surely be there to drag her along until they reached her table near the tall windows. But Autumn is left to fend for herself, allowing the flow of bodies to sweep her up and carry her out to the unforgiving ocean. The chaos of friends seeking to speak over one another crashes against the girl like violent waves, flooding all senses.

Autumn lingers at the doorway, taking in the sight of scattered friend groups; their once sleepy minds are now set alight with passion, laughter rumbling beneath the tile at her feet. Heather sits in the same place as always—just at Eddie’s side—with warmth in her eyes as she listens to his arguments against another boy at the table. It’s a heated debate—crackers practically tossed at the other party in disgust despite the look of joy to wash in only a second after. Towards the center of the room, Tommy’s table is booming with an ugly arrogance. A boy sits towards the edge of the table, hiding his embarrassment from the unheard mockery of the ones around him. His skin is discolored, and his features are mangled by an angered fist—undoubtedly the works of a teenage girl just feet away, unbothered. They poke at his weakness—his failure to stand up against a girl who single-handedly stripped him of a higher reputation. A boy once on cloud nine and feeling untouchable now knocked back to meld with the ones beneath him.

The space is overly filled, leaving no gaps for others to question the boy now missing from the group. His absence was easily filled, and the value of his friendship was discarded like trash. A black stain on some who deemed themselves worthy of only gold. The outcast sits with a target on his back—the only body to fill a table on the sidelines—without the company of an ex-girlfriend or even a Byers boy. His lunch tray is pushed to the side, a single hand tangled in his mess of hair as he contemplates notes taken in his book. The pen falls as he lets out a sigh of frustration, both hands moving to shield his vision and massage his sore eyes. Autumn is acting on autopilot; no matter the rising heat she feels burning at her insides, the closer she gets to the boy. Her things fall to the surface, causing his body to jump at the sudden noise to disrupt scrambled thoughts on homework. A single finger pries itself away to peak up at her, and despite her stern look, he’s purely blissful. “Hi,” he starts, hands now falling away with arms folded over paperwork, hiding his insecurities written in ink. She mimics without thought, a firm glare set on him until the joy slowly simmers out—a look of worry now etched in its place. “What-?” “Snot,” she interrupts, his sweet eyes now full of understanding. “Really? Snot?” His hands rise in defense, and his posture is now straight as he gives more space between them. “I panicked,” is his excuse, and all he receives is a roll of the eyes. His notes are hastily shuffled away while she dumps out her lunch—nothing compared to the leftovers she would take from the dinner prior. But a sandwich and some chips would do in such desperate times. At first, lunch between them is quiet. Their troubled minds are all too loud, screaming with uncertainties about what to say or how to behave.

Laughter erupts from Tommy’s place, pulling curious eyes in his direction, and it seems to break the tension. Steve scoffs at the sight of him and the fan club he’s built—the way he showers in false affections, letting an ego rise to the clouds before flickering out. Autumn is the first to speak, watching as he picks apart his food with a distant look in his eyes. He’s not here with her anymore, but rather far off elsewhere as his thoughts travel. “D’you ever miss it?” Her voice is enough to guide him back in. “Miss what?” “That,” she gestures with a nod of her head. “Y’know, them. The…feeling of self-importance. The confidence. Feeling untouchable.” Honeyed eyes spare another glance in their direction, refusing to linger for long before he answers with a bold, “No.” “Not even a little?” He’s mid-bite on a piece of brownie, shaking his head in response before his fingers gently part the dessert into a separate chunk. “I never wanted that whole…’King Steve’ bullshit. I just-it felt like I belonged somewhere, y’know?” He places the chocolate on her emptied lunch bag, something the two would do if only one had a delicious treat. Never wanting their friend to go without. “It felt like an addiction, I guess. Feeling so high, and then the crash when you see what you’ve lost.” Her chest tightens—words of remorse slip through her veins to constrict her insides, robbing her of air and letting the hurt flood in instead. Her lungs begin to fill, and it rises into her throat, her teeth clamped tight to keep it all in as he continues. “Then...it hurts, and you keep going back. Because you realized you already belonged somewhere, and you ruined it.” The pressure begins to build, but she's untrusting of what will come should she open the gates. Steve observes the transformation with guilt eating away at his heart; her skin is red and her eyes are glossed over. All from what he's done and is doing. Autumn becomes desperate to swallow it all down, head tilting back with eyes locked on anything but saddened puppy eyes. She forces it back, willing away the hurt by simply counting each spin of the fan high above. But she can still feel him reaching for the tattered thread between them, painstakingly weaving individual fibers back into place. He knows it may take months—maybe years. Yet still, he works to piece it all back together, if she’s willing. “I never meant for it t’go that far. I never meant-” An achingly heavy sigh spills from his chest, practically deflating his body against the table. “I didn’t want t’hurt you.” Autumn can only nod, not yet strong enough to push through, until she feels it all begin to settle back down. Lungs filled with only air and sweet relief, the nerves burning up in the pits. Meeting his stare seemed to loosen the tension, now knowing his eyes had opened and that he could see the girl and all he had done to push her out.

She lets out a sniffle, her fingers tapping at her warmed cheeks to shake away the echo of sorrow. There was a constant cry in her heart as they went their separate ways in life. Venom in every word she spoke to keep further betrayal at bay, and a guilt-ridden boy only abiding by the line she draws. That line has since been blurred. Buried and forgotten the moment he arrived on her doorstep, looking for comfort in her company. “Maybe it’s not…completely ruined.”

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Transitions- Chapter Thirty-Two: A Break From Friends

Series Masterlist

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Pairings: Steven Grant x (platonic) Reader, Marc Spector x (platonic) Reader, Jake Lockley x (platonic) Reader, Layla El-Faouly x (platonic) Reader

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The ride to the apartment was tense and quiet. You were sitting in the back seat of a stolen car that Jake took with Layla next to you. You would have bitched or teased or generally said something about the thief that Jake is, but you were too exhausted mentally and physically to talk. Instead, you sat with your head leaned against the cool window and Layla's hand grasped in yours. Occasionally, you peeked at the front seat and saw Jake's eyes flickering in the rearview mirror towards the two of you. It wasn’t the limo that Jake took, it was some poor civilian's car and it was going to smell like smoke for the next few weeks. You were sure that the stench you carried from the burning building wouldn’t leave you or your clothes for a long time, let alone the civilian's vehicle. 

Layla's thumb rubbed the back of yours the entire time that she held it. Your conjoined hands rested on the middle cushion as the cool window helped lower your body heat and bring some relief to the pounding in your skull. Your clothes clung to you due to the sweat your body created and you wanted to take a shower; but with the tense silence you knew that there was a ticking bomb counting down and about to explode. Your throat hurts, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the window and you could tell that bruises already have begun to form. You don’t know what you’re going to tell Lauren on Monday when you have to go to work. 

She will panic and harass you for any information on who did this to you. She’ll assume that it was your uncle and she will get the police involved, you know that she will do this because she cares and wants you to be safe. So, whatever story you come up with has to be good and believable. Maybe you have a turtleneck shirt you can wear underneath your work uniform. You have a little less than forty-eight hours to come up with something because you can’t just tell Lauren that you were at the mall with a cultist's hands around your neck. You hope that you won’t end up on the news, you desperately don’t want this to go viral and go international. As much as you miss your best friend, you don’t want her trying to get in contact with you and bitch about you being missing for the last two years. You don’t want to hear about her disappointment in you ghosting everyone. 

It was Marc who opens the back door of the car and crouches in front of you when the vehicle was finally parked. He holds the brown leather jacket he let you borrow, you think that Layla grabbed it before she left and you were glad that she did because you completely forgot about it. He stares at you in silence, his eyes saying everything and nothing at the same time. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice is so quiet that you would have thought you imagined it if you didn’t see his lips move. You are okay, you’ve been trying not to think of the dead kid's eyes staring back at you or of the baby that is most likely an orphan now. You felt terrible that you were a little jealous of those teenagers and now they are dead. You can feel the inside of your throat close and your nose sting. You were alive and they were dead; and they were just children. They were kids caught in the crossfire of war. What the fuck did the cult even want anyways? Why would they want to look for ways to raise or release Ammit and come to the conclusion to set bombs and shoot civilians? How the fuck did they get from point A to point Z? 

Was it a random chance that you just happened to be at the mall on the day that they were going to initiate this dumbass idea? Or was it hell of a lot more complicated than that? People were dead and a handful of cult members were too, but they had to have planned on dying. It had to be a suicide mission in their minds, they planned on killing people, why? Why go out of their way to kill others if they want Ammit to judge people of their evil doings before it is committed. Isn’t that counter-productive for them because it is an evil doing for Ammit? Why go for children? Why are so many children dying in the path of what they believe is righteousness?

The memory of the mother carrying the girl on her hip and the flash of orange light in the smoke from the gun fire replays in your mind. The sight of the boy's filmy eyes staring at you feels like it’s burning itself into your soul and you try to rid your mind of it as Marc says your name softly. You’re not going to get his eyes out of your mind until the day you die, aren’t you?

You nod slowly, somehow knowing that he was pressing the question of how you’re feeling without hearing it fall out of his mouth and into the tense air between the three of you. You watch him press his lips together and you can’t find it in you to care enough that he doesn’t believe you. Filmy eyes that will never blink. Filmy eyes that will never have the corners of them crinkled as his cheeks that still had baby fat press upwards from a grin. Filmy eyes that will never see another sunset or sunrise or the constellations in the night sky. Filmy eyes that were left staring at you and Layla as you both reunited in the aftermath of the bombs. He had to have his last breath exhaled as he stared at Layla clutching your own cheeks. 

You being held by someone you care for was the last thing he ever saw and he died alone and scared. Marc’s fingers knit between your own as he pulls you out of the car and onto your wobbling legs. His own eyes crinkle in worry and you’re reminded that the dead kid's own eyes will never do that again. You felt guilty. Why are you still alive? Why aren’t you dead? Why were you the one who had the tangled strings to the god that let you be aware of his presence? Why didn’t you say something sooner or notice the men carrying the duffle bags around? You noticed the group of teens laughing and having fun but not a duffle bag in the mall. Why were you so wrapped up in your own jealousy that you didn’t see the red flags? 

Marc carries you up the stairs on his back with your arms wrapped over his shoulders and his hands hooked underneath your thighs. You don’t process much of the journey into the apartment building or the elevator ride up to the fifth floor. Your head rests against Marc's back as you hear the jingle of keys and the sight of Gus' fish tank as Marc passed and sat you on the dining room chair that you were sitting in just hours ago. You lean back in the seat with your fingers rubbed against each other, the smell of smoke, sweat, and the faint smell of cinnamon fills your nostrils as you try to ground yourself and get rid of the filmy eyes staring at you. You look at the brown leather jacket being set on the back of the chair, you can see the outline of your phone resting in its pocket. 

The same phone that you hung up on Jake. The same phone Marc bought for you so they could be in contact with you. The deal you made to answer the phone all those months ago repeated in your head. You made that deal to pick up their calls so they would know you’re alive, and you hung up on them in a burning building while a group of cultists shot up the place. Does it still work or did the heat fry it enough to make it no longer function? Does it matter since you’re probably going to be turned into the police by tomorrow? You’re going to go back to the United States and be arrested and jailed for a few dozen years and your friends won’t have to worry about you because you’ll no longer be in their life. 

It’s difficult to process the consequences of your actions when you were sure that you were going to die. If you’re completely honest with yourself, you didn’t plan on being alive. You wanted to live, you wanted to see Steven, Marc, Jake, and Layla live and laugh and perhaps forgive each other for their fuck ups, but you didn’t think you would be alive and sitting in the same spot you were in this morning. You thought you would die there. A bullet to the head, a minute or two longer of a grip around your neck. Maybe the fire burning you alive while you scream in agony. But here you are, alive and not so well; and you felt guilty about breathing while so many others were not. You know you have to move on, to not let this consume you. You know you’re going to have to continue with your life but at the moment that seems absolutely impossible. 

The idea of going back to your regular life and doing normal things such as the homework due Monday or the nine to five job you have as a fast food worker was something you could not comprehend. How can you pretend like nothing happened? How can you shove every emotion you have down into the pit in your stomach and force yourself not to feel the immense guilt you are currently going through? How can you ignore the filmy eyes staring back at you and telling you that you should have noticed something sooner? But no, you were too wrapped up in looking for a yellow sweater and watching a group of kids, who will now be forever the same age, have fun. It’s all your fault for not noticing something sooner. It’s your fault that a group of teenager's are dead and a baby is an orphan and a mom and daughter are dead. There’s so much blood on your hands that you will never be able to wash off. 

You can feel numbness slipping over you like a blanket being wrapped around your shoulders as you stare at the floorboards near Marc's feet. His shoes were dirty from the ash of the burning building and the daily routine of going out in public. The floors were dirty and Steven was beginning to complain about them lately, you offered to clean them but he refused to let you. He’ll probably clean them spotless by tomorrow whether it's because he had seen enough of the dirty flooring or because the stress from today will make him exert energy by manic cleaning. You can see Marc's feet shuffle from side to side before he forces himself to stand in one spot. The only noise in the room was from Gus tank and the sound of the heater beginning to shake. 

It was an old thing, the city didn’t seem to renovate the apartment buildings enough for new technology for the people who needed a long term place to stay after coming back from the blip. You think they had to find it at an antique store or a yard sale. Perhaps they did find it online but it was so old that it was sold at half price. Either way, the heater was running all night and morning and now it was beginning to pay the price by bringing noises to the tense silence between the three of you. You just wanted to take a shower and sleep, but the thought of your wants made you feel even more guilty. Those people won’t ever get another shower or another full night of rest. Your stomach churns with guilt and it makes you feel sick. It’s your fault that they are dead. 

“You’re still Tawerets avatar?” Marc asks, his voice cuts through the tension like a knife. You can hear him ask the question clearly, but for some reason it feels like you’re in another room and eavesdropping on the conversation. “After you told me that you are no longer working for Taweret.” 

“I am.” Layla says. You keep your eyes trained on the floor, there were scratch marks from years of scuff and use. A ball of lint rests next to Marc's feet as you hear him scoff. “Except I am working with Taweret, not for.”

“Why would you lie to me? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were alive?” She retorts. “I thought you were dead for months until you sent me unsigned divorce papers and even then you didn’t pick up your phone; or how about you didn’t tell me that you only met me because you felt guilty that you were there the night my father was murdered.” You hear Marc inhale a sharp breath. You know that you shouldn’t be here for this conversation no matter how nosey you are. It was supposed to be a private conversation between two people but apparently neither gives a shit; at least not after today.

“I didn’t mean to get him killed.” He says. He sounds small like a kid defending himself. You can feel his statement repeat in your mind and sink deep into your bones. It felt clear and personal even though it was about two very different people. 

“But you lead them there.” She states, it wasn’t a question but a fact, You feel like all air was taken from you and you think you feel like Marc does now. She’s right, you lead a god there and you couldn’t comprehend the duffle bag in time. It’s your fault so many people are dead. He doesn’t reply to her statement and it feels like a nail to the coffin for both of you. It sealed your fate, you killed so many people and there's no going back from this. You want to cry but you don’t want them to pity you. 

“She isn’t like Khonshu, y’know?” She says after a moment. “I get a say in things and she respects my decisions. She doesn’t threaten me or anyone I love. She’s kind and cares for me.” Taweret already sounds a hell of a lot better than Khonshu. Wasn’t she the one who balanced Marcs and Stevens' hearts on a scale and helped them get back to life? Your head hurts and the pounding in your skull was making it difficult to think. You deserve much worse than this, you are the reason so many people are dead. 

“You’ve been putting yourself in danger this whole time.” He says softly. You have been putting yourself in danger. You hung up. You stayed in the mall with the knowledge that you could die. You stayed with your friends and ignored Jake's warnings. You could have walked away but you stayed because you’re too afraid to be alone again. 

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Marc.” She seethes. “You’ve been putting yourself in danger long before you met me.” That is true, you did travel over a thousand miles and cut off all contact with everyone who remained in your old life. You could have gotten killed way before you met Marc and Steven in that alley way. You could have been became a news headline for a local murder, another static for young deaths. You could have become another victim of Harrow's cult without realizing how tangled his own strings were, you wouldn’t have known who he was or his intentions unless he told you them like those stupid villain's in children's shows and books. 

She takes a deep breath and you listen to her shudder as she exhales. She says, “I need a break.” You feel your heart drop at her statement. You would need a break from yourself too if you were her. She was giving up on you. You fucked up too much. She told you to leave and get to safety but you put yourself in danger and she’s upset with you. She was going to walk away from you and never look back. She’s going to block your phone number and you’ll be left wondering if she is alive or not. It sounds like something you did to your best friend. Now the tables have turned and you’re the one being left to rot. Karma was finally reaching you. 

“Okay,” He says. His voice is small and you feel exactly like that. Small and unwanted. He doesn’t put up a fight and neither do you. Your throat closes in on itself as you try to wrap the numbness around yourself like it was a cocoon. You notice her feet move a few steps and stand in front of you before you feel her hand cup your cheek. The affection startles you for a moment but quickly you push it down as her thumb brushes against your cheek and she tilts your head upwards.  

“Are you okay?” She asks. She looks old like the past few hours aged her enough that she was wiser and more likely to have a heart attack. She’s just asking to be nice, you tell yourself, she doesn’t really care. She knows how many you killed today. You numbly nod despite it being a lie and she doesn’t look like she believes you; but she doesn’t push you and you’re grateful that she chooses not to. You don’t think you could argue with her about how you’re actually feeling.

“I’m going to go,” She tells you and promises to call you later tonight. You’re surprised that she trusts you enough not to hang up or decline her call. You’re even more surprised that she wants to talk to you. She gives you a sad look and you don’t like that it’s directed towards yourself. She lets go of your face for a moment before bending down and pressing her lips to your forehead. You feel like you don’t deserve her pity or affection. She removes her lips from your skin before walking towards the door and opening and shutting it behind her. A break, she needs a break from you and she just came back less than twenty four hours ago. You haven’t seen her in weeks and she told you that she needs a break.

You stare at the door for a moment longer than you would like before your eyes glue themselves back to the ball of lint on the floor next to Marc's feet. You thought he would switch with Steven and let the man fuss over you and scold you or at the very least march off towards the living room and sit down in front of the television to distract himself; so when he began to speak it nearly made you jump.

“You hung up,” He says. “You could have died and I-” He stops himself, the silence between you says what he doesn’t. You could have died and he would blame himself. The guilt that has been punching you in the stomach was now aiming for your face to knock your ass out. Apologizing won’t be enough. Promising them that you won’t do it again won’t even suffice. You hung up on them with the intention of not knowing if you’ll make it out; and what makes it even worse, Steven once explained to you that they feel like they have a responsibility to make sure you are alright since they found out that you are not an adult. You put them in that situation of not knowing and that makes you feel terrible. You know exactly how he feels because if the roles were reversed, you would be just as upset or if not more than he is. 

“I’m sorry,” You whisper out. It doesn’t sound like it comes from you but the voice does. You don’t know if he heard or not but either way the apology was clearly not going to be enough. Your eyes trail away from the ball of lint and to his face. He shakes his head, his eyes were red either from the effects of the smoke or the tears building up in his eyes. His hands shake and you can feel your guilt punching your jaw at the sight. Your apology was never going to be enough, you fucked up hard. He rubs his face before huffing out a breath and grabbing the jacket Layla set on the back of the chair not too long ago. He pulls it on and stuffs his hands into the pocket, and you know that he smells the smoke from the fire remaining on his clothes. You can still smell it on you and it stung your nostrils and eyes a bit. 

You knew that he felt your phone in his pocket because he pulls it out and sets it hard onto the table, a loud click of the device smacking the surface of the furniture causes you to wince a little. He was going somewhere that was clear enough and as much as you want the reassurance that you’re going to be okay, that they will come and always save your ass, you couldn’t allow yourself to accept it. You killed people today, you killed several children. Everything was your fault. You bite your wobbling lip and try to sink further into the numbness.

“Where are you going?” You ask. You watch his shoulders tense before a slow breath is released from him. He was like a caged animal needing out and space, the same space that Layla wants. He needs a break from you too. He needs to think and process and feel without your presence being near him and you can respect that. But you need to know where he is so you can get his body, Khonshu can kill them at any moment as far as you know. They haven’t clearly told you why their god let them die in Cairo. 

“Out.” He states. You wring your hands together. Getting information from him was like pulling teeth. 

“Well, can you at least tell me-”

“Can you stop.” He cuts you off. It wasn’t a question, but a demand. “Just shut up and let me fucking breathe.” Your heart drops in your chest and you stare at him with wide eyes as his flicker to the fish tank. How can this change so quickly? This morning he was telling you to zip up his jacket to keep warm and dry and now he’s telling you that you’re being too much? That you need to be quiet? 

Your eyes cast downwards to the ball of lint on the floor. You don’t want to fight him. He huffs out a breath and you will yourself to be smothered in the blanket of numbness wrapped around you. His shoes leave ash marks on the floor as they disappear out of your sight. You hear the door open and shut behind him, the lock doesn’t click and you don’t bother to get up and bolt it shut. Your nose stings and the smell of smoke and sweat clings to your senses. You squeeze your eyes shut and will yourself not to cry as glassy eyes stare back at you in the darkness behind your lids.

—

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#Moonknight #moonknight series #moonknight x teen!reader #post moonknight season 01 #marvel #marc spector #marvel x gender neutral reader #marc spector x you #Marc Spector x teen!reader #jake lockely #jake lockely x you #Jake lockely x teen!reader #Steven Grant #steven with a v #steven grant x you #Steven grant x teen!reader #layla el faouly #layla el faouly x you #layla el faouly x teen!reader #Khonshu #khonshu x teen!reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral fanfic #x you #Teen!Reader #reader insert #x reader #reader #transitions

[coro-chan6]

Somehow Supernatural

Summary: What happens when you somehow end up in the Supernatural universe? What happens when you're somehow special in the Supernatural universe? Read on to see the chaos that ensues.

Warnings: poc!character, gn!character, teen!character, heavy cursing, Winchester madness, Dean needs a warning just for himself

Word Count: 2018

Chapter One: What The Fuck and Where The Fuck

Do you ever feel like time is going slow? I usually don’t because I’m a fast-paced type of person, but lately, I’ve felt like time has come to a standstill. It feels like my 10th-grade year ended three months ago when it’s only been three weeks. I feel like I haven’t seen my friends in 2 weeks and not the mere two days that it actually has been.

I don’t know why my world feels like it’s spinning at half the speed it usually does. Maybe it’s because I’m excited? In August, I’ll start my junior year. My first year in high school that I’ll be an upperclassman. Maybe I’m happy at the prospect of almost being done with high school. Or… is time not going by because I’m not having fun? I haven’t been completely bored, but it hasn’t been the best summer I’ve ever experienced. 

Is there something waiting for me in the near future? Did my world slow because I have something to look out for?

I know this sounds really dramatic. Some 16-year-old goof with an overactive imagination. Perhaps that’s it… but something in me can’t let it go. 

Welcome to my thoughts! They never end, even when I’m asleep. They take me down dark and gorey paths and also wildly stupid would-never-happen-in-a-million-years paths as well. All this shit in my mind flying around at lightspeed is probably why I’m such a good writer. Or, at least I think I’m a good writer. And my mom, but do moms really count? 

I come up with things that are unique and cool. Because I’m a unique and cool person. I don’t know who I’m talking to but I feel like I’m talking to someone so instead of letting you suffocate in the hornets nest that is my mind, I’ll introduce myself.

I’m… actually I don’t want you to know my name, but I’ll tell you other things. I’m 16 and I like anime, and colorful stuff, and reading, and writing, and basically anything. I’m flexible like that. I can deal with people until I run out of battery like most introverted people. I have a severe superiority complex that I like to pretend isn’t a thing, but it’s definitely a thing. It doesn’t affect how I interact with people, but since you’re in my head, um, you’ll see all of it. I thought I’d give you a heads-up.

Anyway, what are you doing in my head? Who are you? It may be my superiority complex talking here but… am I some special being that’s about to save the universe or something?

…I’ll take your silence as a no. 

Could you talk to me though? It’d make me feel much less lonely and a lot less crazy. 

…

…

…

Oh my god, what am I doing? There’s no one in my head. There’s no one listening to my thoughts. I am quite literally just a goofy teenager that thinks they’re gonna gain superpowers but, let’s be honest, what I really gained was a mental illness. 

That’s what this is, isn’t it? I have split personalities like Tobias Hankel in Criminal Minds. Am I gonna start killing people because my alter ego demands it of me? Am I gonna go to prison? I know I’ve talked huge crap about how tough I am to my friends, but I would be deluding myself if I thought I could survive prison. I would be eaten alive!

Wake up!

Be so hilariously for real! I am so awake I can see the words spinning around in my head. I’m so awake that I could pinch my arm - when I find it - and it would hurt as much as my self-harm! I am awake!

…

Okay, I can’t find my arm. I know I said I would so I could pinch it, but I look down to where my arm should be and there’s nothing there but black. And I’m not saying that because I’m black because I’m not. All black people are brown, let’s get real. It’s a dark ass void. Like, a space of complete emptiness. 

Maybe I’m not as awake as I thought I was.

Wake up!

Dude, I’m trying! It has never been this hard for me to wake up in my life. Even when I was having those dreams about that tall, gnarly-handed fucker chasing me around I still had an out. I had that key that I would find and it would wake me up. And, yes, that sounds like the most made-up shit in existence, but those are my dreams. They’re a fucking acid trip.

“Wake up!” Hold on just a second… I’ve heard that voice before. It’s familiar, at least. 

Not my mom, not my dad, not either of my brothers, none of my friends sound like that. It’s kinda looking like I don’t know this eerily familiar voice and I’m making shit up to sound cool, but I’m not! 

I feel someone shaking my shoulders like I’ve pissed them off or something. I would have been upset, but the feeling in my shoulders means I have to have arms! Right?

“Wake up! I did not hit you that hard!” They continued to shake me like I was a fucking snow globe, “You better not be messing with me, dude!”

The dark void and my thoughts that I could see as words in front of me were starting to fade away. After they did, I was kinda hoping that I could’ve stayed in the darkness forever. I mean, if this was a dream - and it definitely was - this was one of the most realistic ones I’ve had. So realistic that it was practically rude.

The image that replaced the void was a face. A face that I never thought I’d see except for on my calendar and TV. If I wasn’t going batshit crazy, I was seeing the Dean Winchester leaning over me as I was laid out flat on… hardass concrete?

“I swear I taught you how to avoid that move weeks ago. Where’s your head?” My head, Mr Dean Winchester sir is still trying to grasp the fact that you are a living, breathing, hunk of a man that is occupying the same space as me.

My mouth opened and closed like a brainless goldfish until I finally managed to word, “What the fuck?”

Dean looked taken aback. It was the type of face you’d give someone when they do something unexpected and I curse all the fucking time. This shouldn’t be surprising to him. Plus, he shouldn’t even know me in the first place!

“Where the fuck and what the fuck?” I sounded like a psychopath. Wording wasn’t going very well for me right now.

“Okay, let’s get you off the floor, and then we can talk about any brain damage you may or may not have gotten,” The next thing I knew, Dean’s firm arms were wrapped around my torso and my world expanded from just his face to… a storage closet room thing? 

There were those old-looking boxes that looked like fake wood but were really plastic stacked all over the room on various shelves. Toward the edge of the floor-to-ceiling concrete room was an opening through the shelves that seemed to go into another room. In the center of the room we were in - I know, a lot to keep track of - there was a white-painted demon star thing. Dean sat me in the chair that was presumably moved from the middle of the demon star.

“What the hell is going on with you right now?” Dean was now crouched in front of my chair staring at me with half-worried eyes.

“Dean…” I started.

“Yes?”

“Where the flying fuck am I?” His half-worried expression went to full-blown worry in a split second. 

“Does your head hurt?” He tried to feel the back of my skull but I quickly shifted away from him, “What’s wrong? Why are you acting like you don’t know where you are?”

“Because I don’t know where I am! I’m not stupid enough to think I’m actually in the bunker!” 

Dean looked as confused as I felt, “Kid, you are in the bunker.”

“And you’re Dean Winchester,” I scoffed, “You may look like him, but that’s kinda impossible.”

I know I said it was impossible, but remember that superiority complex I mentioned earlier? It kept making this whole situation more believable the longer I sat here looking at what looked like Dean Winchester and made me think I was here to save the universe or some shit. 

…look, man, I can’t help it!

“I’m getting Cas,” Dean huffed and turned to see the angel himself standing behind him. He let out an inhuman squawk of surprise that I wasn’t gonna let him forget before he reprimanded Castiel for probably the umteenth time for sneaking up on him.

“Dean,” Castiel said in his monotone voice, interrupting the hunter from his lecture, “Their energy is off.”

Dean quickly turned back to look at me before responding to Castiel, “What do you mean off?”

“It shifted. Like they’re like a whole different person.”

“May I interject?” I said… interjecting, “I don’t know who the fuck you knew before, but I am definitely not them. I’ve never met either of you in my entire life.”

“And they’re not a demon, Dean,” Castiel spoke up when he noticed Dean reaching for something - probably a knife - in his pocket. I owed Castiel one. I was not trying to get stabbed today.

“If they’re not a demon,” Dean stopped reaching for his weapon but was still tense, “Then what are they?”

Castiel and Dean both turned to me thinking I knew what the fuck was going on. I’m just as confused as you two!

“Well, my name is Jenny.”

“Don’t lie or I’ll be forced to look through your mind,” Castiel threatened.

“Maybe you should do that anyway,” Dean stated.

“No!” My voice cracked as I tried to keep my cool, “My real name is Casey. I’m a quirky 16-year-old from the barren land of the Quakers and I don’t mean any harm. I mean, look at me. Do you really believe I could do any harm?”

“They do have a point,” Dean said, “They’ve always been kinda skinny and noodly.”

His saying that made me look down at my body. I was wearing a plain red T-shirt with dark blue jeans and cringe-looking sneakers. I did look pretty skinny. My body - which was most definitely not this one - was more muscular than skinny. I also didn’t have hair scratching at my neck because I cut it when I was 13, but with this person's body, my hair was down to my shoulders. At least I was still my beautiful, golden brown skin tone.

“So… can I get up now or…?” I don’t know if it was a conscious thing or not, but Dean and Castiel had blocked my escape from my chair with their bodies. If I wanted to get up, I would have to push them, and I didn’t want to break the very thin layer of trust we had built up with my cooperation.

They seemed to have a whole conversation in their mind - maybe they did, I don’t know the extent of angel shit - before they eventually gave me space to stand.

I stood. Honestly, I thought I was going to fall over for some reason, but I didn’t. My new, skinny body did what it was told and stayed upright.

“Okay,” I smiled, “Where’s Sam?”

“How the hell do you know Sam? And how did you know my name?” Dean was still a bit suspicious of me. Telling him that he was part of a TV show I watched during COVID would probably make me sound crazy so I just went with:

“It’s a long story.”

Dean squinted his eyes at me as if he could actually see if I was telling the truth or not then, let out a huff, “Fine, come on. We’re going to the meeting room for a meeting.”

Oh boy.

AN: First chapter of my new series. Really excited to see how it goes! I have a bunch of chapters already written. I might post one every week. Hope you enjoyed!

#my oc stuff #supernatural #deanwinchtser #sam winchester #oc character #nonbinary #spn fanfic #spn fandom #spnfandom #superpowered oc #dean x castiel #castiel #teen!reader #dean winchester #samwinchester #alternate universe #poc!oc

[nitewrighter]

How about some info about fankid relationships we dont see much? Like Gyo and the Amari twins please?

Ooh fun! Well again, a thing to keep in mind is that Guillaume is like, four years older than the twins, but since he was the Oldest Boy on the Watchpoint they did follow him around, and because they were, like everyone else, younger than him, he wasn't super fond of being followed around by 'babies.' They did grow on him, though. They were useful for basically distracting Rei from following him around because she would take it on herself to boss them around because she was slightly older than them, but also they would embarrass him in front of Annie because it was clear nothing ruffled his feathers faster and that was funny to them. So your basic young kid dynamics, with things kind of balancing out as they got older and Rei just ended up hanging out with Annie more. Guillaume did end up getting closer to Samir than he thought he would because they're both on similar wavelengths of being kind of reserved, serious kids, though Guillaume was definitely entering a more sullen phase when he left for boarding school.

Actually during Gyo's last year in boarding school Samir had been asking about the boarding school for years (Because even if Annie and Rei were frequently decrying it as a 'school for rich jerks' he saw a lot of mystery and romance in all the pamphlets). Samir finally convinced both his moms and Gyo's parents (and the Boarding school staff) to let him shadow Gyo at the school. And Gyo was finally coming out of his awkward phase at this point, so basically just imagine teenage, vampire prince, Baby John Wick-looking Guillaume being trailed around by this sober, staring, skinny little brown boy for a week. A lot of people asked him if Samir was his sidekick, and Samir was convinced that Guillaume's big, spooky, super-old school was full of mysteries to be solved and he was always either annoyingly right at Guillaume's side and asking his friends a lot of embarrassing questions, or wandering off getting into god-knows what kind of trouble. Guillaume had to retrieve Samir from the undercroft, from the attic, from the groundskeeper's equipment shed, from the girl's dorm (which he ended up in by complete accident), from a dumbwaiter shaft, and from an actual secret passage in the walls ("Samir, get out of the walls! You're freaking people out!"). The school staff told Satya and Pharah in no uncertain terms that Samir was not Académie du Sainte Alchoin material and both Satya and Pharah were like "oh noooo he had his heart set on it. :( :( :(" (there was no way in fuck they could have afforded actually sending Samir there anyway).

And now you're asking, "But Nite, why was there a secret passage in the school?" And the answer is "The passage was constructed by the school's founder, Etienne Beaufoy, pretty much exclusively to accommodate for secret gay sex trysts with Guillaume's ancestor, Sylvain Guillard." The passage was used by servants, spies, and assassins over the years before the estate was eventually turned into a school, but the original purpose was, as it turns out is the case with a surprising number of secret passages, gay sex. Guillaume was able to solve the mystery himself shortly before returning home to the Watchpoint, and he was like "Oh yeah, spies and assassins were definitely using that passage" to Samir, not mentioning the original purpose of the passage. The passage later got offhandedly mentioned while Widowmaker was in the room and she went, "Oh, Sylvain's passage is still there?." And Samir's like "What do you mean Sylvain's passage?"

Basically as a team dynamic when Gyo's finally on the team, though, he gets along pretty well with the twins. He's also warmed up significantly to Rajeev, who's always trying to get him to crack a smile, with dumb jokes during missions. Gyo and Rajeev are also definitely gym buddies, with Rajeev miraculously managing to convince Gyo to take a stupid amount of flexing photos. Rajeev's also not above ribbing him in front of Annie--old habits die hard like that--but it's more endearing now.

#symmarah kids #widowhanzo kid

[bowiebond]

If you write do you think you could like... write the breeding kink/seahorse dad thing because i will find that nowhere else i think

BET

TITLE: BEAUTIFUL BOY (FEELS GOOD TO ME)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40418844

INSPIRED BY: “Eddie is stealth trans but totally cool being a seahorse dad because he wants a fuck ton of kids so he can give them a better childhood than he had. So when Eddie heard about Steve’s little dream of six nuggets and road trips, all forlorn because Steve couldn’t have that with Eddie since they’re both guys, he considered it peak romance and decided his strap on would stayed packed for now, since they should start sooner rather than later, “right big boy?” “

CW: Non-SFW, coming out, unsafe binding, a bit of sub!Steve and soft dom!Eddie, first time as a couple, these two are disgustingly in love and Steve is trying so hard to make Eddie comfortable ;-; It was supposed to be filthy and ended up very romantic and sweet actually.

Words: 7.2k

“It’s just- it’s dumb.” It was late into the evening, too early into the morning, and Steve was tucked away in Eddie’s musty van, the smoke from their joints visible in the air. The smell of it overpowered the musk of Eddie’s hunk of junk, and Eddie was sprawled back on the thick blanket that covered the hard, cold floor.

He was generally eye-catching, but curls spread out in a dark halo and smiling at nothing with those dimples and twinkling brown eyes, he was mesmerizing. Steve liked Eddie like this. He liked Eddie, full stop. He bagged the nerdiest, loudest, hottest boyfriend in all of Indiana, and he couldn’t help but be smitten by the very sight of him every day.

“No, no, don’t say that.” Eddie patted his chest, taking a hit and blowing up little rings before shooting smoke right through them with a grin. “I wanna hear it. You’ve been so quiet since movie night with those twerps, babe.”

Steve had been quiet. He hadn’t meant to get so in his head about it, but he had been thinking about the future again. He always got depressed when he thought about it, unsure of what would be. But since figuring out his feelings for Eddie, coming to terms with it, dating him... One thing about reality had come to him with a glaring clarity.

Seeing Eddie interact with the teens on movie night, indulging in Dustin’s ranting about the movie choices, his left occupied by Steve and his right coveted by El who had taken a quick liking to him, the girl cuddled under his arm as she held Max’s hand, sharing her sight with the blind girl so she could enjoy it too like old times, Max snuggling with Lucas.

It had been damn near domestic, and Steve’s heart had ached at the thought that in less than three years the kids would be grown up and go their own ways, gone for good and rarely returning as a pack. Steve would never have a chance to feel that warmth of a big family again outside maybe the occasional holiday. He had indulged himself in for the past few years with the party but when he looked at the teenagers, then to Eddie, the guy he was pretty sure he was going to live the rest of his life with as sappy as it sounded, he had broken his own heart.

One day the choice would present itself. Would Steve chose a life with Eddie and Eddie alone, or would they part ways so Steve could have the dream life with his big family and loving wife. He didn’t want to make that choice, he wanted both in a perfect world, and the depressing thoughts had made it hard to work up a idle conversation with anyone.

“I...I have this dream.” Steve admitted softly, lips loose from the weed.

“I have a lot of those. What’s your dream, baby?”

“Well, I like kids.” Eddie hummed, encouraging him to continue. “I’ve always wanted a big family, Eddie. I grew up an only child and I was- I was lonely. Then I met the kids and the longer I hung out with them, babysitting them, I realized I really wanted my own. I even had this dumb dream back when I was dating Nancy, imagining me and her with a gaggle of six kids, three girls, three boys, maybe even a dog too. And during the holidays, I thought we could all pile into a caravan and go across the country. Stop in California. Learn to surf, get a tan...” He let out a scoff at his own imagination. “It’s dumb, but I keep thinking about it. The kids...they won’t be kids much longer. They’re gonna leave the nest and...”

“You don’t wanna be lonely again.” Eddie filled in for him and Steve groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“But I won’t be! I’ll still have you. Robin. The kids will visit.”

“But it won’t be like having that dream family of six anymore.” Steve’s ears burned with embarrassment.

“Yeah...”

“You know, I always hoped I’d have at least one kid.” Eddie admitted in a whisper. Steve stared up at him as Eddie tapping his ringed finger against his own cheek, looking thoughtful. “My dad did a shit job raising me. I had sworn off kids at fifteen, not wanting to fuck it up too, but my Uncle...He restored my hope in one day having a family. Didn’t have to be conventional, but I wanted it. Even if it was just me and a little tyke of my own.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve didn’t know why he felt like he was going to cry, but he was gonna blame the weed for making him emotional if Eddie teased him later.

“Hey Stevie, baby, why are you apologizing?” Eddie looked down at him and laughed softly as his little lip tremor, brown eyes glossy as Steve looked away. “Nooo, baby don’t cry.” He cupped his cheek and kissed his face, trying to wipe away his tears with his love and affection.

“Come on, talk to me, baby, why the tears?” He hummed against his freckles, nuzzling his temple. Steve felt like such a big baby, but he couldn’t help the lump in his throat.

“Cause I can’t give you a baby, Eddie. I can’t give you a family.” He wiped away his tears roughly, sniffling. “Cause we’re both guys, and it sucks.”

“Oh sweetheart...” Eddie cooed, kissing the shaking from his lips with little pecks. “You want a baby, we can have a baby, you big sap.”

“Really?” Steve knew Eddie was just trying to calm him down by feeding into his delusions, but its nice to hear.

“Yeah, baby, you want a family? I’ll make it happen.” Eddie grinned, kissing him sweetly. Steve hummed into it, placing his joint blindly aside in the ashtray before sinking his hands into Eddie’s hair. He loved kissing Eddie. They had been dating a while now, but Eddie had been pretty selfless regarding their sex life. He always focused on Steve’s pleasure, never even getting undressed with Steve despite the man pouting about it. Eddie had assured him he was happy though and Steve had settled into the fact that Eddie might not be the kind of person who liked being touched like that, as unfathomable as it seemed to Steve’s horny brain.

He wasn’t going to force something that Eddie wasn’t onboard with. He could live with blowjobs and getting finger-fucked for eternity if it meant having Eddie in his life as his partner. In fact, it wasn’t an awful compromise. As much as Steve would like to return the favor, he was getting off and getting kisses. Nothing much to complain about.

It didn’t stop him from making the lazy, smoke-hazed kiss downright filthy, groaning into Eddie’s mouth as the man sneaked a chilly hand under his waistband to get a handful of his ass. Eddie was shameless about his desire for Steve, and he loved it.

He let out a muffled yell as Eddie rolled onto his back, pulling him along by the waist. He straddled Eddie’s hips and pushing his hair back from his face as he broke the kiss.

“You’re too good for me, Eds.” He sighed, staring down at Eddie with adoration. “I know its dumb, getting so caught up in the future, but I do dream. I wish that it could be you, me and six little nuggets.”

“Six little nuggets, Christ, we might have to compromise on three, four if you want an even ratio of boys and girls, Harrington.” Eddie giggled.

“Nope, six, it’s gotta be six, Munson.“ Steve insisted with a dumb, lovesick grin. “I even got the names already picked out.”

“Oh, I wanna hear this.”

“For girls, Joy, Hope and Crystal.”

“Stevie, baby, people are gonna think their parents are hippies.”

“Shh, shh, they’re good names.”

“Awful, we aren’t naming any of our kids after a rock.”

“Joy for Joyce, Eddie. Hope is cute.”

“Hope is passable. I will let you have Joy. But not Crystal.”

“Whatever, this is all hypothetical anyway, Eds.” Steve rolled his eyes with a scoff. “And for boys-”

“Eddie Junior.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Van Helsing.”

“We are not-”

“Zeppelin.”

“I will kill you if you name our child Zeppelin.”

“Okay, okay...How about Phil? Or Taylor?”

“Is it after a band member?”

“...Maybe.” Eddie admitted with a soft pout and Steve sat back with a laugh, back supported by Eddie’s knees. He looked down at his boyfriend, smiling softly as the man grinned back, smoothing his hands up his thighs with a hum, curling up to meet Steve halfway in a quick kiss. “Taylor’s nice though.”

“Taylor is nice. But it wasn’t any of my picks.”

“A point for Taylor. That can replace Crystal.” He teased and Steve rolled his eyes.

“Timothy.”

“Timmy? Really?”

“William.”

“Oh, Will might cry if you do that.”

“And...Wayne.” Eddie’s brows jumped up, big brown eyes going soft.

“Really?”

“It’s a good name. And we’re currently sharing my imaginary word, so you can have that.”

“Baby.” Eddie heaved up and wrapped his arms around Steve’s middle, burying his face in his chest. “I would love that.”

“I know.” Steve’s heart ached, knowing it wasn’t a reality, but it was nice talking about the future as if all their dreams would come true.

“I know this is supposed to be a super sweet moment, Stevie, but talking about our future kids makes me really wanna get started on just that.” Eddie kissed at his ticklish neck and Steve laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully.

“Is that what does it for you?” Steve joked. “Kids?”

“Ugh, don’t say it like that, Stevie, gross.” Eddie groaned, grunting as he tipping them both, Steve’s back hitting the fluffy blanket with a cackle. Steve allowed himself to be silenced by Eddie’s lips, humming softly as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

Eddie’s hands found the button of his jeans and Steve moaned, dick stirring in anticipation. Eddie broke the kiss, pressing little pecks to the corner of his lip, lips pressed against his flushed cheek as he focused on getting his zipper down and the denim shimmed as far as it could go with the little space between them.

“Eddie,” He sighed, rocking into Eddie’s warm palm as the metalhead kissed down his jaw. Eddie let out a soft curse as Steve squeezed his hips with his thighs, a weakness Steve had tagged into early and loved teasing him with. Eddie might not want to touch every base, but he sure did react when Steve hit the ball far enough out.

“Jesus, Stevie, you have no idea...” Eddie squeezed the outline of his cock, slipping his hand under the waistband to thumb at the sensitive slit. Steve hissed, the air cold against the head of his cock.

“Come on, Eddie, tell me. Tell me everything you wanna do...” He liked Eddie’s voice, liked how low and smooth it was in the heat of the moment. He wanted to hear everyone of Eddie’s desires and fulfill every single one.

“Shit.” Eddie pulled back with a sharp inhale, pushing his bangs back as his other hand continued to slowly stroke his boyfriends cock. He liked Steve’s dick, pink and pretty like he had imagined it to be. He was more than a little obsessed with Harrington’s pretty dick, dark chest hair and the little spots on his soft tummy that protruded just above the waistband of his jeans as of recent. Love induced cushioning, he dubbed it, much to Steve’s grumbling. Eddie had softened a little in the middle with the addition of Steve’s frequent home cooking.

He loved Steve’s body so damn much.

“This is probably really poor timing-”

“If you kill the mood right now, Eddie, I will make fuzzy dice out of your balls and hang them on my rear-view mirror.” Steve groaned, bucking into Eddie’s hand.

“Good luck with that.” Eddie laughed nervously, eyes zeroed in on Steve’s dark pink lips, parted with little gasps of pleasure. Fuck, he should have said something months ago when Steve asked him out. He was way too deep in for this not to hurt if it went sideways.

“Fuck, Eddie, don’t stop.” He twisted his wrist and licked his lips, bending down to kiss Steve hard. Steve melted like he always did, open and eager. Steve’s desire for him had become addicting, relieving in a way, and Eddie felt anxiety fester in his heart as he kissed Steve breathless.

“Steve.” He squeezed his cock and stopped all together, Steve letting out a soft whine.

“Eddie, don’t tease me, fuck.” Steve spared him a look, flushed and hair mused and Eddie wanted nothing more than to give him what he wanted.

“Steve, I gotta tell you something.”

“It can’t wait?” Steve complained, but he held Eddie’s gaze, focused on his pinched brows and bobbing throat. “Okay. Fuck, okay, I’m listening.” He was being blue balled by Eddie’s damn kicked puppy expression and he’d like to wipe it off his face quickly so they could go back to kissing.

“I, uh, I should have told you forever ago. Nobody really knows outside my Uncle, I knew pretty young and was real stubborn, so I didn’t want anyone knowing shit-”

“Eddie, cut to the chase. I can handle it.” Steve huffed a soft laugh, reaching up to hold his face and caress his thumb against his cheek. Eddie leaned into it with with a sigh, smiling sadly.

“I wasn’t born a guy, Stevie. I don’t know if you know much about, uh, transgenderism, but that’s me. Transgender.”

“You’re...transgender?” The word sounded familiar, but it was much like the term ‘lesbian’ and ‘bisexual’. He hadn’t been aware of what it really meant to people until Robin told him.

“Yeah.” Eddie cleared his throat.

“So...you were born a girl?” He couldn’t see it. Eddie was pretty, sure, but in a boyish way. And his body - even if it was only his silhouette, it was masculine. Broad shoulders, narrow hips. Sure, he wore layers and his hands were daintier than Steve’s, and his thigh filled out a pair of jeans in an almost obscene manner, but that hadn’t seemed feminine. It was just Eddie’s style, Eddie having amazing legs, and nimble fingers for his sweetheart’s chords.

Eddie was a guy. With a smooth, low voice and the softest peach fuzz on his upper lip that tickled Steve’s when they kissed.

“I mean, technically.” Eddie cleared his throat, shrinking into himself, and Steve’s heart constricted in panic. Eddie shouldn’t shy away, especially not from him. Steve had spent months dragging Eddie completely out of his shell of insecurity and doubts. Steve never wanted Eddie to feel like he couldn’t be vulnerable with him.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that.” Steve guided Eddie’s gaze back to his, smiling with probably a little too much teeth. “I don’t- I don’t really get it, but that doesn’t matter. You could be a guy, a girl, a damn demogorgan, and I’d still love you, Eds.”

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat.

“You love me, Stevie?” Steve realized what he had said as Eddie grinned down at him. Steve’s ears burned as he pinched Eddie’s cheek hard. He yelped.

“We were just planning our future together, idiot. Take a hint, I shouldn’t have to spell it out.” Steve muttered. “Yes, I love you.”

“Just wanted to confirm. No take backsies.” Eddie was a beacon of sunshine as he buried himself in Steve’s chest, squeezing him tight in a hug. “I love you too, Harrington. And one day, I’m gonna give you my last name.”

“Your last name?” Steve scoffed despite the way his stomach fluttered.

“Mm. Stevie Munson. Eddie Harrington is a mouthful, baby.”

“Edmund Harrington and Steve Harrington sounds much more sophisticated.”

“Barf. Rockstars have cool names, Stevie.” Steve hummed is agreement, not really caring to argue. He just held Eddie, trying to process Eddie’s words.

“So no one else knows?”

“Nope.”

“Was your name always Eddie?”

“Nah. Chose it myself. Uncle helped me with the paperwork.”

“I like it. Suits you.” Steve ran his hands through Eddie’s curls. “Is this why we never had sex?”

“Kinda.” Eddie admitted sheepishly. “Didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I’m glad you did.” Steve smiled softly. “Thank you.”

“You know, we could actually have a family of our own.” Eddie said quietly. “I always wanted to be a dad.”

“Don’t the doctors like, remove that stuff?” He had seen a few news articles about men who became women, going under the knife. Had Eddie done that?

“Can’t really afford that.” Eddie chuckled. “Not too fussed on below the belt. I mean, I’d prefer a flesh and blood dick, but silicone works wonders.” He grinned against Steve’s neck.

“Oh my god.”

“Could give you a show sometime?” Eddie purred, kissing his jaw and grinding the rough denim of his crotch against Steve’s flagging dick. Steve groaned, biting back a hiss at the friction.

“Fuck, you better.” Steve moaned as Eddie sucked on his sweet spot, leaving behind a dark hickey. “Can I touch you now, or is tha- ah, ha - is that still off the table?”

Eddie paused in his teasing, looking a little caught off guard before pulling back and nodding quickly.

“Fuck Stevie, I’ve been wanting your fingers on my dick since I fucking met you.” He laughed breathlessly as he shook his jacket off, pulling his shirt off over his head. Steve’s eyes fell to his chest, frowning at the bandages.

“That can’t be safe.” He frowned, fingers skimming the redness peaking out from the edges of the tightly wrapped bandages.

“I don’t usually- I’m not that busty.” Eddie said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “But when we’re alone together you wanna touch and cuddle and I- I didn’t want you to notice. I didn’t want to feel you- touch them.”

“Okay.” Steve could see that Eddie was uncomfortable and lowered his hand to his hip. His eyes trailed down his stomach to the dark trail of hair that dipped below his belt and heat pooled low in his belly. He didn’t realize that was a turn on, but he had never wanted to lick him more. Fuck.

“I won’t touch your, uh, chest. But that can’t be comfortable. I don’t want to do this if you’re pain, and that looks way too tight.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

“Eddie.”

“Steve, I can’t just- I don’t want you to see them, okay? I don’t like the idea of you-” He pursed his lips, voice thin before looking away.

“Of me what?”

“Of you...thinking I’m some chick.” Steve’s lips parted into a soft ‘o’ as it sunk in. Eddie considered his chest to be womanly, something that didn’t belong on a man, on him. Steve hadn’t really put much thought into it. Eddie’s chest was just Eddie’s chest. He hadn’t really thought of anything past giving his lungs a little extra breathing room.

“Eddie, look at me.” It took a moment, but Eddie met his eyes for just a moment before looking down. “I won’t look, okay? We can take these off, ease the pressure for a bit, and you can put your shirt back on, alright? Does that help?”

“...Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Sorry, I’m being fucking weird, I get so sensitive about this shit-”

“Hey, no, don’t apologize.” Steve squeezed his hip with a reassuring smile. “I don’t get it. Not really. I probably never will. But I will do everything in my power to make you comfortable and happy, Eddie. Okay?”

Eddie stared at him a long moment, looking lost for words. His eyes grew misty and he looked away, nodding, discreetly wiping his eyes.

“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m your boyfriend. I’m supposed to make you happy, Eds.” He reached hesitantly for the bandages, checking for the tucked end. He found it and tugged it free, Eddie taking it from his hands. Steve turned his head away, picking up Eddie’s shirt and offering it to him. After a long minute of unwinding, Eddie letting out an audible sound of relief, he took the shirt from him and pulled it back over his head.

“Decent?” Eddie hummed and Steve looked back at Eddie, offering him a soft smile. “Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Eddie returned the smile, cupping Steve’s cheek gently, looking at him with mellow adoration.

“We can cuddle, if you want?” Steve murmured, leaning into Eddie’s hand. “It’s a lot, right?”

“I don’t care.” Eddie leaned in to kiss Steve softly. “I’ve been holding myself back for months, Stevie. I want nothing more than to do the devils tango. With you, specifically.” He kissed him again and Steve grinned against his lips, barely holding back a laugh.

“I’d hope with me. Specifically.” Steve propelled himself forward with a grunt of strength, Eddie letting out a delighted laugh as he was flopped back against the fluffy blanket, tables turned as Steve muffled his laughter with kisses. His amusement grew into excitement as he giggling like a lovesick school girl between each lingering smooch, stomach swooping as Steve’s fingers popped his jeans open with expertise.

“This okay?” Steve breathed between kisses, laying his warm hand over the waistband of his briefs, thumb running along the dark trial leading down.

“Fuck yeah, Stevie, better than okay.” He shifted his hips up to show his enthusiasm, ignoring his own anxiety as Steve licked into his mouth. Eddie had been craving this for months, release under Steve’s perfect fucking fingers, and he was not letting his own foolish brain ruin this for him.

Steve’s hand slid beneath cotton and denim, past coarse curls to heat and slick and Eddie sighs sweetly, red lips parted ever so slightly.

Steve smirked, a little too proud, sinking his fingers between soft folds and pinching Eddie’s dick between his knuckles. Steve nearly cums right then and there, dick jumping at the low, rumbling moan that escapes Eddie’s lips as he lolled his head back. It’s not the sensation so much as the noise that Eddie makes that has his brain functions fizzling out. He thought Eddie sounded good with Steve’s lips on his neck, with his tongue curling around his, but it paled in comparison to the way Eddie grinds into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve had been content to welcome his bottom era when he realized he liked Eddie, a notorious freak with handcuffs just idly hanging on his wall. Eddie had taken the lead in most of their sexual encounters and Steve was happy to be led. He could definitely see the appeal though, now that he had Eddie under him.

He was would never be the sadist that Eddie was, but by Gods green earth, Steve would put up a good fight on occasion to get this sight again.

Steve’s lips found the curve of his exposed throat and adorned it with kisses, exploring the new territory with his fingers. Maybe it was because he was scared to fuck up that he moved so slowly, getting a feel for the thick nub, but he must have been doing something right because Eddie was sighing sweetly, eyes shut and cheeks ruddy, leaning his hips into Steve’s touch.

Steve liked to think himself a romantic above all else, halting Eddie’s soft moans with a leisurely kiss, rolling his dick under his pointer. Eddie bucked, thighs flexing and breath shaky against his upper lip, and Steve grinned to himself.

“Feel good, hm, Eddie?” So he’s a little cocky, sue him, he’s got his boyfriend who’s been teasing him for months under his thumb (literally) and it was glorious.

“I’d ask you to go faster, but fuck, this is kinda doing it for me.” Eddie said breathlessly, groaning as he rolled his hips up into his hand, body begging for more even as heat curled low in his gut, hot and tight.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, Eddie.” Steve breathed in awe, mesmerized by the flex of his stomach that peaked out from under his shirt that had ridden up. His dick ached as Eddie whimpered, his little grinds into Steve’s purposefully fingers growing shaky, stuttering the longer Steve teased him, like he couldn’t decided whether or not he could handle the end.

“Fuck, fuck, Stevie, baby.” Eddie’s hand crawled up his face to cover his mouth, breathing hard through his nose, thighs squeezing Steve’s waist in a bruising grip and Steve understood the appeal now because holy shit, it was hot to feel the tremble in them, the jump and flex, the dig of his heel in the dip of his back.

Steve didn’t dare stop, peeling Eddie’s hand off his mouth and pinning it above his head, kissing him hard. He felt drunk on Eddie’s pleasure, moaning with him as the man intertwined their fingers despite the awkward angle, pulling him so close by the waist Steve’s hand was crushed between their dicks.

Steve expected something, a noise, but Eddie was silent, choking on his climax as his entire body shuddered and he pulsed beneath his fingers. Steve swore against Eddie’s temple as the man gasped in air, chest heaving and the tips of his bangs sticking to his face. Steve was throbbing in his jeans and he was sure he would cum within two seconds if he touched himself right now.

“Jesus, Stevie, I get why girls liked the King Harrington now.” Eddie wheezed out a laugh and Steve snorted, slipping his fingers away from the heat to rest idly in course curls, pressing soft kisses against Eddie’s flushed skin.

“I really didn’t have as much game as you think I do.” Steve chuckled. “I took many girls on dates, but I slept with very few in comparison.”

“Wow, I feel so special.” Eddie drawled and Steve grinned.

“You are.” Steve purred, kissing him sweetly. “Never did anything with a guy until you, so I think you’re very special.”

“Lucky me.” Eddie smirked, burying his hand in Steve’s hair and tugging him back into a filthy kiss. Steve melted into it, denim pressed against denim, grinding against the heat with a soft groan. He had practically forgotten what even got them to this point until Eddie broke the kiss and whispered.

“You know, you could really knock me up if you wanted to.”

Steve’s brain went blank at those words, entire body flushing with arousal. Then the embarrassment at his own body’s reaction burned his flesh hotter and he cleared his throat, blinking rapidly to try and reset his functions, tongue too big for his mouth.

“I-” He looked down at Eddie who was smirking at him, like he fucking knew what he was doing to Steve, and Steve felt an inkling of shame. “I-I can’t do that to you, man. I mean, you’re a guy, right? And- and I respect that, I do. I’m not gonna...make you some kind of trophy wife.” It’s a weak excuse because honestly, Steve wanted nothing more than to fuck Eddie raw, lady parts or gentleman parts aside. Even before Eddie told him, he had had some nasty fucking dreams about the shit he’d like to do to Eddie’s hole - holes plural, now.

“That’s cute, Stevie, but I’ve always wanted kids, and I really don’t mind doing it the old fashioned way. If anything, I’m begging you to fuck my shit up.” Eddie grinned, all teeth and dangerously confident. There was a small part of Steve that was reluctant, unsure how to handle Eddie’s complete disregard for gender norms involving carrying a child, but he didn’t get to dwell on it with Eddie shoving him off. Steve fell on his ass with a soft sound of surprise.

He looked up and swallowed his words back down at the sight of Eddie shedding his jeans, a downright predatory grin on his lips. Steve’s eyes trailed down long legs, muscled thighs and strong calves, gliding them back up as his briefs dropped next, gulping. He was unsure if he was allowed to look, but he got a glance, and that was enough to make him flustered beyond belief because Eddie in unfairly hot standing before him like a Greek statue. He was still wearing his Hellfire shirt, and Steve watched as he pulled it up his stomach slowly, tying it off at his ribs. It was too baggy to see much shape, but he wasn’t focused on Eddie’s chest, no, he was salivating over the lamp-silhouetted middle dusted in dark hairs that snaked down the soft dip of his stomach.

“Stay.” Steve nodded without a second thought, eyes falling to his ass as Eddie walked away to rummage through his bag. Steve rolled onto his side, propping his head up with a hand as he admired his mostly naked boyfriend. Was there a better sight than this? Steve doubted it.

He furrowed his brows at the tube of lube Eddie pulled out.

“Why do you have that?”

“I wanted to be prepared.” Eddie paused in his endeavor to stand and sunk down down to dig deeper in his bag. He pulled out black straps and something solid...

“Is that a dick?”

“Always prepared.” Eddie grinned, barely containing his laughter. Steve wondered how many times Eddie had brought that out to dates and bit his lip, already thinking of where they could meet next with zero interruptions.

“Next time.”

“Next time.” Eddie’s eyes sparkled and practically threw it back down in favor of tossing the lube at Steve, who fell back trying to catch it.

“I still don’t get why we need-” Eddie crawled into Steve’s lap like he wanted to devour him, hand reaching down to tug Steve’s jeans down properly and Steve was happy to assist, his bottoms barely halfway down his thighs when Eddie stole the tube back.

“My ride needs a little grease to run smoothly.” Eddie said vaguely, popping the tube open as Steve kicked his pants off. He hissed when Eddie squirted cold lube over his dick, the excess sliding over his balls and dripping down his ass onto the blanket. Ruined, for sure, but Steve didn’t have the time to complain before Eddie was tossing the tube aside and sitting back against his dick like it was his throne. Steve let out a punched-out groan, grabbing his hips, but Eddie didn’t move an inch.

He was hot, fucking molten, and Steve’s head was fuzzy with desire the longer Eddie rested there, twisting his hips ever so slightly so he could feel it against the length of his dick, the pretty pink tip oozing precum that caught on black curls and dotted against his belly.

“You’re a fucking cock-tease, Eddie.” He should have guessed it, Eddie’s edged him enough times to show off his sadistic streak, but it still got him harder than anything else on this fucking earth.

“Come on, big boy.” Eddie laughed low and deep, leaning down to purr into his ear like he wasn’t already ruining Steve for anyone else. “You want that family of six, you might wanna get started now.”

Oh.

Oh. That’s a thought. A wicked, tempting thought that should have never seen the light of day, but now he was really thinking about it. About fucking Eddie, filling him, owning a fragment of this man for life, keeping him full and glowing and Christ, he shouldn’t be this hard over the idea of Eddie having his baby. Because he knew Eddie would be a good dad, and it was kind of endearing and potent horny material for Steve’s fucked up little mind.

He wasn’t thinking of the consequences when his control snapped, Eddie letting out a little yelp of laughter as Steve rolled them over, snatching Eddie’s lips in a heady kiss. But Eddie’s hands were in his hair and scratching up his back like he fucking wanted every consequence spoken into existence and Steve was not going to deny his boyfriend a fucking thing.

The lube left his hand sticky when he grasped himself, and he was pretty sure it was going to be everywhere once they were done, but it was strangely hot to think about. He wanted to make a mess, make Eddie messy and unable to look at anyone else but him. He was a little possessive, but he had considered Eddie to be his since he pressed that broken bottle against his throat.

He could barely pull away from his lips, intoxicated by the little sigh Eddie gave when he slipped inside, tight and hot and Steve had to stop once he bottomed out because he was going to finish this before it even began if he didn’t.

“Fuck, knew you’d feel good, sweetheart.” It made his head spin a little, the tug to his hair that guided his head back, the hoarseness of his voice as he spoke, the firm press of lips and the scent of weed on his breath. It was perfect, everything was perfect, and Steve heard lube squelch obscenely as he rolled his hips, fucking deeper, wanting to stay buried in the heat forever.

“Don’t be shy,” Eddie’s amusement intertwined with his low whisper. “Give it to me, big boy.” Steve didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t care if he came too quick, he needed to move.

Eddie wasn’t loud, but his body was. From the way his grip grew tighter to the way his leg curled around his waist, ankles hooked, his shoulders rising and falling with the soft breathy sounds he couldn’t contain. A moan slipped past his lips when Steve’s kissed his jaw, the taste of salt on his tongue as he drove his hips forward, sticky slapping filling the room. Steve knew he was being louder than his partner, but there was no shame to be felt about it, not when Eddie was panting in his ear and digging crescent moons into the curve of his shoulder.

“Fuck, Stevie, that’s it.” Steve couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down his spine when Eddie spoke, the way his back bowed when his fingers traced the length of it, exhaling a shaky moan. “You feel so good, baby, keep going.” Steve choked back a whimper at the praise, head pleasantly fuzzy as he pressed his body along the length of his, sinking into Eddie’s voice.

“Feels good, don’t it?” He was laughing in his ear, husky and teasing, and Steve moaned softly against his hair, grinding into the slick heat. “You wanna cum, baby? You’ve been so patient, waiting your turn...”

His fingers threaded and twisted in his hair where it was getting long in the back and Steve’s hips stuttered with a gasp.

“Please, fuck, Eddie.” He was desperate, teetering right near the edge and Eddie hummed, tugging gently to keep Steve going, like he was the jockey and his hand the whip, keeping him running. Leading him to go faster, harder.

“Go on, Stevie, cum for me.” Eddie chuckled, a pitched sigh escaping him as Steve rolled his hips in a steady rhythm, the slap of skin and lube lewd in their ears. Steve kissed the skin he could reach while in Eddie’s grip, not daring to fight it, not when it felt so good, and gasped against the faintest brush of lips.

“Jesus, Eds, I’m so close.” His tongue felt heavy, heart thumping so hard he could feel it in his fingers and toes, but he couldn’t stop the snap of his hips. Eddie swore softly as he stole another kiss, barely grazing his lower lip, eyes dark and cheeks flushed with pleasure. Steve felt his hand against the side of his neck and moaned, leaning into it before Eddie guided his head to the left, lips brushing the shell of his ear. His breathing was uneven, heavy, but warm against his skin and Steve’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Come on, Stevie, breed me till I can’t fuckin’ move.” Fireworks. Steve never thought he’d feel them, but fuck if he could describe it as anything else. They erupt all over his skin as he came hard, a strangled whine muffled into Eddie’s shoulder. It felt like the longest orgasm of his life, riding it out with little bucks, fucking deeper until his strength gave out, sagging against Eddie. He could hear Eddie’s huff of amusement in his ear, his grip loosening. His hand ran through his hair, root to length and down to his nape. Steve felt himself relax even more, turning into a puddle under the attention. Eddie’s legs are still wrapped around him, keeping him close, and he was warm, throbbing dully around his sensitive cock.

“You’re fucking adorable, Stevie.” Eddie’s grin pressed against his temple, kissing gently, Steve felt the fuzziness slowly clear, rising from his afterglow slowly. He raised his chin to meet his lips, seeking out the taste of weed and flesh. He shifted, hands finding Eddie’s thighs, and the other moaned airily.

“Did you cum?” He asked, partially distracted by Eddie’s lips. Eddie’s lips thinned before he wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t really get off on this kind of stuff. Penetrative, I mean.” Steve’s ears burned, a swell of guilt forming in his chest.

“If you’re not into it, you should have told-”

“Oh no, I’m into it, it just doesn’t...finish me off.” Eddie explained flippantly, waving his hand like it doesn’t matter. “It’s fine. This was for you, sweetheart.” Eddie grinned, brown eyes soft as he pulled Steve back in for a kiss. Steve only allowed one before he huffed.

“You’re coming.”

“Am I?” Eddie laughed at the determined pinch of his boyfriends brows, his clenched jaw. He raised himself up by his elbows, biting his lower lip. “You already got me off once, I really am fine.”

“Lemme suck you off.” Steve paused and frowned. “Eat you out?”

“You had me at sucking me off.” Eddie corrected, tongue between his teeth as he grinned, daring Steve to follow through. Steve slipped out with barely a sigh, Eddie splaying his legs out lazily. Steve slid his hands up Eddie’s stomach as he laid down on his front, sticky against the blanket but uncaring at that point. He dragged his tongue over Eddie, the man inhaling sharply, ringed hand sliding into Steve’s hair as his head tipped back.

The lube coated his tongue in a slightly sweet taste, but it was vaguely unpleasant in the back of his throat. He didn’t dwell on it, focusing on the bitter taste of his own cum that leaks past puffy lips, the tang of sweat beneath all of it.

“It seems counter-productive to clean up your mess if you’re trying to knock me up, sweetheart.” Eddie’s hip twitched under his hand as it glided down his skin and between his legs, chest stuttering with a gasp.

“I’m not cleaning it up.” He replied hoarsely, tonguing swirling around his dick, his fingers sliding along the slit and slipping inside. He sucked sweetly, half-mast eyes staring up at his boyfriend that was clenching around the digits. Like a cat who got the cream, Steve purred internally, laving Eddie’s cock in attention as he fingered his cum deeper into his fluttering hole.

He groaned when Eddie’s legs hooked over his shoulders, keeping his mouth pressed to his mound. Steve didn’t know what he looked like right now, but Eddie spared him one glance and had to look away, a guttural groan ripped from his vocal cords.

“Fuck, you’re pretty, Stevie.” Steve preened under the compliment, milk coffee lashes fluttering against red cheeks. He could feel Eddie throbbing, constricting, and he kissed his cock with tongue like a hooker conning a client into another round, moaning as Eddie’s thighs cradled each side of his head, lost in the burn of course hair and hot skin until the dam broke.

Eddie came hard and Steve was just there for the ride, groaning as his thighs squeezed his head, gushing over his fingers and pulsing in his mouth. He nuzzled between his leg as Eddie twitched, stomach trembling, elbows giving way until he was splayed out on the floor, hair haloing him. Steve kissed his cock gently and Eddie shoved his head weakly with his hand with a sound of protest, making the brunet laugh.

Steve pulled away, sitting up on his knees as he sucked the mess off his fingers, sweet and bitter and tangy. He liked how they tasted together. He crawled up Eddie’s body and kissed him hard, buzzing with happiness.

“We should get married.” He muttered against Eddie’s lips, drunk on his overflowing feelings. “Court house, witness.” He kissed up Eddie’s cheek, babbling a bit. “Wait, no, we can’t get married, fuck, maybe we could have like some kind of union or something.”

“Stevie, baby, if you keep fucking me like this, my uncle will be there with a shotgun to make you take responsibility.” Eddie grinned and Steve’s dick twitched. He shouldn’t be raring to go at the idea, but his half-doped up brain thought that it was amazing.

“Should do it again. Make sure it sticks.” Eddie laughed, shoving his shoulder but didn’t resist when Steve rolled him over with a grunt, continuing to giggle like he was high. Steve pressed against his back and kissed his shoulder, hands slipping under the Hellfire shirt to hook it up over Eddie’s head. The man raised his arms up, giving him his silent consent to see more, hair falling into his face and chest pressed against the blanket. Steve brushed his hair aside, kissing his cheek and down his neck, tracing his fingers along Eddie’s shoulder blades.

“Always wanted to do it like this.” Steve breathed into his neck, Eddie letting out a soft hum. “You’re so beautiful, Eddie.” There was a soft, tender part of him that kind of wanted to cry because it was true. Eddie was more beautiful than anything Steve had seen and he had thought so since the day he laid his gaze on those big brown eyes, alight with joy as he talked on and on about seeing Ozzy live as a kid.

He wanted to be able to call him beautiful for the rest of their lives.

He moaned softly as he sunk back home, hooking his forearm under Eddie’s bicep, rocking them slowly as he molded himself to his back. Eddie’s hand found his, holding it against his shoulder with an answering moan.

“I’d marry you, if we could.” Eddie murmured, eyes shut and lips parted ever so slightly. Steve buried his nose in his neck and nodded.

“Me too.” Eddie gasped softly, lashes fluttering as Steve quickened his pace, hot breath caressing his ear. “I’m gonna take good care of both of you, Eddie.” Eddie shivered and melted beneath him as he spoke, voice low with intent. “All you gotta do is keep taking it just...” He snapped his hips and Eddie throbbed, dick grinding into the blanket. “Like...” Steve placed a hand on the dip of his back, pressing him deeper into the cushion, his legs shaking. “This.” His lips sealed against the top vertebrae, fleeting, soft, and Eddie’s entire body shook with it, bowing and squeezing his hand so tightly it hurt.

Eddie’s lips trembled, wetting them as he sagged. The promise in his words were damming and Eddie was certain he was fucked.

But fuck, he did not care in the slightest.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #trans eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #steveddie

[bogusboxed]

Boxtober - Day 9: "Don't Buy A House Off Craigslist."

Day 9: -The Puppeteer X GN!Reader “Sounds like a you problem.” X “Up Against the Wall Kiss."

-I do not own "The Puppeteer/Jonathan Blake" and do not take credit for him.

-Rating: Viewer discretion is advised !!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of suicide, a fairly detailed kiss scene, and harassment from a stranger.

-

It's been a couple of months since you moved into this house. The house you now call home. You didn’t get many visitors, and when you wanted to see someone, they’d convince you to go to their house. Even the movers didn’t step foot inside, and most delivery services, if they knew, wouldn’t go further than the front lawn. And it was all because you moved into a house where someone committed suicide.

The day you bought the house, you didn’t even bother to look into its history. Your eyes only saw the unbeatable mortgage and pricing. I mean, of course, you looked at the interior and whatnot, but you thought people stayed away from it due to how long it’d been up. You thought they were scared of vintage houses. But, you were wrong. They didn’t like the house because it was haunted. At least that’s what the locals told you. They swore up and down you’d be running out of that house in no time, but it never came.

You assumed they were trying to have you leave because they despised the new people. Which made sense since they were a very small community of people and didn't have many visitors. And because of everything, you couldn't bring yourself to believe in the ghost. Because you’d been living there for months with nothing ghost-like occurring. And the only scary thing was how many teenagers came around to chant the name "Jonathan Blake". You always have to tell them off. You didn’t know what a sick and twisted high they got out of that. For fucks sake, let the dead be dead. You couldn't imagine how unbearable they'd be on Halloween night. Or maybe they'd leave you alone, believing this would be the height of the haunting.

Last night had been unbelievably rough. You had those kids come back, and you had a nightmare. A dark and gruesome nightmare. A nightmare about the suicide of Jonathan Blake. You felt terrible, but it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t control what you dreamed about. Even so, you'd hoped you'd forget it more quickly. You needed to stop talking to the locals so much. They were getting to you. You forced yourself up, feeling the apparent sweat that had formed on your forehead. Your current bedroom was cold as you grudgingly got up. You came into contact with the wooden flooring as you yawned. You changed into some sweats and a shirt. You had no intention of doing anything. It was the weekend, after all. All you wanted to do was binge on scary movies and sleep some more. You walked through the house and you could hear your breath and steps echo. You then made it to the kitchen. The sun was fairly out due to it still being early in the morning. So you didn't need to turn on the light as you made your coffee, eagerly waiting for it to be done.

You stood there for a moment, waiting for your coffee to dispense as the doorbell rang vigorously. The disorienting noise rang throughout the house as it hurt your ears. Your hands jolted as you made your way to the door as fast as you could. You were going to snap if it was those kids again. As you cautiously opened the door, you were met with a pale man with short dark brown locks framing his face. And with that, he was adorning stereotypical mailman's attire, even adding a blue baseball cap on top. He held out a brown package. It must have been something that you ordered a while back.

"I believe this is for you." At first, he didn’t look at you but then turned to you. His face changed after staring at you for an uncomfortable moment. "Oh, good morning," he said cheerfully as he leaned against the doorframe. "I didn't expect to see an angel." his teeth were whiter than him. You’ve never heard someone unironically use such an internet pickup line.  "Um, thanks for the package," you said as you slowly shut the door in his face as he took the privilege of forcing it back open. "You know, it’s pretty rude to do that, but I'll let it slide." he looked at you for way too long, making sure to take you all in as you gave him a vile side-eye. The man stepped a foot into your house as you stared at him harshly. You didn’t know how many hints you had to give this man before; you’d have to slap him. You could feel yourself cringe. You would've preferred the angsty teens over this any day. He then took a step into your house as you backed away. "What are you doing?" you asked him as he tried to make his way into your house. "I'm making sure the package is delivered," he reassured. You could right-hook this man. He wasn't much taller than you. You could tear him apart. You told yourself. You weren't going to be the next death in this house. He then made his way completely into the house. He was making you uncomfortable, and you didn’t know what to do. You had to put your foot down.

"Hey, I’m not into you like that and I also don't feel comfortable with this, so please get out of my house." you were about to snap out on this man. He frowned harshly, his face tense a good amount. "I'm just doing my job, so why are you like that?" he raised his tone and acted as if he was in the right. This guy had the nerve to intrude into your house and then say that. You cussed him out. "It's my house and because you're fucking weird," you told the mailman, as he was taken aback for a second. "Oh, you're with that emo over there?' 'Is that why you won't give me a chance?" he asked, squinting in your living room. Who was he talking about? It was just you and you alone in that house. You had no roommate or partner. You knew right then that this guy was mental and you needed him out. You were going to go call the cops on the man as he started to cuss at whatever was behind you.

"Who?-" you stuttered as you heard loud footsteps marching their way toward the both of you. You heard them right behind you as they got closer to you. You felt a sudden cold surge go right through you as there was now a solid figure right in front of you.  Someone just walked through you completely, and you could still feel their touch. You could still feel the shivers that had run up your spine. The feeling was so ethereal but so unnatural, yet you wanted to feel it again. "Boo." The figure tilted his head as the mailman screamed violently. He fell to the floor as the figure towered above him. "Jonathan Blake?" he whispered as he picked himself up and ran out the door. The mailman screamed "Puppeteer" as he stuttered. He managed to cuss the both of you out as he ran for his truck. As soon as it was just you and the spirit. You could feel yourself swallowing. Fear injected itself into your system, but you couldn't manage to run. You were enchanted by whatever that past feeling was and now by the unhuman man in front of you.

The figure wore a gray beanie on top of his jet-black hair. His skin was an irregular gray, but that wasn’t the most out-of-place thing. It was his glowing yellow eyes. His golden eyes radiated toward your normal ones. He had no pupils or whites. It was all yellow. You couldn't stop staring in awe. You should have been terrified, and you were, but your fascination with him had overcome your fear. "Boo," he muttered again, getting even closer to your face. You could tell he didn't have his shoes on the ground. Instead, he was floating a couple of inches off of the hardwood floor. He looked into your eyes, tilting his head. He appeared to be questioning you more than you were questioning him. You didn't move or run. You just couldn't. You were mesmerized by him. And even so, you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest. You didn't even feel like you were there. You were just lost in his gaze as sweat fell to the floor. "Interesting," he said, raising his eyebrows as he put himself back onto the ground. You could feel his gaze burn into your trembling frame. He was still taller than you. It didn't even make a difference if he was in the air or not. He still stood strong. The room only seemed to get colder with him in it. You could smell coffee coming from the kitchen as you looked at the transparent man in front of you.

"There's an actual ghost in my house." the words came out shaky as you felt your lips tremble violently. "Sounds like a you problem." he stood strong in front of you. You reached out to his torso. You wanted to know if he was real. If he was a ghost or if you were going insane. You didn't know what this would solve, but you were going to try it anyway. You placed your hand on his chest, pushing it against it. Your hand didn’t go through. You could feel a chill run up your fingertips on contact. "You can’t just do that." he grabbed your wrist harshly as you attempted to pull back. But his hold was just too strong. A million thoughts were running through your mind, but you couldn’t seem to organize one of them. "Huh?" you wanted to say so much more. Was he a ghost or not? He made no sense. He felt solid, but seconds ago he walked straight through you. And seconds ago, he was floating. You had so many questions and yet no answer. For example, why did the guy who committed suicide, Jonathan Blake, go emo?

"Yes, I’m real, and yes I'm a spirit," he answered two of your questions as his hold on you went away, but his hand was still very much gripping onto you. He quickly slipped his hand through your arm to demonstrate it to you. In the legend, the people spoke of Jonathan Blake. They said he’d drive you to suicide just like the world did to him. They said he was violent. They said he would string you up and take your organs out one by one. But, here he was playing into your antics. He even saved you from that bitch of a mailman. Was he just playing with his food? You didn't know if you would be able to answer that. You were way too deep in the cold, soft feelings that he brought you. And every time you felt his hand phase, it was pure ecstasy. "I was hoping to make my appearance later, but, you know." he exhaled, waiting for you to relax and get over the initial hype of seeing a dead person.

Even with all of this. He was still a rumored spirit that fed off of suicide, and you weren't ready for it. You didn't want him to do that to you. You liked whatever was going on currently. You wanted to be his friend. "I don't want to die." your eyes widened softly as you gazed at him. You didn't want him to drag you into that dark place. You had a prime question in mind. One that stuck out. Was he gonna end you today or was he going to take his sweet time with you?  He chuckled and even laughed at your misery. "Oh, I love hearing that line’ ‘But, I’m not going to hurt you.’ ``Only cause you to live here, and it's making it easier to find people," he told you blankly, but you didn’t believe him. He wasn't actually going to leave you alone. You weren't going to be the one he chose to spare. You didn't even notice your hands violently shaking. You were so confused. You had way too many emotions coming at you at once. You were getting stressed and overwhelmed. It was too much for you. You could feel yourself hyperventilating as your vision went dizzy. Your legs turned to jelly as you started to wobble backward. You didn’t know what to say or do. You fell against the wall. The puppeteer quickly made his way to you.

As you backed even further into the wall, he pressed his hands on either side of your frame. "Shouldn’t have bought a house off Craigslist." he tilted his head down to you. He was much larger than you. He practically caged you, and the worst part was he didn’t even have to try. Tears pricked in the corner of your eyes as they ran down your face effortlessly. "Hey, it's okay." his yellow mouth laughed as he brought you in for a hug. He was alarmingly cold but still alluring. He probably didn't even know he was pulling at your heartstrings. You knew he wasn’t actually trying to comfort you, but it felt like he was. He wasn’t even trying to lie, but he already had you falling for it. He was being so sadistic toward you, but you couldn't help but completely indulge. Was he just capable of manipulating your feelings, or were you just like that? Were you playing checkers while he was playing chess?

But, for some reason, it felt good to be special. It felt good to be the only one excluded from his murder. It felt good to be the only one he had mercy on. But knowing how you were feeling about it made it so much worse. You liked being special to him. Even if he was lying to you. But, even with all of this, he had your mind spinning. You hated that you could even feel that for someone like him. You could feel the tinge of disgust coursing through you. You didn't understand why he wasn't trying to kill you. You didn't want to be excluded, but, at the end of the day, you had no choice. It wasn't up to you, was it? He grabbed your tear-stained face, wiping away your tears with his freezing hands. You could feel yourself involuntarily embracing him. It felt so good, but it was terrible. He still had a grin even after his fingers were stained with your tears.

He placed one of his digits that had been immersed in your tears and licked it. His finger popped out of his mouth as he smiled at you, taking your expression all in. He thrived in sorrow, and you were directly giving it to him. You could feel your stomach coil as red dusted your face. You wanted to listen to your impulsive thoughts. You wanted to run with it. You felt fluttering in your stomach. According to his legend, the only thing he could sense was depression. He probably didn’t know what you were about to do. But you did. This was going to get you killed.

"Now back to the deadly ghost in my house shock era," he muttered, expecting you to go back to freaking out. But you didn’t. Instead, you made sure he was in his solid state as you pulled him in by the collar and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. His golden smile immensely went away in pure shock. As his cold lips come into contact with your warm ones. For the second you two were connected, you swore you would have felt a faint shock. His lips were rough and harsh against your soft ones. You remembered the details by looking at his face. He stood still, mouth agape.

"I- I didn’t think that was a part of being scared of a spirit." he froze in place, blinking at you while tilting his head. You could see his gray cheeks had a darker gray sprinkled on them. He came back to you, pressing you back against the wall. He was much more curious than before. Maybe it was because you two were at vastly different temperatures. But, you wanted more, and you could sense he wanted more too by the way he stared at you. You didn’t know how to describe it other than with a hungry gaze. He dipped down again, about to connect your lips. You two heard blaring police sirens again. As soon as you turned to find the source and turned back, he vanished. After that morning, you were never alone. After that morning you had a poltergeist boyfriend. And now no one has ever fucked with you again after the mailman ran into town screaming that he’d seen him.

-

#day9 #fictober #fluffober #creepypasta #puppeteer x reader #puppeteer x you #puppeteer x y/n #jonathan blake x reader #jonathan blake x you #jonathan blake x y/n #fluffober2022 #alt4

[nonbinary-kaz]

Imagine: the Hendricks’ Estate back garden. There’s a light breeze. Music is playing from inside the house, a soft tune that’s carried out through an open window. The stars are especially bright, and the flowers smell sweet. Geraniums.

A man sits alone on a bench, one leg stretched out before him. It aches and it does nothing to help his already sour mood. He doesn’t even have the right to be upset because it’s not his wedding. It still makes him irrationally upset that everyone inside doesn’t seem bothered by the fact that half of his crew is missing. Half of his crows.

Kaz Brekker sits alone and sulks like a teenager. He supposes that it’s fitting; he never got to be a teenager in the traditional sense.

They haven’t even heard from her since the invitation was sent. Wylan and Jesper had sent it way ahead of time to make sure she’d have time to return to Ketterdam. It’s not unusual, sometimes months pass without a word. She writes as often as she can. Sometimes she doesn’t see harbors and ports (are ports and harbors the same thing?? Idk don’t ask me) for months, and she can’t possible send a letter from the ship.

He doesn’t really register the footsteps. People have been passing all night. He does, however, hear the creek of the garden gate. He doesn’t turn to have a look. It’s probably a kitchen hand, and no one is stupid enough to murder the Bastard of the Barrel here.

“Kaz?”

Inej stands by the gate. She hasn’t changed from what she wears on her ship. The white shirt is loosely fitted and a few buttons are open (Kaz does not look) and a pair of brown cotton pants. The coat is one of Kaz’s old ones, one he has grown out of and completely forgotten.

Then she asks what he’s doing out here all alone, and Kaz mutters something about there being too many people inside, but he’s left the gloves on his desk at the Slat and Inej knows why he’s there but she doesn’t say anything about it.

They talk a little. When a tune they both recognize start playing, Inej stands and very carefully pull Kaz up from where he sits and says something about dancing. She’s obviously noticed the bad leg. It’s not that Kaz can’t dance, Inej is pretty sure he would if she asked, but she also knows that means unnecessary strain and pain.

“Lean on me”, she says, and Kaz does. Inej has one hand on the small of his back and the other in his. They hold each other as if to waltz, but they don’t. They sway back and fourth for a little while, and when the song comes to an end, Inej presses a feather light kiss to the corner of Kaz’s lips. They hold each other for another moment before they return to the party.

Jesper stands in a window and watches and gives Wylan a thumb’s up because they finally kissed for the first time

Sorry this got out of hand 😭 I promise I won’t send you mini fics next time. Thank you for indulging my sorry ass <333333

1: FUCKING TAKE THAT APOLOGY BACK RN

2: SAY FUCKING SIKE RN. OR BREAK THAT PROMISE. I WANT THESE ANY TIME U WANNA SEND ME THEM

3: AAAAAAAAAH 🥹🥺🥰😍😭

Is it really ur wedding if ur not rooting for ur emotionally constipated best friend to finally kiss his kinda-sorta girlfriend who is ur other best friend

HES SULKING UNTIL HE SEES HER AAAH he just wants her he misses her so much and he knows she should be here, even if it’s just for Jesper and Wylan, because that’s fine because he’ll see her anyway but. But he MISSES her and he WANTS HER THERE AND THEN SHE IS THERE AND HE GETS TO BE WITH HER aaaaaaaah

#🥺😭🥰🥹😍 #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #kanej #six of crows #this was beautiful I’m ignoring work to read this 🥺 #☕️